DISCLAIMER: It's obvious, everything belongs to J.K Rowling except (yes ther's an EXCEPT!) for Petra Manalo, Collins and Weber. These charaters are definitely mine. All mine. Now the painting with the farmer and his wife is an ACTUAL painting and a famous one at that. Dunno who the artist is though, but kuodo to him...or her... ya...

A/N: Yes i know the Creevy brothers are not the beaters for Gryffindor quidditch team, but what the hell, it's my story and my plot. So there. As for Angelina and friends, lets just say they stayed back a year and are in Harry's now. Um, hope all of this is to your liking, and I'll shut up now so u can get to reading. Enjoy...or else..o oh,and don't forget to review, it's easy, it's fun and more importantly: it's not a waste of tree flesh

*****

Torn: The shadow that Stalks Me

******

The portrait opened and in climbed two ragged looking figures, drenched and caked with mud. Dark circles clouded their eyes and the shorter one of the two stifled a yawn.

“I swear, if we have to do anymore of these late night practices, I'm quitting.” Ginny ran a hand tiredly through her bright red hair.

“If the Creevey brothers keep accidentally pelting me with that blasted bludger, Angelina's going to have to find herself new beaters,” Ron said as he limped over to the table while scrubbing a hand over his freckled face.

Ginny chuckled at this then said, “I'm going straight to bed, and you should too. It's late.”

“Yeah, I'll be up in a bit. I just have to finish McGonagall's essay first. There's no chance of copying Hermione's tomorrow, and I won't even bother with Harry.” Ron gingerly sat down on his chair and yawned loudly.

Ginny paused on her way up the stairs, “Should I…check on Hermione? I tried to talk to her today, but she wouldn't say anything.”

Ron grew sober, “No, let her sleep. She's had a hard day.”

“Will she be alright?”

“Of course she will. Give her time and she'll be back to her same old know-it-all self.” Ginny nodded, and then disappeared up the stairs.

Ron stared at the table, not moving. “Incendio,” he muttered as he pointed his wand at the fireplace. A roaring fire sprang to life in the hearth, immediately warming up the room. Ever since Voldemort's rebirth, he'd taken a leaf out of Harry's book and kept his wand with him at all times. No matter where he was, or what he was doing, he always made sure that he had it on him, hidden and protected.

“Because you never know,” Harry had told him while slipping his own wand securely up his sleeve.

For a few minutes he debated with himself whether he should just sit there and enjoy the luxury of sitting or actually get up and fetch his books from his room upstairs. The image of Professor McGonagall's stern face won the battle, and with a heavy sigh he got up and slowly made his way to the

staircase.

Ron froze.

Someone else was in the room.

He tightened his grip on his wand and slowly turned around. A pair of green eyes stared right back at him, and he let out a breath that he didn't know he'd held.

“Blimey, Harry! Don't do that! You almost gave me a bleeding heart atta-” For the second time that night Ron froze. This time however, it wasn't due to the feeling of impending danger.

Harry placed a finger to his lips and Ron's eyes bulged out of his head. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the sight of his two best friends together in such an intimate proximity startled him.

The two of them were sitting in the armchair; Hermione curled up against Harry. Her head rested on his chest and she had an arm draped over him.

The light of the fire danced off her features, and Ron thought she looked lovely. Harry's arms encircled her and his head had lifted from hers at the sight of Ron. Hermione continued to slumber away, oblivious to the seemingly embarrassing and awkward moment at hand.

“Ron,” Harry began, quickly tensing up, “This is not what it looks like.”

Ron mentally shook his head, and raised his hands up in defense. “You don't have to explain anything, mate. I know how you feel about her.”

Now it was Harry's turn to be surprised. His mouth hung open and it took him a couple of seconds to actually force some coherent words out. “Y-You know?”

“Of course I know, Harry! I'm not daft.”

“And you're…okay with it?”

Ron frowned, “Now I didn't say I was okay.”

