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• The Waiting Game The Last Horcrux The Rite of Sealing The Chronicled Worlds The New Neighbors The Guided Tour The Best Case The Vital Questions The Worst Case The Truest Friends The Next Steps The Wakening Powers The Secret Desires The Known Names The New Arrivals The Hardest Choice The Last Beginning The Unasked Question The Power to Choose The Enemy Revealed The Final Elements The Just Deserts The Story Continues
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Ron knew when they were getting close to the location the Map had indicated for Hermione (after she hadn't appeared for the first several seconds they looked, and hadn't that brought his heart into his mouth). Even if he hadn't been familiar with the path from the year before, he could simply have followed the yelling.

"…trusted you, I liked you, and all the time you were lying to me? Using me? That's not what friends do!"

Well, that doesn't sound good, the voice in Ron's head commented. But considering who the Map said she was with, it wouldn't.

"I never said a word to you that wasn't true!" a boy's voice shouted back. "And of course I changed the way I look—wouldn't you, if it was the only way anyone would ever look at you without seeing someone else?"

"Maybe you didn't tell me lies, but you left an awful lot out of what you did say!" Hermione sounded close to tears, which had both Ron and his passenger worried. She didn't cry easily.

Unlike some girls I know.

"And that doesn't even begin to address how you used me to get your own job done, after you've nearly killed two of my friends trying to do it other ways—"

"Would you give me a chance to explain instead of just jumping all over me like this?" the boy cut in. "Or was all that talk about caring more about what people do and who they are than where they come from or who their families are just that, just talk? Are you willing to listen to me honestly, judge me by what I've done and what I haven't, or are you just going to look at my face and my past and decide that settles it all?"

Ron skidded to a halt one corner away from Hermione and the boy, holding up his hand to halt Harry and Ginny, whom he'd outdistanced in the final stretch. "She sounds all right as yet," he whispered at Harry's furious gesture. "And this might be important. We should listen before we go charging in and do something we can't take back."

Nicely done, the voice commented as Harry nodded slowly. Ginny was giving him an odd look, but then shook her head and settled into a ready crouch, her wand gripped loosely in her hand.

"You. Lied. To. Me." Hermione's voice had dropped to its lowest, most dangerous register. "How do I know you're not still lying now?"

The clatter of a dropped wand made Harry's eyes widen, and Ron felt his own doing the same. "Do whatever you want," the boy said shortly. "You'd know the spells if anyone would, the ones that make it obvious when somebody lies, or even inflict punishments." A brief snicker. "Though I'd appreciate it if you'd make it something other than spots. I may not be too fond of this face, but that's not my idea of a way to change it."

"No, you just made yourself look like you were related to Tonks." Hermione's shoes clicked softly against the stone floor as, Ron imagined, she paced up and down the corridor. "Why? Because you know she's someone I would trust?"

"Partly, yes, but it's also not a lie. I am related to her, we're first cousins, even if we've never met. There's a spell—"

"Of course, Invoco sanguinis. I remember reading about it for Charms a few months ago, it looks into your bloodline and calls up the appearance of a relative of the first or second degree. Is that where—"

"I learned about it? Not entirely. I've known about it for years, every pureblood does, but I learned how to do it from that reading." Another short, harsh laugh. "Never thought it would come in handy this soon. But it did."

"Came in handy to lie to me, you mean." The dark, dangerous note was back in Hermione's voice. "Came in handy to get me to help you with something you knew I would never agree to on my own. What are you going to use that Cabinet for? Why did you need it repaired?"

"Well, that depends on you, doesn't it?" The boy's voice acquired a drawling, supercilious tone, and now Ron recognized it for the first time, though he had known the speaker's identity from the moment Hermione's dot appeared beside another on the Map in the seventh floor corridor outside the Room of Requirement. "On you, and on your friends, your side. On whether or not you really do mean everything you said."

"What are you talking about?"

"You said once you wished you knew what made people join the other side of this war." A long pause, broken by two or three ragged breaths. "Some of them…some of us don't have any choice. Not if they want, we want our families to stay alive. So I said I'd do this, said I'd fix the Cabinet, said I'd show people how to use it to get through the castle's security, and…and kill…"

Ginny's grip on her wand had tightened. Harry barely seemed to be breathing, his whole body tense with a focus Ron seldom saw in him off the Quidditch field.

