Chapter 5: Order Meeting
"Look, just swish and flick. Like this." George demonstrated with his wand. "Swish and flick."
Pallas raised her eyebrows as she swished and flicked Fred's wand. "Is something supposed to happen?"
"Well, there are words to it. Repeat it after me: Wingardium Leviosa!" Fred said with gusto. The younger girl dutifully repeated it, a little less enthusiastically. The twins had been trying (rather unsuccessfully) to teach Pallas magic. Despite Harry pointing out that Pallas had not received a letter from Hogwarts, and Hermione pointing out that she was making the 'gar' too short in her incantation, the twins had insisted that she at least try.
"Okay, now swish and flick and at the same time say 'Wingardium Leviosa'," George coached her. "And mind you point the wand away from people."
Pallas screwed up her face and concentrated on the quill on the table in front of her. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried as she flicked and swished.
"Oh no," sighed Hermione as the feather, instead of floating lightly upwards like it was supposed to, flew upwards in the same way bricks do not.
"Ouch," Pallas grumbled. "Did someone breath too hard?"
"Well, it did move," George said with slightly forced enthusiasm. "Not in the right direction, but nevertheless—"
"It didn't move at all, George," Pallas groaned, resting her head on her arms. "Stop trying to make me feel better."
"All right then," George said cheerfully. "But don't poke your eye out with the wand or your spells will get worse."
"I don't think they can get worse." Pallas was on the point of flinging the wand at Fred when the door creaked open.
"Dinner," said Rory as she nudged the door open with her foot. She was holding a covered platter and had two more floating behind her. "And if you'll just put your wands away, little masters, I won't be saying anything to your parents." Fred retrieved his wand and stuck it in his belt.
"What's cooking?" Ron asked eagerly. "Smells delicious."
Rory smiled, her brown face crinkling. "This is a dish from my homeland. It's a surprise—but I'd wait until I bring the pitchers of water upstairs if I were you." She turned and went out in the hallway.
"Where's she from?" Pallas asked curiously, lifting up the cover of one of the platters. "Looks like some sort of seafood to me."
Hermione shrugged. "I think she's from someplace on the Caribbean. She speaks French, anyhow. I heard her talking to that Noirclair woman earlier."
Ron lifted a plate onto his lap and took a heaping forkful of shrimp and rice. "I don't care, I'm starving." He shoved it into his mouth. Within seconds his face had turned a shade of red that rivaled the peppers in the rice. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his eyes began to tear up. Ron swallowed with a visible effort, panting like his lungs were on fire. "Delicious," he gasped. "And also there's this strange feeling like my eyeballs are melting." Everyone laughed as Rory came back in with several large water pitchers and a loaf of bread.
"Ah, young master Weasley," she said with a smile, handing him a thick slice of bread and a pitcher of water. "You appreciate the cuisine of New Orleans?"
"Is that in hell?" Ron asked, wiping his streaming eyes on his shirtsleeve.
"No, just America," she teased while pouring him a glass of water to wash down the bread he had stuffed in his mouth. "If the rest of you chose not to follow young master Weasley's example, pick out the peppers before you eat. Excuse me." She left once more, her mismatched eyes twinkling.
The twins, Harry, Hermione, and Ron took Rory's advice and picked out every visible piece of pepper before eating. Pallas shrugged off the kindly housekeeper's warning and took a heaping spoonful of rice, peppers and shrimp. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, made a face, and swallowed. Everyone else stared at her, waiting for the inevitable reaction to the hot Cajun dish.
"I've had worse," she said, and then continued eating without comment.
"You must have guts of steel," George said as he took a gulp of water.
"No, I've just been eating school food for a couple years. What kind of food do you get at Hogwarts?" she asked, picking a piece of pepper out from between her teeth.
"It's excellent," said Hermione once she realized Harry and Ron were too busy drinking to reply. "What do they feed you at your school?"
Pallas laughed and pushed a handful of her wavy hair behind her ears. "Well, we fondly refer to them at MRE's," she grinned. "Meals Rejected by Ethiopians." She took another large bite of the food, paused, and reached for the water jug. "This has much more—flavor," she commented in between drinks of water.
"I guess we've been a bit pampered by Hogwarts food," Harry observed as he picked out another slice of pepper.
"Yes, this has given me an excellent insight on what might happen if we upset the house elves," Ron said, his eyes still watering madly.
Hermione sat up straight. "House elf!" she said. "I thought something was different about this place. Where's Kreacher?"
There was a silence as thick as butter. Harry paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Fred and George exchanged bland glances while Ron shot a nervous look over his shoulder at Harry. Pallas looked as if she would very much like to ask who Kreacher was, but Hermione shot her a look that, while not on the same level as Pallas's hippogriff glare, at least shut the younger girl up.
Harry put his fork down calmly. "Well I rather hope he's not dead yet," he heard himself say in a calm voice. Pallas shot him a Look, he glared right back.
