Chapter eleven-Keeping it all in Chaos (April 1997) Part I

"It's raining again," said Hannah, watching Diagon Alley from the window and how the rain bounced from deep puddles that pooled around the cobbled stones. "The shop might pick up when it stops."

"It won't," said Verity blankly. Idly, she wiped the spotless counter top down once again. Fred and George were, well Verity didn't know where they where, but she'd been charged with the running of the shop for today. She had, rather erroneously, had the dim fantasy that today would be the busiest day that the shop had seen in months- that for one day people would forget about Voldemort and she would be able to present Fred and George with a cash register overflowing with gold.

This had not been the case of course and the Daily Prophet that Hannah had brought with her lay on a stool, emblazoned with yet more news of deaths and arrests.

Verity was at least glad that her little sister had offered to keep her company today, or there would have been no one and nothing to do aside from cleaning everything in the shop from top to bottom. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes almost glistened, it was that pristine- it didn't seem to fit the shop. Neither did the lack of Fred and George; they made this place. It wasn't the same without them and somehow Verity still didn't buy their old excuse of 'looking at new suppliers and premises' as a valid excuse for leaving the shop.

But it's not like they were Death Eaters or anything. She didn't have any reason to be worried, Verity told herself firmly, it wasn't any of her business or her place to ask questions. She was a Hufflepuff and Hufflepuffs trusted their friends above everything else.

Hannah had given up scanning the papers for job vacancies after circling a few and resolving to make whatever enquiries she could and, after looking out of the window and watching the few straggling patrons of Diagon Alley she returned to her new favourite topic: the restoration of Aunty Vester's old cottage. After the Dementor attack, Verity found it odd that Hannah would even want to go back there, but her sister could be far more stubborn and single minded than anyone gave her credit for if you asked Verity.

"I think it'll be really nice, if it had a bit of cheering up in places," said Hannah casually as she poked at the croaking crisps display. "It wouldn't take that long would it- if Bryn got that place back on the Floo Network I could go back there some weekends or even during the week. I could have my meals at the pub until the kitchen was fixed up again and stay in one of the bedrooms."

"You'd be okay with staying there on your own?" said Verity, raising her eyebrows skepticially. Hannah frowned, offended.

"I'm not six, Vez. I wouldn't get nightmares or wet the bed."

"I think I might get nightmares or wet the bed if I had to stay there on my own," Verity said with a small smile. "What if the dementors came back?"

"I managed to do a patronus," Hannah pointed out. "I can handle myself."

Verity, having been there at the time Hannah produced this so called 'miraculous patronus' thought this ability of Hannah's to handle herself was at least a debatable matter but she thought better of brining that particular topic up and instead chewed her lip and shrugged. "It sounds boring as hell if you ask me."

"Yeah and staying at home is overwhelmingly exciting," shrugged Hannah.

"You could always clean up our house," grinned Verity to which Hannah snorted in a manner that suggested that this was something that was never going to happen.

"Just make sure you talk to Bryn," Hannah reminded her. Verity was putting this off, in the vague hope that Hannah would drop this entire line of thinking but of course this was underestimating Hannah. She wouldn't really have a choice whether she liked it and Verity made up her mind to drop by Bryn's and do just that in the afternoon.

A slow day fizzled down into a slower evening and the books revealed the pitiful sales to just five customers- it got too much for Hannah who sloped off to do a bit of shopping, passing round a few scrolls of her resume to a few shops only to be told nowhere was employing and those that were weren't in the way of considering Hogwart's drop outs which left poor Hannah in as foul a mood as she could ever manage. She'd trailed home rather miserably and had left Verity on her own in the shop.

Verity reminded herself that WWW's wasn't going under- Fred was far too good with money to let something like that happen, for twins that gave of the impression of being fun and anarchic they were surprisingly business savvy and the shop could no doubt survive the hardships. Just for as long as it would take before the war was over. But Verity couldn't quite convince herself that this was going to be any time soon.

So, it was with a heavy heart that finished her final task of mopping the floor, making sure that all the lights were off and the alarm charms were set again. Tucking her uniform under her arm, she paused outside of the shop, leaning against the glass of display and lit a cigarette. She looked up and saw one half of the Weasley twins approaching-which one, she couldn't be sure until he spoke- clearly to get into the flat upstairs.

