A/N: Everything about this is sad. Everything about this is stressful. This time just before they leave for the Camping Trip of Doom hurts. I'm sorry. But, true to form, there are still little moments of life and love even when everything sucks. The next chapter is Claire, and the chapter after that is the Battle of the Seven Potters, and then everything really begins to take off. Thank you for being here week after week, I appreciate it more than words can say. Love you all, enjoy. <3

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LUCY:

I knew I wouldn't be able to talk freely to Hermione and Ron when Ginny was the only other person in the house, so I opted for a distraction instead in the hopes that Ron and Hermione would get the chance to talk freely. As soon as Hermione sent off the patronus to the twins, I made one comment about how much I missed Quidditch, and Ginny had dragged me outside to the broom shed mere seconds later. We were still in the sky when the wedding guests began to arrive, Henry and George first followed by an intoxicated Fred and even-more-intoxicated Archie.

Henry and George joined us in the sky, looking remarkably sober.

"Did they run out of firewhisky, or — ?" I asked.

George grinned. "Very funny. No, I just had too much coffee this morning and we both wanted to be sober so we were as observant as possible anyway."

"And? Did you observe anything noteworthy?" Ginny pressed.

"I filled her in on the gossip surrounding the invitations," I explained. "She was relieved that she wasn't the only person who found it strange, since your parents were so overjoyed by it no one else dared to suggest anything other than excitement."

"They were barely together after the ceremony," George said in a low voice.

Henry nodded emphatically. "We happened to be talking to him when a slow song started, and he looked rather sad for a moment."

"Almost like he was wishing it was his wedding with someone else?" Ginny asked.

"I'm not here to make assumptions," Henry replied, ever the diplomat, "just to report my observations."

"Well someone ought to start making assumptions so we can find out if they're correct or not," Ginny muttered.

All three people turned to me, and I held my hands up. "What? Why me? I'm not going to try to pry into his relationships!"

"Oh, come off it, we're talking about your relationships," Ginny said. "How's Harry doing?"

I rolled my eyes. "The sooner we get him out, the better. The fact that apparating and the Floo network are compromised complicates it, though, I know, it's just — the sooner we get him out, the better. Any word from any higher-ups in the Order about when exactly we're all going to meet to discuss it, now that the wedding is over?"

"Soon," George assured me. "They're trying to figure out how deeply the Department of Magical Transportation has been infiltrated before any plans are made. I reckon Remus and Tonks will get a couple days to enjoy their newfound wedded bliss before anyone tries to make any official plans, but people are gathering information."

"Would me bothering people about it at family dinner tomorrow be helpful or harmful to the cause?" I asked. "I don't mind being Harry's advocate a second summer in a row. I can be a pain in the arse for him, no problem."

"Dumbledore's the only reason he was there as long as he was last year," George said, fixing me with a pointed look.

"It's complicated," I muttered. "So with Dumbledore out of the way, would me being a menace be beneficial or not?"

"It's more difficult this time, with the Ministry being so... everywhere," George replied. "Last time, it was just Dumbledore's insistence that Harry needed to stay that made it at all complicated. You can ask about it, but you don't have to badger anyone this year the way we all badgered Dumbledore last year. Everyone's working as quickly as possible to get Harry home."

I nodded. "Okay. I was hoping that was the case."

"No one would delay it on purpose, if that's what you're worried about. We all worry about him as much as you do," Henry said. He smiled teasingly. "Well, maybe not as much as you do, but — "

"See, we're back to your relationships," Ginny said, poking my arm. "Who cares what Remus does? I reckon even Remus cares more about your relationships than his own. We've been waiting years — "

"I get it," I interrupted as my face burned. "Anyway, we've got a professional Keeper, two and a half Gryffindor Beaters and half of a Gryffindor Chaser. What could we possibly do to entertain ourselves?"

"Well, what have you two been doing?" Henry asked. "We came to gossip, not interrupt, though we are sober enough to join you if you'd like the company."

"I'd love to play more of that dodging game we played at practice once," Ginny said, glancing at me. "If you're in."

"Dodging game?" Henry asked.

George pretended to wipe his eyes. "You played a game at practice? I've never been so proud of you."

"Yeah, well, don't tell Oli," I replied. "Yes, we did. Would you be interested in playing it?"

"Obviously," Henry and George said in unison without missing a beat.

I glanced at Ginny. "Boys against girls, or everyone's on their own team?"

"Boys against girls," she said, turning toward the boys with a terrifyingly wicked grin.

I grinned. "Alright, then. Boys, get ready to dodge."

And so we wiled away the rest of the afternoon, playing a game and laughing all the while like we didn't have a care in the world. Like it could be like that forever. Like a Quaffle was the only threat we needed to dodge, like the worst that could happen was falling to the ground, assuming we could get that far without someone saving us.

I had saved Harry from falling, as Alasdair Maddock (of all people) had pointed out. I would save Ginny and Henry and George too.

From falling. And from more than that.

I knew I would miss those moments, when I was off trying to save the world so we could have many more such moments, one day. Moments where the sun was shining and I knew I was getting sunburned and I didn't care. Moments where I had a broom under me and a Quaffle in my hand, moments where I could pretend I could be a Chaser forever because Cedric had gotten to be a Seeker forever. Moments where I could see the people I loved and know they were safe. Moments where I felt safe. I missed Harry, but I always missed Harry when he wasn't around. Other than that... I reckoned those hours in the sky with Ginny and George and Henry were as close to perfect as anything got those days.

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The next closest moment to perfect those days happened the following night.

When the time came for family dinner at the Burrow, we decided to apparate in pairs about ten minutes apart to various locations around the Burrow. Archie called dibs on me so the couples could apparate together, so I grabbed him by the hand and apparated us to the woods by my childhood home.

He blinked. "Where are we?"

"I used to transform in these woods, I grew up about a ten-minute walk that way," I replied, pointing. I pointed in the opposite direction. "The cave I destroyed after escaping from my kidnappers is about a ten-minute walk that way." I pointed in a third direction. "The Burrow is about half an hour that way."

"You know, I pride myself on my general ability to take truly insane situations in stride with a smile on my face, but even I cannot believe you just calmly said you not only apparated to this location of all locations, but that you so casually told me about all of the horrors that occurred here," Archie said.

"Yes, well, my brother's body is buried about a ten-minute walk from here too," I said, "so everything else I've experienced here seems casual by comparison."

Archie snorted. "You have a point."

"Was nearly getting your face ripped off one of the aforementioned insane situations through which you smiled, by chance?" I asked as we started walking in the direction of the Burrow.

"I'm afraid I screamed before I smiled," he replied. "Smiling was impossible for the first couple of days after it. Trust me, I would have if I could have. I was in the Weasley twins' living room; trying to deal with their shenanigans without being able to smile or laugh was even more torturous than the actual injury."

"Yeah, I've had similar experiences when my ribs were broken. Not being able to laugh without stabbing pain is awful, especially with the likes of George and Fred around."