"Er," said Hermione, her face set in a forced calm. "Um."
"It's no use not telling me," Pallas told Harry. "We're far past the point of 'what you don't know can't hurt you'."
"It's none of your business!" he snapped.
Pallas raised her eyebrows. "Should I mind?" she asked innocently.
"I don't have to tell you everything, just because I felt sorry for you once or twice—"
"Grab hold of your ears, Harry!" she retorted. Harry was saved having to think of a reply to this extraordinary statement by the door swinging open. Rory stood silhouetted in the dim hallway, a lamp floating behind her. It caught the fine silver hairs around her face and gave her a gleaming halo. Without a word she raised an eyebrow and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as she looked at each of them in turn. It wasn't like Pallas's soul-piercing glare; it was as though Rory had suddenly transformed herself into an ice sculpture.
"Hey, she started it," George pointed out, nodding at Hermione.
"Do you know what happened to Kreacher?" Harry asked her, meeting her eyes with effort. The gray one winked at him.
"He's dead," she said shortly. "I was sent up to get the twin Mr. Weasleys and Miss Leander—and also Mr. Potter, if he'd be obliged to come." She gestured at Fred and George, then turned and left the room. Her silver hair twinkled from where it lay loose down her back. Harry hurried after her.
"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Did Dumbledore kill him?"
"I killed him," Rory told him, face unreadable. "It was my final favor to Master Black, him that was your godfather." She stopped halfway down the stairs and looked up at him, her curiously young face very somber. "Would you have killed him, Harry?"
"Harry hasn't killed anyone," Pallas chirped as she slid past him on the banister, hair streaming and once more tangled. "At least not yet, though sometimes I do wonder." Rory raised her eyebrows at Harry.
"I haven't killed anyone," Harry denied vehemently. "She just thinks I go to St. Brutus's Secure-Something-or-Another."
"Can you blame her?" George asked as he and Fred caught up to the other three. "She's about as clueless as you were five-ish years ago."
"Really?" Pallas asked from the landing below. "And why do portraits snore?"
"Because they're sleeping and have large noses," replied Fred offhandedly, who was less fond of the hapless younger girl than his twin. "Why do they want to see us, Rory?"
Rory shrugged. "It's not for me to say," she said modestly as she continued down the stairs.
"Oh, come on," George wheedled. "You know you can't keep a secret from us for long."
"We're far too charming."
"And dashing."
"And utterly—"
"Hush!" Rory told them with mock severity as they passed Mrs. Black's portrait. "Don't wake the old hag."
They walked in silence down the final hallway, giving Harry ample time to think about what Rory had said. "Would you have killed him, Harry?" Her honest stare drilled into his mind. Would he? Harry thought about Kreacher laughing as he told Dumbledore that he'd betrayed Sirius to his death, and his fists tightened. Yes. He definitely would have killed Kreacher. Possible with his bare hands, since he was forbidden to use magic during school holidays.
"Would you have killed him, Harry?" His face flushed with a sort of guilty acceptance of these murderous thoughts. He had entertained thoughts of killing Bellatrix Lestrange since the Department of Mysteries. At first these ideas had scared him, then they'd become simple dark shades in his mind—not right, but not unwanted. It wasn't as hard to add a second person—well, creature—to his mental hit list.
Was this how it had happened to those Death Eaters who killed for fun? Did it start with just one and then escalate to more and more?
"Harry," Fred whispered.
"What?" he asked, snapping out of his reverie. "What is it?"
"It's Loony Lovegood."
Harry peering down the steps and saw a thin girl, a little shorter than he, with waist-length wavy blonde hair and a pair of orange radishes dangling from her ears, staring up at him with bemusement. "Some how I thought you'd be here," Luna Lovegood said. An assortment of quills was stuck in her hair at odd angles, giving her the curious look of a half-molted bird. A pad of paper was jammed into the back pocket of her jeans. "It's just unlikely enough to be true." With that statement she whipped the pad of paper out and pulled a quill out of her fair hair. "Do you have any comments on this spate of Time Travel disasters the Ministry has been experiencing?"
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, as Pallas shrieked with delight from behind him and nearly tackled Luna.
Luna staggered backwards, her quill flying as the shorter blonde hugged her around the waist. "Nothing much," she shrugged vaguely. "Hullo? Do I know you?" she asked blankly, her misty eyes looking down at the younger girl with surprise.
"Fatty Terry's daughter?" Pallas asked. "I think the last time we met was at your mum's—well, you know."
"My mother's funeral?" Luna replied, musingly. "Yes, but Fat Teresa didn't really want you near me, did she?"
"No, I think she thought I'd catch some type of sickness from you. She always told me that your mum was crazy."
"Well, she was a bit mad. Elizabeth isn't here, is she?"
