The Search For Life and Death

THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH

XXIV

The Possibilities

“He’s back again.”

“Looks awful, poor boy.”

“Awful? Looks like a bleeding raccoon!”

“Oh, those eyes… should someone tell Poppy, do you think? He can’t be getting much sleep.”

“I daresay he gets none at all, madam. Not as often we see him here.”

“Leave the boy to wander these corridors as his mind wanders. He questions and that is a good thing.”

“Oh, do shut up, Arouet. Why should the boy suffer every night? There was naught wrong with how he thought before.”

“Vous êtes un imbécile. (You are a fool.) This world cannot stand so divided and change must start here in the young. Let it be with him.”

“Quiet now, the both of you.”

“Shh!”

The paintings that line the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are a staple of its existence. Certainly the halls and rooms would look quite barren without the embroidered and ancient tapestries and frames that covered millennia-old flagstones. That the paintings moved and the people and creatures therein were sentient, at least so far as their creation had allowed, was just another aspect of Hogwarts that was noticed but oft overlooked.

The truly amazing thing is how little students and professors realize the paintings see. Certainly, many a firstie has given in and asked a painting for help being directed to the proper classroom, and professors and Prefects have sought out the paintings’ knowledge when there is danger, but when needs are not high for information, the humans who wander Hogwarts’ halls seem to forget how much the paintings know.

Many of them have been here for centuries, watching through the years as students come and go, watching as Headmasters rise to glory and leave, replaced by new leadership. They have seen great professors and horrible professors, dedicated students and the lackluster. They have seen school in the eras of peace and prosperity, and they were here and watching during the years of war. They watch still now, in the late days of October nearing All Hallows’ Eve, as professors and Prefects wander the halls on their rounds, pranksters sneak about making plans, the too-dedicated and the foolish sneak books to and from the library, and one sleepless Gryffindor wanders the halls seeking answers, or at least peace.

Ronald Weasley has not slept well since somewhere near the end of the previous year. He has only himself to blame, he knows. He repeats this unerringly in his head, especially when part of him wants to rage against someone else because he is tired. Especially when he wants to snap at Harry because he is frustrated that Harry can’t hear him, and that’s not Harry’s fault either. It’s Ron’s. All of it is Ron’s fault and he knows this.

Things could have been different if he hadn’t been such a berk.

He let out a muffled grunt as he tripped, stumbling forward to catch his balance and blinking tiredly as he continued down the hall. He wasn’t quite sure where he was. He had set off from Gryffindor Tower and just started walking, no destination in mind except that way.

He tried to outdistance the nightmares but no amount of walking helps.

There was a dragon, ebony-scaled, with spines sticking out of its back and spikes on its long tail. It breathed death, its wings were murder in motion, and it was called the Hungarian Horntail, perhaps less because of its native country than because it was always hungry.

“Honestly, Ron… honestly, I didn’t expect Harry to survive.”

That’s what Charlie had said when Ron asked him about the first task in the tournament. He’d asked after, of course, always after. He’d not asked before because he hadn’t wanted to know. Hadn’t wanted to feel the guilt he knew he would feel for not going up to Harry - damn his jealousy - and telling him that the first task was dragons and you’re a crazy bastard if you put your name in the Goblet and damn it, Harry, don’t get killed.

And then Harry had been standing out in the paddock facing the biggest, deadliest dragon Ron had ever seen and he’d called his Firebolt and for a moment, Ron had been prepared to stay mad at Harry. He’d been prepared to be able to stay angry and jealous because the bloody Boy-Who-Lived had managed to outfly a Hungarian Horntail with a racing broom.

But then the dragon broke its chain.

People screamed. One girl in the stands behind him had fainted. Ron had hardly been able to breathe. He knew what a dragon could do, he thought. He’d seen Charlie’s scars, he’d heard the names of his co-workers who had left the preserve because of injury or worse. He’d thought he’d known, when the horntail got loose, what the dragon might have been able to do to Harry, were it to catch him.

