A Lacking of Foresight -- By Keelywolfe

A Lacking of Foresight

Chapter 1

In which papers are graded; old friends are met once, twice; and something that ended long ago has begun once again.

'Grindylows are a type of water creature that lives in the water. They stay in groups to hunt and generally manage to capture large prey, such as humans, that the group then devours.'

"Ugh," Harry muttered, marking off points on the side as he continued to read the essay. Mr. Walkim had apparently been paying at least partial attention in class but he seemed more enthusiastic about discussing the devouring of human flesh than the grindylows. Still, he couldn't expect an essay that had been assigned over the winter holiday to be a great example of literature.

Flashing a quick glance at the clock, he forced his attention back on the scroll, wincing as the carnage continued. The grindylow had apparently gotten a lot more bloodthirsty since he'd taught class that day, at least in the mind of one student.

Neatly writing a grade on the top of the scroll, Harry exhaled wearily as he reached for the last essay. Three scrolls long when he had only asked for one. It reminded him distinctly of one of his own classmates when he had been here and while he was usually pleased by his student's enthusiasm, today he just wanted to finish up and go to dinner. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked tiredly and tried to concentrate on grindylows.

A quiet knock on the door saved him from his work and he sighed in relief. As long as they didn't want to talk about grindylows, he could handle it. When he'd agreed to come to Hogwarts as a teacher, Harry had had no idea how tedious it could sometimes be. Still, the moments when one of his students actually learned something more than made up for it and he smiled to think of it.

"Come in," he called absently, his eyes still on the paper. Just a little more and he'd be finished. The door opened and Professor Dumbledore stood there, just inside the room.

"Albus," Harry greeted him, warmly. Dumbledore had been Headmaster of back when Harry had been a student and he was an old friend. It was because of him that Harry was here teaching. "What can I do for you? I'm almost done for the day."

"Enjoying your classes?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

Harry chuckled. "Mostly. Some of the students are a bit too much like I was when I was younger though." He hesitated, studying the headmaster and then said more seriously, "But that's not why you're here."

"No, I'm afraid it's not," Dumbledore agreed quietly. "Apparently, there have been some rumors of activities concerning Voldemort lately and the Minister of Magic is worried about you."

Finishing up the last scroll and setting it aside, Harry rolled his eyes. "You mean Hermione is worried about me." Ever since the Minister had made Hermione his aide, she had been using her capacity to keep very careful tabs on Harry. "She worries far too much. I've been taking care of myself since I was a child. I'm sure I can continue to do so."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, she is concerned, and she is sending an Auror out here to help protect you until they can determine if there is any truth to these rumors."

"An Auror?" he said in disbelief. "I doubt that an Auror has the time to spare to sit around here watching me teach. I..." he paused at the expression on Dumbledore's face. "They're already here, aren't they?

Another figure that had been standing back in the shadows behind Dumbledore stepped forward. Dressed all in black, from a long, duster-style coat to his heavy boots, the man was not as imposing as he might have appeared to someone who wasn't gaping at him in shock. The man shoved his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Hello, Harry. It's been a long time."

"Ron?" Harry asked, disbelieving. He hardly noticed when Dumbledore quietly shut the door and left the two of them alone. Ron shifted his feet somewhat uncomfortably and cast a glance around the office.

"Teaching Defense of the Dark Arts? Tempting fate, aren't we?"

"There's no questioning that I'm qualified to teach it," he whispered, still stunned as he looked at his old friend. Gone was the freckle-faced, slightly awkward young man of his memories. This Ron had not a freckle in sight, just the pale creamy skin that only a natural redhead could possess. His hair was long, and tied back in a neat ponytail, and Harry recalled that Ron had been growing it out the last time Harry had seen him. Now it reached nearly the middle of his back.

Ron stepped further into his office, wandering over to a bookcase on the side to study the variety of trinkets inside. Christmas gifts from his students mostly, practical jokes and such that Harry had been touched to receive. He'd kept them all, displaying them so that his students knew how much he appreciated it.

"When I left you were playing Quidditch for England," Ron said, still examining the case. "Why did you quit?"

At the reminder of Ron's leaving, Harry finally snapped out of his daze and he had to fight the almost overwhelming urge to drag Ron away from the bookcase and out of his office completely.

"Dumbledore and Hogwarts needed me, and they've always been there when I needed them," Harry said coldly. "Unlike some people."

Ron finally turned to face him at that, his eyes dark and troubled. "Harry, I..."

"Don't," he cut in, his voice low and furious, "Don't you dare apologize to me. Do you really think that you can just give me a little 'I'm sorry' and I'd welcome you back with open arms?"

"Harry, I know you're upset, but if you just let..."

"Upset!" He laughed then, gathering up the papers on his desk and haphazardly putting them away, barely paying attention to what he was doing. "Upset," he repeated, shaking his head. "You know I'm upset? You don't know anything or you'd know I am far beyond upset."

"Look, just let me explain!" Ron tried, but Harry turned away, slamming drawers before he turned back to the person he'd once called friend.

"You left, Ron. Two days after I announced my engagement, you left. Without a note, without an owl, nothing! Do you have any idea how frantic I was? How your mother was? We thought you were dead!" He was breathing heavily now, remembering the pain of the longest week of his life. Cho, his fiancée, later his wife, had tried to comfort him but at the time he had been completely inconsolable. The loss of his best friend had been too much to handle, especially combined with Mrs. Weasley's hysteria. The entire Weasley family had been in shock from Ron's disappearance in a time when such vanishings usually meant Voldemort and death.

For an entire week he'd thought Voldemort had finally managed to take something else from him and the seeming death of his friend because of him had been almost too much to bear.

"A week later you finally send a note to your mother, but did you send a letter to me? In five years time, did you ever write to me?" he asked bitterly. Ron turned and slammed his hand down on the desk.

"It was part of the job, Harry! You knew that! You knew I couldn't just send you a note from anywhere, it was too dangerous!" Ron snapped, his cheeks flushed with anger.

"In five years you couldn't find time to drop me a note, Ron?" Softly, and Harry shook his head, sinking down into his chair and rubbing his temples tiredly. "Just go. I don't want to deal with this."

"Can't do that," Ron said easily, tucking his hands back into his pockets. "The Minister of Magic himself wants me here and Dumbledore gave his permission. Afraid you're stuck with me, Harry."

He slammed the last book on his desk shut. "Fine. You're here. Stay, do whatever you have to do but keep away from me! I've done fine on my own for five years and the last thing I need is your help." Snatching up the book, Harry stormed out of his office, resisting the childish temptation to slam the door.

Ron stood there a moment longer before flopping down into the chair and propping his booted feet up on the desk.

"That went well," he said aloud to the empty office and he dropped his feet back to the floor, folding his arms on the desk and burying his head in them. "This," he mumbled, the words muffled into his sleeves, "is going to be a lot harder than I thought."

Chapter 2

In which aurors learn they do have certain talents; meals are eaten with once-friends and enemies; and some people never learn when to keep their minds shut.

Wandering down the stairs, Ron slowly made his way to the Great Hall for dinner. It was so strange to be here, walking through the echoing hallways and having familiar portraits waving at him politely.

Nothing at Hogwarts had changed since he'd left. The same ghosts, Dumbledore, everything seemed as if he'd only gone for a moment and then stepped back in right where he had left off. Everything but Harry.

Five years hadn't changed Harry as much as he'd thought it would. Still that untidy black hair, still those glasses that he was always pushing back up on his nose. He was still Harry Potter, just as Ron remembered him. Except for the fact that Harry hated him, he admitted ruefully. That part had changed a tiny bit.

"What am I doing here?" he muttered to himself. He already knew the answer to that question. Because one Hermione Granger had begged, cajoled and, finally, blackmailed him into coming, and he simply hadn't been able to resist an excuse to see Harry again, even if Harry didn't want to see him and with good reason.

He had to admit, somewhat guiltily, that he was glad Harry hadn't let him try to explain why he'd left, since he had no idea what he would have said. Nothing short of someone casting the Cruciatus curse would get the truth from him but he really didn't want to start this out with a lie either.

A wastebasket crashing down inches from his head had him jumping back and he automatically reached for his wand, but a familiar cackle made him sigh in exasperation and walk on.

"Hello, Peeves," he said calmly, and wasn't surprised when the poltergeist drifted over next to him.

"Inkles-finckles-Weasels come back to play with us?" Peeves crowed, flipping over and peering at Ron. Ron ignored him, walking on past and Peeves floated along with him. "Another little ex-student who needs a place to stay?"

"Actually, I have a job, Peeves," Ron said, struggling to keep his voice even. "I'm an Auror."

Peeves nearly fell out of the air he scrambled away so quickly. Casting a horrified look at Ron, he fled through a wall and out of sight. Ron gave in to the laugh that was trying to escape. Being an Auror did have a few benefits and instilling terror in ghosts seemed to be one of them. Of course, he'd never actually expected to live long enough to reap those benefits, so may as well take what he could.

Nearly a quarter of all Aurors died within two years of going into the field. The fact that Ron had made it to over five spoke well for his continuing survival. He hoped.

The hall was already crowded with students when Ron got there, and he walked around the side of the room, studying the different House tables. Again, it was odd how nothing seemed to change. Different faces, true, different people, but the way they seemed it could have so easily been himself, Harry and Hermione sitting and chatting away. Or Draco and his goons sitting at the Slytherin table, watching the hall with beady eyes and condescending smirks.

He paused for a moment, fading back against the wall and studied the Slytherin's, concentrating with something just a little stronger than his eyes. Malevolence, yes, greed, a -thirst-, thirst for wealth, for power, yes, yes...but no evil. Not yet, not in this group of children. Shaking off the Sight, he started off towards the High Table again, hurrying now so he could get something to eat before the meal ended. Harry was seated between Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, deliberately not watching as Ron approached the table.

There was one seat left open, on the end, next to Professor Snape and Ron sighed. Naturally. This was bound to be awkward. He rounded the table and now he could hear the students whispering as he sat down next to Snape. Already he was regretting using his Sight, even though he knew it was necessary to check for any possible threats. The problem was that he could open up easily, but closing back down was a bit harder. Various emotions, surface thoughts were still fluttering around in his head. *Curiosity/ indifference/ concern...who is that...is he a new teacher...oh, isn't he cute...hope they aren't making a new class...*

Wincing, Ron pulled tighter into himself. He'd forgotten what it was like to be around so many people. Especially children, who didn't have as much control as adults and just blithely tossed their thoughts and
emotions about like rubber balls.

