Her husband had socially murdered her. Her family had disowned her. The entire life she had built was gone before the leaves had turned brown. Her name was Molly. The only name left to her was Molly.

Blue eyes fixed on the window, she stared out at the dark night and repeated the thought firmly. She couldn't let herself forget her circumstances. She was thirty-seven years old and all alone, an almost unheard of fate in the Wizarding World. Worse, she had lost her children. The infants she had cradled at her breast, cleaned, and looked after. Stolen by the man she had devoted her life to.

But Molly was not out of the game. Not yet.

"Mum?" Ginny murmured sleepily, her head rested on Molly's lap. "Are we there yet?"

And not yet childless, either. There was still one loyal among the brood Molly had borne. The others, her boys, had proved to be wretched creatures. Disloyal. Ambitious. They snapped at their father's heels now that he had come into the Weasley money. And how had he done that? By putting Molly not just in the poor house, but by dragging her through the mud along the way. Her name had been smeared across the papers with such epithets as she would never live down. The Poison-Wife. The Hag of St. Catchpole. The Monstrous Mother. He could have just divorced her. Such would have been shame enough. Instead, he'd almost entirely ruined her.

Almost.

Had she not been a good mother? The six boys he claimed now as his alone had been, these last twenty-one years, reared by Molly. Carried and birthed by her. Now taken from her by whatever honeyed words Arthur had poured into their ears.

"Mum?" Ginny insisted, waking slightly more. Molly hushed her absently, running gentle fingers through her daughter's flaming Weasley hair. Ginny blinked, her chocolate Weasley eyes dim with sleep. The lamp swinging from the carriage roof cast a warm glow across her sweet face, her charming Weasley freckles. She looked so much like him. Arthur. Molly liked to think Ginny had Molly's Prewett cheekbones, her pouty mouth. But, overwhelmingly, her daughter was a Weasley. Just not in name. For her loyalty to her mother Ginny had been as severely punished as Molly.

Molly would right that. Just as Molly had done since she was a girl. They called her a poisoner, those gossiping bitches in the Daily Prophet. Ignorant. Stupid. Ever since that mercenary slut, Rita Skeeter, had taken over, the paper had been as good as a rag. So obviously traditionally biased. As Dark as sin, and so not worth the cost in paper. Of course they would denounce her. They hadn't a clue why she had done what she had done.

Molly hadn't poisoned Arthur Weasley. She had given him a cure. She had saved his soul. And he had crucified her for it.

The carriage stopped with a squeaking bump. Straightening up, Molly gently extricated herself from her sleeping daughter. She gingerly opened the carriage door and stepped out. There was no footman, the carriage being primarily meant for students, but it was the best way to come to Hogwarts from the floo station at Hogsmeade. And Molly would not complain. Molly had learned not to complain, being Arthur's wife. A Prewett daughter, Molly had grown up expecting to be a lady. Instead, to save Arthur from certain Darkness, she had been made to sacrifice that life. All for Arthur. Why, after twenty-one years of happy marriage, couldn't he understand?

Standing at the carriage's open mouth, Molly placed a kiss to Ginny's forehead. Her daughter mumbled but let herself be maneuvered to lay flat across the seats. At only ten, Ginny still slept as sweetly and deeply as young children were wont. Molly had barely had to help her at all. Still, she had helped. After all, Molly didn't want to taint her darling's first impression of the grand castle with this late, late meeting.

She would have left Ginny back in their rooms, rented in a hovel in Hogsmeade. But that was hardly appropriate for a young girl. Molly needed to find more respectable lodging. Yet another worry, lain on her shoulders by Arthur's senselessness. Such actions only proved that Arthur hadn't been cured. Darkness still lurked in his soul.

Was he beyond her protection, now? So it seemed. He had taken her boys, too. Infected them. They holidayed with the Malfoys, now. Her young Ron was a Slytherin. Her twins, Slytherins. Her Percy, Slytherin. The nursery of the conniving and duplicitous, the murderous and manipulative. The Dark House. Arthur had planted her youngest boys there. Molly could now only watch as they grew, Dark as dirt and worse than rot. One day they would be entirely monstrous, lovely facades that bore her blood's barest traces. Ron would inherit her family name and take the whole house into Darkness. Just the path Molly had striven to save Arthur from, that Molly had fought her entire life.

No, Molly thought. Firm. Controlled. I have done too much to give up now.

Closing the door, Molly screwed her cloak tighter around her shoulders and trudged up to the castle. On her way, she cast a glance at the carriage. Where horses conventionally would have stood, there was nothing. Thestrals, Molly remembered. You had to have seen death to see them.

