A/N: I'm SO sorry it has taken me a long time to get this chapter out. Really, I feel awful. But I DO have an excuse -- I've been reaaaally tired and reeeeaaally busy with softball practices everyday, homework, and the horrors of middle school. ^^ Anyway. This chapter was by far the longest, and the hardest to write. (Not for that reason.) At any rate, you learn a LOT of stuff in the chapter. Enjoy!
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The last few raindrops flung themselves mightily on the roof, but it was no use. The storm was over. Molly's internal storm seemed over as well. As the sun peaked out from the clouds, wrapping everything in a buttery glow, Molly sunk down more in her chair. In her new home. For better or worse, she was staying for now. For now, she reminded herself. Her father needed her; he was too old, too tired to continue living alone. Or so she told herself, unwilling to face the truth.

On the other side of the room, Molly's father too was thinking about his dependency on her, but in a crueler way. Birds chirping merrily in the background, he made his move.

"Molly?" he asked, almost lazily, "would you mail this for me?" He extracted an envelope from his back pocket. It was an ordinary, white, normal looking thing, and Molly noticed that the flap had yet to be stuck down. It waved temptingly in the breeze of the open door. There was no name on the front, only an address. Odd. Pasted to the right hand corner was a Muggle stamp.

"A stamp?" she questioned. Although Molly had been raised as a Muggle due to her mother, it had been a very long time since she had seen anything from that distant world.

"Oh, right... I forgot to tell you. I haven't got an owl, so you'll need to mail it in the Muggle village nearby. If it isn't too much trouble, of course..." he added, knowing his kind daughter wouldn't protest.

Molly nodded curtly, and stepped out of the dark house onto the stone path. The bright sunlight forced her to squint, dark mountains sharply contrasted beyond. A breeze ruffled her hair, blowing it into her eyes. As Molly brushed it out of her face, the wind carried the envelope out of her hands. It seemed to give an ominous warning to abandon this mission.

Bending quickly to retrieve it, Molly's eyes flicked again to the unstuck flap. "It wouldn't hurt to take a little look," she thought. Fingers trembling in excitement, she pulled out the contents.

It was a picture; a very old, very faded picture. A little girl sat upright, a smile on her face. Her dark eyes caught Molly's immediately. Like big brown pools of chocolate, they grinned at someone off of the picture Molly couldn't see. In their beauty, the girl's eyes were haunting, and Molly, shivering, left them and turned over the picture. In careful block letters, someone had written, "I remember."

Remember what? Her head too full of information, she shrugged the words away and turned the picture back over and locked eyes with the little girl again. She shook her head, remembering that the picture wasn't real. For a second, she hadn't been sure.

Suddenly, struck by a sinister notion, Molly again stared at the image. For some reason, without a shadow of proof, something in the picture told Molly that those big brown eyes had been shut forever.

***

Molly remembered once she'd had to do a presentation in front of her entire class. She'd been extremely nervous that day -- shaking, biting her lip so hard it bled, and feeling icy cold to her very core. Compared to now, that day seemed a walk in the park. Molly fidgeted, her knuckles white as she gripped the courtroom seat. Mr. Judd paced a bit near the witness box, waiting for her to get situated. Smiling at her, he strode to the box and began.

"How old are you, Molly?" he asked kindly.

"Ten, sir." The sound was barely audible through her clenched teeth.

"Such nice manners! Tell me, Molly, how do you know the accused?"

"He was my parents' accountant and close friend," Molly whispered into the microphone.

"Ah, yes. Tell me about your parents, Molly. Do you spend much time with them?"

"Oh, yes. Lots!"

"Is your father often late home from work?"

"No, quite the opposite. I'm really close to him."

The testimony continued in the same strain for a while, Mr. Judd trying to present to the court the character of Mr. and Mrs. Douglass, while adding an ill word about Johnston occasionally. Thus, he tried to persuade the jury that the Douglass's word should be trusted above Johnston's.

Finally, he rested his case, and Molly heaved a sigh of relief. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so difficult, after all. But when the opposing lawyer said he'd like to cross-examine Molly, she felt the nasty feeling creeping back twice as strong.

"Hullo, Molly." The defense lawyer, a Mr. Thomas Hopstone, had a voice that would bring a con-man to his knees begging for forgiveness. Soft, yet strong, it seemed to require a truthful reply. Molly immediately began to sweat heavily, a strange sight in the cold courtroom.

