- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
As
Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear
goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a
head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his
brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.
At Night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly
plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and
softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for
reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.
Jack Prelutsky
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - -
-
14. Grim Old Place
-
Buffy strummed her fingers idly on Dumbledore's enormous claw-footed desk as she waited for the Headmaster to emerge from his inner chambers. Gazing out of one the office's large windows overlooking the neighboring mountains, the petite blonde let out a bored sigh and turned her attention back to the wizened wizard's odd assortment of puffing and whirling silver instruments that resided on a number of spindle-legged tables around the circular room. To her side, Fawkes' golden perch lay empty; the majestic phoenix was probably out stretching his wings. As the sun began setting across the sky, Albus finally appeared carrying a fluffy white quill in his newly restored hand.
"I thought it best for us to use a portkey tonight," he said with a small smile at the look of impatience on the Slayer's face, lifting the quill. "I'm afraid some of the Order members won't be able to handle the shock of seeing you apparate directly into headquarters. Supposedly no one can apparate into or out from the building, just like Hogwarts."
Buffy blinked as she got to her feet. "So that's why you told not to apparate in front of anyone here!"
"Yes, of course." The Headmaster grinned. "Now hold on to this—fiddle-fuddle."
Buffy briefly felt the familiar tug on her navel before they landed softly in the middle of a small square. It was drizzling lightly and a chilly breeze swept over the pair as Dumbledore rummaged for something in the folds of his voluminous cloak. The petite blonde pulled her coat tighter around her body as she surveyed their dismal surroundings. What a dump. The place looked like one of the slum neighborhoods she had driven past when she lived in L.A. The three-story houses on either side of the square were run-down, some with peeling paint and others with boarded-up windows.
"Oho!" Albus muttered as he took out what looked like a normal silver cigarette lighter.
Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know you smoked, Dumbledore. That's really bad for your health... unless you're a vampire or something."
"I don't." The wizened wizard winked at her and clicked the lighter a dozen times in rapid succession. All the streetlamps in the square then went out with a dozen pops, bathing them in darkness but for the pale sliver of moon overhead. "It's a Put-Outer, quite handy. Follow me," Dumbledore instructed.
Buffy followed him closely as they trekked over the grassy lawn of the square and across the opposite street. They came to a stop on a block of cracked pavement. The veteran Slayer stared fixedly ahead at the space between numbers eleven and thirteen, Grimmauld Place.
"The headquarters is concealed by a Fidelus Charm among other things," Albus explained, handing her a small piece of parchment paper.
"I can see it, Dumbledore. Sometimes the edges get a little fuzzy, but it's definitely there," Buffy breathed as she stared fixedly at the space in between numbers eleven and thirteen.
"Remarkable," Albus murmured to himself and he led the blonde Slayer up the decrepit, cracked stone steps.
Instead of using the silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent, the elderly Headmaster withdrew his wand and tapped on the grungy black-painted door once, which creaked open after a series of loud, metallic clicks and rattling of chains. Then, Albus clicked the Put-Outer a dozen times again before he ushered them through the threshold and into a dimly lit, narrow corridor. Buffy decided then that she liked the outside better as she took in the faded, flaking wallpaper; threadbare carpet; cobwebby light fixtures; and the serpent-shaped candelabra dangling from the center of the ceiling which made the Slayer suspect that whoever was the owner of the estate probably nursed a monster of a snake obsession.
The door farthest down the corridor opened to reveal a twenty-something year-old witch with dark twinkling eyes, a pale heart-shaped face, and short spiky hair in a vibrant shade of pink.
"Wotcher, Dumbledore!" she whispered in a relaxed, informal tone as she strode up to them, her eyes stopping on the small blonde standing next to the wizened wizard. "Who's this?" she asked curiously.
"Good evening, Tonks. This is Elizabeth Ashbery, the newest inductee into the Order. Will you do me the favor of showing her around?" he replied in hushed tones.
"Sure thing! C'mon, then," she motioned for Buffy to follow her back down the hallway as Dumbledore slipped through the door from where Tonks had come.
"There's not much to see, really. Just some spare bedrooms on the second and third floors," said Tonks as they reached the second floor landing. "Nobody stays here except for Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys sometimes during the summer and winter holidays."
"Are the Weasleys Ron's family?" Buffy asked as they climbed up to the third floor and surveyed a large room with huge grey feathers scattered all over the hardwood flooring.
"Yeah, they're fantastic people, the whole lot! Well, except maybe for Percy," Tonks added in a dark undertone through the corner of her mouth.
