A/N: Sorry about this being so poorly written. Sometimes when you have a big plan, the finer details prove difficult. :)
Disclaimer: All elements of the Potterverse, including characters, objects and locations identifiable in the Harry Potter series, are property of one J.K. Rowling. I just play with them.
Chapter Two: Post
Something seemed very different in the house, Roxanne noticed. And she didn't think it had much to do with the people who were going missing. It was more as though there was something strained in her parents' relationship, and it had been this way ever since she and Fred had come back home for winter break. She'd asked Fred if he thought they were going to get a divorce, but he had dismissed this immediately. Whatever was going on, he'd explained, it was to do with their mother.
And upon further observation, Roxanne realized this was true. Her mother seemed very tired and a bit testy lately, and it was this that was making her father equally irritable. It didn't bode well for family relations, so she chose to make herself as remote as possible, observing this unfolding crisis at a distance; it would inevitably end in an argument. Her suspicions were confirmed one morning at breakfast.
"Get the post please, Roxanne," Angelina told her.
"Dammit," she muttered, realizing the mistake she had made in finishing her plate first. It was a testament of the times that she wasn't chastised for her bad language.
She slid out of her chair and went out into the sitting room to open the window. Several soggy, ruffled-looking owls flapped their way inside, their amber eyes hostile.
"Sorry," Roxanne said quietly. "I didn't know it was raining."
The owls flapped their wings, splattering her and the furniture with icy water. A little grumpily, she collected the letters and sent the dripping owls back out the window. Quickly checking to make sure no one was there to incriminate her, she cast a drying spell on herself, the furniture, and the letters before trudging back into the dining room.
She dropped the large pile of letters in front of her father and plopped back down in her seat.
"This one's for you, Angelina," George said, tossing the scroll of parchment across the table.
Angelina managed to catch it before it landed on top of her eggs and unrolled it. Roxanne watched her face carefully as she read the letter. She looked troubled.
"What's up, Mum?" Roxanne asked.
George looked up too.
"Nothing," Angelina said, stowing the letter away. She quickly turned back to the plate of food in front of her.
"Who was the letter from?"
Angelina took a bite of her toast. "Spam," she said evenly.
"But Mum, it had your name on," insisted Roxanne.
Angelina gave her a sharp silencing stare. "It was an advert. Who else do you think it's from? I'll go throw it out."
"Wait," George said, as Angelina began getting up. She looked at him, and they stared at each other for a long time, doing the silent communication thing they sometimes did. She cleared her throat softly and left the room, and George followed her.
Fred and Roxanne exchanged glances of their own, a less subtle version of their parents' form of communication, and followed them out. They had gone into the drawing room, and the door wasn't quite shut. Fred motioned for Roxanne to scope out the situation, since she was smaller and less noticeable. She peered through the crack. She could see them, but they were whispering.
"Do you have any Extendables?" she mouthed to Fred. He held up his empty hands and joined her by the door. They would have to eavesdrop the old-fashioned way.
"…don't know why you're making a fuss about this, George… It's not as if…" Strain her ears as she might, Roxanne could not pick up those last words.
"But if you keep getting these letters… Who are they coming from?"
"No one."
"But they're not adverts."
"What would you know? Look, I'm not—" Roxanne couldn't hear the next words—"Stop obsessing."
"I'm not obsessing, I just want to know what the hell is going on. Let me see the letter."
"It's not as if it's some sort of—" She was whispering again—"I don't know what you think's going to happen. I was up late last night, alright? So don't pester me right now, it's too early." She pulled out the letter and dropped it into the fireplace.
"GO!" Roxanne hissed urgently to Fred, and the two of them started to scramble away from the door before it was yanked open.
"Grounded, both of you," Angelina said as she passed, looking tired and grumpy. "Go wash the dishes from breakfast."
They trudged back to the kitchen to wash the dishes under George's supervision as he read the Daily Prophet at the table.
"Daddy," Roxanne said carefully as she rinsed the plate Fred had finished washing.
He grunted in reply, an indication that he wasn't in the best of moods either, but she decided to press forward anyway.
"Who do you think is sending Mum those letters?"
