The Forsaken

by Rea2

The world is full of seemingly unrelated coincidences that shape or destroy our lives. When Percy Weasley is given the chance to make amends with the most important people in his life, he unleashes a series of events that will change them all forever.

Title: The Forsaken

Author: Rhea530

Rating: M

Genre: Adventure/Drama

Pairings: Percy, Weasleys, OMCs

Summary: The world is full of seemingly unrelated coincidences that shape or destroy our lives. When Percy Weasley is given the chance to make amends with the most important people in his life, he unleashes a series of events that will change them all forever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's characters are not my property however much I wish they were.

Author's Notes: This story is AU. It completely ignores everything that happens in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I'd like to give a big thank you to Carole for doing a smashing job as my beta reader. She's stuck with me through numerous revisions and helped me tie together all the loose ends of my plot. Thanks Carole! I couldn't have done it without you. That said, this is the longest story I've ever written, clocking in at 47, 529 words or 119 pages. Needless to say, I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Remember: Feedback is love!

I

The Overworld was not all it was cracked up to be. It had its good points to be sure but there were drawbacks. His tomato red locks were now a shocking shade of black littered with small threads of red thunderbolts. The color didn't really bother him, but the fact that his hair stood straight out from his scalp did, giving him the appearance of one who had been recently electrocuted. No amount of hair gel could convince his unruly mop to stay down. Nor any spell.

His grandmother said it was the magic that made his hair stand straight out. Each living creature of Overworld, she said, acts as a conduit for attracting specific magics much the same way lightning rods attract lightning. For everything there is a price and the price for free-magic was perpetually bad hair. It was only a small consolation that his hair looked the same as everyone else's.

There were other things that bothered him too, (Merlin knew, the change of eye color took a bit of getting used too) but those still paled next to the problem of his hair. He ran a hand through the wiry mess and sighed. He'd long since given up brushing it.

"Are you coming, Perseus or are you going to spend the day playing with your hair?"

"I'm thinking of shaving it, Edward." He adjusted the collar of his high-necked black jacket. Turning, he flashed a wry smile at the slender man filling his doorway. "Wouldn't that be a riot?"

"Wouldn't work, mate, it'd only grow back and be worse than before. Besides, I rather like this 'Bride of Frankenstein' look you've adopted."

"We've adopted." Percy corrected, pointing to Edward's own clothing, an identical high-necked black jacket sporting black lace around the collar and the cuffs. "I still can't believe you made me watch that ruddy film."

"Deep down, you know you loved it." Edward was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "The Ordinaries always maintain the most entertaining of notions. We must watch Dracula sometime with Vlad, his face turns the most interesting colors."

"You're terrible."

"Don't you mean terribly amusing?" Edward asked as he smoothed down the edges of Percy's jacket.

Percy smiled. Looking at Edward was like looking in a mirror. They were the same height, shared the same slender build and piecing eyes. The only difference between them was their color. Edward's black hair was laced with green.

"Are you nervous?" Edward reached around Percy and with deft fingers adjusted his tie. "It's okay, you can admit it."

"A little." Percy confided fiddling with his jacket buttons. "It's all happened rather fast, hasn't it?"

"For you maybe. For us, it's been a hundred long years watching and waiting." He patted Percy's cheek fondly. "We've all missed you terribly, and now, finally, you're back. You can't blame us for wanting to celebrate your return."

"Yes, I know, it's just-" He sighed, how could he explain this nagging yearning? "I feel like- I don't know, I just—I mean-" He laughed bitterly. "You'd think that by now I'd be able to better express myself."

Edward's green eyes shone with sympathy. "It's been a big adjustment."

"But a good one." Percy said and found he meant it. He was rewarded with another Cheshire smile. Straightening his shoulders, he said with resolve "Shall we?"

It appeared that everyone in Overworld had turned up for his Ascension. The front lawn of the estate was littered with black-suited figures talking and laughing. Alcohol was brandied about and the clink of wine goblets echoed around the gardens.

It was overcast, but then, it always seemed to be here. Color didn't exist in the traditional spectrum of rainbow brilliance; it subsisted as a palate of muted hues and introverted tints. Percy preferred it this way. The sun was but a vague recollection of something large and yellow that made his skin blister and burn in the summer.

Edward was already making his way down to where the guests were gathered, wine goblet in hand. He called out greetings as he went, stopping here and there to engage in merry exchanges with friends and family.

Percy peered at the rippling waves of electrocuted hair and fought the urge to turn tail and run. He wasn't ready for this and in retrospect, he should have issued a more severe protest against the entire idea. It was too late now.

A tray of wine was shoved under his nose. He reached blindly for the nearest goblet and took a swill of the liquid, enjoying the sweet burn on his tongue. Heartened by the immediate buzz and warmth flooding his limps, he navigated his way down the crisp stone steps.

The clink of glasses and gay conversation abruptly ceased. He took another drink, acutely aware of the silence but not ready to face the expectant swell of goodwill waiting below him.

"I'm not a brave person." He grumbled and drank again. "Merlin, if you can hear me, do NOT let me fall flat on my face."

"Don't worry, your grandmother already placed an anti-fall charm on the steps, what with all the expected drunken shenanigans events like these always bring."

Percy nearly jumped out of his skin. Clutching his wine glass to his chest he glared at the far-too amused sorcerer "Stop doing that! Are you intentionally trying to kill me?"

"Forgot that I was a real person again did you?" Merlin rapped Percy on the head with his staff. "I know that you've years of education that needs undoing, but stop using my name in vain! Thanks to an unfortunate wager with your Granddad, I'm obligated to show up whenever a member of your wretched family utters my name!"

"Sorry." Percy rubbed his head. "I have a lot on my mind."

"You're forgiven but only this once, mind you. And only because today is your ascension."

"Don't remind me." Percy resumed his navigation of the steps, careful to stay focused on his feet and not the many pairs of eyes trained on him. "Is everyone still watching?"

"Oh yes." Merlin fell into step beside him. "Waiting and watching with rapt attention. Quite a feat for this lot."

"I'm going to kill Edward for making me do this alone." Percy went to take another swig of alcohol only to have his goblet plucked from his fingers. "Hey, give that back!"

"Is there an 'or else' in there somewhere?" Merlin asked benignly before draining the goblet. "Ah, how refreshing!" He tossed the goblet into the bush where a hoard of helpful hands fought for ownership. "1209 was such a good year."

"I wouldn't know," Percy said peevishly, "as I didn't get to finish it."

"Shame that. Ah, here we go, safe and sound." Percy blinked and finally braved to look up. Sure enough, he was at the bottom of the steps and in one piece. "Looks like you made it on two feet. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

A white stone dais sat at the base of the stairs. Walking to the centre, Merlin held up his staff. With a steady hand, he brought down the staff to rap upon the stone foundation three times. It echoed so loudly that Percy thought that should someone drop a pin in the grass he would surely hear it. The tide of black suits gathered swiftly around the dais, standing shoulder to shoulder with arms pressed tightly to their sides. Percy's grandparents stood nearest the dais with Edward to their right.

"Listen up, you lot!" Merlin roared. "The time has come to welcome back one of our own. One who was lost to us during the Great Chaos!"

"The balance restored," responded the crowd with fervor, "never again to falter."

"We gather here as a unified whole to celebrate the ascension of Perseus, child of Vague, born to the house of Ignatius." Merlin gestured for Percy to step forward. Willing his knees not to shake, Percy took his place at the centre of the dais. "He has shed his old form and transcended to the Overworld. His ties are severed from the tangled mess of pandemonium that runs rampant through the world of wizardry and witchcraft!"

Percy tried not to frown. To be fair, there was a war going on but really, a 'tangled mess of pandemonium?" Merlin really did like to exaggerate.

"Perseus has overcome the trials." Merlin cried with passion. "He has embraced his color!"

"The cleansing!" The crowd responded. "The purity!"

"He has accepted his heritage and become one with his magic."

Percy felt a smile tug at his lips. Thanks to much prodding (and okay let's be honest, much coddling) by his grandparents and brother, he had overcome his wand handicap and was now a competent wielder of free-magic.

"Perseus," Merlin asked gravely, "do you, on this most auspicious of days accept your place in Overworld?"

"I do." Percy was relieved that his voice did not quake. "I, Perseus, embrace my birthright and accept my role in the grand design of the Balance." He gazed into the audience, eyes coming to rest on the proud faces of Edward and his grandparents. "I beseech those present to accept me into the fold so we may right the Balance and forever banish the Chaos."

"We, the keepers of the Balance of Overworld accept you, Perseus into our fold. The time for ascension is upon you."

Merlin rapped his staff again. A white circle formed around Percy. Mist poured from the circumference enveloping Percy until all he could see of his grandparents were blurry black blobs.

"On this day we bear witness to his ascension!" The mist turned purple and began to bubble. "Today, he becomes one not only with his magic but with his people!" The mist thickened and began to spark. "Today, he becomes one with Overworld!" The mist rippled and danced around him in an odd undulation of movement. Beyond the wall, he could hear Merlin and the crowd chanting. Percy closed his eyes and let the magic course through him. He felt strong and liberated. Percy had never felt more alive, more connected and aware of his surroundings than in this moment. Ascending felt bloody wonderful and he abruptly wondered why he had ever felt nervous. The mist tangled about his body, glowing and pulsing with life.

And then it burped.

Loudly.

Before Percy could blink, the mist solidified into a large glob of purple slime and with a thunderous bluuurrrrppppp! exploded over the shocked attendees who stood motionless with gapping mouths and dripping hair.

"Oh dear," Percy asked contritely, "was that meant to happen?"

II

Molly Weasley stood on the porch of the Burrow, teacup in hand, marveling at how good it felt to be home. The war was all but over. Harry, bless his soul, had defeated the Dark Lord. The last of the deatheaters were on the run but it wouldn't be long before the ministry rounded them up and sent the entire lot to Azkaban.

Her breath billowed about in wisps as she inhaled the crisp winter air. The snow storm had finally let up that morning, revealing a silent world swathed in brilliant white mounds of snow. Overhead the sun shone brightly, banishing the depressing grey veil of the week before. The world was fresh and bright, just the way she liked it.

She brought her teacup to her lips and inhaled deeply, reveling in the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. She had missed it, this alluding feeling of peace, this knowledge that all was right again in her world. Well, almost everything.

Retreating into the house, her eye fell to the family clock. All hands pointed to 'home' but she knew that not to be the case for one of her brood. An empty space glared at her in accusation and she turned away. She'd removed Percy's clock hand last Christmas when the pain and worry of his absence had become too great. Arthur and the rest of her children had supported her, saying she had done the right thing, but….

Molly sighed. Removing the clock hand had felt too much like defeat. The copper piece had felt heavy in her hand. Locking it away in her jewelry box had made her feel as though an admission of failure had been made, a testament to her malfunction as a mother. It had hurt then and it still hurt now.

She wished he would come home. Not for the first time, she loathed the Weasley stubbornness. While it had served them well in the past (for without that famous stubborn streak she and Arthur would never have married) it was now a noose around all their necks slowly tightening, pushing them all to the breaking point.

"Percy," she whispered to the empty room, "please come home."

"I'm so sorry." Percy repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. He sat in a secluded corner of the garden nursing a bottle of 1209. It truly was an amazing wine, but at the moment it was doing little to settle the lead ball of shame and guilt in his gut.

"Quit apologizing." Edward commanded, handing Percy a tray of assorted finger foods. "And do eat something before I'm charged with mopping up your vomit."

"How did this happen?" Percy wailed. "I thought I was ready." He pointed an accusatory finger at his small audience. "Everyone said I was ready!"

"There, there." Grandpa Ignatius soothed, patting Percy's arm. "We don't blame you."

"No one blames you." Grandma Lane interjected, "no one at all."

"Mer-that old sorcerer blames me." Percy had received a sharp blow to the head that had had him seeing stars. "And everyone else stampeded out the front gates!" He gestured wildly about the empty gardens. "Some party! Some celebration! I drove our guests away with purple goo!"

"What a sight that was! I haven't seen such a mad dash since Vlad lost control of that three-headed dog at last year's hollow's eve party!" Edward cackled then sobered beneath a withering glare from Lane. "But they don't blame you, Perseus." He said hastily. "They were just in a hurry to get the goo out before it stained. Black stains so easily, you know."

"Never mind the stains." Grandma Lane took a seat beside Percy and took his hand in hers. "The ascension failed because you weren't ready." Her face softened into an expression of quiet concern and sympathy that reminded Percy painfully of Molly. "It's not your fault, dear. Don't ever think that it is." She reached out and stroked Percy's hair. "Truth be told, it's my fault."

"And mine." Ignatius cut in, taking a seat to Percy's left. "We wanted so badly to have you back that we pushed you too hard."

"You've only had your color for a year or so," Lane soothed, "and adjusting your magic from wand to free is no small feat." Bony arms wrapped around Percy and squeezed. "This is only a small set-back. You'll get it next time."

"I'm sure I will." He managed to choke out and couldn't help but notice that Grandma Lane's hug didn't feel nearly as comforting as Molly's. "Next time."

Next time. Those two words were more ominous that any other. Next time. Percy knew that the 'next time' wouldn't be any different than 'this time.' The problem lay not with his color or his magic. The problem lay with him, in his inability to let go of his old life. It was a conundrum, and not one which he could easily solve. He had entertained the notion on more than one occasion of simply coming out and saying what was on his mind, but each time he looked into the loving, accepting eyes of his grandparents, a lump formed in his throat, keeping him from forming the words.

He managed a sickly smile as they left him, his grandmother planting a kiss on his forehead; his grandfather giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. Only Edward remained. He took a seat across the table and picked absently at the abandoned tray of finger foods, his brow nit together as though he were deep in thought. Percy wished he'd just leave. Couldn't Edward see that he was miserable and wallowing in self-pity?

"You screwed the pooch today Perseus." Edward remarked, conversationally. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you'll continue to screw the pooch won't you?"

"Please don't speak in code, Edward, my brain can't decipher your riddles right now." Percy pulled at the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stop the growing throb in his temple. "Truth be told, my brain can't process anything at the moment."

"Fine, then you tell me – what really happened up there today? And don't try to lie because I know you too well."

Percy snorted. "You hardly know me at all and that's the crux of the matter."

"Not know you?" Edward spluttered, eyes flashing. "I know you better than you know yourself! Hello, I'm a soul-seer remember? I know everyone better than they know themselves, which is a real curse as it takes the mystery and allure out of dating. It also annoys people because really, who wants to be told truths they'd rather not acknowledge?"

"Since you're so all-knowing, perhaps you can shed some light on my unacknowledged problem?"

The two men glared at each other across the table, their magic sparking between them in angry bursts. Percy jutted his chin out, daring Edward to take the bait.

"You have issues." Edward said finally, his voice even and smooth. "Lots of unresolved issues and because of said issues, you can't ascend."

"That's rather vague. Any two-bit charlatan could have told me that!"

"You want more? Then fine!" Edward flung up his hands in exasperation. "You have Mummy and Daddy issues!"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Be that as it may," Edward, said, making a rude gesture, "we are not talking about my abandonment issues, we're talking about yours. You did something back there, something you're not proud of and it's eating away at you, preventing you from moving forward and getting on with your life." Edward crossed his arms over his chest in a manner that dared Percy to disagree. "You're carrying more guilt than a Catholic schoolgirl but you're stuck with it because your stubborn pride kept you from reconciling when you had the chance to do so. Now, you're just fucked!"

Percy glowered. Damn Edward and his soul-seeing magic.

"Did that about cover it? Or do I need to do some more soul-searching?"

"No," Percy admitted, "that about sums it up. What do you propose I do? Letting go has never been my forte."

"We'll think of something." Edward plucked a spinach puff from the tray and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. "In the meantime Perseus, I suggest you practice your magic – badly - otherwise Lane and Iggy will know something's amiss."

Arthur Weasley had known that something was amiss. It had taken awhile for him to pinpoint the exact problem but when he did, it was so obvious that he wondered how he hadn't noticed it before.

He had been sitting at the old oak desk in his cramped office, buried in the bowels of the Department of Muggle Artifacts, when the epiphany had struck. The epiphany was so strong it had felt like a blunt-force trauma delivered to the back of his head by a shovel. He'd been belted so hard, he'd seen stars. When the stars had cleared, he'd realized what the problem was.

Rising from his desk, he decided to take a gander up to the sixth floor where the Minister's office was located. He had no intention of actually going in, that would be awkward, but there wouldn't be any harm in walking past the office where, if he should happen to glance through the open door to spy a certain individual pouring intently over a pile of parchment behind a large, sparsely adorned desk, then his presence wouldn't be questioned and he'd have reclaimed a peaceful state of mind.

Satisfied with his plan, Arthur pressed the 'up' button on the elevator and waited impatiently for the lift to arrive. He rocked back and forth on his heels and pondered how long it had been since he'd actually spoken to his son. He remembered all too vividly the last conversation they'd shared. Merlin knew, he'd be hard-pressed to forget that one, but the last time they'd spoken? That'd been a while ago.

The lift arrived with a cheerful ping and he stepped inside, smiling amicably to the other workers packed together like sardines in a can. He pushed the button for the sixth floor and watched the doors close.

It had to have been at the last department meeting six months ago. Percy had been handing out 'very important memos' for everyone to read. Arthur had thanked him for the copy to which Percy had said "you're welcome." It had been a short exchange, but an exchange nonetheless. Arthur half-hoped there would soon be longer, more frequent exchanges. Exchanges that included key phrases such as "how are you?" and "would you like to get a cup of tea?" Such phrases had been commonplace when Percy had first started at the Ministry. They'd even gone for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron once or twice.

The elevator pinged and Arthur stepped out and turned left down the sprawling hall leading to the Minster's office. He missed those lunches; they'd afforded him a rare glimpse into his son's true character. Arthur often speculated that if there had been more lunches perhaps the 'big argument' would never have taken place and instead of his plan to 'walk by' his son's office, he'd actually be going to meet Percy in order to share a sandwich and celebrate their victory over the Dark Lord.

Nearing the office, Arthur's pace slowed to a crawl. Hands in his pockets, he sauntered in a nonchalant manner by the door. His eyes slid left, hoping to catch a glimpse of Percy. Instead of seeing a mop of red curls bent over parchment, he saw a young woman with black hair sitting where his son should be. Frowning, he backpedaled and looked at the name plate on the wall.

Debra Wingott, Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic

Arthur blinked. Since when was the undersecretary a girl?

"May I help you?"

Arthur turned. The interloper was gazing at him behind a pair of thin black spectacles.

"I'm looking for my son. He works here."

"Really?" The girl cocked a brow. "And what does your son do here?"

"Your job." Arthur blurted before thinking better of it. "My son, Percival, is the undersecretary to the Minister."

"Mr. Weatherby hasn't worked for the Ministry in sometime." The girl, Debra, said snidely. "I'm the undersecretary now."

"When did he leave?"

Debra tapped her quill to her teeth. "Let's see, it would be, what? Three months now?"

"Three months?" Arthur repeated dumbly. How could it be three months? How did he, as a father, miss this development? "Why did Percy vacate his position?"

"Who knows?" Debra shrugged. "He was most unprofessional about it. Just went home one day and never came back. The Minister was frantic. Minister Scrimegoure is a very busy man."

"Do you know where he went?" Please, oh, please tell me he's working for Gringotts.

"Why are you asking me?" Debra smirked at him from across her desk. "You're his father."

Chest welling with dread, Arthur mumbled something about needing to get back to work and stumbled from the office. Three months! His son had been missing for three months. He didn't reframe from jumping to conclusions; he jumped right to the most obvious. Something had happened to Percy. His son would never just up and quit his beloved Ministry.

Merlin, what was he to do? Sagging against the wall, he dropped his head into his hands. Three months. What was he to tell Molly?

"Psst! Wake up!" Percy groaned and willed the annoying voice to leave him in peace. "I know what we have to do!"

"G'away." Percy pulled his pillow over his head. "Come back tomorrow."

"No can do mate!" The bedcovers were yanked from his body, leaving Percy bereft and cold. "I've formulated a plan. The time to act is now!"

"What is it?" Percy sat up and rubbed his temples. Gads, but he hated hangovers. "More importantly, what time is it?"

"5 am. The winds are gusting westward and the clouds are thick." Edward pulled the curtains apart with barely contained enthusiasm. "It's a perfect day to travel." He tossed a pair of black trousers, shirt and vest onto the bed. "Get dressed, we're going to Vanguard!"

Vanguard was little more than a collection of crumbling Tudor estates and decrepit castles nestled amongst blood red hoodoos and shale rock cliffs. By popular vote, the denizens of Vanguard were considered eccentric, which was laudable considering the populace of Overworld was anything but ordinary.

As promised, the day was perfect for traveling. One of the things Percy loved most about Overworld was the lack of broom travel. While most of the Weasleys had assumed that he was afraid of heights, the truth was that Percy held a deep-sated loathing of brooms. He loved to fly, he just wasn't fond of having his balls squashed by a hard piece of wood jammed between his legs.

He'd said as much to Edward when he'd first arrived to Overworld, who had laughed and introduced him to the joys of disk travel. Disk travel was rather like riding a muggle skate board, except that it was round, lacked wheels and could reach a cruising altitude of 1500 feet. Percy had taken to flying immediately and never once looked back.

"Tell me again, why we're going to Vanguard?"

"To see the Illuminati." Edward called over his shoulder as he leaned into yet another pop wheelie. "They're all quite mad, but incredibly good at what they do. Like you, they were causalities of the Great Chaos, so I suspect they'll be sympathetic to our cause."

"Have they ascended?" Percy hoped the answer was no, he'd rather like some company in the 'screwed the pooch' department.

"Yep, right before you transcended."

Drat.

"That was a hell of a party." Edward continued, "They all ascended together, did you know that? Mille, Rhana and Vinn? Those three never do anything by the book, not even their ascension. That Rhana, when it was her turn to ascend, she somehow turned the mist to rain. When asked, she said she did it to save her hair. Rhana is just as particular as you are. Mmm," his eyes glazed over, "Rhana, you'll like her. Everyone does."

Percy rather suspected Rhana's popularity lay more with the male population than the female but held his tongue. They caught a downdraft and began their descent. Thick clouds momentarily obscured their vision before parting to reveal a fog-covered mass of sparse land fenced in by towering rock and stone. In the centre lay a dilapidated castle of crumbing red brick and mortar.

They set down in front of a rotting wooden drawbridge overhanging a drained moat. Percy stepped off his disk. The disk shrank to the size of a quarter, allowing him to tuck it into his pocket.

"Interesting choice of architecture."

"Yeah, the previous owners had this grand notion that brick castles would last longer than traditional stone." Edward eyed the crumbling brick disdainfully. "I think they should have stuck to the stone."

"Indeed." Percy placed his foot carefully on the drawbridge. The planks creaked ominously beneath his boot. "Is this thing safe?"

"I wouldn't stake my life on it. Maybe there's another entrance?"

"To a castle? Not bloody likely."

"Who goes there?" A loud voice boomed over their heads. "Are you friend or foe?"

"Rhana?" Edward called, "is that you?"

Above them, a shadowed figure stood precariously on a granite gargoyle jutting over the moat. "Eddie?" The voice took on a distinctly feminine quality. "Is that you?"

"I asked you first!" Edward shouted back, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Show yourself!"

"Hey, is that Eddie?" A second head poked out overtop the parapet. "It is! Mille! Get your ass out here, we've got company!"

"Stay where you are," Rhana called, "we'll be right down!"

Excited whoops and hollers echoed inside the walls of the castle, growing louder as they approached the entrance. Judging by the calamity, Percy fully expected to see twenty rampaging hippogriffs instead of the three boisterous individuals shouting out their greetings. Percy watched in trepidation as the three crossed the rotting drawbridge, seemingly immune to its admonishing creaks and groans.

"By the balance Edward, how long has it been?' The tallest of the three, Mille, Percy guessed, shook Edward's hand earnestly before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "It's great to see you."

"It's great to see you too.' Edward jerked his head towards Percy. "Mille, I'd like you to meet my brother Perseus. He transcended around the same time you ascended."

"Really?" Rhana sauntered past Edward and Mille to Percy. She looked him up and down with a critical eye. "You look familiar. Did we meet before your transcend?"

"For a keeper of time, your memory is incredibly short-lived." Vinn joked, earning himself a punch on the arm. "No, it's true. You ask her anything about her life in the Wizarding World, and she'll tell you she can't remember. Personally, I think it's because she doesn't want to admit she spent the entire time performing lap dances and having dollar bills stuffed in her bikini bottoms, if she even wore any."

This comment earned Vinn another punch and a hard kick to his shins. The exchange was lost on Percy, who could do little but stare wantonly at the buxom blonde. Rhana was only slightly shorter than himself but with more curves and bosom than you could shake a stick at. That wasn't her most striking feature either. Rhana seemed to glow. It was an enticing sort of glow that drew one's eyes to her person and then refused to let go. Percy also noted, with no small amount of bitterness, that her hair was soft and feathered about her shoulders instead of sticking straight out.

"Perce!" Edward was shaking his shoulder. "Earth to Perseus. She's talking to you."

"What?" Percy blinked and forced himself to look away from her hair. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Never mind." Rhana said demurely. She glanced over her shoulder at Vinn and smirked. "See? I still have it."

"Says you." Came the retort from a short man with purple hair and eyes. "It's just cuz he hasn't ascended yet. You try that glamour shit on him after ascension, and I bet he won't so much as blink."

"He will too." Rhana turned back to Percy. She drew her finger slowly down his chest. "Won't you?"

"Um, well—"

'What he's going to do is tell us what he's doing here." Mille interjected before the conversation could degenerate further. "Over tea in the parlor, perhaps?"

"Tea would be great." Edward agreed. "Do you have any biscuits to go with that?"

"Never mind the biscuits," Rhana quipped, "since when do we have a parlor?"

"Frig if I know. " Vinn shrugged but followed the group into the castle. "I didn't even friggin' know we had tea.

Percy shook his head. He sincerely hoped that Edward knew what he was doing. A painful stirring in his gut alerted him to the fact that this was likely a bad idea, but since his options were limited to trusting madmen or being honest with his family, his choice was obvious.

Madmen it was.

III

Arthur Weasley stood outside his son's last known address. After a quick trip to the records office, he'd taken the tube into muggle London. Standing before apartment block 1215 Birkenshire, he couldn't believe his son lived in such squalor. The neighborhood was run-down and situated in one of the poorer areas of muggle London.

Cracked windows encased in graffiti riddled grey cement comprised the decayed building. Picking his way around broken beer bottles and stinking garbage Arthur entered the apartment block. It was worse on the inside. Yellow wallpaper peeled in clumps from the walls. The flooring was chipped and grimy. Arthur scanned the faded mailboxes for his son's name. Not finding it, he furthered his resolve and began the short climb to the second floor. Percy had resided in 2-A. Arthur stood in front of the door, fearing what was on the other side.

Hand shaking, he reached up and knocked tentatively. He waited and when no one answered, he tried the knob. The door opened with a small creak. His heart beat wildly in his chest. It was irrational to feel this way, after all, he didn't have any proof that anything was wrong, but Arthur Weasley hadn't survived two wars and countless scraps with Deatheaters by waiting for evidence to appear. No, he had survived because he trusted his instincts and right now, his instincts were on full alert screaming that something was wrong.

He pushed open the door. A waft of stale air hit his nose as he entered and quietly shut the door. The apartment was small and devoid of furniture. He wandered into the kitchen, opening cabinets and cupboards, finding nothing amiss. A small bathroom off to the side revealed nothing other than the fact his son was not here.

The bedroom was another matter. Upon first glance, the bedroom appeared like all the rest. It wasn't until the closet was opened that Arthur's greatest suspicion and worst fear were confirmed. A bloody handprint splayed upon the interior wall. While it was possible the handprint may not have been his son's, the clump of red hair with the flesh still attached left little doubt.

Arthur didn't make it the bathroom before he vomited.

It was interesting, Percy mused, how conversation could flow over and around you without actually stopping to include you. He was seated at a round wood table sipping a well-steeped cup of Earl Gray half-listening to the animated voices fluttering around his ears.