Pallas stiffened. "Oh no. She's not—at least I hope not—is she?" Her face fell. "I really despise her."
Luna raised her eyebrows higher. "She's got the people skills of a black widow spider."
Harry, Fred and George exchanged mystified looks. "Have you got any clue what they're on about?" Fred asked Harry, who shook his head. "Are they related? They look rather alike."
"I don't really think so," George protested. Harry was unsure—though they both had the long wavy hair and similar build, Luna projected an air of complete dottiness, while Pallas had a sort of hard-edged innocence and her hippogriff stare. Pallas's hair was also much lighter than Luna's, while Luna's eyes were rounder and paler.
"We're cousins," Pallas explained to the boys. "There's only a bit of family resemblance in this side of the family."
"Ah," said Harry. "I would never have guessed."
"I didn't doubt it," said Luna vaguely, before wandering off to examine the fireplace. Pallas trailed after her until she spotted the dessert table and single-handedly attacked a large pudding made by Mrs. Weasley.
This left them to marvel at the changed state of the formerly dirty, rather empty kitchen. The brick floors glowed red and clean, the walls had been wiped down, and the various pots and pans hanging from the ceiling had been shined and pushed to the walls. Several long tables were laden with the homely plates and silverware that had been cleaned to brilliance and then covered with Rory's spicy food and Mrs. Weasley's excellent cuisine. Standing in between the tables were thirty or so adults with plates of food or pitchers of water raised to their faces. Some Harry recognized easily—Remus Lupin and Hagrid were talking in one corner, Charlie, Bill and Mr. Weasley were talking to Mad Eye Moody, and to his horror Severus Snape stood across from Eponine Noirclair, looking cross and pinched—which was not unusual for the Potions Professor.
"What's Snape doing here?" he asked George, who grimaced.
"It's an Order meeting," George replied. "And he's part of the Order, isn't he?"
"So why are we here, if this is a top-secret Order Meeting?"
"S'not top-secret," Fred interjected. "A few of these people aren't even in the order—that Noirclair woman for one." He pointed out several people Harry didn't recognize along with Eponine, who was holding the attention of several men in the room with ease. It was true that she was very beautiful, but Harry found her cold.
"Hide me," Pallas ordered just then, scampering back from the tables of food and ducking between Fred and George. Though they were only an inch or two taller than the lanky Pallas, they were solid enough to be an effective shield.
"What's up?" George asked her. "Bad pasty?"
Pallas rolled her eyes. "Nothing disagrees with me. It's just—she's here."
"Who's she?" Harry asked curiously. Pallas gave him a Look, still hunkered down between the twins.
"Lizzie Borden, the cousin from hell."
"Who's Lizzie Borden?"
"Some American—you know, 'Lizzie Borden took an axe, gave her father forty whacks'—but that's not important. I'm going straight back upstairs. I refuse to talk to her." Pallas ducked lower as a curvy girl with blonde curls cropped to frame a very pretty face came through the crowd. Her wide blue eyes took in all around her with single sweep, and within seconds she was walking about like it was her castle.
Fred glanced back at her. "She doesn't look so bad."
"You wouldn't say that if she'd set your skirt on fire when you were four." Harry, Fred, and George all stared at her. Pallas shrugged. "She did. She hates Muggles without bounds."
Luna meandered back over, her vague gray eyes suddenly very alert and alarmed. "Elizabeth's here," she commented casually to Fred and George. "I've remembered why I don't like her."
"Why?" Fred and Harry asked curiously.
She shook her head and smoothed her face back to utter vagueness. "I don't think I'll say," she demurred. "But we've got to go listen to a Ministry official, Pallas and I." She wandered off again.
"Do you think Luna's mother ever had doubts about taking her outdoors?" Pallas asked, poking her head out. "She seems like the sort who would wander all the way to Russia before she realized anything was out of place."
"She's a lot smarter than you'd think. She's in Ravenclaw."
Pallas gave Harry one of her Looks. "You mean that Luna is a witch too?"
"Well, yes. She does attend Hogwarts."
She shrugged it off, but still looked very uncomfortable. "I wish I were a witch," she said miserably. "I'm sick of being the only one here that needs rescuing."
"Well, you still might be," George said encouragingly.
"Yea, I'd rather have you be Rowena than that Elizabeth or Luna," Fred added.
"But I'm not sure I—"
"Miss Pallas, I'd be obliged if you'd follow me," Rory said, appearing suddenly on the stairs behind them. She looked vastly irritated. "And hurry, if you don't mind overmuch." She led Pallas away.
"How'd she get up the stairs?" Fred asked. "We've been blocking them this whole time."
"She probably Apparated," Harry suggested, rather surprised that the twins hadn't thought of this immediately. They had abused their Apparition privileges more than anyone he'd ever met.
"No," George waved his hand dismissively. "She can't. Terrified of Apparating. I think she might have splinched herself when she was taking her tests."
