Mad Snorkacks and Englishmen

A/N: Well, here it is. Yes, I know, that was the longest week in history.













Chapter 34: The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore





“Ah, shite, there’s that feckin’ Corner, again. I think he’s looking for you, Gin,” Neville warned. He and Ginny instantly curved their bodies inside the edges of the stone column currently hiding them from the advancing students, all heading to the archway.





“Cor’, what a bother. He’s such a sap. He’s started moaning about how much he loves me, now, every time we get a leg over and I just can’t handle it at the moment.” Ginny flicked the ash off her fag and watched it float to the grass, some of it carried away on the breeze. It wasn’t her fault that Michael had to go and get all mushy on her. He had never been terribly romantic when they’d gone out before and she was somewhat surprised by the development. She took another deep drag off of her cigarette and contemplated the sky, happy to see a bit of sunshine before they were walled up in that bleak castle at her back.





It was quiet for a few moments and she listened to snatches of conversation as people walked by them unseen, then Neville spoke up. “So…you’ve gone all the way, then? With Michael? I thought you were just…you know, keeping it oral.” Neville was looking at her with some doubt when she chanced a glance back at his face.





“Yes, well, he’s not that good at it, unfortunately, no matter how hard I’ve been trying to train him, so I got a bit, uh, frustrated with his lack of ability and just decided, to hell with it, I might as well get it over with. Who am I saving myself for, anyway? Bloody stupid idea, if you ask me,” she grumbled.





Neville held out his hand to her, two of his fingers split, and she handed him the fag so he could take a puff. His eyes roved over her face as he dragged in the smoke, the tip going bright orange, and when he handed the cigarette back to her he exhaled out of the side of his mouth, away from her, before speaking again. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”





Ginny only grinned at him, however, as she cocked her head. “You wouldn’t, Neville, but then you’re a sweetheart, a true gentleman. The girl who gives up her virginity to you will be very lucky.” But Neville scowled at her compliments.





“Stop taking the mickey. I’m not that virtuous,” he muttered ominously, causing Ginny to laugh out loud. Neville made to glare at her in chastisement, but then his expression turned alarmed and he pushed her to the other side of the column. “Quick, put out your fag. McGonagall at four o’clock.” She took her wand from her robe and swiftly spelled the lit tobacco to go dormant, then tucked both sticks back in her pockets, trying to appear nonchalant as she leaned back against the brick. “Is Michael still out there?” she whispered while staring at the ground, lifting up the tops of her feet and then stamping them back down a few times.





“Nope, he went inside already with Terry and Anthony.” Ginny made a face in her disgust. “Ugh, you’re joking. Isn’t that charming; he’s hanging around with that rapist, again? I told him that Terry was bad news,” she complained. “You’d think the git would pay attention to me when he’s getting some. Merlin, he’s pathetic.” Men, she groaned in her head, the whole lot of them are complete tossers. This was not quite the way she wanted to re-start the school year. Michael was pants at a lot of things, but he made for a nice diversion, at the very least, and she’d go bloody insane if all she had to keep her nights busy was detention with Amycus. Still, the thought of her…semi-somewhat-not quite boyfriend keeping company with Boot made her feel ill. She couldn’t even stand to look at the creep anymore and had been unable to contain her shock when Luna had invited him to the first D.A. meeting. Sometimes, there was just no reasoning with the girl.





Luna.





Ginny put her hands to her belly and pressed hard, her fingers overlapping, while the queasiness that had sprung up from her thoughts settled back down. It had literally made her sick over the Christmas break to think about Luna being taken away by Aurors and Death Eaters off of the train, and she’d spent most of her time home lying in bed with worry. Neville had Owled her as soon as he’d gotten to his Gran’s and told her in the letter what had happened. She’d been so distraught that second night back at the Burrow that her mother had had to administer some Dreamless Sleep potion. Even now, it was hard to think about it, but she and Neville had spent the entire train ride back into Hogwarts discussing what might be done from their end. Not having Luna there in the Great Hall once supper came round would be difficult to deal with, seeing proof positive that their friend was, indeed, in dire straits and might never be returned to them. Her dark thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Neville swearing, followed by his low, descending whistle.





“Ho-ly…fuck. You’re not going to believe this,” he claimed, his voice awed. Ginny had jumped behind her tall friend and poked her head out from his side, eyeing over the students still milling their way to the entrance of the castle to spot what had caught Neville’s surprise. “What? Who are you staring at?” she demanded breathlessly, but her sight landing on the object of his fascination almost immediately.





Strolling across the grass as if he had every right to be there, flanked by a very animated Crabbe and Goyle, and with his ferret face wearing that same, stuck-up superiority as always, was none other than Voldemort’s latest minion—Draco Malfoy.





“Merlin’s hairy balls; what’s he doing back?” she snarled. Ginny hadn’t expected to see him at Hogwarts ever again, and yet, here he is, just as free as you please, she marveled. What had been going on with the boy? He didn’t seem to have any baggage with him, but was dressed casually in dark slacks and a button-down shirt, the top three buttons undone to reveal a patch of pale skin. He wore a thin smile for his friends as they chatted excitedly around him, his hands plucking at some poor flower as he removed its petals one by one. Draco had an air of patience about him as if he’d been awaiting his mates’ arrival to the school, and she wondered just when he had shown up. Ginny watched him closely, her mouth pursing like she’d been sucking on the tartest of lemons.





“There’s got to be a reason he’s here now,” she muttered to Neville, but in her head, only one thought was shining clearly.





