Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 37
- 38
- 39
Chapter 38. The Blame Game

Harry made to crawl off Ron’s lap after snogging him senseless, but Ron wasn’t having it. He’d been waiting all day to finally touch him like this, and he’d already wasted enough time tonight because of how irritable the goblin had made him today. His aggressive play with Harry earlier had him hard and ready now though, only Harry wanted to make him wait even longer, for a haircut of all things.
Harry’s acceptance of their new relationship had totally released whatever inhibitions Ron may have had. At every opportunity, he had Harry or Hermione pressed against the wall or pulled across his lap. They were completely different in almost every way, but they both had the power to excite him to no end, making him want to map the differences between their bodies, to taste every inch of their flesh with his tongue until blindfolded, he could tell which was which with a single taste. He craved them constantly, like a drug to which he was hopelessly addicted. His libido was unquenchable it seemed. Yet still, he was frustrated, which had the effect of making him even more aggressive.
Luna’s words had changed things between them. It was subtle, but it was there, a loss of intimacy that Ron desperately wanted to regain. Despite the fact that Harry still willingly gave himself to them almost anytime they asked, it was only his body now. He was holding the rest of himself back. Ron kept trying to break through to him again in the only way he knew how because he felt like he was somehow to blame, though he really had no idea what he’d done. He could pinpoint it to that evening at Bill’s, though, and later when they’d returned to Grimmauld Place. Startling Harry, he’d woken him with the stoking of his hand, and they’d both climaxed, but something was off. Something had shifted in their relationship that night. By the next morning, Harry had become slightly distant. It was the last time that they’d shared a bed together, and Ron was sure his actions had something to do with it, whatever Harry said to the contrary.
He wasn’t taking all the credit, however. Part of it belonged to Luna, too. Her observations, and Harry’s reaction to it, had caused him to reinstate the strict ‘no touching’ rule when they were away from this house again. Harry shied away from even the most innocent contact now in public, as if a simple touch on the arm might strip him bare and telegraph the intimate details of what they did privately to the entire room. Lovers by night they may be, but he wanted there to be no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were strictly friends by day. Ron could live with that if he could only have Harry back in their bed. Hermione needed Harry there, he did, too. He missed him desperately, yet Harry still refused.
Gripping Harry’s waist harder to prevent his escape, Ron thrust his hips up into Harry which caused him to lose his balance slightly.
“I want to dip you both in chocolate tonight and lick you clean,” he whispered, picturing the image in his mind.
“Jesus, Ron! You’re the horniest person I’ve ever met,” Harry complained, grasping Ron’s shoulders to steady himself. “And that’s saying something since I once spent an entire night, against my will, being fucked raw by a sadistic bitch of a nymphomaniac.”
“Harry!” Hermione squeaked, utterly appalled.
“What? It’s true.”
“Stop telling me things like that!” Ron shouted in horror at the fresh images flooding his mind at Harry’s words. “And it’s not just that I’m horny. I mean I am, but it’s just because I don’t want to waste anymore time. I’m not willing to turn away an opportunity with you.”
“I see. So you want to hurry up and fuck me before I die,” Harry replied sarcastically.
Apparently, Harry had rendered Hermione temporarily speechless with that callous remark. Instead she kicked him hard in the thigh to express her outrage.
“Ow!”
“You’re not going to die,” Ron growled as Harry rubbed the spot on his thigh which Hermione had probably bruised with that vicious kick. “Not if I can help it.”
Leaning into Harry’s neck then, Ron tugged his earlobe between his teeth before he completely lost his window of opportunity to persuade Harry.
“And I only want to fuck you when you ask me to fuck you,” he whispered into Harry’s ear. “When my mouth isn’t good enough anymore and you’re begging for something more.”
Hermione moaned softly as Harry shivered, making Ron think that he had at least one of them convinced, maybe both with that lecherous comment. Smiling with satisfaction, he traced the shell of Harry’s ear with his tongue and followed it with his hot breath.
Harry tried twice to speak before the words finally came.
“And if I never ask?” he questioned hoarsely as Ron slid his hands around to Harry’s bare back to wedge them into his jeans.
“That’s okay, too. I’ve told you. Whatever you want to do, and nothing more,” he replied, pulling Harry into him again by the grip he now had on his arse to rub against him. “Just letting you know the offer stands,” he added seductively as he leaned down and circled Harry’s nipple with his tongue, which immediately hardened.
Gasping, Harry gripped him harder, his hips bucking in response. Christ, Ron loved seeing his reactions! Harry’s entire body was crazy sensitive, and his already elevated temperature rose even higher when he was aroused, making him hot to the touch. This fascinated Ron endlessly, but also concerned him slightly, afraid that if Harry got too excited, his temperature might skyrocket dangerously high, sending him into convulsions again which was not at all the type of spasms Ron hoped to induce in his lover’s body.
Imagining that body flushed red with burning arousal, contorting in ecstasy from the orgasm Ron intended to give him tonight, he looked up into Harry’s face. He was nearly noiseless, as he usually was with Ron, but his mouth was open, his breath hitching, and his fist clenching a handful of Ron’s shirt as Ron ground himself against him. Harry’s struggle for silence was even more erotic to Ron than if he were moaning wantonly.
It appeared to be some sort of game of control between them that Harry had stared. Privately, Harry let him and Hermione do pretty much whatever they wanted with him, completely submitting to them, but it seemed important to him to maintain control over himself. Ron didn’t know if it was fear that motivated him, fear of losing that control, or a learned mechanism from his time in the dungeon. But he focused his whole being on it during their time together now, which drove Ron mad with lust. And it was developing into a highly competitive contest between them for Ron to try and force Harry to break his resolve, to cry out, curse, or beg, something because Ron knew Harry was certainly capable of it. He’d heard him use that voice plenty enough times when he was balls deep in Hermione.
Harry was never a screamer, or anything. He just wasn’t as stingy with his reactions when it was Hermione. Maybe he couldn’t help it, but with her, Harry allowed her to hear his pleasure. He couldn’t deny her the satisfaction of knowing that she could make him moan or whimper pleadingly with that hoarse voice of his. It should have irritated Ron, or made him jealous, but it didn’t. Ron knew exactly what it felt like to be inside her. Harry would have to be rendered totally mute again to remain silent while Hermione rode his cock.
