Chapter One: The Family that Lived
"Chrissy! What are hella you doing up there? Mum says get your butt down here or I'm allowed to go an' beat it down!" hollered Jem Gunwail to his little sister, his hilariously whiny voice echoing up the staircase to her bedroom.
"No she didn't! Shut up Jem, I said I'm coming," she yelled back. As if her stupid brother couldn't stop faking a busted ankle long enough to come up the stairs and get his sister like a normal person. Ignoring him completely, eleven-year-old Christina Gunwail turned her attention to the glowing telescreen floating only a couple inches above the floor. Mum wouldn't let her raise it any higher until she learned how to use it (not to mention a real wand) properly. But until Hogwarts, she was stuck with a near-useless practitioner's wand. Well, at least she had a wand at all.
"Thank God I'm was finally getting out of this house," she thought, "No more muggle-school, no more math, no more nagging mother, and best of all, absolutely no brothers!"
Both Jem and Willie transferred out of Hogwarts last spring to faraway Durmstrang. It had been Jem's third year and Willie's second. Hogwarts, as dear, sweet, sophisticated ol'Willie once put it, "is a condemned, old, rat-ridden hell-hole all moldy and filled with the most negligent, arrogant teachers and students this half of London!" Christina smiled. Hogwarts was the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry ever established. Willie was just being a prick. Last spring, Christina had heard the real reason from her annoyingly gossipy neighbor Cara Anne Corky. According to Cara Anne, whose never wrong when it comes down to juicy details, everybody in Hogwarts knew that the real reason for ol'Willie and Jem's desire to get out of Hogwarts fast was because last spring, a mudblood freshman bloodied both their noses and left them crying like babies in the courtyard. Them and their pride!
"And what's more," Cara Anne blabbed, "They're the losers who started it! On a dare from one of their uber-macho friends, oh you know how uber-macho friends are, they walked right up to that poor girl, all snobby and Slytheriny and really rude if you ask me. Well those dumba- eh, stupid heads, just go right up to that poor girl and call her a, well, a," her voice dropped into a hissing whisper, "a Potterblood."
It was the first time Christina had ever heard her childhood hero's name used as a swearword. When she later asked what it meant, her father sighed gently,
"I'm sorry that I have to be the one to tell you angel-love," he began slowly, refolding the wrinkled newsprint in front of him. Pa had always been booksmart. He'd had the best education available, even though Gram and Grampy were poor muggles, and he spoke like it too. "Unfortunately not everyone thinks as highly of Mr. Potter's work as you and I do. Alas, I'm afraid to say that my two boys are among the foolish minority." He then stopped to unleash an extra-harsh ray of the "Father-Stare" on thing 1 and thing 2. Willie simply hid his face, pretending to be enchanted by the wizard's chess board in front of him, but Jem, well, Jem did what Jem does best.
"Psht," he hissed, "You're pathetic; the both of you. 'Cause of your dumb old Potter-boy our kind are dying! You know kid there's not one decent pure-man left in that whole damn school and you know why-"
"Jem Angus Gunwail! How dare you speak to your father that way?"
"I'll handle this Marcia," said Pa, "Now you listen hear Mr. High-and-Mighty, none of us would even be alive without that man. He's a hero as far as I'm concerned, and you will not speak evil of him in my house. Least of all in front of your sister! You boys should be ashamed! And Jem, I swear on your grandfather's grave that if you don't learn to control what comes out of that mouth of yours I-," he paused for effect, "I'll send you back to Hogwarts. Am I clear?"
"No Pa you wouldn't!"
"Shut up Willie! How dare you, old man! How dare you swear on the grave of a mudblood? Harry's ended nothing! I can't take it anymore! I'm leaving this house of lies you've built around us all!"
"Jem," Willie yelled, finally acknowledging the argument.
"Jem, where on earth do you think your going? Come back right now!"
"Don't worry 'bout me Mum, I'll be alright," he hollered, grabbing his coat and wand, "but I'm never coming back!"
He was back at home the following week. While Christina had never been considered old enough to be told where he went, what she did figure out, however, was that when he came back, ol'Jem wasn't nearly as flagrant about his anti-Potter sentiments as he had been that awful night.
