The Black Star

by Levee

Daughter of a disinherited Black and a muggle American, Ashland hid from the Wizarding world until her father's last wish and her cousin's journal sent her to England, Harry and the war. HG,HrR,NL,ReT,post HBP

3. 2: From Disappointment

Chapter 2:

From Disappointment

Harry'd been standing in the silence and dark of his old bedroom at Grimmauld Place, listening to the portrait's snores, for half an hour, before he finally kicked himself into action.

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore's portrait."

Phineas Nigellus jerked, as though he'd really been asleep instead of ignoring Harry. "What did you say?"

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore's portrait."

"That is the most absurd…He can't travel into my portrait here and the school is closed, the Headmaster's office is locked to all by the Deputy Headmistress until a successor is named…"

"Look…"

"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Potter. Dumbledore may have put up with that nonsense, but I certainly will not. Why, if I had still been Headmaster while you were at Hogwarts, I can assure you things would have been quite different…."

"Yes, sir. I'm sure they would have been. But…please…could you just…ask him for me. Ask if there's a way for me to come see him."

"Of all the selfish…you know we heard things from Sir Nicholas about you not being able to cope whatsoever with death…"

"I have to see him, sir."

Phineas Nigellus continued to speak as though Harry hadn't tried to interrupt him. "Well, I certainly do not have to sit here and endure your cries for attention. I have heard you children banging around here over the past few days—what you have been playing at. And if all I can expect is you continuing to pop in constantly and badger me, I can assure you I will steer clear of this portrait for a good long while. To think, pestered until I must flee my own home…"

He waltzed out of the portrait and Harry sank down onto his old bed, head in hands.

Well, so much for that idea.

He should have just left, apparated back to Privet Drive with Hermione when Ron flooed back to the Burrow. But he'd been convinced last night when he'd stayed up pacing the drawing room that he had to go see Dumbledore's portrait and this was the best way he could figure to do it. He'd just have to think of something else…

"Well, hurry up. I do believe that you would sit around moping until the world ended if you were allowed to."

Harry looked up from his hands at the portrait, filled once again with the sneering ex-Headmaster. "What?"

"Come on, come on. He says he'd love to see you. Nearly took my head off for telling you otherwise. You would think he was still alive and Headmaster instead of just one of us."

"But how do I…"

"Do you own this house or not, boy? Don't even know what stops your own fireplace is connected to…I suppose you have not even taken the time to study or understand the wards built into the house. Generations of Black heritage and blood poured into the very foundations…"

"So…to make a long story short, I can floo to his office from here."

"How many times must I tell you not to interrupt me?" Phineas Nigellus placed his hands on his hips and flared his nostrils.

"A few more I guess."

"You are more impertinent than Siri…" Phineas Nigellus frowned and trailed off before muttering under his breath, "Yes. Well at least he was a Black." He sneered and turned to leave, yelling over his shoulder as he walked out of the frame. "Just hurry up. The grate is 'Dumbledore's Office.'"

Harry took his time walking down the stairs to the kitchen basement, not at all sure now that he knew how to get there that he actually wanted to step foot again in Dumbledore's office. He lit the fire with his wand, well beyond caring about the Decree for Underage Wizardry; he'd been practicing dozens of spells here and at Privet Drive over the past days with Ron and Hermione without a single Ministry Owl. Seemed the Ministry had bigger fish the fry these days.

He took a pinch of floo powder from the silver urn stamped with the Black crest on the mantle, threw it and stepped in, "Dumbledore's Office."

Harry rode the uncomfortable sensation and landed in Dumbledore's grate, shaking soot off his shoulders as he stepped out. Nothing had changed since he'd last stood here and listened to McGonagall and the other professors plan Dumbledore's funeral, and he didn't feel nearly as angry or upset as he thought he would have by that.

Until he found the courage to look at the portrait behind the desk and straight into Dumbledore's very awake face.

The nausea slammed into him so suddenly he nearly fell to his knees. Gripping the mantle, Harry stared back at the same twinkling eyes that had looked back at him from behind that same desk at the end of every catastrophe and adventure he'd had at Hogwarts. Only they hung on the wall now, just paint and canvas instead of flesh and blood.

"Hello, Harry."

He knew the instant the portrait spoke that he'd never seek out portraits of his parents or Sirius. He couldn't bear to see them like this. Hear them. Feel the queasy hope that was rising in him even though he knew beyond any doubt that this was not real.

"Professor." He tried to shove that hope down. It's just a painting.

"I thought you might come and see me. I knew you would have questions. Though, I am afraid I do not know how much I will be able to help you. After all, as my fellows kindly remind me every few hours, I am merely a portrait."

He looked so real—the same half-moon glasses and crooked nose. Harry sighed, gathered his courage and pushed away from the mantle, taking a chair in front of the desk.

There was so much he wanted to ask; the questions were screaming in his mind: Why did you trust Snape, why didn't you listen to me about Malfoy, why did you believe them, why did you leave me…

But none of that mattered anymore. Not really. It was all done and the answers to those questions wouldn't bring Dumbledore back. There was only one real question that mattered now—was there anything in this room he needed in order to find the Horcruxes—and the answer to it could save him a lot of time and a lot of people their lives.

"Typical." Phineas Nigellus snorted from his frame. "He drags me from my sleep, badgers me until I travel all the way to my portrait here, where I am yelled at by a painting so young that the paint is barely dry, only to sit here like a landed fish, gaping at Dumbledore."

"Oh shut it Phineas, there are bigger worries here than you losing sleep." The witch who Dumbledore sent to St. Mungos when Voldemort's snake attacked Mr. Weasley stared down at Harry as she spoke. He thought he remembered her name….Dilys something.

"Yes." The wizard next to her, Everard if Harry remembered correctly, nodded. "I thought Dumbledore decided you should go back to those foul Dursleys."

Dilys' crossed her arms. "He debated on it for weeks, but decided you had to go back to them no matter how despicable they are, Mr. Potter."

Dumbledore spoke up, his hands steepled against his lips. "I must have. That is where you are safest."

Harry made himself turn back to Dumbledore and look him in the eyes. "I did, sir. Hermione and I are both staying at Privet Drive."

"The Muggles are allowing that?" Phineas Nigellus was incredulous.

"They don't know she's there."

"Then what were you doing at Order Headquarters?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's not Headquarters anymore, sir. When you died…"

"Yes. Of course. The Fidelius Charm, among other things would be null."

"Yes, sir. We've…" Harry looked at the other portraits, a sudden doubt creeping into his mind. He knew that Phineas Nigellus didn't like him, and the others he didn't know at all. Who was to say that if someone working for Voldemort got into this office that the portraits wouldn't reveal what he wanted to say now: that they'd redone the Fidelius with Harry as Secret Keeper and planned on using Grimmauld as a base once they finished at Godric's Hollow?

Caution warred with his need to hear Dumbledore's opinion on their plan. But when Harry looked back up at his portrait, Dumbledore still stared down at him over two very whole, very healthy steepled hands. Neither one black and shriveled.

It's not real. Not real. And this isn't Dumbledore.

"We've just been messing around a bit. Seemed like a good place to…figure a few things out before Bill's wedding. …"

"But you are actually living at Privet Drive. Very good."

