A/N: I do not own or profit from Harry Potter.

And I give thanks for all my reviews, and apologies for the delay. Hot, sticky, summer bliss (?) is ended and real life begins. Updates will be slow. But this chapter is long, so there.

Chapter 10: Something More

Audrey waited as Percy fumbled with his door for a moment, then pushed it open warily. "One of my brothers may be here." He muttered almost unintelligibly, and she noticed the tips of his ears were pink. Last night's company must have been difficult on him.

"That's fine." She murmured in response as he disappeared into the back room (the bedroom, she supposed it was). She let him go, hoping silently that whatever was wrong with his brother or brothers, it hadn't kept them here tonight. Truth was still what she was after. She wouldn't let herself forget that, and she wouldn't let Percy forget it, either.

He had put her off in the bakery, yet again. She was no idiot. She had one clue, one clue only.

Glancing at the door through which he had gone, she crossed the room to the wall of books. Surely he had dictionaries. Her fingers trailed over the unfamiliar volumes as she searched for one that might hold answers.

He'd called her a name, when he was excited and forgot she was there. An odd term she wasn't familiar with. What was it he'd said? Such a queer word, she'd remembered it. Squib. A Squib. Davis, like her, could remember hearing the word, but didn't know just what it meant.

Ah. Here. Dictionaries. At least...Rowling's Exhaustive Dictionary of the Magical World. Well, that didn't sound very reliable. She paused at the next book, a thick green volume. American Dictionary of the English Language. She tugged it out and flipped it open, balancing the heavy weight in her arms.

SQUIB, 1. A little pipe or hollow cylinder of paper, filled with powder or combustile matter and sent into the air, burning and bursting with a crack; a firecracker.

She stared at the words a moment, before deciding the dictionary had to be very old. It didn't help in the least, at any rate. And Percy appeared to have no more dictionaries than that. She dropped her eyes to the page again, staring at the words. Perhaps she had the wrong spelling. Perhaps she was remembering it wrong.

Percy pushed open the door, noting that George had not bothered to make his bed, and stepped back into the open front area of the flat.

Audrey was reading one of his books.

He was across the room in a few quick steps, his legs stretching longer than he realized they could. In an instant the heavy book was yanked from her hands and into his. "Don't read these!" He hissed, almost panicked, registering with a measure of satisfaction that she jumped and looked almost penitent.

Almost. Her lips narrowed determinedly a moment later and her eyes fell back to the page. He followed her gaze and glanced down at the words below him.

The making and selling of squibs is punishable.

He slammed the book shut. It was his second dictionary, the one written by a muggle. An American muggle. She could have learnt nothing from it. But still. "Why were you looking at this?"

She crossed her arms and shrugged. "I'm still asking questions, and if you don't answer them, I will myself."

Why could women not just give straight answers? "I will tell you what you need to know." He ground out between his teeth. "But don't look at these." He shoved the book back into its place on the wall. "Any of these." He waved his hand to demonstrate the entire room, every shelf. "They're quite valuable."

"All right. I'm sorry." She held up her hands. "I wanted to ask you some questions, and only go and take as stab at finding things out for myself once I knew you wouldn't tell me anything...which you haven't." Her eyes strayed to the blue-and-gold book beside the green dictionary, and Percy moved his hand protectively to cover it. Rowling's Dictionary...his magical dictionary. Oh, no. She could not look at that.

He could toss out a little information, enough to make her grateful again and keep her satisfied. Enough, perhaps, to get her to accept his word and not try to learn more. More could be a dangerous word when it referred to the Wizard World. Not to mention quite illegal.

His focus reasserted itself. They were here for the baby blanket left with Audrey. He needed to get a look at it.

"Please." He gestured, cutting off any further trouble. "Just sit."

.

There was something in George that was alike to Percy, and yet something that was infinitely different, Lucy thought as she watched him settle into the chair across from her. Percy seemed to know everything, have all the answers, exuded capability, professionalism and reserve. Yet the boy across from her, so similar in face and hair and sad brown eyes, looked small and unsure, and ultimately vulnerable. There was no cool and collected front like Percy had.

