If there was such a thing as the anthropomorphic personification of motherhood, it would be Molly Weasley. Stout, red-haired and sharp-tongued, Molly Weasley ruled the Weasley children with an iron fist and the Order's headquarters with an iron fist wrapped in velvet. McGonagall was a teacher, and one of the best, but she didn't fully understand the way children thought. Molly did. Which was why McGonagall had gone to her.
The Weasley family made their home at the Burrow, a ramshackle structure taller then it was wide set on a few acres of farmland at the edges of Ottery St. Catchpole, a village a few miles outside of London.
"Invasion, he claims?" Molly said, pouring tea for both herself and McGonagall. "A tall tale, that."
"I saw it with my own eyes, Molly," McGonagall said, taking her cup and inhaling the aroma. "I'm still not sure I believe it."
"You'll be telling the Ministry, won't you?" Molly asked, sitting down across from the kitchen table from McGonagall. Like everything else in the Burrow, the table showed signs of wear. But it was wear in a good way. The Burrow was more then a building, it was home, and you could feel it the moment you entered.
"No," McGonagall said, shaking her head. "I won't be. Or the rest of the Order for that matter."
"An' is that wise?" Molly asked. "An invasion's nothing to ignore."
"Can you imagine how Fudge will react?" McGonagall asked. "Or people like Moody, for that matter? For heaven's sake, Molly, I performed a memory charm on the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I lied, and covered up the damage, ordered the house-elves to keep a secret and all in all, the penalty is my job at least. Azkaban is more than likely." She shook her head as she glanced out the window. The young man, who had given his name as Gary Stuart, lay on the grass out in the garden, basking in the sun. "And if he's telling the truth about these . . . Sues, getting the Ministry involved is the last thing we need. A Sue controlling the Minister of Magic? I shudder to think it."
Molly considered this and then finally nodded. "Fair enough. But why not tell the Order?"
McGonagall hesitated and sighed. "What do the Muggles call it? Women's Intuition. I can't explain why, but my instincts tell me that telling the Order is out of the question. If Crystal was any judge, their interest seems to be in the students alone."
"I can't say I welcome that as good news," Molly said. "From what you told me Crystal said about Harry and Ron," she shuddered slightly. "I got no problem with those who live that life, but to be forced into it . . . " she shook her head.
"Where are the children anyway?" McGonagall asked.
"With Arthur in London," Molly replied. "He got his hands on a new car and he's like a child with a new toy. Insists on driving it everywhere. They'll be visiting Arthur's mother--she and I never got on--then to Fred and
George's for a quick visit and then over to Surrey to fetch Harry." She refilled her cup of tea. "Hermione will be arriving next week. But while I'm flattered you told me all this, Minerva, you haven't told me why you brought him here."
McGonagall sighed and stared at her teacup. "He's hiding something. I think there's more to why these things are here and why he's hunting them. Oh I have no doubt that they're dangerous or that his abilities make him the only one who can stand up to them one on one . . ."
"But?" Molly prompted.
"He won't tell me why they came here or where they came from. Or how he came by his abilities. Maybe he thinks that if I know everything, I'll turn him in. I don't know." She took a deep breath. "Molly, I haven't lived anywhere but Hogwarts for thirty-five years. There's nowhere else to put him. No where I can trust, anyway, and if this is going to work, he can't be in the castle and he can't be in Grimwauld Place."
"Because if you're going to sneak him in as a student, you can't afford to have Hagrid, Snape, or Filch seeing him, and figuring him for a non-student." Molly said, nodding agreement. "But he's no wizard. How are you going to get him in?"
"Its not widely known, but every year has a Squib or two," McGonagall said. A Squib was a witch or wizard with no powers. "They don't take classes like Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Transfiguration, but there's still plenty for them to learn." She smiled thinly. "And scheduling is the job of the Deputy Headmistress, after all."
Molly nodded. "An' how will he pay?" She asked. "He has no money and he'll need supplies."
"Crystal had money."
"You're joshing."