Fred elbowed her hard in the ribs, almost making her drop the plate. No doubt he would call her all kinds of names later for daring to ask, but her curiosity overpowered her desire to stay out of trouble.
"I think that if you were to mind your studies as much as your mother's business, you would have done much better on your exams. Stay out of this, both of you. It doesn't involve either one of you."
"But you want to know what's going on, too."
Fred elbowed her again, and this time, she did drop the plate. It shattered on the floor. George flicked his wand at it without looking up from the paper, and the plate repaired itself and soared back into Roxanne's hands.
"I told you to stay out of it, Roxanne," George repeated rather sharply.
She finally backed down: She knew she'd gone too far when her father got short with her. Fred gave her an "I told you so" glare, and she ignored him. One thing was certain: Fred was right. Something strange was going on with their mother, and whatever it was, George was not in on it either. She put the matter to the back of her mind. This was going to be a very tense holiday.
x
Cheers and song rang through the halls of Grimmauld Place. Garland and icicles decorated the walls, the portraits, and the banisters on the stairs. Wreaths of every color and bunches of mistletoe hung on every door, and the aroma of Christmas pudding filled the air. The only people who were not in the infectious spirit of good cheer were George and Angelina.
They had been sitting on the sofa for the better part of an hour. George had sensed that she was preoccupied, and despite her moodiness he decided to stay with her rather than join in the celebrations.
"Don't be so ridiculous," she had chastised him when he'd first joined her on the sofa. But he knew she appreciated it anyway, because when he put an arm around her, she leaned into him. He kissed her softly on the forehead, and his fingers played with the ends of her hair as he stared absentmindedly into the distance.
Roxanne watched them sit alone in the midst of the crowd and felt her own mood inevitably sink. They weren't getting a divorce at least, she was convinced. But what exactly was going on? It was Christmas Eve, and they were silent and morose.
"Is everything okay, you two?" asked Ginny as she and Harry sat down near the somber pair.
Roxanne looked up.
"Roxanne, are you even listening to me?" said Lily impatiently. "Roxanne!"
"Shh!" Roxanne whispered. She moved closer to eavesdrop.
"Harry, could I have a word?" George asked. Angelina looked at him, puzzled.
"Sure," Harry said, looking equally puzzled. The two of them stood and walked over to a quiet corner of the room; Roxanne followed. She was able to squeeze herself into the hollow beneath the stairs. It was painful and cramped, but she didn't think she would be seen. At any rate, she had a great view of her father's preoccupied face and her uncle's inquisitive one.
"What's up, George?" Harry asked quietly.
"Angelina's been receiving, er—some very strange letters," George said. "She was acting strangely, so I went through her mail and found these." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of the same types of rolled up parchment that Roxanne had seen that morning at breakfast.
Harry took the letters and unrolled them one by one, scanning them quickly. When he'd finished, he too looked troubled and a bit bewildered. "Can you think of anyone who might have sent them?" he asked, unrolling the letters to study them more carefully.
"I've been thinking, and I really don't know," he said. "It sounds as if they're from someone we went to school with, but that was ages ago. I couldn't begin to think who might've held a grudge this long."
"Yeah," Harry said, frowning. "Have you asked her what she thinks?"
George hesitated. "No. She doesn't know I know about any of this."
"Well, George, I think you're going to have to talk to her," Harry said. George grimaced. "I know, I know. But this is serious, especially considering what's going on, with all the people going missing. We can't afford to take chances."
"You're trying to get me killed, aren't you?" George said with a grin.
Harry smiled and looked over at Ginny, who was now chatting to Angelina. "Trust me, I know what you're dealing with. But find out what you can, and let me know what you find out. The kids don't suspect anything, do they?"
"Of course they do. Angelina made the mistake of letting Roxanne get the mail, and she's been digging around ever since."
"Where is she?" asked Harry suddenly.
Roxanne snuggled herself further into the hollow, willing herself to become invisible.
"Dunno. She was with Lily, last I saw." He shot a sudden, suspicious glance around him. Roxanne crossed her fingers. "Anyway, I'd better figure out a way to get Angelina in a good enough mood to break it to her that I've been looking through her mail."
