A/N: I'll be gone on a camping trip next week with my brother and grandparents, who came down all the way from Wisconsin. So, I've left you all this great big looooong chapter. I was too lazy to split it up into a two-parter and I stayed up till around 4 am finishing this because my Muse refused to let me sleep after bombarding me with my usual midnight creativity streak. My best ideas come when the moon is high and I'm half-asleep…I feel like Thomas Edison.
What sucks though is that I have to go to work in an hour. Oh well. I'm happy I finished this though. Very tired, but very happy. Although, in an effort to save time, I'm just going to say my thanks to the reviewers of the previous chapter at the end and forgo the responses for once. I wanted to get this in before I leave because I'll be dead on my feet by the time I get home and probably in no mood to do it.
Thanks to thefirstphoenix for offering to beta. I didn't get this in on time for you to proofread, but if there are major mistakes I'll take care of them afterward. I'll send you the next chapter though.
Warning: This chapter jumps around a lot.
Dedication: My sister Lacey who is turning 15 on August 10. I know, another one, right? I have three brothers and three sisters, so that's a lot of dedications to do. Good thing I don't do all my cousins, aunts, and uncles (Irish Catholic family, do the math)...don't know all the birthdays anyway.
I send condolences to any of my readers, especially my British readers, who have either lost loved ones in the attacks on London or had loved ones injured. I hope you all are okay!
Draco Malfoy cursed in excessive irritation at being disturbed from his lonely, but scrumptious Christmas Eve dinner. He stalked down the marbled opulence of the hallways of the Malfoy Manor to the parlor where, apparently, someone was trapped within the fireplace. A someone who was about to hear and possibly feel how displeased this young master of the house was when he found out who the cretin was.
No one could actually get past the fireplace of any room or extension of Malfoy Manor without prior clearance by either Draco or his father. Since his father was enjoying his Christmas with the dementors in Azkaban, the younger Malfoy was now the only one who could issue clearance. It was a common precaution taken by wealthy, old, and prominent Pureblood families and a dead useful one at that.
One can only imagine the shock on the Slytherin Prince's face when he saw the sooty and irate form of Aidan Firewell, staring resentfully at the invisible barrier that had sprung up. What in Merlin's name was that fool doing here? And, being a scion of Aurors, would not he already be informed about the securities placed upon the Floo Network? Surely, his family would have a similar system guarding their own home.
"Firewell, isn't this an interesting situation you've caught yourself in? Trying to poison me in my sleep, maybe?" Draco drawled with a smirk. He was rather enjoying his advantageous position and intended to milk it for all it was worth, a true Slytherin to the end.
Aidan felt much like the fool he imagined the blonde bastard on the other side of the barrier viewed him as. How could he have forgotten about the floo wards? His family had them enacted on their network, though it was as far as their security went. Living in such an isolated area and living in the States where Voldemort had not been at large had made his family and others very lax in security concerns, except in areas (not including hellmouths) where demonic activity was prevalent. In light of recent events that inadvertently demonstrated how vulnerable they were even in their own homes, Aidan was seriously thinking security needed to be beefed up. If he managed to get his twin home alive, he would be surprised if their father ever let her out of his sight again.
Glaring up at the damnable Slytherin, Aidan gritted his teeth and said, "Malfoy, if you care at least just one iota for my sister, you'll let me out of here."
Draco rolled his eyes, completely misunderstanding Aidan's unspoken meaning. "Not this again, Firewell. Listen, I haven't been anywhere near your sister in the last couple of days. So, if you want to play angry big brother or some other such rubbish as that, then you'll have to floo uninvited to someone else's house. And when are you going to get it into that thick skull of yours that your sister is strong enough to take care of herself?"
Aidan's face was positively livid when he sprang up into a crouch (since his tall frame would not allow him to stand up fully) and slapped his hands against the invisible barrier. Draco was half-inclined to take a few steps back at the wild sparks in the boy's honey eyes. Desperation was making Aidan rather short-tempered and he was not going to be mocked by a Muggle-hating, bigoted Malfoy.
"I don't have time for this, Malfoy! Jordan doesn't have time! If you don't tell me where she is or help me find someone who does…she's going to die!" Aidan shouted, anguish making his voice hoarse.
Draco's metallic-blue eyes widened in shock and concern as he processed those words. Understanding as to why the Firewell boy was there finally made itself clear. He had honed his abilities to discern if someone was feeding him one elaborate load of rubbish or if they were actually being honest. As much as the blonde boy wished Aidan were lying—due to the thought of the boy's sister being in danger giving him a peculiar queasy feeling in his stomach—he could tell the boy was entirely honest…and extremely desperate.
Draco ran his hands through his near-white locks and gripped his wand as he deliberated over what he should do. He finally convinced himself that he would help Aidan, if only for the reasons of ridding himself of that sickening sensation in his stomach and getting rid of his newest guest. He would not let himself dwell on just why Jordan being in danger made him feel sick.
He looked back at the auburn-haired boy trapped in his fireplace and took a deep breath. He brandished his wand and demanded, quite clearly, "Tell me what's going on and maybe I'll help you."
Ginny's hazel eyes stared into the clock in her living room that bore the names of every family member. While she may have been looking in the direction of the clock, she certainly was not seeing it. Her eyes were glazed over with the telltale signs of one whose thoughts are currently the center of attention. Her eyes were bloodshot and shadowy from the sleepless nights she had been experiencing. She thought being at home would make her more comfortable, but she was wrong. She was just as worried and grieved at the Burrow as she had been at Grimmauld Place.
At least the whole ordeal had given her something to focus on other than Dean Thomas. Though it made her feel infinitely guilty to think such disturbing thoughts, she was glad to have something to take her mind off her ex-boyfriend. She had barely given him a second thought the past few days as far more pressing issues filled her mind.
She sneaked a glance at Ron and sighed dolefully. He was still sitting there in the chair in his semi-catatonic state; she doubted he had even taken one sip of the tea their mother had left for them. His red hair was greasy and disheveled and she wondered if he had even bathed once. He looked haggard and sapped of his will and energy. Ginny found it rather disturbing to look upon her miserable brother for very long. She was not used to seeing Ron in this state and, quite frankly, it scared her very much.
"Ron, are you hungry?" she asked hesitantly. Ginny had not seen her brother eat since Hermione's abduction.
He did not answer her, but shook his head negatively and rose from his seat. The sorrow that slumped his shoulders and basically pervaded his entire demeanor made the girl feel like weeping herself.
"Ron, please. You must eat something. Mum and Dad are really worried about you," she implored desperately.
Ron gazed at his sister sadly, all trace of his normal humor and conviviality gone from his reddened hazel eyes. What replaced it was a bleak look of complete and utter desolation. It looked as if he had already given up hope that they would ever find Hermione and the others before their time ran out, if it had not already. For all they knew, the girls that had been taken, Ginny's friends included, could already be dead. She and everyone else who suspected this, of course, did not express their thoughts aloud for fear of quashing what little hope remained.