"Yes, sir. We were just at Grimmauld Place yesterday and today. And I just…it occurred to me last night that you might have had more notes. Or more penseive memories. Or things here that were important to the search. Something you meant to tell me but never got around to it…I couldn't sleep. The thought that a clue could be in such a simple place and I never thought to look for it…"

"Ah," Dumbledore blinked several times and a frown creased his forehead as though he were trying very hard to grasp a thought just out of reach. Harry had never seen a look even remotely like it on the Headmaster's face and the nausea crawled back up into his throat at the same time his heart clenched in pain.

Everard spoke up from his frame. "The memory you procured from Professor Slughorn completed the puzzle that Dumbledore had been working on with you, Mr. Potter. You knew as much as he did the night that the two of you watched the final memory."

"You're sure. He didn't leave notes with his thoughts on where the other Horcruxes were or what they were…"

"He feared that his notes could be found, Mr. Potter. Though he did debate jotting down some of his thoughts in the beginning, in case…well. He truly did tell you all he knew. Or at least all that we knew he knew. And once you viewed the memories, he replaced them in the safety of his mind or disposed of them. I am sorry."

"It's all right…I had to be sure. You know. Would have kicked myself if it had been that simple." Harry tried to smile, but the nausea was almost overwhelming now. He stood and walked over to press his forehead against the window.

"He was so proud of you, Mr. Potter." This time it was Dilys who tried to fill the silence. "For securing the last memory. He'd been trying to get it for so long."

Harry nodded without lifting his forehead off the glass and let the silence settle again. He was afraid to leave—this had been his last chance at simplicity. Outside this office, the search waited and it seemed like the world couldn't be any bigger at the moment, the Horcruxes any smaller.

But he'd known it couldn't have been that easy. Nothing in his life ever had been.

"Mr. Potter…"

Harry whirled, wand out and trained on where he'd heard his Head of House's voice before she could finish her sentence. McGonagall stood just inside the office door, and, when Harry just continued to stare her down, spread her hands out at her sides to show she didn't have a wand.

"Why did you make me Gryffindor Seeker?"

"You caught Neville Longbottom's rememberall during your first flying lesson."

Harry lowered his wand, smiling rather sheepishly. "Sorry Professor, I just…"

McGonagall drew her wand and pointed it at Harry before he could raise his again. His smile dropped off, his heart beat hard against his ribs.

"Where was the Headquarter for the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry's relief nearly knocked him over. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

McGonagall pressed her lips together, but lowered her wand. "You tripped the wards, but Dilys' portrait in the Hospital Wing explained why they allowed someone into the Headmaster's office." She paused, tucked her wand back into her robes. "I thought it best to give you a moment to talk…Did you get the answers you needed?"

Harry shrugged, tried to smile and failed.

"Yes. Well." She glanced at Dumbledore's portrait but Harry didn't follow her eyes, afraid to see Dumbledore still looking confused. "It can be a bit disheartening can't it? But the others are helpful, perhaps if you asked them…"

"I did. They helped. Really."

"Good. Good." She bustled all the way into the room, stopping several feet in front of Harry with a sigh.

"Portraits are just like that, Potter. They remember more about the lives and world they witness while hanging on the wall than the life their likeness lived. Though they do remember some things—for instance he tells me at least five times a day that you can take care of yourself. They can, however, interpret current events with their likeness' unique way of thinking and intelligence. So if you ever have problems you need help working through instead of questions that might prove too specific…"

"Oh. Good. Well that's…" Harry took a deep breath and spared a quick glance at Dumbledore who was beaming at them, twinkling eyes back, all traces of confusion gone. "I'll remember that."

McGonagall shook her head slightly, the corner of her lips quirking up. "I hope you'll also remember that I have a brain as well, Potter. I know one or two things, and so does just about every member of the Order—excluding perhaps Mundungus."

"Professor…"

"You're up to something, Potter. And I imagine it has everything to do with whatever you and Albus were up to before his death." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have it in you to let things alone with You-Know-Who, Harry."

"What…you think I just sit around thinking to myself, 'Hey how can I get Voldemort to try and kill me today?' Why is..."

"Oh, I know you don't seek him out, but I imagine you'll finish it."

That certainly shut him up. It was so close to what he and Dumbledore had said about the prophecy the night he died, that Harry flinched. McGonagall just gripped him tighter.

"We can help, Harry."

"I know, Professor." And he knew he'd need that help one day. "I just can't say anything right now."

She tsked and shook him gently before dropping her hand. "I swear, you're as bad as Dumbledore."

"Really, Minerva." Dumbledore's portrait chuckled.

"Oh please, Albus, you loved being vague and mysterious more than the socks you claimed to long for. And so, apparently, does Potter."

"And if I told you what needed to be done but that you had to stay out of it and let Harry take care of it, would you do as I said?"

"Certainly not. What kind of rubbish is that? Portraits! Sometimes I wonder if they've hung your frame straight, Albus."

Harry kept his face blank as Dumbledore winked at him over McGonagall's shoulder. She'd just confirmed his suspicion: the Order was not ready to hear what had to happen in order to defeat Voldemort. There'd been a small kernel of doubt eating at him since he'd refused to tell McGonagall right away what he and Dumbledore had been doing the night the Headmaster died. About the Horcruxes.

But it seemed this trip hadn't been a total waste and Dumbledore's portrait had been helpful after all. He was suddenly certain he was right in waiting to tell the Order everything, otherwise they wouldn't let him finish this the way he wanted to—the way it had to be done.

Plus, the other portraits had convinced him he wasn't overlooking something in this office. He could move forward with more confidence now.

McGonagall tilted her head, regarding him with the critical eye he'd come to dread over the past few years. "I understand, Potter, that you're back at the Dursleys."

"Yes, Professor."

"You'll be going to the Burrow for the wedding?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Excellent. I shall see you there. I'm quite excited about it actually. It will be a nice respite from all that's going on. And my sister's just sent me some new plaid that I've had made into dress robes…"

Most of the portraits had begun to snore as usual, though Dumbledore was chuckling slightly over McGonagall's shoulder.

She shook herself as if she'd just realized it was Harry she was talking to. "But enough of that…You are of course welcome to send me an owl if you need anything large or small."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Dilys tells me you flooed from Grimmauld Place."

"Yes, Professor."

"I'm not sure how safe that place is now, Potter. Dumbledore did most of the wards himself and as you know, many spells fail or become obsolete upon the caster's death."

"We're working it out Professor."

"I imagine you'll at least want a new Fidelius Charm and that's fairly advanced…"

Harry grinned, happy to have a reply ready. "Hermione's already taken care of that, Professor."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows but gave an approving jerk of her head. "I suppose I can put that worry from my mind then. Smartest thing you ever did, Potter, making friends with Granger."

His smile slipped a bit, old worries creeping to the front of his mind. "Probably not so smart on her part."

McGonagall gave him a look that said quite clearly she didn't find him amusing. "You should speak to Lupin. He helped Dumbledore with most of the wards and knew what all was used in the end."

"Thanks, Professor."

