I am indeed still alive and thank everyone who has given me a kick up the arse to update! It's finally here! I've missed my Bumble Bees (can I call my followers that?) I have started university and it is consuming my life as is basically being mum #2. Or maid. Whatever. I had started writing this before I even started but didn't manage to finish it because the information had to be consistent with the future of the plot. I may still have to come back to this chapter and edit it because I really wanted to update tonight, so yes, the ending will be rushed and rubbish. I'll try and sort that out as soon as I can.

Thanks as always to followers/favourites and reviews.

I've taken on a slightly different approach to this chapter in regards to my writing. Please tell me your opinions! Is it better? Too rambly? Did you prefer it before? Are you too happy that I'm back to care? Are you wondering why you still follow this story?

Enjoy

35. Headaches

The coarse fabric of the oversized t-shirt was constricting in the mixed heat of the sweltering summer night and the toasty kitchen, and yet the sleeves were too short, the material failing to be at a decent level of opaque to my liking. Could black get any darker? At the moment I hoped so. Not even mimicking the shadows offered consolation from the scuttling of ants on my skin, the feeling of eyes watching my every move.

It was silly, I chided myself, fiddling with the clothes I was so kindly lent upon finding my own bag full of thick jumpers and sleepwear, nothing suitable for a meeting with the inhabitants of the house. I was being silly. My entrance into Grimmauld Place had left an awkward impression, and even though the black cloth could not have been any darker I was fearful of the thought of having any more excess skin on show. My damp hair offered little solace to my sweaty skin, further drenching the t-shirt and sticking it to my back uncomfortably. Regardless of all the faults, the scent embedded into the fabric surrounding me was well worth it.

Realisation only hit me when I sat down at the dining table with everyone in the kitchen downstairs on just how many people there were in attendance at Grimmauld Place. There was the dark haired man, Sirius Black, lazed back in his chair, one hand stroking the fine fibres of his neat scruff as the other dangled off the back. His posture exuded a mien of careless confidence, bordering on arrogance perhaps, only slightly defeated by an almost wild glitter to his eyes and the endless up-down jerk of his leg. Beside him was the man who could have been perceived as dead in sleep, with grey tinged pale skin and an equally pallor state to his dirty blond hair. In spite of his deathly appearance the man offered a shy smile. Remus Lupin, if I remembered correctly.

The long table was laden with steaming dishes of food and half empty plates and glasses, suggesting that the residents had parted from their meal halfway through upon hearing Tonks' entry. No one made a move to resume their dinner, all sitting patiently, some impatiently (Ron noticeably shifting and eyeing his plate), and all waiting for some cue like polite orphans fearing the wrath of their matron. It came shortly after the tense silence in the form of the Weasley matriarch.

"Go on then everyone, let's not wait for the food to go cold," she said, squeezing herself between several chairs before seating herself down in hers. "We can all chat once our stomachs are filled."

With those few words the kitchen was filled with movement and noise as everyone scrambled for their cutlery and began conversing between bites. My plate was snatched for mere seconds before it was clunked down before me again, overflowing with meatballs, pasta and vegetables.

"Thanks," I offered to the kind patron beside me, keeping my head down and expression free of emotion. Picking up my fork, I slowly shuffled around the meatballs and sticks of carrot, all too aware of the gaze fixed on me. Although his scent was a warm welcome, actually speaking with him was another step I was as of yet unwilling to take. He could suffer in silence just as I had over the past week.

"Elle," he called, nudging me in the side. I brought the fork up to my lips and took a small bite of food to keep from responding. I wasn't hungry, could not even fathom the thought of food under the whirlwind of events, so it was no surprise when I finally swallowed that my stomach rolled and tossed the heavy protein and carbohydrates around. He tried again, elbow digging in a bit harder, but this time received an assault in return. Even after apparating it seemed my body was in no mood to accept nutrition. Or was it simply the distance of information I so desperately needed being within arm's reach, but dangling above my head to where it just skimmed my fingertips? I never could handle injustice very well.

