Chapter 10: Mistress of the House

This is a fairly short chapter, and I hope you enjoy it. I am working on original universe stuff now as well (and will be delighted to tell you more if you ask).

The evenings and the nights were the worst. During the day, she cleaned up, cared for the pigs, and pretended Arthur would be coming home from work and then they would read the paper and listen to the Wireless together. Grimmauld Place hadn't been used for an Order meeting since that disastrous birthday party for Snape, that she knew of anyway.

Nanny Ogg was right. An empty Burrow made this the hardest time.

At least she could throw herself into Christmas preparations. She was careful with money, despite the temptation to make up for her husband's absence with presents, but Bill had helped her decide how much could be spared after the monthly payments, including the mortgage. It's only going to be a couple of years till it's paid off, she thought at she looked at the ledger. But there isn't going to be anything coming in from Arthur's job. I'm supposed to get a small pension, but it hasn't started yet, and won't till the beginning of the year. I don't want to sell any of the pigs just for Christmas. That's a solution that only causes more problems. And I really don't want a loan, though Bill said the bank would be reasonable. It's bad enough that we owe them as much as we do. Should I get something for Hermione, too? I don't even know if she's going to be here, or with her parents. She might think this is a good time to see them, with so many troubles.

She wrote down everything she spent. I don't want to start running a tab at any of the stores. We have enough for everything for the regular payments for the next three months, and surely by then the pension will start. Arthur always paid the bills and then let me know how much was left over.

Molly had heard horror stories of everything taken from widows who spent too much. At least I've already paid the mortgage for this month. Snaptooth was nasty enough I was ready to clout him, and maybe next time I will! He tried to send me away before I witnessed him writing it down. I'll write a note to Poppy telling her about it. I should set the pigs and the ghoul on someone who plays that kind of game. The goblin had finally written down her payment in a small blue book, about the size of a piece of bread. She thought Bill would be proud of her.

In fact, while she was thinking of it, she wrote that note right away and sent it off with Errol. I really need a new owl. The poor fellow is on his last wings, but that'll have to wait.

Once she was done, it was just before lunch and the rest of the day gaped like a lost tooth. It's been over a week since I've cleaned up at Grimmauld Place. One of these days the Order will have another meeting, and they'll be horrified to see I've done nothing all this time.

She still had her key, so she packed a bucket of cleaning supplies and Apparated to the front step. Molly heard some funny noises inside as soon as she opened the door and slid her wand into her hand. Once she was in, she saw the source of the trouble—some pixies were playing merry hell in the kitchen. They were probably upset because she'd made sure the remaining food in the pantry was locked up. She didn't think any pests could get into it but decided to hex first and ask questions later.

It was really satisfying to fling spells right and left. It was like smashing bugs or tossing gnomes, only more fun. Soon the pixies were lying on the ground unconscious. Once she thought she'd found them all, she bound them up and Banished them. She laughed as she thought of the fun they would have in the Forbidden Forest with all the other predators around. Granted, Incendio'ing the lot would have been a more permanent solution, but the place smelled bad enough already.

The portrait shrieked. "Help! Burglars! Invasion!"

"Oh, hush, woman," Molly said. "It's just me. Someone had to deal with those pixies, and you can't."

"You're not supposed to be here any more!"

"I'm Harry Potter's mother now, which makes me his guardian. He was left the place in your son's will. And he's of the blood, through his grandmother Dorea Black. I might add that my blood is just as good as yours, even though I'm sure you'd rather not admit it." Her father had been Orion Black, after an unscheduled trip to Lancre—before Sirius Black was born. "If my mother had cared to make a fuss, your children might be the ones with broken lines, not me."

That silenced the old woman, if only for a little while. It was rare enough that Molly savored it.

She then attacked the sink trap, and she was really tempted to use an Incendio on it. Some people had obviously used the kitchen and like always, didn't clean up after themselves. It wasn't like Kreacher to leave it alone this long without even trying, though.

Then again, there wasn't much soap left here. Her house was so clean now she hardly recognized it. At first, she had just sat and mourned and let the dust pile up. Then she'd woken up one morning and realized what a sty the place had become. With so much spare time, she'd cleaned out areas she hardly remembered existing. The poor ghoul was traumatized by all the time she'd spent in the attic. She'd left the caches of disreputable magazines alone, though she planned to dispose of them once the boys were married. It said a lot about her earlier neglect that some of them were a decade old. Why, she'd even been out in Arthur's shed and discovered his little collection. She'd left them right where they were, too, and had sat down and cried for nearly an hour missing him that much.