When he asked Charlie afterward, his brother had held nothing back. You don’t stay alive on the dragon reserve by being cheerfully careless. Despite his happy demeanor, Charlie was as serious as anyone got around dragons. He knew what they could do, and he’d told Ron exactly what that dragon would have done had it caught up to Harry.

Ron had actually blacked out briefly, waking up to find his brother lowering him to the ground because his legs had given out. He didn’t want to think about it even now, tried to push it from his thoughts, but the knowledge haunted him in his dreams. His best friend, burned by dragon fire so hot his blood would boil in his veins, then torn to pieces and eaten bit by bit because the horntails didn’t swallow their prey whole, oh no. They liked to rip it apart first.

And now, every night, he got to live through the what-ifs and might-have-beens of the Triwizard Tournament, wondering if he could ever make up for abandoning his best friend when he was most needed. Ron knew about dragons. He could have helped Harry. Instead he’d been a jealous, angry, selfish prat and left him, turned his back on him, and very nearly got him killed.

He’d never do it again, he swore, after that first task when he realized that Harry’s life was on the line and someone had put it there. He would never turn his back on his friends again, no matter what. He wasn’t going to be that person anymore.

He was standing at the edge of a giant chess board, the black pieces before him, facing off against white. There was a man on the other side of the board, dressed in black robes and a white mask - a Death Eater. It was reminiscent of the chess match down in the Third Floor Corridor’s underground chamber in first year, but this time, he was facing off against pure evil, and he had to win.

The white of the world suddenly seemed to shimmer, then run. Black like ichor spilled down the face of the world, turning it dark as blindness. Ron turned away from the board and the Death Eater, and both shimmered into darkness. With scales of midnight that glistened like a coat of stars, the Horntail swooped out of and into the shadowed sky, its wingspan stretching to cover the whole of his vision.

Ron stared upward in horror, his eyes following the dragon as it soared over his head. As he turned, he spotted someone else there with him, and he would recognize that face anywhere and anywhen.

The dragon swooped, the wind howling around its massive wings, and fire burned bright out of a roaring gullet.

“Harry!” Ron screamed, but the fire covered his best friend like a cloak of death.

Ron sat up with a gasp, his face covered with sweat and his mind filled with thoughts of fire. With a half-whimpered sob, he buried his head in his hands. He was so tired and he couldn’t sleep a full night through. Even his dreams were no escape.

With an exhausted sigh, he pushed his hangings aside and glanced at the window as he climbed out of bed. Still dark. He considered doing a tempus spell to check the time but didn’t think it was worth the effort. It wasn’t dawn yet and not time for breakfast, which meant it was too early, and that was all he needed to know.

His racing heart had quieted but Ron still felt that nervous tingling sensation just under his skin. It was a feeling like a whisper, saying “run, run, run” over and over until there was nothing inside him but the desire to be anywhere else and moving still further away.

Ron paced for a moment, indecision and uncertainty making him want to stay and run and check on Harry and get away.

He turned and left the dormitory. He was five minutes out of the Gryffindor Common Room when he realized he was still in his pajamas and there was someone walking beside him.

He glanced over, startled, to find Ginny. He only realized he stopped when she paused a couple feet away from him and looked back.

“You okay, Ron?”

“Gin, what are you doing here? You’re going to get in trouble.”

Ginny raised a narrow red eyebrow. “And you won’t?”

“I… but I…” Ron shook his head, his uncombed hair tossing wildly about. “Ginny.”

“Shut up, Ron. I need to go to the owlery.” She poked him in the side with a finger. “So be a good big brother and escort me.”

She turned around and walked off, leaving him with no choice but to follow.

“Who are you writing to?” he asked, after a long few minutes of silence.

“Cameron,” Ginny said, her voice cheerful. “I wanted to ask her if she knew anything about Aceso, and tell her what I’ve been doing lately.”

“Like planning things with Hermione?”

Ginny smiled sweetly at her brother. “What’s the matter, Ronnie? Scared?”

“I should be, shouldn’t I?”

