No. No, it couldn't be.

His eyes had to have deceived him just now. Fatigue must have finally caught up with him, playing cruel tricks with his mind and making him believe that he was seeing things he couldn't possibly have been seeing.

Because there was no way on God's green earth that he could have just witnessed what he just did.

It all should be easy enough to explain away... shouldn't it? Midnight had long fallen before now, after all, leaving all of the forest in a shroud of matte blackness that would have rendered even someone with the sharpest eyesight blind. And even if his eyes could be trusted, how could he be sure his mind could be? Blood was trickling--no, gushing--from his left temple, where his forehead had made contact with the sharpest corner of a jagged rock, when the invisibility cloak had caught on an overgrown root just as he'd managed to grab hold of the necklace. Somehow he had managed not to howl in pain when his body slammed onto the ground and sliced his forehead open. Every single one of his nerve endings screamed out in agony at that moment, still were, but he knew that even the slightest of whimpers would have blown his cover, and put Ron in more danger than he was already in. He was not about to let that happen.

But Harry never even really had a chance to fully register that relentless aching in his head, nor the fact that the necklace he'd managed to touch at the last second just before Ron disappeared--that he'd very nearly ripped off the dark witch's neck until she somehow wrenched herself free of his grasp--had been no portkey.

No, there had been a far bigger shock to his system.

He had seen her face. And it had been someone he never would have guessed to be the true culprit. Not in a million years.

There must have been some mistake, he knew it.

Because it just couldn't have been...

Pansy Parkinson...

Ron's mind was still a jumble of incoherent thoughts. Against all odds, he found some way to string them together into some sort of logical flow--but just barely. He was swirling, unsteady: still too disoriented from apparating against his will, drained from the failed struggle with his captor, but most of all--most of all--still absolutely, completely, mind-numbingly stunned from what he'd just discovered.

Pansy Parkinson had been the one behind this all along.

She looked different now than she had the last time he saw her: cheeks more hollow, eyes more sunken, and skin so pasty and colorless. Even her hair was different--he didn't remember it being black. It was the deepest, darkest black he had ever seen, like the color of ink that left a permanent stain.

She resembled a ghost now, more than she did a human being. A tired, defeated ghost that was clinging with fervor to the last shreds of life she still had left.

It had been a long time since he had last laid eyes on her, but he recognized her instantly once he'd pulled down the hood that had concealed her face. Eighteen years had passed since she had withdrawn from Hogwarts in their sixth year, the year she had failed the O.W.L.s for a second time. Ron remembered it well; rumor had it that Dumbledore, in his usual merciful manner, had quietly offered her the chance to stay back another year, but apparently she had refused (pressured by her parents to do so, as the story went), and that was the last anyone had seen or heard of her again.

Rumors had persisted over the years: that she had been sent to another wizarding school by her mortified parents, or else hidden her away from anyone she had ever known, ensuring that she would never bring shame to the family name.

Draco Malfoy had not remained heartbroken for too long--if he had ever been in the first place. Their tempestuous relationship in fifth and sixth year, if indeed their on-again, off-again merry-go-round could be called that (their well-known rows rivaled those of even Ron and Hermione's), had apparently not had too much of an impact on him; he went on to have his way with most of the Slytherin girls, and even some from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Only the Gryffindor women seemed to have enough sense to resist him.

But he never did utter her name again, nor did anyone else at Hogwarts after she had gone. As far as the wizarding world was concerned, she might as well have been dead and buried, a name and face long forgotten and nearly erased.

Until now.

Ron's skin burned where she clutched him, a grip so tight he thought the bones in this fragile wrist would disintegrate at any moment.

"Stop squirming, you little weasel!" she hissed.

For a moment, Ron had to note the irony of her choosing that insult in particular. Then she tightened her grip even further and leaned in so close that he actually cringed when he felt her breath in his ear.

"You don't want me to... hurt you, do you?"

It seemed she took particular pleasure in those last words, the thought of which sent icewater through Ron's veins.

What had she done to the children all this time? Had she threatened them the way she was threatening him right now? Had she actually lived up to her word and done harm to them? Neglected them? Forsaken them? Left them for dead? He wanted to scream at her, shake her, do whatever it took to make her confess her sins.