"No. I don't know how, but she had a vault at Gringotts and there's a fortune in there. If it was Muggle money, I'd say well over a million, possibly two."
"Cor," Molly breathed. "An' what will be his story, then?"
"A distant relative of mine," McGonagall said with a shrug. "Hogwarts is hosting exchange students from each country this year, and he'll be one of the representatives from Canada. His parents wanted to be sure he'd arrive safely so they sent him to me. He'll be taking Crystal's place on the roll. I've already changed the name."
"Plausible enough," Molly approved. Canadian Wizards lived more like Muggles then Wizards and Witches. They tended to be a close-mouthed lot, and kept to themselves. They were also far more accepting of things that the rest of the Wizarding World wasn't, such as werewolves and those with nonhuman or Muggle blood. It would cover any mistakes Gary might make that would betray his ignorance of the Wizarding World.
"There's one other thing," McGonagall said, her voice deadly serious. "You can't tell anyone. Not even Arthur. Lie if you have to, but what I've told you is to remain secret."
Molly's mouth fell open and then she shut it. "Are you mad? Bad enough I have to be keeping me mouth shut from the Order, but to lie to me own family?"
"I know, Molly. But there's far too much at stake. Which is why that if we are arrested, you're to turn on me and say I forced you."
"What?"
"You heard me," McGonagall said grimly. "I'm not going to drag you into this any more then I must. If anyone goes to Azkaban, it will be me. Tell them I forced you, because that's what I'm going to say. I intend to accept full and complete responsibility."
Molly Weasley stared down at her teacup for a full five minutes and then sighed. "It can't be harder then fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she said with a laugh. "All right. I'll do it. I don't like it, mind, but I'll do it."
"Thank you, Molly," McGonagall said with a smile as she rose and crossed the room to the fireplace. Taking some powder from a pot, she threw it on the flames and stepped in, yelling "Hogwarts!" as she did so. The green flames leapt up and McGonagall vanished. Molly watched the flames die down and then cleared the table and set the dish brush to cleaning. Walking to the window, she watched Gary for a while. His expression was sad, in fact, he seemed depressed about something. That, at least, she knew how to handle.
Nodding to herself, she walked out to the garden to where he lay. "Up you go," she said cheerfully. He regarded her curiously, but got to his feet and Molly led him around the Burrow to the woodpile. "Best cure I know for a body with something on their mind," she said, nodding to the wood. "Dinner's in a few hours and we'll need..." she thought for a moment. "'Bout twenty bundles of logs or so. With about fifty in each in each bundle. Cut 'em in quarters, mind." She pulled the axe from the woodpile and handed it to him. "It's enchanted, so don't worry about dulling the edge. Off you go then." They didn't need that much wood, actually. The Burrow had five years worth laid in as it was. But it would give the boy something to do, and they could always use more wood. He stared at her for a moment, and then his lips quirked in an almost smile. He pulled off his shirt, and set up the first log. It split on his first chop. Molly watched him for a few minutes and then walked back inside the house to begin dinner.
The sun was setting when Harry Potter arrived at the Burrow. Harry was a short, skinny boy with glasses. He had green eyes and messy hair. He was often smoothing his bangs to hide the lightning shaped scar on his forehead.
On the seat next to him, Ronald Weasley leafed through a magazine he had picked up in Diagon Alley. In the front seat of the car, Mr. Weasley was talking to Ron's younger sister Ginny.
Harry liked the Burrow. He had to spend a few months at the house of the Dursleys every year and as far as Harry was concerned, nothing in the world was so miserable and boring as that. The Dursleys did not like magic and hated anything that might draw attention to them and give any clue that Harry was a wizard. In fact, they told everyone that Harry attended a school for the Criminally Insane or something like that. All Harry could remember was that it was called St. Brutus'.
On the seat between him and Ron, his snowy white owl Hedwig slept in her cage, head under her wing.
"Oi, Harry, lookit this," Ron said, passing him the magazine. "They've come out with another racing broom. Claims it's faster then the Firebolt." Harry started to read, but looked when Mr. Weasley announced that they had arrived at the Burrow.