"Hello, Severus," he said quietly when Snape seemed to ignore his presence. He and Snape didn't have the best past together, but Ron was damned if he was going to start this out by being rude.

Snape glanced at him briefly out of the corner of his eye before murmuring just low enough that only Ron could hear him. "Well, well, if it isn't Ron Weasley. Come here to protect our resident celebrity, have we? Did he write you a nice long letter, begging you to come?"

"No," Ron said shortly. If only.

Snape nodded, as if that was exactly what he'd expected Ron to say. Reaching for the potatoes, Ron already regretting opening his mouth, half-heartedly wished Snape would just leave it at that even though he knew it was a futile hope. Snape proved him right almost immediately. "So, you must be here about something else then, his wife, perhaps? Yes, it was a shame about his wife, wasn't it?" Snape's tone clearly indicating he didn't think it was a shame at all. He started when Ron all but dropped the dish, turning in his chair to face him.

"What about his wife?" Ron asked sharply, all thoughts about dinner forgotten and Snape looked at him in surprise.

"You don't know?" Snape was looking at him, slightly taken aback, tapping his fork lightly on the side of his plate. "I'm shocked, I would have thought you were keeping quite close tabs on him the past few years."

"I wasn't exactly in a position to be able to keep up the gossip, as you well know," said Ron dryly.

"Ah, and whose fault is that?"

"What happened to Harry's wife?" he asked impatiently, ignoring Snape's question.

"Why don't you ask him yourself? You're such good friends..."

"Severus," he said warningly and the other man relented.

"She left him," Snape said quietly, the glee in his voice absent for once. "Just before he came here to teach, I believe." He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Such is the life of Harry Potter."

Ron was stunned. He glanced down the table at the same moment that Harry was looking at him and for the briefest of seconds their eyes met and held, before Harry jerked back as if he'd been burned and turned quickly back to his food.

"So you are here to protect him, Weasley." Ron could hear the sneer underneath the words but also faint curiosity. "He hates you now. I don't have to be an Auror to know that. So why are you bothering to protect him?"

Ron had had just about enough of this conversation. His head was already aching from the boisterous energy of the children and arguing with Snape wasn't helping it at all. "I'm protecting him because the Minister of Magic asked me to, Severus," he said quietly, "What's your excuse?"

Dead silence. Snape gave him a particularly ugly look and then turned back to his plate, stabbing at a potato viciously with his fork.

His own appetite lost, Ron picked at his food, feeling faintly guilty for throwing Snape's obsession with protecting Harry in his face. He'd discovered some very interesting things about Snape a few years back that had permanently changed his opinion of the other man. Despite the fact that he was still an annoying git most of the time, Ron knew there was another side to this man that not many people got the chance to see, and Ron did owe him some gratitude for things done. Some.

The meal was starting to die down when Dumbledore stood, and the chattering faded away as the students waited expectantly for their headmaster to speak.

"As I'm sure some of you have already noticed, we have a guest with us today," Dumbledore turned to Ron and smiled and a few hundred pairs of eyes turned to him as well. Ron smiled back weakly. He would rather be back in Zimbabwe again, facing down that pack of dark pygmy wizards, than be here right now.

"This is Ron Weasley. He attended Hogwarts himself as a child, one of our best students," Dumbledore said blandly, and Ron smiled for real this time. "He'll be here for a time at our school and I trust we will all make him feel welcome. Now, let's finish our dinner." Dumbledore sat back down, and slowly the roar of conversation resumed.

Snape stood up suddenly, and leaned over to Ron before he left, one long, white finger tapping Ron's temple lightly. "You might not want to stay long, Auror. I'd bet my wand that you already have a headache." Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Not looking up, Ron poked at his food a moment longer before deciding to take Snape's advice. His head did feel like his brain was trying to pound its way through his forehead, although he didn't believe for one minute that Snape was worried about that. More like he couldn't protect Harry very well if he was ill himself, and since he felt the same way, Ron left the hall as quietly as he had arrived. Perhaps a little sleep and he'd feel better. Tomorrow would be a better day. He glanced at Harry as he left, wincing at the cool expression on his old friend's face.

Or maybe not.

Chapter 3

In which house elves are traumatized; an Auror returns to the classroom; and a gauntlet is thrown.

Someone was watching him; he could feel it, like an itch at the back of his skull. Ron didn't open his eyes, feigning sleep as he waited for the faintest tinge of sensation to tell him where the other was.

There.

Wand in hand, Ron threw back the blankets and whirled towards his attacker. It was only the terrified squeak that froze the spell on his lips and he had the brief sight of a tiny creature tumbling off the bed.

Rubbing his eyes blearily, Ron peered over the edge of the mattress to see a house elf cowering on the floor nearby. The elf might have once been neatly dressed in a Hogwart's tea towel but at the moment it was tangled within the folds of terrycloth, and with its terror-filled eyes fixed on Ron, it seemed to be in no rush to right itself.

"You all right?" he asked, feeling more than a little foolish. Still, it was these same good reflexes that had saved his life time and again. Better to be embarrassed now than dead later.

"Y-yes, sir, yes, Ricky is all right, sir," it, no, he, stammered out. "Scared Ricky, you did, sir!" Gingerly, he sat up, straightening his towel.

"Don't creep up on me when I'm asleep, right?" Ron said sternly, still feeling a bit guilty for frightening the poor creature. "I'm likely to curse first and ask questions later."

The elf nodded hastily. "Professor Dumbledore is asking me personally to give this to you, sir," Warily, he held out a small scroll of paper.

"Thank you," Ron said politely, taking it but not opening it. Ricky wasted no time leaving, casting one last cautious look at Ron before he scampered out the door. The moment the door closed Ron opened the scroll.

It was a copy of Harry's teaching schedule, Ron saw with some relief. He'd intended to ask Dumbledore about it earlier, since he rather doubted that Harry would offer it up. He glanced at the clock and winced as he saw it read 'late for breakfast'. Which meant if he didn't hurry he was going to be late for Harry's first class as well.

With a sigh, he scrambled out of bed and quickly started to dress, grumbling under his breath, "First time in years I've slept in a comfortable bed and I don't even get to enjoy it."

Going to his first class the next day, Harry was in a dismal mood, making his way through the crowds of students with his satchel underneath one arm and a covered cage under the other. He'd hardly slept the night before, the shock of seeing Ron after all this time keeping him awake.

Five years. Five -years- without even a note to say 'Hi, I'm alive.' And Ron had acted as if nothing between them had changed at all. Well, Ron was in for a rude awakening if he thought he could just come waltzing back into Harry's life like this.

Nothing in Harry's life had hurt him the way Ron's leaving had. Ever. For the week he had thought Ron was dead, he hadn't eaten. He'd barely slept. A part of him had died along with his best friend, and it hadn't resurrected when he'd found out Ron had been alive all along and just hadn't bothered to write. There was still a cold, dead little place in Harry's heart with the name Ron Weasley on it, where he'd buried his best friend. The person he had trusted with his entire being.

This Ron was a pale shadow of that one, and Harry would almost have been happier to go on believing his friend was dead than to be betrayed like that.

Almost.

Walking into the classroom, he came to a dead halt to see the object of his thoughts sitting in the back of the classroom, his boots propped up on the desk. All his students turned from staring and whispering about their new classmate, watching to see their teacher's reaction.

Doubtless, they were disappointed when Harry ignored the latest addition to his class. Inside, he was seething. How dare Ron come in and disrupt his classes like this? They were in Hogwarts, probably the safest place Harry could be in England, and Ron hardly needed to keep Harry in his sight every moment of the day.

Unpacking his satchel as he prepared to begin class, he rested his hand on his wand briefly and murmured "Mobiliarbus!" The desk Ron had his feet on slid forward and Ron's chair wobbled dangerous on two legs before he caught his balance and the chair dropped forward. Harry heard Ron's muttered curse as he hid a smug grin. If Ron wanted to invade his classes then he should be prepared for the consequences.

A titter of laughter went around the room briefly, silenced immediately when Harry looked up and began to speak.

"I finished grading your essays yesterday," he said, leaning against his desk. "I was rather pleased with most of them, however, I think some of you need to be paying better attention in class?" There were a few guilty looks at that. "I also want to remind you that if you are having difficulties with any of this then you should feel free to come see me in my office and we can discuss it."

Pulling the cover from the cage, Harry revealed its contents to his class, appreciative gasps and whispers echoing around the room as his students gawked at the creature within. A lizard-like animal, about the size of a spread hand and it hissed at the class, little wings flapping helplessly as it wrapping its tiny, clawed hands around the bars of its cage.

"This is a grendel. A type of dragon, they are vicious and are known to have killed humans when they are fully grown, although a fully mature grendel is very rare," Harry said, watching his students scribbling down notes furiously. "It takes about four hundred years for them to obtain their full size and during their immature years, grendel have a
lot of predators, including humans because their livers are highly useful in certain spells. The grendel were made famous among Muggles in medieval times due to an attack by a mature grendel on a Muggle settlement..." he trailed off as a hand in the back of the class went up.

Ron waited patiently, hand raised like he was just a regular student. The children had noticed and were looking back and forth between the two wizards uncertainly.

Gritting his teeth, Harry struggled to keep his voice normal as he said, "Yes, Mr. Weasley."

"Where on earth did you find a baby grendel?" There was a touch of awe in Ron's voice.

"A friend of mine sent this one to me," he answered coolly, continuing with his lecture. "As I was saying, a mature grendel..." The hand rose again.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," he snapped, impatient now and not really caring what his students thought of it.

"But where?" Ron asked persistently. "A baby grendel is almost as difficult to find as an adult and to capture one alive...!" The children looked at Harry and he could see the curiosity their eyes. Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten, slowly. I will not hurt him in front of the students, he told himself. Not in front of the students...I'll wait until after class.

"A friend of mine," he said clearly and calmly, "Caught this one in the country outside of Berkshire. It was tangled in a trap she had set to keep gnomes out of her garden. She didn't want to kill it, and she knew I was teaching Defense of the Dark Arts and she offered it to me for my classes. May I continue my lecture now, Mr. Weasley?" His voice was
slightly raised at the end, sharper than his students were used to hearing. Certainly the children were not making any attempt to draw his attention while he was acting like this.

Ron seemed to realize he was pushing his luck and nodded hastily. "Of course, Harry, I'm sorry."