"Broken ribs?" Archie repeated. "When did that happen? I feel like I would remember that."

"You don't remember it because you didn't know about it," I replied. "And it was only three ribs, and they were only fractured, but laughing hurt like hell for about a month first year."

Archie sighed. "I hate that you had to suffer so much in silence for so long. Don't you ever do that again, Diggory, alright?"

"I doubt I could even if I wanted to," I muttered. "Everyone worries too much about me these days. I can't get away with anything anymore."

"You say that like people caring about you is something abhorrent," Archie said. "It's not. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"It's not abhorrent," I argued, "I just feel bad that care and worry go hand-in-hand more often than not with me."

"Well, get over it, because they're inseparable," Archie replied bluntly.

I blinked. "What?"

"Stop trying to make people care about you without worrying about you, it's not going to work," Archie said. "Love encompasses a wide range of emotions, you know, it's not its own independent feeling that comes without any strings attached. Love, true love, actual love, is every emotion all at once."

"That's a fascinating theory, but this little ring around my finger suggests otherwise," I replied as I waved my hand in front of his face. "It glows red, just red, in moments where I'm just feeling love and nothing else. And I don't want to play this card, but you've forced my hand; you can't argue with me, it's been proven that my emotional magic is unusually advanced, so I suppose I'm something of an expert."

"No, I call bullshit," he said, snatching my hand out of midair and holding tight. "Stop walking, we're settling this."

I stopped and turned to him with an amused huff. "And how do you propose we do that, exactly?"

"You said it glowed red in moments where you were feeling true love. Care to elaborate on those? I need to hear examples."

"Er — well, most recently — " I could feel my blush intensifying as pink crept across my half of the ring. "That half is mine by the way, the half that's — "

"Turning pink? Yeah, I figured," Archie replied with a smile, still holding my hand up at eye level between us. It helped that we were close to the same height. "Go on."

"Fred was really trying to get me to produce a patronus, and I was informed later that the ring was red, which I've figured out is love — "

"Or so you think. Alright, tell me about this memory."

"Well, okay, I'm guessing you saw the pictures of the pranks we set up for the twins' birthday?"

Archie nodded. "Of course. Beautiful work, by the way."

"Thank you, thank you. Anyway, the memory was of me setting up one of those pranks with Harry. He complimented my pranking genius."

"And you think that's a perfect example of true love?" Archie asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Well — no — but I have other examples! That's just the most recent one!"

"I'd love to hear more, then."

"The first time it was really noticeable that I can remember was in third year. Draco Malfoy was bullying me in Ancient Runes all year, and one day I just snapped and ran off to the Quidditch Pitch. Harry followed me out there, and he was angry when I told him why he was upset, and he was very sweet, and — Merlin, I can't believe I'm about to admit this to you of all people, this used to be a very well-guarded secret — that was the day I realized I fancied him."

Archie looked at me in disbelief for a long second.

My blush intensified. "What?"

"You think that moment was true love?" he asked.

"My half of the ring was a very vivid red!" I replied defensively.

"Okay, new approach, new approach," Archie said, shaking his head. "Don't tell me about the moments where you realized it was red. That would just be confirmation bias. Close your eyes and think of a moment that felt like actual genuine true love." He covered my hand with his. "When you've got it, I'll move my hand and we'll find out together. And you don't have to tell me about it at all, so you have no reason to be embarrassed. Your half of the ring was a very bright pink before I covered it up. Perhaps it's for the best if your little memory remains secret."

"Fine," I muttered.

"Close your eyes, clear your mind, and try to think of the most love you've ever felt in your life. Like you could cast a love patronus, or something."

I snorted. "If a patronus relied on love rather than happiness, I would have never struggled with casting one."

"Well, maybe you'll invent a new form of defensive magic. You can call it a love-tronus. It can ward off, I don't know, inferi."

"Inferi?" I repeated with a giggle. "How would that work?"

Archie shrugged. "I don't know, you could love the corpses back to life or something. Ah, who am I kidding, nothing can bring back the dead, nothing should. No offense, Cedric," he added, looking in the direction where I had pointed.

I giggled louder. "I don't think he's offended, he can't hear you."

"You have a point. Anyway, forget about that, close your eyes and focus."

"Alright, alright," I relented, closing my eyes and searching my memories.

Love. Love love love love. What a concept.

My first thought was of Harry, my best friend, my boyfriend, the first person I would choose to have by my side come fire or water or the end of the world. Who else would it be?

My second thought was of the Weasleys, and Hermione, and Henry, and Archie, and all of my other friends who had always gone out of their way to make sure I knew I had both a path in front of me and someone watching my back at all times.

My third thought was of Cedric, the brother I had loved and lost.

My fourth thought was of Claire, the sister I had loved and lost.

My fifth thought was of the adults who had loved me too, from Mom and Dad to Professor McGonagall and Remus and everyone in between.

I thought of Abby Everlin braiding my hair. I thought of Danny Everlin tackling Fenrir Greyback off of me. I thought of Minerva McGonagall always knowing when I needed to talk and creating that space for me. I thought of Remus Lupin providing support and guidance for me even in my moments of distress that must have reminded him so painfully of his own experiences. I thought of Poppy Pomfrey patching me up after every full moon and Quidditch match without fail. I thought of Alastor Moody always doing everything in his power to keep me safe. I thought of Molly and Arthur Weasley opening their home and their family to me and welcoming me with open arms. I thought of their love for me, basked in it, and searched deeper.

I thought of Claire. I thought of teddy bears and lightsabers, sunny skies and sandy beaches. I thought of my Irish twin, my best friend from another life. I thought of her love for me, basked in it, and searched deeper.

I thought of Cedric. I thought of Quidditch and Chocolate Frog cards, starry skies and dense woods. I thought of my brother in everything except blood, my best friend from yet another life. I thought of his love for me, basked in it, and searched deeper.

I thought of George following me anywhere I went. I thought of Fred blazing a trail for me to follow. I thought of Ginny pushing me to be the best version of myself possible. I thought of Ron making sure I always knew I was never alone. I thought of Hermione seeking to understand me at every opportunity no matter how difficult. I thought of Henry never letting his love for Cedric stop him from loving me just as fully as we both loved him. I thought of Archie forcing me to contemplate just how loved I was even in the moments it felt like staring into the sun. I thought of everyone else who had loved me too, from my roommates to my teammates to my classmates to even just my American mates. I thought of their love for me, basked in it, and searched deeper.

I thought of Harry. Oh, Harry. I thought of late nights in the common room together, in front of the fire, in my favorite window seat, sitting at a table with homework stretching between us. I thought of early mornings after the full moon and jumpers upon jumpers and the sound of his voice, always softer so it didn't hurt my ears still ringing from the sound of my own screams. I thought of our identical Quidditch Captain badges and the Quidditch Pitch, the stands and the grass and the sky, and of long conversations in the stands and wordless communication happening on broomstick. I thought of the diaries. I thought of our hill. I thought of the Room of Requirement.

I thought of the Department of Mysteries.

