Best Laid Plans

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or Pride and Prejudice. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Part One: The Defence Association

Chapter Three:

After Leo, Nix, and Carina are sent to bed - not without protest, mind - Helena is somehow roped into a game of Exploding Snap with Fred and George. She's initially reluctant, but despite her ennui, she has a great time. The twins are gregarious and hilarious, quick to laugh and even quicker to smile, and between their easy banter, rapier wit, and ridiculous trash talk, their good humour is contagious.

Unfortunately, the pleasant atmosphere doesn't last. Mrs Weasley bustles in, her expression taut, and sets about shepherding them all upstairs. There's to be an Order of the Phoenix meeting that night - unexpected, but not an emergency - and none of them are to loiter around in pursuit of details.

Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny do not take their mother's edicts well. Hermione and Helena do their best to meld into the wallpaper, reluctant to be witness to or part of their family disagreement, and Helena's tempted to obey just to avoid it.

"I need to speak with Sirius for a moment," Helena excuses herself from the drawing room before Mrs Weasley can succeed in scolding her children into submission. She doesn't actually, but she also doesn't appreciate Mrs Weasley undermining her guardians' authority in their own home.

"Something wrong, Hallie?" Sirius greets her in the front foyer, wrangling a temporary suppression ward over his mother's vitriolic portrait - nothing permanent ever sticks - in anticipation of the influx of arrivals they'll soon be receiving.

"Not really," Helena replies, her expression pinched, "Just Mrs Weasley."

Sirius rolls his eyes, long-suffering but unsurprised. "I take it you've heard about the meeting, then?"

"I have," Helena confirms, "I assume you want me to keep an eye on the bratpack while you're busy?"

"Call them that in front of Emilyn; I double dog dare you."

"Who do you think I got it from?"

Sirius splutters, Helena laughs, and Walburga Black takes advantage of their preoccupation to share her prejudice with anyone unfortunate enough to be in hearing range of her portrait. In response, Helena and Sirius both scramble to silence her as best they can. Helena holds the curtains closed, her godfather uses his family magic to activate the ward, and although it has since become routine, Sirius continues to take an unholy amount of glee out of silencing the harridan.

In truth, Helena does, too.

It's hard to believe they're related. By all accounts, Dorea Black was a proper, poised, polished daughter of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, as skilled with a wand as she was with her words, but she wasn't inherently cruel. The same couldn't be said for her sister, Walburga, whose nuisance of a portrait remains only a pale imitation of the horror the woman had been in life.

"I suppose Bill didn't have any luck with removing the enchantments?"

Bill Weasley is a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. He spends his work days disabling cursed objects sent in from archeological dig sites across the globe, but when he's not working, his time has been spent constructing new protections around his family's home, the Burrow - it's why they've all become longterm guests of Grimmauld Place - in anticipation of an attack from Death Eaters, Voldemort, or both. It doesn't leave him time for much else, but he's carved out a few hours a week to help cleanse Grimmauld Place, and that morning, he'd spent that time studying the enchantments in, on, and around the portrait of Sirius' late, unlamented mother.

"No," Sirius replies, weary, "The vindictive hag somehow anchored them into the house's maintenance scheme, and the way she's done it, disabling the arrays would require disabling practically everything else, as well. Doable, but a bit too much work for something that is a minor inconvenience, at most. Maybe if the house wasn't occupied…"

Helena pulls a face, Sirius grimaces his agreement, but there's no use dwelling on it. They might be residents of Grimmauld Place for the Summer, but none of them are about to call the townhouse home, and ultimately, there are far more important things for them to concern themselves with. Namely, preparation for the inevitable war against Voldemort, his Death Eaters, and the pureblood supremacist ideology they use as a justification for their terrorism.

"Why do you suppose Dumbledore has called a meeting?"

"No idea. If I had to guess, I'd say Snape just wants to see everyone bend over backwards to hear what he has to say, but who knows? Maybe it'll actually be something important. That would be novel."

"Nothing to worry about, then?"

"Not to my knowledge."

The knot of anxiety in Helena's chest eases, and she manages to offer her godfather a small, fleeting smile. Sirius returns it with one of his own, but he's already preoccupied with other things, and Helena leaves him to it, sure she'll only get in his way. As she makes her way upstairs, she encounters the others - Fred and George, Ron and Ginny and Hermione - and Helena's amused to find they're taking their sweet time with ascending the stairs.