It appeared the Illuminati did indeed possess a parlor and a proper one too. It was too bad nothing could be said for their conversation skills. There were at least four different conversations going, all of them one-sided. When he thought about it, it wasn't all that different from the Burrow, save that eventually someone would reply to whatever had been said with a smart remark; well, three or four smart remarks if it was the twins who chose to reply. Smart remarks or no, it could at least be construed as a conversation. The cacophony in the parlor was little more than noise.

Rhana was babbling about the parlor, which she believed to have been blown up three months past in an experiment of some sort. Tea sloshed over the edges of her cup as she waved her arms about.

"How lovely to have a table and chairs again," she cried, "and a working stove! No more microwave dinners for me."

Percy didn't know what a microwave dinner was, but he was glad to have avoided the exposure just the same.

Vinn kept waving his arms in Mille's face, demanding to know where the biscuits were while Edward bombarded her with questions concerning clocks. Unbelievably, she was able to ignore both men in favor of sipping her tea and commenting to no one in particular about the finer points of swordplay.

Percy wondered when the art of conversation had died, if in fact, it had ever lived, in Vanguard. The cacophony of inane comments and animations was accomplishing little more than adding to his already throbbing temples. He set down his cup and pulled at the bridge of his nose in the vague hopes it would do something productive – like keeping his head from exploding.

"Oy, are you all right Perseus?" Edward seemed to have given up his inquisition and had returned his attention to his brother. "Is your head still bothering you?"

Percy could barely nod. It was painful and no longer just his head. Sharp pinpricks speared his chest, as though a thousand small fingers were stabbing his heart. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out save for an agonized expulsion of air. Edward shouted something, but the roar of blood in his ears muted the sound. The world spun and fell black.

Agony was not a foreign concept to Percy. He was well-versed in all aspects of the word. There was verbal agony, emotional agony and physical agony. He'd become well acquainted with verbal agony early on in life. Being an oddball in a large family of nine made him the target of all sorts of nasty comments and nicknames. Perfect Percy. Pinhead Percy. Git. Prig. Arsehole. By the time he'd made Head Boy, he'd heard it all.

By graduation the definition of emotional agony was filed to memory. His relationship with Penelope Clearwater was already on the rocks. She wanted love and affection; he had an aversion to touch and a personality that could rival the ice age. He didn't blame her for leaving. It was the natural progression of all his relationships.

Life at home had gone from being difficult to intolerable. Work had initially been his way out; a welcome respite from the daily dregs of home life. Of course, all good things must come to an end and for Percy they came crashing down in the form of a series of poor choices, inexperience, one deceased boss and a tampered Goblet of Fire that amounted to a three-hour inquisition that nearly cost him his beloved job.

He'd been a wreck after that, not that anyone knew it. If there was one thing Percy had mastered in his time at the Burrow, it was how to mask one's true feelings. His family never knew how much their words hurt him. He never confided in his siblings; never told them how difficult it was to get up in the mornings or why a painful stomach ulcer made him refuse to eat the majority of Molly's meals. No one ever knew the truth.

As bad as verbal and emotional agony were, they paled against the physical agony. He was being torn apart by memories, good and bad. Happy, sad, familiar and forgotten, Overworld and Wizarding, they were all present, tugging and pulling, tearing and shredding until he felt as though he was nothing more than tiny bits of flesh scattered to the winds.

He opened his mouth and screamed.

Edward's fingers were a mess. He'd ravished the nails of his left hand within five minutes and had finished off his right hand in three. After eight minutes of nail biting he'd begun to pace the length of the hall, reveling in the clang of his boots against the marble tile. Any noise was preferable to the explosions of magic, harried chants and all-out yelling emanating from behind a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. A 'do not disturb' sign swung wildly beneath the brass knocker as the door struggled to contain the flurry of activity taking place within the walls of the infirmary.

Perseus was in that very room. Judging from the screams he may be dying. Edward's hands itched to reach out and swing open the door. He longed to rush to his brother's side. They were always being separated it seemed; first by time, then by war and now by something as simple as an oak door.

Everything had happened so fast. One minute Perseus had been drinking tea in the parlor, the next he'd been doubled over with pain. If it hadn't been for Mille, Edward didn't know what he would have done. While he had given in to panic, she had calmly taken control of the situation, whisking Perseus away to the medical wing (Balance only knew why they should even need one but Edward was grateful that they did).

He should have seen this coming. All the signs had been there: the guilt, the worry, the anguish. He had known exactly how his brother was feeling, yet his desire to pick up the shattered pieces and glue them back together had overcome his better judgment. Perseus had trusted him and he'd let him down.

"Eddie?"

"Is he all right?" Edward hurtled down the hall. "Vinn! Is he all right?"

"Cool it, man." Vinn stood in the doorway, effectively blocking Edward's view of the infirmary. "You can't go in there yet."

"I have to see him." Edward tried to push past the smaller man. "He needs me!"

"What he needs is for you to not fuck up the spell." Vinn grabbed Edward and slammed him against the wall. "Dude, get a grip. Spells like this are friggn' hard to prepare let along execute. It's gonna be awhile before Perce comes outta it."

"What the hell happened to him?" Edward slid down the wall, where he sagged on the floor. "No, scratch that. I'm well aware of what happened." He cradled his head in his hands. "Bloody hell, what have I done?"

"You did exactly what you should have – you brought him to us."

"But maybe I thought wrong, maybe –"

"It's exactly what you thought." Vinn interrupted. He sat next to Edward against the wall. "He has unfinished business that's getting in the way of his ascension. Right now, Perseus is existing in two different realities. "

"That's impossible." Edward scoffed. "He transcended ages ago."

"Yes and no. Physically, he's here, but mentally," Vinn tapped his forehead, "he's back there."

"How is that possible?"

Vinn worried his bottom lip. "We're not rightly sure. I have a theory though."

"Go on."

"I think it's a problem of magic."

"But he has his color and he's mastered free-magic."

Vinn held up a hand. "Hear me out, okay? You said yourself that Perseus has unfinished business in the wizarding world. My question to you, is why?"

"There were…problems." Edward breathed deeply, trying to ward off the rising bile in his throat. He didn't want to relive the memory of how he'd found his brother. "We had to take him ahead of schedule."

"You mean you pulled him without any warning?" Edward shook his head. "Frig, Eddie that alone could have done him in."

"You think I don't know that?" Edward snapped, his voice rising in pitch. "We didn't have a choice. If we had waited there wouldn't have been anything left of him to transcend!" Edward removed a black handkerchief from his pocket. He mopped at his brow. "Things are so screwed up in the Wizarding World; none of the rules apply there anymore. All of our careful preparations, our plans, our guidelines, they mean nothing!"

"Tell me about it." Vinn ran a hand through his hair. "I lived there too, remember? I'm well acquainted with Lord Shit-for-brains and his league of Deathfucks." His lips curled into a wry smile that held no mirth. "That was why you pulled him early, isn't it?"

"Among other things." He still had nightmares about what he had witnessed in that room. Though he'd never actually set foot in the Wizarding World, he'd seen enough horror through the Peeping Tom to last a life time. He'd experienced enough pain through Perseus to know that his brother was far better off in Overworld than in that poor excuse of a life. "It was the first time I truly loathed my magic. It's common knowledge that I can see into the souls of others and claim their memories. What's less well-known is that I can feel the emotions accompanying those memories too."

"Frig man, I didn't know."

Edward chuckled hollowly. "You weren't supposed to. No one is. So, what's your big theory?"

"His old magic is maintaining his connection to the Wizarding World while his free-magic roots him here. Between the two, he's being torn apart."

"Why didn't we see this a year ago?"

"He didn't try to ascend before." Vinn pointed out. "I think the ascension magnified the problem."

"So what can we do?"

An explosion rocked the hall, sending bits and pieces of rock and pebbles down on their heads. Perseus' anguished scream could be heard over the dim.

"If he survives the spell, we'll send him back."

IV

"Why are we having a family meeting now?" Ron complained loudly from where he was sprawled at the end of the Weasley's battered kitchen table. "The war's over and we're all in one piece."

"It is rather peculiar," agreed Fred, who was seated next to George, "as we haven't had a family meeting since Ginny-winny blew up the kitchen stove."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Will you let that go already? It was my first time using magic."

"Let it go?"

"Abandon it to memory?"

The twins were incredulous. "That was a bloody stroke of genius!"

"A right proper introduction to the wonders of mischief and mayhem."

"That, Ginny-winny," said George with an air of authority, "will go down in the Weasley books as the best first-time magic use in the history of this family."

"Be still my beating heart."

Bill and Charlie laughed and ruffled their sister's hair. "S'okay Ginny. We all blew things up our first time too. It's somewhat of a Weasley tradition."

"Except Percy." Ron pointed out. "He did something boring like wax the floor."

"Don't ever mention that git's name in our presence." Fred hissed. "Ever."

"I was just saying, is all." Ron gulped and lowered his eyes. "Sorry."

Even after two years and the end of the war, Percy was still a taboo subject, especially where the twins were concerned. They'd taken Percy's defection hard. Though they never said it, Ron suspected that secretly, they'd looked up to Percy. His older brother may have been a rule-following, authority-loving prig, but he was a prig who'd always been there, always looked after them, even when they hadn't wanted his help.

"Why can't he mention him?" Ginny demanded. She'd grown up over the last few years. The war had made her bold. "For merlin's sake, it's been forever since he's left. Surely, you've gotten over it by now."

"How can we get it over it?" Fred yelled. He slapped his hands against the table top, causing the drinks to shake. "He walked out! He left!"

"You certainly didn't make it easy for him to come back!"

"Ginny—"

"Don't 'Ginny' me Bill. It's high time we talked about him." She pointed an accusatory finger at the twins. "After all those awful letters and pranks you sent, do you honestly think he'd dare step foot in this house? He was probably afraid of what you'd do to him!"

"Why are you always defending him?" George shot back. His face turned an ugly shade of scarlet. "He was a traitorous git!"

"He could be dead!" Ginny spat, her own face as red as George's. "The war has ended and we haven't heard from him. Is he still working at the Ministry because I don't know, do any of you? From your guilty expressions, I'd say not." For the first time, her voice shook. "I just know that every day, I scan the obituary section of the Daily Prophet for his picture. I read the dull political section in case there is some news of him. And here you all are, running him down, not caring about where he is." Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "No more, you hear? No more."

"Okay Ginny," Charlie said quietly, "you've made your point." Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled Ginny to his chest and said softly into her hair, "I miss him too."

"We don't." Fred declared. George nodded viciously. "After what he's done, he can rot."

"Don't you talk about your brother that way!" Molly Weasley stood at the head of the table, looking murderous. A plate of cookies was slammed down, making everyone jump.

"Sorry Mum." The twins mumbled without sounding sorry at all. "What's the big occasion?"

"Yeah Mum, why are we all here?"

"Your father flooed me from work." Molly tugged at her apron nervously. "He'll be home in a few minutes. He said it was urgent."

As if on cue, Arthur Weasley materialized in the fireplace. Expectant faces watched him shake soot from his cloak. They knew something was wrong. He didn't smile nor greet his children. He staggered to where they were gathered and all but collapsed into his chair.

"Arthur?" Molly ran to his side. Blindly, she grabbed a cup of water and held it to his lips. "Take sips."

He shook his head and pushed the glass away.

"Molly."

The acrid scent of vomit washed over her face, telling her how bad his news was. Arthur was stronger than most gave him credit for. His time in the Order had placed him in the middle of the worst attacks during both wars. The last time he'd smelled of vomit had been when her brothers had been killed during the first war.

"Oh god," she whispered, the realization hitting her between the eyes like a sledgehammer. "No, I don't want to hear this."

"Molly –"

"NO!" she screamed shrilly. "Don't tell me this! It's not true."

Ignoring the confused cries from her children, she raced up the stairs to her bedroom where her jewelry box lay open on the dresser. Fumbling through its compartments, she pulled the copper clock handle from its holder. Clutching it to her chest, she hurried back downstairs.

"Don't speak to me!" She ordered, racing past her husband who couldn't find the energy to rise from his chair. The empty space on the old clock glared out at her, mocking her weakness. Gripping the clock hand, she plunged it into the empty spot, banishing the space from existence.

Someone placed a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off and waited. Eyes glued to the tarnished hand, she watched it move. With agonizing slowness and blinding speed, it passed by "at home," "at work," "at school," then "traveling" without pause. It continued its trek around the clock, Molly's gaze following each tick like a drowning woman. As it made the final round, her lips trembled.

With a final tick, the hand stopped.

Molly's scream echoed off the walls of the Burrow. Six stunned faces watched their mother crumble to the floor in a heap. Arthur didn't move from his chair. His entire body shook and his lips moved, though no words came out. It was Ginny who broke the spell, moving from her mother's side to the clock. She ripped the clock hand from its place and turned it over.

Percy Weasley – deceased.

Body shaking with rage, she spun, waving the handle over her head. "Are you happy now?" She screamed at the twins. "Do you see what this says?" She threw the handle at them, striking George in the chest. "He's dead! Our brother is dead."

"No!" Ron snatched the handle from the floor. "It can't be." With numb fingers, he turned the clock hand over. It was true. Sobs wracked his body. He would have fallen had the strong arms of his sister not kept him in place. Clinging to her, they both cried.

Their brother was dead.

"Am I dead?" Percy asked groggily. Every bone in his body ached. With no answer forthcoming, he sagged against the pillows. The room was swathed in darkness. It took him a moment to realize the room was dark because he'd yet to open his eyes.

He tried again. "Edward?" Silence. "Anyone?"

From somewhere to his right, a door slammed. "Perseus?" The relief in his brother's voice was apparent. "Thank the Balance, I was so worried."

"What happened?" Percy struggled to sit up but a gentle hand to his chest pressed him to the mattress. "Where am I?"

"We're still in Vanguard. Perseus, can you open your eyes?"

"No, s'too hard." His eyelids felt like they'd been melded together using super glue. "Hurts."

"Give it a minute." A cool hand was placed to his temple. Warmth spread throughout his limbs, diminishing the painful throb. "Let the magic do its thing."

"Is that you Vinn?" Percy managed to pry open an eye. "You're a healer?"

"Fuck yeah!" Vinn said indignantly. "What?" He jerked a thumb at Mille and Rhana. "You think that just cuz they're girls they can heal?" Vinn cracked his knuckles. "Sometimes you just need a man's touch."

"I don't even want to contemplate the implications present in that statement."

"I am what I am."

"We have things to discuss." Mille stepped into the room and perched on the end of Percy's bed. "You had a nasty episode today that nearly killed you. Vinn has a theory as to why and I happen to agree with him."

"Unfinished business?"

"Among things." Mille held out her hand. "We don't have time to explain everything. The Barrier we placed on you is already waning, if we don't act now, you'll die."

Somehow, Percy wasn't surprised. He took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The first step was pure agony. If not for Edward and Mille he would have landed in a heap on the floor and in all likelihood, bruised his arse.

"I'm going to prepare." Mille said curtly, leaving them in the hall. "Rhana and Vinn will take you up to the tower."

"Absolutely!" Rhana looked far too cheerful for someone about to climb ten flights of stairs. "I know a shortcut."

"Frig your shortcuts." Vinn gestured for Edward and Perseus to follow. "Come on."

Rhana raced by and punched Vinn in the arm.

"Ouch! Frig Rhana!"

"We're taking you to the clock tower." Edward said softly as they inched slowly down the hall after the arguing pair. "Mille and Vinn believe they can help you settle your unfinished business."

"How are they to help us?" Percy whispered.

"The Illuminati are the keepers of time." Edward replied quietly. "They can see into the past, present and future."

"So?"

"So, as keepers, they can transcend between realities and worlds whenever they like. They aren't constrained the way you and I are."

"Wait," Percy grabbed Edwards arm. "Are you telling me that the Illuminati can send me home – er, I mean back to the Wizarding World?"

If Edward was hurt by the slip, he didn't show it. "Maybe, which is exactly why we're here."

"Are you two coming?" The argument over, Rhana poked her head around the corner. "Time's a wasting." She laughed at her own joke. Percy didn't get it. "This way."

There was silence.

It permeated the walls and perched on the windows. It slid between the cracks in the floor and settled like dust on the carpet. It rendered the occupants mute but it mattered not, as they had turned to stone.

Such as it was when there was bad news to be borne.

Mille studied the sad figures dispassionately. What reason was there to mourn the dead if they weren't truly dead? From her time as a witch, she had witnessed all sorts of death. Those of natural causes and those of intent. It didn't matter how one died because all was wiped clean and began anew.

With a practiced hand she rotated the Peeping Tom counterclockwise to the not-so-distant past. Dark shapes swirled within the PT's circumference, slowly taking shape and form. 'This is agony,' she thought as dark robed shapes tormented the lump of flesh mounted to a wall. 'This is pain.' With a twist of her wrist the Peeping Tom rotated further into the past.

The house was no longer silent, but it was not happy. Voices yelled and hurled accusations meant to wound. In her opinion words were the greatest weapon. They devastated and destroyed far better than any spell or gun. Foolish wizards and their magic. They shared more in common with the Ordinaries than they realized. Both peoples clung to the ridiculous notion that 'time heals all wounds.' Time grew with all the troubles its passing wrought. Time did not heal wounds, it infected them.

Resting her chin on her hand she took a peek at the future.

"Heh." She knew it. If she played her cards right, everything that had come undone could be rewound. The imbalance of old could find balance in the new. Truly, there was no time like the present.

"Is this really necessary?" Percy demanded as he unbuckled his pants. His shirt, vest, boots and socks laid in a pile at his feet. "I fail to see why I must be nude."

"Oh Perseus, don't be such a prude." Rhana stood in the centre of a large clock face spanning the circumference of the floor. Overhead hung various dials, gears and springs. "Just let it all hang out." She bent over one of several clock hands. Chest heaving with exertion, she adjusted the hand a quarter of a turn to the right. She straightened and cast a mischievous grin over her shoulder as Percy's pants and belt joined the pile on the floor. "Eddie, you didn't tell me your brother preferred briefs."

Percy turned scarlet and tried to cover himself with his hands.

"Leave the dying man alone." Eddie rested a reassuring hand on Percy's shoulder. "In fact, why don't you give us a minute – in private?"

"Fine, but the underwear comes off too."

"Is she serious?" Percy demanded when she'd gone. "She can't be serious."

"'Fraid so mate. Souls transcend, clothes don't. The last thing you want is a clothing malfunction."

"What sort of malfunction?"

"The sort where your boxers are where your balls should be."

"Oh." Percy hastily removed his briefs. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Edward unbuttoned his vest. "I'm getting ready."

"You're coming with me?"

"Absolutely." Edward shed his vest and tossed it aside. "Did you think I'd let you do this alone?"

"I didn't think anything."

"Liar."

"Okay," Percy admitted, "maybe I did expect to do this alone but," he continued hastily as Edward's shoulders tensed, "it's nothing against you! I've only ever been able to depend upon myself."

"Was, Perseus, was!" Edward seethed. "You keep speaking like it's the present when it's the past!" He poked Percy hard in the chest. "Get it through your head that you are no longer Percy Weasley! It was Percy Weasley that depended on himself and himself alone. Your old self may have been estranged from his family but Perseus, you're not!" Edward took Percy's face in his hands and brought their temples together. "I'm here, little brother," he whispered, "I'm right here."

"I'm here too." Vinn quipped, breaking the moment. "In fact, everyone's here." He stepped aside to reveal the remaining members of the Illuminati. "So if we're all done with the chick moment, how's about we get this show on the road before Perseus's barrier breaks down?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Percy merely nodded. He chanced a fleeting look at Edward, but his brother was intently removing the clasps on his boots.

"Oh, Percy, I had no idea you were so well endowed." Rhana purred, reminding Percy that all regions south were exposed. Much to her amusement, he tried to cover himself with his hands. "There's no need for that." She leered cheekily. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Enough of the porn talk." Mille ordered. "Percy, I want you standing at the north point of the clock. Edward, you go south. And you two," she gestured to Rhana and Vinn "take up points east and west." She clapped her hands together. "Get ready people, we're going to make a delivery!"

V.

Percy had only a vague recollection of his transcend to the Overworld. There had been a feeling of vertigo followed by a bombardment of unfamiliar images. He'd woken in a room that was both modern and old; a room which could not be assigned any particular time or date. The vaulted ceilings spoke of 14th century cathedrals; the porcelain chamber pot of 18th century England while the linoleum flooring and clock radio heralded the arrival of the 20th century. It was simultaneously the past, the present and the future. It was everything and nothing.

It was home.

He'd known it instinctively. For the first time in a long time, he'd felt at ease in his own skin. There was a purpose to all which transpired in Overworld, an order that disallowed even the slightest of aberrations. His love of rules, his admiration of authority and his desire for control all made sense in the Overworld. It was even expected.

The Balance had to be maintained. Each denizen worked to achieve this precarious equilibrium for if the equilibrium were to sway the consequences would be so far-reaching as to effect more than just the Overworld.

Maybe it was this equilibrium that kept him from fully embracing and enjoying his new home, for as much as he tried to let go of the past, it refused to be put in storage. Indeed, Perseus still thought of himself as Percy (and wasn't that a bother?), a person who repulsed rather than attracted; a boy whose entire life was invested in an endless stream of reports, memos and board meetings. As much as he desired to shed his old skin, he remained stuck in the trappings of his old life. The cause of the problem was rooted in a single moment.

During his transcend to the Overworld Percy had seen something – an event – that was to change (or had changed?) his very existence. At the time it had seemed trivial, as nothing more than a fleeting glimpse of what was (is?) but which had stayed filed away in the recesses of his mind. The beginnings were lost but the ending remained constant. He remembered a face.

Somewhere, a clock ticked. In his mind's eye, the face hovered. The mouth opened and closed, whispering silent words that meant everything and nothing. An explosion of white hot light enveloped the face. Even as the realization of what he was witnessing came to light and he opened his mouth to speak, the clock chimed loudly, wrenching him from his epiphany with a careful redirection to other matters.

"You're going to suffer some distortion," Mille was yelling over the clanging, "so don't be surprised if you retain some memories not your own!" Perseus nodded, though he had no idea what she was going on about. "You'll stay fresh about a week, so I recommend you find your family and do what you need to do." The clock clanged again and she saluted. "Good luck boys!"

Percy felt a tug in his middle and braced himself for the onslaught of vertigo.

Ginny and Ron sat together on the old porch swing, hands intertwined, neither speaking. They'd been out here for hours, ignoring the bite of the winter air and the soft flakes of snow that had begun to fall. The metal chains creaked as they slowly rocked; each lulled by the rhythmical back and forth progression of the swing. Inside the murmur of low voices was punctuated by the occasional yell and sound of breaking glass.

"If Mum keeps that up we won't have any dishes left to eat off." Ron winced as something (probably another plate) crashed into the wall above their heads. "Bloody hell, what a mess this is."

Ginny didn't respond. She cocked her head to the side and listened to her brothers' poor attempts at calming their mother. When she and Ron had slipped outside hours before, their Dad still hadn't moved from his chair. He'd been staring at his hands, mumbling incoherently.

"Dad's not taking this well, is he?" Ron mused. Ginny wanted to shake him for his stupidity and point out that none of them was handling this well. "I wish he'd snap out of it. Mum's just going to keep on until he does." He pursed his lips and blew, watching as his breath crystallized in the winter air. "She won't listen to anyone else."

They lapsed into silence, lost in a myriad of memory and swirling snow.

"I can't decide whether I'm angry at him or relieved." Ginny said finally. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. "I'm so angry at him for dying, but relieved that I'm no longer waiting for him to come home. I used to sit by the window and watch for him. I'd sit with a book and feign reading while all the time I'd really have my eye on the garden path." She laughed hollowly. "I used to mistake Fred for Percy." Her lips curled into something more grimace than smile. "Don't tell Fred I said that."

"I won't." Ron promised and squeezed his sister's hand. "I'm not angry with Perce. I just feel disappointed. Disappointed that his stupid pride kept him from coming home. It's his pride what got him killed, I imagine."

"We don't know that." Ginny said sharply. "We're assuming that he was killed but we don't know that."

"Oh come on, Ginny!" Ron snapped. "Do you think Dad would be a gibberish mess if that weren't the case? Face the facts Gin, the deatheaters got him!"

"Shut up!" Ginny screamed, yanking her hand from Ron. "Just shut up!"

"I won't shut up! Percy ruined this family with his ambition. If he hadn't left we'd all be fine but no, he had to choose his precious job over us." Ron's face was nearly as red as his hair. "He chose Ginny! No one forced him."

"Maybe we didn't force him but what reason did we give him to stay?" Ginny sniffed and swiped at her nose with a mittened hand. "Come on, Ron, even you have to admit that we weren't always the kindest to him."

"If Percy wasn't acting like a big git all the time maybe I would have."

"I'd thought that too, at first." Ginny admitted, remembering all too well how Percy could go on and on about his accomplishments. "But when I look back, I think Percy did it because he wanted us to be proud of him."

"That's ridiculous." Ron snorted. "He just liked to hear himself talk."

"Maybe he talked so much because he didn't feel that we were listening."

"We never did congratulate him for making prefect or head boy." Ron exhaled sharply. "At least, I didn't."

"Me neither." Ginny admitted, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "We're all a bunch of gits, aren't we?"

"Yeah, but in all fairness, he wasn't the easiest to live with either."

"That's the truth," Ginny agreed and giggled. "Do you remember that time we decided to make chocolate chip cookies and he insisted that each cookie should have the same number of chocolate chips?"

"Hell yeah." Ron chuckled. "Why'd he do that again?"

"In the interest of fairness," Ginny imitated, pushing her nose in the air and making a point of adjusting her 'glasses,' "every cookie should be the same so as to avoid any unnecessary conflict over the quantity of chocolate contained in each."

"Blimey, you're spot on!" Ron gasped doubling over in laughter. "You sound just like him."

"It's a wonder he didn't measure the circumference too." Ginny said and dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Can't you just see him standing there holding a measuring tape to each one?"

They laughed until their sides ached. Eventually, their sniggers and chuckles faded; leaving them exhausted from the emotional staccato the day had wrought. Another plate crashed into the wall.

"Should we go rescue the others?"

Ron shook his head. "Nah, let's stay out a bit longer." He reached over and reclaimed Ginny's hand. Nodding her understanding they remained on the porch, watching the snow as the swing creaked back and forth.

The world came into slow focus. Percy's eyes were so dry it was as if sandpaper had been run through them. His tear ducts seemed to have gone on vacation, because no tears were forthcoming to ease the arid condition of his eyeballs.

He tried to move his head but couldn't. His chest burned and he realized with a start that he was not breathing. No, that was impossible, of course he was breathing. He stared intently at his chest, (which was covered in thick hair and when had that happened?) for the telltale rise and fall of inhalation and exhalation. When after several minutes, (he knew it was several minutes because he had kept count, thank you very much) his chest failed to move, Percy started to panic.

He realized after several more minutes that panic was useless because though a single breath had yet to pass his lips, he was doing a smashing job of maintaining his higher brain function. Another several minutes passed before Percy found that if he concentrated, he could wiggle his toes and then his ankles and so on until his stiff-limbed form reclaimed some semblance of movement.

Thirty more minutes passed before Percy's nose began to tickle. His excitement at having started to breath was rather diminished by the noxious chemical smell wafting up his nostrils. It was familiar, but the scent eluded him. From somewhere to his right, a faucet dripped while his arse protested the metal slab he seemed to be lying upon. Right, time to find out where those bloody Illuminati had dumped him. With a grunt, he swung his body left so he was resting on his side. A row of stainless steel lockers was mounted into a cement wall. Their polished metal handles gleamed in a sickly green light cast by rows of buzzing fluorescent lights.

"What in the name of –"

Percy yelped in surprise as his unresponsive body toppled off the metal slab to land in a graceless heap on cold tiling. He stared at his hands in shock. These were not his hands. The fingers were thick and stubby; the nails an alarming shade of purple. With stiff limbs he patted his face, alarmed at the cold and rubbery pallor of his skin.