Harry managed to smile at his students as he began his lecture again, even as he seethed inside. Ron behaved through the rest of his class, sitting quietly and listening to the lecture. He didn't move when the students began to pack up their things, the room buzzing excitedly with conversation about the grendel and minor grumbling about having to write another essay.

The moment the door closed behind the last student, Harry stormed down the aisle to where Ron was sitting.

"Don't you -ever- do that again!" he hissed, so furious he could barely speak. Ron didn't even blink, merely raised his eyebrows.

"Do what? Ask a question?" Ron said calmly. "I would have thought you'd be delighted to have someone asking questions in class."

"Don't," Harry said coldly. "Don't play cute with me. You are not a student. You are a pest who is disrupting my classes."

"Oh, come on, Harry, I asked a bloody question..."

"You may call me Professor Potter," Harry added, turning away but Ron's voice halted him.

"I might, yeah," Ron said, "but I won't. You can be angry with me all you want, but I refuse to be ridiculous about it."

"I said you could stay," Harry bit out each word, so angry that he was actually shaking, "but if you interrupt my classes like this again I will personally remove you from this school, and bugger what the Minister of Magic wants!"

Ron's pushed his chair back so hard it skittered across the floor as he jumped to his feet. He towered a good ten centimeters above Harry, neither of them backing away as they glared at each other. Ron was the first to turn away, crossing his arms over his chest and lowering his head as he obviously struggled with his temper.

"This has nothing to do with the Minister of Magic, and you know it, Harry!" Ron snapped out, "Bloody hell, I'm here because I am your friend!" Something in Harry's mind finally snapped at Ron's words and he was dimly glad that he wasn't carrying his wand, because he was certain that he would have done something he would have regretted.

"You are not my friend," he said finally, the words dropping from his lips like a chips of ice. "I don't even know who you are. The Ron Weasley I knew would never have deserted me." He ignored Ron's growing pallor, the anger and pain in his chest driving him. "He was my friend. You are absolutely nothing to me."

His quiet words still hanging between them, Harry turned and walked out the door, leaving Ron alone in the silent room.

Chapter 4

In which old toys prove that they are always useful; Hogwarts proves to actually have a few things like an ordinary school; and an Auror proves he has learned not to turn his back...maybe.

It took Harry about two steps out the door before he began to feel guilty about what he had said. Slowly, he made his way to his office and sat down, threading his fingers through his hair and resting his elbows on the desk.

He'd left all his things in the classroom, he'd have to go back down and retrieve them but there wasn't another class in that room for several hours. Everything would be safe enough for now.

"Stupid, stupid," he muttered under his breath. Not even stupid really, what he'd said had been out and out cruel, and he could hardly believe he had done it.

The sight of Ron's shocked, pale face while he'd spewed a few years worth of venomous words at him was still imprinted in Harry's mind and shame was churning away in Harry's stomach. Certainly Ron deserved some of his anger, but it wasn't as if he was here to try and pester Harry to the point of insanity, no matter how good a job he was doing at it. He'd come here out of his own free will, apparently, to protect an old friend. And while Harry certainly hadn't forgiven Ron for disappearing as he had all those years ago, one thing was certain.

He owed Ron an apology.

Sighing, Harry began digging through his desk drawers. Trick wands, chattering teeth that shrank and regrew, and various other toys that he had taken from his students scattered until as he finally found what he was looking for; an old, worn bit of parchment that he had had since he was a student here.

Tucking it into his robes, Harry went back down to the classroom to retrieve his wand and his satchel, as well as the baby grendel. He wasn't surprised that Ron was gone. Pulling out the parchment, he tapped it lightly with his wand, saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Words began to flow across it, as if written by an invisible hand, a delicate calligraphy that declared the parchment The Marauders Map. Web-fine lines in deep green spread over the parchment as the entire grounds of the school appeared, along with tiny moving dots. Searching the map, Harry found the dot he was looking for. Ron Weasley was in the
gymnasium.

Harry blinked. The gymnasium? He could understand his room, perhaps, or even the library but the gymnasium? Ron had never much been one for exercise. Shrugging, he gathered his things, taking them hurriedly back to his office before he went off to see Ron.

The gymnasium was nearly empty, a few students were doing some exercises in one corner, and Ron Weasley was not difficult to find. He was in one corner using a punching bag, his blows particularly vicious as he hit the bag.

Harry stayed back and watched silently as his once-friend attacked the punching bag. Ron had stripped down to nothing but his pants. Even his feet were bare, and he didn't even look in Harry's direction as he continued. A sudden kick at the bag made Harry blink slightly, and he watched as the punches slowly turned into a series of kicks combined with blows. Ron knew how to fight, and quite well from the looks of it. He wondered why that was such a shock to him. Ron was an Auror, a Dark wizard hunter; of course he'd have to know how to fight. Magic was all good and well, but if for some reason you couldn't do magic, you'd better have a back up plan.

Perhaps it was a shock because this was a side of Ron that Harry had never considered. In a way, he had been right. This man was not the Ron Weasley who had been his friend. His Ron had been faintly scrawny, still trying to fill into the extra height that he'd sprouted their seventh year.

This Ron had certainly filled it in. There was some muscle that he had been hiding beneath that coat of his, visible strength that he needed for the job he had taken. This -was- a stranger to Harry, not Ron the Friend, but Ron the Auror. And yet, as painful as that was to realize, Harry could still remember the hurt in the Auror's eyes at his words in the
classroom. His friend was buried beneath this exterior, and perhaps he owed it to the memory of the friend not to hurt the man than Ron had become.

Ron finally stopped, panting as he gave Harry a long look before he reached for a small towel. Harry stepped forward, feeling horribly awkward.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I had no right to say that to you."

"Yes, you did," Ron replied calmly, wiping his face with towel. "It was true, wasn't it? I did desert you." He dropped the towel and looked straight at Harry, who fought the urge to squirm under the intensity of that gaze. Ron seemed to sense his discomfort and glanced away, shrugging. "It was true so you had every right to say it."

He turned away and Harry took a step towards him, unsure of what he was going to say. The moment he saw Ron's back he instantly forgot about saying anything, gasping aloud. Ron glanced at him over his shoulder, eyebrows knitted in confusion then his face smoothed in dawning awareness.

"Oh, I forgot," Ron said ruefully, glancing down at the scars that twisted their way across the small of his back. "Got those in Brazil," he continued, his voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I'm on the trail of this Dark wizard, right? Get to where he is hiding out, and I go inside. It's dark, and there is all this junk lying about, and I see this statue of a little cat. Don't think much about it at the time because I'm more worried about the wizard than his little trinkets."

Ron chuckled, shaking his head as he laced up his boots. "Big mistake, that. I no sooner turn around and I hear a growl and this bloody panther leaps on me! Killed it, but not before it took a nice chunk out of me. The wizard was bloody well pissed that I killed his pet."

He grinned up at Harry, the smile fading slightly at Harry's expression. "What?"

"How can you laugh about that? You could have died!" Harry said, his stomach tight with fury and he didn't even understand why. Ron was an adult and if he wanted to prance about trying to get himself killed it certainly wasn't any of Harry's business.

"But I didn't," Ron said, his voice oddly gentle. "I didn't die. I'm here and I'm fine." He sighed heavily, picking up his coat and shrugging into it. "Should I be all grave and serious about it? Harry, this was nothing." He gestured absently at the hidden scars. "Do you have any idea how many times I've nearly died?" He chuckled again, a tinge of bitterness to the sound. "I've got much worse scars than these ones, Harry Potter. The ones you can't see are always worse." He flicked a glance in Harry's direction. "I should think you of all people would know that."

He started to walk out of the gym and paused as he walked past Harry. Without looking at him, Ron said quietly, "I heard that you got divorced. I'm sorry."

"Yes," Harry said distantly, his thoughts still caught on everything Ron had said. "So am I."

Ron hesitated and for a moment it looked as if he was going to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry waited, the hairs on his neck prickling as he wondered a bit wildly how to react when Ron seemed to change his mind, nodding slightly and walking out of the room without another word.

Chapter 5

In which we ponder the merit of idle gossip; another class is interrupted; and games are begun, but not finished.

Lying on the field below, Ron chewed on a blade of grass while he watched Harry teaching a group of first years about Quidditch. It was an extracurricular course and the class was mostly made up of children from Muggle families, although there were a few from Wizard families that he suspected were here to spend some time with The Harry Potter.

He sighed, watching the children wobble awkwardly on their brooms while Harry flew around them expertly, correcting them. The man really was made to be a teacher, he mused, and how could he blame the children for wanting to spend time with Harry Potter when he wanted to do the same?

He and Harry had come to something of an understanding after the incident in the gymnasium. So long as Ron was fairly quiet in Harry's classes, he was allowed to stay. Ron trailed him carefully, not wanting to upset their fragile cease-fire, but not being able to speak to Harry, really speak to him, was getting more and more frustrating.

Still, he couldn't really blame Harry for being angry with him over his leaving. In Harry's place he certainly would have felt the same. In fact, Harry was probably being more forgiving than he would be, although still not nearly enough for Ron's tastes. If nothing else though it was giving Ron the time to try and catch up with all the gossip.

For all that the wizarding world was eager to talk about Harry Potter, it made it all the more difficult to sort through all the rumors to find the truth, especially if any of the talk concerned his wife.

The general consensus seemed to be that Cho Potter, who had gone back to Cho Chang, was an evil troll who had used poor Harry Potter and broken his little heart. As much as Ron wanted to believe that, he had his doubts. Cho had never been his favorite person but that had been as much his own fault as it was hers.

There was a much smaller faction that believed Harry had gone bonkers from his various dealings with Lord Voldemort and that Cho had finally been chased away by Harry's insanity. Luckily, not many people seemed to believe into that one.

A smaller group yet believed that Harry had never gotten over losing his childhood sweetheart, Hermione, which was so patently ridiculous that Ron had nearly burst out laughing to hear it. It was an interesting theory, considering that he had been the one dating Hermione, not Harry.

Ron winced a little to think of Hermione Granger, rolling over onto his stomach and resting his chin on his folded arms. Another old friend who wasn't speaking to him...well that wasn't exactly true. Hermione had been angry when she had seen him, but she had some idea as to why he'd left, or at least she thought she did and Ron wasn't about to disabuse her of the notion. He didn't want sympathy he knew she offer, sweet as it was. He didn't deserve it.

