On Saturday, a week after Hermione had returned, Harry was helping her make breakfast in the Grimmauld Place kitchen. Kreacher had returned to Hogwarts to help the house elves there prepare for the memorial feast. Ron was still in bed.

"I don't know, Harry, even in Hogwarts: A History I couldn't find anything. I really think we should ask Hagrid…"

"Definitely not," said Harry. He'd imagined several scenarios in which Hagrid had access to magical items that would grow monsters and he was still trying to repress some of them.

"Harry, other than Charlie, who else do we know who knows so much about dragons? I was only going to ask when they teethe, how many sets of teeth a dragon will have in its lifetime, that sort of thing. It's not like I'm going to go and say 'hallo, Hagrid, how're you? Australia was lovely. By the way, here are some dragon teeth which will grow an army of monsters, plant them in the pumpkin patch, do!'."

"I know," said Harry. "I just think…" But what Harry thought, Hermione would have to wait to find out because he was cut off by a high, full-lunged scream from the fireplace. They immediately raised their wands and Harry advanced cautiously. There was another scream, more masculine than the first. "RON!" Harry bellowed. The answering sound of feet pounding down the stairs was drowned out by a sudden whoosh as the fire roared green.

The next second, Harry was nearly knocked flat as Lucie was thrown into the kitchen. His glasses were knocked off and he dropped his wand. Her shoulder had hit him right in the chest and he gasped painfully for breath as he just barely kept them on their feet. She was hanging on to his shoulders and using his weight to anchor herself as she kicked hard at a blurry shape at Harry's feet. Her breathing was laboured and moments away from sobs.

"Oblivate!" He heard Hermione's blessed voice behind him and half a second later Ron's equally welcome voice bellowed "Stupefy!" Someone put his wand in his hand and Lucie stopped kicking, standing up properly but hanging on to Harry's arm for support, her free arm wrapped tightly around her stomach.

"Accio glasses!" he said, and unceremoniously shoved Lucie away from him as he realised with a blush she was wearing only George's t-shirt and a pair of knickers.

"Here," said Hermione, glaring at Harry with exasperation and amusement as she helped Lucie sit down. "Where are you hurt?"

"Ribs," gasped Lucie. "Where's George?" There was a loud crack behind her and George appeared, wearing pyjama bottoms but no shirt. He barely looked at Harry and Ron before rushing to Lucie's side where Hermione was carefully helping her lift the hem of the t shirt.

Ron whistled under his breath and Harry winced sympathetically. Swollen and mottled with livid bruising, nearly the whole of her right side from her hip to her armpit showed serious spell damage. Harry recognised it immediately as the results of a well-cast adflicto affligo, the magical equivalent of being pelted with bricks.

"Well, that's no problem," Hermione was saying calmly and brightly. "We can fix that in no time. Mending bones is quite easy, there's some pain potion in the bathroom and George has a marvellous paste for bruises. Don't you, George?"

The last question was suddenly hard and sharp and Harry realised that Hermione had a death grip on George's wand arm, forcing his aim to the floor instead of at the unconscious man. Harry stooped and rolled up the man's sleeve. Sure enough, just below his elbow was the all too familiar skull-and-snake brand.

"That's a good idea, Hermione," said Ron, slowly approaching George. "Why don't we go back to the flat, George, and grab your kit. You two should probably stay here now."

"No," said George, quietly, his eyes still fixed on the Deatheater. "I think I should stay here. You and Harry go." Hermione's knuckles had gone white and her fingernails were digging hard into his arm.

"We don't know where you keep everything," said Ron, casually but insistently. "And Lucie'd only be in better hands if Madame Pomfrey were here. It'll only take five minutes. And Harry'll get Kinglsey here." He glanced at Lucie.

"I'll be fine," she said in as normal voice as possible. "But I don't want no more people seeing me in my knickers. Go with your brother."

Finally, George looked back at her. She smiled at him, but her smile turned to a grimace as Hermione gently prodded a rib with the tip of her wand.

"Fine," he said. He apparated. Ron followed him. Hermione visibly relaxed. Harry had to admit, there were some classes in which Ron was miles ahead of him and they were mostly the ones that involved stamping your presence into crowds of people and dealing with upset or violent people. He sighed and looked back down at the Deatheater. He recognised him, he thought, but had no further idea than that.

"George showed me," Lucie gritted, as Hermione's wand probed again. "In the memory bowl. That's the man who took his ear."