“Let’s get the rest of these clothes out of the way then, shall we?” he breathed flicking his tongue once over the pebbled nipple.
If he bit down around that nub of flesh right now, he knew that Harry would be his in an instant. Checkmate, game over.
“I believe you’ve won the services of my mouth tonight, and I’d like to see if I can make you beg first,” he continued. “You can get that haircut afterwards.”
“No,” Harry argued breathlessly.
He pulled back again before Ron had the chance to make his winning move. He had a look of stubborn determination on his face as Ron frowned at him.
“Right now. We both know that if any more of my clothes come off, that will be the end of whatever other plans I have for the night.”
“So? That’s not so bad, is it? Are you meeting someone tomorrow that your hair can’t wait one more night?”
“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “I’ve got a date with a couple of Fleur’s Veela cousins. They’re meeting me for dinner, and I want to look my best. Now get your hands off my arse and let me up.”
“Hmm,” Ron said, looking Harry over critically. “If they’re the same cousins from the wedding, you’re going to need all the help you can get, runt.”
“Nice,” Harry replied, trying to look affronted, but he started laughing instead as Ron reluctantly pulled his hands out of his pants and allowed Harry to climb off his lap at last.
“Go on then. I give up.”
Harry stood up, tugging at his jeans and readjusting himself a bit to keep the constricting material from continuing to bite into his crotch. Then he hurriedly snatched Draco’s wand off the coffee table in case Ron changed his mind and tried to pull him back down again. If he did, Ron had the feeling that Harry wouldn’t be able to refuse him a third time.
“Why didn’t you try conjuring it without your wand?” Ron asked Harry as a heavy, three-legged stool revolved in midair for a moment before dropping with a thud onto the worn carpet.
It looked like the stool used at Hogwarts for the sorting, only it was larger and sturdier. As Harry was no longer a scrawny eleven-year-old boy, he needed something a bit larger to support his weight, even as skinny as he still was.
Perching himself on it, Harry turned to Ron, a look of incredulity on his face.
“Contrary to what you obviously believe, Ron, I don’t have that kind of control over my magic. The best I can do without a wand are a few rudimentary spells at best. Simple summoning charms or Impediment jinxes…besides, you know… the flames and electrical shocks. ”
“And the powerful shield charms,” Ron added. “Don’t forget those.”
“Okay, fine…and shield charms,” Harry amended, sounding slightly irritated to be back on the subject of his wandless magic as he slid the thin strip of wood into his back pocket for safekeeping. “But still, I don’t think that I’ll be abandoning my wand anytime soon. I can hardly control it well enough to do complicated magic or anything. It’s more like blasts of energy, and it drains the life out of me besides.”
“Madame Pomfrey said it was a great deal harder to concentrate your magic without the aid of a wand,” Hermione reminded them, now rummaging in her beaded bag before finally coming up with a fine toothed comb. “It’s much more taxing on the body.”
“Well, I still think you should keep practicing with it,” Ron said.
“I haven’t been practicing with it,” Harry insisted. “Tonight was the first time I’d actually tried to make it happen. And I have to be angry or scared or something like that before it will come.”
“Were you scared earlier?” Ron asked, a hint of concern creeping into his voice, suddenly second guessing Harry’s desire to put the brakes on tonight. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“No, Ron. I wasn’t scared. Not really, but there was enough of a twinge, apparently, for me to be able to use to summon it up. Still, I don’t like it. It freaks me out, okay? It leaves me feeling shaky and out of control. I don’t want to do it for your amusement. I don’t want to do it at all.”
“Okay. I’ll drop it. But Lupin said it was a good thing to have in your arsenal, and I agree with him. I don’t plan to trot you out as the entertainment at parties or anything—”
“You already have. I seem to remember putting on quite a show for your family on your birthday.”
Ron frowned. He wasn’t expecting this to turn into a row.
“You know how sorry I am about that. We both are. I don’t know how many more times you want me to say it. We fucked up,” he admitted.
“Yeah, you weren’t so keen for me to let loose my magic then, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t, but look, Harry. That’s exactly what I mean. When Snape’s Patronus appeared, you and I both know you were about to lose it. You were shaking all over, and I swear to god, your eyes had started to glow. I panicked. I’ll admit that, but you would have, too, if you’d seen the look on your face. You looked just like you did in the dungeon before you burned everything to ash. I was terrified, all right? You can’t blame me for losing my head a bit.”
“I realized where I was,” Harry said quietly. “I knew who was there with me, and I was getting it back under control.”
“We couldn’t take that chance, Harry,” Hermione admitted, though, like him, she sounded remorseful, hoping to diffuse this before he let loose a furious diatribe and started swinging at them again.
“I got control of it at Bill’s the other day, too,” Harry added even more quietly, as if he hadn’t heard her.
Hermione’s mouth opened, but then she closed it again, apparently thinking better of probing him for more information right now. Ron’s eyebrows had risen in surprise at the admission of how bad the episode at Bill’s had been. Like Hermione, he was too stunned to form words for a moment.
Harry had certainly looked ill when he’d returned from the loo that night, but not nearly as wretched as he’d looked going in. It had taken all of Ron’s self control to hold himself in his seat and not go after Harry when he’d fled the dinner table after Luna made that idiotic comment and sent Harry into a tailspin, especially when he saw where he was headed. Horrible thoughts and images had filled Ron’s brain at what Harry might be up to in there, but he didn’t rise. He knew that Harry would not thank him for his concern. In fact, it might have made it worse. Damn, it had been hard, though. He was in there a long time!
He’s fine. He won’t hurt himself, Ron had chanted to himself over and over while his ears strained for the sound of Harry’s return. Even still, he’d never felt so relieved when he heard Harry’s feet on the stairs finally. Ron had looked Harry over carefully that night when he’d stripped and crawled into bed, searching for evidence of any freshly healed marks on his pale skin. He’d examined every inch of Harry’s body every night since then, too, but hadn’t found anything. The changes in their relationship had made it much more difficult for Harry to hide it if he were still cutting himself. Nevertheless, Ron still found himself checking constantly. He knew the sex was giving Harry some of the release he’d needed, and the moon had finally waned, too, yet Harry was back in his own bed at night now and out from under Ron’s watchful gaze where he could no longer monitor him so closely. Ron hated every minute of it.