If you so much as touched a hair my son...

She was dragging him down a dimly lit corridor. Ron hadn't yet gotten a good enough handle on his surroundings, though by all indications, he guessed that they were in some sort of abandoned house. Random pieces of furniture were scattered all about, covered with blankets that had grayed with time and dust, and cobwebs hung from nearly every corner.

For once, though, Ron had other things to be more worried about than the spiders that were undoubtedly milling about this place freely.

They came to a stop just in front of a room that looked as if it had once been a sitting room. The hearth was glowing with a weak fire.

"Get in there!!"

She shoved him in with such a force that he landed on his face and felt his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip. Immediately, he brought a hand to his mouth. It felt warm--and wet. He was bleeding. Someone gasped behind him, and when he turned around, it was all he could do not to throw caution to the wind and leap across the room.

It was his son.

Jack...

He looked as if he had not eaten or slept much at all in days. He was still wearing his robes, though they were filthy: encrusted with mud and dirt, and tattered and torn in some places where Ron could see he had ripped pieces from the hem to make several makeshift bandages to wrap around what must have been cuts on his hands and arms.

Ron could feel the blood throbbing in his ears. If he had had enough strength at that moment, he would have killed Pansy right then and there with his bare hands. But he couldn't gather enough reserves to even sit up properly.

There was movement behind Jack. In that darkened corner, he saw two pairs of frightened eyes peering out from the shadows. Ron felt the breath catch in his throat as they tentatively poked their heads into the light.

One of them he recognized: Slava Krum, looking older now than he had been in the picture Ron had seen. And the other, the girl, Ron guessed she must have been Sian Price.

They looked just as sullied as Jack did. Just as weak, just as broken, just as scared.

"Are you all right?" Jack said. He made a move to crawl towards Ron.

Ron started to answer him, but never had the chance to get the words out.

"Don't you dare move another inch!!"

Pansy flew to where Jack was sitting, and Jack instantly cowered under her glare.

"If I so much as hear one word out of you, boy," she said, "or see so much as a twitch, you will be sorry!!"

Ron watched in horror as she drew her hand back, readying to strike his son. It was all he could take. Calling on whatever strength he had, he flung himself on her before she could make contact. She flicked him away easily, throwing him to the floor, but he had succeeded, at least, in drawing her attention away from Jack.

Indeed, she looked fit to kill. Kill him. Well better him than any of the children.

"You'll pay for that, boy..."

Ron merely stared back at her and waited for the blows that were sure to come.

Harry's lungs were burning inside his ribcage by the time he reached the villa, his eyes stinging from the blood that was still trickling from his forehead. He had run as fast as he could, all the way from the deep interior of the forest, and he would have gotten here even faster if only he had had his broom with him, but there had been no way for the cloak to have hidden it.

"Ginny! Hermione!! Open up!!"

As he pounded on the door, he noticed his knuckles were bleeding as well. He never would have noticed it if he hadn't looked down; it hadn't bothered him up to then, but now that he saw the raw scrapes all along his hands and arms--where Pansy must have clawed at him in an attempt to get his hands off her necklace--he felt a fresh wave of pain remind him of his struggle in the forest.

"Ginny-"

He lost his balance and stumbled onto the ground when Ginny opened the door, and when he pulled himself back up, he heard her shriek in horror.

"Harry, oh my God!!" She reached for him immediately, and helped him up, then guided him inside so he could sit on the couch. "Oh God... Hermione, help!!"

Her hand brushed against the gash on his forehead, and Harry hissed through his teeth involuntarily.

"Oh Harry, you're hurt," she said.

She tore a strip of cloth from her sleeve and bunched it up, then pressed it hard against his forehead. Harry almost cried out at first, but within seconds, the pressure seemed to help, as the bleeding ceased for the time being.

"Ginny, what... Oh my God, Harry!!"

Hermione flew down the staircase and ran to the couch. All color had been drained from her face, and she was trembling as she sank to her knees beside Harry.