“Ron I-”

Ron's face broke into a smile, “Relax, mate. I'm only joking.”

Harry smiled at him gratefully.

“Mind you, it is strange seeing you two like this.”

“Don't get used to it. This isn't permanent.”

At this Ron raised an eyebrow.

“She doesn't feel…I mean, I just can't…Well, we're still friends and…” Harry heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at his best friend sleeping in his arms. Her bushy hair spilled over in all directions and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Harry thought she was beautiful.

“You really care about her don't you?” Ron said, breaking the silence that settled between them.

“I love her,” Harry answered, not looking up.

Ron was startled by his answer, and yet a part of him wasn't surprised at all. Harry laughed bitterly and continued, “And all I can give her is friendship.” Green eyes met blue and for a split second, Ron thought he saw a hint of pain flash through those emerald eyes, but before he could decipher what it really was, it was gone.

“So what're you gonna do?”

“What I have to.”

Harry didn't continue and Ron didn't urge him to. Ron rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what else to say and cleared his throat. “Well, at least there's one good thing about this.”

“Which is?”

Ron grinned, “I'm now wide awake.”

Harry chuckled. “Did you finish McGonagall's essay?”

“You think I'd still be down here if that blasted essay was finished?”

“Right.”

Ron yawned yet again and stretched. “Might as well get started then, eh?”

“Might as well.”

“At least I'm not the only one up at this ungodly hour.” He dragged his feet over to the stairs leading to the boy's dorms.

“The Creevey brothers at it again?”

“Yeah, lousy gits. You'd figure that if they can hit the bludgers, they'd do the job right and send them away from their own sodding team mates.”

“Hey, grab mine too, will you? They're on the bed.” Ron nodded and disappeared.

The boy's dorm was dark. Only the soft snores from the other beds indicated that life- if at all human from the sound of it- was indeed present in the room. Ron sighed as he tossed his Quidditch robe onto his trunk. He grabbed his books, parchment, and inkbottles then went over to get Harry's books. He paused and swallowed hard as a fresh wave of jealousy suddenly washed over him. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't manage to get the picture out of his head. In his mind's eye he saw them together. He grit his teeth then took a deep breath. Ron struggled with himself. His old feelings, that he had thought were long gone, started to resurface with the oncoming images, and he tried to force them down. “Won't help at all,” he muttered to himself. “It's for the best, mate. It's for the best.”

Thankfully, his anger started to slowly ebb away. He heaved a sigh and softly laughed at his moment of foolishness. “Boy do I need some sleep.”

Hermione was nothing more to him than a best friend, and all he felt for her was brotherly love. At times he was too protective of her he did admit, somewhat half-heartedly. But this was different. This was Harry, and he would never do anything to hurt her. Hell, he wasn't even going to go for her. Now that might change, with time, he thought. Still, getting used to this wasn't going to be easy. Suspecting that Harry did have feelings for Hermione was one thing, but love?

One impressively loud snore shook Ron from his musings, and he eyed his own bed.

It called out him.

Groaning, he shifted his books in his arms, and taking Harry's books and parchment, he walked out the door and headed down the stairs.

“Where's Hermione?” Ron asked as he trudged down the stairs and laid his burden onto the table. Something shiny glinted at the corner of his eye and he went over to see what it was.

“Upstairs. I woke her up and sent her to bed,” Harry answered. Ron nodded, and bent down to take a closer look. On the floor glinting in the dim light was Hermione's necklace. Ron picked it up.

“Hey, Harry.”

“Hmm?”

Ron straightened with some discomfort and raised the present in the air for Harry to see. The silver chain dangled in his hand, and the ring swung back and forth gracefully. “They must have forgotten this when they cleaned the place up,” Ron said. “Strange for house-elves to overlook something.”

“Hermione never mentioned losing it,” Harry noted.

“Don't think she lost it, mate.”

At this, Harry said nothing.