"And do me a favor, will you, Potter. Knock some sense into that fool. He's refusing to let me bring someone in to brew Wolfsbane for him since Snape…" her lips pressed together so tightly they turned white, and she looked away for a moment before turning back to Harry. "And now Slughorn's disappeared."

"What's happened to Slughorn?"

"Oh, nothing sinister, Potter. He's just gone back to ground since it's unlikely the school will reopen and You-Know-Who has begun more actively hunting people down."

Somehow Harry was not a bit surprised. "Where's Lupin staying for the full moon then?"

"Not here—he refuses to put us all at risk or some such nonsense and he absolutely will not stay in the Shrieking Shack. Though I suppose I don't blame him for that."

Harry didn't blame him at all on that one either, but he didn't see why he wouldn't let McGonagall get someone to brew the potion. And if he didn't want to put them all in danger then that meant… "So Order Headquarters is here."

McGonagall nodded slightly, her lips pressed in a thin line again.

Harry frowned, remembering a bit of what McGonagall said when she first walked in the office. "No one's hurt are they?"

"Of course not. Why?"

"Well, you said you were in the Hospital Wing…"

Her face softened a bit and the first hint of a real smile spread across her face. "I was helping Poppy with some inventory."

"Good." Harry looked up at Dumbledore who was sleeping along with the others now.

He felt the last bit of that hope that had risen when he first saw the painting wither and die. He wasn't sure why, but he'd still expected to look up just now and see Dumbledore waiting to say goodbye, to offer some parting words of ridiculousness. Maybe an 'oddment' or a 'tweak.' Not snoozing to cover the fact that he was eavesdropping just like the rest of the portraits.

"Well, I guess I should be getting back. The Dursleys don't know I've gone."

"Of course." McGonagall stepped aside and let Harry walk to the fireplace where he grabbed a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the flames.

Before he could step in, McGonagall spoke up. "You do understand that having placed a new Fidelius Charm on Grimmauld Place that you'll have to have the new secret keeper tell any Order Members again if you want them to be able to find you there or the house again."

"Yes, Professor."

When he didn't continue—or formally tell her that his 'base' was at Grimmauld Place as he expected she thought he would—she threw up her hands.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Fine. It was good to see you, Potter. You look well and I'm glad of that. I shall see you at the wedding." She walked to the office door and had it open before Harry finally spoke.

"Professor. Thank you. It was good to see you too."

She nodded and swept out of the office just as Harry stepped into the fire and said, "Grimmauld Place."

OoOoOoOoOo

Ashland hadn't been this disappointed since Santa forgot to bring her a pony for the fourth year in a row.

"Miss…" A wizard in robes a green so faded and worn they were gray blocked her path. "I's not safe to be wondering about alone. What you need is protection, and for that I'm just the wizard you need." He pulled his robe open from the left like some guy selling stolen watches in a movie. Dozens of charms hung in haphazard rows from the cloth. They were made mostly of various animal claws wrapped in hair. And one…

"You steer clear of me friend," Ash leaned forward so only this hack could hear her, pointing at the charm that had caught her eye. "Or else I'll tip the Auror's that have been snooping about that you're dealing with human-remain-based charms."

The wizard spat off to the side before scurrying away as quickly as he could without appearing flustered.

Her father had told her as many stories about Diagon Alley as he had about Hogwarts and Sirius. But these days it was nothing like he had described. In fact it better resembled his warnings about Knockturn Alley.

Ashland wound her way back from Gringotts towards the Leaky Cauldron—her new home-away-from-home. She passed the closed store fronts pasted over with Ministry signs and the shacks that had been hastily erected to sell protective charms and potions. They reminded her of the fireworks stands that went up every Fourth of July on the back roads in Texas. Temporary, gaudily painted. Only needed because of the particular season.

Only this season was war. And Ashland had come to the conclusion that she hadn't had a clue what Voldemort being back really meant. She'd been safe in America, but she'd also been blind—sheltered. There was no missing the big picture here.

She'd contacted Alphard's lawyers in London—they were making quiet inquiries into what sort of resources and Black family holdings she could get at without revealing her existence. She'd been at Gringotts this morning to draw some galleons out of the account the lawyers had finally established under her pseudonym. Leslie White was a wealthy woman.

All that was well and good and meant she was set up comfortably for the long haul. But as for why she was here…well, things were going about as horribly as they could.

A week and nothing. No one knew where Harry Potter was. And if they did they weren't talking.

She'd gotten one bit of good news today—Perseus Jenkins, her father's main lawyer here in the UK, mentioned a house in London that had gone to Sirius and then to Harry as her cousin's will had stipulated. A number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She planned on making the trip tomorrow just to see if the lead got her anywhere.

Ashland dodged another charm seller as she passed the only store on the street she'd been tempted, but hadn't had the time, to go into. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was still bright, still open, and had the most hilarious signs parodying Ministry warnings in every window space available. Those signs were here daily pick me up, a kind of shining, or in today's case blinking, light in the darkness that was her shattered childhood illusions.

Today's newest sign flashed in green letters on a purple background:

We can't predict if you'll be captured by Death Eaters

But we can guarantee you'll impress Divination Teachers

Prophecy Professor

Insert your personal information and she'll fabricate guaranteed-unique-each-time foretellings. No more racking your brain for new and interesting ways to predict your death!

For tea-leaves, star charts, and crystal ball gazing only.

Not recommended for palm or rune reading.

May predict sudden death, horrific catastrophe, or maiming.

Do not use Prophecy Professor if you suffer from pessimism, heart palpitations, or lack of any and all common sense.

She laughed and walked back towards the store front, peering at the display beneath the sign. Haphazard, leaning columns of brightly colored parchment pads that made her think of Muggle mad-libs, filled the window. And as she peered between two stacks to get a glimpse of the store, she saw a dark-headed wizard gesticulating rather wildly to two red-heads standing behind the counter.

They were arguing, that much was obvious. Ash sighed—she'd almost decided to give up on hurrying back to read through more of Regulus' babblings so she could finally check the joke shop out. But she didn't feel like stepping into the middle of someone else's problems at the moment, had enough of her own.

Can't draw attention to myself yet…

So she was straightening up to walk away when the dark-headed wizard rolled up his sleeve, showed the redheads his forearm and drew a wand.

According to the grapevine—of which her landlord Tom was still an integral member despite the drop in his steady stream of patrons—it had become Death Eater vogue lately to flash their marks if their powers of persuasion failed to impress. Which pissed Ash off every which way there was.

A weeks worth of frustration and uncertainty rose up from her gut and turned to anger. And where normally she would have stuffed it back down and not let such a simple thing as being bored and scared push her into something rash, she said howdy and welcome to that part of her that sometimes made her go looking for trouble. Made her Dad, when he caught her, look at her, sigh and call her his little Gryffindor.

So, letting control and reason take a short hiatus, she pushed away from the window and went straight through the door.

The door's bell—or rather something that sounded an awful lot like a lion roaring—announced her arrival. All three men jerked around to look at her, the two redheads with wide eyes and head jerks she supposed meant she should turn back around and leave. The Death Eater glared at her but slipped his wand back into his robes.

