Chapter 2
Weasley vs. WeasleyThere must be something terribly wrong, thought Arthur Weasley as he made his way up out of the Ministry of Magic, and onto the streets of London, emerging from the enchanted phone booth.
As usual, no one seemed to notice as he appeared suddenly amongst a harried group of commuters. He was just one more body amongst thousands, someone without a celly-phone. Though he was proud of his knowledge of, and considered his clothing to closely resemble that of the Muggle Londoners, he had never quite mastered it. Here and there, as he always had, he'd catch a surprised look on someone. Yet, if they took note of his inside-out jacket, or his shoes that curled up at the toes, they always looked politely away. Choosing instead to ignore the oddity among them, rather than confront him. If his necktie waved at them, however, they tended to take a second look!
Arthur would usually take that moment to steal glances of interesting little bits of Muggle technology and behavior. He found their customs fascinating. But not this time. This time, their celly-phones and laptop computational thingamajigs would have to wait.
Something must have been terribly amiss.
Their own harried owl had arrived, bulldozing it's way past the usual paper airplanes that inhabited the halls of the Ministry of Magic, carrying her message. How it had got in, he couldn't fathom.
The message said,
"Come home quick. Urgent. No time to waste.
M"
The owl had taken one peck at Arthur's fingers, then flown off, before he could check what enchantments had been placed on the bird to get by Ministry security.
Arthur Weasley took it as a bad omen.
Molly never contacted him at work. Not once. She had always been able to handle everything on her own. He racked his mind, trying to think of what could be so important, so... urgent, that she would summon him home in the middle of the day. Not even when Ron had gone missing, had she called him home from work. Not even when the twins stole their older brothers' broomsticks, and had crashed in through the Muggle neighbor's living room window - in front of the entire family sitting down to dinner no less! Not even then.
Only Fred'n'George, he thought.
Molly had always handled things on her own. She was strong. She was independent. There was no crisis that was too much for her.
Yet, something had been off with his wife of late. Perhaps it was simply the death in the family. Perhaps she had finally pushed herself too hard. He shouldn't have let her help so much with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. She always did more than her share of the work. She never took help from anyone, even telling Mr. Filch what he was doing wrong.
Perhaps there had simply been too many memories there for her.
He'd seen her waver lately. He alone had noticed her temper rise where it never had before. It was a subtle line between her usual bossiness and real anger, but he had noticed it rear its head here and there.
But why hadn't she used the Floo? Surely in a crisis, she would do that. If she were in danger, she would certainly Apparate away and contact him again? It made no sense.
Then again, lately, Molly herself didn't either.
Arthur decided for a stealthier approach, just in case. It was a brisk walk to Diagon Alley, and then through the Leaky Cauldron, to the portkey he could use to get home. He huffed and puffed the entire way there. Normally, he would stop at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and catch up with his sons... son. But today he judged he didn't have the time. If Molly said it was urgent, then it had to be. He briefly wondered if he should have returned home with a group of Aurors to help him, but shook off that thought. If she were in that much trouble, she wouldn't have had time to send the owl, let alone cast the enchantments for it to get past Ministry security. Still, he picked up his pace.
He ducked down the alley behind the WWW building, and found the rusted and empty tin of Christmas frosting, waiting for him where it always had.
Arthur Weasley took a deep breath, bent down, and seized the portkey.
After a whirling few moments, and a few seconds of nausea, he lightly touched down in the field outside the Burrow. His home looked to still be standing. Nothing was on fire. There were no dark wizards buzzing the skies. It looked as calm and peaceful as it had when he had left it that morning.
Arthur steeled his nerves, and strode forward. Whatever it was, he would need to face it. Molly needed him. He drew his wand. "Merlin help you!" He muttered, "Whoever you are!"
As he peeked in through the lower segment of the front Dutch door, he could hear Molly's voice coming from the kitchen. She was engaged in conversation of some sort, and her voice sounded lighter and more pleasant than it had in months. Ever since Fred had...
