The apartment wasn't much to look at. Lila had done a great deal of decorating, but, predictably, most of it wasn't to Scott's taste. It wasn't that he had anything against cushions, but two or three were enough to serve the demands of comfort. Anything over that was superfluous, a point that Lila had reached and then exceeded.

However, it did have at least three things going for it: it wasn't a muddy hole in the ground, it had a bathroom, and nobody was shooting at him. There were many times in his past during which he'd have given a lot for any one of those things. His satisfaction at having all three was compounded by the fact that he had no classes to attend.

With that in mind, he slouched even lower on the couch, stretching his legs out to their full length and closing his eyes. Unless someone started shooting at him, he didn't plan on moving.

"Scott!" Lila's voice came from somewhere in her bedroom.

"What?" he mumbled, ready to refuse her in case whatever she wanted involved getting up.

"What do you want for dinner?"

It was a trick question: what he wanted probably wasn't what he was going to get. Maybe if he broadened his target, he'd be more likely to hit it. "Food."

"I know you were born a jackass, but try to suppress it for a moment," Lila called back. "Seriously, what do you want to eat?"

"Fried chicken," Scott stated with conviction. "Big, fat, crunchy, stop-your-frickin'-heart fried chicken."

Lila's head poked around the corner of her door frame. "Mmmm... It's been awhile since the last time my heart stopped."

"Mine skips a beat now and then. I eat a lot of crap at Hogwarts. But what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, right?"

Lila's head receded. "No, that's just one of the many ways in which Nietzsche was full of shit."

"Hey — ixnay onway ethay uthtray," Scott warned her. "I'm trying to psyche myself up for a chicken binge."

"Which you expect me to provide, no doubt."

"I am the child here, if you'll recall."

"Yeah, but I'm not your mum," Lila retorted.

Scott closed his eyes, supremely unconcerned by her attitude. "It won't kill you to fry us up some chicken."

Lila came out of her room, giving Scott the evil eye as she walked towards the couch. "No, but I just might kill you."

"You wouldn't be the first person to try," Scott sighed, rolling his neck around on the back of the cushion and getting several satisfying popping noises for his effort. "Not the most powerful either, which doesn't say much for your chances."

"I'm your sister," Lila told him loftily. "That's all the advantage I need."

"So are you gonna make some chicken or what?"

"Why don't you get off your ass and help me?"

"Because you're my guardian. You're supposed to feed me."

"Now that's another issue entirely." Lila went over to the kitchen area and opened the refrigerator. "Why are you still sixteen?"

"Because I was going to drop by the Burrow at some point," Scott said," and it would be difficult to explain to Ron's family how I somehow reached my mid-twenties between the time I left school and now."

"You should get your Primes accustomed to it though." Lila pushed some bottles around inside the fridge, their jingling proving that there was actually something in there. "You don't want them stopping and staring in the middle of a firefight."

She had a point. Not only would assuming his adult form help inure Harry to Scott's changes in age, it would also go a long way towards hitting home certain truths. "It's a question of when."

"Now." Lila stood up and closed the fridge door, leaning against it and putting one hand on her hip as she looked at him. "Go over there, make contact with Harry and whoever else you need to, and then be back before dinner is ready. Because if you aren't, I'm going to eat it all."

"I've only been home for one day," Scott griped. "I don't want to do work right now."

"Scott, you have how many decades of vacation time saved up that you've never used? Or wait, has it built up to centuries now?" Lila suggested acerbically. "You could take the next twenty years off after this mission if the effort is bothering you that much."

"Shut up," Scott said childishly, reluctantly pushing himself to his feet. "I'm going."

"Then hurry."

Scott went into his room and closed the door. There was an extra set of jeans and a larger shirt that he kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He pulled them out and laid them on the bed, pausing for a moment to check their size in comparison to the ones he wore. The jeans were only a few inches longer in the leg but substantially bigger around the waist, and he knew that his current shirt would be stretched tight across his adult shoulders. It was a pain to change attire, but completely necessary when it came to altering age.

It wasn't essential to get naked when ageing down, but very much so when ageing up. He had made the mistake of not removing his clothes before when becoming an adult again, a painful error he would hate to repeat. Divesting himself of his garments took only a handful of seconds. The next step would be substantially more difficult.