Alarm gave way to panic. These were not his arms. His arms did not wobble with fat. He looked down. Protruding from a bloated stomach were two stubby legs incased in flabby layers of flesh that jiggled as he wiggled his toes. It seemed to Percy that every piece of flesh was adorned with thick black hair. He tried to scream but managed only a muffled mewling that sounded more like an animal being tortured than a manly cry of surprise.

He took a good look at his surroundings then, noting the faucet, the rows of medical cabinets and the carts laden with medical equipment. With dread, he realized what the elusive scent was: formaldehyde. Bloody hell, he was in a morgue! So that's what she'd meant about staying fresh!

He spied a cracked mirror over the sink and scrabbled to it. Chest heaving with exertion, he leaned heavily against the sink rim. Willing himself to calm, he took two measured breaths before daring to look at his reflection.

Blast! It was worse than anything he could have possibly imagined.

"I'm fat!" He screamed at his distorted reflection, "I'm a fat old man with body hair issues!"

"At least," rasped a voice from behind him, "you are not a dried up old woman."

Percy spun as fast as his newly acquired frame would allow. A bony woman with sagging flesh and white hair was struggling to sit up. A white coroner's sheet slipped from her shoulders to pool around tiny thighs, revealing a line of black stitches over her abdomen.

"Edward?"

"In the flesh, as it were." Edward examined his new body with barely concealed disdain. "Look at me! They made me a woman. "

"At least you don't have triple chins!" Percy pushed futilely at the skin congealing around his face. "I can't find my neck! Bloody hell! I don't have a neck!"

"I'll take your chins if you'll take my saggy titties." Edward tapped the drooping lumps attached his chest. They swung like deflating balloons. "I think I may never have sex with a woman again." He watched Percy's flabby arse jiggle like a bowl of jello, "or with a bloke for that matter. This entire episode has scarred me, Perseus." He declared, "I'll never be the same!"

"You're scarred? You're not a three hundred pound Sasquatch!" Percy shrieked. "How can I patch things up with my family now? I'll never get within ten feet of the house. They'll take one look at me and run screaming in the other direction!"

"Perseus, I'm only four feet away and trying not to run screaming. At any rate, it's only temporary." Edward gingerly stepped onto the floor. He glanced about with interest. "So this is a morgue, eh? I wonder what we died of?"

"I'm certain it was over-eating." Percy wrenched himself away from the mirror. He even had bad teeth. "What are you doing?"

Edward was rifling through pages attached to a clipboard. "Trying to find out who we were and if there are any personal effects left."

"Anxious to wear a corset are you?"

"Shove off. At least I'm not the size of a whale." Edward examined the coroner's report. At the top right corner of each page was a number. He glanced down and examined the small tag attached to his toe. Ah ha! "Hey Perseus, what's your number?" He pointed impatiently at Percy's feet. "Look at your toe tag."

"If I could see my toes," Percy said peevishly, "I would be happy to oblige you, but as you can see, my big fat stomach is in the way!" He grabbed his belly and jiggled it for emphasis. "This is their idea of a joke is it? Giving us decrepit bodies? The Illuminati are nuttier than a bag of peanuts!"

Edward rolled his eyes and strolled over to where Percy continued to rant. Bending over, he snagged the end of the toe tag. "They got the job done, didn't they?"

"Did they?" Percy demanded. "We don't even know where we are. We could be in the basement of the Dark Lord himself."

"I rather doubt that the Dark Lord bothers to keep coroners records of his victims." Edward flipped through the charts. "We're some place called St. Mungo's. Do you know it?"

"Yes." Percy sighed in relief. "It's a wizarding hospital. At least they got us on the right continent."

"I told you the Illuminati were competent." Edward ignored Percy's derisive snort. "Ah, here we are." Clearing his throat he said dramatically, "My dear Perseus, you are none other than Henri DeWrinkle, aged 43, killed by stroke."

"That explains the stiffness in my limbs." Percy sniffed. "At least my hair isn't standing straight out from my head."

"That's because you don't have any hair." Ignoring Percy's death glare, Edward resumed scanning the reports. "Listen to this! I'm Mrs. Desdra Hottlebee, aged 87. Oy, would you listen to this? I'm a Dame! A Dame, Perseus. That almost makes up for me drooping girls!"

"You must be so proud."

"Says here I died of appendicitis." Edward scanned the information on the sheet. "It looks like neither of our personal effects was retrieved by family. They're being stored downstairs in records."

"What would I want with Mr. DeWrinkle's personal effects?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, clothing perhaps? A wand maybe?"

That got Perseus' attention. "His wand is still in the hospital?"

"Yeppers." Edward jerked his head towards the morgue's exit. "Shall we go retrieve our belongings?"

"I want to know why he was killed." Fred said tonelessly. He sat on his bed, back propped against the headboard. All about him lay pictures of his family. Family gatherings, Christmases, birthdays, field trips – the history of the Weasleys lay strewn on his quilt, the course of his life chronicled by each grainy image. He absently picked up a photo of the Burrow, taken when he was six. It was the day Percy had taught him to weave grass. His younger self held up a poorly constructed grass belt, beaming proudly at the camera. At one time, Percy had stood next to him in the photo. Now, only a faded shadow denoted his brother's presence. In a fit of defiance, Percy had walked out of all the family photos, even his school pictures, leaving the frames blank. Fred tossed the photo aside.

"It won't change anything, Fred." George picked up the discarded photo and carefully placed it in the photo box. "I'm feeling guilty too, but personally, I'd rather not know the details."

"You think this is about guilt? George, this is about avenging our brother."

"A brother we refused to acknowledge even existed? The brother we called traitor? Is that the brother you mean?"

Fred didn't answer. His jaw clenched as he swallowed the anger in his throat. "I'm going to the Ministry tomorrow. They'll have a record of his last address. Dad won't be forthcoming with any information."

"Damnit Fred! What's that going to prove?"

"I need to know." Fred said quietly. "Our brother is dead, for Merlin knows how long. No one noticed he was missing. No one from his precious ministry bothered to check on him when he didn't show up to work. They couldn't even be bothered to floo us!"

"We didn't bother to check on him either." George sat heavily on the end of the bed. "All we did was bombard his inbox with dungbombs and hate mail." He ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "Is that why you want to do this? To atone for what we did to him?"

Fred didn't respond. It didn't matter anyhow, George already knew the answer. His twin growled and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Fred sighed and resumed inspecting his photos.

Getting to the records department proved easier said than done. As if being naked and dead weren't bad enough, it was incredibly difficult to find hiding places for a three hundred pound man and an old Dame whose white hair was so long it dragged behind like a wedding train.

"Ouch!" Edward shrieked as Percy stepped on his hair for the third time. "You lumbering lard of fat! Watch where you're going."

"If my vision were not obscured by the accumulation of a decades worth of fat cells, I would be happy to oblige!"

"Stop blaming it on the fat!" Edward hissed. "You're a clumsy sod, is what you are!"

"Am not." Percy said petulantly. He tried to cross his arms over his chest, but couldn't quite manage the feat. "Are we there yet?"

"What are you, two?" Edward peeked around a corner. At the end of the hall was the records department. The lights were off. With any luck the door would be unlocked and they could slip inside. "Come on, this is it." Creeping with all the stealth they could muster, they crept to the door. As luck would it have, the knob turned and they all but fell into the room.

The records room was piled from floor to ceiling with filing cabinets. Like the coroners reports, they were filed according to client numbers, making it easy for Edward to locate their belongings. The personal effects of Henri DeWrinkle included one set of triple plus dress robes (which Perseus admired, stating them to be of the finest quality. Clearly, Henri DeWrinkle was a fashion-conscious individual.), a pair of well-polished loafers, a blue shirt, brown pants and a wand, which Perseus snatched up greedily.

"Do you even remember how to use the bloody thing?" Edward demanded as Perseus waved his wand about like an over-eager child.

"Of course I do." Percy gave him a withering glare before crying 'accio shoes' and levitating DeWrinkle's size 12 loafers off the table. "See?" he said triumphantly. "I'm perfectly capable of wielding a wand."

"How comforting." Edward scanned the rows of filing cabinets in search of Desdra Hottlebee's effects. Finding it, he opened the cabinet and removed a crisp yellow file. He peeked inside. Cackling with delight he dropped its contents onto the table. "Will you look at this?" He held up a black velvet purse. "Your boy may have had fashion sense but mine had money!" Releasing the clasp an assortment of knuts, sickles and galleons spilled onto the desk.

"My word." Percy fingered the money almost reverently. "If this was what she was carrying on her person, can you imagine what must be in her Gringott's account?"

"Is that what this key is for?" Edward fingered a small key that had fallen from the pocket of Mrs. Hottlebee's dress.

"She must have made a withdrawal the day she died."

"I say we march over there and empty the entire vault."

"And do what with it?" Percy demanded. "We've only a week and the galleons in her purse will serve us nicely."

"I was thinking we could give it your family."

"That would be stealing money that rightfully belongs to her family."

Edward shrugged. "Considering she's been dead a week and no one has come to claim her for burial, I'd say any living relatives she has don't deserve her money."

Percy had to admit he had a point. The Hottlebees were extremely wealthy; even more so than the Malfoys. Chances were, her children already had more money than they knew what to do with and could not be bothered to procure more.

"Okay." He amended. "Perhaps a visit is in order but we'll have to do it before word gets out that her body just up and walked away." He tapped his wand against his side thoughtfully. "Since no one has yet to claim her effects, I highly doubt that St. Mungo's has given notice of her death. If that's the case, then we can assume she has not been listed in the Daily Prophet. If we're very fortunate, no one will even know that she's died." He held out a hand to Edward. "I suspect the same can be said of Mister DeWrinkle. If you're ready, I'll apparate us to Diagon Alley."

"Sounds good, and while we're there, I'm getting a haircut."

The path to redemption was a slippery slope indeed. At what point is the prize no longer worth the sacrifice? She'd thought she'd known the answer to the riddle, but its nuances slipped between her fingers like grains of sand and blew away, taking her precious answer and scattering it to the winds.

It was said that when one died, the life that had been lived was erased like the daily lessons on school blackboards. She wondered if it were true. In her mind, she still had a lot to answer for, a great many wrongs that needed righting.

Her boots crunched on ground that would never hold life again. A barren wasteland stretched before her vanishing into the horizon. Scientists called it an anomaly. Wizards claimed it to be the work of the Dark Lord. Little did they know it was neither. What was that saying, better the devil you know? It was yet another point of contestation with her. In her experience, ignorance was bliss. Ignorance allowed you to live in a happy little bubble of self-delusion that shielded you from the horrible truths that haunted you and protected you from the very real monsters hiding under your bed.

She walked among the dust and imagined what was. It was six months ago today she'd set in motion a string of events that would change the course of so many lives. Could she be forgiven? Was such a thing even possible?

She hoped so, for the game was afoot.

VI.

Diagon Alley was just as he remembered it: busy, disorderly and completely chaotic. Edward must have felt the same, for he stood so close to Percy's side they may have well passed for one person. Wide-eyed, Edward gaped at the bustling shops and vendors crammed along the narrow streets as they navigated their way among the throngs of shoppers scurrying to make last-minute purchases before the shops closed for the night.

"Gringotts is just up the street." Perseus grabbed Edward's elbow and directed him out of the flow of people to a little-used side street that served as a shortcut to the goblin bank. "We'll empty the vault and then retire to the Leaky Cauldron for a bit of supper. With any luck there'll be a room still available for rent."

Edward nodded distractedly. To the casual observer, he appeared to be little more than an elderly woman enjoying the sights of Diagon Alley. To Percy, he was fighting panic.

"Are you all right?"

"Everything's so bright." Edward said in a small voice. "There's too much color, Perseus. It doesn't make any sense! Why are they all wearing different clothing? I can't tell who is who. It's all jumbled. And what is this?" He brushed snow from his shoulder and watched it melt in his hand. "This makes no sense."

"It's snow." Percy explained patiently. "It's rain, only frozen."

"Why does it freeze? What purpose does it serve?" Edward wiped the melted water on his skirt. "The rules, Perseus, tell me the rules!"

Oh bollocks, how could he explain the concept of mother nature to a man who had grown up in a world where nature, for all intents and purposes, was a static entity whose every act was carefully planned and scheduled? How could he explain that in England it could rain in the morning and snow in the afternoon? That the weather was as unpredictable as the moods and inclinations of its people?

"The rules are difficult to explain." He said lamely. "Nature isn't the same here. It—"

"Does as it likes?" Edward cut in. The tense line of his jaw betrayed his distress. "Just as the wizards and witches scuttle about pleasing themselves without the slightest thought as to how their actions affect the world around them?"

"Please don't be so over dramatic. You and Mer-"

"Don't say his name!" Edward warned, placing a hand over Percy's mouth. "The old goat hates the Wizarding World, and with good reason, I'd wager. He'd be none to happy to be summoned here, of all places."

"He does have a way of adding to his legend." Percy said dryly. "If he wanted to be forgotten he should stop imprisoning drunken barwitches in trees. People talk you know."

"He always did enjoy a good drama, especially one of his own making."

"How is it that he can transcend between worlds and keep his true form? I thought only the Illuminati were capable of such a feat."

"The old goat is a special case." Edward waved his hand dismissively. "It's not important. Let's get to the bank before it closes."

Bewildered, Percy quickened his pace to catch up with Edward, who had already disappeared around the corner. He caught up to him at the steps of Gringotts.

"Edward – er I mean, Dame Hottlebee, please wait!" Percy bit his lip and hurried up the steps as quickly as his bulk would allow him, hoping that none of the witches leaving the bank had overheard his slip. "It's important that you act as though you have been here before. Upon entering you'll see a row of tellers and –"

"I go to the main desk situated at the end of the first row where I will give the goblin, whose name is Alabaster, my key and ask to make a withdrawal." Edward smirked. "That was what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

"I see your abilities have not been diminished by your body."

"Oh, they have." Edward assured him, "I have Mrs. Hottlebee to thank for the information." He tapped a bony finger to his temple. "I've got all her memories up here. If you concentrated, I imagine you'd become intimately acquainted with your Mister DeWrinkle."

"Perish the thought." Percy wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had no desire to become "acquainted" with the dead wizard. He had enough emotional baggage of his own to deal with, without adding another's memories to the mix, thank you very much. "Let's get on with this, shall we?"

Edward smiled demurely and linked his arm with Percy's, ignoring the daggers shooting his way. "By all means, let's."

Dame Hottlebee apparently did frequent the Goblin bank on a regular basis, for the Goblin teller, whose name was indeed Alabaster, took Edward's key and showed him to the vault without the perfunctory interrogation that typically accompanied a withdrawal from Gringotts.

Percy did not accompany Edward to the vault; that would have raised suspicion. Instead, he retreated to the waiting area where his considerable arse took up an entire bench. The bank was nearly deserted, as closing time was near and goblins scurried about, finishing their duties. Percy watched as coins were quickly sorted, counted and locked away. It was all done proficiently and without error – competence was a trait that Percy admired. While their personalities were as bland as weak tea, they were efficient to a fault.

The bank door opened and slammed admitting a gust of cold wind and snow. Percy shivered and wondered what idiot had been so rude as to let in the winter elements. With no small amount of effort, he turned to the source of the disturbance and felt his heart freeze in his chest. Oh Balance it couldn't be, could it? A tall figure stood in the entrance, shaking snow from his hair and cloak. There was no mistaking the earring and ponytail. If those weren't indicator enough, the telltale red hair spoke volumes.

Percy shuffled to his feet before he realized the futility of the action. Bill would never recognize him in this body. Disgruntled, he eased his bulk back onto the bench and watched his brother stride past. Bill was shaking his head while his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Percy barely restrained himself from grabbing his brother's arm and demanding to know what had happened. Of all his siblings, Bill was the most relaxed. Nothing ever seemed to bother him and even if something did, it was forgotten within a couple of hours. Unlike Percy, who could hold a grudge for years (just look at his familial estrangement!) Bill was quick to forgive. He had been the only one of Percy's siblings to visit after the 'big argument.' Percy still regretted how he'd treated his brother on that day.

Percy watched Bill stride past the main desk, disappearing up a flight of red-carpeted steps in three loping strides. Something terrible had happened, he was certain of it. He needed to get his hands on a copy of the Daily Prophet. He glanced at the wall clock – 5:45 pm. If Edward hurried he might be able to snag a copy from a street vendor. Waiting on pins and needles, he raced through several possible scenarios: Ron and Ginny were hurt in some ridiculous escapade engineered by that impetuous brat Potter. Perhaps Father had been injured again thanks to the machinations of the bungling Order of the Phoenix? He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Maybe Charlie had finally been charbroiled by those blasted dragons or the twins had blown themselves up trying to design some new abomination in that shop of theirs? Percy immediately dismissed the idea. Bill wouldn't be here if that were the case, he'd be at the hospital with the rest of the family.

His brow quirked as another thought occurred to him. Maybe it was lady trouble? Bill had only been married to Fleur for a few months (though he hadn't attended, he'd heard the ceremony was lovely) and new couples were prone to bouts of conflict and agitation, weren't they? While he didn't profess to be any sort of expert in the relationship department, he was very observant of others and knew conflict to be par for the course. It was so obvious now that Percy wondered why he'd allowed himself to be scared silly with talk of injury and death. Satisfied, he settled back down on the bench to wait for Edward.

Bill flung open the door and stormed into his office, tossing his snow laden cloak over a brown velvet chair meant for guests. The water would stain the material but he could care less. With an angry flourish of his wand, he spelled the door shut and locked it before collapsing at his desk.

The last several hours felt like a horrible dream he couldn't escape. The atmosphere at the Burrow had been suffocating. He'd had to escape, especially after what Arthur had slipped into his hand. Bill squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to dam the tears threatening to spill. It was times such as these he wished to Merlin he wasn't the eldest. Whenever his parents couldn't cope, the responsibility inevitably fell to him to deal with unpleasant details better left unknown to his younger siblings, even Charlie. As close as they were, Bill didn't want to include his brother in the unpleasant undertaking of passing on what was left of Percy to the aurors.

From his time spent liaising between the Ministry and the Order, Bill knew they would be able to estimate an accurate time of death but he held little hope they'd be able locate the rest of his brother, if indeed, there was anything left to find.

The bit of flesh and hair Arthur had slipped into his hand was wrapped in a cotton handkerchief tucked into his vest pocket. Bill had left with the intent of going directly to the Ministry but had come to Gringott's instead. If he went to the Ministry now, everything would become real and he'd be forced to fully accept that his baby brother was dead.

Bill tried not to hate his father for thrusting this duty upon him. To be fair, the man had found Percy and what a shock that must have been. Even worse was the guilt he suspected his father was harboring. Arthur was probably asking himself the same question Bill was: how could you work in the same building as your son and not notice he'd stopped showing up to work? Percy was a fixture at the ministry; surely his absence had been quickly noticed? He fingered the cotton handkerchief in his vest pocket. Maybe Percy's absence had been noticed. Maybe, for whatever reason, the ministry had known he was missing and had chosen to cover it up?

Or maybe you're looking to place the blame on someone else to assuage the guilt you feel for ignoring your brother for the last two years.

Bill tried to ignore the small voice in his head that agreed.

Just as Percy began to wonder what was keeping Edward, out he strolled, followed by two goblins pushing a set of coal carts laden with bagged galleons. Edward grinned from ear to ear as he instructed the less-than-enthused goblins to deposit the contents of the first cart into the Weasley family vault and to divvy up the contents of the second between the Wizards Aid Fund, Young Witches Society of England and the Organization for the Preservation of Dragons and Magical Creatures (so that's why he'd been reading those pamphlets). Edward beamed and snatched a galleon-filled bag off the cart, or at least he tried too. Forgetting his host was a decrepit body of 87 and not that of a versatile soul-seer, he nearly crumbled beneath its weight. Managing to sling the bag of coin over his bony shoulder, Edward lurched towards Percy, who wordlessly followed him from the bank. Once outside, he handed the bag to Percy, looking rather pleased with himself.

"You should have seen it Perseus! That vault was amazing. Never have I seen so much money in one place. And to think that it all belonged to a single person." Edward's eyes glazed over. "My withdrawal barely made a dent. There are loads more galleons still in the vault. I could make a hundred withdrawals and still have galleons left over. Can you fathom that, Perseus?"

He couldn't actually. Percy had fancied himself quite well-to-do when he'd acquired a small wall safe shortly after receiving his first paycheck from the ministry. The handful of galleons he'd proudly deposited did not even begin to compare to the riches of Dame Hottlebee (or the Malfoys, or any other wealthy wizarding family for that matter). Growing up poor made one appreciate what one had and boy, had he appreciated that paycheck!

"What does one person need with so much wealth?" Edward continued, oblivious to Percy's musings. "How does one even come by such riches? Do you just wave your little stick and say: accio money?"

"Don't be ridiculous. If there were such a spell, every wizard would have a vault brimming with money. In fact, if there were a spell we wouldn't need banks, would we? And it's not a 'little stick,' it's called a wand."

"Right, sorry." Edward's tone indicated that he was not in the least bit contrite. He came to an abrupt halt. Percy barely managed to avoid colliding with him, an event that would surely have brought Edward's visit to the Wizarding world to a premature end. Scowling, Percy looked up, an admonition dying on his lips as he realized what store they were standing in front of.

Weasley Wizard Wheezes towered over them, the shiny gold lettering partly obscured by falling snow. Percy had never been in his brothers' store. He had passed by it several times but had never stopped to go in. Setting his bag of galleons at his feet, he approached the store cautiously, as if worried his brothers might materialize at any moment. He peered into the frosted windows, eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he strained to make out the interior. His brothers were doing well for themselves if the rows of candy, chocolate and novelty items lining the walls was any indication.

"Would you like to go in?" Edward said quietly, hand posed on the brass doorknob. "The door's unlocked."

Percy licked dry lips. Did he dare? What if it was the twins behind the counter? What would he say?

"They won't know it's you." Edward said, as if reading his mind. "What have you got to lose?"

Nothing, Percy realized, except the chance to finally see his brothers' shop firsthand and perhaps the opportunity for a little interaction. Inhaling sharply he nodded. Edward turned the doorknob and pushed.

The front bell jangled, alerting him to the presence of customers. George cursed, mentally kicking himself for having forgotten to lock the door when he'd arrived.

"We're closed." He yelled from the storage room. Under normal circumstances he would never turn away a customer but he had come here for peace and quiet, and was in no mood for exchanging pleasantries with customers, who in all likelihood, wouldn't buy a blasted thing. When the bell did not jangle again, he cursed and hurried to the front with the intent of tossing the dense sods out on their ears. "I said, we're closed."

"We heard you, mate." An old woman with long white hair wound tightly round her head gazed at him brazenly from behind bright green eyes. "But I've galleons to spend and a mind to shop."

"Dame Hottlebee?" Gads, it was her and in their store no less. Fred was going to be shocked. "Is there something I can help you find?"

Mrs. Hottlebee shrugged and turned to her companion, a fat man who seemed to be staring rather intently at the canary creams. "I didn't have anything in particular in mind, did you Mister DeWrinkle?"

DeWrinkle? Henri DeWrinkle? As in Deputy Minister DeWrinkle? George's mouth fell open. Since when did anyone of status take an interest in novelty items?

Minister DeWrinkle jumped as if startled. His beady eyes darted about the store as though he'd been caught doing something improper. His mouth opened and shut a few times before he shook himself and pointed to the canary creams. "Perhaps, a bag of these?"

"An excellent choice!" George scrambled to fill the bag. "These are one of our most popular items."

"Are they still good for an hour, or have you managed to lengthen the duration of the charm?"

"Oh, these little darlings will last a good day or so." George said proudly. "The current record holder remained transformed for 36 hours."

"I see." The corner of DeWrinkle's mouth quirked. "I imagine your brother was not pleased about being used as a guinea pig."

George chuckled. "He was so mad he wouldn't stop mottling. We were sweeping up yellow feathers for days after."

"Ron always did have an awful temper." DeWrinkle smiled and handed over a few galleons. "Keep the change." He held up a hand to stop George's protests. "You were closed, but still took the time to serve us. For that, I thank you."

"Don't think anything of it. It was my pleasure."

"Well, thank you all the same." DeWrinkle held out his arm to Dame Hottlebee, who took it, flashing George a cheeky grin. George watched the pair disappear into the snowy night. Fred would never believe any of this. It was only sometime later that he wondered how Minister DeWrinkle had known that Ron was their guinea pig.

VII.

The winds were in good form in Overworld. The elementals had decreed the need for wind and thus there was wind, raging across plains and fields, slicing water and swerving among hoodoos, leaving a haze of dust in its wake. The wind howled against the stone walls of the Vague Estate, rattling the china in its cupboards and knocking pictures from the walls.

Lane shook her head warily and replaced the creamer on the teacart. "Must the wind blow so hard? I imagine that the vegetation can spread its pollen just as effectively with a light breeze as it could a windstorm!"

"The east needs spruce trees." Ignatius helped himself to a biscuit. "And you know how the Balk refuse to travel."

"It's going rather smashingly, isn't it?' Merlin interrupted conversationally, sipping his tea with pinky finger delicately extended. Lane and Ignatius sat opposite him, china cups held tightly in their hands. "The Illuminati have done their part. As we speak, the boys should be meandering among the denizens of Diagon Alley. Mark my words, in six days time all shall be as anticipated and this bit unpleasantness will be well behind us."

"Indeed."

"Is that a hint of disbelief I hear in your tone, my dear Lane?"

"It is." Lane set her cup down on its saucer with a soft clink. "Ignatius and I would like to give voice to some concerns."

"Concerns? Whatever for? Everything is happening exactly as planned."

"That is precisely why we are concerned." Lane smoothed the folds of her skirts with worried hands. "Wizards are volatile at the best of times and our campaign requires a precise execution of events or we risk total failure."

"What my wife is trying to say," Ignatius interjected, "is that our plan lacks failsafes."

"Failsafes?" Merlin snorted. "We have no need for failsafes. Believe me friends, our campaign will not fail."

"How can you be so certain?" Lane demanded, her pink and black hair sizzling with magic. "We were lulled into a false security before with disastrous results. First Perseus, then Melia. Need I remind you that she's still trapped in that horrid place and will remain so until her task is completed? A task whose likelihood of fulfillment is lessening with each passing moment?"

"She knew the risks when she accepted her role."

"She did it to save Perseus." Ignatius said indignantly, "which she has failed to do not through any fault of her own but because unscheduled events transpired against her. Poor Edward –"

"Forgive me for interrupting, but can we please concentrate on the campaign at hand?"

"Of course." Lane said, all business. "My point is this: what if Perseus chooses them? It is within his power to stay."

"Why would he do that?" With an air of nonchalance, Merlin spooned more sugar into his tea. "What has that world to offer him? His place is here. Edward will help him to realize it."

"I do not believe you are grasping the gravity of the situation. His defection could ruin us all." Merlin ignored the set of pink eyes boring into his skull. Lane was a hard woman at the best of times. She had survived the harshest battles the Overworld had ever seen, persevering where others failed. Merlin was loathe to goad her. "Until Perseus accepts his magic we are susceptible to the imbalance. You've witnessed the tragedies befalling the Wizarding World." She stabbed an accusing finger at Merlin. "I will not have my grandson choose those undeserving ignorants! I will not allow him to forfeit the Balance!"

"He won't." Ignatius soothed, rubbing his wife's shoulders gently. "It's all a matter of unfinished business."

She batted his hands away. "Yes, unfinished business. Had our prior campaign conducted itself accordingly, we would not be in this mess. It's her fault!"

"We cannot blame her for events that transpired before her transcend." Merlin admonished. "What is done is done. For better or worse, she set in motion a wave of events whose repercussions we are still feeling the effects of. Blame cannot be placed, for, like Perseus, she did not know her true nature."

"This is far too great a gamble." Lane was unmoved by his plight, Merlin could tell. Her soft exterior belied the iron will lurking beneath. There was a reason she was known as the steel magnolia. "I worry for Edward as well. He has suffered so much loss. I loathe even pondering what fate will befall him should he lose his brother a second time."

"Then leave such ill-musings to others. We must trust Perseus to resolve his issues. He's strong. He will find his way."

"And if he does not?"

Merlin pursed his lips. "He will. He has no choice."