Molly had never seen death. To glory in such necessities was unkind. A rotted limb must be amputated, not stared at. Would her thoughts change on this subject, one day? Would she stare into a dying face and find beauty in the muscles' slackening, the filming over of eyes? She wondered as the great doors creaked open just a sliver enough for her to slip through. Hogwarts' wards didn't allow for apparition and flooing was regulated. There could be no record of this meeting.

Molly thought of Arthur as she climbed up a passage of winding stairs to Dumbledore's office, their guardian pacified with a mutter of "Acid Pops." He'd been the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. A Gryffindor, like her, and in the same year. He'd strode through the halls with a clamoring entourage. Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Slytherins, and other Gryffindors—they had all loved him. Arthur, soft-spoken but exciting. Arthur, a brilliant diamond in Hogwarts' academic crown. Arthur, with his smiling lips and calloused hands. Arthur, who had never even looked at her.

Molly had always looked at him. On a dark night toward the end of seventh year, she'd watched him particularly closely. Months earlier she'd noted a new shine in his eyes. A new, languid confidence with which he walked. A lover. Molly knew what lovers looked like. Arthur wouldn't be hers to watch much longer. So she had watched extra closely, hoping to burn him in her mind. Hence, on that dark night, while everyone but she and Arthur slept and Arthur thought he was alone, Molly was there to see the sleek eagle hawk holding an elegant, message-laden talon out to Arthur.

Molly's parents had been important people. Light, nominally, but weak-willed. The eagle hawk visited their home sometimes around important votes in the Wizengamot. Dark, traditional bills would pass, after that bird visited. No one ever explained the relationship to Molly, but she knew. She had watched.

She had sworn she wouldn't let Arthur turn into her parents.

"Dear Molly," Headmaster Dumbledore said as she slid into his office. "I am so sorry to call you from your Christmas festivities like this." The old man looked tired. Sad. He had looked that way twenty-three years ago, the night she'd brought the eagle hawk to his attention.

Molly's heart twisted with familiar tension. "Headmaster," she greeted. Truthfully, she hadn't minded his interruption. Their family's implosion had made Christmas a squalid affair for she and Ginny.

For a moment, she and Dumbledore shared a commiserating silence. He poured her tea that Molly nervously fiddled with. He had asked her here, yet like as a student, she felt the onus to impress was on her. Perhaps that was just the way of powerful men.

Clearing her throat, Molly straightened her posture. She had known many powerful men. "I know I have failed not just you, but my whole family in these last months."

"So it would seem," Dumbledore replied, eyes without twinkle.

Molly fisted her skirts. Dumbledore had been her mentor since she was sixteen. His censure stung, but she refused to show him how much. "I tried to fix my mistake."

"By sending a child," Dumbledore sighed, setting down his tea. "And look where that placed Miss Granger."

Molly frowned. "I could hardly predict a troll."

"The least of our problems," Dumbledore interceded, "Is the troll. No witch so bright as Miss Granger would have locked herself in with such a creature, not even at eleven."

Molly stilled. "The Prophet said the door was open."

"When we arrived, it was."

Molly's heart skipped a beat. "You can't be suggesting foul play. Arthur would have no idea where to start."

"I do not think," Dumbledore said carefully, "That as he is, Arthur Weasley would."

"I know I sent Hermione after Ronald too boldly," Molly said after a long, terrible minute. "Recklessly, even. I know. But Ron would never. I didn't birth a murderer!"

"There is no proof," Dumbledore allowed. "But the fact remains that your son and his Slytherin cohorts, including young Percival, disappeared from the library for fifteen minutes during the incident."

Dumbledore reached across the table, taking her hand consolingly in his. "I am sorry, Molly, but Miss Granger's body was found just five minutes after Madam Pince saw them again."

A tear dripped down Molly's cheek. "Surely a coincidence."

Dumbledore slumped, releasing her hand. "I have learned my lesson about dismissing coincidences from Slytherin House."

Rage flared in Molly. She stood abruptly, sending her teacup crashing to the floor. "You promised me! That night, you told me I could save him. We both knew who that awful bird meant, and you promised me that if I did exactly as you said I would save Arthur." Tears spilled down her face. "You said he just needed to see what good love, Light love, was. That the potion was just a precaution."

"I am so sorry, Molly." Sorrow contorted Dumbledore's face. "I had such hope. However, as before, we have both been let down."