"Christina! Come down here right now! Don't be rude young lady we've got guests!" This time it was her mother who yelled. Christina sighed, unhappy at being slapped back to reality.
"Harry never had to entertain old people," she muttered, staring at his smiling face, glowing brilliantly on the telescreen.
"So tell us Mr. Potter," the blonde, makeup-queen of a telereporter giggled, "Our audience members are all dying to know… How has all of this overnight gold and glory impacted your sex-life?" The audience exploded with laughter. Disgusted, Christina tapped the sides of the telescreen with her Practitioner's wand. It snapped up into the ceiling like an old window shade. Willie must've kicked it again. Poor Harry's clearly embarrassed look was still spinning around in her mind. How could they do that to an international icon like Harry Potter? He had never done a thing to them except save their sorry butts from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his slew of corrupt purebloods. Not to mention all of the other civilians, both magic and muggle, he's saved from certain death all over the world! He never once deserved to be talked about like that. Those people were just stupid, that's all. But then the thought began to itch at her... Harry's lovelife... heck, had he ever even had a real girlfriend? He was known to be quite the playboy, but still, oh no- maybe someone broke his heart sometime! ...and so curiosity killed the pureblood girl, and she pulled the screen down again.
"Um, eh, Well, can't complain… if you know what I mean," he said, flashing a suggestive smile in the make-up queen's direction. It was a nice comeback, Harry had always famous for his ability to function better under pressure, but anyone who analyzed the man the way Christina did knew better.
Amongst his lady fans, rumor spread that the tall, dark and handsome Harry Potter had become quite the lady-killer in recent years, both figuratively and literally. He was all over the cover of WitchWeek last summer, having been declared, "World's Sexiest Bachelor," for the third year running. There were two whole pages dedicated to his eyes alone. The rest of the article focused on his six-pack, his "alleged" alcoholism, and the size of his, um, well you know.
Because of this, Christina had learned some time ago that the best place to find the real deal about her idol was to turn to the only true source of magic info, the Daily Prophet. But even there, sometimes pen-happy writers wouldn't hesitate to spread a juicy lie and tip the, "born-miserable," man off his "eternally broken pedestal." An old, browning article pinned beneath her bedroom window had coined both terms five years ago. The bad half of the Daily Prophet was still insistent upon inserting the lame descriptions wherever they applied.
She hoped it wouldn't be like his past "personal-life" interviews in which Harry, gracefully recovering from each embarrassingly personal question with a dismissive laugh and a witty comment, would then ramble on about his next case for a minute or so, until he was cut short by some make-up queen or another. Then, pushing his mysteriously tinted glasses a little higher on his face, he'd actually thank the audience and the stupid interrogator beside him. She'd thank him, and then announce a commercial break. Christina still wondered if the Make-up queen, and half of England for that matter, truly got the unending pain and sacrifice that made up each and everyday of the man who's unfortunate life had become the media's own best-selling drama.
Not bothering to straighten her boringly thin, pale hair, she pulled on her Jem's old Slytherin Quidditch jacket and went downstairs. None of Mum's friends paid her that much mind anyway. She was on the second to last step when her mother rounded the corner.
"CHRI- Oh there you are! Hurry up; I knew I raised you better than that," she said, dropping her voice so the company wouldn't hear. Mrs. Gunwail grabbed her daughter's wrist and led her into the living room, just down the hall. Mrs. Gunwail was a bigger woman, with sagging but powerful arms and a tightly-drawn face. She was eternally sucking on lemons, bothe literally and figuratively, but she had her kind moments. This was not one of them.
"Ow! Mama not so tight," Christina breathed. Another breath and she found herself standing awkwardly face-to-face with the grown-up guests.
"Well hullo Miss Gunwail! How wonderful of you to come and join us!"
Her jaw dropped a little. These weren't just any random guests.
"H-Hello Minister."
