Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters apart from Ophelia Minestria…they all (sadly) are the amazing creations of J.K. Rowling. Pity.

Anyway, please read and review this…bearing in mind that I haven't written anything for over a year now, so it's going to take some time to get back into the habit! So, tell me what you think, and constructive criticism is welcome!

Enjoy!

Chapter One – Bad News

It was the light that had first alerted the boy to the fact that there was something wrong. Nobody could have broken in to the house; it was too well protected for that, but at three o'clock in the morning, it was strange that someone was still awake. The family, as a rule, were in bed at least by one o'clock, and even if they were not, the house was always cast into darkness at that time, and it was forbidden for any of them to light a candle or anything of the sort. Those 'dark hours' were the time of rituals for others; it would not do to disturb those performing Dark Magic, for it was vital for those who were pure blooded to live on, and to try to prevent the world from becoming tainted even more by any new witches or wizards who might have been born to muggles if the spells had not been in place. The rules were clear, and the boy and his family followed them completely – the boy doubted whether a light would even have been allowed on in case of sickness.

He had spotted the flickering light through the crack that wound its way down his door; something which he had been meaning to mend but had not been bothered for years; the light of a candle or something similar.

He had tried to remain in bed, tried to ignore the light but, eventually, the temptation had been overpowering and it was as if he had been forced to find out what exactly was going on. He slipped out of bed and moving quietly, trying to avoid the cracks on the floor, made his way over to his door which he opened without a sound.

The light was coming from his father's study, somewhere which he did not often venture into, and seemed to be more than one candle - perhaps a few. The boy's pace quickened; he was not bothering to be silent any more. He had only one objective - to find out what the hell was going on inside the room.

He wrenched over the door and, for a moment, the bright light blinded him so he could not see what had happened, but the coloured blotches in front of his eyes quickly cleared. He wished almost at once that they had not; and he turned quickly away from the scene and stumbled away from the door, back towards his room, as if in a dream. He found himself running down the dark hallway, his heart pounding in his ears and a sick sensation in his stomach, trying to block out the picture which refused to exit his mind.

He made it to his bathroom just in time, and, in the pauses between the time that his stomach emptied itself, he shook his head violently to try and push away the scene that had sickened him so.

He finally gave himself up to sleep sometime around five in the morning, slumped in the bathroom, but his dreams were nightmares and he could not shake the discovery from his mind.

Hermione Granger turned the volume up furiously on her iPod, thankful yet again for muggle technology, and Phantom Planet's California blared through her headphones, blocking out the sound of her parents' arguing. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and they were at it already, yelling at each other and forgetting the prescence of their teenage daughter who sat at the table munching her morning toast and reading the news from the wizarding world.

They had been like this for ages, and Hermione didn't know exactly what had sparked it off. She had noticed the difference the first night she had been home from Hogwarts at the beginning of the holidays – a kind of tension between the two of them that she couldn't quite place, as if they were hiding something from her. She had noticed that they didn't spend any time together throughout the next week, and, the first Sunday after she had returned, they had begun to argue, which Hermione had suspected had been happening for an awful long time.

She turned a page of The Daily Prophet irritably, ripping it slightly in anger. She always started at the back of the newspaper, saving the headlines until last, a habit that she'd picked up from her father. She read the adverts first, then the smaller articles, reading the most interesting news after all of the rest.

It was ten minutes later when she finally turned the page backwards to the front page. A huge black-and-white photograph of Lucius Malfoy met her eyes, and she snarled unconsciously. Her eyes skimmed down the article, her brain not bothering to take any of it in. Malfoy had been in the newspapers a lot lately, promoting his new money-making ideas which, Hermione expected, had probably succeeded in their goal. Honestly, the wizarding world was so gullible – she couldn't believe how stupid some of them were.

She focused on a couple of words and blanched as they penetrated her mind, and her eyes flicked once again to the top of the article. She didn't hear her parents stop arguing, didn't see them both turn to look at her guiltily, she was so immersed, and she didn't skip a word until the end of the article, when she folded the paper, stuffed the rest of the toast in her mouth and, without even looking at her parents, left the kitchen.

"…AND STAY OUT!"

Fred and George Weasley looked uncertainly at each other as the door of their sister's room slammed in their faces. They had come back to The Burrow for a couple of weeks, leaving the joke shop in the care of a couple of assistants while they visited their family, and were already wishing that the time was up. Their mother had been edgy and they had hardly seen their father. Bill and Charlie had cancelled their visit due to 'unforeseen circumstances' and Percy had still not returned to the family. Ron hadn't been around much all summer – he was staying with Harry at his new home, Grimmauld Place, supervised by Lupin and Tonks, and Ginny had been moody and withdrawn, not even stopping to greet them properly.

"Nice welcome we've had," Fred muttered sullenly, and his twin nodded gravely as they both made their way upstairs to their old bedroom which, they were relieved to see, had not been 'tidied' again by their mother. They had had to speak to her about that a number of times, until she had finally agreed in exasperation that she would leave the tidying to them.

"At least we don't have long left..." George put in.

At this, Fred sighed, and added, "We've still got a week, you know."

"A week's not long-"

"It is when you're here, Comrade."

The twins had taken to calling each other 'Comrade' which had irritated his family no end and had 'weirded' a few of their friends out. It had all started when they'd met Ophelia Minestria, their new assistant, who had introduced them to some very good muggle books, their favourite being '1984' by George Orwell, which George had picked out just for the author's name.

Fred sank back on his bed and George sat at one of the chairs by their desk, and put his head in his hands.

"This," he commented, "Is not the way I had hoped to spend this holiday, Comrade."

"No, this is wonderful, my friend," Fred said sarcastically, sitting up and rolling his eyes at his brother. "Best time I've ever spent here." He paused. "But seriously, even the dinners are bad…the whole world seems to be going mental – "

"- Maybe just this house," George reasoned, and Fred nodded glumly.

"Whatever it is, we have to get out of here before I go mad!"

George flicked his wand lazily and the twins' belongings zoomed around their room and placed themselves neatly in the open suitcase which was lying on the floor.

"Just say the word, Comrade," he sighed, "Just say the word and we'll leave."