Ginny awaited her brother's denial of hunger again, but instead found herself staring at his slowly receding back as he trudged up the stairs to be alone in his bedroom. Her face crumpled at his defeated attitude and she lowered her face into her hands, just wishing everything could be right again. Her head went snapping back up when she heard a popping sound right in the middle of the living room. Someone had just Apparated home.
She had expected to see her father, or perhaps Charlie, Bill, or one of the twins. She did not, however, expect to see who was currently standing there looking upon her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. It took a few moments after repeated failures to speak before the stunned redhead could find her voice.
"Per—Percy?"
The third eldest son of the Weasley clan found himself equally speechless before his young sister. He adjusted his glasses and twisted his hands around nervously. His blue eyes roved endlessly about the room, taking in what he had been missing for such a long time. They then closed in on the girl seated in front of him, whose mouth was agape; she was clearly shocked to see him.
"Hullo, Ginny," he greeted, his voice sounding uncertain and weak.
Ginny continued to stare, with widened eyes, at her estranged brother. Inwardly, she battled with conflicting emotions, which were sending her mixed commands on how precisely she should handle this situation. One side of her wanted to jump up and punch the prat right in his nose for being such a traitorous, backstabbing bastard. It was the same side that was fuming with anger, hatred, and bitter resentfulness over how he had treated them all for the sake of his precious Ministry job. Another side of her, so exhausted from the recent losses, was just relieved and unimaginably happy to see another family member, unharmed and alive. This side was commanding her to jump up and hug him, while forgiving him all his past transgressions. True, he might be a treacherous git, but he was still her brother. She did not want to have such a rift between them if something were to happen to either of them.
Percy watched his sister sit there in puzzlement, wondering why she had not jumped up to smack him yet. He had expected his siblings and father to shout at him, ignore him outright, or even inflict bodily or magical harm. He would not dare to hope, nor would he dare to think he deserved it, that they would welcome him with open arms and thank Merlin that he was not a casualty in the war like so many others had been. He was neither worthy of their forgiveness nor their love, not anymore. He understood that and he would accept it.
"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked, her voice carefully neutral, biting back a vindictive diatribe her bitter side wanted to spew forth.
Before Percy could answer, there came a cry from the end of the room that led into the kitchen accompanied immediately afterward by a clattering sound as things crashed to the floor. Ginny and Percy turned simultaneously to see their mother standing there with her hands clasped over her mouth and her blue eyes brimming with tears. She was staring at her third born son and not moving, as if she were afraid if she moved he would disappear.
Percy felt his guilt multiply tenfold when he saw his mother. Of all his family, he had hurt his mother the most and he felt deeply ashamed over it. In an ironic twist of fate, she was also the one who would be the one to forgive him most readily. Her forgiveness was evident in the way she rushed over to the tall form of her son and threw her arms around him.
"Oh, Percy! My Percy! Have you come home to us?" she sobbed into his shoulder. All the recent events had strained even this woman's impressive reserves of strength and fortitude. The thought of all those poor young girls, her son's girlfriend included, being trapped where no one could hearken to their pleas had drained the witch. She had begun to worry every time her husband or one of her children left home, truthfully believing she might never see them alive again. To have the one son who had been absent for so long at home in her arms brought her joy beyond her imagination.
"Mum, it's alright," Percy soothed, patting his mother's back and looking towards his sister helplessly. Ginny was glaring at him with unabashed hostility. Apparently, she believed their mother had suffered the most and he did not deserve such a warm welcome from her. It was a sentiment he shared, but could do nothing about.
After Mrs. Weasley could manage to let go of her son, she sniffled and took a few steps back to appraise him. His horn-rimmed glasses reflected her tear-stained face and she hastily wiped them away with her apron. To her sharp eyes, Percy looked to have been grossly underfed by his brand of "bachelor food", which Mrs. Weasley had kept complaining about whenever her sons left the house. She seriously believed that anyone who was not eating a home-cooked meal, especially her own, was not obtaining the sustenance their bodies required. If truth be told, Percy did look even lankier than usual, an aspect accentuated by his height and the skin of his face was even more tightly stretched around his cheekbones. Percy looked gaunt, exhausted; he did not look like a twenty-year-old man should look. Had his work been so taxing? What had that confounded minister been making him do?
"Merlin's beard! You're skin and bones!" she immediately decried. Ginny rolled her eyes, but said nothing.
"Mum, really, I'm fine," Percy assured her, though having a bite of the cooking that he had been sorely missing for so long was very tempting.
"Nonsense! Let me fix you something to eat, dear," Mrs. Weasley urged, grabbing onto his arm.
Ginny smirked at Percy's hassled expression and her darker side began to entertain the notion of slipping some of Fred and George's products into her dear brother's food. She was also beginning to wonder how much trouble she would be in if she hexed the git just for good measure. After all, her reasons were perfectly justifiable in her mind and she was sure her father and other brothers would agree. Her mother would probably object and reprimand her harshly, but perhaps that would all be worth it. She could do it just once, just to appease the dark side of her that was eagerly crying for swift and bloody retribution.
"Mum, where's everyone else?" Percy asked, before his mother could further pull him towards the kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley's face lost the glow from earlier and her mood darkened considerably at her son's inadvertent reminder over where the others were and what they were doing. She searched for words to convey everything that had been going on, but Percy already knew about it.
"I know about Hermione and…the other slayer-witches. When the Firewells alerted the American Ministry of Magic, they contacted us and asked us what they were going to do in finding one of their citizens along with the other twelve girls who went missing. They've already got tremendous search parties formed and they've been badgering Fudge to do the same," Percy informed her, sitting down on the couch and taking his glasses off.
"And what is he going to do?" Ginny asked, speaking up finally.
Percy sighed heavily and pressed the flats of his palms into his eyes. Something had happened to him, something significant because Ginny could not recall a moment when her brother looked so humbled and…simply put: not Percy-like. At least, she had not seen him act this way since her tumultuous first year at Hogwarts when a basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets had petrified his girlfriend.
When Percy spoke again, true disgust shown in his tone and Ginny's barely-there respect for him grew just a smidgen. "The minister, in his infinite wisdom, considers it a waste of time to expend valuable money, energy, and manpower to go looking for a bunch of dangerous creatures like Slayer-witches. According to him, we're better off without them. I believe he still has it in that thick head of his that Dumbledore is going to attempt some sort of insurrection even in the midst of the war with You-Know-Who."