It wasn't like the Minister of Magic to make house calls to just anyone, yet there he was, plaid slicker and all. It had been his trademark ever since he succeeded the last minister some years back- oh, what was his name? Whatever. It didn't matter now. Anyway, there he was, Minister Einnar, all cozy in his red-and-green plaid trademark, sitting on Mama's special guest sofa next to a strange man. 'Eww,' was all Christina could think of when she glanced at him. He was digging for gold in his ear with one hand while scratching the raised arm's pit with the other. He stopped when the unfortunate woman on his right gave him an elbow to the ribs.
"Stop it," she hissed. She was rather pretty. Her short, passion-red hair bobbed and curled gracefully at her ears. Soft freckles dotted her nose and the barest beginnings of age lines marbled her forehead and carefully sloping cheeks. Even so, she was striking. there were others in the room, but the pretty woman and the minister were the only two in Muggle-clothes. Even Gross-man had on a somber black cloak, the subtle insignia of wizardom.
There were two others in the room, both cloaked. One, a sour-looking old woman, stood erect and proper in the corner, her face half hid by well-ironed witch hat. The second, a short grey-haired man with a grandfatherly face, sat stiffly beside her own father in one of the navy-blue folding chairs Willie had enchanted up from the basement some hours earlier. Two other folding chairs sat empty.
'Where are those two anyway?' she wondered, taking a seat in the one next to Pa's; it was as far away from the Gross-man that she could get to without being too insulting. It seemed as if years of her life had slipped away while she watched the Minister guzzle his tea and the adults exchange niceties. Several awkward moments had passed by the time Mr. Gunwail's patience peaked and fell.
"Excuse me, Mr. Einnar, ehm, if you please, what is this all about?"
"Ah how delightful of you to ask, Peter! Ms. Weasley, do you mind?"
"Not at all Minister," the pretty woman started.
"Weasley," Christina puzzled aloud, not entirely certain why that name rang a bell.
"Oh my! Terribly sorry Miss Gunwail; I'd forgotten that you haven't met the staff, how terribly rude of me. This charming young woman here is Ms. Ginny Weasley, the Ministry's very own Muggle Weapons and Potentially Dangerous Inventions Department Manager."
"'Ginny' will do, sweetie," the pretty lady added, brushing back a streak of hair that hadn't really been in her face to begin with.
"And over there's Mr. Dorse," he continued as if Ginny hadn't spoken. He leaned over in Christina's direction and faked a whisper, "Don't mind him, Missy. His manners may have died years ago, but he's one of the finest human 'bugs' (and not to mention janitors!) the Ministry's ever seen."
"Howdy do," Dorse said, or rather, snorted.
"And here, I'm sure you've heard of the 'infamous' Mr. Remus Lupin, a very fine Ministry 'Anti-Dark Arts' Promoter and former Hogwarts professor if I do say so myself!"
"You're too kind Minister," said the grandfatherly man on the other side of her father, as he leaned gently forward to draw attention to his presence. There was no humor in his voice. His face was nice enough, but his voice was pained somehow. In fact, he gave her the creeps.
"There's dear Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall- wave for the child Minerva!" The aging lady seemed to be in a daze of sorts. She waved as if to shoo a fly.
"Now, if we could get back to business Mr. Gunwail, since the business we wish to discuss is business of the most dreadful sort-"
"It's Christina, Mr. Gunwail. The Ministry, The Schoolboard and I do not believe that it would be in your daughter's best interest to enroll at Hogwarts next fall," said the Headmistress impatiently.
"What?" all three Gunwails proclaimed in unison.
"But-" Christina started.
"Not on your life," her mother finished coldly. "It's my- it's Christina's dream to go to the finest school in the world, what could be so bad that-"
"I'm sorry Mrs. Gunwail," said McGonagall, raising her voice above Marcia Gunwail's boom, "truly, I am, but we have come to this conclusion with Miss Gunwail's safety in mind. It has been Hogwarts's policy for the last two decades to deny entry to ANY student in question. Ex-Headmaster Dumbledore enforced it, and so do I."
"But you can't do that! That's not fair!" Christina said, her little voice much louder and sharper than she intended. The Headmistress was not amused.
