A/N: Hey all, thank you so much for bearing with me, I'm sorry for the slow update. I noticed I got a good handful of new followers in the meantime, I'd love to see some of the newcomer's thoughts in a review!
Only 5 chapters left after this, and the epilogue. Are you ready?
Chapter 36—Knox
In October, Ginny Weasley traveled through the Floo and stumbled into the flat above her brothers' shop. Stumbled, because upon her exit from the fire, straightening up from being crouched beneath the mantle—she immediately walked into something around knee-height and heavy. It slammed into the already weathered looking hardwood floors and made a sound like it was rolling away; Ginny didn't bother looking where because her eyes were scrunched up tightly as tears bit from behind her lids. She hopped around on one foot, clutching her shin and swearing.
"What was that?" Fred's voice suddenly appeared. It sounded alarmed as it floated from the direction of the bedroom, down the hallway, across the foyer, through the adjoined kitchen and dining area and into the sitting room where Ginny remained holding her leg and bounding around like some sort of uneven jackrabbit.
She could hear Ava responding, but couldn't quite make out her words. She was murmuring back to Fred, speaking in soothing, hushed tones.
Finally, the pain from her shin faded away, and Ginny caught her breath. She gingerly set her foot back down on the ground, already dreading the image of the purple bruise that would surely be appearing.
And then, after a second-long rush of heat, someone promptly slammed into her back. Then came another rush—two someones.
"Argh!" Ginny careened into the worn loveseat, her toe making contact with the discarded heavy thing and kicking it away further.
"Whoops—sorry Gin—"
"Blimey, what were you standing right there for?"
"I only...just...arrived," she retorted through gritted teeth, turning slowly on the spot to look at the amused faces of Bill and Charlie.
Fred's voice from down the hall rose in alarm again, and Ginny heard the vague sound of sheets rustling, accompanied by the squeaking of a mattress. Just like moments before, it was soon accompanied by Ava's voice, saying something back to him. She carried the same tone as her mother did sometimes—when the house was in hysterics and she would insist that everything would be alright.
"Do you know what's going on?" Charlie asked his siblings in a low voice, quickly looking over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom and back again. "Bit of an odd invitation I got." He patted his breast pocket, where the outline of a small square of parchment pressed against the fabric.
Bill shrugged. "I got the same," he replied in the same quiet tone.
"Same," Ginny whispered back with a single nod. She could only assume they'd all received the same owl message; delivered yesterday, and nothing but a single sentence in Ava's writing on a neatly torn section of parchment:
'Come by the flat tomorrow at noon. Fred needs you.'
"Didn't sound like an Order meeting summons, did it?" Bill asked.
Charlie shook his head, but he was staring at Ginny, frowning thoughtfully. "What is that, Gin?"
Ginny's head was hanging; she'd finally wandered her eyes over to the bottom of the loveseat that she'd crashed into. She'd spotted the heavy thing that had tripped her upon her arrival—it was a small but solid looking wooden statue, depicting three monkeys crouched in a stack upon one another's shoulders. The top monkey held its ears, the second had a hand covering its eyes, and the third, on the bottom, had both hands clamped over its mouth.
"Dunno," she muttered back. "Walked into the ugly thing when I arrived." She nudged it with her foot, sending it rolling just another few inches and tucking it fully under the couch in the hopes of no one else injuring themselves from it lying around.
Her attention left the statue to look between her brothers, over their shoulders and down the hall from where Fred's and Ava's voices had come from.
"Do you think this is about..." she trailed off, her voice barely a whisper, and looked back and forth at her brothers' faces. "Do you think this is about what happened?"
By all definitions, it was an absurdly vague sounding question she'd asked, but it was no secret what she was referring to. Bill and Charlie exchanged glances and awkwardly shrugged back at her; they had, of course, immediately understood.
The news that the girl called Fox had resurfaced had alarmed them, the account of Rita Skeeter's death had disturbed them, but the story of what had happened after—the uncontrollable blaze of fire that had reportedly streamed right from Ava's fingertips—had floored them.
George and Angelina had come by the Burrow after the burial, oddly somber. It was too awkward of an atmosphere to have been driven solely by Rita's death—it was horrific, by all means, but as awful as it sounded, no one in the Weasley family would miss her very much.
Ginny, ever the pushy one, had finally forced George to cough it up; Ava had told Fred, and Fred had told him. And everything Fox had told Ava was then delivered via George, still avoiding her eyes.
The truth about Project Merryweather—that it was started as a program to give military officers' Squib children magical abilities, and after being closed down post Ava's escape, was taken over and exploited by Gridgeon in an attempt to form an uprising of those with underprivileged magical blood—wasn't necessarily surprising. All clues and anecdotes had pointed to something like that being the truth. By the time George was done talking, everyone who'd been present in the home or on the property was squished into the room, aptly listening and asking George to go over again what they'd missed.
By the time George had finished his sixth and final re-telling of the facts, he looked utterly spent. But growing up with six brothers had made Ginny nosy, crafty, and inherently perceptive—George knew something else; there was a secret in his eyes, slumping down on his shoulders. So Ginny did what she did best: she pushed and poked and prodded.
"You know what? Fine," George had sighed, throwing his hands up in the air in surrender. "They didn't really want me talking about it...not until they'd figured it out themselves...knew it would cause some kind of shitstorm...but seeing as how your middle name is Obtrusive..." He paused his exasperated rambling to pointedly scowl at Ginny. "It's...Ava. She's...done something," he finished pathetically.
The room had been silent save for the dripping of the kitchen sink as everyones' eyes bored into him, waiting for more. Finally, Hermione had delicately cleared her throat to speak.
"Something...bad?" she asked, looking just as puzzled as everyone else.
"Something...odd," George had offered back. Sensing that clearly wasn't an acceptable answer, he folded, and the story of the flames from Ava's hands was revealed.
That was two weeks ago, but Ginny was shaken back into present time as Bill's voice finally answered her.
"Maybe they've figured out how she did it," he whispered.
