Chapter One: Where One Weasley Does Not Disprove Any Blonde Joke
The Pygmy Puff Argument was #1 in Kyrie Orlowe's list of Overdone Arguments Between One Theodore Lupin and One Victoire Weasley. Not number one as in her favorite, but number one as in the one that started the many that followed. It was no surprise that, also, this argument was the most common. And, marking that, it was practically expected that this was the argument the two barely-adult exes would choose to return to during the Happy Graduation, Class of 2019 outing to Hogsmeade.
"You gave her exactly what I told Monica to tell you I wanted!" Victoire shrieked, throwing her hands out behind her to either side. Her pretty face was contorted into the grimace it had recently taken to anytime around Mr. Ted Remus Lupin. Her, being Kyrie, shifted a little uncomfortably, but had been reassured many times by Victoire that there was no enmity between the two of them. Lysander, Lorcan, and their friend- Merlin, his name had been mentioned at least a dozen times, and it was so painfully ordinary that it always managed to slip her mind- plodded beside Kyrie, speaking quietly. Kyrie wasn't sure why they'd come- Fred, Kyrie, Teddy, and Victoire were loud, while these three were quietly odd.
Ted shuffled on her other side, his responses hurried whispers compared to Victoire's passionate yells. "Monica didn't tell me anything, and Kyrie had been nagging me about-"
"You got me Fifty-Seven Swedish Dishes (Low in Fat, High in Taste!).!"
"You wanted to be a chef!"
"You were calling me fat, you-"
Kyrie, the dark haired mess plodding along next to Teddy, elbowed Fred Weasley the Second, their signal.
"Guys, chill," Fred said. Kyrie would step in, but, from experience, knew the argument only grew more heated. "This is the night to have fun."
"Yeah," Kyrie mumbled, glancing through a shop window full of brightly clad, slowly moving mannequins. "I'm sure the two of them remember fun. Somehow."
Ted and Victoire lapsed into a silence that reminded Kyrie of a volcano moments before eruption. Every now and then Vic sighed rather huffily, her breath rising up in haughty puffs. Those were the thick clouds of sulfurous gas belching up from the depths of the Earth, a warning sign. Ted marched stiffly beside her, looking for all the world like one of the skeletal trees growing- but not thriving- in the ashen soil of the volcano's base. One of the trees soon to be plowed over by boiling magma.
The group turned off the road to enter their old haunt, The Three Broomsticks. They were assaulted by the heady scent of butterbeer and mint, and the easy chatter of half-lit wizards. Under the light of many candles (and it really was ridiculous that wizards stubbornly refused to embrace the miracle of electricity, even it magic made it malfunction)
Kyrie observed the weary angles of Ted's face. Rumors around school always said he inherited his half-starved look from his father, Remus Lupin, who died in the famed Battle of Hogwarts, right beside his beloved Nymphadora Lupin.
Poor kid, Kyrie felt pity bubble in her stomach whenever she thought of it, but knew better than to let Ted know. It was a sensitive subject for him, one that would lead to Ted's completely out-of-character rant about responsibility, which would then lead to the coldest phrase she'd ever heard pass through Ted's lips.
"They obviously didn't want me..." He said it far to often for Kyrie's liking. "They knew the risks, the dangers. They knew what could happen, yet they went anyway, and they died, leaving me with nothing but rainbow hair and a liking for particularly rare meat. They didn't want me enough to swallow their pride..."
Things usually got very ugly from that point, and Fred was almost always the instigator.
"You selfish little git! You wouldn't recognize sacrifice if it danced in front of you naked!" And the one time Kyrie had attempted to mediate, they'd both exploded on her.
"Your parents weren't even involved, Orlowe, you've no room to speak!"
Obviously, the whole subject was just too explosive for even these close friends to bring up.
Fred ordered seven pints of Butterbeer and brought them back to the table, three in one hand, four in the other. The three other boys applauded this impressive feat, with whoops and whistles, and settled down to spike it with just a hint of single-malt whiskey. They were all of age in the wizarding world, and it tasted rather good, and to hell with parents, for those who had them anyway, so they drank it.
"So how are the little ones, Ted?" Victiore sniffed over her spiked butterbeer. "I assume you're still practically living with the Potters..."
It was a backhanded sort of peace offering, allowing conversation, but nothing too friendly. Add some insult, make him work for his forgiveness. Ted was used to this, Kyrie was used to it. This tentative type of truce had been attempted at least twelve times a week by the pair, and had failed because of some tiny misstep in the painstakingly choreographed dance. "Your hair looks nice today," from Teddy in the morning, instead of a, "Your hair always looks nice." An "Is that what color your hair's going to look like?" from Vic before a wedding reception, instead of a "Maybe you could switch from fluorescent green to something more formal?"
"Not so little anymore," Ted said, glancing to the side of the table and sipping from his mug. Kyrie thought he'd mention Lily's newest obsession- Quidditch, making her dad proud- but he just shut up.
Four nice words from Ted for Victoire, Kyrie scratched four mental chalk marks in her brain in the V column.
