Untold Weasley Tales

by lionesseyes13

In this series, the oldest Weasley brother grows from a two year old wizard who won't eat his turnips to a grown wizard in his own right. Enjoy his adventures with his brothers at home and at school.

35. Chapter 35

Dragons and Robberies

Disclaimer: No, my name is not J.K. Rowling, or at least it wasn't last time I checked with all my different personalities. If that changes, I'll let you know.

Reviews: Please take a few seconds to comment after reading. I appreciate feedback, and respond to all reviews.

Author's Note: Time may move quickly in this chapter, so I'm sorry about that. I hope you won't get too confused. If you do, tell me, and I will do my honest best to fix it. Sorry about the recent increase in the epistolary form, but just bear with me, please. I'll get out of it once Bill leaves Egypt, but letters are a swell way to keep him in the thick of things, and I don't feel like relinquishing that particular plot device yet.

After the episode in which Bill had saved Louis' life, and they became true partners, their days settled into a steady rhythm of traveling through the desert to attain riches from pyramids, and transferring them back to Gringotts headquarters in Cairo. Then, back into the tombs again. Fortunately, there were no more debates about which direction they would travel in when they worked in the deserted pyramids, because, when they wanted to go in opposite directions, they would make a point of discussing it rationally.

As he was isolated in the middle of a desert, Bill soon found that he became close to the only three beings that he had any real contact with in Egypt. He learned to enjoy playing goblin word and number games while they traversed the arid land on camel back. In the evenings, he often engaged in wizard chess or Exploding Snap tournaments with his fellow Curse-Breaker. When they were both too exhausted to play games together, they switched on the radio, or read novels and magazines, Louis in French, and Bill in English.

Since his life had settled into a pleasant harmony with a decent paycheck, which explained how Louis could afford the expenditure of fine champagne in the heart of the boiling Egyptian sands, Bill did not even fully realize that he had been a full-fledged Curse-Breaker for almost a year until a letter from Charlie arrived in early June, borne by a rather bedraggled Hogwarts owl, who plainly had not relished the laborious journey from England to Africa. After he removed the note from the owl's claws and offered it a few of Nekhebet's treats and a drink from her dish, two actions that sparked a jealous, possessive wail from Nekhebet in her cage, the owl soared away, returning Nekhebet's iron glare. Stroking Nekhebet to pacify her, he began to read Charlie's note:

Dear Bill,

I hope you're having a better time in Egypt than I am in England. The only good news I can report is that I have been accepted to work at a dragon reserve in Romania. However, they expect me to commence working with them three days after I graduate. As such, I realized that I had to inform Mum and Dad of my career plans, and explain that I would not be pursuing a living in Quidditch, but rather in toiling at a dragon reserve sooner as opposed to later. This being the case, I composed a relatively polite letter to them explaining my career choice, and giving them the date of my departure to Romania. Admittedly, I, like you, probably should have confided in them sooner, but, even good Gryffindors like us, have a right to fear the fiery response of our loving and charming Mum. Okay, I mean, I recognized that my announcement would not be greeted with resounding whoops from our parents, and I did expect an angry owl full of shock, informing me that I was a stupid, impulsive, and deceitful boy. However, I was not anticipating what I received, and I seriously don't think I deserve it. (If you dare contradict me on this, I shall find a manner to sock you in the mouth from here, brother.)

What did I get, you ask? Well, the morning after I wrote to Mum and Dad about my future job, I was honored to be the recipient of a Howler from Mum. Can you believe it? She had the nerve to transform a private matter, like my job decision, into a public gossip concern that has been strung all over the cursed grapevine for all to eat their fill of. Heavens, Bill, it was awful having her rant about how I was being an idiot to pursue a career path the would lead me into peril, and, unlike professional Quidditch, would not offer extensive monetary compensation for aforementioned risks. Furthermore, she shrieked that I was a filthy liar, because I had remained silent, knowing that my silence would be taken as confirmation that I was going to be a Seeker for England. According to Mum, a lie of omission is still a lie. (Those are her words, in case you didn't figure it out. See, my own mum is convinced I'm as dumb as a doorknob. Of course a lie is a lie, and the truth is the truth. Glad we got that straight, and now the whole school and the entirety of Hogsmeade knows as well, thanks to Mum.) Whatever Mum says on the contrary I did not deserve public humiliation. It's not like I blew up a corridor or something, and I'm legally an adult now, besides.