Then she'd looked at his projects. The only one she thought she understood was the large tube in a box called a 'tellyvision'—it must be like the 'tellyphone' Muggles used to talk. She privately thought either one would be more helpful than short Patronus messages—she could contact her children a lot more often and not have to write letters all the time.

She'd love something better than the clock to check on them. Then she blushed as she realized what she might catch them at. She'd had another thought. What if she could find out what people on the other side were up to? Now that might be really helpful. She'd tried reading through the Muggle manual Arthur had left on the table but it hadn't made any sense. Playing around with a wire had generated sparks that made her jump back.

We have the wireless, but that works with magic. Maybe if I learn the charms that sends voices and music out, I could find some that could make the telly show pictures. I should write Professor Flitwick. I'm sure he'd know what I was really asking for, but there's never been a hint of anything Dark about him. Maybe I should ask the Headmaster first and see what he says but write down what I think as soon as I'm back at the Burrow. Arthur and I started doing that when we saw what poor Snape was going through, and it's still a good idea.

She thought about the possibilities as she cleaned and dusted Grimmauld Place. Someone had met here, and she should ask the portrait about it—she might get a straighter answer instead of being shuffled off with 'you don't need to worry about it.' There were a lot of things all of them should worry about. Christmas would be a good time for the other side to cause trouble with everyone's mind on presents and pudding.

Kreacher appeared and growled at her. She repeated the formula she'd given the portrait and he backed down. "Already helped the Heir when he was with you," he said with a scowl.

"I'm glad you did. I told him he didn't need to work for his keep, but I think he just wanted to hide. He's tired of being shown off like a prize pony."

Kreacher looked annoyed, probably because he couldn't find anything wrong with what she said. That reminded her to check the pantry. Everything was low. You'd think that people fighting a war would care about food, but obviously that was wrong. She made a list and sent it with the house elf to the grocer the Order had an account with. Once he was back, he looked a bit more cheerful as they both put everything away.

Maybe he'd been going on short commons. She had him put together a meal for her and ordered him to have a plate for himself. She followed that up with another command that he was to eat and drink whatever he liked whether anyone was here or not. Once the Black will was probated, Harry would have most of the money, the Order was in for a nice bonus, and Remus wouldn't be poor any more. At least the dear man could dress a bit better—no more old clothing except for his favorites. Arthur had his, too. She knew better than to throw out his lucky Christmas bonus shirt.

Molly stopped and shivered. He wouldn't need it now.

Maybe she ought to see what was in good shape at home and let the boys pick out what they wanted, then give what was left to the shops that sold second-hand gear. None of it would fit Remus, he was much too thin. Moody was a bit rounder—but the gift might make him wonder if she planned to replace Arthur with him. We went through that once already, even after Albus did the counter to the Fever Dance spell. The way he acts around Snape is more like jealousy than worry about him being a Death Eater spy. The night we played Snapdragon I thought he was going to duel Snape over me right there at the table. It was a good thing that Arthur came in when he did.

When I heard about the Veritaserum, I thought my heart would break. Now, I want to break Mad-Eye's remaining leg, and if he ever pulls that again, I'll go after his wooden one as well.

She washed down her late lunch with a cuppa. Her appetite had been off ever since Arthur died. It wasn't worth the trouble to fix a whole meal if she was the only one there to eat it. Maybe she needed to come over here more often, if only to send a bit of live steam down the sink trap.

They probably thought I was too wracked with grief to ask over for their last meeting. Till a week or so ago I suppose I was.

The evenings and nights were too quiet.

She arose, cleared her dishes, saw Kreacher had cleaned and put away his own already, and went back to work. Once she was done, at least the public areas were fit to look at. Harry shouldn't have to worry about such things himself. I'll have to ask Kreacher what he thinks about another, younger elf around the place. He can't keep up, not with anybody living here, and it wouldn't be right for Harry to have to make do on his own.

As she worked, she uncovered several places where Sirius had hidden more liquor. She thought she had checked them before and not found anything. Maybe he'd put a charm on the spots to make her think so. Her first impulse was to pour them down the sink. But they didn't belong to her, and some of the Order members liked a drink while they were here. She put them all in the locked part of the pantry—it was good thing the doxies hadn't found them! Or Fletcher, who would have stolen them all and sold them to an off-hours shop. What does he do with all the money? I hope some of it goes to the Order!