Arthur righted himself, and entered the kitchen. There, he found Molly entertaining a young witch in a lavender robe that looked oddly familiar. Molly was laughing and relating some old family joke to her whilst serving biscuits and tea.
"And then Ginny came down the stairs, took one look at Harry, and she just went EEEP! and fled right back up! And Harry says to us, 'Sorry, what did I do?'"
The ladies laughed ever louder.
Molly looked up as her husband entered. "Oh, finally, Arthur. It's about time you got here. Trouble with the portkey, dear?"
Arthur looked back and forth between the two women not knowing what to make of it. "Ahhh," he said instead. "Who's this then?"
"Arthur, you remember Miss Felicia Thimblebrass? We met her yesterday in Hogsmeade Village."
"Oh, did we?" Arthur struggled to remember the face. When he failed, he instead faked a smile and simply nodded. "Charmed," he said.
Miss Thimblebrass shook his hand daintily. "It is just so wonderful what you and your wife have chosen to do. Things have become so strained in the wizarding world of late that there are too few people with the generosity, and spirit of giving left. Of course, coming from your family, I'm not surprised! You were highly recommended by Headmistress McGonagall and Harry Potter! Such character references!"
Arthur didn't know what to do with a compliment so out of the blue, so he just went on smiling and shaking her hand. "Glad to do it," he tried, hopefully. What the devil did she ask Minerva and Harry about us – and for what?
The young witch let go of Arthur's hand, and turned herself to the intimidating pile of papers next to her teacup. She shoved a quill at Arthur. "All you need to do is sign here, and I can let you lot get down to it. Shall we?"
Arthur looked skeptically to his wife. "Molly?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake Arthur. All the other details and arrangements have been seen to. All we need is your signature," Molly instructed. "Don't stand there with your mouth hanging open, and sign the blessed thing, and Miss Thimblebrass can get on with her good works."
Arthur hesitated, but a nasty look from Molly changed his mind. In another few moments he was making his mark. Felicia turned the pages for him as he did. "And initial here please, Mr. Weasley."
"Oh, yes," he agreed, "Quite. What are we doing, taking out a mortgage? Buying Gringotts stock?" Arthur still wasn't used to having money around, yet.
The women laughed at him.
With all the papers signed, Felicia bundled them up, and inserted them into her traveling bag. "Thank-you ever so much," she said. "These children need all the help they can get. All of them have been through so much."
Molly dabbed the side of her eyes with a tea towel. "Oh, don't thank us, dear. We're only too happy."
Arthur suddenly remembered her. She was the one from The Charity Burbage Shelter for Displaced Magical Children. Molly must have made a donation. He suddenly felt a great deal of relief wash over him. Here he had been expecting the worst. "You know us Weasleys," he told the woman, "Always ready and willing to help out in the time of need."
The young witch paused, "Are you sure you'll be all right?"
Molly wouldn't hear of it, "Oh, pish-posh, Felicia, dear. We'll all be right as rain here. We have all we need. All we really need is each other."
"What a lovely sentiment," Miss Thimblebrass agreed. "Then I will leave you all to it. If it is all right with you, I'd like to say my farewells, before I go."
"Of, course you should," Molly emphatically nodded. "Take all the time you need."
As the young witch walked out, Arthur turned to his wife. "Exactly what was that all about?" Then, something odd came to him. "Wait a minute. Who's she saying farewell to? We're the only ones here!"
Molly looked at Arthur as though he had grown a second head, "Didn't you meet him on the way in? Why the poor little fellow hardly makes a peep. You must have walked right past him. He's really the sweetest thing."
Arthur started to feel a bit ill, as the realization came over him in waves. He looked back out to the sitting room, and witnessed Felicia Thimblebrass leaning down in front of one of the comfy chairs near the hearth. As she stood up, she revealed a tiny little barefoot boy, of maybe seven or eight years of age dressed only in a gray tunic.
She ran her hand through the boy's unkempt, reddish-brown hair. She whispered, "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are going to take care of you from now on. Jack, do you understand?"