"Oh? And what exactly is so unfair about it? Trust me my dear if you walked into my classroom with that brutish attitude you'd walk out again with a two-hour detention! Clearly you need another year to mature as well." Christina felt herself go hot all over.
"Now Minerva,"
"Don't you 'Now Minerva' Me, Warvus Einnar! The child clearly isn't ready for Hogwarts, even if it were safe for The Heir. I say we wait another year before enrollment. That will give us time to clean up these rumors and for Miss Gunwail to clean up her attitude!"
"Professor!" Ginny sat up, her pretty mouth tipped into a disgusted frown.
"HOW DARE YOU?" Mr. Gunwail roared. "How dare you come into my house and insult my family! Now forgive me, Headmistress," He said, running his fingers through his own pale locks and trying desperately to compose himself in front of the rest of the group, "but now you're the one being rude. I am sorry but we're all very, very, baffled and yes, even mortified by this thoughtless decision. If you must know I'm proud of my daughter for expressing her feelings on impulse; it's healthy for her and it saves my Marcia and I from struggling stupidly to do the same. Funny how I had always assumed you to be the better person!"
"Mr. Gunwail! Headmistress! Please," Ginny began again, "Let's act like civilized beings here! Mr. Gunwail, have you ever heard of 'The Gunwail Case'?"
He shook his head.
"'The Heir of Gunwail?' 'The Gunwail Curse?'"
He shook his head at each, clueless. Christina's eyes widened. Her father may have been clueless, but crime-and-punishment was Christina's passion.
"THE Gunwail Case- the one about those crazy feudal families? What about it?" she asked.
"You mean the one about YOUR crazy family, and the families were feud-ing, not feud-al."
"My family," she mouthed.
"It's a long story, and not many of the old stories about it survived the passage of time, but the few things that we, you do know dear that I mean the most Honored Order of the Phoenix, not the Ministry, have managed to piece together, seem to suggest troubled times ahead for you and your family."
The Gunwails just stared. Ginny rolled her pretty eyes and sighed. She was clearly loosing patience. Why she'd loose it so quickly with people who had just found out that their lives were in jeopardy, Christina suddenly didn't want to know. The conversation was resumed by the man next to father. He had been introduced as 'something'-Lupin. Where had she heard that name before?
"What Ms. Weasley is alluding to is that recently, some new evidence has been uncovered singling you out, Miss Gunwail, as the last Heir of Gunwail. While you do seem to be knowledgeable on the topic, it's clear that your poor parents are baffled," he said, a tragic smile on his solemn face.
"Many, many years ago, it is estimated about 900 or so, there was a terrible feud over the two most prominent and powerful pureblood clans ever to exist in all of wizardom. The consequences of the feud were catastrophic for both clans, and all who were connected to them- by blood or other, well, more meaningful means. While one clan lost their land, wealth, and status, the other lost absolutely everything. This second clan was driven head-first into the ground. Once upon a time this said clan intermarried with kings, sired knights of Arthur, saved England from a million ills and were claimed to have been, 'the purest of the pure.' They were the ultimate purebloods, and all other families claiming pureblood heritage had come forth from this clan at some point or another. Envied by all, idolized by many, this clan had reigned supreme in the eyes of wizards, witches and muggles alike for centuries. That all ended, quite suddenly, around about 1100 A.D."
"And what does this have to do with us?" Her father fidgeted.
"Getting to that Mr. Gunwail," Lupin continued, calm as ever, despite the emotion in his words. "Anyway, that all ended with a single curse cast around that time. Thousands of clan members died around that time, cut down by their enemies from the thousands, spread across Europe, to hundreds, to one, lone, truly pure member in a matter of days. All were killed by the same curse, the curse of the enemy family. It was a brutal, gory massacre. It is said that a little piece of each corpse killed at this time was thrown into the Thames as a sick ritual developed by the killers."
Mrs. Gunwail twitched.
"However, there is some good news. While the family was devastated by an enemy's curse, they were salvaged by a friend's. The reason the last one survived to adulthood was because of that anti-curse. He lived to continue the clan, but lived a short life, pain-ridden and miserable. While the first curse condemned the family, the second guaranteed the survival of the youngest living clan member until a new youngest was born. This in turn guaranteed the clan's survival as well.
