The landscape surrounding Prewett House was flat and bleak; almost sinister in the misty light of the early hours. A canal snaked alongside the red brick house, which loomed impressively over the rushes, intricate gothic detailing and a thick wall of ivy adding a haunting air to the place that Ginny had never particularly liked. A smattering of stars still clung to the sky, but Ginny did not stop to look at them. Her bare feet were cold and uncomfortable in her wellingtons as Bill hurried her up the muddy track, her trunk floating alongside them.

'We have to go back for—'

'I'm not going back for a pygmy puff, Ginny,' muttered Bill, sounding very stressed. 'I'm really sorry, I'll buy you a new one—'

'Did you let her know we were coming, Bill?' asked Arthur, as they approached the house.

'Er…'

Molly sent him a withering look and raised the wrought iron knocker. 'Well, we're here now,' she said as she knocked. Ginny could hear it echoing through the house. They waited in the silence, before a light on one of the upper floors flickered on and the drive was illuminated in warm yellow light.

'Here she comes,' muttered Fred. 'It'll be daylight before she makes it down all those stairs though.'

'Remind me why the Prewetts were so rich yet we're so poor?' asked George resentfully. Molly hushed him irritably. Even in the darkness Ginny could see her father blush. The silence was only broken by the distant sound of a yowling fox.

'Who is it?' came a screeching voice. 'Who's waking me up at this ungodly hour? I'm one-hundred and eight, you know, I need my rest—'

'It's the Weasleys, Auntie,' called Molly. 'We need to hide here. Do you remember, we've discussed it?'

A small hatch above the knocker scraped open loudly, and Aunt Muriel's ancient face peered at them from behind a grate. 'How do I know it's you?' she demanded.

'We made these plans in September,' said Molly. 'After I confessed to you who our special guest was at the wedding.'

'Hmmph.' Muriel's face grew even more lined as she furrowed her brow. 'I'm still not happy you hid that from me, Molly, I am one-hundred and eight, you know, I can keep secrets when necessary.'

'Please, Auntie Muriel,' said Bill impatiently. 'It's very important, please let us in.'

She gave a grumbling sigh and closed the hatch. There was a brief rattle before the door opened with a slow, deep creak. Muriel stood in a long white nightdress and tartan dressing gown, her white hair tucked up into a hair net above her scowling face.

'Your lives better be in danger,' she snapped.

'They are, I'm afraid,' said Bill, pushing his family across the threshold. The house smelt musty and was incredibly dark, filled with the same faded Edwardian furnishings Ginny suspected had been here during Muriel's childhood, all with a faint layer of dust.

'What are you looking so sad about, Ginevra? Girls your age should smile, it's much prettier,' said Muriel grumpily, leading them to the sitting room.

'My pet— Arnold…We had to leave him behind…'

'Oh, don't be silly, girl, pets come and go,' said Muriel. 'I've had many over the last one-hundred and eight years. Now, what on earth has happened, why are you all here? When are you all going home?'

'Yeah, what has actually happened?' asked Fred, looking accusingly at Bill.

The rest of the family had sat in the wingbacked armchairs and cracked leather sofa, but Bill stood anxiously by the marble fireplace, which was empty and cold. He leaned against it with one hand, his scars glaring red against his pale face.

'They arrived at the cottage,' he said hoarsely. 'Ron, Harry, Hermione…'

'They did?' shouted Ginny excitedly.

'Don't squeal, Ginevra,' scolded Muriel.

'Are they all right?' asked George.

Bill sighed and shook his head. 'I don't know what's happened. There are others with them. Ollivander, a goblin, some boy and a girl—'

'But that could be Luna!' cried Ginny, delighted.

'Ginevra!'

Bill looked at her despairingly. 'They're in a bad way, Ginny, all of them. Hermione was virtually unconscious, I think she'd been tortured. Ron was sobbing. All of them were thin and pale, looking really roughed up, and Harry was clutching a dead elf. As I left he was digging it a grave by hand.'

'Without magic?' remarked Muriel, scandalised. 'For an elf?'

'Is Hermione going to be all right?' asked Ginny, her heart plummeting. 'She's not…She won't be like…?'

'Fleur's looking after her,' he said. He glanced at Arthur. 'We'd better do the Fidelius charm now.'

'Quite right,' said Arthur, rising out of his chair. 'As planned? Muriel, you still know the charm—?'