The little boy smiled up at her, and nodded. There were tears in his deep brown eyes. He suddenly sprung up from the chair, and wrapped his tiny arms around her, as though he never wanted to let go.
Felicia steeled herself, and then slowly extracted herself from the boy's embrace. "Now, be a good boy Jack. They'll take good care of you here."
At last, she moved away to the door. She paused, just before she went out, and turned back to Arthur and Molly. "Please call me anytime of the day or night if you need to. He really is very special, this one." And, then she was leaving, wandering down the way as if on stroll without a care.
Molly Weasley looked over to her husband with pride simply radiating off of her.
"Arthur, are you going to introduce yourself or not?" She went in and stood by the little boy. She refilled his milk glass, and summoned a few more biscuits for his plate with a wave of her wand.
"This is Jack. His parents were obviously lost in the war, poor thing."
"We…we're keeping him?" Arthur wondered, his eyes wide.
Jack shrank back in the chair at his tone of voice, trembling.
"Weren't you the one who wanted eight children?" Molly retorted, her voice icy. "Well, not counting Ginny at school, we had none now. Now we can say we had eight! Happy?"
"Erm," Arthur fudged, noting the scattering of freckles and the fact that the boy needed a haircut. Unsure of what else to do, he bent down to appear not so imposing. "Hello, Jack," he offered his hand.
Jack didn't take it. In one hand he held a biscuit, and in the other, the toy dragon. He was clearly not willing to release either one.
"He doesn't speak," Molly informed her husband, her voice still in a tone that Arthur recognized as a dangerous one. It was the calm, level tone that had once informed him that his sons had flown his enchanted car to Surrey and back to fetch Harry Potter. It was the voice that had once informed him that Fred and George had blown out the south wall of their bedroom. "He's been traumatized." Molly added in that same tone.
"Haven't we all?" Arthur said without thinking, and he realized his mistake at once. "I'm sorry. It's just a bit of a surprise is all, I mean, your urgent owl, and coming home to find…a…a child! I thought…I thought something was wrong! I was in a panic!"
"Was Harry that big of a surprise?" Molly retorted. "You didn't mind when he was here?"
"Harry was different, dear. We knew from Ron's letters that he was coming. Dearest, may I have a word? In private? In the kitchen?" Arthur added, taking her arm. He turned back to Jack. "You, er, just clean up those biscuits, there's a good lad!"
Jack just stared at him, wide-eyed, pressing himself into the squooshy old chair and shoving the biscuit into his mouth. He pulled a throw over his head.
"Arthur, what is wrong with you?" Molly hissed at him, once they were out of earshot.
"You're scaring him!'
"Me?! What's wrong with you?" Arthur replied. "Don't you think you should have consulted me before you went out and bought a used kid?"
Molly's jaw dropped. "Bought…used…? How can you…? We're fostering him!"
"So it's only temporary?" Arthur asked anxiously, and once again, he knew he'd made a mistake. You'd think I'd know better, after all these years, he silently chided himself. But too late.
"Maybe, maybe not," Molly replied, as if daring him.
Arthur just stared at her. "Molly, what's gotten into you?" He asked. "What brought this on? I mean, we come home to resume our lives, I go to work, and the next thing I know, I'm getting an hysterical owl telling me to come home. And when I get here, I find a…this?!" He managed, biting off the last word. "There must be something! What happened?"
"I cleaned out their old rooms today," Molly informed him, and Arthur's jaw dropped. "It was September 1st…" she paused, glancing around the doorjamb to see that Jack had moved to stand and stare at the many framed photos along the mantelpiece. Weasley children of all ages were smiling and waving back at him as he showed them his toy dragon. Harry's fifth year portrait seemed particularly pleased.
"I see," Arthur nodded knowingly. Then he blinked. "So how was Ron's room?" He dared ask, hoping to change the subject as he stared nervously at the little boy.