“Good,” Ron blurted, finally. “Good. That’s all I want, Harry. I just want you to be able to control it and use it in emergencies because fuck knows we seem to find ourselves in tight spots plenty enough times. We’ve all had our wands confiscated. Yours and now my wand are both broken, too. It’s good we have replacements, but without you being able to do what you did, we’d all be dead right now. Oh, and add Apparition to the list of things you can do wandlessly. You forgot that one.”
Harry rolled his eyes before turning his head to glance inquiringly back at Hermione. She immediately rose to her feet.
“That’s right,” she added, strolling around the coffee table, a pair of shears in one hand that she’d just conjured and the comb in the other. “Apparition, or something like it…maybe more.”
Stepping up behind Harry, she set the tools down and ran her fingers through his long messy locks.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” she asked nervously.
Harry nodded and then tilted his head to look up at her.
“What do you mean, maybe more?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, looking thoughtful while still carding her hands through his hair. “Just something more than Apparition, I mean. When you pulled us out of the dungeons, it didn’t feel like that, and Ron and I both thought we saw some sort of transformation when you fled again.”
“Some sort of transformation?” Harry asked incredulously. “You mean like I turned into a dog, or something… like Sirius?”
“No, not a dog, but it was so fast, and you were surrounded by flames again so that neither of us could really tell what exactly had happened.”
“You think I’m an Animagus? Without knowing it?” Harry scoffed in disbelief. “You’re both mad. How could I be? It took my dad and Sirius years to learn. I don’t even know how.”
“Beats me, mate,” Ron replied. “It’s just what we saw.”
“You’re barking!” Harry exclaimed. “You were just both in shock, is all.”
“Maybe we were, but we both saw the same thing. I won’t deny that we were a bit traumatized at the time and may not have been seeing things too clearly, but still. You changed into something. I’m sure of it.”
Harry sat there open mouthed, glancing back and forth between the pair of them as if they were having him on, and he was trying to catch one of them winking at the other and giving the game away. When they didn’t, he finally snapped his mouth shut and, without another word, faced forward, his hands curling in his lap and his brow furrowing while Hermione began combing out his hair.
Removing his glasses, Hermione hooked them on her blouse where the first button was undone so that they rested safely between her breasts. Then with a pained expression on her face as her lips twisted in concentration, she pulled up the first lock of hair, trapping it with her fingers, and placed the comb between her teeth. Resting the open scissors against her fingers as a guide, she slowly squeezed, making the first cut.
Harry didn’t speak again the entire time she worked. Neither did Ron or Hermione. There was only the crisp sound of the scissors as they sheared away several inches of black hair which sprinkled down onto Harry’s bare shoulders and the carpet around him, and the soft ticking of the clock marking off the time, and the creaking of the stool as Harry shifted when Hermione tilted is head down and moved behind him while she worked. Leaning down to him, she blew softly against his neck and out along his shoulders before sweeping the remaining strands to the floor to examine her work. Harry’s back pebbled with goose pimples at the feel of her breath and fingertips on him. Then he shivered slightly, the goose pimples intensifying when she placed the cold shears against his neck to straighten his hairline.
Ron raised his eyebrows, his interest peaked.
Still a little put out that Harry had thrown off his advances for a haircut, he’d been feeling slightly bored and frustrated while watching them at first. But Harry’s reaction had driven those sullen feelings from him. He sat up straighter. This haircut had suddenly turned from some mundane chore into something slightly erotic, something more like a slow seduction of his best mate by his best girl. Hermione’s methods were much more subtle than his, but no less effective, Ron realized.
Hermione had moved around to Harry’s front, straddling one of his thighs as she tilted his head to the side and bent down to him to work around his left ear. Harry’s hands tightened in his lap, and his jaw clenched when she blew again softly against his ear to remove the hair she’d just severed. Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath, but held perfectly still for her while she stroked the shell of his ear with her thumb, the one Ron had so recently tracked with his tongue. Harry kept his eyes closed when she’d finished and tilted his head the other direction to repeat the process around his other ear.
When she’d moved to wedge herself between his thighs, Harry spread his legs farther apart to accommodate her, causing him to scoot closer to her on the stool so that he was perched on the edge. There was barely an inch between them now, a fact which Harry seemed well aware of judging by the way his stomach tightened and his nostrils flared. She pulled his chin up, and he finally opened his eyes again slowly. Ron saw that they were nearly black, his pupils exploded wide with undisguised desire as he looked up at her.
Manipulating his head with her hand to get Harry in the position she wanted to be able to try again to tame the unruly hair on his crown, which never seemed to want to lie down, Hermione leaned into him so that he was staring down the front of her shirt. The goose bumps were gone now, replaced with the rosy pink flush of arousal that signaled his temperature rising. Harry’s previously curled hands were now gripping his thighs as he stared at her breasts right under his nose. Her raised arms caused her perfect tits to press together and swell against the cups of her bra as she worked. The weight of Harry’s glasses pulled down on the fabric of her shirt, giving Harry an eyeful of her cleavage which, Ron knew, even with his severe myopia was close enough for him to see every pore of that honey colored skin with perfect clarity.
Wasn’t he a lucky bastard? Ron had suddenly never wanted a haircut more in his life.
Harry looked as if he were fighting the urge to lean forward and press his nose between those soft mounds of flesh or run his tongue along the crevice. Ron was sure he was also struggling to resist the desire to release the grip he had on his thighs to slide his hands over her bum and pull her into him so that he could rub the erection that was visibly bulging beneath the fly of his jeans against her. Ron would have, at any rate, as he was sporting a matching one, but he was less shy about trying to relieve it. Stroking his thumb over his own aching, jeans clad cock, Ron watched as Hermione tilted Harry’s head back slightly to work on his long fringe.
Harry stared silently up at her while she smoothed his hair. Their eyes met and she leaned in closer to him. His tongue immediately darted out to lick his dry lips. Then his mouth opened slightly while his eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. His back straightened, and his neck arched as he rose to accept her lips against his. His pulse was pounding in the vein at his neck, and Harry’s hands curled tightly again as he waited for the kiss that didn’t come.
Ron watched the apple bob in his throat as Harry swallowed the slight disappointment. Peeling his eyes open and relaxing his neck again, Harry blew out the breath he was holding. Then his lips twitched in the slightest of smirks before he bit down on them to hide his reaction to her deliberate tease.
