The smoke inside the alehouse stung Harry's eyes and rendered him practically blind. Taking his glasses on and off did not seem to help much either, though he was grateful he could at least make out enough of the shapes in the room to see faces as well.

He scanned the bar and the tables and booths scattered about the room, breathing only when he needed to, for the air in here made him nauseous. The Lone Rider had been where Ron was last sighted, according to a Ministry report, and he was hoping against hope that Ron had not moved on to another town just yet.

He also hoped he wasn't already too late. Even if the Dementors hadn't already gotten to him, Voldemort was a ticking time bomb as well, and Harry knew full well that the Dark Lord would spare no mercy if he discovered Ron had been lying to him all this time.

A familiar voice caught his attention. He turned his head towards the bar and saw a tall man dressed in a black cloak, leaning over towards the barkeep. The man's hood was down, and even in the thick smoke, there was no mistaking the bright red hair.

"Ron..."

He heard him speaking to the barkeep, ordering a drink.

"A Guinness, mate," he was saying.

Harry had to smile in spite of himself; apparently Ron had retained enough from Muggle Studies in their seventh year to remember to order a proper Muggle drink. He watched him from a few feet away, squinting his eyes as Ron took out his money. He seemed to have become familiar with Muggle currency too.

"This one's on me, mate," Harry said to the barkeep, throwing down a few pound-notes onto the bar. "And I'll have whatever he's having."

The barkeep grunted in affirmation, and fetched them their drinks. Harry turned beside him to a stunned Ron, who seemed to be fighting a raging battle internally not to show his shock in front of the other patrons.

But there was no doubt in the world Harry had taken him by surprise.

The barkeep returned with their drinks a few moments later, slamming the glass mugs so hard on the bar that they splattered slightly on Harry and Ron. Harry removed his glasses and began to wipe them on his sleeve, while Ron remained speechless and looked away to avoid his gaze.

He started to edge away from the bar, but Harry caught him and grabbed hold of his arm.

"We have to talk," he muttered.

"You shouldn't be here," Ron hissed back, tearing his arm away.

"Outside," he said, undeterred. "I'll be waiting for you."

He took his mug and made his way through the crowded room, finally escaping into the cold night air. He stood there for what seemed like a very long time, watching his breath form into clouds of mist, and watching the door, waiting for Ron to come out.

He didn't.

For a while, it seemed Ron never would, and Harry began to curse under his breath for being so stupid and trusting as to let Ron out of his sight. He threw down his mug on the ground and started to go back in, when he heard Ron's voice from the nearby wooded area.

"Over here..."

Harry looked about, making sure no one was around to see this, and walked over to where Ron stood.

"Thank God you came to your senses," Harry said.

Ron pulled him deeper into the woods, far enough that they were hidden away from the Muggles, then released his arm rather roughly. "Blimey, Harry, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Wonderful to see you too," Harry said. "Thanks for the warm welcome-"

"This isn't a joke!" Ron shot back. "You shouldn't... you shouldn't be here... The Ministry..."

He hardly stood still as he talked, swerving his head about in every direction, as if expecting someone to walk in on them.

"I can't believe this," he was muttering. He turned to Harry again. "Answer me, what are you doing here? The Ministry couldn't have sent you... They... they wouldn't have..."

At this, Harry smiled triumphantly. "Expecting someone else, Ron?"

Ron didn't answer, but Harry saw his upper lip twitch slightly, and he knew he was right.

"Perhaps you were expecting the Dementors?"

He stared at him, waiting for him to answer. Finally, Ron did.

"It's only a matter of time," he said. "Damn it, don't you see, Harry? This isn't a game! They'll be after me any day now-"

"And why is that?" Harry wanted him to admit it. He wanted him to say the words aloud, to erase any doubt that had ever existed, about whose side he had been on all along.

But Ron seemed to know exactly what he was trying to do.

"Do you really want to hear that your best friend is a Death-Eater?" he said.

The words sliced into Harry, though he had braced himself for them.

"Go home, Harry. Go home before they get here and you have to hear the ugly truth about me."

"Oh come off it, Ron!" Harry shouted at him. "I already know what the truth is. And I've come here to take you back where you belong--with your wife, who's about to have a nervous breakdown!"

He saw Ron tense involuntarily at the words. He started to walk away again, but Harry turned him around to face him.

"If you expect me to believe you've joined Voldemort-"

"Believe what you want to believe, Harry-"

"If you'd really joined him," Harry said, "you wouldn't be standing here right now with me, like this. You would have brought me over to him by now." He swallowed hard. "You would have killed me by now."

Ron was quiet for such a long time, that Harry began to wonder whether he was right about this at all. He watched Ron's face, which seemed to be reflecting the struggle within him.

"You'll ruin everything," Ron said at last.

Harry reached into his pocket and dug something out that he hoped would finally make Ron admit the truth. "Remember this?" he said, holding up the chess piece.

Ron eyed it, and comprehension dawned in his eyes.

"If I am wrong about this, then I'll guess I'll die for my mistake," Harry said. "But I know you'd never betray me, just like I would never betray you."

He took Ron's hand and placed the chess piece in it.

"There's still a way out, Ron. Come back with me, we'll explain everything to the Ministry... We'll tell them you were on our side all along, and they'll find him and destroy him once and for all, and you won't ever have to get caught in the crossfire. I'll make this right-"

"You'll get yourself killed," Ron said. "It's too much of a risk going back! If Voldemort finds out... if he finds you here with me..." He tossed the knight back to Harry. "I'll be damned before I let you get yourself killed."

But Harry had heard enough. "What are you trying to prove??" He wasn't sure what else to say to get Ron to listen to reason. "We already know you're a hero, damn it! Do you need to die a hero's death too, Ron??"

Ron was still rooted in his spot, showing no signs of going anywhere.

"Are you going to make me go back and tell Hermione I could have saved you, but didn't?" He gripped the knight in his hand, feeling it dig into his palm. "Are you going to make me tell my wife that I let her brother die? What am I going to tell my daughter, Ron? Shall I tell her I let her uncle sacrifice himself? Are you telling me you'd let your own child grow up fatherless because you were too stubborn to turn back before it was too late-"

Ron came at him so unexpectedly that he stumbled to the ground.

"This is out of my hands!"

The pain was so evident in his voice that Harry immediately felt guilty for what he had said.

"Go back, Harry," he said. "Go back before it's too late-"

A sudden laugh interrupted them, bringing a chill to Harry's skin. He looked up at Ron, whose face had lost all color.

"But I'm afraid... it's already too late, my friends..."