"Beastly," Molly replied, "I burned the shoes and had to 'excoriate' the floor."
"So I take it you went back to the shelter to donate…buried treasure?" Arthur offered, feeling distinctly nauseous. Molly nodded. "Good Lord, you didn't go in Fred and George's…" he stopped, but too late once again.
"No," Molly replied in a very small voice. "That's for George to do. Besides, I don't think they left much when…-" Neither of them wanted to say it - 'When they left home'.
Arthur considered his next words carefully. "Molly, the point of growing older, you remember, is to get the children out of the house! Not to bring home someone else's!"
"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Molly said, her temper rising again. "It's because he's a shelter-child? Well let me tell you, Arthur, you weren't there! You didn't see those children!"
"I didn't know you were going, now, did I?" Arthur protested.
"It's not a shelter, it's a prison!" Molly exclaimed, "They took their wands, the older ones what had them, took their shoes, and they've dressed them all in flimsy clothing so they can't run away without freezing to death! They're no more than dressing gowns! You remember the Avery family?" She asked, as Arthur recoiled a bit with a nod. "There's a boy of theirs there, about twelve. I don't know why he's not in school, but he's there. He lost his whole family in the war!"
"Molly, about those children…" Arthur tried to interrupt, but she drove on.
"Miss Thimblebrass was so thrilled to get Ron's old Chudley Cannons cap. She was so sure it would brighten up that poor boy's day! A cap, Arthur! A miserable, sweaty-smelling outgrown cap! You know the Avery family was well to do!"
Arthur nodded. "Dear, after yesterday and the donation, I got a copy of that shelter flyer at work. They're passing them out there, too." He held his hands up. "Let me finish! Now, the Department for the Misuse of Underage Magic, Mafalda's office, you know, has information on all these shelter children. Did you know that…"
"They're all from Slytherin or Death Eater families? Yes, Felicia told me," Molly cut him off again. "Seems that all the children with the right names were put in foster care weeks, and even months, ago! I had a long talk with Felicia, you know. Seems that all the orphaned children from the other three Hogwarts Houses are," she looked at the clock, "back, or will be back there – sitting down to the welcome feast and looking forward to nice, warm beds tonight."
"Those Slytherin children like Avery have problems," Arthur offered. "With what they've been through? With what their parents have done to them? Some of the things they've seen? Can you imagine, with what's just begun to come out, having a kid like Draco Malfoy or any of them back at Hogwarts? They're a threat!" Arthur declared. "Merlin only knows how messed up their little heads are! That Avery boy was a Firstie last year, when the Carrows were teaching! Now what do you think they taught him? You heard what Ginny and Neville said it was like! Practicing 'crucio' on Firsties*? Detentions in chains?"
"Keep your voice down!" Molly warned him. "Of course they're damaged! You said it yourself - who isn't?"
"I didn't say I agreed with it – all," Arthur backpedaled. "But if there's children eleven or older in that place, then they're there for a good reason! They need help!"
"They're there because of what their parents did," Molly retorted, her temper rising again. "Did you know that I had to call Andromeda, just so that Felicia could leave the place to come here and meet you? Felicia can't even get a House Elf to help her!"
"Andy didn't take the baby there?" Arthur gasped.
Molly glared at him. "I was there, remember?" And her tone was now very dangerous. "Arthur Weasley, of all the stupid things you've done in our lives, of all the idiotic things you've said, I never…NEVER…expected to hear you say something like this!"
"What have I said?!" Arthur demanded. "That I'm concerned that our honorary grandson might have been exposed to some very mentally ill children, with only one old woman to watch them all?"
"Andy was at school when we were," Molly informed him. Arthur flushed. "And now Teddy is just 'honorary'? What you said?" She went on, beginning to rant, "In not so many words, Arthur Weasley, you have made it abundantly clear how you feel about those children! How you feel about Jack! You walked right by him without even seeing him! And then you refer to him as a 'used kid', and then insinuate that he's got mental problems?"
"You said he can't talk!" Arthur cut in to remind her.