Ginny's and her mother's jaws had dropped in complete horror and disgust at hearing that. They both knew Fudge was an incompetent moron, but they had never dreamt he would do something like this. And the man was still paranoid about Dumbledore? How could he honestly think Dumbledore would stoop so low as to try to overthrow him at all let alone when his hands were so full with the war against Voldemort? Was Fudge truly that deluded? If he was, it was glaringly obvious a change in management was needed, desperately.
"The man's gone mad!" Mrs. Weasley cried, still horrified.
"Doesn't he know the Slayer-witches are much deadlier in the hands of Voldemort than Dumbledore?" Ginny sputtered, not caring how her mother and brother flinched at the name of the Dark Lord. Ever since Voldemort's return, his name had seemed a lot less frightening to her. This year, with the Slayers and the Firewell twins, her resolve had strengthened and she was quite determined to say his name and urge other people to say it sans fear. She still experienced a small shudder of fear when she uttered the name, but she was working on it.
"Yes, many of us mentioned that several times, in fact. And it also wouldn't do well to anger the American Ministry if we want them to officially ally with us this time instead of just getting the paltry forces they sent last time You-Know-Who was at large, which happened to have some Firewells in it. Letting the Firewell girl, who is a member of one of the most powerful and popular families over there, die is not exactly going to help our campaign. And the deaths of twelve other girls including one of Britain's own will put a blight on Fudge and ruin his career, once it gets out to the public. The French and the Australians are pressing for action too because two of the girls are from those countries and I'd wager more will come knocking on the Ministry door," Percy relayed in exasperation mixed with dread.
Ginny shook her head in denial. "I don't understand it. If everyone else at the Ministry wants to help look for them, why is Fudge so dead set against it?"
Percy kneaded his forehead and sighed. He looked so old for being twenty at that moment. "Because I think Fudge has completely lost his mind. He's been steadily losing his grip on sanity ever since You-Know-Who's return was made public. His favor with the people took an enormous dive when they found out he had been trying to pretend it wasn't so and kept discrediting Harry Potter, their hero, and calling him an attention-starved lunatic. Of course, they all forgave him and forgot they turned on him too the moment they found out he was telling the truth."
Ginny cut him off right there with a hard look in her eyes. "You did too. Don't forget you fell for Fudge's lies just as easily as those people."
Percy closed his eyes and grimaced as the memories of what he had said and done mocked him. Now was the time to make restitution before it was too late. If he could not redeem himself in their eyes, he could at least do so in his own.
"I know," he said softly, letting his pride down. "And if I ever see Harry again I will apologize…a lot."
Mrs. Weasley sniffled again, louder this time and sat down beside Percy to pat his back. Her son had changed so much in so little time and it was both a delight and a tragedy to the redheaded woman. She knew how Percy treasured his pride and dignity; the whole Weasley clan was like that, really. They may not have a lot of money, but they had plenty of love, kindness, good humor, and pride to make up for it. Percy had received the lion's share of the pride and dignity and she knew how much he balked at having it slighted. To admit to his mistake, his gargantuan mistake, and apologize for it must have taken a long time for him to work up the courage to do.
"Not just to Harry. You need to apologize to everyone…especially Mum," Ginny demanded, tears threatening to fall. "D'you know how pain you put her through? The rest of us were quite glad you stayed away, but it tore at her. You were such an arrogant prat and you practically disowned us when it should have been us disowning you!" By this time Ginny had succumbed to her tears of anger and was shaking from her sobs.
"Oh, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley cried, moving across the room to comfort her only daughter.
Ginny shrugged off her mother's ministrations and wiped at her eyes. Had she known this year at Hogwarts was going to be so emotionally exhausting she would have tried a year abroad in some remote place where Voldemort never stepped foot.
"Ginny, I am sorry. I know I was wrong, and I'll do anything you want to make up for it later. But right now, I need to turn back to the issue of the thirteen missing Slayer-witches, as they do not have the time for our problems," Percy said to her, feeling every tear sliding down her cheek cut at him like a sharp dagger.
He might have been right, but it did not make her anger truly abate. She merely pushed it aside to await its release at a later, more appropriate moment.
"As I was saying, Fudge has really gone mad this time. I think the Summers woman's refusal to turn over control of her Slayers to him was the final straw; he snapped. Some of us have been talking with some blokes from St. Mungo's and they're going to have a look at him to see if he's fit to remain in his position. It's not like it would really matter anyway since he's going to be sacked real soon. The people were stretching it when they allowed him to remain in power after You-Know-Who's return was made public, but he's crossed a line this time. Letting thirteen girls die when he could have done something to help…he's going to pay dearly for that. The Ministry has formed search parties anyway and some have already been sent out, without Fudge's approval. Technically, they wouldn't have needed his approval, but for the sake of his image he should have bloody done it when first we heard they were abducted. The public will murder him when they find out."
Ginny sighed, feeling further convinced politics was a career she ought to stay away from. She furrowed her brow in puzzlement when a thought came to her.
"So, why are you here? Just to bring us the news of Fudge's impending sacking and/or assassination?" Ginny inquired, gazing at her brother suspiciously.
"No," Percy admitted, suddenly sounding sheepish. "I'm here to make amends…and to tell you I quit my job at the Ministry. Fudge was about to fire me anyway."
Ginny's eyes widened in surprise and she heard her mother emit a shocked, "Oh."
"You quit?" Ginny asked, not believing those words were coming from her mouth. "But you loved your job! It's the reason you alienated us!"
Percy winced at the reminder, but nodded his head, forcing his expression back into a stoic one. He looked his sister in the eyes, blue boring into hazel, and explained what had happened.
"I wanted to try and convince Fudge to turn around on his decision because it was making every other country really angry and we could really use a good self-image if we're petitioning for allies. It didn't matter whether he wanted to look for the girls or not because either way we would have done it, but it does matter what your leader truly believes because that affects the morale of the people and, apparently, how other nations view us. He truly wanted to forget about those girls and continue trying to promote a good image of the Ministry, though I suppose he thought people wouldn't care that he was letting innocent lives die by not doing anything." Percy's voice was laden with pain and disbelief that a man he had once idolized could let him down so much. It was just another of the results of war.
He swallowed the repugnant bile rising in his throat before continuing. "I told Fudge there was no way not publicly saying you would do everything in your power to bring those girls home safely would help the Ministry's image. He accused me of being a spy of Dumbledore's and told me I should choose where my loyalties lie quickly or be fired. I kept trying to tell him that Dumbledore was not trying to take over because he wanted to stay at Hogwarts, but that only made him more convinced of the opposite. Then he did something which I could not allow to slide."
Like what? Rearrange your desk? Ginny thought dryly. She kept her thoughts to herself though and kept listening.
"He insulted you lot…he insulted my family, which means he insulted me. And the words he used were rather unflattering, which I won't repeat. So, I…" Percy's train of words derailed and his face grew beet red whether from anger or mortification Ginny and Mrs. Weasley could not tell.