While he’d been straining to be polite and keep his head and not hump her leg, Hermione had been intentionally trying to work him up. Harry knew her for the vixen she was now, though, and his cheeks flushed slightly at the realization.
The boy was still a bit naïve sometimes, Ron thought. But he fervently hoped Harry never lost it. It was fucking adorable. The daft ponce!
Ron’s whole body was throbbing with desire for both of them by the time Hermione had finally finished with Harry’s fringe. Placing both hands on Harry’s jaw, her thumbs on his cheeks, she tilted his head back one final time. Harry’s eyes had been closed as she trimmed his bangs, and they remained so as she blew across them. She stroked away stubborn hairs from his eyebrows with her thumbs and down alongside his nose before she release him. Still, Harry didn’t open his eyes.
Hermione pulled his glasses from her shirt and slid them back onto his face. Running her hand through his hair again, she held it in her fist to tilt his head back further as she leaned down to him. Then she licked the seam of his lips with the tip of her pink tongue. Clutching the stool, Harry’s mouth immediately parted, and a moan of pent up longing escaped him before she captured it with her own mouth.
Ron almost came in his trousers. Harry finally getting his reward for being such a good boy was just about the hottest thing he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a lot of smoking hot things recently! Hell, the three of them were all still clothed, and it was just a kiss, but it was the most eagerly anticipated kiss he’d ever witnessed. He was definitely going to ask for his own haircut later, he decided as he watched them pull apart.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered, panting slightly as he stared up at her with those hugely dilated eyes.
“It was my pleasure,” Hermione responded. “But you might not be thanking me once you’ve seen it.”
Harry ran a hand up the back of his head.
“I’m sure it’s fine. And even if it’s not, I’ve had worse, I assure you. I’ll wear a ball cap ‘til it grows back if it’s too awful.”
“It’s not that bad! But you have a double crown, which makes it difficult to get the hair to lie down,” she lamented. “I did my best with it.”
Harry stood up, standing very near Hermione so she had to tilt her head nearly all the way back to look up at him. Bending slightly towards her, Harry pulled the shears and comb from her fingers. Her hand came up automatically to his grip his shoulder as if she thought he might sweep her into his arms and carry her off to his bed.
“I don’t care what it looks like. I’m never letting anyone else besides you cut my hair ever again,” he whispered less than an inch from her mouth before pulling back.
The smirk was back on his face when she realized he was returning the teasing gesture and did not intend to kiss her again or pick her up and toss her on the couch as she’d clearly hoped.
“I need a shower now,” he announced as he set the scissors and comb on the stool and pulled his wand from his back pocket.
Then he waved it once to vanish the hair on the floor before stepping around Hermione who looked as stunned and disappointed as Ron had earlier by Harry’s dismissal.
“Wait,” Ron growled irritably. “We were in the middle of something here before all that!”
“I’m covered in hair, Ron. It itches,” Harry complained. “Besides, it’s my reward. I ought to be able to claim it when I want to. You didn’t set a time limit on it. You never said it expired in an hour, or anything.”
Grinning at the scowl on Ron’s face, he strolled from the room.
“Prat!” Ron shouted after him.
What the hell was he playing at? Ron knew that Harry was hard as a rock. The itch of the hair couldn’t be stronger than the itch in his pants, he thought irritably. He knew Harry liked to be squeaky clean before he was with them, but this was ridiculous.
Harry appeared to have some mental aversion to having a single speck of dirt on him, as if he’d been wallowing in mud all day and was afraid he reeked and might offend or sully them if he didn’t scrub himself raw first. They didn’t always afford him time in the evenings to shower, but Ron knew he preferred it. It was simply another quirk of Harry’s, which Ron couldn’t fathom, but accepted. Of course, Ron hadn’t had the experiences in the dungeon that Harry had either. Perhaps his desire for cleanliness stemmed from the things that had happened to him there.
“Well, that didn’t go quite as I expected,” Hermione admitted, flopping down on the couch beside him.
“Yeah, me either,” Ron agreed. “I think he’s getting entirely too cocky.”
Hermione burst into laughter.
“He definitely got the better of us tonight.”
“The night’s not over yet.” Ron promised, pulling her onto his lap.
But it turned out that it was, with Harry at least.
“Not tonight. I’m tired,” Harry complained when Ron reached for him when he’d returned from the bathroom.
Back in his jeans and barefoot with his skin pink, he sank down on the couch beside them before yawning hugely.
“Are you not sleeping? I thought that was the whole reason you wanted to go back to your own room,” Ron questioned him worriedly.
“I am sleeping,” Harry assured him quickly. “But I’ve told you, doing wandless magic exhausts me. That, plus wrestling with you, has just worn me out tonight, all right? Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you. Disappointed, maybe, but I’ll get over it. I’m just concerned you’re all right.” Ron explained.
He understood that not everyone could have the same raging libido as he did.
“Everything’s fine, Ron. Stop worrying about me. I just want to be fresh and ready for my date with the Veela cousin’s tomorrow, you know.”
Grinning and waggling his eyebrows, he leaned over to them, kissing Hermione on the neck and Ron quickly on the mouth.
“I’m going to bed. You two enjoy yourselves with that vat of chocolate. Or, I highly recommend seeing if Hermione might be willing to clean up that mop of yours a bit, too, Ron. That haircut was damn near orgasmic and a lot less messy, I’ll wager.”
Then he hopped up, and left the room again, leaving Ron and Hermione to stare, bewildered, after him.
If Ron thought things would go better the next night with Harry, he’d been wrong.
They spent the morning locked up in the tiniest bedroom with Griphook, as usual, and Ron held his temper through most of the goblin’s snide remarks. But he was becoming increasingly concerned about how much time it was going to take them to get that Horcrux from the bank. They only had an hour of Hermione polyjuiced as Bellatrix to talk their way past the guards at the entrance, and then convince the goblins to take her to the Lestrange vault, which they’d learned was in the deepest levels of the bank. Then they had to search for the Horcrux without even knowing what the hell it was, get it and get back out before the potions effects wore off.
The plan was becoming progressively less plausible the longer they planned. Today they were working on contingency plans for escape if they ran out of time. It wasn’t until Griphook displayed pleasure at the idea that they might have to fight their way past bank wizards, possibly injuring them that Ron finally lost his head completely and broke his promise. That’s when things got ugly.