"Who's that?" Ron asked as the car pulled around to the garage. Standing in the yard was a young man chopping wood. "Dad?"
"I don't know, Ron," Mr. Weasley replied as he parked.
Mrs. Weasley came out of the house as they got out. She gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. "Did you have a nice trip?" she asked.
"Yeah, but who's that?" Ron asked, pointing at the young man chopping wood.
"Oh that's Gary," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Professor McGonagall brought him. He'll be staying with us until term at Hogwarts starts. Now get your things inside."
Once Harry and Ron had put away their things, they drifted back to the woodpile. Gary was still there, chopping wood with an almost frightening single-minded intensity.
"Hi," Ron called. Gary looked up. His face was beaded with sweat and the undershirt he wore clung to him like a second skin.
"Hi," he said back. He talked strange, with an accent.
"I'm Ron," Ron said. "Ron Weasley."
"Gary. Gary Stuart."
"I'm Harry," Harry said. "Harry Potter." And then he braced himself.
Harry was the most famous person in the wizarding world and reactions to meeting him varied from the simple upward flick of the eyes to his scar to outright enthusiasm or disgust. Gary did nothing like that; in fact, there wasn't even a flicker of recognition. He only wiped his hand on his pants and shook their hands. He was a slightly taller then Harry, thin but athletic. He had messy brown hair and light blue eyes.
"You're American, aren't you?" Ron asked.
"Canadian. Not that it matters. Wherever you go, the--ah, there's similarities. Canada and America are pretty close friends and all." He put the axe on the woodpile and began bundling up the wood.
"What you chopping up wood for?" Ron asked. "The axe does it if you tell it to."
"I don't mind," Gary said with a shrug. "It's something to do."
A bell rang.
"That means dinner's ready," Ron said and the three of them headed towards the house.
Mr. Weasley asked Gary questions about Canada, but Gary either evaded them or gave vague answers, not that Mr. Weasley noticed. It was strange and Harry mentioned it to Ron as they got ready for bed that night.
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "An' he nearly said something he shouldn't have out there at the pile, remember? Wonder what he almost said?"
"I don't know," Harry said as Ron turned out the light. Moments later, Harry heard Ron's breathing change and knew that he had gone to sleep.
Rolling onto his side, Harry watched the moon shine through the window and bathe the room in a pale light, washing out the bright orange of Ron's bedcovers. Harry loved Hogwarts. But after five years there, he had learned that the universe seemed to regard Harry Potter as the butt of its own private jokes. Every year, Harry had faced some crisis tied to the dark wizard known as Voldemort. He knew why now. At the end of the last school year, Professor Dumbledore had finally explained about the prophecy that had tied
him and Voldemort together. Looking back, he could see that much of what he had gone through had, through whatever pain Harry had felt, helped prepare him for what was coming.
Over the summer at the Dursleys', Harry had forced himself to face his future. One day, he would meet Voldemort in a Wizard's Duel, one that would only end when one of them was dead. Harry didn't like it, and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't scared, but he would face his destiny.
As he drifted off to sleep, he recalled something his teacher at the elementary school he'd attended before Hogwarts had pinned to the wall behind her desk. It had been a quote from someone named Euripides; "Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad."
Harry was fairly sure that mad did not mean angry.
There was always something to do at the Burrow. With only Ron and Ginny at home, there was a large list of chores. Harry was always glad to help, if only to repay the Weasleys
for all the generosity they had showed him. Gary, on the other hand, threw himself into the chores he was given with zeal. He was nice enough, but very silent.
He reminded Harry a little of Viktor Krum, a Bulgarian wizard Harry had met once. The difference being that Viktor spoke no more then he needed to. Gary, on the other hand, seemed to be working to avoid thinking.
Still, there was only so much work the Burrow needed and much of the day Gary spent with Harry and Ron walking around the land that the Burrow sat on.
"My Dad's great-grandfather's great grandfather bought this land from a general's widow in 1812," Ron told them on one such day. They had hiked to a small hill near the edge of the property which was topped by a large rock. The rock looked as though it had been there since the beginning of time and was worn smooth by the weather and generations of Weasleys climbing on it.
