Chapter 1-
A huge crash sounded from behind him. Harry whirled around just in time to see Hermione collapse from under a stupefy spell shot upon her by one of the deatheaters. "Hermione!" Harry shouted, and ran toward his fallen friend. This couldn't be happening! He hadn't even gotten to tell her that . . . Before he could even reach out to her, a familiar silver haired figure appeared and began to drag Hermione away.
"Don't be stupid Potter. I got her. You know what you have to do!" Malfoy shouted over the loud sounds of spells being yelled back and forth.
Harry nodded. How could he have been so stupid? It was Hermione, that's why! He mentally scolded himself. Harry quickly turned and ran through the greenish black smoke.
"Decided to join me have you?" A voice from behind him whispered.
Harry moved so his back was no longer facing the intruder. He didn't even need to ask the question. He knew already who it was. Harry opened his mouth to tell Voldemort exactly how he felt about joining him, when he heard Voldemort begin to mumble. Then all he saw was green. Green on the walls, the floor, his hands, green staring at him, and green eyes laughing slow menacing laughter. Harry screamed. Who was laughing? Where was Voldemort?
Harry woke up with his hands clenching his hair. Slowly rubbing his eyes, he went to grab his glasses from his bedside table. His hand went to follow his order, but came back grasping air. Harry startled. Where was he? Looking around at the sleeping forms that lay near him, it dawned upon him. To stabilize his rapid breathing, he chanted, "It was only a dream, it was only a dream." Even that didn't help much.
Glancing over his side, he saw Hermione and Ginny sleeping next to each other on the far corner of the room. Harry squinted at her, and a huge sigh of relief went through his body. She was all right! There were only two beds, and the two girls looked as if they had fallen asleep looking over someone. Who was hurt? Harry wondered. Wincing at the pain that shot through his legs as he attempted to get up, he realized that the two girls were watching over him. Feeling guilty, he decided to let them sleep and resumed searching for his glasses.
Slowly climbing out of the bed, he crouched on the floor, searching for the familiar glint of his glasses. He saw something shiny near the other side of the room. Crawling quickly but silently, not wanting to awake Ron, who he was slowly passing. Upon reaching the glint, Harry grabbed out toward it, meaning to catch hold of his glasses only to find himself holding a cold piece of . . . flesh? What the hell was this white thing? Harry thought bewildered. He was just about to poke it to see if it moved when he heard a cutting voice talking to him.
"Watch it Potter, I know my valuables are as attractive as I am, but I would rather think that Weasley would be in need for money not you."
Harry squinted. Sure enough there was his ex enemy lounging about on an old sofa, so elegantly as to make it look like the paisley couch was in actuality an Italian leather lounge.
" Argh it's you Malfoy" Harry mumbled, trying to cover up his embarrassment for grabbing Malfoy's silver wristwatch. " I'm just looking for my glasses. Have you seen them?"
"Potter, let me tell you something. I did not stand up to my family and risk my life to be pronounced your personal servant." Malfoy sneered.
Harry stood up. There was no point talking to that arrogant git. Obviously, turning to the good side had done nothing to soften his inflated ego. Squinting his eyes, and glancing around the room, Harry saw his glasses on a window ledge. He slowly made his way over to his specs, grabbing and grasping at all the furniture he could reach out to. What if Voldemort were to attack him while he did not have his glasses? He wondered. He would be dead within seconds and maybe Ron or god forbid Malfoy would have to do the job for him.
Putting his glasses on once again, Harry snuck a glance back at Malfoy. He had once again lay his head on a pillow and was fast falling asleep. Unconsciously, Harry's eyes narrowed when he looked at him. Despite the past few weeks, he still felt a huge amount of distrust toward Malfoy. It was kind enough of the Weasley's to take him in after what him and his father had done, antagonizing them. Harry was sure that under his cool facade, there was still something evil and his fears had only increased after he had seen Malfoy almost raise his wand to his own father, utterly unafraid to whisper two words that could leave him fatherless forever.
