Chapter One: American Pie—Erm—Spy
October 1997
Three women sat huddled around the worn, wooden table. The eldest among them, red-haired and softly-shaped, flicked her wand lazily, bringing the kettle back to the thickly knitted trivet at the center of the table. The pink haired woman nodded eagerly as the youngest, a pierced and leather clad blonde, continued to recite names.
Her eyes were closed and her nose was scrunched in an intense look of focus. "And then there's your mother and you, but you two don't count. Your mother married a muggle-born," the blonde said in an American accent. She opened her eyes and looked at the other two women.
"You've got it! That's everyone," Tonks congratulated.
The American witch jumped up from her seat, extended a high-five to Tonks and began a quick little victory jig as Mrs. Weasley stood and refilled their cups with tea.
"She's just so young," Lupin said with his arms crossed over his chest. He stood with McGonagall and Kingsley at the edge of the kitchen, watching the interaction between the three witches.
"She's the same age you were last time, Remus," McGonagall gently admonished.
The blonde witch began reciting names of Prewetts and Weasleys, shrugging out of her leather jacket and drumming her fingers on her black-denim clad knee with each syllable of a name. She had a practiced look of disgust on her face as she tried to lace every syllable with a tone of disapproval. Molly nodded encouragingly.
"And regardless of her age, she's good," McGonagall assessed. "She's smart, yet empathetic. Over-sells her story while remaining believable. She's pretty enough to be wanted, but vulnerable enough that women won't find her threatening."
"Do you still think she's ready to attempt the infiltration on Halloween?" Kingsley asked in his deep voice.
McGonagall studied the three in front of her.
The American witch had finished listing the names. "That's good Jen, but you forgot Ron," Molly stated.
Jen's eyes narrowed, and she looked at Molly. "Someone who interacts with Undesirable Number One and No-Majs isn't worth counting. Anyways, he's dying of spattergroit, isn't he?" Her words were laced with disdain. Molly leaned back in her chair, searching Jen's blue eyes. Suddenly, Jen's face erupted in a grin. "You should see your face, Mrs. Weasley," she barked out a laugh.
Molly blinked a moment, recovering. "Yes, that was effective," Molly laughed after a pause.
Jen reached for the pencil tucked behind her ear. "How old is Ron?" she asked Molly as she jotted a note in the book before her.
"Yes, she's ready," McGonagall told Kingsley. She moved forward and placed a hand on Jen's shoulder. Molly stopped speaking as Lupin and Kingsley took their seats at the table, reaching forward to refill their own cups with more tea.
McGonagall took her own place next to the young witch and watched her carefully. "We're thinking Halloween night will be a good time for you to arrive at Malfoy Manor. With any luck, the holiday might mean they're celebrating and some protections are a bit relaxed. We also know that the Death Eaters tend to take advantage of the Muggles who are out and about that night, so it's likely to be fewer people there than usual," McGonagall explained.
Jen took a sip of her tea and nodded towards the older woman.
"Minerva will accompany you in her animagus form as far as she can. We'll also have a few other members of the Order placed strategically around in case they don't take to you," Kingsley added.
Jen looked at Kingsley. "Isn't it better if I go in alone? We shouldn't jeopardize a quarter of the Order just to get me safely inside."
Remus looked at her. "If they're suspicious, we can't allow them to kidnap you. They'd torture information out of you. It's of the utmost importance that we try to prevent that at all costs."
"Maybe some sort of magical cyanide pill would help," Jen said with a mild tone of sarcasm.
"I've been told that's not what we do," Remus said quietly as Tonks looked at him and narrowed her eyes.
"I'm just saying, it's probably a good option. I've met a ton of people from the Order, I know the safe houses, I know peoples' patronuses—" Jen said, searching their eyes.
"It won't come to that, dear," Molly told her, placing her hand atop Jen's.
"We hope—" Jen started.
"No, that's not what we do. We don't ask our members to kill themselves," McGonagall said with a great deal of finality.
"Okay, but I'd at least like to practice a bit more with a Legilimens. I'm good, but I'm rusty, is there anyone who can—"
"No one we could have you practice with will compare to what you're going to face," Kingsley said quietly. His tone lacked its normal reassurance.
Jen took a deep sigh and began to rub her hands up and down her thighs. Her heart raced, so she closed her eyes and tried to focus on steadying it.