"She had to have gotten blood in her mouth again," Charlie whispered back. "It explained what happened on the island. Maybe when Fox cut Rita...?"
Ginny shook her head. "Ava told the twins she didn't get any of Rita's blood on her. The island was different, she used the gun on the soldier and his blood was splattered on her face and into her mouth."
"Maybe she just didn't realize it again," Charlie said with a shrug.
"Doubtful," replied Ginny.
"Hey," said a voice.
The three sibling whirled around, startled at the sudden voice.
"Ava!" Ginny sighed, sweeping past her brothers and heading for the hallway entrance, where Ava stood leaning against the wall. "I...we...how are you? Are...are you alright?"
Ginny quite literally stopped in her tracks halfway towards her. She looked...different. She wore a long bathrobe over roomy sweatpants. Her normally shiny platinum hair was knotted into a frizzy bun atop her head, and dark rings encircled her eyes, blaring through the paleness of her skin. Her lips looked dry and chapped, but her weary looking appearance wasn't stopping them from curving into an amused sort of smile, and her posture was straight and her eyes bright as she leaned against the hallway arch.
"I'm fine," she said in an eerily calm and soft voice. "Fred needs you, not me, remember?"
"I know...you just look kind of..." Ginny trailed off and peered over her shoulder at her brothers, silently begging them for rescue from the awkward exchange.
"Spent," Charlie offered with a grimace.
Ava retained her strange poker face. "We haven't been sleeping well. Come on." She nodded her head in the direction of the bedroom, turned on her heel, and lead the way for the three of them to follow.
As the hem of Ava's robe whipped around the doorway, Ginny shot one last curious look to her brothers before entering in after her. The first thing she noticed about the room was that it was dark—if Ginny hadn't already been awake and outside for the day, she would have guessed it was night time. Thick curtains dressed the windows, and only a couple of candles placed in various spots around the room emitted soft, flickering light.
The second thing she noticed was the smell—not foul by any means, but incredibly stuffy, stagnant; it reminded her of the way someone's skin smelled after being outside for hours during a long, sticky summer day.
Ava was settling herself gently on the edge of the bed, leaning over someone whose legs Ginny could see forming shapes under the blankets. She squinted through the darkness and took a couple of cautious steps into the bedroom further.
"Fred?" Ginny called in a small voice.
The legs under the blankets stirred slightly, immediately accompanied by a gasp of pain she knew belonged to her brother. She hurried over, abandoning all discretion.
Her heart sank in her chest as she took in his appearance through the dim light. He was shirtless; the old, whitened scars from his injury during the wall collapse at Hogwarts standing out clearly against his skin with the twinkling of the candlelight. A thin layer of sweat bathed his entire torso and arms, but his face appeared with the most perspiration; it was positively soaked and shining. His hair was mussed and damp at the roots as well, and although Ava clutched his hands tightly in hers on her lap, Ginny could see they were visibly shaking with violent tremors. Purple Dinwiddle blossoms spilling from an open leather pouch were scattered across the bedside table.
"Fred! What happened, mate?" Bill demanded in alarm. He and Charlie were standing right over her shoulder now, staring down at their brother in horror.
Movement stirred through the darkness in the corner of the room. George startled everyone as he stood up from a previously unnoticed chair in the corner.
"Nothing happened," he said, his voice somewhat defensive as he moved to stand at the foot of the bed. "It's just...happening. It happens, once in a while." George's eyes flickered to his twin's, and Fred let out a little moan as he squeezed his own shut tightly.
Ginny couldn't tell whether the moan sounded like it was birthed from physical pain or mental anguish. Ron's words from the kitchen brawl months ago came floating back to her: "He suffers from chronic debilitating pain...he lays in bed for days on end, unable to move."
"It's one of the episodes, isn't it?" Ginny asked softly. "Where the magic holding him together begins to fall apart...because of exertion..."
"Bloody hell, I didn't know it was that bad for him," Bill whispered.
Everyone in the room jumped as Fred's voice suddenly rang out.
"Alright...enough already with this 'him' business...I'm right here!" Fred's eyes had snapped open, and although he was throwing his head back and gritting his teeth in pain, he was sliding himself backward and propping himself up until his shoulders and head rested against the headboard behind him. He panted heavily for a few seconds before speaking again. "And I'm just temporarily pathetic, I'm not bloody dying!" His mouth hitched up into what was supposed to be a grin.
Ginny and the others stared at him in a dumbfounded silence.
Fred rolled his eyes. "Well, for fuck's sake, laugh."
They remained in an awkward, strained silence, and Ava looked up at them from her perch upon the bedside.
"I don't think it's ever been this bad before," she whispered.
"It hasn't," Fred chimed in from over her shoulder.
Ava grimaced. "It's my fault," she continued.
"It's bloody not!" Fred's voice objected hotly from behind her again.
"Your fault?" Charlie addressed Ava, frowning curiously. "These are his after effects from the Battle. How could it be your fault?"
Before Ava could answer, Fred's hand appeared on her arm, nudging her to the side slightly so his head came back into view.
"Because," Fred panted, and his voice was suddenly goofy sounding. "Nobody here's slept in days. She's been up all night doing bloody magic, making things bloody explode, so we've been up all bloody night with her chasing her around with bloody counter-spells and cracking open bloody books to try and figure out how to make it bloody stop."
Now everyone in the room's attention was back on Fred, their eyes bulging as he suddenly went limp and slumped down, his eyes closing sleepily.
"Is he...alright?" Ginny whispered as soft as she could, looking back and forth between George and Ava.
"It's really bad this time," George whispered back.
"He's been getting delirious," Ava added, looking down at him sadly. "I've been trying to help him like I did last time...take his pain away...but it's not working, I'm just not strong enough. Trying is making me...ill."
"What can we do?" Bill asked.
George and Ava exchanged looks.
"Honestly," George said, his voice low as he glanced at his sleeping twin, "we need some relief shifts. Ava's been in here taking care of Fred, and I've been in here taking care of Ava."
"Taking care?" Ginny asked, giving Ava another brief once-over. "What's wrong with you?" she asked her directly.
