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 Twelve:

In the days after her parents' relocation to Isolde Cottage, Helena finds herself with a lot more free time on her hands. Her lessons have drawn to an end, Sirius has eased up on his insistence that Helena accompany him to everything, her parents have settled well into Isolde Cottage. She spends hours lounging around her bedroom suite in Grimmauld Place, reading books, listening to music, reading and writing letters, and it's a pleasant, welcome respite.

And then Sirius announces that Neville and the Dowager Countess of Lockvale will be joining them at Order of the Phoenix HQ. There was an attempted dementor attack on Lockvale Park, and although the dementors were thwarted by Lockvale's extensive wards, Lady Augusta isn't willing to take any chances. She has Dumbledore's support - for what it's worth, that is - and they're due to arrive that evening.

In the wake of his announcement, Sirius makes himself comfortable behind the wall of that morning's Daily Prophet, and determinedly pretends not to revel in the chaos he's caused. There's shock and outrage, concern and relief, anxiety and anticipation. There are questions and demands, but Sirius remains resolutely silent behind his newspaper, and no one else present has any answers to give.

Helena, reeling from the revelation that there were dementors at Lockvale Park, picks listlessly at her breakfast, appetite lost. It's evident that Neville and the Dowager Countess are unharmed - Sirius wouldn't be so flippant if it were otherwise - but what of the tenants? The residents in the nearby village? The attack was no doubt targeted, but dementors aren't known for their restraint.

Her stomach churns with the possibilities.

"Bloody hell, did you know?" Ron asks, his tone accusatory. He's afraid for his friend, lashing out in his helplessness, and Helena's a convenient target for his volatile temper.

"I didn't,, actually," she replies, disgruntled and scowling. Helena doesn't appreciate his attack (such as it is), and she isn't about to put up with it. She's no one's doormat.

Ron scoffs, unconvinced. "Yeah, right."

Helena opens her mouth to tell her classmate where he can shove his unsolicited opinion, but Hermione interjects before she can say a word.

"Ron," she sighs. She's frightfully pale, and her hand trembles around the fork she grips with white-knuckled fingers, "Leave her alone."

Stymied by Helena's denial and Hermione's ghostly pallor, Ron begrudgingly returns his attention to his breakfast, though Helena can't fathom how he can stomach food at this point. Neville's well, safe and unharmed behind the protections surrounding Lockvale Park, but Helena's not sure she'll be able to rest easily until she sees him with her own eyes, whole and hale.

Perhaps it's stress that motivates Ron's appetite.

"I'll go make sure there are rooms prepared for them, shall I?"

Helena doesn't wait to be excused, and instead hastily makes her way out of the basement kitchen, in need of space, or fresh air, or just some time to breathe. She's not sure which, but as she takes the stairs to the ground floor, she's irritated to find Leo and Phoenix have followed her out. Their identical eyes are wide and frightened, their baby faces pale in the dim hallway light, and there's something daunting about the reality that they look to her for guidance, and answers, and comfort.

"What is it?" She asks, impatient. No doubt, Sirius or Emilyn have already tasked kreacher with ensuring rooms are prepared, but she needs a minute (or ten) alone.

"Will Neville be all right?" Phoenix entreats, "Why did dementors try to attack him?"

"He hasn't done anything wrong," Leo insists, "He's a hero."

"Have you been reading that Boy Who Lived nonsense again?"

"No," Phoenix rolls his eyes, dramatic, "But he fought a dragon!"

As Leo and Phoenix watch her with wide eyes, earnest and expectant, it becomes quickly apparent that that's the only explanation she's going to get from the pair. She is thoroughly unimpressed, not least because Neville didn't actually fight a dragon. It's all semantics, in any case, and if nothing else, he did fight a Basilisk.

"He's fine," Helena sighs, "You heard Sirius: He'll be here tonight."

Phoenix pulls an unhappy face. "With the Countess."

"With the Countess," Helena confirms with a grimace.

In the face of everything Sirius had dropped on them over fresh fruits and yoghurt and muesli, she'd not yet had an opportunity to consider how unpleasant that would be for the rest of them. The peace they'd managed to maintain amidst the disparate personalities within Grimmauld Place is already tenuous enough without adding the indominable Lady Augusta to the mix.

Helena does not look forward to the experience.

Mercifully, there are only 10 more days until she boards the Hogwarts Express.

"But why did the dementors try to attack him?" Leo presses.

Helena shrugs, clueless. Presumably, they've already defected to Voldemort's camp, but even that doesn't make sense. Why wasn't it Voldemort to attack Lockvale, or the Death Eaters? Why hadn't the Death Eaters presently occupying cells in Azkaban gone with the Dementors? Why would Voldemort flagrantly endanger his opportunity to amass his forces without the scrutiny of the Ministry of Magic? It's completely nonsensical, but what does Helena know?

