A/N: Please review? Pretty please with sugar on top?
Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish it to be so, I do not own "Harry Potter"
The rest of the summer went fairly quickly. We each fell into our own routines, and nightly meetings at the Leaky Cauldron became a tradition quite soon as well, giving the pub most of its business. It was a different crowd each night, but the core group was primarily Oliver Wood, the old captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and rising member of Puddlemere United; Angelina Johnson, a fellow Chaser and now Healer-in-training; Daisy, now an intern at Gringott's; Lee Jordan, with his own radio talk show; Fred, George, and me. Others came around every so often, but most people from our year had started on a year long journey, somewhere far from England. Those older than us always came to our meetings with stories of their own adventures.
As for Fred and me, we became somewhat of an item, mostly meaning that we kissed quite a bit, and it stayed at that point for a long time. Nothing really changed until the end of the summer: a late night in August, a few weeks after I'd joined the Order, I walked into the Leaky Cauldron quiet and morose, not really engaging in any of the conversations. Fred finally pulled me outside, and though I tried to evade his questions, my attempts at a lie were dismal at best.
"My mum and I got into a fight," I admitted finally, on the London side of the pub. Much like the pub, London seemed to be relatively quiet for a Friday, and only occasionally did we have to quiet for a passerby. I glanced up at Fred, who looked relieved by my statement.
He laughed, really and truly relieved. "Oh, is that all?"
"All?" I asked in disbelief, sitting on the curb.
"It can't have been that bad," he said easily.
"Fancy a bet?" I asked, rubbing my eyes with my palms.
"Hey then, speak up," he said, looking slightly concerned as he sat beside me.
"It's not that easy," I said, grimacing at the ground. "I mean, you're not going to understand it unless...blimey. There's a lot to say. Alright, Fred, listen: I have some things that I need to tell you...and you're not going to like any of it."
I could see the look in his eyes, the look that said that this was more than he'd prepared himself for when he'd pulled me outside, but he nodded anyway.
"I can handle it."
"Handling it's not the problem," I said. "It's more the fact that I don't want you to hate me for it."
He didn't promise not to hate me. In fact, he looked worried that I was considering that he might. "Well, if it's this important then you should probably tell-"
"I don't know where to begin. It's complicated."
"Start from the fight," he prompted. I glanced at him, wishing I hadn't brought this up. He was particularly attractive tonight, his hair lying right for once, and his nice trousers and button down shirt from the meeting with the Muggle salesmen still on his person. It would have been so much easier to end this conversation and just kiss. I sighed heavily and began speaking reluctantly.
"I think I need to start earlier. My mum...she's not what you think she is. She isn't...she's...I mean, you know she is part of the Malfoy family, and that I am too. Sort of."
He was starting to put something together, and his forehead crinkled. A weight like a cannon ball hit my stomach. Part of me wished that he'd figure it out so I didn't have to explain it, and part of me never wanted him to figure it out. "Yeah..."
"Well, my dad was a part of the Order, during the last war. When he married my mum, he thought she was different. That she'd gotten over being a Pure-Blood, being a Malfoy. And maybe she had, for a little while. But really, she wasn't, even though she hid it from him for years. Or maybe living with a Muggleborn made her realize she wasn't...I dunno. Anyway, they got into a fight one day, and I think she said something that made him realize it, and I don't know what happened, but I'm sure she went to her brother, my uncle, Lucius...Austin says that the next day our dad was dead, and my mother took us and left London."
Most of this came out in a rush while I'd been looking at the ground. Now I glanced up nervously, hoping he'd not understand the possibilities of what I'd said. The possibility that I could be just like my mother. The possibility that we shouldn't be together.
"You never told us," said Fred, a look of horror on his face. He hadn't understood yet, but then he probably hadn't had time to think about it either.
"Yeah, that's something I really want to tell people when I'm making friends," I said, laughing nervously.
"Oh, right," he said sarcastically. "You've just been 'making friends' with us for the past seven years? I'm your best mate, now your boyfriend. And you never said anything."
"I know," I said quietly. "I was scared, I didn't want you to think I was the same way. It's not something you brag about."
Well, I didn't have to worry about him figuring it out since I'd just spelled it out for him.
"You spent entire summers with us, nearly every break! We're practically family." demanded Fred, and then he blinked. "Wait. Did my...did my parents know?"