Harry forced himself to turn away from Malfoy and walked toward the edge of the room. It was here that Ron had showed him the small room that he had said that he himself often visited. Ron had told him that he went there when he needed to sort things out, to make sense of his problems. Harry had an aching feeling that what Ron had been worrying about then was drastically different then what he was stressing about now. However, Harry knew what he wanted, and he wanted silence. Not a relaxing silence. He wanted a silence that forced him to think about what had happened over the past few weeks, not ignore it. He wanted to remember a dear friend that had been lost because of his own stupidity. He wanted to wallow in his own guilt as if he were guilty, and to feel like the world was crushing his shoulders. Because he was, and it was. And that was all he needed to say to himself to finally convince unwanted tears to trickle down his face, following a path that had not been paved for two years. Harry counted as exactly five tears fell onto his shirt. Five. One for each person that gave their lives for what he thought was a lost cause. Him.
Hermione peeked through a slightly open eye. He was gone. Straightening up, she attempted to rub the wrinkles from her clearly slept in robes. Carefully treading over strewn out items across the floor, she quietly made her way to an old rocking chair at the corner of the room. Ignoring the creak it made when she sat down, Hermione lay her head back against the headboard and briefly shut her eyes. As soon as she shut them however, flashes of a bloody Ron and Harry flooded her mind. Sighing, she opened her eyes, and she could almost feel the headache coming on.
Glancing around her, she saw Draco Malfoy sprawled across a nearby couch. Even at such a destitute time, she could see irony that the boy whom she had deemed 'spawn of evil' at eleven, was now on their side. Oh she knew he was far from nice and that he would rather die then admit that he was a hero, but he had helped them, and saved her all the same. She had known something was up with Draco's queer behavior all year. There was a reason to why she had been dubbed a 'know it all' after all. She had even mentioned it to Harry and Ron but they had blown it off as saying that maybe the 'ferret' had decided that they were a force to be reckoned with. She knew better.
If there was one thing that Hermione did better than researching, it was worrying and protecting Harry. Granted, she could not protect him from Voldemort or his minions, but back in Hogwarts, she was the smartest, and the cleverest. If Harry had even ever bothered finding out why Colin Creevey had stopped bothering and pestering him about photos after fifth year, he would have discovered that a certain brunette had threatened Colin with a nasty bat-bogey hex that she had learned from Ginny the previous year. And if Harry was observant at all, (which he wasn't on account of having to worry about things at a grander scale), he also would have noticed that whenever the trio entered a room, Hermione's eyes had directly gone to analyze the most dangerous person in the room. Which in 99 of the cases was none other than Draco Malfoy. She had watched him so many times that she knew exactly what he looked like when he was mad, amused, or even when he was lying. It was hard, but Hermione had worked past Malfoy's cold exterior and had risked staring at his face at every opportunity for Harry.
A small tear began forming in her eye. Hastily wiping it away, she remembered a conversation that she and Harry had back in the beginning of their sixth year. It had begun as a simple chat in front of the fireplace and had somehow turned into a deeper conversation about love. She remembered how his face had looked, all rosy with the light of the fire reflecting off his cheeks. His smile that had only meant to reassure her had made her heart beat faster. She had been teasing him on account that he had no girlfriends but a huge fan club, but his quiet response made her realize how hard things really were on Harry.
"You don't understand Hermione" Harry had whispered to her. " It's not easy to love when everything you ever loved always died." He looked at her. " I can't afford to love someone and bring them into this mess I'm already in. I can't afford to lose one more person I love. Because I will break Hermione. I know I will. I almost lost it when Cedric died, and when Sir . . . " Harry stuttered and then continued. "And when Sirius died because of my stupidity, I vowed. I vowed I would never bring another person into this. I would never bring anyone to harm on account of me."
"Oh Harry . . . " Hermione had sighed and then reached a comforting arm around his shoulder. " You can't stop people from loving you, and you can't stop people from dying for you Harry. You know why?" Hermione had asked gently while pushing back his unruly black hair. "Because it's too late. Think of all the people that already love you. Think of all the people that already would die for you with no regrets. No one dies because of you Harry. They die for you. I know I would." Without her even realizing it, Harry had gone rigid under her touch.
"You would even if I begged you not to?" Harry had asked softly. His voice was so broken that Hermione had just wanted to gather him in her arms and comfort him. But she couldn't because even she could not cure his kind of pain.
"In an instant Harry . . . in an instant" Hermione said quietly. And at that moment, Hermione had to call on the power of Merlin to stop her from crying so she could be brave for Harry. She asked him for control so she would not just collapse in Harry's arms telling him that she loved him because she had to be the brave one. Harry didn't need her to add to his burdens. What if he didn't even love her back? So lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed that Harry had slipped out from under her arms and was staring deep into her eyes.