Ginny was growing antsy from impatience, so she asked, "You what?"
With a wary glance at his mother, Percy said in a low voice rife with rage and surprise at his own audacity, "I told him to take his cap, his wand, and his conspiracy theories and…erm…insert them up his rear. Not in those precise words, no, but before he could say I was fired, which I presumed was next, I told him I quit and…here I am. I'm going to help you lot find those girls."
If Percy was shocked by his own rare show of impudence, it was nothing to what his mother and sister were feeling. Ginny blinked her eyes, completely thunderstruck, as she struggled to comprehend what Percy—Percy! —had done. Her ears had heard it and sent the message to her brain to process it, so he obviously said he had done it and he did not sound like he was lying or anything. It was just so completely unlike Percy, so entirely off the map of Percival Weasley, that she could barely wrap her mind around it.
Percy told someone, the bleedin Minister of Magic no less, to shove something, no, multiple things, up his arse? Although he had used different words in describing it to Ginny and her mother, he had assured them and she was certain he had used those words. At least, she hoped he did.
"Percy…I…I don't know what to say," Mrs. Weasley choked out, recovering enough from her shock to speak.
Ginny, however, did know what to say. She broke out into a true grin, leapt from her seat, ran across the room, threw her arms around her brother and said, "That was brilliant! Bloody brilliant! Glad to have you back, Perce."
Percy was sure that his sister was going to hit him or something when he saw her running towards him. It took him a few split seconds to decipher the grin on her face as one of delight, not murderous anger. When she hugged him so forcefully and praised him he was completely taken aback and had no idea what to do. Soon, though, he wrapped his arms around her and heaved an inward sigh of relief. Ginny, it appeared, had bestowed her forgiveness upon him.
And all I had to do was tell the Minister of Magic to shove some things up his arse, he remarked wryly to himself.
When Ginny let her brother go, she sat down beside him, beaming brightly in spite of the horrible events still going on outside the Burrow. At the moment, she could not help but rejoice in her brother's actions and his return into the fold because then it meant they were a true family again. It meant her mother could be happy and content again.
"Oh, Percy," Mrs. Weasley sobbed, dapping at her eyes with her apron again. It was an odd feeling to be proud of a son who had done something she would normally have harshly reprimanded him for. Especially when that son was Percy, who had never done anything to merit reproof before.
Percy would have liked nothing more than to bask in the warmth of his mother's and sister's love and forgiveness, but he knew they would need to hear his next ominous words if they wanted to prepare themselves for the worst. He was having trouble coming to terms with it himself.
"Mum, Ginny, as smashing as it will be for Fudge to be chucked out of power, that will leave his seat up for grabs. Many people are going to be clambering all over the place to take it for their own. Since we're at war, we need someone who's not afraid to get dirty, is a fair leader and with good morals, and not afraid to lose face and such, but who knows if we'll get that."
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley exchanged confused glances. What was Percy trying to say?
"There is one whom I know would be particularly eager to take Fudge's seat and twist the public around to see they need someone like her. In normal circumstances, she would never make it, but times like these…folks get desperate for a true leader…even if she is a false one. You never know what could happen. And she'll do whatever it takes, I think, to become Minister of Magic."
Ginny felt a massive sinking feeling invade her body, flanked by shudders of foreboding that scattered up and down her spine. Mrs. Weasley had gone completely still, her face white.
"Who, Percy?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Percy sighed deeply and uttered the two names like a curse, "Dolores Umbridge."
Harry tried unsuccessfully to make his green eyes spout magical lasers so he could burn down the door that was keeping him trapped in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Though he knew they were doing it because they were scared he might do something rash, he could not help but glare resentfully at the Aurors that stood guard in front of the fireplaces and any other exit ways to make sure their precious quarry did not try to escape. It was not like Harry would be able to do anything if he did escape, except go to Voldemort and bargain for the return of all the girls, most especially Hermione and Jordan, in return for his life. He had entertained the notion briefly and then banished it from his mind. Signing himself over to Voldemort in exchange for the lives of thirteen girls would be akin to signing the entire wizarding world to death, those girls included. Still, he could not help but hate knowing he was currently a prisoner in his own home.
His own home; it sounded so strange in Harry's mind. He hated calling a place that had once belonged to a living, breathing man, a man who had been the closest Harry had to a father, his home. Sirius may have left him this house and his entire fortune, but all that did was make him number twelve, Grimmauld Place's rightful owner. He could not say aloud that it was his own home. Just thinking it sounded so ridiculous.
Besides, the place looked so dreary and depressing with it's peeling wallpaper, rotted furnishings and curtains, dismal portraits and decorations, and Mrs. Black's occasional wailings. Well, Mrs. Black was no longer a problem since Faith had grown tired of her screaming and had used her Slayer strength to rip the portrait off the wall; the Permanent Sticking Charm no use against the strength of a Slayer. She then had Willow banish it to somewhere up in the arctic to bother the polar bears, she said.
He casually glanced over at his pile of spell books, rolls of parchment, and quills, untouched since Christmas Holiday had begun. If he actually started some of his homework, it would take his mind off current events, but not completely. He would not be focused enough to pay attention to the words and it would just be one entire disaster after another until Hermione would have to fix it.
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed back the tears in his eyes when he remembered his best friend was among the abducted. If they did not find her, she would never be able to scold him for not doing his own work, while tidying it up for him anyway, again. And he did not even want to imagine what Ron would do if his girlfriend was not returned to him. He would lose them both. Hermione would be lost physically and Ron would be nothing but a shell of his former self.
He drifted aimlessly from room to room, the movement at least giving him something to do other than sit and stew over his bleak thoughts. He was not allowed to leave Order headquarters in case some attempt should be made to abduct him as well. Practically everyone else other than the Auror guards and the acrimonious Kreacher were all that remained in Grimmauld Place.
Dawn had left with her sister and the rest of the gang for Los Angeles a few hours ago to work with Angel's crew at Wolfram and Hart. Mrs. Weasley had whisked Ginny and Ron away to the Burrow, with the intention of bringing Harry with her. She was denied that, and she reluctantly acquiesced though it was clear she disapproved of him being left here in this drab setting alone. She promised to come back to fix him a lovely, filling dinner though, since she was convinced he was never getting enough to eat. She had had to practically shovel food in his mouth the past few days.
And Aidan. Well, Aidan had never left Firewell Manor as far as Harry knew. He was being kept under the watchful eye of his mediwitch grandmother while the rest of his family was scouring about for his sister. If Harry had thought to suggest it, he would have told them to bring Aidan along on the search since his connection with his sister would be an invaluable asset. Then he remembered the connection wasn't like a homing device, it was an emotional connection and their only way to tell if one of the girls, at least, was still alive. Aidan would know if his twin sister died, everyone grimly acknowledged that fact. So far, she was still among the living. As for the other twelve, including Hermione, they were clueless.
