2. Plots Hatched

"Alright Hermione," Cho began reassuringly, "All you have to do is stay on the broom, we'll keep the Quaffle in play and it'll never get anywhere near the goal."

Hermione looked troubled, she had been drafted (slightly against her will) into a four on four Quidditch match. "Ron will be all the way on the other end," quipped Ginny, "So he can't distract you." Angelina gave her a reassuring pat on the back and then kicked off the ground into the empty clear blue sky. The girls were facing off Harry and three of the Weasley brothers, George, Ron and a reluctant Percy. Hermione pushed off the ground gingerly and drifted off towards the apple basket goal posts.

Ginny was up in the air with Angelina passing the Quaffle back and forth with comfortable speed and skill. Cho leapt onto her broom and soared into the brisk autumn air momentarily assuming a Seeker's bird's eye view of the makeshift pitch. The Burrow rose on her left like a tottering stack of school trunks beside the quaint little apple orchard. She could see about a mile radius of sleepy summertime village Ottery St. Catchpoole, slowly she spiraled down to her teammates.

Ginny tossed her the Quaffle, which she caught deftly in the crook of her arm, "I've been practicing."

"It's nice to know you Ravenclaws aren't shoddy about the groundwork skills of the game Chang," said Angelina with friendly rivalry.

"As long as you Gryffindors can hang on to the Quaffle."

"Oi, break it up!" George yelled from across the pitch, "we don't have time for girly little squabbles." It seemed that the boys had finally coaxed a shaky Percy onto his broom and they were ready.

Angelina and George conducted a swift game of rock, parchment, knife to decide who pitched the Quaffle and the game began.

The girls quickly noticed that Ron's goalkeeping skills were more erratic when he thought Hermione was going to fall off her broom. George had to roar at his brother to block a nearly perfect goal on his left.

Angelina cackled gleefully and snagged the Quaffle on the rebound, Hermione looked both apologetic and determined to stay on the broom. Harry swooped out of nowhere on a pass to Ginny and sped towards the girl's goal with the ball tucked under his arm. George whooped and sped ahead of him to receive it only to be roughly tackle-blocked by Ginny who was determined to protect Hermione. The Quaffle sailed out into empty space and Cho went for a deep dive to keep it in play.

She sped past Percy nearly causing his broom to spin, he reached out to steady it while she searched for a teammate to pass to. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Harry was catching up to her so Cho kept the Quaffle tucked in her arm and clung tightly to the broom to increase her speed. Angelina crossed her path with the speed of a bullet toward the right goalpost, she feinted to her and then as Ron focused on Angelina she put all her strength in beaning the Quaffle down the pitch into the left goalpost.

"FIRST GOAL!" there was a collective scream from the girls as the ball soared into the basket.

ooo

They entered the Burrow tired, sweaty and sore in every limb, Cho was fairly certain she had a bruise on her ribs from where she caught the Quaffle in a particularly risky leap.

"Hello dears," cheered Molly Weasley, the epitome of motherly grace, as they trooped in, "I've put your fresh clothes and a few towels upstairs, you girls can clean up a bit and I'll have supper on the table in twenty minutes." They thanked her and headed out of the kitchen.

George tried to snag a bit of pasta from the stove but his mother smacked him with a spoon, "You smell like a filthy garden gnome George Weasley, you won't get a bite until you've washed up!"

He pouted a little for show but then resignedly trooped up the stairs as the girls laughed.

She patted Ron and Harry on the shoulder absentmindedly as she stirred the sauce on the stove.

Percy greeted his mother with a careworn sigh, "Are you all right dear?" she asked her grown son.

"I managed to stay on the broom."

"Good for you sweetie."

When the Quidditch players returned to the kitchen they were greeted with a veritable feast of freshly prepared food.

"Mum I've never even seen half this food before," Ron exclaimed sitting down to the table with an expression of trepidation and awe mirrored by the rest.

Mrs. Weasley glowed, "I've been trying some new recipes, you'd be amazed what you can do when you haven't got seven children underfoot."

"We haven't been underfoot since Ginny started Hogwarts," said George sitting next to Angelina.

"Well I've been honing my skills, trying to figure out what the young people are into these days, there are so many interesting techniques I've learned."