And there was that one night, when Percy's front had been down, just a few moments. In those few moments, he'd been small and vulnerable, too.

That, Lucy decided, was why she was here tonight, having coffee at midnight with Percy's brother. Because Percy had helped her. He'd gone above and beyond the call of duty to help her, and she owed him the favor. Perhaps the Percy she saw most of the time didn't want it, but for dead certain the Percy who she'd seen the other night needed it. And from the looks of it, this George needed someone's help, too.

She settled into her chair, studying the ginger across from her. He looked like he could use the good strong coffee he cradled in his hands as much as he could use a talk. She breached the silence. "So, tell me, George, what is it that you do?"

.

Audrey settled into a corner of the couch as Percy sank down near her, tugged the blanket out from where Lucy had left it, and held it up, letting the folds fall out.

It was just the size for a baby, less than a meter square. The fabric was a soft, foreign weave, in a pale gray color. The stains that she had left on it as an unwashed newborn still stood out, but they'd faded to muted brown blotching by now. Audrey watched him study it. She was sure that there were many blankets like it. There was a little stitching in one corner, over which he was bending now. She'd always assumed it was the symbol of the company that had made the blankie.

He stared at it for a long time, and she watched him. "What is it?" She asked. "You think you can trace it back to the maker, or buyer?"

Percy took in the small shield crest embroidered on the corner. His stomach was sinking. He had known, practically been certain already, even without a paternity test, but this confirmed it. He realized suddenly she'd asked him a question. "Hm? Oh, er, no. I don't need to trace it. This was custom made."

"It was?"

He held it out. "Look, the stitches are made manually." By hand, not by magic. More elves at work in her parent's home. But of course. They'd had dozens of elves to run their estate before the war. Percy stifled a groan as he realized what that meant. All those elves, each sent off to a different master after the war and the loss of the family fortune...he'd have to track down and speak with every one of them.

She raised her eyebrows, impressed, and leaned back again. "So, what, then?"

"So I go to the people who made it and have a talk with them."

"You know who made it already?"

He looked over at her. She was watching him with those penetrating pale gray eyes, and he could only stare back. To tell or not to tell?

"Come on. It's my family." She argued.

No, he decided, her eyes may have been like her father's, but they were not his. She was not his. She was not her father's child. They were not her family.

"Fine." He said abruptly. "But this may take a little while."

She hadn't been able to follow his train of thought, and he could just barely see her masked surprise at his sudden change of plans. "Oh. Well, thank you...where are you going?"

"To make tea." God knew he'd need it.

.

"Anyways." George paused in telling her about his odd-sounding joke shop. "It gets along pretty well." There was an obvious fondness in his voice, edged with just a touch of a wistful tone.

Lucy smiled. "Sounds wonderful. Why did you close it?"

He glanced down at his coffee, and she sensed thin ground. "Well, I didn't, see. My friend's just taken it over, taking care of it for now. I'm...taking a break."

"That can be good sometimes." She said neutrally.

"Yeah." He took a swig of coffee. "But someday," He finished earnestly, "I am going back to it." He looked at her across the table, seemed intent on making her (or perhaps himself) believe what he said.

There was a pause, before George looked up again. "So how do you know Percy?"

"Through a case." She explained. "My husband's. Homicide."

"Oh." He nodded. "I heard him talking to Charlie about it. My other older brother. Muggle-killing."

She furrowed her brow a bit as the last words, unfamiliar words, slipped from his mouth. "What was that last part?"

"A muggle..." His voice trailed off, and then suddenly his lips shut quickly. "I mean...a...random killing."

"Oh. Oh, possibly, we're not sure." She told him. "It's supposed to be hush-hush for now."

"I know." He said. "I'm not allowed to talk about it, either." He glanced over at her apologetically, and she realized suddenly that he'd made a slip. He'd said a thing that he wasn't supposed to have said, that's why the word had sounded strange. He knew.

Now she had two motives for talking to George Weasley. His good...and hers.

.

Percy sat back down, eying Audrey warily. What to tell...There were many pieces of the truth that he could toss out or dress up to satisfy her. Truth, though, he decided was best in its purest form. He wouldn't lie to her. But he would have to be very vague in what he did say.