Ava sighed heavily. "This," she responded, and delicately reached over Fred to grasp on to one of the spare pillows. As soon as her fingers clasped it, the pillow more or less exploded, showering the entire room with feathers and bits of cloth.
Fred jerked suddenly, stirring in his sleep.
"Don't trade me no applesauce for a kick in the bum," he muttered deliriously, and his head lolled over as he passed out again, a halo of feathers gathered around his sweaty head.
Ginny, Bill, and Charlie remained in a stunned silence for a few moments while Ava and George casually brushed the feathers off of themselves, clearly unsurprised.
"So...you're still doing magic? Since the alleyway?" Ginny asked, one hand fishing around down her shirt to find the rest of the feathers.
"She can't even feed herself," George said, smirking down at Ava. Now that Ginny was paying attention for it, she noticed George's dark circles around his eyes matching Ava's. "Touches a plate and it shatters. I've been spoon feeding her...like a wittle baby bird." He reached out and roughly rubbed his fist into Ava's scalp teasingly, and she swung her arm out behind her in an attempt to swat him away.
"That's some pretty impressive magic," said Bill, his twitching mouth fighting a smile. "I think the last time I saw stuff like that was when Ginny was only a toddler and showing signs, blowing up everything she touched if she didn't get her way about something..." He trailed off laughing as Ginny sharply elbowed him in the ribs.
"I don't understand," said Charlie to Ava. "If you're a Squib, then you'd do magic if you got magical blood in your mouth, right? Like how Gridgeon and Fox must be drinking it. So unless you're biting into Fred's veins and sucking his blood every few minutes, why is this happening?"
Silence answered him as George and Ava looked back at him helplessly, but Ginny couldn't help but notice: George's hand twitched for a moment before curling into a fist and releasing, and Ava's blank poker face had returned.
"We don't know," George said shortly. "Point is, I'd like to go home and see my wife for a bit, bathing seems like the right choice as well seeing as how I smell like a Niffler's ass, someone needs to stay with Fred and make sure he doesn't overdose on Dinwiddles and die, and someone needs to stay with Ava to make sure she doesn't accidentally kill us all." He held his arms out. "We've got a few more coming, but any volunteers for now?"
"I'll stay with Fred," said Charlie.
"I'll go run a bath for him...we'll carry him into the tub," offered Bill.
"I'll take Ava," said Ginny, and Ava nodded to her in embarrassed gratitude, rising to her feet from the bed.
George was hurriedly pushing his feet into shoes. "By the way...what was that crashing sound when you first arrived?"
"Oh," Ginny said, grinning sheepishly at him. "That was me. I walked into that hideous little statue you had sitting next to the fire poker. What is that thing anyway?"
"That's the flat's Floo totem," George answered hurriedly, now pulling on a jumper over his t-shirt. "Can't have all the evil beasties using the place as a rest stop now can we?"
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "That's your Floo totem? Why cant you use something normal, for decoration? Like Mum, she's always used Grandmom's old porcelain vase—"
"That trio of monkeys you got there...'hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil'?" Charlie said with a laugh, shaking his head at George. "You made the protection totem oddly literal, didn't you?"
"Fred and me picked it up at a Muggle thrift shop years ago. Grew on us so we charmed it to be the totem. Point is," he looked over at Ginny, "Make sure it goes back before you leave. It's got to be touching some part of the hearth to actually work, you know that, right?"
"George," said Bill with a laugh in his voice. "I'm impressed. What's it like to actually be responsible?"
George scowled at him. "A lot of bloody work," he muttered grumpily, and Disapparated.
An hour or so later, Fred had been bathed by Bill and Charlie, and was put back to bed to rest—this time, although still fragile—coherent. Ginny could hear his occasional laugh and weak voice coming from the bedroom, where Ron had joined in to keep company as well.
She was in the kitchen, standing over bacon and eggs cooking on the stove, stealing frequent glances over her shoulder at Ava. She was seated on one of the kitchen island bar stools, her head resting on the countertop.
"Y'all don't have a toaster?"
Ginny turned with a single arched eyebrow, and glared at Dakota. He was on all fours and rummaging through the low cabinets.
"I am the toaster," she said dryly as Dakota got to his feet. "Hermione, pass me that bread."
Hermione, who'd been sitting on a stool beside Ava, slid the loaf across the counter.
"Observe," said Ginny, and turned her back on the sizzling bacon to touch her wand to a bread slice.
Dakota's eyes grew wide as the bread toasted a perfect golden brown.
"Behold. Toast." Ginny slid the toast over to Dakota, who generously buttered it before biting into it savagely.
"You," he grunted thickly through a mouthful. "You're er beft!"
"Whose breast?" Ginny asked innocently, turning her attention back to the stove.
Dakota gulped. "You're the best," he corrected himself.
Hermione was eyeing him. "Why are you in here?" she finally spoke up and asked. "You're supposed to be in there." She gestured down the hall. "Keeping Fred company and lifting his spirits with the others. You were asked to do that because you're his friend."
Dakota stared blankly at her before jabbing his finger at the bacon and eggs in progress. "I'm on breakfast duty, baby. Once these puppies are all finished I'm bringin' 'em right in. I'll even hand feed Fred myself, if you like."
"I'll hold you to that!" Fred's voice hoarsely called out from the bedroom, and everyone laughed.
Well, everyone except Ava, that is. She appeared to be fast asleep, her face still buried in her arms on the countertop and her back rising and falling evenly with deep breaths.
Dakota studied her for a moment before grabbing a fresh slice of bread.
"Ava," he said loudly. "Toast this for me. You're all into the pyrotechnics now, aren't ya?"
And then he made a mistake.
"Dakota don't—" Hermione started, but it was too late. He'd tossed the bread teasingly straight at her head, and it bounced off of her hair, and on to the top of her hand.
Ava awoke with a panicked yelp, sitting up quickly, and retracted both of her arms from the countertop. But it was too late—the bread slice had made contact with her hands, and she, Hermione, Ginny, and Dakota all watched in awe as the bread liquified before their eyes. It looked like it was melting in fast motion, dissolving into a small, thick puddle of beige colored liquid.
