Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

--- 21 Ron: Life is No Rehearsal

Much to Ron's delight, the insufferable Draco Malfoy had just Floo'd away to Malfoy Manor to deal with a "family emergency"--which, Ron figured, probably meant in Malfoy-speak that some cousin had gone off and eloped with a Muggle. If they got really lucky, he thought optimistically, the Ferret might just decide not to come back.

But instead of joining him in celebration, like any sane Gryffindor would do, Harry had gone all sulky about it. Ron was starting to worry that Malfoy had put some kind of charm on his friend. There was just no other explanation. Slytherins didn't change, and Gryffindors didn't make friends with them, and that was all about it, as far as he was concerned.

Especially when the Gryffindor in question already had a perfectly good best friend, thanks very much...

"I don't like it. He shouldn't have gone alone," Harry was saying to Remus, who nodded in agreement (was he the only one who remembered this was MALFOY they were talking about, Ron wondered.)

But the werewolf went on to say, "I think you're right, Harry, but there's not a lot we can do about it. He's got the right to attend to his family business without our interference."

"Agreed, but considering who his family is, I wouldn't be surprised if he's walking right into an ambush." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more crazily than usual, and beginning to pace.

Remus shook his head. "I find that very unlikely, actually. Lucius might stoop to pulling something like that on his own son if he were there, true enough; but I don't think Narcissa would. She's fond of the boy, if virtually no one else is."

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, he's been decent enough with me lately. I'd be a bit put out if he got himself brainwashed or what have you, just when we were starting to get along."

"Well, I wouldn't," Ron interjected stoutly. "He's playing you, Harry, can't you see that? His back's in a corner, and he's trying to make nice, hoping his bloody House won't get sacked. Cripes, next thing you know he'll be trying to cozy up to Hagrid."

Lupin regarded him thoughtfully. "He already has, actually..."

"See, what'd I tell you?" Ron felt vindicated.

But he could tell Harry wasn't convinced. "I just wish he'd taken someone with him," he muttered uneasily. "I've got a very bad feeling about this."

"Whatever was in that letter must have been very serious to have taken him away right now. He's about the only hope the Slytherins have got left, unless Severus makes it back here very soon. --Hello, busy Floo day today," Remus remarked, and Ron turned to see the flames in the great fireplace flaring up a brilliant green. They all took a step back, automatically reaching for their wands, but the figure who stepped out in a shower of sparks a moment later was as familiar and welcome as a ray of sunshine.

"Hermione!" Ron stepped up with some notion of giving her a hug, but stopped short and stared at her aghast as the details of her appearance sank in. "Bloody hell, you look awful..."

"Thanks," she said with a wry grimace, brushing floo ash off the shoulders of her robes. Didn't help much, he thought.

As Harry and Remus greeted Hermione and started to ask what had happened, the fire flared up again. The remnants of Ron's elation collapsed as Professor Snape stepped into the room, still a bit paler than usual, but otherwise looking quite his normal, menacing self.

"Where is the Headmaster?" he asked without preamble, scowling at Ron as though he were exactly the person the Potions Master least wanted to be looking at just then.

"Uh, I think he's in his office...place...you know..." Ron gestured vaguely.

Snape swept off in that direction at a good clip--almost a run, Ron thought in surprise, and was even more surprised when Hermione cut Harry off in mid-"Welcome back!" and followed.

"Hold on now, what's the hurry?" Ron called after her. He and Harry exchanged mystified looks, and both took off in pursuit. Remus came along too. Ron thought he looked a bit apprehensive.

Hermione half-turned without stopping. "I'll tell you in a minute," she said, only just loudly enough that he could hear, with a meaningful glance at the groups of students all around them. "Something serious has happened."

"No, really? And here I thought you and the Professor had just taken up jogging for your health!"

"Ron!" He winced slightly at the distinct warning note in Harry's voice, and desisted. What had got into everyone? And for that matter, what made any of them think Snape was going to let them in on whatever he had to tell Dumbledore?

If that overgrown bat slams the door in Hermione's face, I really will kill him, he vowed silently. Whatever she's been crying about, ten Galleons says it's his fault!

When the odd little procession arrived at the Headmaster's office, however, Snape threw open the door with only the most perfunctory of knocks...and then stepped aside to let Hermione through ahead of him.

Noticing the hangers-on they'd acquired, he rubbed at his temples for a moment as though he had a migraine coming on. "Oh, all right, go on...you'll hear about it soon enough, no doubt." He gestured impatiently toward the doorway, and they filed in hastily before he could change his mind.

Dumbledore had risen from his chair, and regarded them all with a slight bemused smile as Snape stepped in and shut the door behind them. "Hello, hello...I must say this is rather unexpected...ah, Severus. So good to see you up and about..."

"Thank you. Headmaster, we have a problem." Snape pushed past the rest of the group; whatever Dumbledore saw in the Potions Master's face, it effectively wiped the smile from his own.

"What's happened?" he asked gravely.

"Lucius Malfoy has escaped from Azkaban."

"What?" Harry cried. "I knew it! I knew we shouldn't have let him go..." At the same time, Remus Lupin asked "He attacked you at the hospital?" and Hermione added, "He tried to kill us!" It took Ron a moment or two to sort it all out, but thankfully Dumbledore raised his hands and called for silence, restoring a measure of calm to the situation.

"Now. First off, Hermione, Severus--are you both quite all right?" Dumbledore asked, looking from one to the other with concern.

He got a simultaneous "Yes" and a "No!" Hermione and Snape glared at each other.