With the rest of the kitchen all clean she caught a musty smell in a corner. She saw a nest of blankets which clearly hadn't been laundered for some time—and a curled-up house elf snuffling into a pillow.

"You must be so sad," Molly said gently. She offered him a dry kitchen rag, since he might think a handkerchief was clothing. "You've lost just about everyone, and it will be months before Harry can come here safely. Is there any kind of rite I can do, since I'm his guardian now? Would it make the house feel better?"

Kreacher opened up one eye and glared at her. "Mistress is gone. Master is gone. Both Young Masters are gone. Everyone is gone!"

"Not all of us," Molly said. "I'm Old Master's daughter on the other side of the blanket, and Harry is now my son. Arthur is still on the family tree, although he's gone too." She let the tears she still wanted to shed show in her voice. "See, three bits of a bloodline make a whole one, right?"

The elderly house elf was quiet. At least he wasn't yelling. She offered him the rag again. "I promise that when you're gone, you'll join the rest of your line in honor. But I have a problem. When you're not around, this place won't have an elf. Now, I don't know if you choose the next one, or I'm supposed to do it. I need your help, Kreacher. Harry shouldn't have to clean."

The elf sat up, both eyes open now. "No! Youngest Master shouldn't! Told him that. But he ordered me to sit and eat with him." He looked scandalized.

"Yes, that sounds like Harry," she said. "And I'll keep on telling you to eat and drink properly, too. There's no need to scrimp here. That's an order from me."

"Yes, Mistress." Kreacher then stood and bowed to her.

Right, that's one problem solved. "And here's another order. Tell me what I need to do to have this house be happy again. Is there a ritual or other thing I need to do? I have to hold this place in trust for Harry till this summer when he turns 17. And when he does, I order you to tell him what he needs to do to have the house belong to him properly."

"Yes, Mistress," the elf said. He cracked a smile. "I tells Young Master he needs to have the proper rite, but he just kick me. Other woman, she says she temporary mistress till summer, but she stays in the fire, never comes through." The elf looked smug.

That must have been Narcissa Malfoy. With all the fuss over custody of Harry, she'd forgotten what the two sides had said about the house. Arthur had told her that if they'd lost Harry's guardianship, the Order would still have access to this place till the boy turned 17. If necessary, Harry could have been left with his Muggle relatives to keep him from going to the Malfoy family. It sounded like Narcissa had tried to come here but kept from doing so. I think we have a lot of thank Kreacher for, Molly thought.

"I am Mistress till Harry brings a bride here," she said. Her voice had a funny echo, as if the house had heard her. "And you are a brave elf to protect this house."

Kreacher looked startled, as if he hadn't expected her to notice his role.

She remembered something else, too, "Kreacher, I want you to go through this house and bring me anything that's been changed into a Portkey. I also want anything that's been cursed to do something bad if a Master or Mistress touches it. I'll stay out of your way while you work. If it's going to take a long time, let me know." She didn't want to leave the place till all those items were out of the way.

"Yes, Mistress!" The elf disappeared.

That sounded eager enough. She made herself another cuppa, and wished she'd brought the Wireless. Then she visited the loo, which could use a bit more work to her eye. However, she didn't want her magic interfering with Kreacher's, so she just made a few mental notes for later once she was back out again.

"So this house has a new Mistress," said a calm voice from the portrait.

"Yes, it does," Molly said. She faced the picture. "And you have only yourself to blame. I remember…I remember what you told me about Regulus, once. How could you?" And from what she understood, Mrs. Goyle had made the same choice.

"It…it all seemed so simple at the time…" Painted tears rolled down her face. "His treachery could have led to all of us being destroyed. I thought at the time my older boy was on the other side and would have to look out for himself, but he had always managed before. After Reggie died, with Sirius going to Azkaban, I thought he'd finally seen the truth. I believed that our lord's victory would see him free, and that it was only a matter of time." She choked on a sob. "Reginald didn't suffer, I made sure of that. I had Kreacher gave him his favorite dish…it only took a moment. I was so wrong."

No wonder the elf has problems, Molly thought. How horrible to know you helped kill someone you loved so much. She had to sit down. All of her children could come to her door with the Dark Mark on them, and she couldn't raise a wand to any of them.