Rapid changes in age required fine control of a vague ability. Ageing down was like pulling himself inwards to the smallest point. It involved visualising a grip on the molecules at his very fingertips and then drawing them back, stretching a second skin over yourself. Ageing up was the removal of that skin and the layers beneath, pushing the indiscernible periphery out further. For all the effort and concentration that was involved the change was anticlimactically instantaneous. There were no in-between stages or perceptible alterations. One moment he was young, the next he was older. Nobody who hadn't ever done it could understand.

So it was that he quickly found himself viewing the room from a taller vantage point.

He looked down at himself to make sure that nothing had gone drastically wrong (he never knew), and then stood in front of the mirror behind his dresser. The man that looked back at him was very close in appearance to the teen he had become used to, with a few distinct differences. He had the same dark blond hair, straight-edged nose, thin lips and grey eyes, but that similar visage had gained definition that it lacked in its younger stages.

He prodded a few of his newly regained muscles with satisfaction. He hoped he could avoid any future battles in his teen form — he wasn't nearly as capable in it. Really, in comparison he felt quite clumsy at sixteen.

Throwing on his change of clothes, he jogged back out into the living room and presented himself for Lila's perusal.

"How do I look?" Kharan asked her, rotating for inspection.

"Um, like you?" Lila rolled her eyes. "You look like my brother. You look like you usually do."

"Just making sure I didn't screw anything up," he said, shrugging. "I didn't want to come out shorter than normal or something."

"No," Lila sighed, looking up at him for the first time in months, "unfortunately not."

Kharan snapped his fingers, remembering something. "Do you know where my hoodie is?"

"It should be in your dresser. That's where I put it."

He ran back to his room and, sure enough, he found his dark blue hooded sweatshirt in the third drawer down. Slipping it on, he started back out into the living room before stopping himself. After a moment of consideration he crouched near his bed and stuck both his arms under his mattress, withdrawing a pair of handguns.

They were his favourites. Different situations called for different degrees of fire power, but his twin pistols had seen him through many of them. He took off his sweatshirt to don his shoulder holsters, sticking the left gun into its slot. Before putting the other gun in the holster, he took a moment to savour the heft of the weapon. His handguns were a comforting presence, especially with his current enemies gaining power.

With a deft motion, he rotated the gun in his hand and settled it firmly into place under his right shoulder.

"All right, I'm gonna jet," he told Lila after he exited his room.

"If you're going to bring any friends back for dinner you'd better call me first," she yelled at him as he stepped out into the hallway, "or I won't have enough food."

The cold December air swept over him as he stepped out the front door and jumped down the short flight of stairs to the pavement. It was the time of day that people began returning home from work so there were a fair number of cars in the street. It wasn't snowing but it was too cold for the snowfall already present to melt, and whatever hadn't frozen solid to the earth hissed in thin, gusty sheets across the pavement. The sun set early in the dead of winter, and the dimmed orange glow was already nearly below the treetops.

Kharan set off towards the Burrow at a brisk jog; sprinting always drew a great deal of attention. He stopped at the bridge to lean over the side and look into the sluggish black water. It wasn't very deep, but he knew it would be agonisingly cold. Under the bridge it was too swift-moving to freeze.

It wasn't far before he hit the wood line. The small trail that led to the Burrow was difficult to find in the snow, but he was able to approximate it by following the wider gaps between trees.

He began to move more slowly, keeping lower to the ground and zigzagging from tree to tree. He didn't want anyone to see him from the house. The structure itself was still hidden from view, but, against the striped evening sky he could make out a wispy column of smoke, marking the Burrow's position. He hunkered down in the snow and crawled until he was at the edge of the clearing.

The Burrow sat as an oddly asymmetrical outline against the snowfield, the glowing windows set in it defining its shape. Kharan studied it, matching the windows to the floor plan as Lila had described it. Unfortunately, she had only seen a portion of the first floor. He would need to get closer in order to devise a way to contact Harry.

He started to crawl again, inching down a slight embankment where the field rose up to meet the woods. Abruptly he stopped and went still.

There was a shifting, tingling sensation just ahead. It took him a moment to realise what it was: the Burrow was surrounded by magical defences.