"Miss Granger?" the Headmaster prompted, with a quelling look at Snape, who rolled his eyes but dutifully shut his trap.

"I'm all right, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said stoutly. "But Professor Snape got burned driving Malfoy away.--Oh, don't look at me like that, you did!"

"Professor--" Harry began urgently, but Dumbledore waved him silent and turned to Snape, eyebrows raised. The latter resignedly turned his hands palms-up, and even Ron couldn't help but gasp in sympathy. It looked as though the greasy old git had picked up a red-hot cauldron unprotected--blisters and angry red splotches everywhere.

"Good Lord, Severus. What was it, a contact Incendius?" Lupin murmured, appalled.

"Something to that effect." Snape folded his arms, hiding the injuries from view, to Ron's relief. "I'll have it dealt with when time permits, Headmaster, but Malfoy is a more immediate concern. I succeeded in driving him off, but he is still very much alive and undoubtedly quite incensed. And by now he will have learned from Narcissa, if he hadn't already, that Draco is here with us."

"But he's not!" Harry almost shouted. "That's what I've been trying to tell you! His mum owled him there was a family emergency, and he floo'd home just before you got here!"

Snape whirled around and stared at Harry fixedly, the entire room falling into breathless silence for several long heartbeats. The Potions Master then transferred his glare to Lupin, who looked away uncomfortably; and finally to Dumbledore.

"You allowed this, Albus?" he asked softly, in a tone Ron had never heard the man use before. It had never occurred to him that someone like Snape could be capable of trusting anyone enough to feel personally betrayed. (Or that he honestly gave a rat's arse about Malfoy, or anyone else, for that matter.)

Dumbledore heard it too, Ron saw. "I had no choice, Severus. Draco is legally of age to make such decisions without my approval, as you are well aware." But the sadness in the old man's eyes gave the lie to his firm no-nonsense tone.

Snape drew a deep breath--one that ended with a sort of odd catch, as though he'd suddenly hit his limit for air--and said evenly, "I see. In any case, Headmaster, I must request the use of your fireplace."

"You can't mean to go after him," Remus said, sounding appalled.

"I most certainly do." Not waiting for Dumbledore's permission, Snape strode over to the fireplace and picked up the jar of floo powder that sat next to the hearth. "The boy is my responsibility, and I will be damned if I will stand by and allow him to be warped into Lucius, Second Edition and used for the Dark Lord's purposes."

"But the place could be crawling with Death Eaters--"

"--and you've been ill," Hermione put in. "Are you're sure you're--"

"Miss Granger. Your concern is laudable, but if I had need of either a bodyguard or a nursemaid, I assure you, I would have placed an advertisement in the Daily Prophet." Snape took a handful of Floo Powder and cast it into the fire, which roared up a brilliant emerald colour.

"Severus, be reasonable! At least let us get a few others together--"

"There's no point to risking anyone else, Lupin. I know the Manor better than anyone here. Extra bodies would only slow me down. Stand back, please."

Remus continued protesting as Snape gathered his robes close around him, stepped into the fireplace, and announced his destination--"Green room, guest wing, Malfoy Manor." But Ron's gaze had been drawn elsewhere.

Harry was looking at Professor Dumbledore, who was looking back at him, and it was as though the two of them were communicating without words. Hermione's attention was also on the two of them, her eyes bright with suppressed excitement.

Ron had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as the old wizard nodded his head once, slowly, then turned to Lupin, who was staring into the now-empty fireplace, shaking his head.

"Remus. Would you be so good as to gather the Order, and inform them what's happened? I will meet you all in the kitchen momentarily," the old wizard said to the werewolf.

Lupin nodded, and started for the door; then he paused with his hand on the knob, looking back at the three students with a thoughtful frown. Ron found himself instinctively avoiding his former teacher's gaze, even though he knew he wasn't planning anything...

"Right, then. I'll see you three later," he said softly, with a peculiar note to his voice, and exited the room.

The moment the door had shut, Ron spun on Harry. "No, no, no! And no," he added in Hermione's direction, just for emphasis. "I know exactly what you two are thinking, and you're both completely insane! Tell 'em, Professor," he said, appealing desperately to Dumbledore, despite a sneaking suspicion that the old fellow's thinking was just as cracked as Harry's and Hermione's at the moment.

The Headmaster smiled slightly, though there was little of his usual cheer in it. "I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about, Mister Weasley...I only have a moment, as I am sure you all appreciate the gravity of this situation; but I want to say something to you all, while you are here together."

He came up to the three and looked at each of them in turn, his eyes filled with warm affection and, Ron realised with a sudden little unexpected thrill, pride. Not just Harry--all of them. And what he said a moment later was even more of a pleasant surprise.

"Harry, you have known since you first set foot in Hogwarts that you were someone special," the Headmaster said softly. "But I wonder whether you understand how extraordinarily blessed you have also been, in the remarkable friends that you have found."

Standing between them, Harry smiled and nodded slowly, glancing at Ron and then at Hermione with a look on his face that brought a sudden lump into Ron's throat. He felt his face redden as he recalled how he'd told off Malfoy earlier, and realised the Slytherin had been dead right--he was jealous. Stupidly jealous. They'd been through this sort of thing often enough; after all this time, how could he have thought that Harry would ever let another friendship come between them?

"The things that the three of you have accomplished, working together, have at times astounded me--and I assure you, I have seen a great many friends come and go over the years." Dumbledore smiled wistfully. "I suspect that as long as that friendship holds true, there is very little that you cannot accomplish."