Only minutes ago I had jumped into his arms and cried at his presence, his arms and lips consuming me. It was easy to be angry, I had initially thought, to dwell on the emptiness he had left me following his abrupt absence, the sleepless nights and endless days I had suffered through anxiously, constantly looking over my shoulder at whatever, whoever, was hiding. Anger was what I had wanted to control me when I saw him, to spit words that paralleled the fire within.

(Thinking like a lovesick sap lusting over a teenage heartthrob, oh how my heart pains me when he is far away and silent! How my soul withers from his silence! I internally cringed.)

Never had I imagined the relief that would burst from a bubble inside me at simply hearing his voice. It was then I realised that the prelude to our encounter was going to be harsh and bitter in my thoughts only. Not once did I pause to think of where he could have gone, or what kind of danger he and his family were possibly in, only that he was purposely sitting at home ignoring me. Ever since Dumbledore had mentioned the Order of the Phoenix and the Weasleys' unyielding support a fear had rooted itself deep in my mind unknowingly, digging its claws to my core. It was the fear that manifested the anger, of him being so careless as to add onto my paranoia regardless of intention.

What if he had faced danger and fallen to its merciless green spark? Would I ever have found out? Who would have told me? And what of George? Surely one twin without the other would be nothing short of catastrophic.

Joy was the easier emotion, natural, allowing my mind to drop all those thoughts that had me anchored to a jungle of stress. I had allowed instinct to take over, enabling myself the only comfort I knew and craved. I didn't regret it, for those few moments were a fleeting bliss in the otherwise current smog of my life. Perhaps the grey had always been there, and I had been blindly stumbling my way through, hands outstretched reaching for the nearest comfort. Grey was all I knew, after all, regardless of how long it had been since I was actually a part of that life. The dreariness of life, a routine and schedules and fulfilling expectations.

Fred was splashes of bright colours on a blank canvas. An addiction. My personal drug.

His incessant jabbing brought it all back, the loneliness, the fatigue, the anger. Red invaded my sight. How I longed to grab his arm and twist it away from me, to lay everything out and have him twitch in guilt. Fred was first and foremost a joker, laughing off the direst of threats aimed to him consisting of detentions and scrubbing plates by hand. It was his best and worst attribute. I had thought perhaps he would take his relationship with me a bit more seriously, understanding the needs of someone other than himself and his twin. Of course I wasn't expecting him to change completely and suddenly open up to me every secret he held, but surely a few words informing me of him no longer being in Ottery was not asking for much. It would have been one less worry on my mind.

The urge to explode was growing with every nudge, whisper and pinch. The only thing stopping me from outwardly showing my annoyance was the fact that we were not alone. His family were sitting with us, along with Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Tonks and some nameless others. I was not going to be the emotionally confused girlfriend that goes through extreme hormone changes; it wouldn't take much for me to keep my mouth shut until we were in the privacy of…wherever. Who knew how long I would be staying with these people? I wouldn't want a reputation of being volatile.

Another look around the table solidified Harry's absence and I could not help but wonder why Harry was not here after his collision with Dementors. Did Dumbledore think he was safe in Little Whinging with his awful family? I could not understand. I hadn't heard anything about Harry since leaving Mrs Figg's house. Ron and Hermione's hushed whisperings assured me they were worried about their friend. Did they know about the Dementors? They must have. Surely they were keeping correspondence. At least some were keeping tabs on their friends.

The charade of a normal dinner was lost on me, and more than anything I wanted to slam my hands on the table and demand to know what the hell happened at my home. Strangers had always nerved me, and I knew I would stay in my chair and pretend to involve myself in the meal, quietly slinking into the atmosphere until the moment came where the table would be cleared and all attention would be on me. The picture of the polite, innocent girlfriend. Across the table, Tonks was laughing with Ginny as if she had not engaged in some sort of combat in Ottery at all, and I was momentarily dumbfounded to see her pink hair an electric blue.

I must have been still and silent for too long as I felt a sharp flick on my cheek. The glare Fred caught from the corner of my eye was countered with a wink.

"Hey, Ella," he said, nudging me with enough force that my fork missed my mouth and spread sauce on my cheek.