She muffled her giggling with the sleeve of her robes.

“What’re you doing up, anyway?” Ron asked. “You weren’t having nightmares, were you?”

“No.” Ginny gave him a fond look at his protectiveness. “I was reading in the Common Room and lost track of time, so when I saw you come downstairs, I decided to come with you and take my letter to the owlery tonight. You looked like you didn’t want to be alone.”

Ron didn’t know how Ginny had been able to catch any decent sight of him, the way he had bolted out of the Common Room, but she nailed his emotions pretty easily. “Yeah. I didn’t, really. Thanks, Ginny.”

“That’s what little sisters are for. We’re great tag-a-longs.”

Ron shoved her shoulder lightly at the play on what she had been called as a child. Ickle Gin-Gin, the only girl, little tag-a-long, following after her brothers and pretending she was a boy. It had been some of the comments from people outside of their family and meant in a disparaging manner, always said when they thought they were out of earshot. Of course, children know how to listen in on things they’re not supposed to hear, even if they’re not Fred and George. What Fred and George were capable of, however, was making sure the woman never came back to the Burrow. Not after the send-off she received.

“How are you and Hermione doing?”

It had been somewhat alarming for Ron and Harry to learn that Hermione had moved into Ginny’s dorm. Ron had been all prepared to hex Padma and Lavender for doing something to Hermione until she had reassured him that everything was fine, the two of them just wanted to room together so Ginny wasn’t alone and Hermione could have someone to talk to who understood her better. Hermione had needed to explain that she knew Ron and Harry understood her, but sometimes a girl needed a girl friend to talk to, and while he didn’t fully get it, Ron had relented in his desire to hex Hermione’s former roommates.

“It’s great! Hermione’s shared her notes from last year’s classes so I’m more ahead in classes, which is great for Ancient Runes, because that class is really hard. Nothing like Arithmancy.”

Ron scoffed. “Didn’t Bill say you could test out of that class? I don’t know why you even took it.”

“I’m not that good.” Ginny blushed deeply. “There’s a lot that I don’t know - the mechanics of everything. I’m good at Arithmancy naturally, of course.”

Ron knew this from personal experience. He had been hit with Ginny’s original Bat Bogey Hex. It wasn’t fun. He couldn’t imagine how awful the improved version was.

“But I think there’s a lot I could learn from taking the classes.”

“Thinking about following Bill and going into Curse Breaking?”

Ginny chewed her bottom lip. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, it would be really interesting, but I don’t think I’d want to travel around so much. I’d prefer to live in one place.” She gave Ron an interested look. “Hermione says this is the year you all get career counseling from Professor McGonagall. Do you have any ideas about what you want to do?”

Ron shrugged. “I’ll probably be an Auror, I think.”

“Really? I didn’t expect that.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t get mad, Ron. Honestly, I thought you’d become a dragon tamer, like Charlie.”

Ron had thought about it, of course, especially when he was younger. He had always been amazed by dragons and by the stories Charlie would tell of his time in Romania, but while he’d love to visit the dragon reserve, he didn’t think he would enjoy being a dragon tamer.

If he were being honest, Ron wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do. Auror sounded like a safe bet, of course. His mother’s brothers, Fabian and Gideon, had been Aurors, and his dad knew a few from the Ministry of Magic. It just seemed like a safe job to go after.

He didn’t say all of this, though, just shrugged. Instead, he said, “You know, you’re picking up on some of Hermione’s habits.”

“You said that earlier,” Ginny said, referring to the way she was studying in the Common Room when they spoke before.

“No, I mean…” He waved his hand at her vaguely. “The way you talk. Honestly.”

“Did I really?” Ginny thought a moment. “Oh. I didn’t even realize.”

Ron grinned at her and she hit him on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

The rest of their walk to the owlery and back was done in much lighter spirits and when Ron fell back asleep, he slept deeply the rest of the night and suffered no nightmares, nor dreamed.

“Knight to E5!” Ron shouted, dodging to the left to avoid the spell shot at him by the Death Eater.