He'd come to England at the Minister of Magic's request, and had been stunned to find himself faced with a severely angry Hermione. After becoming the Minister's aide, she'd had access to a lot of highly sensitive documents, one of which had had Ron's name on it. After persuading the Minister that Ron was the best man for this job, which really hadn't taken much persuasion, the Minister had called Ron to England.

After venting her rage, Hermione had gotten right down to business with him and had finally all but blackmailed him into coming here. Throw in a little guilt over how much he'd hurt Harry by leaving and Ron had been practically begging to come to Hogwarts.

He had to admit, Hermione was good at her job.

He chewed on his blade of grass thoughtfully. He did wonder why Hermione hadn't mentioned Harry's divorce though. Perhaps she'd thought he already knew. Or more likely she'd been hoping he'd make an ass of himself over it. It wasn't much more than he deserved. Some Seer he was.

Out of all the people he knew, only Dumbledore had been sincerely glad to see him. McGonagall had been rather cool to him the one time they had spoken, and Hagrid was taking a semester off, apparently. Ron was almost grateful for that one. Being around Harry while he was angry was one thing; Ron didn't want to imagine trying to deal with Hagrid's temper. Even Snape was avoiding him more often than not, although Ron wasn't exactly sorry for it.

So that left Dumbledore as the only person in Hogwarts who was actually talking to him. A bit depressing, that, but Dumbledore was also one of the few people who knew the real reason Ron had left. He was as full of sympathy as Hermione would be, but at least Dumbledore kept it to himself, and for that Ron was grateful.

Not for the first time, he wished he could simply tell Harry the truth, instead of hedging around the details. Surely, Harry would understand, no, he knew Harry would understand. A shame life couldn't be that simple. Harry would understand a little -too- well, and that was another thing Ron didn't want to deal with.

No, he couldn't tell Harry so that idea was out, and that left him with trying to think of another way to get back on his former best friend's good side.

A sudden thought occurred to him and he laughed aloud, spitting out the blade of grass and leaping to his feet. He was still grinning as he started running back towards the school. If this didn't get Harry thinking, then he'd eat his wand.

"Keep the front of your broomstick tilted up, Patrice," Harry called, flying over and reaching out to tilt it himself before the girl could slide off her broom. She smiled at him shyly and he nodded, moving back to keep a wary eye on the rest of his students. So far, no one had needed a trip to see Madame Pomfrey during these classes and he wanted to keep it that way.

With a supreme effort, he kept his eyes on children and studiously did not look at the empty field below him. He had seen Ron heading back to the school so it was ridiculous to keep looking for him. It was just as well, he decided, ignoring a faint twinge of disappointment within that Ron hadn't stayed. He should be glad that Ron had left instead of getting used to having him around. He'd done that once and look where it had gotten him.

"Seeker!"

Harry's head shot up automatically and he saw Ron flying towards him, a grin that Harry remembered all-too-well lighting his face. With a mental sigh, he turned towards the Auror, ready for whatever mischief he had in mind.

Ron stopped about ten meters away, hovering in the air and drawing back whenever Harry got closer.

"What are you doing?" Harry finally asked, exasperated. The children had formed something of a small grouping, looking the newcomer warily. Glancing back quickly to make sure his students were fine, Harry looked back at Ron, who was waiting patiently.

"I think maybe you've lost your touch, Seeker," Ron called, stressing the title. All the children were watching raptly and Harry straightened his spine unconsciously, insulted in spite of himself.

"I bet you ten galleons that you can't catch this," Ron continued. He held up something small and silvery for a moment, and then drew back his arm and tossed it as hard as he could.

Harry reacted without even thinking, diving after it. His every thought was focused on the tiny flash of silver plummeting towards the ground and he leaned into his broom hard, wind whipping his hair as he plummeted towards the ground, his eyes never leaving the shining bit of metal. Barely a meter from the ground he reached out and caught it, jerking his broom back up amidst the gleeful shouts of the class.

He flew back up, the object clenched triumphantly in his fist. The students were clapping wildly and trying to hold on to their broomsticks at the same time as Harry flew next to Ron, who was still smiling, if a little oddly.

"I believe you owe me ten galleons, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, smirking as he opened his hand under Ron's nose. The smile faded when he saw what it was.

Ron's prefect badge.

In their sixth year, they had both been made Gryffindor prefects, much to Ron's dismay. Ron had declared he would be the worst prefect in the history of Hogwarts and Harry had had to persuade him to take the position, insisting that if Ron didn't then he would refuse it as well. Ron had still been reluctant, wary of again trying to follow in his brother's footsteps, but it had turned out to be one of the best times of their lives.

"I suppose you proved me wrong," Ron said softly, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "Ten galleons it is." He plucked the badge from Harry's hand and backed off a bit. "I'll leave you to teach your class then...Seeker."

Harry watched as Ron flew back down, climbing off his broom and flopping back down on the ground. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his students. He'd proved Ron wrong, that was true, but somehow he doubted Ron had meant the bet. And the true meaning of that scene had little to with Quidditch, that much was certain.

Chapter 6

In which meals aren't eaten; a professor and an Auror wonder about the past; and we see even wizards have sometimes gone to the movies.

The Great Hall was awash with the normal dinner noises, laughter and conversation mingling together. The students were in high spirits with it being a Hogsmead weekend, and even the teachers were particularly good-natured. Most of them anyway, Harry thought, glancing down at the end of the High Table.

Snape was eating in silence, ignoring his dinner companion, and Ron didn't seem particularly chatty either, playing with his food more than he was eating it.

Harry was fidgeted with the food on his own plate, not really feeling like eating much himself. A lack of appetite seemed to be contagious today. Sighing irritably, he stabbed a piece of steak with his fork and ate it, chewing resolutely. His stomach was going to get at least some food, whether it wanted it or not.

Control over his various bodily parts, however, didn't extend to his mind. It was still out on the grounds, wondering about the little game Ron had played with him earlier.

It was ridiculous, really, that a silly little wager had him so distracted. But no, that wasn't really it, and he knew it. The problem was that for just the briefest of moments, it had been just like old times. He and Ron must've played at Quidditch together hundreds of times, here and at the Weasley's house, the both of them laughing and teasing, letting Ron cajole him into trading broomsticks every once in a while.

Had it been so long that he'd actually forgotten how often they'd played that little game. Even on Ron's old Cleansweep Seven, Harry had never missed a catch. No matter how hard or far Ron could throw, small crabapples at the Weasley's or golf balls at Hogwarts, Harry would catch it.

"I'm sure that the kitchen staff makes sure all of the food is deceased before they bring it to the table, Professor Potter. I doubt you need to ensure that it's truly dead."

Blinking, Harry jerked back to the present to discover he was in the process of mangling what was left of his steak. He felt his cheeks heat as he glanced over at Dumbledore's smiling face.

"I'm sorry, my mind is just on something else," Harry mumbled, pushing his plate aside.

Dumbledore nodded towards the end of the table. "I would have thought your bodyguard would want to be sitting next to you rather than Professor Snape."

"Maybe his survival instincts told him that would be a bad idea," Harry muttered, not following the headmaster's gaze. "I don't even know why he bothered to come. It would be better for all of us if he just left." Even as he said it, Harry wondered if it was true.

"I thought it was a bit odd myself. Coming here after all this time," Dumbledore mused.

He didn't sounds particularly concerned one way or another but Harry knew better than that. His eyes were shining with amusement behind his glasses. Well, at least someone was enjoying this, he thought sourly.

"I can't imagine why he came myself," he said brusquely, hoping Dumbledore would take the cue and drop the subject. He should ever be so lucky.

"Well, perpetual silence won't gain you any answers, Harry," said Dumbledore, gently. He patted Harry kindly on the shoulder before he stood up and left the Great Hall.

"Well, thank you, Obi-Wan," Harry muttered, giving his dinner one last poke before giving the whole thing up as a bad job. Maybe a good night's sleep would help a little. Decision made, he stood to follow Dumbledore's example, managing to cast only one last, reluctant glance at Ron before he left.

It was quite late when Ron finally got to his room that night, wearily stripping off his coat and hanging in on a hook by the door as he toed off his boots. Whatever points he'd managed to earn to put himself into Harry's favor today with his little Quidditch game hadn't been enough to revoke his banishment at the end of the dinner table so he'd had the dubious honor of sitting next to Snape. Again.

Harry had actually spoken to him when Ron had walked him to his room tonight, though, so he supposed that was at least a start.

A soft hoot startled him, and he found an owl waiting for him patiently on the window.

Untying the letter from its leg, Ron scratched its head lightly in thanks before it spread its wings and took off into the night. He wasn't surprised that the letter was from Hermione. There wasn't anyone else who would write to him here.

Ron,

I hope that you are doing well. You haven't written
since you got to Hogwarts, but since Professor
Dumbledore has assured me that you are indeed there,
I'm not going to scold you for that.

We're still researching those rumors and so far this
has been little more than a wild goose chase. Still,
if this is what it takes to bring you back to us, Ron,
I can't say that I am unhappy about it.

I know you don't want to talk about your leaving, and
I respect that, but I really think you should tell Harry
the truth. You have no idea how your leaving like you did
affected him. No matter what has happened, I know he still
cares about you and I think he will understand.

I feel that I owe you something of an apology, Ron. I know
how difficult it must have been for you to come home after
all this time, and to have me act the way that I did when
I saw you couldn't have helped. I was hurt that you left
the way you did, I can't deny that, but neither do I want
to drive you away again. I will always be your friend, Ron
Weasley, and if you ever need me, I will be here for you,
always.

Love,

Hermione Granger

He was nearly in tears by the end of the letter, almost wishing Hermione did hate him rather than give him this caring and gentle sympathy. Which of course led her to prying into things that Ron would rather she left alone.

"Nice try, Hermione," he murmured, re-reading the letter. Tell Harry the truth, she'd said.

Right.

In all the time he'd been gone, Ron had managed to come back to England one time a while back. Just long enough to see that the people he cared about didn't really need him. It was only because of Hermione that he was here now. Hermione only had the briefest knowledge of why he'd really left, and she'd all but blackmailed him with it to get him to come here and then wheedled him with the plain and simple fact that he was one of the best Aurors they had, and if Harry truly needed protection, then there was no one else better to give it to him.

No wonder the Minister of Magic wanted her as his aide.

He flopped back on his bed, letting his mind drift as he thought of Hermione Granger.