"So." She began. "Obviously, you're not going to spill all tonight."

"No."

"But..."

He sighed and shifted. "First of all, there is something you have got to get into your head. For your own safety." He gave her a pointed look. "And the safety of your family, friends, and well, me." Though there were few free Death Eaters left around, he would hate to know what they would do to him if anyone traced Audrey's sources back to him. Especially considering that her family were some of the few not certain to die in Azkaban...

"All right..." She waited.

"They are not your family." He gave her that look again. "Get that into your mind."You have never met them, and you did not know that they existed until a few days ago. You cannot love them, you do not know them." It occurred to Percy, now that he was talking, that that might be part of the reason for his resilient silence. He was protecting her. Any preconceived affectionate attachment to her family could be...bad, very bad, and could go desperately wrong. "I would strongly advise you to think of them as nameless, faceless nobodies who will have no further effect on your life than to serve as a tool for conception and birth. They abandoned you, they don't want you, they hate you."

"Ouch." She casually sipped at her tea, tucking her feet under her on the couch.

"Deal with it." He said callously. "They're murderers, it's how they are."

"All right." She held up her hands as a gesture of peace. "I've got it. So. My unknown family killed my father in a unknown way because of an unknown reason that has something to do with me. Explain."

"I can't explain it all."

"Explain something. Mum and I have both been up nights thinking on this. Is there...I mean, if this is partially to do with me, is there some way I could have prevented it?"

Percy shrugged. "Depends on the family."

"You already figured out who my family is." She reminded him. "So."

"They got rid of you because you were...undesirable." He stated simply. "The situation was out of your control. You were taken in by Michael Bones, and I suspect that he was killed for that reason. Simply for taking you in, a happening you had no say in. So in short, no, you could not have prevented it."

"Why leave me somewhere obvious? They had to know I'd be found and taken care of some way."

"I'm working on that." Percy told her. "They didn't want to kill you. If that were the case, they would have murdered you before birth, before anyone else could speak up for you. Instead, they simply wanted you do disappear. My theory is, that somehow, your existence became known, (probably in early 1996 or later), and they were left with no choice but to cut off anyone who could tell about you."

"What about my mother, I mean my adoptive one? And why not just kill me?"

"Because, you're higher born." He explained patiently. "You're...you're their child. Even if they won't own to you, you're still better than others like Michael Bones. You have..." He tried to phrase it delicately. "Potential." Potential to breed. The same 'potential' that had preserved the lives of pure-blooded squibs during the war. The hope that their children might be 'tainted', but still technically retaining pure wizard blood, had afforded them some minor degree of protection. "And as for Lucy..." He shrugged. "She was not there to testify to your finding. Anyone would assume, as I did, that she is your natural mother. They could leave her alive and not be found out. I nearly didn't find you out."

.

"Does Percy always tell you what he's working on?"

"Mostly." George shrugged. "He's a workaholic, never does anything but sit around and...and work. And he knows we can keep our mouths shut. The whole family practically works for the Ministry anyways, so it's not like we don't know about secret work already. Percy's stuff is low-profile compared to what Charlie and Bill are doing."

"You hear about a lot of gruesome murders?" She prodded him subtly toward giving more information, momentarily taking advantage of his open nature.

He ruffled his hair and sighed. "Yeah, we've seen our share of gruesome." Was all he said, leaning back as if tired.

"It must be good to hear about so many criminals being found out and punished." She tried a slightly different tack.

He seemed to brighten a little as he half-shrugged. "Yeah. It's nice. It's better when they die, though."

Lucy stared at him for a moment, caught off guard, then dropped the subtle act, realizing she was not cut out to lie. "My husband was murdered by some sort of organization." She told him. "Percy said they were called Death Eaters. Heard of them?"

George glanced up. "Yeah. Everyone has. They kill for fun." His brows furrowed. "I'm surprised he told you that. I mean, the name and all."

"He's been quite fair with us." She agreed. He had said it was a 'muggle-killing'. What did that mean? "I'd never heard of such a case."

"Pretty common lately." George shrugged, again growing distant.

Were they? Lucy hoped not. "Yes, he said he's had several Muggle-killings lately."