And survive the clan did, but only on the barest of means. They have faded in and out of history, blossoming and dying repeatedly ever since. Some forty years ago, after lifetimes of running from their assassins, known to them only as 'The Crying Assassins,' because of the banshee-like screech emitted before an attack, the surviving members sought out the Order's help, desperate to protect their loved ones. We tried, and we failed. The enemy-clan's curse held true and all but one were cruelly murdered. He was no more than an infant when found at the site by the father of our own Mr. Dorse. To let the child keep his identity, and hopefully lead his family's murderers right into our trap, we let him keep the family name. We left him in the custody of a local orphanage and watched him grow from a distance. The kind Muggle couple who adopted him called him Peter. Bet you always considered yourself muggle-born, didn't you Mr. Gunwail?"
Christina looked up at her father, her face contorted with unanswered questions. In the distance, her mother's hand went to her heart as she gasped and muttered something about a 'terrible headache and an even worse mistake.' Christina wasn't listening. Desperate for an explanation she scanned the faces in the room. They were deathly serious. Even Dorse had stopped picking to stare blankly. Her lip quivered, and she finally settled on the usually readable visage of her father. His eyes were wide with something like terror. He was wearing a look often compared to that of a deer in the headlights of a Mac truck pushing 70 on the freeway 'round midnight.
"I was adopted," he exhaled finally. "When I was two- it means nothing."
"It means everything," Lupin insisted.
''Cause of your dumb old Potter-boy our kind are dying! You know kid there's not one decent pure-man left…' That's what Jem'd said. That's just what he'd said… dumb old Potter… our kind are dying… not one- not one pure blood left… not one. Could he- no- No! He couldn't've known! Jem's a lot of things but surly he wouldn't LIE about something like that. She had dismissed it… they were purebloods… both parents were magicking… of course she was a pureblood… Mama's a pureblood… always had been… t-that wasn't new news… was it? Of course not!' Christina's head was whirling.
"I'm terribly sorry to have to lay it all out for you like this, but that second clan, that regal, unfortunate, accursed clan, was the Clan of Gunwail, and the curse that the enemy family placed on them, is now known as The Gunwail Curse," The Minister finished.
The silence that followed was defining. Her mother turned to leave.
"You knew Marcia," he father said blankly, "you knew all along, didn't you my love?" Her mother went pale.
"I-It wasn't necessary for you to know," and suddenly changing her tactic, "well, what would you have said if you knew? What would you have done? Nothing! There's nothing we can do about it! Ignorance can be real bliss; especially for the Heir of Gunwai-"
"Your husband is not the Heir."
'Wha- Who said that?' Christina's head snapped around to face the direction of the voice. Her father's jaw fell. Standing, or leaning, rather, eerily, against Great-Grandma's mahogany China Cabinet, cloaked in shadow, was a man Christina knew all too well. He was much taller than she had assumed him to be.
"She is."
"Ah, Mr. Potter, how good of you to join us," said Ginny sardonically.
"Always a pleasure Weasley," he smiled, boldly matching her tone. He seemed to almost enjoy disrespecting the woman he clearly knew quite well. Lupin gave him a stare. He looked away. Was the Harry Potter afraid of an anti-dark arts promoter?
"Gunwails, I am certain you all have heard of the Ministry's most well-known auror. Harry Potter, Christina Gunwail. Christina Gunwail, Harry Potter!" the Headmistress dictated.
"How do you do," Mr. Potter said, holding out his hand. Any scorn that had been there before was replaced now with soft politeness. He was once again the man on the telescreen. Even though his manner had softened, he did not smile.
Christina wanted to take his hand. Well, she tried. At least mentally she tried. There he was. In all of his chief-auror glory, there he was. Her idol- there he was.
"Shake his hand Christina," said her father, finally coming out of his trance. She obeyed, moving like a machine.
"uh- h-hi. Um, hullo- Mr. P-Potter. How d'ya do?"
"Please, just Harry. Fine, thank you."