Ginny just got a new diversion.





~~~~0





She watched him intently all through the New Year’s feast and the Headmaster’s announcements. As Snape droned on about changes in the staff, Ginny noted every movement in Draco’s face, every hint of expression. There were only the subtlest signs of discomfort, however, as he maintained his normally cool, above-it-all demeanor. She could make out some shadows under his eyes, the only thing marring his fair complexion, and the eyes in question darted around the hall frequently, but whether out of fear or suspicion, she wasn’t sure. Still, there was something off about him, she decided, and she stared so hard at those delicate features that she forgot herself for a moment, forgot to be sly in her manner. Looking at him here back to familiar surroundings, while Luna was kidnapped somewhere probably in mortal peril, while Harry was struggling out there in the wilderness with her brother and Hermione trying to stay alive, Ginny wanted to punch that pointy, polished face just to upset it. She remembered what Harry had told them about Draco’s pathetic attempt at murdering Dumbledore, how he’d fallen apart in the face of it, and she wished she that she had been there to see his failure. Draco Malfoy blubbering like a baby, his pallor gone ghostly white in his horror—how awesome would that have been to witness?—she could imagine him practically pissing in his pants as his wand shook.





Ginny felt a sudden twinge of shame and dropped her gaze to her plate of food. Now she was just being mean, she admonished herself. It was a good thing that Draco hadn’t gone through with it, even if that meant Mr. Greasy Guts had to finish the job. She tried to imagine what that must have felt like, standing there threatening someone as powerful and as decent as Dumbledore because you’d felt you’d been given no choice, but failing to have the ability to kill another person, anyway, regardless of what was being held over you. Perhaps there was some hope for him, yet, she acknowledged. Harry had said that Voldemort had threatened Draco’s family, and she wondered what would happen if she was ever put in that same position. She knew without question that she’d fight to the death for any one of her brothers or her parents, but could she murder somebody outright?





As Ginny pondered the answers to such weighty questions, she glanced back up at his spot at Slytherin’s table where he was surrounded by his sycophantic mates. Her breath caught, eyes widening, and she almost choked on her custard-covered gooseberry pie.





Draco was staring right back at her.





Their eyes locked and she watched a smirk curl up the side of his mouth. He was as smug as always, the nasty shit. In that moment, Ginny had never wanted to hurt another person so much in her life. She felt like a spell had been cast and there was a magical current zipping between them. Draco represented everything that had gone wrong at Hogwarts, gone wrong with the war, gone wrong with her and Harry. Ginny was tired of it all and was tired of being frustrated by her life’s outcomes, but as she gawked back at the prat, her mouth suddenly curved up to mimic his. A beautiful idea was forming in her head.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0





Luna held Mr. Ollivander as he rested against her shoulder. It was quite boring down in the dank cellar and so she had resorted to naming every creature she had memorized from Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them aloud in alphabetical order to keep herself awake. As much as she had been upset by Draco’s aggressiveness, she had been strangely looking forward to talking to him again. But he hadn’t been back to see her and she was growing worried about the boy. Had something gone wrong? The only visitors they’d received since then had been a few house elves, Bondy and Tildy. At least no one had been around to abuse poor Mr. Ollivander some more and she’d done her best to make sure he was comfortable and got some much needed sleep. He was up now, but still quite tired, so she let him half-doze against her while she patted him soothingly.





She had made it all the way to Welsh Greens before she finally grew disinterested in her game, switching to some poetry, instead, to pass the time until one of the house-elves brought them food. Luna hoped that they would include some pudding for dessert, like last time. That had been rather sweet of them. She tried to recall a piece of a sonnet her father used to recite to her, or perhaps it was in a song? She hammered her throat to clear it before spouting a verse for Mr. Ollivander and the barrels.



Cold hearted orb that rules the night

Removes the colours from our sight

Red is gray and yellow, white

But we decide which is right

And which is an illusion



Pinprick holes in a colourless sky

Let insipid figures of light pass by

The mighty light of ten thousand suns

Challenges infinity and is soon gone

Night time, to some a brief interlude

To others the fear of solitude





Luna wrinkled her nose when she was done. Where had that come from? The passages seemed kind of silly and overwrought upon further reflection. But Mr. Ollivander stirred at her side, looking up at her with affection.





“That was lovely, my dear. Do you know any Keats?” Of course Luna knew Keats, and she was just about to start on her favorite poem from him when they heard footsteps descending to the door. The footfalls were heavier than Draco’s, more confident in their slower gait. She nervously anticipated the new visitor as she tightened her grip on Mr. Ollivander. Luna was quite surprised when the door opened.





Lucius Malfoy stood there looking at her with cool detachment as he assessed her from top to bottom again. He flicked his gaze to the old man beside her and his nose sniffed in disgust.





“Ollivander, your stench has become unbearable. We’ve arranged for another trip upstairs, into the light. Try not to be difficult, this time,” he drawled in a bemused tone. Luna clenched her fingers in their grasp around the frail man’s arm, feeling immediately protective.





“He’s been through enough. He needs rest and proper medical attention. Mr. Ollivander can’t even eat, he’s so weak. And the Wrackspurts are only making things worse,” she reported matter-of-factly, as if this was important news to his captors. Poor Mr. Ollivander was suffering through the worst infestation she’d seen in a while, the cloud around his ear so thick with them that she didn’t even need the aid of the Spectrespecs.





Lucius did not appear to be impressed. “I’m quite aware of what our dear little wandmaker needs, child, although it’s very touching, your need to play nursemaid.” His brows converged as he pondered her diagnosis. “I’ve no idea what these…Wrackspurts are, but I don’t think they’ll be much of a concern once the Dark Lord returns.” His face brightened. “You, however, might be wise to concern yourself with your own plight. I think it is time for you and me to have a bit of a chat, Miss Lovegood.”





Luna grew colder as she stared into those eyes, but then more feet were marching down the stairs followed by the entrance of the same brutes that had brought her to the cellar. One second they were tugging Mr. Ollivander away from her grip, the old man emitting a feeble whimper, the next they were gone. Lucius closed the door behind them softly. When he looked back at her, he smiled, but it was not inviting. The man’s eyes held a dark promise. He calmly walked over to the center of the room and conjured a chair much as Draco had done, although this one was more of a regal, high-backed style that did not look the slightest bit comfortable. He sat down stiffly and crossed one leg over the other, his silver-headed cane resting across his knees like a bar for which he suddenly grasped both ends.





“Good afternoon, Miss Lovegood. I am Lucius Malfoy, in case you were wondering. You are in Malfoy Manor, my home. This is my cellar we are currently sitting in. The two house elves who have been bringing you supper are mine, and you are eating my food. The Dark Lord has seen fit to keep you here while your father comes to his senses and stops printing hogwash about that foolish boy. So, given my hospitality, I should think you proper enough to answer my questions obligingly.”





Luna stayed quiet as she remained fixed by his gaze, her heart racing and her mouth dry. He tapped the bottom of his boot heel with his cane twice and she practically flinched at the sound of it.





“Now, I do believe you have been enjoying an established relationship with my son. I would like to discuss this first….”





She wondered what had happened to Draco, then, and what they planned to do with her. The man talked on in that velvety voice, but she could only watch his lips move, unresponsive to his goading tongue. She picked up her game in her head, quick to follow up the Welsh Green with the wildebeest. Luna was almost to the end of the alphabet, after all.







~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o





It was a late afternoon and Hermione was reading through her book on runes again, hoping to come across more signs that might coincide with Dumbledore’s mark. The Deathly Hallows story couldn’t have been the only connection, she felt sure that her Headmaster was leading them somewhere else. She just had to be more diligent in finding out where. They had spent all morning moving camp, but the few days prior had been spent in London making way to the British Library and she had left there with much to think about. While there may have been a lot that was useful in the building’s massive archives, the trio’s time had been so strictly limited that Hermione had resorted to sticking with the information she could access quickly on the computer’s internet service. A few interesting ideas had popped up on the Wiccan sites she’d scanned and Hermione was trying to transfer the possibilities to the text in front of her. There was a sudden clatter behind her and her head shot up to take in Harry picking up a pan off the floor. He looked up at her and Ron sheepishly.







“Sorry! I—I’ll have dinner soon. Just thought I’d make a mess first,” he added, his deprecating tone making Hermione smile. Harry seemed to be getting much better since their unexpected festival a week ago. He was less withdrawn, even pleasant. It made her heart sing to see the change in her friend. She glanced at Ron sitting across from her against their pile of rucksacks as a makeshift backrest. He had been leafing through a magazine quietly while they waited for Harry to make them something to eat. It had been agreed uniformly several weeks back that the three of them would take turns with the task of preparing meals. It just became one less thing to bitch about if everyone had a hand in keeping the group fed. While there were still days when scraps were all they could come by, both Ron and Harry seemed committed to making the best of it. Hermione was impressed by Ron’s willingness to forgo the best interests of his stomach for a more harmonious atmosphere. Some nights, his giddy spirits were a bit much, but it was welcomed, nonetheless. She still worried about Harry and his diet, but when they were able to scrounge up some good food, it was a load off her mind to see him eat with some gusto. His returning appetite signaled to Hermione that his depression was finally lifting.





“If you need any more utensils, I have a spatula in that bag behind you. There’s a few eggs still left over, too. We should probably spell a dozen more out of them for the following week,” she suggested helpfully.





“Mmmm, know what we need, mate? Some ground sausage. Make us up a batch of Scotch eggs. Blimey, that sounds bloody brilliant. With a frosty pint. Aw, yeah, that’s what we have to get next time we’re close to town.” Ron’s eyes closed as he tilted his head back with a dreamy air. Hermione snickered. Some things hadn’t change, after all.





“That…sounds. Freaking awesome, mate.” Harry busied himself with getting his cooking supplies as he headed to the flaps of their tent. They had tried to find a way to do their cooking inside—trying to keep their location inconspicuous without the smoke of a campfire drawing attention to them—but there was more of a concern with accidentally setting the tent aflame, so dried goods and cold sandwiches became the preferred choice. But every now and again, a piping hot plate of meat or fish really was needed to keep their sustenance up. Once Harry was outside, Hermione tapped Ron’s foot with her shoe, his glance barely rising up from the pages at first. But then his eyes bulged, jerking his neck as he regarded her with an unspoken yeah?







“He’s doing so well, don’t you think?” she pointed out, her voice low enough that Harry couldn’t hear them. Ron eyed the exit and then looked back at her with a shrug.