"Yup," He agreed, not noticing she'd used the apparently forbidden phrase. "For Death Eaters, Muggle-killings are like dinner parties. I'm just sorry they picked you." He added, glancing up at her, genuinely sympathetic.

She felt almost bad for tricking the sweet, sad boy across from her. "Percy's been most excellent in his investigation." She said sincerely, wanting to say something nice to appease her guilty conscience.

"Well, if he's working, he will be."

.

Audrey's brow had arched at his statement of her being highborn. "How do you mean, 'others like Michael Bones?' What's so wrong with him?"

Percy rose to give himself time to answer her question. He crossed the room to one of the many rows of books, going to where he knew the one he wanted was. "I mean...I mean that your biological parents, and all Death Eaters, are very prejudicial people. They don't like people not like them. If you are...different, then they refuse to allow you into their little circle." He tugged out the book and began turning the leaves as he cradled it in the crook of his arm. "Though admittedly," He mused, "That's likely a good thing for you. I assure you, you would not want to have grown up in the house of Lucius Malfoy."

Audrey nearly choked to death on her tea. Lucius Malfoy! Was that a name? Had he just spilled a name? She started to ask him, but didn't, afraid that he might stop talking then. While his back was turned to her, she bent and scrambled for a pen and paper, scrawled down the name before she forgot it or he said something else. Lucius Mallfoy. A fairly distinct name. She stared down at it, then stashed it in her pocket as he turned, apparently having found the page he was looking for.

"Here." He smoothed the brittle page with his hand and peered down at whatever was written or drawn there. His eyes reverted to the blanket for a moment, and he gave a nod. "The crests are identical. Your paternity test will be our best proof, of course, but this..."

"What is it?" She gestured to the book. It was thicker, and looked older than some of the others.

"A genealogical record of great families and their descent." He responded absentmindedly. "Each most ancient and noble house has its own crest, which they embroider or affix onto certain items." He shut the book with finality and put it back onto the shelf. "So that's...that, I suppose. It's fairly conclusive."

"I'm a sqwib." She agreed.

He looked over at her as he sat again. "You don't know what that word means."

"According to your dictionary, it means I'm a firecracker."

"That dictionary is...misinformed." He stopped suddenly. "Where did you hear that word?"

"You said it. The night you figured I was adopted. You went into the hall and said I was a 'sqwib.'"

Percy pursed his lips, seemed to berate himself internally. "Oh."

"So what's it mean?"

"It means that you're outcast. It's just a political term for those they've refused to allow to enter their circle. It's not necessarily bad."

"And what exactly would get me kicked out like that?"

Percy seemed to pause again, gave her another look. She met his gaze steadily with her own, which seemed to unnerve him. He looked away.

"Look." He shifted towards her on the couch. "There are some questions I just can't answer. These people operate on their own plane of logic, make their own rules. So don't ask me that. They have their own world view, albeit a warped one, and said world view required them to remove you from their plane of existence. Your biological parents need not kill you or anyone else unless you threatened their security of position within the Death Eater circle, but they did have to get rid of you."

"How would I threaten them?" She swung out her arms. "I'm twenty one, I'm a physics student, I'm not rich or connected, and I'm not strong enough to fight off a dog. What's to be afraid of?"

He gazed at her, then shook his head. "Please, when in the apartment of a half-stranger, do not remind them of how vulnerable you are to physical attack. It would make my job a good deal easier if you didn't get yourself killed, too."

"Sorry."

"Yes, fine."

"...You're avoiding my real question."

He sighed, apparently realizing she was not to be deterred. "Because, Audrey, you are you. You are outcast. If others found out they gave birth to a child who was outcast and possibly illegitimate, they would be looked down upon."

Audrey rubbed her brow as he explained. Her tea was cold and she was getting a headache. "So you're saying I'm an outcast because they threw me out, and at the same time they threw me out because I'm an outcast?"

"No...Well, yes. In a way."

"Well, that's...that's a tautology. It doesn't make a lot of sense."

"It doesn't have to." He rubbed his temples, and she could sympathise. In one way she wanted to beat him to a pulp for answers, in another she remembered how tired he was, and just wanted to give him a hug.