"Good Lord, woman, that is highly unnatural." Dakota was the first to speak, dramatically contorting his face to look as disgusted as possible. "You best figure that one out. God willin' and the creek don't rise." He accepted the large platter of bacon and eggs Ginny tipped from the pan, and shot the puddle of liquified bread one last horrified look before grabbing a handful of cutlery and disappearing down the hall.
"Sometimes I really feel like he's speaking a foreign language," Ginny murmured, shaking her head to herself as she cracked more eggs.
Ava had scooted her stool back and her arms were tucked fully into her bathrobe sleeves, determined not to make physical contact with anything else. Hermione, however, was extremely interested in the bread-puddle, leaning over it so closely her nose nearly touched it.
"Ava," she said. "This is a highly advanced Liquifying Charm. A lot of practicing witches and wizards can't even do this properly, how are you—"
But she suddenly paused, as Ava jumped up from her seat and bolted to the other side of the kitchen, throwing herself on the ground and sticking her head into the wastebasket. Retching sounds ensued from within the plastic walls.
"Oh, come on!" Ginny cried out exasperatedly, tapping the stove with her wand hurriedly and ceasing her cooking. "It's not a big deal, it's just liquified bread! It's just—" But she followed in Hermione's wake of stopping short, and then, as Ava continued gagging into the garbage, she couldn't take her eyes off of her clever, bushy-haired sister-in-law...Hermione was staring at Ava in a peculiar way; a way Ginny could tell she was thinking about something, hell, she could practically see the cogs moving within her skull...
Ginny didn't know who to look at more, Hermione or Ava; she found herself wagging her head back and forth to look at the two of them, trying to piece together whatever Hermione was already in the process of figuring out.
Ava appeared to finally finish, taking several deep, shaking breaths, and crawling away from the wastebasket. Her skin had a sickly grey pallor to it.
"Come on, get up, there you go," Hermione encouraged in a soothing voice as she helped Ava to her feet. She handed Ava a napkin, and patiently waited for her to mop her face.
"We need to talk," she said quietly, and grabbed Ava's large terrycloth sleeve. "Let's go." And then she bolted, quickly but gracefully leading Ava towards the foyer and out the apartment door.
"Oh, I am not missing this," Ginny muttered, double checked the stove's flame was gone, and hurried after the two of them.
Hermione was hurriedly tugging a confused and barefoot Ava down the canary yellow and cobalt blue staircase, descending into the incredibly busy looking shop floor below. Ginny followed, ignoring the stares from curious onlookers as the three of them dashed through the crowd.
"Hey, Hermione...Ginny...Ava? I mean, Meredith! What are you all doing here?" Lee's voice called out to them, saying each of their names with increasing bewilderment. He was stationed behind the swamped register, clutching a rubber chicken in one hand and a fistful of silver Sickles in the other.
Hermione ignored him as well, making a beeline straight towards the door to the inventory closet against the back wall. Ginny took to saying 'excuse me' and 'pardon me' in a patterned, repetitive fashion as she danced around scowling customers that she pushed by.
Hermione yanked open the closet door, gently shoving Ava inside first, then following.
"Close the door," she said to Ginny shortly, who squeezed in after them.
Ginny swung the door shut with a horrible squeaking noise coming from the hinges, and they were plunged into total darkness.
"Lumos," Hermione muttered, and Ginny copied her, their wands acting as torches in the pitch-blackness.
"Tell me what's going on," Ginny prodded Hermione excitedly. "Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me—"
"Ava," Hermione interjected, swinging her wand light around to shine in her direction. "Do you know? Does Fred know? If you didn't know and I was the one to tell you, that would be awfully strange..."
"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me—"
"Enough Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, shoving her slightly.
Ginny stumbled backwards into a few boxes that curiously let out a few screech-like squeaks, but she was too enthralled by what was happening before her to care. Hermione had more or less cornered Ava, her head cocked to one side and frowning thoughtfully. Ava had tightly tucked herself into the corner of the stocked shelving, still concealing her hands in her enormous robe sleeves. Her pale blonde hair had halfway fallen out of it's messy topknot, and strands were haphazardly sticking in all directions. She looked like a madwoman, but Hermione was patiently waiting for her to answer.
"I do," Ava finally said back in a small voice. "But only two days ago. Fred doesn't. George knows. I told him, I had to."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and Ginny reached the end of her patience.
"You two are irritating the piss out of me, what the fuck are you going on about?!"
Hermione whirled around to face her, but Ava responded first.
"Ginny!" she cried exasperatedly, and threw her hands up, letting them fall against her legs. "I'm a Squib."
"I know that, George's told me—"
"I can only do magic with magical blood."
"Yes, I know that, but you haven't been—"
"I'm not drinking it," Ava said quietly. She exchanged a desperate glance with Hermione before continuing. "It's in my veins now."
Ginny stared at her blankly for a few moments. "What do you—OH!" she nearly screamed, and just then, the closet door swung open.
All three girls nearly fell over, crying out in shock and protest as their formerly dark space was flooded with what seemed like blinding light coming from the shop floor. Lee stood in the doorway, his mouth parted in surprise.
"Whatever you three are doing, I don't even care," he said, snapping back to attention. "I need some more Headless Hats and trick wands and Dragon Bum, you could go back to your girly closet time later...actually..." He straightened up, putting his hands on his hips and smirking. "Can I join?"
"OUT, LEE!" Ginny roared, tearing as many various products as she could down from the shelves, thrusting them into his arms, and kicking the door shut, plunging them into near-darkness again.
"Oh, Merlin," Ginny cooed, turning back to Ava. "Ooh, I'm so excited. This is brilliant. That's why you're doing magic, is it? How far along are you, do you know? Hey, do you think...oh...oh, you're not excited, are you?" Ginny could practically feel herself deflating; Ava was staring back at her hopelessly, her arms folded across her chest tightly.