"Good luck," Harry said with a smirk. He patted George on the arm. "Keep me updated."
As Harry walked away, George made for the stairs. Roxanne tried to make herself as small as humanly possible, but there wasn't much else she could do. He passed her and she heard his footsteps above her as he went up the stairs. She breathed a sigh of relief when the footsteps stopped. She looked around cautiously before rolling out from beneath the stairs, shaking the dust out of her hair.
"Hello," said a voice in her ear.
Roxanne started and spun around to find herself looking into her father's eyes. He was sitting on the stairs, nearly eye-level with her.
"Hi," she said nervously. She hesitated. "So, erm…"
"Yes, I saw you under there," he said, answering her unasked question.
"Er—" She studied his face carefully. "Are you angry?"
George studied her appraisingly. "I'll tell you what. Since it's Christmas, I'll make a deal with you. I won't be upset with you this time… but no more spying, okay?"
"It wasn't spying," said Roxanne defiantly.
George gave her a stern look. "Do we have a deal?"
She nodded.
"Good. And not a word to your mother about anything you heard." He rubbed her shoulder affectionately. "Now go enjoy the rest of the evening."
"Er—Dad, can I ask you… er, something?"
It was very clear that he knew exactly what this "something" was, from the tone of her voice and the guilty look on her face, but he indulged her anyway. "Yes?"
"Er—what exactly do the letters say?"
George's face darkened considerably. "Roxanne, listen to me. This does not concern you. I don't want you getting tangled up in this. I'm letting you off tonight, but if I find you sneaking around again, I won't be this forgiving."
He looked uncharacteristically stern, but she could also tell that he was very anxious. Whatever was in those letters was something that worried him a great deal—and something that could make her father look that concerned had to be bad news indeed. She felt a real regret for being so dishonest and eavesdropping on his conversations.
"Okay," she said solemnly. "Dad—I'm sorry."
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. She caught a bit of an urgency in it, and that further worried her.
"It's Christmas," he said, finally letting her go. "Go enjoy yourself, and just forget about everything you heard, alright?"
Roxanne bit her lip, looking, in her expression, uncannily like her mother. "Okay."
He gave her a gentle smile, and her sense of shame deepened. "Happy Christmas, Dad," she said quietly, and she quickly walked away to find Lily again.
Her cousin had moved into the kitchen, where she was rattling on to a very bored-looking Molly about which presents she expected to get. Molly looked up when Roxanne approached them, looking very relieved.
"Where have you been?" Molly asked.
"Nowhere," she said nonchalantly, sliding into a nearby chair.
"Please, you went to spy on my dad and Uncle George," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "What'd you find out, then?"
"Not much," she said, still feeling guilty for disappointing her father.
She was saved the necessity of elaborating when Teddy Lupin strolled into the room to fix himself a plate from the leftover supper.
"Hello, girls," he said, settling down at the table with a loaf of bread. "What are you ladies up to?"
"Nothing," they said.
"Not up to anything?" he said with a smirk, now buttering the slice he'd cut. "I know you've been up to something, Roxanne."
"Me? Why?"
"Number one, because of that guilty look on your face. Number two, even if I'm the only one that's noticed, you're just as sneaky as your brother. What is it this time?"
"I resent that," Roxanne said crossly. "Where've you been? I thought you were staying up in Nottingham with Victoire."
"Well, I was, but I decided there's no place like home. The whole family's here, after all." He stuffed a wad of bread into his mouth. "So how's the haul looking this year?"
"Excellent," Lily said, using this as an excuse to dive into another one of her long-winded descriptions of her wish list.
Roxanne tuned her out completely for a second time, thinking instead about her mother and what kind of trouble she might be in. She wished she could read the letters herself, but she felt bad after what had happened earlier. She made a silent promise that she wouldn't do anymore sneaking around.
However, she was put to the test on her promise soon afterwards—and failed miserably. It wasn't really her fault, she told herself. Her attention had been aroused when she'd heard yelling coming from the next room. She pressed her ear against the cold wall to hear what was going on, and drew back, alarmed. She'd never heard her mother scream that way at her father, and thus, couldn't resist the allure of a pair of Extendable Ears. She'd swiped them from where she hid them beneath the mattress and sat next to the wall.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at, looking through my things?" she was now yelling.