“Fucking stand still you faceless shit!” The Death Eater shouted, firing another spell.

Ron dropped to the ground, the yellow spell shooting over his head. Peripherally, he thought of how his mother would wash his mouth out with lye soap if he’d ever used language like that in front of her.

He hadn’t chosen a masked form yet; that must be why he looked “faceless” to the Death Eater. His mind was racing, throwing forward strategy after strategy, seeing the board before him three, five, ten moves ahead, the most likely moves the Death Eater would take and his responses. Ron was good at chess but this guy had no idea what he was doing at all. He was just attacking whatever pieces he could with whatever he had on hand. There was no strategy.

The chess pieces wouldn’t let them beyond the point that they had reached until they faced off against one another, which seemed silly since the board was only so large, but Ron stood there, determined to win. If he could defeat the Death Eater, then he would probably send him out of the Realm and away from the chance of getting the artifact.

“Damn Knights!” The Death Eater snarled, shooting spells at the piece Ron had most recently moved. The spells dissipated, not even affecting them. They would make a good shield if Ron could get closer to them.

In fact, a shield itself would be a useful resource at the moment.

Ron felt something around him shift and looked down, startled to find his robes changing, turning silver and changing from fabric to an overlapping of hard scales. Light formed around his left hand, forming into a large shield. He gripped the handle of it in a tight fist. He felt his trousers change as well, forming into those silver scales of armor. Light formed around his wand, expanding outward, a golden blade appearing, hilt crimson in its head, fitting his grip like it had been built for him. His wand sat in a perfectly-shaped slot for it, turning the sword into a sort of magic--wielding weapon.

Ron stood up.

“What the hell?” The Death Eater shouted. “What the hell are you?”

“Apparently, I’m a knight.” Ron swung the sword, red light flashing outward from the blade and toward the Death Eater.

The black knight Ron had last moved, merely a riderless horse, let out a whinny and reared, as the ground of black and white squares seemed to expand, a road of black and charred squares appearing to disappear into the distance.

Ron could take a hint.

He leapt onto the board and grabbed the horse’s black mane. To his surprise, it moved in his hand like hair, and the back of the creature seemed too real to be stone. Ron had no idea how to ride a horse, but he knew how to ride a broom and how to hang on, so he gripped the mane tightly in the hand not holding the sword and yelled “Knight to Away From Here!”

The horse beneath him gave a too-real whinny and leapt forward, thundering down the black road of squares and away from the wand-happy Death Eater. Ron let out a sigh of relief even as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

At least he had his mask now. He just had to figure out what exactly had triggered the change, and why, of all things, he was a knight.

Ron sighed as he scribbled in his Divination journal. At least his nightmares made good fodder for Divination. Professor Trelawney had started to look thrilled each time he handed his in. It was a little disturbing, to be honest.

It was four o’clock in the morning and Ron had woken up about an hour ago, biting off a scream at the smell of burning hair and flesh.

There was a seventh year passed out in an armchair, Transfiguration text sprawled across her chest. The bags under her eyes told of long nights studying and falling asleep under the weight of books. Ron was reminded of Hermione in their third year and wondered if this was what awaited them in a few months. This was the year they took their OWL exams and he could already hear Hermione’s nervous rant about study plans.

It had bothered him before. Studying had never been something that Ron enjoyed taking part in. There were so many things he could be doing that were more interesting - playing Quidditch or having a chess match with someone.

Granted, the chess matches had been coming less frequently of late. People didn't like to play against someone they had no chance of winning against. It frustrated Ron. Chess was one of the things he could do to relax and it helped him process through information if he could put his focus on strategizing for the win and let the rest of his mind focus on other problems. It helped him calm down if he was in a mood and Ron knew he had inherited his mother’s temper.

He’d been tempted this year to go to Professor McGonagall and ask her for a match. He’d played her giant chess board in first year, after all, and it had put up a good fight even without her there mediating the opposing side. In person, he imagined she would be even more of a challenge. He might have asked her if she didn’t scare him quite so much.