"You were right Hermione. It is already too late." Harry had murmured.
He had then kissed her temple, gathered his blankets, and gone quietly up to the Boy's dormitories. The rest of the night, she had lain there staring at the spot he used to be. Wondering why none of her books had ever taught her how to fix a broken heart. With those last thoughts on her mind, Hermione inadvertently fell back asleep. She was after all, only human.
Ginny was in a terrible mood. She had woken up to a room filled with clothes scattered over every inch of the floor. Her head was pounding like a hammer and her eyes were strained and red. She was not looking her best. Mumbling as she picked up the discarded robes, she had come across a rich black cloak with a silver and green embroidered M. Contemplating it for a few minutes, it finally clicked in her tired mind and her day just got worse. It was bad enough that Malfoy had come to live in their house, now she had to pick up after him? Not giving into the urge to rip the robe into shreds, Ginny continued to clean up the floor.
It was no use rebelling. Her mother would make her pick everything up anyway. They have to save our world Ginny! How could you possibly think that we should be so heartless as to make them clean up! Her mother's voice resounded in her already fragile head. Deep inside, Ginny knew her mother was right. She had seen the faces of Ron, Hermione and Harry as they had been dragged in by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Moody. There had been so many emotions etched onto their faces. Fear, sadness, regret, and a peculiar emotion that Ginny noticed haunted Harry's face so that it almost appeared gaunt. Loss. That's what it was, Ginny realized. She didn't blame them, because she knew it wasn't their fault.
So immersed in their own thoughts, the trio had hardly noticed what went around them. It was she that had to endure taunts from the Slytherins because they were too afraid to taunt Harry, Hermione, or Ron. Afraid thatHarry might get them expelled or lose house points. He was after all Dumbledore's boy. It was she that was called the little weaslette, or flame haired muggle lover. Granted, she had been surrounded by friends, but none of her friends, she knew, were as fiercely loyal as Harry, Hermione, and Ron were to each other. The trio had never bothered including her in any of their adventures. She was still Ron's little sister to them. Fleeceable, and delicate. That is what they thought of her.
Ginny scowled to herself. They had never fully trusted her with their secrets. And now I have to go pick up the pieces of their adventures. Ginny sighed in exasperation. It wasn't fair of her to be this bitter she knew. However, no one had told her what had happened last night. She'd heard some snippets of conversation. Something about Tonks and Harry. All night, while she was watching over Harry with Hermione she had contemplated on whether to ask Hermione what had happened despite her mother's warning. But one look of Hermione's withered face told her that she would have to wait. Speaking of . . . where was Hermione? Ginny thought. She definitely wasn't in the spot she was last night.
Sweeping her eyes over the room, her eyes rested on the form of a sleeping Hermione stretched out on an old rocking chair. Her cheeks were shiny and flushed. Ginny stared in horror. Hermione had never cried in all the time she had known her. Walking silently over to her, she recognized the worry on Hermione's face immediately. So she was dreaming about Harry Ginny mused. As green as her brothers thought she was on the prospect of love, Ginny prided herself on being somewhat skilled on the subject thanks to reading trashy romance novels. And after spending four hours next to Hermione on Harry's bedside, she knew that the expressions on Hermione's face as she looked at Harry was not the love best friends shared. Hell, she knew that expression better than anyone. How many times had she looked into the mirror and seen that same exact glint in her own eyes? No, no Ginny reprimanded herself. You are over Harry, remember? Yes. She knew that she wanted to think of him as a brother, and the entire past year, she had been working at making sure of that. Then why do you still feel a little twinge when he stands near you? Merlin! Ginny reprimanded herself. She was going to go crazy if she talked to herself. But Ginny knew that her conscience was right. She did still feel attraction toward him. After all, you couldn't expect to just fall out of love with someone you had fancied for five years. Putting off the subject, Ginny focused and brought herself back to reality. She had seen Harry look at Hermione over the course of the past year, and the way he looked at her was subtle, but in her opinion, it was not at all brotherly.
Turning, she saw Ron still sleeping with a pained expression on his face, his fists alternately clenching and releasing. Her heart broke, and her conscience began to pound her. It wasn't easy being the trio. She had only met Hermione and Harry six years ago, but she had known Ron all her life, and he had never been like this. Before he had begun Hogwarts, he had been the most spirited person Ginny had known. He had been her best friend and she had been his. She walked over to him and gently parted his wet hair that was pasted onto his forehead from sweat. Carefully as to not wake him up, she kissed him on the temple and resumed cleaning. If her brother could grow up, she could too.
