I don't own the Harry Potter books.

In Which Very Little is Revealed

Violet surveyed the shop with a critical eye. She had bought the property as a future investment when she graduated from Hogwarts, but had let it sit as an empty storefront for the last six years. Sitting on the border of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, it hadn't been an expensive piece of property—respectable storeowners didn't want to be so close to the disreputable street while the seedier citizens tended to open shop deeper within the protection of the dark alley. As Violet was somewhat between the two, it was a perfect location for her.

"Looks good." She started, whipping out her wand as she turned, and abruptly dropping her wand arm when she realized who her guest was.

"What are you doing here?"

Bill moved from where he had been leaning against the doorframe and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind. "Same thing you are, I'd imagine. I applied for a desk job a few months ago so that I'd be available to help a few mutual friends. And when your letter made its way onto said desk, I figured I'd take a chance and see if you were here. I remember you mentioning this property."

Breaking free of his arms and crossing her arms, Violet turned to face him. She had to crane her head to meet his eyes.

She scrutinized his face, looking for something. "No, that's not the only reason," she murmured.

"Oh? Pray tell, what is?"

Recognition dawned. "Bill Weasley, you rascal, you met a girl, didn't you?" she demanded.

He grinned. "I did. Her name's Fleur, she's French, and you are going to despise her."

Violet flapped a hand dismissively. "I'll manage. And since you're here, you can help me set up. I don't want to risk levitation charms with some of my more valuable potions or ingredients, so this process is taking forever and a day. Not to mention how difficult it is to transport this many magical substances across the Channel."

Bill snorted. "I hear it's easier when they're legal. But Violet Potter, adopted daughter of Sirius Black is quite the expert at evading authority, I hear." Nevertheless, he moved to the boxes and started unloading.

"The vials in that box hang on the door to the back room." He grunted affirmatively.

"So you said you read my letter. And?"

"And I'm certain we will be calling you every so often. The curse breakers can certainly use someone of your ability. I wish you would just come work at the bank again. Merlin knows the place was more interesting with you around."

"Yes, I know exactly how interesting you thought I was. But I studied potioneering for two years for a reason, and I'm not ready to quit just yet. I'm also fairly certain that my unique—shall we say connections, are why the DumbleSquad wanted me home to begin with. Even I can't procure some of the more sensitive materials they might require without a legitimate reason for needing them."

Bill chuckled. "I shudder to imagine how broadly you define the word 'legitimate.'" Her corners of her lips curled up in response.

"I'm still right across the street."

He nodded in agreement as he hung the last vial on the door. "Well, sorry I can't be more helpful, but I have a lunch date. You'll be at the meeting tonight?"

"I will," she responded absently, immersed in her unloading.

He walked to the door. "Well, if you need more manual labor, you can hire my brothers. They're bored stiff at headquarters."

She glanced up. "Great. I'll ask them tonight. Later, Bill."

He hesitated before leaving. "Are you nervous?" he asked, dropping his usual levity. He wasn't talking about the meeting, and they both knew it.

She didn't respond in kind. "Really, Bill," she said, standing up and meeting his gaze. "You know better."

He stared at her intently. "Yes," he responded quietly. "I do." He left the shop.

Violet sighed and turned back to the shop, flipping her braid over her shoulder. And so passes my first reunion. She blew a stubborn strand of hair off of her face as she inspected the large amount of unloading she had before her. Merlin, I need a house elf. With that thought in mind, she swiftly Apparated.

X

Arlene Nott sighed daintily as she inspected her fingernails, which were perfectly manicured as always. Her life had become so perfectly boring since graduation from Hogwarts.

"And I—Arlene, are you listening to me?" a voice angrily demanded.

She glanced up. "Of course, Clarissa."

Arlene missed school. Her life had followed a course deemed acceptable for a daughter of the Travers family—she had married into a good pureblood family at the age of nineteen, and while cared greatly for Thaddeus (if not his boorish brother, Theodore), she was hard pressed to fill the hours of the day, as most respectable pureblood men did not wish for their wives to take jobs. Things were promising to be more interesting with the return of the Dark Lord, she thought as she absently rubbed the mark scorched into her left arm, but until she was called on for anything besides the use of her home, she filled her time with tedious teas with other respectable ladies, such as Clarissa McNair, who—"Oh, you're leaving so soon?" she simpered. "Let me show you to the Apparation Point." Most wealthy families had specific rooms designated for Apparating that were heavily warded so that only the approved could get in or out.

She walked Clarissa to the room and dutifully kissed her cheek. Before she was halfway back down the hall, she heard a second crack of someone Apparating. She turned, assuming that Clarissa had left something, and opened the door.

"Vi?" she gaped, astonished. She gawked for a minute before, in a quite unladylike manner, throwing her arms around the short woman. "Oh, you're back! I'm so excited! I had almost forgotten what you look like."

"Hey, Leenie," Violet responded, staggering under Arlene's weight. "How have you been?"

Arlene sniffed decorously. "You wouldn't have to ask had you written."

"I'm sorry," Vi groaned. "And I'm sorry for this too, and I will come by later tomorrow, but I was actually wondering if I could borrow a house-elf."

Arlene stared at her. "Violet Ann Potter, you have not written me in four years, you don't inform me when you are back in England, and when you come to visit me, I find out you are simply using me for my house-elf?" She stared at her for a long moment before relenting. "Fine. Meeker!"

A small house-elf, taller than most, appeared. "Yes, Mistress?" he cowered. "For the next week, you are under the employ of Violet. Obey her as you would myself."

"Thanks, Leenie, you're an absolute brick. I'll be back soon—in the meantime, I'm setting up shop in Diagon Alley. Come visit me. I know you must get bored hanging around this mausoleum by yourself all day."

Arlene neither affirmed nor denied that statement. A well-brought up young lady never admitted to being unhappy in her home or marriage, but she had known Violet for far too long to pass off any lies.

Violet embraced Arlene once more, before walking back into the Apparation room. "Let's go, elf," she ordered.

And with two cracks, they disappeared.

End Chapter