I thought of Harry, writhing on the ground.

I thought of the desperation to save him, I thought of my hand shooting out for his, I thought of holding on tight to him.

I thought of him holding on tight to me.

I thought of us. I thought of our shared burden.

I thought of best friends on the floor of the Ministry of Magic, hand in hand, Voldemort passing back and forth between the two, unspeakable pain passing back and forth between the two, neither willing to let go.

Yeah. That was it. That was love.

"I've got it," I said, opening my eyes.

Archie grinned. "Alright."

We both looked at the ring as he slowly removed his hands. My half was the most colorful I'd ever seen it.

"I WAS RIGHT!" he crowed.

"I get it now," I replied, nodding.

I studied my half of the ring closely, trying to parse out every color.

Red. If red wasn't love, maybe it was something akin to affection. Passion. Adoration. Whatever it was, Harry brought it out in me, and it was there, but it was far from the only color present.

Purple. I was terrified for Harry.

Orange. I was proud of my ability to weather the storm, my hand in his.

Blue. I was sad about his situation, about the fact that those situations had become somewhat normal for him.

White. I was determined to hold on tight, save him.

Scarlet. I was angry at the world for putting Harry through hell once again.

Violet blue. I was amazed by his ability to hold onto me too.

There was even a little bit of yellow. Even buried under all of that turmoil, there was joy too. I was with Harry in that moment. We were together. For better or for worse, we were facing fate together, hand in hand, even then, even there.

As if reading my mind, Archie hummed and stared at the ring for himself. "I was expecting more yellow, since I'm guessing that's happiness, but, well, I was still right."

"Well, considering I was thinking about being possessed by Voldemort — "

"You never cease to amaze," Archie interrupted, shaking his head. "Merlin, I can't believe you were thinking of that of all things. Alright, enough of that, let's keep going. I was right."

I grinned. "Yeah, yeah, you were right."

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In the week that followed, not much changed. Since apparating and the Floo network were compromised, I didn't see much of anyone other than the twins. Henry and Archie stopped by a couple of days right before the shop closed to offer updates on what the rest of the Order had been doing. One day, Henry arrived alone, more enraged than I'd ever seen him, reporting that Cormack McLeod had fired Alasdair because he somehow found out that Alasdair had played a round of golf with a group of Muggles over the weekend. The following day, Archie arrived alone early that morning with a massive stack of newspapers saying they were from Hermione for me to read, since our shared Daily Prophet subscription was in her name. The shop was lifeless that day, so I retreated to the back room and slowly made my way through the summer's newspapers chronologically, reading everything Hermione had flagged for me.

There was an article written by Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, in defense of Muggle-borns. Then, in the very next paper, there was a small notice saying she had resigned. The twins confirmed my suspicions that there was no way she had actually resigned and that the Order feared something far more sinister had happened to her. There were articles about the various new resignations and appointments in the Ministry, and I read the name Dolores Umbridge far too many times for comfort. Notably, there was nothing at all about Voldemort, but that was far from surprising.

The most interesting articles were about Dumbledore. The first one I read was by an Elphias Doge, who appeared to be a close friend of Dumbledore's.

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED

I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while I was no longer contagious, my pockmarked visage and greenish hue did not encourage many to approach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, his father, Percival, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack upon three young Muggles.

Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who was to die in Azkaban) had committed this crime; on the contrary, when I plucked up courage to ask him, he assured me that he knew his father to be guilty. Beyond that, Dumbledore refused to speak of the sad business, though many attempted to make him do so. Some, indeed, were disposed to praise his father's action and assumed that Albus too was a Muggle-hater. They could not have been more mistaken: As anybody who knew Albus would attest, he never revealed the remotest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed, his determined support for Muggle rights gained him many enemies in subsequent years.

In a matter of months, however, Albus's own fame had begun to eclipse that of his father. By the end of his first year he would never again be known as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less than the most brilliant student ever seen at the school. Those of us who were privileged to be his friends benefited from his example, not to mention his help and encouragement, with which he was always generous. He confessed to me in later life that he knew even then that his greatest pleasure lay in teaching.

He not only won every prize of note that the school offered, he was soon in regular correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day, including Nicolas Flamel, the celebrated alchemist; Bathilda Bagshot, the noted historian; and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of his papers found their way into learned publications such as Transfiguration Today, Challenges in Charming, and The Practical Potioneer. Dumbledore's future career seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question that remained was when he would become Minister of Magic. Though it was often predicted in later years that he was on the point of taking the job, however, he never had Ministerial ambitions.

Three years after we had started at Hogwarts, Albus's brother, Aberforth, arrived at school. They were not alike; Aberforth was never bookish and, unlike Albus, preferred to settle arguments by dueling rather than through reasoned discussion. However, it is quite wrong to suggest, as some have, that the brothers were not friends. They rubbed along as comfortably as two such different boys could do. In fairness to Aberforth, it must be admitted that living in Albus's shadow cannot have been an altogether comfortable experience. Being continually outshone was an occupational hazard of being his friend and cannot have been any more pleasurable as a brother.

When Albus and I left Hogwarts we intended to take the then-traditional tour of the world together, visiting and observing foreign wizards, before pursuing our separate careers. However, tragedy intervened. On the very eve of our trip, Albus's mother, Kendra, died, leaving Albus the head, and sole breadwinner, of the family. I postponed my departure long enough to pay my respects at Kendra's funeral, then left for what was now to be a solitary journey. With a younger brother and sister to care for, and little gold left to them, there could no longer be any question of Albus accompanying me.

That was the period of our lives when we had least contact. I wrote to Albus, describing, perhaps insensitively, the wonders of my journey, from narrow escapes from chimaeras in Greece to the experiments of the Egyptian alchemists. His letters told me little of his day-to-day life, which I guessed to be frustratingly dull for such a brilliant wizard. Immersed in my own experiences, it was with horror that I heard, toward the end of my year's travels, that yet another tragedy had struck the Dumbledores: the death of his sister, Ariana.

Though Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, the blow, coming so soon after the loss of their mother, had a profound effect on both of her brothers. All those closest to Albus — and I count myself one of that lucky number — agree that Ariana's death, and Albus's feeling of personal responsibility for it (though, of course, he was guiltless), left their mark upon him forevermore.

I returned home to find a young man who had experienced a much older person's suffering. Albus was more reserved than before, and much less lighthearted. To add to his misery, the loss of Ariana had led, not to a renewed closeness between Albus and Aberforth, but to an estrangement. (In time this would lift — in later years they reestablished, if not a close relationship, then certainly a cordial one.) However, he rarely spoke of his parents or of Ariana from then on, and his friends learned not to mention them.