"What did you find out?" Ginny asks.

"Nothing noteworthy," Helena answers, "Just that whatever's going on, Sirius isn't concerned."

Ginny's only acknowledgement is a dissatisfied grimace, and Helena rolls her eyes, unamused. She climbs the rest of the stairs quickly, eager to reach the relative solitude of the family wing, but Fred and George catch up with her on the first landing, their expressions good-humoured.

"You're not joining us?" Fred asks.

"We have a game to finish," George continues.

"I have to watch the others," Helena declines, "They might need something, and they're not allowed to wander around on their own."

Leo and Phoenix have chaffed under the new restrictions, but Grimmauld Place isn't like Blackthorn Park, and Sirius and Emilyn aren't about to take any risks. They were hesitant to allow Helena free rein throughout the property, but they at least trust in her ability to recognise (and keep her distance from) dangerous magic, cursed objects, and the abundance of magical pests throughout the townhouse. At 11 and 8, respectively, Leo and Phoenix hadn't earned the same consideration.

"Don't you have house elves for that?" Fred queries.

"Kreacher is very proprietary about Grimmauld Place. There was a Nanny Elf, Sola, but Kreacher tormented her to no end, so Sirius sent her back to Blackthorn Park. And since Kreacher is, well…"

"You've become the go-to babysitter," George concludes.

"Pretty much."

It's not the worst job in the world. Sirius and Emilyn supplement her allowance for her time, Leo, Phoenix, and Carina are usually asleep for the duration, and Helena's generally left to her own devices, undisturbed unless one of the children trigger the alert wards around their doors. Carina can't, of course - she's too little, and can't climb out of the cot she sleeps in when she's not co-sleeping with her parents - but Leo and Nix have been known to test their boundaries before. It's not difficult to keep them contained to the family wing though - Helena has had the boys' entire lives to practise bossing them around - and all in all, Helena can't complain.

"That's too bad," Fred sighs, faux-mournful.

"You're a lot more fun than those gits," George points a thumb over his shoulder, in the general direction of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

"All they do is brood over their shite letters to Neville."

"And his shite letters back."

Helena grimaces. Dumbledore's edict to limit their correspondence with anyone - and in particular, Neville Longbottom - had gone down like a sinking ship among the teenagers, though for different reasons. Ron and Hermione were upset about how Neville would respond to the virtual shut-out, Helena was appalled by the Headmaster's nerve to (try) control her private correspondence, and every reminder of the matter never fails to infuriate her all over again. SHe'd found a work-around, of course, because Helena isn't about to let Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Death Eaters, or the Order of the Phoenix ruin her Summer any more than they already have, but it's the principle of the thing.

"Don't forget argue about their homework," Fred says.

"Like it's actually important," George continues, his expression disdainful.

"I've finished all of mine," Helena replies mildly, shrugs at their resulting glances, and explains, "It gives me more time to focus on other things."

"Like what?" George asks, curious.

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out."

Fred tilts his head, eyes her through shrewd, blue eyes, and questions, "Is that a challenge?"

Before Helena can answer, they're finally joined by Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They've grown weary of unsubtly attempting to gather information (re: loitering), are curious about Fred, George, and Helena's conversation, are impatient to get on with the remainder of their evening, and Helena almost welcomes the diversion. SHe's just dug a whole for herself - to refuse is to incite Fred and George's curiosity - and she's a bit too mentally and emotionally drained to effectively distract them with her conversation.

"What's going on?" Ron asks. He looks between them, expectant, "You're blocking the hallway."

"Nothing," Helena replies. She approaches the staircase up to the second floor, "I'm heading up to check on the others."

"Will you be coming back?" Hermione asks, "Ron and I were going to work on our homework. You're welcome to join us, if you like."

"I'm afraid not. Duty calls, and all that. Thanks for the offer though."

Helena retreats upstairs, grateful for the excuse not to join them. Discounting the fact her school-assigned homework is already complete, she's not sure how she'd handle a prolonged amount of time in the company of Ron and Hermione without anyone else present - namely, Neville - to serve as a buffer between them. They've each made an effort to get along for the sake of peaceful coexistence, but there's a long way until Summer's end, and Helena has no desire to rock the boat. After all, things are already precarious enough without introducing even more interpersonal conflict into Grimmauld Place's increasingly crowded halls.