Buffy frowned. The veteran Slayer had no idea who the young pink-haired witch was talking about. Opting to change the subject, she asked, "Why is the floor covered in feathers?"
Tonks seemed to sober up immediately, "Sirius used to live up here with his Hippogriff, Buckbeak. This is his family estate. He was my cousin and Harry's godfather."
"Oh," Buffy muttered. She hadn't failed to notice Tonks' use of 'was' in referring to Serious. She was sorry to have brought it up.
Luckily, distraction came in the form of an old grandfather clock chiming somewhere on the first floor.
"It's six! We'd better go down. The meetings are held downstairs in the kitchen," Tonks explained as they made their way down two flights of rickety stairs.
"And afterwards, Mrs. Weasley always cooks us dinner," Tonks whispered with a smile in her voice as they crept along the first floor corridor.
"Why do we have to whisper in this hallway?" Buffy asked curiously.
Tonks turned her head back to glance at the small blonde, "Because—"
C R A S H.
Buffy watched helplessly as the pink-haired witch flew face-first onto the floor. Tonks climbed to her feet and tugged the heavy, hollow troll leg back to its resting place along the wall, grumbling, "That stupid brolly stand, if I trip over that thing ONE MORE TIME—"
The pink-haired witch's head turned sharply to stare in abject horror as the velvet moth-eaten curtains they had just passed flew apart, revealing a life-sized painting of an old woman in a black cap with taut yellowing skin. Buffy unconsciously took a step back and scrunched up her nose as the crazed old woman in the painting began screaming and howling and ranting and raving at the tops of her lungs.
"Filthy scum! Half-breeds, Muggle-loving blood-traitors!" Mrs. Black's eyes settled on Buffy and lingered disdainfully on her blatantly Muggle dress, "Who are you? Be gone you mangy Muggle, you inferior breed! How dare you defile the abode of my forefathers! Yo—"
The rest of her blood-curdling, ear-splitting screech was abruptly cut off as the entire section of the wall where her portrait was hung blasted apart. Chunks of rubble sailed ever which way and waves of thick dust and debris billowed high into the air. The rest of the occupants of number twelve Grimmauld Place clambered up from the basement kitchen and rushed into the hallway to see a gaping hole in the place where Mrs. Black's portrait once stood, and Tonks and a young petite blonde covered head-to-toe in small bits of wall.
"Oops," the unfamiliar blonde muttered sheepishly to the speechless, gobsmacked crowd that had gathered in the now packed hallway.
The echoing stillness was punctured by an angry, muffled mumbling coming from somewhere underneath all the wreckage.
"Well... that's certainly one way to get around a Permanent Sticking Charm," smirked a tall black wizard, finally breaking the awkward silence.
"Come along, dears. I'll help you two get cleaned up," spoke a short, plump motherly-looking, redheaded witch, who stepped forward and swiftly led Tonks and Buffy away.
-
Buffy smoothed down an invisible wrinkle on her newly spotless shirt. She was really lucky that Mrs. Weasley's cleansing spells worked on her clothes, but had opted to clean up her face and hair by herself, not wanting awkward questions to come up when she'd already blown up a wall in the Order's secret headquarters. The veteran Slayer stared at her reflection in the grimy antique bathroom mirror, knowing very well that she was biding her time locked up in a dingy second-floor bathroom instead of going downstairs to the meeting already underway.
A soft knock sounded on the door followed by Dumbledore's voice. "Eliza, are you ready, my dear?"
She opened the door to find the wizened wizard waiting patiently outside, his brilliant blue eyes glittering madly as if he had just been privy to some hilarious inside joke.
"At least you gotta give me props for the worst first impression ever, right?" she babbled, "Destructo Girl strikes again. Buffy slayed the bad painting—" Glancing up at the Headmaster, Buffy continued on guiltily, "I'm really sorry about the wall. I'll help you guys fix it later or I can pay for the damages or—"
"That won't be necessary," Albus hastily interrupted as he gently squeezed her arm. "On the contrary, you've done us a great service by getting rid of that infernal portrait." He grinned with satisfaction. "I daresay that a few people will even be lining up to buy you a drink for that. I'm sorry to have missed it myself."