Mr. Weasley joined them placing his hands on Molly's shoulders, "Your mother is thinking of opening up a restaurant."

Every single one of her red-headed children started talking at once Molly held up her hands, "It's just a thought! A dream I've been holding off on for a while."

"Restaurants are a lot of energy mum," Ron started flinging his hands wide, "you'll have to work like a house elf to get it off the ground." He must have realized his blunder when he caught the look on Hermione's face which mirrored the one in his mother's, "Which I would be entirely honored to help you with."

"Your mother is perfectly capable of figuring out what she can and cannot handle Ronald Weasley," Hermione replied frostily. George sniggered and Molly turned her gaze on him, "You had better finish everything on your plate George Fabian Weasley, and mind your manners." The two scolded Weasleys straightened up in their chairs sheepishly.

Ginny whispered to Harry, "Scary isn't it?" They shared a look.

"I'll try some of that salad Molly," Angelina said brightly in order to ease the tension.

"Here you are dear," Molly replied passing it over to her with a smile.

Harry joined in on the effort, "Hey do you guys remember when Hermione was trying to start S.P.E.W…"

ooo

"You know I'm impressed that you tried to start a welfare organization at the age of fourteen," Cho told Hermione as they worked to clear the table.

Hermione smiled while she stacked the plates, "I just saw it and I couldn't ignore it, it wasn't really very successful. I had to bully most people into coming."

"I don't think I would have seen it even," Cho replied earnestly, "it's just one of those things that you get used to and doesn't really register."

"I've got a different perspective as a muggleborn; stuff that you're all used to is sometimes still foreign to me. While I know now that the Hogwarts house elves are in a safe environment that they enjoy I don't believe all house elves are anywhere near that lucky." Her brow was furrowed.

"And it's a perspective that I admire and cherish every minute I'm with you," said Ron coming up to them wearing yellow rubber washing gloves, "Can I take those for you two ladies?" He deftly swept away the plates from both their hands and carried them through to the kitchen.

Cho laughed but Hermione looked a little skeptical, "If I find out there is a chapter on doing chores to butter up women in that book I'm going to torture him slowly."

"What?"

Hermione shook her head, "This book he thinks I know nothing about: 12 Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches I found it in the linen cabinet a couple years ago. It's probably the only book I haven't read at first sight."

Cho burst out laughing, "You should read it, for entertainment value."

They traded smiles when Ron returned for the rest of the plates and Cho looked at her watch, "I've got to get going, I promised Amos and Martha I'd be over for tea since I'm in the neighborhood."

Molly overheard this and after she had piled Cho's arms with food to take along she summoned Percy, "Walk Cho over to the Diggorys dear." He blushed and Cho tried refuse but Molly over-ruled her, "Nonsense, it's dark and you can never be too careful."

"I would be happy to," Percy placated and held the door open for her. They walked out into the growing night and through the yard.

They passed George and Angelina who were saying a private goodbye at the fence, which they tactfully ignored.

"Sorry about mum," he said a little woefully holding up his wand to light the path.

"It's all right" she though about it and looked at him, "Is there something going on with you and Penelope?"

"I told mum and she completely overreacted," he threw his hands up in the air.

Penelope was a friend and she was fairly sure she knew where this was going, "What did you tell her?"

"I've noticed that Penny's been getting a little frustrated with me about little things. Like when I went and bought a new cauldron stand she kept asking me if it was our cauldron stand," his voice got a little higher, "I told her she could use it if she needed it and she blew up and wouldn't speak to me for hours. I haven't got a clue what's going on."

"No you haven't," she tried to keep herself from laughing but it was of no use.

"Oh great," he replied grumpily stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Percy," she giggled, "I'm sorry, it's just amazing really. Just a small thing."

"What? What is it Cho? I'm going out of my head." The poor red-head looked miserable, she had never seen him so ruffled. They had reached the Diggorys house and she leaned against the fence, "Are you absolutely sure you want to fix it?"

"One-hundred percent," he looked hopeful.

"She wants you to make a purchase."

"A purchase, purchase of what?"

"A certain symbolic purchase…" He looked confused and then realization dawned, he slowly sat down on the grass as the pieces clicked together.