Other quills will describe the triumphs of the following years. Dumbledore's innumerable contributions to the store of wizarding knowledge, including his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, will benefit generations to come, as will the wisdom he displayed in the many judgments he made while Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no wizarding duel ever matched that between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945. Those who witnessed it have written of the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two extraordinary wizards do battle. Dumbledore's triumph, and its consequences for the wizarding world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Albus Dumbledore was never proud or vain; he could find something to value in anyone, however apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that his early losses endowed him with great humanity and sympathy. I shall miss his friendship more than I can say, but my loss is as nothing compared to the wizarding world's. That he was the most inspiring and the best loved of all Hogwarts headmasters cannot be in question. He died as he lived: working always for the greater good and, to his last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy with dragon pox as he was on the day that I met him.

There was nothing else about Dumbledore in the next several papers I read, until I reached that day's. There, on the bottom half of the front page, was an article featuring none other than Rita Skeeter.

DUMBLEDORE — THE TRUTH AT LAST?

Coming next week, the shocking story of the flawed genius considered by many to be the greatest wizard of his generation. Stripping away the popular image of serene, silver-bearded wisdom, Rita Skeeter reveals the disturbed childhood, the lawless youth, the lifelong feuds, and the guilty secrets that Dumbledore carried to his grave. WHY was the man tipped to be Minister of Magic content to remain a mere headmaster? WHAT was the real purpose of the secret organization known as the Order of the Phoenix? HOW did Dumbledore really meet his end?

The answers to these and many more questions are explored in the explosive new biography, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by Rita Skeeter, exclusively interviewed by Betty Braithwaite, page 13, inside.

In person, Rita Skeeter is much warmer and softer than her famously ferocious quill-portraits might suggest. Greeting me in the hallway of her cozy home, she leads me straight into the kitchen for a cup of tea, a slice of pound cake and, it goes without saying, a steaming vat of freshest gossip.

"Well, of course, Dumbledore is a biographer's dream," says Skeeter. "Such a long, full life. I'm sure my book will be the first of very, very many."

Skeeter was certainly quick off the mark. Her nine-hundred-page book was completed a mere four weeks after Dumbledore's mysterious death in June. I ask her how she managed this superfast feat.

"Oh, when you've been a journalist as long as I have, working to a deadline is second nature. I knew that the wizarding world was clamoring for the full story and I wanted to be the first to meet that need."

I mention the recent, widely publicized remarks of Elphias Doge, Special Advisor to the Wizengamot and longstanding friend of Albus Dumbledore's, that "Skeeter's book contains less fact than a Chocolate Frog card."

Skeeter throws back her head and laughs.

"Darling Dodgy! I remember interviewing him a few years back about merpeople rights, bless him. Completely gaga, seemed to think we were sitting at the bottom of Lake Windermere, kept telling me to watch out for trout."

And yet Elphias Doge's accusations of inaccuracy have been echoed in many places. Does Skeeter really feel that four short weeks have been enough to gain a full picture of Dumbledore's long and extraordinary life?

"Oh, my dear," beams Skeeter, rapping me affectionately across the knuckles, "you know as well as I do how much information can be generated by a fat bag of Galleons, a refusal to hear the word 'no,' and a nice sharp Quick-Quotes Quill! People were queuing to dish the dirt on Dumbledore anyway. Not everyone thought he was so wonderful, you know — he trod on an awful lot of important toes. But old Dodgy Doge can get off his high hippogriff, because I've had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for, one who has never spoken in public before and who was close to Dumbledore during the most turbulent and disturbing phase of his youth."

The advance publicity for Skeeter's biography has certainly suggested that there will be shocks in store for those who believe Dumbledore to have led a blameless life. What were the biggest surprises she uncovered, I ask?

"Now, come off it, Betty, I'm not giving away all the highlights before anybody's bought the book!" laughs Skeeter. "But I can promise that anybody who still thinks Dumbledore was pure as his beard is in for a rude awakening! Let's just say that nobody hearing him rage against You-Know-Who would have dreamed that he dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth! And for a wizard who spent his later years pleading for tolerance, he wasn't exactly broad-minded when he was younger! Yes, Albus Dumbledore had an extremely murky past, not to mention that very fishy family, which he worked so hard to keep hushed up."

I ask whether Skeeter is referring to Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, whose conviction by the Wizengamot for misuse of magic caused a minor scandal fifteen years ago.

"Oh, Aberforth is just the tip of the dung heap," laughs Skeeter. "No, no, I'm talking about much worse than a brother with a fondness for fiddling about with goats, worse even than the Muggle-maiming father — Dumbledore couldn't keep either of them quiet anyway, they were both charged by the Wizengamot. No, it's the mother and the sister that intrigued me, and a little digging uncovered a positive nest of nastiness — but, as I say, you'll have to wait for chapters nine to twelve for full details. All I can say now is, it's no wonder Dumbledore never talked about how his nose got broken."

Family skeletons notwithstanding, does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to Dumbledore's many magical discoveries?

"He had brains," she concedes, "although many now question whether he could really take full credit for all of his supposed achievements. As I reveal in chapter sixteen, Ivor Dillonsby claims he had already discovered eight uses of dragon's blood when Dumbledore 'borrowed' his papers."

But the importance of some of Dumbledore's achievements cannot, I venture, be denied. What of his famous defeat of Grindelwald?

"Oh, now, I'm glad you mentioned Grindelwald," says Skeeter with a tantalizing smile. "I'm afraid those who go dewy-eyed over Dumbledore's spectacular victory must brace themselves for a bombshell — or perhaps a Dungbomb. Very dirty business indeed. All I'll say is, don't be so sure that there really was the spectacular duel of legend. After they've read my book, people may be forced to conclude that Grindelwald simply conjured a white handkerchief from the end of his wand and came quietly!"

Skeeter refuses to give any more away on this intriguing subject, so we turn instead to the relationship that will undoubtedly fascinate her readers more than any other.

"Oh yes," says Skeeter, nodding briskly, "I devote an entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore relationship. It's been called unhealthy, even sinister. Again, your readers will have to buy my book for the whole story, but there is no question that Dumbledore took an unnatural interest in Potter from the word go. Whether that was really in the boy's best interests — well, we'll see. It's certainly an open secret that Potter has had a most troubled adolescence."

I ask whether Skeeter is still in touch with Harry Potter, whom she so famously interviewed last year: a breakthrough piece in which Potter spoke exclusively of his conviction that You-Know-Who had returned.

"Oh, yes, we've developed a close bond," says Skeeter. "Poor Potter has few real friends, and we met at one of the most testing moments of his life — the Triwizard Tournament. I am probably one of the only people alive who can say that they know the real Harry Potter."

Which leads us neatly to the many rumors still circulating about Dumbledore's final hours. Does Skeeter believe that Potter was there when Dumbledore died?

"Well, I don't want to say too much — it's all in the book — but eyewitnesses inside Hogwarts castle saw Potter running away from the scene moments after Dumbledore fell, jumped, or was pushed. Potter later gave evidence against Severus Snape, a man against whom he has a notorious grudge. Is everything as it seems? That is for the wizarding community to decide — once they've read my book."

On that intriguing note, I take my leave. There can be no doubt that Skeeter has quilled an instant bestseller. Dumbledore's legions of admirers, meanwhile, may well be trembling at what is soon to emerge about their hero.