The Howler made McGonagall realize that I had not chatted with Mum and/or Dad about my adult life in the work force. This revelation prompted her to detain me after Transfiguration, something which made me late for lunch, adding to the splendor of my day. As soon as everyone else had skipped merrily off to get the best slices of ham and baked potatoes, she snapped at me, "You told me that you had talked to your family about your career choice, Weasley!" (Incidentally, in case you actually read the rubbish I insert in parenthesis during your free-time, which may not exist, she's not too thrilled that I'm not going into International Quidditch, either. I bet she perceives it as a personal failing that she cannot convince me that I ought to employ my talent on the International Quidditch pitch for the greater glory of Britain.)

I told her that I hadn't been lying, because I had discussed it with a family member― namely, you. I guess I was misguided in my assumption that she liked you as much as McGonagall can be fond of anyone, which basically she doesn't dream of strangling them, as she snarled that you don't really count as a career adviser. (Don't feel badly, I think you're awesome, mostly. You may now deflate your head again. The compliments end now.) She then added that you were not my parent, as if I hadn't figured out who my father was by now, which is just proof that she is as certain as Mum that you can't be a good athlete and have a normal amount of stuff between the ears.

I took it upon myself to remind her that you are very responsible and very intelligent, like a cooler Percy, who has figured out how to make friends and not make people want to hang you off the nearest rafter. (Oops, I lied when I said that the compliments were at an end. Well, apparently I'm a compulsive liar, so that might explain it.) Besides, I contended, you're legally an adult now, as I am, which means that I have a freedom to pursue whichever career I want. Apparently, she could not contest this, since you have been functioning on your own in Egypt for the past almost-two years, and my Hogwarts life, like yours, is almost over. That is, I've already taken my N.E.W.T's, and attained the scores necessary to work with dragons in a Romanian reserve, so I'm basically just doing nothing, waiting to depart, a rather heart-wrenching state of being, actually.

By the way, Quiddtich season is over. We didn't win the Cup, obviously. In part, this was due to the fact that we have a very young team this year: Oliver Wood, the eldest save yours truly, a fourth-year, Keeper, Angelina Johnson, second-year, Chaser, Alicia Spinnet, second-year, Chaser, and the terror twins, and you know how old they are and what position they play. Please don't share this with Fred and George, in case you've been covertly corresponding with them. They feel bad enough already, and they are decent enough Beaters, considering they're only in their second year. (Not everyone can be as incredible as me.) Even Wood's pre-game pep talk wasn't enough to hearten us before the last match, in which, you will be delighted to hear, that we were slaughtered out of this world by the blasted Slytherins. (On a side note, in case you are really bored and want to read all my crazy musings, which you probably don't, you can tell why Perce and Wood are buds― they're both really long-winded, and thirsty for glory. Wood's more focused on winning than I am, and I'm the Captain. He also is sure that I have been hit on the head with too many textbooks since I've selected to work with dragons, rather than becoming a professional International Quidditch player. Percy agrees, for he insists that I'm refusing an opportunity for fame and fortune, but I never gave a hoot about all that. Pretend friends are no fun, and that's all money and fame but you.) Anyway, enough about the sucky last Quidditch match. I don't want to get even more depressed and jump out of the Gryffindor Tower or something equally stupid, but dramatic that would earn me a place of notoriety in Hogwarts legends.

My relationship with Tonks, in case you're wondering, is not likely to cheer me, or else I might be out kissing her, not writing to you. (No offense, but you're not a girl. I should get paid a penny for thoughts like that, because then you could get back change.) In fact, there is no more relationship between us anymore. When she learned that I was leaving to work for dragons in Romania, she had a swell time yelling at me in a crowded Charms corridor. At least, I hope she had an awesome time, because, if she didn't, then neither of us did, and she would have wasted a ton of energy, changing her hair and skin like twenty times. After screaming at me for awhile, she dumped me in front of a horde of interested teenagers, and ruled that she wants nothing to do with me, if I'm going to abandon her (Yes, abandon her. Apparently, we've been married without my knowledge or something) like this without discussing it with her first. Geez, I should be hosting a party in the common room now that she won't bother me anymore about my leaving, because she sounded just like a younger Mum when she was reprehending me. Yet, I can't do that, as dumb as it sounds. I miss her too much. We've been together since the fourth-year, you remember. I mean, yeah, we probably wouldn't have endured the separation, but it wouldn't have to end like this, in a smoking heap of wails and hurt feelings. It could have just been a peaceful, painless, gradual removal of affections. Oh well, if she wants to have us hate each others innards until the Judgment Day, that's her prerogative. There will be pretty girls aplenty in Romania, and they'll probably find a buff redhead a lovely exotic thing.