“My brother was one of those bank wizards, you fucking bastard!” He’d shouted. “The same one who’s allowing you room in his house and providing the food off his table. The one who’s offering you protection and waiting on your miserable arse hand and foot!”
Then, seeing the sneer on Griphook’s face, he’d snapped and launched himself at the goblin, shouting threats and obscenities. He didn’t even remember exactly what he’d done or said after that. He only came back to himself when Harry had him smashed against the wall with his arm wrenched behind his back, struggling to hold him while Ron fought to break free.
“That’s the second time you’ve bloodied my lip in as many weeks,” Harry growled into his ear, jerking his arm farther upwards so that Ron grunted when the pain seared. “I’m going to chalk that one up as an accident, but do it again, and I’ll knock you on your arse. Understand?”
Ron nodded and stopped struggling though he was still panting in pain. Harry lowered his voice to a hiss then, but didn’t let up on the tension in his arm.
“You better get your shit together fast before you fuck this up any worse for us. We need him, Ron!”
“I know,” he agreed miserably, the sound muffled because his face was squashed against the wall. “I’m all right, now. I’m okay. Let me go.”
Harry finally loosened his grip, and Ron pulled his arm free. He turned around, but Harry still held him pinned against the wall with a hand at his chest, glaring at him as he wiped blood from his bottom lip with his thumb.
“Ron, I think it might be a good idea if you took a walk,” Hermione said shakily.
Her eyes were wide and round with fear, and her wand was out, pointed at him. Looking shocked and a little fearful, Griphook stood slightly behind her where it appeared that she’d hastily pulled him off the bed to safety, and was now protecting him with her own body. All of her carefully constructed notes littered the floor around them from the chaos he’d created.
“No. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Don’t make me leave,” he pleaded, feeling the heat of shame filling him as he raised his arms in surrender.
“I think it would be for the best,” she said tightly, unconvinced by his apology and clearly furious with him.
Ron looked pleadingly to Harry for support, but he only nodded grimly. He was agreeing with Hermione.
“Damn it!” he growled. “I’m sorry, okay?”
He reached out a hand to wipe away more blood from Harry’s lip, but Harry jerked his head back away from Ron’s too familiar touch. His eyes narrowed in warning, and Ron dropped his hand, feeling even more miserable.
“Just cool down a while. Go clear you head. Then maybe you can come back again after lunch,” Harry suggested, now holding the sleeve of his shirt to the cut to stop the flow. “You trying to stay right now is only going to make it worse. You know that.”
Ron nodded.
“All right,” he finally agreed heavily.
Not looking at either of them when Harry finally released him, he reached for the doorknob. Shoulders slumped, he left the room.
He was hoping not to be seen by anyone, not really wanting to talk to anyone right now or have them witness his walk of shame, but he ran into Bill exiting Mr. Ollivander’s room before he could escape the house.
“What’s going on in there? Sounded like a row. I heard yelling and thumping.”
“Everything’s fine, Bill. I just need a break for awhile,” Ron mumbled, avoiding his brother’s eyes.
“You look a bit hot around the collar,” Bill observed.
“Yeah, I lost my temper,” Ron admitted.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nah, I’m going to take a walk, I think. Try and pull myself together.”
He wandered outside then, thinking vaguely of pacing the sand by the ocean. It turns out, however, that he probably would have had more privacy inside. He found nearly all the rest of the houses occupants near the shore.
Luna was collecting sea lavender while wearing a wide brimmed hat to protect her face from the sun. She was aided by Fleur while Dean sat nearby, drawing in a sketchbook. All of them had been lured outside, he supposed, to enjoy the bright sunshine and mild spring day. Fleur appeared to be there more for the other two’s protection than anything else as neither of them had wands, and they were out from under the protection of the home’s Fidelius charm here at the shore. She occasionally stared around to ensure they were safe. It was then that she saw Ron heading their direction. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she lifted her other in a wave when she recognized him. Dean looked back at him as Ron returned the wave.
“Hey,” Dean greeted him cheerfully, patting the stretch of sand next to him in invitation.
Miserable, Ron trudged over and plopped down beside him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, more to have something to say than in any real interest.
Dean shrugged.
“Just drawing,” he replied, pulling the sketchpad back into his lap so Ron could see.
The sketch he was working on wasn’t quite finished, but he’d captured the scene before him very realistically. He’d drawn the two women bent over picking wildflowers in the left side of the page, their long hair blowing in the breeze with a strip of sand and the rolling ocean in the background.
“Damn, Dean! You’re getting really good,” Ron complimented him.
“There hasn’t been that much else to do.”
“Can I see it?” he asked.
“Sure,” Dean agreed, handing the pad over.
Ron flipped through it randomly. Some of the drawings were of different landscapes while others were portraits. Most of them were ink drawings which seemed to be the main medium Dean had available to him, but all of them were remarkably detailed.
“I’ve just been capturing what I’ve seen since I’ve been on the run. I want to be able to show them to my mum and sisters when I see them again.”
“Have you been in contact with your family at all?”
“Just since I got here. I haven’t had the chance before now. Bill took me into the village yesterday, and I telephoned them. It’s the first time I’ve heard my mum’s voice in almost a year. Course, she was crying something terrible so I couldn’t make out half of what she was saying. But still, I never thought I’d miss talking with them as much as I did.”
“They’re safe, though, right?”
“Yeah, Thank God!”
Ron nodded, and then turned back to the drawings.
“What’s this then?” he asked, snorting as he flipped the page again. “Don’t tell me you found something like this hiding in a cave somewhere.”
“Nah. I drew it for Luna.”
“What is it?” Ron asked, bewildered by the strange beast.
“A crumpled horn something-or-other,” Dean answered with a shrug. “She was describing it to me, while we were at the Malfoy’s, so I started drawing it once we got here. She actually believes in them, you know. Swears she and her dad saw some one time on holiday.”
“Yeah well, they don’t call her Loony Lovegood for nothing.”
“So why are you out here? Did Hermione send you off with a red card or something?” Dean asked then, changing the subject as Ron continued to flip through the drawings.
“Shut up, Dean.”
“Oh, Shit! She did, didn’t she?” Dean asked, sniggering.