I sighed and folded the paper back up. I couldn't afford to wonder about Dumbledore. I trusted that, at the very least, he wanted Voldemort defeated and he'd told us how to do that. Once we'd done that, well, maybe then I could wonder if Dumbledore was really up to snuff. In the meantime, though, I had a world to save. Dumbledore was dead and he would remain that way. His secrets could wait.

The week passed in a daze of sleepless Mario Kart Daydream Charm nights and anxious Horcrux hunt preparation days, one bleeding into the other with the rising and setting of the sun. The twins were fueled by coffee, but with the approaching full moon, I needed less and less of it. By the time Saturday night's family dinner and subsequent Order meeting was upon us, I hadn't slept in days and I had the dark circles under my eyes to show for it.

We would have waited until Sunday night, but that was the full moon. Everyone finally knew what that meant for me, and no one yet knew what that meant for Bill. So Saturday night it was.

We were meeting in the Burrow because, as Mr. Weasley had explained at the last family dinner, Dumbledore's death and Snape's betrayal had greatly weakened the defenses of Grimmauld Place, the Fidelius Charm in particular. Alastor had gone back to set up curses that would target Snape if he were ever to show his face there again, but meeting there wasn't a terribly safe idea even if he didn't.

Once we arrived, Fred, George, Remus, and Alastor disappeared upstairs to ward Bill's room like my transformation room had been warded, just as a precaution, leaving me alone downstairs with everyone else. After only a couple of minutes, I couldn't breathe, so Ron abandoned his chess game with Ginny, leaving Hermione to play in his place, and went outside with me to the orchard.

"So when do you want to tell everyone?" Ron asked. "About, well, what we're doing? Hermione told me you were planning on telling Fred and George once she left last week."

I nodded. "Yeah, they know. Hermione's arrival somewhat forced my hand. Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry, I was hoping you'd be the one to tell the twins. Now we just have to tell, well, Mum and Dad, at the very least."

"I reckon the whole Order should know," I said with a sigh. "Not so they can help us, but just so they know not to waste time and resources looking for us in the event that we have to disappear suddenly rather than depart officially."

"Right," Ron said. "So during the meeting tonight?"

"I think so, yes. I mean, surely at some point tonight we'll have to talk about how Harry will be protected once we get him back from the Dursleys. I think that would be the best time to say, 'Hey, don't worry about it, Harry's actually going to be in way more danger than you think! But don't worry, we're going with him! You're not allowed to know what we're doing or why, though!'"

Ron sighed heavily. "Yeah. That should go over well."

"Like a lead balloon," I agreed.

"Like... what?"

"It's a Muggle saying, according to Archie. Lead is apparently quite heavy."

"Noted." Ron sighed. "Well, now that that's decided, do you want to head inside?"

"Not particularly, but I suppose I should," I replied.

"A silencing spell ought to do the trick, yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

By the time we got back inside, Archie and Henry had arrived, so I said hello to both boys before retreating to a corner of the room with Hermione's copy of Confronting the Faceless and erecting a silencing spell around myself. I was so absorbed in the DADA book that I didn't notice Mrs. Weasley standing in front of me until her voice penetrated the silencing spell.

"Terribly sorry to bother you, Lucy dear," she said, coming to sit beside me on the floor, "but I wanted to see how you were doing, with tomorrow being what it is."

"Oh, er — " I snapped the book shut. "Sorry, I didn't hear you, I have a silencing spell — "

She interrupted me, a kind smile on her face. "That's quite alright. Ginny explained to me. I understand. Raising seven children, there were many days I wished I could hide behind a silencing spell myself."

"Right," I replied, smiling back a bit. "Yes, I'm alright. How's Bill?"

"He says he's alright. He seems a bit hungrier and a bit more restless than usual, but Remus assured me that he would be much hungrier and much more restless if he was a true werewolf, so I suppose that's a good sign that he will not turn tomorrow." She appeared to wrestle with herself for a moment before speaking again. "But if he does... does it hurt terribly?"

"Yes," I said, as simply and delicately as possible. There was no point in lying.

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" I asked.

"I'm sorry that tomorrow's pain is a guarantee for you," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Are you feeling quite alright? You're very flushed."

I tried to lean subtly away from her hand reaching for my forehead, but she made contact and her eyes widened.

"Lucy, dear, you're burning!" she said, her distress evident.

I nodded. "It's alright. It happens." I held out my arm. "Cedric charmed this shirt for me years ago. It helps. Feel how cold it is."

Mrs. Weasley tentatively reached for it, but rather than looking comforted by it, her brow only knitted further.

"It's alright," I said again. "Really, it is."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she cradled my cheek gently and placed a kiss to the crown of my head. "Dinner should be ready shortly. You can eat until you're no longer hungry, I've made more than enough for everyone, werewolves and non-werewolves alike."

With that, Mrs. Weasley got to her feet and returned to the kitchen, leaving me stunned in her wake. I wasn't sure which was more rare for me, motherly affection or fatherly affection. After a long second, I blinked myself back to reality and stood as well, handing Hermione her book back and making my way into the kitchen, where Alastor was sitting by himself at the table.

"Ah, there you are, kid," Alastor said, his face splitting into a rare grin. "We just finished getting Bill's room all fixed up like yours. Speaking of, when I was at your old house earlier today maintaining the wards, I stumbled across these." He shoved his hand into the pocket of his large coat and fumbled around for a moment before producing a handful of white phlox flowers. "There were a whole bunch growing around your brother's grave so I plucked a couple for you. I thought you might like that."

"Thank you," I choked out, suddenly fighting tears. I reached for the flowers, almost not daring to touch the delicate petals. I wrapped my fingers around the stems and brought the flowers to my nose, breathing in the smell of a place that had once been home. I'd always loved the phlox that bloomed in the summer, the white flowers especially. "They're lovely." I swallowed hard and placed the flowers inside the bumbag that I always wore hidden between my undershirt and my overshirt those days, a little black bag filled with a couple of essentials just in case I needed to make a quick getaway and didn't have time to properly gather my belongings. "I heard you had quite a fun time at the wedding last weekend."

"I did no such thing!" he argued immediately, though the fondly reminiscent look in his eyes gave him away. "I merely took advantage of the opportunity to enjoy a social gathering devoid of children for whom I could be setting a 'bad example' by consuming a proper amount of alcohol."

I grinned. "Sorry I missed it. I heard you're quite the dancer."

"I most certainly am not!" Alastor replied. He cast a questioning glance at Mrs. Weasley, who was approaching the table with a bowl of mashed potatoes with nearly the same circumference as a Quidditch goal hoop. "Right?"

"No, I fear that was a lie one of my twins must have concocted for Lucy's amusement," she said, a little too quickly to be believed.

"Ah, yes, they do tend to do that," I said, jumping up to help her set the table as Alastor did the same. I reached for the same dish as Mrs. Weasley and lowered my voice to a whisper. "He danced, didn't he?"

"Like a mooncalf," she whispered back.