"Smashing day, this was." Edward slurred. Empty bottles of butterbeer littered the floor of their room at the Leaky Cauldron. "We're wallowing in riches and you've seen your brother."

"Brothers." Percy corrected. "I saw Bill at the bank."

"Really? Don't keep me in suspense!" Edward reached into the bag of Canary Creams and unwrapped a candy with an unsteady hand. "What miraculous events transpired while I was relieving Mrs. Moneybags of her considerable wealth?"

"We didn't speak." Percy stared tersely out the window. A reflection not his own stared back at him. "I wanted to, though. I got up and stepped towards him before realizing that he wouldn't know me. He was upset."

"About what?" Edward popped a candy into his mouth. He cast his eyes heavenward. "These candies are divine!"

"No! Don't eat them!" Percy spun but it was too late. Edward blinked up at him from beneath a pelt of fluffy yellow feathers. "Oh Edward," Percy moaned, "What am I to do with you? You realize you'll stay that way for at least the next twenty-four hours?"

Edward didn't respond. His face was slack with awe as he jiggled his arm, mesmerized by the tufts of yellowy feathers fluttering onto the bed. Percy sighed. He swiped a tired hand over his face. "I'm going to brush my teeth."

"Perseus, do you remember Mum?" Edward asked abruptly. He angled his face towards Percy, yellow beak protruding mournfully in the air. "I remember her at the oddest of times. She's been gone so long, yet her memory feels so real, sometimes I feel like if I stretched out my hand, I could touch her image and it'd be real. She'd have loved to visit London. She's fascinated by Ordinaries and their inventions."

"Dad, er – Arthur loves muggles too. He works in the department of Muggle Artifacts. On Saturdays we'd find him tinkering with some odd contraption or another in his workshop. His sister got him hooked on plugs." Percy said wistfully. "She bought him his first one."

"Mum loves movies. She's the reason we have a TV set. Merlin used to bring her DVDs from his trips. The Bride of Frankenstein is her favorite; Mum modeled her hair after the bride's up-do."

Percy shifted uncomfortably. He didn't have the heart to tell Edward that 'mum' was little more than a cloudy silhouette projected onto a blank wall. When anyone mentioned the word 'mum' Percy's thoughts immediately turned to Molly. Molly with her too-big hugs and overabundance of kisses. Molly with her unwavering belief that all ailments could be cured with pumpkin juice and sugar cookies. Molly, who took first place in Percy's heart and refused to relinquish her hold. For Percy, the word 'mum' equaled 'Molly.'

"Her color was yellow." Edward continued, "It was as bright as these feathers." Edward fingered the soft edges of the feathers almost reverently. "Her color refused to be diminished. When she was angry with us, little darts of gold would shoot out of her eyes. Do you remember?" Edward laughed softly. "When she first left, I used to worry that I would forget her. I guess that's silly, huh?"

"Perfectly silly." Percy patted his brother's shoulder awkwardly. He stifled a series of sneezes as feathers tickled his nose. "I'm sure she thinks of you all the time."

"Us." Edward corrected. His beak clacked together disapprovingly. "Be honest Perseus, you don't remember her at all, do you?"

"No." Percy sat heavily on the bed. "I don't possess a single memory. I've seen her pictures and visited her room without the slightest hint of recognition. She might as well have been a stranger on the street."

"She left the Overworld to find you, Perseus. She sacrificed everything for you." Percy winced at the bitterness in his brother's voice. "I didn't get to say goodbye. One minute she was there, the next she wasn't."

Edward fished around the comforter for an unfinished butterbeer. Unscrewing the lid, he drank deeply from the bottle, draining its contents in a few gulps. Percy watched him toss the bottle to the floor, where it rolled beneath a dresser.

"I'm sure she loved you very much."

"Yes, she does love me very much – present tense." Edward corrected. "Perseus, do you suppose we might try to find her? I could make some inquiries, see if anyone fitting her description has been seen around these parts. After all, it's not like you'll need me for every second of every day we're here."

"How do you propose to find her?" Percy asked, choosing his next words carefully. "Won't her physical form be altered?"

"I would know her," Edward said quietly, body swaying with fatigue. "Just as I knew you. Flesh cannot hide the soul, Perseus, not from me. I can find her."

"Try to get some sleep." Percy said gently. He removed the candy bag from Edward's lax fingers. "We can talk about this in the morning."

"Aye, aye, Mister Minister!" Edward saluted and fell backward on the bed, out cold.

Percy shook his head and dragged his tired body to the bathroom. He turned on the taps and splashed water on his face. He reached instinctively for his toothbrush holder before it dawned on him that not only did he not have a toothbrush, he also did not have pajamas to wear.

"Damnit!" Irritably, he peeled off his clothing. Tomorrow they would have to go shopping. There was no way he was going to go a week wearing the same clothes. Snuffing out the candles, he padded to the bed and slipped between the sheets. Edward was snoring softly on the adjacent bed. Listening to the snow tapping against the windows, Percy wondered how it came to pass that he should forget a woman loved so dearly by his brother. Even more disturbing were the number of other memories with which he seemed dispossessed. He still could not remember how he died in the Wizarding World, just as he could not remember his life in the Overworld before his transcend. It was confounding and deeply disturbing. Were those memories doomed to be forever lost? Was he meant to retain two incomplete and incompatible lives? Haunted by these questions, Percy lay awake long into the night.

The ministry was dark and foreboding at night. No matter how many times she made this midnight trek, the ancient building never ceased to intimidate. Perhaps it was because she knew what lurked within the walls of the arrogant and self-righteous Ministry of Magic. She moved soundlessly past the heavy front gate, her footsteps quiet against the marble flooring. A hobgoblin dozed at the security desk, oblivious to her presence.

The war had not been kind to the ministry. Numerous deatheater attacks had resulted in the destruction of whole sections of the ministry. Although two years had passed, repair crews were still working to undo the damage. The Department of Mysteries had been hit the hardest. It was of the popular opinion that all important secrets and artifacts were housed within the bowels of the department.

She knew better. Even the ministry, for all its stupidity and arrogance, would not keep state secrets where any fool could find them. The Department of Mysteries was little more than a façade, drawing attention away from the real goldmine.

Upon first glance, the Department of Wizard Rights and Freedoms appeared as nothing more than a bureaucratic nightmare of red tape and parchment. If one hazarded a closer look however, one would notice certain discrepancies. Take the nameplates, for instance. Every single employee in the department was a former auror or unspeakable. If that weren't strange enough, the forty-odd wards protecting the department was a dead giveaway. Not even the Department of Law and Spell-enforcement was as secure as the Department of Wizard Rights and Freedoms.

With a sure step, she went straight to the rear of the office. A statue of a sphinx lay against the wall. The Sphinx growled as she approached.

"Let me pass, I have no time for riddles this night."

"Solve my riddle or see the dawn."

She tapped her fingers against her hip irritably. "Very well, what is it today?"

"I am at the end of time, and at the start of eternity. I come four times in every week, but only once in a thousand years. What am I?"

"That's easy; the answer is the letter E." She watched the Sphinx move aside begrudgingly, revealing a door only a house elf could easily enter. "Your riddles are getting worse instead of better." She informed the Sphinx as she disappeared through the door, feet first. "You may want to pay them more thought."

She emerged into a vault that would have made the goblins envious. Time was of the essence though, and she did not dally, making a quick beeline for a steel-plated bookcase housing the most ancient of wizarding texts. With deft fingers, she punched in her access code on the keypad. The glass slid open. She plucked a tattered red volume from the shelf and slipped it into the folds of her cloak. Next she went to a wall of combination lock steel cabinets. Every classified document the Ministry truly valued was kept here. Thanks to the meticulous nature of the minister's former undersecretary, each scroll was where it should be, allowing her to easily access the files. Finding the scroll she was looking for, she placed it in the same pocket as the book.

It was time to go. She had another stop to make before abandoning the ministry to its own devices. She winked at the Sphinx as she breezed past. "I have a riddle for you dear Sphinx. Mountains will crumble, temples will fall, and no man can survive its endless call. What is it?"

The Sphinx blinked and sat on its haunches as it pondered the riddle. "Is it war?"

"No," she called back merrily, "it's time."

Bill Weasley had been standing on the steps of the ministry for the past twenty minutes trying to muster the courage to go inside. He was about to hand over the remains of his brother to an auror who could care less about having to process yet another dead wizard, especially one whose remains consisted of a bit of hair and skin. Nevertheless, any information they could provide him with would be helpful. Secretly, Bill suspected that Percy had been killed for no other reason than the color of his hair.

He'd just started up the steps when he spotted a familiar mop of red hurrying down the other side. "Fred?"

His brother turned, surprise etched across his face. "Bill? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same."

Hands stuffed deeply in the pockets of his jeans, Fred shrugged. "Just stopped by to get an address. We've a big delivery to make today and George has misplaced the client's contact information."

"You're a terrible liar. Did they give you Percy's address?"

"No. Dad had them lock Percy's file. I couldn't get so much as a floo number." Fred jerked his chin at Bill. "So why are you here? Shouldn't you be home, all cozyed up to Fleur?"

"There's no place I'd rather be but alas my wife is in Paris visiting her sister."

"Mmhmm." Fred tapped his foot impatiently. "And you felt the need to entertain yourself by visiting the ministry at 8:00 in the morning?"

"I've an errand do to."

"Is that so?" Fred stroked his chin speculatively, "Well, I'll come with you then."

"It's of a personal nature. Besides, don't you have a business to run?"

"George can handle it." Fred said slyly. He ambled over to Bill and clapped his brother amicably on the back. "Besides, I'd much rather help you. Brothers should stick together and I'd be more than happy to offer you my moral support.

Damn Fred anyhow. "Fine, you can come, but if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I will string you up by your toenails, understand?"

"Such threats!" Fred crossed his heart. "But I give you my word, dear brother. I knew you were up to no good. Tell me what we're doing! Is it about Percy?"

Wordlessly, Bill removed his handkerchief from his pocket. Carefully unfolding the cotton, he tilted it so Fred could see the contents. He watched his brother go pale then begin to shake.

"Is that?" Bill nodded. "Oh Merlin!"

Bill watched Fred empty the contents of his stomach all over the steps of the Ministry.

"Do you still want to come?"

Fred took three measured breaths. Wiping his mouth, he gazed at Bill with steely determination. "Absolutely."

"Good morning sunshine!" Edward sing-songed. Percy groaned and jammed his pillow over his head. "Time to rise and shine!"

"What have you got to be so damned chipper about? You're a yellow canary."

"Am I now?"

Percy lowered his pillow and eyed his brother. Sure enough, there were no yellow feathers in sight, only a shriveled old woman with twiggy arms.

"How did you bloody do that?"

Edward shrugged. "We process magic at a greater rate than wizards and witches. Even with the loaner body, I was able to eat through the charm within a couple of hours."

"Ron would be so envious."

"If only I could say the same of alcohol." Edward rubbed his cheeks ruefully. "I didn't do anything too embarrassing I hope."

"Not at all." Percy tossed aside the covers and slipped into his pants, relieved Edward held no recollection of last night's conversation. "We need to procure a few items today. I refuse to continue wearing the same pair of underwear."

Edward nodded. "We can plan our strategy over breakfast. We've only six days left to reconcile your life and we can't be wasting them."

"I haven't the faintest idea how to proceed." Percy admitted, buttoning his shirt. "I mean, it's not as if I can just walk up to them and say 'hey, sorry for the last two years!' They'll think I'm bonkers."

"A direct approach won't work." Edward agreed. "We need to be subtle. I'd have had you pose as a mortician or estate lawyer, but that's not exactly feasible is it, Deputy Minister DeWrinkle?"

"My identity is extremely problematic. We can't go anywhere near the ministry because they will surely know that he's deceased."

"Or not." Edward tossed a copy of the Daily Prophet into Percy's lap. "He's not in today's paper."

"That doesn't mean anything. He could have been listed in prior publications."

"Nope." Edward shook his head. "I searched the obituaries for the last two weeks and found zip, nada, nothing."

"Where ever did you get your hands on back copies of the Daily Prophet at this early hour?"

Edward shrugged. "The Leaky Cauldron is more than a little behind on its recycling. I could have read last month's papers if I'd been so inclined.

"This is entirely irregular." Percy frowned as he perused the paper. "Frankly, I'm shocked that Deputy Minister DeWrinkle's death didn't make the front page. How unlike Rita Skeeter to miss an opportunity to snoop around the ministry."

"It is rather odd, isn't it? Maybe you should have a little looksee in his head, see what memories of interest are poking about?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Percy scoffed. "We have enough to do without worrying about deceased deputy ministers. I'm just thankful that luck is on our side and I can walk about with relative freedom."

"Whatever. I'm off to get some breakfast."

Percy followed Edward down the stairs, where they emerged into the restaurant area of the Leaky Cauldron. Grabbing a booth in the corner, they ordered tea and toast.

"Our options for interacting with your family are extremely limited." Edward declared as he watched Percy meticulously cut the crusts off his toast before spreading exactly one teaspoon of jam and one teaspoon of peanut butter on each slice. "Since we can't very well tell them who we really are, I was thinking that we could make a will appear."

"Capital idea! It would explain why there's a large sum of money sitting in their vault that wasn't there before." Percy said around a bite of his toast. "It wouldn't explain how I came into that money, but who cares? I'm dead. They can't very well charge me with any sort of wrongdoing." The more Percy thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. "I could stipulate how the money is to be divided up. I could pay off the twin's shop mortgage and ensure my parents' have a tidy retirement sum. The remainder could be split between Ron, Ginny, Bill and Charlie."

"And you can write letters," Edward interrupted, "apologizing for past wrongs. This is your opportunity to get rid of any lasting anger and guilt you've been harboring. We'll go buy some ink and parchment. I think I saw some for sale in one of the shop windows."

"Excellent." Percy sipped his tea contentedly. He couldn't believe how smoothly everything was proceeding. At this rate, he wouldn't even need a week. Still… "I would like to see my mother." He froze as he realized what he'd said. He stared conspicuously over his cup at Edward, searching for signs the other remembered their conversation from the night before. When no recognition was evident he continued, "Perhaps I could personally deliver the will? I doubt Mum would recognize a deputy minister; she never did have much use for politics."

"That's risky. We'd have to ensure that no other member of your family is present. Your brother George recognized us both straight off."

He had a point. Percy propped his chin on his hand thoughtfully. "She goes shopping on Thursday mornings. Ron and Ginny usually accompany her, but only as far as the bookstore. If we play it right, we can 'bump into her' at the fruit vendor. What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Drat."

"Someone has ants in his pants." Edward teased. "Come on Perseus, we haven't even made up the will yet. It won't do to "bump into" your Mum before we're ready."

"You're right. I just hope that St. Mungo's doesn't report that two of its celebrity corpses have gone missing before Thursday."

"They won't." Edward said confidently. "What hospital is going to admit to losing dead people? It'd ruin their reputation."

He had a point. "Shall we spend the morning shopping then? I need clothing and you still need that haircut."

Edward grinned. "Now you're talking! Let us toast." He held up his teacup. "To old ties and fresh beginnings!"

Percy toasted him with a smile. It certainly was.

Bill was on the verge of losing his patience. Fred looked ready to throttle someone. For the past two hours they'd been transferred from one auror to another. No one wanted to deal with what had been deemed a 'cold case' and had instead settled on shuffling Bill and Fred from one person to another in the hopes they'd eventually get tired and go home. They'd obviously underestimated the Weasley stubbornness.

"If you even attempt to transfer us to another auror I will reach across that desk and strangle you –" Bill looked at the bronze nameplate, "Audrey."

Audrey gulped and fingered the white cotton bundle on her desk nervously. "This really isn't my area, Mister –"

"Call me Bill. This," he pointed, "is my younger brother Fred. We have been given the run-around all morning. I'm sorry if this isn't your 'area' but we are not being transferred again."

Audrey sighed and took out a clipboard. "Very well. What is the name of the deceased?"

Fred cast a relieved glance at Bill. "Percival Ignatius Weasley. He was the Junior Assistant Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic."

"Weasley, huh? Let me get his file." She left the room only to return a moment later clutching a scroll of parchment which she unrolled at her desk. "Oh, I remember him! He was a tall bloke, wasn't he? When did he go missing?"

"Um, that's a good question." Fred ducked his head guiltily. "We're not certain exactly. At the time, we weren't on the best of terms."

"Oh right! The feuding Weasleys!" Audrey snapped her fingers. "I heard about this from Tonks. Percy and your Dad had a big falling out, didn't they? Geez, I hadn't realized it encompassed the entire family." She pushed her chair away from the desk and picked up the handkerchief. "I'm just going to take your brother down to forensics. He's not going to stay fresh on my desk."

They watched her leave. Fred waited a whole of two seconds before snatching Percy's file and scanning it eagerly. "Keep watch, Bill. Let me know when she's coming."

Ordinarily, Bill would have berated Fred for his antics, but he was just as eager to know what his brother's file contained. He took his place by the door, feigning a nonchalant stance.

"Anything interesting?"

"Not yet." Fred sounded frustrated. "It's just his employee record. It says here that Percy has banked over twelve weeks of holidays." He rolled his eyes. "That's so Percy. I bet he didn't even take coffee breaks."

"Read faster, I hear her coming."

"I am!" Fred's eyes darted over the parchment. "There's nothing here! Nothing at all!"

"Put it away," Bill hissed, "she's back!"

Fred hastily returned the scroll to the desk. As he did so, a piece of parchment fell onto the floor. He stuffed it into his pocket. Bill scrambled to his seat as Audrey re-entered the room.

"Okay, we'll have the results from the DNA testing tomorrow."

"DNA testing?"

"Yes, we need to make sure that is your brother."

"We know it's our brother." Bill said tersely, "we're the only wizarding family in England with hair that color."

"All the same, it needs to be done. Protocols and whatnot." Audrey retrieved her clipboard and quill. "Now, where were we?"

"We were leaving." Fred stood and grabbed Bill's arm. When Bill opened his mouth to protest, Fred shoved him towards the door. "Thank you so much for your help. It was invaluable. You'll owl us when the test results are in?"

Without waiting for a response, he propelled Bill into the hall and hurried him towards the lift. "I've found something." He said excitedly as the lift doors closed. He held out the parchment to Bill. "It fell out when I was reading the scroll. That's Percy's handwriting."

Bill pocketed the parchment without reading it. "Don't say another word until we're out." He jerked his head towards the corner of the lift and mouthed 'wards.'

Fred snapped his mouth shut. Cursing his stupidity, he followed Bill past the security desk and out the front gate. To his surprise, his brother didn't stop, but beelined straight for the nearest floo booth. "Bill, what the hell?"

"Go to the burrow." Bill took a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace. He disappeared in an explosion of soot. Fred grabbed his own handful and vanished, re-emerging moments later from the Burrow's fireplace. Bill was already seated at the table, pouring over Percy's parchment. Shaking soot from his hair, Fred joined his brother. He leaned over Bill's shoulder and smirked. No doubt about it, the parchment was from Percy. He'd recognize that anal handwriting anywhere.

"I repeat my previous question Bill, what the hell?"

"There were wards in the halls and lift. The ministry's upped security since the war."

"So? I just stole a confidential document from the office of an auror. I imagine our friends from law-enforcement will be breaking the door down at any moment."

Bill rolled his eyes. "She didn't have her office warded with peepers or eavesdroppers, only protection spells. The rest of the ministry however –"

"Oh." Fred was suddenly very grateful for having a brother who was a curse-breaker. "Do you think anyone will check our conversation?

"It depends on whether Audrey realizes we've got this parchment."

"What does it say? Please tell me it has nothing to do with cauldron bottoms."

Bill shook his head. "It's a memo from the war." He handed it to Fred. "Take a look at the letterhead."

Fred's brow furrowed as he examined the glossy green lettering. "The Agency of Over and Done? What the bloody hell is that?"

"That's what I'd like to know. And more importantly, why was Percy working for them?"

"Looks like he was reviewing policies. He goes on for half a page about article 1136."

"We should talk to Dad." Bill mused, "He might know something about this agency."

"What we need to ask ourselves, dear brother, is whether this memo is of any consequence. I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend another night trying to get our parents to calm themselves."

Fred watched Bill's eyes flicker from the memo to the stairs then back as he calculated the odds. As keen as Fred was to learn more about the mysterious agency, he was also just as keen to not push his father into another loony-toons episode like the night before. After George's reaction to his plan, he wasn't as confident about his conspiracy theory as he had been. He and George had always shared similar notions, so the fact that they were at odds over Percy's death had taken some of the wind from Fred's sails.

"I think we should risk it." Bill's voice was steady. "There are too many things that aren't adding up. Percy believed that article 1136 was a threat to the well-being of every wizard and witch in England. Listen to this: 'while invoking article 1136 would most definitely assure us victory over the Dark Lord, we must ask ourselves: at what length are we willing to go to ensure peace? At what point is the sacrifice no longer worth the outcome? I strongly suggest that article 1136 be invoked only when all other options have been exhausted.'" Bill was grave. "Does that not sound suspicious to you?"

Fred had to agree. "Okay, let's talk to Dad."

VIII.

Cornelius Fudge was a paranoid man, even more so than herself, which was really saying something. From her perch on the old spruce tree, she had a clear view of his home. Through the picture window (the spell-proof picture window) she could see Fudge wearing a hole in his carpet as he paced frantically from one end of the living room to the other.

She supposed he had good reason to be nervous. The order of events was proceeding more rapidly than anyone, even herself, had anticipated. A collision was inevitable as all the characters in their little drama hurtled towards the finish line at breakneck speeds. Who would be left standing at the end, she wondered. Not Fudge, certainly. You could only play both sides for so long before karma bit you in the ass.

Climbing down from the tree, she trotted across the lawn to the front door. She gripped the brass knocker and rapped three times. Clasping her hands behind her back she waited patiently for him to answer. The corners of her mouth curled into what could only be described as feral. She couldn't wait for the old goat to see her face. Their reunion was a long time coming and she planned to enjoy every minute of it.

Footsteps approached the door and stopped. She could hear heavy breathing on the other side. Playfully, she pressed her face to the peephole, delighting in the way Fudge's beady eye widened in shock. She heard a thump and giggled. "Let me in old man! We have much to discuss!"

When no answer was forthcoming, she tried the door handle. She rolled her eyes. "Cornelius, do you really think a locked door will keep me out?" Her eyes shimmered silver and the lock clicked. The door swung open, revealing an empty hall. Fudge was nowhere to be seen. "Ready or not, here I come!"

She ambled through the rooms. Why Fudge was hiding from her, she couldn't fathom. She knew that he knew that she knew where he was hiding. It was only a matter of time, but…she shrugged. She supposed she would humour him. Hide'n'seek had always been one of her favorite games. Percy had been the best player by far, but even he'd been caught in the end.

She tiptoed past the vases of peonies and orchids, stopping briefly for a quick sniff, before slipping inside the living room. The living room was the least secure room in the house. Wide pictures windows, large floor space, few pieces of furniture. Not a good place to mount an ambush, but dear Cornelius never was much of a fighter. He was pressed against the wall, using the corner of the fireplace for cover. The tip of his wand was visible over the mantle. Silly man, even a child could spot him. From the folds of her cloak, she removed a tiny sphere, no larger than a marble, which she tossed into the air. The sphere spun, shooting out strands of multi-colored light.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The strands wrapped themselves tightly around Cornelius, effectively immobilizing him. With a delicate curl of her fingers the strands yanked him forward, so he hovered helplessly before her.

"What, what are you doing here? I-I mean, how is it that you are here? I thought that you had- ??"

The poor man was stuttering. She cocked her head to the side and laughed. "My dear Cornelius, you look as though you've seen a ghost. I must say that I do feel the need to point out that you have been less than honest with me on a number of accounts. Such as why you're no longer impersonating the Minister's assistant?" She stood in front of him and ran a black-gloved finger in a lazy fashion down his chest. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Her fingers toyed with the silk of his tie before yanking it hard. "Did you think you'd seen the last of me?"

Cornelius gagged and gasped, his face turning the most interesting shades of red and purple. She reluctantly let go. It wouldn't do to have him expire quite yet. "Your home security is very poor. I would have thought you'd have personal guards." Her silver eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "I strongly encourage you to get some otherwise you may not see out the week."

She snapped her fingers and the sphere retracted its strands. Cornelius fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. She tucked the sphere into her breast pocket and took a seat on Cornelius' sofa, stroking the soft leather lovingly. Cornelius always did have the best taste in home décor.

"What do you want from me?" Cornelius struggled to a sitting position, rubbing his throat. A beady eye glanced at his wand but abandoned the notion as she tutted and wagged a chiding finger.

"I have a package for you."

"What sort of package?" With great effort, Cornelius rose and staggered to a loveseat opposite her.

"The sort of package that needs to be in the hands of one who will ensure its safekeeping." Cornelius puffed out his chest and straightened his tie. "Someone not you." She took no small bit of satisfaction watching his face fall. "It's also the sort of package that can't be accessed unless its guardian is dead."

"What must I do?"

She held up a small parcel wrapped carefully in brown postman's paper. "Our enemies are surprisingly well-connected and possess a will worthy of our own. In the interests of minimizing exposure and maintaining our security, I want you to personally deliver this package to the individual who belongs to that address."

Cornelius accepted the parcel, trembling as he did so. He turned it over in his hands. His eyes widened as he read the address. "Are you mad? This will never work! Not with her of all people." He lowered his voice to a conspirator's whisper. "You realize she's quite mad? They say she refuses to use magic; has since the final battle of the first war. I even heard she owns an assortment of muggle weaponry. She uses guns!"

"Why Cornelius, I had no idea you were such a gossip." He flushed and slumped in his seat. "Not that I listen to gossip, but in this case, you are quite right. You'd best be careful. Step one foot out of line and she may mount your head over her fireplace."

"How do you propose I do that? Remember what happened to the last two couriers we sent?"

"Go as someone she trusts. Surely you have some polyjuice left?"

She threw back her head and laughed heartily as Cornelius paled and clutched the package fearfully to his chest.

"Why must I do this? Surely someone else – "

"You're going to do it because of that piss-poor clean up job you tried to cover-up. We ask so very little, yet you continue to disappoint. Leave no trace. That's it. Such a simple task."

"Which clean-up do you mean?" Cornelius was blubbering like a fish out of water. His eyes darted from side to side as if he expected the many skeletons hidden in his closest to suddenly burst from the shadows and devour him. "I've been very careful."

"Careful? If you were careful we wouldn't have a problem." Her features hardened to steel. "We have several persons trying to compromise our security. Two of which have already succeeded, others which are, as we speak, preparing to strike."

"I don't understand how this could have happened."

"They know he's dead!" She shouted, voice echoing off the walls. Cornelius flinched and she cursed her lack of control. "But no matter," she continued lightly, "he's the least of our problems. The more pressing concern is how to keep these interlopers at bay."

"What do you have planned?"

"I'm going to execute the obvious meddlers. They're low enough on the totem pole that their deaths will be given a shoddy investigation, Rita Skeeter will write an adequate tale of woe and the whole debacle will be forgotten by next week. The other two however, will require some thought." She stood. "I'll see myself out. Oh, and Cornelius? I really would see to hiring those guards."

Being rich and influential certainly had its perks. For the past hour and a half, he and Edward had been waited on, (no, fawned over was the appropriate word) by not one but several eager clothing proprietors, all vying for their share of Percy's galleons. It was a heady feeling and after spending a lifetime ignored and shunned by sales personnel, he intended to make the most of his temporary fame.

He smiled benignly and took the proffered glass of wine from an over-eager sales associate as the shop's tailor measured him for new robes. Beside him, Edward pranced in front of a full-length mirror while several young witches oohed and ahhed over his choice of gown.

It was good to be rich and powerful. How ironic that he'd needed to die before his dreams should be realized? Percy stared at the reflection in the mirror and wished it was his own face that caused such a ruckus. Henri DeWrinkle had everything that Percy had ever wanted: power, prestige, money and respect. His job at the ministry was an important one. Aside from the Minister for Magic, DeWrinkle answered to no one but himself. Yet, for all that, his death had gone unnoticed and no family had come to claim him. For a moment, Percy was sorely tempted to poke around the man's thoughts, but dismissed the notion. The man was dead. Let him take his secrets to the grave.