Ashland smiled and waved hello and then gave them her back, walking around to look at all the shelves—if she wasn't trying so hard to hear what they were saying, she had a sneaking suspicion she'd love this place. Of course, they weren't saying much at the moment; silence pressed against her from behind for several minutes. But she ignored them and picked up different products, and eventually the whispers picked back up.

She ended up in front of a display of Muggle items, close enough that she could hear a little better as she thumbed through a deck of tarot cards.

Death Eater was spitting his words in a wet hiss, "You will stop selling to the Ministry and you will start producing the items the Dark Lord requests."

One redhead spoke. "And you've obviously inhaled too much of your cauldron fumes…"

Followed seamlessly by the second. "Have your nose stuck way below the rim…"

"Because the day we do anything for Voldemort…"

"Is the day we're Inferi…"

Death Eater laughed. "Oh trust me, you're well on your way to making that a dream come true."

The first redhead snorted, said, "Excuse me…" and walked towards Ashland while the Death Eater talked on to numero dos.

"I'm just the opening act, you keep saying no and you'll find the Dark Lord himself on your door step."

"Excellent. We don't generally deal with lackeys anyway."

The first redhead arrived beside Ashland while the other was speaking, and she got a good enough look to realize they were definitely twins.

He leaned down and spoke quietly, so only she could hear. "You need to get out of here."

Ashland returned the grin he had pasted on his face. "You keep talking and it's gonna be hard for me to hear how this ends."

Death Eater and the second redhead were still whispering furiously.

"I'll be sure to have George owl you a written copy of the entire exchange."

"How about we just go over there and join the conversation."

"This isn't something you want to jump in the middle of."

"Oh, I'm already there."

"It's about to end badly."

"Not necessarily." Ashland grabbed the Muggle sheriff badge off the shelf that was part of the Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle Takes America! display. "What's the Death Eater's name?"

Uno Red—as she suddenly chose to dub the twin before her—blinked, the fake grin fading. He looked at her with a seriousness that she could tell was foreign to his face, creasing it in all the wrong places. "Look, George and I were just bemoaning how the lack of willingness to get involved with others' business is running rampant these days, but we definitely don't need you to change our opinion on that topic at the moment. You'll only get hurt."

Ashland smiled, she liked this guy. "What's his name?"

He threw up his hands. "Baird. Limus Baird. Ok, so you can go on now…"

Ash held her hand out. "Ashland."

He shook it and smiled a genuine smile that showed dozens of laugh lines—oh yes, she'd chosen the right side here. "Fred."

Ashland winked and stepped around him, marching straight up to Death Eater Baird. "Excuse me, sir." She injected a little more 'South' into her accent. "I'm gonna have to ask you to vacate the premises."

Ashland was quite happy with her cop talk. Years of TV paid off at last—Dad would be proud.

Baird laughed—a sharp crack that raised the hair on her neck. "And just who do you think you are to tell me to 'vacate' anything."

"Martha Corey of the American Aurors." She held up the tin star. "On special assignment tracking several Death Eaters suspected of thefts in the States. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

Baird blinked at her, anger giving way for a moment to uncertainty.

He projected so loudly, she couldn't help but get an impression of his conflicting emotions when he met her eyes. Did he believe her and risk being taken in, or just screw it and go on with the plan?

When the first bead of sweat popped up on his forehead, she rejoiced.

Oh, yes this is fun, just what I needed. Will Work for Flustered Death Eater. Hoorah!

Baird's eyes flicked to the badge and he finally decided on screw it. "If you think I buy a word of that…"

"I don't much care what you buy, Mr. Baird. I know you're a Death Eater, I've overheard you trying to coerce these fine gentlemen out of some of their goods—which, unless our countries' versions of English have just grown too far apart, is the definition of theft—and I know that you're outnumbered three to one by a highly trained Auror and two wizards brilliant enough that Voldemort wants their genius applied to his cause. So, unless you want me to drag you on down to the American Embassy at the Ministry for a proper round of questioning, I suggest you vacate these premises as I so politely asked mere moments ago and we'll all just let bygones be bygones, go our merry ways without anyone getting hurt, etc."

She smiled as she said it, trying to hold in her laughter at the struck look on George's face where he still stood behind the counter and Fred's grin from over Baird's shoulder.

The Death Eater had his lip between his teeth, biting down so hard she was surprised blood wasn't dripping from his mouth. He stared her down—a monumental mistake on his part considering she used his stupidity as cover to raise her wand beneath her robes and cast a proper legilimens charm on him. Several images—none of them remotely cheering—rushed to the forefront and she blinked, letting the connection go before he noticed her subtle intrusion.

Ah, so that's the plan then.

Ash held her grin and her tin star up beneath his now-empty stare and pretended that nothing had jarred her, playing her bluff to the hilt.

He finally caved and swished past her. Though he did pause halfway out the door and throw a threat back at Fred and George. "If you think you've escaped the Dark Lord, then you are highly mistaken. You will be hearing from us."

The door slammed behind him. Dos Red—her dubbing tendency made the logical leap and gave George a title to match his twin's—let his head fall forward, leaning over the counter with his hands planted wide to support him.

Fred whistled and stared at Ashland. "We figured tonight was the night. Fortescue, Ollivander…"

George looked up. "You might have noticed, we like a bit of defiance just as much as the next guy…"

Fred shrugged. "And we'd come to the conclusion that we'd finally defied our way to the end."

"You have." Ashland gave him an apologetic smile. "Or at least they think so. According to Mr. Baird, there are five Death Eaters waiting for him to lure the two of you out of the building in order to round you up for Voldemort, preferably alive." She raised her palms—badge in one, wand in the other—out to the side and let them draw their own conclusion from that.

Fred's eyes narrowed in suspicion—another 'look' he had to work awfully hard at. "Who are you really and how did you know that?"

"I'm Ashland and I'm a Legilimens." Ash tossed the badge back onto the shelf she'd taken it from. "Take it our leave it, that's more explanation than I normally offer."

George laughed. "We'll take whatever you're handing out."

"What do they figure's to keep us from disapparating right now?"

Ash smiled. "Try."

She watched them both turn, shiver and thump an inch back to the ground.

"Damn." Fred kicked the counter.

George wiped his brow. "When'd he set those up?"

"His friends outside probably set them while he was in here. They can't extend too far past the building since they're gonna have to apparate to close the trap."

Uno sighed. "Knew he wouldn't just leave...had to be more to it."

Dos grinned. "Nothing's that easy, Fred."

"And my acting skills are not that great, sadly enough." Ashland redid her ponytail—didn't need hair in her face going into a potential duel.

Fred shook his head. "But you got him twisted about…"

George nodded. "Unsure, which, along with a third wand, ups our odds…"

Fred jerked his chin towards the door where the Death Eaters waited outside. "Care to dig yourself in a little deeper and help us get out of here?"

Ashland drew her wand out of her robes. "Well, since I'm now one of the 'us,' I bet I can lend a hand." She grinned and gave them a wink. "Let's show 'em what a fake Auror and two genuine geniuses can do."

"D'you hear that, George? Doesn't even know us and she's picked up that we're genuine."

"Sharp girl, Fred. We should offer her the manager position."

"I imagine she's over-qualified, George."

"For us? Never."

