Listening in through a small crack in the kitchen door with Faith, a frown twists my mouth as I hear Mrs. Weasley speak to Hermione, the sounds and smells of cooking wafting through distracting my stomach as it gives a soft grumble. Crouching down near me to peer through, Faith tilts her head up with a smirk that I ignore, concentrating on what the redheaded mother is saying.
"Sorry Hermione, dear," she says, the lilt in her voice indicating that she's walking around the room, "but I won't be going to Diagon Alley until the lists come in. There's not much point."
She pauses then, and Faith shifts slightly beneath me, her left shoulder brushing my leg. When Mrs. Weasley speaks next, I nervously chew my bottom lip when I hear the slightly suspicious tone in her voice. Please don't ask, please don't ask, just keep going...
"Why are you so keen on going, dear?"
Unconsciously, I'm holding my breath and can feel my chest tighten as I wait and pray that Hermione doesn't give anything away. Come on...make up something...anything...
"Uh, no reason, Mrs. Weasley," she finally replies with a nervous laugh, and even from here, I can hear the distinct tone of hesitancy in her voice, "You know me...always anxious to start reading the set books..."
"Well, if that's all, I'm sure you can wait a few more days, Hermione. Enjoy the break while you can. It won't be long till..."
My breath comes out in a soft whoosh, and my shoulders sag with relief. Below, Faith suddenly leans back on my legs and I have to grip the doorway to keep from tripping backwards. As Hermione continues to chat idly inside, I can still hear that edgy tone as she talks, but it's not so bad now. Hopefully she can get to that Diamond Alley and get the material without Mrs. Weasley knowing. But for now, Phase One is over.
Just as Faith starts to rise from the dusty floor, I hear a familiar third voice come from the kitchen. Finally, Dumbledore's decided to come back. In the time that we've been here, there've only been a few more patrols and Order meetings. There hasn't been any new stuff going down, so Faith and I have decided to sit out the meetings and train instead. After the big 'ol hole suck, it feels good to get back into rhythm.
I give a quick tilt of my head towards the door and Faith follows me in. When we enter, Hermione looks startled, but doesn't say anything.
"Hey Dumbledore!" I greet with a smile, throwing Hermione a pleased wink, "Got time for a little one-on-one with your favourite Slayer?"
"Hey!" Faith retorts from her place against the kitchen counter, "Ain't dead yet, y'know?"
"Got dibs in first," I smile before turning back to Dumbledore, who chuckles and motions towards the door that we just came through. As I pass her, I send a questioning glance towards Faith, offering for her to come, but she shakes her head and gives Hermione a pointed look.
"I'll catch up with ya' later," she murmurs before I step out, her focus already on the fidgeting witch at the table.
I follow Dumbledore down the corridor, the questions I need to ask him tumbling round and round, and I can't make out one sentence from another. Sighing as we enter the Order room, I watch as Dumbledore lights the lamps with a flick of a wand that I barely see from his dark blue robes.
"Have a seat, Miss Summers," he says gently, but I wait for him to take one in the middle of the table before sitting next to him.
"What is it that you wish to discuss?"
Simple question. Complicated answer. All the questions keep rolling; Harry, Voldemort, Death Eater, plans...
If he would even look at me.
With a frown, I ask, gazing at the deep eyes behind those moon spectacles, "Why are you avoiding Harry?"
As I stare, I see the crinkles of age creep in along his forehead, eyes, mouth, even in the crevices of his nose. A shadow flits across his eyes, and for a moment, I regret even asking since it's obviously hard for him to answer. I don't know how long passes before a weary sigh escapes from him, and he really looks like a tired grandfather.
"You might be the only person in the world who has gone through more than Harry has in his life, but he does draw close to your record, Miss Summers," he says, his head slightly turned away from me, "I fear that with after the events of the Triwizard Tournament last year, Voldemort is now closer to Harry that we realise."
My brow furrows slightly. Voldemort's not closer physically, so he must be...
"Mentally?" I voice out loud, drawing Dumbledore's sharp attention, "Can he read Harry's thoughts?"
He seems to eye me carefully, but I can't read his expression, "Not as yet. I do not think he even realises that Harry has this connection with him. But it will not be long until he discovers the bond between them, and I fear that Harry will be manipulated into revealing his thoughts."