"Well maybe no one's talked to him enough!" Molly defended the boy. "And keep your voice down! He'll hear you!"
"You're the one shouting!" Arthur shouted back.
"You don't want him here because you believe his parents were Death Eaters!" Molly snapped back. "Well let me inform you, in case Mafalda didn't, that no one knows who his parents were! Aberforth found him eating out of his garbage bin and sleeping with his goat! It took him a week to just coax the child in for a real meal and a bath, and then he had to drag him to the shelter!" She held up the flyer. "Mental problems? He's the only bloody one smiling for the camera!"
"I never said…" Arthur began, but being an honest man, he couldn't say it. He palmed his face. "Merlin forgive me!" He sighed. "No, Molly, I don't like having him here. Have they even checked him out? He could be carrying a Curse! He could be ill! There could be any number of things they've done to him! He could be Imperioused, even!"
"I'll lock up the knives tonight," Molly said, and her voice was deadly. "In the meantime, I've got to make dinner and find him some clothing, get him some shoes, make up a room for him. So much to do!"
"I'm going to call the office and see if Mafalda can forward us some information on these children, Jack in particular," Arthur conceded, as he got up to head to the sitting room.
But as he rose and turned, and Molly looked up, they saw Jack standing in the doorway. He was still clutching the squirming toy dragon, and there were tears running down his face. His expression was broken as his bottom lip quivered.
However much he'd heard, it had apparently been too much.
He bolted.
There was the sound of a hard thud, then a scream of pain.
"Dutch door!" Molly exclaimed, and sure enough, Jack was laying on the floor, hands on his bleeding forehead as his toy dragon made a break for it. "Now see what you've done?" She demanded of her husband.
"ME?!" Arthur held out his hands as Molly took the sobbing boy in her arms.
"Just go and call Poppy before you make your office call!" Molly ordered him, clearing the blood away with her wand and trying to dull the pain. There was a nice gash on Jack's forehead, and Molly couldn't help but think of Harry and how often he landed himself in hospital.
When Madame Pomfrey arrived, Arthur called the office. He chatted with Mafalda, they assumed, while Poppy tended to Jack.
"Had the train arrived yet?" Molly asked, watching as the Mediwitch cleaned him up and bandaged his head. For some reason, Jack seemed to not trust her.
"Not yet, it's due any time," Poppy replied. "And I've got to get back, before Professor Potter gets his hands on those poor students. Harry teaching? Can you imagine?" She seemed disgusted. "I'll not catch a day off all year!"
The women had to chuckle about that, but Poppy then turned serious. "I've already examined all of the shelter children," she informed Molly. "They're all in reasonably good health, a bit of malnourishment. This one," she smoothed Jacks hair, "is particularly in need of your talents, Molly."
"Arthur seems to think he's the next Dark Lord," Molly snorted.
Poppy stared at her. "He's clean," she added in a low tone. "You don't think the Ministry would have just corralled them all without checking them out?"
"That's exactly what they did, put them in a corral like unwanted livestock," Molly retorted in disgust.
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm checking in on them twice a week," Poppy offered. "Andromeda's volunteered her time while they're still building her new home in the village, and even Narcissa Malfoy has requested to be allowed…"
"Malfoy?" Molly gasped. "HER?!"
"You don't know what she did," Poppy informed her, as Jack began to nod off in Molly's lap. "There's more to Narcissa than meets the eye. Don't you wonder why Harry spent so much time with the Wizengamot during their hearings? And Draco's in pretty bad shape," she added. "They say it's a total nervous collapse."
"What did she do?" Molly breathed, wondering that Andromeda and Narcissa could even be in the same room without a firefight.
"Let's just say that she lied to the Dark Lord, and betrayed him," Poppy whispered, nodding seriously. "She told him that Harry was dead, and in doing so, she summoned the type of Old Magic that Lily did when he tried to kill baby Harry!"
"She betrayed him, for Harry?" Molly breathed.