He dropped his voice conspiratorially, his eyes regaining their customary sparkle. "...even if what you attempt at times seems to fly in the face of such piddling concerns as common sense.

"And now, I must go and speak with the others...though I fear by the time we've all gathered and decided what to do, we may be far too late to be of any help to Professor Snape--or to Draco."

With that, he reached out and patted Ron on the shoulder, just as though the old man knew quite well what he was thinking; and quickly made his way to the door and out.

Harry was already reaching for the Floo powder as the door shut. "Where should we aim for--the same guest room Snape did?" he asked.

"It'll have to be; none of us has ever been to Malfoy Manor before," Hermione said briskly, quickly running through the sequence of gestures for the Expelliarmus.

"Oh, bloody hell. We really are going to, aren't we," Ron groaned, reluctantly taking out his wand. "Mental, I'm telling you, you both are..."

"You don't have to come along, Ron, if you really feel that way." Harry took a handful of Floo powder and passed the jar to Hermione, who did the same and then offered it to Ron.

"Bollocks. You heard Dumbledore--if I don't go, you'll likely both get killed." Ron tipped what was left in the jar into his hand. "Malfoy'd better be prepared to do some serious arse-kissing after this one, is all I can say."

Harry and Hermione both chuckled at that--"Oh, you think I was joking?!"--and in quick succession, they all Floo'd themselves to the ancestral home of the infamous Malfoy clan.

Ron stepped out into a large bedroom decorated in Slytherin green, and couldn't help but gawp. The place was as opulent as a palace, all gold and satins and fancy brocades, hardwood and lace...all ugly as sin, in his estimation, but the contents of this one bedroom could probably have bought the Weasley house (with some left over to replace Dad's car.)

Sod it all, I hate being poor, he thought grumpily, taking malicious satisfaction in the black footprints he was leaving all over the very expensive carpeting as he came up behind Harry and Hermione, who had cracked the door and were listening intently at it.

From somewhere below came the unmistakable sounds of dueling wands, plus the occasional crash and angry shouts. "I think they've spotted him," Harry noted unnecessarily.

"Right, then. Is this the part where we charge to the rescue, and promptly get our arses handed to us?" Ron grabbed a fancy doily off the top of an ornamental table and scrubbed the worst of the soot from his face with it, grinning at himself in a full-length silver mirror suspended from the wall (which was too scandalised to do more than gasp.) Going by past experience, this half-baked expedition was going to leave Malfoy Manor a complete shambles, a prospect which cheered him up considerably.

"More or less. I wish I knew how this place was laid out..." Hermione fretted.

"Snape and the Ferret will be the ones laid out, if we stand around here talking about it," Ron said impatiently, shoving the door open and sticking his head out into the hallway. No sign of anything up here except more obscenely expensive decor, so he gave the all-clear.

They started out cautiously in the direction the noise seemed to be coming from, passing a number of silent rooms and several tall, elaborately decorated windows that gave an impressive view of the large and extremely well-kept Malfoy estate.

They came to an elegantly appointed Grand Staircase, and followed it downward, the sounds of battle growing louder and more violent as they went. The staircase terminated in what looked to be the main entrance hall for the manor house.

Several sets of double doors graced the opposite wall; far off to the left was a huge oaken door, carved with a sigil that reminded Ron a bit of the Slytherin serpent, though much more stylised and bent into the shape of an M. And to their right, a large archway led off into what must be the main living area. The clamor was coming from that direction, and Ron could now make out several distinct voices, one of which he recognised as Lucius Malfoy's. He was fairly sure that another was Draco's old henchman Crabbe, and there was a high-pitched female voice he assumed to be Lady Narcissa's...

And then, "Expelliarmus!" followed by a loud bang and a thud. Oh yeah, that was Snape. Ron didn't hear Draco's voice, though. Well at least he's not screaming in agony, he thought, trying to be optimistic.

As they stood hesitating at the foot of the stairs, a random bolt of bright red energy blasted through the archway and impacted on the big oak door, detonating loudly and leaving a large charred splotch in the wood.

Ron swallowed hard, imagining that bolt hitting him in some important part of his anatomy. "You're absolutely certain we want them back?" he whispered to the others. Hermione thwacked him in the back of the head. Undeterred, he went on, scowling at her, "You do realise there's a chance You-Know-Who himself could be here? What'll we do then?"

"If he was, there wouldn't be any fight," Harry said flatly. "Anyway, I'd know if he were nearby." He touched his scar in an absent-minded gesture that had become all too familiar. "All right. We can't get past that archway without being seen. I don't see any way to sneak around behind from here..."

"...which means we charge in, wands blazing, and hope they're surprised to see us," Hermione finished grimly.

"This plan sucks troll bogeys, I hope you both know that." Ron gathered himself for the charge, wincing at the sound of glass shattering violently in the next room. "Tell my mum my last thoughts were of her."

"Right. On my mark," Harry said. "One...two..."

As he opened his mouth to say "Three," Ron heard Snape shout a spell he didn't recognise, and Crabbe, Senior--as thickset and apelike as his son Vincent, their former classmate, only balder--came sailing gracefully through the arch, facing backward and looking stupidly surprised.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione froze the great oaf in place as Ron and Harry careened around the corner and into the drawing room, just in time to see Snape dive behind a large piano--no, it was a harpsichord--half of which was summarily vaporised by the neatest Obruiturus Ron had ever seen, courtesy of a very angry Lucius Malfoy.