Thoughts. Absently gazing around the room, the connection finally settles in. Harry knows about the Order. Heck, he lives with the Order. If Voldemort were to find out the exact place, especially after that Death Eater attack here...not to mention if he knows about the weaknesses of a Slayer and the one wizard he's most scared of ...
"But that doesn't explain why you're acting like he's got a disease," I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice, "He's been wanting to talk to you but you're never around long enough for him to even see you."
Then the shadow that flitted swiftly across before settles heavily in his blue eyes. Turning to me, I feel my eyes widen slightly at the sadness in his gaze.
"Believe me, Miss Summers, all my actions are for Harry's benefit."
"Avoiding him doesn't help anything!" I cry out, knowing from experience how being away from Dawn only led to her klepto-mania and bitterness towards me, "it will only make things worse. And trust me when I say you don't want an upset hormonal teenager on your hands."
The cloud in his eyes clears slightly, but it's still there and I can see a 'resolve-face' on him.
"Fine," I grumble, "but when he gets in trouble, you're gonna get the biggest 'I-told-you-so' in history. And note I say 'when', not 'if'."
Dumbledore chuckles, the fine lines on his eyes crinkling. But he gets cut off when a knock on the door comes. Standing, he strolls towards the door, inviting the other person in. Or should I say people...Mr. Weasley's there, and Faith too. They come in, Mr. Weasley giving me a slightly drained smile before settling himself down across the table. Faith sits next to him, a little sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. Once Dumbledore's reseated, she pipes up.
"So what's the hubbub, bub?"
Mr. Weasley glances at her confusedly, but the wizened guy next to me merely smiles and says, "As you may have noticed lately, the number of patrols that we have been sending out has decreased significantly."
I nod, thoughts of Harry fluttering away to another part of my brain.
"Our attention is now focused on the Ministry of Magic..."
"Isn't that where that Caramel dude is?" Faith interrupts with a glower, "The one who thinks you're all grabby-hands for his place?"
His lips curving slightly, Dumbledore continues, "Yes, Cornelius Fudge is the Head of the Ministry. And because of his misplaced suspicions, we have been forced to use specific people, such as Mr. Weasley who works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts sector, to guard the room in the Department of Mysteries."
The words Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is still swimming around in my brain as Faith asks, "What room? And what's this department?"
This time, Mr. Weasley speaks, "The Department of Mysteries is where many strange and often dangerous wizarding items or spells are kept and studied to try and discern their purpose or value is. No one except those who work in the department know what are kept there, and they're called the Unspeakables."
"So, not with the talking," I say slowly, "then what is this thing that we're guarding that we're not supposed to know about?"
Faith looks at me with a raised eyebrow. I shrug lightly in response.
"In one of the rooms are rows and rows of small glass spheres. They hold recorded prophecies and are heavily guarded by the Ministry," Dumbledore says seriously, glancing between Faith and I, "only those which the prophecy relates to are allowed to hear it."
"And let me guess," I butt in, "Voldemort's all in a spunk now 'cause one of those prophecies is about him?"
Then I pause and confusion settles over me.
"But if the prophecy's about him, why can't he get it?"
"Think, B," Faith says, rolling her eyes, "how do 'ya think people would react if evil dude comes strolling in and says, 'Hey, let's have a peek at this ball thing and I'll be right out of your way.'?"
"Then send one of his stupid minions to get it – "I start, before being gently cut off by Dumbledore.
"The prophecy Voldemort desires does not directly refer to him, but its contents are of great concern," he says gravely, "it speaks of the one who may have the power to destroy him."
A thick silence falls over the four of us, and I shiver slightly at the sudden chilliness of the room. The flames on the walls don't do much for heat.
"Now when you say may..." Faith slowly picks up, staring at Dumbledore.
"Ah, there is where many of our complications lie," he says quietly, pointedly glancing at me, "for the prophecy details that neither can live while the other survives."
From the shocked look on Mr. Weasley's now pale face, this is the first time he's heard this. Neither can live while the other survives...neither can live while the other survives...