"'lo," he said cheerfully, "just finishing up?"

Verity nodded, pretty sure it was George. "Did Fred get way-laid wherever you went?" Her eye was drawn to an odd scorch mark on the base of George's neck, a red raw streak that looked painful. George knew was looking and raised his eyebrow at her, as though daring her to mention it. She wanted to, but she got the impression that George had been assembling an excuse or an alibi for some time; it would sound convincing, whatever he had to say- but it would almost certainly be a lie.

"Yeah, he did," said George airily.

"I can imagine there would be lots to sort out, with new premises and all," shrugged Verity, a small hint of sarcasm in her voice , because well, new premises didn't get you scorch marks up your neck. "I should be getting home then."

"I was going to get something to eat- come along. Nothing fancy, just some hearty pub grub- my treat though, to say thanks for manning the fortress."

And for not asking too many questions, Verity didn't doubt. Verity Abbott did not rock the boat, and it made her feel ashamed of herself; she had a cosy little set up with the Weasley twins and it seemed that this was more important than exploring anything potentially dangerous. If it had been Hannah in her position, well then, she would never let this thing die. But that's where they were different- Hannah was proactive and Verity was simply reactive, still just hoping if she kept quiet enough that things would go back to normal.

"If you like, Mr Weasley," said Verity as though it were a command from him. "I won't sniff at the chance to eat out; my sisters and me are probably the worst cooks in Britain." This was true enough and Verity had been living off a quite unhealthy diet as shown by the paunch that had begun to form on her once rather flat stomach as well as the few splashes of acne that Verity hadn't seen since she was seventeen that had begin to form once again on her cheeks. She put it down to her Dad's favourite meal which consisted of chips and fried bread.

She frowned a little though, at the thought of George paying for both of them. It might have just been in her own head, but somehow, both of them paying for themselves made things feel a little bit more innocent. Not that it wasn't totally innocent to begin with, of course.

Because she went to the Leaky Cauldron all the time with her friends; sometimes alone with Simon for comfortable, intimate drinks after work, sometimes alone with Justine for girly chats, sharing a bottle of Tom's worst and cheapest wine between them, listening to Justine's little giggle turn into that croaky bawdy laugh that she saved for drunken dirty jokes or alone with Bryn, for incredulous laughing over his latest conquest and a cheese ploughman's in the afternoon and she'd never felt guilty about that.

So once inside, nestled amongst punters at a comfy table in the corner Verity put it out of her mind as she scanned the menu and decided that a piping hot steak and ale pie washed down with a pint of cider would be the best thing to get her over a dull, rainy day feeling.

"We are grateful we can rely on you, to keep things in order," George started after he'd ordered.

"It's my job and I'm just grateful to still have a job," said Verity looking into her cider gloomily. She got the urge very suddenly to leave, quite sure that she was going to be boring throughout the whole of the meal, with a little smile she tried vaguely to crack a joke. "Especially one that isn't so bothered with timekeeping. Anywhere else would have fired me months ago!"

"That's probably true. But any other employee would have quit after the eyebrow incident."

"One did, didn't he?" laughed Verity. "I could have told you that guy wouldn't fit working at the shop from the outset. He wore a suit to his interview."

"What can I say, I was seduced by professionalism."

"You were?" snorted Verity.

"Well Fred was- they talked business strategy, which I'll admit, sort of makes me switch off."

Verity nodded, she could understand that- she was never one for making money, she was a good saleswoman but she didn't think about strategy or figures or anything, just doing what came naturally. They needed that though, the twins- it made them perfect, they had the right dose of business acumen and creative input between them. They were going to get back on track, so long as they both stayed alive, Verity thought.

"Fred's been thinking about mail order, too," said George. "To get us over this hump. We'd still have the shop but it'll be easier for people to buy things via owl if they're worried about travelling. Good yeah?"

"Yeah," Verity rolled her eyes into her cider, "You know, if you'd told me that we were going to talk shop all through dinner- I think I would have gone home."

"That's because that baby is just a nine to five thing for you, me and Fred live and breath our baby girl."