But I have to find a way to guard my thoughts about Percy or I will lose him. I have to talk to everyone and make sure we all learn Occlumency, especially Harry. Ron is likely to tell little Hermione, and she probably knows enough to cause trouble if anyone captured her anyway.

"I couldn't do that," she said, looking up at the painting again. "I could never be that loyal to anyone, not even the Headmaster."

"At the time, I thought all of us would die if I didn't trim one limb," the portrait said. "Now our branch is gone, and the rest dwindled. I used to pity my sister for having only girls, and one of them married to a Mudblood…and yet all three of hers are still alive. This generation is cursed. Even Andromeda has only one child and no grandchildren yet. Narcissa's boy seems a frail reed to me. I wondered if it was the Mark strangling our families, but even the members who didn't take it seem to suffer." She glared at Molly.

Molly glared right back. Seven children, all living and with magic, was a record few families could boast. "Maybe Andromeda just didn't move far enough," she said, once she thought about thing. She'd never met the woman, save for occasionally passing her in the halls, but she thought marrying a Hufflepuff would have been enough to counter any curse from being in Slytherin. Maybe she should have moved all the way to Lancre.

She concentrated on what was important. There had to be a way to save Percy, no matter what side he was on, or what side anybody thought he was one. She herself didn't have any grandchildren, either, and a person would think that either Bill or Charlie would have settled down by now.

Walburga seemed to pick up what she was thinking. "I know plenty of what goes on here," she said. "I've been spelled not to give it away to anyone not in the Order. Your secrets are safe with Kreacher once you've gone through the Guardian's rite with him. Once you're outside this house, though…"

"Yes, I know." Maybe even Moody would be happy if she insisted on constant vigilance in this way. That would be a nice change.

The two women looked at each other, one painted, one living, and knew each other kin in more than blood. Family meant everything to both of them. Most of the Order members didn't really have one, except the Order itself. I expect the Headmaster likes it that way, she thought. And I wouldn't be surprised to find out if Moldywarts is the same. How can anyone turn against her own children, though? Perhaps it's just as well that none of mine are Squibs. I've seen Arthur's face when his cousin is mentioned. Maybe we're just as bad in our own way.

Before she went back to cleaning, she made some notes. She'd forget her head some days if she didn't. It'll be hard for me to concentrate on Percy being a traitor, though, since I'm probably not supposed to know he even has the Mark. Oh, I know! All I have to do is to remember Arthur, and the way his body felt against mine. Ha, You-Know-Who will blush beet red if he still can once I pull up some of those memories!

Oh, Bridget, that was an open wound, and would be for a long time yet. Her body still yearned for her husband's flesh next to and in her own.

Then she spotted Kreacher, who sat and looked dejected in a corner. He probably felt bad about not being able to keep up with the place, and she couldn't blame him. She'd felt the same way when she'd finally woken up from her daze and found the Burrow falling apart. After the family Christmas, she'd have the kind of mess she was used to. She was almost looking forward to it.

"I'll leave this bucket of supplies behind when I leave," she said. "It might be easier for you to have them. You've done well with what you had. I'll ask again about the Guardian's rite the next time I come. We should have discussed it today, but it's getting late, and I don't think I care to try anything here at night without knowing what might happen. Oh, wait," she added, as she remembered what she'd asked him to do. "Did you find any cursed objects or Portkeys we need to deal with? This way the Heir doesn't have to."

"Oh, Mistress, they fills a whole room!"

Either the Death Eaters had been busy, or this house was that full of cursed objects to begin with. It could be both. "Then lock off that room so Harry can't go in there. Once he takes full ownership this summer, we can all go through them." Was it wrong to wish that Fletcher had the joy of them? She continued. "The next time I come here, we can go through what I need to do to convince the house that I'm the Guardian, and what Harry needs to do when he comes of age."

Kreacher wrung his hands. "It's so hard to have a new mistress!"

"I know." If someone tried to take over the Burrow while she was still alive, they'd definitely have words. "You saw me talking with the Lady, who was mistress before me. Yes, we disagree on some things, but we'd both do anything to keep the family going, whether you call it bloodline or whatever else. We argue on how we'd do it, but you know that's going to happen." She paused for a moment.

"I know you love her, Kreacher. I don't ask you to love me, but I hope we can deal fairly with each other. I didn't interfere when the last master ill-treated you, it wasn't my place, but there won't any of that going on, I can tell you!"

