Sleet was cold and cutting over the quidditch pitch. The miserable match had gone on for hours. Lucius Malfoy had been on the bench most of the time. Through the goggles Potter's father had provided everyone, Molly could see that Abraxas Malfoy was not in the stands. It was just like this family to spend an entire day collectively sulking.
In fairness, there were fewer and fewer spectators every minute. The referee was watching the sky more than the match, maybe hoping to spot some lightning and end it.
Molly knew what else might finish the game. From his spot on the bench, Potter claimed to have spotted the snitch twice already. She'd held off playing him, but now Sharlene was drenched and frozen.
But it was Arthur who called for a time-out first. "I need a substitution," he said, wiping the icy water from his face.
"Are they bullying you out there?" Molly asked, trying not to sound too fussy.
He shook his head. "No, but I saw something. A quick flash. Not lightning but a spell."
"Hexing a play? That's illegal," Angelo bawled.
Arthur handed his bat to his alternate. "Not a hex. I think it was a Patronus. A weak one, noncorporeal. I couldn't hear what the message was saying, but the voice sounded like my uncle's. "
"Is he alright?" Molly said.
"Don't know. His patronus is usually a well-formed weasel, so I'm concerned about the state of the one I just saw. There's no one else to check on him. And it might have come to me for a reason," he shook the melting sleet from his hair. "Sorry, captain."
Molly nodded, the two minute pause almost over. "It's fine, Arthur. Go. And Potter – "
He leapt to his feet.
She took a deep breath. "Sharlene needs a rest. You're in. And make sure we're not still out here when Weasley gets back."
Arthur arrived through the Floo in the kitchen of his Uncle Bilius's cottage, his quidditch robes still crusted in sleet. Bilius sat in a wooden chair, each of his hands closed awkwardly over his kneecaps, as if they'd been stuck in place. Arthur gasped a swear and crouched in front of him, wand raised, ready to disenchant Bilius's hands.
At the sight of Arthur, Bilius thrashed, trying to stand, the feet of the chair scuffing noisily against the floorboards. "Leave it, sonny. Get back to school."
"Oh, he will," a voice drawled from the front room. "Once we reach an agreement with young Mr. Weasley, the school is exactly where we will want him."
Arthur hopped to his feet. "Who's there?"
"We won't be shouting introductions through doorways," the voice drawled on. "Come through and meet us properly."
Arthur swore again. "Introductions? You're intruders. And you'd better clear out." With that, he levitated his uncle, chair and all, and moved toward the Floo.
"Not that way," Bilius said. "I saw them hex it so it can't be used as an exit."
The chair drifted back to the floor. Apparation was the only way out. Arthur was linking his arm through his uncle's when a new voice froze him in place – not a loud voice, but a piercing one, strong but breathy, edged with a hiss.
"There is no need to hurry away," it said. "You will stay and talk with us, young Weasley. I insist."
Without a wand, without an incantation, a second chair flew from the table, hitting Arthur in the back of the knees and catching him as he fell to sitting. Just like his uncle, his hands cupped themselves over his knees and couldn't be moved, his wand lay at his feet.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, two sets. Abraxas Malfoy came into the kitchen first, tall and showy, but jittery with nerves, his face and hands twitchy and flinching.
Riddle followed, his face hidden in a dark hood, one eye flashing red in its shadows, obscured behind a drooping fringe of thin, dark hair. "Arthur and Bilius Weasley," he began. "Notorious enchanters of Muggle objects."
"It's not illegal," Arthur rushed to say.
Riddle laughed. "A loophole, yes. One we know well, and shall use to our advantage."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You're him. You're what's-his-name, the head Death Eater. That's why old Malfoy here looks like he's about to burst into tears, isn't it?"
At that, Malfoy sprung forward and struck Arthur across the cheek with an open hand.
Arthur rocked back in his chair, nearly tipping over.
"Enough!" Bilius roared at the intruders. "Say your bit and go."
Riddle was laughing again. "So you do know me." He smacked Arthur hard on the shoulder. "Excellent. And now, you will serve me."
Arthur was catching his breath again, his face stinging. "Me? I'm still in school. And my uncle is an old man. Whatever you want, we're not the ones to help you."
"Modest," Riddle said. "But we've seen your Muggle car, Weasley. We've seen it sitting just outside. And we know it can fly, something very un-Muggle indeed. Pity you've been seen in it."