"It's been a little over 8 weeks since I had my...you know," she said, looking at Ginny uncomfortably. "Took me long enough to realize it. I'm an idiot, you know that?" She chewed on the inside of her cheek and stared absentmindedly at the shelving for a moment. "I got ill, like really ill, in August after drinking...remember that morning at the Ministry?" She asked Hermione, who nodded. "I just thought it was a bad hangover, I dunno...and then the vertigo...that started a couple weeks ago...it all came together the other day when I thought about it, but I don't know why the magic suddenly started that night with Fox..."
"You said you're around eight weeks?" Hermione asked gently. "That night was two weeks ago. That would explain it, then. When I was about six weeks with Rose, my magic started going totally haywire...you know the Healer's said it was because she had a heartbeat," she said with a smile.
"No!" Ginny exclaimed in disbelief, but Hermione nodded at her. She took a few seconds before addressing Ava again. "Why did you tell George and not Fred?"
Ava rubbed her face in her hands before responding. "Does Fred really seem like he's in the best state of mind right now to be hearing that kind of news?"
"Oh...no, no I suppose you're right," Ginny admitted. "I have to admit I'm impressed about George keeping it a secret for you though...he used to go around telling us about every bowel movement he had like it was national news..."
The tension in the closet was broken, then, as all three girls dissolved into sudden, ridiculous laughter.
"But...but come on, Ava," Ginny said after recovering herself from giggles. "Even if you have to keep it quiet just for now, when Fred's well again you can tell him...he'll be so excited, really, now that George has moved out he definitely needs a playmate," she added with a snort.
Ava gave her a dark look. "You know who else will be super excited? Fox. And Gridgeon, yeah, remember him? He's surely already raising Sarah's son to be part of his little army, ooh, he'll have a field day when he hears about this."
"Well, we won't let him hear about it, will we Ginny?" Hermione said calmly, glancing sideways at her. "That's what you're worried about, is it? No one's going to hurt you now, the whole family will protect you."
"That's right," Ginny agreed, but Ava continued looking hopeless.
"They're crazy," she whispered. "Merciless. How am I supposed to fight them now?"
"You're not," Hermione said quickly. "You leave them to us."
Ava was silent, and even in the dim light, Ginny could see her eyes shining, threatening to spill over with anxious tears.
"It'll be okay...just think about how good of a filthy little liar you are," said Ginny to Ava, smirking. "I asked you once, if you were shagging my brother...you said you weren't, but thing is, I'm old enough now to know where babies come from, and it isn't the stork..."
Ava had a kind of reaction that only she could have—the tears exploded from her eyes, and she doubled over, alternating between sobs and hysterical laughter.
"I...wasn't," she gasped, straightening up. "I mean...I hadn't," she added, blushing.
A few seconds of silence passed.
"Yet," Ginny added with a wide smirk.
Hermione took Ava's hands in hers gently. "Fred loves you. Talk to him."
Ava stared back at her, the picture of uncertainty. She opened her mouth to say something, and then abruptly closed it.
Hermione squeezed her hands. "Talk to him."
"Would you stop staring at me like that?"
Fred opened his mouth to answer, but was abruptly silenced by Ava covering his face with a warm, dripping wet washcloth. She placed both of her hands gently on his cheeks, pressing the cloth to his skin, and then slowly wiped it away. Tiny beads of moisture stuck to the scruffy, dark ginger beginnings of a beard growing along his jaw.
Fred pressed his lips together, looking like he was forcing himself to contain some kind of fantastic and happy secret. As per usual, his mood was contagious, and Ava couldn't help but smile back as she lathered on a generous layer of shaving cream; Fred still blinked up at her, his gaze traveling from her hair to her eyes to her lips, some form of fondness twinkling in his eyes.
Ava rinsed her hands off in the sink when she was done, and turned back around to face him.
"Whatever goofy thing is brewing in that brain of yours, hold it in until I'm done. Or else I'll cut you." She held up the shaving razor and grinned. "Literally. Will you stay still?"
Fred, looking up at her, wiggled his eyebrows and gave a single, minute nod.
"Good. Chin up." Ava perched herself on the edge of the clawfoot tub alongside him, and placed one hand on the side of his neck, the other, touching the razor to his cheek and dragging it down firmly. Hair and cream collected beneath the razor, leaving a smooth strip of skin in its wake.
It had been four days since everyones' visit to the flat. That day was, thankfully, Fred's worst; by the end of that evening his fever finally broke and his heart rate slowed, the pain fading away. Ava had finally felt relieved enough to relax and get some sleep, and the two of them had dissolved into a deep, long slumber. When they woke up together thirteen hours later, they'd been renewed—Fred's aches and pains had melted away, and Ava was enjoying a newfound clarity and serenity, no longer wreaking magical havoc with her touch. She concentrated on staying rested and staying calm; she realized every time panic or stress rose and tightened in her chest, a trigger would activate and she'd begin doing uncontrollable magic again.
Fred, still weak and stiff but recovering quickly, remained mystified and intrigued. He was convinced Fox had done something to her, some kind of unheard of curse or jinx, and wouldn't stop talking about it. He had a lot of questions he wondered aloud: how she'd done it, if she'd intentionally done it, and how long it would last.
Ava's insides would squirm uncomfortably with guilt as she realized she had all of those answers: Fox hadn't done anything, the result was...unintentional, and it would last, oh, about another seven months.
She wasn't quite sure why she hadn't told him yet. Perhaps she was waiting for some kind of elusively 'perfect' moment that she realistically knew would most likely never appear; or perhaps she was thinking about the absurdity of it all—six months ago they'd said their first words to one another, and now she was supposed to tell him she was two months into carrying his child, it shouldn't come as a huge shock, really, they'd never done anything to prevent this sort of thing from happening—
"Ouch," Fred murmured, reflexively jerking his head away slightly. A small spot of blood began blossoming across the side of his neck; Ava had cut him on the very last stroke, lost in her own thoughts.
"Shit, I'm sorry!" She jumped up and quickly passed him the washcloth, which he pressed against his neck with one end, and with the other, wiped the small remnants of shaving cream from his now-smooth face.