"I don't want to, all right?" The words burst out of the speaker around the corner with a desperation Ron couldn't help but feel was genuine. "I never wanted to, not really, not since I got old enough to understand what it's like. But by then it was too late. This was all I knew, all I had, there was nowhere else for me to go. And then you walked in."

"Me?" Hermione sounded startled. "What do I have to do with—"

"I told the Room not to let anyone else in while I was there," the other overrode her, speaking more quickly now, as though he had to get everything out before she could interrupt again. "But you found it anyway. So somewhere in my mind, in my heart, I must have required you." He laughed, as brittle as broken glass. "You, the one person I've done more to hurt than anyone else in this school. You're supposed to be so smart—didn't you ever figure out why? Why I was always calling you names, putting you down, making sure everyone knew how little I thought of you? Didn't you ever guess—"

"You're crazy!" Horror and shock were equally blended in Hermione's tone, but underneath them, Ron thought he detected a hint of something else, and the voice in the back of his mind swore. "You can't possibly mean—"

"Why not?" the other challenged. "Because I'm a pureblood? Because I'm a Slytherin? Does that mean I can't have feelings, or that when I do have them, they'll always be the ones I want them to be?"

Ron clenched his fists, a surge of hot anger rising in his chest. Doesn't she have enough to deal with—most of it because of you? he thought angrily towards the speaker around the corner. Now you're going to mess with her head, make her think you care about her, when all the time—

He does care about her, Ron's passenger broke in. But he's mixed up, the same way Snape was always mixed up about Harry's mum. He thinks there's only one kind of love, so when he feels anything for a person, it has to be that. He can't imagine loving her as a friend, or a sister, because he doesn't even know that's possible—

"None of this makes any sense," Hermione said shakily. "And the worst part is, some part of me feels like it should. Like I'm missing just one piece, one word in my essay, one letter in my incantation, and as soon as I find that, everything will fall into place."

"Try this," the other suggested, and Hermione's little cry of surprise broke off in a way Ron knew well.

Perfectly at one, for this moment, with the passenger inside his own mind, he hurled himself around the corner and tore Draco Malfoy away from Hermione just in time to keep Hermione's knee from finding its target. Given that his momentum carried both of them across the passage, with Malfoy taking the brunt of the impact against the opposite wall, Ron didn't think Malfoy was particularly grateful, but he didn't much care.

"Bad snake," he said almost conversationally, adjusting his grip on a bug-eyed Malfoy so that he was using only his left arm to pin the Slytherin against the stone wall, freeing his right hand to produce his wand. "Didn't your mummy ever teach you what happens when you kiss a girl who doesn't want you to?"

"You just—want her—for yourself," Malfoy wheezed, trying to shove Ron's arm away with his shoulders. "She doesn't belong—to you—"

"She doesn't belong to anybody," said Harry in his coldest voice, stepping up beside Ron, wand trained between Malfoy's eyes and held perfectly steady. "She's our friend, which means we look out for her. Stop her being used by scum like you. No matter what kind of pathetic lies you've told her—"

"Harry," Ginny interrupted. Both boys turned to look at her where she stood with her arms around Hermione, though Ron, warned by a murmur from the back of his mind, kept the majority of his attention on his squirming prisoner. "I don't think he was lying. Remember, he didn't know we were there."

"That doesn't mean he told the truth." Harry turned back to glare at Malfoy. "He was playing for her sympathy, trying to make her believe he's just a poor little rich boy, stuck on the wrong side of the war with no way out—"

"What if he is?"

Everyone turned to look at the speaker. Ron would have done the same, except that, as he belatedly realized, the voice was his own.

"What do we risk if we believe him, and take him to Dumbledore right now?" that even, familiar voice went on, issuing from Ron's lips though in no way connected with his mind—or rather, he realized with growing fear, not his own mind. "We're four to one, and he doesn't even have his wand. I think it rolled over there somewhere, if someone wants to go look for it. If he's lying to try to get on our good side, can't Dumbledore do that thing like Snape can, where he looks in your eyes and knows what you're thinking? And if he's not, then we've just hit the Death Eaters where it hurts, stopped one of their plans before it ever got started, and we didn't even have to work for it—"

What are you doing? Ron tried to wrest control of his voice back, but his passenger was too strong for him. Are you mad? This is Malfoy we're talking about, he just admitted going through with a plot to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts—we can't trust him!