"I'm fairly certain," Cho said reassuringly, "It's been what, eight years?"

"Ten," he whispered, "In a couple of months."

"And soon," she said quickly patting him on the head.

"Right."

"I'll see you later Percy," she left him on the grass mulling over the enormous change in his life which she was fairly certain had been Molly Weasley's plan from the beginning. She knocked on the door and was greeted by Martha Diggory with a hug.

"We've been expecting you," she said warmly drawing her into the house, "Amos is in the parlor with my nephew and little junior, I've just put the kettle on."

She steered her into the cozy room, "I think you know Draco from school," she said smiling when they were face to face, he saw the shock fly over her features like a startled pigeon, "his father is my cousin."

Malfoy hastily covered the silence, "Yes Cho and I were both Seekers for our house Quidditch teams."

She nodded along while the vague memory of Cedric mentioning something about being related to the Malfoys began to surface. Her attention was caught by the sight of the dark-haired little boy flipping the pages of a picture book on the carpet, she crouched down to greet him, "What are you reading there little guy?"

Little Amos looked up at her with large grey eyes and informed her solemnly, "I'm not reading Aunt Cho, there are no words in this book, but the pictures move."

Over her head she heard Mr. Diggory and Draco talking about their rival Quidditch games.

"Amos Senior come help me with the tea tray," Martha called from the kitchen. Her heart sank a little as the older gentleman excused himself.

"Come on kiddo," she picked up Amos and his book and sat down with him in an armchair.

"You're using a three year old as a shield?" Draco's amusement hit its mark.

"A very precocious three year old," she corrected, looking over the boy's head at him wondering what to do. Draco sat down across from them, "I'm not really sure we've ever exchanged small talk."

"That's true, not a lot of civil small talk anyway, I remember you shouting at me to stop blocking you on the pitch," he offered.

She laughed, "There is that." Some of the tension ebbed away, "I just played Quidditch this afternoon over at the Weasleys."

"I haven't been in a match in years," he replied a little wistfully. She started to tell him the details of the match acutely aware that Martha was listening at the door of the kitchen.

They served the tea and talked for an hour or so until Amos drifted to sleep against her shoulder. The older couple bid them goodnight and went to put their grandson to bed.

Cho and Draco let themselves out of the house and walked down the front of the to the gate. The initial shock of seeing him had left; it was strange to be in his company after sharing only the briefest of acquaintanceships and knowing so much of the history.

"You put on a good show in there."

She looked at him, "I only played along."

"I'm surprised you didn't ask any questions."

She frowned with mock confusion, "Is there a tactful way to bring up exile and Lord Voldemort in front of a three-year old and his grandparents?"

He chuckled. It struck her that she had made him laugh a number of times in the evening, how is one supposed to feel about amusing a former Death Eater? she wondered.

Draco checked his watch, "It's five minutes till, you can ask me anything you like."

She looked at him; years of evidence stacked high against him contradicted the Draco Malfoy she'd spent an hour with.

He started to feel uncomfortable under her gaze, it seemed like she was reading him, he briefly wondered about employing Occlumency.

"Why play the part?" she asked him suddenly, "we were never friends you had no reason to even pretend to be a gentleman, you never have before."

He breathed an involuntary sigh of relief, which she didn't expect, "Fake it till you make it," he smiled vaguely, "I've got a lot of catching up to do."

"A polite answer at least," she pulled out her wand to Disapparate, "Goodnight Malfoy."

ooo

It was Sunday afternoon when Cho ventured out into Muggle London again, she walked through the streets comfortable with the world of people that was rushing by. It was interesting to recognize the wizards among the muggles, they usually wore outdated or ever so slightly inappropriate clothes. They were oblivious to the looks that they got, smug about how well they were fitting in.

Her ribs were still sore from the Quaffle hit and they were developing a purplish green bruise, and her muscles burned from the near acrobatics she had pulled off on her broom.

Cho tugged her warm black coat more tightly around her frame and leaned out of the wind. She turned down a side street and saw that Marietta was waiting for her at The Leaky Cauldron when she arrived. Cho marveled at the place, it defied all standards of cleanliness. She was fairly certain that the crooked barstools were a permanent fixture and briefly wondered if Tom had bought them that way to add to the general rundown air.