"More for Draco, through Harry, but the end result was the same," Poppy nodded again, getting up to go. "That's classified, by the way. In the meantime, keep Jack calm, warm, and well fed. I've healed the concussion, so he can sleep all he wants to."
"Ladies?" Arthur interrupted them. "The Ministry is wondering if you can send them some of Jack's blood, Poppy, so that they can have your Muggle Liaisons DNA test it, try to figure out who his parents are? They…they might be looking for him, you know," he added uncertainly.
"It's been over three months, Arthur," Poppy disagreed. "I don't think anyone is coming for our boy, here."
Arthur sighed, holding up his hands to signify that he didn't want to argue.
"Now, just how did this happen, again?" Poppy asked.
"I…he…he ran for the door and whacked his head on the top half," Arthur admitted. "We were arguing. I think I frightened him."
Molly's face hardened as she glared at him.
"I'm not big on the idea of having him here," Arthur confessed, holding up a paper. "All this says is what we already know – unidentified male child, aged seven to nine, found by Aberforth Dumbledore in Hogsmeade, mute, malnourished, measurements, la la la…turned over to the Burbage shelter, May 10th, 1998. Parents unknown, presumed dead, child awaiting foster care."
"He has care," Molly added. "And I've got to report this incident to Felicia, you know! How is that going to make us look?!"
"Shhh! You'll wake him," Poppy reminded her, getting up to go. "And I wouldn't worry about it, Molly. Not until he starts approaching Harry's old record. Arthur, could you?" Poppy asked, "I hate to Floo when I'm wearing white?"
Arthur nodded and dropped the Wards. Poppy Disapparated.
Again, the Burrow was silent.
Molly got Jack another cover, then went to prepare dinner.
In the sitting room, the photos on the mantle all glared at him.
But there was one missing, Arthur saw.
"Over here, dad," the picture said, and he turned to see an 8"x10" framed print of Fred on the end table.
"How did you get there?" Arthur asked it, a lump rising in his throat as he reminded himself that the picture was not really Fred. It wasn't even his Ghost. It was simply a spell to mimic the subject's personality and animate it.
"The boy magicked me down here," photo-Fred replied. "Felt pretty powerful, the little lad did! So, you and Mum adopting, now that you've got us all out the house?" Fred grinned cheekily.
Perhaps that spell works too well, Arthur thought with a pang.
"Fostering," Arthur replied, as he listened the rattle of pots and pans in the kitchen.
"Arthur?" Another picture spoke up, and this time, it was Harry. "My toy dragon flew out the door. Could you summon it back, please? It means a lot to Jack."
Arthur did that. The Hungarian Horntail toy then bit him for his troubles. "Let a child play with this bloody thing?" He swore.
"It likes Jack," Harry said.
"We like Jack," Fred added with a smirk.
"I'm arguing with photographs," Arthur muttered, looking for his box of Muggle Band-Aids.
As dinner cooked, filling the Burrow with wonderful smells, Molly resorted to magic to make something for Jack to wear. She gathered up her remaining yarn, realizing that with most of the children gone, she didn't have much to work with. "Texo extremis!" She cast the spell, and her knitting needles flew to work at once. They danced over the sleeping boy while Arthur read the newspaper, taking Jack's size before they began their work.
The clock ticked.
Dinner cooked.
The needles clicked.
Other than that, the Burrow was quiet.
"Jack? Time to wake up and eat, Jack," Molly coaxed him.
Jack stirred and rubbed his eyes. Then they popped open, and the boy yelled as he looked wildly around the room. He bolted upright, and Molly caught him, taking him in her arms firmly and reassuring him.
Jack's hand went to his bandaged head, and he began to cry again, a low moaning wail that sounded painful.
"Poppy left this for him," Arthur offered a small bottle of willow bark extract potion.
Molly took it without a word and coaxed Jack into taking some. "You're welcome," Arthur said to the room.