"How are you doing, Harry?" he heard someone ask from behind. Harry recognized the voice as belonging to Lupin.
Harry shrugged his shoulders and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. The werewolf looked upon him with sympathy and slid down to sit next to him.
"I suppose that was a foolish question. Of course you're not doing well," Lupin answered for himself.
"Any word from LA yet about the lead?" Harry asked.
Lupin sighed wearily and ran his hands through his graying brown hair. In a few days the full moon would arise. The beast inside of him was beginning to awaken in anticipation of being released. Another transformation, another bit of life being siphoned off his body and aging him beyond his years. Snape, using the excuse of being far too busy with his double agent work, had not been making any fresh supplies of Wolfsbane potion. Since the potions master was the only one who knew of his affliction that was able to concoct the complicated remedy, Lupin would have to barricade himself up somewhere so he could not hurt anyone. He had been greatly hoping they would find the girls before his transformation, but the odds were not looking to be in his favor.
"I have a bad feeling the lead will be rather useless," Lupin replied gravely. "If none of our locating spells and none of Willow's scrying have found anything…"
Harry knew Lupin did not to have finish what he was saying. He just did not want to think about it. He did not want to accept the fact that their situation was completely and utterly hopeless. Whoever had taken those girls had intended for them to never be found. Thinking this instigated a surge of hatred so intense; Harry had never felt anything like it before save once—when Bellatrix Lestrange had murdered Sirius. He wanted Voldemort dead. He wanted to strangle the vile wizard with his own bare hands until the wretched light went out of those gleaming red eyes. Though no one had solid proof Voldemort was involved in the girls' abduction, Harry had no one else to blame and no one else who had more of a motive.
In a dry, humorless voice, Harry whispered to himself, "Happy Christmas my arse."
Buffy did not even need to hear Lorne say that their lead had led nowhere because she had already felt it in her bones the moment he had picked up his phone. The sorrowful Slayer leaned back in the comfortable leather chair as the green Empath demon shook his head sadly. His red eyes were full of disappointment and grief, a marked change from his usual cheerful disposition.
"Thanks," Lorne said to the person on the other end.
He flipped his cell phone closed, set it on his desk, and sighed heavily, giving Buffy an anguished glance. "Sorry, Buffy. It was a good one though."
"Not good enough," Buffy murmured morosely. She did not fancy breaking the news to the rest of her gang, but she knew she would have to do it sooner or later. They would find out soon enough anyway and perhaps it was better that they heard it from her.
Lorne felt the need to console the young woman sitting across from him, but he was at a loss of how to do it. He did not think she would appreciate a song or uplifting musical number at the moment. He watched solemnly as the Slayer arose from her seat, her jaded blue-green eyes sweeping over him tiredly before she turned away. She paused at the doorway to his office just briefly to mutter her gratitude for his help before slowly ambling out of sight. He could have sworn her walk was that of an old woman, not that of a vibrant young woman in her early twenties.
Lorne dropped his head into his hands and let loose a steady stream of every swear word imaginable—a few in his own native language from Pylea. He had really hoped his contacts would come through with him like they had on every miniscule little task he had set them. Now, when it really mattered, they had come short of success. In all rationality, he could not blame them for their failure; his head kept reminding him about that. His emotions were another story and were currently screaming for the normally gentle-hearted demon to punish someone. After all, someone would have to pay for the losses of Hermione, Jordan, and the other eleven Slayer-witches he had never met.
Buffy found her friends in Angel's own private quarters of Wolfram and Hart. Dawn was nestled up against Xander, softly snoozing in a peaceful slumber. Willow was sitting on the floor in front of the unlit fireplace, attempting for another locating spell for the thousandth time in a vain hope of it actually being successful if repeated again and again. They were the only three in the room besides Buffy, who had just entered it. She didn't bother announcing her presence, as Xander and Willow had instantly turned around at the sound of her footsteps.
Their expressions of hope made Buffy's insides squirm unpleasantly. She spoke up before either of her best friends could say anything. "Don't bother waking Dawn. The lead was a dud. Like everything else."
"Shit," Xander mumbled, rubbing at his sleep-starved eyes.
Willow abandoned her fruitless locating spell to sit beside her best friend and wrap an arm around her shoulder. Buffy flicked her eyes in Xander's direction before gazing at her sleeping sister. She was relieved the girl had finally succumbed to her exhaustion.
"When did she nod off?" Buffy inquired, feeling as if she could sleep for a few millennia herself.
Xander glanced at Dawn with a fond ghost of a smile. "'Bout fifteen minutes ago. Not sleeping for fifty hours straight has that effect on you."
"And a good dosage of belladonna," Willow added dryly.
Buffy was not disturbed at the fact that her best friend had drugged her younger sister so the girl could obtain some much needed rest. She was seriously thinking about slipping some of the sedative into her own drinks. But she could not sleep until they were sure of the fates of the abducted thirteen girls. She would not sleep until they either brought them back alive or brought them back to bury…no matter how long it took.
Aidan surveyed the opulent but sinister surroundings inside the parlor of Malfoy Manor; his bloodshot eyes were darting around the place like his nerves were on fire. His hands clutched at a silver goblet filled with swirling amber-colored liquid—firewhiskey. He knew he really should not be drinking in this condition, especially when it could have a rather detrimental reaction when mixed with the sleeping draughts probably still hibernating in his bloodstream. However, when Draco Malfoy had offered the drink—obviously figuring he could use one—the boy found he could not resist.
He had just finished telling Draco everything that had happened in the past few days. Judging by the boy's reactions from everything so far, Aidan was having trouble pegging him for a suspect. In fact, he was seriously beginning to doubt the Slytherin had anything to do with it at all. Malfoy had seemed genuinely shocked and, dare he think it, troubled by the news.
After dissolving the barrier trapping Aidan in the fireplace, Draco had carefully issued instructions for the Firewell boy to slowly step out and to not make any sudden movements; he had kept his wand firmly aimed at his chest, fully prepared to hex him in defense. It had been extremely annoying, but Aidan would have done the same, if not more, had he been in Draco's position. The boy had every reason to be wary of him and no reason at all to trust him.
Immediately after Aidan had told Draco about his sister's, Hermione's (even though he knew there was no friendliness between the Muggle-born and the Malfoy heir), and eleven other Slayer-witch's predicaments, the boy had clasped his hands together on the desk he was sitting at. His face had lost quite a bit of color, his forehead was creased with frown lines, and his silver-blue eyes were gazing into something Aidan could not see—something faraway. The boy gave all pretense of one deep in thought, which Aidan had learnt he had been. It was only when Draco had begun to pace in agitation that Aidan began to really doubt the boy's involvement. Was it possible the scornful son of a Death Eater really cared for his sister? Normally, Aidan would give anything for it to be untrue, but in this case, he was fervently hoping his suspicions were correct. It wasn't like Malfoy would risk his neck trying to help Hermione, after all.