“Yeah, he’s better, I s’pose. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with him, though. He might be giving us what we want, pretending he’s alright when he’s really hiding all kinds of tosh that’s eating away at him, know what I mean? Gotta watch that one like a hawk. Plus, I don’t think he’s quite forgiven us for making him take the Unbreakable Vow, yet.” Ron looked at her meaningfully, making it obvious that what he really meant was that Harry hadn’t forgiven her for casting the vow. Then again, Ron didn’t know the full story, did he? Hermione imagined that if Harry could feel remorse for the awful things they had done and said to each other while they’d been under the locket’s influence, surely he could understand her insistence on protecting Harry from himself?







“How can you say that, Ron? Harry knows that he’s a loose cannon, that it gets him into trouble, and he knows that we’re only keeping him safe. I think he realizes he has a better grasp of the situation intellectually than he does emotionally, so he’s getting better at keeping those emotions in check. And I notice—”





Hermione darted a glance at the flaps before leaning closer to Ron’s face, the rest of her sentence hushed. “I noticed he hasn’t been having as many bad dreams. I can hear him, usually, when I’m on watch, so I know when he’s having troubles. He’s been sleeping much more peacefully, lately. That’s a good sign.” Her eyebrows shot upwards in her hopeful grin. “He’s eating, he’s talking. It feels like we’ve gotten over a bad patch, finally, and things are more settled.”







Ron scrunched up his mouth as he pondered her words, but then gave another shrug. “It’s not like he’s forgotten all about Luna being stuck in Azkaban, Hermione. He’s still pretty upset about that. I think he’s just trying to get through each day the best that he can. So…you know…just bear that in mind. It won’t take much to set him off again. Go easy on him with the nagging.”







Hermione balked, her indignation turning her cheeks hot. “What?! I—I’m not nagging! When have I—what did I—that comment about the eggs wasn’t nagging!” she hissed.







Ron tried to contain his smirk, but was doing a piss poor job of it. “Yeah, all right, ‘Mione. Whatever you say.”







She gave another offended sound as she flounced back in her chair, trying not to be too hurt by the accusation. She thought she’d been getting better about that, purposely keeping her criticisms to a minimum. Hermione didn’t want either of them misconstruing the things she said as a dig, hoping to maintain their cooperative spirit for as long as possible. She hadn’t said a word when they’d awakened her the last two nights in a row with their mad giggling outside of the tent. Trust Ron to not notice her efforts.







“Believe me, there have been plenty of times when I could have said something, but I didn’t. You boys get so touchy. Never mind that you keep me up with all of your nattering on when it’s my turn to sleep. It would be wise for you to get some shut-eye, too, Ron, instead of playing joker for Harry on his watch. No wonder I always find you passed out when I come to switch posts. And I don’t half know what you two find so deliriously funny at two o’clock in the morning, but it might do you well to remember that we’re a threesome, here.”







Ron’s ginger eyebrows flew to his forehead, his expression scandalized, but he refrained from commenting. Hermione blushed when she realized what she’d implied and immediately turned flustered. “Um, I mean, we’re a trio, not—not in a threesome, like a, like in a sexual way or anything. Don’t be so vulgar, Ron.”







“Me? I didn’t say anything! You’re the one’s got your mind in the gutter.”







She slammed her book closed and made more choking noises in her throat. “I do NOT have my mind in the gutter, Ronald Weasley! You’re the one that looked at me like I said something naughty! You boys are—are—a BAD influence!”







Harry’s head suddenly poked into the tent. “What the bloody hell are you two shouting about?”







“Sex,” Ron stated flatly. Harry’s head quickly disappeared.







“Oh, charming, now he’s going to feel awkward coming back in here,” she complained as she waved her hand towards the outside.







“Awkward? Harry? The same bloke that started Wankfest ’97 on the first few months of our tour? That Harry? You must be joking.” Ron shook out his magazine theatrically, feigning interest in it again before mumbling out of the side of his mouth. “And I’m sure he’d have lots to say on the topic of threesomes, too.”







“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione blurted, folding her arms to her chest while her brain scrambled to determine where and how Ron had managed to hear about Harry and the girls. But it couldn’t have been possible, not unless Harry had confessed it to his friend, an action she would find mad reckless considering one of the girls was Ron’s sister.







Ron studied her carefully for a few beats before replying, making Hermione feel suddenly anxious. “Well, let’s just say he seems keen on the idea. It’s not like he hasn’t tried to start something with us a few times already.”





Hermione’s midsection went tight as her breath seemed to evaporate from her lungs. She was sure her face was burning bright red by now, the guilt splattered all over it. She spoke tentatively, almost brokenly, as she attempted to dissuade him from the notion. “I—I think—that’s a bit unfair, Ron. We were either drunk or high when that happened. Harry just wanted to feel good with us; safe. He’s not got—you know—some master plan to seduce us or—or anything mad like that. You don’t really believe that.”







Ron’s eyes slid back down to his magazine, seemingly carefree at the charge, although he was twitchy in his shoulders. “Nah, nah, I’m not saying that. Just something I noticed, you know, between us all.” His gaze swung up to her face for a second before returning to his reading. “There’s, you know, lots of, uh, sexual tension, sometimes. What, you never felt it?”







Hermione opened her book again, pretending that she was every bit as nonchalant as he was about the subject while she perused the illustrations with perceived fascination. “With the three of us? Not normally, no; not unless we’re blissed out on some drug, as would be expected. I don’t know, maybe a bit, but then, I think a lot of that is from you and me and Harry just gets caught up in it. He’s obviously a very physical being. But he loves Luna, doesn’t he? He’ll do anything for her, even something as completely mental as striding right up to the gates of Azkaban to get her out. Don’t think he’s in his right mind, some days.”







“Yeah, he’s a bit of a wild one, alright. Never would have guessed he’d turn out like this in first year, huh?”







In spite of her nerves, Hermione had to grin. “Oh my. He certainly has changed, hasn’t he? He used to be so quiet, too, and always the big, wide eyed stare at everything like he just couldn’t believe any of it was real.” But just as suddenly, her face darkened. “I shudder to think how he would have grown up if he hadn’t come to Hogwarts. That family has been a nightmare to him, even if his cousin has changed his stripes for the better. Still doesn’t erase the fact that he and his friends used to beat the tar out of Harry when they were kids.”





Ron finally stopped looking at his Quidditch rag to gape at her. “He told you that? He actually said that to you?” It was almost as if he was accusing her of something his expression was so stern.









“Uh, well, yes? Why? Did he say something different to you?” Her discomfort with the discussion returned.







“Well, no, but then, he’s never really said much of anything about that stuff, has he?” Ron glanced at the flaps leading outside again and then leaned forward conspiratorially, his eyes continually shifting to the side. He spoke in a whisper. “I can’t believe he was finally dead straight with you about it. I mean, it’s like when we went to get him out of their house before second year started, me and the twins in Dad’s car, he had bars on his windows, Hermione. We really did have to break him out, like it was a prison. They had him locked up in his room most of the summer, just because he was a wizard and they didn’t want him learning magic. That was all kinds of fucked up, but he never said if that was normal for them, you know? I always felt that they’d done it before, had Harry locked away when they didn’t want to deal with him. Bloody hell, I was only twelve; I didn’t know how to approach him about it. I told Dad, though.” He scratched an arm as he stared off again at the opening, as though expecting Harry to walk through any second. “Do you think that’s part of the reason why the locket was so rough for him? Bad memories from his childhood, maybe? Blimey, do you think that’s why he likes to be in control during sex, so much? ‘Cause they were always controlling him? How bad do you think it got, really?”







Hermione stared back at Ron with her mouth open for a bit before snapping it shut. That was probably the most Ron had ever said about Harry’s upbringing in one sitting. Without thinking, she told him the worst of it. “They used to lock him up in the coat cupboard underneath the stairs. That was where he slept until his Hogwarts letter came.” She made it sound so factual, like she was answering a question in the classroom and not divulging one of Harry’s greatest secrets. Ron’s face fell, turning appropriately disturbed.







“Are you shitting me?”







Hermione shook her head and was about to add more when the flaps swished open and Harry strode in with a plate of bangers and fried mash. “Food’s on, if you’re interested,” he declared. “Unless, of course, you’re both still chatting about having it off with each other,” he added with a smirk.







“Nah, we’re talking about you, now.” Ron’s reply was droll, but she could see he was eyeing Harry critically. Harry didn’t seem to notice, his retort just as dry.







“Ah, right, your other favorite topic. Thought I could feel my ears bleeding. Well, if you two can tear yourselves away from criticizing my leadership skills, come on outside and eat up. The weather has actually warmed up a bit. Sun feels good, but it’s already starting to sink.”







“Don’t have to tell me twice, mate. Right behind you.” Ron threw his magazine on the floor of the tent while hauling himself up to his feet. He gave Hermione a pointed glance before following Harry through the opening. She sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything, but of the choice, she felt safer talking about Harry’s wretched past than his libido with Ron. She hoped he didn’t bring up the subject of ‘tension’ again.







Much later, after the sun had set and the trio was sated, they sat around listening to Ron fiddle with the wireless in his endless search for the so-called Potterwatch broadcast. Hermione wished he’d just settle on some music, but he was adamant, so she let him continue twiddling knobs while she lay back on her cot reading through her Spellman’s Syllabary again. Harry appeared to be taking inventory of his mokeskin pouch, pulling each item out carefully for a cursory inspection. Ron landed the dial on some kind of show, the canned laughter filling the tent before some gentleman with a heavy brogue began telling a rather bawdy story about a night he spent with two women. Harry and Ron both chuckled at some of the man’s colorful language, but then the signal went fuzzy and all they could hear was the sound of static once more.







“Just as well. Quite inappropriate, that one. I can’t believe what the censors let comedians get away with these days,” she muttered to no one in particular. Ron snorted his amusement.







“Hermione, you’ve known Fred and George how long now? That bloke’s material was right tame compared to some of the raunchy tales they liked to pass around the school. I know you’ve heard them all, too. You find the weirdest things to get shocked by.”







“Whatever, Ron, that wasn’t the point,” she exhaled, eyes still glued to her book. She refused to let him rile her up again, even if his teasing got her a bit hot and bothered.







Harry grinned. “Hey, do you remember the one about the female contortionist and her love of clown co—”







“Harry!” Hermione cut him off with a squawk, sitting up in a rush. “Do you mind?! I’m trying to concentrate, here, and I don’t need to listen to you boys tell each other dirty jokes all night.”







But Harry only pouted back at her as he tried to mask his mirth. “Aw, come on, ‘Mione, that was a good one.” She rolled her eyes at them both and huffed. “As if I really want to hear the story again, it was disgusting the first time,” she insisted. Harry looked at her oddly, his glance slyly shifting to Ron and then back to her.







“You don’t have to act wholesome with us, luv. We all know that you’re hardly the prude you like to play at.” His voice had gained the slightest edge, prompting Hermione to glare at him suspiciously.







“I never claimed I was. I just don’t like hearing women being discussed in a degrading fashion, even if it is meant to be funny,” she challenged. Harry seemed just as persistent.







“Oh, we’re being degrading, now, are we? And why’s that? Face it, ‘Mione, some girls just really enjoy giving head. There’s nothing wrong with them if they like to do it a lot and with different men; none of us were suggesting otherwise. The joke is meant to be celebratory. An appreciation of one limber and talented woman’s sexual liberation in her quest to suck off—”







“Harry! Stop it! I’m not in the mood.”