The prophecy must obviously refer to Harry, since he's the one Voldemort's Hell-bent on getting. A queasy feeling starts to bubble in the pit of my stomach. Voldemort, super Big Bad, charged with enough dark magic to make evil-Willow send the world to Hell and back, allied with the First, the ultimate evil. Facing off against Harry Potter, the wizard who's still in school, and who seems to have gotten by with sheer luck and ancient magic cast a decade ago. Now I know why Dumbledore's so protective of Harry, but I still don't think he should be avoiding him. I'd be mightily pissed if someone wouldn't talk to me, especially about something that so obviously concerns me.
"Geez, this seems screwed up," Faith comments softly, breaking the thick hush over us with a slightly bleak look. She must've come to the same conclusion as me.
"Hey look on the bright side," I offer with a grim smile, "there's us and the Order helping Harry. Plus he's got his own Secret Six squad. He's not totally alone."
"Miss Summers is right," Dumbledore says, his tone turning light, "Harry is not alone, and with your aid, I believe that we have a good chance of defeating this evil. And now, I ask for your help in guarding this room against Voldemort's most likely attempts to enter."
As if his cue had come, Mr. Weasley jumps in with an eager smile as he starts to explain the plan to us, "As Professor Dumbledore said, we can only rely on people within the Ministry to keep a watch on the department. But we don't have enough, especially with the odd shifts, so we need your help."
I lean back into my chair, only now realising how tense I've been as my back slouches back.
"If you will, both of you will pretend to be exchange students from America, looking for experience within the Ministry. We will acquire wands for you, so as to pass off that you really are witches. Once in the Ministry, either myself or Kingsley Shacklebolt will head your 'research' and we will alternate shifts for your watch."
The redheaded man pauses, taking deep breaths as he finishes his explanation. Sounds good, but a question twinges in my mind.
"Are you sure you can get wands for us? I'm sure they'll be able to tell if they're fake," I ask, glancing at Dumbledore.
He merely smiles, his glasses glinting from the light, and says to Faith and I, "As Slayers both of you are classified as magical creatures. Your strength, speed, healing capabilities and other factors are all a form of ancient magic that runs through your veins. A wand is merely a channel for your magic, though different it may be. Acquiring one should not pose a problem."
"How long do the shifts last?" Faith asks. I look at her inquiringly, wondering if this has anything to do with...
"Usually no more than five hours," Mr. Weasley says in a reassuring tone, but pauses when he sees Faith's troubled expression, "but you'll only be doing the later shifts or early in the morning so that we don't arouse any suspicion."
But the thought of doing a late shift only seems to deepen her frown, and I grin, knowing why she's not too bubbly about having to watch a door in the middle of the night...having to leave a certain somebody'sbed...if everything goes according to plan of course. Faith catches my eye, and as she sees my knowing smile, smirks back, but it's lacking a bit of her usual attitude.
"Well, sounds good to me," I chirp in agreement, "where do I sign up?"
The two men chuckle and as they continue to speak about the details, my mind wanders back to the prophecy. With all my experience with them, it doesn't turn out well for either side. Usually blows up in the faces of those who try to avoid fulfilling it, but end up screwing themselves over instead. A la Buffy versus the Master. In the end, I died, so that wasn't of the good. But when I came back, I smashed the vamp to dust, so he didn't benefit either. And so is the miserable outcome of prophecies.
"Time to go," Faith calls, and I snap back, flicking my head towards the door, "dinner is calling my name."
"I can think of something...or should I say, someone who might be calling your name too," I say with a shrewd smirk, "and don't think I forgot about that look on your face when Mr. Weasley told us about the night shifts."
Faith childishly sticks her tongue out at me and I playfully tackle her to the ground. We roll around laughing, me grabbing the T-bar on the back of her singlet, and she yanking on the waistband of my shorts, trying to give me a wedgie.
"Now this is entertainment," a sly voice says, and looking up, I see Bill eyeing us with amusement.
Then another deeper voice comes in, "Yeah, just throw in some mud and I'd pay to watch this."
Releasing each other, I don't need to look at Faith to know it's Sirius. Standing and dusting myself off, I give a 'he's-yours-you-deal' look.
"Mud and girls," she merely says with a small grin, swiping her hands down her pants, "kinky. I'll remember that for future reference."
A choking sound comes out of him and I giggle. Faith has a wicked look on her face, as she saunters down past the two of them towards the kitchen.