"What?" I hissed, figuring that I couldn't ignore his obvious attempts to capture my attention without arousing suspicion from the others as I wiped my face clean with the nearest napkin.

"Can I have your meatball?"

Glancing at his plate I noticed he had shoved his vegetables to the side and had only a bit of pasta left. Knowing Fred, he had already spooned seconds and maybe even thirds of the meatballs onto his plate and was fully conscious of his mother's eyes on him, the laser-like squint burning his skin into allowing everyone else to have their share. His carefully tilted body, I noticed, blocked Mrs Weasley from seeing me completely. Even if I wasn't hungry and had no intention of eating it myself, I decided to let him squirm.

"That's no way to treat your guest, Frederick," I said, piercing the ball of meat with my fork and holding it in front of me.

"Not my house, so I'm technically a guest too," he retorted, eyes following my fork. "And it's Fred."

"Well, Frederick, you put it in my plate, therefore it's mine." Slowly, I brought the fork to my lips and scraped my teeth along the saucy round ball, taking the smallest of bites.

"I'm a growing boy," he uttered somewhat desperately.

He paused abruptly, instantly tickling my suspicions at what his next words were going to be. I knew it was unfair of me to go down that road, knowing how clueless he was to the mechanics of the female mind, but anything to give me a stronger ground for my anger towards him was worth it.

"Oh? So what am I?"

"Big enough." It was a quick reply, one he obviously didn't take time to think about. My assumption of his addition was right, but it still hurt, and I wondered why I even bothered asking when I knew it would only dampen my mood further. Yes, I needed more ammunition, but I had enough as it was. This was me intentionally hurting myself more. Maybe I deserved it, the harsh reality that no ally would willingly bestow. Was I telling myself to get used to it? To not blanket myself under a temporary shield of comfort? Because that was all it would be – temporary.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I brought the meatball closer to my mouth, giving the appearance of eating it whole.

"Wanna see what Tonks taught me?" he asked quickly. Before I could even contemplate his question my chair was turned until I was facing him, the screeching of the legs on the wooden floor pulling his siblings' eyes to us.

"Is it too difficult to allow me a moment of peace to actually eat my dinner?" I growled under my breath.

"That's not an answer," he countered with a flick on the nose. I was struck with an urge to bite his finger. The ease of simply being with him, acting ordinary and forgetting everything around us was addicting, and I allowed him to take my arm. The positioning of his hands had my eyes widening, but before I could object he twisted the skin under his palms in opposing directions until I yelped at the intense burn.

"Ah! You tosser!" The exclamation left my mouth as his hands retreated from the red patch of skin, laughing at what I could only imagine was my bewildered expression. My hands did nothing to soothe my aching arm.

"Only for you, babe," he winked, taking advantage of my distraction and grabbed my fork, popping the meatball into his mouth. Twirling the now empty fork into the air, he added, "Sirius actually gave a hand with that as well, now that I think about it."

My hands froze, as did the low rumble of the discussion around the table. Across the table Sirius stared at the twin, eyes wide in alarm as it shifted between him and a glowering Mrs Weasley who had not missed my insult, nor his words. Noticing the attention of everyone, Fred mulled over his words. Seeming to come to the same conclusion as everyone else, he choked and stumbled over correcting himself. "N-no, not like that! I wouldn't – not Sirius – I don't – he's not – only Ella – old mags…oh shit."

"Fred Weasley," Mrs Weasley hissed as he buried his face in his hands, "You had better not be doing anything indecent or so help me…"

She didn't need to finish, her low voice and threat carrying over everyone. I shivered in my spot even though it was not aimed at me. I wondered if anyone else had a similar reaction.

"Got it, mum," Fred said, his voice muffled in the small air of space between his mouth and hands. His earlier wit at being reprimanded by his mother was nowhere to be seen. He was thoroughly embarrassed.

Ginny murmured under her breath, sending her surroundings into low chuckles, all silenced with a fierce glare by Fred. Even George couldn't help but be amused.