Buffy obligingly followed him down the creaky staircase; she stopped at the foot of the stairs, surprised to see the hallway already cleared and the wall whole again (minus the painting). She took a deep breath as Albus held open for her the door leading downstairs. The veteran Slayer studied the motley crew crammed into folding chairs all around the long wooden table as she and Dumbledore filed into the gloomy, cavernous room. All heads turned toward the pair as the Headmaster settled into the chair at the head of the table and indicated for Buffy to take the seat to his right. She didn't recognize any of the members' somber faces except for McGonagall; a sneering Snape; Tonks; the kind, redheaded witch who had helped her to tidy up; and Lupin who had a huge, indulgent grin plastered across his face.
"Let us continue then," announced Dumbledore in an official tone, drawing everyone's attention away from the petite blonde at his side. "Second order of business: I'd like to introduce our newest member, Elizabeth Ashbery," he said, inclining his head towards Buffy. "Everyone, please introduce yourselves."
The thin middle-aged wizard with balding red hair next to Buffy began first. "Arthur Weasley," he said in a friendly voice, patting the familiar kind-faced, red-headed witch's hand beside him, "and this is my wife Molly Weasley."
"Hello, dear!" Mrs. Weasley smiled brightly.
"Bill Weasley," said the tall wizard with long red hair pulled to a ponytail and a small shark tooth dangling from one ear. Several ragged scars marred his face, but they didn't seem to detract from his good looks.
"I'm George Weasley," beamed the first of two identical lanky young wizards with flaming red hair, giving her an appreciative once-over.
"And I'm Fred Weasley." The second twin winked. "If you ever mix us up, just call us Gred and Forge."
"We won't mind," continued George.
"You can call us anytime, actually," added Fred cheekily.
Buffy arched a finely shaped eyebrow at that. She could tell those two would be a lot of fun to be around.
"Great job blowing up Mrs. Black."
"For that, you deserve a drink—"
"Or ten. It's on us—"
"Call it a date?"
Buffy let out an amused giggle and was about to reply when Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat irritably. The twins shut up at once.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt," the tall black wizard who had commented on Buffy's demolition act earlier spoke in a deep, slow voice.
"Just Tonks," said the pink-haired witch. "You don't want to know my first name," she added with a shudder.
"We've already met," said Professor Lupin, smiling.
"Hestia Jones."
"Mundungus."
"Dedalus Diggle."
Buffy's attention began to wander as the introductions continued down the line. She was never good with names anyway. The blonde Slayer continued to smile and nod absently until a low, gravelly voice broke her out of her reverie. "Alastor Moody," said a tough-looking wizard with long grizzly grey hair and a network of scars on his face. But what drew her interest were his mismatched eyes. One was dark and beady while the other was large, round, an electric shade of blue, and spinning around in all directions inside the socket. Buffy had to bite on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing as an image of Xander with a whizzing magical eye popped into her mind. By the time Buffy shook herself of that mental picture, the introductions had winded down to Minvera McGonagall, who was seated to Dumbledore's left.
"Now, then. I have asked Elizabeth to join us—"
"Something's off about her," Moody growled suddenly. "The girl's more than she seems."
Buffy's eyes flitted to Dumbledore.
Crap, she groaned inwardly.
Not to worry, my dear.
The petite blonde's eyes widened as they locked with the Headmaster's. You can hear me!
Of course. I forgot to mention earlier that I suspected you might possess telepathic abilities as well. But never mind that now. I'll handle this.
"I promise you that Ms. Ashbery is not a Death Eater in disguise, Alastor," Dumbledore looked at Moody straight in the eye. He paused. "However, she is a wandless witch."
The room was in an instant uproar. Buffy chewed on her lower lip at the rather enthusiastic reaction. She had been sure that Dumbledore would tell them about her being a Slayer instead.
"Blimey!" George exclaimed excitedly, looking as if he had just met Merlin himself.
"Wow! Are you really?" asked Fred in awe.
"A wandless witch," chorused the twins, gawking at her.
Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the twins weren't the only ones ogling her like some prized zoo animal. Dumbledore held up a hand and immediately everyone quieted down. The wizened wizard leveled Moody a significant look, who held his gaze for several long seconds before nodding imperceptibly and turning away.
"Elizabeth is currently staying at Hogwarts at my invitation. I ask everyone here to please refrain from mentioning her outside of headquarters. It would be unwise to alert Voldemort to the presence of such a powerful ally on our side. Now, let's hear your report on the werewolf community, Remus," Albus prompted.