"You're here!" her friend paid for her untouched tea and walked out the back door, Cho followed giving Tom a polite nod in exchange for his grin. They entered Diagon Alley intent on buying dress robes for St. Mungo's Annual Winter Charity Ball.

"I've got a little tidbit of gossip you'd like to hear," Cho told her conspiratorially as they walked to Malkins.

Predictably Marietta's interest was piqued, her eyes shone a little, "What?"

"You're so easy to rile," Cho clucked as they entered the shop.

"I know there's something," the girl honed in, "you have that face on."

"I do not have a face." She protested lightly wondering if she was really that obvious.

"There it goes again! You know something, spill!" her excitement caused the other browsers to give them dirty looks, Marietta ignored them and plunged on, "you haven't been keeping this for that long, we had a Floo-chat on Friday, so something happened yesterday." The brunette searched her friend's face for confirmation, "At the Weasley's."

Cho gave her friend a noncommittal shrug and browsed through a few floor-length gowns letting her fingers run through the satin, "Aren't we here to look for dresses?" she asked innocently.

Marietta protested, every fiber of her being was now fully committed to wrangling out the truth; it was something that made her an excellent reporter, less convenient as a friend. She asked about each of the Weasleys she could think of and Cho deftly maneuvered out of her tricky sentence structure trying to keep a poker face.

A nervous attendant approached them, "Excuse me ladies, would you like to be fitted for anything?"

"We're just browsing," Marietta demurred.

"Would you mind browsing a little less loudly?" she asked timidly, "Madame has a very important customer in."

Cho could sense Marietta slicing up a piece of her mind to serve Madame so she spoke up quickly, "Yes, we were actually just leaving, thank you, have a nice day." She pulled Marietta out of the shop. "Alright already, you win," she held up her hands in defeat.

Marietta's eyes sparkled, "What is it then?"

She drew Marietta away from any prying ears, "I'm fairly certain that our dear friend Penelope will soon be a Clearwater no more."

The reporter let out a whoop that left Cho's ears ringing. They sat down a table, "Tell me."

Cho relayed the particulars of her conversation with Percy, she laughed with her at Percy's description of their fight. "Utterly clueless he's been," she was shaking her head, "she's been leaving him hints for the last four years. I went to lunch with her the other day and she was practically breaking down from the stress."

"Why didn't she just tell him?" Cho wondered perplexedly.

Marietta gave her a look, "She's a romantic at heart, pragmatic to a fault with everything else but she couldn't break the rule."

"The rule is ridiculous," Cho huffed, "we live in a brave new world, waiting for Percy Weasley to figure out a proposal from cauldron bickering is like waiting for the sun to rise in the west." It had taken ages for Penelope to agree to date anyone in Hogwarts, she was worried about her parents approval, even someone as straight-laced as Percy Weasley.

Marietta shrugged, "That's the way it works in most old traditional families even wizarding circles, you know that." Cho did know the Clearwaters were conventional despite the sudden appearance of wizards in their family they maintained every ounce of old propriety. Penelope had sometimes shared stories about their courtship customs.

"Poor Percy, I left him outside of the Diggory's completely senseless."

Marietta sensed the topic winding down so she broke into the new one, "How was your visit with them? How's little Amos doing?"

"He's alright, still quiet," Cho wasn't sure how much to say, "Very clever, he would make a good Ravenclaw."

"But he's not? Or—"

"Magic doesn't show until you're seven, remember?"

She could feel the subject shifting into a more curious vein, Marietta couldn't help it, "It's hard when wizards forget that magical heritage is not a given in wizarding families." She decided to throw out another bit of news, "Something else happened last night though."

Her friend jumped on the new supply of information without prying more into the Diggory subject; she had always been careful about the past.

ooo

"She's probably your best shot," Blaise told Draco as he decided on the next move for his pawn. They were playing Wizard's Chess in the garden of Malfoy Manor.

"Well thanks, I'll be sure to use that turn of phrase when I tell her," Draco replied dryly, "It should really up my odds of landing this suicidal thestral." He frowned at the dwindling number of his pieces on the board, "Make your move already."

"You're the one who cares so much," Blaise responded nudging the piece forward, "I still don't get it."
"Well your father's name isn't synonymous with the greatest genocide of our age."