We exchanged an amused look before reaching for different dishes and continuing to set the table.

The mood during dinner was surprisingly light. No one seemed to be in any hurry to discuss matters of importance since we knew there would be an Order meeting afterwards, so we discussed, of all things, creatures. The twins were not the only ones who had never taken Care of Magical Creatures, meaning I had a lot of ground to cover. Remus and Hermione jumped in with their creature knowledge when they could, but, truthfully, I did most of the talking. My encyclopedic knowledge of creatures was unmatched, and my rambling was encouraged by everyone sitting at the table. Just when I thought I'd been talking too long and tried to shift the attention away from myself, someone would ask me if I knew anything about a different kind of creature and I would start running my mouth all over again. I was in the middle of discussing demiguises when Hagrid arrived for the Order meeting, and he enthusiastically joined the discussion. As more Order members who hadn't been able to make it to dinner entered the kitchen, I got more and more shy, and as soon as the last person arrived, I reached for my water and downed it all at once as I waited for my flushed face to return to its natural state.

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley said. "Everyone who isn't in the Order, why don't you head upstairs?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I'm staying. I'm of age, so I'm helping get Harry from Privet Drive," I replied. "I'd want to help even if I wasn't, but I am."

Alastor grunted, looking begrudgingly proud of me. "Alright, but you're sticking with me when we get Potter. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Fine by me," I said with a nod.

"We're of age too." Hermione gestured to herself and Ron. "Harry's one of our best friends. We want in, too."

"But that leaves... me," Ginny said.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Yes, Ginny, go."

"What?" she burst out indignantly. "Lucy and Hermione and Ron aren't even Order members!"

"We're of age," Ron replied defensively.

"It's not my fault I was born after you lot! Come on, I've proven myself to be just as capable — "

"No one's saying you're not capable, Gin," Bill said, "but you are fifteen and this will certainly be dangerous — "

Ginny turned to me, eyes wide and pleading. "Lucy, come on, please. You know I can do this. You know better than anyone that I can fight for myself and for others too. Defend me. Get them to let me stay. Please."

I inhaled shakily as I looked at her. I thought about it for a long second. She was right. I knew she could. She was Ginny Weasley, she could do whatever she wanted to do. But she was Ginny Weasley. She was a daughter, a sister, a friend, a girlfriend, a fire that would blaze brightest free from the burden of trying to save the world.

One look at Ron confirmed he was thinking the same. Fred, George, Bill, they were all thinking the same.

"Sorry, Gin," I said, looking down at my hands, away from her, because I couldn't bring myself to see just how much I was hurting her. "They're right. You're not of age."

I heard her start to protest, but Mrs. Weasley interrupted her and Ginny knew better than to try to argue again. She slammed the door as she left, and guilt slammed through me.

I assured myself it was for her own good and looked up, surveying the table.

"So what's the plan for rescuing Harry and how can I help?" I asked.

The plan, as it turned out, was horribly complicated. There would not just be one Harry, but many; Alastor had been brewing an impressively large batch of polyjuice potion. Every Harry, except Harry of course, would take polyjuice potion and wear the same clothes to create the illusion of seven Harry Potters, only one of which would be the real one. He said that for every Harry, there would be an escort. Most people would be traveling on broomsticks and thestrals (Hagrid would be on Sirius's flying motorbike) to their assigned Portkey at various safe locations, and all Portkeys would lead to the Burrow. Once the basic plan was outlined, Alastor looked around the table, waiting for volunteers for each of the various roles.

"As much as I'd love to play dress-up," Archie said, "I think my talents would best be used on the ground. I could talk to the Riveras about using their house as the location of one of the Portkeys. It would be a good way to involve them in something Order-related without putting them in direct danger."

"The Portkeys could still become compromised," Alastor said. "It would be a good idea to have a couple of you making sure no unwanted visitors make an appearance here. Whoever doesn't end up a Harry or a Harry protector can guard choice Portkeys."

"My parents certainly wouldn't mind," Tonks piped up. "They just hosted the wedding, and since that went off without a hitch — pun intended, we did get hitched — anyway, my parents wouldn't mind. Maybe we should send the real Harry there, since it's proven itself to be a very safe location. My parents' wards are fantastic."

"Speaking of the real Harry, he can ride with me," Hagrid said. He looked a little misty-eyed. "I brought him there in that bike, it seems only right that I take him from there in that same bike."

Alastor leaned back in his chair. "Alright, everyone who wants to be a fake Harry, raise your hands."

Hands, including my own, shot up around the table. The twins looked particularly excited about it, and I knew that they were just itching to find out what polyjuice potion was like before they brewed it up for their taxi-driving plans.

"Alright, and everyone who wants to be a fake Harry protector?"

Nearly every other hand shot up. Mundungus never raised his hand, neither did Mrs. Weasley.

"I ought to stay here with Ginny and make sure the Burrow remains secure," Mrs. Weasley said. She cast an apprehensive look at the family clock. "I'll make sure everyone arrives and has a warm meal to eat and a safe place to land."

"I'll stay here with you!" Mundungus volunteered.

"Oh, no you don't," Alastor grumbled. "No, Dung, you're with me. Lucy, you're with me too."

"In that case, Mundungus can be the fake Harry," I said. "Chances are we'd draw attention away from the real Harry, if someone sees me on a broom with 'Harry' and Mad-Eye Moody. I reckon that would be rather convincing."

"So would riding with Kingsley, on a thestral," Alastor said. "He's off guarding the Minister as we speak, that's why he couldn't make it."

"I'll go with Kingsley," Hermione volunteered.

I resisted the urge to grin. Her volunteering was brave, certainly, but only partially. I knew she was more afraid of broomsticks than just about anything else in the world; she surely heard the word "thestral" and knew she would jump at the opportunity no matter who was riding with her.

"I can ride another thestral with Fleur," Bill said, glancing at her with fond amusement. "Assuming you don't mind being the fake Harry?"

"Anything to not ride a broom," she replied with a shudder.

In time, the rest of groupings were decided. Ron would fly with Tonks as her fake Harry, George would ride with Remus as his fake Harry, and Fred would ride with Mr. Weasley as his fake Harry. Henry and Archie would remain on the ground, protecting the most important Portkeys, especially those at the houses of Order members who would be otherwise occupied that night. A couple other Order members, who weren't at the meeting, would be tasked with getting the Dursleys out of their house and to a safe location where they'd be protected for a time.

"Well, I think that concludes business," Alastor said, looking around the room. "Unless anyone else has anything?"

Ron and Hermione both turned to look at me.

I cleared my throat. "I do, actually."

Then, everyone else turned to look at me. I couldn't bring myself to look at anyone other than Hermione for a long second, whose steady gaze bolstered me with the courage I needed to just spit it out.