Kharan hesitated. He could break the spells, but he didn't want to ruin the Weasleys' protection. Lila had approached the house openly from the road and hadn't encountered any ill effects, but the rules might well be different for someone sneaking past the perimeter, especially at night. He didn't know if the magic field could seriously harm him, though the chance of setting off some kind of alarm made the possibility irrelevant. If anyone came running to an alert, he'd have to leave. Going back to his apartment and then returning in teen form would be admitting defeat.

His remaining options were risky.

He could open an aperture and move through it to get further inside, but there was no guarantee that the magical fortifications didn't extend over the entirety of the grounds. His similar final option involved pushing the spells aside to make a hole large enough for him to enter. He'd have to figure something else out if the spells continued past the border. The biggest problem was that he didn't know what the consequence of tampering with the field would be.

Indecision was costing him precious daylight and, more worryingly, possibly his fried chicken. He made his choice.

Reaching out with one hand, he felt for the barrier until he found the exact line where it began. He studied it with his senses; it wasn't a static entity, but rather a flowing wall of magic. He didn't want to break the flow. Maybe if he pushed the top half up, and the bottom half down, so that it was still travelling unbroken through the soil…

Gingerly, he flexed his power and slowly parted the wall. Thankfully it held together, the current uninterrupted. He quickly crawled through it and let the gap close behind him. There were other spells suffusing the grounds, but they were different than the outer barrier. Nothing focused on him and there was no sign of an upset. Whatever the other spells were, they didn't seem to be a danger.

Now he needed to find Harry.

The yard and the large garden surrounding the Burrow were not completely flat. He stuck to the shadows and the low points as he moved in a swift half-crouch. He raised his head to gain a hasty look into the windows as he passed them, locating and identifying the people within.

It wasn't until he moved to the opposite side of the house that a light in an upstairs window caught his attention. He stared at it for a moment. It was too far above him to see anyone within, but he had a gut feeling about it. Harry and Ron were in there, he was almost certain.

Well, there was one way to be sure.

Kharan fell to his knees and scrabbled about in the snow for a few seconds until he found what he wanted. It wouldn't be the most efficient way to get Harry's attention, but Kharan knew that the longer he stayed out in the yard the more likely it was that someone might see him. He wanted to get back into the trees.

The evening found Harry in the room he shared with Ron. The two of them were tossing a small toy Quaffle back and forth between their beds and flitting idly from one topic of conversation to another. The last remnants of the sun filtered in through Ron's window, casting thin shadows on the opposite wall.

Harry absently rolled the Quaffle through his fingers, his mind wandering. "So what do you think Malfoy is really up to?" he asked Ron, revisiting the subject for what had to be the tenth time.

"Give it a rest, Harry," Ron groaned. He brought his hands up to deftly catch the Quaffle as Harry tossed it. "I already said I believe you."

"But I need to know what he's after," Harry said, frustrated. Ron might no longer be rejecting Harry's story outright, but he still proved to be annoyingly unwilling to discuss it. "Why wouldn't he want Snape's help?"

"I thought you said Malfoy didn't want Snape to take all the credit for whatever it is he's doing."

"Yeah… He said something about Snape stealing his glory," Harry mused," but I thought Draco was smarter than that…"

"I could have told you he wasn't," Ron said with contempt, before stating, "I don't know what's going on any more than you do. Can't you just leave it alone for now? There's nothing we can do about it until we go back, and this kind of thinking is too close to homework for my comfort."

Harry couldn't help it. There was an aspect of the twilight hours that lent itself to deeper thought. It was always in the night that he couldn't escape his demons, or the thoughts that rusted in the back of his mind. Something he'd once heard struck Harry with new relevance. "In the dying of the light we find ourselves," he said softly.

Ron gave him an odd look. "What are you on about?"

"Nothing," Harry told him, shaking his head. "Just something Scott said."

"Oh. No wonder it didn't make any sense."

Harry started to explain his epiphany when he thought that he heard something hit the window. "What was that?"

Ron looked at him blankly. "What was what?"

It came again, this time louder and more distinct, the clink of a small object against the glass. "That!"

Ron stood and walked to the window, peering out of it. He must not have seen anything, because he reached down to open it. Harry had a terrible thought — what if it was some kind of trick? "Ron, wait —"

But it was too late. Ron slid the window open and stuck his head out. He looked left and right and then shrugged, withdrawing. "Nothing there," he said.

An object came flying through the open window and landed on the floor.