“I said shut up,” he growled. “It’s that stupid goblin. He’s foul! How you could stand being with him all this time, I’ll never know.”
“He’s not that bad. Saved my skin a few time as a matter of fact,” Dean replied. “Once when we were all caught by Snatchers, he managed to help me escape. They killed Gornuk, the other goblin, and probably would have killed Griphook next. There isn’t any reward in capturing goblins, I guess, and they didn’t want to spend the effort hauling them to the Ministry, so they just decided to dispose of them. In the melee after that, he pulled me free and we fled. He could have just made a run for it on his own, but he didn’t.”
He paused then, as if remembering that day.
“The others we were with didn’t make it,” he said sadly after a minute. “I’d been traveling with a wizard named Dirk Cresswell and the goblins, and then we met up with another wizard named Ted Tonks. Did you know his daughter is married to Professor Lupin?”
“Yup. She’s an Auror, and they’re going to have a baby soon.”
“Really?” he asked in surprise. “He never mentioned that.”
“You know, I think we might have been there that night. The night you met Tonks’ dad, I mean,” Ron confessed, stopping on a drawing of a forest stream at night with a group huddled around a fire.
“What?” Dean spluttered, staring at Ron incredulously.
“We were there,” he explained, pointing to the picture, “camping by that stream. Our tent was concealed under a load of enchantments, but we could hear you all rustling around and talking.”
He decided not to reveal that they’d actually eavesdropped on their conversation using some of Fred and George’s Extendable Ears.
“Why didn’t you come out then? It would have been nice to see you three.”
“Because we thought you might be Snatchers at first, but Dean, we couldn’t do that even once we figured out who you were. If it were just you, maybe, but he’s Harry Potter! He’s got every damn dark wizard in the country searching for him. Even those who might be somewhat sympathetic could decide it’s worth betraying us and turn him in for the huge price on his head. We can’t just waltz up and say hello to every person we run across. The more people who know where we are, the more danger we’re in and the more danger we put them in, too.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Ron continued flipping the pages, seeing portraits of Dean’s companions half hidden in darkness, as if he’d captured their likeness as they appeared illuminated by the fire they’d shared that night. Some made their subjects look sinister, but they were still beautifully drawn.
“I’ve had my own run in with Snatchers,” Ron said then, now staring at an image of Griphook sleeping propped against a tree. “I was alone, but I got lucky. There were only two of them, and I managed to give them the slip. We all got caught the second time, though. You too, eh?”
“Yeah. It was just me and Griphook by that time, and we were seriously outnumbered. No way we could’ve gotten away.”
“Same here. There was about ten of ‘um, I recon, that finally caught us.”
“So how did you get away?” Dean asked curiously.
“We didn’t. We were taken to the Malfoy’s, same as you and Luna.”
“I mean after that.”
“Oh… Harry,” Ron answered simply. “He saved us.”
“He really is the Chosen One, isn’t he?” Dean asked quietly after a few minutes silence.
Ron sighed heavily.
“Unfortunately,” he admitted. “So you said more than once. When was the next time?”
“Hmm?”
“Griphook, I mean,” Ron prompted, hoping to move the subject back onto Dean.
“Oh, yeah. Well, as I said, the second time we ran across some Snatchers we weren’t so lucky either, and we were both brought to the Malfoy’s. That’s when he saved my neck again. That Bellatrix Lestrange witch was furious that I couldn’t tell her where you three were,” Dean said matter- of-factly. “That’s when she gave me this.”
He indicated his now barely visible black eye.
“Then she put me under the Cruciatus, which hurts like hell!”
“Yeah, I know,” Ron replied dryly. “So how did ol’ beady eyes save you from that?”
“He starts mocking her,” Dean said, sounding both incredulous and impressed. “He’s laughing at her and goin’ on about how Harry was playing them like fools.”
“Suicidal was he?”
“Musta been. I kept yellin’ at him to shut up, but he wouldn’t. It got her off me in a hurry though. That’s why he was hurt so bad. She just went at him for hours, but he still wouldn’t stop. Every time he could draw breath, he was laughing again, until I was sure she was going to kill him just to shut him up.”
“It’s a wonder she didn’t,” Ron replied.
“Yeah, well. By the time she was done with him, he was unconscious, of course, and she was nowhere closer to finding out where you three were for her trouble.”
“I’m sure she was furious then.”
“Actually, it seems she’d finally decided that none of us new anything after all. She never came back after that. Just left us all in there to starve to death, I think. That is, until Hermione showed up.”
“I know what that feels like, too,” Ron said solemnly, nodding his head. “They left me and Hermione to die of starvation while they nearly tortured Harry to death.”
“Is that why his arms are so scarred?” Dean asked quietly. “What did they do to him?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Dean.” Ron replied. “It was bad.”
Dean nodded his head, letting the matter drop, and they both sat quietly for a few minutes. Ron watched the waves rolling in while the voices of Luna and Fleur were brought back to them on the salty breeze coming off the ocean.
“I started dreaming of food while I was chained there to the walls for days,” Ron finally said, breaking the silence between them again.
“Me too,” Dean admitted.
“Chocolate cake,” they both said together before looking at each other and chortling.
When they’d gone quiet again, Dean asked, “So what are you three planning with Griphook?”
“I can’t tell you, Dean.”
“It’s dangerous, though. Isn’t it? You three were always planning something dangerous at Hogwarts.”
“Normally we’re not the ones planning it. Usually something dangerous just finds us… or Harry, at least.”
“But not this time, though.”
“No, not this time,” Ron agreed. Then he turned to Dean again. “Tell me something. Do you really think we can trust him? Griphook, I mean. He seems a bit too pleased with the idea of us maybe hurting wizards.”
“Well, he hasn’t been treated very kindly by them,” Dean replied.
“Not by all of them. You’ve been traveling with him, Hermione saved him, and Bill and Fleur are looking after him.”
“Look, I agree that he can be difficult,” Dean began, and Ron snorted, “but you and Fleur, in particular, are too hot headed. You lose your temper too easily with him, which just eggs him on.”
“I can’t help it. Being hot headed is a family trait,” Ron said defensively. “You should meet my mother.”
“Well, if she’s anything like Ginny, I don’t need to. She used to get pissed at me for the smallest of things before she finally dumped me for Harry.”