His humiliation did not last very long fortunately for him, as plates were soon cleared and dessert was set down. Halfway through digging up my sticky toffee pudding into a pile of sweet smelling brown mush, I had enough of the idle chatter and the twins' sniggers at whatever. How these people could sit as if there was no looming danger on the horizon, I didn't know. But they were not the ones who had been living under constant worry over a suspected ambush.

Setting my fork down, I cleared my throat, eyes flying over the numerous heads until they fell upon the one person who could answer me honestly, one who I hadn't registered before.

"Profes – Moody."

The wizard looked up from his plate and grunted. "Ella. Good to see you in one piece."

Catching the attention of the acting superior, Molly Weasley slammed her spoon down. "Alastor! Really, now, is this the time?"

"It's better a time than any," he answered, his magical eye swirling over to her direction. "Much better than you aiming to extend her waiting."

She visibly huffed at the offhand comment. "The poor girl looks like she hasn't eaten in days, of course I want her to get her energy up before you bombard her with all the information. The last thing we need is her fainting over her food."

"If you'd actually been keeping as much of an eye on her as you appear to be doing you'd have noticed she can't stomach much of anything right now. She wants answers."

Their interaction was like a fast paced tennis match, both equally matched in their verbal responses, the intensity of their hits just as winding. The urge to slink down into my seat was pulling, one which took great strength to ignore. My eyes fell to the brown mush, guilt suddenly filling me for not appreciating the dinner.

"This is an Order matter," Mrs Weasley stated firmly, standing with her hands planted on the table, as either a gesture to stabilise herself from jumping up too quickly or to stop from grabbing her wand, I didn't know. "Let the kids finish off their food before we get to business."

Apparently the thought of being left out of my business was too much of a task for Fred.

"I'm not a kid," he exclaimed, "And I'm not leaving until I know what's happened either. What's this about?"

In an act of unity George too crossed his arms over his chest and sat up that little bit straighter, determined not to back down. I had to hand it to those boys, maintaining eye contact in defiance of their mother with their mother was something to admire.

Strengthening their argument, the twin added, "She's my girlfriend. I had to leave her without a word and I'm not about to leave her now."

My lips tugged down at the corners as I turned to face Fred, the new piece of information sparking my curiosity. So he hadn't left me uninformed purposely. He did care. The knowledge warmed me from the inside, easing some of the tension from my body.

Everyone had stopped eating. I would have fidgeted would it not have threatened to snap the curious eyes that were on the fiery Weasleys to me.

With as much stealth as I could muster, I snuck my hand over to Fred's leg and squeezed, watching his posture soften minutely. A wild temper was easily mollified through a simple touch when it came to the twins.

"He's right, Molly, they're of age. And Ella is important to them – to us. It's only right."

The three-way glaring contest was broken by a new voice. The man sat at the opposite end of the table to Mrs Weasley. I had noticed his presence upon my entering the room after changing into something more appropriate than a towel (which consists of just about anything other than a pillow case) but keeping my head down had deflected his attempts in engaging a conversation. If everything the twins had told me was true, Mr Weasley was sure to have dug into my mind on all things muggle at the first moment of eye contact.

Now, the eye contact was minimal. He sent me a quick wink through his glasses before returning his gaze to his wife. If ever there was a picture for a perfectly contrasting couple it would be Molly and Arthur Weasley. Their love and honesty was obvious to everyone, it was simply their approach that differed.

"They can know," Moody spoke up, successfully trumping the opposing argument. "Ella will tell them anyway."

"Fine – fine!" Mrs Weasley threw her arms up before pointing them at the three youngest. "But you are to go straight to your rooms. This is none of your concern."

Almost immediately Ron fired up.

"Tell us about Harry then! You're hiding something to do with him – he concerns us."

In spite of her obvious apprehension at defying the Weasley matriarch, Hermione sat rigid and nodded alongside Ron.

"Absolutely not! You don't have the excuse of being of age like your brothers. Now off to bed!"

The order was not respected peacefully, as Ron grumbled as he stomped out of the kitchen and all the way up the stairs while Ginny purposely kicked against the chairs. Hermione, the ever dutiful adolescent, followed quietly. The trudging of footsteps could be heard until the slamming of a door, leaving the house in a tense silence. Now that the focus was to be on me, I kept my gaze away from the adults in the room. Even more – I didn't even dare look at Fred, removing my hand to my lap.