"-eing as Miss Gunwail is indeed the youngest Gunwail alive and that she will be the one most pursued by theassassins is why we had been considering having her wait a year to enter Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall must have been talking for quite some time because when Christina finally tuned in, that was all she'd heard. Her eyes were still glued to the piercing greens of the black-haired demigod.
"This would be the safest approach, since it would make you appear younger than you are, and a less likely candidate for the supposed Heir. If we're lucky it may throw the assassins off the trail and buy the Ministry some time to track them down."
"Hey, hey! Minerva, relax a second, can't you see you're upsetting the kid? Anyway, Miss Gunwail, what my dear Headmistress Mmeans to say is that there is another, better, way to do this."
"There most certainly is NOT another way to do this," snapped the Headmistress, growing more and more irritated. "Yes, we did discuss another option that would allow Miss Gunwail to attend school but it would not be better."
"Another option!" Christina exclaimed. "What! What is it?"
"We'd get you a bodyguard of sorts," said Minister Einnar with his typical enthusiasm budding out all over. "It just has not yet been decided who will be assigned to the case."
"Psht. Of course it has, Minister. I volunteered to do it."
A laugh-snort came from the wrong side of the room. The pretty woman's face was all in a twist. "You," she asked, in a tone not meant for questions, "'Mr. I-Hate-Everyone-who-can't-apparate-or-drive-a-stick-shift,' Give it a bloody rest, Harry," Ginny sneered, perhaps a little to harshly.
It was all-wrong, Christina decided. If there was one thing her whole family prided themselves on, it was their judge of character. All Gunwails could read people, just like Christina was reading Ginny now. Ginny Weasley, even from a far distance, was the picture of gentle and kind; she had the aura of a child. There was no way someone as accepting and understanding as her could get so riled-up on her own, just because she felt like it; heck, she quietly sat next to Dorse! What on earth did Harry do to her?
"Actually, Ms. Weasley, forgive me but we had debated in your absence that Mr. Potter would in fact make a splendid bodyguard for young Miss Gunwail here, should we go on with that plan. Obviously we hadn't set anything in stone, since we didn't plan on going on with that plan at first, but you know how it goes, 'the best-laid plans of witches and wizards,' eh now?" The Minister had a weird thing about laughing at his own jokes.
"You're not serious" Ginny retorted, "McGonagall? Lupin, Dorse? Oh come on now. Harry? We're talking about this Harry, right here, our Harry, right? Our untrustworthy, unthinking, irritable, immature, dumb-drunk Harry Potter" fumed Ginny, her face growing an ever-more violent shade of pink.
"Oh, don't be so mean Ginny, I'm not dumb," Harry joked.
"I'd say you are-"
"Enough! The both of you," the Headmistress snapped, shutting them both up like magic.
"Why- yes! Now that I'm really thinking about it," Einnar tapped his finger excitedly on his noggin, "yes, yes indeed I'm positive that Harry James Potter is our man. It would be a simply spectacular opportunity to reminisce and relax from 'The Great-and-Noble-Hunt,' eh, Potter? We don't want you blowing yourself up again, oh-ho," He chuckled, his curious sense humor returning. His jabs reminded Christina of Jem's, only subtler, more grown-up, and with less bad language.
Harry shrugged off the comment, "I don't see why not."
Was Christina hearing right? Was THE Harry Potter, the self-same legendary auror and sole savior of all of wizardom really going with her to Hogwarts in the fall? A smile spread from ear to ear.
"Spectacular!" The Minister declared, slapping his knee.
"What! Eh-hem what? What? Say Mz. Weaserly, I miss something? Oh… er... 'Ey there Potter."
"Hello again," he raised a finger in greeting, but Harry's smile was more of an exaggerated wince.
"Go back to sleep, Dorse," Ginny rolled her eyes, done with it all.
"Er, oh... ok then," and Mr. Dorse the spy-bug/janitor mumbled himself back to sleep.
"That may be all well-and-good," McGonagall continued, determined to keep to the matter at hand, "but there's still the matter of- the other person, enrolling this upcoming year as well."