Ron smiled.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but she’s always been hung up on Harry. I don’t think you ever really stood a chance, Dean.”
Shrugging, Dean replied, “It never would have worked out anyway, and it looked to me the other day, like he’s still hung up on her, too.”
“Maybe,” Ron agreed, noncommittally, now staring at an image of Hermione and Dobby as Dean remembered them from the dungeon. Only he’d drawn Hermione as she was normally, not as she had appeared that day with her features transfigured.
“As for Griphook,” Dean went on, “he’s bored out of his mind, Ron, trapped with people he hardly knows, estranged from his kind and being pursued now by some very dark wizards. His only form of entertainment, and to blow off some of his own steam, is to provoke the two of you. Stop letting him is my advice to you.”
Ron considered him for a long time.
“That’s good advice,” he finally admitted. “Thanks, Dean.”
“No problem,” Dean said with a smile. “Now, do you think if we ask nicely, we can talk Fleur into making a chocolate cake for dinner?”
“Can’t hurt to try,” Ron replied with a laugh.
Ron handed the sketch pad back to Dean then, and they sat in companionable silence for a while as Ron watched him work and thought over his words about the goblin. Dean returned immediately to his drawing to complete it, adding Ron in the right foreground. He drew him from the back, his knees pulled up and his face in profile, watching the two women. Then he finished by adding more details.
Dipping the tip of his quill in the ink bottle perched between his knees to collect a tiny dab of ink, he drew the thinnest of lines to suggest the long strands of wild grass around the girls before loading it up again and drawing thicker lines which he smudged lightly with his finger for the waves in the ocean.
“You know, Luna draws, too” Ron remarked, watching Dean in fascination of his talent. “Well, paints I guess. She’s pretty good. The whole ceiling of her bedroom is covered in portraits of her friends.”
“You’ve been in her bedroom?” Dean asked in surprise, but there was also a slight hint of warning in his voice as he turned to stare at Ron.
“It’s nothing like that,” Ron said quickly, snorting. “She and her dad live near my parents, but I’d never been there before until recently. We went to meet her father shortly after Christmas to ask for his help. He was one of those I was telling you about that tried to sell Harry to the Death Eaters. He’d been supportive of Harry up to that point, and we thought we could trust him, but they’d taken Luna off the Hogwarts Express and were holding her hostage to stop him printing favorable things about Harry in that magazine he publishes, the Quibbler. We just barely got away. I wasn’t too keen on him after that, of course, but I can kind of understand now. They had his daughter. I suppose I might have done the same thing.”
Dean simply nodded.
“If he ever starts publishing again, you should draw the cartoons for him. The ones I’ve seen are in there are all rubbish.”
“Maybe I will,” Dean agreed.
Fleur and Luna were walking up about the time he was finishing, blowing on the parchment to help it dry before screwing the lid back onto his ink bottle. It was a damn masterpiece.
Ron got to his feet when they approached, brushing sand off his backside before pulling Dean up by the hand. Then they all turned to walk back up to the cottage together.
“So, Fleur,” Ron began, “Dean and I were just thinking that a chocolate cake would be excellent for dinner, if it’s not too much trouble. What do you think?”
She looked at him, smiling.
“I zink zat it would be wonderful if you two wish to make ungâteau au chocolat for dessert. It will be Mr. Ollivander’s last night wiz us.”
“Uh…” Ron replied, looking at Dean. He hadn’t expected that.
“He’s leaving today?” Dean asked.
“Oui. Bill will be moving ‘im to ‘is Auntie Muriel’s after supper.”
“I’m going to miss him,” Luna said sadly. “He was very nice to me when we were being held together.”
After they arrived back at the cottage, Fleur started Dean and him on a recipe for the cake, while she and Luna prepared a simple lunch. Bill was also in the kitchen, preparing the duck for roasting which they were planning on serving for supper.
Ron and Dean worked at the kitchen table because it was the only available workspace left. They had it littered with ingredients as they measured out cocoa and flour into a large bowl under Fleur’s supervision. It was actually quite enjoyable even though the small room was crowded to capacity. They all chatted amiably while they worked and in no time, they had two round pans of cake batter baking in the oven and the table cleared for their meal. Luna had placed a large vase of the sea lavender she’d collected on the table as Bill went to let the others know lunch was ready.
Hermione looked at Ron with trepidation as she and Griphook entered the kitchen behind Harry. Bill, supporting a still very frail Mr. Ollivander, brought up the rear.
“Hey!” Ron greeted them cheerfully.
“Hey,” Harry replied, eyebrows slightly raised at Ron’s change in attitude.
His lip had stopped bleeding and it looked like Hermione must have healed it, but it was visibly swollen again.
“What ‘as ‘appened now?” Fleur demanded when she saw him.
“Nothing,” Harry answered quickly. “I just caught a flying elbow in the mouth,” he explained, smiling slightly and holding up his hand to ward her off as she came rushing towards him. “There’s no need to make a fuss about it, Fleur. I’m fine.”
Ron’s ears were turning red and he could feel Dean and Bill looking at him inquiringly. Damn. He had some apologizing to do later.
Ron was allowed to rejoin Harry, Hermione, and Griphook once lunch was finished, and he did much better controlling his temper. His talk with Dean had really helped him straighten out his perspective on the situation, and he didn’t once rise to the goblins taunts, though Griphook gave it his best effort.
Harry and Hermione appeared to have forgiven him again once he’d apologized to them all, including the goblin, for his behavior, and he was feeling quite pleased with himself by the time they broke for dinner.
The roast duck with gooseberry sauce was delicious and served with jacket potatoes and steamed asparagus. When Fleur got up to retrieve the now iced cake from the counter, Ron felt like everything was right with the world again. She served them all a slice before excusing herself for a moment as Ron dug in, moaning with delight the moment the chocolate touched his tongue.
When she’d returned, she was carrying a small box which contained the tiara Aunt Muriel had lent them for the wedding.
“I ‘ave been meaning to return zis for some time,” she said, explaining its contents. “I was ‘oping you might be able to deliver it for me, Mr. Ollivander.”
“I’d be delighted to,” he agreed, taking it from her and then kissing her hand. “Anything at all to express my gratitude for your hospitality, my lady.”
“Oohh, can I see it?” Luna asked.
