Part 4

Harry didn't know how he had gotten through the rest of the morning after Hermione had disapparated. The minutes and hours since seemed to run away from him, and the five classes of boisterous students and the seemingly endless Quidditch practice he'd been asked to supervise afterwards all seemed to blend together in one hazy, indistinguishable blur.

It had to have been nothing short of a miracle for him to have navigated through it all, with his mind a complete jumble; he didn't know how he could have managed it without someone setting him aside and asking him if everything was all right.

Because goodness knows it wasn't.

The inviting aroma of beef stew filled his nostrils when walked in the house. He spotted Ginny--who had come home hours earlier than he did, after her last Charms class of the day--napping on the couch, and the pot that she had bewitched to cook dinner was simmering over a low fire in the kitchen. Emily was laying on top of her chest, Ginny holding her lovingly as she slept.

The baby must have woken when she heard him enter; she looked up at him with her round green eyes, watching him watch her, then smiled. Harry felt the ice around his heart melt away, and he picked her up as gently as he could so Ginny could keep sleeping.

"Hello there," he whispered, chuckling slightly at her sleep-tousled auburn curls. He reached into his robes for his wand, and said, "Reparo," trying to make her hair lie flat and succeeding for about a millisecond, before several disobedient curls sprang up again like well-timed coils. "Hmm, like father, like daughter, I guess, eh?"

She giggled, as if understanding the joke, and Harry, relishing this moment with her after everything that had happened, kissed her forehead and held her close. After a while, he told her, "Come on... Mummy seems a bit tired right now, so we'll just let her sleep, all right? Let's go give you your bath..."

He led her up the stairs and into the bathroom, his mind involuntarily wandering back to Ron and Hermione as he watched the tub fill with water and a rainbow of different-sized bubbles, and he wondered whether Ron would ever get to have this kind of experience with his son or daughter. He shook his head immediately, as if that would physically expel the thought from his mind. "I'll find him," he muttered. "Everything's going to be fine... I promised Hermione, and I'm going to make sure of it..."

Emily was looking at him quizzically. He smiled at her and began washing her hair, suds sliding down her cheeks, but magically avoiding her eyes. He was grateful she was far too young to understand any of this, or perhaps she wasn't--she was still staring at him, as if waiting for some sort of explanation from him. It was not unlike a look Hermione would give him and Ron at times, when she was expecting them to elaborate on something.

"I guess I'm not much like myself tonight, am I, Em?" he said finally, and he could have sworn he saw her nod slightly, making him laugh. "Sorry 'bout that. Daddy's got a lot on his mind, I guess..."

Her eyes never left his, not while he rinsed her, or dried her, or put her in her nightgown. Finally he set her down in her crib, and he hovered over her, chin resting on the side of the crib as he looked at her. She had gotten sleepy once more, her breathing beginning to slow down as she closed her eyes. He reached down and gently caressed her cheek.

"Uncle Ron's in trouble," he found himself saying to her. He didn't know why he was telling her this, except he found that he had to tell someone. Part of him wished she could answer him back right now.

"You know Uncle Ron--he's your godfather, remember? The tall man with red hair, just like Mummy? You love him, and I know he loves you very much. Every time he sees you, he holds you up in the air and pretends to make you fly... I know he'd love to see you again soon, but... he's in trouble right now... Daddy has to help him."

She was completely asleep now, but Harry continued to stand by her crib, watching her. Quietly, he said, "I have to leave you and Mummy for a little bit. I wish I didn't have to, but it's very important..."

"Harry?"

Ginny was standing by the door, leaning against the jamb. Checking one more time to see that Emily was still asleep, he took Ginny's hand and led her outside Emily's room, hoping she hadn't heard what he had been saying about Ron.

"Harry, what was that you were saying just now?" she said. "What's this about you leaving me and Em for a while?"

Relief washed over him momentarily; she hadn't heard about Ron after all.

"It's..."

He sighed, wishing he could tell her, but remembering his promise to Hermione to keep anyone from finding out.

"Ginny, I wish I could tell you--I do. But... I can't. Please try to understand... My hands are tied."

"Does this have anything to do with you having to leave so early this morning?"

Without a word, he nodded.