Enough about my love life, or current lack thereof. Some halfway decent things have happened to me today, when I struggle to find them in my memory banks. Dad sent Errol to me with an apology for the morning wake-up Howler. Apparently, he was not complicit in that part of my public humiliation, which means that I might talk to him before I flee the country. (I have no intention of speaking to Mum ever again.) Still, he isn't too thrilled with me at the moment. He says that he respects my right to do what I want with my life, and all that, but he wishes that I had shared my plans with him and Mum. At that point, he dragged you into the letter. Said he couldn't understand why neither of his eldest sons confided in their parents at this crucial juncture. (Hmm. Maybe because we were petrified of being killed by Mum, which seems to be a perfectly rational fear, as I nearly died of embarrassment when I received that Howler.)

Anyway, I hope Egypt is still cool, which, now that I think about it, is impossible, since it's a desert. Sorry I vented so much, but I just thought that you would comprehend better than Matt and Dan, as you have been there with the whole-going-to-Egypt-to-be-a-Curse-Breaker affair. You've already provided some condolence by the fact that you survived the Mount Mum eruption, and that you may have read this letter in its entirety. Still, I would appreciate a note full of sympathy and advice if you have the time and energy, Bill.

Love always from pitiful me,

Charlie

Sighing, because he was going to be in for a long haul, having to reply to such a lengthy letter, Bill snatched up a particularly massive scroll of parchment, a sharpened quill, and a full ink bottle. Then he took the writing implements and Charlie's note into the kitchen, where Louis was preparing crepes, and plopped down at the table. Once he had settled himself comfortably there, he began to compose a response:

Dear Charlie,

I'm so sorry to learn that you had an awful day. I know it sounds all lame, cliché, and cheesy, but things will work out in the end. I mean, they did for me. I hope that everything looked just a little brighter in the morning, because sometimes they do you know. (Sometimes they don't, though, because you feel like you have a million one things you have to do.)

I'm glad to hear that you're able to work with dragons in Romania. I'm certain that you will enjoy it as much as I do Egypt. It's a pity Mum overreacted, and sent you a Howler. (By the way, I agree with you, Char, you didn't deserve that. That was a truly low blow that should only be reserved for real emergencies, like what Fred and George do every week.) I confess that I had hoped that she would have learned to handle it better after going through it with me. These are the kinds of sacrifices that the older children must make, I guess. We must teach our parents how to let us go, so they can be professionals at it by the time Ron and Ginny roll around. All I can say is that Mum will come to terms with your decision, as she did with mine. In fact, she might even regret driving you off with that horrible Howler. Try talking to her before you leave, because then any rift that develops cannot, in all fairness, be ascribed to you.

It's a pity McGonagall gave you a hard time, too. Sure, you might have done well to tell your parents, but there was a good reason not to, as the Howler demonstrated, I think. To be honest, you would not want to receive a Howler like that everyday. Besides, it's not a crime to keep your most important decisions under your control, for I did that for longer than you did, until early July, and I still am utterly convinced that I conducted myself appropriately, as Mum's reaction was nothing short of ear-shattering. However, her opinion doesn't really matter all that much, since you'll be out of Hogwarts soon, and safely trapped in Romania with deadly dragons.

Too bad that the Quidditch team stank this year, but, seriously, Char, it's not your fault. Even the best players, like you, require an adequate team to back them up, and they are young, which explains your unfortunate loss to Slytherin.

As for Tonks, it's a shame that your relationship ended like that, but are you sure that you really can't make up at all, or anything. I mean, she overreacted, but you could have spoken to her earlier about your plans. After all, I told Heather, Jennifer, and Steph, my former girlfriends, about my Curse-Breaker goal, so it wouldn't be a surprise to them, not that we've kept in touch that well. (Neither have I written to Chris or Mike, or received many letters from them in a while.) Maybe you can talk to her before you leave, too, but you might not be able to correspond as much as you hope, because, after all, I have only managed to exchange regular letters with you, and I'm confident that you will face similar hurdles when you go to Romania.