They both stared at it. It was a medium sized rock, lying there innocuously. Hesitantly, Harry reached down and picked it up.

At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than a rock. Then he turned it over and saw the message on the bottom, marked on the stone with what looked like charcoal.

Harry studied the lettering intently. The meaning of the words was clear; it was their intent that left him puzzled.

"What? What is it?" Ron was still standing in front of Harry, unable to see the message. Harry wordlessly handed him the rock. "I don't get it," Ron said after a moment. "Why didn't he just come to the house?"

"I don't know," Harry said, his mind racing. "Maybe something happened." Scott could be going somewhere or require help. Images of Scott covered in blood, perhaps someone else's blood, flashed through Harry's imagination. That would be reason enough for the Kharadjai to avoid the front door.

Ron nodded. "Do you think it's a trick?"

"No… I don't think a rock through a window would be something the Death Eaters would think of." In Harry's experience most wizards were quick to use their wands for pretty much everything, and that went double for the pure-blood aristocracy. He could easily picture some sort of magical message floating through the window and serving as a malevolent lure, but he just couldn't see a Death Eater doing something so thoroughly Muggle as digging around in the snow for a rock to chuck.

That earned a brief grin from Ron, who obviously saw the humour in that. "I guess we're going to go, then." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Harry said, taking the rock back from Ron and pocketing it. "Let's see if we can sneak out."

That proved to be impossible. Mrs. Weasley was preparing supper in the kitchen, and, when the pair walked past her in coats and boots they caught her attention immediately.

"Where are you off to?" she asked in surprise.

"Going for a walk," Ron replied offhandedly.

Mrs. Weasley looked out the window with a slight frown on her face. "A walk? I think it's getting a bit dark for that."

"We'll be fine, Mum," Ron said. "We won't leave the yard."

"Well… all right," she said, relenting, "but I want you back in the house before supper."

They stepped outside and the door closed behind them, sealing off its residual warmth. It was cold out under the evening sky, the air filled with the barren smells of ice and frozen bark.

"Do you think she's still watching us?" Harry asked as they began slogging through the dense snow.

"Probably." Ron didn't look back towards the windows. "This is more than a bit odd."

"We'll keep going this way," Harry decided, "and then loop back."

It took them awhile to head south far enough that they could no longer be seen from the house. There were no sounds save that of their breathing and the crunch of their boots in the snow. Harry noiselessly indicated to Ron that it was time to double back to the Northwest. They both continued to hold their silence for the remainder of the walk, listening intently for other movements in the snow.

The trees west of the Burrow were dark even compared to the dwindling twilight that barely illuminated the open ground. Harry gripped his wand tightly but was reluctant to light their way for fear of revealing their position. Just because he was nearly positive the rock had come from Scott didn't mean he was right.

Harry turned towards Ron to ask him his opinion, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when a man's voice came out of the scrubby bushes to their right.

"Took you long enough. Why'd you take the scenic route?"

"Ron's mum was watching us," Harry said, staring hard into the bushes. "Where are you?"

"Behind these bushes," the voice responded dryly, "but I think you already figured that out." It sounded like Scott, though the pitch wasn't quite right.

"Scott? Why do you sound different?" Ron said, taking a hesitant step towards the dead foliage.

"Because I am different," Scott said, and then he stood.

It took Harry a moment to realise what he was seeing. His first vague impression was that Scott had gained weight. A second later, realisation came crashing in. "You've grown up," he said blankly, and then immediately felt like an idiot for saying it.

Ron stared at Scott. "Bloody hell, how much Ageing Potion did you take? That's dangerous, you know."

"I didn't take any 'ageing potion'," Kharan said, rolling his eyes. "I've always been an adult. I said that before."

"Well, yeah… You said it…"

"I know it's a little different when you see it." Kharan looked towards the house. "Go ahead and light us up. I'd like to go in a little further since we'll need to be able to see, and I don't want anyone to glance out a window and get lucky."

That was probably a good idea. "Lumos!" Harry lit the way as they moved deeper into the trees. In the pale light of his wand he could now better see Scott in his older form. The Kharadjai was taller, bulkier, and had faint signs of stubble, but there were no radical differences.

Noticing Harry's scrutiny, Kharan smiled at him, teeth flashing in the dark. "Conquering the cold again, Harry," he said, his breath billowing out in front of him. "Another night in the snow. Should seem familiar. No moon though. This time you get to light the way."