"Too right." Fred turned to her abruptly, switching gears with practiced ease. "So what's the layout, Ashland?"

"Three in the back alley in case y'all got any smart ideas, two more waiting across the street to join up with Baird once he made his exit with y'all supposedly following. Whichever way y'all came out, that group would have sent up sparks and the others would have apparated in behind to cut off the escape."

Ash peeked out the window at the darkened street. "I imagine they're counting on us thinking the coast is clear and just walking out. So I say we give them what they want. Nothing fancy, just spring the trap and hope for the best."

"Devious in its simplicity."

"Marvelous in its straightforwardness."

The twins looked at each other and spoke at the same time. "Wicked."

George tossed Fred a hat from beneath the counter and came around to stand by Ashland. He handed her a similar hat and placed another on his head. "Shield Hats, one less spell to worry about in the fray."

Fred saluted them, the back of his hand pressed to the hat's brim. "Security in the midst of battle."

"Really." Ashland turned the hat about in her hands. "Awesome. Where'd you pick these up?"

"Invented them ourselves…"

"Meant it was a joke really…"

"But the Ministry's asked us to keep them stocked."

Ashland nodded, pulling hers snugly down on her head. "And Voldemort's gotten wind of the advantages you're giving his enemies."

"Hazards of the trade." Fred pulled his own wand.

George led them to the door, and they stood looking out the glass for a moment.

Ashland saw Baird lurking in a dark doorway just across the street, but no sign of the other two. "So. We walk out, I'll take the three in front—Baird's so afraid of failing here he'll be worthless. So that cuts the odds to fair."

"Fred'll take the ones that apparate in behind…" George put a hand on the door.

"And George'll split himself and go where he sees a need." Fred offered her his arm and she took it, changing her wand over to her left hand.

"Crack and egg, gentlemen."

The twins grinned and spoke together as George opened the door and Fred led them through to the street. "Luck."

Ashland watched Baird from the corner of her eye, acting as though she didn't know he was there. The Death Eaters let them get to the middle of the deserted street before sparks lit the sky and a loud crack sounded behind them.

Ashland didn't even bother to look back, just slipped free of Fred just as he turned around and yelled an Expelliarmus.

Ashland cast a silent Reducto at Baird before the man even though to raise his wand and he flew backwards, cracking the wall behind him. He slid to the ground, stunned—or at least she thought so.

Might've gotten carried away with the force behind that one.

The other two wizards in front of her—one to her right and one to her left—wore full Death Eater garb. Left cast a loud Crucio at her, just as Right stumbled, taking George's yelled Reducto to the chest.

The Crucio bounced off her hat's shield, letting her throw another hex Left's way in half the time it would have taken her if she'd needed to cast a Protego.

Left's legs locked together and he fell forward, his wand skidding across the street, as her silent hex hit. She heard the boys cursing in coordinated tandem that only twins could have, but she kept her eyes on Right who'd recovered his footing.

"Expelliarmus." Ashland held her non-wand hand out and plucked Right's wand from the air.

George flashed past her on the right, dueling lights flashing back and forth between him and the Death Eater he was chasing down. Fred yelled from the other direction, a wordless noise of pain.

She winced at the noise and the distraction was enough that she didn't see Left worming towards her until his hand grabbed her ankle, tripping her. As she fell, she looked down and saw him—legs still glued together—hanging onto her. She twisted to aim a Reductor at him, but the ground caught her first and she hit her head, blacking out for a split second.

But that was all the time they needed, because when her eyes opened again, Right was running towards her, his wand—recovered from where she'd dropped it—pointed at her nose. Left scooted closer to her on his stomach and ripped her hat off, taking a bit of hair with it.

Stupid, stupid, how the hell have I let this happen…Right skidded to a halt above her and her groping hand had just grasped her wand when he yelled…

"Ava..." And flew backwards, slamming into a trash bin behind him.

Three new wizards hurried towards them, the hunched figure in the lead still pointing his wand where he'd sent Right sailing into the garbage. Ashland kicked out with her free foot, slamming it into Left's jaw. He yelped and she rolled to get a good shot at him, but Fred yelled an Expelliarmus first and caught the moaning Death Eater's wand.

Baird got to his feet and ran for the alley. Fred and one of the new wizards chased after him while George secured the ropes on the three Death Eaters who had apparated in behind them.

"Ashland, you all right?"

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the stooped owner of the Leaky Cauldron, his wand still on Right, though his eyes were glued on her. She let the panic wash over her, surrendered to it for a minute…I did not just almost die, I was not that careless, I almost died, shit…and then let it go, looked up into Tom's eyes, knew he saved her life and let that be that.

"Tom, bless your heart. I'd have been a goner."

He gave her a hand up with surprising ease considering his age and hunched posture. "Was getting awfully late, Ashland. I was worried. You know better than to stay out so far past dark alone and I jus' knew…"

"It's all right Tom. Just got a bit tangled in something that needed to be untangled."

"You have to take better care, Ashland."

Ash smiled as the old bartender looked her over for bruises. He'd been a godsend, Tom. She'd been on the verge of taking an apartment in Muggle London when her search for a place to stay in Diagon Alley itself didn't turn up a thing. Every place was closed or the owners unwilling to rent to a foreign witch when they had no way of knowing whose side she was really on.

But the morning she'd given up looking she'd stopped in the Leaky Cauldron on her way out and over breakfast she'd explained her predicament to Tom. She'd been the only customer he had that morning—the only one, according to him, he'd had in days—and he eagerly offered her a room there. He'd been her only friend and sounding board for the past week. And though she hadn't confided everything about why she was here to him, she'd have been lost without his kindness and friendship.

"All right, Tom?" Fred came over and shook his hand. "Smart one bringing over the Aurors. Didn't know there were even lurking about any more."

"They come in the pub every once and a while. Convinced them to come help me look for Ashland."

George joined them. "Dawlish and Hayter say they'll get those four to the Ministry. They'll want to come by tomorrow to get our statements. Figure it's best for us to get indoors for now."

"Baird and the last one got away?" Ashland winced slightly as she tested her full weight on the ankle Left had twisted.

Fred snorted. "Yeah, the cowards."

"Have you ever met any other kind of Death Eater?" George smiled at Ashland. "Don't know what sent you into the shop today, but we owe you."

"Actually, false advertising did." Ash watched the twins frown. "The sign for the Prophecy Professor drew me to the window, so it looks like y'all can predict when Death Eaters strike."

The twins laughed and moved up on either side of her, each one taking one of her arms.

"Let us buy your dinner."

"Least we can do tonight."

"Sure." Ash spared a glance over her shoulder and watched one of the Aurors portkey away with Left and Right. The others had already vanished.

Tom led the way back through the brick archway and the back door of the Leaky Cauldron. Inside he gestured to the four-top he and Ash ate their meals at every night. "Here boys, get her situated and that foot elevated and I'll serve us up some plates."

He disappeared behind the bar and into the kitchen while Fred pulled out a chair and George helped Ash slide down into it. Fred drug another chair over for her and Ash rested her foot in it before running her wand over her ankle.

Her wand tip glowed green for a moment then flashed purple. "Just a sprain." Ash raised her voice so Tom could hear her through the door he'd left open to the kitchen. "Tom, you have any Sprain-drain?"