The tailor, finished with his measuring, straightened. "Your robes will be ready this afternoon. Should I have them sent to your estate?"

"That won't be necessary." Percy said smoothly. "I shall pick them up myself."

"Very good." The tailor bowed slightly and hurried off.

Percy gestured to Edward, who asked for several dresses to be packaged up. While the witches scrambled to comply, he sauntered over to Percy and flipped his considerably shorter hair over his shoulder. "Well, I'm all set. Shall we get our ink and parchment now?"

"Yes, I believe so I –"

"Deputy Minister?"

Percy cringed. He knew that voice. Willing himself calm, he turned slowly. "Yes?"

Cornelius Fudge looked as if he had just seen a ghost (which, in all fairness, he had). His mouth opened and closed as he stared at Percy. He raised a trembling hand and prodded Percy's shoulder, as if convincing himself of the legitimacy of the moment.

"Is that truly you, Deputy Minister?" He rasped, eyes blinking rapidly. "I thought that you – that is to say that you had – "

"Died?" Percy supplied, marveling at how steady his voice sounded even as his heart threatened to beat a hole through his chest. "Hardly. You mustn't listen to such silly rumours, Cornelius. As you can see, I'm alive and well."

"Yes, yes you are." Cornelius removed his hand and rubbed it against his robes. "I see that the gossip mill is once again wrong. How foolish of me to believe such tales."

"It is rather foolish, but we'll forgive you this once." Edward said coyly. He looped his arm in Percy's and steered them towards the door. "Do you have a wonderful day, Cornelius."

"And you as well, Dame Hottlebee." Fudge spluttered. He tipped his hat as they passed. "Good day, Henri."

Percy nodded sagely. Once outside, he exhaled sharply. "Oh my aching heart! He recognized me! The bloody bastard recognized me!"

"This could throw a wrench into things." Edward walked briskly towards Flourish and Blotts. "We have only a few items left to purchase, so let's make haste. We're going to need to make ourselves scarce as something tells me the so-called rumour mill will be working over-time for the next several hours."

"Fudge is a conniving old bastard! You can bet he's already flooing everyone he knows!"

Why did it have to be Fudge? After working closely with the man for several years, Percy was intimately acquainted with how Fudge operated. Even after his eviction from office and all the charges brought against him, Fudge had managed to come out on top. Well, maybe not on top – he had been forced to leave the ministry but had managed to avoid Azkaban – no small feat for someone accused of working for the Dark Lord.

"Perseus!" Edward said sharply, pulling him from his brooding, "we knew this wasn't going to be easy. Reconciling past lives when you've already transcended is practically unheard of."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't get all bent out of shape at the first little hiccup we encounter. "

"First little hiccup? Is that all this is?" Percy pushed open the door of Flourish and Blotts with an angry shove that left the door swinging dangerously on its hinges. "His timing couldn't have been any worse." Spying a row of stationary supplies, he began yanking items from the shelf without pausing to examine their quality, something his old self would never have presumed to do, but the incident with Fudge had left him shaken to his very core. All he wanted was to retreat to his room at the Leaky Cauldron and put the entire incident from his mind. Taking his items to the counter, he waited impatiently for the clerk to ring up his purchases.

"Did you find everything you were looking for today, Minister DeWrinkle?"

"Just give me my total."

Taken aback, the clerk stammered out an amount. Percy tossed a handful of galleons on the counter and hurried from the store, not waiting for his change.

"Henri." Edward was running after him, but the desperate need to be somewhere with four walls and a locked door spurred him forth. "Will you slow down? I'm not as spry as I once was!"

"What do you propose I do?" He cried shrilly, spinning around so quickly that Edward slammed into his stomach. "I've been discovered!"

"I would say that this would be an opportune time to write those letters to your family." Edward gasped and clutched his chest. "Oh blast, I think I'm dying again."

"You're not dying," Percy grumbled, "you're just out of breath."

"Is this what it feels like? How agonizing."

Percy rolled his eyes and continued towards the Leaky Cauldron, albeit at a slower gait. Edward lurched after him, gasping and groaning dramatically.

"Oh, do stop. You sound like a drunken hippogriff."

Edward sniffed indignantly. "Have you considered what you might say?"

"Where do I begin?" He had words, plenty of words, all of which needed saying, but the thought of putting those words to parchment scared him silly. "I'm bollocks with anything concerning human emotion. You, of all people, know this."

"I –" Edward stopped abruptly. "Whoa, check that out. Perseus, the rumour mill really does work fast."

Percy frowned and followed Edward's pointed hand. A group of wizards crowded in front of the Leaky Cauldron. In the centre of the group stood Fudge, arms waving animatedly. Percy's eyes widened as Fudge spotted him. As a single unit, the wizards turned, drew their wands and advanced towards Percy and Edward. Ignoring the excited shouts, he shoved his purchases into Edward's arms, pulled out his wand and apparated before the group could reach them.

Charlie Weasley exited the Leaky Cauldron as the shouting started. Staggering into the crowd, he struggled to follow the commotion. A wizard wearing a bolder hat was shouting and pointing at something down the street. Charlie strained to make out the scene, but the tight ring of wizards crowding around him made it all but impossible.

"Whas'going on?" He demanded, struggling to stay upright. "Whas' happening?"

"The Deputy Minister is alive!" Someone cried. "And he's with Dame Hottlebee."

"The Deputy Minister died?" Charlie slurred. "I didn't hear that."

"He's wanted by the aurors for practicing dark magic!"

"Dark magic?" someone else screamed. "That makes him a deatheater!"

"Deatheaters?" Charlie shouted. He patted down his clothing. "I'll get my wand." His eyes crossed as his wand multiplied in his hand. "Whoa." Swaying from side to side, he tried to take aim, but there seemed to be two and three of everything, making it hard to focus. The world tilted abruptly and Charlie found himself staring at the booted feet of the crowd. "Mmm okay." He muttered, "I just need a minute."

"A minute?" A familiar voice demanded. "More like a hang-over potion."

Strong arms wound themselves around his waist, pulling Charlie to his feet. He groaned as the world rotated ominously. "I think I may have had a bit too much to drink."

"That, my dear brother, is an understatement." George slung his arm around Charlie's shoulders and directed him back to the Leaky Cauldron. Thanks to the commotion, many of the patrons had vacated their tables, allowing the two men to take a corner booth.

"What's all the fuss about?" George demanded, signaling the waitress for menus.

"Deatheaters." Charlie cradled his head in his hands. "Deatheaters killed the Deputy Minister."

"You're daft! I just saw the Deputy Minister. Last night he and Dame Hottlebee visited our shop. The old bat didn't actually buy anything but DeWrinkle has a liking for canary creams." George cheerfully took the menus from the waitress and scanned the items. "He's a big tipper too. I rather hope he comes back."

"No, I mean the Deputy Minister is a deatheater. He's wanted by the aurors for practicing dark magic."

"Keep talking, Charlie, your story gets more fantastical each time you tell it." George set his menu aside. "I can't believe those ministry workers. Have they nothing better to do than stand around gawking at each other? Lookit Fudge, what a drama queen."

"He's the one that started it!" Charlie rubbed his temples. "I didn't even know anything had happened to DeWrinkle."

"Nothing did. The man likes a good drama. He should have been an actor, not a politician."

"Fudge really is an old windbag isn't he?" George and Charlie glanced up. Their waitress stood at their table, smiling and tapping her quill against her notepad. "Hard to believe he was ever the Minister for Magic. So, what'll it be boys?"

"Two specials, thank you."

The waitress scribbled their orders on her notepad. Snapping up the menus, she glanced towards the window where Fudge continued to wave his arms about, babbling enthusiastically. "I can't imagine why the ministry would re-hire him. He's a public relations nightmare!"

"He's back at the ministry?" Charlie raised his brow in surprise. "Doing what?"

"Freelance work." The waitress shrugged. "He does a bit of this, a bit of that. He was in here about a year ago bragging that he'd been hired to help out the war effort."

"The war effort?" George was incredulous. "He was responsible for the ministry's poor response to begin with!"

The waitress shrugged. "Be that as it may, he said he was doing very important reconnaissance work. I'd better get your orders in."

George watched her saunter away, admiring the sway of her hips. "Attractive woman." He murmured, eyes glued to her retreating form. "Wouldn't you say, Charles?"

A snore was his only response. Charlie was passed out, a puddle of drool adorning the tabletop. George sighed. "My poor brother, alcohol is not going to bring him back." His gaze grew distant. "All you'll get is a temporary reprieve of memory and a headache to show for it."

Ron and Ginny were eavesdropping. They sat huddled together on the edge of the tub, listening intently to the conversation taking place in the next room. Thanks to the twins' extendable ears, they could easily hear what was being said. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything good.

"You've worked at the ministry for over twenty years! How is it you've never heard of the Agency of Over and Done?"

"Because there is no such agency!" Arthur thundered. Ron held the extended ear away from his ear, wincing. "I want you to stop this foolishness immediately." There was a pause. "Percy's death has hit us all hard. This nonsense of yours is not helping."

"Nonsense? Dad, look at the memo. Better yet, look at the letterhead and the writing beneath it. That's Percy's handwriting. Percy was working for these people."

"Bill –"

"Just read it, please! Don't you want to know what happened to Percy?"

"I know what happened to Percy." Arthur's voice was thick with emotion. "He was killed by deatheaters.

Silence.

"I'll just leave it on the nightstand if you decide to change your mind."

A door opened and shut. Ginny and Ron heard their brothers' on the stairs. Silence swelled from the next room.

"What was that all about?" Ron wondered aloud.

Ginny didn't have an answer.

IX

"What the hell was that all about?" Edward demanded, his packages dumped in an unceremonious pile at his feet. "Why was the ministry after us?"

"I haven't the foggiest. At least we weren't followed. I doubt I could safely apparate us both so soon without one of us getting splinched."

"So where are we anyhow?"

"I think we're at the DeWrinkle estate."

Percy and Edward stood in front of a large Tudor house in the countryside. A brass nameplate hung from the wrought-iron fence surrounding the home - DeWrinkle.

"Why did you bring us here?"

Percy shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I just grabbed the wand and apparated."

"The gate's unlocked." Edward pushed the iron and the gate swung open with a slight creak. They walked up the front path to the door. "Do you think there are servants?"

"I suppose we're about to find out." Percy gripped the handle and pushed. Silence greeted them. Stepping quietly into the greeting hall, he shut the door. "Hello? Anyone?" He looked at Edward and shrugged. "I guess they've all gone home."

The interior of the DeWrinkle estate made Malfoy Manor look like a shack. Marble tiles spanned the length of the greeting hall. Statues and artwork lined the walls framed by an assortment of velvet chairs and ornate vases. While the vaulted ceilings were impressive, it was nothing compared to the focal point of the room where a large portrait of the DeWrinkle family hung beneath a sloping white staircase.

Percy advanced slowly, marveling at the sheer wealth. If this was the greeting hall, imagine what lay in the rest of the manor?

"What is that awful smell?"

Percy sniffed the air, nose wrinkling in disgust. "It smells like rotting meat. Where is it coming from?"

"Down here."

Edward was at the far end of the hall. He stood motionless in front of a sliding door. As Percy approached, he gestured wordlessly. Percy peeked over his shoulder and immediately spun away. The DeWrinkle family sat around the dining room table. For all intents and purposes, it appeared they were in the midst of a dinner party. Delicate bone china, silver decanters, crystal wine glasses and glittering flatware adorned the white linen tablecloth. Each guest was attired in formal dress. They sat primly in their seats, waiting to sample the lavish trays of food spread before them. The scene was completely idyllic except for the fact they were obviously dead.

As Percy watched, a spider crawled across the bloated tongue hanging from the mouth of a young boy. He recognized the child from the hall portrait. This was DeWrinkle's youngest son. Covering his mouth with a handkerchief, he cautiously approached the table. They'd been dead for some time. As he rounded the table, he noted that all the family members save for DeWrinkle himself were present, as were a number of guests, which he recognized from the Ministry. Allison Cogsworth from Research slumped in her chair, eyes open and unseeing. Percy felt a pang of….something sharp and painful when he looked at her. He couldn't label the emotion, which bothered him immensely. In his world everything was categorized. It was one of the most appealing features of Overworld where there was a place for everything and everything in its place. The Wizarding World was just a big jumble of disorderly emotion and messy indecision. Eyeing Allison almost resentfully, he moved to the next place setting. Beside her sat Thomas Pettlebom from Wizard's Rights and Freedoms, an okay bloke who suffered from a moderate dose of paranoia. The seat next to Thomas was vacant, though a place setting had been laid out.

"This is very odd." Edward was examining the nails of Mrs. DeWrinkle. He held up the hand. "Do you see anything amiss?"

"Aside from the fact she's dead? Not a thing."

"Exactly my point. There's no discolorment. My first guess would have been that everyone here was poisoned. What better way to unobtrusively end another's life than with putting a bit of arsenic in the roast beef?"

Percy nodded tightly. He took out his wand and waved it over the food. Nothing happened. "It's not poisoned."

"I just said that, didn't I? Something else killed these people. My magic cannot detect it, can yours?"

Percy concentrated on weaving his magic into a search spell. Tendrils of red roamed over the food and the bodies. They returned to him empty handed.

"It's not poison."

Edward's lips thinned into a tight line. "So what did they die of? There's no sign of struggle. It's as if they decided, by group consensus, to stop breathing. You're the wizard. What do you think?"

"I've never seen anything like this." Percy admitted. "Every spell and potion leaves a signature that allows its identification. Victims of the crucio spell have twisted limbs and if tortured for too long, descend into madness. Avada kedavra leaves a burn mark. There's always a sign. I don't know of any spell or potion that is completely undetectable before and after being cast."

"Why would anyone kill an entire family?"

"Not just the family." Percy said tonelessly. "I recognize several members of the Ministry. I don't think its coincidence that all these people should be here."

"What do you know of the DeWrinkles? Any notion as to why someone would want them dead?"

"No. DeWrinkle's appointment was after my time. I'd heard his name brandied about the ministry, but I've never actually met him, nor do I know anything about his family." Allison's unblinking eyes caught his. "I knew her though. We worked together at the Ministry. Allison was a researcher. We got on very well." A blur of images filled his mind. He saw Allison buried beneath a stack of parchment that had fallen from a shelf. She flashed him a wry smile that had his heart beating wildly in his chest and muttered something about being more careful before holding up a red, leather bound book. "She was occasionally accident-prone but completely reliable. We worked together on…um..."

The scene changed. He was in a dark room. He tried to move his arms but discovered he was restrained. If he leaned forward, his forehead could rest against the adjacent wall. Something wet was running from his skull into his eyes. He tried to wipe it away but his arm couldn't reach. He could hear approaching footsteps. Goose bumps arced over his skin, turning him into a quivering mass of panic and prickled speed bumps. Not again. It was too soon, he wasn't ready. Light filtered beneath the door to his cell, carving the darkness with a splice of fetid yellow. The footsteps halted before the door; sweat broke on his brow, joining the stream of pulsing red. His lips quivered. Please, not again.

"Perseus!" Someone was shaking him. "Open your eyes!"

He did and the darkness faded; replaced by Dame Hottlebee's withered face. Chest heaving, he leaned against the table.

"What did you see?" Edward demanded.

"I think DeWrinkle was tortured before he was killed."

"Are you certain? The coroner's report didn't indicate that he was."

"I'm telling you that he was tortured." Percy snapped, "They caught him, tortured him and then killed him. He doesn't bear any marks because they likely healed his wounds before invoking a stroke."

"Who? Who killed him?'

"I don't know!" Percy shouted. "I don't know why he was killed. I don't know who would want to destroy an entire family. I don't know why anyone would want to kill a lowly researcher!

"What were you working on together?"

"I don't know." Percy ran a tired hand over his eyes. "I can't remember. All I get is a bunch of jumbled images."

"Let's search the rest of the house. DeWrinkle likely had a study. There may be something of use to us."

Percy followed Edward from the dining room. A second grisly scene presented itself in the kitchen and a third in the servant's quarters. The bodies were the same as those in the dining room; all dead, no sign of struggle. Percy wondered why no one had found the bodies before now. Surely there were families wondering about their loved ones? He knew for a fact that Thomas Pettlebom had been engaged. He'd counted fifteen bodies in total, all of whom had been dead for at least a week. It made no sense! How could the absence of fifteen people, including Henri DeWrinkle, go unnoticed?

"Perseus, did you happen to observe that aside from us, there is nothing left alive in this manor?"

"I'm well aware that everyone is dead. Thank you for pointing out the obvious."

"No, no." Edward said impatiently. "I mean nothing is left alive. Not the plants, not the family dog. I even saw a dead mouse in the kitchen. There is nothing left alive. Whatever happened, it didn't discern. Every living thing had its essence snuffed out like a candle."

"No spell can do that." Percy muttered as he rummaged through DeWrinkle's desk. He dumped out the contents of the desk's drawers, rooted through papers and shook books in the hopes that secret keys or parchment would be revealed.

"We're not going to find anything." Edward complained after several minutes. "Any hope we have of figuring this mess out lies in the memories of Henri DeWrinkle."

"Why do we even need to sort this out?" Percy challenged. "We're not here to help those people. Those people are already dead. The Illuminati sent us here so I could make amends with my family. I'm not Sherlock Holmes and you're not Watson. This," he waved his arm about the room at large, "is not our problem."

"Have you forgotten the rules of Overworld? Everything happens for a reason. It's no coincidence that we've found ourselves in the middle of a conspiracy. Have not all our efforts to contact your family been for naught? Has fate not intervened each and every time we've tried to focus on your issues? There is a reason we are here, Perseus. We need to figure out what happened to those people."

Silence descended as each man glared at the other. After several moments Percy averted his gaze. With a sudden burst of anger, he kicked the desk, scattering quills and paper. "Bloody hell! Fine, we'll do it your way." Hands on hips, he surveyed the mess. "How do I access memories?"

"Take a seat." Perseus righted DeWrinkle's chair and sank into it. "Clear your thoughts and focus on DeWrinkle just as you did with Allison. Don't force the memories, just let them come."

Percy did as instructed. He closed his eyes and centered on DeWrinkle. He thought of the family in the painting and imagined what they must have been like. The daughter was blonde like her mother and the little boy's smile was brighter than the sun. They were a close-knit family much like the Weasley's. As Percy relaxed into the other man's mind, people and places began to solidify.

"Daddy! Daddy!" A little boy - Dreidan - rushed into the library like a small whirlwind. "Come and see what I did!" He jumped into Henri/Percy's lap and rewarded him/them with a toothy grin. "It's very good. Mummy even says so!"

"Is that a fact?" Henri/Percy swelled with pride and love. "What is it that you've done?"

"It's a surprise!"

"I cannot come right this minute." Henri/Percy held up a tattered book with a red leather cover. "Daddy has some very important work to finish for the ministry."

Dreidan crossed his arms over his small chest and pouted. "You're always working for them." His lower lip began to tremble. "Don't you love us anymore?"

His words cut Henri/Percy to the quick. A knife could not have wounded him/them more. "Of course I love you." A kiss was planted on the child's forehead. "I love you more than life itself."

"Then you'll come?"

Henri/Percy nodded. "In five minutes." He/they gestured to a small hourglass sitting on the corner of his/their mahogany desk. "Turn that over and when all the sand has drained to the bottom, I will claim my surprise."

Dreidan eagerly turned the hourglass. He sat on Henri/Percy's lap and regarded the book with a wary expression. "This is a bad book." He declared with all the authority of a six year old boy. "This book can hurt people."

"Only if it's used by the wrong people for the wrong reasons. This old text is going to help us win the war."

"Where did you get it?"

"From a bookseller in Athens. The saleswoman did not want to sell it to your old Dad. I had to convince her with lots and lots of money."

"Money that weird man gave you."

"Mister Fudge." Henri/Percy corrected. "Mister Fudge works for the ministry like your Daddy."

"I don't like him."

Henri/Percy chuckled. "Not many people do." Percy tried to see what was written in the book, but Dreidan's head was in the road.

"It's done, Daddy!" Dreidan cried, clapping his hands gleefully. "Time for your surprise!"

"So it is."

Henri/Percy watched Dreidan run from the library. He/they chuckled and closed the book. The memory began to fade, but not before Percy saw a girl apparate beside the fireplace.

Percy's eyes shot open. "We need to go to the ministry."

Arthur picked his way carefully along a narrow path wrought with tree roots and underbrush. At first glance, it appeared as little more than a deer trail but upon closer inspection, revealed faint footprints. It had been a long time since he had ventured into these woods, but desperation propelled him forward. He hoped that the spiders and other dark creatures had already had their supper, for he had little desire to be feasted upon.

No one knew he was here. He'd slipped out while everyone slept, not wanting to explain to the boys what he was doing. Everyone had skeletons in their closet and this was his. It would be difficult convincing her to help him, but he was nothing if not determined.

The path ended abruptly and for a moment he panicked. The brush had thickened to the extent that he could not see what lay beyond their tangle of leaves and branches. Wiping sweat from his brow, Arthur carefully removed a gold chain from his pocket. Attached to the chain was a stone pendant. He dangled the chain between thumb and forefinger.

"My name is Arthur."

He watched the pendent slowly begin to turn clockwise.

"I have six daughters and one son."

The pendent slowed, stopped and began rotating counterclockwise.

"The way to Hannah is to the left."

The pendant continued its counterclockwise rotation.

"The way to Hannah is to the right."

Again, the pendant continued its journey.

"The way to Hannah is straight ahead."

The pendant stopped and resumed its clockwise motion. Sighing in relief, Arthur pocketed the pendant. Straightening his shoulders he resumed his trek, ignoring the brambles that snagged his clothing and scratched his face. He walked for another thirty minutes before the thicket opened into a small clearing. A tiny log cabin sat in the centre. Along the perimeter lay a stone formation covered in red sand. It was an old, and little utilized protection ward. Arthur remembered being taught it in school not for practical uses, but as an amusing anecdote. Those who meant the occupant harm would not be able to pass. It was one of the few wards adopted and successfully used by muggles.

Carefully, he stepped over the perimeter. He sighed, relieved when nothing happened. This particular protection ward had been abandoned simply because the notion of 'harm' was subjective. The ward protected against what the wizard or witch deemed as harmful. After a few bill collectors and postal owls were turned to stone, the warding circle quickly fell out of favor with the ministry.

"Hello?" He called softly, aware of the muted sound of his voice. Protection wards weren't the only ones being used. "Hannah, are you here?"

The door to the cabin swung open. A tiny woman stepped out onto the porch, a glower etched across fine features. "You have a lot of gumption showing up here! Did I not make myself perfectly clear when I said that under no circumstances was I to have visitors? I value my privacy Arthur, which is why I moved to the Forbidden Forest in the first place. If I wanted to entertain guests I'd have sent out invitations."

"It's good to see you, Hannah." Arthur stammered, having not failed to notice the muggle handgun strapped to her hip. "You're looking well."

"I'd be better if you were elsewhere." Hannah snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"I need your help." Arthur started to reach for his pocket but slowly withdrew his hand as a gun cocked. "I'm not armed."

"Of course you're not." Hannah's arm was steady as she unholstered her gun. "You navigated the Forbidden Forest without your wand."

"Well no –" Arthur admitted. "I have my wand-"

"Take it out and toss it to me."

Arthur complied. Hannah caught it easily and placed it in her empty holster.

"Okay, say your piece."

"What is the Agency of Over and Done?" He blurted. "And what does it have to do with article 1136."

"What the devil are you talking about? There is no such agency."

Arthur didn't miss the slight quiver in her voice or the way her gun hand trembled.

"Please don't lie to me, Hannah. You spent the first war dealing in covert operations."

"I was an auror."

"On paper yes, but we both know you were more than that. Aurors don't get training in muggle weaponry and technology. You spent more time in the company of muggles than you did wizards. You were always bringing me some new muggle artifact from your trips. It was you who got me interested in plugs, remember?"

"I fail to see how your childhood memories have any bearing on this conversation."

"Don't you?" Arthur challenged. "The point is that you were privy to all sorts of classified information that no one, not even the highest-ranking Ministry official, was aware of. You could say and do things that other employees would be sacked for. I think you know very well what the devil I'm talking about."

"Why do you care?" Hannah seemed to age ten years. She slowly lowered her gun. "It was a long time ago. I did things that I'm not proud of." Her eyes grew distant. "I harmed more than I helped."

"This is a chance to make up for it." Arthur said softly. "Hannah, I desperately need to know about the Agency. You're the only one that can help me."

"No." Hannah's features hardened. "I see what you're doing, playing mind games. The past is the past, Artie. That chapter of my life is over. I refuse to revisit it." She took Arthur's wand and threw it to him. "Take your wand and go. We're finished here."

"Percy is dead!" Arthur yelled at her retreating form. "Your godson! The little boy who used to wait up all night for your visits. The child whose heart you broke when you up and left without saying goodbye! All that's left of him is a bit of hair and a piece of scalp."

He watched Hannah pause at the doorway. Slowly she turned. Her eyes were as wild as her hair. "They killed him? You're sure?"

Arthur nodded and reached into his pocket. He held up Percy's memo. "My son was working for them. He spoke of article 1136. He's been missing for at least three months, maybe longer. We didn't know because like you, he chose to abandon his family."

Arthur immediately regretted his harsh words as Hannah strode to him in three quick strides and punched him in the face. "Don't you ever speak of him with such disregard. Perseus was never meant to be a Weasley. He was cut from a different cloth." She plucked the parchment from Arthur's hands. "Apply pressure to your nose. Molly won't appreciate bloodstains on your shirt."

Arthur glowered but did as instructed. Hannah's eyes darted from one side of the page to the other, her lips mouthing the words. "I'll be damned." She hissed. "Those fucking sons of bitches! I can't believe Perseus allowed himself to be recruited by them!"

"Recruited him? I thought you hadn't had any contact with the ministry since Voldemort's first defeat."

"I haven't. Percy was earmarked by the Agency since the age of seven. I told them he was off-limits. In fact, I expressively forbid them to go near him."

"Why were they so interested in my son?"

"Percy is an exceptionally strong wizard. So strong, that he could have learned wandless magic. The Agency discovered this and listed him as a future recruit."

"What? How? When did this all happen?"

"Remember all those visits to the safe house?"

Arthur nodded.

"I wasn't just playing with Percy. I was testing him."

"Are you telling me that you knowingly helped these people gain access to my son?"

"I told you I'd done things I wasn't proud of. This was one of them. When I realized just how ruthless the Agency truly was, I did everything I could to keep them away from him. I blackmailed, I bribed, I carried out assassinations. I even walked out on my family." She pushed her red hair behind her ears. "Sorry little brother. It looks like it was all for naught. They destroyed him anyway."

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to tackle her to the ground and pummel her to death. She'd betrayed her own kin. For so many years, he had worshiped her. Now he wished she were dead.

"What is article 1136?" he asked tightly. "Percy advised that it should not be invoked. What kind of policy is it?"

"It's not a policy. The Agency deals with unpleasantness. When there are problems the ministry cannot solve through official channels we deal with it. Therefore, we are not policy makers but action takers. Articles are items, both magical and muggle that are used to solve unsanctioned problems. Articles can be anything from hand grenades for blowing up deatheater strongholds to spells of mass destruction."

"So what is article 1136?"

Hannah shrugged. "That's after my time. It's certainly a weapon, but whether its muggle or magic is yet to be seen."

"Percy was dealing with this weapon. I have to find out what it is."

"You can't. Even if you managed to gain entry into the Agency, you'd never be able to locate the article before being discovered."

"I have to try, Hannah." Arthur said softly. "He was my son and I failed him. When he needed me most I wasn't there. That is something I must live with for the rest of my life. I owe it to Percy and to myself, to see that justice is served."

"Justice won't be served, Artie because you can't bring to justice those that don't exist."

"I need to do this. I am going to do this, with or without your help." Arthur brushed off his jacket and smoothed down his hair. "Goodbye Hannah."

"Don't be a fool Artie. You can't beat these people. Don't you realize that this entire thing is a trap? Do you really think the Agency leaves classified information sitting around in employee files? Think Artie! It's a trap."