Hermione, so intelligent and strong, and somehow still so sweet, the girl whose virginity he had so fumblingly taken even as he was losing his own. He had tried so desperately hard to love her, trying to ignore the fact that something was missing, that their relationship had felt -wrong- somehow, until he could no longer stand seeing her bewildered hurt at the way he was acting and he'd finally told her the truth.

She'd been so quietly accepting, to the point where she had practically been comforting him. But he hadn't needed any Sight to see how hurt she was. That they had managed to move past it and remain friends through their Seventh year at Hogwarts spoke of Hermione's strength, and it had turned out that it was his own strength that had been somewhat lacking.

Tugging the band off his ponytail, Ron picked up a brush and started combing out his hair idly. Their Seventh year was when his Sight had first manifested. A shame Professor Trelawney had never mentioned in divination class what a true Seeing could look like. If she had then perhaps his wouldn't have been so dreadfully embarrassing. As it was, it had nearly scared Hermione to death.

He'd collapsed in the middle of the hallway, convulsing and bleeding from the nose. Hermione had thought he was having some kind of brain hemorrhage, there was so much blood and by the time he'd woken up, she had needed the infirmary more than he had.

In an incident that had taken perhaps one minute, Ron had found his life completely changed, a career all but chosen for him and a lifetime supply of headaches given free of charge.

He'd still been delighted. For once, taking extra classes and going to special training had been a pleasure as he learned to control his newfound powers. He'd finally had something that was his alone, something that none of his brothers had done first and he didn't have to compete with anyone, not even Harry.

Sheer stupidity was what all that had it been, and learning that lesson had almost gotten him killed. It had nearly been too late when he'd finally discovered what this was really all about, and that competing with someone was far less important than simply staying alive. An Auror wanted to stay in the shadows and out of the lights, because a famous Auror was often a dead one.

He didn't regret becoming an Auror, not really, and even if he did he wouldn't take back his choice. What he had lost had been nothing compared to what he could have lost.

A soft whirring sound jerked him from his thoughts, and Ron frowned, walking over to the desk on the far side of the room. It was littered with a variety of things; a sneakascope that he'd had to disable, useless thing around so many children, a small pipe in the shape of a serpent, odds and ends that he'd acquired over the years.

In the middle was a small mirror, the surface scratched and chipped but a faint light was coming from it. Picking it up, Ron looked into the glass. "Visioso!"

Light flared within the mirror, and Ron squinted against it, his eyes widening almost immediately at what he saw in the glass. "Blast him, does he -want- to die?" he exclaimed, tossing the mirror back on the desk. Snatching up his coat, he shrugged into it, stuffing his feet into his boots and grabbed his wand.

"If Voldemort doesn't kill him, I may do it for him," Ron growled, slamming the door shut behind him.

Chapter 7

In which an Auror and a professor take a walk; questions are asked, and answered. Or not.

Hidden within the folds of his invisibility cloak, Harry slipped out the main entrance and down the stairs to the grounds. It was cool outside, the fingernail curve of the moon hovering over the Forbidden Forest. A lovely night, really, and Harry crossed his arms over his chest to ward off the chill.

The fog of his breath in the cold air preceded him he saw with some amusement. An invisibility cloak could only do so much and he wondered how it would look from the outside, vague puffs of steam from nothingness.

It was an odd habit he'd gotten over the years, taking a walk in the late hours of the night when he couldn't sleep and just lately he hadn't been sleeping very much at all. Too much to think about, or too much he was trying not to think about. Voldemort, who somehow always ended up around the fringes of Harry's life, his failed marriage...failed friendships.

Ron.

Better not to think of that. Ron wasn't here out of friendship, and he wasn't staying. The moment they got the all clear from the Ministry, Ron would vanish from his life again. Just like Ron to come in just long enough to give Harry's life a stir and then disappear again, just when Harry got used to having him around...

"Just a walking invitation for trouble, aren't you?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the object of his thoughts stepped out from the shadows. He sighed in exasperation. Was five minutes alone too much to ask?

"How did you know I was out here?" he asked wearily.

Ron chuckled. "I'm an Auror, I can see through invisibility cloaks. Be pretty poor at my job if that's all it took to throw me off."

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."

"How did I know you'd be on the grounds?" He shrugged. "It's my job to know these things. Despite your opinion of me, I'm perfectly capable of keeping track of one man."

Harry sighed again. How was it that all their conversations turned into battles? "Ron, I have never accused you of not being good at your job. In fact, as far as I can tell, you're damn good at it."

"What makes you think that?" asked Ron, eyebrows raised.

"You're alive, aren't you?"

"True," Ron conceded. "Now, would you care to explain to me why you are wandering around the grounds at this time of night?"

"I have trouble sleeping. Sometimes taking a walk helps."

"Are you having nightmares," he asked sharply, in a tone Harry hadn't heard from him. Ron the Auror, he realized, doing his job. It was like he was two different people; one the friend he'd had for years, and the other a stranger with a foreign, driving intensity that made Harry faintly uncomfortable.

"No," said Harry slowly. "Just restless, I reckon. I get insomnia sometimes."

Ron relaxed visibly. "I see. Well, better that you don't have nightmares. Yours have a nasty tendency to be true." Harry couldn't argue that, and they walked in silence for a moment before Ron said, "You are aware, I am sure, that if you are up and about that means I have to be up and about?"

"Sorry," Harry said, rather unconvincingly and Ron scowled at him but didn't reply.

They walked for a time and Harry studied Ron out of the corner of his eye. They hadn't actually spent much time in each other's company since Ron had arrived, which was odd since he'd hardly been out of Ron's sight the entire time. Ron was more likely to follow him from a distance, watching him silently and doing whatever it was Aurors did when they were forced to play bodyguard.

Aside from the first time Ron had sat in on his class, this was the closest Harry had gotten to him. Ron must have left his room in a rush, because boots were untied and his hair was loose and hanging. It had gotten quite long in the past few years and it nearly reached the middle of his back. It looked nice enough, Harry supposed, but all it did was remind him of how very long Ron had been gone, long enough for hair to grow, marriages to dissolve, people to change...

He blinked as he realized Ron was looking at him, one eyebrow raised, and he remembered that Ron had said he could see through invisibility cloaks. Caught staring, Harry smiled, a little sheepishly.

"You look a bit different than I expected," he explained, stepping over an exposed root as they wandered closer to the Forbidden Forest, skirting around the edge of the trees. The bare branches looked like skeletal limbs in the faint light and Harry veered away from the forest, not particularly wishing to think of anything about death at that moment.

"Still thinking of freckle-faced little Ronnie, eh?" asked Ron, smiling a little.

"Actually, I thought you might have gotten all gnarled and ugly. Maybe gotten a magic eye like Mad-Eye Moody."

That startled a genuine laugh out of Ron. "Nah. Fortunately, my Sight comes naturally."

"Your mum didn't seem to think it was so fortunate, as I recall."

"Yeah." Ron's voice was subdued and Harry didn't pursue the subject. Mrs. Weasley had been less than pleased with Ron's chosen profession. In fact, she'd cried for days and begged Ron to change his mind. Her son had been horrified at the idea of quitting before he'd even made a go of it and all the tears in the world wouldn't sway him. Five years later Ron had gotten his wish, apparently, and he seemed happy enough with the results.

And why wouldn't he be? Harry thought, faintly bitter. He'd gotten what he wanted and had left behind anything that could hold him back. Life was probably a grand adventure for Auror Ron Weasley.

Or was it? Harry found himself recalling the story Ron had told him about the panther and he shivered slightly. And those were only the scars he had seen, what other ones were hidden beneath that coat Ron always seemed to wear?

His eyes were being drawn back to Ron's face and Harry found himself looking at his old friend as he hadn't since Ron arrived. For the first time he saw the slight hollows in Ron's cheeks, as if he hadn't been eating properly, and the fading purplish circles beneath his eyes. Just a touch too thin for his height, his skin just slightly too pale.

What had Ron been doing for the past few years?

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask. When Ron had brought up the subject, he hadn't wanted to listen, unable to think of a single thing that could excuse Ron's actions. Had he been too hasty? Was there a reason that, if not completely excusable, could be understandable?

Suddenly, he was terrified to ask, though whether he was afraid of being right or wrong he wasn't entirely sure. Never one to let fear stop him, Harry walked beside his old friend silently, working up the nerve and just as he opened his mouth, Ron spoke.

"Can I ask you something very rude that is absolutely none of my business?" Ron asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

Harry smiled a little, both relieved and disappointed at the interruption. "I suppose so."

They walked in silence a few minutes longer, apparently Ron had to work up his nerve as well, and then he finally asked, "What happened with Cho?"

Harry took a painfully deep breath at the mention of his ex-wife's name. They'd gotten married only a few months after graduation, with everyone that Harry had ever cared for there watching. Except one person, his absence made all the more conspicuous by the fact that no one mentioned his name to Harry the entire night. At the time, Harry had still been bewildered by Ron's disappearance, still sure that any day now he'd receive an owl, because Ron wouldn't do that to him. Ron wouldn't just vanish without a word; Ron was his friend, his closest friend...

He shook that memory away. His marriage hadn't been bad, but he could admit now that he'd been far too young, more in love with the idea of love than he had been with Cho. He'd tried, he'd done everything to make it work, and so had Cho, but she hadn't been able to fill the gaping hole that had been left when Ron had disappeared, and perhaps she'd gotten tired of trying.

No, that wasn't fair. He couldn't blame the break-up of his marriage on Ron. That had been his doing. It had happened slowly, beginning at Sirius' re-trial, when he'd finally cleared his name and Cho had refused to stand next to Harry during the trial.

"Sirius is free now," he said abruptly, and Ron blinked, nearly tripping over a protruding rock.

"Yes, I'd heard that," Ron said hesitantly and Harry remembered that he hadn't answered Ron's question and that Ron really couldn't read his thoughts, no matter how much it seemed like he could at times.

It had been odd when Ron's Sight had first begun to awaken years ago, and painful for Ron that he suddenly just -knew- things that he had no business knowing. Just snatches of thoughts sometimes, but Harry could recall more than one time when Ron was still learning to control his talent that he'd discovered things that he'd been better off not knowing. There was a reason that most people couldn't invade the private thoughts of others.

"I suppose," Harry started, slowly, "that we were just too young. Sounds a little trite, I reckon, but..." He shrugged slightly, and focused his eyes on the ground. The divorce had been final for over a year now but just thinking about it still made Harry's stomach tight and his eyes burn. "I really did love her," he said suddenly, as if only just realizing it himself. "But she..."