She spluttered, great offence crossing her face. 'Well of course I do, how dare you? I suppose you think because I'm one-hundred and eight I'm forgetting things, do you?'

'Not at all,' he said swiftly. 'I'm simply aware that it's a complex spell, well beyond my own capabilities. If you'd be happy to cast it for us; I'm going to be Secret Keeper for here, Bill for Shell Cottage.'

'I don't mind being Secret Keeper,' piped up Fred cheerfully. 'Always thought it sounded quite glamorous and mysterious—'

'Shut up, Fred,' said Bill impatiently. 'We don't have time for this. Muriel, if you don't mind?'

Arthur stood in front of Muriel, grasping her bony left hand in his own. 'State the secret to be kept,' she commanded.

'The location of Prewett House, Berney Arms, in the Norfolk Broads.'

'Fidelio opscurus Arthur Weasley celatum,' said Muriel, pulling her wand from their joined hands to Arthur's chest. Threads of silver and black floated around them and into his chest like smoke. Muriel watched with a shrewd eye. 'Hmm… That should do it. Come on now, William, you next.'

They repeated the spell for Bill, then the second it was completed he turned to them. 'I'd better get back, I just needed to get you all to a safe place, especially if Ron was spotted by a Death Eater. Don't leave the house,' he added sharply, looking directly at Ginny. 'I mean it, I'll update you all when I can.'

'You're not barging into my house and leaving already!' barked Muriel. 'I demand more answers. I'll put some tea on.'

'No, sorry, I have to go,' said Bill abruptly, adjusting his travelling cloak. 'Sorry to impose, Auntie Muriel. Goodnight, all.' With that, he stalked out, the door thudding shut behind him.

The grandfather clock ticked slowly. Molly's bottom lip was trembling, she was breathing deeply as though trying to calm herself. Arthur rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

'They're all at Bill's now,' he said. 'Well protected under the Fidelius. It's the best protected they've been all year, I imagine.'

'Well, the Fidelius charm didn't help the Potter family, did it?' said Muriel loudly. 'I don't know, I warned you, Molly, I warned you that marrying into certain families attracted trouble, though I suppose your brothers did well enough getting themselves killed without marriage—'

Molly stood quickly. 'I'll fetch that tea, shall I?'

Muriel blinked owlishly, thankfully not noticing Ginny rolling her eyes dramatically and Fred and George wincing in unison. 'Oh, yes please, thank you, Molly.'

Arthur sighed. 'Well, at least we know where they are. I dread to think what's just happened to Hermione, or how on earth Harry managed to come back with a dead elf.'

'And to dig it a grave too,' said George. 'Blimey, I hope it wasn't that little one he liked… What was his name? Dotty? Dopey?'

'Dobby…' said Ginny, feeling a great weight on her chest. 'Dad, could I—?'

'No,' he said firmly. 'Ginny, you are not to go there.'

'But, if it's protected too—'

'Ginny, I'm not risking it, we're staying put.'

She huffed and folded her arms stubbornly. 'I want to make sure Hermione's all right,' she muttered.

'She'll be fine. I bet Fleur's a great nurse, she probably has a little outfit and everything,' said Fred, sniggering. He stopped smirking under Arthur's glare, and ignored Muriel, who kept repeating 'I don't get it'.

'Ollivander too,' said Arthur. 'And a goblin. Goodness…'

'Plus two other people,' added George.

'I'm sure the girl is Luna,' said Ginny. 'She managed to contact us and she said she was with Ollivander.'
They stared at her. 'You've been in contact?' asked Fred. 'How?'

'The old D.A. coins,' she replied. 'I thought you knew. That's how I heard about Ted Tonks from Dean.'

Fred's mouth formed an 'o' of realisation. 'I didn't even think, I just supposed you'd got an owl through…'

'Never mind that,' snapped Muriel. 'Ollivander's a very important man, heaven knows I assumed he was dead. And now Ginevra's telling us she's known where he was all this time?'

'I didn't!' she protested. 'I just knew Luna was with him. She said they were in a dungeon. I thought it must be Azkaban.'

'I don't even know where my old coin is,' said George, disappointedly. 'It must still be in the flat over the shop.'

Molly returned with the tea on a stained silver tray, the teacups rattling slightly. 'Here we are,' she said softly. 'We'll have a quick drink to calm down and then see if we can catch a few hours more sleep—'

'Don't be silly, Molly,' said Muriel. 'I'm usually up around this time anyway. Have your tea and then you can all go and unpack while I make some breakfast. I usually have dry toast but I suppose you'll be wanting something more fussy.'