"I never said where I found it." Arthur said quietly. "How did you know it was in his personnel file?"

"Where else would they put it?" She spat. "You and your family are loose ends. Even with the estrangement they knew it would only be a matter of time before someone came snooping. That memo was a plant to lure you in."

"Until this memo I thought he'd been killed by deatheaters!"

"Bullshit. Your hackles were up the moment you realized he was missing and no one had bothered to contact you. The deatheater angle would have worked only until you realized the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together."

"You're still working for them." Arthur drew his wand and gripped it tightly, mentally bracing himself for a fight. "You already knew Percy was dead."

Hannah's gun cocked. "Once you're in, you never truly leave."

They circled each other warily, wand drawn, gun at the ready. Sweat trickled down his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He'd use an unforgivable if came down to it. The woman in front of him was a stranger. The only resemblance she had to his beloved sister was the color of her hair.

"Did you know they came to see me?" She asked, gun trained at his head. "They gave me a package for safekeeping. Said I should shoot whoever came right between the eyes!"

"And you'd do that?" He tightened his grip on his wand and prayed to Merlin that luck was in his favor. "You'd kill me for an Agency that's ignored you for twenty years? An Agency who killed your godson?"

"No," Hannah said, "I'd kill you to set us free."

She pulled the trigger.

For Arthur Weasley, time came to a grinding halt. With stunned detachment he saw Hannah pull the trigger even as he raised his own wand. The bullet sailed towards him in a glorious stream of smoke and gun powder. His mouth opened and the words 'avada kedavra' superseded the bullet. The bullet pierced his flesh at the same moment his spell hit Hannah in the chest, spinning her around like a rag doll. They fell upon the cool soil of the forest, eyes still locked in a contest of wills.

Time restarted.

Arthur broke their gaze, crying out as pain blossomed in his right shoulder. He was alive. Clutching his shoulder, he scrambled to his knees. She hadn't killed him after all. She missed.

Hannah never missed.

"Oh Merlin." Arthur scrabbled across the grass to where his sister lay crumbled on the earth. Beside her body lay a white envelope. With trembling fingers, he opened it.

Dear Artie,

I'm sorry it had to end like this, but there was no other way. A member of the Agency came to me yesterday with a package. I don't know its contents but what I do know is this: the person standing before me was not my godson.

I can't believe anyone would have the audacity to try to fool me with polyjuice. I may have been in retirement since the first war, but I am not stupid. The only reason I let the bastard live is because I thought there might be a slim chance my Perseus was still alive. I knew it wouldn't be long before you came for answers. You always were clever.

I wish I could have gone with you to get Perseus, but I am bound to this godforsaken shithole. The only way I'll be leaving is in a body bag. The package I want you to take is enchanted to open only at the time of my death. You see now why I had to die? You'll find it on the mantle over the fire. Beside it is a soul stone. It allows you to see past deception and illusion. Take it with you when you confront the Agency. If you have any hope of succeeding, you'll need it.

I love you Artie. Please be careful.

See you in the next life,

Hannah

P.S. Get those bastards for me.

P.S.S. Leave my body here. If you remove me from the warding circle they'll know.

Arthur dropped her letter as his shoulders began to shake. From beneath a tangle of red curls, Hanna stared out at him vacantly, a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Oh, Hannah." Arthur drew her into his arms, cradling her like an infant as tears splashed down his cheeks and dripped onto her coat. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry." He tilted his head heavenward and sobbed. The sounds of his anguish filled the clearing, permeating every nook and cranny, burrowing amidst soil and stone.

Then all was silent.

X

Percy waited impatiently for Edward to return from the Inquiry Office. After yesterday's fiasco with Fudge, he didn't dare go himself. It was risk enough to send Edward. Dame Hottlebee had been seen in his company by at least a dozen store proprietors, including his brother, and by anyone present for the Fudge debacle at the Leaky Cauldron. He tapped his foot impatiently and peeked overtop of the copy of Quidditch Weekly he was pretending to peruse. He was already taking a big chance by standing in front of a street vendor where anyone could spot him.

"Nice day, ain't it Minister DeWrinkle?" The vendor flashed Percy a toothy grin. "Me Missus predicted it'd be warm. She told me tha' all the snow would be melted by noon. Looks like she be right."

Percy responded by hunkering down behind his magazine with the desperate hope the man would cease speaking.

"My Missus, she follows the politics." Percy cringed at the way the man pronounced it pol-ee-teeks. "She's a big fan o'yers. She says ye do good works. My Missus often wonders how a collector of rare books gets into politics."

It was a good question. Percy wondered that himself. DeWrinkle was not what one considered a regular politician. The man seemed to genuinely care for people. After his little traipse through the man's memories, Percy had taken the liberty of locating the DeWrinkle library. The place had been ransacked with a number of rare books stolen, including the one from his vision.

"I suppose I thought it was the right thing to do, what with the war and all."

"Aye, I'm glad to be done with that rot. Twas a darn good party the day word came that Harry Potter 'ad defeated the Dark Lord. A finer celebration ye'd never seen, sir. These here streets was filled wit' merriment. Twas was a good time, it was. Me and the Missus danced into the wee hours of the morn."

Percy covered his surprise with a mumbled, 'yes, it certainly was a fine party.' The war was over? Percy felt as though he'd received a swift punch to the gut. Surely he hadn't been dead that long? He flipped over the cover of Quidditch Weekly and examined the date. November 3rd, 2007. My god. He'd been dead nearly a year.

It was then Edward, in a green taffeta gown and fur wrap that should have been worn only in a ballroom and not in a stuffy government office came sashaying across the street, his patent Cheshire grin plastered across his face. Percy replaced the magazine on the rack as the vendor whistled.

"Yer lookn' mighty nice today, Dame Hottlebee."

"Why thank you, good sir." Edward offered his hand to the vendor, who kissed it delicately. Percy tried not to gag. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm late for a very important engagement."

With that, Edward sashayed down the street, taffeta skirts swaying about his ankles. Percy counted to ten then followed. Edward was waiting around the corner.

"What did you find out?"

"Fudge is not affiliated with any particular department or agency. He's been listed as a temporary employee, which the kind lady at the desk explained means that's he hired for special projects."

"Like killing children?" Percy asked bitterly. "Did the 'kind lady at the desk' happen to mention what sort of 'special projects' he might have worked on?"

"She wasn't able to give me any specifics, but she did recall that he was an avid reader. He was always seen walking about with a bundle of books tucked under his arm."

For the second time that day Percy felt as though he'd been punched only this time it was a punch to the head. Diagon Alley melted and reformed as a darkened room. A lone figure sat in the corner, bathed in candlelight.

Allison was curled up in her favorite battered chair. Books and parchment were spread over her lap. Her quill lay forgotten in her hand. A droplet of ink pooled at the tip, fell and splashed onto her parchment. Allison glanced up as he approached. Percy liked to think the sparkle in her eyes was due more to his presence than the candlelight.

"I see I'm not the only one working late." He took a seat beside her and stole a glance at her papers. "Ancient spells and hexes?" He raised a brow. "That's heavy reading for two am."

"Is it that late already?" Allison was the most beautiful blusher. While others' cheeks turned a splotchy red, her face appeared dusted with the softest shade of rose. Percy often went out of his way to make her blush. "I had meant to go home no later than ten but this book is just so fascinating. Did you know there are a number of variations on just about every spell that we use on a daily basis? Take the obliviate spell. Did you know that in addition to wiping memories you can actually kill someone with it? It takes a tremendous amount of control, but if used correctly, you can kill an individual and wipe all memory of said individual from the minds of every person he or she has ever been in contact with." Percy's brow was nearly to his hairline. "Amazing right? But that's not the best part. The truly amazing thing is that it can all be done in a single casting. One flick of your wand and poof! You've wiped all trace of that individual away. It's like they never existed."

The scene melted away, leaving Percy standing in Diagon Alley, disorientated and blinking in the noonday sun.

"She wouldn't tell me anything else." Edward was saying, oblivious to Percy's lack of attention. "I did, however, bribe her for Fudge's home address."

"I know how they were killed."

"I'm sorry," Edward shook his head, "what did you say?"

"The DeWrinkles." Percy repeated. "I know how they were killed. There's a book, I've seen it twice now, first in DeWrinkle's library and then at the ministry. It has a red leather cover and contains variations of commonplace spells." His features hardened. "Did you know that you can kill by casting an obliviate?"

"And you know this how?"

"I just tapped into another memory, this one my own. Allison was there. She was studying the spells contained in the book. It was triggered when you mentioned Fudge's 'love' of reading."

"So Fudge is the missing link. We'd better go talk to him then. Bloody git is probably in possession of the ruddy book."

"No. First we return to the DeWrinkles. I want to see if I can access Allison's memories."

"Not a good idea. That's going to put a terrible strain on your magic, Perseus. It's one thing to traipse about in DeWrinkle's mind but quite another to traipse about the mind of an individual whose body you're not in possession of. Our magic is the only thing sustaining our hosts. If you overextend yourself, DeWrinkle's body will start to decay. If you thought it was difficult to get around without being noticed before, try walking around in a corpse whose skin is peeling off."

"Could you do it then? Your magic is more suited to the task than mine."

"I don't see dead people, Perseus, only living ones. If I soul-see Allison, the only essence I'll be connecting with are the maggots. Besides, what makes you think there will be any memories left to view? Did you not just say she was killed by an obliviate?"

"Blast." Percy kicked at the melting pile of snow, shooting spray in all directions. "Allison was in possession of the book. She was studying its spells. Also," Percy hesitated. "Fudge may not play as large a role in this conspiracy as we are assuming. Before DeWrinkle's memory ended, I caught a glimpse of a girl in his study. She seemed very familiar yet I can't put my finger on where I've seen her before."

"Someone you worked with?"

"Perhaps." Percy said noncommittally, "but I do remember feeling a sense of dread. No, scratch that. When I looked at her I felt pure unadulterated terror."

"You felt that, or DeWrinkle?"

"I did." Percy confirmed, shivering slightly. "She scared the hell out of me."

"So we have yet another mystery on our hands." Edward spun his finger in a rather rude gesture. "Yippee. You're a ray of sunshine Perseus. How is it you always manage to make my day?"

"I'm not happy about it either but there's not a lot I can do about it, is there?"

"No," Edward sighed, "I suppose there isn't.

Molly was repairing the last of her broken flatware when Arthur stumbled from the fireplace. Her angry tirade died on her lips as she took in her husband's bloodied form. The repaired plate she held in her hand slipped from her fingers to re-shatter on the floor.

"Arthur!"

She lunged forward as he collapsed. Blood oozed from his shoulder to splatter in a sickly pattern across her newly scrubbed floor. He gazed at her from behind watery eyes filled with such sadness she felt it as acutely as if the pain were her own.

"Merlin, what happened?" She maneuvered them to the living room where she carefully arranged him on the couch. Whipping out her wand she summoned swabs and bandages from the bathroom. She was grateful none of the children were present to see their father in such a state. "Who did this to you?"

Blood slicked fingers gripped her wrist, keeping her from applying the bandage. "I was shot, Molly. The bullet is still in my shoulder." He cringed as she raised her wand. "Please don't accio the bullet, it won't work."

Nodding, she summoned a pair of tweezers instead. "She did this to you?"

"Molly, don't be angry. It's not what it seems."

"Of course not. Nothing is ever what it seems." Tweezers in hand, she paused over the wound. "I suppose there is a reasonable explanation buried in your story somewhere."

"Hannah is dead."

Molly stilled. Torn between anger and sympathy for her husband she stood dumbly, tweezers forgotten in her hand. Arthur held out a letter to her. Bloody fingerprints marred the paper and smeared the ink but Molly could care less.

"I went to her about the memo the boys' found. We fought. She could have killed me."

Her husband's broken sobs cracked her brittle shield of unspoken accusation, branding them together in a sea of unified despair. A brown papered package lay cradled in his good arm like a freshly born babe. He held it out to her, his most precious object in the world. He wanted her to open it, she knew, so she could award him silent approval to proceed with whatever ridiculous predilection he'd been swept away by. Like all those muggle toys he insisted on bringing home; her approval was needed to validate his choices. It made her hero and monster. Either way she was damned.

"Let's get that bullet out before you bleed to death." She said instead and resumed digging in his shoulder. "Start at the beginning and tell me what is going on."

So he did. When his voice finally gave out, the bullet had been banished to the garbage, his shoulder swathed in clean bandages and Molly, who had read Percy's cautionary words no less than three times, was still dried-eyed. She sat to his left on the couch, hands folded in her lap, a cup of tea at her elbow. The package lay between them like a blemish that refused to relinquish its ugly beauty to recede to nothingness.

"Where are the children?"

It was a safe question; one which offered a small reprise from the surreal nature of the moment.

"George took everyone for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Ah, good." Arthur blew his nose loudly. His eyes slide left. "Mollywobbles – "

"Open it. It won't change the fact my baby is dead, but at least I'll know why he died."

A pause then a crinkle of screaming paper and the slip-slide of glossy photographs over covered cushions.

Arthur held up a photograph of a town. A girl with silver hair and eyes stood in the picture. She neither smiled nor frowned. Molly didn't approve the fragile lie of her features. A woman knows what lurks behind the beauty of another. Behind this girl's porcelain finish lay a hardness borne of too much ugliness that screamed for a satisfactory outlet of release. Molly couldn't help but shiver. The girl was wrong, all wrong. There were several other photos of the town and the girl. The reverse of each photograph held an identically stamped date: November 2, 2006.

"Do you recognize this place?" Molly asked.

Arthur shook his head. "No, though it is a wizarding community." He tapped the corner of the photo. "I can just make out a quidditch shop." He plucked another photo from the pile. "What do you make of this?" A barren wasteland stretched from one end of the white frame to the other, on the back was stamped November 3, 2006. "Rather odd, isn't it?"

"It reminds me of those pictures from the paper." Molly said absently. "You remember the article I'm referring to, don't you Arthur?"

"Mollywobbles, you're a genius! This is Abderlen, the vanishing town. Four hundred wizards and witches disappeared one night without a trace. All their homes, shops, even their gardens and flowerbeds – poof - gone! This," he held up the photo, "is all that remained. No one ever found out exactly what happened. It was of the popular opinion that the Mayor and his town had fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord."

"What does this have to do with our son?" Molly rummaged through the pile of photos. "It makes no sense!" A grainy image slipped gracelessly from the folds of imprisoned recollections, grabbing Molly's attention in an instinctual grip of maternal ferocity. Her attention narrowed until her focus was isolated to the tragedy unfolding beneath the coarse gloss.

A lone light bulb hung from the ceiling, basking the characters in a sickly yellow sheen. A gaunt figure which could only be described as a bundle of sharp angles and devastating pallor slumped forward, wrists encircled in thick cast-iron manacles affixed to a wall. The arms were torn and ripped; purple and blue crisscrossed the marred flesh in a grotesque pattern beneath dried streams of crimson. In the washed out light, a blade glimmered dully near the chained man's eye. In a single fluid motion, the blade sliced through the eyeball. The chained man's mouth fell open in a soundless scream that hammered around Molly's eardrum, echoing up and down the canal as fluid splashed down his cheek. A silver-haired girl leaned into the picture and drew the knife almost reverently down the man's cheek. Molly felt bile rise in her throat. The figure chained to the wall was Percy.

The photo slipped from her fingers, somersaulting in the tepid air of her revulsion. It settled contentedly on her knee, smudged blue writing glaring at her in mocking satisfaction – October 30, 2006.

At what point is the sacrifice no longer worth the outcome?

"Oh Merlin." Arthur whispered, his attention at last drawn to the source of his wife's apprehension. He swallowed hard several times, Adams apple bobbing up and down like those ridiculous red buoys muggles kept on their beaches. "What's the date on that photo?"

"October 30, 2006." Molly said tonelessly.

"That's five days before Abderlen disappeared."

"And the date of Percy's memo?"

"September 16, 2006."

"Interesting." Arthur's eyes darted between photos, the gears in his mind processing what he knew, what he suspected and what connections he could possibly make linking his son to the girl and the vanishing. September 16th: Percy warns against the use of Article 1136. November 2nd: Abderlen still exists. November 3rd: the town is gone. October 30th: Percy is tortured and (possibly) killed by the same silver-eyed girl from the Abderlen photos.

September 16th: 09-16-06

October 3rd: 10-03-06.

November 2rd: 11-02-06

November 3rd: 11-03-06

Oh Merlin.

"November 3rd, 2006." His fingers scrabbled over the photos, searching until he'd reclaimed the image of the wasteland. "November 3rd, 2006." 11-03-06. 1136. "Article 1136." He shouted, startling Molly, who elbowed her teacup, sending tidal waves of bitter liquid splashing over the hutch. "Hannah was right, it really is a weapon." He snapped his fingers against the photo in triumph. Molly, this is what our son warned the ministry against! Deatheaters didn't destroy that town, it was our own government. They must have been planning Abderlen's destruction for sometime."

"But why? What purpose would it serve?"

"Articles are items, both magical and muggle that are used to solve unsanctioned problems." Hannah recited in his voice. "The Agency deals with problems not easily solved through official channels. My guess is that Abderlen was home to one such problem. I'd stake my life the girl in these photos is one of them. "

"And our government felt the need to torture my son for suggesting they not annihilate an entire town of people?"

Arthur couldn't help but feel the nip of his wife's biting sarcasm. "Percy was a loose end." He paused and considered his next words carefully. "The Agency of Over and Done relies on secrecy and silence in order to maintain their covert operations. Knowing our son as we do –" Molly snorted sardonically. "- Percy probably refused to cooperate with them. I imagine he tried to go public with this information."

"So they 'silenced' him?" Molly supplied in a tone bordering on hysteria and manic condensation. "By cutting out his eye and slicing up his body? By making sure nothing was left of my son but a bit of hair and scalp?"

"Molly – "

"Don't you 'Molly' me, Arthur Weasley. These people are little more than deatheaters. The only difference between this so-called Agency and the Dark Lord's supporters is that the Agency's actions are sanctioned by our government. I wonder, knowing what I do now, if our lives would have changed so very much had the Dark Lord won the war?" She gathered the pile of photos and hurled them across the room. She watched them flutter about like grotesque snowflakes. "These bastards killed our son, Arthur. Tell me that doesn't make you angry."

"It does." He said quietly. "I'm furious. At the ministry who swore to protect its people but instead kills them. At myself for not making amends with Percy when I had the chance and at Hannah for setting the entire mess in motion by bringing Percy to the attention of those monsters. Do you remember all those visits she used to make to the safe house during the first war?"

Molly nodded, not liking where this was going but playing along just the same. "On visit days he'd plant himself next to the door and refuse to move until she came." Molly laughed bitterly. "Percy always did adore her. I swear, sometimes I thought he should have been born to Hannah and not to me."

"All those games she played with him, the sorting blocks and the flashcards, were all assessment methods for determining his magic potential. Molly, our son could have easily wielded wandless magic.

Molly chewed the bottom of her lip, biting back the angry expulsions of hateful degradation fighting to escape her mouth about the woman both her husband and son had adored. If the woman weren't dead, Molly would grant her anger its release but Hannah was and so she wouldn't. Instead, she examined the photo of Percy and the silver-eyed girl, channeling her anger to accomplish something of use. "I want you to find this girl Arthur." She said quietly. "I don't care how long it takes or what it costs. I want you to find her. Someone has to answer for what happened to my baby and this girl fits the bill."

"For being the laughing stock of the ministry, he certainly has a lot of guards." Edward remarked from where they were crouched in a set of rose bushes. He held a tarnished spyglass to his eye. "He's warded the place too."

"I'll fix that." Percy extended his hand, palm up and concentrated on forming a small ball of light. He tossed the ball towards the house, where it rolled along the path, disappearing beneath the door. "Shield your eyes." He ordered a second before iridescent light exploded from within the house, shattering windows and sending the guards flying. He stood and wiped dirt from his hands. "That should take care of the wards."

"And the guards." Edward neatly side-stepped the bodies sprawled over the lawn. "I do hope you didn't include Fudge in that little blast."

"Don't be ridiculous, that would have defeated the purpose. Do you suppose the neighbors heard the explosion?"

"Doubtful. We're miles from civilization." Edward scanned the barren landscape and felt a stab of nostalgia for Overworld. "Fudge didn't strike me as the reclusive type. Why'd he choose to live in the middle of nowhere?"

"Lucky for us he did." Percy quipped and yelped as a burst of flame shot past his ear. He fell heavily to the ground, stunned, as another burst of flame scorched the earth beside his head. A figure darted past the window. "It's Fudge."

"Immobilize him!" Edward shouted, dodging a blast that started the rose bushes on fire. "I can't soul-see from this distance."

"I'm on it!" Channeling his magic, Percy concentrated on forming a long snare. He extended his index finger and made a looping motion. A hook formed on the end of the snare. Snaking across the lawn, he inched towards the house. Behind him, Edward acted as a decoy, drawing Fudge's fire. He ran from one end of the yard to the other, yelling obscenities and dodging fireballs. For being 87, Dame Hottlebee sure was spry.

Making it to the shattered door, Percy kicked the splintered wood aside and cautiously stole a quick look into the house. Fudge was standing by the remains of a potted house fern. Sweat rolled off his face in rivets as he furiously fired off spell after spell. Thanks to Edward, his attention was focused elsewhere, giving Percy the opportunity to take him unawares. He gripped the snare in his hand but as he raised his arm to throw, Fudge suddenly turned. Percy didn't have time to move as Fudge screamed "avada kedavra."

The spell hit him square in the chest sending him pin wheeling against the doorframe. Blood roared in his ears and a pain more excruciating than any he had ever experienced flooded his body. He was vaguely aware of a red explosion that engulfed Fudge, who howled and toppled over. Had he released the snare? With great effort he lifted his hand. The snare was still coiled tightly about his fist. Blood filled his mouth and he spat, spraying tiny crimson droplets over his shirt and pants. Using the doorframe as a brace, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled painfully towards Fudge.

"Are you okay?" Edward skidded into the room, gasping and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. "Did you get him?"

"That would be putting it mildly." Percy stood over the body of Cornelius Fudge. There was a gaping hole where his chest should be. Vacant eyes stared at Percy in a frozen expression of shock.

"Oh crap." Edward knelt beside the cooling body and inspected the wound. "There's no coming back from that, is there?"

Percy shook his head glumly. There was nothing to be done for it. He had once again well and truly screwed the pooch. Percy reached out to close Fudge's unseeing eyes. Red sparks shot from his fingertips. Startled, he fell backwards, arms pin wheeling wildly. Cornelius Fudge blinked and sat up.

"I wondered when you'd return." Blood dripped from his lips, staining his teeth. "They said they killed you but I knew better. It was just a matter of time. I've seen the girl too."

"What girl?" Percy demanded. "Who are you working for?"

Fudge regarded Percy as though he were an errant child attempting to join an adult conversation. "She's come to finish what she's started. The moment I saw her at my door, I knew my time had come."

"Who? Who is this girl?"

"She's not as clever as she thinks. I'm useless in a duel of magic but little does she know…" Sweat shone over Fudge's skin, casting a wild gleam over his face. "The path to redemption lies in the imprisoned memory."

Percy and Edward shared a pointed look. Edward wore his patented 'this-person-is-crazy' expression.

"How do I find this path?" Percy asked carefully. "Is it a real path I can walk on or is it a figurative path?"

"Like: the path to hell is paved in good intentions." Edward supplied helpfully. "Is it a path like that?"

"How is a moment captured?" Fudge demanded, oblivious to his audience's dubious skepticism. "How is a single instant forever immortalized?

Percy's eyes lit up as realization dawned.

"They're slated for execution." Fudge said abruptly. "It will be soon."

Percy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. "Who is?"

"Your family. They're snooping around. We can't have that." Fudge coughed, discharging bits and pieces of bloody flesh from the gaping hole in his chest. "I knew you as soon as I entered the shop." Fudge rasped. His eyes became glassy. "You'll need the book in order to cast the spell. You're the only one that can."

"Where is the book? Do you have it? Is it in this house?"

Fudge's eyes glazed over. "Remember who you are." His head rolled listlessly to the side.

"No! Tell me where to find the book!"

It was no use. He was gone. Percy collapsed next to the body. "Blast!" he screamed to the universe, smashing his fist into the floor. "What more do I have to do?"

"That was rather cryptic and not all that helpful." Edward sat next to Percy, stretching his legs in front and crossing his ankles primly. "Why would he tell us about the DeWrinkle executions when it's already taken place?"

"He wasn't speaking to DeWrinkle. He was talking to me. ME, Edward. He recognized me."

"Preposterous! How could he possibly recognize you?"

"I don't know how, just that he did." Percy's eyes widened in horror. "Bloody hell, why are we sitting here? We need to get to my family before they're killed!"

"No." Edward constrained Percy with a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'll go check on them. You need to stay here and figure this mess out." In a spooky voice he said, "Find the path, Perseus, find the path!"

"Shove off!"

"Besides," Edward added in a more serious tone, "your magic is straining. I can see it struggling from here. If there is a threat to your family, a fat lot of good you'll be able to do." His face radiated sympathy and concern. "Trust me, Perseus, I won't let anything happen to them."

"Okay." Percy acquiesced. "I'll stay."

"Good." Edward's eyes shone green, and then he was gone, leaving Percy alone. Percy scowled. Had he known Edward was able to apparate, he could have saved a lot of his own magic. Irritating sod. He sighed and rubbed his temples, soothing away the pounding in his skull.

Remember who you are.

That was the million dollar question. Was he Perseus or Percival Ignatius Weasley? His lives refused to be reconciled. Two magics, two families, two names. Each life fought tooth and nail to retain its identity; spinning him about to the extent he couldn't tell which one was the present and which one the past.

Edward said that everything happened for a reason. Percy didn't know how he figured into the equation except that he played an integral part of it. If he was meant to sort this mess out, he'd done a smashing job of screwing it up.

Remember who you are.

He didn't know if that was possible. Percy didn't remember his death. Yet the events that had taken place since appeared to be connected. DeWrinkle had known Allison and Thomas. Percy had worked with them, though he couldn't recall any specifics except for that elusive damned book. The commonality shared between them all was their deaths.

Remember who you are.

It was the key to the puzzle. Though both his body and magic protested the action, Percy focused on creating tiny Peeping Toms. The small spheres rolled about before sprouting spider-like legs and antlike antenna. Eyes appeared in the bodies of the spheres which swiveled around to blink inquisitively at Percy. "Search for secret rooms." He told the first batch. To the second he said, "Look for photographs, paintings, pictures, photo albums; anything that can hold an image." The spheres blinked affirmatively and scurried off, leaving Percy struggling to remain conscious. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he dismissed the notion. If he slept now, he might never awaken.

Luckily, the peeping toms returned swiftly. The first batch returned empty handed, blinking apologetically before being re-absorbed by his magic. The second group had had more success. The Peeping Toms scurried towards him, a cloud of paintings, books and photos swirling in their wake. They shot into Percy, where they too were quickly re-absorbed. The cloud of photos crashed around him in a flurry of activity, effectively banishing the cobwebs from his head.

"What have we here?" Percy glanced over the mishmash of paper and canvas. His eye caught the cover of a grey photo album. It was nondescript, yet spoke of the familiar. He reached over and drew it onto his lap. Opening the cover, Percy's breath hitched.

There were several photos of the girl from his memory. Shiny silver eyes blinked blandly at him from beside a statue of a Sphinx, then from an old bookshelf, then yet again in front of a bookshop. The header on the page read: Shortcut to the Agency of Over and Done.

That was interesting.

The next several pages fell under the header "Special Projects."

An assortment of various sized photos showcased an eclectic mix of work the Agency was apparently involved with. There were a number of photos depicting muggle weaponry (handguns, rifles, grenades, knives) that appeared to be responsible for a number of wizard assassinations and destroyed deatheater strongholds. One page of the album illustrated the Agency's attempts at creating hybrids (a mournful looking creature with the head of a griffin, the neck of a giraffe and body of a snake roamed listlessly within the borders of its white frame) while a third page contained a single image – a grey wasteland barren of all life. Percy felt chills as he examined the washed-out landscape. He knew this place. Taking the picture from the album, he tucked into the pocket of his cloak.

