Chapter VII: Unsuspected Turns of Events

"Here ya go," said Kyle passing around the Gryffindor schedules. I looked at mine and furrowed my eyebrows. Potions with Slytherin again on Mondays and Fridays, DADA with Ravenclaw on Tuesday and Wednesday, Care of Magical Creatures on Monday and Thursday. The rest of our schedule was the same as usual, though, and it was already starting to drive me crazy. Kyle and I walked down to Care of Magical Creatures after breakfast, and I was anxiously awaiting Dad's class. I wasn't expecting it to be anything difficult; in fact, I was quite looking forward to an easy, goof-off class. The air was crisp for the beginning of September and my hopes for an Indian Summer were slowly being deflated. Leaves were still on the trees, thankfully. Dad was waiting for us next to an empty paddock.

"Hello," he greeted us. "Well, considering that we're about to be spending the entire year together, I suppose that I should know who you are and we should get some things straight, eh?"

It was quite evident already that Dad was not a natural teacher.

"First off, don't talk while I'm talking. It drives me mad, and if you do it then I'm afraid that I'll have to force you to spend an entire day in the office with my wife. Trust me, it's not fun." A few people laughed, but I could tell that he was rather serious. "Second, please participate in class. It will make my job much easier. Also, if you could please do your homework." He paused momentarily, and with a derisive snort, said, "You know, I never thought that I'd say that. I mean, I supposed that I would at some point, but I'd always thought that my tongue would burn the first time that those words came out of my mouth. Hmmm. Right, well, I suppose that I should take role, now." Dad stood there, surveying the class. His eyes were twinkling, and I assumed that he was reminiscing about something- perhaps his fourth year.

"Erm…Mr. Weasley?" asked one know-it-all Slytherin girl, Priscilla Simmons.

"Hmm?" asked Dad, slipping out of his reverie. "Oh, right. Class. Erm…is everyone here?" We all nodded. "Good. Let's get started, then. Follow me. Oh, and you can leave those books here. We won't be needing them."

Finally! Someone who knew how to teach! Dad walked into the Forbidden Forest, and we all followed him. I was walking with Kyle when I heard him calling my name and waving me towards him.

"I hate to be paranoid," he began –uh-oh-, "But I'd prefer it if you stuck with me while in the forest, all right?" I stared at him and heard Priscilla Simmons snickering with her friends behind me.

"Why don't you just shut it, Prissy. My mum is the Mistress of Magic, in case you haven't heard, and our family requires maximum security," I said haughtily, delighting to myself at the glare that she gave me. Dad looked down at me with his eyebrows raised in surprise and came across entirely unsure of how to handle this. No doubt he was reminded of Draco Malfoy and could empathize with me; he was also reminded of Professor Snape and was unwilling to show favouritism. The moral dilemma was evident on his face, and it appeared as if he had decided to play deaf.

"Mudblood mother," she whispered to her best friend, Christina (Chrissy and Prissy- classic) who giggled. Dad and I both whipped around at that, causing a slight domino effect. I decided that my reacting would probably lose Gryffindor points if it got back to the proper teacher, but Dad reacting would lose Slytherin points no matter what.

"If I ever…ever… hear anything like that come out of your mouth again, I will personally see to it that you never receive a passing grade in this class. Is that clear, Miss Simmons?" She remained impassive and only glared at him. I could see already that this would turn out badly for me. "Twenty points from Slytherin," he added before turning around and continuing the trek through the forest. I nodded my agreement to Priscilla, receiving a glare that could only rival the one that I was giving her, and I followed Dad through the forest.

"But Mr. Weasley-"

"Professor," I corrected. All right, so it wasn't exactly constructive per say, but I got my point across.

"Professor," she said with a sarcastic role of her eyes that, luckily, Dad couldn't see (I responded with a rude action that Priscilla was quite used to seeing from me- she and my middle finger were quite good friends these days), "Isn't that a rather harsh penalty for the use of language? Really, sir, when one puts the matter to thought, it is obviously a question of values and standards. What may be yours, sir, may not be mine. Is it not unfair for you to impress those morals on to me?"

He spun again. "Let me tell you something- I don't give a damn about morals or whatever the hell you were talking about. That is completely intolerable no matter where you place your standards, rather, in your case, Miss Simmons, how low they may be. This discussion is over."