"Headache?"

"Not the first. And not the last." He glowered at the floor.

"Well, we appreciate the amount of work you're putting into this."

"Please stop thanking me. It's my job." He said shortly. "And I nearly enjoy it." She wasn't sure how true that was. He seemed tired, worn-down, and miserable, but she didn't say that. He was more relaxed than he had been at most times, and she didn't mind it.

"You like hunting them down?"

"I like seeing them get what they deserve." There was a vehemence behind the words that was all too audible. His tone was dripping with it, but she waited, not sure if he would go on, not sure how to respond.

At last, she simply nodded. "Well, you seem be about perfect for the job, then. Even if you are a secretary." She added, nudging him into a small smile.

"You sound like one of my brothers." He told her with dry amusement, the sudden burst of hatred gone entirely. "Talking at me like my job is worthless. For your information, my job is very important, regardless of what my brothers say about my being overobsessed with it."

.

"Percy's overobsessed with being perfect at everything." George continued. "Especially his job. He used to want to be Minister and all."

Lucy gave a smile. "Well, with his work ethic I can imagine he'll be fairly successful."

"Too successful." George asserted. "Percy...he sometimes..." George paused a long moment, apparently not sure how to say what was in his head. "He just sometimes thinks too much about some things and not about other things, and then the other things get left behind because he's so good at those first things."

"A conflict of priority." She agreed.

"No." He told her. "It's not like he doesn't love the second thing. He just forgets about it. I think. I hope that's all." He added, almost to himself.

Lucy studied him keenly. His phrasing indicated pretty well his meaning. Job first, family second. She had heard it was a common view for ministry and government workers. "He doesn't have a girlfriend?"

"Doesn't have time." George shrugged.

"That kind of a work ethic is hard on a woman." She agreed.

"I think he'd make time for a girl." George scowled just slightly. "He used to have this girlfriend, and they'd spend all their time together, work together on things, and he'd sort of bring her into all the things he had to do. He'd make time for her, just not for a lot of other people."

"Where is she now?"

"She's a Healer...er, a medi...nurse." George stammered over his words for a moment before recovering.

"And he doesn't have time." She mused. "Surely he doesn't work all the time?"

"No." George admitted. "Since the war, he's spent a lot more time with the family. I mean, he comes home and all. I think he doesn't like the Ministry as much as he used to."

"Oh?" She cocked her head. "He took issue with the war?"

George seemed once again to give that look of saying something, catching himself, and falling silent. "Well...sort of. It's just a little different for us." He mumbled. "It's complicated...for Percy...For our whole family." He shook his red head, his shaggy hair falling into his face. The boy hadn't had a haircut in a long time. "You wouldn't understand, how it is. For our family."

She raised her eyebrows at his halting words. "Try me."

.

"Well, Davis says I'm overobsessed about my classes." She offered.

"Yes, and he's an American." Percy reminded her. "All Americans are lazy."

She stifled a laugh at his dry tone. "At least they're fun."

"They're rulebreakers." He shook his head. "I once had to deal with a whole troop of American diplomats coming in to see Fudge, my employer. They reminded me of my brothers, again."

"A lot of things seem to remind you of your brothers."

"I have a lot of brothers."

She laughed. "And they're all opposite you?"

"What leads you to draw that conclusion?"

"I saw them. The long hair and black jacket seemed to say it all."

Percy shook his head. "He also has a fang earring."

"And a tattoo?"

"No. No tattoos. Our mother forbids them." He told her, deliberately omitting that Bill had a Mark branded onto his arm. Not a Dark Mark, of course, but he still wasn't supposed to talk about it. "Though we're technically free to get one if we like, none of us dare risk her displeasure."

She cocked her head and reached out to touch his arm just below the elbow. "Then what's that?" She asked a little teasingly, knowing he had some form of tattoo beneath his shirt.

He glanced down at it quickly and spots of color rose in his cheeks. "Er...nothing. It's a..." His expression as he paused to think of a story was comical enough that she didn't interrupt him. "It's...well..."

"It is a tattoo, I saw it the other day."