Gently backing away from the bed, Ginny smiled down at her sleeping brother and gave the room an approving glance. Nice and tidy just like her mother would have wanted. Ginny tugged down on her pyjamas which were made up of Charlie's old Chudley Cannon sweatshirt, and Ron's old Cannon's sweat pants. Taking a deep breath, she recognized the deep grassy smell that was so Ron. Hugging her clothes even more tightly around herself, Ginny walked down to the room in the attic which all the Weasley's called "Ron's room." Peeking in, she saw the dark silhouette of Harry against the dusty old blinds. An awkward sound reached her ears.
What was that?She looked closer at Harry and saw the slight tremor of his shoulders. Ginny stared in horror. He was crying. Harry Potter was crying. Ginny's world was crashing behind her. What hope was left if the 'boy who lived' was sobbing his heart out? Suddenly the entire house felt like too stuffy. She was suffocating and she needed to get out into the fresh air. Wheeling around quickly, Ginny half ran half scampered to the door leading to the hallway. Swinging open the door, Ginny blindly ran forward, finding herself with a wand pointed right into her solar plexus.
When she had been a young girl in Hogwarts, Molly Weasley had prided herself on her unshakeable spirit and her unconditional love. Now she realized that it wasn't always a good thing. It wasn't as if she didn't trust Dumbledore, because she did. It was just that the sight of the young Draco Malfoy entering her home almost thrown her off her feet. The fact that he looked just like a younger Lucius did not help matters much.
When Albus had first told her that the son of a well-known death eater would be staying at their home since he had no where to go, she had agreed. She was expecting a meek fellow who had a good heart despite his father's ideals. She had been almost excited to finally see him. Her cheery attitude however, had immediately fallen when she saw the slender boy enter through her front door, blood covering his robes, reeking of mud. Despite all of the filth that clung on him, the Malfoy boy had entered with his arrogant head held high and his stride powerful. She might have even dismissed his arrogance if he hadn't smirked that wretched smirk of his. But swallowing her pride, she had let him smirk to his heart's content while she tended to his wounds.
So caught up in her thoughts, she did not even notice the rest of the Order walking right after him. In just one look at them, Molly gathered all of her medic supplies and had set to work. No one was brutally hurt, and after tending to the youngest four, she began to fix up the older aurors. That was when she noticed someone was missing. No where in the vicinity could she see a spunky young woman with her spiky purple or green hair, and her cheery smile. Molly had grown alarmed. Why wasn't anyone fretting about her location? Surely they noticed that she was missing. They couldn't be that tired. Without realizing it, she was no longer tending her patient, instead she was bewilderingly searching her living room for any sign of the missing witch. Gently as he could manage, Mad Eye Moody had come up from behind her and put a gruff but reassuring hand upon her trembling shoulder. Startled, Molly had whipped her head around and had found her self staring right at him. Molly could think of nothing to say at the moment, except the three words that she knew deep inside would bring her utmost despair.
"Where is she?" she said softly. And slowly she peered into to Moody's eyes, and afraid of what their answer would be. But before she could lift her gaze to meet his, he had already answered.
"I'm sorry Molly, she's gone . . . " his scratchy voice resounded in her ears.
No. She told herself. No. She was not gone. She was simply lost, like she always was. Wasn't it just last week over tea that same witch had told her humourous tales about her lack of stealth? Her queer ability to get lost? That was it. She was simply lost, not gone. Had Mad eye lost his head, an excellent auror such as Nymphadora Tonks did not just go. She got lost. No, she had told him. She was not gone, she was lost.
Then she had stared into his eyes, and saw that raw emotion. And she knew. She knew that she was wrong. Excellent aurors such as Nymphadora Tonks did go. Every day, but she had just been too preoccupied with her own to notice. These thoughts running through her head, tears began to choke out on the sides of her eyes. And as quickly as they had come, they had stopped. She would disappoint those who had died by crying over what could have been. She would honor the memory of her dear friend. Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw Arthur contemplating on whether to come over to comfort her or not. His worry clearly etched across his forehead and brow. No, she mouthed over to him. I am fine. Because she was, and she would be, because a certain metamorphic witch would watch over her and her beloved ones.