"She was in love with the idea of Harry Potter, not you," Ron said, as gently as Harry had ever heard him speak, and Harry nodded slightly, for once not upset with Ron's foresight. "I'm sorry," Ron added, quietly, and it seemed he was apologizing for both knowing and for it being true.

"It's all right," said Harry, and he meant it.

"So," Ron started, a note of forced cheerfulness in his voice, "What's been going on with the old crowd, then? I've been out of touch for a bit of a while now, you know."

"Yes, I know," Harry commented dryly, but for the first time he couldn't quite put his resentment over that to voice. This was almost painfully familiar, chatting with Ron like they were old friends. But really, weren't they old friends, anyway? With a jolt, he realized he wanted them to be. Wanted them to be -something- anyway, besides the near enemies they'd been of late.

Taking his cue from Ron, Harry pushed a touch of brightness into his own voice. "Well, you probably know that Hermione's working for the Ministry of Magic now."

"Yeah, I knew that one," said Ron wryly, "She'd be the one who contacted me over this little situation. Hasn't changed much, has she? Still a pain in the arse."

Harry snorted laughter and didn't argue the point. Hermione never had lost her streak of zealousness, and Ron had never properly appreciated it, either. "Let me think now. Neville is working out of Madame Tinsley's Apothecary, if you can believe that."

"Neville? But he was dreadful at Potions!"

Harry shrugged. "Yes, but he did rather well in Herbology and that's what he's doing there, I reckon. And Dean and Seamus both went on extended holiday, last I heard. Doing some kind of research on vampires in the Black Forest. And you've probably heard that Draco Malfoy died a few years back."

A strange expression crossed Ron's face. "Yes, I'd heard," he said curtly.

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "I should have known you knew about that one. I only heard a little about it; the ministry hushed up most of it. Even Hermione couldn't tell me much."

"As well she shouldn't."

The edge of sharpness in Ron's voice startled Harry and he went quiet, the two of them walking now in silence. Their easy camaraderie was fading as quickly as it had come, and with a faint feeling of desperation, Harry tried to cling to it, wondering if their friendship was so lost that they couldn't even have a conversation anymore without one of them turning nasty.

"Can I ask a rude personal question now?" he blurted, not really wanting to ask anymore but suddenly afraid if he didn't ask now then he never would.

"Sure. Can't promise I'll answer it though," Ron said easily.

"Fair enough." Harry bit his lip, both wanting and not wanting to ask before he finally forced himself to say it. "Where were you? Why didn't you write to me?"

The open expression on Ron's face slammed closed faster than if it were on hinges. "I was busy," he said brusquely, "And that's all you need to know about it."

"You were busy," Harry repeated, disbelieving. "Oh, come on, you can do better than that!"

"Why should I?" Ron shot back. "You certainly didn't bloody well care when I first got here."

"Well, I wasn't even going to ask but Dumbledore..."

"Oh, well, should have known then," Ron snapped. "The mighty Dumbledore gives you a tweak and lights a fire under your pants and then you care about where I might have been."

"Don't you insult him!" Startled by Ron's sudden anger, Harry couldn't stop his own irritability from rising up. When had he become the bad guy in all this?

"Well, then you can stop acting like you're the only person on the bloody planet who's ever spoken to him!"

Now this was familiar to him, Ron's hair matched his temper and more than once during their school days Harry had felt the brunt of it. Anger, Harry could deal with, at least he knew this Ron, not the stranger that he had seen walking around with Ron's face.

"Look, let's just go inside..." Ron started, visibly trying to calm himself but Harry would have none of it. Ron had wanted to talk, so now they were going to talk, whether he liked the topic of conversation or
not.

"That's it? You were just 'busy'. Too busy to let me know you're alive? Too busy to even drop me a note? You managed to send one to your folks, how hard would it have been to write to me?"

"To hell with it." Ron muttered. "You want to stay out here and get yourself killed? Fine, have at it." He turned and walked away, only to whirl around almost immediately and storm back. "I don't have to be here, you know. I could have let someone else come."

"Then why didn't you!"

"I didn't trust anyone else!"

"Well, fat lot of good that does me! Where were you when I needed you? At Sirius' trial, when my wife sent me a stack of papers with the words 'divorced' stamped on the top of them, you were off gallivanting around
the countryside."

"You have no idea where I was or what I was doing," Ron said coldly. "No idea at all."

"Only because you won't tell me! I was your friend!" His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed on, unable to stop the words that had been dammed up inside him for over five years. He wanted Ron to give him excuses, and at the same time, irrationally, he wanted Ron's anger, wanted the friend he remembered to come back to him. "I knew you had to leave, but I didn't expect you to never come back!"

"Maybe I didn't come back because I couldn't stand to see how happy you were with your perfect wife and your perfect job, in your perfect house with its perfect little green shutters!" Without me. He didn't say it, he couldn't, bad enough that he was blaming this on Harry when it had been his own fault. If he hadn't been so weak, so sure of himself...

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How did you know about the house? We got that after you'd already been gone for months."

Ron bit his tongue, too late. "I've got a big mouth," he muttered, walking away but Harry was right behind him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I shouldn't have said it."

"Well, you did, so tell me what you meant. Are you telling me that you left because you were jealous of me?"

"No!" Ron snapped, "Fuck, were you always this blind or is it something you picked up over the years? I may have had my moments of petty jealousy when I was a kid, but believe me, I've long since left it behind."

"Then what! What are you saying here? Just tell me the truth!"

"You want the truth?" Ron spat. "It wasn't you I was jealous of, Harry."

Abruptly, Harry found himself jerked forward, colliding into Ron's body and a hard mouth captured his startled lips in a nearly brutal kiss.

There was only one word to describe it. Hungry. Ron was devouring his mouth as if he were a starving man, teeth clicking painfully once before his tongue forced its way into Harry's mouth. Not that Harry was actually protesting. His shocked mind could barely accept what was happening, that this was Ron, once his closest friend, holding him tightly with hands feverishly moving over his back before sliding up to cup his cheeks, icy cold against the sudden, stinging heat of his face.

Harry stood there, frozen, as Ron's tongue explored his mouth with startling fierceness, lips cold and mouth furnace-hot, his fingers starting to dig painfully into Harry's face as Ron clung to him, and Harry just let him.

It was Ron who finally pulled away, Harry's shock mirrored on Ron's face as they stared at each other, both panting for breath.

"I...I'm sorry," Ron stammered, backing away, eyes still locked on Harry's face as if he couldn't tear them away.

Harry didn't quite feel capable of thought just yet, staring at Ron wordlessly as the other man raked a hand through his hair roughly.

"Look, I'm just...I'm sorry, all right?" Ron said again, finally pulling his eyes from Harry as he darted a glance towards the school. He took another hesitant step backwards. "I'm going to...I...don't stay outside too long."

He watched as Ron turned on heel and walked quickly away, crossing his arms over his chest as if to ward off a sudden chill, and Harry shivered himself, abruptly feeling the cold as he stood there alone in the mingled shadows of the forest and Hogwarts.

Chapter 8

In which an Auror and a Professor debate the merits of stupidity; 1990's craft items prove that they are more useful than first thought; and it is proved that aurors can, and do, bleed.

Ron barely restrained himself from slamming his bedroom door, the knowledge that it would echo through the hallways and very possibly wake the teachers who slept in this wing gave him enough sanity for that.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he muttered, throwing himself into the armchair next to the window, the wood creaking in protest at his violence. And even after what had just happened, he found himself pathetically looking out the window, hoping foolishly to catch just a glimpse of Harry still out on the grounds.

Nothing. Either Harry was out of view from this window or he'd gone back inside. Hopefully back inside. Ron let his head drop back, wincing as it connected solidly with the back of the chair, and then wishing he'd done it harder. Maybe he could knock some sense into himself.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the throb in his head and wishing very much that he could just flee the country, or, barring that, get very, very drunk, and wasn't he just full of wishes tonight? Get one wish granted and have four more pop in to take its place.

"Bloody hell, I need a drink!" he groaned, adding a shot of something bitter and strong to his list of wishes. Just as well that there was nothing available. Better not to start down that road again. He'd already wasted enough of his life thoroughly pissed because of Harry Potter and that was part of the reason he'd come to this blasted school to begin with.

His head was throbbing harder now, a growing ache that had nothing to do with him hitting it on the chair, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to concentrate. But it was so very easy to remember with his eyes shut, startled lips against his own, cold and dry in the chill of February weather, pliant, willing and the look on Harry's face when he'd pulled away, needing no Sight at all to understand. Shocked, yes, but something underneath it, as if Harry had just been waiting for him to do that all along.

Like he wouldn't say no, if Ron had only had the nerve to ask. And it had been so very wrong.

Ron had always known that if he showed Harry any affection then Harry would melt like ice into water and simple take it, whether he actually loved him or not. Harry was so starved for affection that he'd married the first girl he'd taken a bit of a shine to, and he'd had the chance to regret it, too.

He was never going to have the chance to regret Ron, not ever again. Maybe it was better this way, Ron decided tiredly. Harry was sure to start thinking that this was the reason he'd taken off, and at least this he could deal with. He wondered sourly when it was he'd grown so used to relying on lies. Part and parcel of the job, hovering on the borders between and he knew that some of the worst dark wizards had once been aurors themselves. So easy to pretend that you were actually helping the people, that your way was the best way and Ron's thoughts were unraveling themselves, getting tangled with other thoughts and wisps of dreams that were forcing their way past his wavering barriers.

Too much, so many people around him in such a small place and he lurched out of the chair, already tasting the warm salt of blood streaming from his nose. Half-blinded by the uncontrolled thoughts beating themselves against his brain, he managed to stumble over to his knapsack, fumbled desperately through its contents. The jumbled thoughts already eased as his fingers brushed against the rough wood of the bauble he was looking for. Heaving a sigh of relief, he pulled the small dream catcher out of the bag, feeling it draw everything away from him like it was supposed to and giving him a chance to start rebuilding his mental wall.

Wiping the blood off his face with the back of his hand, Ron sighed wearily. He'd had a bad feeling that this was going to happen eventually, he was so unused to being around so many people at once anymore. Getting shakily to his feet, Ron walked over the bed and tied the dream catcher awkwardly to bed curtains.