His once-handsome face disfigured by horrible burns (handprints, in fact--apparently Snape had given worse than he'd got,) Malfoy was flanked by the elder Goyle and Goyle, Junior, who were splitting off to either side, circling around to trap Snape between them. Crabbe the Younger, who looked confused and a bit frightened, was there also, standing at the far end of the room in front of a huge hearth with a roaring fire, next to Malfoy--er, Draco.

The latter was once again shirtless, standing so straight it looked painful in the middle of an elaborately inscribed circle, with sweat pouring down him and an expression of stark terror on his face. His left arm was extended out in front of him, palm up, and Ron saw his muscles clench convulsively as though he was trying desperately to put it down, but couldn't. Narcissa Malfoy stood before her son, wand in hand, ignoring the fight at her back. Another Death Eater Ron didn't know was standing opposite Crabbe, and had just drawn his wand.

Ron had about one and one-half seconds to take all this in before the nearer Goyle caught sight of them and shouted a warning to the other Death Eaters, swinging his wand around toward Harry.

"Stupefy!" Harry went left.

Ron went right. "Impedimenta!"

Then the whole place erupted, and Ron lost track of who was casting what at who, being too busy running, jumping, and frantically dodging Death Eater curses while trying to get off a few shots of his own.

He ducked behind a long claw-legged sofa and heard Hermione shout out "Evanesco!" An enormous crystal chandelier dropped to the floor with a deafening crash, its supporting chain banished. An instant later Snape came vaulting over the sofa, impacting rather hard with the wall and dropping heavily to the floor, almost on top of him.

"What are you doing here?" the Potions Master hissed furiously, grimacing as he untangled himself from his own robes with a kick and a twist, then ducking underneath the sofa. "Incendio!" A howl of pain from somewhere on the other side (one of the Goyles, Ron thought) indicated a hit.

"Uh...saving you?" Ron peeked around the edge of the sofa. He had a clear shot at Narcissa's back from here, but hesitated to take it. If she moved suddenly, he could hit Draco, and that would be a bit counterproductive. Though oh, so very satisfying. Rescue mission, he reminded himself sternly.

"Oh, I'm touched!" Snape grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out of the way just as that whole end of the sofa exploded in a multicoloured fireball, and propelled him back toward the archway with surprising strength.

"How many times must I tell you, Weasley--PAY ATTENTION! Protego!" Electric sparks showered everywhere as a two-forked lightning bolt, cast at them by Crabbe, was harmlessly deflected. Snape threw him unceremoniously around the corner and ducked the opposite way.

Ron dropped almost to the floor, and inched around to get a look back into the room. Harry had Malfoy pinned down behind a large wing-back chair, which the Death Eater seemed to have charmed to resist damage or disintegration. Curses and counter-curses were zinging everywhere, ricocheting off the walls and furniture, blasting holes in priceless paintings (whose subjects had fled in panic) and setting small blazes all about the room.

Hermione was at Harry's back, trading curses with Goyle the Elder, who seemed to be coming off worse in the deal. Goyle the Younger was rolling frantically on the floor, trying to put out the flames from Snape's incendiary spell. The unknown Death Eater, who was taking pot-shots wherever he saw an opening, stood back-to-back with Narcissa; she was rapidly chanting words Ron didn't understand.

Blimey. We might actually be able to pull this off, he thought, jumping back behind the wall as Crabbe lobbed another Lightning Bolt at him. No imagination at all, that one. He glanced across the way at Snape, and was disheartened to see that the old boy looked a bit winded; he hoped he wasn't about to relapse.

He needn't have worried. An instant later, Snape drew a deep breath and lunged around the corner. "Blatero absurde!" Loud and completely meaningless sounds began to pour out of Crabbe's mouth in an unremitting torrent, much to his apparent dismay.

Inspired, Ron followed up on that with a curse of his own invention--one he hadn't dared cast since his disastrous first attempt at it, way back in second year. "Evomitum Limax!"

For a moment, he thought it had had no effect. But then Crabbe's face turned slightly greenish, and his eyes widened with a truly horrified expression. Ron felt almost sorry for him as he clutched at his ample stomach, gagged violently once or twice--still babbling on at the same time, poor sod--and belched up an enormous slug. Then another...

"Know exactly how you feel, mate," Ron muttered, deciding on the Unnamed Death Eater as his next target. Snape was now dueling with Goyle Junior, who had managed to put out the flames but was badly burnt, and hard-pressed to hold off the older magus' assault.

As he raised his wand and took aim, however, a truly awful sound split the air, and his incantation flew right out of his head. Busy with his own problems, Ron had momentarily forgotten Narcissa and her spell, but he was forcibly reminded now.

Draco was screaming. Still fully immobilised, he couldn't open his mouth; he screamed quite audibly anyway, tears streaming unchecked down his ashen face. Greasy greenish smoke rose from the tip of his mother's wand, held firmly against the flesh of her son's inner left forearm.

"Narcissa! You unconscionable BITCH!" Snape roared, and Ron thanked the Powers that Be he wasn't standing between them just then. He was frankly amazed Narcissa didn't spontaneously combust on the spot.

Snape leveled his wand at Goyle and barked, "SERPENSORTIA!" Ron felt his jaw nearly unhinge as a monstrous anaconda sprang forth and darted with blurring speed toward the unfortunate Slytherin youth, who hadn't even time to cry out before he was engulfed in its crushing coils.

The Potions Master didn't pause to admire his handiwork; he was already moving at a run toward No-Name, and Ron felt something akin to awe as both magi cast and countered a barrage of terrible spells he hadn't even known existed. But Narcissa, her task completed, had now entered the fray, and he didn't see how Snape would be able to take both of them on at once. He started to follow, with some idea of engaging Nameless so that Snape could concentrate on Lady Malfoy.