"Molly, I'd like you to tell me a bit about the date of the incident. Where was your family at the time the fire broke out?" His voice cajolingly caressed her ears and tested her resolve. 'Come on, Molly,' she thought, 'you can do this...'

"We were at Barney's Coffee Shop," she replied. It was half-true; while they'd been at the coffee shop when the fire broke out, that didn't mean the Douglass's had been there when the fire had been started.

"Barney's ... that's the shop across the street from the Douglass building, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"What did your parents do as they saw the building go up in flames?"

"My father called the fire department." Also a half-truth.

"Molly, the fire department records show the phone call to them was placed at 5:53 PM, nearly fifteen minutes after signs of the fire were visible. How do you account for this?"

"I... I..."

"Records at Barney's show your family ordered at 5:47. Expert witnesses have determined the fire must have been started around 5:40. Tell me, Molly, where was your family at 5:40?"

"Driving to Barney's, of course." But Molly's' voice was weak and lacked the confidence she had hoped to inject in it.

"Is that so? A witness saw you leaving your house at 5:00. Molly, Barney's is only two miles from your home. What took you so long to arrive there?"

"Traffic," she choked out. "Traffic..."

"Interesting, interesting. Interesting because there was no traffic accident that day, and you know it. The United Kingdom Traffic Association, who report every day's traffic, wrote, "...A good day for driving. No pileups or waits!" Interesting, too, that witnesses can account for my client's position at 5:40, but not yours and your families." Suddenly, Mr. Hopstone changed subjects. "Molly, what is your family's current financial situation?"

"Objection!" The cry came from the prosecutors' desk and echoed through the room. The kindly Mr Judd leapt to his feet, shaking in fury. "I believe the witness is in no position to provide such information, your honour, and therefore the line of questioning is irrelevant.

 
"Overruled," The elderly judge growled in return. "The Jury will observe that previous testimony states that company finances were a full family matter and often discussed together. It is your objection that is irrelevant. The witness must answer the question."

Mr. Judd slowly sat back down, grumbling angrily about "Judges nowadays!" Mr. Hopstone, and the eyes of everyone else in the courtroom turned upon the ten year old as she attempted to stutter out an answer. All of the yelling and shouting was frightening her, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"We are doing quite well for ourselves, thank you." Molly wanted to cry, but she was determined not to. Not in front of the jury members, who were looking more and more suspicious every moment. Not in front of her parents, whose eyes flashed in fear. Not in front of Johnston and his twisted grin.

"Your accountant seems to think differently. These documents prove that Douglass Tea Company was about to go bankrupt at the time of the crime. The Douglass's profited from the insurance money on the building. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury: I propose to you that the guilty party is not Mr. Johnston, but the Douglass's!"

Even before the verdict was read, Molly knew they had lost. She watched Johnston laugh and hug his lawyer, and tried to take comfort in her parents' assurances that it hadn't been her fault. She watched from shackles. Shortly after the trial, a policeman had placed the entire family under arrest -- even Molly. Yet staring into her father's determined brown eyes, she felt sure that her legs would know freedom again.

***

Ron jumped out of his doze as someone gave a loud rap at the door. Groaning, he stretched, and scratched his head lazily. Who could be calling at this hour? The wall clock showed it was well past midnight. Ron frowned, annoyed. The nerve of that caller! It was probably a salesman, and if they weren't careful they'd wake Dad and Mu--

Memories of the past few days flooded back in a rush, and Ron's stomach cascaded over a waterfall of emotions. Numbly, he sunk back into his chair, trying not to notice how his legs were shaking. "Oh, no," he thought, "oh, no..." For a while, he had thought the events had been part of his dream. But this dream, this nightmare, was real -- and there was no way Ron could escape it.

The caller knocked again. Steadying his legs as if he'd been at sea, Ron rose. "Coming!" he tried to shout at the door, but all that came out was a croaky whisper. It seemed this nightmare had not only stolen his mother, but his voice as well. It figured.

Midknock, he flung open the door. Hermione, speaking rapidly to Harry beside her, accidentally knocked once more before realizing the door had been opened. Unfortunately, her fist landed on Ron's long nose.

"Ouch," said Ron softly, unable to think of anything else. Hermione, upon seeing him, suddenly became mute, the sea of words evaporating. Mouth open and eyes wide, she quickly turned and waved at the parked car in the street.

"Bye Mum! Bye Dad!" she shouted to the car as it sped away from the Burrow. Finding her voice, she began to talk. "My parents said I could stay for a few days, if it's all right, of course. Harry can too, his aunt and uncle were only too glad to let him go. We've both brought suitcases" -- she motioned to the full bags beside them -- "and, and..."