Ron pocketed it. “I'll give it to her when she gets up.”

“Right then. We should get to work.” They headed to the desk and sat down.

“This should be exciting,” Harry muttered, as they spread out their work before them. Ron dipped his quill into the ink bottle. “At least you're almost finished. I've got to start the blasted thing. Three inches right?” Harry nodded and Ron groaned, “Lovely.”

****

A lone figure dashed across the hallways of the empty fire lit corridors of Hogwarts castle. Breathing heavily, he pressed himself up against the cold stonewalls, hugging the shadows. No signs of pursuit rang in his ears and he breathed out a heavy sigh of relief then winced. With one hand he gingerly brushed the side of his face. Four bloody scratches raked across his high cheekbones and he swore under his breath, “Damn cat.”

Marcus Weber ignored the steady throb of the stinging pain flaming across his cheeks and concentrated on more important matters. Sinking to the ground in cover of darkness, his hands shook as they carefully unwrapped the cloth binding the heavy object he held in his arms. He sucked in a breath at the sight of the thick book before his eyes and his grimy fingers trembled as they hovered over the cover wanting but not daring to touch its rough, worn surface.

“Blimey…”

“Oy!”

A hand came out of the darkness and grasped his shoulder. In one swift movement he grabbed his assailant's arm, twisted, pinning his foe to the wall. A glint of steel pressed up against a pale throat.

“Never sneak up on me again,” Weber growled.

“Oh, easy, mate. Easy. I was just playin' `round.”

“This is no time for games, Collins. We're here to get the book and the blood. Now, I did my part. Did you do yours?”

“Of course! You've gotta relax, mate,” Alister Collins said favoring his arm and rubbing his throat, “You almost twisted me arm off! And watch where you jab that sodding knife `o yours. Don't know why you carry that rubbish `round. I could `o easily disabled you with me wand `ere.”

Weber smiled grimly, slipping the knife and rewrapping the book, “You would have been dead before you had the chance to utter a word, and I will do something far worse than just twisting your bleeding limbs off if you don't keep quiet!” he hissed.

Collins grumbled in response, then his eyes lit up when they spotted the book in his companion's hands.

“Is that it then? That's what the Dark Lord wants? A dusty ol' book?”

“This dusty old book can easily wipe out your family's and more importantly, your very existence. Now did you get her or did you not?” Weber asked, looking around for anything out of place.

Collins jabbed his thumb behind him, and Weber looked up. Two pairs of frightened eyes stared back at him and once again the air was filled with a string of curses, “Collins, you dippy bastard, are you daft?! You have two bleeding girls hanging there! We only need one!”

“Easy, Weber. The spare's for me,” Collins answered flippantly. At this, a small whimper escaped from one of the floating figure's frozen lips. Weber shut his eyes and slowly counted to ten. He could feel a migraine coming on. “Our orders, Collins, were to strictly slip in and slip out with the book and one girl. Now, I want you to stop thinking of your dick and start following fucking orders before we both get bloody killed.”

“But Weber, I can easily get both of `em out `o `ere without-”

“I don't care if you've figured out a way to bring all of the bloody girls in this school! Get rid of the spare, or it will be your hide and mine!”

Collins sighed.

“And for god's sakes, knock them out will you? I will not have us killed just because poppet here couldn't keep her mouth shut.”

“Why don't I just kill her?”

Weber's eyes widened at the comment, “Are you mad? And have the old man after us like a bleeding blood hound? Smart one, you are. It's a wonder that we've managed to get into the castle undetected. I won't have you spoiling this because of your stupidity. Just knock her out already.”

Collins nodded and Weber kept an eye out. Both girls whimpered as the big man loomed over their frozen bodies. He brushed flaming red hair away from his eyes, raised his wand, then hesitated. Weber waited. He heard not a sound. Looking behind him, he checked on Collins and spotted the Death Eater hovering over the girls, first pointing his wand at one, then another.