"Hmm." A neutral sound. No point. Kyrie sipped her drink, sighing over the lip at Fred. Fred rolled his eyes and nodded. Hopeless.
Kyrie lost track of points very soon after, but the last she remembered it was V: 7, T: -30. But that didn't matter much, since Victoire had been up to at least 40 before she started on argument number 12- "Why can't Teddy Lupin talk more? Is something wrong with him?" She couldn't seem to accept 'shy' as an answer.
Kyrie definitely would not have lost track of points- she never had before, it was somewhat of a sanity-keeping exercise for her- had it not been for one Fred Junior slipping her spiked after spiked butterbeer. If he didn't have his father's good looks, well. She probably would've taken them anyway.
"Kyrie, I am telling you, graduating does not mean you are mature," Fred was chuckling. "Nothing will make any of us mature."
"Fred- Fred," Kyrie said, but then glanced over at Victoire and Ted. They were fighting again, scaring poor Lorcan, Lysander, and their male friend that still eluded naming by Kyrie. This argument sounded like thirty-something, she couldn't remember if it was thirty-seven or thirty-nine. About his ungratefulness. Kyrie's least favorite, most acidic.
Time to leave, even if Freddy was beginning to get a little brave and she could see the thought of kissing entering his brain. Guys were so slow. She guessed friends were worth it though.
"Wellll, I think it's about time we all started heading over to the Potters' for some nice coffee and a lot of suspicious looks. Who's in?" Kyrie exclaimed, steadying herself on Fred's shoulder. (Man, he had some nice muscles...)
Luna's children and their friend opted out, but Weasleys could never turn down a cup of anything at the Potters- and their godson and his best friend especially could not. So on marched Kyrie and Fred in front, with Ted and Victoire arguing loudly behind them.
"I think they love each other," Kyrie murmured to Fred. Fred's red eyebrows furrowed as he turned his head away from the road and towards the tipsy witch.
"Why?" Fred wrapped his arm around her bare shoulders, bringing her lips closer to his left ear. Not like the couple in question could hear anything above their fever-pitching yells.
"Becaus-"
"This is our time to bring back the glory!" shouted a voice down the street. Instinct shut all four up as they scuttled to the right, into the shadow the moon cast against the line of shops. Fred's arm dropped from Kyrie's shoulder and into his cloak, grasping his wand.
"Why didn't we Apparate?" Victoire whispered harshly, but no one replied with the obvious- splinching while drunk would not be enjoyable.
"The way has been paved before us, all we must do is follow," the voice boomed, and this time, their fear subdued, they heard the loud cheer that followed.
A black mass of cloaks bobbed into view, at least eighteen people. Their hoods stood up into a razor sharp point, cutting into the starry sky. A few of them stumbled and leaned on one another, clearly drunk, far more drunk than even Kyrie. "All hail the-"
"Shhshsh!" Another cried, the ringerleader perhaps. "We must use the advantage of surprise!" More cheers.
"What the hell is this?" whispered Ted, but he was answered all too soon.
"Morsmordre!" The incantation tore through the air in a jet of sickly green, blooming and crackling into existence. Before their eyes a skull appeared, a serpent protruding from its mouth. It writhed as if tortured. After nineteen-some years of dormancy, the Dark Mark was back in full swing.
Then, a scream, not blood-curdling really. Blood-thinning, adrenaline-electrifying.
"Bloody. Hell," mumbled Fred.
Lights flickered on down the street, front doors rasped open. Stunning spells and much nastier curses flew through the air. The mass of black hoods exploded apart as the-(Death Eaters?) scrambled to safety.
So much for the element of surprise.
Any self-respecting, mentally stable person would have used this diversion as an opportunity to get out of dodge, which is exactly why Victoire Weasley did the opposite.
"Oi, you idiots!" Victoire shouted, left index finger unsheathed and brandished in the air. "What do you think you're doing, putting that thing in the sky?" By "that thing," she meant the Dark Mark. Upon closer inspection, one could see the glint in her eyes, the deadly glint of a person who was not afraid to act on impulse. Perhaps she was hoping to let out her Ted-fury on a suitable victim, one who was easier to hate than the ridiculously nice scrawny half werewolf boy.
Of course, the cloaked figures were much too busy regrouping and fighting back, casting fiendfyre in every direction, to ever pay attention to the slight blond witch. A few screeched incantations of "Crucio!" were sprinkled here and there, and the girl was generally ignored, except by Teddy- who had the only blush of men or wizards visible clearly in the dark. He tried in vain to pull her back into the shadows with the rest of the group.
But Victoire was having none of this. It was not in her DNA to be ignored. So she marched with purpose past a flaming chimera to the center of the street, took out her wand, and pointed it back at her own throat.
"EXCUSE ME!" Her magically amplified voice bounced off the walls of the shops. "BUT I WAS WONDERING WHAT IN MERLIN'S BEARD YOU LOT THINK YOU'RE DOING!" It was sort of comical the way the street fell awkwardly silent, wands poised in midair. Even the flaming creatures of fiendfyre turned their heads to view Victoire with interest.