Ginny selected one of the smaller rooms, the closest she could find that resembled her own at home. At one time it must have belonged to a servant, as there was nothing but an old bed with cold metal bars and a chipped sink beneath a mirror flecked with black spots. Yet, like her own at home, the window looked out across an appealing view, which in the daylight looked far prettier and more welcoming. She was not sure how far the Fidelius charm extended beyond the boundaries of the house, but doubted it would allow her to take out the rowing boat she could see tethered to the bank of the canal.

Going through her trunk, she could see with distress that in the hurry and panic she had made very poor choices as she'd packed. Why she had brought her heels and left her trainers she had no idea, but at least she had her walking boots. With a pang she realised that she had managed to pack treats for Arnold, but not Arnold himself, and could have kicked herself when she saw her wand rolling around at the bottom of the trunk. How many times had Harry told them in the D.A. to always keep hold of their wands?

She pressed her hands against her face, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly that splotches of purple floated in the darkness. She felt alone and afraid, in this horrible ghostly house that she barely remembered from Christmases long ago, knowing that Harry, Ron, Hermione and maybe even Luna were achingly within reach…

She shook herself lightly and dug out her jeans and an old Weird Sisters top. With relief, she realised her D.A. coin was safely in her pocket. She deliberated sending a message, but remembered her father's firm expression and decided, for the time being, to keep quiet. She began to head back downstairs, but Muriel's shrill voice floated from the kitchen, and she decided to explore the old house.

As a child, she had found it too spooky to wander off on her own, though she vaguely remembered Fred and George locking her in the wine cellar "by accident" once. The last time she had been here she had only been six years old, but even then she had realised that her mother's family had at one time been rich and prestigious, now reduced to the skeleton of their former respectability. She far preferred the cosy Burrow.

She climbed a spiralling staircase and found herself in Aunt Muriel's potions room; a huge pewter cauldron wider than she was tall sitting in the middle of the vast, circular room. Shelves filled with dusty bottles lined the curved walls, and floating suspended in the air were dusty glass spheres, much like the ones she had seen in the Department of Mysteries. Curious, she approached one, her ears picking up a faint buzzing. She wiped the glass with her sleeve, and it dipped and floated away as though in water, clinking against another and sending it spinning gently across the room. She approached it again and this time held it steady as she cleaned it, and saw that inside hovered a dragonfly. She was not sure if it was truly alive or not. Whether the wings had simply been enchanted to keep beating uselessly after death or whether the insect was trapped in the tiny, dusty prison. She checked the others and they, too, held insects; butterflies, lacewing flies, beetles and bees.

'They're creepy, aren't they?' She jumped, and spun to see Fred standing in the doorway. He looked oddly pale. 'We've been calling you for breakfast,' he said. 'Muriel's managed to make bacon look unappetising.'

'Why are they in these?' Ginny asked quietly, looking back at a millipede twisting and scuttling in its sphere.

'Muriel studies them,' he said. 'She used to be a potioneer, didn't she? She looks for the different properties and their uses in potion making.'

'Surely she can retire now?' said Ginny. 'She's one-hundred and seven, after all.'

'One-hundred and eight now,' he corrected with a smile.

'Are they alive?'

He studied her face carefully. 'Sort of, I suppose… You all right, Ginny? We were worried you'd…'

'Ran off to find Harry?'

'Yeah. I guess I should be relieved you're in the insect room, but really, couldn't you find a more cheerful place to go and sulk?'

She turned back to look at the millipede, its many legs rippling unpleasantly. 'Can't we free them? It seems horrible that they're trapped.'

'No,' he said quietly. 'They have a purpose in staying here.'

She looked at him out the corner of her eye. 'Don't you want to get back to your shop? Not like you and George to sit around doing nothing.'

'Whenever our customers need us, we'll be there,' he said grandly. 'Come on now, let's get you down for breakfast. You can stand up for insect rights over bacon sarnies.'

Breakfast was a subdued affair, mostly listening to Muriel recounting the most scandalous parts of Rita Skeeter's book on Albus Dumbledore and throwing digs at Molly about hiding Harry's presence from her at the wedding. 'He was very interested in it all, Molly, I should have guessed really. Had I known it was him, I could have said much more about Dumbledore's time in Godric's Hollow, I know he would have been interested.'