Instead, he finished writing out a dream about someone being roasted alive and then eaten by a dragon, and slammed the cover shut with more force than was necessary. He wanted to sleep but he didn’t think it would help him much. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep without dreaming. Might just be tired enough to sleep without being able to wake up.

He scratched at his head as he thought over what to do for the next couple of hours. He groaned a little in frustration and just decided to work on homework. He’d love to not bother with it all, but he was trying to do better this year with getting his homework done. It had absolutely nothing to do with making Hermione happy. Nope. None.

He’d much rather be out flying on the pitch, even as dark as it was, but getting his homework done now would keep away the possibility of dozing off into another nightmare. It also would make the time move faster, hopefully, and he could go down to breakfast with Harry.

After returning his Divination journal and fetching his Transfiguration homework, he returned to the Common Room and set up at the table to write the essay they had been assigned. He grumbled and groaned for a bit, until he almost woke up the girl who’d fallen asleep in the armchair, and then focused on his work. He chewed on the inside of his lip as he worked, mentally cursing the subject. He didn’t much like schoolwork at all, but Transfiguration was especially not his strong point. Still, if he got it done first, he didn’t have to worry about it until McGonagall gave them their next massive assignment.

He was so focused on writing his essay, he was startled when someone flopped into the seat across from him.

“Ron! You’re up early!” Hermione said. “And working on your Transfiguration homework? That’s great. I’m glad you’re taking the time to work on it.”

Instead of waiting until the last minute so you can nag on me about it, Ron thought, looking up at her. “I’m almost done, actually,” he said, somewhat surprised at the length he had written. He’d been so distracted by the topic he hadn’t even noticed he was nearly at the end of his parchment.

“Do you want me to read it for you when you’re done?”

Um… “That would probably be a good idea,” Ron admitted, even though the idea of having to rewrite his essay after she’d gone over it made him cringe.

He glanced out the window to see it was still dark. “Why are you up so early?”

“Oh, I always get up early,” Hermione said. “Ginny and I usually go down to breakfast together.” She seemed to wince immediately after saying that.

“But you’re always with us for breakfast,” Ron said slowly.

“Well, of course, I come back to go down with you guys. Did you want to come down with us this morning? You guys aren’t usually up.”

“Actually, Harry might be.” Prior to this year, it had been a rare day that Ron was up before his best friend. While he was usually awake at an ungodly hour, Harry still tended to get up fairly early. He just stayed up in the dormitory, though Ron wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Let me see if he’s up.” Grabbing his Transfiguration book and his homework, Ron dashed up the stairs to Hermione’s call of “Bring your bag with you when you come down. Harry, too. So we don’t have to come back.”

“It’s too early,” an unfamiliar voice moaned. “Would you two go find a broom cupboard or something?”

Ron’s face went brilliantly red and he was glad he was slipping into the dormitory, as he heard Hermione squeak loudly behind him.

As he expected, Harry was already awake when he stepped into the dormitory, sitting at the edge of the window and staring out at the dark landscape. He didn’t turn when Ron walked in and Ron cringed internally at the reminder that his best friend had lost his hearing. He could still vividly remember the nightmare that had prompted him to ask his father to speak to Dumbledore. He didn’t like to focus on it, worried it would jump in and take part in his nightly excursions into vivid dream-hell.

Ron dropped his book on his bed and walked over to touch Harry on the shoulder. His friend jumped, turning, and smiled when he saw him. He had a wistful look on his face and Ron remembered all the times he had woken up to see Harry sitting here, Hedwig on his arm, speaking to her softly enough not to wake any of them.

How much more did Harry have to lose before things started to get better?

“Hermione and Ginny are headed down to breakfast,” Ron said, as Harry pulled out his journal. “Did you want to go with them?”