"Always a flair for dramatics, that little Weasley," said Sirius, chuckling. "Kind of brattish."

"Now, now, Sirius, we all can relate to having experienced temper tantrums from someone before…wild pups especially have a short fuse," quipped Remus.

The man waved the comment off, taking his goblet in hand and draining his drink. "It's the big dogs you have to watch out for – the wild ones hiding behind a façade of quiet."

"Are you two quite done?" Mrs Weasley snapped. Waving her wand, the dishes left by the younger Gryffindors levitated up into the air and zoomed out of the dining room into what I presumed was the kitchen.

"Gotta love a good pun, Molly. And it always works to clear the air."

"Not when it sounds like a bunch of gibberish to those who don't have a clue," she muttered to Sirius before focusing on Moody. "You know the most, go on then. Let's get it over with."

Licking the spoon clean, Moody dropped it, sitting up straighter and zeroed his eyes on me. His posture, the slightly hunched back over interlocked fingers resting before him reminded me of an interrogation, the ones shown in dramatic soap operas. If Moody was playing Bad Cop I could only guess who would take on the role of Good Cop. From the looks of it Mr Weasley was at the top of the list, although it didn't seem as if he'd be getting much say in the matters to come.

Before Moody could begin, a waft of air blew in my ear from the side alongside whispered words from Fred.

"Sirius is an animagus – unregistered, so don't go blabbing it around, missy."

"Yeah, we all know what a big mouth you have, Ella," George added, having to lean forward to see me from around Fred.

"Oh, and Remus is a werewolf, but you don't have to worry about him. I'm sure you've read all sorts of stuff about them but that's all stereotypical bullshit."

Apparently, their words were not as quiet as they had thought, as Mrs Weasley's exclamation of, "Boys!" had them grinning innocently and sitting up straight, rosy cheeked in anything but a cherubic expression. Across the table, Remus was watching me, having heard the twins, most likely ascertaining my reaction. I attempted to smile, sending a physical reassurance that I was not worried, not that the information settled in my frenzied mind anyway. I found my facial muscles heavy on my face, failing to cooperate, and I internally grimaced at how it probably appeared.

"Any ideas on what's been happening down your end?" Moody asked at first, once again taking on the responsibility to silence whatever the Weasleys would come out with, then shook his head and waved his question off. "Never mind that, I don't think anyone here has time or patience for assumptions. Moving on, Dumbledore hasn't seen you since our last visit so you've been clueless and confused, I get that. Tonks and some other Order members have been taking turns guarding your house, you don't need to know who, but after what's happened tonight, Dumbledore has agreed to reveal why."

"…why?" I prompted, holding my breath when he didn't continue in what I could only guess was for dramatic effect seeing as his eyes never left me. Warmth engulfed the hand resting on my lap.

"You're being watched. Have been for quite some time now. Even before this year, if you believe it or not. Only, they're getting desperate and have been letting their guard down more. At least, that's what we initially believed."

"Who?" It was George who asked when I failed to open my mouth. Simply breathing was difficult let alone forming actual words to create a coherent sentence. Fred squeezed my hand and I found myself gripping tighter.

Moody's eyes never wavered. "Thorfinn Rowle. A Death Eater."

"What the fuck!" came Fred's outburst, no longer my pillar of strength, rather an explosive powder keg that had only just been lit.

"Fred!"

"She's been living alone with a bloody Death Eater stalking her. Why didn't anyone tell me? How long has this been going on for, exactly? Merlin…"

"Why's there a Death Eater watching her anyway?" George frowned, controlling his anger that little bit more than his twin.

As charming as Fred's protectiveness was, I could not understand his anger. I was more confused, knowing my father and his affiliations and his intentions on wanting me back – for what reason, I did not know – but the name rang no bells. Others would have done, such as Dolohov, Malfoy, the Carrows, and even Gibbon. Vague physical features, but still something. There was no face to go with Rowle. I wondered for a moment whether it was indeed the command of Yaxley to have this person follow me. Perhaps it was the work of some other…but going down that route had me on the verge of a bigger headache, and it was hardly likely.