I'm glad Dad tried to smooth things over. You should definitely speak with him, Char, because he'll probably just want you to promise that you won't sever all ties with your family, as that's all he asked of me. I do feel a little remorseful for not confiding in him, but he would have told Mum, and I would have been murdered before I could go to Egypt and fulfill my Curse-Breaking dream.

I don't mind the venting, as that's all you've ever used me for. (Just joking, Charlie. I know you enjoyed practicing Quidditch moves on me, too, and begging things off me.) Also, I was more than happy to provide, and shall be sending a bill along with this letter…feel free to use me for all your psychological needs, for you'll find I'm far cheaper than my competitors. Please fill me in on how everything ends up, and I expect to hear about some of your dragon adventures when you arrive in Romania.

Best of luck,

Bill

To Bill's relief, everything did work out for Charlie, as it had managed to do for him. For in the dying days of June, Bill received another letter from his sibling, this time in the middle of the day, when he was traveling through the desert with Louis, Rottentooth, and Foulbreath. Telling the others to continue their goblin word game without him, he opened the seal on Charlie's card, and, feeling immensely appreciative of the fact that his camel required little guidance, and he was experienced enough to ride it with only one hand:

Dear Bill,

I apologize for the gloomy tone that engulfed the last letter. You'll be happy to hear that almost everything worked out alright in the end. Dad got Mum to apologize for embarrassing me with her Howler, and I agreed not to sever all connections with them, as if I had been planning to do that before I was honored to receive a Howler. As for Tonks, well, she didn't want to talk to me, and I decided not to push my presence upon her, but sometimes people do have to separate, so I'm fine now. Besides, I still have Matt and Dan, who will be my friends forever.

I've just arrived in Romania two days ago, and I'm having the time of my life. I was delighted to find that I'm not the only one with a nearly (nearly, mind you) unhealthy obsession with all things dragonish. There are many people here at the reserve who share my love of these magnificent creatures, and I reckon I'm becoming close friends with several of the new recruits. Believe it or not, we are a cheery lot, and in some ways its like being at Hogwarts without all the classes, and with more Hogsmeade visits. (By the way, there is an awesome pub that we frequent that's not far from the reserve.)

At the reserve we have several Antipodean Opaleyes, who are really quite gorgeous their glittering pearly scales, although they regularly try to swallow us, but we don't mind. We know that they don't really mean any harm. They were just brought up that way, and they can't help the fact that we're so much smaller than them, and look yummy. However, they settle down mostly once we feed them sheep, because sheep is their favorite dish. (I can't blame them for that either, as I've always been a fan of lamb chops.)

We also have six Chinese Fireballs, which are able to be kept in the same pen, as they are more tolerant of each other. To make up for this agreeable trait, they are tremendously fond of humans, and will go to great lengths to try to roast us for dinner. Still, if we distract them with pigs and other large mammals, we come out safely, save for a few scratches and burns.

We have fifteen Common Welsh Greens at the reserve, and they are no trouble whatsoever. In fact, they generally avoid us, and don't really make any attempts to attack us when we come into their pens to give them their evening sheep. As a Brit, you will be delighted to hear that we have the other British dragon, the Hebridean Black, in our possession, although we only have five of them, because we can only afford to provide them with so many cattle, or else Muggles will wonder why we need so much beef.

We have one Hungarian Horntail, who we must deal with in groups of at least five or six, because it is really, really aggressive, and wants nothing more than to eat every human on the planet. Of course, since we're in Romania, we have a considerable amount of Romanian Longhorns, which we are trying to breed, because their numbers are rapidly decreasing due to the trade of their horns. We also have several Swedish Short Snouts and Ukrainian Ironbellies, whom we are conducting extensive research upon.

Anyway, I am finding it truly exciting to be around so many of these magnificent creatures, and to be around people that share my passion. I hope that you are uncovering loads of treasure, and developing a tan that is almost as wonderful as mine.

Your not yet burned to cinders brother,

Charlie

Smiling, Bill tucked the note into the pocket of his robe, and made a mental note to respond that evening while Louis made some French food.