Bother that night. One of his brothers might have seen it. Heaven forbid, George might have seen it and gotten a crazy idea. Percy momentarily berated himself for being a bad example to his alcoholic sibling at his most impressionable, and then returned to the conversation at hand. "Just please don't tell my mother." He said. "She'd hit me with a spoon. And that would hurt. Trust me, I know."

Audrey laughed out loud. "She would?"

"She would." He said seriously. "Molly Weasley can be very dangerous when you cross her."

"She sounds absolutely fantastic. She and my Mum should get together. What about your Dad?" She realized suddenly that they'd slipped from her case, to his work, to his personal life, but she didn't mind it much. He knew all about her personal life, it was only fair. And his family seemed to be a topic of which he was fond, and it brought out a dry sense of humour and a subtle sarcasm that she enjoyed. He probably got it from the rock-star brother with the fang earring.

Percy shrugged. "He works in an office. He's got seven kids all grown up. And he's obsessed with...er, tinkering with odd broken gadgets."

"All grown up?" She asked. "None still at home?"

"Well, Ginny's at home." Percy amended. "She's the youngest, nearly seventeen." He didn't have any pictures sitting about on tables or a mantle, but he tugged one out of his back pocket. "This picture's old, but it's of us." He handed it over.

She studied the image, a candid shot, clearly taken with no warning. It was indeed old. The girl looked no more than ten, a tiny thing who might have been the type of girl to go unnoticed, were it not for her flame-red hair. She was wearing some sort of a loose black robe as she leaned against a table, looking back at the camera. Behind her, sitting at the table, was a younger Percy, also caught off guard, looking very serious as the light of the flash hit his large glasses. Standing a little off to the side were two identical boys, both dressed in some sort of school uniform, both clearly caught in the act of laughing. Audrey grinned as she took in the last face in the picture. He was sitting at the table as well, in front of Ginny. His blankly surprised face was the only one which gave off the distinct impression of not being prepared for the photo.

Percy seemed to note that the last brother made her smile more than the others, and he leaned back and away from her. She realized abruptly he had been leaning over closer to look over her shoulder. He smelled like tea. "That's Ron, there in front. He always looks like that. Very blank, very unsure, and at times slightly stupid."

"The twins are identical?"

"Yeah." His voice became a little rough and he cleared his throat. "Fred and George. Always identical." He moved on quickly. "That was fall of 1992, I think. A boy at school who was a friend of Ginny's took it. He took pictures of everything."

"It's cute." She handed it back. "Your sister's got to be gorgeous by now."

Percy seemed to stifle more than a little pride. "Oh, yes, she's got her pick of company." He agreed. "And she's smart, and powerful. And quite talented. She can do anything she wants."

"Not biased, are you?" She teased.

"We Weasleys may not possess wit beyond measure, but we aren't stupid. Or weak."

"I noticed. It's nice that you all seem so close. That's pretty rare nowadays."

"Well..." Percy seemed to drift. "We're fortunate." He pushed away the thought of how unfortunate she was in her family, in her blood. A Malfoy.

Yet, when he looked at her, she didn't look like a Malfoy. She didn't have that tone, that way of walking. She didn't have the silver hair. Her face was heart-shaped, shaped like the Tonks girl's face, he realized suddenly, with a little stab of guilt. And yes, she had the Malfoy's pale grey eyes, but it was the way she used them that made them hers, not theirs. Not Draco's, not Lucius'. Audrey's eyes. She was the farthest thing from a Malfoy she could get. And she would stay that way.

He wondered briefly if she could, or would, apply for auxiliary status to the Wizard World. She was a squib, after all. It could be a viable option...for her to live in his world. To know the full truth about her father, even if Lucy never could. He tried to picture Audrey walking down Diagon Alley and had a sudden vision of her standing in the middle of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, in a robe and holding parcels. She fit. It was odd, but she seemed to fit there in the middle of the aisle of quirky potions and other magical products.

Perhaps, just perhaps, she and Lucy could be told. Perhaps, the truth she wanted could be given to her...in time.

.

Lucy let George talk. With Percy, she had started to feel as if she were talking to an iceberg. With George, it took no more than a few words to get him to talk, if one hit the right topic. His store, obviously was one of his favorite topics. His family was another.