Fred grinned up at her. "I hate to break it to you, but I think your hopes and dreams of becoming a world-famous barber end here. Customers won't take kindly to—are you going to be sick?" He'd stopped his teasing abruptly, looking up at her in horror, still holding the red-stained cloth to his neck.
Maybe she was—Ava could feel something bubbling up and pushing against her throat, her gag reflex twitching; the longer she stared at Fred, the more slack-jawed she felt herself becoming. She was now sort of gaping at him, her mouth wide open like she was attempting to catch butterflies with it.
Fred leaned over and slammed open the toilet lid for her, and she sunk to her knees, crawling over to the toilet's edge. She found herself staring past it, part of her gaze fixed upon the porcelain base and the other part absentmindedly staring at Fred's large, bony feet, settled on the weathered wood floor. Something in her throat pushed again, and she heard Fred sigh. One of his hands settled down upon her shoulder, squeezing it gently.
"Look, I know the sight of blood right now probably isn't something you want to see. After what you saw happen to Rita...I know how you're feeling. After the Battle, even the slam of a door was enough to send me into a panic attack..."
His words faded momentarily as Ava cringed again, gripping the toilet's edge now. She could still hear the comforting tone of his voice in the background, pausing with occasional sighs and change in inflection. His warm hand remained on her shoulder, his thumb traveling back and forth across the base of her neck.
And then, Ava realized there was no wave of nausea, there was no churning stomach...no, this wasn't real vomit, this was word vomit, and she suddenly became acutely aware of the distinct sensation of not being able to hold in a secret any longer...
"...don't let her win. Don't let her traumatize you like this, don't let her haunt you—"
"I'm pregnant."
It was the first time she'd said it out loud. The moment after she said the words was like that single second-long pause after an orchestra finishes playing something magnificent: when the audience is still sitting there with rapt attention, enjoying every note, and they haven't realized the song is over yet. It comes to a crescendo and suddenly stops, and there's that moment, that breath, teetering on the edge waiting for everyone to explode into applause.
Fred's hand slipped from her shoulder limply.
"What...what was that?"
Ava took a deep, quivering breath, and used all of her courage to stop staring at Fred's feet and look up at him. He had this funny look on his face, somewhere between disbelief and trying not to laugh. His expression said it all; he was thoroughly convinced he'd heard wrong, and was waiting to release a relieved exhale.
"I'm pregnant. It's why I've been doing magic...magical blood inside a Squib, right? I only realized it a week ago..." She paused, hoping to give Fred a moment to process. He was still sitting on the edge of the tub, but staring straight ahead now, his eyes glued to his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. He was watching himself breathe, watching himself blink.
Ava's hand gripped and released the brim of the toilet several times anxiously. "Say something, please."
Fred continued being transfixed by his own reflection, and the agonizing silence was suddenly broken by a roar of flames coming from the direction of the sitting room, and a quick set of footsteps.
"Fred? Ava?" It was George's voice calling out to them. He sounded panicked.
Fred attempted to jump to his feet, but quickly lost his footing upon standing, his legs still weak beneath him. He swayed for a moment, grabbing the sink for balance, before dashing out of the bathroom and down the hall. He didn't even look at her.
"Fred!" Ava cried out, and scrambled to her feet, pulling herself up by the toilet and tub's edges. She rushed out after him, wondering what in the world George was doing here.
He was standing a few paces in front of the fireplace, a streak of soot on his face. He spotted Fred and Ava coming down the hall towards him, and he vaulted himself over the back of the couch to come and meet them.
"You have no idea how good it is to see you on your feet, mate, I thought I'd have to go alone...it's Rudy Zonko, he's just Apparated to his coastal home, it's been deserted for months but the Aurors have been keeping watch...he's there and they're waiting on my orders since I'm Head, I need you there with me..." He trailed off, panting slightly, and his eyebrows contorted into confusion as he took in the still-stunned look upon Fred's face.
"What's wrong with you?" He asked his twin breathlessly. Fred continued standing there, silent and motionless.
Then George's eyes traveled over Fred's shoulder and settled on to Ava. She was lingering at the end of the hall, her shoulder leaning against the archway, clutching her elbows around her middle.
"Oh bloody hell, you've told him, have you?" George moaned.
That was, apparently, what it took to snap Fred out of his state. He sprang to life, straightening up like an electric shock had traveled through his torso, and contorted his face to match his twin's.
"You knew?" He cried out. George stared at him sheepishly for only a second before Fred wheeled around to face Ava. "Why've you gone and told him instead of me?!"
"Fred, I found out while you were still ill, Ginny and Hermione figured it out on their own—"
"Ginny and Hermione?!" He retorted, his face reddening, throwing his arms out at his sides. "Who else then, did the whole fucking Alley know I was a parent before I did?!"
George and Ava's gazes met, as though magnetically; George's face one of ever-growing confusion and Ava's, one of hurt, sharing a common wonder as to why Fred was acting the way he was.
"Why are you looking at each other like that?" Fred yelled, looking back and forth between them, fuming.
Ava hugged her arms against herself tighter. "Please—please stop yelling...Fred..." But then her voice died down, scurrying away in fright like a mouse diving back into its hole. Tears she hadn't even realized were coming spilled down her cheeks.
"Calm down mate, come on, there's no need..." George started, but trailed off as he watched his brother. Fred was on the move again, stomping around the furniture and heading towards the fireplace.
"Where are you going?" George cried as Fred scooped up a handful of Floo powder from the dish atop the mantle. "Fred, I need you, Zonko—"
But his voice was drowned out by the roar of emerald flames. Fred took a single step, determined to not look anywhere but straight ahead, and then he was gone.
George stared at the now-still hearth, momentarily in shock, before turning back to Ava. She was gaping as well, in disbelief at what had just happened. He hadn't shouted at her since...
And then it dawned on her. Fred hadn't shouted at her like that since she'd seen him the very first time suffering in bed, when he'd thrown the papers at her and screamed that he didn't want her there seeing him in that condition. It was when he was feeling his most helpless; when all he wanted to do was be strong, be prideful, but at his most vulnerable against his will, terrified that Ava would think something of him for being so weak.