Tonks leaned past Molly. "It's all going to be okay," she said quietly to Jen.
Jen opened her eyes and gave a nervous laugh. "This is a war, I don't really think that's something you can promise," she said as she looked into Tonk's amber eyes.
Molly suddenly pushed herself away from the table. "Let me get started on dinner," she stated loudly as she bustled to the stove and set about reaching for pots and pans. Everyone ignored the thickness in Molly's voice and the soft sound of her blowing her nose into the collar of her robes.
The door just off the kitchen suddenly opened. George Weasley entered the kitchen and was greeted by raised wands. "Oh, right," he mumbled as he extended his wand. "Expecto Patronum,"he said casually. Wands lowered as the formless white mist coagulated into wings and a beak and fluttered around the kitchen until it extinguished. "Fred is a few minutes behind me," George added as he removed his overcoat and placed it on one of the hooks by the door. He set his bag on the kitchen table and opened the latch. He began passing out invisibility hats to those present and then took another stack of the hats over to one of the crates besides the kitchen entrance. "Just let Fred or I know if you're running low again. We're making them as fast as we can," he added as he closed his case and set it zooming upstairs towards the room he shared with his brother.
"We'll take some more," Tonks told George as he sat at the table. "They're really helpful for some of the younger muggleborns we encounter who don't have very good disillusionment charms yet," she explained. Kingsley passed his stack of hats to Remus.
"Why did you and Fred separate," Mrs. Weasley hissed from the stove.
"Mum, it's fine—" George started.
"No, it's not. It's the only thing I ask. Please don't travel alone if you can help it," Mrs. Weasley said in a strained whisper, she spun to glare at her son.
George looked contrite. He sighed. "You're right, mum. We're sorry." He paused. "Where's dad?"
Molly turned back around to the stove. "He's not home yet, and he hasn't sent word," she mumbled.
George looked even more conscience-stricken. "I'm sure he's fine," he reassured his mother. She handed him a plate which he took without meeting her gaze before he joined the others at the table and began eating his supper.
The members of the Order sat around the table, chatting. As with all of their conversations these days, there was a strong undercurrent of disquietude, but for the moment, feeling safe around the Burrow's well-loved kitchen table, their bellies full of food, the apprehension decreased. That is, except for Mrs. Weasley, who was still anxiously flitting about the kitchen, attempting to serve already-full guests more tea or pudding. Her movements were also punctuated by furtive glances as the great golden clock with all of her family member's names pointing directly towards "mortal peril." Jen had only ever seen the clock's hands pointing toward "mortal peril," but the twins, defending their mother's sanity, had assured her that before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return, the clock had actually been useful. Jen observed Mrs. Weasley silently allowed the woman's visible anxiety to carry some of her own.
In a fortnight, Jen would proffer herself to the Death Eaters. She knew she should feel terrified, and yet, she felt numb. Or, perhaps more accurately, numbness was the only thing she would allow herself to feel. She could not afford to give into the fear. Numbness was best, she could lose herself in the numbness. She could focus on the story that the Order had worked with her to concoct.
Her father had been related to the old pure-blood wizarding family known as the House of Greengrass. Her father's mother had been a third daughter, and so when she married a Crowley, her parents had been content with the match. The Crowleys had not been one of the great pure-blood wizarding families, but their blood status was pure enough that the Greengrasses had not scoffed. Jen's father had been a mild-mannered wizard of middling talent. He had the profound ability of being invisible in a crowd—not actually invisible, but it was rare that people would take notice of him. Her mother, at least according to her father, was the opposite. He had described her mom as a beautiful, effervescent muggle-born witch. Her father had been shocked that she had paid him any attention. But she had, and after Hogwarts, the two began a clandestine affair.
Jen's grandmother and grandfather on her father's side had been fairly mild as far as pure-bloods go on the blood status topic. It seemed, according to Jen's father, as if the senior Crowleys had little interest in devoting their energy towards the Dark Lord's reign. They cocooned themselves in their status for the sheer purpose of safety, but they failed to instill in their son any sense of superiority or loathing towards muggle-borns. So, when Jen's mother fell pregnant, it took a while for her father to realize that his relationship posed a threat to his family, both the old and the new one he was creating. It was too far along into her mother's pregnancy before her father realized the need to leave the country. So, they waited until after Jen had been born to escape. In the final months before her birth, the pair had planned every aspect meticulously. Sitting in bed late at night, the young couple would whisper the details of their escape to one another as they waited for the imminent arrival of the baby.