Molly slumped in her chair, subdued. Her memories suffocated her rage. Her mind swam with the smell, the taste, of terrible summer heat. 1979, August. Fabien and Gideon, stumbling out of her potion's room at the Order safehouse. The wafts of simmering Amortentia in the stifling air. Her pleads had found no mercy with them. They had pieced her plans together and reacted with unabating horror. Pregnant with Ron, Molly had acted quickly to save her family.

She'd tipped off the five-man Death Eater force that had killed her brothers. They'd been on the route to her home, hurrying carelessly to tattle to Arthur about what she'd done. Molly had cried for days solid.

Dumbledore's consolation had been her only solace. He'd taken one look at her face, her eyes, and known the truth. Her terrible cross to bear. His support and reassurance had kept her sane, through the blurry, grief-stricken months. Her warring sorrow and relief. Now she wondered, had her actions tainted Ron in the womb or had his father's Darkness been there already?

"Does the rest of the Order know about your suspicions?" She asked exhaustedly. Different members knew different things, just to be safe. Her brothers' death and Arthur's circumstances had been a secret between she and Dumbledore. She selfishly hoped his doubts about her boys could also be kept quiet, if only to give her more time to turn them back to the Light. But… if the Dark was rising and using children to do so, then the others had to be alerted to the threat. Wizards and witches were always so vulnerable to children. The Dark could not be given that advantage. Even, Molly thought numbly, if the Dark were her boys.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "I have risen certain alarms. I did not call you here to worry you, Molly."

Molly breathed deeply. "Then what?" She was already in knots for Ginny's future, and now these awful insinuations about Ron and Percy. What next, would the twins be found with the Dark Mark? Would Charlie stand trial for forbidden magic? She had read the claims Skeeter made about her Bill running off with that monster Fenrir Greyback. She had dismissed the article as drivel, just like her own slander, but now?

"Why," Dumbledore said, interrupting her worries with a little smile. "I simply wish to put your exceptional brewing skills to use." He nudged forward a folded piece of parchment Molly had not noticed in the haphazard arrangement of his desk.

Frowning, Molly took the parchment and read over the recipe. Her eyes grew large with horror and, she would admit to no one, curiosity. She quickly refolded the parchment and tucked it away in her shift pocket.

"This would require better equipment than I have access to. And a stipend, for ingredients and such," Molly replied coolly. Her hands no longer shook. This was her leverage and both she and the headmaster knew it.

Dumbledore smiled. "But you can manage the potion?"

Molly snorted. "Of course. Just because I chose my family over an official mastery doesn't mean I stopped studying. I have to wonder, however… Headmaster, why you don't have Professor Snape manage this task?" Molly had her own suspicions about Snape, but confirmation never hurt.

Dumbledore's smile slipped away. "I admit that I fear for Severus. He has battled the Dark for so long. I worry he weakens."

"He did appear quite close to Lord Black in the Prophet," Molly said, digging the wound a little deeper. She had always detested Dumbledore's faith in those two. Even if their disloyalty did weaken the Order, Molly couldn't deny she was pleased to be proved right. "They're holidaying with the Malfoys, aren't they?"

And her children, Arthur, the Minister, the Boy Who bloody Lived. A beautiful mess, Molly thought, and ran her fingers over the parchment in her pocket.

Dumbledore drained his tea. "Indeed. As this is a delicate matter, I can only turn to my most trustworthy. Can you manage, dear Molly?"

Finishing her own tea, Molly leaned forward and smiled. "Of course, Headmaster. But as I said, I will need a few amenities to manage it…"

"The moment I saw it I thought of you. They sparkle just like your eyes." Fingers traced appreciatively over the diamond chain around his neck. Possessive, yes, but so adoring.

"Sparkle isn't really done for men in the Muggle World, you know," Lee smiled. "You may have convinced me, though."

Cassius snorted. "What do the Muggles know? My mother layered my father in so many stones for their wedding that he clinked when he walked. They've been together twenty years."

Lee laughed, thinking of the glittering choker and bracelets Lord Worthington had worn when Lee had first met him. Lee hadn't seen them again since arriving at Warrington's family manor. The elegant man seemed to cycle through an endless array of equally impressive pieces. Lady Warrington was a severe women who wore only her wedding band. However, she gained a content, possessive little smile whenever she looked at her husband's jewels—an expression Cassius had inherited, Lee now knew.

"But the stones are something special for you, hm?" Lee asked. "Your parents looked pleased when I accepted."

Cassius grinned, pecking Lee on the cheek. He was always pleased by Lee's observations. Little did he know, Lee's skills had come mostly from planning pranks on Slytherin House.

