Reconnoiter: to make an inspection or observation.
April 18, 1960
No one ever went out as far as the old Perkins place. Sammy Abbott had dared them all once or twice, but no one had been brave enough to creep past the rickety old fence that ran along the property line. It was a creepy place, even without Sammy's tales of bloody specters and decrepit old warlocks who kept themselves alive by pulling out their hearts and suspending them in nasty potions. The porch was crumbling away, windows were cracked or missing altogether, and on windy days, the door's pining creaks could be heard all the way back in town as it flapped back and forth on rusty hinges.
But Arthur Weasley was ten now, and those stories and rotting floor boards didn't scare him anymore. It was a fine spring day, practically calling for adventure, and with most of the other children in town either old enough to be at Hogwarts or too young to be interesting to play with, Arthur had found his way to that rickety fence. In his opinion, it was high time someone actually had a look to see what was in the spooky old place.
So with a quick glance at the nearby houses to make sure no one was watching, Arthur ducked through the fence and dashed across the weedy, over-grown lawn.
The friendly sounds of distant Muggle cars and the putterings of neighbors going in and out of their houses seemed to vanish the moment his sneaker touched the old, cracked front step. His footsteps echoed loudly, each groan of the fragile wood bouncing off the pealing siding. Arthur's heart drummed in his mouth, but he boldly pressed on.
A breeze buffeted the door just as he reached for it, and Arthur jumped back, nearly tumbling off the side of the porch. Swallowing hard, he rushed forward and flung the battered door open, his momentum carrying him two steps into the dusty gloom of the inside of the house.
The windows were so coated with grime that Arthur could make nothing out at first but the indistinct forms of walls and windows. Then came the furniture, covered with sheets so they looked ghostly themselves. Dust swirled so thickly in the air it made Arthur cough and wheeze. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and forged on, peering into the dark corners of the deserted rooms for evidence of Sammy's haunting tales.
"Ha," Arthur said softly when he had circled the gloomy rooms and found nothing but more dust and spiders. "Knew he was lying. Bet the coward's never been near this place in his life."
But then his eyes fell on the cellar door. A rusted padlock had fallen to the floor in front of it. And of course every ten-year-old knows all the terrifying secrets are kept below ground. There was no point in his heart-pounding exploration if he left the cellar up to chance. So Arthur made his way to the once-locked door and tugged it open.
A waft of damp, rank air swept over him. Sucking hard on his lip, Arthur leaned forward to peer down into the black depths. He wished he had a wand so he could make a light like his mother did to retrieve peach preserves from their cellar. Somehow, he doubted anything as sweet as peaches waited down there for him. But Arthur was a Gryffindor (or would be in a year and a half), so he steeled himself and started down the steep ladder which served as a staircase.
The blackness closed further around him with every shaky step on the creaky ladder, the gloom of the upper floor looking as wonderfully bright as daylight from down here. Sammy Abbott would never believe what Arthur was doing. Neither would Lawrence Edgecomb, for that matter. They'd come back from Hogwarts thinking their stories were exciting and Arthur would be waiting with this. Little Artie wouldn't seem so little anymore.
Something rrreeeech-ed as it scampered over Arthur's shoe. His heart seemed to fly out of his mouth as he yelped and jerked on the unsteady ladder. He pitched backwards, flailing in the darkness, and the next thing Arthur knew, he was flat on his back in rich-smelling dirt. And the ladder was on top of him.
Arthur had just started to realize the desperation of his situation when the floorboards above his head creaked.
Bloody specters, Arthur thought with a whine of fear. Horrible, mad old warlocks keeping their hearts in jars….
"Aarr-thuurr?"
They knew his name! The distant voice seemed to seep right out of the ceiling. There was more creaking. Footsteps drawing nearer to the open cellar door. A black silhouette suddenly appeared in the doorway far above his head, blocking what little light streamed into the cellar.
"Artie, are you down there?"
"Bilius!" Arthur nearly screamed. He had never in his entire life been more pleased to hear his eldest brother's voice. "Billius, help!"
"Easy, Artie. Sit tight and I'll have you out of there in a second," Bilius instructed.
Arthur saw him pull out his wand. The tip glowed bright enough to illuminate every moldy corner of the dank cellar. A moment later, the ladder was flying off of Arthur, back into place against the back wall. Bilius slide down it as easily as if it were playground slide.
"You okay, Artie?" he asked urgently, kneeling over Arthur and lifting him under the arms, brushing the dirt out of his bright red hair.
Arthur coughed, trying to force air back into his lungs after the ground had smacked it all out of him. "Yeah – I think so."
Bilius sat back, running a hand through his hair and leaving grimy streaks there. "Merlin, Artie. Give me a bugin' heart attack, why don't ya? I thought you'd broke your back or somethin'."
He stood up and hauled Arthur to his feet, kneeling in front of him to give him a good inspection just in case Arthur was missing an injury.
"How'd you find me so fast?" Arthur asked, wincing as Bilius pressed a knot swelling on the back of his head.
"I might be two years out of school and still no friend of the workforce, but I'll be damned if I can't at least keep my baby brother from gettin' himself killed out of boredom," Bilius told him, standing up and ruffling Arthur's hair, apparently satisfied that he was all in one piece. "C'mon Art. What d'you say we return to the light of day, huh?"
"You followed me?" Arthur asked, indignation quickly defusing his gratitude. "I'm not a baby, Bilius. I explored a haunted house that Sammy Abbott wouldn't even dare to."
"And I'll even help you rub it in his face when he gets home from school. Rupe's too, come to that," Bilius promised, hoisting Arthur up onto the third step of the ladder and prompting him to climb. "And I wouldn't call it following. More like casual observation."
Arthur's indignation lasted until they were back outside, walking down the street, Bilius swatting the dust off of Arthur's clothes and completely oblivious to the cobwebs sticking to his own hair like lace. But then his frown turned into a smirk.
"What?" Bilius demanded, poking Arthur jokingly in the ribs.
"No warlock hearts," Arthur told him with satisfaction. "Not anywhere."
"Did you check the attic?" Bilius asked. He laughed as Arthur's face fell and grabbed his little brother in a loose headlock. "Everyone knows they keep the good stuff in the attic."
A/N: Longish, eh? Figure it makes up for yesterday's short one. I do happen to like Arthur's brothers Especially Bilius. I imagine Arthur to be quite a bit younger than both his brothers. Ten and eight years, so he was really the baby of the family. Hopefully I'll be able to flesh out this dynamic a bit later :) Thank you all ever so much for your feedback! It is always appreciated!