"We don't know that yet," Moody continued. "Our undercover is busy handling with the information regarding You-Know-Who. Information regarding him is of the utmost importance."

"What about Dumbledore?" Fred asked, cooling slightly. I shook his hand off mine but he didn't seem to notice. Either that, or he was too engrossed in what Moody had to say.

"Dumbledore is busy doing everything under the sun. He's done as much as he can for now. He has his priorities, and unfortunately, Ella, the wizarding world comes slightly above you."

A shaky smile formed on my lips in understanding. I couldn't fault Dumbledore – as Moody said, he had done what he could. Finding out which exact Death Eater was outside my house was a relief, knowing that the thing in the corner of my eye was not my mind playing tricks on me. I wasn't going crazy. And yet, finding out that it wasn't my mind projecting dancing shadows wasn't that very consoling. There was someone outside my home, following me to and from work, watching my every move. It was a huge invasion of privacy and had me feeling…dirty. Add to that the possibility that he was a danger to me, proven by the fact that he had entered my house tonight. As much as I didn't want to think of the varying possibilities of what he was going to do, a list already printed itself in my mind. None of them were nice, the word wasn't even factored in a Death Eater's vocabulary.

Dumbledore and Moody had visited me that day I went to Mrs Figg's. He had mentioned putting protective charms around my house, did that mean nothing if the man just walked inside? Were they strong enough? I hadn't doubted it before, and I shouldn't have now, not when I took into account the amount of people who trusted Dumbledore's magical capabilities. He was the strongest wizard of the time.

So why was a lowly Death Eater able to step over the threshold?

Resting my elbows on the wooden table I began rubbing my temples with the tips of my fingers in circular motions, hoping to ease the tension building.

"I don't get this," I groaned. "What happened to those protective spells you and Dumbledore used? Why didn't they work? That man just walked in when I was in the shower. I doubt he had a key unless he stole it off of Zoe. But that doesn't sound right."

"You're right, he didn't use a key. The spell we used was a simple one. No, not the Alohamora type simple, but one in which a smart person would be safe while being able to see what was happening for themselves."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not stupid."

"Could have fooled me," he snorted. I grit my teeth from cursing. "The spell requires the person inside to permit the other to come in. Dumbledore deemed it suitable for your case because he thought you'd be smart enough to catch on to what was happening and maybe even question the baboon. Rowle isn't exactly the smartest Death Eater – possibly one of the weakest in league so far which was why he was sent to watch over you. We didn't think he had any orders to confront you. He's been keeping his distance all this time. Lucky Tonks was there and knocked him out. If it was the other guard…"

"Wait…'all this time'? How long have you guys known Rowle's been at my house?"

"Only this summer, that's for sure."

"But you mentioned years before…" I trailed off, thinking back on the information. Perhaps I'd heard him wrong.

"When we were going around your property we found traces of residual magic. Faint bits here and there, mainly from apparation. From what we could tell, it wasn't Rowle, he tended to apparate away from your house. Even so, it wasn't detected from his wand."

"How would you know something like that? The type of magic from certain wands?" I asked, sitting back in my chair when my fingers did nothing to soothe my headache.

"Ollivander is always up for helping Dumbledore, he's the wand-maker. Sorry, forgot you have no reason to know him."

"No, I do, vaguely." There was no reason for my interruption. It was true, I could vaguely recall the name from stories told in my early childhood, before my being labelled a squib. The others in the room came to my attention, so I surmised it was a subconscious attempt to conform, to not sound so bloody stupid in front of wizards and witches and level myself to them.

Ignoring my input, Moody carried on. "He offered some information which was how we came to our conclusion. At first, Ollivander was guarded about letting on who it was that had apparated to and from your garden, but with some gentle prodding from Dumbledore he coughed up."

"Do I want to know?"

"Of course you do," Fred interjected sharply. "What kind of a question is that?"

I turned my attention to him. "It was years ago, and who's to say it wasn't Bill? I know he used the Floo most times, but that's not to say he didn't apparate from time to time. And the timing seems consistent."