Arthur shook his head. "No one's seen it fly. As soon as the invisibility booster gives out, I set it down. Always."
Malfoy clucked his tongue. "There are witnesses, Weasley. Credible witnesses who will pit their word against yours."
"You mean, your lying bastard son?" Arthur said.
This time, Malfoy punched him squarely in the stomach.
Arthur coughed and groaned, doubling over in his chair, his legs and hands still stuck.
"I said that's enough," Bilius tried again, more pleading than demanding. "What is it that you want enchanted so badly? Eh? Speak up. Telephone? Bicycle? Rubber duck? Let's have it and you can be on your way."
Riddle wasn't laughing, insulted by Bilius's dismissive offer. "I am the most powerful living wizard and I have not come for a supply of magicians' tricks. I have come to secure the devoted service of a soldier in our fight to preserve the wizarding way of life in this country. Menacing Muggles provokes our lethargic, apathetic Ministry into action like nothing else. And we can do that with no risk to ourselves by enchanting their useless artefacts. Imagine it, Weasley: their filthy motorways jammed with enchanted cars, every Muggle fleeing in terror, cowering in their homes as their machines run amok. And the Ministry no longer ignoring our initiatives but desperate to negotiate to restore order and secrecy."
"That's terrorism," Arthur said, still hunched over his stomach.
Riddle stood back, grinning. "Precisely. Terror is power. And it will be your life's greatest work. Your noblest contribution to wizard society."
"No – "
"Yes, it will be," Riddle said, more hiss-like than ever, his red eye visible as he glowered at Arthur. "Your loved ones' safety and survival depend upon it."
Twenty minutes into Potter's first shift as Gryffindor seeker, he did indeed catch the snitch. As he and his mates skidded and tripped and howled in celebration, the rest of the team only patted him on the back as they hurried off the pitch, making for shelter.
Molly took one last look at Potter before she ducked into the fieldhouse. He was still on his broom, hanging on with one hand, the snitch in his other one, offering it to Lily Evans who only tossed her head. Evans may not have accepted the snitch, but she had stayed until the end of the match when few people had. Potter had better be content with that.
Molly stepped inside, scanning the room for Arthur.
"He's not back," Kingsley said, knowing exactly what she was looking for.
She pursed her lips. "Should I go after him?" she asked Sharlene. "I mean, I've never met his uncle. They might want privacy. I have no idea. But then…" She glanced through the open doorway, to where they could hear the voices of the Slytherin team, ranting about underaged players and demanding Gryffindor forfeit.
Sharlene shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen if you did show up at his uncle's unannounced?"
"And what's the worst that could happen if you didn't?" Kingsley added.
Molly nodded. "Right. I'm going then."
"I'm coming too," Kingsley said.
Sharlene slammed her locker shut. "And me."
"Here's a better idea," Kingsley said, a hand on Sharlene's arm. "Find Moody. Let him know there might be trouble."
Sharlene jumped at the suggestion. "Right. Then I'll catch up with you."
They pulled their hoods over their heads and made for the exit, ready to sprint to the castle and out the Floos. Sharlene had already rushed into the sleet when a voice called out.
"Molly!"
She stopped. Lucius Malfoy had come into the corridor of the fieldhouse. "Look, Molly, I know what you're like, but just mind your own business this time," he said, his voice low as he stepped toward her.
"If you mean Arthur, he is my business," she answered without hesitation.
"Fine," he cringed. "But you can wait here to mind him when he gets back. It shouldn't be much longer."
She cocked her head. "What do you know about it? That dodgy patronus message – that was a fake, wasn't it? Someone's lured Arthur away and they're having at him right now, aren't they?"
"They won't damage him," Lucius said, muttering.
Kingsley was crowding in. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?"
"Nothing, just – " he glanced over both his shoulders. "The pair of you should be fine. You're from good families, just like Weasley himself. And as for him, tell the dimwit to go along with it already."
"Go along with what?" Kingsley demanded.
"We don't have time for this," Molly said. "You can stay here and try to get a straight answer out of Malfoy all you want, but I know better. He's stalling us, and I'm going after Arthur right now."
She dashed out the door. Kingsley paused, sizing up Malfoy, intrigued by what he'd already revealed and keen to keep pressing to see if there was more.