"Malfoy? What are you doing?" Aidan finally asked, feeling his impatience begin to resurface.
Draco halted in his carpet-wearing mission to glance at the American boy in annoyance at interrupting his train of thought. What he had been doing was trying to recall every single conversation his father had ever had with him that dwelt on the topic of the Dark Lord's dirty deeds. He replayed those stale memories over and over in his mind, trying to draw some key details out so he could form a clear deduction on if it had been Voldemort who had abducted the girls.
The way his father had spoken and from what Draco had read in accounts, Voldemort liked to boast and parade his conquests in front of his enemies like trophies, just to flaunt his power and superiority. If he had abducted those girls and systematically slaughtered them all—just thinking about it made Draco feel like throwing up—he would definitely have wanted the bodies to be found. Of course, there were thirteen girls and it had only been a little over three days since the abduction of Jordan and Hermione. But then, Draco thought Voldemort would have disposed of them one at a time and immediately after the murder—just for the sake of keeping the corpse fresh. It would be a form of taunting the opposing force and demolishing their morale, one Slayer-witch at a time. Voldemort was the master at weakening the spirit of his foes.
Another possibility was that the Dark Lord was keeping them to torture them past the brink of insanity only to return them after he had successively driven them out of their minds. That would also be a serious blow to Dumbledore's cause.
Draco knew that the dementor force at Azkaban was slowly dwindling, most likely being called by Voldemort. Soon, the Ministry would have to do something about the entire lot if they did not want the Dark Lord to gain such formidable allies. He often wondered why they had not done something about it beforehand, but he really had not cared what either side was doing at the moment.
If Voldemort had dementors at his beck and call, he could be using the foul creatures against the Slayer-witches. Draco cringed at the very notion of it and was hard put not to sink to his knees. The Dementor's Kiss was a fate worse than death; a body would live on as a shell of its former life, the soul and everything that made a person who he or she was having been sucked out. Out of all the possibilities, Draco hoped this one was the least likely. He would much rather they find Jordan dead than a soulless shell. He had a feeling her family would feel the same.
"Malfoy," Aidan repeated, louder and firmer this time.
"Firewell, shut up! I'm trying to think!" Draco snapped irritably.
"Well think faster! Every second we sit here is another second of Jordan's life gone," Aidan growled, his angry tone masking his anguish.
Draco's eyes narrowed on Aidan, questioning and suspicious. He inquired in a low, sharp voice, "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean? Don't you think I know that, you stupid git?"
Aidan clenched his teeth at the insult, but forced himself to think of his sister. Getting into a tussle with the aggravating Slytherin would not help her in anyway. "You don't understand, Malfoy. She's really sick."
Draco frowned in confusion, not comprehending. "What?"
Aidan sighed impatiently. "The day before Christmas vacation you found her in the hallway. Didn't she look a little out of sorts to you? You had to lead her to Gryffindor Tower, didn't you?"
Draco remembered that day in every single detail, especially when he had held onto her arm. It was the day the two had been practically civil with one another. He knew she had not looked well, but he had not thought it was anything really serious. She was a Slayer; they were supposed to have excellent immune systems.
"Well, it only got worse. On the day she was taken her temperature was up to 103 degrees and she didn't get any medicines before she was taken. And when I woke up earlier, before I came here, I felt…I felt like I was drowning. It was like something was pressing on my chest and impeding my breathing. I think she's caught pneumonia too."
Draco was now extremely confused by all this. If Aidan had been the one having trouble breathing, then why was he attributing it to being Jordan's problem? "Come off it, Firewell. You can't possibly know that."
Aidan nodded his head gravely. "She's slipping away, Malfoy. I can feel it." He raised one hand to rest on his chest, closing his eyes.
Draco frowned. "You…can feel it?" he asked skeptically.
Aidan's voice sounded eerily hollow when he spoke. "Jordan and I are twins, Malfoy. We spent nine months side-by-side inside our mother's womb—the womb of a witch. We may not be identical twins, but our link is probably just as strong. Our father is an identical twin, but our mother is a fraternal twin like we are—she had a twin brother. Twins run heavily on my mother's and father's sides. The Firewell line shows more evidence of the mystical connection than the Cordreux line mostly because the Firewell line isn't mixed with pure Muggle blood—And don't you dare start belittling my mother's heritage. — My grandmother always told us it was a throwback from ancient Irish fey ancestors or something like that. But I've heard of other magical twins with strong links not related to us, so I think it's just a matter on how close the twin siblings are."
Draco blinked, still a tad perplexed. "So…you can read each other's minds or something?"
Aidan shook his head. "No. It's really more of an emotional connection. We can tell when the other's in danger and when one of us feeling a particularly strong emotion…it spills over and is transmitted to the other. And…well, even if we're far away from each other, we can still feel the other's presence inside. It's hard to explain really, but I would know it if she died."
Draco shook his head at the revelation. "That's…well…it's slightly disturbing, Firewell." His head then snapped up. "Wait a minute! You know for certain she's still alive?" He cursed himself for not keeping his voice neutral as a note of relief slipped into it.
"Yes, but she's very weak," Aidan clarified, his voice cracking. "I'm going to keep hoping that if she's alive, the others are too. Not that you may care."
Draco bristled indignantly at that remark. True, he did not like Granger and the fact that she had outscored him in every damned class at Hogwarts didn't help her case. And he was still inclined, as a matter of genetics and the way he had been reared, to look down his nose upon all those of Muggle birth. Generally, it was not a personal matter; it was a matter of principle. With Hermione Granger, it tended to get a bit personal. He didn't like Granger because she was smarter and more powerful than him in spite of having no magical heritage. And he didn't like her because she was a close friend of Harry Potter's—another one he was required to hate on principle. He also didn't like her because of that really painful right hook she had hefted at him in their third year, which had injured both his nose and his pride.
No, he didn't like Hermione Granger at all. His hatred of her had probably cooled to keen dislike now that his father was in Azkaban. He no longer had to work so hard at perfecting his reputation of sneering, arrogant Pureblood giving all the Mudbloods hell now that his father was off his back. He did occasionally scorn them out of habit, but his heart was no longer in it. Draco had far more worrying issues to take up his free time—first and foremost was the ultimate decision of becoming a Death Eater like his father before him. He balked at the thought of doing the things Voldemort commanded of his servants, but he also balked at the thought of dying because he refused. Needless to say, it was a rather difficult decision to make.