It was with these powerful thoughts that Molly finished treating the injured, tucked in the children, and put up a brave front. It was with these thoughts that she had sat in her tiny, cluttered kitchen with her husband, hugging him tightly, knowing that he was in danger too. It was with these thoughts that she had woken up with early in the morning, preparing breakfast for her large household, and setting the table for them. And it was with these thoughts that she seated herself at her usual spot on the table and finally cried.
The one thing Draco hated most, he told himself often, was whiny love struck scarheads. Which in simpler terms were exactly the adjectives he used to classify Harry Potter. Draco had watched him the minute the bloody git got up. First, he had to endure two excruciating minutes of watching Potter mindlessly whinging around his arms in search of his glasses. Then, as he watched Potter get nearer and nearer to him, Draco had a slight minute of fear that the boy had actually noticed him watching. Alas, this was not true. It was just that Potter had thought that his wristwatch was his long sought after glasses. Like anything that had the Malfoy crest on it would ever be found on Potter's measly face.
Covering his amused face with a sneer, he had retorted with the usual Malfoy wit. That had made his morning a little better. Of course Potter had rolled his eyes, and narrowed his gaze at him, but Draco was used to that. What he wasn't used to was the faraway lost look on Potter's face. At first, he'd been confused. What the hell was Potter feeling lost about? No one important had been lost in the battle as far as Draco was concerned. Even Potter's secret love Granger had made it out alive. Draco almost chided himself for calling the girl whom his father would have termed 'mudblood' by her actual name. But Draco had grown this past year, or so he thought.
Granger must have thought him stupid to be so openly staring at him like she did all year. At first, he dispelled it as a crush. After all, what red-blooded witch could resist his dashing cold blonde looks? Draco had even planned out an excellent way to embarrass her on the subject. However, when he had really looked into the gaze she sent him, he realized that she knew something. Then he had panicked. No one was supposed to know about his changing of sides. The old bird Dumbledore had told Draco to keep it a secret. Draco remembered he had snorted when he'd been told to remain silent.Like he was going to go running to his father and say, look look father, I'm part of the light side now! Aren't you proud? . If it had been anyone else sending him such a gaze, he'd have ignored it because most people just analyzed him as a deatheater and that was that. But Granger was different. The bloody girl couldn't rest until she knew all the answers in the universe, and Draco prided himself on being very incognito. His years of training to hide his emotions helped him with that. Weeks went by, and Granger still looked at him as if he were some arithmacy problem. So finally, he had told the old crow. Draco would have never told him if he knew that he was going to let Granger in on the secret.
But in some ways, he was glad that part of his burden was lifted from his shoulders. And over the months, he grudgingly admitted that he had developed some sort of respect for her. Occasionally, they did have civil conversations because he needed someone to talk to, and she needed someone that could match her intelligence. But of course she would never admit that.
After watching Potter finally retreat into some dusty room in the corner, Draco had pushed his elbows up to get out of the room into the hallway. He hadn't bloody peed since he'd got here last night. Just when he'd about to swing his legs over to the side of the sofa, he saw Granger getting up. Inwardly groaning, he sank back into the sofa. Slitting his eyes so that they were barely open, Draco looked at Granger getting up and crossing the room to a filthy rocking chair. He could almost see the dust rising off of it as she sat down. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he was just about to close his eyes when he heard her sobbing. He looked up in surprise. Hermione Granger was like no other girl he had ever met. She had never cried, at least never in his view, and she certainly did not sob like some emotionally deprived girl. Draco inwardly sighed. Probably something about the Royal Scarhead or the Weasel King. Either way he didn't care. However, his curiosity got the better of him, and he slyly glanced at her time to time. In the minuscule time that he had been staring, Granger had been sad, happy, embarrassed, and even regretful. It was actually quite amusing. Draco discretely turned his head against the rough wool blanket to face the old hickory grandfather clock standing in a dusty corner of the room.
Five minutes. For five whole minutes he had waited patiently. If Granger didn't shut up soon, he was going to have to explain to Weasel's mother about his nonexistent bladder issues. Suddenly, as quickly as her sobbing had started, it stopped. Draco quietly pushed the scratchy blankets aside and stood up. After making sure she had gone back to sleep, he shuffled his way to the door. Silently pushing open the nasty wooden contraption, he closed it behind him and ran.