For months, the boys corresponded through their letters, keeping each other updated on their latest escapades with mummies and dragons. In August, Bill received a note from an unusual correspondent borne in the beak of an owl he had never seen before. One glance at the neat, perfectly proportioned handwriting informed Bill that the letter was from Percy. Wondering vaguely what on earth could have sparked this sign of affection from his haughty sibling, Bill read:

Dear Bill,

I hope that your endeavors in Egypt have been met with nothing, but wealth and success. It is with great chagrin that I now inform you that I understand your unusual career selection, because I have recently read that Curse-Breakers are very well paid, which of course, means that they are very successful. Still, I am utterly convinced that the Ministry is my best paved path to fame and fortune, but I respect your right to choose your own. I still cannot reconcile myself to Charlie's decision to deal with the menaces of dragons, rather than pursue a career in International Quidditch. After all, although I find flying and sports to be completely abhorrent, a majority of the world's population does not share my conviction, so Charlie could have been very famous and successful in just a few short years. Anyway, enough about Charlie's choice, as what is done is done, and cannot be undone, except perhaps by Charlie. Speaking of which, you could, if you were so inclined, drop him a line about reconsidering his job decision next time you write him.

As for me, I have no doubt you will be pleased to learn that I have followed in your capable footsteps and been made a prefect. I sincerely hope to be made Head Boy in two years time, just as you were. I am confident that I can be as successful as you were in these enterprises. Rest assured, Bill, that, rebellious hair style notwithstanding, you were a very talented Head Boy, as most people had nothing but respect for you. While we are discussing your hair, may I be so bold as to suggest that you cut it, if you have not already done so? If you have already done so, forgive me, for I have not seen your picture in a while. Mum saw me write that, because I am writing this epistle at the family table, and she asks that I forward her request that you do the same thing.

As a reward for being made a prefect, I have received Hermes, named, obviously, for the Greek messenger god, who is, of course, the lovely owl that gave you this note. I have no doubt that he will got along well with Nekhebet, as they were both honored with names from the mythology of very advanced early civilizations that modern society owes a great deal to. My being made prefect will undoubtedly serve to curtail some of Fred and George's antics, as I have experience in dealing with our rambunctious brothers. I am hoping that if I can succeed in controlling them, a Head Boy badge will be in the making for me. Of course, the fact that I am a prefect will benefit Ron in that he will have someone older and respectable to turn to for able guidance, which I shall be more than happy to provide him with. However, it also means that he will be left in the hands of Fred and George on the train ride. I shall have to instruct them sternly to be helpful and nice with Ron, as it is my duty as a brother and prefect.

By the way, if you are writing to Charlie, you can inform him that Oliver Wood has replaced him as Quidditch Captain. I am more than satisfied with his appointment, even if he is not of Charlie's caliber, though this is not intended as an insult, since few wizards can rival Charlie's skill on a broomstick.

Hoping you are as well-off as I am,

Your prefect brother,

Percy

This letter, loaded with words that only Percy would employ in casual correspondence nearly made him choke on the croissant he was eating for lunch. Rolling his eyes, he wondered how on earth he could safely respond to this one. In the end, he settled for congratulating Percy on his present and new prefect badge, and wishing him well in the year to come. Then he apologized for the seeming curtness of the letter, stating that he had to cook dinner and was really tired after a long day in the tombs, which was a lie, as yes, he was exhausted, but he could have written a longer letter, as he did to Charlie, and he certainly did not have to cook supper, as Louis always insisted on handling meals.

Two days after this, when they returned to Cairo, Bill received a troubling piece of information. When the goblins dropped off the treasures looted from a pharaoh's pyramid, they returned from this endeavor, scowling.

"What's troubling you?" Louis inquired in Gobbledegook.

"Everything," growled Foulbreath, still in his native tongue and Rottentooth offered a grim nod of agreement.

"Well, glad we could clear that up," Bill replied in the goblin language. "You know, when you talk about problems like that, it's much easier to resolve them."

"For your information, there has been a break-in at the Gringotts branch in London," Rottentooth snarled.

"What?" demanded Bill and Louis simultaneously, gaping like halfwits at the goblin who provided such a revelation.

"You heard me," Rottentooth answered testily, "someone managed to break-in at our branch in London. What's even more awful is that it was a high security vault, which means that we're definitely going to have to increase our security globally. After all, we don't want anyone to believe that our security is in anyway subpar."

"Was anything stolen?" frowned Louis, his forehead furrowing.

"No." Foulbreath shook his head, as they drove their camels off into the desert. "The vault in question was actually emptied before the break-in, thank heavens, otherwise we might have to pay the owner, which would be a waste of valuable work and treasure."