He turned the page again. The header read: Possible Snitch

These photos were of Allison. Allison chewing on a quill as she scribbled notes on parchment. Allison peering coyly over the top of a teacup. Allison looking fearful as she raced down a darkened alleyway.

Percy blinked and found himself seeing the world from Allison's eyes.

Her breath came out in anxious explosions of air as she raced down the alley. She cast terror-filled glances over her shoulder, half-expecting the black robed figures of the agents to materialize at any moment.

"Please be here." She whispered, as her boots rang loudly against the cobblestone. "Please."

A small door sat at the end of the alley, partly concealed by a wooden partition disguised as a fire escape. Allison leaned against the rotting wood, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Logically, she knew she would need to open the door. The fear of what was on the other side, however, kept her hand frozen in place. Would it be friend or foe that greeted her? Hysteria bubbled up inside, but she pushed it down. This was no time to be a coward.

Putting her courage to the sticking place, she pulled the handle and stepped into a dim hallway lit only by a single bulb. Its sickly light cast ominous shadows along the walls, giving the dark a life of its own. Step by step, she inched down the hall to yet another closed door at the far end. Candlelight flickered beneath it and she sighed in relief.

"Percy!"

"Ally? Thank goodness, I've been so worried." Percy saw himself rise from a battered chair and cross the room to embrace Allison. "Did you get it?"

"Yes." She slipped a red book into his pocket without breaking their embrace. "I don't believe I was followed. Tom disabled all trackers and cameras. Percy, I'm terrified to think what will happen if we should be found out."

"You and Tom will be fine. I'm the one they'll be after."

"It's not fair." Allison buried her face in the crook of Percy's neck. "Why do you insist on doing this alone? I could come with you. Together, we can find a way to destroy this infernal book."

"It's too risky. We both know how this is going to end." Percy tilted her face up and kissed her tenderly. "It's imperative I keep these spells from being used."

"But why you? Why do you have to guard the book? Surely we can pass it onto someone else? It was safe in the muggle world for decades, why couldn't it work again?" She caressed his cheek lovingly. "I've compiled a list of rare and used bookstores. We could plant the book in any of these stores, destroy the list and be done with it."

"It won't work, luv." Percy kissed her again. It spoke of finality. "I've no doubt they will eventually catch me, but by then the book will be long gone."

"You shouldn't have to forsake everything for them." Her tears were flowing freely now. "Please be careful." She drew away from him, eyes cast downward. "I should go. Tom said I should stay only a few minutes."

She paused at the doorway. "Tom and I will continue searching. We think we may have found an ally. The man who brought us the book, Henri DeWrinkle, he may be of aid. When the time is right, we'll contact him." She looked up at him. "I love you."

She melted into the darkness before he could answer.

I love you.

Percy gasped and touched his cheeks. They were wet. Allison. Dear sweet Allison. How could he have forgotten her? He stared at the album clutched tightly in his hands. How could he have forgotten any of it? More images assaulted his mind and his jaw clenched as the bombardment became more than he could bear. He didn't know which were his and which were not. They ripped apart his mind, taking his sanity with it. The album fell from his lap as his hands flew to futilely clutch his head.

"It's time." The silver-eyed girl hissed, razorblade posed over his eye. "I'm going to perform the spell."

Fudge gazing in the mirror with fascination as his face melted into Percy's image.

"You'll need to learn to use a gun." A 45 caliber was pressed into his palm. "Magic alone won't save you." He winced as cold steel bit into his fingers. "When the time comes, use it."

Blood dripped into his eyes as another piece of scalp was cut from his skull. "If you don't tell where me it is," the girl hissed, "I'm going to your girlfriend's apartment and start cutting on her."

Allison's wide-eyed expression of horror as she discovers there are not three, but four unforgiveables. "This spell can eliminate all life, both present and future." She tells Tom in hushed tones. "You have to help Percy and I hide the book."

A searing light and blinding pain as he casts a spell to staunch the blood loss. A single word tumbles from his lips before he loses consciousness: resurgence.

A blast of iridescent light that envelopes everything in its path. Eyes and mouth open wide in surprise as the magic envelopes the castor. Skin peels and blood trickles from eyes and nose. Mouth opens in a silent scream as the castor is destroyed by her own magic.

Percy fought the wave of memories, desperate to retain his own identity.

Remember who you are.

He felt the sweet burn as he was torn from his broken body.

Remember who you are.

The fierce connection of magic as he was reunited with his color.

Remember who you are.

He opened his eyes.

It was time.

XI

"I'm going to Abderlen." Arthur declared as Molly packed his overnight bag. "I want to see this place for myself."

"What do you hope to find?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but returning to the ministry is out of the question. The Agency will be expecting me to show up there, so I must do exactly the opposite and go to the source."

The front door banged downstairs, drawing Molly's attention away from the shirts she'd been folding. "Oh Arthur, the children are back. What should we tell them?"

"The truth. They have a right to know."

"They'll want to accompany you."

"That is out of the question. These people are far too dangerous. I refuse to get my children mixed up in this anymore than they already are."

"Mum? Dad? You up there?"

"We'll be right down, Ginny." Molly called. She gave Arthur a significant, you-had-best-not-muck-this-up look, before returning to her folding. "I started making funeral arrangements." She said in an attempt to distract them both. Mundane was safe. It insulated from all other intrusions. "We're having a service on Sunday. You'll be there?"

"Yes dear." Arthur said in a tone that meant he had stopped listening and moved onto other concerns. "I mustn't forget this." He tossed a round stone that resembled a donut on top of Molly's folding.

"What is this?"

"A soul-stone. You look through the hole in the middle and it will show a person's true form."

Of course it would. Molly placed the last of Arthur's clothing into his suitcase and fastened the clasp. She handed the soul-stone to her husband. "I think you should keep that with you. Just in case."

"Going on a business trip Dad?" Fred, having gotten tired of waiting, had come up to investigate. "Or taking a trip to the seashore?"

"Don't be sarcastic." Molly admonished, slipping past him to go downstairs. "I'm going to put the teapot on."

"Did the aurors give you a time of death for Percy?" Arthur demanded, neatly side-stepping Fred's inquiries. "And how was lunch?"

"The lab estimates he's been dead for about a year. There wasn't much to go on, so they couldn't do much better than that." Fred frowned. "And lunch was good. Charlie stayed sober throughout."

Arthur nodded. "That's unlike Ralph to be so vague. He didn't give you a death certificate?"

"Errol just arrived with it." Fred delved into the pocket of his jeans and begrudgingly handed over a crumbled death certificate. Arthur scanned the date. December 1, 2006. "Hmmm. He died after Abderlen."

"What?" Fred cried, unable to contain himself any longer. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

Arthur blinked at Fred, as though he'd completely forgotten his son's presence. "Let's go down for tea."

"Tea? We're in the middle of a conspiracy and you're having tea?"

"Mollywobbles, is the tea ready –"

A girl sat at his kitchen table calmly sipping a cup of tea. Around her was his family, each caught up in electric strands of multicolored energy. The girl set down her cup with a delicate click on the saucer. "Arthur, so good of you to join us. We were just enjoying a delicious pot of Red Rose."

Silver eyes smirked at him from beneath blonde bangs. A rustle of activity reminded him of Fred's presence. He held up a hand in warning but it was too late.

"Uh ah. None of that." The girl's hand shot out sending forth strands of light that encased Fred in energy. His wand clattered uselessly on the stairs. "Such a naughty boy you have Arthur."

"What are you doing here?"

"I think you know." Spread over the tabletop were the pictures of Abderlen. "You and your little family have been very busy, I see." Her mouth thinned into a tight, angry line. "Hannah has proven to be a bitter disappointment. Tell me Arthur, was it difficult killing your own sister or did it feel good?"

"Who are you?" Arthur approached the table cautiously, careful to keep his hands visible. He sat, with her at one end and he at the other, gazes locked in a stand-off eerily reminiscent of his encounter with Hannah. "What do you want from us?"

"Not you. Him. I want your son to finish what he started. I take pride in a job well done and thanks to him, everything is one big mess!"

"Percy is dead." Arthur said slowly. "He died a year ago."

"You should know he's dead!" Molly shrieked, having managed to free her mouth from the strands. "You killed him!"

"Don't be ridiculous." The girl scoffed. "Torturing someone is entirely different from actually killing someone."

"You caught him up into pieces!"

The girl waved off Molly's anger with a flick of her wand. "You make it sound like I cut his head off. I only scalped him for polyjuice. What's the big deal?"

A shocked silence fell over the room. The girl seemed oblivious as she added a teaspoon of sugar to her tea. "Besides, he had it coming. Your son stole a very important article from the Agency. He has caused us no small amount of trouble."

"Percy's not here." Arthur cut in. "If you let us go, you can rest assured that none of us will say anything."

"I can't let you go." The girl grinned. "But rest assured none of you will ever speak again." Her eyes glittered silver and Arthur found himself encased in the same strands holding his family. A knife caught the dying sunlight from the kitchen window, reflecting menacingly from its tip. "Who wants to go first?" She tapped the blade against her teeth, as she inspected each Weasley. She eyed Ginny speculatively, who squirmed frantically from the knife. A wolfish leer marred the girl's cold features as she as ran the blade gently along Ginny's cheek. "I like starting with the eyes." As the tip of the knife nicked the skin at the corner of Ginny's eye, a shadow passed over the front porch.

The girl spun and stalked to the window. "Who the hell is that?"

The glass exploded inward giving the girl barely enough time to shield her face. Glass embedded in her arm as her body was obscured by a dazzling spray of wood debris and slivered shards. The girl gave a pained cry as the force of the blast hurled her across the room where she slammed against the far wall. A collective sigh of relief was heard as she slide bonelessly to the floor.

"Is everyone still alive?" A withered old woman barged through the front door. Her gaze went from the still form of the girl to the rest of the family. Relieved, she raised her right hand and green light tore from the palm, attacking the energy strands encasing the Weasleys. One by one, the strands let go, releasing them from their cocoons. Molly rushed to Ginny, tilting her face so she could inspect her eye.

"Dame Hottlebee?" George asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Doesn't matter." She said briskly. "Arthur, you need to take your family and get as far away from here as possible." Hand still glowing a faint green, she cautiously approached the crumpled form of the girl. "She may be down, but she's not out for the count."

The girl opened her eyes. "Too right." A silver beam shot forth, sending Dame Hottlebee skidding across the floor in a wave of green taffeta.

"Avada kedavra!"

The girl stumbled but didn't fall.

"Crucio!"

"Ouch! Who did that? Who just shot me with unforgiveables?" Face slack with shock she turned to where Molly Weasley stood clutching her wand, her own face a mixture of surprise and horror. The girl giggled. "Foolish women, I don't need a wand to deflect magic, I have all I need right here." The glow surrounding her body intensified until she appeared translucent. "I'm insulted that you think you can kill me."

"Kill you? That sounds like jolly good fun." Dame Hottlebee released a series of fire bolts, slicing through the girl. A stray beam caught the kitchen curtains, setting them ablaze. The girl screamed in rage and retaliated with a fire bolt of her own. With a sweeping motion of her hand Dame Hottlebee erected a shield. The firebolt hit the shield and ricocheted off where it exploded against Molly's china cabinet, showering the room in bone china and wood. "What are you waiting for?" The Dame shouted as the Weasley's stood about dumbly. "Get out of here."

Molly didn't need to be told twice. She gathered up her children and ushered them to the door. Arthur looked from the girl to Dame Hottlebee. Fumbling in his jacket he removed the soul stone. Peering through the centre he no longer saw the Dame. In her place was a young man who appeared to have been recently electrocuted. His eyes were the color of jade and strands of olive green ran throughout his black hair. Annoyance graced his features as he realized Arthur was still there.

"Unless that donut makes you invincible, I suggest you march out that door and get gone!"

Arthur stumbled backwards, and with a last peek over his shoulder, hurried to catch up with his family.

Satisfied his rescue mission was a success Edward concentrated on keeping himself alive. He ducked behind the sofa as three daggers embedded themselves in the wall above his head. Who the hell was this chick? He needed to get closer so he could soul see. Another dagger flew past his ear, slicing neatly through a stray lock of hair. He watched it flutter lazily in the air, completely oblivious to the death match its owner was engaged in.

This was why he loathed the Wizarding World. The mindless killing, the whack-jobs hell bent on ruling the world, the stupid people who stood around waiting to be eviscerated instead of running, and the store clerks who thought green taffeta could be worn as daily wear. He stumbled as his feet caught in the thick layers of green fabric. With a flick of his wrist, the fabric tore away.

The daggers weren't coming as fast anymore. This was good. He needed a breather. He peeked over the lip of the sofa. The girl was nowhere to be seen. This was not good. He didn't have time to initiate a search spell as a booted foot connected with the side of his head, sending him sprawling.

"There's something very familiar about you." The girl planted her boot in the centre of his chest. "Oh Edward, is that you? I almost didn't recognize you in that decaying body." She raised her fist over her head. Shards of glass protruded from her arm. Her fist began to glow. "You really should have stayed in the Overworld."

Edward responded by grabbing her leg with both hands and heaving. Unbalanced she toppled to the ground, landing hard on her injured arm. Edward followed up with two quick jabs to her face, bloodying her mouth and nose. Dazed, she gazed up at him with familiar silver eyes.

"Hi handsome."

"It was you?" Stunned, he loosened his grip. "You're responsible for all this?"

"Yup." Taking advantage of his surprise, she broke his hold and rolled away. "Perseus wasn't the only one with unfinished business."

"How can this be? You ascended. I attended the ceremony."

"Life's a bitch, isn't it Eddie?" She giggled. "Especially for you. Did you enjoy your time as a woman?"

"This is all wrong. Why would you do this?"

"There are wrongs that need righting. I can't do it without Perseus."

"To what end? What about the rules? You're breaking the laws of Overworld." Edward was at a loss. "This is a blatant infraction of at least seven!"

"Oh Eddie, I haven't broken any rules. I'm playing the game the way it is meant to be played."

"By killing his family?"

"Yes, killing his family is part of the game. In fact, I do believe I'm in a bonus round."

"Why is that?"

The girl began to glow. "Because I get two for the price of one."

The force of the explosion knocked the Weasleys' off their feet. They toppled into the snow, landing with various degrees of oufs! and thudding. Ginny rolled over just in time to see the remains of the Burrow's brick chimney streak across the sky like a comet.

Thick black smoke billowed into the evening sky, obscuring the stars dimly twinkling overhead.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, propping himself up with a wince, "will you look at that?"

"At least it's over." Charlie muttered. "I mean, they surely destroyed each other, right?" He looked beseechingly at the rest of the family. "No one could have survived that."

"Or if someone did, let's hope it's Dame Hottlebee." said George, brushing snow from his hair.

"We're not staying to find out." Arthur helped Molly to her feet, relieved to see she wasn't hurt. She stared morosely past his shoulder to where the remains of their home were going up in smoke. Thirty years of memories had been erased in a single second. She buried her face in the crook of her husband's neck but didn't cry. She didn't have any tears left to shed.

"Who still has their wands?" Bill demanded. "We need to apparate to Diagon Alley and report this to the authorities."

"I don't." Ron said, patting himself down. "I think that crazy girl has them. Blimey, she's worse than Umbridge."

"Who else doesn't have their wand?"

"I don't."

"Me neither."

"Make that three."

"Mine fell out on the stairs."

"I have mine and so does your mother." Arthur released Molly and flashed a reassuring smile. "It'll be risky, but we'll double apparate." He held up a hand to stall their protests. "Lookit, I'm not leaving anyone here. We go together or not all, is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Sure Dad."

"Whatever you say."

"Good. Bill, you'll take the twins. Molly will bring Ginny. Ron, you and Charlie will come with me."

"Are you sure we won't get splinched?" Ron demanded, eyeing his father dubiously. "I hate to think we survived Umbridge junior just to die apparating."

"Positive." Arthur clapped his hands. "Everyone get into position. We'll go on the count of three. Ready? One – two –"

"Leaving without me?"

"Apparate!" Arthur yelled, even as a hot poker sliced through his middle. Beside him, Ron fell, followed by Charlie, their eyes open in twin expressions of horror. Ginny and Molly screamed as Bill and the twins hit the ground. Twisting, Arthur saw the girl emerge from the smoke, her features dark and perverse. Chunks of flesh were gone from her face. Her hair sizzled and sparked like firecrackers.

"Did you miss me?" She hissed, grabbing him by his collar. "I'm sorry it had to be like this, but time's running out." Her eyes glowed silver. It was the last thing he saw.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. Edward had been gone for far too long. Percy set the photo album aside and got to his feet, ignoring the screaming in his limbs. He cast about for his wand and groaned when it was returned to him in three jagged pieces.

That figured. Percy sighed. He'd just summon Edward instead. He held his arms straight out, palms up.

"Edward, I summon you."

A ball of light formed in front of him and out Edward tumbled – in pieces. Percy dropped his hands in shock as his brother's head rolled to a stop at his feet. Dark tunnels lay where eyes should be. White hair was matted with blood. The skin was black and charred. Percy nudged the head away with his toe. It rolled away to rejoin the pile of dismembered arms and legs.

Percy saw red. Literally. No one killed his brother. Even if his brother was technically dead to begin with.

Oh balance, did that mean his family was also - ?

Trembling slightly, he performed the summoning again. The ball of light formed as expected but instead of depositing the members of his family onto the floor of the Fudge household, it cracked and imploded with a loud pop!

This was either a good sign or the start of the apocalypse. Percy decided he didn't have the time to decide which. Without knowing why, he pulled out the photo of the wasteland. It was no longer barren. The girl with silver eyes stood in the center of the photo surrounded by the prone figures of his family. She raised a hand in a decidedly 'come hither' motion.

The bitch. He'd never called a woman such a name but circumstances being what they were, he felt justified. He'd 'come hither' all right; with a fist full of fire and a wand to poke out her eyes. First, he'd need help. He'd made the mistake of trying to go it alone as Percy Weasley with disastrous results. He wasn't about to do so again.

With an evil glint in his eye, he cleared his throat and said with no small amount of gusto,

"By Merlin I could use some help!"

A crack of lightning struck two inches from Percy's foot. He yelped and jumped back as the roll of thunder accompanied the lightning. White puffy clouds filled the air. In the distance Percy thought he could hear the gentle chirping of birds. Confused, he entered the mass of fluffy clouds, batting away the whiteness with his hands. "Merlin? Are in you here?"

A gold staff swung out of the chirping clouds, striking him between the eyes. "Of course I'm in here, you dolt! Where else would I be? You summoned me to this horrid place."

Percy rubbed the spot where he'd been struck. "Did you see Edward?"

Merlin strode from the clouds, batting away the assortment of hummingbirds, robins and doves flying in merry circles around his head. "Why would I see him? He's with you."

Filled with dread, Percy pointed to the remains of Dame Hottlebee. "Please tell me that he wasn't killed when the host body expired."

"Christ on a crutch!" Merlin exclaimed. "What the hell have you two been doing?"

"Answer my question please! Is Edward still alive?"

"If this is the only reason you summoned me, I'm going to be very upset." Merlin crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. After a moment his expression softened. "Edward's fine. He's just transcended to the Overworld. You'll see him shortly and when you do, you'll realize that he'll have completely put aside this nasty little business."

"Nasty little business?" Percy wailed. "She cut his eyes out and chopped him into little pieces. You're telling me he'll have forgotten what it felt like to die in the most excruciating way possible? He was himself here. There's no life to wipe out."

"It'll be but a forgotten memory. Memories from a transcend are rarely lucid. Only the Illuminati maintain vivid recollections." Merlin assured him kindly. "I promise you, Edward's time here will be little more than a bad dream."

Percy nodded reluctantly and ran a hand through his hair before remembering he didn't have any. "I need your help to save my family."

"Edward's already home Perseus," Merlin regarded him with a raised brow, "you know this."

"Not Edward. My other family! This horrid girl has kidnapped them." He held up the photo of wasteland. "We need to go get them."

Merlin's brow rose so high it disappeared into his hairline. "Oh my. This is unexpected. What do you want me to do?"

The evil glint returned to Percy's eye. "First, I need some weapons." He retrieved the photo album and set it carefully on the remains of Fudge's hall table. Flipping to the page entitled "Special Projects" he removed several of the photos. Laying each photo side by and side, he reached into the first picture and slowly withdrew the image.

Merlin gaped at him slack-jawed. "By the balance, I knew that creatures could live in wizard photos, but I've never before seen an image removed from its frame."

Percy held up the 45 caliber, enjoying the heavy feel of it in his hand. It had been a long time since he'd held such a weapon. "Fudge said the path to redemption lay in the imprisoned memory. Naturally, he was referring to photographs." Percy reached into the second picture and removed a wand. "I doubted that Fudge was speaking metaphorically, and after reading some of the page headers, I realized that the photos he collected of the Agency actually act as portals and storage devices." Tucking the gun and wand into his cloak he turned to Merlin. "The photos were also very helpful in filling in some of the blanks. I've been missing memories." He gestured to the album, "now I'm not. In fact, I've acquired some rather interesting memories held by other people."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I remember why I was killed. No, that's inaccurate. What they did to me can't be classified as murder as I never actually died." Cold eyes came to rest on the old wizard, "but then, you already knew that, didn't you?'

"We saved you from an eternity of agony." Merlin raised his chin in a gesture of defiance. "You meddled in magic that wasn't meant for use by a wizard or witch. Even in the Overworld only a few have the power to wield it successfully."

"Am I one of those people?" Percy asked quietly. He gestured to the remains of Cornelius Fudge. "Earlier, I touched that man and for a few moments he came back to life."

"I'm sure you're mistaken." Merlin said evasively. "He probably wasn't dead."

"He has a hole where his chest should be." Percy said dryly. "Trust me, he was very much dead at the time."

"What you cast was just the tip of the iceberg. Had you cast the entire spell, your fate would have been the same as hers."

"Ah, so you do know the little bitch."

"Yes, but do stop calling her that. Like you, she was unaware of her true nature."

"And now?" Percy demanded. "Does she have awareness now?"

"Only partial." Merlin leaned heavily on his staff, the weight of years heavy upon his shoulders. "Like you, she is missing memories. Her actions are based on what she was and the dictates of her old life. She'd only completing unfinished business!"

"By killing my family? By hacking Edward into tiny pieces?" Percy's magic sparked, coating his skin in electric color. "That life that you saved me from can be reclaimed, can't it? I can stay here."

Merlin shuffled uncomfortably. "There's nothing for you here."

"Everything is here!" Percy slammed his fist on the hall table, singeing the lacquered top. "My family, my job, Allison."

"Allison is dead."

"I can bring her back." Percy hissed. "That book will let me return her life."

"That book brings only death in the Wizarding World." Merlin's face shone with sadness and sympathy. "It is a text of the Overworld which was lost in the time of the Great Chaos."

"It contains commonplace spells used everyday in the Wizarding World."

"Spells that were adapted by older, wiser wizards who realized the full strength of the magic could never be contained within the body of a wizard or witch. The spells to which you refer use only a small fraction of the required magic." Merlin extended his hands beseechingly. "You are the keeper of the texts in Overworld, Perseus. When the library was destroyed, you began your search to retrieve the lost books. Most of the volumes were recovered in the Overworld, but the Red Text of Vague was expelled to the Wizarding World." He waved his staff at Percy. "It is why you are here. It is why you felt compelled to hide the Red Text from the Agency. Without knowing it, you were completing the task set for you in the Overworld."

"If what you say is true, then why did I not retain any of my memories like I do now? Answer me that?"

"The Illuminati are the only ones capable of performing a successful transcend. Due to the Great Chaos, they themselves were flung from the Overworld. I did the best I could but alas, I'm only a dabbler in the intricacies of time and not a keeper of it." Merlin held out his hands beseechingly. "I found a child whose soul had fled its body at the moment of birth and placed you in that form. Maybe it was the age of the child, maybe it was the shock of the physical constraint or maybe it was a third, completely unknown factor, but you did not retain your memories. The moment we realized it, your mother demanded to descend."

"Hannah." Percy remembered the kinship he'd felt with his father's sister. "It was her, wasn't it?"

"Melia." Merlin corrected. "She tried to reset the path for you, but circumstance again interceded and you were separated."

"She'd stopped coming to the house." Percy remembered the betrayal he'd felt at her abandonment. "I never had the chance to say goodbye."

Merlin made a noncommittal noise. "She didn't say goodbye to Edward either. I don't think he'll ever truly forgive her."

"He will. Edward's too gentle a soul to hold a grudge." Percy squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed absently at the spot where he'd been struck by Merlin's staff as he processed everything he'd just been told. "I didn't save anyone, did I?"

"When they threatened Allison, you handed it over. In all fairness, you gave them the run around before giving up the exact location, but the result was still the same. You traded Armageddon for a workplace affair."

"Do not trivialize my sacrifice. I loved her!" Percy said indignantly. "I didn't want her to suffer the way I did."

"If you hadn't cast a partial resurrection spell in a desperate act of self-preservation you wouldn't have had to! You would have died from shock when the torture began. You and the book would have transcended home. Instead, you just prolonged the agony which got their panties in a bunch. The Agency doesn't like loose ends. When they torture someone, they expect them to die."

"I was trying to save her."

"Love didn't save the day, did it? You're dead. She's dead. And five days after you handed the Agency the Red Text, Abderlen was destroyed. Like it or not, your romantic predilections led to the deaths of four hundred innocent lives and if you don't complete your task and do what you were meant to, more blood will be shed." Spent, Merlin slumped against his staff, looking far older than his one million years. "We all have a purpose, Perseus. We can run from that purpose for only so long before circumstance forces us to make a stance. I can't force you to return to the Overworld. It is within your right to stay and resume your old life, but I hope that it is not a decision you will make lightly."

Percy stood there, torn between his desire to throttle the old meddler and his desire to sit down and cry for his mother (though at this point, he didn't know which mother he wanted). He'd spent so long wishing for his old life that he'd barely noticed when he'd begun settling into his new one.

"Blast. I can't keep screwing the pooch." Once the decision was made, it all seemed so simple and so obvious. "A town is dead, as are Ally, Tom and the DeWrinkles. Their deaths are my fault."

"What's done is done." Merlin began.

"No," Percy cut him off, "that book contains the means of righting this wrong. I am going to finish what I started. I am going to complete the spell and put things back the way they're supposed to be."

"It'll mean your death!" Merlin protested. "Stupid boy, unless –"

"Unless you help me ascend." Percy finished for him. "Can you do that in the Wizarding World?"

A steely glint entered the old sorcerer's eye. "Indeed I can."

Abderlen was exactly as she remembered: infertile, unproductive, sterile.

Dead.

She stared at the miles of wasteland stretching endlessly before her.

Very dead.

She crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the cold. The night Abderlen died, a chill descended, blanketing the ground and coating the dust in a deep freeze felt normally in the heart of winter. Only it was winter, but for all the cold, not a speck of snow lay upon Abderlen. Just as it hadn't rained in the spring, the summer had failed to bring the heat just as the fall failed to be ushered in by a kaleidoscope of color. Since that night, all that remained of the bustling community was cracked soil set in fashionable shades of mortician grey.

No matter, it would all be over soon. She had the book. She had his family. Edward was dead. If sending his brother to him in little pieces didn't get the job done, nothing would. While Eddie's appearance had taken her by surprise, it had saved her the trouble of hacking up the little girl. Edward had proved to be a far more convenient replacement, if not a more aggressive one. She stared at the shards of bloody glass piled at her feet. He'd caused her a great deal of pain, but she felt she'd more than made up for it.

A breeze ruffled her hair. Her finger stroked the hilt of her dagger. "Hello Percy. I see you got my message." The dagger flew from her hand and skittered out of reach across the dirt. Two well-aimed blows to her kidneys sent her to her knees.

"Yes, I did." Percy's eyes sparked a deep crimson. "I didn't appreciate it."

She didn't know which surprised her more, the fact he drew first blood, or the fact he had the gull to stab her in the back. "That was very naughty."

"So is this!"

She barely managed to deflect a well-aimed crucio before firing off an avada kedevra in return. She was disappointed when Percy neatly side-stepped the spell. "If you want your family alive, I'd lower that wand."