"Course." A few minutes later, he came back through the door, four plates and butterbeers and a bottle she recognized as the Sprain-drain floating in front of him. With his wand, he set a plate and bottle in front of each of them and the empty chair left for him. He let the Sprain-drain land next to her butterbeer.

Ashland took a deep breath, leaning over the stew, and sighed. "Smells as good as always, Tom. My compliments to the chef." Ashland dug in while Tom chuckled and shuffled back to the bar.

When he got back to the table, he plunked an empty glass down in front of each of them and a larger bottle in front of Ashland and sat. "Got more than just the Sprain-drain, look what finally came in today."

Ash looked up from her stew—Hell, half gone in sixty seconds, let's hear it for duel-induced hunger—saw the bottle and squealed. "Jackie D! Tom, you've gone and saved my life a second time today."

Tom flashed a huge toothless grin at her while she opened the bottle and began pouring them each a jigger.

Fred picked up his glass and eyed the amber liquid. "Who's this Jackie lady?'

George sniffed his glass, eyebrows shooting up. "Not much of a lady, I think."

"Course not. Uno, Dos, meet Jack Daniels—finest Muggle whisky around. And I do believe we deserve the finest tonight."

She raised her glass and the men followed. "To Tom, who saved my life. Twice."

Fred and George toasted together. "To false advertising."

And Tom added, "To Ashland seeing the Diagon Alley her da' talked about."

They clinked glasses and threw back their shots.

George whistled. "That's good stuff, Ash."

"No Ogden's Old," Fred winked. "But damn fine all the same."

"If you think Firewhisky's got anything on Jack, then you burned your taste buds off, Uno Red." Ashland poured half a glass of Sprain-drain and chugged it, holding her nose so she didn't gag. "Oh, Lord've mercy, that's foul." She took a drag straight off the whisky bottle to chase the taste away.

"Hope it doesn't hurt to mix the two." Fred took the bottle form her and poured another round for everyone.

A comfortable silence fell as they dug into the meal. Ashland was lost in a replay of the duel, analyzing where she'd gone wrong—do not become distracted by others, tune everyone but your opponent out—when George looked at her, a spoonful of stew halfway to his mouth.

"So first time to Diagon Alley then?"

"First time to England." Ash sighed as she felt the Sprain-drain kick in, leaching pain from the muscle and relieving the swelling.

Fred sipped on his butterbeer. "And you came looking for your Daddy's tales only to find the depths to which our fair alley has sunk."

"I was a bit disappointed." Ash shrugged and looked across the table at Tom. "But judging by the fine businessmen I've met and their stellar establishments, I can honestly say I see what Dad loved about this place. I wish he could have brought me himself."

"Why didn't he?" George had cleaned his plate and sat back in his chair, hands splayed over his stomach in an I'm-too-full gesture.

"He's dead." Ash threw back the shot Fred had poured her earlier. "Death Eaters killed him and my Mom a few weeks ago."

Fred picked up his shot without hesitation and toasted her. "To Ash's Mom and Dad."

She smiled her thanks, swallowed the grief and pushed it aside.

"Put my foot in it, didn't I?" George ran a hand through his hair, not looking at her.

"You mean you aren't up to speed on my life history? Tsk tsk, Dos Red." They'd had a rough night, been about to loosen up, and she didn't want him to feel bad over a question he hadn't known to not ask.

Ash suddenly grinned as she thought of a way to make George easy again. "Check it out."

She reached into her robes' inside pocket and pulled out the pack of cards she and her dad had enchanted themselves. "I liked y'all's Muggle stuff, and I think you'll like this."

Tom banished the empty plates but left the glasses while Ashland shuffled and spread the cards out on the tabletop so the twins could see the whole deck. The suits were the same as a normal Muggle deck, but the face cards were moving wizard pictures.

She pointed to the King of Hearts and smiled. "The Kings are my Dad, the Queens Mom, the Aces are me and the Jacks are my mom's dogs—she was a show breeder. The Jokers are my friend, Chris."

"Wicked." The twins each picked up a card and studied them while Tom wandered off towards the back.

They were debating the finer points of mass-producing such a product and whether or not wizards or witches would buy them if they weren't familiar with Muggle card games when Tom rejoined them.

"I've locked up for the night." The barkeep looked at each twin for a long minute. "Be best if you boys stayed here. Safety in numbers."

"Probably right, Tom." George picked up the King of Diamonds again.

Fred nodded. "Thanks, mate."

George looked up from the card to Ash. "You look just like your dad." He studied her face for a second longer and was about to turn to Fred when he froze, did a double take and stared at her again.

He shook his head like a fly was buzzing in his ear and muttered, "Nah" under his breath.

Fred picked up a joker and watched Chris' picture pull on the ruff around his neck and try to tug the hat off his head. "Your friend looks thrilled with that get-up."

Ash remembered the Halloween they'd taken those pictures—the idea for the cards already cooking in her and Dad's brains—and how they'd had to pretty much bribe Chris to join in their theme, pretending it was all for the Halloween benefit that year. He'd almost run away when he saw the hat with the bells on it. The look on his face…

She threw back her head and barked out a laugh at the memory. Her mother had been so shocked that Chris even knew the words he used to describe that hat.

Ash opened her eyes just in time to see the quick exchange between the twins. Wide eyes, pale cheeks, quick glance at her then each other then Ash again.

She frowned, her eyebrows raised in confusion. "What."

"Nothing." They said it together, immediately, and she knew it was a lie. But she wasn't going to push it.

Shrugging, she swept the cards back into a deck and began to shuffle them one-handed like she usually did when bored, nervous or on edge. "You could do a small book, or pamphlet, on different Muggle games. The rules and stuff. Sell some of the decks with the books as a package set."

Fred and George perked up immediately, forgetting whatever had goosed them.

"What kind of games are there?"

"Are they like exploding snap?"

The two questions overlapped each other, but she got the gist.

"Any of you boys ever played poker?"

All three wizards shook their heads.

With a wink, Ash started to deal. "Well, gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the wonderful world of Texas Hold 'Em. Your lives'll never be the same."

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry apparated straight back to the end of Privet Drive from Grimmauld place, despite not having his license yet. He'd apparated several times this week not to mention that night when he'd had to apparate Dumbledore. Needless to say no one had caught him yet. And he'd be damned if he set foot in the Ministry—especially for some test—unless it was life or death.

Since Hermione had used his Invisibility Cloak to sneak back into the Dursleys, Harry stuck to the shadows beyond the street lamps as he walked up to number four. He opened the front door carefully, heard the TV blaring and decided to apparate upstairs to avoid risking his relatives seeing him return, considering they hadn't known he'd left.

At his appearance, Hermione looked up from the desk she'd transfigured into a table the length of the room and covered in parchment, books and candles. "You apparated into the wards?" Her eyes went wide. "Harry, if your blood lets you through, then You-Know…"

"No, I had to come out at the end of the street. I just came from the front hall, didn't want to risk walking past them."

Hermione shoved frazzled hair out of her face and rubbed at her nose where she'd already smeared some ink with her stained fingertips. "Can't say I blame you."