"Don't call it your baby, how many more times!" Verity grinned. "It's a shop. Not a baby, and definitely not yours and Fred's baby."

"It's our baby," said George solemnly. "You don't understand; clearly you don't have a strong maternal instinct."

Verity muttered at him to shut up, and threw her napkin at him.

The food came and the pie was as warm and as rich as Verity had hoped. It took her almost half an hour to finish it, as she savoured each bit of golden, crumbling pastry and each gravy soaked chunk of meat- towards the end George had wolfed down his fish and chips and was just watching Verity was she made goo-goo eyes at the pie.

"My mum makes a good one of those," said George with a grin, resting his head on one hand.

"Mine too," Verity concurred. "Well…I mean she, did. Before…" suddenly the golden pastry seemed a little grey, and the innards like gloopy, stinking old dog food. "Bloody hell Verity," she chuckled at herself, "It's like I'm built in with an instant conversation killer."

"I don't mind."

"Because you've been waiting for me to shut up all night."

"Something like that," he chuckled. "But you know, it's your mum…I mean," he struggled a little bit here. "You're allowed to talk about her."

"It's awkward," Verity shook her head. "We talk, well me and Hannah try. But it's all wrapped up in you-know-who coming back and no one really wants to admit that this is what he does. I talk about Mum dying and everyone else gets worried about their own…I don't know, safety or something. About facing up to the fact that people are going to die. Lot's of them."

"Bleak."

"Yeah…sorry, this is what I mean. Of course, my bloody boyfriend had to be a muggleborn too- and he's convinced that nothing bad is happening to muggleborns at all. So if I even mention that I'm worried he might be in danger or what happened to my mum…" she sucked in her breath. "I don't like talking about it anymore than anyone likes hearing about it."

"How very inherently British of you," mused George.

"I suppose I'll just have to repress everything until I explode in a bloody gooey mess."

"As long as you do it on your own time. I'm not wiping shards of Verity intestine off a display I slaved for hours on."

"I slaved for hours on."

George didn't say anything, just laughed a little and cleaned out his pint glass while Verity mopped up the dregs of gravy spilled from her pie with one last chip. She felt like licking the plate. And when it was finally finished she looked up at George and said in a rather uncertain but sincere sort of way,

"Thank you, George."

For the dinner, and the promotion- for hiring her in general and making sure she still had that little place carved out in Diagon Alley where things never really felt quite as bad as they actually were- if one place would survive this god awful war it was Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, while the twins themselves were far too full of life to be just another statistic of attrition, muffled out in an alleyway somewhere.

"Don't mention it," he shrugged as the two got up from the table, pushing the old wooden chairs aside. "Especially not to Fred- I stole his wallet earlier so technically this meal is on him."

Rolling her eyes, Verity pecked a kiss onto George's cheek- nestled in between an expanse of freckles and the slightest of bristling. She didn't have to stand on tip toes like she had to with Simon or move her head at all, her lips were just there in the right position- like it was a very natural thing to do and all of the pieces fit together.

"You need to shave," Verity said idly.

"So do you, Queen Moustache."

"I'll see you at work."

"So you've seen something like this before?" asked Verity as she watched Bryn peer at the strange trap door, his now healthy looking moustache bristling as he thought to himself. Bryn nodded slowly and scratched his chin.

There was no way to shake off the pitbull gnawing on her leg that was Hannah Abbott when she got something stuck in her craw so Verity and Bryn had travelled to Wales together, apparating this time as opposed to the tedious car journey that Simon had taken them on last month. Without the mist, the cottage looked more yellow than ever, and in the heavy rain it's bricks had taken on a wet sort of sheen that made it glisten like yellow topaz.

"It's a basement portal for sure," said Bryn nodding his head and, in builder mode, taking a long swig of his very sugary, very milky tea. "Don't see them so much any more- the Floo Network made these things pretty much obsolete. But before the ministry started regulating that, a few houses had them."

"A basement portal?"

Bryn blew out as he searched for the words, "Like, a portkey built into your house. Only it only ever goes one other place. Usually the basement of another house- good if you have a holiday home in France or something and don't want to have to ask for permission from the foreign government to use a portkey or faff about with magic carpets."

