A/N: Chapter 4 arrives! Much thanks to Sangeetha, who helped me with the finer details of the plot. Anyway, in this chapter, you meet Molly's father, learn more about the "trap" set for Johnston, and see the Weasley's plan of action. Enjoy!
***

"...Molly?" Mr. Douglass's voice was uncertain, shaky as an unbalanced scale. Molly could hardly blame him for not recognizing her; it had been years, and goodness knew she looked different. She was no longer a sprightly ten year old, and was probably thought dead, crushed by the cruel ways of the world.

Molly's dirty, scratched head nodded slowly, and her eyes brimmed with tears. The scale tipped; she had passed the point of return.

"It's been so long..." Mr. Douglass, too, had changed. Had Molly not known this would still be his residence, she wouldn't have recognized him. Hiding had taken a toll on the once proud, debonair businessman. His handsome, dark chocolate hair now was gray as the ash in his cold fireplace. As Molly viewed the slumped, stooping man, she could scarcely remember the man he had once been, his back and morals straight.

Molly sighed. It was remarkable what a bad decision could do to a person. Eluding punishment had damaged him more than jail possibly could. He reminded Molly of the house in which he resided -- old, run down, and removed from the world. Nothing and no one could change that, she reminded herself. Not that Molly hadn't tried.

The long-lost daughter looked over the broken man's shoulder into the dark, musty house. "Where's Mum?" she asked, half knowing the answer; only half caring. If it was Mr. Douglass's head bent even more, and Molly had her answer. She wasn't particularly surprised. The loss of the comforts of life had not gone over well with that aristocratic woman. She had probably done it mere weeks after Molly'd left.

Glancing into the house, Molly could almost see why living here would drive the woman to suicide -- a single glimpse make her fingers start twitching for a broom. But no. That was not why she was here.

"Dad, they've found more evidence. Enough to send you...and me...to jail, if they caught us." Molly's words did not have the expected result on her father. He just sighed. "Dad...listen, please! I had to leave before...I couldn't stay. I couldn't sleep in this house, every figure in the dark screaming accusations. I knew if I got to Hogwarts I could make a life for myself."

"And did you?" Mr. Douglass's voice was void of emotion. As a businessman in what seemed like a former life, he had learned to consider every sentence before unleashing it.

"Well, yes. I have a husband...seven children," Mr. Douglass's eyes bugged in spite of himself. "But when I saw the article, it evaporated before my eyes. I knew my kids would wonder if I was a terrible person."

"Much the same as you wonder about me."

Molly's head bowed, and she seemed ashamed. "Yes. I had to...had to leave, before they could find out."

But Molly didn't realize that by leaving, she had made them wonder even more.

***

The orange flames danced hungrily over the remains of Douglass Tea Company. The building was unrecognizable in this state, huge chunks consumed by the ravenous fire. Mere timbers were keeping it up, and in a matter of moments they to joined the mass of burnt rubble on the hard ground.

"Arsony. Must've been. There are traces of gasoline all over the place." The chief firefighter gave his opinion. He looked distinctly ruffled next to the pressed constable; he hated to lose a structure to a fire. The kind man always felt as if he'd failed the owner. At least this time he had a culprit for the demolished building.

"Goodness! But who would?" Mr. Douglass gave every sign of being alarmed. His eyes glazed over and next to him, his beautiful wife sobbed. Both the firefighter and the constable could see the traces of anguish at losing the place his family had called their office for years.

"Lucky for you, we think we found him." The constable beckoned to a few men standing nearby. They grabbed a large, white-faced man, and flung him onto the dusty ground at Mr. Douglass's brightly polished shoes.

Mr. Douglass's eyes flung wide and he gasped. "Johnston?" he cried, with a sharp intake of breath. The policeman noted, and would later testify, that Mr. Douglass acted completely innocent, while the chalk-faced Johnston floundered in his explanations, a fish out of water.

"Johnston! No! What are you doing here?" Mr. Douglass's face was a picture of astonishment and disbelief. Yet it was nothing compared to what Johnston's face was about to become.

"Y-you...y-you told me to come here. Said you needed gasoline for your car! I rushed over...quick as I could...filled up your tank. Then hurried over...just like you said!" Johnston's eyes raced back and forth and he ran his hand through his thin hair repeatedly, his hands shaking.

"Is this true?" the constable asked, a flickering smile on his face. He'd been in his profession for two decades, and it was amusing to him to see someone so pathetically guilty try to make excuses.

"No. I haven't any idea what you are talking about," said Mr. Douglass slowly, his brow furrowed. The constable smiled again. Yes, it was just as he had expected. Simple case. Greedy accountant burns down wealthy man's business. Only one question left.

As Johnston raked his hands through his hair, the constable caught one. "You have gasoline all over your hands, sir. We have to take you under arrest."

"But I told you! I was filing up Mr. Douglass's car...the gas leaked! Tell them! Why, oh why, won't you tell them?" It took two policemen to drag the still shrieking Johnston away.

Yes, the case was simple. Easy. Obvious. But then, Mr. Douglass thought, he always had been a rather good actor.

***

Ron fidgeted. The house was deserted but for Ginny and he, the others scattered like dust to the police office. He and Ginny were thought too young, too innocent to come. Of course, Ron didn't agree. He'd been through more misadventures than the lot of them, with Harry as a best friend.

The Burrow felt unnatural in its silence without his beloved mother cleaning, bustling, and cooking. He glanced around the room. It was a mess; everything seemed felled as if by a giant ax. An ax that was Molly's disappearance. Viewing Ginny's limp form in the corner, he trudged over and tapped her on the shoulder.

"C'mon, Ginny. We may as well fix things up a little bit." Ginny didn't trust herself to speak, but nodded slightly, her puffy red eyes nearly matching her wild hair.

"Where does Mu- where are the brooms kept?" Ron nearly choked on the word.

Ginny finally opened her mouth. "In the attic, I think," she said in a hoarse whisper. And so the two journey up. Up past the stairs littered with clothing, up past the empty rooms of Percy, Fred, and George. Ron pulled gently on the cord leading to the attic. "Mind the ghoul," he reminded Ginny, trailing close behind.

The attic was a completely unorderly place. Boxes were strewn hither and thither, and it generally looked a frightful mess. Ron crouched, as a teenager his size could not stand in the tiny room, and searched. Ginny, lacking the heart for it, sat on the dirty floor and began to examine the nearest box. Her trembling fingers unwrapped the peeling tape on the side, and she shone her lit wand into the darkness. Glimpsing a black bound book, she maneuvered it out and flipped through the first pages first with curiosity, and then with increased fervor.

"Ron! Quick!" she beckoned, and pointed to the title page of the over thirty year old book. 'Molly Ludwig,' it read, 'diary.'
***

A/N: Haha! I always seem to leave you with a cliffhanger, don't I? Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I had to, you see. Anyway, you're starting to understand, aren't you? Or not. Please include all theories in your review...at the end, the person who is closest gets a chocolate frog! *grins* I'd love to know what you think. Please review, because I really worked hard on this, and a happy writer is a quick writer!