But then he heard it. He'd known it had to be coming--these were Death Eaters they were dealing with, after all--but he'd done his best to pretend it just wouldn't happen. Fool that he was.

"CRUCIO!" Harry gave a god-awful shriek, and went down hard under Malfoy's Unforgivable attack.

"Harry!" Hermione, already reeling from her own fight with Goyle Senior, was distracted just long enough that the latter--infuriated by the sight of his son being slowly strangled by the anaconda--caught her unaware. "Stupefy!" And she, too, was down.

Ron shouted her name, Snape and his opponents forgotten. Malfoy was bearing down mercilessly on Harry with the Cruciatus, his teeth bared in a snarl of pure hate. Goyle the Elder was coming toward him, his eyes wild with fury fueled by grief; and Ron had a horrible feeling the next spell he heard was going to be the worst of all Unforgivables--whether directed at him, or at Harry.

Several curses clamored wildly in his brain; any of them could save himself, or save Harry, but he needed one that could save them both--

It came to him in the nick of time, just as Goyle's mouth was forming the word Avada. "ABLEGATIO!" he shouted wildly, seizing the bulky man with the charm and hurling him bodily into Malfoy. They crashed together into the wing-back chair, which, charmed to withstand any assault, failed to yield under the impact; both men were stunned, and Malfoy, caught between Goyle and the chair, had his wind thoroughly knocked out.

Harry had gone limp, and lay panting hoarsely, his eyes glazed over with the after-effect of the Cruciatus. He tried to rise, but his limbs were jerking spasmodically, refusing to lift him. He needed a chance to recover. He wasn't going to get it, Ron knew, unless--

He hastily spun around and dropped to his knees beside Hermione. "Ennervate!"

She groaned, blinked several times, and looked up at him confusedly. "Ron?"

"'Mione, get up. Come on," he gasped, glancing at Malfoy and Goyle. They were untangling themselves with much thrashing and breathless swearing; they'd be back in action any moment, and he was drawing a blank, not a single useful spell coming to mind. He scrambled over to Harry and hauled him up off the floor, stumbling back with him to Hermione, and gave her a hand up.

Behind him, he could hear the sounds of Snape's battle with Narcissa and Nameless. Sounded like he was holding his own, which was good, because he'd have to do without them for a bit...

The minute Hermione was on her feet, Ron pulled her around the corner, half-carrying Harry, and praying that those double doors opposite the staircase weren't locked.

The first one he tried was, but its mate opened easily. Inside, all was pitch-black--a closet; not ideal (potentially a deathtrap, in fact,) but it would have to do. He shoved Harry inside, then Hermione, and ducked in behind them, shutting the door. "Colloportus." The door sealed itself with a squelch.

Ron put his back to it and slid to the floor, panting. "Everybody all right?"

"I am," Hermione answered from within the impenetrable darkness. "Just a bit dazed."

"Will be," came Harry's slightly rough voice. "The doors won't hold up for long, once they start in on them."

"I know. Neither will Snape. Can we please come up with a real plan, now?" Even as he asked, footfalls and incantation could be heard outside, and the closet doors at his back shuddered and creaked beneath a heavy blow. "Quickly?"

"Don't look at me. I think my brain's leaking out my ears," said Harry, sounding just a bit too literal for Ron's comfort. The door shuddered again, and he felt it start to heat up. He scooted away from it hastily.

"Honestly, you two! Infragilis!" The doors lit up faintly for a moment at Hermione's command. "There, now they won't break."

"Maybe, but that won't stop them from cooking us from the outside. Or coming through the wall," Ron pointed out. The temperature in the enclosed space was already beginning to rise.

"Malfoy won't damage the place any more than he has to. That buys us some time. Now let's see what's in here, maybe something we can use... Lumos." The tip of Hermione's wand lit up, revealing her face and Harry's, pale and ghostly in its dim glow.

She was sitting on a large chest. Harry was on the floor, leaning against a second one like it. To Hermione's right (Ron's left) hung a selection of costly-looking outerwear: coats, cloaks, furs and the like.

"I don't see anything much..." Scanning the small space, he caught sight of a jumble of objects, vaguely familiar but only half-visible in the faint wand-light, piled on the floor to Harry's left.

Glancing back, he saw that the door behind him was now glowing a dim cherry-red. Smoke was filling the tiny room, and the heavy blows were now falling on the wall next to the door, which was starting to bow inward.

"Hermione, move your light over there," he gestured at the pile of stuff. But as she started to oblige, leaning over Harry and coming partly up off the chest, a soft gleam reflected off something hanging on the wall hanging just over her head...

And then he got a good look at the chest, and realised what it was...

"Harry," he breathed, jumping up and away from the slowly buckling wall (good and sturdy, they didn't build them like that anymore!) "Look behind you!"

Harry turned and looked, as Hermione pointed her light that way as well. His gaze traveled slowly up the wall, taking in the five magnificent objects lovingly enshrined in a beautiful hardwood rack. Then he turned to Ron with a grin that threatened to split his face wide open.

"Oh..." was Hermione's less than enthusiastic comment.

"I love rich people!" Ron proclaimed, a plan already starting to come together.

---

Looking back on it later, Ron mourned the fact that he'd been moving too fast to get a good look at Lucius Malfoy's face when the red-hot closet doors literally burst open, and he and Harry shot out of the stifling little space on two of the top-of-the-line racing brooms that had been Draco's birthday presents for the previous five years.