It was a small catcher, but it should last through the night. Ron had been avoiding using it because he didn't want to fill it up too quickly, they were quite difficult to find with all the enchantments he wanted, but tonight was definitely a night he wouldn't be sleeping without it. Already the second half of the enchantment was taking effect, making Ron yawn sleepily.

Stripping off his coat, Ron laid his head on the pillow, only just remembering to kick off his boots before he sank into a dreamless sleep, for once, not thinking of Harry Potter at all.

The lamp on his bedside table was dimmed as low as possible, but it didn't matter. Harry had looked at this photo album so many times he could predict the movement of every photograph, every smile and wave from his parents and their friends.

He slowly turned the next page, the whisper-thin sleeve of his invisibility cloak brushing softly against the paper, and he wondered briefly why he hadn't taken it off. It was a useless thing, really. Invisible or not, he still couldn't hide from anything. Not from what had happened with Cho, not from his own thoughts. Not from Ron.

Tracing a finger down the stiff paper backing of the page, Harry wondered what his parents would think of his mess of a life. Divorced already, alone, and apparently blind as well. It hurt to think that in his own self-centeredness he'd apparently ignored what now seemed to be so plainly obvious. Ron still shouldn't have left without saying anything, but could he really blame Ron for leaving when it seemed he was the one who'd driven him away?

Harry snorted quietly, finally shrugging off the robe. Now he was just being maudlin and he wasn't going to add that to his list of stupid things he'd done lately.

This wasn't over with, he decided suddenly. Ron hadn't left the school, as far as he knew, and that meant he still had time to try to repair their friendship, if he wanted, and for the first time in years Harry wanted that more than anything else in the world.

Blowing out the lamp, Harry snuggled into the warm blankets and drifted off to sleep, already planning for what he knew would be an interesting task, indeed.

Chapter 9

In which stories are told; leather pants are worn; and unexpected things happen in the strangest places.

Repairing his friendship with Ron was proving to be a slightly more difficult task than Harry had first thought. Difficult, because despite half a night sleeping restlessly, with the other half spent staring at his bed curtains while he thought about it, he couldn't even come up with a good way to start.

Ron had already been at breakfast when Harry had gone down to the Great Hall that morning, sitting in his now-customary seat next to a rather sour-faced Severus Snape. Harry wasn't about to go to Ron then and have a chat. He could just see that; no doubt Snape would have been highly amused by any conversation Harry started with the words, 'About that kiss last night,' and providing Snape with any entertainment ranked right up there with accidentally Apparating himself into two places at once.

In the end, he hadn't done anything more than offer Ron a feeble smile after breakfast before he went off to the library to do some research, Ron trailing behind him like some overgrown puppy who hadn't a home. He seemed perfectly content to pretend that nothing at all had happened, which, Harry supposed, would work for now. At least Ron hadn't run off again.

Seated in the middle of the library, Harry was trying to concentrate on his book while ignoring the person fidgeting across from him. Ron had forsaken his coat today, though he was still dressed completely in black, and he had pulled his hair up into a high ponytail at the back of his head, which should have looked ridiculous but rather made him look like a very tall twelve year old.

Ron didn't seem to enjoy the library any more now than he had when he was actually a student. He fidgeted impatiently; bouncing a leg hard enough to shake the entire table while Harry ignored his blatant sighs and tapping fingers. Several times he had started to put his feet up on the table and when Harry had glared at him he'd frozen, smiling sheepishly as he put his feet back down.

It might have been less annoying if Harry hadn't had to stifle laughter every time. Had he really thought Ron had changed that much?

Ron had apparently had enough when he finally managed to accidentally fling a quill he'd been fiddling with halfway across the room, nearly skewering Madame Pince. He stood up abruptly, casting a shamefaced look at the librarian. "Harry, if you're going to be here a while, I'm going to go walk the grounds. I'll be back in a bit."

Harry nodded absently, watching from beneath his lashes as Ron walked out of the library, nearly running out, really, in his apparent eagerness to be free of anything to with silence and books.

Leather pants. Ron was wearing leather pants.

The man was odd.

What was worse was that Harry wasn't sure whether to shake his head and just accept that Ron was nutters or to be envious that he actually looked good in them.

Hold it. Rewind thought. Had he just thought that Ron looked good those pants? More to the point, had he just been looking at Ron to actually see that he looked good? Never mind Ron, he was the one that was nutters. Returning his attention to his book, Harry forced himself to concentrate. His students might think the weekend was made solely for slacking off but as a teacher he no longer had that luxury, and there was another solid argument in favor of never growing up.

It was nearly an hour later when he resurfaced enough to realize that Ron hadn't come back. Shutting his book, Harry put it back on the shelf before deciding he'd better go and look for him.

Not that he was worried. It was just that Ron was supposed to be here to protect him and he couldn't exactly do that if he wasn't around.

It only took him a handful of steps out the library doors to find him. Sitting on the bottom of the stairs, Ron was surrounded by a group of students, apparently in the midst of a story of some sort.

"So there I was," said Ron to his rapt audience. One young girl that Harry recognized as a sixth year Hufflepuff was pressed so closely to Ron's leg that she could have been stitched to his pants, and looking at her, Harry felt a twinge of something in his stomach, a burning as if someone had cast a hex on him. No, not a hex, because even Muggles had to feel this once in a while, and Harry resisted the urge to rip the girl away from Ron and take 20 points from her house for touching.

He groaned to himself. Now he was getting jealous of his own students. Perfect. He was definitely losing his mind.

"I was surrounded on all sides by these dragons, at least ten of them," Ron was saying. "All of them ready to breathe flames and make me an Auror flambé. But I knew if I didn't do something then that dark wizard would get away."

A dozen pair of wide eyes were watching him, leaning in as Ron lowered his voice. "I knew I couldn't let that Wizard escape again. So I pulled out my wand and cast the only spell I could think of that might just work." He gestured with his empty hand, mimicking using his wand and Harry covered his mouth with his own hand, hiding a smile. "In no time at all, I had those dragons purring at my feet like kittens." Harry would have given his left hand to have this kind of attention from his students in class.

"As fascinating as that was, Mr. Weasley," Harry said dryly, stepping out so the children could see him. "I believe the rest of you have other places to be?" The students hastily gathered their things and scattered, leaving Ron sitting alone on the stairs and looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry about that, one of them asked me what I did and I just sort of..." Ron shrugged uncomfortably, "I'm sorry."

Harry felt a pang of his own guilt that Ron was watching him so warily, obviously waiting to be scolded as if he were a student as well. Had he really been so nasty to Ron that he expected to be yelled at for every little thing?

He had, Harry realized and he felt even worse to know it, that he'd stolen whatever small amount of joy Ron had had in telling a story to the children.

Forcing a smile, even though his stomach was twisting, Harry asked lightly, "How much of that was actually true?"

Some of Ron's guardedness melted away and he grinned back, much to Harry's relief.

"Well, it may have only been one dragon," Ron admitted, and at Harry's look, "All right, a fledgling dragon. And I might've...er...gotten my eyebrows singed before I got to the purring part."

"And the purring part?" Harry prompted.

Ron grinned unabashedly. "That may have actually been the part where I ran like hell," he confessed.

"Perhaps I should nickname you Lockhart, eh? Going to start curling your hair and wearing pink robes soon?"

Clutching his chest dramatically, Ron sprawled backwards onto stairs, convulsing as if struck with a curse. "Ah! The cruelty! Shot down in the middle of my prime. At least there was really a dragon."

Unable to help himself, Harry laughed hard, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. It wasn't even that the joke was all that funny, only that this was Ron, his Ron, who knew better how to make him laugh than any person ever had.

Ron watched him from his perch on the stairs, seeming very pleased and that was familiar too. Perhaps this wouldn't be quite as difficult as he'd first thought.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Harry finally held out a hand to Ron and helped him to his feet before moving to walk up the stairs himself.

"Where are we going now?" asked Ron, falling into step next to him

"I thought I'd go upstairs to the Owlery and visit Hedwig."

Ron grinned. "You still have her? She as fast as she used to be?"

"Of course I still have her," Harry said indignantly. "She's a little slower now than she was but she's still a good owl. Don't you still have Pig?"

Some of Ron's good humor seemed to fade and he focused his eyes forward. "No. He died a few years ago."

"Ron, I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Nah, you couldn't have known. You know, that little bugger spent half his time driving me loony. When I was training him as my Familiar, I thought I was out of my mind, but when it came down to it, he died saving my life. He always tried so hard..."

Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder and stopped him, and Ron turned to look at him questioningly, his face only inches away, and Harry promptly forgot whatever it was he'd intended to say.

The both of them seemed frozen for a moment, standing so very close; close enough that Harry could see the flecks of gold in Ron's eyes. Odd, in all the years he'd known Ron, he'd never noticed that before. He'd always thought Ron's eyes were just plain blue, but then, when had anything about Ron been plain?

"Ron?" he finally said, his voice cracking, and he cleared his throat. "Ron, about last night..."

It was as if a brick wall had suddenly dropped from the ceiling and fallen between them. Ron nearly stumbled backwards, not stopping until he hit the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Harry got the idea that he was wishing for his absent coat.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ron muttered, seeming to find the stone stairs to be utterly riveting.

"Ron, I..."

"What part of 'Don't want to talk about it' didn't get there? Just forget it, all right? I..."

"If you two are quite finished, there are other people who would like to use the stairs."

Harry whirled so fast he would have fallen down the stairs if Ron hadn't caught his arm, his fingers tightening painfully for a moment before letting him go. Harry wondered absently if he'd have a bruise, and then didn't bother to wonder about anything else as his hackles rose at the sight of the person who'd spoken.

Snape was on the stairs beneath them, looking even more sour than usual, and Harry could have screamed in frustration. Trust Snape to prance on in and spoil what little progress he might have been making. Which wasn't much he'd admit, but you had to start somewhere.

"I beg your pardon," Harry said politely as he took an exaggerated step back. Snape walked on past them, his eyes never leaving Harry and he paused on the step above them.

"And I doubt such scenes are appropriate while in the sight of our students, Professor Potter. Perhaps I could beg of you not to grope each other in hallways where anyone can see you."

"We weren't groping each other, Severus," Ron said quietly. Snape turned to look at Ron as if just noticing him. They locked eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment and then, to Harry's surprise, Snape turned away and continued up the stairs, calling back to them, "Just remember what I said, Potter."