"Perceptive. The green diamond is the Worthington House stone. It's a little possessive of me, without a formal contract." A little wrinkle settled between Cassius' eyes. "I had thought we would have one, by Christmas."

Lee wilted a little. That damned contract. He knew their lack of one stressed Cassius. Contracts might be little more than very formal promises between couples, legally, but socially they held a lot of importance for purebloods. They were proof of intention, a matter of honor. Becoming so close without one was playing with a fire that could incinerate Cassius' reputation.

"I'm sorry," Lee said softly. "I shouldn't have come. If I'd know contacting Mr., er, Lord Weasley would be such a problem—"

"I insisted," Cassius interrupted. "I want you here, contract or no contract." Cassius took his hand gentlely. He met Lee's eyes with a look of discomfort. "You have no idea how happy I am to have you here. This holiday has been my happiest in ages." Cassius' face flamed, a blush covering the curve of his sharp cheekbones up to the tips of his ears. "You are like sunshine, Lee. I feel like I am flying when I am with you."

Lee barely restrained his delight. He threw his arms around Cassius, hiding his smile in the crook of Cassius' shoulder. Cassius had seemed like such a badass, at first. All drawling vowels and sharp wit, dark eyes and that presumptive, arrogant smile. Dominate, pureblood, and Darker than night. He was all those things, Lee knew, but in the last three months Lee had found him so much more.

Slytherin was a whole different culture. Following the twins over had been like wandering dumbly on to an alien planet. In Gryffindor Lee had spent first year a little out of his depth—how could he not? Even the food was magical in the Wizarding World—but the Gryffindor boys had behaved like most Muggle boys. They shoved, laughed, farted, snorted, made crude jokes, played sports, smuggled contraband; lied about girls and what they did with them, whined about their parents, skipped out on homework, woke up late and unkempt, and just rolled with whatever life tossed them. Gryffindor was easy. Lee had just had to throw his mother's hard-instilled Society Rules out the window. Not so, in Slytherin.

In Slytherin, your grades mattered. People respected you more if you had a plan for after school. They liked ingenuity and creativity, but they liked it better in formal robes. Politics were paramount. Connections, patronage, families, friendships, and status dominated every aspect of life. Everyone had more money than Merlin and, apparently, they knew what to do with it.

Lee would have been fine without Cassius. Eventually. He wasn't wizarding royalty or born to this world like the Weasleys. But here's a secret: muggles and wizards were different, but not that different.

The Muggle World had its share of muggle Slytherins, too. Lee's parents were the perfect example. They had clawed their way into money and respect in Muggle London. By necessity, they didn't have much time for a son who blew things up by accident. Or who turned the other children's hair purple when he should have been making friends with those little Oxford legacies. But even if his parents had gone to great lengths to hide Lee's strangeness, he had some idea of their world. With a little time, Lee would have figured Slytherin out on his own.

At least wizards didn't care about skin color. Or being bent, it seemed. He hadn't been called a mudblood since his tie went green, either.

The problem was, Lee hadn't had any time. At the Sorting the twins had stood up and Lee had followed. There had been no plan. He'd only had his gut and his love for the twins, the closest people to brothers Lee had ever had. So, like always, Lee had joined their madcap plan. Only the twins had never planned to include Lee at all.

"What are you thinking about, love?" Cassius asked, two fingers guiding Lee's face up. "You look sad."

"It's nothing," Lee replied, fiddling absently with a dreadlock. His locks were born in a fit of rebellion, one April day last year. Dreadlocked boys didn't go to Oxford, traditionally thinking. His parents had tried cutting them but Lee's magic had interceded. A bit of a dust up, that, but his parents hadn't brought up any Muggle prep-schools for the entire summer.

Suddenly irritated, Lee batted the lock away. Toying with them was a nervous tick. He'd been trying to stop since coming to Slytherin. Such obvious tells were not helpful.

"It's something if it's brothering you," Cassius replied, interrupting Lee's self-chastisement. Lee looked away but didn't miss Cassius' eyes narrowing.

After a lingering, careful silence, Cassius made his move. "You were quite close to the Weasley twins, weren't you?"

Lee snorted, jarred by how Cassius' tone stabbed at his hurt feelings. "No," Lee snapped, "Their father just offered to take me on because he thought I'd make a nice contrast to the six sons he already has." Lee paused, cringing a little at that sentence said aloud. "I'm sorry. It's not you I'm off at."

"I would certainly hope not," Cassius smiled. "Your sharp tongue would cut me to ribbons."

Lee looked away again. He fiddled absently with his robes. "When did you say we need to be ready for?"