"Hermione, keep this pressed against the wound," Ginny was instructing.

Wordlessly, her eyes filled with terror, Hermione nodded and replaced Ginny's hands with hers. Harry grimaced as the changing of hands renewed the tortuous pressure against his forehead, but said nothing and just gritted his teeth.

"Oh God, he's still bleeding..."

He tried to concentrate hard on his wife's voice. Suddenly, it seemed as if all the adrenalin that had miraculously carried him back here was receding--and receding fast--leaving him dizzy and in danger of blacking out, even as he fought hard to stay conscious.

"Hang on for me, love," she whispered. "Keep your eyes open... Accio, wand!!"

He felt her hands return to his forehead in the next instant; she and Hermione were pressing down as hard as they could, so much so that he thought the pain of them bearing down would make his head fall apart.

His eyes began to flutter. He felt so tired all of the sudden, tired and... weak... He just wanted to rest his eyes for one moment.

Just one moment...

"No!!" Hermione screamed. "Keep them open!!"

He forced them open, though the effort took every bit of strength he could muster at that moment.

"He's got a concussion," Ginny said. "Harry, listen to Hermione... don't fall asleep on me... don't..."

He saw her raise her arm, her wand poised above him as he fought to keep his eyes open. She waved it, whispering a healing spell as she did--at this point it was hard to make out the words--and at once he felt the pain start to trickle out of his body.

After a few seconds, he found that he could breathe again without great difficulty . Gingerly, he felt his forehead. His flesh was raised where the wound had been gushing just moments before.

With a tired laugh, he said, "Great... now I'll have two scars..."

"That's not funny," Ginny said. "Can you sit up?"

Harry nodded weakly and tried to slide up. Ginny and Hermione each held onto to an arm and helped him.

"We've... got to... go back," he sputtered out.

"Go back... Are you mad?? Harry, there's no way you're going out there like this-"

"Ginny, I'm fine," he said. "And besides, this is important-"

"Harry... what happened?"

Hermione's voice was so quiet when she asked him, that Harry had no doubt she had already guessed the answer before she'd even asked the question.

"Ron," he said, laying a hand over her shoulder. "I couldn't... I couldn't get to him in time..."

She looked down, then started to shake her head. "No... no..."

"Something went wrong, Hermione... That necklace... it wasn't a portkey after all..."

"But how..." Ginny creased her brow. "Harry, if Ron disappeared, how could it have happened? He couldn't have apparated with her-"

"Yes he could have," Hermione said.

Both Ginny and Harry looked at her.

"There's a way for a wizard to apparate with someone," she said. "The Surripere spell... It's an ancient spell, but it's very difficult. Only a very powerful wizard could ever make it work..."

She stopped there, for the implication of what she said had already dawned on them all.

"We have to find him," Ginny said softly.

"That's why we need to go back there now. While there's still time to figure out where she's taken him..."

Ginny turned towards him. "Harry, you've just had a concussion, for God's sake! You can't-"

"I've also just had one of the best Charm witches cast a healing spell on me," he said, cutting her off. Then he kissed her forehead, a gesture he knew she could never resist, which made him feel a twinge of guilt.

But only a twinge. He needed to get out there somehow.

"All better now... see?"

Hermione groaned. "You're just as bad as Ron, you know that?"

Harry grinned at her. "Well, where do you think he learned it all in the first place?"

"All right then," Ginny finally said. "If you're sure you feel better-"

"I'm sure."

"If I see one sign of you not being up to this, Harry Potter--one missed step or one stumble--you're coming back here, do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

The two women got to their feet, and Harry soon followed.

"There's one more thing you have to know," he said, just as they were throwing their cloaks over their shoulders.

Hermione seemed to already know what it was he was about to tell them. She turned around to face him, then after some silence, she said, "You saw her... didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "You'll never believe who it is..."

"Who is it?"

Harry swallowed hard, watching them watching him. Then he slowly let out a breath.

"Pansy Parkinson..."

Hermione stared hard at him in disbelief. It seemed as if she was paralyzed for ages, until finally, he saw her move ever so slightly. It was to let herself fall back against the wall to brace herself.