"Don't presume to know what I may or may not care about, Firewell," Draco hissed testily. "I may not like Granger, but I never said I wanted her dead. Yeah, a couple of times I might express that wish and, occasionally, I might actually mean it, but not right now. She hasn't been quite as annoying lately. As for the other eleven, I don't know them and therefore have nothing against them yet."
Aidan was silent at the boy's retort, but gave no apology for his presumption. Draco huffed again in righteous anger and stomped off to recommence his pacing. The auburn-haired boy sitting on the couch watched him intently, wondering over the enigma that was Draco Malfoy. This boy obviously had some complex issues roiling around inside him. He had noticed the Slytherin had not been hurling invectives on Harry, Ron, and Hermione as much as he had originally predicted he would.
Harry had even commented on Malfoy's loss of interest in tormenting him and his friends in surprise. He had merely attributed it to Lucius Malfoy being safely ensconced in Azkaban where his son could not use him to parade his power or go running to every time he encountered a counterattack. Aidan had to agree with Harry on Malfoy's father being in Azkaban having something to do with his change of attitude. But he believed it was something else that had caused Malfoy to all but cease his harassment of the Golden Trio; it was something to do with his father, but not in the way Harry spoke of it. If only Aidan could figure out what it was.
"Let's see," he heard Draco mutter. It sounded more like he was talking to himself than to Aidan. "If Jordan at least is alive, then he's probably going to use her for something…and the others. They're Slayer-witches; they've got a lot of power and they're rather unique—rare. No, he wouldn't kill them. He would try to harvest their powers or something…or use them against you lot. Probably put them under the Imperious Curse."
"No, he wouldn't be able to do that," Aidan interjected.
Draco's head snapped towards him and he frowned. "Why not?"
"Few weeks back, Mad-Eye Moody had all the Slayers at Hogwarts undergo the Imperious Curse so they could feel what it was like. Totally ineffective; they all managed to throw it off completely without even trying. The Slayers…they have some kind of natural defense against our type of magic. I'd bet a sack of galleons it takes more than one stunner to knock one out, but they haven't experimented with that yet. They probably should get on that. I'm guessing a number of other jinxes and hexes wouldn't work on the first try either, but they always manage to dodge them. Can't remember one getting hit," Aidan told him.
"Hmmm," Draco murmured, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I'm sure he could find some way to break down their defenses or weaken them to make it easier. The Imperious Curse is more about the strength of the mind, not the strength of the body. Or he could just keep hitting them with it to increase the effectiveness…unless that decreases the effectiveness by chance."
Aidan sighed. "I don't know, Malfoy. Maybe." He just didn't want to believe it, really.
"That's probably what he is doing, you know. He's probably trying to break their minds to make them easier to control. I suppose once he breaks their minds, their natural defense against the Imperious Curse won't be as strong. Think about what an advantage Slayer-witches would be, especially if they have all those fancy inherent immunities or whatever to our magic," Malfoy said grimly.
"Thank you, Malfoy. That was just what I wanted to—What the?" Aidan halted mid-sentence, his face suddenly contorting into a bizarre expression.
Draco was taken aback by this behavior. "Erm…Firewell? What's wrong?"
Aidan swiftly held a finger up to silence his companion as his honey eyes became strangely unfocused. He held his hand over his heart, goggling over these strange sensations he was sensing. The sensation he felt that belonged to Jordan, the one that forever resided inside him like a constant Muggle heart monitor was suddenly becoming stronger. Soon, it was back to its normal intensity, which could mean only one thing…
"It's Jordan," Aidan breathed in awe.
Alarm crossed Draco's features. "Is she okay?"
Aidan looked up at Draco as if noticing him for the first time. He smiled. "She's…better."
Raising an eyebrow quizzically, Draco said, "She's better? What, you mean she's not ill anymore?"
Aidan shook his head wordlessly, still marveling at it all. "It's like she's totally recovered. I mean, she is totally recovered! Unless my feelings are deceiving me. I felt her health return…and her strength."
Draco turned his gaze away from the excited boy and said quietly, "Right. Let's hope you're not wrong on that."
-See, I was going to end it there, but because I'm soooo nice, I'll not force you to waste energy hitting the next chapter button. Plus, there isn't much more to write in for this part and making another chapter seemed wasteful.-
Forty-five minutes had passed since the revelation of Jordan's returned health—Draco still wasn't clear on this connection rubbish. Aidan was now the one pacing back in forth in agitation and Draco was the one sitting on the couch, nursing a goblet of firewhiskey. He had already sent missives to some of his Slytherin classmates to ask if they or their families had planned or done anything for the Dark Lord lately. He had made it seem like he was impressed by their loyalty or simply curious so he wouldn't raise suspicion. Luckily, most of his housemates were too thick to figure out their prince was wavering on their long-held beliefs. Those that were clever enough to figure it out—and they were few in number—were foolish enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. And they were all being extra sympathetic about the whole business with his father's incarceration. That afforded him a good bit of leeway.
There wasn't much else they could do now save sit and wait for the responses that could hopefully shed some light in the darkness and point them in the right direction. Aidan did not appear to be intent on leaving anytime soon. Draco actually didn't mind his company so much; he would be spending a lot of his time without it, especially during summer holiday. Plus, it was rather amusing to watch the tall boy pause mid-stride and mutter to himself like he was a person with obsessive-compulsive disorder.
"Relax, Firewell. There's not much else we can do right now. If Jordan's all better like you say she is then maybe she'll be able to escape," Draco pointed out sensibly.
"I'd wish your stupid friends would hurry up with those responses!" Aidan fired back.
"Well, you could just floo to their homes and get yourself trapped in another fireplace if you really want to. I doubt they'll be telling you stuff about your sister, but you'll get a response," Draco drawled sardonically, taking another swig of liquor.
Aidan's comeback was interrupted by a popping sound, causing both boys to jump and grab for their wands. Aidan was the first to lower his and breathe a sigh of relief when he saw it was just his phoenix Jinx. Draco still kept his wand aimed at her, gripping it tightly.
"Is that Dumbledore's bird?" he asked.
"No," Aidan replied, stretching his arm out for the phoenix to perch on it. He brought her close to nuzzle her, which she rewarded with nuzzling of her own. "Hey, girl. Missing Jordan, are you?"
Draco's jaw nearly hit the floor. "It's your bird?"
Aidan rolled his eyes and looked up at Draco. "Firstly, she's a she, not an it. Secondly, she's a phoenix, not just a bird. And she's less of a pet and more of a feathered companion. I think they're too intelligent to refer to as 'pets'."
Draco narrowed his eyes at the golden chain hanging off the creature's neck. Was it some sort of weird collar? "What's that on her neck?"
Aidan frowned. "What's what?" When he saw Draco point, he looked down and noticed the golden chain wound around the phoenix's neck. He grabbed the charm that was hanging off her neck and brought it up to inspect it. He gasped when he noticed it was his sister's own phoenix charm. She hadn't been wearing it when she got abducted; they had found it on her desk.