Smiling at Luna is if she were her precocious daughter, Fleur obliged, lifting the lid on the box and pulling the tiara out from its velvet lined depths. The light caught it as she passed it to Luna making it twinkle and sparkle. It was a beautiful thing.
“Silver, encrusted with moonstones and diamonds,” Griphook commented, speaking for the first time. “Goblin made, I believe.”
Beside Ron, Bill bristled.
“Yes,” he agreed sharply, “but paid for by wizards.”
They glared at each other for a minute, but Griphook did not challenge Bill’s statement.
“Rowena Ravenclaw had a magical tiara,” Luna informed the table. “It was supposed to make the wearer more cunning. My daddy is trying to re-create it. He was telling me about it. Thinks he nearly has it now. The billywig wings really made a difference, he said.”
Ron shared a look with Harry and Hermione, trying not to laugh at the memory of that ludicrous headdress they’d seen at her house. Luna and her father were both completely mad, he decided, happily scraping frosting off his plate with his fork.
When dinner was finished, Bill took Mr. Ollivander to Aunt Muriel’s after they’d all bid him goodbye. Then the rest of them helped clear the table and clean the kitchen. Bill was only gone about twenty minutes before he returned again.
“Mum and Dad send their love, as well as the twins and Ginny,” Bill said, kissing his wife on the cheek. “And Aunt Muriel was glad to get the tiara back. She said she’d thought we’d stolen it.”
“Charmant,” Fleur replied crossly.
“Yeah, she’s a real piece of work,” Bill agreed. “Fred and George tell me they’re working on some chewing gum that will cement her mouth shut to give them all some peace, but I told them that they’d be better off getting her to try some if it were chewing tobacco, instead. She’s a hundred and twelve years old, or something. I don’t think she’s got teeth enough to even chew gum.”
“Well, zere is no doubt zat it will not go to waste. Zey will be able to find a market for it, I’m sure.”
“I don’t doubt it. Probably be a best seller,” Bill agreed.
Ron, Harry and Hermione said their own goodbyes a short time later to head back to Grimmauld Place for the night where Ron hoped to express his apologies more thoroughly to them both one at a time. They hadn’t been there long, filling Ron in on some of the things he’d missed, when Hermione got up to make some tea.
“I’m really sorry about hitting you,” Ron apologized, tilting Harry’s face towards him to examine his swollen lip. “I don’t even remember doing it. Did I actually punch you?”
“Nah,” Harry replied. “It was like I said, I tried to grab you and got plowed in the mouth with your elbow when you hauled back to take a swing at Griphook.”
“Did I hit him?” he asked hopefully. “He didn’t look injured.”
“Nope. Hermione pulled her wand as soon as you dove for the bed and summoned him to her,” Harry explained. “He was none too pleased about it either. Imagine the indignity of being Accio’ed off the bed, whizzing across the room as if he were a pillow, or something. He was totally pissed, and not just at you.”
“Yeah, well. I’m sure he got some pleasure, at least, by seeing me get yanked off the bed and slammed against the wall by you,” Ron replied.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Harry agreed. “I rather enjoyed having you pressed against the wall for a change myself.”
“Is that so?” Ron asked, grinning. “Well, maybe I would have enjoyed it more, too, if I hadn’t been in a blind rage, and you weren’t trying to twist my arm out of its socket.”
“But hearing you grunting in pain was the part I liked best,” Harry replied, smirking back at him. “I was hoping to see if I could make you cry later.”
“You can try, prick,” Ron challenged, leaning into him.
“Hot headed bastard,” Harry volleyed back before their lips crashed together.
By the time Hermione returned, Ron had Harry underneath him on the couch, snogging him breathless, and grinding his pelvis into Harry relentlessly. The sheaves of parchment with their notes and diagrams of the bank were carelessly tossed on the floor beside them where Ron had pulled them from Harry’s grip and missed the coffee table while discarding them.
“For God’s sake, Ron!”
“What?” he asked, breaking away from Harry to stare innocently up at her.
He’d ended the lip lock with Harry, but not the frotting he was engaged in, continuing to thrust his hips into Harry’s so that Harry’s head fell back on the armrest of the couch.
Ron knew Hermione’s irritability was just for show, though. Nothing got her hotter, faster than watching him and Harry together. She absolutely loved it, and they’d both learned quickly that you had to start with Harry. If it began with him and Hermione, Harry tended to shy away from joining them.
Hermione must have forgotten what she’d been complaining about as she watched the expression on Harry’s face, who was still fighting to remain silent. Ron turned back to him when it seemed there was no further protest coming from her.
“Your mine now, aren’t you?” Ron asked against his lips, holding Harry by a handful of his hair as he ground him down into the couch cushions.
“No,” Harry replied, smirking up at Ron.
“That’s right, deny it,” he said, chuckling, “but we both know that I’m the thing you’d miss the most. It wasn’t Ginny down there in the lake, was it? She was just a substitute for me, wasn’t she, Harry? Just the safe alternative to your confused feelings about me.”
Harry’s face went blank, suddenly.
Oh, shit! He was such a fucking, big-mouthed prat. He was just continuing their teasing banter, from before, but he’d gone too far. He’d touched a nerve.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly. “That was stupid. I was just teasing, Harry. I’m sorry all right?”
“I don’t want to talk about Ginny, okay? Not here, not like this.”
“All right. I didn’t mean—”
“Look, Ron, I love you…but I’m not in love with you…either of you. I don’t know what this is,” he said, motioning between them. “I don’t know what I’m doing at all anymore. And you’re racking me,” he added.
“Sorry,” Ron apologized again, lifting himself off Harry.
Harry helped to push Ron off him and sat up. Then they just sat there in awkward silence for several minutes. It was obvious to Ron now that Harry was still completely hung up on Ginny, and he’d just pushed him farther away.
“Just say you aren’t hers anymore, Harry.”
“No, Ron. I’m not hers. I don’t belong to Bellatrix anymore.”
“Okay, good. I can live with that then, I guess.”
Ron patted Harry’s thigh before scooping up the scattered parchment off the floor. Then he moved to the other end of the couch to give Harry some space and addressed Hermione.
“So, have you figured out what the bloody hell we’re going to do about the sword yet?” he asked.
She glared at him.

~ . ~
- 37
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What it comes down to

Chapter 38. The Blame Game