After Jen was born and when Jen's mother felt strong enough, they made their exit. But, young and ignorant, they had not counted on how significantly a nursing infant would slow their travels. Early on in their journey, they encountered a low-ranking Death Eater who recognized Jen's parents from their Hogwarts days. A duel ensued, and both her mother and the Death Eater were left dead. Jen's father, in one of the few brilliant moments of his otherwise unremarkable life, quickly realized that having killed a Death Eater put his life in jeopardy. As his infant daughter wailed in his arms, he sought a strength that he would never possess again and continued on alone to America.
Unfortunately for Jen, once her father arrived and set up house in a decrepit flat on the bad side of Milwaukee, any strength he had once possessed left him. A mere shadow of the person he had been with Jen's mother, he began to drink, he was unable to do magic, he neglected his child and his own health. Jen had not known what it was like to go to sleep feeling safe and satiated until she started at Ilvermorny. She could not hate her father, she pitied him. Nevertheless, when he died during her sixth year, having drunk so much that he poisoned himself, she felt a profound sense of relief rather than grief.
After graduating school and completing some additional studies in Legilimency and Occlumency, she found herself restless. Her father had subscribed to the Daily Prophet and she had never given up the habit. He had wanted to feel close to home and now she used it as a means of feeling close to him, or at least, the best possible version of him she tried to maintain in her mind. Watching a war develop through the pages of a fickle newspaper was an unsettling thing. Eventually, she realized she wanted—no needed—to do something. So she planned to travel towards the action. She packed up a small bag with all of her earthly possessions, made her way to London, and began looking for anti-Voldemort allies. She arrived in July, shortly before the Ministry of Magic fell. By August, she had run into Hagrid in a bar. His reputation preceded him, and they shared a few pints. Before long, she told him who she was and what she wanted to do. Within a week, she was meeting with McGonagall and Kingsley who had turned her father's tragedy into a lie, a pure-blood wizard who was manipulated by a muggle-born witch. In an attempt to save his half-blood child, her father had reached out to a former schoolmate Death Eater, and the two had killed her mother and taken the child. Fearing Azkaban, her father had run off with her. Now, she was back to claim her rightful pure-blood status in the wizarding world order.
She knew the lie would work best if she herself began to accept it as truth. Any qualms she had about jeopardizing her father's name were squashed when McGonagall had told her that her paternal grandparents had died years ago. From that point on, she had begun to slowly chip away at the image of her father until all that remained was the one that McGonagall and Kingsley had created.
The party froze as a soft knock sounded at the door. Jen jumped with the suddenness of it. Mrs. Weasley became the perfect picture of relief as she bustled over to the door and opened it just a crack. Jen could hear a hushed conversation between Molly and her husband before Arthur Weasley was ushered into the house. Molly handed Arthur a plate who gladly accepted it and sat down to eat.
Those around the table continued to sip at their teas. A few brave souls stoked meaningless conversations in a poorly veiled attempt to distract from Molly and George's growing anxiety. Mrs. Weasley kept purposefully placing herself where she could face her now-useless clock while George was unnaturally quiet and fell into the unfortunate habit of touching the hole where his ear had once been on the left side of his head.
A soft pop from the garden distracted everyone and Molly let out an audible sigh of relief as Fred opened the door. He quickly cast his patronus and a bird identical to that of his brother flew around the kitchen until it faded. As Fred moved towards the table, he shot a cocky grin towards Jen. She returned the favor. Their exchange was unnoticed by some, but ignored by all.
Fred gratefully accepted the plate his mother offered and tucked in as others accepted the nightcap that Molly passed around. Eventually, even polite topical conversation seemed too much for the tired group. Remus and Tonks announced that it was time to go home, and McGongall and Kingsley expressed the same. The four people stood and gathered by the door as Jen popped up from her chair and ran to go find Crookshanks. When she returned, the four Order members had cast disillusionment charms over themselves and Jen could only see the faint outlines of their bodies. She passed a groggy and unhappy Crookshanks to Mrs. Weasley. Fred opened the door for his mother who unceremoniously tossed the cat outside as the invisible Order members moved behind him. Crookshanks let out quite the series of unhappy feline sounds which reminded Jen of a human cursing.