"Yea, we've eased off a bit," Fred added. "Watching people Apparate makes her drop whatever she's carrying, and after two dinners and a shrieking urn we decided it was best to go with subtlety over speed."
"A shrieking urn?"
Fred and George exchanged sly looks. "I've got a bet on with Bill that it's got the ashes of dear old Mrs. Black in it," George said.
"Maybe there's some secret passages in this old wreck," Fred suggested, eyeing the rough paneling and solid brick floors. "Servant's passages, perhaps?"
"I think you've got something there," George replied. "'Scuse us, Harry, we're off to do some passage-hunting." The twins went back upstairs, red heads bent together conspiratorially.
Harry turned his attention back to the adults. After a moment's search, he spotted the three blonde girls being addressed by a gawky, stooped man who hadn't quite managed to brush all the ink and gray dust off his clothes before he had Apparated. He was holding several rolls of parchment and had a large satchel slung over a chair. The bag was straining at the seams with the effort of containing several large books that were as dusty as the man. Eponine Noirclair stood close by, watching with keen interest. Snape was still by her side, though more interested in nursing his scorched tongue than the proceedings before him. Lupin was also watching, though he was also watching Rory, who was bustling around in a high bad temper, refilling water pitchers and whisking away dirty glasses.
A flash of red hair caught his eye, and to his great surprise he saw Percy sitting alone in the corner. He looked dreadful. His face was so pale that it looked like skim milk, and he was so thin that Harry could see his collarbone through the black robes he wore. The horn-rimmed glasses he was never without seemed to have grown too large for his face, and kept sliding down his nose and over his protruding cheekbones. Harry felt a little sorry for Percy, ignored by his family and the Ministry alike. Of course, Harry wasn't altogether ready to forgive Percy, but he was a pitiful sight.
"Bit of a scene, isn't it?" Ron said off-handedly. When Harry jumped and turning around, he said scornfully "Do you really think we'd stay holed up in that room while interesting things are going on down here?" Ginny and Hermione grinned at him from the top of the stairs.
"We figured that there's too much going on for them to really notice us," Ginny said. "And there's no use for the Extendable Ears here. Way too much interference."
"Why is Luna's here?" Hermione said in confusion. "I thought that this was an Order meeting."
"Luna," Harry told her, "Is Pallas's cousin."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Ginny said.
Hermione's eyes widened. "You don't mean—Luna could be Rowena Ravenclaw?" Ginny's jaw dropped.
"You've got to be joking. Loony Lovegood, founding Hogwarts?" Ron blurted. Hermione shushed him, but it was too late. Rory appeared out of the crowd, looking displeased and irritated.
"Mr. and Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter—you will all go back to your rooms this instant."
"But you said—" Harry protested.
"Never mind what I said. I've been overruled, and you will all go upstairs. Must I follow you to make sure that you make it to your rooms?" Rory raised her silver eyebrows. Her mismatched eyes bored into each of theirs in turn. Without a word, Harry turned and stalked upstairs, followed by Ron and Hermione. Ginny tailed sullenly behind, watched closely by the housekeeper. Once they got to the first landing, they turned and looked down. Rory's silver head turned to watch the rest of the room, but she maintained her post at the bottom of the stairs.
"Damn," said Ginny. "I was hoping she'd take our side for once."
"Yea," Ron agreed. "She always sides with the adults."
"I still like her," Hermione objected. "Even if she is willingly committing herself to servitude."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, don't you dare start that spew thing with Rory. She's being paid!"
"Not nearly what she should be. She's on call all day and night with only Sundays off, she cleans, cooks—"
"Shh!" Harry told them as Mrs. Black's curtains came into view. Ginny ignored his warning and jerked the curtains apart ferociously, seemingly deaf to the screeches of the horrible old woman.
"MUDBLOODS! MUGGLE-LOVERS! FILTH!"
"Ginny, can't you find another way of letting them know that you're pissed?" George asked from the landing above. "You lot, get up here. Fred and I've found something rather interesting."
"I bet they've found some sort of secret passageway," Ron told Harry over the screams. "They've been searching for one all summer."
It was a rug, about five feet by seven, holey and missing great chunks of fringe from its border. The intertwined serpents that made up the border were faded and threadbare; as if the rug had been dirtied and laundered so many times that it was close to unraveling.
"That's it?" Ron said. "Fred, it's just a rug."
"But is it?" Fred said in impersonation of the Quibbler. "This rug—believe it or not—is the best thing we've found in here all summer. Will you do the honors, George?" George made an elegant leg and kicked the rug so that it rolled into a lumpy roll. Beneath it was a big trap door, which George pulled up to reveal a flight of stairs.
"This is the truly excellent part. These passages go just about everywhere, including behind the kitchen walls," George waggled his eyebrows at them. "Who wants to join me in some old-fashioned eavesdropping?" The vote was unanimous.