Dear old Dad. I gave him a high-five when Prissy wasn't looking.

"Em! Emily! Wait up!" Kyle was jogging around from the back of the line up to where Dad and I were walking.

"Hello, Kyle," Dad said just as I was saying, "Hey."

"Way to tell 'er off, Mr. Wheeze!" Kyle exclaimed, clapping Dad on the back. I don't know where the nickname originated, but Dad usually laughed whenever Kyle used it. "It was about time that somebody did!"

"Well…thanks, Kyle, I'm…er…glad to have your approval."

"No problem, mate, no problem!" We walked further in the woods, Kyle and I chatting and Dad still fuming. I had to admit that this forest did give me the creeps. You couldn't see more than three or four feet in front of you because the bloody trees were so dense. I'd heard stories (who in our family hadn't?) about giant spiders, dead Death Eaters, flying cars, centaurs, unicorns, werewolves, and the like.

"Stay here," Dad said to Kyle and I. When we stopped, the rest of the class did and broke off into their little cliques as Dad moved forward. A portion of the forest surrounding a large clearing was roped off. I assumed that this was where we would be having today's first lesson.

"All right, everyone!" Dad called to us. Kyle and I stepped over the rope first and everyone followed. We all crowded around Dad as he knelt down on the ground and showed us a small hole in the ground. "Today, I want you to find a graphook. These things are the most annoying creatures to catch, but they're pretty useful so listen up. Watch out for their horns; it's best to try to grab their tails. Their bodies are small, so they won't be able to whip around and get you. I want you to take all the notes that you can on these things, so get into partners." Kyle and I immediately moved towards each other. Dad saw this and scowled just slightly. He must not have had a good night. "All right," he continued, "Have at it."

Kyle and I attempted to grab a graphook, but we were getting nowhere with Kyle being cautious and trying not to be bit by one of the little blighters. Finally, I shoved him the parchment and quill and pushed him aside. With dragonhide gloves on, how bad could you be hurt? Besides, the hospital matron could fix anything. How long would it hurt. I plunged my hand into the tunnel, feeling around for something. I curse rather loudly as I felt hundreds of little teeth rip into my arm, but recovered by pulling my arm out- and the little creature that came along with it.

"What did you do?" Dad asked me, approaching the hole that Kyle and I were working around.

"I don't know! Get it off! Get it off!" I shouted, waving my arm around, trying to shake the little thing off. Dad grabbed my arm and manipulated the little thing until it eased up and he was able to pull it off.  "What is it?" I asked, assuming that it would be something deadly and poisonous. I could already feel the poison seeping through my veins. Yes, this was it. My vision was blurred, and the last thing that I would see was my entire class standing over me, Kyle absolutely appalled at the sight of blood on my arm, and Dad holding that horrible, deadly creature that had been my demise. Death, come quickly, and do not let me suffer! "Am I going to die, Dad?"

I heard Dad chuckling as the rest of the class stared on apprehensively.

"Do you know what this is, Emily?" he asked me, still smiling.

I was gasping for breath and clutching at my chest. I would depart nobly. "What is it?" I asked very painfully, yet trying to put on a brave face.

Dad chuckled again. "This," he said, holding up the kicking little thing, "is a forest gnome. A very close relative to the garden gnome." The rest of the class laughed now as I sat up, quite alarmed that I wasn't going to die after I put on that big scene. Dad looked at my bloody arm again, and told me to go to the hospital wing and get it bandaged up.

"You're sure that I'm not going to die?" I asked. You know, just to make sure.

"Positive," he said, still chuckling. I set off back to the castle when Dad called for me to stop. "Go with her, Kyle," I heard him say. So he was worried. Hmmm…

Ron…

Working on less than a two-hour sleep certainly did not agree with me. After Hermione dashed out of the house last night, still soaking wet, I crawled in to bed. It dawned on me that even though Hermione wasn't wrapped up in appearances, she did have something called dignity and never liked to be less than her best. Also, considering that she left candles on, a potential fire hazard, I figured that whatever she was thinking about must have been urgent. I will never understand her. So, I Flooed Harry and Ginny- they're quite used to me waking them up- and told them what was going on. Harry did agree with me- Hermione was getting prematurely senile. Ginny volunteered to come over and stay at our house with Jack, 'Since I'm already awake, and all…' and I met Harry at Hermione's office.