"Are you hungry, Jack?" Molly coaxed him, and Jack whimpered and nodded. "Oh, it's done!" Molly added, as one of the knitting needles came over and tapped her arm. She held up what looked like a one-piece sleeper with attached feet. It was, in a word, garish.
"What do you think?" She asked.
"Looks like a Muggle gay pride banner," Arthur answered. Oh, if looks could kill!
"Turn your back, he's shy," Molly told him bluntly, as she got Jack out of his tunic. "Maybe I can alter this thing?"
Arthur snorted, but decided not to press his luck. "It's cute," he offered. "Out of yarn?"
Jack was feeling the perfectly fitting sleeper all over and smiling, however. Then he smiled wider, hugging his arms about himself.
"Let's go and feed you, you're naught but skin and bones," Molly said, taking his hand and leading him to the table. Once there, she used a dishtowel for a bib, just in case. Jack just sat there as she filled his plate, staring at Arthur.
They were having a roast with all the trimmings, freshly baked bread and butter, and there was a chocolate cake for dessert.
Jack grabbed his bit of meat with his hand and shoved it into his mouth, nearly choking before Molly could stop him.
"Slowly, there's plenty!" She told him, cutting the meat into smaller bits while Jack chewed on a slice of buttered bread.
"Watch me, now, Jack," Arthur offered, holding up a fork. Jack recoiled and began to tremble, but he did watch Arthur. He put down his bread and picked up his fork. He poked a potato with it. He held it up and nibbled at it. Then he put his hand on the potato and pulled it off, and held it to finish eating it. "It's a start," Arthur nodded.
Molly said nothing. She just sat and watched Jack eat. When Arthur would take a bite, so would Jack. When Arthur would use his napkin, so would Jack. When Arthur took a drink, so would Jack. In a few minutes, it became comical as the boy learned table manners.
One large potato, two large carrots, two slices of bread, and a serving of roast later, and Jack was nodding in his chair.
"Well, he's a quick study," Arthur pointed out, hoping for an answer as Molly put a small slice of cake in front of him and refilled his milk glass. "You'll make him sick, he's probably not used to so much food," he added.
"He'll be fine," Molly finally spoke up. But her voice was now softer. "I wonder what the others had to eat? Perhaps the Hogwarts House Elves took them their leftovers?"
Arthur sighed.
THUMP! SPLUT!
Jack had gone facedown in his half-eaten cake.
"I think someone needs a hot bath, and then bed!" Molly decided, hoisting the limp boy from his chair. "Clean up, would you?"
"Guess I will?" Arthur nodded. "Which room are you putting him in?"
"Does it matter?" Molly asked flatly.
"No, I just want to know, in case there's an emergency, love," Arthur answered.
"I think Percy's, it's just right for him," Molly decided. "And don't forget to lock up the knives!"
Arthur sighed. But he did put a Ward on the kitchen cabinets.
Later that evening, Molly sat near the hearth rocking a sleeping Jack in her lap as Arthur tended to the animals, checked the Wards, and prepared to shut down the Burrow for the night. As he came back in, the Floo turned green with an incoming call.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley?" Harry Potter's head appeared in the flames. Jack woke up, looked at it, and blinked a few times. Then he laughed. "Who's this?" Harry asked.
"Our foster child," Arthur answered, "What can we do for you, Harry?"
"Sir, is my trunk still there?" Harry asked. "And Ron's? We sort of forgot about them, and we need them."
"Oh dear, I forgot about those!" Molly apologized.
"I'll send them right over," Arthur nodded, flicking his wand to summon them.
"You might be a few things short, Harry, dear," Molly said, "I cleaned out that room today."
Harry leaned in closer, resolving his image into a 3D floating head. "Oh no! I totally forgot how we left it!" He gasped, but Molly just laughed. "So, you've got a foundling?" Harry wondered. "That's good!"
"Harry, how did the Sorting go?" Molly had to ask.
Harry hesitated. "Slytherin only got three kids total, two girls and a boy. Over half the House didn't come back, and Professor Slughorn's really down about it. The boy, Scott, his family had gone to America when the war broke out, you see, and…" Harry paused.