"Lower yours first."

"You've grown a spine."

"Your face has seen better days."

Scowling, she slowly pocketed her wand. Reluctantly, he did the same. To anyone watching, it would seem the two were at a stalemate. Those that knew better were ducking for cover. A battle of power was brewing; balance help anyone caught in the ensuing crossfire.

Percy struck first. Fists glowing red, he shot a quick succession of sharp-edged discs that tore up the earth. Dust billowed in their wake, affording Percy a temporary shield from the girl's attack. Sinking to his haunches, he threaded his way through the swell of dust, using the explosions of the discs to simultaneously guide him to the girl while avoiding her energy attacks. Her silhouette, briefly illuminated by the destruction of the discs, offered him the element of surprise. Using the snare he'd created for Fudge, he threw the hook and was rewarded with a soft squishing sound followed by a pain-filled cry. He tugged on the snare. A ripping sound emitted loudly over the wasteland, breaking the silence and offering Percy a memento of torn sinew. So be it. He'd take her apart piece by piece if he had to. He wound up the snare and hurled it a second a time.

A black gloved fist caught the snare, counteracting his magic. The red cord turned white. A flash of silver shot towards him like a spark igniting a wick of dynamite. He tried to drop the snare, but his magic was too tightly entwined in the spell. Without realizing it, he'd become ensnared by his own magic. The ensuing explosion sent him flying backwards several feet. He landed hard, knocking the wind from his lungs. Still attached to the snare, his shoulder wrenched painfully as the girl tugged him forward. He scrabbled along the dirt, pawing for a foothold. His foot caught in what once may have been a rabbit or badger hole, but which now served nicely as a brace. Shifting his weight, Percy grabbed the snare with both hands, ignoring the sting of silver and heaved. The girl stumbled, but did not relinquish her hold. Growing desperate, Percy removed his left hand and dug for his wand.

"Crucio!"

Relief filled him as the cord went limp. The girl's body contorted as the spell worked its way through her limbs, convoluting muscle and twisting bone. Staggering to his feet, Percy cast a stupefy. The flailing stopped but tiny convulsions quivered beneath the surface of her contorted form. Even as he approached her, he could see her magic working against his spells.

"Bastard." Her face twisted painfully. "You….drew your…fucking wand."

"It seemed the reasonable thing to do." He limped towards her and patted down her cloak. "Where is it?"

"Where's, ugh…what?"

"The book."

Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "Wouldn't you like…" A convulsion raked her body. "…to know."

Percy wanted to scream in frustration. She had the damn thing, he knew she did. "What do you want from me?"

"Let…up on the…spell," she wheezed, "and I might…tell you."

Percy's lips thinned into a tight, angry line. "No." He placed his wand beneath her chin and forced her face up. "You're going to tell me where the book is or I will cast another crucio. Tell me, how many castings can a single individual take before descending into madness? Two? Three?"

"Six." The girl giggled her infernal high-pitched giggle. "Then you slept…it…off…like a hangover."

Percy winced as the memory came flooding back. It had been her game. One crucio per hour. His fingers caressed DeWrinkle's wand, itching to inflict the same, never-ending pain on the girl as she had inflicted upon him.

"You were a delight…Percy….a regular barrel of monkeys."

"I could kill you," he hissed, "right now."

"If you did…you'd never see your…family again."

Percy hated it when she had a point. With an angry swipe of his wand, he retracted the spells. The girl collapsed in a relived heap on the ground. Her chest heaved as she dragged in deep breaths of air. "I've said it once, but I'll say it again: you, dear Percy, have a grown a spine." She pushed her hair, now bloody and dirt-streaked, from her face and sat up. "But enough of this delightful parlay. It's time to get down to business. You want your family. I want to finish what we started."

"We," Percy spat, "didn't start anything. You killed an entire town."

"Oh boo hoo! Abderlen was slated for destruction long before DeWrinkle ever brought us that book. We weren't certain it even existed. In fact, if you and your little girlfriend hadn't gone all moral on us, all sorts of nastiness could have been avoided."

"So the Agency killed us for having a conscious? Because we refused to stand idly by while innocent lives were lost?"

"You were recruited to do filing and to evaluate the usefulness of the spells. Dear little Allison's only function was to decipher the text in order for us to perform a successful casting. The application of the spells by the Agency was of no concern to either of you!"

"It concerns me when my work is being used for despicable purposes!" Percy yelled.

"The witches and wizards living in Abderlen were just trying to survive. They weren't supporting the Dark Lord."

"They weren't supporting the ministry either. Their neutrality in the war branded them traitors. All sorts of illicit activity took place here. The town council passed on classified information to the Order of the Phoenix. Rumour said the mayor even hid Severus Snape on more than one occasion."

"That didn't give the Agency the right to obliviate an entire community of innocent people!"

"Poor naïve boy. I didn't obliviate the good citizens of Abderlen. No, they were forsaken." She snapped her fingers and the cocooned forms of his family materialized beside her. "As will be you and your family."

Arthur struggled against his restraints but ceased as he spotted Percy. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'Deputy Minister?' causing Percy's heart to fall. This wasn't how he'd envisioned his reunion with his family. He imagined a cozy living room with steaming cups of tea, not a rampaging psychotic and a decomposing ministry official.

"Let them go."

"Why would I do that?" She batted her eyes innocently. "The Weasleys are all members of the Order of the Phoenix. An entire family of war criminals." With a second snap of her fingers, she produced a tattered red book. "Look familiar? It should." Her features hardened. "You hid it from us for a very long time." Her fingers snapped again and the book vanished. "Even I have to give you credit for holding out as long as you did. It couldn't have been easy watching me peel the flesh from your body day in and day out."

"I survived."

"That's right." She circled him like a cat readying to pounce. "You did survive. You lived even when all the laws of nature declared you dead. The Agency had never seen anything like it. Fifty page medical reports were written on your miraculous recoveries. We broke your arms, they heeled in a matter of hours. The flesh I cut from you returned in a day. I had the pleasure of cutting out your eyes on no less than five occasions. Why, Percy? What spell did you cast?"

"I didn't cast a spell." He informed her, missing the way her eyes narrowed as she spied her dagger laying behind him. "It was my magic."

"Liar!" She screamed. "Accio dagger!"

Realizing his mistake too late, he could do little but watch helplessly as the dagger sliced neatly through his left side spraying blood in a perfect arc over the washed out soil, swathing it in a blanket of crimson. He fell to his knees, clutching his side. Blood flowed freely from between his fingers.

"That looked like it hurt." She tilted his chin up. "Do you know why I've gone to all the trouble of bringing you here?"

"Do tell." He hissed, as his magic began healing Henri's ripped flesh. "I'm all ears."

She squatted in front of him, her breath acid on his cheek. "I did this to kill you once and for all. I don't like unfinished business and you, Percival," she drew the blade slowly down his cheek, "are unfinished business."

"You had no intention of giving me the book."

"Nope." She said smugly. "I was going to kill you from the get-go. No, that's not true. I am going to kill you but only after you've had the privilege of watching dear old Mum and Dad writhing in agony. My plan is to torture you for a bit then have you watch me cut off the heads of your siblings. For the grand finale I will forsake you, severing all the ties that bind me to this horrid place. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Oodles."

"My brave, brave Percy." She kissed his cheek but she may well have branded him with hot iron. "How I shall miss you."

"I wish I could say the same." He hissed, "but I can't."

A wall of solid flame slammed into her, sending the girl flying back 200 feet. Instead of hitting the ground, she circled her finger, creating an energy circle. Straightening her body, her passed through the circle and reappeared behind Percy, slamming into his back.

Percy went sprawling but twisted so he was facing her. With a speed he hadn't known he possessed, he pulled the 45 caliber from his jacket pocket. He squeezed the trigger, firing off two rounds. The girl howled and spun. In a single fluid motion she pirouetted past his attack, her hands steady and posed as she retaliated with a set of shrikes. They sliced neatly through the air, one embedding in the ground at Percy's feet, the other skimming his shoulder, tearing cloth and skin. Ducking, Percy aimed and let loose a third round. The bullets embedded themselves in her chest, entering one side and exiting the other in a messy stream of broken tissue and cartilage.

"I want the book." He spat, hefting himself to his feet. Blood ran down his shoulder in rivets, coating his arm and sleeking the barrel of his gun. Tiny droplets dripped from the barrel onto her face. He pressed the gun against her temple. "Give it to me."

The girl gazed at him with something akin to admiration. Blood and mucus bubbled over her lips. "What does it take to kill you?" She gurgled. "Why won't you just die?"

"Give it to me." The gun ground against her skull. "Now."

She giggled, though the sound was thickened with congealing fluid. "Over my dead body."

He pulled the trigger.

Her skull collapsed like pitted fruit. Her silver glow shriveled and muted as her essence seeped out in a single violent splay. He stood over her as she died, an odd mixture of analytical detachment, relief and smug satisfaction eroding his higher brain function that cursed him a murderer and admonished his impulsive action. The one person who could have given him the book lay at his feet with more brain matter outside her skull than in.

Drat.

Exhausted, he sagged to his knees, dropping the gun with a resounding thud beside the remains of the girl's head. Wordlessly, he reached with trembling fingers into his pocket and withdrew the picture of the wasteland. He saw himself: a sad, fat clown hunkered beside a decomposing lump of black and red. He refused to acknowledge the wide-eyed stares of his family from the peripheral of the photo. He allowed the photograph to slip from his fingers. It fluttered and came to rest over the girl's unseeing eyes.

Dejectedly he raised his wand. "Accio the Red Text of Vague."

Nothing.

He snapped his fingers. The Red Text materialized in his hands with a small poof! Startled, he nearly dropped it. If he'd known he'd could have summoned the book earlier…well, Edward always said that everything happened for a reason. Shaking his head in wry amusement he thumbed through its pages until he found the spell that would change everything.

The moment of his conception had arrived. He, Percy, was about to finish what he'd started so long ago. He'd been hurtling towards this single point in time without having ever realized his purpose. He glanced at his family and smiled. They'd never know it was him, but maybe that was okay. He'd always been bullocks with words, preferring to convey his emotions with action. Boy, was he about to take action.

"Merlin!" He cried, throwing his arms wide. "Set me free."

The old sorcerer melted from the darkness. Staff raised in silent salute, Merlin rapped it three times upon the earth. Lightning struck the space around Percy, bathing him in crystal fire. It zigzagged and staccatoed as the binding of the Illuminati was reduced to jagged tatters of dying magic. The fire tangled about his body, glowing and pulsing with life.

"Perseus, child of Vague of the House of Ignatius, the time for ascension is upon you!" Merlin commanded, "Emerge! For thou art released!"

Percy emerged in hues of magenta and rich autumn sun.

Henri DeWrinkle collapsed at Percy's feet, once again an unseeing, uncaring lump of soulless flesh. Percy stretched his arms heavenward, head thrown back in pure bliss. Magic flowed through his veins, giving him the appearance of a resurrected Phoenix. Magic pulsed and crackled beneath translucent skin as he prepared himself to right the wrong done to so many people. Gossamer strands of light burst forth from his body like a supernova. As magic poured from his very soul into the night, the ancient spell tumbled from his lips:

Resurgence.

The magic engulfed the wasteland of Abderlen. Buildings returned to existence, roads repaved. Smoke puffed merrily from family homes. Shopkeepers, children, husbands, wives and their many owls, cats, lizards and mice emerged from their long sleep and wondered at the cold. Overhead, the clouds parted to reveal a night sky bright with falling snow. The Mayor stepped from town hall. A perfect white snowflake kissed his nose.

Resurrection.

The magic settled over Henri DeWrinkle, repairing sinew, stitching muscle and knitting bone. Henri groaned as his soul returned and asked his wife for a pepper-up potion before realizing he wasn't at home in his study.

Life.

The wave passed over the DeWrinkle estate, pouring over, under, around and through the house and its occupants. Insects buzzed to life, flowers bloomed, the mouse in the kitchen resumed its quest for the forgotten cheese beneath the stove. Servants woke and stretched, surprised at the stiffness of their limbs. In the dining room, Dreidan DeWrinkle awoke with a start and wondered why his mouth tasted of spider. Allison gazed at the scene with awe. His name fell from her lips in a joyous rapture of renewed faith. "Percy." She breathed, "We did it." Tom smiled knowingly. Indeed they had.

Rebirth.

Percy was free.

Arthur stared at his son for it truly was his son. Percy stared back. His parents and siblings clutched at each other, mouths hanging open in various degrees of astonishment. Ron shook himself then did so again. Percy didn't blame him. If ever there was moment for words then this was it. Yet as Percy stood before them, he found that words weren't necessary. He'd already done what he'd set out to do. Without meaning to, he'd found peace and maybe, just maybe, his family had as well.

Merlin leaned on his staff and made a shooing motion. Percy understood this was goodbye for the last time. He approached his father, who stared at him with the same bewildered awe as the rest. Suddenly uncertain, Percy stood stupidly, his arms stalled midway between himself and his father.

"You silly boy, give your old man a hug." Percy closed his eyes as he felt his father's arms slide around his waist in a bone-crushing hug. Soon those arms were joined by his mother's, then Ginny's, then Ron's until he found himself crushed beneath the combined weight of the entire Weasley clan. "I love you." His father whispered in his ear.

"I love you too." Percy wanted to say, but what came out was, "There's some money in your vault at Gringott's from me. See that everyone gets a fair share, eh?"

He cringed at the unemotional, entirely inappropriate response to his father's declaration of love. By the balance, that was NOT what he'd wanted to say, but his father only laughed and hugged him tighter, so maybe it was all right. His limbs began to tingle and from somewhere in Overworld a clock clanged.

Time's up.

As he began to transcend, the memories of his old life slipped away like the grains of an hourglass. Red hair and freckles. Wool jumpers with the letter P stitched on the front. The smell of pancakes in the morning. The feel of quills against his cheek. The scratch of ink on parchment. The hard edge of horn-rimmed glasses. The excitement and agony of the last quidditch match of the year. A smile. A tear. A shared chuckle. A stolen kiss in an abandoned classroom. They mixed and melded into a stream of dying conscious draining into an endless sea of forgotten dreams until they were little more than vague echoes and misunderstood etchings on cave walls. They became invisible to him as he soared to the Overworld.

The clock clanged a final time. Perseus opened his eyes to find himself in the clock tower of the Illuminati. He gazed about with befuddled interest. Mille regarded him coolly and held out his clothes. He smiled his thanks and looked for Edward.

"He went to see your mother." Mille said. "How was your trip?"

"My trip?" he repeated. "It was quite pleasant actually. The winds are in excellent form today. I arrived here well ahead of schedule."

"I see you've found what you were looking for." She gestured to the red book clutched tightly in his hand. "Sorry about that. I'd thought we'd returned it ages ago, but as time holds such little meaning to us, we often forget that others live their lives by return dates and deadlines."

Perseus huffed and tucked the book safely into the pocket of his vest. "I accept your apology but cannot guarantee that there won't be repercussions. I've been searching for this book a long time."

"And now you have it."

"Yes, now I have it. Of course, I could have had it much sooner had you people bothered to read my memos. Keeping the balance is a group effort. Don't think that the Illuminati are above doing their duty!"

"Perish the thought." Mille said with a straight face. "Whatever punishment you choose, the Illuminati will accept it without question."

"It will likely involve a suspension of your library cards." Perseus fumed. "Not that it will accomplish anything. You'll just turn back the clock and continue borrowing books from an earlier point in time."

"Too true." A smile cracked Mille's stoic face. "We do tend to be excellent problem-solvers."

"And excellent trouble-makers." Perseus fixed his tie and buttoned his shirt cuffs. "What mischief are you into these days?"

"We are in the business of righting wrongs. We protect the helpless." Vinn said dramatically, slinging an arm over Mille's shoulders. "We seek justice for those that cannot seek it themselves. When we're not fighting crime, we can be found in our newly restored parlour serving tea to wayward librarians."

"A cup of tea would be wonderful," Perseus admitted, "but I really must go. The Red Text of Vague has been floating about unchecked for far too long. I'm quite anxious to put it where it belongs."

"If you insist."

"I do."

"Well hey, don't be a stranger." Vinn punched Perseus amicably on the arm. "That offer of tea still stands."

"I won't." Perseus promised. "I'll be sure to bring Edward along."

"Smashing!" His answer seemed to satisfy Vinn, who wondered off with Mille to fiddle with some clock hands. Only Rhana stood apart, her hair spiking about her head like icicles. She approached him warily.

"What is it, Rhana?" He pulled on his boots and began lacing them. "Something vexes you."

"I feel as though I've wronged you."

"Ridiculous. Where ever did you get that notion?"

She frowned and shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a persistent feeling I've had."

"A silly one." He finished lacing his boots and moved onto his jacket. "Mille says that Edward went to visit mother. I thought I might visit as well but first," he held up the Red Text, "I need to put this where it belongs. Balance knows the last thing we need is to have Overworld spells running amuck among wizards and witches. Could you imagine the pandemonium?"

Rhana shook her head. "Wizards are such silly creatures."

"Would you care to accompany me? The weather is rather extraordinary for travel."

"No, another time perhaps." Rhana's tone was distant. "I think I shall remain here. I have one final duty to attend."

Perseus nodded. "As you wish." He walked to the window and removed his disk from his pocket. It grew and lengthened. Stepping firmly upon the disk, he pushed away from the window, rejoining the world. Angling his face to the overcast sky, he leaned forward, allowing himself to be carried by the wind. Edward was right, today was a perfect day to fly.

Epilogue I: Overworld

In the Overworld, Hannah awoke with a start. Lane sat next to her, clutching her hand in a vice grip. "Welcome home, Melia." Her voice was thick with long-suppressed emotion. "Your father and I have missed you." Ignatius stood behind Lane, face as compassionate and kind as she remembered.

"Perseus?"

"He's home." Ignatius assured her. "This time to stay."

"How long have we been gone?"

"Nearly a hundred years." Edward said grimly. He stood at the end of her bed, eyes hooded. She understood his reluctance. Her decision to follow Perseus to the Wizarding World must surely have felt like abandonment, especially after his father's sacrifice for the Balance. "You inhabited the body of Hannah Weasley for close to twenty years wizard time."

She didn't remember. Or rather, she did but couldn't bear to relive those painful years of estrangement. "Come here, Eddie." He came reluctantly and she gathered him into her arms. Burying her face in his hair, she breathed his scent. "My baby, my beautiful baby." As his arms snaked around her waist she smiled. "Mummy's home."

"I am intruding?" Melia's heart wrenched as her youngest son stood uncertainly at the threshold of her bedroom, half-in, half-out as if deciding whether or not to enter. Giving Edward a reassuring squeeze, she gestured to Perseus. "Come here darling."

"Has something happened?" Perseus' brow knit into a worried line. "Why is everyone crying?"

Lane shot Melia and Edward a pointed look that strongly suggested they not mention their descent to the Wizarding World. Plastering a smile across her face, Lane turned to Perseus and took his hand in hers. "We were just reminiscing about your father and how proud he would have been of his boys."

"Oh." Appearing unconvinced, Perseus sat beside his mother's bed. "We needed to reminisce in the bedroom? The parlor would have seated us far more comfortably. I could have made tea."

Edward chuckled. "Oh Perseus, must you analyze everything to death?" He gazed hard at his brother, green eyes glowing. Perseus noticed and cocked a brow.

"See anything of interest, Edward?"

Edward shook his head. "No Perseus, everything is as it should be."

"Finally." Melia said, and drew each of her sons' hands into her own. "Everything is finally balanced."

"It truly is." Perseus said happily. "I found the last book! The Red Text of Vague is back in the library where it belongs. You'll never guess where I found it either."

"Where did you find it dear?" Lane asked, a slight note of apprehension giving her voice an unnatural lilt.

"In Vanguard. Those blasted Illuminati had it!" A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Ignatius and Lane smiled knowingly at each other. Edward sagged against his mother. "I'm thinking of revoking their borrowing privileges for a few centuries." Perseus continued peevishly. "I've been searching for the Red Text for nearly two hundred and fifty years. I sent lists of missing books to everyone, several to them in fact, and not once could those three be bothered to tell me the book was in their possession. That's entirely against the rules."

Edward couldn't help it; he laughed. All the frustration, worry and anguish he'd felt since his mother and brother had descended to the Wizarding World bubbled to the surface in a loud, raucous guffaw that shook his frame and caused the bed to vibrate. To his surprise, Melia joined in, chortling loudly. Lane stared at them disapprovingly, but the corners of her mouth began to curl upwards and soon she was doubled over in laughter as well. Ignatius chuckled behind his hand. Only Perseus refused to join the merriment. He stared at them as if they'd lost their minds, glowering reproachfully from his perch beside the bed.

"I fail to see the humour in this matter. In the wrong hands the Red Text could have caused us a great deal of trouble." He frowned as another round of laughter burst about the room in a cacophony of mirth. "What is so bloody funny? Is it something I've said?"

"Nothing sweetheart." Melia gasped, wiping tears from her cheeks. "It's not you we're laughing at. Truly it's not."

"Really." Percy didn't seem convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded them warily. "Why do I get the feeling I've joined a conversation in which I'm not actually a participant?"

"We're very happy that you've found the last book." Ignatius patted Perseus' arm comfortingly. "It's also very nice to have you back."

"I was barely gone a day."

"For us, it seemed like a hundred long years." Edward whispered and captured his brother in a bone-crushing hug. "Don't keep us waiting again, eh?"

"I won't." Perseus grimaced but quickly relaxed into his brother's embrace. "Besides, where else would I go?"

Melia kissed his cheek fondly. "Yes, where else indeed?"

"Speaking of unknown whereabouts, where has the old goat gone to?" Ignatius asked suddenly. "I've not seen him since tea last week."

"Probably out adding to his legend." Lane sniffed. "I do hope he doesn't do anything embarrassing. In fact, I shall save him from himself. Merlin!" she bellowed, causing those around her to wince. "Stop gallivanting among the masses and return to where you belong."

It was at that moment Merlin appeared in a puff of grey smoke. The sorcerer stumbled and waved his wand about drunkenly. "Who hath the audacity to summon the mighty Merlin?"

"The Mighty Merlin? All I see is a drunken reprobate." Lane stood over him, arms crossed, face knit in a scowl that dared him to contest her assessment of his character. "What have you been up to?"

"I was celebrating the reunion of our little family," he hiccupped, "with a few new friends."

"Friends?"

"Twins. Redheads." Merlin grinned cheekily. "Amazing sense of humour; they kept the entire bar in stitches! They were the life of the party. I say Iggy, our campaign has gone smashingly well, don't you think? Didn't I tell you that no failsafes were needed? Everything is exactly as it was."

"By the balance Merlin," Lane shook her head. "Do shut up." With a shake of her hand, she banished Merlin from the room. A surprised yelp and a string of swearing could be heard outside.

Ignatius peered out the window. "My poor flowers. Must you always drop him into the rose bushes?"

"Yes." Lane said curtly. "Serves him right for coming into our home drunk."

"In all fairness, you forced him to appear." Edward shrank as Lane fixed him with a stern gaze. "Not that that in any way justifies his behavior."

"How did he ever become indebted to us?" Perseus wondered aloud. "He's such an embarrassment."

"That is a story for another time." Lane said briskly. She stood and brushed imaginary dirt from her ebony skirts. "But enough of this idle chitchat. There is a balance that must be maintained."

"Oh come on Grandma, tell us." Edward cajoled. "I've never heard the story. Neither has Perseus."

"Yes mother, do tell the boys that delightful anecdote." Melia's eye twinkled. "After all, there's no time like the present."

Epilogue II: The Wizarding World

Molly stood in the middle of what had once been her garden. All that remained were bits and pieces of scalded tomato plants and the charred remains of a few hapless garden gnomes not quick enough to avoid the blast. She'd come to say good-bye, not just to Percy, but to the place she'd called home for so many years.

Henri DeWrinkle, true to his word, had found them a nice house in a quaint wizarding community to the north of London. It wasn't the same. The house was naked. It lacked the sound of her children's laughter on the stairs or the scent of fresh baked pies cooling on the windowsill. The walls didn't whisper bedtime stories just as the clock failed to assure that her family was alive and well. Thirty years of memories and all she had to show for it was burned wood and singed metal.

They never discovered the name of the girl. Her life, her involvement with the Agency, remained shrouded in mystery. Molly had tried to banish her damning silver eyes and malicious laugh from memory, but it was seared in her mind. She wondered if the time would ever come when she could close her eyes without seeing the girl standing over Ginny with a knife held to her eye.

Wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders she circled the remains of the Burrow one last time, breathing in the life that had once existed in the tiny, yet enchanting house.

It shocked her that a mere seven days could alter their lives so irrevocably. Arthur had quit the Ministry. He couldn't bear to continue working for a government who had knowingly destroyed the lives of his son, his sister and so many other innocent people. Arthur was quieter these days, but yesterday he'd brought home a new plug to tinker with. Molly knew he'd be fine.

Her husband unfortunately, was not alone in his disillusionment. Ron no longer spoke of joining the aurors. He and Ginny rarely spoke at all these days. She supposed they were still angry that no charges were brought against the Agency of Over and Done. Arthur and Henri had discussed the matter, and both agreed it would be better to leave things as they were. Henri's last attempt to expose the Agency had ended in the deaths of everyone he held dear. Indeed, the same had almost happened to Molly and her children. Henri was unwilling to risk his family again and Molly couldn't find it in herself to hold it against him. The hand of the Agency was far-reaching, besides, how could justice be wrought from people who didn't exist? Percy was officially listed as a causality of war.

Charlie and Bill had extended invitations to Ron and Ginny to visit. She hoped they would accept. A change of scenery would do them both a world of good. With money no longer a concern, everyone could take as much time as they needed to heal. Fred and George were busy applying themselves whole-heartedly to creating a new line of office supplies in Percy's honor. Each night at supper, they would proudly present the latest in their new line: Never-Ending Parchment, No-Smudge Ink, and their most recent: Perfect Punctuation Pens.

Molly breathed in the rich country air. It would be the last time she'd visit. Her new home required her attention. The snow shone brightly in the mid-morning sun, laying to rest the past and urging her to move forward. Lulled by the soft rustle of wind in the trees and the gentle crunch of snow beneath her boots, she reflected on the ironies of life. Percy had come home and for that split second, they'd been a family again. She'd said she didn't care what it took for her husband to find the girl and he had. In the end she'd received exactly what she'd wished for. Now, she didn't know if the outcome was worth the sacrifice.

Molly didn't see the cloaked figure until she returned to the garden. Her breath caught in her chest as the figure produced a gold pocket watch. With an air of precision, a chain was lowered so the watch dangled delicately between thumb and forefinger. The clock face seemed to wink at Molly. The figure chanted quietly and the clock hands began turning in reverse, moving faster and faster until they were little more than a blur of gold movement. Molly stood rooted to the spot as she tried to convince herself she was awake and not in bed still dreaming of yesteryear.

The Burrow was rebuilding itself. Foundation reformed, supports righted themselves while wooden planks knit together, reforming walls. Glass picked itself up off the ground and leaped into the ever-slanted window frames melding together until no cracks remained, leaving in its wake an unscathed sheet of glass that sparkled in the morning sun. The old porch swing screwed in its hooks, and re-hung its chain while the front steps groaned and sagged into the familiar state of disrepair that had marked them since the time of Molly and Arthur's wedding. Shingles glided through the air, reattaching to the roof as the chimney, which had sailed away into the evening sky like a comet came hurtling back to earth where it reclaimed its position of authority with a contented sigh.

The hands of the clock came to a sudden stop and the pocket watch snapped shut with a smart click. Molly felt tears prick the corners of her eyes and run freely down her cheeks in rivets. Her home was returned to her. She glanced to the cloaked figure, wondering who her guardian angel could possibly be. As if reading her mind, the figure turned and slowly lowered its hood. Silver eyes met Molly's brown ones. The girl smiled hesitantly. For the first time, it reached her eyes.

Molly returned her smile with a shaky wave. "Who are you?" she called out.

"Rhana." The silver eyes shimmered with tears. "My name is Rhana."

The End