"Before Dumbledore died, he left Harry with a task to complete," I said, "and I'm not letting him set out to complete it alone, and neither are Ron and Hermione. Please don't try to follow us, help us, dissuade us, or otherwise interfere with what we need to do. We cannot and will not offer details about where we're going or what we're doing so please don't ask. And I know this goes without saying, really, but please do not tell anyone else about this who is not in this room. We trust all of you. No one else needs to know." I bit my lip for a second before proceeding. "We trust Ginny, but it's best if she doesn't know anything. She's going to be at Hogwarts. Anyone who knows us will know she's there. The less she knows, the safer she'll be."

The room was silent for a second, but only for a second.

Fred cleared his throat. "Well, if Ron's not going to be at school, they're going to look for him here. George and I have been thinking, and if someone comes sniffing around here for Ron, we reckon we could put enough spells on the ghoul in the attic to make it a passable imitation of Ron with dragon pox."

"We were hoping we could sleep over tonight and take care of it," George said, glancing at me. "That alright with you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, of course. Well, that's all I had to add." I glanced at Hermione. "I think you accidentally borrowed my copy of our Ancient Runes textbook. Mind if I borrow it back?"

Hermione, blessedly, caught on immediately. "You know, I think I left it in Ron's room."

"I'll help you look," he said, and the three of us got to our feet as one and hurried from the room without leaving room for protest.

"I need to talk to you," I said in a low voice to Ron and Hermione as soon as we were out of earshot.

"I figured," Hermione replied. "Is Ginny out of the way?"

I nodded. "I heard Ginny storm off to her room. We'll have a couple minutes to ourselves at least before she figures out the meeting is over and I'm sleeping over."

The three of us silently climbed the stairs to Ron's room and closed the door, locking it thoroughly.

"Alright, Lucy, what's on your mind?" Ron asked.

I cast a silencing spell and steeled myself. "Neither of you are going to want to have this conversation, but we're going to have it anyway and you're going to agree with me."

"Er — if you say so," Hermione said slowly, looking apprehensive. "What is it? You're scaring me."

"If something goes wrong when we're hunting for Horcruxes and one of us has to take the fall, it has to be me," I said.

Ron and Hermione, predictably, both made loud sounds of protest.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Ron shook his head. "It should be me. Merlin knows I'm the least important of the four of us — "

"Shut up," Hermione snapped, whirling on Ron.

"No, really, it's true," Ron insisted. "My magic is weakest, I'm the worst student, you two and Harry would be perfectly capable of doing all this on your own — "

"You have a family, Ron," Hermione hissed. Tears rose to her eyes. "If I die, my parents will be none the wiser. I don't have friends outside of the people in this house, plus Harry. Lucy has more powerful magic than I do, and Harry loves you more than he loves me, Ron. The three of you could carry on without me perfectly fine — "

"We wouldn't be perfectly fine, I wouldn't be perfectly fine!" Ron shouted. "You're the best and brightest of us, we'd be lost without you!"

"Just stop," I interrupted quietly. "You've both done a great job outlining reasons the two of you are essential, so now you're going to listen to me while I explain why I'm not."

They turned to face me as one, talking over each other as they protested.

"Harry needs you!" Ron said loudly.

"You can't just leave us, let alone leave him!" Hermione agreed even more loudly.

I shook my head and sighed. "Look, argue with me all you want once I've explained, but please at least let me explain."

Hermione and Ron both looked mutinous, but their mouths snapped shut.

"I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I'm not afraid." I inhaled deeply. "I'm the most powerful magically, so there's not even a guarantee that I'd die, if something were to happen and I were to... separate myself to ensure your survival. Chances are, I'd fight my way out and come right back to you. I've done it before, I did it when I was 15, when I was only a fraction as powerful as I am now, and I could do it again. But even if I do, somehow, die... look, I'm a werewolf. Maybe it would be for the better if I die a hero before I get the chance to see what the world makes of me if my secret ever gets out."

"Lucy, everyone who has ever known your secret has loved you regardless — " Hermione argued, but I just kept talking.

"If I die a hero, maybe werewolves would be treated better overall. If I die a hero, I need you to spread the word and keep fighting for werewolves everywhere. Maybe it would mean more coming from you than it would mean coming from me. Maybe — " I swallowed hard. "Maybe my death would mean more than my life would."

"That's bullshit," Ron said bluntly. "We love you. We care about you. Your life means something to us even though it apparently doesn't mean much to you."

"It does mean something to me," I protested. "It means a great deal more to me now than it did two summers ago. It's just..." I sighed. "I'm not saying that I'm going to throw myself in the path of danger for no reason. I'm saying that if we find ourselves in a situation where I can help ensure your survival by potentially jeopardizing my own, I'm going to do that, and you're going to let me."

"No, we're not going to let you," Hermione snapped, eyes blazing. "If they want me, the Muggle-born, you're going to let them take me."

"No we bloody well are not!" Ron shouted.

"Ron's right, we're not," I said. "If they want anyone, they're going to take me. You are going to help me make sure that they take me."

"No, we're not!" Hermione said, her voice growing increasingly shrill and desperate.

"Even if we hypothetically did this, which we will not," Ron cut in, "Harry would murder us if we let anything happen to you."

"Then show him the memory of this conversation until he understands it was what I wanted." I sighed. "Say we're, I don't know, accosted on the street somewhere. You two are going to take Harry and disapparate while I hold the Death Eaters off. I'm not saying you have to watch Death Eaters kill me or anything like that — I'm saying that if we are ever in a situation where your chances of escaping are bettered by me saying behind, you will leave me behind. Do you understand now?"

Hermione exhaled sharply. "I'm beginning to understand, but I hate it more with every second. Please stop talking."

"Not until you agree," I pushed. "Look, if, somehow, the Death Eaters grabbed onto you, Hermione, and you told us to take Harry and go, what would you want us to do?"

"I'd want you to go," she muttered. "I'd want you to save Harry and yourselves first, worry about me later."

I turned to Ron. "If they grabbed you, what would you want us to do?"

"Get out," he said after a second. "Save yourselves. Save Harry. Come back for me later if you could, but I'd understand if you couldn't."

"Great, glad we're all agreed," I said. "If somehow one of you gets captured and the rest of us are free, I'll disapparate with Harry myself if I must. However, in any other circumstance, I want you two to grab Harry and go, leave me, and don't come back for me. Let me get out on my own. I've done it before and I've done it again and chances are they'd kill me anyway. They have more reason to kill me than to kill either of you."

"Lucy — " Hermione started to protest, but I shook my head and held a hand up.

"Please don't argue. This is what I want. I'm not going to just let anyone kill me, but..." I gnawed on my lower lip. "I miss Cedric. I miss Tuck. I miss Sirius. Maybe they're waiting for me."

"They can wait," Ron whispered. "We'd miss you. Please, Lucy, you can't honestly expect us to do this."

"I do. I'm sorry, I know what I'm asking, I know it's not ideal — "

"Not ideal?" Hermione repeated incredulously. "Lucy, this is insane."

"It's not and you know it, Hermione, please, I know you understand more than you're letting on," I begged. "Please, I know to your analytical brain this makes logical sense even if you, as my friend, don't like it."