The elderly elf collapsed on himself and wailed aloud. Molly knew what she needed to do. She scooped him up, wrapped him in a blanket and rocked him in a chair by the fire. "You are a good elf," she crooned. "You've been so brave to carry on so much longer than you should have to. I won't bring any other elf here without your say-so. And you'll be chief elf, able to give orders to it yourself. You'll have to teach it all the right things to and how to serve this family. Don't worry, little love, the Blacks aren't all gone, not by a long shot. This house will echo with joy and laughter again someday. I'll have the Order do their Christmas party here. I'll see if I can bring Harry here for part of a day, too, so you can do him what honor you need to do. There, there, you're a good elf…"

Kreacher slowly fell asleep, like a tired child too cranky to go off right at first. He snored with a thin little whistle, while the white hairs in his nose fluttered in the breeze of his breath. Molly just stayed there and slowly rocked him. The very old sometimes became like children, like Nanny Ogg's mum, who shrank and shrank and shrank every passing year. The way that Nanny Ogg herself was, though nobody was going to say so. Even Granny Weatherwax bent a bit more over the years, though everyone was still terrified of her as if she was Snape's great aunt. She was glad that Perdita and Queen Magrat were there for backup in a pinch. There was even word of a young witch on the Chalk who looked fair to take Granny Aching's place, once she was done with follies like kissing the Winter.

I know one winter creature I wouldn't mind kissing…but that will have to wait. Merlin, watch over him, let him live long enough for me to have my year in black…his eyes picked up on the way I looked in black. Arthur's absence is too fresh for me to look anywhere else.

For now.

She gently tucked Kreacher into his nest of musty blankets—he'd probably scream if she washed them—and then stood up straight to unkink the ache in her back.

"You are a good Guardian," Walburga said softly, as if she feared to wake the sleeping elf. "And a worthy Mistress of this house. Kreacher was already here when I came here as a bride. Hogwarts has many elves. Surely one of them will be respectful enough to be guided by him?"

"I don't know them very well," Molly said. "Winky already belongs to someone else. Dobby is nearly Kreacher's age and set in his ways, though he loved Harry enough to trick Lucius into giving him a sock. I could ask Narcissa Malfoy, a Black from another branch, if she knows a younger elf who needs a home. It might be some time before Harry marries, if he lives long enough. But I swear there will always be a member of the Black family here. This house has been deserted too long."

"I suppose I'll have to call that good enough. It's my fault it became that way…"

Yes, it was, Molly wanted to say, but held her tongue. Walburga's way had caused the deaths of both sons—would Sirius be married with children now if he hadn't had to face her? Then again, Sirius had his own problems even away from her, or so I've heard. It was handy for us that he hated Snape so much that he only growled at bit at the rest of us, and so we never put a stop to it. I still don't know why the Headmaster kept him a prisoner here, ready to take any excuse to risk himself. Well, Albus would certainly never confide in her.

Walburga was a funhouse mirror of her own concern over family. Since her children were all still alive, at least for now, she thought her own way was better.

"The Blacks are still strong, even if the branches have to lean a bit. All of mine still belong, and Harry does now, too. Remember, his grandmother was your Aunt Dorea."

"Your chess master uses children in his war, too," the portrait sneered. "A good thing that wretched half-blood takes most of the fire on both sides, so they hate him instead."

She'd heard her lot complaining as well. Children are dying on both sides in this war," she agreed. "At least you and I are really talking to each other, and some of us are talking out of reach of our master, too. Ah, that one hit the gold judging by the look on the painted face.

"Yes," Walburga said. "Someday I want to talk to my friend Elizabeth about her mistake. I wonder if she's realized she'll have to take a fertility potion if she wants to keep her place…I was too old when Regulus died and was dead myself when Sirius escaped."

The portrait seemed well informed. I should ask Dumbledore how well the painting is spelled to not give away secrets to anyone else. The time might come when Walburga could talk to anyone she liked. There were too many bad ways that could happen.

"I need to run home and feed the pigs," Molly said. "And before you laugh, think hard about where the ham you once ate came from."

The portrait only sighed. "How can I be happy with you in front of me? You're the living proof that Orion hated me so much he fled somewhere else before he could be reconciled to marry me. Of course, I'm going to hate you!"

Molly saw the sense in that. "But I'll be a good Guardian and care for Kreacher."

"I know. Close the curtain, I'm done for today."