“What are you waiting for? Knock one out!”

“I-I can't decide.” Weber scrubbed a hand over his face in exasperation.

“Oh for Christ's sake!” He pushed Collins aside and raised his wand. There was a flash of red

and a muffled scream sounded. One of the girls slumped to the floor. The remaining girl moaned in despair and her eyes darted back and forth.

“There, that should do it. Won't remember a thing. Now let's get out of here.”

Wands raised, the two of them raced across the halls. Their captive's muffled screams echoing their presence. “Will you shut her up?!” Weber hissed. The sounds ceased.

Pale moonlight shed on a lone eagle slowly making its way across the night sky putting as much distance between it and the castle at a great speed. Four familiar scars streaked across the side of its head and in its talons, it clutched a heavy burden bound with a ragged cloth. Straight below it, ran a lone wolf quickly putting distance between itself and the looming castle. Following close behind the animal, floating ghostlike, her head lolling to one side and her arms and legs limp, was a young girl. Her dark hair billowed in the breeze.

It was a long time when Petra Manalo's eyes finally fluttered open.

Where am I? She thought groggily.

She sat up on the hard, unfamiliar ground. Her head was pounding, and she lifted a hand to massage her temples.

“Headache my dear?” a cold voice asked.

She jumped at the intruding voice and looked up.

A man stood before her encased in shadow. He stood calmly with his arms behind his back, but his mocking, raspy voice was filled with malice and radiated absolute power. “Believe me,” he said, stepping forward and into the light. “This will be the least of your worries.”

A scream rose in her throat and she scrambled to get away.

The Dark Lord loomed over her and smiled, “She will do nicely.”

Her breath coming out in deep shuddering gasps, she squeezed her eyes shut. Why? She thought before the madness overtook her, sending her straight to the hands of hell, endlessly screaming for mercy.

******

“Are you finished?”

“Not quite.”

“Well hurry it up then. We've got twenty minutes until class and I'd like to get a bite to eat before hand.”

“Hold on, I've almost got it. Why is this blasted spell not working? Oh, hang it! Harry, you do this.”

Ron thrust Hermione's necklace onto Harry's outstretched hand. Mumbling a spell, the broken ends quickly melded together. Ron mumbled his thanks as he took the chain in his hand and held it before his eyes to inspect it. “You know, Harry? I reckon you've been practicing that charm, what with this looking brand new and all.”

Harry tapped his glasses. “Try playing Quidditch in these. With all of the close calls I've had, it's a wonder that it's still in one piece.” Ron laughed then grew sober as a look of sadness crossed Harry's face.

“Don't worry, mate,” he said while taking a seat at the Gryffindor table beside Hermione, “You'll be up and playing again. Since Umbridge is gone, I don't see why McGonagall won't let you play. We'll talk to her, won't we Gin?”

“I'm already on it,” Ginny said between bites. “Angelina said she'll talk to McGonagall as soon as she can. You might have to try out again, just to show that you've still got the knack.”

“Brilliant! Well it's settled then. McGonagall is bound to say yes, Harry'll be back on the team, and

Hermione can teach me that mending charm, right Hermione?”

Hermione blinked as she looked up from her plate still laden with food.

“Sorry, what?” she asked, a pink flush rose in her cheeks.

Harry looked worryingly at her, noticing that she had not taken a single bite of food. “Hermione, you haven't eating a thing,” he commented.

Hermione looked down at her plate with surprise, as if noticing the food placed before her for the first time. “Oh, I guess I'm not that hungry right now.”

“Did you hear, Hermione? Harry's going to be back on the Quidditch team,” Ron said.

“Might, Ron. He might be back. McGonagall hasn't said anything yet,” Ginny retorted.

Ron responded to her comment with a wave of his hand, “Course she'll let him.”

“That's wonderful, Harry. You'll make it, I'm sure of it,” Hermione answered in a far away voice. Her eyes focused on her plate, and never landed on Harry. Her face was still aflame and Harry wondered if she remembered the events from last night.