Verity looked at the swirling black mass of darkness and grinned. That was how she'd done it then; probably bought a house in Poland and used to transport Jan and his family and however many others there had been. It would have been easy and perfect and with the locks on the trapdoor, easy to hide from anyone if they got suspicious.

"But it's broken now?" said Verity nodding at the swirling darkness- "I mean, that sure as heck doesn't look very safe."

"It's definitely broken," Bryn conceded, apparently his job was to point out the obvious to people. Pulling his broad body up from it's crouching position he pulled out his wand and began to examine it casually "But you do remember that I'm in the business of fixing things?"

"That's debatable," shrugged Verity with a teasing smile. "I've definitely seen you drunk and breaking more stuff than I've ever seen you fixing."

"Ye of little faith," smiled Bryn. "If you leave me to it- I can have this done in about three days max. No charge."

"No Bryn, don't," said Verity quickly. "I'd pay you. Mates rates of course, but I would pay. Not that there is much of a point, honestly if I tell Hannah you can't fix it at all then this damn thing will just end here."

"I don't think that's sensible," said Bryn quickly.

"Huh?"

"Think about it, dummy. It isn't a bad thing to have a plan of defence- or an escape route if it ever came down to it. My dad had a vanishing cabinet in the last war, not sure why considering it isn't likely Death Eaters would ever go for him."

Verity looked at the basement portal carefully, into that blackness and had to agree with him- knowing that her family could be in Germany at the click of a finger put her mind at ease slightly. But how much danger were they really in? Dad was a blood traitor, sure, but he was a pureblood and he kept his head down- as for Connie and Hannah and Verity, well they were hardly anything special. The only one who had really needed protecting was her Mum, and they hadn't done so well at that.

She looked at the old kitchen, and the old house and realised what she needed to do. She needed to convince Simon to move in with her here. It wasn't going to be an easy job to get her boyfriend to give up his nice, clean and excellently located apartment and live in a place that smelt of old mothballs.

"Of course," said Verity, snapping her fingers as though she'd had some huge eureka moment. "It could be really useful to have some sort of escape route."

"I know, that's what I just-"

"I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier."

"Technically it was my-"

"Well I suppose I was due a genius idea," grinned Verity, quite aware of Bryn's growing frustration and nudging him with the edge of one of her sharp little elbows. Bryn just shrugged it off with a mutter of 'whatever'.

It was getting late and Verity was keen to get home in time for supper- though that would hardly be a triumph of fine dining, but at least when it was Hannah's turn to cook there was something edible on the table. She side along apparated with Bryn to just outside of her house, and the little rural village in Cumbria that the Abbot's called home. Being located in the North of England, the weather was of course worse than Diagon Alley and Wales combined- bitter winds blowing down from Scotland and intermingling with the rain. In the short time it took to run up her drive, having said a hurried goodbvye to Bryn and place her key in the lock, Verity was already soaked through to the bone.

The scene that greeted her upon entering the house, however, was far worse than anything outside.

Walking through the door, she already noticed the unusual amount of dust in the air. It was almost like the mists that the death eaters produced, but thankfully the mist was thick with rock and sediments as opposed to misery though she choked over the particles of rubble as they swam through her lungs, airways and nasal passage. There was rubble strewn all over the floor, as though something had been exploded, or a wall had collapsed.

Hannah wouldn't have done this- this wasn't a paper plate. And it couldn't have been an accident, not with all these chunks of debris flying everywhere. She'd been running so fast, Verity realised, that she would never have noticed a Dark Mark over the door.

And just when she'd found them a way to be safe. No part of Verity wanted to walk into the living room, so afraid to find her sister and her father splayed on the floor and limp as rag dolls, masked Death Eaters standing above their bodies, wands posied and lips ready to yell the last words that Verity would ever hear. She clenched her fists and tried to will herself back, to her last year at Hogwarts maybe. That didn't help though, seeing as all she could see then was the body of poor Cedric Diggory.

"Verity!"

Her whole body shook with so much relief she might have been melting as Hannah ran out into the arms of her older sister. But it was a short lived relief as Verity realised that Hannah was crying. Was it Dad? Or Connie or Brooks?

"You have to stop him, I think he's gone mad."