His eyes widened at her outburst. “Really? Isn’t that a surprise,” he deadpanned. Hermione’s cheeks burned, interpreting the comment not as sarcasm, but him cheekily referring to their nights together while Ron was gone, and she was fast becoming exasperated with his taunting. He was being reckless and confrontational again, and it confused her. She expected Ron would be jumping in at any moment with his own ribbing, but it stayed strangely silent in his corner. When she snuck a glance in his direction, he was watching her intently, which only served to fluster her further.







“Can we talk about something else now? A topic that has nothing to do with—with fellatio, or twisty women, or—or sexual liberation, for God’s sakes. It doesn’t matter what I say about sex, you’re both going to give me a hard time about it, anyway.”







Ron suddenly sounded a bark from behind closed lips and she cast a questioning look his way. “Just how hard a time do we give you, ‘Mione? Hard enough, would you say? Would you prefer it a bit harder?” A smirk accompanied his double entendre and Harry laughed out loud.







“Yes, Ron, I’m sure you can provide our Hermione with quite a hard go of it. Probably three or four times a night, I reckon,” he added with a lascivious wiggle of his eyebrows. Hermione rolled her eyes while giving another disgusted huff.







“Oh, but don’t forget; Hermione says she gets a hard time from us both. One bloke isn’t enough for her, I guess. You going to tie her up first before you give her what for, Harry?” Ron spoke casually, but he refrained from looking in Harry’s direction, staring at Hermione’s face, instead. She felt caught in his glare like a fish trapped in netting, a prickly heat blooming on her chest then creeping up to her neck and ears. Harry’s expression went from smug to surprise in a flash, looking just as toppled by the off-handed remark. Immediately, his tone went abashed.







“Er, somehow, I don’t think she’d be into that, mate,” he said quietly, suddenly finding the bottom cuff of his sleeve fascinating.







“Yeah? You don’t think so? She’s so bossy, though, maybe she’d like to have someone turn the tables on her once in a while, you know?” Ron turned to Harry and regarded him with an inquisitive expression. “What makes you so sure she wouldn’t?”









“Hello! I’m right here! Don’t be so disrespectful. You’re being gross, the pair of you.” It was starting to feel stifling inside the tent, as if it were shrinking around her with each second that passed.









Ron swung his face to hers openly befuddled, his hands splayed out. “How are we being gross? Just because we’re discussing what kind of sex you might like? Harry’s right; you’re not as prissy as you like to present yourself. If you recall, the pair of us were actually present while you were tossing us both off at the same time.” Harry started to choke fitfully, but Ron’s penetrating gaze stayed on her, barely acknowledging his friend next to him. Hermione had already grown weary of both boys and their attitude, her expression going smooth against Ron’s testosterone-laced taunts.









“Oh, right, of course. I believe that was just moments before Harry wrapped his mouth around your cock to swallow your semen.”









That shut him up. Ron couldn’t even manage a comeback, looking stunned. Harry, however, whipped his head to face her, his eyes huge with his accusatory glare. “Thanks so much, Hermione, for reminding us,” he grimaced. His voice was tight, as though his chest was being squeezed, and he looked worried when he glanced over at Ron to wait for a reaction.







It seemed as if all the air had sucked out of the tent momentarily before Ron blinked back his shock and gave a one-sided shrug. “He did all right for a first try,” he remarked in mock praise. Then he smiled faintly at Harry. “Uh, that was your first time going down on a bloke, wasn’t it? I’d be sore disappointed if you had decided to experiment with Neville or, Merlin forbid, Seamus first, mate.”







Harry appeared relieved, a slight smile turning wry. “Yeah, you’re the only man for me, Ron. Although…just all right? I thought I did better than that. And besides, just how many blowjobs had you had to compare it to, at the time? Oh, yeah…that would be a monumental zero.” He held up his hand with his fingers and thumb pressing into a circle to illustrate his point. Ron’s laugh was genuine.







“Yeah, you’re right. At least now I’m up to a half. Thanks for the introduction, Harry,” he enthused as he clapped his friend on the back. Harry seemed taken aback; looking to Hermione and then back to Ron as if he’d just figured something out.







“Oh…uh, so….you haven’t? Right…er, yeah, anytime, mate,” he finished distractedly. Hermione fidgeted in her seat, primly pulling a long hair off her cardigan as she avoided Harry’s eyes.







“Really? Like, you’d be up for it again? You’re not a bad kisser, either.” This time, Ron received the gaping in his direction. He arched an eyebrow as he faced off Hermione. “Wot? He said anytime. Blokes are horny buggers, ‘Mione, what do you expect? Sometimes you got to help your mates out. We need to let off stress more often than you girls do,” he explained with another shrug.







“Oh, and I don’t know stress?” she shot back shrilly. Ron just rolled his eyes upward. “Not that kind of stress. I’m not talking about O.W.L scores and homework, but more along the lines of feeling the need to shag everything in sight, that kind of stress.” He looked to Harry as if for back-up, but Harry still looked uneasy over Ron’s proposition and was eyeing him warily.









“Well, this may surprise you, Ron, but girls get just as easily aroused as boys do, it’s just that we know how to funnel that energy to better use. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about masturbation plenty. I don’t typically go around asking my best friend to get me off, though.” She said it without thinking, but as soon as the words had rolled out of her mouth, Hermione couldn’t hold back the blush that seeped across her face. A big, red, neon sign appeared in her mind’s eye, and it was blinking LIAR-LIAR-LIAR at a rapid pace. She cleared her throat as she tried to get her bearings, brushing off imaginary crumbs from her trousers this time while covertly darting her eyes to Harry’s face to catch his features. He was pointedly ignoring them both, his attention back to his treasures to return them to the pouch he kept around his neck. He pulled his glasses off to clean them with the edge of his tee-shirt, exposing a bit of his stomach.









“Aw, I was just taking the mickey out of Harry. Still, just wanting a wank is not the same, is it? You don’t know what it’s like to get a stiffy. They don’t call it a raging hard-on for nothing. If you girls had our equipment, you’d have your hands wrapped around your knob all the time and you’d never get anything done. See how you deal with it then.”









“Ah, but you forget, Ron, I have had an erection. Well, Harry’s erection, to be more precise.” Both boys stared back at her in a mixture of confusion and myopic horror, but she coolly returned their gaze and tipped her hand and head back to mime taking a swig. “Polyjuiced into him, remember? He gave us all a big surprise? It felt interesting, but I wasn’t exactly swamped with lust.”









Instead of being combative on the point, however, Ron merely laughed aloud again. “Oh, yeah! I had forgotten that. Mate, that was hilarious! What got that started, anyway?” But Harry only crossed his arms in a stretch to scratch at his back, turning wistful. “Dunno, really. Probably thinking ‘bout Luna, with all of you standing around looking like me,” he confessed. His emerald gaze glinted in the dull orange light of the tent as it flitted between her and Ron, and he gulped visibly as he shifted in his seat. “Um, you know, thinking about what I wanted to try…with her…wanting to touch her right then. I was missing her.” He looked back down to his pouch, pulling out the pocket watch Luna had given him and stroking the face of it. Hermione wished she could give him a hug, but the mood was all wrong. She couldn’t figure out what Ron was playing at, the way he kept studying her every time she spoke. She felt antsy and judged, like she was wriggling under a microscope being held down by tweezers as he inspected her through the ocular eyepiece, cranking up the magnification on the objective lens with every glance. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and she tried to think of a way to redirect the conversation to something less awkward.







“The next time we move, we need to find a Daily Prophet. There’s sure to be something in there about her disappearance, or at least alluding to it obliquely. Although, I’m starting to question if Azkaban would really be the ideal holding place. It’s like Ron keeps saying, there are other spaces You-Know-Who could be holding her, even at the Ministry,” she suggested helpfully. But Harry didn’t appear uplifted by the possibility, his head hanging down as he played with his cuff again. He kept touching the inside of his left arm absentmindedly, covered though it was by his jacket sleeve. Hermione wondered if he was still replaying his last visit with Luna or if he’d been able to move on from that. But then Ron was asking probing questions again and she focused on the other boy’s tics, noting how he was still attempting to remain cavalier as he scanned his knees, yet speaking seriously in that breezy tone.







“So, how’d you manage getting by without wanking or a shag after you bollixed things up with Luna? When I…you know, left, you were still going strong, but since I’ve been back…I dunno, I guess depression kills the need or something?” Harry’s head sprang up.







“I’m not depressed,” he stated with some agitation.







“Well, whatever, mate, but the point is you’re not grabbing at the willy anymore, and so I was curious what brought you ‘round.” Hermione felt the tightness in her diaphragm again, making it hard for her to breathe. Why is Ron doing this?, she wailed in her head.







Harry scratched at the inside of his arm again as he scowled, his voice sullen. “What does it fucking matter, Ron? I had a bit of a meltdown after I scared the shit out of her, and my urges hardly seemed important after that. And then things went completely up-ended after we almost got caught by Lord Git of All Gits. Hermione and I weren’t exactly having a laugh during that time, you know.”







But Harry’s sudden churlishness didn’t deter Ron, who seemed to be on a mission. “So, what did you to her that got her so upset?” There was a stunned silence in the tent as both her and Harry froze at Ron’s bluntness. She couldn’t believe he’d ask such a thing of Harry knowing how much his best friend had been affected by the whole drama. His prying had gone from subtle to flat-out brazen and Hermione’s feelings of protectiveness rose up.







“That’s really none of our business, Ron, don’t be such a nosey parker. It was bad enough for him after it happened. If Harry doesn’t want to talk about it, then you shouldn’t badger him,” she admonished. Ron only gawked back at her, instantly annoyed.







“Right, and you are? Miss Pot calling me Black, are you? I thought our entire friendship was based on you badgering us, ‘Mione. Now you’re suddenly on the other side of it?” Hermione was hurt by his stab at her. She thought she did more for the boys than harass them.







“Leave her alone,” Harry demanded gruffly. He shot a dark look at Ron. “You weren’t here; you don’t know what it was like. Hermione had to put up with a lot of shit from me, and…she helped me a lot. I would have been a useless mess without her. You’re being an arse.”







Ron blinked back his dismay, his mouth open and cheeks going ruddy. “I—I wasn’t—I mean, I’m sorry, mate. You’re—you’re totally right. All I want is—” he gave Hermione a shameful look, “Sorry, ‘Mione, that was uncalled for.” She expelled a great breath, feeling much more forgiving with his apology.







“It’s all right. Just…let’s go easy on each other, okay?” She deliberately used Ron’s phrase from earlier, hoping he would take the hint, but he entreated them both with his arms spread out.







“I’m not trying to be a prick, but why can’t we talk about this? Do you ever think it might be better for you to get this off your chest, mate? You’re carrying all this guilt around like a dragon on your back and it’s not doing you any good. You didn’t even tell us about Luna to begin with. We’re your best friends, Harry. We’ve been through everything together. Why won’t you trust us enough to share the bad stuff?”







And there it was. Hermione was bowled over by Ron’s insightful request, but she agreed with him completely. While she understood on a basic level that Harry trusted them implicitly, there was an avoidance issue that they both had grown accustomed to, not wanting to upset him by bombarding him with questions whenever he retreated into himself. She had counted herself lucky that Harry had talked with her as much as he did after the episode, but that had certainly come at a cost. Even their initial confessions had turned sour once they’d started messing around, and she hadn’t wanted to press Harry any more than she had to where Luna was concerned. Admittedly, part of her didn’t really want to hear the gory details, as much as Harry might have needed the purge. She shivered slightly thinking back on his breakdown in the tent, how scary it had been to see her usually reserved friend falling to pieces. Still, it was fascinating seeing Ron switch tactics, for once, in order to goad Harry into revealing more of his troubled mind.