He did wheel around and pause just in time to see the great snob get his nose broken by a careening Bludger (courtesy of Hermione, who'd flatly refused to mount a broom under any circumstances, but turned out to be surprisingly good with a bat.)

Malfoy had evidently forgotten what the closet contained, or else in the years since he'd graduated, he'd forgotten what a brutal sport Quidditch could be. Whatever the case, neither he nor Goyle Senior was prepared to deal with two young wizards traveling in three dimensions at well over a hundred miles per hour--never mind the four Bludgers, which seemed to have been locked up for some time, and were behaving even more homicidally than usual. Outside the enchanted confines of a Quidditch pitch, the things were dangerously unpredictable; inside a confined area like this, they'd be downright lethal.

Of course he and Harry were also at risk from the mad Bludgers--thus the bat Ron had grabbed, though he was a Keeper, not a Beater, and wasn't particularly good at aiming the things where he wanted them to go. At least he was used to thinking defensively though.

What all of this worked out to was a decided shift in the odds. Malfoy and Goyle stood their ground for a few moments, the former dashing blood from his nose and trying to draw a bead on Harry, who had immediately darted through the arch and was flying straight into the middle of the three-way duel at the far end (still in full swing, by the look of it.)

Goyle started to take aim at Ron, but had to throw himself flat to avoid a Bludger. Ron dropped into a dive and buzzed by Malfoy, spoiling his aim but getting singed a bit as the Death Eater's spell went wild and almost hit him instead.

The broom he was riding--a Nimbus 2005--wasn't particularly cooperative; it was too well-behaved to try to buck him off, but seemed to want to hesitate or turn sluggishly at crucial moments, putting him right in harm's way.

"Now look, you!" he shouted at it as they pulled up barely in time to miss the stone wall--maneuvering at high speed in such a relatively small space was tricky enough, without this complication--"I know this is all a bit out of order, but we're trying to help out your owner! He's in a real bind! I'll give you right back after--Prefect's honour!"

In answer, the Nimbus stopped dead and then took him into a stomach-turning diagonal spin. He thought it was trying to throw him off, but then felt something whiz by his head. Looking back, he realised the broom had just got him out of the path of not one, but two of the Bludgers, ricocheting at him from two different directions. He hadn't seen either one coming.

"Cheers!" he gasped, and felt the broom wiggle slightly, almost cheerfully beneath him.

With that impediment overcome, he spun round abruptly and swatted at another Bludger, aiming for Malfoy's head. It struck his wand arm, and he cried out in pain. To Ron's disappointment, though, he kept hold of his wand, transferring it to the other hand. Goyle had managed to get halfway up, throwing off a curse at Ron that he dodged easily, then rolling frantically to one side as his head was nearly Bludgered flat.

Hermione was standing in the closet doorway, bat in one hand, wand in the other, ensuring the Death Eaters didn't get any ideas about grabbing brooms to even the odds. Her disarray was now complete; every inch of her seemed to be either rumpled, dirty, or damaged somehow. She fired off spells and swatted Bludgers with a wild, defiant abandon that made Ron very glad he didn't have to try to get past her.

He'd never seen a more breathtaking sight in all his life.

At this point, however, Malfoy seemed to have assessed the odds and found them unfavorable. Coolly leaning sideways to avoid another incoming Bludger, he turned his gaze to the far end of the drawing room for a moment, then abruptly Apparated away.

A couple of the Bludgers had by this time gone smashing their way off in that same general direction. "Hermione, can you handle Mr. Goyle?" Ron called to her. She nodded with a grim smile, and stepped toward the prone Death Eater, waving him off toward the continuing fight.

As he rocketed off, he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of Hermione raising her bat as though to clout Goyle over the head with it. Note to self: Self, whatever you do, never, ever get on that woman's bad side!

He zipped toward the other end of the room, passing the still-yammering-and-slugged Crabbe, Jr., who was watching the anaconda try to swallow the younger Goyle; all the fight seemed to have gone out of him. Ron halted and hovered overhead long enough to Accio the Slytherin's wand right out of his hand, just to be on the safe side. Crabbe barely noticed.

Approaching the ongoing battle, he saw that Snape had managed to get between Draco and Narcissa; this put him at a great advantage, since the sinister beauty couldn't cast at him without the risk of hitting her own son (who was still immobilised.) This hadn't stopped her from attacking him, however. She just seemed to be sticking to nonlethal curses.

Harry was harassing Lucius Malfoy, who had somehow sped up his own movement; his curses were still missing Harry, but coming uncomfortably near the mark, and he was avoiding the bludgers with ease, Ron noted. Nameless was lying flat on his back several yards away, apparently just starting to recover from some major blow.

Ron offhandedly stupefied him on his way past, and dropped down behind Draco. "Right, let's get you out of this so we can go home..."

Snape had just sent Narcissa sprawling, down but not out, and took the opportunity to call to him, "Have a care, Weasley--it's not a normal Body Bind!" But Narcissa was back at him before he could explain further.

"Perfect..." Of course it couldn't be something simple. He tried to recall the relevant bits from Professor Flitwick's lecture on identifying and removing problematic spells; he vaguely recalled being distracted that day by Malfoy, who'd spent the entire class humming bars of "Weasley is our King" behind Flitwick's back, just to get on his nerves.

"I ought to just leave you here you know, I really ought," he said crossly, and rhetorically, knowing the blonde couldn't answer. Raising his wand, and praying he'd remembered the correct incantation, he enunciated carefully, "Cognito cantonis!"