"Well mostly because he's dead," Zabini grinned, "Zabini is only synonymous with filthy rich." This was doubly true; Zabini now worked in a firm for the International Confederation of Wizards.

"And you're not remotely ashamed of that fact," Draco mused directing his knight to kill the white rook.

"Gotcha!" his opponent cried as his white queen made an unrepentant beeline for the now exposed black king whacking him over the head with her crown and felling him. Draco winced on behalf of his piece, "Congratulations."

"I couldn't have done it without you," Zabini was shameless, "You're not going to be able to fool her, you know. It'll be harder."

Draco had acknowledged this fact, "But a lot more convincing if she agrees to it." He rose from the chess table and stretched, "I've got an appointment for a new wand at Ollivanders and Mum wants me to meet her for tea after her dress fitting."

Blaise smirked, "Tea with your mum?"

"She knows something's up," Draco grimaced, "I've got to move out of this place."

Blaise shook his head at his friend's state, "One of the flats we use for foreign wizards on Critik Alley is going to be open for a few months."

Draco gave his friend a look of undying gratitude, "I owe you."

"I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing that a lot, I'll owl you with the information." Zabini pulled out his wand to Disapparate.

"I've got to use the Floo in the Manor," Draco said sheepishly, "no wand."

"See you around." Blaise Disapparated and Draco walked back through the garden to the Manor, he passed the fountain where someone had thrown wet-start fireworks on the night of their return. After a bit of elf magic the fountain was back to normal but he would never forget the look on his father's face as an enormous white ferret lit up the carefully manicured topiary garden followed by a succession of other creatures finally ending with a curling script: brought to you by WWW, always pleased to entertain. The joke shop business was clearly lucrative, in the face of its artistry the implied jab was almost forgiven, he wondered if the Weasley's would consider him as an investor, maybe anonymously.

He let himself into the Manor and headed for the nearest fireplace snagging his bag of coins, it was a relief to finally regain possession of a wand. Painstakingly he lit a fire in the grate with a muggle match and tinder he threw the green powder on the flames and they roared to life turning green, he shut his eyes and jumped yelling, "Diagon Alley!"

He tumbled out of the fireplace at Flourish and Blotts covered in soot and mentally congratulated himself on the foresight of wearing a grey knit shirt that completely camouflaged his state. The last thing he needed was for people to wonder why a twenty-one year old wizard was traveling by Floo. He brushed the soot off as best as he could and moved out through the shelves of books. Flourish and Blotts opened out on the center of the Alley, Ollivanders was only a few doors down.

As he walked to the wand shop a few people glanced at him with burgeoning recognition but he moved past them to quickly for them to fully register his identity. He ducked into the dusty shop and was quickly taken aback. He let the door close and heard the bell tinkle in the background. The shop was almost entirely empty, he recalled that he'd had to make an appointment but he didn't understand the bare shelves that used to house hundreds if not thousands of wands. There were only a few slim boxes on the shelves now.

He felt realization creep over him as he heard a voice in the back call, "Coming." Death-Eaters had destroyed the wand-shop and closed it down to keep muggle-borns from buying wands.

Suddenly the prospect of getting a wand paled in comparison to coming face to face with Ollivander, dread crept into the pit of his stomach as the sound of screams echoed out of the past. He backed himself against the wall as he heard the approach of the voice's owner.

A frizzy blonde witch took her place behind the counter, "And you are?" She was looking in an appointment book but Draco could tell from her manner that she already knew exactly whom she was addressing.

He played along using the polite façade to drum up his courage, "Draco Malfoy, I'm here to see Ollivander about a new wand."

She looked sharply at him, "Mr. Ollivander only handles the shop in summer now, before school starts, I look after it in his absence, Ariana Bluebottle."

He reached forward to shake her hand, she paused before accepting, "Pleased to meet you."

She responded by pulling out the boxes of wands, disapproval colored each of her looks in his direction even if she tried to hide it.

"Try this one," she said shoving a wand forward.

It was a far cry from his first visit to Ollivander's but he could understand it. He opened the box and drew out a long willowy wand, a card in the box read unicorn hair 11 inches in a wispy script.