"'Bout time you two showed up," Hermione said. Lincoln was sitting on the couch with her, trying to stay awake and holding a cup of tea in his shaking hands. Juliet was snoozing in an armchair, and even Artemis looked as if he would be falling asleep on his feet. Hermione was surrounded with papers and files. She was sorting through them sporadically, occasionally stopping to circle something and throw it into a random pile. She'd pick something else up without any order or reason at all, make sense of it, and throw it right back into the mix of things.

"What exactly are you…doing?" Harry asked, voicing my thoughts.

"Up until now, we've been going on what we know about Fitzgerald, giving him the benefit of a doubt. But, what if we've been wrong? We've only seen the one aspect of his life: work. His personal life surely must be different, and I think that we're missing something that these files can enlighten us," she said, still circling and tossing. "Help me sort through these."

"What are we looking for," Harry asked, seating himself on the ground and leaning against the sofa.

"Anything that could be useful," Lincoln answered. "Hermione, I think that you're shooting in the dark. We have no suspects, and this man's record is virtually clean. This case is going nowhere."

"No- his record is not clean. Repeatedly, in what I've read so far, he's made several transactions to a Swiss bank account."

"So maybe he wants to keep his money safe?" I suggested.

"In an offshore account?"

"Why not? We have an offshore account," I pointed out.

"But that's different. That's Landon's college money. That's there in case something happens, his future won't be destroyed and he can take care of Emily and Jack. We're not hiding anything."

"And you think that Fitzy was?" Harry asked. Hermione scowled at the nickname.

"He could have been. He has all the means."

"Well you have all the means of being a prostitute, and you're not, are you?" Lincoln said sardonically, picking up one of the files from the ground.

Hermione chose to ignore this, and said, "Juliet?"

"What?" the girl said from her half-asleep state on the couch.

"Could you please make an appointment with the Fitzgeralds? I'd like to speak with them about a few things."

"You're not going to harass them, are you?" Harry asked her, scrutinizing a piece of parchment.

"Of course not," she said, off-handily before turning back to Juliet, "And could you please get me his bank statement?"

"Gringotts, Muggle or Swiss?" asked Juliet, wearily rising. I couldn't help but be reminded of cheese.

"All three."

"And his wife's?"

"Yes."

"Give me ten minutes."

"All right," Harry put in, "say that we were to find something out of place in his bank statement. Who's to say that it's related to his murder?"

"It might not be, but it's worth a shot," said Hermione, brushing a still wet curl out of her face and going back to the parchment in her hand. I joined her and Harry, not finding anything especially interesting about the files that we had. Top of his class at Hogwarts, of Muggle parentage, married his summer sweetheart, five children. There was nothing incriminating on him anywhere.

But the numbers don't lie.

Juliet entered half an hour later, carrying stacks of manila envelopes. The Ministry had members placed in all British intelligence offices, posed as Muggles, to track down any information if necessary. Our contacts in the CIA were always ready to lend a hand. Hermione immediately seized the Gringotts records from the past six months while Harry and I sorted through the Swiss account. My thoughts took me immediately to the month of July. Lincoln took the Muggle account to the same month and found a huge withdrawal. Hermione concurred the same from the Gringotts account, and I cross-referenced the Swiss account only to find a monstrous deposit in Eurodollars. Harry noted all of this, and began sorting through the later pages of the Swiss statement for the month of July.

"Look at this," he said, holding a copied piece of stationary on which a hastily written letter proved to be one of our first major pieces of evidence giving full permission for the amount previously deposited to be withdrawn by a Mr. Richard Tucker, Esquire.

Lincoln snorted. "Esquire?"

"Richard Tucker…" I ran the name over in my head. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Where have I heard that before?"

"I don't know," said Harry, wearing the same expression that I was.

"It's very familiar," said Hermione. Surprising. I was expecting her to be able to tell us the answer, as always, but here she was just as confused as we were. "Juliet, can you have Atticus run a background check on-"

"Already ahead of you, ma'am," said Juliet, leaving to discover all about Richard Tucker.

I had a feeling that this case just took a new lease on life.

Emily…

The sign-up sheet for Quidditch tryouts was posted in the common room two days after school started, true to Mr. Wood's word. I was pleased to see that everyone who had been on the team last year had signed his or her name to the list, as well as some first years and people who just had nothing better to do with their time.