"Look, just swish and flick. Like this." George demonstrated with his wand. "Swish and flick."
Pallas raised her eyebrows as she swished and flicked Fred's wand. "Is something supposed to happen?"
"Well, there are words to it. Repeat it after me: Wingardium Leviosa!" Fred said with gusto. The younger girl dutifully repeated it, a little less enthusiastically. The twins had been trying (rather unsuccessfully) to teach Pallas magic. Despite Harry pointing out that Pallas had not received a letter from Hogwarts, and Hermione pointing out that she was making the 'gar' too short in her incantation, the twins had insisted that she at least try.
"Okay, now swish and flick and at the same time say 'Wingardium Leviosa'," George coached her. "And mind you point the wand away from people."
Pallas screwed up her face and concentrated on the quill on the table in front of her. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried as she flicked and swished.
"Oh no," sighed Hermione as the feather, instead of floating lightly upwards like it was supposed to, flew upwards in the same way bricks do not.
"Ouch," Pallas grumbled. "Did someone breath too hard?"
"Well, it did move," George said with slightly forced enthusiasm. "Not in the right direction, but nevertheless—"
"It didn't move at all, George," Pallas groaned, resting her head on her arms. "Stop trying to make me feel better."
"All right then," George said cheerfully. "But don't poke your eye out with the wand or your spells will get worse."
"I don't think they can get worse." Pallas was on the point of flinging the wand at Fred when the door creaked open.
"Dinner," said Rory as she nudged the door open with her foot. She was holding a covered platter and had two more floating behind her. "And if you'll just put your wands away, little masters, I won't be saying anything to your parents." Fred retrieved his wand and stuck it in his belt.
"What's cooking?" Ron asked eagerly. "Smells delicious."
Rory smiled, her brown face crinkling. "This is a dish from my homeland. It's a surprise—but I'd wait until I bring the pitchers of water upstairs if I were you." She turned and went out in the hallway.
"Where's she from?" Pallas asked curiously, lifting up the cover of one of the platters. "Looks like some sort of seafood to me."
Hermione shrugged. "I think she's from someplace on the Caribbean. She speaks French, anyhow. I heard her talking to that Noirclair woman earlier."
Ron lifted a plate onto his lap and took a heaping forkful of shrimp and rice. "I don't care, I'm starving." He shoved it into his mouth. Within seconds his face had turned a shade of red that rivaled the peppers in the rice. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his eyes began to tear up. Ron swallowed with a visible effort, panting like his lungs were on fire. "Delicious," he gasped. "And also there's this strange feeling like my eyeballs are melting." Everyone laughed as Rory came back in with several large water pitchers and a loaf of bread.
"Ah, young master Weasley," she said with a smile, handing him a thick slice of bread and a pitcher of water. "You appreciate the cuisine of New Orleans?"
"Is that in hell?" Ron asked, wiping his streaming eyes on his shirtsleeve.
"No, just America," she teased while pouring him a glass of water to wash down the bread he had stuffed in his mouth. "If the rest of you chose not to follow young master Weasley's example, pick out the peppers before you eat. Excuse me." She left once more, her mismatched eyes twinkling.
The twins, Harry, Hermione, and Ron took Rory's advice and picked out every visible piece of pepper before eating. Pallas shrugged off the kindly housekeeper's warning and took a heaping spoonful of rice, peppers and shrimp. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, made a face, and swallowed. Everyone else stared at her, waiting for the inevitable reaction to the hot Cajun dish.
"I've had worse," she said, and then continued eating without comment.
"You must have guts of steel," George said as he took a gulp of water.
"No, I've just been eating school food for a couple years. What kind of food do you get at Hogwarts?" she asked, picking a piece of pepper out from between her teeth.
"It's excellent," said Hermione once she realized Harry and Ron were too busy drinking to reply. "What do they feed you at your school?"
Pallas laughed and pushed a handful of her wavy hair behind her ears. "Well, we fondly refer to them at MRE's," she grinned. "Meals Rejected by Ethiopians." She took another large bite of the food, paused, and reached for the water jug. "This has much more—flavor," she commented in between drinks of water.
"I guess we've been a bit pampered by Hogwarts food," Harry observed as he picked out another slice of pepper.
"Yes, this has given me an excellent insight on what might happen if we upset the house elves," Ron said, his eyes still watering madly.
Hermione sat up straight. "House elf!" she said. "I thought something was different about this place. Where's Kreacher?"
There was a silence as thick as butter. Harry paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Fred and George exchanged bland glances while Ron shot a nervous look over his shoulder at Harry. Pallas looked as if she would very much like to ask who Kreacher was, but Hermione shot her a look that, while not on the same level as Pallas's hippogriff glare, at least shut the younger girl up.
Harry put his fork down calmly. "Well I rather hope he's not dead yet," he heard himself say in a calm voice. Pallas shot him a Look, he glared right back.