He flicked it at the cushion on the stool, a crack resounded in the shop and pain lanced through his hand and entire arm, the wand clattered to the floor and he looked at his palm, it was red, it looked as though it had been burned where he held the wand.

Ariana's face temporarily lost its expression of disapproval and was covered in shock, "I've never seen that before."

Draco gingerly picked up the wand and placed it back in the box, "Maybe one like my old wand, ten inches, hawthorn, unicorn hair," he tried for a bit of humor, "doesn't burn its wielders."

The joke fell poorly, "We have what we have, try another one."

He repeated the exercise with unvarying results, panic and fear started building, he could barely pick up the sixth one when the witch cried, "Stop!"

"I'm not going to watch you burn yourself anymore, Merlin's balls, you've got a death wish." She yanked the boxes away from him.

"What am I supposed to do?" he retorted, holding his agonized hand, he could feel a poorly banked flood of anger forming in him, all he wanted to do was get out of the shop, "Where's Ollivander?"

She threw up her hands, "I don't know!" she started stacking the wands back on the shelves.

"What do you mean you don't know?!" he bore down on the anger in order to ask more calmly, "Is he at his home?"

The witch looked at him incredulously, "Wand-making is his life; he lived above the shop before."

"And now?"

"He's protected isn't he? Somewhere safe from—," she trailed off.

Draco sighed, "I see, thank you." He rubbed his temples, "And you know, thanks for not being afraid of me."

She raised an eyebrow, "I wasn't exactly nice."

"Cold-shoulder is easier to deal with than scared."

Bluebottle seemed to relent just a bit, "Wait a moment, I've got a bit of Dittany in the back."

"Thanks," he laid his palm on the counter and she returned with a little clay jar.

"I don't want anyone to think our wands are faulty," she said grumpily applying it to the glaring redness. As the cool drops met flesh the pain started to dissipate.

She closed the jar and bustled around brusquely, "Here's some gauze, I've got to tend to some business; you can see yourself out."

Her manner didn't bother him; he wrapped his hand in the white strip feeling the Dittany healing his skin, he was more worried about the reaction from the wands. What did this mean? Would he ever be able to reclaim the use of magic?

Narcissa was waiting for him at the tea parlor on Fine Alley. She was already seated within being served something herbal and soothing judging by the smell, a plate of petite scones crowned the table.

"Mint," he requested from the staring waiter who bobbed his head unable to actually vocalize his assent.

Narcissa waited until the man was gone before she asked, "What happened to your hand?"

He paused trying to decide how he wanted her to hear this particular news, he finally gave her a clinical account leaving out any details about the witch or her manner.

Narcissa pursed her lips, "And how are you going to resolve this?"

"I think I need to find Ollivander, although I'm not altogether sure he would be willing to help me."

"We'll see about that."

Draco sighed, his mother gave up on absolutely nothing, "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

She gave him a piercing look but the nervous waiter returned and was pouring Draco's tea, he thanked him and was given another head bob.

"I suppose you think you've been secretive," she started sharply, "but you are utterly transparent and I don't approve."

"That's the wonderful thing about me being an adult now, you don't have to approve." He studied the inside of his cup, and she continued, "And whom have you laid these plans for?"

"I haven't decided yet, an old schoolmate I think," he bit into a scone to cover up the half-truth and changed the subject, "Blaise offered me a flat on Critik."

His mother arched a pale eyebrow.

"It's for a few months, to get some fresh air, a little perspective."

"Oh really?" she went along in a conversational tone, "Do you know who I saw in Madame Malkins today?"

He felt relief that she'd accepted the news about the flat so casually, he humored her, "Who?" he asked sipping on his tea.

"That reporter, the one who wrote the article about our ceremony. She was with that Ravenclaw Seeker, the pretty one, who dated the Diggory boy."

He swore, choked and spilled the semi-scalding liquid on his freshly healed hand.

"Is something the matter dear?" she asked blinking with falsely innocent concern.

000

Hello there, I'm having fun diving into Rowling's world, I have so much respect for all the detail she adds, I'm on a super nerd fest with this story. I hope you're having fun I've made some edits to chapter one and I'll probably fix up a few things here in the coming days but I really wanted to get through some of this so the rest of my ideas can come through. ttfn