He sure did.

From the moment he entered the Great Hall and spotted Hermione, his eyes had never left her. He drank in the sight of her, the sound and smell of her filled his senses. With his unrelenting stare, he willed her to look at him. Her eyes stayed firmly on her plate, or strayed every now and then to focus on Ginny, Ron, or anyone else talking to her. At times her eyes wandered around the room seeing things that no one else could see, watching the memories that were meant for only her eyes alone.

She never looked at him.

Rays of sunlight poured through the windows of the room and another memory flooded her mind, trapping her. She saw them walking her to King's Cross, assuring her that everything was going to be alright, and that she have a good term. The morning sun cast its rays upon her mother's angelic features, and she pulled her into a tight hug. Hermione sighed inwardly, not wanting the dream to end.

A fierce, yet muffled whisper sounded in her ear. Hermione blinked, in confusion.

“What Ron?”

Ron looked taken aback. “I didn't say anything, Hermione.”

“Oh.” She ignored the concerned looks that were directed her way, and shook her head with a forced smile. “Must be hearing things.” She smiled weakly and cleared her throat, “So did you finish your essay, Ron?”

“Oh, yeah. It took hours, but it's done. I don't see what the point of Somnium Gradior is, I mean, no one's practiced it in centuries. It's not like one of us is going to wake up one morning and say, `Hey, I reckon I should stalk a random person, and while I'm at it, jump into their head and control them just for kicks'. This business is just pointless if you ask me,” Ron finished, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Hermione perked up a bit at this comment and turned to Ron, “Oh, Ron, you don't understand. Dream Walking is quite fascinating and not pointless at all.” For a moment her face lit up and it was as if nothing had changed. Harry was mesmerized by the familiar sparkle that shone in her eyes and he gazed in wonder at the sudden change that had come over her.

“It's useful to learn, Ron. None of us can accomplish such a feat of course, but by learning about it and understanding it, we're able to realize that transfiguration doesn't only apply to physically changing the

external. We can now see that it is possible to change the internal aspects. We can add different characteristics to objects or take them away without changing the physical being.”

At the confused look Ron was giving her, she eagerly went on. “Oh, don't you see, Ron? No one has or ever will have the magical capacity as the members of The Covenant had to use this spell, but we can take aspects from it; bits and pieces, and incorporate it into other spells! Just think, by experimenting, med wizards can cure the sick by simply getting rid of the disease. We can help both the magical and muggle world!”

Ron blinked.

“Wow.”

“I know, isn't it just amazing?”

“Yeah. You definitely have to get out more.” Hermione rolled her eyes in response. Ron continued, “Still think that it's useless, but well, that's me. On the bright side this is a brilliant opportunity to change the topic. So,” before Hermione could snap at Ron, he fished her necklace out of his pocket and handed it to her, “I found this last night. Harry fixed it. Now, naturally I would have done that bit on my own, but since a certain person thinks that it's better to teach one friend useful spells that could very well save a life from, oh I dunno, a man eating crocodile or something-anything's possible right?- ” Ron ignored the incredulous outburst from Hermione, a snort from Harry, a loud guffaw from Ginny, and continued, “and leave her other friend in the dark, well that does leave me in a bit of a pickle when faced with broken, shiny, valuable objects.” He finished with a look of mock seriousness.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, “That, was by far the craziest, most ridiculous bit of rubbish I've ever heard.” A hint of a smile lit her features. Ron grinned and shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.

“But thanks Ron.” She hesitated before finally looking up at Harry.

Their eyes locked.

She swallowed.

“And thank you Harry, for fixing it.”

He nodded at her, but didn't say a word. Hermione clasped the chain around her neck, and fingered the ring.

“NEVER take it off again,” a voice hissed threateningly into her ear. Hermione jumped, breaking her gaze from Harry and looked at Ron. She scowled, “I said thank you, Ron. You didn't have to say that.”