Arthur and George moved into the sitting room. Jen watched as Mrs. Weasley's lips moved without sound, presumably counting to some unspecified number before she let a now-howling Crookshanks back into the house. Once she determined it appropriate, Mrs. Weasley moved over to the door and let Crookshanks in, picking him up and cradling him to her chest as she joined her husband and son in the sitting room. Fred closed the door behind his mother and gestured with his arm that he would follow Jen into the sitting room.
Moments after she spun around, she felt Fred's hand reach up and squeeze her ass. She gave a small jump and turned to glare at him. He shot a boyish grin back at her as she rolled her eyes.
A little later, the Burrow sitting room was filled with a comfortable, homey silence. Molly was knitting from her favorite well-worn armchair. Arthur and Fred both sat on the couch with their legs crossed in identical positions as they each read a book. George and Jen sat on the floor playing a game of chess.
Molly lost her battle with a yawn and her eyes had grown too tired to follow her pattern. She wrapped her knitting and placed it in the basket next to her chair. "Arthur, are you ready for bed?"
Arthur, without speaking, closed his book and placed it on the table and then stood up to join his wife.
"Dinner!" Molly suddenly exclaimed.
"No, we've already eaten, mum," George said without looking away from the chessboard, but Jen could see the hint of a smile as he continued to focus on the board.
"Yes, George, I know. I forgot to wash up," Molly explained.
"Don't worry about that, I'll do that," Jen said as she looked up at Molly.
"Admitting defeat, Crowley?" George asked.
Jen studied the board. "Nope, I would've had a checkmate in four moves. I was trying to protect your ego." She stood and headed into the kitchen.
"Bloody hell, it's worse than playing with Ron," George mumbled as he stood and looked at the board himself.
"One of you go help her, she's a guest," Molly ordered as she took the hand offered to her by Arthur as he pulled her up from her seat. The twins watched their parents go up the stairs and turn into their bedroom.
"Well, I'm knackered," George said as he stood and stretched. He turned to wink at his brother as he went up the stairs.
Fred stood and placed his book aside, setting it next to his father's. He walked into the kitchen, reaching for his wand and muttering muffliato as he passed through the doorway.
Jen turned when she heard him enter and gave him a small, sad smile. She still had a dish and a rag in hand, manually scrubbing the dinner plate, her fingers covered in white suds. Her leather jacket was still hanging over the edge of a kitchen chair. Her oversized button was rolled up to her elbows and the entire front of her grey tee shirt bore a big water stain from how she had leaned over the kitchen sink.
"They've set a date," she told Fred. Her voice had not trembled, but her eyes showed a true fear.
"So I gathered," Fred supplied, having heard snippets of conversation before everyone left. He slipped out of his brightly-colored robe and tossed it atop her leather jacket. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his own elbows and stood next to her at the sink.
"How do you feel about it," he asked her as she turned her attention back to the dishes. She passed him the clean and rinsed dinner plate as she reached for a mug.
"I don't want to think about it," she said after a moment of silence. She shrugged. "I want to think about anything else other than attempting to become a Death Eater in two weeks." She wiped her hands off on the sides of her button down shirt and went over to the storage table that sat underneath the magical clock. She squatted and reached for the wireless in the lower cabinet. "Tonight, I just want to fucking dance."
She tuned the radio looking for a Muggle station. She finally found one that was playing familiar songs from her childhood. At night, when her father had passed out too early from drinking and she had assembled some sort of measly dinner for herself from whatever shopping her father had managed to do, she would lean her head against the thin wall of her bedroom and listen. She would breathe in the scent of pot and cigarettes as she listened to her neighbors' laughter as Bob Dylan strummed in the background. Far from a happy memory, it still brought her a profound sense of comfort to listen to songs she had heard when she was young.
Jen and Fred worked together in silence. They were up to their elbows in soap bubbles and stood impossibly close in front of the large farmhouse sink. Once the dishes had all been scrubbed, Fred procured a set of towels and Jen dried while Fred moved around the familiar kitchen and placed things in their appropriate cupboard. He would gently bump his hip against Jen whenever he passed her or reached for another plate, punctuating his favorite lyrics of the songs with physical contact. During her six week stay at the Burrow, he had come to appreciate Jen's taste in Muggle music.
The wireless station switched to a series of advertisements, and Fred stopped putting away plates and came over to help Jen dry. When the music returned, Jen grinned as she heard the folksy piano chord and a man's gravelly voice.