"Er," said Hermione, her face set in a forced calm. "Um."
"It's no use not telling me," Pallas told Harry. "We're far past the point of 'what you don't know can't hurt you'."
"It's none of your business!" he snapped.
Pallas raised her eyebrows. "Should I mind?" she asked innocently.
"I don't have to tell you everything, just because I felt sorry for you once or twice—"
"Grab hold of your ears, Harry!" she retorted. Harry was saved having to think of a reply to this extraordinary statement by the door swinging open. Rory stood silhouetted in the dim hallway, a lamp floating behind her. It caught the fine silver hairs around her face and gave her a gleaming halo. Without a word she raised an eyebrow and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as she looked at each of them in turn. It wasn't like Pallas's soul-piercing glare; it was as though Rory had suddenly transformed herself into an ice sculpture.
"Hey, she started it," George pointed out, nodding at Hermione.
"Do you know what happened to Kreacher?" Harry asked her, meeting her eyes with effort. The gray one winked at him.
"He's dead," she said shortly. "I was sent up to get the twin Mr. Weasleys and Miss Leander—and also Mr. Potter, if he'd be obliged to come." She gestured at Fred and George, then turned and left the room. Her silver hair twinkled from where it lay loose down her back. Harry hurried after her.
"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Did Dumbledore kill him?"
"I killed him," Rory told him, face unreadable. "It was my final favor to Master Black, him that was your godfather." She stopped halfway down the stairs and looked up at him, her curiously young face very somber. "Would you have killed him, Harry?"
"Harry hasn't killed anyone," Pallas chirped as she slid past him on the banister, hair streaming and once more tangled. "At least not yet, though sometimes I do wonder." Rory raised her eyebrows at Harry.
"I haven't killed anyone," Harry denied vehemently. "She just thinks I go to St. Brutus's Secure-Something-or-Another."
"Can you blame her?" George asked as he and Fred caught up to the other three. "She's about as clueless as you were five-ish years ago."
"Really?" Pallas asked from the landing below. "And why do portraits snore?"
"Because they're sleeping and have large noses," replied Fred offhandedly, who was less fond of the hapless younger girl than his twin. "Why do they want to see us, Rory?"
Rory shrugged. "It's not for me to say," she said modestly as she continued down the stairs.
"Oh, come on," George wheedled. "You know you can't keep a secret from us for long."
"We're far too charming."
"And dashing."
"And utterly—"
"Hush!" Rory told them with mock severity as they passed Mrs. Black's portrait. "Don't wake the old hag."
They walked in silence down the final hallway, giving Harry ample time to think about what Rory had said. "Would you have killed him, Harry?" Her honest stare drilled into his mind. Would he? Harry thought about Kreacher laughing as he told Dumbledore that he'd betrayed Sirius to his death, and his fists tightened. Yes. He definitely would have killed Kreacher. Possible with his bare hands, since he was forbidden to use magic during school holidays.
"Would you have killed him, Harry?" His face flushed with a sort of guilty acceptance of these murderous thoughts. He had entertained thoughts of killing Bellatrix Lestrange since the Department of Mysteries. At first these ideas had scared him, then they'd become simple dark shades in his mind—not right, but not unwanted. It wasn't as hard to add a second person—well, creature—to his mental hit list.
Was this how it had happened to those Death Eaters who killed for fun? Did it start with just one and then escalate to more and more?
"Harry," Fred whispered.
"What?" he asked, snapping out of his reverie. "What is it?"
"It's Loony Lovegood."
Harry peering down the steps and saw a thin girl, a little shorter than he, with waist-length wavy blonde hair and a pair of orange radishes dangling from her ears, staring up at him with bemusement. "Some how I thought you'd be here," Luna Lovegood said. An assortment of quills was stuck in her hair at odd angles, giving her the curious look of a half-molted bird. A pad of paper was jammed into the back pocket of her jeans. "It's just unlikely enough to be true." With that statement she whipped the pad of paper out and pulled a quill out of her fair hair. "Do you have any comments on this spate of Time Travel disasters the Ministry has been experiencing?"
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, as Pallas shrieked with delight from behind him and nearly tackled Luna.
Luna staggered backwards, her quill flying as the shorter blonde hugged her around the waist. "Nothing much," she shrugged vaguely. "Hullo? Do I know you?" she asked blankly, her misty eyes looking down at the younger girl with surprise.
"Fatty Terry's daughter?" Pallas asked. "I think the last time we met was at your mum's—well, you know."
"My mother's funeral?" Luna replied, musingly. "Yes, but Fat Teresa didn't really want you near me, did she?"
"No, I think she thought I'd catch some type of sickness from you. She always told me that your mum was crazy."
"Well, she was a bit mad. Elizabeth isn't here, is she?"