He noticed Harry was trying to determine what he was saying by reading his lips before relying on his journal. It hadn’t occurred to him prior to this, but Harry always acted in a manner to continuously better himself - constantly learning. He hadn’t done it with schoolwork, though Ron thought maybe that was a little his fault, but Harry was always struggling to overcome whatever issues he had. Maybe Ron should try doing that. Not just going along with it like he usually did, but getting better. Putting effort into his homework was a good start at that, but maybe he should try harder.

Not at Hermione’s level. That was a little crazy. But he could try to look at what else there was to learn. His elder brothers had taken classes that Ron had skipped in favor of easy classes like Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. But once they were out of Hogwarts, they had taken more classes at their jobs to learn the specifics of their field.

His and Ginny’s conversation on the walk to the Owlery came back to him. This would be the year they would discuss career options with Professor McGonagall. Maybe he should decide on an idea for what he wanted to do that was a little less vague than “probably an Auror.”

Maybe, he thought, as he followed Harry down to the Common Room, I should talk to Hermione about it. She probably has an idea of what she wants to do. And a plan, an outline, eighteen references, and six job offers already. He grinned to himself.

“What’s got you so happy?”

Ron whipped his head around to find Ginny standing beside him, watching him with narrowed eyes and a very amused smile.

“What? Nothing!”

“Mm-hmm,” Ginny said in her dangerous sly voice. “And why were you grinning like an idiot at Hermione?”

“What? I wasn’t.” Was I? Oh Merlin’s saggy balls. “I wasn’t!”

“Suuuuure.” Ginny smiled at him. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. For a price.”

Ron frowned. “What price?”

“I’ll let you know when I want paid.” She flashed him a smile and skipped off before he could say anything in response.

“Bloody hell,” Ron grumbled. He turned around, hoping that Hermione hadn’t been close enough to overhear, only to see Harry laughing at him over the view of his journal. Ron stomped over, his ears burning red, to growl, “Delete. That. Page.”

Harry snickered but quickly erased the journal’s content before tucking it back in his pocket. Ron could only breathe a sigh of relief.

“Ron!” And cue the burning ears again. “Are you guys coming?”

Hermione was standing by the portrait hole, thank Merlin, bag slung over her shoulder.

“We’re coming,” he said. The four of them left the Common Room and headed down to the Great Hall.

Tuesdays were very light, their only class being Care of Magical Creatures at one o’clock. The four of them sat at the Gryffindor table, empty save for some of the older early risers, eating their various favorites for breakfast and discussing plans for the day.

“I figured I’d go to the library at some point,” Hermione said, of course, and Ron could only groan and roll his eyes in an overly dramatic fashion.

“Hermione, don’t you ever get sick of books?”

“Don’t you ever get sick of Quidditch?”

Ginny laughed. “No, don’t start this argument. I’m terrified of the outcome!”

Harry was snickering on the other side of the table, nodding in agreement with Ginny.

“Fine, I won’t prove Hermione wrong.”

“Honestly, Ron.”

“Was there something you were hoping to look up?” Ginny asked, no doubt hoping to offset the argument.

“Not really. I have a lot of things I want to research but nothing that’s necessary.”

Ron chewed his lip for a moment, not noticing how Ginny caught sight of this and grinned, ducking her head. “Maybe you can help me with something?”

“Did you want to go over your Transfiguration essay?”

Ron shook his head. “Maybe later. Ginny and I were talking the other day and she was saying how this year, we get to talk to McGonagall about careers.” He could tell Hermione was interested by the way she had sat up straight, her attention focused entirely on him. “I had been thinking of going in for being an Auror, but I really hadn’t given it a lot of thought…” Hermione looked like she wanted to spout an essay and was struggling to restrain herself. “I thought maybe you had.”

“Oh, Ron, there’s so much more to it than just choosing your career. You also have to determine which classes you’ll need to take and what you can drop, and you’ll need to meet basic requirements in certain classes in order to get those jobs. Aurors require that you pass Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions up through your NEWTs, which is a little concerning with the professors we have had.” She grimaced. Hermione disliked Umbridge’s constant reading from the textbook and prior to this year, Snape’s teaching methods spoke for themselves.