'Remus said Harry might have been at Godric's Hollow at Christmas,' remembered Ginny suddenly, hoping to give their ears a break from Muriel.

'Really?' asked Molly. 'How does he know?'

'There were flowers at the grave.'

'Well, that could have been anybody!' said Muriel. 'I've heard a few people have been going there lately, trying to leave messages for him. Silly, if you ask me, they should just knock that house down, it's such an ugly reminder.'

'The house is still there?' asked George.

'Certainly! Quite horrible it is too, I have visited it regularly, for historical purposes, you see. Half of the top floor completely blown apart, rubble still all over the lawn. They don't let anyone inside, of course, but if you look through the windows you can see that they've left it just as it was.'

'Odd,' said Arthur coldly. 'I went to pay my respects not long after it happened and the windows are quite far from the road.'

'Yes, you have to hop over the garden wall, they've put a silly sign in the way of the gate. Not an easy feat at my age, I tell you, but well worth the effort. I wish you had told me he was there at the wedding, Molly, I wanted to ask him to open it up, it would make such an interesting museum. From a historical perspective.'

For some reason, Ginny thought briefly of Harry's possessions burning, the way his telescope had cracked and melted in the heat, the pages of his books and old letters curling and crumbling away. 'Is there anymore ketchup?' she asked abruptly.

'Yes, here,' said Molly quickly. 'You have to bash the bottom of the bottle a bit though.'

'The brown sauce is easier to get out,' added George, apparently equally keen to change the topic of conversation.

'I met Lily Potter once you know,' continued Muriel. 'Of course, she was Lily Evans, back then—'

'Which does everyone prefer? Ketchup or brown sauce?' asked Fred loudly.

'—And she was only a student, but she was quite gifted at potions, so she came to my old shop in Upper Flagley to ask for career advice—'

'I'm a brown sauce man myself,' said Arthur, even louder.

'—Along with her friend Severus Snape!'

There was a sudden silence. Muriel, who innocently polished off the last of her bacon sandwich, appeared not to notice their surprise, but Ginny could tell from the proud way Muriel had set her shoulders that she was well aware of the quality of the gossip she had just revealed.

'Snape?' Ginny said, feeling slightly revolted.

'Oh yes, good friends they were, at the time. Both of them loved potions, but still, they were an odd match. He was downright surly, from what I remember, but she was quite the chatterbox. Obnoxious, if you ask me.'

'I think you may be confused, Auntie,' said Molly carefully. 'I expect you met lots of students in your time.'

'Molly, I never forget a face. Certainly wouldn't forget hers, she was a pretty little thing. Lovely dark red hair. Not that awful ginger you lot have got.'

'I'm sure they weren't friendly,' said Arthur. 'He was a Slytherin; they probably just came in together as a coincidence.'

'Fewer freckles than you lot too,' added Muriel, looking with distaste at George's arm. 'It's a shame that Harry Potter didn't get more of her looks; from the photos I've seen he always looks scruffy and miserable.'

'I'm going to go and finish unpacking,' said Ginny irritably.

'Same,' added George, glancing pointedly at Fred. 'Oh, and er… Auntie Muriel? That back room by the larder… Do you, er… use it, at all?'

'No, and it could do with cleaning out, actually,' she replied. 'There's all sorts of junk in there. That can be your project for while you're here.'

'We'd love to,' said Fred happily. Ginny and her parents stared at the twins in utter bemusement.

'Hmmph, good. Nice to see you're being proactive.'

The next week crawled by achingly slowly. Ginny sped through her books quickly, taking to helping her mother clean in an effort to get away from Muriel's inane chatter and gleeful gossiping. Fred and George had vanished one morning and returned with boxfuls of products, ignoring Molly's shouting about safety and security and piling them up in the cold back room.

'We've been quite clever with our mail order service,' Fred told her. 'People can write to the shop but we've managed to modify our letter box there to copy all letters that go through. The messages will appear here.' He pointed to a long roll of parchment and a slightly glowing quill which stood poised above it. 'Then we can just send it to the return address. I don't think Erroll's up to it though; we'll have to use Muriel's owl.'

'That's… amazing magic,' said Ginny. 'How on earth did you figure out how to do that?'

'It wasn't easy,' said George.