Hermione looked at me desperately. "Lucy, I hate it."

"I hate it too," I whispered, "but that doesn't change the fact that this would be what's best for everyone, if absolutely everything goes wrong and someone has to make a sacrifice."

"I hate that you're right," Hermione said, eyes swelling with tears as she lunged forward to hug me, crying quietly into my shoulder.

As I stared at Ron, I watched his defenses crumble bit by bit. I had hoped he would follow Hermione's lead, and it looked like he was.

"I hate this too," Ron mumbled. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the floor.

The room was silent except for the sound of Hermione's sobs. I just held her through it all, wishing I could cry myself but knowing I shouldn't. In time, her tears dried, and she reluctantly let me go.

"If either of you breathes a word of this to Harry — " I said threateningly.

"We won't," Hermione replied. She scrubbed at her face and got to her feet. "We ought to head down to Ginny's room before she explodes."

"Good luck with that," Ron muttered, waving at us as we left.

We bumped into Fred and George on the stairway.

"Everything alright?" George asked, noting Hermione's wet eyes.

I nodded. "Yeah. You two alright?"

"Yeah. You did well," Fred commented. "They were down there gossiping about you this whole time, they only just stopped. We're off to sort the ghoul. You two had better hide in Ginny's room and at least pretend to go to sleep before they try to interrogate you."

"Thanks for the heads up," I said. "Good night, boys, see you in the morning."

With that, Hermione and I rushed into Ginny's room and closed the door.

"Well there you are," she snarled, red hair whipping behind her as she spun on her heel to face us. She glared at me. "What the bloody hell was that about?"

"I'm sorry, I'll tell you everything," I replied as soothingly as I could. "By the way, I'm spending the night here. Is it okay if I sleep in here with you?"

"You better," she snapped.

"Your mum might not appreciate it if I tell you everything, though, so maybe we should go to bed first before she suspects that I'm up here telling you Order secrets," I suggested.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, let's."

We hurried through our night routines, keeping an ear out for Mrs. Weasley, and managed to go to bed and turn out the lights before she ventured upstairs. I whispered everything to Ginny, everything except the end of the meeting when I told the rest of the Order about what we were going to do once we had Harry back. She was, predictably, angry that she was being left out, but when I lied and told her there was only enough polyjuice for seven Harrys and that she could keep an eye on the Burrow, she was somewhat satisfied.

"If anyone appears here who's not supposed to, you might get to see some action," I said. "My Portkey is going to be at Alastor's house, protected by wards weak enough for Mundungus Fletcher to penetrate. If someone cleverer than him manages to get through..."

"Great," she muttered. "Well, do you plan on sleeping tonight? I know the full moon is tomorrow."

"I haven't slept all week, so I suppose I ought to at least try," I admitted.

"In that case, good night, and wake me up if you can't sleep," Ginny said, her tone softening.

"If I'm still awake when everyone else goes to bed, we can go fly around outside or something," I suggested, half-smiling. "Only if you'd like that, though."

"You know the answer to that." She settled on her bed with a sleepy exhale halfway between a sigh and a yawn. "Don't go running off without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I lied.

Across the room, Hermione popped up, eyes wide as she looked at Ginny, whose back was to her and whose eyes were closed.

"Did she hear?" she asked in a voice only I would be able to hear.

"No," I mouthed back at her, "no way."

Hermione was seemingly satisfied by my confidence and laid back down.

I knew Ginny. If she'd overheard, we'd know. She was just being dramatic, telling me not to go outside and fly around without her. She didn't know what I was planning to do. She had no idea.

Whether that was for better or for worse, I would find out.

Until then, it was almost time to run.

🩵💛❤💜🩷

The next morning, I slipped away with Fred and George before anyone else was awake except for Ginny, who stirred when I started to get out of bed and latched onto me, begging me not to leave and to stay and transform with her in the forest there. I told her to go back to sleep and promised I'd be safe with the twins, then made my way downstairs, where Fred and George were already waiting.

We'd found out that apparating was only being tracked for certain "suspicious" places, like the Burrow and WWW and the Dursleys' house, for instance, rather than being tracked for certain people, so as soon as we'd stepped outside the Burrow's wards, we apparated together to a spot closer to the joke shop than we'd tried in a while. When no one jumped out of the shadows to attack or arrest us, we proceeded to the shop and locked ourselves down for the day. I was too feverish and jittery and overwhelmed for the intensity of an activity like Mario Kart, so instead we turned the bed in the den back into a sofa and turned out the lights. I sprawled on the carpet and closed my eyes and listened to music in the dark while Fred and George muttered back and forth over the previous summer's Daydream Charm blueprints, trying to figure out which elements of the originals would be most transferable to the much-more-interactive Mario Kart Daydream Charm. I offered input from time to time, but for the most part, I just let the soft music from my nearby Walkman lull me into a state of awareness somewhere between asleep and awake, moving only to eat the food the twins offered me periodically. When the time came to head to the transformation room, everything was hazy.

I groaned as I got to my feet, and Fred and George both rushed over to steady me, a hand on my arm, a hand on my shoulder, a hand holding mine, a hand on my back.

"I'm okay," I whispered. "Sorry."

"Don't lie, and don't apologize," George said softly.

Fred nodded. "We've got you. Come on, let's go."

I shook free of their hands and made my way up the stairs and into the room, curling up into a ball on the floor as everything within me burned and trembled.

What would I do on the next full moon?

Where would I be?

I didn't know. I had no way of knowing.

The doggy door flapped once, twice behind me. I closed my eyes and curled up tighter, but a cold nose pushed up against my cheek. Without opening my eyes, I uncurled just enough to pet the head of the Rottweiler beside me.

"I'm okay," I whispered again. "I'm going to be okay."

The hyena behind me made a strangled sound, and I laughed.

"You sound ridiculous, you know," I said.

The Rottweiler nodded his agreement, making me laugh harder. The hyena merely made a louder sound of protest before beginning to laugh too. George, bless him, tried to laugh, but it merely sounded like he was choking on something.

For the first time I could ever remember, I was laughing when the transformation began. My laughter was abruptly cut off by a scream, but, well, the laughter had existed just the same. That was a miracle in and of itself.

When I was next aware of myself, I was screaming again. I was drenched in sweat, more so than usual.

As soon as I stopped screaming, Fred and George popped into view on either side of me.

"Feeling better, Cub?" Fred panted.

I closed my eyes and searched the events of the night. We'd been roughhousing all night long.

"Yeah," I replied, equally breathless. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, that was fun," George said.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. "I think I'm going to go shower now."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you," Fred teased.

"Oh, piss off and help me up," I muttered, holding out my hands.

They hauled me up with ease, and when I stumbled, they both reached out to catch me.

"I'm okay," I said, more instinct than anything.

"We know," Fred replied.

George's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Let us be there for you anyway."

I nodded and hurried off before they could see the tears that had suddenly filled my eyes. Leaving those boys would hurt more than just about anything I'd ever done. But there was nothing I could do. I was as ready to run as I would ever be.