Kharan's familiar mannerisms put Harry more at ease. "And darkness is just another way to blink, right?"

Kharan's smile widened. "Exactly." They continued stepping carefully through the debris-cluttered snow until they reached a break in the trees. "This looks fine right here," he said, stopping and surveying the small clearing.

Harry brushed the snow off of a fallen log and sat on it, Ron following suit. "All right. What did you need us for?"

"We need to be back for supper soon," Ron added.

"This shouldn't take long. I was in the neighbourhood so I decided to drop by and do a little training session."

Harry remembered his last twilight training session and frowned. "I don't think we have that much time."

"I said this won't take long." Kharan reached up into his hooded sweatshirt and withdrew an object, holding it up for their inspection. "Do you know what this is?"

"Yes," Harry answered immediately, feeling some apprehension at the sight of the iconic and familiar outline. "It's a gun."

Ron leaned in to get a closer look at it. "Isn't that like a Muggle wand?"

"Sure. I'm showing it to you because I want you two to know what it's like when this thing gets fired, so if I have to do it in an emergency, which means in a hurry, you won't stand around and wonder what the hell that noise was," Kharan told them.

"What kind is it?" Harry asked curiously. He had never seen a gun in person before.

"It's a 1911 with a few modifications," Kharan said. "The barrel is about a fourth of an inch longer than standard, and the rifling is adjusted for…" He looked up at Harry and Ron's blank faces and trailed off. "…I guess you don't need to know about that. Anyway, it's a powerful handgun. It's not that great at going through things, but it's very great at knocking them down. Here, guys," he beckoned them over, "stand next to me."

Harry was wondering whether he should cover his ears when Kharan pulled the trigger.

He had been expecting something on a par with the television and movies he had seen, perhaps a big pop, or a bang. Instead what he heard was a deafening crack that sent a sharp pain splitting through his head and left it feeling like it had been packed with cotton. It was a sound that he felt as much as he heard. His lungs compressed slightly, as if he had been briefly plunged into water. It took a few seconds for the ringing in his ears to subside.

"Great fucking Merlin!" Ron swore, gently putting a finger into his abused left ear.

"You get used to it," Kharan assured them. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to. "Your turn."

"What?" Harry eyed the weapon, feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement. "But I've never used a gun before."

"I know. That's the point," Kharan said. He thumbed a button and the magazine slid out into his hand. "Here, I'll point some things out to you first. Ron, you pay attention too."

"I would if I could hear you," Ron grumbled.

"Some of the obvious stuff you need to know — trigger, magazine release, safety, and slide lock," Kharan said, pointing out the components as he named them. "And I don't think you guys are stupid, but just in case, this is the muzzle — you point that towards what you want to shoot."

"I got that, thanks," Harry said. He leaned in to get a better look at the barrel. "Hey, what's this part around the end—" He was interrupted when Kharan's palm slapped against the side of his face and pushed his head away.

"Okay, safety lesson number one: muzzle awareness," Kharan said dryly. "Don't stick your head in front of the gun. Don't ever look directly into the barrel. Keep it trained on the ground when you're not firing. In short, don't point it at anything you're not willing to kill."

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly, "but what is it?"

"This little ring here?" Kharan said. "That circle around the barrel isn't grooved into the metal like it looks. It's actually a separate piece that caps off a short spring wrapped around the barrel itself. You can see it pushes in. The barrel is threaded on the outside, so I can fit the locking end of a suppressor into there." He frowned, looking critically down at the end of the weapon. "I guess they could have lengthened the barrel, but I like the original look of the gun."

"Okay, but I meant this thing," Harry said, pointing out the section of the gun at the bottom of the muzzle which was recessed.

"Oh. That's just the bottom half of the slide. On a lot of the more modern designs, it's not visible because the receiver extends all the way up to the end of the muzzle. Here, see—" Kharan gripped the back of the gun and pulled. The muzzle of the gun slid back into the bottom half of the weapon until only the top half of the slide was visible, leaving the weapon in an open configuration. An unfired round tumbled out of the chamber and fell into the snow. Harry bent over and picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy for its size.