They had climbed on top of it and sat side by side, bottles of butterbeer in hand. "The general had gotten killed in the war and his widow didn't care to stay. Been in the family ever since. There used to be a bigger house here, but it caught fire and burned down to nothing in 1902. The Burrow was actually quarters for the farmhands." His face
fell. "Grandpa sold most of the land before Charlie was born. This is all that's left."
"I like it," Gary said. "It's . . . nice. Very different then from back home."
"Go on then," Ron said. "What's Canada like? Big and open I imagine."
Gary thought for a minute. "It's very cold," he said. "Except in the middle of summer. If you leave the towns and cities, you go armed, because its no man's land out there." His voice was haunted, and his eyes distant, as though he was seeing things they couldn't. "Even away from the cities, you can still smell the stench of pollution in the air like bad perfume. Not that you dare stay out that long. The DSA might get ideas and then--" He shook himself out of his reverie and smiled ruefully. "I'm fortunate I made the exchange program."
Ron shrugged and then noticed the setting sun. "Oi, we better be getting back. Mum gets frightful if you miss a meal."
Nimbly, he and Harry leapt down from the top of the rock, but Gary stayed where he was, staring down at the rock. He shifted around a bit. "Oi, mate," Ron said. "What's
wrong?"
"The rock moved when you guys jumped off," Gary said. "I felt it shift, just a bit."
"Go on," Ron said. "Tell us another one then."
"I think he's serious, Ron," Harry said.
Ron looked at them. "Then how come we didn't feel it?" He demanded. Harry shrugged. "I've been climbing that thing all my life and so have my brothers. Not once have we felt that thing move"
"Dunno."
"You're probably imagining things, mate," Ron said to Gary. "Come on then." Gary nodded and hopped down.
Hermione arrived just after breakfast via Floo Powder. She was sunburned and wore jeans and a T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on it that clung far to closely to her form. "I am completely jet lagged," Hermione said. "We only just got in and I had to run off to make it here in time for Harry's party."
"Where did you get the shirt, Hermione?" Ginny asked.
"We visited my aunt in Florida. She absolutely insisted I that I wear. . . this and Mum didn't want me to argue." Hermione shook her head.
Fred and George Weasley, Ron's older brothers, had already arrived along with Bill and Charlie, the eldest Weasley children. Only Percy was not in attendance.
After Fred and George had hauled Hermione's trunk upstairs, and Hermione had changed shirts, they sat around talking. Gary stayed off to one side, still not comfortable with the family, and tapped his finger idly on the tabletop while he stared off into space.
"Something on your mind?" Fred asked. "You're a million miles away."
"I just keep thinking about that rock. I know I felt it shift."
"Rock?" Bill asked.
"That big one atop the hill at the East side," Ron supplied. "We were sitting on it and Harry and I jumped off. He swears he felt it move when we did. Mental."
Bill, however was rubbing his chin. Bill worked as a curse-breaker in Egypt for Gringotts, the wizard bank. "It's possible," he said thoughtfully. "You'd be amazed how many traps hang on precisely balanced systems of gears and levers." He chuckled. "Ongen, my trainer, told me once of some Gringotts curse-breakers who spent a week all but tearing apart a Mayan pyramid looking for gold. They finally started analyzing the walls and found the doorway behind a wall that was a tenth of a degree off with the rest of the
pyramid. It was easy once that was worked out." He rubbed his chin some more. "Let me get my tools."
Minutes later, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Bill, Charlie, Gary, Fred, George, Ginny and Mr. Weasley left the Burrow and walked out to the hill. Once there, Bill set up his instruments and had Harry, Ron, and Gary repeat what they'd done yesterday.
"Nothing," Bill announced.
"Told you," Ron said beaming.
"I felt it again," Gary said.
"You sure?" Bill asked skeptically.
"Honestly," Hermione said, rolling her eyes skyward. "Why not just move the darn thing?"