Buffy frowned at the sight of several Order members wincing involuntarily at the mention of Moldywart's name. Unchecked, irrational fear of an enemy was never a good thing. In fact, it usually equaled a death knell as far as she was concerned. Sitting back in her chair, the Slayer listened intently as Lupin recounted the state of his negotiations with Fenrir Greyback. For a split-second, she almost felt as if she were back in the Sunnydale High School Library being lectured to by a stuffy Giles again. Except, she was somehow taking in every word this time around. The fond illusion was shattered when she felt two pairs of penetrating eyes trained on her. Not even bothering to confirm her suspicions, Buffy knew that the scrutiny came from none other than Moody and Snape.
"—Not all the werewolves in the community genuinely support Voldemort, of course. I reckon nearly half are sitting on the fence. But it is hard to persuade any to break from the alliance. Most of the community lives in fear of Greyback's iron-fist rule, and none are brave enough to openly dissent."
"Why not take a more proactive approach?" Buffy spoke up. The veteran Slayer figured she might as well say her piece if they were going to stare at her regardless.
"Pardon?" The DADA professor paused to regard the small blonde in surprise.
"What if we take out Greyback? You said that he's the only real obstacle, right? If he's out of the picture, the rest of the werewolves would be leaderless and divided. And Moldywart would have a way harder time trying to buy their support. He probably won't even bother then," she reasoned.
Her suggestion was met with a number of half-muffled snickers coming from Bill, Fred, George, and Tonks for the irreverent nickname for You-Know-Who. Kingsley smirked and even Moody snorted in amusement. Snape's face was contorted, it almost looked as though he wanted to laugh but could not bring himself under any circumstance to do it. Lupin, however, appeared ill at ease. "What do you mean by 'take out'?" he asked the young blonde.
"Yes," Dumbledore interrupted, "doing so would most certainly eliminate Voldemort's alliance with the werewolf community."
"But it's not exactly easy to get to Greyback," Kingsley pointed out. "The man's been on the Ministry's most wanted list for over three decades without once getting caught."
"Is Fenrir still residing in the settlement, Remus?" Albus inquired, appearing completely undaunted by the Ministry's continual lack of success.
"To my knowledge, yes." Remus bowed his head in the affirmative.
Dumbledore clapped his hands together as his eyes glittered behind the half-moon glasses. "Excellent, excellent! Meeting adjourned."
So what's the plan? Buffy glanced at Dumbledore curiously out of the corner of her eye.
We take out Fenrir as you said.
Dumbledore rose from his chair. The other Order members followed suit uncertainly, looking just as puzzled about the abrupt end to the meeting as Buffy felt. Mrs. Weasley crossed to the kitchen counter after a beat, calling to the red-haired members at the table expectantly, "Arthur, Bill, Fred, George help me prepare dinner." Mr. Weasley and Bill dutifully marched over to help while the twins groaned, more resembling petulant five year-olds than the twenty year-old young wizards that they were.
Splainy?
Later, I promise. I have some things to attend to. Do stay for dinner, please.
What? You can't just leave me alone with them! Buffy shot a pleading look at the wizened wizard.
Why ever not? They don't bite. Besides, I think it best for you to mingle a bit with your new compatriots. They're quite pleasant company, really.
"Well, I'd best be off." Albus switched back to speaking with his usual politesse.
Molly Weasley's face fell slightly at the Headmaster's announcement. She had wanted him to try her new roast lamb recipe tonight. As though Dumbledore had read her mind, the wizened wizard turned toward the plump, redheaded witch with an apologetic look.
"I'm terribly sorry for not staying, Molly. After all, your culinary skills are quite legendary if I do say so myself." He smiled charmingly before turning to regard the petite blonde. "Will you be alright in returning to Hogwarts alone?"
Buffy arched a golden brow in response. "You know me," she answered drolly as Albus dipped his head and made for the door.
Sighing softly, the Slayer turned to survey the family of redheaded now bustling around the kitchen area. Mrs. Weasley was overseeing a batch of potatoes that had been bewitched to self-peel and mash. Her husband and eldest son were busy adding milk and flour to a bowl of batter. And the twins- they were floating half a dozen eggs in the air right on top of Bill's head, bouncing them within a hair's breadth from making actual contact. Smothering a laugh, Buffy strode over to the plump redheaded witch's side. "Do you need any help with dinner, Mrs. Weasley? I'm not much of a cook, but I can wash and chop like the best of them," the Slayer offered in her best helpful voice.
Mrs. Weasley turned to face the petite blonde with a gracious smile. "Oh, that's so sweet of you, dear—"
The redheaded witch paused in the middle of her sentence as her gaze fell past the young blonde and onto the eggs bobbing merrily above Bill's head. Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed dangerously in their direction, her hands on her hips. "Fred and George Weasley! If you're not going to help, at least STOP FOOLING AROUND!"