“Potions,” Ron said, grimacing. “That’s fun.”

“Have you even looked at other possible careers? Beyond what you know, I mean.”

Ron shook his head. “Not really. I know of some careers from Bill and Charlie, and some of the more popular ones, like Auror and Healer, but I haven’t researched anything.”

Harry pushed his journal toward them, drawing their attention. They looked down to read what he had written.

“I hadn’t thought of this, either. Is this something we can look into?”

“We could do it this morning,” Hermione said. “I already did some research on my own, but I know of a book that lists the various careers and their hiring requirements. We could go look at it now.”

She looked so excited, Ron couldn’t bring himself to complain about the library again. He was also somewhat interested to see what other careers there were available. The four of them finished up their breakfast and headed out to the library together, passing some curious professors along the way.

The library was empty, which just showed how smart the other students were, in Ron’s opinion. Hermione headed straight for a specific book, one larger even than Hogwarts: A History, and carried it over to a table that the others grabbed a seat at.

“There are actually a lot of careers to choose from,” Hermione explained, as she flipped through some long descriptive chapters on history. “Some of them are mostly obsolete but still listed as viable. I don’t know if people don’t utilize them anymore or if they’re actively seen in a negative light, but even discounting them, there are still a number of choices.”

She flipped to a page headed by the title Auror: Requirements. “Becoming an Auror requires five NEWTs, nothing below Exceeds Expectations. It suggests Potions, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts as the classes you gain NEWTs in, probably as they’re the base courses and the spells we learn there can be used fairly creatively. Once you apply to become an Auror, you have to pass aptitude tests and then Auror Training. It says here that there haven't been any Aurors accepted for three years.”

“How new is this book?” Ginny asked, eyeing the worn-looking pages.

“It’s a self-updating text,” Hermione explained. “It must be really difficult to become an Auror if they haven’t accepted any new applicants in three years.”

“I hadn’t realized there were so many requirements,” Ron said, thinking about staying in Potions until his seventh year. Can you say hell no? “What careers did you look at?”

Hermione ducked her head, paying attention to the book as she flipped through pages. Ron thought she might have been blushing. “I was looking through spell research, or maybe teaching. Your brother Bill… Curse Breaking is a really interesting field, but crafting Runic Wards is also something that could be interesting. Or working in the Department of Mysteries, though there isn’t a lot in here about that.”

“If you wanted to learn more about positions in the Department of Mysteries, I could have someone come and speak with you.”

Ron jumped, spinning around to see Professor McGonagall standing there, watching them all with an amused expression on her face.

“Professor!” Hermione gasped.

“I apologize for startling you. I was curious to see the four of you up so early this morning and looking very involved in discussing what sounded like your future.” Her lips twitched up into a brief smile. “Planning what you’ll be doing once you graduate?”

“Hermione was telling me that you’ll be discussing career options with the fifth years this year. I talked to Ron a bit about it the other night and I suppose we were all interested in the options.”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “It’s gratifying to see that you’re looking into your options. Unfortunately, we don’t spend time in class discussing some of the lesser known careers that utilize the skills you learn in the core classes. Is there anything that you were curious about?”

Ron was taken aback. He liked Professor McGonagall. Well, about as much as you could like someone who scared the shit out of you. She always seemed fairly unapproachable, though. Then again, Harry had told him that McGonagall visited him over the summer where they were staying - a place not even Hermione and him knew the location of. Hermione also sang McGonagall’s praises whenever the chance came up. Maybe there was more to the terrifying Transfiguration professor than he had been aware of.

“I’m not sure any of us are prepared with questions, Professor,” Hermione said. “Although I would be interested to learn more about the Department of Mysteries.”

McGonagall looked at the rest of them.

“I’m only in fourth year,” Ginny said, a little disappointedly.

“Miss Weasley, if you’re interested in sitting down with me, I would be happy to go over potential career options with you, regardless of your year. You’re welcome to come with me to discuss anything that you might need help with. As your Head of House, I’m here to help you grow into the strong witches and wizards I know you can be.”