Did I say one word about trusting him? The voice laughed coldly. Nobody trusts him, not the way he is now. But this is the best chance I can see to end the war, or at least set Voldemort and the Death Eaters back a good way—

Stop saying that name! Ron fought harder, and his control over his physical body slipped, relaxing both his grip on his wand and his pressure on Malfoy's chest. How do I know you're not just trying to get him in the same room with Dumbledore, then have him pull something out and kill us all? Fine thing that'd be for the war, getting our leader, the Chosen One, and his three best friends at the same time—

Malfoy exploded into action, flinging Ron off himself and tackling Harry, his hand closing around Harry's wand and yanking. Ron had just time to admire the way in which Harry's left fist came driving inwards on a collision course with one of Malfoy's eyes before he hit the ground, shoulder first, expelling the breath from his lungs. Hazily he heard Ginny and Hermione both shout spells, heard Malfoy's yelp of pain and Harry's curse, but his attention was directed inwards, towards the other presence currently occupying his mind.

A presence which looked, to his mental vision, very much like himself, except for its blank, red, monstrous eyes.

It's not what you think, the monster began, but Ron was through listening. He gathered up his magic and struck out savagely, and the satisfaction of seeing his evil twin wince away from the blow joined with the relief of getting his wind back.

"Get out of my head," he muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position. The battle with Malfoy, he noticed peripherally, was finished, the Slytherin semi-conscious in a corner with Ginny guarding him, and Harry and Hermione were headed his way, looking worried. "Make you get out—you've got no right—"

I never wanted to be here in the first place, the monster growled, shielding himself with an ease Ron envied. You're all a bunch of idiots, you never stop to think about things and you only ask for help when you can't avoid it—I've been trying to help you, but just because I happen to look a little scary and be inside your head, which by the way wasn't my idea, you're more interested in fighting me than worrying about your real problems—

Behind Ginny, the world split open.

The monster swore again, true fear in his voice for the first time, and Ron couldn't blame him. The masked man at the fore of the impossible tear in reality was bad enough, but the things behind him, human-shaped but a featureless gray, their surfaces rippling as though they were liquid, were the stuff of nightmare. His nightmares, the ones which sometimes had a good but strange component to them, the ones which—

His mind skidded across the unfamiliar thoughts, trying to make sense of them, but his body was wiser. He was on his feet, his wand in his hand, falling into flanking position with Harry, Hermione on his other side, even as Ginny wheeled and gasped, as Malfoy cowered away with a little whimper, scrabbling himself upright somehow with his back to the wall and edging along it as though hoping he wouldn't be noticed.

"You," Ginny spat, giving ground but bringing her wand up to fighting position. "I thought I smelled something foul."

"I'm sorry, have we met?" The masked man's voice was light, almost pleasant, but something in it sent shudders down Ron's spine. Harry was balanced on the balls of his feet, wand ready at his side, and Hermione's lips were silently forming spells as she prepared to cast.

"I remember what you did." Ginny's tone was flat, as though the memory caused her such pain she could barely stand to speak of it. "How you had your… your creatures break us down, grind away at us, until we were ready for 'rehabilitation'. You thought none of us would be aware of you, but I was. I saw you. Never your face, no, never that, but your shape, your movements. And your voice. Are you going to deny it? Say you weren't the one?"

"Whyever should I do that?" The man seemed entirely focused on Ginny, but somehow Ron had the impression that he saw everything that was going on, saw the three friends behind her ready to back her up in an instant, saw Malfoy frantically worming himself around the edge of a door which hadn't been there a moment before. "As you said, you saw me and heard me. Which means you know what I do to my enemies. I track them down, through as many universes as may be necessary, and render them unable to harm me further. Are you so sure you want to continue being my enemy, after all you've already been through? Will you survive going through it again, or will that fine spirit of yours finally break?"