"Yeah." He picked up a book from the table and let it drop again with a sigh. "Remind me to ask Lupin about the Apparition wards at Grimmauld Place. I know Fred and George apparated in and out of the rooms, but I can't remember seeing anyone apparate in or out of the house itself. Do you?"

"Well, it could be that it's considered rude to just apparate into someone's home." Hermione rubbed her eyes. "But I don't recall…"

She pulled a stack of parchment towards her and scribbled on it. Harry leaned over the table and read the page's title upside down: To Do.

"Why Lupin?"

Harry pulled the robes he wore over his jeans and t-shirt off and threw them in a corner. "McGonagall says he helped Dumbledore with most of the wards."

"McGonagall!" Hermione jumped up and hurried around the table to sit next to Harry where he'd just fallen back on the bed. "No wonder you're just now getting back. Are you in trouble…"

"What's she going to do, Hermione, take points?"

She smacked him slightly on the arm. "You know what I meant, will she make trouble?"

"No. She just offered to help whenever we need it. She was impressed with you redoing the Fidelius. Said she'd worry less about us now."

"You told her! But, Harry, I thought you said…"

Harry had to smile. She was blushing despite her concern, and Harry knew she was pleased that McGonagall had praised her. Hermione had been horribly short on adults to admire all the hard work she was doing lately. He and Ron thanked her and ooohed and ahhed over her as much as they could—when they weren't teasing her mercilessly for knowing everything, that is. But they just weren't quite the same thing as a Professor.

"Yeah. She brought up that it wasn't safe to be using Grimmauld and I decided it was better to let her know that bit than have her checking up on us or trying to follow us there."

"Makes sense. Did you…give her the secret though? So she can get into the house?"

"No. Not yet."

She shook her head and then took a deep breath, searching Harry's face as if looking for an emotion she expected to, but didn't, see. "How was…the portrait?"

"Let's just say that if we run across any portraits of my parents in Godric's Hollow, I'll let you and Ron deal with them." Harry closed his eyes, slid his hand beneath his glasses and rubbed.

"Oh, Harry. I was afraid of that…"

"I had to go, Hermione. What if something important had just been sitting…"

"I know, Harry. And now it's done."

"True." He sat up and gave her the briefest version of events he could, including everything he and McGonagall discussed and his questions about Lupin.

Hermione just nodded her head. "I imagine Remus is concerned with the expense. I've noticed he doesn't like to rely on what he considers charity—of any sort—and the ingredients for Wolfsbane are extremely rare and expensive. Not to mention it's a difficult potion to brew."

"But he's working for the Order, surely he could just see it as part of the job."

"I don't think he sees it as work, Harry. More like being part of the cause. Like a volunteer. He probably feels like taking anything in exchange from the Order would lessen what he accomplishes with them."

Harry stood and walked over to Hedwig's perch and stroked her head. "You studying Muggle psychology in your spare moments, Hermione?"

She glared at him as she stood and swept a hand towards the covered table. "What spare moments? I expect I'll have even less if I'm going to be brewing Wolfsbane potion every month now."

Harry couldn't look up, he was too worried about the answer to his question. "You think you could?"

"Well, I won't know until I try."

"And I've got the money for it—nothing I'd rather spend it on that's for sure."

"Then how do we get him to accept our help?"

Hedwig nipped at his fingers and Harry opened the window for her to go hunt. "McGonagall said she wasn't sure where he was staying for the full moon."

"Didn't he and Sirius build an addition off the kitchen at Grimmauld so he could spend the full moon with Padfoot."

"Yes. And if he helped us with the wards, figured out which ones were gone and put them back up…"

"And other things around Grimmauld …"

"Then it would only make sense for him to stay there, at the very least for the full moon, and we could pay him back with the Wolfsbane."

"He'll say he'd want to help you for free, Harry."

"And I'll remind him we'd help him for free too. Might as well make an even exchange."

They grinned at each other. They'd talked for hours every day, throwing ideas back and forth like they had just now for almost two weeks and still had so many questions to answer, so many problems without solutions. Finding even a single solution was a reason to celebrate.

"Excellent, let's eat." Hermione swished her wand and the parchment and books stacked in an orderly fashion in the corner. "Thought I'd starve waiting on you."

"Right." Harry pointed to the mounds of books in the corner. "You wouldn't remember to eat if I didn't force you to come up for air."

"Ha ha."

They transfigured the table back to a desk and laid out the fixings for sandwiches from their stash of groceries. Hermione started on her nightly rundown of what she'd researched during the day—tonight it was the history of Rowena Ravenclaw's extensive travels—while they fixed and ate their meal.

Her report over diner had become a nightly ritual, including the moment where the cat flap opened and a meal—tonight a bowl of watered-down oatmeal—was shoved through.

Hermione blushed with anger, just as she did every night when Aunt Petunia's meager offering arrived, and vanished it with a wave of her wand and a forceful Evanesco.

Harry wondered what Aunt Petunia thought he'd done with all the dishes. She'd yet to knock and ask for any of them back, though he did notice tonight's oatmeal had been in a throw-away bowl.

But then that was all according to the agreement. Harry had come down to breakfast the first morning after they'd driven home from King's Cross (before Hermione had arrived) and told the Dursleys he'd be out of their hair in record time as long as no one went in his room or asked him to come down stairs. So far it had worked brilliantly: he'd had minimal Dursley contact beyond the occasional moment when he ventured downstairs; a silencing charm, his relatives' fear, and his invisibility cloak to get her in and out ensured that none of the Durselys knew Hermione was there; and they were getting a good deal of research done in the safest, according to Dumbledore, place for Harry to be.

They finished their meal just as Hermione finished naming off possible places a Ravenclaw Horcrux could have come from.

"She was a great collector, Harry. I almost hope there isn't a Horcrux tied to her. All the places she traveled. There's just no telling what we'd need to look for."

"Let's not think about it right now—just hearing your list is giving me a headache."

"Try compiling it."

"I know, Hermione, I'm sorry."

"It's all right. We should contact Ron, see what he has to report for the day."

Harry retrieved the mirror Sirius had given him from his trunk. Ron—surprisingly enough—had figured out how to repair and cue it and its twin to the three of them. It had been the first thing besides Quidditch that Harry had seen Ron read up on because he wanted to, not because he had to. Ron had the other mirror with him and tonight would be the first time they tried to communicate between the Burrow and Privet Drive.

Hermione sat next to him on the bed, and he held up the mirror in front of them.

"Ron."

A couple of seconds passed before they heard someone yelling, "Be down in a minute."

And then Ron appeared, his room in the background. "I was wondering when you two would call. I was afraid I'd still be down at dinner."

"Sorry, Ron. I got held up at Hogwarts."

"You did go then…" Ron shook his head. "Well at least you're still in one piece. What happened?"

He gave the short version he'd given Hermione and Hermione added on their decision about Lupin.

Ron grinned. "That works out. I'll feel better knowing Lupin's at least looked at the wards. No telling what we've missed. Uh…no offense, Hermione." He added the end on hastily.

She just shrugged. "I agree. I already feel better about the whole thing."