"What are you playing at, keeping this all secret?" he yelled back, startling Roxanne. He rarely yelled at anyone, least of all Angelina. "Don't you think I deserve to know?"
"It isn't any of your business, George. It has nothing to do with you."
"For Merlin's sake, Angie, it has everything to do with me. If someone's going around sending you things like this—" She heard the quiet rustle of a piece of paper, which she assumed was one of the letters. "This whole week I've been practically going spare—"
"That's exactly why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd overreact—"
"Overreact? To this?"
"I can take care of myself, you know. D'you think I'm some sort of damsel in distress that you need to rescue?"
"No, you're my wife, the love of my life, and the woman I would give everything I have to protect. I don't like this, Angelina, I don't. And I think you should be taking this a bit more seriously."
"Don't you tell me I'm not taking this seriously! What do you want me to do? I don't know who's sending them, so just what the bloody hell am I supposed to be doing? I just—I'm just—I…"
There was a long silence. Roxanne shook her Extendables, fearing momentarily that they weren't working correctly.
"You should sit down," came George's voice gently.
"So what now?"
"I say we go. We'll leave for a while, maybe rent a house in the country. We'll tell Harry everything, and he'll be able to scope out the situation. But we don't have to worry about any of that now. You should sleep."
Roxanne heard the rustle of blankets and assumed that the conversation was over for the night. She still had no idea what was going on, and what she had just heard gave her very few clues as to what was happening. Whatever was happening, it was enough that they had to run away from it. And that was a scary thought indeed.
It took less than fifteen minutes for Fred to come down to her room. One glance told her that he had heard everything she had. He sat himself down at her desk as they shared a moment of heavy silence.
"So… do we start packing now or wait until they tell us tomorrow?"
x
"Basically, we're in solitary confinement," Roxanne explained to Molly. "No one can ever visit us except for Uncle Percy and Uncle Harry, and we're barely ever allowed to leave. We can't even receive the post—which I suppose was part of the reason we moved. I'm dying here. I can't wait for the break to be over."
"Have your parents made up, at least?"
"Yeah, they've been pretty calm since all these new protections have been put in place. I'm still not really sure why any of this is necessary, though. It's really very annoying of them to simply uproot us and move us to a whole new location without any sort of explanation for it."
"Yeah, it is a little strange. My dad is definitely in on it, though, but he hasn't mentioned it at all, so I don't know."
"Have you heard from Lorcan at all?"
"A bit, sure. I think he's fairly busy, though, so it was just a quick note. I'm not sure if he's written to you or not, because I haven't told him that you're not getting any post."
"Speaking of post, have any more people gone missing?"
"No, actually. No one's gone missing in the last week or two. The kidnapper must either be tired out or planning something really huge. Say, do you think that might be why your family moved? Maybe your parents were worried about the disappearances."
"Maybe, but it was something else, too. My mother was getting suspicious letters. None of the people that have gone missing were receiving letters, and if my dad's been talking to Uncle Harry he'd know that."
"Yes, I suppose… Well, at least you were able to come and visit today. You've no idea what a nightmare it's been, stuck in the house with Lucy. She's driving me mad about the stupid O.W.L.s, wants me to keep testing her. I've been dropping in on the Potters, but you know how Lily gets." Molly rolled her eyes. "She won't stop going on about how Marshall Davies is madly in love with her."
"You like Marshall Davies," Roxanne pointed out.
"What?" Molly yelped. "I never said that!"
"But you do, don't you?" She grinned. "You do!"
"That's not the point," Molly huffed, now beet red. "Anyway… well… er…"
At that point, the door swung open after a sharp rap, probably saving Molly from considerable embarrassment. Fred poked his head in, nodding politely to Molly.
"It's time to go, Roxanne," he said. "Dad's waiting downstairs." Then he disappeared.
It had been too good to last, Roxanne thought. For the day, she had been allowed to spend time with Molly and Fred had spent the day at the Potters', undoubtedly up to no good with James and Albus, while their father was at work. But now that he had closed up the shop for the day, he had come to take them back to their cottage prison.