She did. On her way out, she pulled a bottle of brandy out of the pantry and relocked the compartment. She had a Christmas pudding to start, and a tot to give it every other day or so. All the children were old enough not to take any real harm now. She didn't think Sirius would mind too much, with Harry getting his fair share at Christmas dinner.

Once she was home, she didn't know what to think. It made sense that Walburga would think her son Sirius had done the proper thing by betraying the Potters and looked forward to his release from Azkaban. And it was only reasonable for her to think her entire family would be on the block if she looked like she cared for a traitor to You-Know-Who.

Drat! She'd forgotten to ask the portrait who'd been meeting there!

She thought about the dreadful old woman. I'm so glad I could never do anything like that! Of course, I only had Percy to worry about, and I was more than happy to learn he wasn't really a traitor. She snorted at the thought he could have been lying to them all. Oh, he'd tried to fib over the years, but he was about as good at it as…as Arthur had been. Then again, working for Dolores had probably taught him some ways to get around things.

At least she didn't have children on opposite sides the way Walburga had. I think it was a very good thing my boy spilled his guts to us. He might die anyway, but it won't be at the wands of any of us. But he might die by theirs from one of us talking out of turn. He must be terrified thinking of how a word from us could be his death sentence.

She had all evening now to herself to worry about it. We should all learn that Occlumency thing anyway. Now, how to ask Moody about it without him expecting any invitation to lead to more? Snape knows it, too, but I don't dare have him dip in my mind! She had a very good idea of what that would lead to, and almost wished she dared. Maybe I'll suggest to Ronald that keeping Percy safe could mean extra lessons for him there at Hogwarts. He won't like it, but little Hermione will see the sense of it if he doesn't.

Percy Weasley had gone beyond terror and into a blue funk by now. Most of the time he rather liked his tiny flat, since he had more room in it than he did when he lived at the Burrow where he usually had to share.

Most of the time he liked the silence, too, or just the music from the Wireless' second channel. Even hearing Madam Sprout doing her "Weeds Weekly" turn on Saturday mornings was pleasant.

Now he was too afraid to enjoy any of it.

How do I keep my family safe? I've put them in so much danger just because I couldn't stand for them to hate me. I don't dare tell Moody! He'd turn me into an apple and throw me in a pie for letting my tongue wag like that.

Then he was inspired. If I can find a way for Pettigrew to buy off on my story, maybe he'll help me with this. If nothing else, he'll be the one in trouble for not saying anything should this come out. If I'm going to go down, I'll take the rat with me!

But how was he going to contact him? Percy knew how to do a Patronus by now; it was rather silly that his rabbit wore spectacles and a waistcoat, but he'd always loved the Muggle storybook Dad had brought home so long ago. Funny how he'd seen Alice look like Miss Lovegood in his head as soon as the girl had started her first year—he'd noticed her when he had been friends with Penelope and had seen her arguing with the Eagle at the door.

But manifesting a Patronus and sending a message that way was right out in his new social circle. Using his Mark was as likely to bother Professor Snape as it was the rat. Oh, well, he'd just send an owl with a request to talk to Pettigrew soonest and hope for the best. Why the Ministry didn't try to send owls to the people they really wanted to speak to and use a tracking spell the way Madam Umbridge had the first year he'd worked with her, he had no idea. He'd proposed the idea to Mad-Eye one evening and had only received a hoarse laugh for his trouble. Apparently the retired Auror had come up with the idea for the last war and been told no. "It'd work for a few people, the big shots would find a way around it, and the really big shots would just buy their way out again. Granted, it'd do wonders for our budget…" Then Moody had proceeded to drink far too much again that night, so Percy hadn't asked again.

Percy was glad to have his own bird now; the family ones were hopeless, and everyone knew whose they were, too. He sent Albert off with a note that only asked for a meeting, drinks were on him. Pettigrew might appreciate seeming popular with someone—it hadn't taken long for him to see the rat's position in the pecking order was rather low. He'd already been careful to send occasional cards just to cheer the poor man up.

He was surprised, though, to see the fellow come through his own rather small Floo so quickly. "Mr. Pettigrew!" he said with feigned joy and made much of him—letting him have the one comfortable chair, making him a sandwich and a glass of ale—the kind he'd found out that his mentor liked—and letting his guest chat about nothing for a bit. He did much the same for Moody, though he was careful to clear out the pipe smell—he would be surprised if some people didn't know the old man's favorite pipe-fodder from previous encounters.

The rat unwound and seemed pleased to be treated so well. Then Percy summoned up his courage and let the news fall.