"What's happened?" Arthur asked.
"He…he got lost in the castle, sir, and someone…he's in hospital, sir," Harry fumbled. "Someone beat him up pretty bad."
"And so it begins," Molly sighed, holding Jack a bit tighter.
"When I find out who did it, there's going to be a staff hearing about expulsion," Harry added quickly. "I won't have this sort of thing, just because the kid made Slytherin," he nodded. "We've got to get a handle on this before it goes out of control. Malcolm Baddock's already had a panic attack, and he's having to repeat his fourth year. It seems…the Baddocks were caught hiding a refugee Halfblood Hufflepuff, Tucker, I think is his name. We…we just found out that the Carrows tortured the information out of Malcolm last term. I'm sorry," Harry added quickly, "I should let you get on with your evening, and I don't think a child should…" He shook his head, scattering embers. Jack laughed and clapped his hands. "What's he wearing?" Harry had to ask.
"I was low on yarn, and he had no clothes," Molly explained. "Harry, that shelter is a mess! You and Andy need to do something about it now! That poor Miss Thimblebrass has her hands full! Not to mention students that weren't welcomed back?" she added darkly.
"What?!" Harry gasped. "There are Hogwarts students at the Burbage shelter?"
"Avery, for one. Slytherin, I'm told?" Molly explained. Arthur rolled his eyes. "He was a Firstie last term."
Harry nodded. "There's only a few Thirds and no Seconds in Slytherin," he informed them. "As I said, that House is a disaster. I'm worried about Professor Slughorn, Ma'am."
"Harry, you are of age, you are an honorary professor, and practically our son," Arthur put in. "Would you please stop with the formal terms of respect? You're making us feel old!"
"Give me a bit, won't you…Arthur?" Harry tried it out uncomfortably. "And I'll look into this matter with the shelter, see if I can send an Elf or three down there. Thanks for telling me. We've heard nothing from the Ministry on our missing students."
"Imagine that," Molly snorted, as Jack just looked on. Then his toy dragon flew back down from the mantle.
"Say, that's my Tri-Wizard keepsake!" Harry pointed out. "I see he's got a new friend? Watch out, he may bite!"
"I know," Arthur sighed again, holding up his finger.
"Well, I have to go, Molly, Arthur," Harry tried it again.
"Give Ron and Ginny our love, and Hermione too!" Molly waved. So did Jack.
"G'bye!"
"BYE!" Jack piped up, and they all froze.
"He talked!" Arthur observed.
"Bye!" Jack repeated, as the dragon crawled into his breast pocket to hide.
The Floo went back to a normal fire as Molly got Jack on his feet. "I think it's time someone was in bed."
"B-bed?" Jack asked.
"Honey, is 'Jack' your real name?" Molly asked anxiously. "Can you talk to Molly?" she pointed at herself.
"J-Jack?" Jack asked. "Jack…yah-jah-kubb!" He declared.
"'Jacob'?" Arthur asked softly.
"Me!" Jack/Jacob nodded, smiling.
"You think it might be because of all the conversation he just heard?" Arthur wondered.
"Could be, there wasn't much talking at the shelter," Molly nodded. "But now it's time for bed!"
Jacob led her to the bookcase, though, and stood there scanning it. "He can read?" Arthur wondered, as Jacob pointed. A book flew down to his hand: The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
"Apparently he's not a Muggle?" Arthur wondered. "That'll narrow the search!"
"I guess so?" Molly agreed, leaving Arthur standing there wondering. "Jacob?" He wondered, thinking about the tone of the child's voice and his slight accent. He snapped his fingers and scowled. "Yes!" He hissed, "That's got to be it! 'Yah'-cobb'! I'll run that by Mafalda tomorrow!"
But Molly and Jacob were gone.
"Guess I'll go to bed," Arthur shrugged.
*A/N: Neville mentions this in DH2, the film. Detentions mentioned in the book.