'It took a bit of fiddling with the Protean charm. It was your D.A. coins that gave us the idea,' said Fred. 'Plus a little inspiration from that old map we gave Harry.'

'Hermione's coins,' corrected Ginny. 'And it was Terry that modified them.'

'It's a brilliant spell all the same,' said Fred. 'You know, I think there's a lot of potential there. Might as well use our time here to come up with a new range.'

'A victory day range,' suggested George. 'When Harry gets rid of You-Know-Who, we could get him to endorse us—'

Ginny snorted. 'Good luck trying to capitalise on his fame.'

'But he knows us.'

'Besides, we can threaten him with Muriel. We'll say if he doesn't, then we'll kidnap him and bring him round here for tea.'

'To discuss the opening of the museum?' Ginny asked slyly.

'Precisely.'

They had heard very little from Bill about Harry and the others. He had sent a Patronus to Arthur confirming that Hermione was recovered and that the two mystery people were Luna and Dean Thomas, but had not been able to make contact beyond that. Fred and George at once wrote a Muggle letter to Dean's mother and sisters to let them know he was safe, risking a ten minute walk to the nearest post box under disillusionment charms.

Ginny had a long discussion with her father, before coming up with a suitable message to send out on the coins.

Luna & Dean safe with my family, we are all in hiding. Ginny x

'Are you sure I can't mention Harry?' she asked him. 'It would cheer everyone up.'

'I'm sure it would, but if you're right about there being a traitor in your midst, it's best not,' he said.

Ginny spent many hours hidden away in her tiny room, looking up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, desperately searching her memories for any clues about who the traitor could be, and wondering if they would continue passing information now she had left the school. That it had always seemed personal against her seemed odd, and she couldn't deny that she still held a great deal of distrust with Romilda after her thinly veiled threat in the Great Hall. She had never made it a secret that she lusted after Harry, and there was certainly enough motive there to try and remove Ginny from the competition. Yet Harry was not there to fight over; eliminating Ginny would not bring him any closer to Romilda or the glamorous relationship she envisioned. Was she smart enough to realise that?

Another suspect that had occurred to her one particularly dull evening was Polly. There was something unsettling about her sudden relationship with Cormac McLaggen, who Ginny trusted about as much as she would trust a Grindylow. But Polly had been unfailingly kind, supportive, even protective; accompanying her down corridors and to classes, listening to her deepest fears and concerns, advising her when the Carrows were close. Ginny liked to think she was good at reading people, and she couldn't see any personal grudge against her from Polly.

Still her number one suspect was Zaha, despite Neville's cluelessness. Though never unkind, she had never been particularly warm towards Ginny, or indeed any of the girls in the dorm, and her habit of disappearing and sneaking around unnoticed, not to mention her constant writing in her notebook, set Ginny on edge. Her relationship with Colin seemed to be her saving grace, and yet that too provided a convenient motivation. How many times had Colin been accused of fancying Ginny? Hadn't it been suggested by Gryffindor students for years that they would be a good match? Though those rumours had died off after she began dating Harry, they remained close friends, and hadn't he made plans with her for after the war? Had he even included Zaha in those plans? She could remember him listing people who could join them, and she couldn't remember Zaha's name being mentioned…

Fred and George were quite certain that she was wrong, that it was surely Romilda, consumed with jealousy, who was betraying her. They also suggested Demelza, citing potential Quidditch rivalry, but Ginny shut them down at once.

'Bill will be bringing Mr Ollivander here in a few days,' Arthur informed the family during Fred and George's birthday tea. 'If that's all right with you, Muriel. I imagine things are getting a little cramped in the cottage.'

'Oh, Ollivander and I go well back,' said Muriel. 'I suppose he will be quite pleased to see me; no doubt we have a lot to catch up on.'

'I bet he'll be thrilled,' said George sarcastically, but thankfully Muriel wasn't listening.

'Molly, this birthday cake is far too dry. You must remind me to show you how to bake properly.'

Molly smiled pleasantly, but her eyes remained very cold. 'Of course, Auntie,' she said. 'I haven't had much practice with seven children, so I'd appreciate some pointers.'

'Yes, that's what I thought,' replied Muriel smugly.

'Ten Galleons says Mum murders her before Ollivander gets here,' Ginny whispered to Fred.

'Are you kidding?' he responded. 'I don't see her lasting any longer than tonight. Wait until they both see our birthday firework display in the living room.'