"He or she won't be a problem if our boy Harry's there," Minister Einnar chirped.
Out of the corner of her eye, Christina could've sworn she saw Ginny's ears turn to match the brilliant hue of her flirty red locks. Unfolding his arms, Harry yawned. It must've been degrading, being called "our boy" and "dumb-drunk" to his face, but if the living legend was truly bothered by any of this rubbish he gave no sign. He actually looked kind of bored.
"Okay, well, I must say it's been fun and all, but I've got things to do, places to be, as I'm sure you all know, and I'd best be off."
"Very good, Harry! Very good indeed! Always thinking one step ahead and two steps up! That-a way! Go on then, Mr. Potter, see you- oh! Would you mind escorting Mr. Lupin home? I'm afraid the floo powder might do some damage to his-eh-ah... whosehwhatsit." He waved his wand up and down pointing at Mr. Lupin's annoyingly well-pressed robes.
"It would be my pleasure. Ready to go Professor?" Harry smiled. For the first time all night he didn't look bored or bothered. Why did he call Mr. Lupin "professor" though, when the man hadn't taught in years?
"Of course Harry, it's been far too long," The pained look on his face made Christina wonder, not for the first time, if he really meant the words coming out of his mouth.
"Let's see- I've got about an hour before my next case. Like to stop for a beer and at my place then?"
"Make it a butterbeer and you've got a deal."
Harry only laughed. He took Lupin's arm tenderly and walked the stiff-jointed man out the door to his patiently hovering 'Pottermobile.' (It's an enchanted Ferrari, before you get too disappointed.) Once they departed, good-ol' Minister Einnar clapped his hands and smiled.
"Come along Ms. Weasley, Mr. Dorse, Headmistress, fetch your things and we'll be off in a jiffy!" Just the word 'jiffy' in itself made Christina twitch. If Mum were to slip aVoice-Melting potion into Einnar's tea it wouldn't be a bad thing. Predictably, he kept talking.
"Well, now you've both been very hospitable, Mr. Gunwail, Mrs. Gunwail- mind if we use your chimney?
"Not at all," said Mum, her voice writhing through clenched teeth. Christina could tell already that this stupid night was far from over.
"And little Miss Christina! What a real treat!" the Minister hadn't exactly asked permission to shake her hand and when he did he shook it so heartily that Christina felt plenty violated by the time he let go. With a cheery tip of his head and a good adjustment of that awful plaid attire the irrepressable Minister vanished into the green blaze.
The next through was Dorse, although he didn't really say goodbye, just sort of mumbled a bit before stumbling through the hearth. The Headmistress was next, tipping her hat with a simple "Good-night to you." The last to go was Ginny.
"Thank you all again, the tea was great," she said and added, "I'm so sorry about this, Christina. Believe me, I understand how awful it is to wait your whole life for something like this. It can be so painful, especially when all doesn't go like you want it to," She had a smile like the first scent of spring, so when Ginny brushed back Christina's hair in that loving, motherly way, there wasn't a drop of awkwardness to it. "You're going to be just fine. I'll admit Mr. Potter isn't my favorite person in the world, but he's a very good auror. You'll be safe with him."
A true piece of magic-on-earth, Ginny must have used psychic sensors to feel the nerves just as they prickled Christina's skin with worry, because at that moment, she bent down and hugged her, and all the springtime in Ginny mixed with the warmth of her red cashmere sweater and the gentle brush of her soft-curled hair and lulled the Gunwail girl into a perfect calm. Ms. Ginny Weasley had suddenly replaced Harry Potter as her most favorite person in the world with that one lonely hug. She whispered, "Be brave, Christina. You're so much stronger than they, than you, could ever know," and walked through the flames.
In the backround, Christina Gunwail knew her parents were fighting. Her ears were ringing with the sound of bitterness and fear, but her mind and heart heard none of it. "Be brave, Christina," and she would. Ginny had told her everything would be okay, and so it would. Ducking the heirloom tea-tray Mama chucked at her father, Christina walked dazedly up the long staircase to her room. Only two months till Hogwarts, and she hadn't even packed yet!