Walking slowly through the halls, Draco disgustedly pushed open a number of doors. Apparently the Weasels didn't take hygiene too seriously. In his long search for a bathroom, he had found one. One dingy, disgusting, wretched bathroom. If he had known it would be that bad, he might have taken a short trip outside. Mumbling to himself, he cursed at the Weasleys, Potter, Dumbledore, and at Voldemort. He cursed at the dusty old lamp in the corner and at the old rickety stairs that he was now trudging upon. He was about to start cursing at the sky when he heard voices coming around the bend of the staircase. Of all people. He thought to himself. He mentally imagined himself smacking his head on the hard wood walls.
"Well well . . . who do we have here?" A pair of annoyingly sweet voices called out to him.
Draco grimaced. Wasn't he supposed to be the antagonist? He braced himself and answered through his teeth.
" Weasel and Weaslier"
Good, he thought to himself, he was warming up. Then he sneered.
" I had been wondering where the Wonder Twins had gone after they so graciously left Hogwarts." He smirked. " How is the peddling on the streets?"
At this point, Draco amusingly observed, one of the twins had to restrain the other. Then, Gorge or Gred, or something or another spoke in an amazingly calm voice.
" WE were out helping Dumbledore, you know, fighting evil. We weren't sitting around getting beaten by our father, and then running cowardly to the other side."
Draco could feel his face harden and his voice became steely and cold. He could feel his nails cut into his palms as his fists clenched tight.
" Don't talk about matters that you have no idea about" he managed. He almost lost his anger then. He took deep breaths to calm himself. It was no-good beating up those idiots and getting turned out of the Order. For sure, Voldemort would be after him then. It wasn't as if they even knew what they were talking about. Fishing for clues. That's what they were doing. Lucius' tedious lessons hadn't gone to total waste after all.
" Kept out of the loop huh?" he smiled inwardly. To think of the irony. Even the Weasley children had been left in the dark. He saw both of them begin to flush. It was actually diverting to see one twin reach a certain shade of red, and then the other flush even deeper.
" We know enough to know that you're playing Dumbledore" they glared at him. The reddest twin began to advance, but the other one pulled him back just as he prepared to take a swing at him.
" We'll be watching you Malfoy, and watching you well. If Dumbledore doesn't take care of you, we will"
Before he could even come up with a legitimate retort the two had disappeared down the creaking set of stairs that creaked with each receding step. Draco tried to turn back around to the direction he had came from. Instead of walking forward like he had intended to, he fell flat on his face.
His feet had been bound together. Draco slowly brought himself up and stared at the small wrapper at his feet. Weasleys Wacky Wrappers it read. Guaranteed to put your pals in a twist! He took out his wand from his robe pocket and quickly murmured a counter spell. It didn't work. Draco cursed out loud. Bloody Weasley. At least he learnt his lesson earlier on. They weren't going to fool him again. He searched his other pocket until he found what he was looking for. A black pocket knife with the Malfoy seal engraved upon it. His father had given it to him when he had entered Hogwarts as a first year. It had been in the Malfoy family for generations. He flipped open the blade and cut the thin strings that bound his feet together.
Placing the pocketknife back in his robe, he headed back the room. If this was how he was going to end up spending his life, the butt of jokes, he was better off in Voldemort's hands. He had never promised Dumbledore any loyalty. He had joined for his own reasons and he could leave for his own reasons. Besides, he had done his job. Draco had given Potter a chance, and there was no one to blame but Potter himself for screwing it up.
Just as he was about to open the door, he heard footsteps on the other side. Draco leant back into the side of the wall. Whoever it was, they sounded frantic. Before he could even think properly, the door swung open, and due to his years of training, Draco found himself pointing his wand right into the forehead of a girl that looked vaguely familiar. Jenny was it? No, that wasn't right. Ginny then? Before he could contemplate further, the girl let out a bloodcurdling scream. Ah, now he knew her. She was Weasley younger sister. The one who had opened the chamber of secrets when he was in second year. He had always meant to congratulate her.
Wards had of course been put up around the Weasley house, and Arthur Weasley was expecting Order members to begin filtering in this morning to decide what to do next. The Wards had been put up by Dumbledore himself and kept out Deatheaters as well as people under curses. That prevented wizards or witches with imperious spells cast upon them from ever infiltrating the grounds. Overall, Arthur Weasley was feeling protected That was why when he heard someone knocking on the door, he had no inhibitions. That was until he opened it to find himself looking at a black robed figure with wisps of pale blond hair blowing out from under its hood, it's silver gray eyes, staring him down.