Hey everyone, sorry for the ridiculous wait. Unfortunately, I don't think they'll improve much; it's the fourth week into the semester and I've already written three short papers, two long papers, read about 200 pages in a literature anthology, read Heart of Darkness, and written two short plays. And I just joined Kung Fu. Really. So, I'm kind of busy. But I won't abandon this story! I know this chapter is pretty short, but hopefully I'll be able to get you guys a long one next time. And the plot will definitely start moving. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this, and who reviews, you guys are awesome!

Bartholomew stared at the two for a moment, unblinking. "The Department of Mysteries?"

Reginald's grin widened. "That's right, my good man." He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "The Department…of Mysteries."

MacFully's sophisticated mask disappeared for a brief moment as he seemed to vibrate in place, threatening to pee his pants in sheer joyful anticipation. "It's like a dream come true, isn't it?"

Slowly, a grin began spreading across Bartholomew's face. "You two are insane, you know that?"

MacFully regained some of his composure, though his was still grinning. "Mad geniuses, maybe."

"Definitely." Reginald corrected.

"Definitely. But can you imagine just a fraction of what we might find here?"

Bartho nodded, gazing ahead at the myriad of wards lining the passage ahead of them.

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?" Reginald asked, stepping into place next to Bartho.

The older man nodded. "Yeah, I told Ron—"

Sir MacFully cleared his throat loudly behind Bartho.

"—aldo." Bartho finished awkwardly.

"Ronaldo? Really?"

"That's the best you can do?"

"He earns an Anita Peter at the very least."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Joachim Friedrich Graf von Bentick und Waldeck-Limpurg."

Reginald stopped, and blinked at Sir MacFully for a second, before conceding defeat. "Nice. Very nice."

Bartho choked on a laugh. "He'd never be able to say his own name!"

MacFully chuckled. "And therein lies the beauty."

"Anyway, getting back on track, do you think you could make your way through this lot, oh high and mighty curse-breaker?" Reginald asked, gesturing ahead.

Bartho considered for a moment before nodding. "I'll have to go and retrieve some gear, but I think we can definitely make it through. It'll take a few days though."

"Of course."

"Something like this, we can wait for."

Ron nervously followed his mentor down the dark hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place, running his most recent conversation with Hermione through his head.

So maybe they weren't dreams, then. Albus had been listening in on part of a conversation, and he had dreamt about Harry again. Harry, telling him he wasn't dead. Harry, looking even worse now that his leg was broken.

So, not a ghost.

What then?

He tried to follow Hermione's advice, pushing all other thoughts away and focusing on what it felt like to be laying there, talking to his friend. He could feel the near-itch on the back of his neck, as though he were being watched, yet when he turned, the hallway remained frustratingly empty.

Forgetting his frustration, he focused on the itch, trying to make it stronger, to maybe open up a bit. If Harry was there, he'd need someone to talk to, after all, and he wasn't asleep anymore.

"Ronald?"

Ron's head snapped up and he found himself blinking owlishly at Dumbledore. The man stood, holding open the door to his makeshift office and watching him with a calm smile.

"Sorry, sir. Just…just thinking too much."

"Alas, that is an ailment I suffer from occasionally myself. Make yourself comfortable, my boy." Ron walked through the door, and after a moment, Albus shut it.

Sitting himself in the plush chair behind his desk, Dumbledore observed Ron from behind steepled fingers, until Ron felt he was back in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts and waiting to hear what his punishment would be.

"Sir?" He asked finally, unable to contain himself.

"I was faced with quite a curious event as I was making my way back from a late night trip to the toilet. As I passed your room, I heard, quite clearly, someone talking, as if in conversation, yet there was no answering voice. Recognizing the voice as your own, my curiosity soon overcame me, and I found myself standing at your door and watching you. Though your eyes were open, it was clear you were deeply asleep, and watching someone who seemed to be near the wall, though I could see no one there myself. As I listened, it became clear who was at the other end of your conversation, and it seems that he became aware of my presence as well."

Ron leaned forward a bit. He could remember talking with Harry, though the details were a bit blurry. Harry had asked him to do something…

"What did he do, sir? Sorry, I'm a bit blurred on the details."

Dumbledore smiled. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, he asked you to repeat the words he was speaking, and if I remember correctly, his words through you were, 'Harry Potter is not dead. He is in this room right now. And he sees you spying on his friend you lemon drop-sucking old goat.' Though if he is in this room, I might ask him to retract the comment. I do not consider myself very old at all."

Ron snorted, wiping his mouth to hide his grin. And through that itch that he was still concentrating on, he felt a tinge of amusement that wasn't his own. Almost, as if he were thinking it himself, he could hear a familiar voice in the back of his mind saying 'Note he didn't comment on the lemon drop-sucking goat!'

His smile vanished, and his eyes widened. Dumbledore watched him intently.

"What is it, my boy?"

"Sir, I think, I can feel something. It's stronger than it has been before."

"So am I to understand this is not a new occurrence?"

Ron nodded sheepishly, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. "This has happened before, sir. Though I didn't know I was talking out loud. I guess I thought they were very odd, comforting dreams, or else my conscience had gone slightly 'round the bend."

Again, he felt a slight twinge through the prickling sensation. Indignation?

Dumbledore folded his hands together, placing them on the desk in front of him as he considered the man sitting opposite.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, and tell me everything."