“Say what?”

“Oh, you very well know what. Honestly, for once would you just grow up!”

And with that she stood up and marched out of the Great Hall. Ron stared after her, bewildered and open mouthed, all trace of merriment long gone.

“What did I say?”

*****

Hermione trudged along the halls, hands clenched into fists at her sides. She mumbled to herself, “Rude, inconsiderate git...” She couldn't believe Ron had the nerve to tell her what to do, let alone whisper the rude command in her ear loud enough for Harry to hear. Mumbling profanities that would have made even Professor Flitwick gasp in shock, she stormed passed a first year who gave her a look of pity. The sad look didn't help matters and only angered her further. Who is she to even think of feeling sorry for me? I don't want your pity! “What are you looking at?” she snapped at the girl.

“N-nothing,” the first year stammered in response and hurried away.

Hermione huffed and continued on. The raspy voice still rang in her ears and she shook her head violently to be rid of it. She cursed Ron once more for being so insensitive and cursed herself for being easily provoked.

Hermione passed by a painting and stopped, staring at it. Her anger melted away and the moment was tossed into the back of her mind. All that was left was the painting before her. It was familiar and widely known among both the Muggle and Magical world. Her mind just couldn't grasp who the painter was.

A farmer and his wife looked back at her. The farmer winked, and his wife, standing by his side, smiled. Neither said a word and Hermione just stared. Her father had brought her to an art gallery once and had shown her this very painting. It was his favorite. How ironic that she happened to stumble upon this very painting when there were so many hung up in the school.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a shadow darting past. The sudden movement startled her and she turned and looked around.

There was nothing there.

Puzzled, Hermione shrugged and looked at the painting once more. It triggered memories that she wanted to banish from her chaotic mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to walk away.

As Hermione walked, she held back tears threatening to fall. Echoing footsteps sounded behind her, but she took no notice of this, thinking it was a fellow student making his way to his next class. Hermione paused to look at another painting hoping that this one would help take her mind off the past.

The footsteps paused.

Her ploy didn't work and she continued on. The echoing footsteps followed her, and she took note of this strangeness. Experimenting, she stopped in her tracks, and just as she had expected, the echoing sound followed suit and ceased. She turned around, wondering who was following her.

The hallway was empty.

“Hermione,” the raspy voice whispered behind her. Hermione turned to find no one there.

“I'm going crazy,” she said to herself and continued on.

“Hermione.”

Hermione paused. What is going on? she thought. A dark shape turned the corner and disappeared, too fast for Hermione to make out. Frustrated, she squared her shoulders and continued walking, thinking this was a mere joke being played by kids who had nothing better to do. Her hand tightened on her wand when suddenly felt someone standing behind her.

“Hermione?”

“What?!” she snapped whirling around. She blinked to see Harry peering down at her, a look of worry and confusion plastered on his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice clearly tinged with concern. She noticed a shadow passing and her eyes darted to look behind him. Harry looked at her questioningly, and turned his head to follow her gaze.

The hallway was empty.

Hermione's face was white and she seemed jumpy. She continued to stare searchingly behind him, her eyes darting anxiously.

He softened his voice.

“Hey, I'm here, love,” he tilted her head to face him and she gasped at his touch. “Tell me what's wrong.”

She focused on the young man before her, and opened her mouth to tell him that she was absolutely fine when a single word that he'd uttered made her pause.

Love?

A swarm of emotions filled her and bits of memory flashed before her eyes. A flash of hands roaming over her body, caressing her face.

Hands rushing through dark hair.

Hands igniting deep fires within her.

A flash of lips searing over her skin, the nape of her neck, her shoulders, her fingertips.

Lips searing hers with deep, passionate kisses that she never wanted to end.

Her name whispered in her ear with fervent desire.

Hermione blinked.