The Weasleys exchanged looks. After some discussion, Fred, George, and Charlie were sent back to the barn for some tools and work began in earnest. The rock was a local landmark and Mr. Weasley would not let them simply roll the rock down the hill. So, the Weasleys, and Hermione stood back and cast Wingardium Leviosa, allowing Harry and Gary to lever and then lift the rock up onto its side. They then attached two pieces of crystal to the rock, which Bill said would keep it upright. Then they all gathered around.
Poking up through the dirt was a single sharp cone of stone. It was barely visible. "There's an unbreakable charm on it," Bill said. "Bout two hundred years old or so." He stood there, looking from the giant rock to the stone cone. "I suppose its possible," he mused after a while. "They must have been bloody geniuses though. This is some nice application of physics."
"What?"
"Physics," Bill said. "A sort of Muggle Math. Basically, that cone kept the rock just off balance enough that you could move it with a Levitation spell and some effort. The rock had to be placed just precisely so for it to work though, which is a bugger to work out." He pointed at the mud and dirt around the cone. "Unbreakable charm or no, though, the weight of the rock sank it into the dirt, and that fooled my instruments." He shook his head once more. "Amazing."
"All right, so it's a rock, why go through all the trouble of hiding it?" Ginny asked.
Harry shrugged. "Only one way to find out," he said, and picked up a shovel.
By the time Mrs. Weasley had joined them with refreshments, Harry, Ron, the twins and Gary had managed to excavate most of the cone. It appeared that whoever had set it up and gone through the trouble of clearing out a space for it to rest in. Bill theorized that the winter storms had sluiced in mud and filled the space up. After breaking for a picnic lunch, they went back to work and a few hours later, found that the cone was the lid to a huge stone cube.
At that point, everyone got out of the hole and Bill went to work. After carefully examining every inch of the cube and cone, he climbed out, took out a quill and parchment, and made a number of notes. "It's hexed and cursed," he explained. "Bloody tricky to break. Doable, though."
He handed the quill and parchment to Hermione and then took one of his tools and climbed back in. He then ran the tool over each inch of the stone, calling out numbers as he did, which Hermione wrote down.
He looked at the numbers and then called for several more tools to be handed down to him. "Basically, it's like a lock," he said. "But you have to break the curses and undo the hexes in exactly the right order or . . . " he trailed off. "It wouldn't be good," he finished. "You can do it right quick if you know the order," he continued. "But if you have to puzzle it out, it can take longer."
"A combination lock," Harry said. The Weasleys looked at him blankly. "It's a Muggle device," Harry explained. "Rather then a key, you have to spin this dial to one number, then you spin it to another number, and then spin it to a third number and it has to be the right numbers. If you do it right, the lock opens."
Bill grinned. "I like that," he said. "It's a good analogy."
The hours ticked by and no one suggested packing it in. They were all very curious, but no one suggested that Bill hurry up. At one point, he had recited the unofficial curse-breaker motto, mostly as a mantra against frustration; "A curse breaker in a hurry dies quickly." But finally, as the sun began to hang low in the sky, he pronounced the puzzle solved.
"There twelve of them," he said. "Six hexes, and six curses, with one each being fatal. You can't break each one as you go, because some of them actually reactivate ones you already broke. I'm going to write this one up when we get home. This is right up there with the curses on the Pharaohs' tombs." He tapped the cone with his wand. "Open," he commanded. Obediently, the cone and part of the box rose up, revealing an old wooden chest about the size of Harry's school trunk. It took Charlie and
Mr. Weasley's ("Bloody heavy") combined efforts to levitate it out and set it on the ground.
Whoever had made the box had been a master at their craft. The wood and iron were of the finest quality and the lid was emblazoned with a fox made of real silver and gold. It was locked with a single rusty padlock that defied opening, even with magic.
"Great," Ron complained. "All that work and we can't even see what's inside."
"Why not try Muggle Magic?" Gary asked.
"Muggle magic?" Harry asked.
In response, Gary handed Ron a rock and Ron went to work. In the end, it took seven hits before the lock finally snapped open. With trembling hands, he removed the lock and opened the lid.