Once the spell was cast, he shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and focused on Draco. What he saw made him shudder. An intricate network of black, grey, and dark blue lines of power, finer than spider-silk, was wound closely around the Slytherin's body like the cocoon of some nightmare insect. They reeked of Dark Magic and were arranged in a very specific pattern, much more complicated than a Body Bind, he saw; not a single spell, but several, all interdependent. A simple Finite wouldn't do the job; he'd have to pick them apart in exactly the right order, or there could be disastrous consequences for Draco--and maybe for him too.

"Brilliant! Trust a Death Eater to come up with the nastiest possible way to do anything," Ron exclaimed, disgusted. He leaned in close, trying to ignore the strength-sapping chill emanating from those malevolently glistening lines, and chose one of the central knots that held the net together.

"C'mon, 'Mione, get Goyle dealt with and move your arse over here," he muttered to himself. This sort of delicate operation was far outside the scope of his talents, but he dared not wait for her. One lucky shot from Narcissa or Lucius and he'd be short either a best friend or a Potions instructor, and while he'd be far more upset about the former, they were about equally important to his prospects for continued survival just then...

It was very difficult to sort out one filament from the rest, but after several moments' close inspection he was pretty sure he'd pegged the one he needed to start with.

"Sorry in advance, if I get this wrong," he said to Draco, taking a deep breath and narrowing his concentration to that one crucial strand. "Finite...Incantatum," he breathed, fiercely willing just that one to snap, and no others...

There was a loud crack, and a flash of not-light that drove him back a step or two, blinking. When his eyes readjusted, he saw that he'd done it; a whole slew of dark blue lines had dissolved, and parts of the ugly cocoon were threatening to unravel.

Inordinately pleased with himself, he set about dispelling the next enchantment, and then the next. Around him the battle rolled on; he noted distractedly that Hermione and Nameless were back into it, and at one point a frantic shout from Harry caught his attention only just in time to stop a Bludger taking Draco's head off. He wanted to trade places with Hermione, but he wasn't at all sure that they could both get through the firefight to make the switch. Better to stay put and finish the job, then lend a hand to whoever needed it...

Finally he was down to the last strand, the one on which all the other spells had depended. Draco had managed to force his arm down, and was struggling now to free himself. "Hold still!" Ron snapped, though he was glad to see the Slytherin still had some fight left in him. "There's only one left--"

Draco went completely still, almost rigid again. "Come off it now," Ron said impatiently. "I didn't mean you had to--"

"Weasley..." Draco croaked, and something in his tone made Ron look up in sudden dread.

He was staring up the length of Narcissa Malfoy's wand, whose tip hovered not six inches from his nose.

"Oh, fuck me running..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see that Snape had got swamped with some sort of gummy goo, and was more or less glued to the floor. "Don't do it, Narcissa!" he shouted over the din. "You know it's no good...you can't make the boy a Death Eater against his will. It'll drive him mad, if it doesn't kill him!"

"Shut up, Severus." The woman's voice was harsh, but off, somehow...almost cracking on the last few syllables.

Ron forced his gaze off the wand and up to meet her eyes. Pale blue they were, devoid of much personality, but pretty in a superficial way; and fixed on him with an almost feral expression. Like a predator, he thought, his whole body going cold, about to make a kill...

No, a little voice corrected unexpectedly, as he held her gaze with difficulty, not a predator. Look carefully. More like a cornered animal. Something trapped...

He saw her hand tighten on the wand, but still she cast no spell. Something was holding her back. But only when she broke their stare, her eyes flickering almost frantically to Draco and then back to him, did he understand what it was.

"FINISH HIM!" he heard Lucius Malfoy bellow, and saw Narcissa flinch.

He licked his lips, and dared to glance furtively at the younger Malfoy himself, hoping she'd caught the motion. Very slowly, his arm out of Lucius' line of sight behind Draco's back, he raised his wand toward the final strands of the binding spell. He didn't try to hide what he was doing from Narcissa, looking her dead in the eyes. Come on, lady, you may be a Slytherin and a Death Eater, but you're still his mum...just give me another...few...seconds...

He got the wand into position. Lady Malfoy didn't move.

"Finiteincantatum!" he blurted, the fastest spell he'd ever got off...and then all hell broke loose.

The line snapped, and Draco lit up briefly like a Christmas tree, staggering as his limbs were unbound. Ron grabbed his hand and slapped Crabbe's wand into it. Harry gave a whoop and executed a truly beautiful maneuver: dropping, spinning, and thwacking Lucius Malfoy sharply across the shoulders with the tail of his broom, knocking him flat on his face.

Hermione caught Nameless square in the jaw with a perfectly timed Impedimenta, and spun gracefully around to dispel the Snape-sticking goo almost as part of the same motion.

And if this were all just part of some kid's story, the rest would have been history. The tide would have turned, the bad guys retreated, Narcissa would have repented and come over to the right side of things; and truth and justice would triumph yet again...for one naive instant, Ron thought later, they'd all believed it might happen that way...

None of them foresaw what really did happen. None of them would have believed it if someone had told them. Not even of Lucius Malfoy.

Springing to his feet faster than Ron had thought possible, he aimed and howled out his spell before anyone could react...

...straight at his own wife.

The bolt of malevolent green caught her between the shoulder blades. Ron watched horrified, his hair ruffled gently by the rush of noisy wind that passed through the room, as the light in her pale blue eyes was snuffed out...just like that...no warning at all. One minute she was there; the next, she wasn't.

Her empty body collapsed in a heap at the feet of her son, who watched her fall, his face blank with astonishment. "M-mother...?"