"I guess it's goodbye then," she said regretfully to Molly, leaning in for a parting embrace.
"It's just a few more weeks," Molly reassured her. "It'll be time for school again in no time, and Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron will have caught the kidnapper by the time school lets out for the summer holiday."
"Thanks," Roxanne muttered no less miserably. "I'll see you when I see you."
When she got downstairs, Percy and George were whispering conspiratorially. They stopped talking as soon as she was within hearing distance, and when they left, Percy came with them. The new protections dictated that they drive a Muggle car now, so they piled into an SUV. If it wasn't for magic, Roxanne wasn't sure how much she would have trusted her father to be driving a car. But the fact that they were wizards gave her the comforting knowledge that nothing was going to happen to her.
They parked some distance from their rented cottage like they always did, because the protective wards would not have allowed the automobile anywhere within the perimeter of their temporary home. They trudged down a long, rocky slope and through the trees and shrubbery until they could see the little house looming in the clearing before them.
Everyone noticed at the same time that something was wrong. The little black gate that marked the inner perimeter of the protection surrounding the cottage was broken. The door on the gate was hanging off its hinge. A nudge from Fred directed her gaze upward to the doorway, where she saw that there was no longer a door. Now there was only a pile of splintered wood at the top of the steps.
Gaping, she looked up at her father, who was suddenly bone white. Everything about his expression told her that there was real danger here. This was not something he'd anticipated.
"Stay here," he said quietly through a clenched jaw. He started forward, but was promptly pulled back by the arm.
"George, no," Percy hissed, as though someone might overhear. "You shouldn't go in. We should call for help, or—"
George yanked his arm out of Percy's grasp. "I need to know where my wife is," he said stonily. "Stay here with the kids, please."
"Dad?" Fred asked uncertainly.
George's eyes warmed slightly as he looked down at his son. "I'll be right back." He squeezed Fred's shoulder lightly and kissed Roxanne's forehead lightly before starting off again.
There was a long, tense silence that seemed to stretch interminably. Roxanne didn't want to disobey him, not when it seemed so important, so she planted her feet in spite of the growing feeling of dread inside her. After what seemed like forever, Fred finally voiced her own thoughts aloud.
"Maybe we should go in after him."
Percy's face tightened a little, but he rolled up the sleeves of his robes. "Yes, I think we'll have to. Get out your wands, you two."
In normal circumstances, they would have been ecstatic to be given permission to do magic. Now, however, Roxanne gritted her teeth and grasped her wand firmly before following after Percy and Fred.
They stepped over the pile of rubble that was the only remnant of the door and looked around the sitting room. It looked as though there had been some kind of struggle. Cold dread spread to Roxanne's very fingertips as she saw the shattered photographs hanging askew on the walls, the long deep cracks in the walls, and the overturned furniture scattered about the room. She grabbed Fred's arm tightly, swallowing hard.
"Mum," was all she could whisper.
Percy shot a quick glance in her direction before calling out, "George?"
There was no response. Roxanne couldn't take it. She darted forward.
"Roxanne, NO!"
She heard the yells from Percy and Fred, and felt Fred's hand swipe at the back of her shirt to hold her back, but she was already gone. She didn't care about being careful; careful was slow. She needed to know that her parents were okay. She darted into the kitchen and promptly stopped at the scene that greeted her.
A long, piercing scream tore from her lungs.
Several dishes had spilled from the china cabinet, and lay shattered on the floor. The kitchen table had collapsed and its broken halves lay in ruins. George was there. He was kneeling on the floor next to all the broken dishes and furniture, paler than Roxanne had ever seen him, and trembling from head to toe. His warm brown eyes were wide and vacant, and his mouth hung open in disbelief.
Roxanne didn't hear Percy and Fred come running to her side, wands held out to battle whatever unknown threat she was facing. She didn't hear the sharp intake of breath beside her and the clatter of a wand to the floor. She didn't see Percy dart past her and shake an uncomprehending George, didn't hear him scream his brother's name.
All she saw was the dark liquid staining the brilliant white kitchen floor, and in the midst of it, her dead mother.