Harry snorted. "Just because Lupin's an adult doesn't mean he knows what he's doing anymore than us."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Speaking of adults, quite a bit of activity here today. Charlie arrived, brought a couple of foreign wizards for dinner." He paused and frowned, not looking at them when he added on the next part. "Including Krum."

"Victor's arrived?" Hermione sat up straighter. "I wondered when he'd get here."

"You knew he was coming!" Ron stood up, taking the mirror with him. They now had a view of his ceiling behind him as he leaned over the mirror.

"Well, yes. He said in his last letter…"

"You're still writing to him!"

"Ronald. Lower your voice, unless you want the whole Burrow to know that you're telling us what's going on over there. That would defeat the whole point of giving you time there without us, if you'll remember."

She leaned towards the mirror and whispered, "Besides, we discussed that. And you know how I feel. Do you really want to bring it up now?"

Harry had the sudden urge to lean away and give them a moment; he really didn't need to hear this. But Ron sat down, slightly red in the cheeks and sighed.

"You're right. Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's working brilliantly, by the way. No one gives a second thought what they say or do in front of me. I'm just another piece of the Burrow scenery."

"Ron…"

"I thought you two were having me on, but they really do clam up when it's not just me. When you two are around."

Harry heard the edge of bitterness in Ron's voice and grinned at him. "Their mistake, mate."

Hermione sat up even straighter next to Harry. "Yes. I wonder how many times you'll have to beat Bill and Charlie at chess before they realize you're not still two years old. It really is very annoying."

Ron's mouth fell open a little and he just stared at Hermione for a moment before he grinned. "Anyway, there's another French witch. Ginny loved that, in fact she played look out while I listened to Shacklebolt, he showed up for dinner too, tell Marguerite she'd be flooing out with him. Krum's going on to Hogwarts, at least I'm pretty sure. Ginny found me hiding and made a big racket trying to figure out what I was doing right when Dad said something about flooing to a place ending in '--warts.' Not many places I know that end like that."

Harry nodded. "It's where the Order's set up according to McGonagall. Looks like they're upping the recruiting."

Ron frowned slightly. "Sorry about the Ginny thing, Harry. Had to let her play lookout once she found me listening in on Dad and Krum."

Hermione pursed her lips. "She wasn't playing, anything, Ron. She was helping you, and you ought to be glad she was."

Harry sighed. So much for the earlier love fest. "Productive day."

They both started and stopped glaring at each other long enough to look at him.

"Look, I'm off to write a letter to Lupin and then bed." Smiling, Harry handed the mirror off to Hermione and let her say her goodnight. He wandered over to his trunk and got out parchment and pen for the letter, staying busy and far enough away that they had as much privacy as he could give them.

He had just sealed and written Lupin's name on the front of the letter letting him know Harry needed to see him about staying at Grimmauld Place for the full moon when Hermione laid the mirror down on the desk.

"Ron says goodnight and he'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thanks." Harry left the letter next to Hedwig's cage and unfolded the old camping cot they'd found in the Dursleys' attic when he'd been looking for something—anything—of his Mum's that Aunt Petunia might have kept. Of course he hadn't found anything he'd hoped to, but the cot had definitely come in handy when Hermione arrived and he'd let her have the bed.

Hermione took the invisibility cloak and snuck off to the bathroom while Harry made sure the window was still open for Hedwig's return.

He was stretched out on the cot, feet dangling off the end, eyes staring at the ceiling, mind buzzing with a million thoughts when Hermione got back, took off the cloak and folded it neatly on top of his trunk.

She hoped onto the bed across the room and blew out the last candle on the desk. "Night, Harry."

"Night, Hermione."

Silence settled around them and he waited, counting to eighty-six before she completed the nightly ritual.

"We'll find something tomorrow, Harry. I know it."

He sighed before saying his line. "Me too."

OoOoOoOoOo

"Martha Corey." Laughter filled Severus' throat, but he contained it behind a sneer. "You dare come before the Dark Lord bearing such lies, such flimsy excuses for your failure."

Baird, the fool, glared at Severus from where he knelt in the graveyard at Voldemort's feet.

"What's this Severus?" The Dark Lord held up a hand, silencing Baird when he tried to speak.

"The name, my Lord, is from American history, a literary reference to a play about their idiotic witch hunt. Corey was a mere Muggle executed for being a witch. I doubt very seriously that any witch or wizard would truly gift their child with such a name."

"So. Baird was fooled by a well-read witch pretending to be an American Auror with a vague Muggle reference for a name."

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort hissed before he caught Baird's gaze, and Severus waited for the Dark Lord to tell them all what his Legilimency found.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was ice—slick, slippery ice. "I was under the impression that the Blacks—that Aries' line of heirs besides Bella, Lucius' wife and that filthy Tonks woman—were destroyed."

Rodolphus Lestrange spoke up from where he leaned against a crumbling angel. "They are, my Lord. Aries' grandsons are dead. All that remain are the three sisters."

"Then why does this Martha Corey look like Aries himself. A female Aries in his prime."

A cold weight filled Severus' stomach, but he pushed it away, cleared his mind. And waited. What had that idiot woman been thinking? If she ended up dead and ruined his plans…

Lestrange knelt. "I do not know, my Lord."

"Then find out. I want to know who this woman is and why she interfered. You are in charge of this until Bella returns."

"Yes, my Lord." Lestrange stood and disapparated instantly.

"Severus, you taught the blood-traitors' twins. Yes?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"What will make them see reason?"

Severus wiped his mind clean, hid the thought that nothing would ever make those two stubborn Gryffindor fools turn behind the thickest walls he could imagine. "They seem very infatuated with their newfound wealth, my Lord. They grew up dirt poor, as you well know, and were always scheming to drag themselves up out of the mud."

"Of course." Voldemort smiled, the slit of his mouth stretching like a reopened laceration. "Nott. Get in touch with our goblins. I want full access to the Weasley twins' vault and loans."

Nott bowed and apparated away.

"Now. Baird. I believe it is time for you to learn a lesson about Muggle literature." Voldemort drew his wand and Baird began to scream.

Severus forced himself to not turn away. Instead he plastered his sneer on his face and pretended to enjoy the show. Easy enough since he'd escaped into his mind and was imagining the Weasley brats going berserk when Voldemort seized the cash flow for their ridiculous joke shop.

The imbeciles wouldn't take it for the warning it would be and get away before the Dark Lord realized they'd never give in and just killed them. No. Severus would bet all the galleons in his Ministry-seized vault that they hadn't even taken advantage of the head start Baird had accidentally given them. The idiots were probably toasting themselves even now, still in Diagon Alley, more than likely setting off some of their annoying fireworks to honor their brave heroics. Believing they'd outsmarted the Dark Lord once and they'd just do it again.

They may think they're invincible now, but those children are no Potters or Longbottoms.

His sneer widened—if possible—even more.

And look what happened to them.

OoOoOoOo

A/N:

Thanks to RylieD and BooKworm-Granger233 for the reviews. Y'all made my day, so high fives all around. Hope this chapter keeps you interested in what comes next.

And speaking of next, it's Chapter 3: off to the Burrow; the full moon; Lupin; a desperate Ash stakes out Grimmauld Place; as well as all sorts of other goodtime fun.