"They allied with Voldemort during the first war. I suppose they were acting on his orders, or maybe trying to prove their support for his cause?"

Leo frowns. "Aren't they bound to the Ministry of Magic, though?"

Helena's smile is wry. "I don't think that matters to them."

"Why not?" Phoenix asks. He's troubled. He's been raised to value faith and fealty, oaths and honour, and he hasn't yet realised that not everyone else he'll encounter throughout his life will share in that same regard for those values.

"Because Voldemort is willing to give them something the Ministry of Magic won't."

"What's that?"

"Souls," Helena replies, probably more candid than she should be. The boys will likely have nightmares about the dementors, but it's too late to shut up now, "During the last war, Voldemort promised them unrestricted access to all of the non-magical souls they would want, should they help him overthrow the Ministry of Magic. I expect that bargain will hold."

The boys are horrified, naturally.

Back in 1993, when she'd initially learned of that particularly unholy alliance, Helena had been, as well. The dementors had already been intolerable, conjuring up long-buried memories of her parents' torture - Helena will never forget the sound of her father's groans, her mother's exhausted sobs, Bellatrix's shrill, haunting laughter - but the prospect of a feeding frenzy on the unsuspecting, non-magical population - not to mention the dementors' subsequent population boom - was (and remains) something out of her worst nightmares.

Actually, Helena's pretty sure she doesn't possess the imagination to conjure up something so horrific as that, but that's neither here nor there.

"How do you defend against them?" Leo asks, terrified.

"There's a spell called the Patronus Charm," Helena explains, drums restless fingers against her thigh, and suggests, "Why don't you go ask Uncle Remus about it?"

They know they're being dismissed, but they don't argue. They probably want reassurance - that maybe Helena is just yanking their chain - and so instead, they retreat back towards the kitchen, and Helena makes her way outside, to Grimmauld Place's small backyard, and to the space to breathe that she'd so anxiously sought.

It doesn't help.

-!- -#-

Neville and the Dowager Countess arrive after supper. There's an Order of the Phoenix meeting imminent, Mrs Weasley has been attempting to herd her (school-aged) children upstairs for the last half hour, and Helena has once more been tasked with ensuring Leo, Phoenix, and Carina stay out of trouble for the duration.

In the front parlour, Carina entertains herself with a set of colour-changing building blocks, and the boys occupy themselves with their comics. Helena, herself, is content to wile away the time with a novel and a slice of treacle tart, but she's diverted from doing so by the unmistakable caterwauling of Great Aunt Walburga's portrait.

Carina glances up, surprised but unafraid, and the boys roll their eyes, long-suffering.

"What's the old bat complaining about now" Leo grumbles.

Helena turns her attention away from Carina, assured the baby isn't about to burst into tears. "Sounds like people are starting to arrive."

There's an unexpected uplift in noise, running footsteps and the sound of someone actually reprimanding Great-Aunt Walburga's portrait, and it takes Helena only a moment two recogniseLady Augusta's unmistakeable, strident tones.

She exchanges a surprised, wide-eyed glance with Leo and Phoenix, retrieves Carina from the carpet, and makes her way to the front foyer. The boys, unwilling to miss the show, accompany her, and they reach the party in time to witness a scowling Walburga as she disappears behind the veil of black, velvet curtains.

In the ensuing, echoing silence, Sirius observes, tone mild, "I see you've already encountered my mother."

"She's as delightful as ever," Lady Augusta replies, deadpan, "It's a wonder how I've gotten on without her all these years."

"I'm sure she feels the same."

As Sirius and the Dowager Countess exchange awkward, somewhat strained pleasantries, Helena observes Neville's similarly strained reunion with Ron and Hermione, contemplates joining them, and opts instead to wait her turn. As she watches however, Carina propped on her hip, Leo and Phoenix reluctantly join their father in speaking with Lady Augusta, and Fred and George take their place.

"That doesn't look too good," Fred observes.

"It's been a while since I've seen Neville look that mad." George agrees.

Indeed, Neville's a wall of restrained fury, his jaw clenched, his words clipped, his whole body tense. He's very obviously not happy to see Ron or Hermione, and the awareness of that fact hovers between the trio like the most unavoidable elephant Helena has ever seen.

In any case, Neville looks all right for all that tension, whole if not entirely hale, and Helena is relieved by the sight of him, safe and unharmed.

"They'll sort it out.," she murmurs. As she does so, she gently pries Carina's hands from her braid, and the tired baby shrieks her protest. It sets off Great-Aunt Walburga's portrait, in response, Carina starts properly wailing, and without ado, the twins retreat with alacrity.

Helena is entirely unimpressed, but Carina requires attending, and neither of her parents - presently hosting - are available. Helena, therefore, retreats to the family wing, and hopes for the best.