"Mr. Pettigrew, I have a problem. I'm afraid it might be a problem for the rest of us, too. You see, when Father talked to us for the last time, I told the family that I was a Ministry spy."

The rat choked on his chip butty and Percy had to pound him on his back to loosen it up. Then he nearly kicked himself for automatically helping him out.

"Lad, what did you do that for?"

"One of my brothers accidentally saw my Mark when I was showering," Percy said, and hoped he wasn't blinking too fast the way he knew Dad used to when he fibbed. "I had to say something, sir. And now everything is perfect!" He beamed at his controller with as much sincerity as he could.

"Er, could you explain why that is?" Pettigrew looked panicky now.

"This means they'll help me whenever I ask them to do something," he said, still beaming.

Peter began to regain color. "Well, yes, but surely they asked who was running you, right?"

"Who else but Moody?" Percy said with a cheerful smile. God, it was fun to tell the truth so it sounded like a lie. He'd never quite understood how that was supposed to work till now. "He'll just scowl at them and tell them he doesn't know a thing about it. Of course, they'll believe he's just lying about it. He's around the Ministry a lot for someone who's retired, and Dad…" his voice faltered. He'd almost said, 'and Dad would know that'. "I mean…there are people there, not just Madam Umbridge, who complain about him not knowing he's retired…"

"Sit down, lad," Peter said. "No, fetch yourself some ale first, and then sit down. It's hard to lose your dad like that. No, I don't know whose idea it was, either. I don't blame you for not wanting your family to hate you, either. I'll talk to the Dark Lord about this, and I'll even claim it was my idea. Maybe he'll think it's funny to have the Weasley family helping him without knowing it." A little sweat popped out on his forehead.

Percy didn't think he was too happy about it. "Sir, I should be there with you. If there are Crucios going around, I should get my share for being the one to do it." He didn't really want to lie on the floor wetting himself like he'd seen happen to others; but then, he'd used that spell on the tramp brought in for practice without really asking if the story about him was true. "It's only right I should be punished if the Dark Lord doesn't like it."

"Ah, boy, you don't know what you're talking about…"

"I helped roast that beggar myself, sir," Percy said, though he shivered at the thought of it happening to him.

Peter laughed. "They say the first one's the hardest to endure," he said with a rueful smile. "I would argue that one. Well, no time like the present. Come with me, Himself is having a quiet evening. No doubt he'll enjoy amusing himself with our little dilemma."

Percy drew in a deep breath. "Could I have that ale first, sir?" He hated how his voice squeaked.

"Why not? Being drunk doesn't help, though. Trust me on that."

Percy nodded, and took only a small amount, just enough to help his dry throat. Pettigrew then pulled out a packet of funny-colored powder. "You'd best hold my hand as we go through—this is one hearth that's carefully guarded."

He didn't hear what the rat said, and he should be happy about that, he supposed. Moody will have a heart attack when I give this report, he thought. If I live long enough to give it.

Once they'd tumbled through the network, they were allowed through. Percy observed the Dark Lord with a glass of wine and the newspaper, as if it were a normal Sunday evening for him, too.

He did not seem pleased to be interrupted. Well, getting between Mum and the Quidditch pools had its terrors, too, though not quite like this.

The rat explained the problem. Percy really felt foolish now. "It wasn't his idea, my lord, it was mine. He is only trying to help."

The red eyes blinked. Percy decided to shut up, he'd already said far too much.

"It is not the most stupid thing I have ever heard," came the high, deadly voice. "And I should really recruit more Gryffindors. I'm more used to having people blaming each other than taking responsibility. Snape is like that, too, but he has others to protect. What's your reason?"

For second Percy didn't understand the sounds coming from the Dark Lord—could he be laughing? Oh, he hoped that was so!

Then he fell to the ground screaming in agony. Pettigrew was right beside him.

Once the pain stopped, the Dark Lord stood over them. "The next time you have a brilliant idea, Mr. Weasley, ask me first."

"Yes, my lord," he gasped.

"Now leave. Both of you."

They were happy to do so. Percy tried to apologize to the rat but was waved off. "We'll settle up later, I'm for a hot bath and some whiskey. Makes it hurt a bit more at first, but you get over it sooner."

He was very glad to be in his flat. By himself. He shuddered when he thought of making his report to Moody, though. Whatever the old Auror did would last even longer and probably be just as painful…