Harry's face swam before her eyes and she swallowed, fighting to control herself. She clutched her books tightly to herself to muffle the sounds of her racing heart and took a few deep breaths. “I'm fine Harry. Why wouldn't I be?” she said stepping safely back and away from him.

Unaware of what had just passed, he asked, “What happened back there, Hermione?”

She shrugged in response, “I overreacted. I'm just tired, Harry.”

Then a look of worry filled her eyes, “I hope I didn't hurt Ron's feelings.”

Harry stifled a laugh at the abrupt change that came over her, “No, he's fine. A little worried about you, but he's okay.”

Hermione nodded and smiled thinly at him. She desperately wanted to put some space between herself and Harry, just to figure out what she was feeling at the moment. We're just friends, she thought innocently to herself. Nothing will change that.

In moments, the halls were filled with bodies rushing to get to class. “We have charms next. Ron should be here soon.”

Hermione nodded and fought down the urge to pounce on him, push him against the wall and…you will absolutely NOT finish that thought, Hermione Anne Granger.

She blushed.

Harry, eyes scanning above the heads of the students, searching for Ron, was oblivious to Hermione's reaction. He spotted Ron up ahead talking to Luna.

His ears were red.

Harry smirked.

Hermione wondered what amused him and craned her neck to look. She saw Luna hand something to Ron, then smile at him before taking leave.

“Now, I wonder what that was about,” Harry said.

Ron turned, spotted them, and at the sight of Harry's arched eyebrows, he scowled.

“Well, well, is there something you should be telling us, Ron?”

“Sod off, Harry.”

“She fancies you Ron, and you know it.”

Ron's ears turned that familiar shade of red once more and Hermione bit back a smile.

“She does not,” Ron protested.

“What did Luna give to you, Ron?” Hermione asked.

Ron turned to her, “Talking to me again, are you?”

Hermione blushed, “Oh, well, Ron, about what I said… I'm sorry I-”

Ron shook his head, “Don't mention it. I'll probably find it in my heart to forgive you someday. But I reckon it will be forever broken.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I wonder if Luna's present will work wonders in mending his heart,” Harry said with a wink.

“It's not a bloody present.”

“Then what is it? Come on Ron, give it here.”

“No.”

“Ron, just let me see-”

“No! Gerroff, Harry!”

There was a quick scuffle. A slew of curses, a disapproving sniff from Hermione, and shouts of “let me see, Ron!” later, Harry triumphantly obtained a copy of The Quibbler clutched tightly in his hand.

“Why, Ron, I never knew you were a subscriber.” Harry said with a twinkle in his eye. Ron glared at Harry in response.

“It's nothing. She told me that there's an article on Quidditch that I might like,” he said flippantly.

The three of them walked into their Charms classroom and took their seats. Harry flipped through the magazine. Titles in bold jumped out at him and he read them aloud, “ `Magic Vacuum Grants Man Three Wishes', hmmm always wanted one of those. Hey Hermione, here's one that you might be

interested in: `The Covenant Lives'.”

Hermione snorted, “That's a load of tosh.”

“Ah, here we go, `Liverpool Keeper's Secrets to Success'. Very interesting Ron, but believe me, you don't need any pointers from this rubbish. You're a brilliant keeper already.”

“Why thank you Harry, but if you think that compliments and eye batting are going to get you off the hook of a severe beating, you are sadly mistaken my friend.”

Harry laughed and handed Ron back his magazine.

Ron snatched it away and hid it among his books. “Harry, if you even breathe a word of this I swear I will-”

But they didn't find out what forms of bodily harm Ron would perform upon his best friend; for at that moment Professor Flitwick walked in. “Alright everyone, settle down and we'll begin. Wands out!”

Ron took out his wand and glanced at Harry who whispered something in Hermione's ear. She laughed at his words and quickly shushed him. Ron smiled. She was going to be okay. Harry would make sure of that.