When Hermione got nervous, she could often go on like that for hours. Harry rolled his eyes. Ron noticed those eyes, that had been deadened at the end of term, had changed. They shone with an angry glint that had never before been seen in his sea-green eyes. Harry wanted to do something; wanted to confront the demons hounding him. He was eager to help find Mrs. Weasley.

"...Of course, I've been studying, and..." Suddenly, Hermione rushed forward to envelop Ron and Harry in a tight hug. "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry, we'll find your Mum!" Ron suddenly became very interested in the brickwork of the porch, and Hermione and Harry pretended not to hear when he blew his nose loudly.

Ron shooed them into the sitting room, where he and Ginny had brought the diary. It was laid out on a pillow, like a prized possession might be in a fancy house. Ginny, who was sitting staring transfixedly at the book, didn't even blush when Harry walked in. She didn't care about anyone but her mother just now.

"What've you read sop far?" Harry asked, eager to begin. Ron handed him the book, and he read quietly, Hermione peeking over his shoulder and waiting impatiently for him to turn the page. Done, he handed the diary back to Ron. The redheaded teenager opened the diary to the next page and spread it out on the table for all to see.

'September 6.

Lavender as the softest sunset
Longingly the blossoms wave to the mountains beyond.
And hope for the day when they too can join the nimble sheep
Narrowly missing the cliff as they jump
Behind the rocks old as the sky -- for
Even flowers wish to be free.
Released from guilt bending, crushing, crippling!
Removed from the hut at the base of the mount.
Instead, they wait, and guard the monsters within.
Soon the winds will change'

"Wow," Hermione breathed, "I didn't know your Mum could write!" After the third line, she and Harry had placed a hand on the Weasleys' shoulders. They got the feeling the two needed support.

"Neither did I," said Ron, his neck tingling. He, Ginny, and Hermione were ready to dismiss it as a beautiful poem, but Harry couldn't help but think her words were saying more. 'But what?' he wondered. Not able to shake the eerie feeling, he memorized the poem and resolved to continue thinking about it.

Later, after a long night of reading, the four decided to go to sleep. Decided being an understatement -- Ron was yawning, Hermione kept nodding off, Ginny's eyes were drooping, and Harry's head, too, felt fuzzy. After making the beds, they retreated to their respective room, and soon loud snoring could be heard echoing throughout the house.

Although Harry felt dreadfully weary, he shifted and rolled, unable to fall asleep. He kept thinking of Mrs. Weasley's poem, right in the middle of counting sheep. He recited it to himself again, and mulled over the words. Mountains ... sheep ... flowers -- all pointed towards a location. He halfheartedly wondered if the poem was about the place she had disappeared to. "No way," he thought. "Impossible."

Yet, hoping against hope, he reviewed the lines again. They fit. Shaking in excitement, he wondered if he should wake Ron. Then, something pricked him, deflating his hope like a pin in a balloon. The United Kingdom was a big place, and hilly regions were everywhere. Harry felt like crying; the poem didn't tell him anything after all.

But he was forgetting something, he knew, something else in the riddle he hadn't thought to pay attention to. Grabbing a piece of parchment and ink, Harry copied down the poem in the wand-light, looking for patterns in the words. "First and last words?" he muttered. "No, no..." Harry unfocused his eyes then refocused them, and he saw it. It was so obvious he wondered how he had missed it before. The first letter of each line, when read downward, spelled out LLANBERRIS, the lovely area next to the highest mountain in Wales. Harry remembered Dudley taunting him about it when the Dursley's had visited, telling Harry he'd have tossed him to the sheep. Sheep. It had to be right.

Harry ran down the hall to Ron's room and burst in the door.

"Ron!" he shouted, "Ron! Wake-up!"

Ron groaned and rolled over. "Wassamatta?"

"Ron," repeated Harry, "I think I know where your Mum is."
***

A/N: I know, I'm evil. Wahaha! Yes, Llanberris (pronounced glanberris) is a real place. Here's a big whopping thank-you to athena_arena for telling me a good place and describing it for me, plus helping me with the court scene. *sends a hug to athena_arena*. How do you guys like my poem? I wrote it in math class. Take that, Ms. Dixon! ^^ Thanks so much for the feedback on the previous chapters ... you know you want to review now! Please include any theories, wild suspicions, or death-threats in the review. A chocolate frog to the closest one! (Not that I'll tell you right away, as it'd ruin the surprise.) Viva la METMA!