“Why would you want to hear that, Ron?” he growled. “You want to know just how sick I am, is that it? Believe me, I’m quite aware that I’m a freak, I don’t need you two confirming it.”







“You’re not a freak, Harry, stop it. We care about you,” she cried passionately, “we want to help. Ron’s right, you hold on to so much pain and all of these dark thoughts, and it affects you. It affects everybody around you, actually.” Harry looked at her dully, his jaw tightening, before turning his head to stare at the zippered triangles barring him from the outside. He seemed to be mulling things over, but his entire body glowered before them, those brilliant green eyes going black in the low lighting.







“Did you ever think that maybe you’re making it worse than it really is? I know you’re worked up over Luna being taken, but you’re still feeling shitty about how you treated her, I can see it. Get it out, man, get rid of that crap,” Ron urged. “Mind you, you’ve gotten better, but,” he flashed Hermione a culpable face, “Firewhiskey doesn’t solve everything, mate. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to get through the day on your own.”







Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Is that what they’d been doing at night? Drinking themselves into a stupor? She should have seen the signs earlier, should have realized he’d be looking for a crutch. She felt naïve now believing as she had that it had been Ron’s good humor lifting Harry’s spirits, although spirits were obviously involved, just not the type she’d been expecting.







Harry looked at her with a roll of his eyes. “Great job, there, Ron. You’re the one that started it, anyway.”









Ron dismissed the charge with a wave. “Who cares if Hermione knows, she’s not our mother. I’m talking about you, Harry. We’re not like your relatives. We’re not going to suddenly drop you like a stone because you did something fucked up. Fuckin’ ‘ell, mate, it’s been hard on us, too, just like Hermione said. She’s been worrying herself sick about you. Should have seen her carrying on a month ago, thought she’d lost the plot.” Hermione felt her face grow hot again, recalling her own undoing in the forest with Ron. And then how she had almost botched things up when she’d attempted to play vixen with him. His confusion when he’d realized she was about to favor him with her mouth had cut into her deeply, thinking that he had been repelled by her. But the recollection brought with it a dozen other images of her pleasing Harry that way, and she wanted to hide behind her book so that neither of them could see her burn with the shame.







Harry only became more incensed. “What the fuck, Ron? How can you say that when you were the one that went and dumped us?” he shouted angrily. “And that was about nothing! What are you going to do if I tell you something that really disturbs you?! Take off again?”







“No!! I know; I screwed up, Harry! But that’s the whole point! I made a mistake and you guys took me back. That locket was a right nasty piece of work, but you know, I wasn’t the only one it had an effect on!” Ron bellowed back, his face bright red now. “We all get it that it did a bad bit of business on you, especially. Hermione and I are just trying to help, for fuck sake.” Hermione cringed in her seat to hear them fighting, but there was a driving need to let them have it out and see where it took them all. She refused to believe that Harry would turn as violent as he’d been with her before, certainly not while Ron was in the tent, but she decided it was best to keep out of their argument just to be safe. Ron’s volume had quieted to a normal pitch again, and he looked for a moment like he regretted their heated exchange but then he shook his head sadly. “I was fucking miserable at Bill’s knowing how I let you both down. And I still feel awful about it. I’m sorry, okay?”







Harry’s anger subsided, as well, but he grew uncomfortable, his bespectacled gaze once again lobbing between them. “Right, that wasn’t fair, I shouldn’t have said that, but…look, I—I told ‘Mione about some of what happened. It was hard to get through—for us both.”







“So is that how it is, now?” Ron’s distrust brushed up against her like flapping wings when he snatched another look at her. “You tell her everything and I’m still on the outs?” Her mouth opened to protest but he cut her off before she could utter a word. “Blimey, Harry, all those times at school when I told you about—about Charlie and all that other shit, and you never said a word about the way your family treated you, but then you go and tell Hermione about those wankers making you sleep under the stairs?”







“Ron!” she finally intervened, believing that Harry would begin laying into her any second for the breach. “That’s not what it’s like, at all, and you know it!” But Harry didn’t even look at her while hastening to add his own chastisement at Ron’s obvious jealousy.







“C’mon, you’re being stupid. You know I tell you stuff way more than I tell her things. It just came up because of the conversation we were having at the time, but honestly, that’s not anything that I normally feel the need to go on about. It’s bloody embarrassing, isn’t it? I’d rather not think about any of that shite, if I can help it.” He rubbed at his scar then let his forehead rest in his hand for a moment, appearing to suppress a headache.







“Well, what else did you tell her?” Ron asked baldly. Hermione sighed and threw her book to the side impatiently, the plop of it on the ground making Harry flinch. Ron just wasn’t going to let it go.







“Nothing,” Harry whined at first, before looking to her in appeal. She just crossed her arms and stared back at him with raised eyebrows. Harry could craft his lies the way he saw fit, she had decided. She would do as he asked and keep quiet about their months together alone, but she wasn’t going to fabricate stories for him. He seemed to understand this and turned away with a frustrated hiss. “All right,” he started, facing Ron with a resigned attitude. “I told her how my room used to be the cupboard under the stairs and that I was basically a house elf while I lived there. None of them could stand me, but…it…it wasn’t that terrible, really. I just didn’t ever get things like birthday presents and stuff like that. They didn’t care enough to bother.” He gritted his teeth as he scanned the top of the tent. “But you’d already figured that out pretty early, Ron. Practically everything I had was a hand-me-down from Dudley. I looked like a fucking orphan, and a pretty pitiful one, at that. Didn’t think I had to spell it out for you.”







Ron had moved to one of the canvas chairs as Harry spoke and his leg bounced at a rapid pace, his fist pushed to his mouth. “Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled behind it. Then he sat up like a shot and leaned forward, elbows digging into his lap, to confront Harry head-on. “So, they didn’t knock you around, starve you, or lock you up in your room for weeks at a time?” His icy blue eyes bore into his friend and Hermione was once again nonplussed by Ron’s intensity.







Harry’s gaze wandered to the exit again, his voice wan. “I didn’t get knocked around….much.”







“And so, what about Luna; what happened there? Did you hurt her? Did she want to stop and you ignored her or something? I’m trying to think of what could possibly freak out a girl like her and I’m having a bit of trouble, mate.”







Hermione continued to stay quiet, watching Harry squirm under Ron’s interrogation. There was a part of her that wanted to sit next to him and put a comforting arm around Harry, but she didn’t think that either of the boys would react well to that. Harry was floundering, trying not to appear too upset, but obviously having a hard time with the topic. With her arms still crossed, she was gripping each bicep tightly, her thumbs pressing deep into the fleshy undersides. She caught herself suspending her breath in her anticipation.







“I—I said some nasty things. I wasn’t—fuck—I wasn’t really…myself. She was so willing….and I—don’t know, I guess I wanted to push things to the breaking point.” By now, the tent was deathly silent as they waited for Harry to struggle through his confession. “I…put her in a pillory. Um, you know, like old-fashioned stocks that they used on prisoners to keep the head and hands st—“







“We know what they are,” Hermione added in a rush, her heart thudding. Harry kept his eyes to ground, red points high on his cheeks and forehead. “Yeah, well, I caned her while she was in that. I shoved…things inside of her.” He spoke in a dull monotone. “I hung her from the ceiling, by her arms and legs tied together, so I…uh, had her whole body to play with. Tortured her tits. Used a spell to send small electrical shocks to her cu—her bits.” He fidgeted in his seat while he scratched at his left wrist again but he wouldn’t look up at them. “When I had her back on the bed, I dragged her legs over her head and…fisted her arse while she sucked me off. Made her crawl on the floor. Then I…I hung her upside down, and uh, whipped her some more.” There was a long pause, neither she nor Ron daring to comment while Harry was being so frank, their expressions still. He glanced up for just the barest fraction of a second before he was inspecting the blanketed floor again. “I pissed on her.”







“Sorry?” Ron interrupted. He appeared confounded by the idea, or perhaps he just thought he hadn’t heard Harry correctly. Hermione’s thoughts immediately went to the book she’d borrowed from Harry, how there had been a segment that discussed such a thing as viable foreplay, but the whole notion of it had been rather disturbing for her.







Harry sighed heavily, his sight now affixed to a point in the space between them. His deep timbre rang out more forcefully. “I pissed on her. Peed all down her front while she hung there,” he explained, looking quite miserable. “Don’t even know why I did it, really. But I didn’t even give her a chance to react before I was pulling her down and dragging her to the bed again. Kept bending her in all these mad positions. Had her feet up round her ears while I took turns fucking her then sticking my knob down her throat.” He darted his eyes to Ron’s face and must have seen a puzzled look there. “The girl’s limbs are like rubber. She can do just about anything,” he expounded, then added with a disgusted snort, “and I certainly took full advantage of the ability.”







“Was she into it, though?” Ron was soft spoken as he scanned Harry’s face, his eyes wide and disarming. Harry stared back for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, she was,” he croaked.







“Okay, so no problem so far…er, for her. But then you scared her, right? You did something that was…worse?” he squeaked on the last word. Ron was trying just as hard as Harry at keeping the tone fairly normal, but he looked as awkward as Hermione felt.







Harry glanced at her before answering. “I was angry at her for liking it. S’pose the locket was getting to me and I wanted everything to be her fault. I started calling her a whore and…my fucktoy. Told her I was going to make her fuck all the Slytherins for my entertainment.” Ron grimaced. “Mate,” was all he said, but Harry shrugged a shoulder. “Right,” he agreed. His gaze furtively swung to Hermione again and he seemed to be contemplating something before speaking once more.







“There’s….a bit of history there. Luna was…well, she was being…” Harry finally faced her with begging eyes.







“Luna was being coerced by Draco and his grunts to perform sexual favors on them. Apparently, it had been going on for some time when she got together with Harry,” Hermione explained helpfully. She imagined she’d have more to add before they were done. Ron looked appropriately stunned.







“Bloody…hell,” he whispered in a long stretch. “That pointy-faced little fucker. What did you do went you found out, mate?”







“Well, I found out on the night we first had sex, so, it’s not like I held it against her or anything. Malfoy better hope we never meet again, though. Or Belby. But…right then, it was just a fucked up thing to say to her. I wanted to make her feel like a dirty slag, to feel as bad as I was, and it worked, obviously. God, I was bloody foul.” He held his face in his hands despairingly, pushing his glasses up to rest on his forehead.







Ron took a decidedly pragmatic view of the episode. “Right, so she liked the…questionable things you did to her, but it was the trash talk that got her worked up, is that it?” Harry nodded his head again while still in his pose. “And you think that if you manage to save her from wherever they’re keeping her, she’s not going to want to be with you anymore? That she hasn’t gotten over what you said?” Harry looked up sharply but Ron pressed on. “Say what you will about her fancies, but Luna seems like a pretty forgiving girl, Harry. She probably knew that something wasn’t right with you even then.”