But then Malfoy was shoving him hard enough to make Kingsley stumble toward the door.
"Go on, you idiot," Malfoy was saying. "Don't you dare let her go alone."
In minutes, Molly and Kingsley were flaming through the castle's Floo. Molly went first, hopping into Bilius's usually cozy kitchen. Tonight there was glass shattered all over the floor, Bilius's entire Muggle light bulb collection destroyed. He sat in a chair with his head slumped to one side, his nose bleeding.
"Mr. Weasley," Molly gasped, trotting toward him. "Are you hurt?"
Bilius raised his head, his eyes cracking open just as Kingsley stepped into the room.
Molly held his head, supporting his limp neck. "We're Arthur's friends from school. We've come to help."
Kingsley had drawn his wand and was working to reverse the sticking spell that had Bilius trapped in the chair.
"Arthur," Molly said. "Is Arthur here?"
Bilius's voice ground in his throat. He couldn't speak clearly, but he seemed to be gesturing with his chin, pointing toward the top of the kitchen's peaked ceiling. Molly and Kingsley looked up. And there was Arthur, stuck to a chair and suspended upside down from the highest rafters. He was quiet but restless, as if sleeping through a nightmare over their heads.
"Arthur!" Molly called. "Hold on, love. We're here."
"So you are. And it is a most fortunate development." Abraxas Malfoy had come into the kitchen, walking stiffly, as if he'd turned his back on a hippogriff he didn't trust.
There was no hippogriff but a smaller, shadowy man was at Malfoy's side, gliding as if hovering above the floor. "You know these people, Malfoy?"
"I know the girl," Malfoy said, smirking. "Pure-blood but from the lowest kind of family that can be considered such."
The shadowy man hummed.
"She is, however, excellent leverage for getting young Weasley's cooperation," Malfoy said, pushing his sleeves over his elbows. "I reckon young Weasley can be revived for another round of questioning now. How would you like to help us persuade him, Miss Prewett? With the savagery of force, or in a more civilized way?"
Kingsley was ready, his wand still drawn, his temper piqued at the sight of a tortured old man, his dangling teammate, and the memory of months of watching Sharlene harassed by bigots at school. "Come on then," he said.
The shadowy man laughed. "This boy is determined to resist you, Malfoy."
Malfoy laughed along, though a little uncertainly. "No combat yet, young man. Let's hear Miss Prewett's answer first."
Above them, Arthur's chair was rotating into an upright position. As it descended to the floor, he was shaking his head, as if he'd been doused with water. "Molly?" he mumbled.
"Keep still, Arthur. I'm fine," she called back.
"No, you've got to go – "
"I'm asking for the last time, Miss Prewett," Malfoy insisted. "Either persuade Weasley to serve our lord by choice or by force."
"Bloody squeamish, Malfoy, quit begging her and get on with it," the shadowy man said. The wand between his fingers was so pale and bone-like, Molly and Kingsley hadn't noticed him holding it until it was already flashing, and a wave of sickening green light was rippling toward them.
Arthur thrashed in his chair. "No!"
As his voice tore through the kitchen, the Floo flared once more, and before anyone could see who had arrived, a burst of red light arced in front of Molly and Kingsley. The green hex broke against it, curling back and dissipating into empty space.
There was a beat of silence as everyone tried to sort out where the counterspell had come from.
A voice boomed from the Floo. "Mr. Riddle!" It was Alastor Moody, his eyes darting, his reflexes positively supernatural. He had arrived in time to shield Molly and Kingsley from Riddle's attack.
"Mr. Riddle indeed," Alastor went on, grinning. "Don't tell me I've caught you red handed, as it were, about to attack a pair of students. It must be a misunderstanding. Not something to involve the Ministry in, is it?"
The shadowy man sneered and spoke to Malfoy. "Who is this person who dares interfere with me? Dispatch him at once."
Malfoy gulped past his dry throat. "He appears to be an Auror, my lord."
"My lord," Moody chortled, mocking. "Are you leaving these people alone, Malfoy? Or are you and your lordie coming along to London in my custody? I can probably arrange to get your picture in the Prophet over it."
"I am finished here. And I will NOT forget this." With this threat, the shadowy man disapparted.
Abraxas Malfoy couldn't have followed any quicker.
"Right," Moody said, clapping his hands as if everything had unfolded exactly as he'd expected.