Ginny was blushing fiercely by the end of McGonagall’s response. “Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall looked at Ron. “What were you interested in, Mister Weasley?”

Ron shrugged. “I was looking at Auror, but only because I hadn’t really looking into anything besides Dragon Training.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up but her lips had curled up into a smile. “You take after Charlie more than I realized, Mister Weasley. He was one of my best students, and you’re certainly pushing further toward that this year.”

“What?” Hermione asked, but Ron’s ears were too busy burning to listen.

“I’m very impressed with the work you’ve put forth this year so far, especially what you handed in from over the summer. I hope you’ll continue to impress.”

Ron couldn’t speak. He was afraid if he even looked over at Hermione his face would burst into flames.

“Mister Potter, is there anything that you were curious about?”

Ron glanced over to see Harry shake his head, then glance at Ron. The meaning was fairly clear. He’d been thinking much like Ron and hadn’t looked into anything further.

“I see,” Professor McGonagall said, not unhappily. “I’m glad that you’re taking the time to research your options. If you have questions during your study, feel free to stop by my office and we’ll discuss it. And Miss Weasley, when the time comes, I’ll be sure to schedule an appointment with you as well.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall nodded. “Make sure you don’t get caught in a book and miss lunch, Miss Granger.” She offered another small smile again, then left the library.

Ron looked around at the other three, his eyes a little wide.

“Now I need to look at other career opportunities,” Ginny said, voicing what Ron was thinking.

Harry nodded and motioned toward the book.

“What do you want to look at?” Hermione asked, flipping through the pages.

“Let’s focus on skills,” Ginny said. “Harry’s the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts, so start there.”

Hermione flipped to a page topped with Main Field: Defense Against the Dark Arts. Beneath that header was a long, long list of potential careers.

“Well, on top, of course, there’s Auror. Then there’s Bounty Hunter…” The list went on and the four of them sat, going through it, and then others, based on their individual skill sets and interests. In the end, they had a lot more options than they did an hour previously, and a lot more to research.

Have you considered going to Madam Pomfrey about these constant nightmares? I’m becoming concerned, Ron. Nightmares come at everyone at some point, and with what the three of your have faced, and Ginny, they’re to be expected. Continuous nightmares can limit your sleep, and that can cause other problems. Madam Pomfrey can get you some Dreamless Sleep Potion for a few nights, long enough for you to get some uninterrupted sleep. If things continue, you might consider talking to Cameron. She’s been helping Ginny a lot with what’s happened to her. It might do you good to have someone impartial to talk to.

And I’m always here, Ron. Don’t be afraid to talk to me, or Harry. If anyone knows what you’re going through, it’s him.

Except he doesn’t,” Ron thought bitterly, staring down at the letter he had received from Charlie. Harry’s never betrayed his friends.

He was tempted to go to Madam Pomfrey, though. He’d woken up again from another nightmare, this one lacking fire and all about the dragon ripping his best friend apart. Ron had skipped screaming and woken up nearly vomiting all over himself. Only rushing to the loo had saved him having to take a very embarrassing shower.

He was back among the portraits, wandering the empty corridors of Hogwarts, his mind trying to scatter the bloody images of a dragon’s dinner and his own stupidity. His stomach was roiling and churning and he felt absolutely miserable. A Dreamless Sleep Potion and the possibility of a full night’s sleep sounded amazing.

“Really, Severus, I don’t see what the problem is.”

Ron jerked out of his musings at the sound of the headmaster’s voice. And Severus? Was Snape back? Shit!

Ron looked around, desperate, seeing only a single door to get him away from the main hall and the obvious walking path of the professors he could hear coming. He rushed to it, flinging himself inside and shutting it behind him. He let out a relieved sigh a moment later when he heard them talking as they walked past, none the wiser.

“I never figured I’d catch you out of bed, Weasley.”

Ron spun around.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on a desk in the middle of an unused classroom, his wand in hand. Ron swore under his breath.

Maybe he should have stuck with Snape.