Harry considered his friend’s words for a moment and then his face brightened just the tiniest bit. “Actually, she did. She sensed that the locket was behind my mood—she kept mentioning it.”







Hermione jumped in. “The fact is that Luna is a very sensitive witch. She’s probably figured a lot of stuff out on her own. But it’s like I’ve said to you before, she’s the type that would put it behind her after realizing you were dealing with some difficult circumstances. The other stuff…well, she was consenting, wasn’t she? You were a victim as much as she was, Harry. We’ve gone over that. You have to stop punishing yourself.”







He kept rubbing at his arm so much it was driving her to distraction, but he put his question to them plainly, looking a little more settled. “So….that stuff we did, though…you don’t think it was mad? That maybe Luna and I are just totally fucked up for liking that kind of sex?”







Hermione and Ron both gawped at each other at the same time. “Uh, well, it’s…different. But then, that was what your book was all about, right? A different way to love someone, to express your sexuality,” she tried to soothe. Ron goggled at her some more, but then quickly shifted his focus back to Harry.







“You’re asking us now? To be honest, mate, I thought it was a bit warped when I saw you with her in that rope thing in the forest. But since then—you don’t act barmy or anything. Usually. I mean, you’re still Harry, my best friend. You told us enough times that it’s just your scene. I thought you were all for it.”







Harry let go of his breath in a shuddering exhale. “Yeah, but…I didn’t think I could get so…creative. It seemed so mean. I felt mean. That’s not what I want with her. I’m not trying to be this…force that wants to completely take her over, to make her feel small. I just want…I don’t know. I’m so confused right now.”







Hermione tried to provide some clarity. “Harry, I suspect that the people who are practitioners of this…lifestyle haven’t had anywhere near the troubled life you’ve lead, if any at all. From what the author of your book had to say, it seems as though the appeal is often more about feeling safe in being dominated that way, controlled…taken care of in an exaggerated fashion. And for the other side of it, it’s like having a way to exert your personality to the fullest without resorting to real harm. It’s dramatic and rooted in fantasy, but both partners are protected by rules. But…there are some truly dark things going on with you, and this is a dark side of yourself you’re playing with; you and Luna, both. It was inevitable, really, that you’d start to have a crisis of faith in what you’re doing. Having a piece of You-Know-Who’s soul meddling in it? Merlin, if that isn’t a recipe for a nightmare.”







Harry studied her as she spoke. “You—you think I’m a dark person? Like him, you mean?”







Right away, she shook her head frantically. “Oh, God, no, that’s not what I meant, at all. I’m saying dark incidents have happened to you, outside forces you had no control over, and that has shaped you as a person, Harry, in what you might be drawn to. But it’s like what Lupin told you about the Dementors; you’ve been affected more than most because of your past. It’s not just about playing around, this is serious for you. You’re so domineering when you’re like that, and it’s such a natural part of you. But you’re certainly not evil, and you aren’t remotely malicious in any way, Harry. Remember, that part wasn’t you.”







“Like what?” Ron suddenly asked.





She turned to him with a frown. “I beg your pardon?” His gaze was intense again, eyes fluttering over her like moths at dusk.







“He’s domineering when he’s like what? What are you talking about?” Those steely blue dots sharpened as eyelids narrowed to slits. “Did you mean sexually?”







Hermione felt the warmth bloom in her chest and face again. “Oh, well, of course. That’s what we’re discussing, right?”







“Well, how would you know, exactly?” There was another pregnant pause that swelled with every passing second, a ticking echoing in her head as she flailed for an answer. What the hell was she supposed to say? Why did he keep making her feel so transparent? She didn’t like lying to him. But then her frenzied mind grabbed hold of a memory and her mouth opened, ready to speak when Harry beat her to the punch.







“She—she was spying on us, Ron; remember? I mean, when she saw me and Luna outside during one of her visits. And—and I assume she’s talking about the way I was with you and her that time we all got a bit ripped. I—I was a bit pushy, I guess. Right?” He looked to Hermione as though she would clarify this while his fingers tracked up the inside of his arm once more.







“Sure, Harry, that’s what I meant,” she agreed flatly. “Can I see your left hand, please?”







“Huh? Why?” he snapped, sounding instantly suspicious. Ron seemed irritated by the abrupt switch in the conversation, but he regarded her curiously, too. “Yeah, what are you up to?” Hermione simply held her own hand out in invitation, waiting calmly for Harry to move closer to her and fulfill the request. He watched her guardedly for a few seconds before heaving in exasperation and getting up to kneel in front of her. Harry slapped his hand into hers; it felt hot and sweaty. She turned it over to run her fingertips over the lines scored in his palm as she grabbed tightly to his wrist. He winced.







“Ron, can you keep him still?” It was all the warning she gave before her other hand gripped the underside of his forearm and started sliding up his sleeve.







“Hey! Stop that!” Harry shouted, twisting to get out of her hold. His body surged backwards but then Ron was behind him, clasping his shoulders to keep him in place. “Get off! Leave me alone, you two!” Ron was now fighting to hold him still as Hermione took a closer look at the flesh exposed. Not a mark was on the pale skin, which seemed odd considering he’d been scratching at it for the past two hours. No, there was something off about it, she was sure. He wriggled violently while she peered closer, catching a shimmer as she brought him further under a light. She drew her wand out, still clinging to his wrist as he tried to shake her loose, and his protests grew more urgent and derisive. “Fuck off, ‘Mione, cut that shit out right now!! Stop being such a nosy bitch!”







“Finite Incantatem,” she murmured and then the glamour was fading away. Hermione was shocked by the sight left in its place. “My God, Harry, what the bloody hell did you to yourself?!” she groaned. The burns distorted his skin, but some looked more recent than others. By the variety of colors in great puffy patches, however, he’d been doing this awhile and hadn’t properly healed any of it. Ron choked behind them.







“Fucking hell, mate.” His tone was so sad and plaintive that Hermione shot her head up to look at his face. Ron looked horrified.







“It’s nothing, alright! Nothing! This isn’t a big deal, just leave it off,” Harry complained in a trembling voice, still trying to pull his arm free from them. But Hermione wasn’t about to let him run away to lick his wounds. He obviously hadn’t been doing a very good job of it.







“Harry, just calm down for a minute, please. I’m going to get the last of the dittany for this, but I need to run some healing spells on the worst of the burns, first. It’s quite a nasty mess. Just let me tend to it, alright?” Her tone stayed soothing and soft, masking the alarm she felt. The knot in the pit of her stomach fisted tighter, but she shushed Harry as though he were a child with a scrape on his knee and set to work. Ron had wrapped his arms around Harry’s mid-section and was holding him tight, murmuring soft, pleading threats into Harry’s ear. She could see the welling up of tears under Harry’s lenses as he glared off into the space behind her, but his lips were pressed tight while his jaw flexed with his fury. When she’d done what she could with her wand, she ran off to fish her healing balms out of her purse, hoping she could find some ointment and bandages, too. Harry had slumped into Ron’s embrace by then, his fight folding into defeat. As she applied the scant remainder of the dittany to the scarred tissue, she shared a knowing look with Ron, their faces full with their understanding. Harry hadn’t been doing as well as she’d thought, after all. Ron had been right again.







~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0







Hermione startled awake when someone put their hand to her back, making her bolt upright in her cot to blink into the darkness. She’d been having an awful dream where Harry had been set ablaze while she and Ron watched, unable to help him. “Take it easy, ‘Mione,” a voice hushed beside her. “It’s only me.” She turned to see Ron’s worried face next to hers, his features slowly coming forth into existence as her eyesight adjusted to the minimal light cast from the moon outside.







“What’s happened? What is it, Ron?” she cried back in whispers, the panic looming up from her stomach and into her throat. His heavy hand set upon her head and then stroked down the length of her hair. “Everything’s fine,” he assured her. “I just wanted to check up on you.” She wiped her eyes with her hands, still feeling rattled as she struggled to gain coherence. His touch ran down her back and up again, grasping hold to a lock of her hair.







“Is it my turn for watch yet?” she moaned lightly, tucking her face into his collar bone and breathing in the smell of him. It calmed her straight away to have him so near.







“Nah, Harry’s out there. I stayed with him a while to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid again. I was starting to sound like my mum, after a bit, had to make myself shut up.” An arm slipped lower to curve around her back. “Do you want some company?” he asked, a slight tremor in his hand when it brushed back her curls from the side of her face. Instead of answering, Hermione shifted on the cot to make room, holding the blanket up so he could crawl in with her. The sad little bed was too narrow for them both to lie side by side, however, so Ron scooted to his back while Hermione stretched her body across his, their lips reaching for each other instantly. Ron’s kisses were always so tender and nurturing, she noted in her sleepy state, like he was trying to coax something special out of her delicately, waiting for her to give him her passion in a gifted box.







Since the festival, their snogging had become more zealous in nature, happening with frequency on the nights that Ron wasn’t keeping Harry entertained by getting them drunk off their arse, she now knew. They hadn’t gone much farther than fondling each other under their clothes, but it felt like they were moving at a pace that was natural for them both. Ron liked to kiss her breasts, though he had yet to take off her bra, choosing to run his tongue over the material until it was soaked through then leaving wet patterns on her skin along the seams. She, in turn, had gotten more comfortable with touching him—that intimidating length of flesh between his legs had been growing more massive in her memories, it was almost a relief when she was able to feel it again. While his cock was still huge and heavy, it was marginally less fearsome now that she had some experience behind her.







“Mmm, you feel good, ‘Mione,” he whispered once they’d pulled apart. His eyes were starry points in the tent as they flashed brightly. She felt his fingers tickling her shoulder at the capped sleeve of her nightdress and then he was dragging it down her arm, following suit on her other side. Hermione felt more awake now, her sleepiness swept back to the ether while Ron stroked her back again, and her mind kept reviewing the shifting attitudes from Ron and Harry during their talk. “Do you think Harry will ever get over this?” she asked suddenly before frowning with a shake of her head. “I don’t want you giving him any more liquor, Ron. You’re just enabling his destructive behaviour.”







Ron’s hand froze in mid caress as he blinked back at her owlishly. The next second, his head dropped heavily back to her pillow in a whoosh of breath. He stared up at the canvas ceiling, his voice sounding rough. “Yeah, I guess. I didn’t realize, though—didn’t know how bad—”







His sentence hung unfinished in the space between them heavy as wet linen on the laundry line. She felt perfectly comfortable lying on top of his flattened form, unwilling to move, but their shared concern for their wayward friend hovered around them both in a mist that clung to their skin like the dew collecting on the grass outside. Hermione wanted to wipe it away, slough off the residue of guilt that lingered there whenever she thought of Harry. She rested her chin on her hands laying flat to Ron’s chest, wanting to say something that would make it all better but her thoughts too disparate to articulate.







He jostled under her as he lifted his head to peer at her face, though it was still too dark for her to make out his expression. “Why do you think he did that? Was that really over what happened with Luna…or…or do you think there’s something else to it?”