"Hey!" The word ripped out of Ron without his conscious decision, but he sensed that his other self was equally shocked. "Nobody talks to my sister like that! Who do you think you are?"

The man's attention turned to him, and Ron felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. "I am your rival, Weasley," he said softly. "And I am your death."

The spell came hurtling at him so quickly that Ron had no time to dodge or block. It struck him full on, and his world went dark, shot through with pain. He fired back blindly, heard a yell mingled with the sound of his friends' spellcasting, felt hands that clutched in terrifyingly, impossibly familiar ways closing around his wrists—new voices were shouting now, spells mixed with ordinary curses of shock and anger, and then a hard blow on his chest, breaking the grasp of the things' hands on him—there were still hands, but they were holding him up, supporting him and helping him to stumble forward, through what must have been one of the doors to the secret passages, since when he half-fell into a sitting position, there was grass under his hands and legs—

He was lying on his side, a girl quietly weeping near him, small sounds in the background letting him know they weren't alone. "Hermione?" he mumbled, though he knew it was her. "You made it?"

"Mmm." Her hand closed around his. "Ron, I'm so sorry."

"For what? Getting fooled by Malfoy? You couldn't know he was that tricky—" He stopped, realizing there could be another interpretation of her words. "Where's Harry and Ginny?"

"They didn't make it, Ron." The pain in her voice held a strong element of self-blame, as though she thought it was every inch her fault that their friends were gone. "I wasn't fast enough, no one could have been for Harry, they had him before I could even blink. And Ginny…" She swallowed hard. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Tell me," Ron demanded, pushing himself upright with his free hand. "And then cast Lumos or light one of your fires, I can't see a thing."

"Oh, Ron, I would, but—" She cut off abruptly. "They hit this whole area with some variant on Instant Darkness Powder," she said after a few moments, an odd ring to her words. "We're still working out the counterspell. It may take a little while."

"Fine, that's fine, at least someone's doing something. Now what about Ginny? What happened to her?"

"I made a choice," Hermione said quietly. "She was in the clear at first, she could have run away from those things, if she hadn't stopped long enough to cast a spell that would throw you out of harm's way. And I might have been able to free her…if I had ignored what she did for you and let them catch up with you instead. She wanted you safe, Ron, and I had to respect her choice. So I saved you, and they took her."

Ron closed his eyes, though it made no difference to the darkness around him. This can't be happening. My little sister saving me, my best friend taken away by things I don't even recognize, the girl I care about being friendly with a no-good Slytherin piece of garbage—

"What happened to Malfoy?" he mumbled. His other self, silent to this point, seemed to be getting ready to speak up, and he wanted as many points as possible cleared up before he had to deal with that complication as well.

"I don't know. I think he got away through the Vanishing Cabinet, somehow." Hermione gave a choky little laugh. "For all the good it will do him."

All right, what do you want? Ron thought irritably as his other self's signals became impossible to ignore. Going to try to take me over again?

Believe it or not, that was never really what I wanted. And the red eyes don't mean I'm possessed, just that I can see in the dark like a kneazle. Which I was trying to tell you before you jumped all over me. His other self sighed. But it doesn't matter now. What does matter is that I think there might be a way out of this for all of us.

And what would I have to do? Ron knew he sounded suspicious, and didn't care. He was.

Nothing too much. His other self appeared to be thinking hard. Just…say aloud some of the things you were thinking. I don't know if it will work, but if I'm right, it might.

You don't know if what will work? Ron demanded, but his other self had gone silent. Grumbling under his breath, he squeezed Hermione's hand again.

"'M sorry this happened, Hermione," he said. "I wish it hadn't."

He felt her go very still. "Do you?" she asked softly. "Do you really?"

• Previous
• The Waiting Game The Last Horcrux The Rite of Sealing The Chronicled Worlds The New Neighbors The Guided Tour The Best Case The Vital Questions The Worst Case The Truest Friends The Next Steps The Wakening Powers The Secret Desires The Known Names The New Arrivals The Hardest Choice The Last Beginning The Unasked Question The Power to Choose The Enemy Revealed The Final Elements The Just Deserts The Story Continues
• Next