Four furious curses hit Lucius at the same instant, and he toppled like a stone, but the damage was done. Ignoring everyone else, Draco dropped to his knees beside his mother's corpse, turning her over gently and looking into her pale, slack face. His own face still registered only puzzled surprise.

There was a sharp crack as What's-His-Name Apparated away. Nobody paid him the slightest mind. They'd all turned their attention to Draco, save for Hermione, who in her usual practical manner was tying the elder Malfoy up with a binding spell.

Harry landed his broom next to the Slytherin youth, reaching him about the same time as Snape (who was, Ron noted, definitely having some trouble catching his breath.) They both reached out at the same time, but stopped to glare at one another distrustfully over Draco's head.

"He...he killed her." That quiet, incredulous statement effectively put an end to any disagreement that was about to erupt.

"Yes," Snape said softly, an odd note in his voice. "He did. That...is what Death Eaters do, Draco. Sometimes, even to one another."

The Potions Master removed his robes, revealing a simple but tasteful black suit underneath, and draped them around Draco's bare shoulders. As though taking his cue from Snape, Harry pulled off his own robes and respectfully covered Lady Narcissa's body.

"He killed my mother. H-he made her--Professor, she put this thing on my arm--" Draco held it up for Snape's inspection, stunned shock beginning to give way to horror.

Snape gently took hold of Draco' arm, and examined the ugly skull-shaped brand Narcissa's wand had left there. "It's all right," he murmured, "the Morsmordre isn't permanent until the Dark Lord has completed the process personally. It's only a burn, Draco, it can be remedied."

Harry, straightening up from his unhappy task, suddenly took off his glasses and wiped irritably at his eyes, then walked back over to Draco and sat down next to him, silently resting one hand on his shoulder.

Ron started to ask Snape who the unnamed Death Eater had been, but was distracted by a yelp from somewhere at the far end of the room. Glancing back, he realised that the four rogue Bludgers were still crashing around the place; apparently they, too, were unnerved by what had just taken place, because they'd all moved off and were now picking on Crabbe Jr. and the two older Death Eaters who lay incapacitated over that way. "I'd better get those put away," he mumbled, feeling cheated somehow. They'd just pulled off something close to a miracle...but Lucius Malfoy had turned what should have been a victory celebration into a wake.

Stumbling a bit with weariness, a very bedraggled Hermione was already walking around the drawing room, putting out fires and neutralizing acid and other dangerous substances the fight had left behind. The huge anaconda lay in a happy stupor, its middle bulging enormously; Ron felt vaguely sick as he mounted the Nimbus 2005 and began his Bludger-hunt.

Not a single one of the Malfoys' belongings in these two large rooms seemed to have escaped destruction. They'd demolished the place, all right, but now he felt rather sorry about it. Strangest thing was, the whole business couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes, tops.

He chased down and locked away two of the Bludgers (earning himself a nice shiny black eye in the process,) and was working on a third, when he heard a strange sound and a chorus of shouts from the far end. Ohhh, now what?

Whirling, wand at the ready, he fully expected to see more Death Eaters...or Harry and Snape tearing into each other...or maybe Lord Voldemort himself. Hell, at this point Salazar Slytherin wouldn't have come as much of a surprise.

What he did see was Draco, pinned to the floor by Harry, and thrashing madly while Snape wrestled Crabbe's wand out of his hand; and Hermione leaning over Lucius Malfoy, who was lying ominously still.

Ron blinked. He didn't. He couldn't have. Not his own dad.

But it seemed he had. As Ron zipped back into their vicinity and landed, he heard Snape rasping to his friends, "...doubt anyone will be prosecuted under these circumstances, but I will not have this hanging over his head. Say he fell in the battle, or tell them that I did it, if you must, but Draco's name is not to come into it--do you understand?"

"I'm not telling anyone," Harry snapped from where he lay flat across Malfoy's torso. Draco had stopped fighting now, and had his head turned away. But Ron saw he was trembling convulsively, and knew that the Slytherin was anything but calm. "The man just killed his mother, right in front of him, for god's sake! You think I don't understand?"

"I didn't say that, Potter, but it's irrelevant," Snape said with a sigh. "If the Dark Lord finds out he was responsible, Draco will cease to be a tertiary target and move to the top of the list." He coughed softly.

Hermione had pulled down what was left of an elaborate wall-hanging, and covered Lucius' body with it. "We should...get back to the Safe House. Let them know what's happened." She staggered sideways a few steps.

"Wonder why nobody's followed us yet," Ron mumbled, walking over to lend her his arm. She took it with a smile of gratitude, leaning on him for a moment, and he felt something small and warm flutter gently in his chest.

"Doubt they know we came. Dumbledore had something in mind...I dunno what, though." Harry levered himself up off of Malfoy, helping the blonde sit up too. "All right, Draco?" he asked softly, one hand still grasping the Slytherin's arm, the other resting against his back. Draco shook his head wordlessly, his fine pale hair forming a curtain that shielded his face from view.

Snape slowly climbed to his feet, coughing again--not the awful throat-tearing cough from before, just a gruff sporadic sort of hack; rather like a smoker's cough, Ron thought. "Take him back to the Safe House, and turn him over to Madame Pomfrey," he ordered, straightening up with a slight grimace. "Tell Professor Dumbledore what has happened--minus Draco's role--and that I will be along shortly." He walked over to Lucius Malfoy's draped body, regarding it grimly.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked after a moment's pause.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder, no particular expression on his face; then his gaze wandered to Narcissa's shrouded form, and he sighed again.

"I am going to bury them," he said simply.

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