“What do you mean? Like, some bit of You-Know-Who’s soul is still infecting him even without the Horcrux? Or, that maybe he’s somehow causing Harry to hurt himself whenever Harry gets those connections to You-Know-Who’s thoughts?” She knew she was reaching a little too out there for an explanation, but she still couldn’t grasp the mentality in effect that would possess Harry to do such a thing.







“Uh, no, not really,” he answered, his tone suggesting he didn’t think much of her theories, either. “I was thinking more like he’s feeling bad about another thing…maybe something he’s not told us about. You know, something he feels really guilty over.”







Hermione felt a chill spread through her body in a receding tide. “Well….he’s blaming himself, isn’t he? For Luna being taken in the first place. You know how Harry always insists it’s his fault when anything awful happens to someone trying to help him. It’s just like his saving-people thing. I—hadn’t expected him to take it so far, though. Unfortunately, I think that Harry’s psychological problems run deeper than you or I could possibly understand. He could probably benefit from a little psychotherapy, actually.”







“A psycho-what? Are you saying he’s a nutter, ‘Mione?”







“No, don’t be silly,” she said tersely. She turned her head to the side and laid it to his chest. “He just has issues that he doesn’t want to deal with.”







“Oh, so you mean he’s like the rest of us?” Ron resumed rubbing her back and shoulders, one hand trailing lower to sweep over her bum. It felt nice and her arousal surged, little tin soldiers marching through her belly southward. “Do you think we can not talk about Harry for a while?” he asked, sounding doleful. Hermione closed her eyes and nodded her head, her cheek dragging over the buttons of his shirt. His deep rumble vibrated through her skin, comforting her once again. When both of his hands squeezed her backside firmly, she lifted her head to find his mouth in the darkness, his breath blowing warmly over her face guiding her. By the time their tongues were lazily entwined, he was reaching down far enough to hook his fingers to the backs of her thighs, right under the swell of her arse, so that he could coax her legs to spread to either side of him. With her nightdress tucking up in the move, Hermione’s knickers were sliding along the zipper of his jeans. She pressed herself to the thick impression of his cock underneath. Ron instantly cupped her bottom and pressed her harder into his groin, moaning at the friction as they both slid into a rhythmic gyration.







After a few more minutes of that, Ron gasped. “Wait, luv…Merlin,” he breathed. “I’m going to move us around, yeah?” He slipped her sideways, pushing himself half-off the rickety cot so that he could lay her flat and then round his body on top of hers. He quickly rejoined their crotches, angling his hips to push his legs between hers. Hermione curved her calves around him, her breath hitching before his lips pressed back wetly to her open mouth. He was so hard for her—she could feel every inch of how much—and her knickers were about soaked through. She was ready to do more than kiss Ron tonight. There was something reckless coursing through her, switched on by his desire. It wanted to bat away all of the paranoia and negativity from earlier with wheeling arms and then settle around the boy on top of her to make him see, to show Ron that she only wanted him and that it didn’t matter any longer what had happened before. He was right; this was about the two of them, Harry didn’t belong here. She brushed trembling fingers over his chest again, catching the top button of his shirt and popping it loose from its eyelet. He leaned back a bit so she could follow the trail all the way down, her nerves making it difficult to unhook each one smoothly. He had to help her with the last few, but as soon as they both managed to get them open, Ron was tugging his flannel off of one side, oscillating the top of his shoulder to slip the sleeve down his arm. Her nightgown had bunched up around her middle, the frontispiece having slid down in their move, and before Ron could even get himself half-undressed, she was pushing the rest of the nightie down her hips, anxious to wriggle free from its constriction.







“’Mione, you sure?” His whisper was so full of feeling that Hermione’s chest swelled with her answer. “Yes.”







Ron’s breathing grew shakier, but he quickly put a hand to the button on his pants. While he worked to push his jeans off, Hermione arched her back to slip her fingers underneath her, grasping hold of the catch of her bra and unhooking it. She may have been nervous, but she was determined. Ron moaned again when she pulled the lingerie off her arms and tossed it to the floor.







“Can I—can I kiss them?”







She didn’t think she could speak anymore, nodding into the dark at first, but then slipping her fingers into his longish hair and pressing his head to her chest. When those wet lips touched a nipple, the cold air already making it taut, her body arched up wanting his mouth to envelop the entire breast, whatever he could take. She wanted to pour herself into that hot opening and lay protected inside of him.







His kisses were so sweet on her skin, wherever he trailed them. Once the two of them were down to their underpants, she slipped a hand inside of his briefs and wrapped it around the pulsing rod waiting for her. She didn’t feel embarrassed any longer, her strokes sure and assertive. It seemed as though time were blurring for Hermione, like she’d activated a Time Turner, the commotion whirring around her, but her center fixed and wanting to memorize every moment, every sensation. It felt good to go slow and revel in everything they were doing to each other, but she wanted to reach the final act quickly, eager to be one with Ron. When she felt the head of his steely cock brush up to her slick sex, she was ready to cry. There was such a rush of emotion for a second, that she was afraid she’d ruin it all, would do something stupid, and her fingers curled around his biceps tightly, holding him back.







“Do you want me to stop, ‘Mione?”







She shook her head vehemently. No, she didn’t want him to stop, not at all. It didn’t hurt as bad as she’d feared, it was merely a bit uncomfortable for a short time as he slowly—very slowly—worked his way in. His girth stretched her quite tightly, but after awhile, it started to feel good, almost amazing. It was different…to what she’d felt before, but that was okay. This was Ron. This felt right.







Later, when they were wrapped around each other after it was all over, Hermione gave a contented sigh, luxuriating in the post glow as Ron breathed against the back of her neck. She hadn’t quite climaxed, but that was alright; she knew they would get there eventually. Everything had still felt wonderful. Her wildness had been patted down into a sleepy cat curled up on the hearth, that sense that things would work out for them returned.







“’Mione?”





“Yes, Ron?” She could talk again, but the weariness rolled up in those two words, barely a question.







“You…you want to be here, right? With me?” Hermione took hold of the wrist he’d dropped in front of her and pressed it to her bosom. It was what she wanted with all of her heart.







“Of—of course. This was perfect. You made me feel—special, Ron.” She wished she could call him sweetheart, or babe, the way some girls at school would talk to their boyfriends, but those endearments felt silly in her mouth. He was her Ron and that was all she could think of him as.





There was a silent beat as she waited for him to respond hoping she’d said the right thing. “There wasn’t ever anyone else, was there?” he rasped thickly into her neck. “I mean, besides me and—and Ha—Harry. You didn’t ever want to be with anyone else, did you? Like, with McLaggen?”







The blood running through her veins turned icy, Hermione’s breaths in a suffocating strangle making her dizzy. She tried to get the words out of her constricted throat. “I—not—I didn’t. Never McLaggen, no. Harry and I—”







Her voice quavered, she couldn’t finish. His arms squeezed tighter around her, warm and assuring. “Look…I know,” he whispered. “I’m pretty sure, at any rate. I—I understand, ‘kay?” She twisted in his arms to get a look at his face, sure that her guilt was stamped to her features but needing to see his eyes. They stared at each other like that for a while, their labored breaths swirling with the night sounds of the forest beyond their tiny space. Hermione just wanted to explain, to make him understand what had transpired, how it had gotten out of control so quickly and that she had never meant for it to hurt him. But how could she get that all out when she was transfixed by that shining gaze that seemed to look right into her soul?







“Ron….I’m—”



What, she was sorry? She hadn’t expected him to come back? What they’d done hadn’t meant anything? They were all true statements, but they weren’t, at the same time. It HAD meant something, but she wasn’t sure what, exactly, other than to make her and Harry’s relationship stronger, in the end. It hadn’t been about Ron, really, as things had progressed, but telling him that seemed cruel. “We were just trying to cope, to help each other,” she stressed in a hush.







Ron sat up partially, balancing himself on a bent arm. He looked off into the black patches of their tent that the moon couldn’t highlight through the canvas. “Yeah, I don’t need to know the details, ‘Mione, if that’s alright. It happened. But it’s—it’s over, right?” He looked down at her again, eyes shimmering.







“Yes. It was over before it began, really. Things…things got pretty…unpleasant. But please,” her whispers grew more passionate, “don’t let on that you know. It’ll kill Harry if he realizes you’ve worked it out. God, Ron, he was a mess. He’s absolutely terrified he’ll lose you again. You’re—you’re his family now.” The vise around her heart loosened its grip the more she talked. She was scared, but it felt good to come clean with him. She didn’t want to keep anything from Ron, ever again.







Even in the dark, she could still see his solemn face as he stroked her arm. “You’re his family, too,” he told her quietly. “Sometimes I think—I think we’re all he’s got. But ‘Mione,” he squeezed her elbow, “we can’t be everything for Harry. Sometimes, it has to be about just you and me. We’re allowed to think of ourselves once in a while.”







“I know. I’m sorry.” Hermione felt the weight of her insides get just the tiniest bit lighter. She reached an arm up to encircle his neck. “Please say that you forgive me.” But Ron only shook his head forlornly.







“There’s nothing to forgive, ‘Mione.”







He reached down and kissed her and Hermione floated away like bubbles over a stream.







~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0







In the morning, Ron woke to the familiar chirping outside of their traveling abode. He was cramped and uncomfortable in his bed and when he noted that Hermione was still lying next to him, his brows scrunched together. The light was flooding the space around them. It had to be eight o’clock, at the earliest. Why hadn’t Harry awakened them? He looked down again and eyes widened as he took in her nude shoulders and back poking out from the blanket that was wound around them both. He was just as naked as Hermione. Had Harry stayed up all night rather than intrude?







When he stepped out from the tent shortly after getting up, Ron spotted Harry sitting by the cold campfire with a steaming mug in his hand and a woolen throw across his shoulders. Harry glanced at him and held up his cup by way of greeting, the bandages around his arm blindingly white in the sunshine. “There’s more in the pot.” Ron went to help himself to a cup of hot tea and then sat down across from Harry, slurping the hot liquid as he slowly woke up to his surroundings. Harry was fully awake, scanning his friend while trying to keep a grin under wraps, the mischief like Cornish pixies hopping in those brilliant emerald eyes.







“So….sleep well, did you?” He couldn’t contain the smug, impish smirk any longer, breaking through in a stifled snort.







“Shut it, you,” Ron intoned, smiling back. For the briefest second, his mind went back to Hermione’s confession, how it had hurt to have her confirm their betrayal, but then he pushed the troubling thoughts back down like stuffing in a dustbin. That was all behind them now. “You should go and get some sleep, mate, seeing as you’ve been up all night. We can wait to move camp at noon.” Harry took in the entrance to the tent, looking worried.







“Oh. Er, that’s okay. I’m fine, really.”







“Bloody hell, Harry, give the martyrdom a break today, alright? I’ll go wake her up in a bit and you can have the tent all to yourself. You won’t be much use to us if we have to drag you everywhere. You get some shut-eye and ‘Mione and I will figure out where to go to next. Cool?”







Harry gave that half-smirk again and nodded his head. “Yeah, cool.” Then his face beamed like the sun was pouring straight through him. “That would awesome, mate.”