"Jinx, why are you wearing Jordan's necklace?" Aidan inquired, as if she would answer him.
Draco's eyes lit up and he strode forward to grab the necklace. "Maybe Jordan's given it to her! The phoenix probably found her!"
Aidan appreciated the boy's excitement at the thought and he really hated to burst his bubble. "That would be great, Malfoy, if Jordan had been wearing the necklace when she had gotten abducted. It was still on her desk."
It was like watching a balloon deflate as Draco's excitement shrunk into disappointment. "Oh. Then why did she bring it to you?"
"I don't know," Aidan said.
Jinx leapt off his arm to land on the couch, both boys following her movement. She started to do an odd sort of wriggling motion, tipping her longish neck forward and shaking her tail feathers. She then looked back up at them and it almost looked as if she was glaring at them. She made an odd squawking sound to voice her displeasure at whatever it was they were doing—or not doing.
"Is this…erm…normal behavior for her?" Draco queried in amusement.
Aidan shook his head in wonderment. "No. This is not."
Jinx darted forward to nip at Aidan, who jumped back to avoid it. "Jinx! Jesus, what's gotten into you?" She darted forward again and grabbed his shirt, pulling him toward her.
"What is wrong with you!" Aidan bellowed.
Draco could not help but snigger at the spectacle, but his laughter soon disappeared when Jinx turned on him as well. She gave him a wary appraisal, practically tiptoed towards him, and then lunged to grab his robes. Draco yelped and instantly reeled back.
"Get off me!" he shouted.
"Who's laughing now, asshole?" Aidan retorted hotly.
If Jinx could have cursed in frustration she certainly would have, as the two thick human males remained oblivious to what she wanted of them. She performed the wriggling dance again before the platinum-haired one gasped in realization.
"I see! She wants us to take the necklace off!" Draco exclaimed. He shot a smug smirk at Aidan before reaching over to lift the necklace off her neck. Jinx trilled softly in gratitude.
"Now what are we supposed to do with it? Wear it?" Aidan asked.
"I dunno." Draco shrugged, scrutinizing the necklace. "Are you sure your sister hadn't been wearing this?"
Aidan nodded absently. "Damn it! I need Hermione—this is her area. Well, everything's her area, but this is one of her strongest."
For the first time in memory, Draco wished Granger were around too. What did the bloody bird want from them?
Jinx seemed to be growing desperate in her actions after a while, squawking at them like a chicken (an odd sound coming from a majestic bird like the phoenix) and dancing and fluttering around in a frenzy of agitation. It was especially odd how she kept nipping at their hands, which were grasping onto their wands. Both gentlemen were beginning to seriously regret drinking that firewhiskey by now, as it was preventing their normally sharp minds from making the intuitive leap that was required.
"Hold up! Phoenixes can Apparate and Disapparate at will, right? I mean, she got past my wards and everything. So, I'd wager they aren't tied down by our weaknesses," Draco began, understanding beginning to develop.
Aidan's eyes flashed when he followed Draco's train of thought. "So, that means she could probably get past the barriers that were keeping out the locating spells and the scrying spells from finding the girls! I'll bet wherever they're being kept there are anti-Apparition wards as well."
"Which is nothing for a phoenix," Draco added.
Aidan could barely contain himself. He kneeled down to Jinx's level on the couch and asked, "Did you find Jordan and the other girls, Jinxy?"
The phoenix almost sighed in relief that the idiot had finally figured it out. She was gravely disappointed in her human companion. She gave a curt nod.
Aidan jumped nearly a foot in the air and gave a whoop of triumph. "Are they okay? Is Jordan okay?"
Another curt nod and then she swiveled her head towards Draco, who still held the necklace. Aidan followed her movement and frowned in puzzlement. "Necklace, necklace, necklace. She brought it to us for a reason."
"Well, obviously," Draco drawled. He brought it up to study again, thinking he might have missed something. Finally, the intuitive leap was taken, however belatedly.
"Merlin, we're fucking half-wits, Firewell!" Draco shouted. "She wants us to turn it into a bloody portkey so she can Apparate back to where your sister and the rest are and they can use it to get out of there."
Aidan could not believe how incredibly dense he had been. He glared back at the empty goblet, which had previously held firewhiskey, like it was that object's entire fault. He frowned when a troubling thought entered his mind. "What if the portkey doesn't work there?"
Draco shrugged while laying the necklace down to charm and pointing his wand out it. He muttered, "Portus," and then put it back around Jinx's neck. "It's worth a try."
"Wow, you're smart, Jinx," Aidan remarked in admiration.
The phoenix emitted a sound that sounded like an incredibly avian version of "Duh!" to Draco and Aidan. She then Disapparated with a POP!
"We're such asses," Aidan muttered.
"No, you're the arse. I'm the one who actually figured it out. Although, it's not bad considering we're both half pissed from the firewhiskey. I feel strangely accomplished," Draco remarked, sitting back on the couch and stretching out.
A minute later, six girls literally crashed into the parlor of Malfoy Manor, falling over as their feet hit solid ground. All looked extremely filthy, smelled quite horrible, and were shivering quite violently. Five were actually shivering violently, as one of them was unconscious. Aidan quickly searched the group for a familiar auburn-haired girl. He was not disappointed when he saw his sister rise. She stood up shakily; she looked much the same as she had when returning from Sunnydale: smudged with dirt, hair all matted and greasy, clothes ripped, and there was blood coating her neck. Her pants looked different from what he remembered and her teeth were chattering fiercely.
She threw her brother an irate glare and sputtered, "God, Aidan! What took you so goddamned long? Another couple of minutes and we all would have frozen to death!"
Right, I brought Percy back into the fold simply for Mrs. Weasley's sake. I figured she would be happier with her entire family all together and that.
Thank you very much to the following: Saxifrage, Masau, FScan5001, COPPA Restricted, Pottersgurl07, matt, oOoOoOo, gpilot96, sierra, Sterling-Ag, Aoi Dragon, Panther28, Raiining, Chris-Halliwell, Vld (I'll go back and make the necessary corrections. Thank you! Could I send future stuff like that to you in the future? I would appreciate the help!), slaygal166, and Charmed-angel4.
Thanks again to thefirstphoenix for emailing me as well.
IMPORTANT: Because I'm insanely paranoid about giving away spoilers about HBP, I won't be saying anything directly related to it here for a long while, even in review responses. If you have questions, then email them to me so we don't spoil it for anyone who hasn't had the chance to read the fantastic book. And since I started this way before I heard about HBP, this is, obviously, an AU Sixth-Year. I've already fashioned my plot and can't be bothered to change it. GOES AU after OotP. There, I think I made that clear enough.