In retrospect, Kyrie diagnosed Vic's insanity to a small number of things.
Firstly, there was the insurmountable gamble of genetics. Her mother was a hot-headed French woman, with a dash of haughty veela attitude. Her father, one of the many Weasley children was...well, a Weasley. This consequently meant that she would plunge headfirst into any situation without the slightest bit of consideration. Then of course, there was the trump card: Molly Weasley. Short, plump, yet unbelievably fiery, Grandmother Weasley's hot-blooded nature endowed Victoire with the sense that anything could be accomplished through sheer force of will.
Secondly, Victiore was a girl who had just experienced an unpleasant encounter with an ex. Her hormones were raging, her mind was a blur, and her heart was probably hurting just a bit. This would have been a deadly combination even without Grandmother Weasley's rage serving to triple the effects.
All things considered, it was a bad time for Baby Death Eaters to spring the Dark Mark in the middle of Hogsmeade.
And, all things considered, it was definitely no surprise that, with all of the cloaked eyes finally resting on the focal point named Victoire Weasley, reason screamed past every checkpoint in her fiery body to finally slam into her brain. With a quick step and glance backwards, towards her fellow semi-innocent bystanders, Victoire's regained reason powered her legs to speed up and her right hand to fish for the wand she just knew had to be in one of her pockets. Damn fashion for dictating so many of them.
Of course, her three friends took off ahead of her, fleeing the twenty-some drunks who were fleeing the fifteen or so Hogsmeade residents that had left their comfy homes to attack the old symbol of fear. Yet, as Kyrie and Fred ran as fast as they could, neither of them even wasting their air to make a crack about thanking Merlin for Quidditch, Teddy lagged behind, staring over his right shoulder with his right hand trailing behind. Until, of course, Victoire grabbed it and took the lead. Then he focused his all into running, the pattering one, two, one, two of his feet against the cobbled stones. Only a very, very small part of his mind dwelled on Victoire's survival, Victoire's hand in his, Victoire's hair. But that part of his brain was used to being preoccupied with Victoire, so he barely noticed.
"What," huff, "the fuck," huff, "were," huff, "you thinking?" asked Kyrie, the venom that would otherwise be lacing her words preoccupied fueling her next few blocks of running.
"I'm not...quite-sure that she...was!" Teddy answered, his hair now a shock of white. It always bleached out when he was terrified.
Apparently Victoire was too busy surviving to retort, though her fingernails did dig deeper into Ted's hand, a pain that he would have suffered willingly for any number of hours. Unfortunately for Teddy Lupin, his legs were knocked out from under him, and he fell flat on his face. The normally graceful Victoire didn't have a chance to gain her balance, and she too, was dragged down onto the rough cobblestone street.
Blood was pounding in Kyrie's ears as she ran with Fred Jr. The trace amounts of Fire Whiskey and Hippogriff gin in her system were doing everything they could to incapacitate her, and of course there was that Weasley by her side, huffing rather loudly for a guy who claimed to have a six-pack.
So it was virtually impossible for Kyrie to hear one of the pursuing Death Eaters cast the Locomotor Mortis jinx that took down both Teddy and Victoire. Nor could she hear Vic's cries for help as the two were overtaken, bound with ropes, and dragged into the forest. She didn't notice anything was wrong until she chanced a look behind her.
"Shit," was all she could manage when she saw only black cloaks in pursuit and not a glimpse of Ted's white hair.
By that point, Fred realized there was no hope in outrunning the Death Eaters, whether they were drunk or not, so he took hold of Kyrie's upper arm and the cracking sound of Apparition interrupted the screams of the fighting and the huffs of the running.
They collapsed in a patch of tall, dewy grass, to the sound of Fred swearing and moaning profusely. Kyrie rustled around until she faced the sky, and she could see the sickly green scar of the Dark Mark in the air. They hadn't gone far at all.
"What...what's happened, Fred?" She swiped at the sheen of sweat on her forehead, but to no avail. The damp grass surrounding her only made her feel more sticky and hot, and it seemed impossible to catch her breath. "Fred," she repeated, her voice cracking. A cricket began screeching its tune somewhere in the vincity of her left ear. She swatted at it without looking. "Fred, speak to me."
In answer, Fred lifted his right forearm so that Kyrie could see the bloody gash, as though someone had scooped away half of his tricep with a cereal spoon. "Splinch," he groaned. "Not so bad, but not good in these circumstances."
"We need to get you to St. Mungo's." Kyrie sat up so that she might examine his wound more closely, but she was distracted by the expression on his face; jaw slack with weary surprise, nostrils flared, eyes focused on something just behind her.
With tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing at a Nazi attention, Kyrie turned to find a tall shadow blocking out half of the night sky, but (ohh, the irony!) the Dark Mark was still plainly visible in the other half. It was impossible for her to see any stars with all that darkness in the way.
Kyrie took the stunning spell full in the face. The Order would have been proud.