~~~~0







It was quite a surprise to see them, but Ron should have been expecting they’d run into those sorts again. Apparating into another national forest that Hermione had pointed out on their map, further up north, the trio had gotten used to arriving in spaces with nothing around but trees and squirrels to note their passage. When they’d cracked into the dense grounds and had immediately heard voices, all three of them dropped to the dirt. Harry pointed out a rocky outcropping and they all crawled to hide behind it as the voices got louder. When the horde stomped through the spot they’d just been standing on, Ron could make out from the snatches of conversation that they’d almost run into Snatchers. He flashed a surprised face to the other two but held his finger to his lips tightly while attempting to convey the danger they were in. Hermione and Harry stared back in that same alarm, but were quick to listen in on the arguing currently being bellowed across the forest floor.







“You don’ know what you’re on about, mate, it ain’t like that, t’all! Greyback don’t take no shite from the Boss, he’s his own man, and that’s how we follow. We’re in it for the money, see?”







“But the Boss-man would be laying some importance on you, surely, if you bring in the Potter brat? Don’t you want no glory? He might make you a general in his new army, or sumth’in. You could have more than money.” The second voice sounded reedy as it whined. It was hard to tell just how many of them there were, but Ron wasn’t about to poke his head around the side and risk being seen. Another man laughed mockingly, the harshness of it ringing through the trees.







“General?! C’or, look at this one, mates. Fancies himself a real winner, don’t he?” There was a round of more raucous laughter as others joined in. “Next, he’ll be wanting to sit at that white-haired ponce’s dinner table at the Manor and asking for a glass of champagne! Giving a bit of how’s your father to that fit bitch Malfoy’s married to, am I right?” The laughing rose in crescendo as the absurdity of the notion was further dissected by the apparent wiseacre of the lot. “Oooh, lookee here, Lord Noseless Wonder! I brought you the little boy wot’s causing you so much trouble. Now where’s me medal and a nice skirt or two?”







Harry’s face darkened while they continued to roar in their fun. Ron imagined he took offense to being called a little boy, but Ron didn’t give a ripe, hairy arse what they called him as long as Harry stayed put. He made a face to suggest that very idea and Harry rolled his eyes.







“Ol’ Lucius is getting quite a full house, too, the way I hear it. Not only having his home taken over by the Dark Lord, but taking care of all our ‘guests’ we’s bringing ‘im. When me and Willet brought in that nasty-smellin’ Goblin, though, a few weeks back, he had a tasty bit of fluff down in his cellar. Aww, you should have seen her. Pretty little blonde thing with big eyes and tits you’d be tweakin’ for days. Would’ve liked a go at that, don’t mind tellin’ you.”







“Wot, she one of them kids? Didn’t they take her ‘cause of her nutter ol’ da’ that writes them stupid stories in the paper? You’re a real peach, Scabior, she’s barely legal.”







The trio all whipped their faces to gawk at each other. The man had to be talking about Luna. Ron watched Harry twist to reach his hands to the top of the rock that was shielding them, but he fisted Harry’s jacket and pulled him down quickly, grabbing hold of his upper arm. Hermione’s arms curved around Harry’s waist, her face warning their friend not to do anything rash.







“Oi! If there be grass on the lawn, then it’s all good for fun, is how I sees it.” He barked out a laugh, but this time around the guffaws joining him were more subdued.







“I haven’t been there yet,” whiny man admitted. “Where’s this posh mansion supposed to be, anyway?”







“Aye, it’s up by Wiltshire, where all the fancy people live. It ain’t all that, though, I’ve been in finer places.”







“Aw, right, like the pub you live at, you tosspot?” There was more bickering and joking amongst the group, but their squabbling became meaningless babble as no more useful information was forthcoming. Ron eyed Harry up close, the boy was trembling with his rage, and he did his best to calm his friend down through facial expressions and squeezes.







By the time that the Snatchers’ heavy boots had begun shuffling their way off down the path, it was all Ron could do to keep Harry from slipping out of his grasp. But as soon as it was quiet again, all three of them stood up and stared off at the point where the group had supposedly been moments ago, like they’d been nothing but a broadcast and had never really been there.







Harry turned to grab on to Hermione and him by the wrists. “Please,” was all he could muster, but then, nothing else really needed to be said. Of course they would go. Both Harry and Ron looked at Hermione and she seemed flustered for a moment before getting a hold of herself.







“Okay. But we’re going to need to think up a plan. I need to look through my books again….”







Ron felt the fluttering of excitement in his belly, welcoming the call to action. After weeks of trekking around, they were going to finally do something. They would help Luna escape.







Next up: to the manor.....



Thanks to everyone who\'s been reviewing in the last month. Sneakyfox, you\'re my dawg, so happy that you\'re still enjoying this and the trips down memory lane! NutsAboutHarry, I\'m thrilled you\'re back! I really hope you enjoyed the Ron/Hermione lovin\' in this chapter. And to the new reviewers, thanks so much for all of your thoughts. Daye, it means a lot that you are continuing this, and following my other stories, even though BDSM is not your bag. Hope you got a kick out of this chapter. Wow, Kasiniare, that was a pretty hefty endorsement! Anne and harri, thanks for reading and I hope you continue, even during the hard parts.



As always, a huge shout of thanks to SoftObsidian for her Beta help and support, as well as ScaryBear for her never-ending cheerleading. You are both wonderful.



I\'ve been posting this story on another site and re-editing as I go along. It was quite apparent to me that as I got midway through this, I was posting things so fast, the quality suffered majorly. So, I\'d rather take my time with the writing from now on and make sure I am posting the best quality I can produce. Hope that you don\'t mind the longer intervals, but I don\'t think the next one will take as long.