Buffy winced at the surprising volume of the short witch's voice and unconsciously backed away.
Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat.
By the time the twins had turned around to face their enraged mother, Bill was covered pitifully in raw egg whites and yokes. Muttering darkly under her breath, Molly whipped out her wand from the pocket of her newly-donned flowery apron and strode over to the quartet of redheaded wizards in various states of apprehension. Buffy almost felt sorry for Fred and George as they swallowed nervously at the sight of Mrs. Weasley's raised wand. With a sharp flick of the red-haired witch's wand, the splattered eggs were whole again and whisked off to the safety of a nearby counter.
"Now, boys," Mrs. Weasley began in a deadly whisper. "I expect to see a respectable-looking Yorkshire pudding ready and on the table in ten minutes. And Merlin help you if it's not the best Yorkshire pudding I've ever tasted."
"I've got enough help here as it is, I'm afraid," she said with a long-suffering expression as she addressed the petite blonde in between throwing dirty looks at her twin sons, who seemed to defy the very laws of physics by shrinking in stature under her reproachful glare. "Dinner will be ready in ten, dear," Mrs. Weasley smiled encouragingly.
"Okay," Buffy replied uncertainly as she plopped back down on an old wooden chair. She watched with wonder as a full family-sized meal was created in the same span of time it would have normally taken her to whip up JELLO instant pudding mix. Before she knew it, Molly had set a towering plate of food in front of her as Fred and George conveniently took the chairs on either side.
"Now, eat up, dear," the redheaded witch said in a warm, caring tone that only mothers could possess. "You're much too skinny."
"I think she looks just fine, Mum," Fred jumped to Buffy's defense.
"I'll take fine and raise it to gorgeous," George said with a wink.
Mrs. Weasley shot them a withering glare that shut them right up.
"I couldn't help but notice your accent. Are you from stateside, Elizabeth?" asked Mr. Weasley in between forkfuls of pudding and mash.
"Born and raised," Buffy answered. "And call me Eliza, Elizabeth makes me feel all old and stuffy."
"Hang on. Your name is Eliza Ashbery?" Molly cut in, suddenly peering at the petite blonde with intense interest.
"Last time I checked," Buffy answered with a confused frown. Her hazel eyes widened in surprise as Mrs. Weasley abruptly rose from her seat and ran the two steps over to envelope the small blonde in a fierce hug.
After a few seconds, the Slayer shifted slightly, hoping the witch would get the hint to release her from the unexpectedly tight embrace. When it became clear that Molly had no intentions of doing so, Buffy muttered in a muffled voice, "Okay. Air is suddenly becoming an issue."
Mrs. Weasley reluctantly pulled away, her hands never quite leaving Buffy's shoulders as she murmured with red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you for saving Ron's life, my dear girl!"
"Um, you're welcome?" the blonde Slayer replied, not really knowing what to make of Mrs. Weasley's show of gratitude as the redheaded witch ran a hand beneath her sniffling nose and retreated to her chair.
At his three sons' quizzical gazes, Arthur obligingly elaborated with a grateful smile at the now thoroughly uncomfortable Slayer. "Ginny wrote us that an American girl by the name of Eliza Ashbery saved Ron from a bugbear by jumping in front of him during his Care of Magical Creatures class."
"It wasn't that big of a deal, really," Buffy demurred as five beholden gazes were suddenly directed her way.
"Rubbish!" said George as he snaked an arm around her shoulder. "Any savior of ickle Ronniekins is a friend of ours!"
"Hear, hear!" Fred piped in, beaming at the petite blonde.
"That was a brave thing you did," Bill spoke up for the first time that night. "I don't know many full-grown wizards who would willingly do something like that," he intoned sincerely.
Buffy make a noncommittal vowel noise and turned away from their adoring looks to stare down at her plate. Give her master vampires, ascended snake demons, modern day frankensteins, hell gods, uber-vamps, and apocalypses any day. But praise and thanks for simply doing her job? That was seriously scary. She exhaled a soft breath of relief as the conversation shifted to Bill's new married life and the twins' business affairs. As the meal progressed, the Slayer found herself gradually being drawn into the lively chatter and genuinely enjoying the company. Together, the Weasleys were the big, rowdy, happy family that she had secretly longed for when her parents' marriage was so disastrously falling apart. By the end of the evening, Buffy was sorry to leave.