She took her eyes off him and folded her arms over her chest. "I won't ask you anything more," she said, and Harry wondered if she already suspected what this was about. "Just... please promise me one thing?"

"Anything," he whispered, cupping her face in his hands.

"Be careful." She kissed him, and before she walked away, she said, "All of you."

Everywhere inside the Riddle House was cold, even near the fireplace where a fire was burning, casting an eerie glow over the room. Though the flames rose high, crackling and popping madly over the slowly decaying logs, still the house seemed dark, as if no amount of light could ever fill it with brightness, or warmth, or comfort.

On the far wall, Ron saw shadows dancing: shadows from the flames themselves, and his own shadow standing just beside the great armchair by the fireplace.

Then he saw yet another shadow come up behind him. Icewater traveled up his spine at the sight of it, for he knew who it was, and he slowly turned around.

"My Lord," he said, his stomach writhing inside. He wanted to cut his tongue out for ever having to say the words. "You called for me?"

That smile alone could inspire chills in the bravest of Wizards, but Ron managed somehow to keep his heart from bursting through his ribs. This wasn't fear he felt anyway; it was pure, unadulterated anger. Anger at this monster having hurt so many in his path to destruction, at having made Harry to live in the shadow of loss and looming peril his entire life.

At having been made to lie to his own wife and be away from her at what should have been the happiest time in his life.

Damn you, he thought, looking at Voldemort and feeling utter disgust in his throat. How many more lives will you ruin before you're brought to justice?

"Yes, I needed my prize disciple at my side."

Ron fought hard to keep from twitching at his words.

"I am here," he said.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, as if in appraisal. "I've heard that our friends have once again evaded capture," he said, his voice dripping with sheer delight. "Well done, my Knight..."

It made him ill to hear Voldemort call him that, but he said nothing in order to avoid any suspicion.

"But I grow tired of waiting..."

He sighed, and walked slowly towards the armchair, the hem of his robes rustling softly as it swept the floor, then sat, facing the fire. Ron watched him as he sat, fixated by the flames; he looked like every bit of the madman he was. He started to speak again, and though he was not looking at Ron, he still felt as if Voldemort could see right through him.

"Eight years I have waited," he was saying. "Eight years since I drank the blood of my enemy, and I have counted every second since, waiting for the right moment to pounce..."

Ron's fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily. He prayed Voldemort had not seen this from his periphery.

"Snape never thought it was the right time, but my patience has worn thin over the years, my Knight." He looked at Ron, and in that moment, Ron felt as if he were staring into the eyes of a Basilisk. "As long as Harry Potter roams this earth, I will not be able realize my full plan."

"My Lord, your powers have grown strong over the years. Surely he will no longer be of any threat to you."

He smiled coldly, a smile that unnerved Ron. "Do your old loyalties linger?" he said knowingly, then he pursed his lips. "Well even if they do, it should make no difference, should it?"

When Ron didn't answer, he laughed, obviously thinking he had read Ron fairly accurately.

"Yes, jealousy is a powerful thing, isn't it, Weasley?"

Ron could not keep his shoulders from tensing at these words, and Voldemort mistakenly took that as a sign that he was right.

"Tell me," he said, and his voice sliced into him with its arrogance, "how long would you have continued to live in the shadows before you had taken matters into your own hands?"

Almost choking on the words, Ron said, "That is why I came to you."

Voldemort laughed. "Yes," he said. "I know."

He looked back into the fire again. Ron saw him take out his wand and point it at the flames, making them rise even higher so that their shadows were almost as tall as his.

"You were the greater one, Weasley," he said, without looking at Ron. "Potter's fame deluded everyone into thinking he was special, but he wasn't. You are the Pureblood--he's nothing but the son of a Mudblood."

Ron had to hold his breath to keep from cursing at him.

"The Heir of Gryffindor, one step away from being a Mudblood..." He laughed as he watched the flames. "The universe has a sense of humor."

You're half-Muggle, you bastard, Ron thought. Harry's purer than you will ever be...

"You know why I've asked you here, don't you, my Knight?" He looked at Ron, pure venom in his smile. "You must have known this day would come eventually, when I would ask you to do this task for me."

"What would you have me do, my Lord?"

"Simple," he said. "Find Harry Potter, and bring him to me."