He was scared.
"I need to go." George sprinted over to her, grabbing her gently by the shoulders. "Ava, I need to go, they're waiting on my orders."
Ava hurriedly wiped the remaining tears away from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Yeah. Yeah, go."
George looked at her desperately. "Fred will be back. He's just...he'll be back. You need to go sit down and take care of my nephew or niece, alright?" He sighed heavily, squeezing her shoulders and crushing a brief kiss to the top of her hair. Then he turned on his heel, sprinting out of the flat to head outside and Disapparate.
And Ava was left alone, the faint smell of ashes lingering in the twins' wake.
While Gridgeon spent most of his life in his grandfather's shop basement, inventing for him—unbeknownst to the public, of course—Rudolph Zonko enjoyed a life of modest fortune and success. He'd purchased his coastal Cornwall holiday home twelve years ago, and although it was by no means palatial, it was a handsome estate; standing on stilts for protection from floods and designed in the Victorian style, painted in blue and white.
The house had seen better days. The past few months of summer neglect had made it rapidly deteriorate, the blues and whites looking more grey and the sea's saltwater spray sticking to all of the windows in a translucent film. Zonko hadn't been to the home since his disappearance from the shop—Aurors assigned in shifts to keep watch over the property for any sign of life made sure of that.
George Apparated on to the property, hitting the ground running. He could see Ron standing at the top of the front entrance stairs, doing an impatient sort of dance.
"George?" He called out. "Where's Fred?"
George took the stairs two at a time. "Still not feeling one-hundred percent," he quickly lied as he reached the raised porch with his brother. "What's going on?"
Ron swung open one side of the double doors, and the two of them dashed inside, George following Ron's lead as he charged up the winding staircase.
"I was actually the one on watch here today," Ron said over his shoulder, a hint of pride in his voice. "Top floor, through the attic window, there was this sudden burst of light—" he paused as they reached the first landing and galloped down the hall to the next set of stairs "-and he was there, he'd Apparated in. And he was just pacing!"
"Pacing?" George repeated back to him breathlessly.
"Yeah," said Ron, and they reached the top of the stairs. "Come on, attic entrance is over here." They jogged together to the end of the hallway, heading towards a step-ladder that had been pulled down from the ceiling. "Right in front of the window. Like he wanted to be seen."
"That doesn't make any sense," George murmured back, but Ron didn't have a chance to answer as they reached the attic entrance.
Everyone's heads turned briefly to look at him as his head appeared through the hole in the floor. It was quite a scene to behold: scattered around the room were all sorts of normal things one would expect to find in an attic—boxes, clothing racks, large items shrouded in dusty sheets—but directly in the center was a very worn looking Rudolph Zonko, bound to a chair. His formerly bald head wasn't being kept up properly; there were fuzzy little patches of thin silver hair growing unevenly across his flaky scalp, and his long grey beard was wispy and missing chunks as though bits of it had been yanked out.
George clambered to his feet beside Ron and joined the circle of Aurors surrounding Zonko, their wands pointed directly at him. Harry and Kingsley were there, but the other two, he didn't recognize.
"What's wrong with him?" George asked aloud. Zonko looked like every breath he took was agonizing, and his eyes were rolling in his head intermittently, like it was hard for him to keep them open.
"We believe he has been being controlled by the Imperius Curse," replied Kingsley.
"Right," George muttered back. "It's just he seems a little..." He trailed off for a moment as he watched Zonko's head dip rapidly, then catch himself, like he was fighting sleep. "Far off."
"Indeed," said Kingsley, still not taking his gaze away from the old man. "But he's come on his own accord. Submitted without resistance, willingly surrendered his wand."
George took a few cautious steps forward, the old attic floorboards creaking beneath his shoes. "Why have you come here?" he asked, speaking loudly and clearly.
Zonko's watery blue eyes very slowly raised, and settled upon George's face. A vague sense of recognition passed over his features.
"I've taken...him," he gasped, and slowly jutted his chin out towards the corner.
The tall, sandy-haired Auror standing at the end of his gaze spun around briefly to see if there was anyone else standing behind him. "Taken me?" he cried out in confusion. "He's a madman!"
"I've...taken...him," Zonko continued, his breath rattling in his chest. "It's...the only...way...to draw him out."
George looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had any idea what was going on, but although their wands remained pointed and steady, their faces wore the same expression as his: total and utter confusion.
George turned back and crouched down in an attempt to be at more eye-level with Zonko. "Draw who out?" he whispered.
"I've been...bad...I've been...wrong...I used him...the boy...the Squib..." Even in its breathless, pathetic state, Zonko's voice had taken on a tone of desperation, a tone of pleading.
"Gridgeon," George said with a nod. "We know about that, we saw his room in the shop basement, we know he's the one who invented for you."
"I've been...wrong," Zonko repeated. "Turned him...into a monster...made him hungry...for power...my fault...all my fault..."
"You've taken Gridgeon?"
"I've taken him...he started doing magic...the boy's crowning jewel..." Zonko trailed off to let out a soft but insane sounding laugh. "I've taken him...to draw him out...you have...to stop him..."
George exchanged glances with Harry, who was standing to his left. Harry shrugged back at him, just as lost as everyone else.
"Yes, Gridgeon's been doing magic, with the blood—" George started, but Zonko suddenly erupted in anger, as much as he could manage to while still bound to the chair.
"NOT...THAT ONE," he hissed, his eyes bulging. "The other boy!"
"He's gone mad," Kingsley said evenly. "We are getting nowhere. We should transport him to St. Mungo's, as a prisoner, wait to interrogate him until he is more sound of mind."
The shuffling of footsteps surrounded George as the Aurors closed in, ready to take Zonko away.
"Wait!" George cried, jumping to his feet. He whirled around to look at the corner the blonde Auror had been standing in previously, and his eyes fell upon what looked like an enormous wardrobe, half-covered in a white sheet, it's wooden-clawed bottom sticking out from beneath the cover. The sheet was placed differently than the others on the surrounding furniture; it was lopsided, and had creases in places other than where the corners of the wood jutted out.