I looked up at him miserably. "They knew. Your mum told me last year that when you two had started making friends with me, she knew it would go one of two ways: I'd end up like my mother, or I'd turn out alright. She...she took a chance on me, and I will never forget that. But that's why I was so nervous about joining the Order. Everyone knows what my mum did, and they might think that I was the same. Austin...he's so much like my dad, so open and hopeful, that I doubt anyone questioned it. But I am like my mother, and I think a lot of people, especially my father's friends noticed that. Especially since I still live with her."
"Why do you still live with her?" he asked, and he was furious. He stood up and walked in an aggravated circle. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this? You don't keep something this important from your best mate!"
"I'm sorry. I just didn't even want you to think about the possibility," I whispered.
"Well I sure as hell am now!" he yelled.
"What?" I asked, standing. There was a sickened feeling in my stomach and my chest felt tight. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You...well maybe you didn't lie, but you sure as hell didn't tell the truth. I thought I could trust you implicitly. And now...I dunno...maybe you are more like your mother than you realize."
"Don't say that!" I shouted at him, and my eyes prickled. He just shook his head at me, running his hands through his hair. "Don't you dare say that. Take it back, right now. I will never be like her."
"And how am I supposed to believe that?" he asked, heading for the door. "I don't even feel like I'm talking to Rian."
"Why? It's still me! And anyway, I thought I was supposed to move on, forget about bad things in my past. Isn't that what everyone is told when they had a dodgy childhood?"
"Ri, your past is still with you. Every day when you walk into that bloody house. And moving on doesn't mean hiding it from your mates. I...I dunno what I'm supposed to think now." And he turned and went inside. I couldn't go after him, because I didn't know what I was supposed to be thinking either. I didn't know what I wanted to say to him. I stood on the doorstep of the Leaky Cauldron, aghast. This was what I'd hoped to avoid for more than seven years. And now it was all for naught. I should have told them, the first summer I'd stayed with them.
We didn't talk for two weeks. George had come to visit me once or twice, and he hadn't seemed too upset after I'd explained, but he said that Fred was hurt because he considered himself the closest person to me.
"He is," I said, clenching my fist angrily. I felt awful, beyond hurting him. Because now he did think exactly what I'd always feared he would.
"What brought the topic up, anyway?" asked George, shaking his head at the tea I offered him.
"He was trying to get me to talk to him. My mum and I got into a fight that night, and she told me I'd end up just like my father. I didn't...I still don't know if she meant the Order part, or the dead part." My voice caught for a second on the end. George sat frozen in his seat.
The front door opened, and footsteps walked across the wood floor. "I didn't realize we had company." My mother examined George with a slight air of disdain, and I was suddenly pulled back to my first day of Hogwarts. We'd seen the Weasley family getting on the train, and she'd had the same attitude, the same condescending air. George picked up on it and stared back at her coldly.
"Well, occasionally people do like to engage in civil conversation," I said frigidly. "Don't worry, a few more months of a paycheck and I'll be out of your hair."
"I'm sure you will," she said with a smirk. Chills ran up my spine as she headed up the stairs.
"I think you should go," I said to George, watching her go.
"But-" he began, touching my arm gently.
"I mean it," I said. "I really think you should go. I'll stop by the shop sometime..."
"Rian," he said wearily. "I don't feel right-"
"You don't have to. I'll be fine. Now get going. You've got dinner with your parents," I said, smiling slightly.
"You know you're welcome to come."
"I'm not ready to talk to Fred yet," I said, sighing.
George stared. "You're going to risk your life because you're scared to talk to my brother?"
I shrugged. "You know Fred when he's angry," I said dryly. "Death or an angry Fred? That's fairly easy."
"That wasn't funny."
"Oh, come on, lighten up. She's waited this long." I didn't mention that I hadn't slept since we'd had the fight.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're always welcome at our place," said George finally. "Half of it's mine as well, we'll just hide from Fred."
"Knowing you, you'd lock us both in a room together," I said wryly. He didn't deny it.
George cheered me up a bit, and when he left I didn't feel quite as nervous as I headed up to my room. My mother was nowhere to be found, but this wasn't unusual. What was unusual was what I saw when I walked into the house three days later.
She was dead, lying on the floor of the entryway, open eyes glassed over. I stood there, unable to move for several seconds as the picture processed in my mind. It wasn't until I started shaking violently that I considered pulling out my wand. I did so now, and turned the corner into the kitchen. A hooded figure sat in my favourite kitchen chair, the one with the phoenix carved into the leg. We stared at each other, unmoving for several seconds, until we seemed to move together.
It was frightening, how easily it came to me. There was hardly even enough movement to constitute a fight. We shouted the spell, one spell, at the same moment, and his bolt of green missed. Mine didn't.