"Now the slide is locked back," Kharan said. He held out his free hand, and Harry dropped the bullet into it. Kharan slid the round back into the chamber and turned the gun sideways so that Harry could see. "When the slide moves back, it hits the hammer and moves it into firing position. Just hit the slide lock—" As he did so, the slide shot forward with a snapping clink. "—and you're good to go."

Kharan flipped the gun around in his hand and handed it to Harry, grip first. Harry took it from him, hefting it and trying to get a feel for the gun.

"Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire," Kharan told him. "Grip it firmly, but not so hard that it's going to make your hands shake. Wrap your other hand around it and extend your arms towards your target, but again, not so much that you put them under strain. Now look down the sights."

Harry closed his left eye and tried to aim. "That tree right there?"

"Sure, anything will do. Except rocks, don't shoot any rocks. We don't want a ricochet. Line up the back sight with the front, then cover your target with them."

Harry did so. "Okay, I think I got it."

"Now you can fire, but squeeze the trigger, don't pull it hard. It also helps if you fire on your exhale."

Harry took a deep breath, then slowly let it out and squeezed the trigger. The kick of the gun was like somebody punching him in the palm. He almost let go of the firearm as it violently pushed back, locking into the open configuration after its single round was expended. The sound faded quickly, and he blinked, trying to discern where he had hit. "Oof. It was harder to control than I thought."

"The gun wants to go back and up, so compensate by pulling down and forward after you've fired," Kharan said. "You have to fight the recoil."

"Ron, you want a turn?" Harry asked his friend.

"I'll bloody well let it alone, thanks," Ron said, shying away from the weapon. "I'd probably kill myself."

"We can do this again some other time. You guys probably need to get back." Kharan took the gun back from Harry and slapped the magazine back into it, hitting the slide lock after he did so. "But before you do, how about a few more for the road."

Kharan squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, the staccato roar of the gunfire beating into Harry's brain. After the first few shots it didn't hurt as much, which could most likely attributed to the fact that Harry had lost all hearing. With one final pull of the trigger, the gun was emptied and the slide locked back, a position that peculiarly made the weapon look even more threatening, like a monster with its teeth bared. He looked down to where the expended shells were melting tiny holes in the snow.

"Fun," Kharan remarked. He thumbed the slide closed with a metallic slither and click, then pointed it at the ground and pulled the trigger so that the hammer snapped back forward. "You'd think after all this time I'd be tired of that, but you'd be wrong."

"Now I have to explain to my mum what the hell that was," Ron muttered, removing his hands from his ears.

"It doesn't carry as far as you'd think, especially in the woods like this. If we were using something supersonic then it'd be a different story, but if she heard anything it was faint. Could have been fireworks. Most people can't tell the difference."

"We'd better hurry," Harry said, nudging Ron with his elbow and nodding in the direction of the house. To Kharan he said, "Thanks for the… uh… lesson."

"You needed to know what it sounds like," Kharan told him. "There won't be any confusion now. You'll know there's something bad going on if I'm firing."

"I hope I don't ever hear it then," Harry said.

"How likely do you think that is?"

Harry again considered his chances of surviving the fate-driven spiral through which his life was falling. "…You will be there when it happens, right? You're not going to get reassigned or something?"

The light from Harry's wand was further away from Kharan now, casting deep shadows on his face when he smiled. "They can't reassign me — I won't answer my calls." More seriously, he added, "I'm here because I want to be, Harry. I know a lot of people. I've got a lot of vacation time. I could have pulled some strings."

"Thanks," Harry said, and he meant it. "Truthfully, I still think you're mental—"

Kharan grinned again. "Yeah."

"—but I also think I'm going to need all the help I can get."

They left Kharan in the woods and started the walk back to the Burrow. It was completely dark now, and they both used their wands to cast light across the black and white landscape of trees and snow that they traversed. The snow hid fallen branches and the occasional dip in the ground, making walking treacherous. Concentrating on not falling down freed Harry from other thoughts, a mercy given his frame of mind.

"Harry," Ron said.

"Yeah?"

"You know how you said you needed all the help you can get?"

"Yep." Harry carefully stepped over a tree trunk lying horizontally in his path.

"You've got me and Hermione," Ron stated. "You know that, right?"

Harry felt a slight constriction in his throat, and the moisture burning behind his eyes had nothing to do with the bitter wind. He didn't turn to look at Ron.

"Yeah," he said, "I know that."