"Our song," she mouthed wordlessly to Fred. He nodded towards her and then cocked a smile as she whipped the towel in her hand over his shoulder and spun away from him. She took two steps back and then turned to face him, placed her hand on her heart, and began to sing along. Fred turned and propped his hip against the sink as he watched her with a smile.
"Come on, join in!" Jen ordered with a contagious laugh as the tempo picked up and she stretched her hands towards Fred.
He reached forward for her and then pulled her close to him and the two began to dance in an energetic jig. The two did not part until the tempo slowed again. Fred released Jen's hands and once again, she took two steps back from him and closed her eyes and sang.
"You have no idea how much I enjoy this view," Fred said wistfully as he looked at her.
Jen's blue eyes snapped open and she studied him. Slowly, he could see anger begin to burn. "You're looking at me as if it's one of your last chances to ever do so," she said in a measured tone. All joy from dancing and singing had been instantly erased. She made quite the angry figure standing in front of him as her hands moved to her hips.
Fred crossed his arms over his chest. "So," he retorted. He suddenly found that he could not look at her, and he focused on a spot on the wall just beyond her head.
"What would make you think that's helpful to me right now?" she fired.
"I think it's fair to say that when I'm looking at you, it's usually something I do for me, not you," Fred said slowly. To his own frustration, he found that his voice shook with a controlled anger. Her attitude was making him angry. They could have simply had fun, been with each other as they washed up, and then, they could have truly been with each other when he followed her upstairs to Bill and Charlie's old room as was their usual habit.
Jen dug her fingers into her hip. "Again, that's not helpful," she said dangerously.
"Jen," Fred sighed. Perhaps there was still a chance he could get them back on track. "Please, just stop. Let's not get into a row."
"No," Jen spat. "Let's argue about it. I need you to understand this, Fred Weasley: I am coming back. I am not changing. I'll be the same person," she said definitively as she moved her arms across her own chest and mimicked Fred's stance.
He released his arms and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Sure, whatever you say—" he shrugged.
"No!" Jen interrupted. "Say I won't change, say I'm coming back," she angrily ordered. She blinked back tears, but Fred could see them threatening to spill.
Fred moved towards her, opening his arms to pull her into a hug.
"No!" Jen shouted furiously. Fred was grateful that he had cast muffliato. It would make the situation so much worse if his mother or father came downstairs to see what was going on between the two of them. "I don't want you to comfort me right now, I need a fucking vote of confidence."
"You seemed to get plenty of those from everyone at dinner," Fred mumbled.
"They don't know me the way that you do," she whispered back.
Fred sighed, leaned back against the sink, and looked at her. "Fine. I think, more than anyone else that I know, that you'll remain as unaltered as possible by the Death Eaters."
Jen looked at him. She blinked hard and angry. "That's not what I said I wanted to hear," she said quietly.
"What?" Fred said loudly. "Do you want me to lie to you?"
"I don't fucking know!" She met his tone as she angrily swept her hair back off her face and wrapped it in a knot atop her head.
"Because I think you're a fool if you think that what you're about to do isn't going to affect you deeply," Fred started.
Jen laughed caustically. "Oh, so you think I'm a fool now," she said angrily. But Fred could see the hurt breaking through the rage in her gaze as he stared into her eyes.
"You're not from here, you haven't been here these last two years. It's been shit. I've seen a lot of people affected by all of this," he threw his hands up emphatically. "Fucking hell, I've known people who have died, people who have gone missing without a trace. I've lost friends. . ." he trailed off. He ran his hand along his face using the sound of his stubble rubbing against his hand to calm him.
Jen laughed cruelly. "So you think I'm naive."
"No, I think you're new to this war," Fred clarified.
"You don't know what I've been through," she hissed. She spun on her heels and reached for her leather jacket, knocking his robe to the ground as she freed it from the chair. She headed for the stairs without another look in his direction. She counted down the number of stairs until she reached her room, until she could let herself cry.
Fred watched her go upstairs and then turned to finish the dishes. He was angry at the war, angry at Jen, angry at fucking Death Eaters. After realizing that he no longer wanted to dry the dishes by hand he bent down and picked up his robe, searching the folds of fabric for his wand. With a quick flick, the dishes dried themselves and then zoomed to their proper places in the kitchen. He spun the dial on the wireless and silenced it then went up the stairs to join his brother in their room.