When September began, Bill realized with a pang that he no longer was aware of what was occurring at his alma mater. Charlie was the one that had filled him in on everything, and know he was off with dragons in Romania, providing Bill with detailed descriptions of dragons eggs and scales and feeding habits. Still, he missed hearing about the exploits of the team and the latest gossip. It seemed that none of his other siblings thought about him much. Fred and George certainly never deigned to update him on their pranks, and Percy, after that last pompous notice, did not write again. In fact, the only letters he received from England were from his parents, who wrote monthly, and Ginny, whose writing quality was slowly improving. With Ron's absence at the Burrow, she scribbled more to him, telling him about her blooming Quidditch abilities, and filling him in on all the games she had devised to attempt to keep boredom at bay without her playmate.

For his birthday in November, he received a homemade card and a box of Deluxe Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans from Ginny, a sun-repellent potion from his parents that Bill suspected his mum had purchased, a book that he actually was surprised to discover he enjoyed on ancient Egyptian curses from Percy, an Eye of Horus from Louis, who refused to tell Bill when his own birthday was, and dragon-hide boots from Charlie. The boots, Charlie insisted, had been made of hide from an already dead dragon, so no dragon had suffered for his fashion, something that Bill had not been too concerned about anyway.

In early April, his assumption that Ron had been living a quiet life at Hogwarts was shattered when Charlie sent him the following letter:

Dear Bill,

Guess who I just got a letter from? I'll tell you, because you probably would never guess it. Ron! Hah, he likes me better than you. Actually, he doesn't, to be totally honest. He just needed me, and since I'm a halfway decent older brother I agreed to be of service. Apparently, he's become friends with Hagrid as well. (I can feel your exasperated sigh from here.) Somehow Hagrid has managed to get his hands on a Norwegian Ridgeback, which reminds me of that time he attained those chimera eggs, and Ron asked me if I would be interested in taking it. Of course, I said that I would be, and told him to meet my friends, who would pick it up, on May the seventh at midnight on top of the Astronomy Tower. I am aware that you, as a former Head Boy, cannot condone rule-breaking, but I don't think we can accomplish it otherwise, since I don't want to get Hagrid busted for having an illegal dragon in his tender care, and Ron doesn't either. The odds of them getting cut aren't that great, anyway. I mean, everyone on midnight patrol falls asleep, and there is no need for them to contact Dumbledore since the dragon is already arranged to be moved to the appropriate facility. Damn it, I've got to go and subdue that Hungarian Horntail, because the rest of my co-workers are about to be reduced to ashes.

Your harried sibling,

Charlie

Smiling at the melee that two of his younger brothers had concocted for themselves again, Bill wrote a letter commanding Charlie to tell him how the scheme worked out. He was rewarded on May the ninth when the following note appeared in the care of an owl from the dragon reserve:

Bill―

You requested that I write you to tell you how the evacuation of the Ridgeback went. Well, you'll be pleased to learn that the Ridgeback arrived without incident, and we've just managed to get him into his own pen. I am excited to do some research on him, but first I have to help Kenny, Steve, and Chad resolve that dispute between the Horntail and the Fireball, and then I have to put some salve on my latest burn.

Your slightly burnt brother,

Charlie

After that, he heard about no more incidences in Ron's first year at school until Percy wrote to him to tell him that Gryffindor had won the House Cup, something that clearly sparked Perce's excitement, because his handwriting was not as perfect as always.

Dear Bill,

I am pleased to inform you that Gryffindor has finally won the House Cup again. In part, we owe this victory to Ron. We also are appreciative to Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and, surprisingly enough, Neville Longbottom, who is a clumsy individual who is not gifted in the brain department. Ron and his best friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, managed to accomplish some sort of highly secret plan that somehow entailed an evil Quirrell and seems to have a relationship with You-Know-Who. I regret to state that I am not clear upon all the details, but I know that Ron received fifty point for being a brilliant chess player, which he is, Hermione, who is a serious, intelligent girl who generally abides by the rules, received fifty points for her cool head, Harry Potter got sixty points for his pure nerve and outstanding courage, as if anyone would expect anything else from the boy who conquered You-Know-Who, and Longbottom was granted five for standing up to them, which broke our tie with Slytherin. I have better board the train now, but I thought you would be interested in knowing. You need not tell Charlie, because I have already updated him.

Your brother,

Percy

As he read this, Bill scratched his head. When did Ron become friends with Harry Potter, and what on earth did they do? He shrugged, suspecting that he would never find out. Well, at least life at Hogwarts was not settling down anytime soon, like it ever would with a Weasley there, and at least Ron was oaky, because it sounded like whatever he had been entangled in was deadly.