"Rudolph," George said slowly, turning his head to look at the old man over his shoulder. "Is there someone in that wardrobe?"
A weak smile that managed to look both relieved and maniacal crossed over Zonko's features. "Name's Knox," he whispered. Then, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lost consciousness.
"Brinley...Radisson," Kingsley called out, addressing the sandy-haired Auror and another, a petite, hooded witch. "Take him to St. Mungo's for medical attention. I will meet you there with instructions."
George could hear behind him the sounds of the Aurors untying Zonko from the chair and carrying him from the room, but he didn't dare take his gaze away from the wardrobe. It was silent and unmoving as he took slow, careful steps towards it, drawing his wand out in the process.
"Easy there, Weasley," Kingsley said softly, joining his side and matching his wary pace. "Everyone...wands at the ready...Gridgeon could be in there with a sack full of Acid Bombs for all we know, ready to bring the place down..."
George gulped as a vision of the room exploding in a fiery blast crossed his mind. His grip on his wand tightened.
"One," Kingsley counted, "Two..." He flicked his wand, and the doors sprang open, the mouth of the wardrobe obscured for a moment as the sheet came tumbling down.
A small cry of fear emitted from the inside.
There was, in fact, someone hidden inside the wardrobe.
But it wasn't Gridgeon.
"Um...what are you doing?"
"I was...making sure you were okay."
"In the shower?"
"Yeah."
"What could have possibly happened to me in the shower?"
"Dunno. You could've drowned, I suppose."
And then that kiss...it had changed everything...
The moment was five months old, but it felt like a lifetime ago as the memory weaved its way in and out of Ava's mind as she showered back at the flat. No, not just a lifetime ago; it seemed like a whole different life, someone else's life. She'd freshly discovered the death of her parents, she was still unable to leave the Treehouse as she liked due to the Order's lack of trust, she still hadn't even told them the truth...well, what, at the time, she thought was the truth, about Merryweather...she'd thought they were lab rats for government agents to practice their magic on, when in reality, they were being trained to be the government agents, without even knowing it...
Fred had told her awhile ago what the portrait of the Headmaster had informed them: 'They were looking to create super-spies, if you will.' Ava nearly laughed aloud and leaned back into the spray to rinse her hair as an absurd vision of her cocking a gun in sunglasses and a beret blossomed into her thoughts.
And then something sad in her chest pulsed. Fred had told her. Fred...where had he gone?
Ava switched off the water and yanked away the curtain surrounding the clawfoot tub, pulling a towel from the rack and wrapping it around her torso, wincing slightly. She'd suddenly become hyper-aware of the tiny life inside of her and what it was already doing to her body; the mere pressure of the towel was enough to make her breasts ache.
She sighed heavily as she stepped out from the tub, her toes buried deep in the warm plush bath mat. The loose floorboard concealing the box of Vita flasks clunked beneath her feet.
Idiot, she thought crossly, wrapping her hair around her hands and squeezing it into the tub. He's gone and left me...US, when we need him the most...I would have never done that...
Ahh, said a small voice in the back of her head in return, But you have, you did! The day of the shop opening, when George and Dakota had to come catch you like a wild animal streaking through the forest, remember?
That was different, she mentally argued back, frowning at the imaginary debate happening inside of her head. I was doing that to protect him...
And who said he's not doing the same for you? The opposing voice chided. If it had a face, it would be smirking.
Ava paused suddenly, realizing her arm was very much dry already, and she'd been vigorously rubbing it with the towel raw.
"Shut up already," she actually murmured out loud, and let the towel drop to the ground as she reached for her bathrobe.
"Ava!" came a loud voice from down the hall. She heard the fireplace cracking, and several sets of footsteps following.
Was it Fred? Ava stood frozen for a moment, buck naked and her arm extended before her, her fingers still brushing the edge of her robe on the door hook.
"Maybe she's not home," the voice said exasperatedly.
It was George's voice.
"I'm—I'm here!" she yelled back, scrambling to pull on her robe and tie it around the waist. "I'm here!" She completely forgot that there had been several sets of feet entering the flat as she rushed out into the hall and stumbled into the foyer, gasping in embarrassment and wrenching the robe tighter around her chest.
Kingsley, Ron, and Harry stood milling around the sitting room, staring at her with raised eyebrows. And George was with them, but his back was to her; she could see the flat side of his head where his ear should be.
"I'm here," she repeated, heat rushing around her cheeks. "George? What are you doing?"
He was standing oddly, hunched forward with his arms wrapped around his front, like he was holding on to something.
"Ava," his voice said, "we know that it's been awhile...but it's the only possibility we can think of." He turned around. "Do you know this boy?"
The space wasn't terribly bright. Only the hall light above Ava's head glowed, along with a single lamp in the sitting room.
But Ava didn't need a spotlight, a beacon, or a torch. Just half a second in the dim light was enough.
The boy in George's arms was somewhere between two and three years old, leaning towards the latter. He had that brown hair that looked almost red, and that tiny, ski-jump nose. He blinked, and his eyes weren't dark and murky like Gridgeon's, they were the lightest of milk chocolate shades.
Like his mother.
It was Sarah Serrano's son.
"Oh my God," Ava breathed.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
Another life. This, this was the moment her next lifetime began. Her first, a careless life of parties and new friends. Then, a life locked in a cage, a life on the run, a life of looking for the next streak of violet in the sky, waiting for the night to be over. Her third, a life of growth and change and plans, Fred's face floating in the center of it all.
And now, this was the start of her next. A life in her belly, a life of magic crackling at her fingertips, the barely-started life of a lost boy she thought she'd never see again in front of her.
The flat was still and nearly quiet as George watched Ava's face marveling at the boy in his arms. The clock ticked gently. The shower head down the hall dripped. The front door of the shop a couple floors below them opened and closed.
And the protective Floo totem Ginny Weasley had accidentally kicked under the loveseat remained forgotten, hidden in shadow and already collecting dust.