Harry gritted his teeth and said nothing. The moment was lost. "You have to admit, the man knows how to hold a grudge. All this time and he still hates me."

"Maybe you just remind him too much of your father," Ron said, almost absently. "Look, why don't you go visit Hedwig. I've got a few things to do." He darted up the stairs before Harry could say another word, disappearing down a hallway.

Wonderful, Harry thought sourly, when I don't want him around he's walking on my heels and when I do he vanishes every two minutes.

Typical.

Ron walked silently down the hallway, not looking at any of the waving paintings for once as he 'felt' his way along as lightly as he could. At the last classroom, just beyond the statue of the humpbacked witch, he hesitated, and then walked into the classroom, shutting the door behind him.

"What was that all about, Severus?"

Snape stood in the middle of the classroom, arms folded as he studied Ron before finally deciding to answer him. "I was just curious as to whether or not you and Mr. Potter had gotten around to discussing me," he said softly, but the lack of bite in his voice meant nothing to Ron. It didn't take an Auror to see the emotions flashing in those black eyes and Ron fought back a sigh.

"Severus, there are many things I would like to discuss with Harry," Ron said patiently, hoping that he didn't sound too condescending. "Lots of them. You are not one of them. You aren't even on the reserve list."

"Oh, I was just thinking that someday if you were bored you might tell an idle little story about me to amuse him."

"I doubt there is anything I could tell him about you that would amuse him," Ron said dryly, turning to leave.

"I'm sure there is nothing I could tell him about you to amuse him either."

Ron halted, looking at Snape through narrowed eyes. "Is that a threat?"

"Not at all! Only that if you tell him certain things about me, he'll surely wonder where you heard such things and I..."

Before he even knew what he was doing, Ron had knotted his hands into Snape's robes and slammed him against the wall. "I'm not going to play games with you, Snape. I haven't told Harry anything about you and I don't intend to."

Severus smiled thinly. "Good. You keep your secrets and I will keep mine."

"Thank you," he said sardonically. "I think Harry has a poor enough opinion of the both of us without adding to the mix."

"What makes you think I'm concerned about his opinion of me?"

"I don't."

"I just wanted to remind you that you have an oath," said Snape, the faintest edge to his voice.

"I could hardly forget it. I don't need you to remind me of my duties, Severus."

"No, I don't suppose you do," he murmured, and Ron abruptly realized Severus' face was as close as Harry's had been moments earlier, closer even, his own body holding Snape's against the wall. Only Severus wasn't trying to get away. Not at all. And his hands...

"I thought you were against people groping each other?" Ron asked archly, not moving.

"Oh, in the hallways, certainly. But this is a classroom."

"So you'd rather I tried groping Harry in the classrooms?"

"Actually, I was thinking that perhaps you'd be better off focusing on an easier target," Severus said softly, tilting his head just so before he kissed him.

Nothing gentle or tender, kisses much like Snape himself, his tongue forcing Ron's lips apart and sliding inside to toy with Ron's. Tightening his grip on Severus' robe, Ron nipped lightly at that probing tongue, briefly sweeping his own over the dark softness of Snape's mouth before he pulled back, breathing heavily.

Snape's breathing was no more steady than his own, and he tilted his head upward, offering without words.

Silently, Ron let go of his robes, and stepped back, hesitating as uncertainty rose in those dark eyes. He reached out and rested his knuckles against Snape's cheek. "If you'd had the chance to at least try, would you have given up?" Ron asked softly and Snape's mouth twisted. Ron let his hand fall as Severus stepped away, straightening his robes briskly.

"At least try to stay out of the hallways, hmm? I doubt that's the kind of education the students came here to receive, no matter how much they might enjoy it."

Chapter 10

In which an Auror and a Professor survive an incident; fortunes are told, albeit unwillingly; and a late-night visit occurs at the worst of times.

It was rather impressive how often a person could see someone else, and yet not really have a chance to see them at all.

Harry sat at his desk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, absently shredding the feathers off his quill as he waited for his next class to arrive, wondering where Ron had gotten off to. He was certain Ron was about somewhere nearby, but exactly where he wasn't sure, and digging out the Marauder's Map seemed to be cheating, somehow, in whatever little game Ron was trying to play with him.

In the past week he'd done everything he could think of to corner Ron someplace, and every plan he'd had had been nothing but an exercise in wasted effort. Not that Ron hadn't been around, quite the contrary. He'd been in every one of Harry's classes, being the diligent bodyguard, at every meal in the Great Hall, sitting quietly next to Snape, but any time Harry had tried to get him alone, Ron had always been a few steps away somehow, vanishing whenever Harry worked up the determination to try and talk to him about...what it was they needed to talk about.

Annoying little prat, he thought sourly, as quick as a pixie and as stubborn and prideful as a griffin. Still, he hadn't left Hogwarts to disappear into parts unknown, and Harry had never in his life backed down from a challenge, not even one as odd as this.

One of the students walked into the classroom, followed by several more and Harry straightened up in his chair, putting on his 'teacher' face. The class was half assemble when Ron finally came in, plunking down in his customary desk, far in the back.

Harry glared at him for a moment, the students forgotten as Ron gazed back with a look of utter innocence. A nice try, Weasley, he thought, but you aren't going to be able to hide behind the children forever.

He waited a moment for the last stragglers to dash in and collapse into their seats before he got to his feet, moving to stand in front of his desk and putting Ron out of his mind, for the moment.

This was his Slytherin class, not particularly one he enjoyed, but Harry tried to be as fair as he possible could. He refused to play favorites between the houses, his own school years still close enough in memory for him to recall how much he had disliked it.

"To begin with today, we're going to have a short quiz," Harry announced, ignoring the groans from various parts of the room. "I'd like to see how well all of you are grasping my lectures. Please put your books underneath your desk, all you'll need is a quill and a piece of parchment."

Harry turned around to gather his notes together and heard someone behind him mutter, "If I'd have known we'd be taking a quiz every bloody day, I'd have taken a second Potions class."

Just loud enough for Harry to identify the speaker and he turned back around, moving to stand in front of Leon Alstead's desk. A snobbish boy from a well-to-do family, he reminded Harry rather unpleasantly of Draco Malfoy. Harry fixed him with a glare without saying a word, and Alstead subsided immediately, a sullen expression on his face.

He ignored whatever word it was Alstead mumbled under his breath, reaching again for his notes when another, again familiar, voice spoke up.

"Just shut your gob and take the bloody test," Ron muttered, loudly enough for the entire class to hear, and Harry frowned, opening his mouth to rebuke them both, and then frowning deeper, his brow creasing as he studied Ron. Come to think of it, wasn't he just a touch pale?

The boy's mouth dropped open, cheeks flushing as he turned around to look at Ron. "Do you know who my father is?" he demanded imperiously.

"Yes, I know who he is and I expect he knows me," Ron said, rubbing his temples briefly before glaring back at the boy, "But let me tell you something, child. You won't always have your father's money and influence cutting a path through life for you. Some day you'll wake up and find yourself in the real world with no one to depend on but yourself, and I promise you, on that day you'll be wishing that you'd paid just a little better attention in class."

He stood up slowly, eyes never leaving the increasingly pale Leon as the rest of the class, including Harry, watched him in stunned silence. "Someday, you'll be all alone, watching everyone you ever cared about dying around you one by one, and you'll be standing there by yourself in a cheap little flat, wondering where you went wrong, hating yourself
more and more, hating the world and after that it'll only be a matter of time, just a little time before..."

Ron fell silent, swaying slightly before his eyes rolled back and flashed whites as he abruptly collapsed to the floor, landing hard as he started to convulse.

Harry rudely shoved his way through the crowd of panicking students, nearly pushing one over a desk as he struggled to get to Ron. He'd only seen this once before, and he felt like he was half outside himself, admiring his own calm as he moved chairs and desks aside so that Ron wouldn't hurt himself thrashing against them.

As quickly as his seizure had started, it was over and Ron lay on the floor completely still, eyes vacant and staring. Amidst the various uproar of cries and scuffling around him Harry heard one girl, Patrice Weaberman, he thought, blubbering that he was dead.

"Hush, he isn't dead," Harry said sharply, his gut clenching tight at the very thought. "He's in a trance. Just keep back, he might startle when he comes out of it." He knew it was a trance, had seen Ron do this once before, when he'd first come into his Sight, and yet, he was so very pale, the freckles that Harry had thought vanished sprinkled across his cheeks like flecks of ink on a sheet of parchment. A single droplet of blood trickled down his cheek from his nose, starkly
crimson, and Harry found he couldn't tear his eyes away from that ugly streak of color, watched it slowly creep down Ron's face before disappearing into his hair.

The only sound in the classroom was the unnatural silence of the fearful, all the students watching warily as Ron blinked once, twice, and in unison they fell back with a cry as he scrambled to his feet, staggering slightly as he looked around the room in bewilderment, more droplets of blood spattering the floor in perfect circles of scarlet.

"It's all right," Harry soothed, cursing himself silently for not dismissing the students when he'd had a chance. He stepped closer, reaching towards Ron but not touching. "You're fine. Ron? Look at me now, come on. It's good. It's all right."

Ron blinked again, eyes clearing as if he suddenly recognized who was speaking to him. He wiped a hand over his face, looking at the dark streak of blood on it for a moment before looking back up.

"Harry?" he asked uncertainly.

Harry smiled at him in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. "That's right. You're here, Ron. You're all right."

He blinked again, looking around the room wildly. "I saw something..." said Ron, his bloody hand straying towards his coat pocket.

"No!" Harry shouted, and all the students jumped along with Ron, another cry escaping Patrice before she crammed her hand against her mouth to stifle it. "No, don't do that," he said, softening his tone. The last thing they needed was for Ron to start firing curses about in a classroom of frightened students.

Ron blinked again, as if the light was suddenly too bright, and he shook his head a little, closing his eyes as he pressed the palm of his hand firmly against his forehead.

"I'm fine," he muttered, and then louder. "I'm fine. Just been closing off a little too tight lately."

Harry nodded, more for his students than for Ron. "I know," he said, softly. "Why don't you let me take you to the Infirmary." He reached out, barely touching Ron's arm before he jerked away like Harry's touch stung.

"No," Ron said, taking a step backward. "I just need some fresh air." He turned on heel and strode out of the classroom, leaving Harry with nearly two-dozen panicked students to calm, pushing aside his own worry for the moment while he did his job, even as his eyes strayed back to the door, vainly hopin