Pallas stiffened. "Oh no. She's not—at least I hope not—is she?" Her face fell. "I really despise her."
Luna raised her eyebrows higher. "She's got the people skills of a black widow spider."
Harry, Fred and George exchanged mystified looks. "Have you got any clue what they're on about?" Fred asked Harry, who shook his head. "Are they related? They look rather alike."
"I don't really think so," George protested. Harry was unsure—though they both had the long wavy hair and similar build, Luna projected an air of complete dottiness, while Pallas had a sort of hard-edged innocence and her hippogriff stare. Pallas's hair was also much lighter than Luna's, while Luna's eyes were rounder and paler.
"We're cousins," Pallas explained to the boys. "There's only a bit of family resemblance in this side of the family."
"Ah," said Harry. "I would never have guessed."
"I didn't doubt it," said Luna vaguely, before wandering off to examine the fireplace. Pallas trailed after her until she spotted the dessert table and single-handedly attacked a large pudding made by Mrs. Weasley.
This left them to marvel at the changed state of the formerly dirty, rather empty kitchen. The brick floors glowed red and clean, the walls had been wiped down, and the various pots and pans hanging from the ceiling had been shined and pushed to the walls. Several long tables were laden with the homely plates and silverware that had been cleaned to brilliance and then covered with Rory's spicy food and Mrs. Weasley's excellent cuisine. Standing in between the tables were thirty or so adults with plates of food or pitchers of water raised to their faces. Some Harry recognized easily—Remus Lupin and Hagrid were talking in one corner, Charlie, Bill and Mr. Weasley were talking to Mad Eye Moody, and to his horror Severus Snape stood across from Eponine Noirclair, looking cross and pinched—which was not unusual for the Potions Professor.
"What's Snape doing here?" he asked George, who grimaced.
"It's an Order meeting," George replied. "And he's part of the Order, isn't he?"
"So why are we here, if this is a top-secret Order Meeting?"
"S'not top-secret," Fred interjected. "A few of these people aren't even in the order—that Noirclair woman for one." He pointed out several people Harry didn't recognize along with Eponine, who was holding the attention of several men in the room with ease. It was true that she was very beautiful, but Harry found her cold.
"Hide me," Pallas ordered just then, scampering back from the tables of food and ducking between Fred and George. Though they were only an inch or two taller than the lanky Pallas, they were solid enough to be an effective shield.
"What's up?" George asked her. "Bad pasty?"
Pallas rolled her eyes. "Nothing disagrees with me. It's just—she's here."
"Who's she?" Harry asked curiously. Pallas gave him a Look, still hunkered down between the twins.
"Lizzie Borden, the cousin from hell."
"Who's Lizzie Borden?"
"Some American—you know, 'Lizzie Borden took an axe, gave her father forty whacks'—but that's not important. I'm going straight back upstairs. I refuse to talk to her." Pallas ducked lower as a curvy girl with blonde curls cropped to frame a very pretty face came through the crowd. Her wide blue eyes took in all around her with single sweep, and within seconds she was walking about like it was her castle.
Fred glanced back at her. "She doesn't look so bad."
"You wouldn't say that if she'd set your skirt on fire when you were four." Harry, Fred, and George all stared at her. Pallas shrugged. "She did. She hates Muggles without bounds."
Luna meandered back over, her vague gray eyes suddenly very alert and alarmed. "Elizabeth's here," she commented casually to Fred and George. "I've remembered why I don't like her."
"Why?" Fred and Harry asked curiously.
She shook her head and smoothed her face back to utter vagueness. "I don't think I'll say," she demurred. "But we've got to go listen to a Ministry official, Pallas and I." She wandered off again.
"Do you think Luna's mother ever had doubts about taking her outdoors?" Pallas asked, poking her head out. "She seems like the sort who would wander all the way to Russia before she realized anything was out of place."
"She's a lot smarter than you'd think. She's in Ravenclaw."
Pallas gave Harry one of her Looks. "You mean that Luna is a witch too?"
"Well, yes. She does attend Hogwarts."
She shrugged it off, but still looked very uncomfortable. "I wish I were a witch," she said miserably. "I'm sick of being the only one here that needs rescuing."
"Well, you still might be," George said encouragingly.
"Yea, I'd rather have you be Rowena than that Elizabeth or Luna," Fred added.
"But I'm not sure I—"
"Miss Pallas, I'd be obliged if you'd follow me," Rory said, appearing suddenly on the stairs behind them. She looked vastly irritated. "And hurry, if you don't mind overmuch." She led Pallas away.
"How'd she get up the stairs?" Fred asked. "We've been blocking them this whole time."
"She probably Apparated," Harry suggested, rather surprised that the twins hadn't thought of this immediately. They had abused their Apparition privileges more than anyone he'd ever met.
"No," George waved his hand dismissively. "She can't. Terrified of Apparating. I think she might have splinched herself when she was taking her tests."