A lump rose in the back of his throat and a red haze of jealousy sprang before his eyes. His grip tightened on his wand at the sound Harry's laughter caused from a comment made by the bushy haired girl casting beside him. Ron grit his teeth and placed one hand on the table to stop it from forming into a fist. His hand brushed against something, he looked down to see The Quibbler sticking out of his books and the red haze faded.

A past conversation ran through his mind and his ears reddened in response.

“Morning, Ron.”

“Hi Luna. What's this?”

“I thought you might like an article in here. It's about Quidditch. Think of it as a late Christmas present.”

“Er, yeah, thanks.”

Ron's grip on his wand loosened as he stared at the magazine. He glanced up at his best friends then back down at Luna's present. Acceptance washed over him and the sight of Hermione smiling features, and Harry's sparkling eyes filled him with satisfaction.

“Mr. Weasley,” Professor Flitwick said, interrupting Ron's thoughts.

“I don't see you casting.” Ron glanced down at his professor and smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, er, right Professor.” He raised his wand.

Everything was going to be okay.

******

Screaming; she couldn't get the screaming out of her head. Petra hung from the wall, nothing holding her up but the cold, iron shackles digging into her wrists. Her chest heaving, her hair in her eyes, all she could do was listen; listen to the muffled conversations from behind the barred door, to her own silent screams when the agonizing pain took over completely, and to her heavy breathing during the precious few moments of reprieve.

The magical shackles that clung to her wrists didn't help matters. Not only did they aid in holding her up, as her legs were now completely numb, but they also kept her conscious and utterly aware of every ache and pain her young body protested.

She was encased in darkness, not that it mattered. All she had to do was close her eyes while in the throes of madness and a brilliant burst of white light would explode forth from behind her eyelids.

The walls, the floors, the whole room wreaked with sickness and death. Petra's once pristine Hogwarts robes clung to her body, slick with sweat. Not a mark adorned her skin. There was no sign of the agonizing torture she went through day in and day out, but she felt it. It was a feeling of sharp knives twisting into her and tearing out with excruciating clarity. A pain so intense that Petra often wished the Dark Lord would just end it with two words.

A single word was all it took to send her reeling into an agony so great that whenever she was granted spare moments of peace, her mind would race to discern who she was, where she was being held, and who was doing this to her. All that her nearly broken mind had come to recognize was a single word.

“Crucio.”

Petra had come to hate this word with a burning passion. The pit of anger that boiled within her was all that held Petra to her sanity. She wanted revenge, but all she could do was wait for the opportune moment.

Petra clenched her fists as she struggled to breathe and slowly shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She strained her ears in the darkness to make out what words were being said behind the closed doors.

“ `Ow much longer do you think she'll live?”

“The master wants to keep that one alive. She's the first, and `ee says she's the source.”

“I don't get why we `ave to guard `er much longer. The lass can't barely stand, let alone break free. It's not as if she can slip off those chains there.”

“Don't you question the Dark Lord orders or it'll be your `ead. Besides it'll be only a couple of days `til the change is completed. Then the master will begin The Walk.”

“That's it then? All we `ave to do is wait?”

“Exactly.”

Petra wrinkled her brow in confusion. Only bits and pieces of the conversation had passed through the doors and she wasn't sure if she had heard properly. So she wasn't going to die, but what change were they talking about?

The Walk? What in the bleeding hell is The Walk?

A door opened.

A shaft of light pierced the dark abyss that was her room, illuminating her. She shut her eyes against the exploding pain in her head.

The door closed.

Echoing footsteps approached her.

“Hello, child.”

Petra forced her eyes open, but only saw a tall figure outlined in the darkness. It was not enough to determine who he was. Her eyes narrowed angrily as he came closer and her breathing became shallow.

She knew what was to come.

“Who are you?!” her raw throat managed to rasp out.

“A friend.” the voice drawled in answer.

There was a twisted smile in the darkness.

A whispered word.

Then madness.