The tryouts were bright and early Saturday morning. I was awake before Meg or Rachel, ready to head down to the pitch. They told me that they would come and watch, but they weren't really early risers. I opened my trunk and took out my Comet's Tail. This broom was only a year and a half old- a gift from Mum and Dad when I first was drafted to the Cannons. It needed a good polishing before the big tryout today, and I thought that I should clip the tail end of it a little bit, just to spruce it up. All in all, the morning was starting out quite well. I took my broom down to the common room, and found several members of the team already awake with their broomsticks. My cousin James was in the centre, giving a play by play of the Ireland vs. Northern Ireland Quidditch game (that he and Landon went to see much to my disliking). Nervous hopefuls were sitting to themselves, trembling slightly at the prospect of being up against the seven of us who played together last year. I hate to admit it, but even I was a little nervous. At nine o'clock, we decided to head down to the pitch and get some practice flying in before the tryouts at nine thirty. I noticed as I walked out the portrait hole that Will was descending the steps from the boys' dormitories with a broomstick in hand.

It felt so good to be on my broom in the good old Hogwarts stadium. Once in the air, I took a golf ball from my pocket and threw it as hard as I could downward, before pointing my broom and zooming down after it, hand extended. It took a few seconds before I felt my fingers curl around the hard plastic and I pulled out of the dive. Ah…Quidditch. I saw Mr. Wood walk on to the field, and saw Meg and Rachel join the number of people in the stands. Many of the teachers were also present, but that didn't faze me. If anything, I was looking for a chance to show off…but let's just keep that between us.

Wood lit sparks with his wand, and all of us who were in the air came to a halt on the ground in front of him.

"Break up into houses," he told his, lugging crates of Bludgers over to where we were assembled. "Chasers first. I want a mini game of just potential chasers first between Gryffindor and Slytherin. First six, go." Six Chasers looked in between each other, unsure of who was going to go first, before they kicked off into the air. Wood let out the Quaffles, and everyone clambered to get them. It took awhile before they got into the swing of things, but soon they were zooming back and forth, passing and scoring (considering that there weren't any Keepers yet). Occasionally, Wood would pull someone out, and substitute another Chaser Hopeful, before he had it narrowed down to five Chasers per team.

"All right," he said, when all of them were on the ground. "You all are done. Lists posted Monday. But for now, I'd like to keep Ernest Wilson, Courtney Livingston and Kyle McLaughlin. Keepers, you next. Take your positions, and these Chasers will shoot on you. Go." I was yelling, jumping and carrying on as Kyle scored goal after goal on potential Keepers who weren't as skilled as others. I yelled, jumped and carried on even more when James took his position as Keeper and didn't let anything pass him. I could hear Charlotte and Landon doing the same from the stands. After a while, Beaters were fazed in. Finally, after it was narrowed down to two Keepers per team and four Beaters, it was time for the Seekers to take the sky. This time, however, he wanted everyone trying out for Seeker to take the air. He let dozens of Snitches up into the air, and we had to catch as many as possible until they were all gone. He'd call people out of the air, leaving only the better Seekers in the air to continue.

I kicked off the ground in one swift motion, ready to get this started. Priscilla Simmons taunted me from her broom not far from mine, but I didn't pay much attention to it. My eyes were searching for the twenty or so Snitches that we were supposed to be catching. As I was scanning the field, I caught a glimpse of gold above the stands over in right field. I dove as fast as I could, and could feel a rush of air behind me as the other Seekers played what the Cannons' coach called "Amoeba Quidditch", all following me in hopes to get it before I would. But they didn't have Comet Tails. I was still in front, but felt someone edging on my right. I turned my head slightly to try to catch my opponent in my peripheral vision, and saw Will, his brow furrowed in concentration and arm extended. Oh no. He had longer arms than I did; I would have to rely purely on speed. I urged my broom to please, please, please go faster. I had to catch this Snitch. Instead of simply going faster, I edged closer to Will, not touching him, but close enough to edge him a little further to the right than he should like to go, leaving me free to steeped my dive and claim the Snitch. But he edged right back until finally, I threw my weight into him, throwing him off course. Everyone who was watching was screaming and cheering when my fingers circled around the small ball and Will was shouting at me.

Mr. Wood was applauding, and I threw the now motionless Snitch at him. He had bewitched them. It was quite clever.