"Yea, we've eased off a bit," Fred added. "Watching people Apparate makes her drop whatever she's carrying, and after two dinners and a shrieking urn we decided it was best to go with subtlety over speed."
"A shrieking urn?"
Fred and George exchanged sly looks. "I've got a bet on with Bill that it's got the ashes of dear old Mrs. Black in it," George said.
"Maybe there's some secret passages in this old wreck," Fred suggested, eyeing the rough paneling and solid brick floors. "Servant's passages, perhaps?"
"I think you've got something there," George replied. "'Scuse us, Harry, we're off to do some passage-hunting." The twins went back upstairs, red heads bent together conspiratorially.
Harry turned his attention back to the adults. After a moment's search, he spotted the three blonde girls being addressed by a gawky, stooped man who hadn't quite managed to brush all the ink and gray dust off his clothes before he had Apparated. He was holding several rolls of parchment and had a large satchel slung over a chair. The bag was straining at the seams with the effort of containing several large books that were as dusty as the man. Eponine Noirclair stood close by, watching with keen interest. Snape was still by her side, though more interested in nursing his scorched tongue than the proceedings before him. Lupin was also watching, though he was also watching Rory, who was bustling around in a high bad temper, refilling water pitchers and whisking away dirty glasses.
A flash of red hair caught his eye, and to his great surprise he saw Percy sitting alone in the corner. He looked dreadful. His face was so pale that it looked like skim milk, and he was so thin that Harry could see his collarbone through the black robes he wore. The horn-rimmed glasses he was never without seemed to have grown too large for his face, and kept sliding down his nose and over his protruding cheekbones. Harry felt a little sorry for Percy, ignored by his family and the Ministry alike. Of course, Harry wasn't altogether ready to forgive Percy, but he was a pitiful sight.
"Bit of a scene, isn't it?" Ron said off-handedly. When Harry jumped and turning around, he said scornfully "Do you really think we'd stay holed up in that room while interesting things are going on down here?" Ginny and Hermione grinned at him from the top of the stairs.
"We figured that there's too much going on for them to really notice us," Ginny said. "And there's no use for the Extendable Ears here. Way too much interference."
"Why is Luna's here?" Hermione said in confusion. "I thought that this was an Order meeting."
"Luna," Harry told her, "Is Pallas's cousin."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Ginny said.
Hermione's eyes widened. "You don't mean—Luna could be Rowena Ravenclaw?" Ginny's jaw dropped.
"You've got to be joking. Loony Lovegood, founding Hogwarts?" Ron blurted. Hermione shushed him, but it was too late. Rory appeared out of the crowd, looking displeased and irritated.
"Mr. and Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter—you will all go back to your rooms this instant."
"But you said—" Harry protested.
"Never mind what I said. I've been overruled, and you will all go upstairs. Must I follow you to make sure that you make it to your rooms?" Rory raised her silver eyebrows. Her mismatched eyes bored into each of theirs in turn. Without a word, Harry turned and stalked upstairs, followed by Ron and Hermione. Ginny tailed sullenly behind, watched closely by the housekeeper. Once they got to the first landing, they turned and looked down. Rory's silver head turned to watch the rest of the room, but she maintained her post at the bottom of the stairs.
"Damn," said Ginny. "I was hoping she'd take our side for once."
"Yea," Ron agreed. "She always sides with the adults."
"I still like her," Hermione objected. "Even if she is willingly committing herself to servitude."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, don't you dare start that spew thing with Rory. She's being paid!"
"Not nearly what she should be. She's on call all day and night with only Sundays off, she cleans, cooks—"
"Shh!" Harry told them as Mrs. Black's curtains came into view. Ginny ignored his warning and jerked the curtains apart ferociously, seemingly deaf to the screeches of the horrible old woman.
"MUDBLOODS! MUGGLE-LOVERS! FILTH!"
"Ginny, can't you find another way of letting them know that you're pissed?" George asked from the landing above. "You lot, get up here. Fred and I've found something rather interesting."
"I bet they've found some sort of secret passageway," Ron told Harry over the screams. "They've been searching for one all summer."
It was a rug, about five feet by seven, holey and missing great chunks of fringe from its border. The intertwined serpents that made up the border were faded and threadbare; as if the rug had been dirtied and laundered so many times that it was close to unraveling.
"That's it?" Ron said. "Fred, it's just a rug."
"But is it?" Fred said in impersonation of the Quibbler. "This rug—believe it or not—is the best thing we've found in here all summer. Will you do the honors, George?" George made an elegant leg and kicked the rug so that it rolled into a lumpy roll. Beneath it was a big trap door, which George pulled up to reveal a flight of stairs.
"This is the truly excellent part. These passages go just about everywhere, including behind the kitchen walls," George waggled his eyebrows at them. "Who wants to join me in some old-fashioned eavesdropping?" The vote was unanimous.