He spoke his father, who Lucy guessed was apparently quite quirky. Eccentric, even, but George seemed quite proud of him and of his mother. He spoke of his eldest brother and his annoying French wife, the brother who trained large, exotic reptiles, and the brother who was afraid of spiders. He talked about Percy and about his sister, and about the boy called Harry and his utterly smart friend, who the family had taken in. He spoke little about himself.

She let him talk, augmented the conversation with her own stories and comments.

He was an odd boy, she had to admit as she drove home. Both he and Percy had their odd sides. They hesitated, misspoke, corrected themselves. They said things and then rushed to explain them, rushed to cover their mistakes. With George it was a more prevalent habit than it was for the well-spoken Percy, and yet, it was an oddity. She no longer doubted they grew up on a farm. There was something distinctly foreign in their mannerisms. They must have been very sheltered, she decided as she pulled her car into her home neighborhood.

George hadn't explained the events of the other night. The brothers rushing in, the worry, the stress. It seemed that despite his frankness, George, too, was an iceberg. She was only seeing the little bit he wanted her to see, and there was a something more, a great deal more going on.

.

"Percy? What's going on?" Audrey was watching him as he sat, momentarily removed from the conversation.

Percy pulled himself out of his thoughts and banished the vision of her in the Wizard World. They were in the Muggle world now. "Er...sorry. I got to thinking...about the case."

"Ah. No, you're not a workaholic at all."

He shrugged. "Family, work...it all blends together."

"My family or yours?"

"Both, in my case." He said drily. "Obviously your family is fairly crucial at this point."

"Are you going to arrest them?"

"I'll wait for the paternity test." They had both grown quiet as they became aware of the hour. Audrey stretched where she sat. Her mug was now forgotten and the couch had grown more and more comfortable as she sat.

"Percy?"

"What?"

"You do take days off, don't you?"

There was a pause. "I like working."

"Right." She shook her head. "You should still take a day off."

"Please, don't act like your mother. Or mine, for that matter."

She smiled tiredly and they didn't say anything for a several minutes, but let the room drift into silence.

How long had he been working at this? It seemed a long time. He was, as she had first suspected, a complete and utter swot, a bureaucratic pencil-pusher. But of a good sort, she reasoned.

Was he, really, the answer to the prayer she had prayed those months ago? Was Percy Weasley the Godsend that would bring truth and justice and closure and all the other things she had begged God for?

She hadn't expected her godsend to wear funny glasses and say funny things. She hadn't expected him to be so stiff and tight-wound. And she had certainly never expected this, all this that had happened. He hadn't really done anything that went beyond his job, but she knew that if he had been asked to go beyond duty, he would have. Odd. She never would have expected that, either.

Maybe he was the answer to her prayers. And maybe he wasn't. But either way, he was some strange form of miracle. And miracles, she had learned with time, did not come along every day.

When she looked back at him, he had fallen asleep, or at least closed his eyes. She edged toward the book he had taken out and looked at. Pulling it off the shelf, she sat back down. Percy didn't stir, so she carefully opened it, turned the pages toward the middle.

It was older than it had looked. The binding and the cover were new, and the colors on the crests were still vivid (almost too vivid), but the pages were old and slightly yellowed, and there was a telltale scar on the side of the pages where a lead clasp had once been. A little past the middle of the book, she found the page she was looking for.

MALFOY was written at the top of the page. The M was embellished and colored, and the rest of the page was written by hand, by some form of quill. She groaned internally as she stared down at the small, delicate writing of some long-ago scribe. Had it been printed, like a normal book, she might have read it, even if it was in Latin, but it was all by hand...and she was so tired...She tried to decipher the first few lines and found her eyes sliding shut. She pushed against the urge to put her head down, and gradually, gradually, lost the fight.

Neither was awake when the door opened not long after and George came in. Neither moved when the slight pop of his departure was heard in the hallway. And neither stirred when Hermes fluttered in with the dawn.

P.S. If anyone's curious, the definition for squib is taken from Noah Webster's 1881 dictionary. I made a few slight changes for easier reading.