Soon, I was darting here and there, racing the remaining Seekers to the Snitch until there were only five of us left to catch three Snitches. I hadn't caught all of them. At times, I would be diving for one while others were diving for another. Now, though, we were all scanning the sky for the same three things. It wouldn't end well for everyone else, I told myself. Since there was no action then, I decided to spice things up and give everyone something to cheer about.

I tilted the nose of my broom down, and dove fast to the ground. Soon, I was being followed. At the last second, I pulled up and spiralled out of the dive, causing everyone to applaud and cheer loudly. I did a loop-the-loop, smiled and waved at them, very pleased with myself.

"EMILY WEASLEY!!!!" I heard Wood bellowing at me and saw him waving his arms crazily. I flew down to where he was, cheeks flushed, quite sure that he would congratulate me and ready for the compliment. "What the hell did you think that you were doing?" he yelled at me.

"I was-"

"Look, we don't need you to show off; we all know that you're good. And when you do some fool dangerous stunt like that, to potentially hurt others, you have crossed a line, young lady!"

"Yes, sir," I said, hanging my head, somewhat. He was right. "Can I…can I fly again now, sir?"

"No."

"No?!"

"No, Emily, you are benched for the rest of the tryout."

"Benched?!"

"Sit."

I sat down on the bench, slumped with my arms crossed, fuming. How dare he bench me! I was Quidditch! I sat there in my private volcano until he called everyone together with the promise of the results on Monday. As soon as he said the words 'you're dismissed' I was out of there like a shot, stomping away and refusing to answer Kyle's persistent questions.

Although Wood did yell at me, when Monday came, I was fully expecting my name to be on the list for the starting Gryffindor Seeker. But there was no list on Monday. At breakfast on Monday morning, Mr. Wood stood up to make an announcement.

"I'm sure that all of you have been wondering about Quidditch teams," I exchanged an excited glance with Kyle who was sitting across from me. "And I decided that it would be more…interesting to announce the teams rather than post them." Murmurs spread throughout the hall at this news. "For Hufflepuff…"

But I wasn't listening. My blood was humming in my veins as I thought about the prospects of this year. I could be the star Quidditch player. Quidditch Weekly could do a layout on the Gryffindor team. It would all be wonderful!

"For Gryffindor…" This was the moment that I'd been waiting for and, although previously calm, I was nervous and trying to shake the butterflies out of my stomach.

"Keeper is James Potter."

An explosion of applause rang throughout the Great Hall and shouting from all of his friends.

"Chasers are Kyle McLaughlin" (thunderous cheering from me) "Emma Scott and Chuck Brandt."

"Beaters are Fiona Finnigan and Jessie Thomas."

More crazy applause as Jessie and Fiona stood up and took bows in manner of Laurel and Hardy.

"And Seeker," (I held my breath), "Is Will Tucker."

My stomach plummeted to the ground. No, I was the Seeker. Everyone else in the Hall seemed to be as confused as I was. Kyle looked utterly appalled, as did Dad and McGonagall. This was not happening. I stood up suddenly, gathering my things in a mad rush to get out of there so I could do some screaming.

Ron…

"And Seeker is Will Tucker."

Ouch. I couldn't believe that they'd chosen Will Tucker over Emily, but I didn't dwell on it. The name 'Will Tucker' stuck in my head. I had met Will before…but where? He was the connection in my mind to Richard Tucker, but I couldn't even get the basics. I watched as Emily stood and stormed out, leaving the heavy wooden doors to slowly shut behind her. She hadn't noticed that, though, because everyone in the Great Hall heard:

"That measly, good for nothing, son of a-" before the doors shut and blocked out the sound. Yep, that's my daughter for ya. McGonagall turned and glared at me as if to say 'what kind of father are you?' but something else struck me. Will Tucker was sitting looking very dejected that his moment of glory had been taken away from him when it hit me. He was at Hermione's election party. He was at the Inaugural Ball. He was Richard Tucker's son. I had met Rich Tucker at the election party- he left the same impression on me as Gilderoy Lockhart. Rich Tucker had been at the Inaugural Ball.

I quickly stood, gathered my briefcase, took out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for Hermione's office, and strode out of the Great Hall.

"Juliet? Hi, it's Ron. Tell Hermione that I'm on my way over. I think that I've solved out problem."