"You let them go?" Molly said.
"Yeah, it was all a bluff. Two wizards that wicked and skilled against me while I've got a room full of kids and old timers to protect? Not great odds. No offense," he said. "Now let's get this house properly warded so that scum can't get back in. Eh? Where's McKinnon?"
Sharlene arrived to help Moody with the protective spells while Kingsley saw to Bilius. Molly fell on Arthur, not in a romantic embrace but in prodding and accidentally tickling him as she looked him over for injuries.
She still had her quidditch captain's first aid kit in her robes, freshly stocked with poultices. She was trying to lift his shirt to apply one to the bruise rising on his punched up abdomen. It was something Arthur seemed keen to avoid having done to him in sight of his uncle.
"Honestly, Arthur. Grow up. Everyone can see it's first aid," she said, still grabbing at his clothes.
"And you can take care of it while we check on the car to see if they've meddled with it," he said, snatching her hand and striding to the garden door. "Come on."
The garden was dark and icy, lit intermittently with white flares as Sharlene and Moody set the wards on the far side of the cottage. In spite of the icy ground, Arthur was stomping firmly enough to stay surefooted, not looking back at Molly as he led her by the wrist toward the spot where the Anglia was parked. He was oddly quiet, and Molly couldn't tell if it was because he was exhausted after the ordeal, or just embarrassed by it, or still too enraged to speak.
He let go of her as the car came into sight. The bonnet was open as was the driver's door. By the time he had slammed both shut she had caught up with him, skidding to a stop just behind him as he whirled around.
"Right. So now – "
Her words were cut short as he lifted her beneath her arms and sat her down on the bonnet, stepping quickly between her knees, their faces level. There was a new intensity in his eyes, but she had no time to marvel at it before he was kissing her. It was deep, almost shocking, with more heat and force than he'd ever kissed her before.
She sang a little gasp into his mouth, forgetting all about first aid as she clawed at his hair and shoulders, and linked her feet behind his back. All at once, what she felt from him was overwhelming. She held him tighter, rocked with relief at being close to him again after the danger they'd both nearly succumb to. And with this joy and passion was an edge of grief, fear at the thought that they might have lost each other just now. She wanted to cry, maybe to laugh, and most of all she just wanted him. All of these feelings consumed her as they consumed each other.
Arthur swayed, crushing her close, his kiss still searing, his hands inside her quidditch robes, beneath the hem of her tunic, his fingertips finding the groove of her spine, her silky skin against his again, at last. Without a thought, she arched her back, bending into him. Arthur moaned between them and leaned forward, lying her down on the bonnet, covering her with the heat of himself as the cold of the steel at her back set her shivering.
She paused, opening her eyes to see if he'd collapsed out of pain. He didn't look like he was suffering, only rapt and ravished.
"What is it?" she said, her hand on his abdomen, grazing his bruising skin. "Am I hurting you?"
"Not at all," he said. "It's that I – I want to say that – I love you. I don't love anything or anyone the way I love you, Molly Prewett. I feel like it's always been this way, and it always will be."
She hummed and brushed his hair out of his eyes as he hovered over her. She loved him too, boundlessly. And so she said, "Let's stay together forever then."
He was suddenly shy, ducking his head, grinning, but telling her, "I'm serious."
"Of course you are," she said, kissing the end of his nose, settling underneath him as best she could on the hard curve of the bonnet. He could have her right there. She would have let him, welcomed him. But he was Arthur, darling Arthur who did indeed love her and would do things as right as he could. "So when school is over this summer," she said, "and you're ready to start building the Burrow in earnest, then you can ask me…"
Her voice trailed off as Arthur sank his face into her collar, speaking hotly against her throat. "I can ask you what?"
She breathed a laugh, arching toward his warmth again. "Whatever you like."
"Like, whether I can keep you with me, officially and always?" he said, printing a trail of kisses from her collar to her jaw. "And if you'll make me Bill and Ginny's dad?"
She sighed as his trail of kisses rounded her chin. "What about Charlie's dad?" she said.
"Yes, and Iggy's too," he said, his lips against hers again. "Oh, and the twins. Can't forget about the twins."
She teased him with a tiny kiss before saying, "And I suppose we'll have to have one more to name after your Uncle Bilius."
"It's only fair," Arthur agreed. "An even seven of them. Seven destinies, just like I said from the start."