Ten jaws dropped. Inside were gold and silver coins, jewelry, and gems. More then any of them had ever seen in their lives with the possible exception of Bill, but even he was shocked.
"Lordy," Mrs. Weasley breathed, breaking the silence. "Lordy, Lordy, Lordy."
Bill picked up one of the gold coins. "Well isn't that interesting?" He showed them the coin. "See that? That's the face of King George the Third."
"The Unbreakable Charm was about two hundred years old, you said," Hermione pointed out.
"Well let's get this home then," Fred said. While the others cleaned up, Bill, Charlie and Mr. Weasley set the rock back down and then they all trooped back to the Burrow, where they celebrated with a splendid dinner.
"But who would have buried this much treasure and then just left it there?" Ron asked.
"I don't know," Mr. Weasley answered. "Certainly not a Weasley--we never had this much."
"Wait, Dad," Bill said. "Didn't you tell us that there used to be a highwayman or something around here?"
"Ah yes," Mr. Weasley said. "I can't say I remember much of the story. Let me see, he called himself . . . " he trailed off and looked at the box, eyes widening. "He called himself the Silver Fox. He robbed bank coaches, government officials and any rich folks foolish enough to travel alone. Never killed anyone, but robbed them clean. Rumor had it he was a disillusioned military officer who was striking back at some of George's less then . . . sterling policies. Then abruptly, sometime around 1812, the Silver Fox disappeared and was never heard from again."
"That's right!' Harry exclaimed as he turned to Ron. "You told us your ancestor bought this land from the widow of a General who died in the war."
"Makes sense," Charlie said. "Generals weren't the sort of people who would normally be associated with highway robbery. The authorities would have been looking at the lower ranking people in the area and ignored him completely. The perfect cover."
"But then who set the traps?" Hermione asked.
"She's got a point," Bill said. "Those traps on the block were set by one hell of a wizard."
"No mystery there," Mr. Weasley said. "Many wizards, most of them Muggle born, served in the army or navy back then. Many still do. I think I'll go into London tomorrow and check the Ministry Library. He should be easy enough to find."
"I'll go with you," Fred said. "I want to check on the shop anyways." The Weasley Twins owned a joke shop they had named Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was quite popular and the twins were happy as they could be. They were doing something they loved and even their mother, who had wanted them to join their father at the Ministry, was pleased with their success.
"I'll go down to the village library," Hermione said. "My dad told me that story once and something's not quite sounding right."
And so, right after breakfast, Fred and Mr. Weasley left by Floo powder for London and Hermione, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny walked into the village. George and Charlie, with help from Bill, sat down to itemize and catalogue the gems, coins, and jewelry for deposit into the Weasley vault at Gringotts.
This left Harry, Ron, and Gary at loose ends, so Ron and Harry practiced Quidditch while Gary watched. Quidditch was the sport of wizards. It was played on broomsticks and was very fast and very dangerous.
Harry and Ron were on their House's Quidditch team at Hogwarts. With no balls, Harry caught apples Gary threw at him and then attempted to throw them past Ron, who used his broom to knock them away. They spent several hours before they tired and returned to the Burrow.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, and Fred returned a few minutes later and Fred was trying not to laugh about something. He went immediately to his twin and whispered in his ear. George's eyes widened and then he too, tried not to laugh.
"Well share the joke, then," Ron said.
"The general was no wizard," Fred said. "But his wife was a witch."
"You mean they were a team?" Harry asked.
"No," Hermione corrected, waving a page of notes. "The earliest accounts of the Silver Fox describe a masked woman. It was only later that they said it was a man. I suppose being robbed by a woman was an assault on their pride."
Fred and George began snickering loudly. "She wasn't just any woman," Fred said. "She was a noble. A baroness. The youngest daughter of a very respectable family which exists to this day . . . though the title's bloody useless, even if they claimed it." George's snickers became sniggers.
"Which family?" Hermione asked. Neither twin answered. "Well?" Hermione demanded, getting impatient.
Fred and George drew up and said the name.
"Granger."
Hermione fainted.