"Lee, Lee, Lee," Cassius said, settling a hand between Lee's shoulders. His hand made firm, insistent circles right where Lee felt his muscles pinch the worst. "When will you understand that you are of paramount concern to me?" He settled his chin endearingly on Lee's shoulder. "We don't have to go tonight, you know. Mother and Father wouldn't force us."

They won't make you face the Weasleys, Cassius didn't need to say. Another family who only seemed to care about you. The elder Warringtons had grown quite familiar with the struggle of trying to contact the Weasleys. As, at least nominally, Lee's magical guardians, only Arthur Weasley could consent on Lee's behalf for the contract. After a string of unopened letters had been returned to the Warringtons, the couple had decided to put the matter out of mind for the holidays. Embarrassed and frustrated nearly to tears, Lee had begged their forgiveness.

"'Tis hardly a fault of yours, child," Lady Warrington had muttered. "Lord Weasley must be a busy man at this time. Though why he deiced to take another boy on if he's so preoccupied is beyond me."

"Thetis," Lord Warrington had cautioned, casting a glance at Lee. His wife's frown had deepened, though her tongue had remained civil for the rest of dinner.

The Warringtons weren't on the same par as the Malfoys and Blacks, Lee had decided, or even the Weasleys after their recent Dark redemption. They had a single vote in the Wizengamot and no subordinate families who would blindly do as they told. However, the Warringtons seemed to have a special function in upper Wizarding society: they made problems disappear. Persistent, unwanted suitors gracefully rescinded their suits after a visit from a Warrington. Stubborn, inhibiting officials could be convinced to take a leave of absence on Warrington advice. Rare, missing, or restricted items were sometimes discreetly located and delivered by Warrington-owned shops. Lee had yet to discover if these problem-solving skills extended to people, but he had his suspicions.

The important part was that the Warringtons were powerful because they were useful and discreet. They did not like to be ignored by the other powerful Dark families and usually weren't, primarily because of the secrets the Warrington family inevitably became privy to. Yet, the Warringtons could not actually coerce the Old Families without hurting their business. After all, a fixer who used your secrets against you wasn't a fixer anymore. They were a loose end.

Lee had spent a sleepless night tallying up what all his observations meant for his particular case. As best he could figure, Lee had the elder Warringtons' sympathies if only because Cassius was obviously devoted to him. But not even for their precious son would they call Arthur Weasley out on his behalf.

In another vein, having the Weasleys' patronage made Lee valuable. Lee, however, in and of himself was valuable only to Cassius. If no contract could be signed, Lee sensed Cassius' parents would not support a match that could only be a waste of Cassius' time.

Cassius didn't see that yet. He was only fourteen, with adoring parents who had given him everything he had ever desired. Cassius would never imagine how much a parent would be willing to hurt their child to protect them. Lee's cheek still sometimes stung with the bite of his mother's ringed backhand. He saw her panicked, scared eyes as she insisted he stop his wild magic, hissing, "Don't you know what they'd do to you if they knew what you are."

His parents made their money in muggle weapons development. Perhaps, Lee thought, they loved him more than he had ever realized.

Lee had to make sure Cassius never came to these realizations. He had to make Arthur Weasley sign the contract. Lee couldn't imagine why Arthur would refuse but he couldn't take any chances. When Lee asked—and he knew just when to do so—he had to have appropriate leverage. He had to know what grand secret the Weasleys were guarding so closely that the twins couldn't bear to look Lee in the eyes anymore.

Lee might be in love at fourteen, but he refused to be Juliet. He was going to fix his problem. He was confident he'd nicked enough vertaserum from the Warrington stores Cassius had proudly shown him to do just that. He kept the six precious stolen drops in the poison ring Cassius had bought him that first Hogsmeade weekend together. Lee wore it on a chain around his neck so no one would ask why he wore an engagement ring without a contract.

"Lee?" Cassius asked again, concern etched into his fair young face. "Are you feeling okay? Maybe we really shouldn't go."

"No," Lee cut in. He smiled reassuringly. "I've never run from my problems and I know attending functions like this is important to your family. Please," he said, soft but firm, when Cassius tried to interrupt. "Nothing would please me more than to accompany you to the Malfoys' Yule Ball."

Cassius melted, his face going sweet and fond. "You are incredible."

Lee beamed. If Cassius was always going to have such a lovely look on his face while Lee plotted, then he could truly see many years of bliss ahead of them. He just had to pull off one last prank with his old friends, first. And this time, only Lee would be in on the joke.

Updated 20/08/2022