"Listen to yourself! You had a bat shit crazy Death Eater watching you from your property, and it's possible there've been more, and you don't want to know who? Are you mad?" Fred exclaimed, once again grabbing onto my arms to stare me down.

"No," I shook my head.

"Why not?" Fred demanded.

"Get off me."

"Ella…"

"Oh, leave off already, will you?"

Like a slingshot retracting Fred fell back into his own chair once again, his face turned away. I sighed.

"Anything else I should know?" I asked Moody, hoping he would put a full stop to this night so I could crawl into bed.

"Have you ever heard of Rowle before?"

Once again I wracked my brain for anything on the Death Eater only to hit the blank wall that separated my early childhood from my earliest memories. I was too tired to do the simple task of matching a face to the name. "No. Never. Is he a new Death Eater?"

"He fought in the first war but isn't known for having actively searched for Voldemort, not that we know of anyway. Has a thing for fire."

"What – like a pyromaniac?"

"Ay," Moody nodded, staring down into the tablecloth as if drowning in a pensieve of a distant memory. I could almost see the burning embers in his real eye. "Wild and reckless, but reigns himself in enough to obey orders."

This didn't add up. He was reckless and yet obeyed orders, most likely only to Voldemort. But what reason would he have to have Rowle watch me? No, that couldn't be right. And how did Yaxley fit in to all of this? Surely he could not order around Thorfinn. Uh! Information overload. Headache, headache! My hands strayed to my forehead again. Rubbing it didn't help. Shutting my eyes and covering them with one hand alleviated the harsh light burning my eyes somewhat.

"This…Rowle bloke. Who the hell is he?!" I groaned quietly, growing frustrated with every passing second. "Why did he deviate from his routine and try to come inside today?"

"We can't be sure, not unless he had him for interrogation. But now that you're no longer at your house, he won't be either. He's stupid, but it won't take him too long to find an empty house, especially now that he's been given consent to go inside."

"You should have told me about the bloody spell," I grumbled unconsciously. Opening my eyes, I blinked away the blurs until Moody's lumpy form came into focus. "I still don't understand. Anything."

Moody stayed still and silent, and it was Mr Weasley who spoke up next. "You've gotten what you wanted, the knowledge on what happened tonight. Everyone here is now up to date, and none the clearer as to your involvement in…anything. I say we all get some sleep now and revisit this topic at a later date, when we do know more. Hopefully, by then Dumbledore will have his plate organised a bit so he can shed some light." He clapped his hands together. "But let's not wait anxiously."

"Right," Mrs Weasley barked, standing up. "We've all had an enlightening evening. Goodnight everyone! Boys – you're to be up nice and early in the morning. Ella, I'll show you to your room. And let's see if we can find you some proper pyjamas, you're drowning in Fred's old clothes."

The twins apparated away before listening to their mother addressing them. I tried not to dwell on the tension and followed Mrs Weasley through the shadowed hallways and up the stairs to the third floor.

"I'm afraid the girls have no space left for you to share with them so you get a room to yourself. Now, it's not the cosiest place in the world but you'll have to make do – we all do. Arthur and I sleep on this floor as well, and Fred and George's room is down the hall past our room. I'm sure you'll respect privacy and decency. You're a good girl."

I could barely hear Mrs Weasley ramble on as she escorted me to my room, the four walls that would be my new abode for God knows how long. Upon entering the room I saw darkness, and with the aid of lumos green walls.

As soon as the door was shut behind Mrs Weasley I sighed for seemingly the thousandth time, knowing I wouldn't get a decent sleep from the friction between Fred. I heard her footsteps going back down the stairs, presumably to clear the lingering mess, and then tiptoed out of the room and rushed across the landing into the room I identified as the twins', hoping we could kiss and make up and go back to normal. And sleep.

Another author's note! Hello! What a surprise. I was going to make this chapter longer and include the reconciliation with Fred but I didn't want this chapter getting too long and to include that bit I'd had to have written it first.

PS. Should I stick to one author's note at the top? At the bottom? Both? Neither? I'd love to know what you guys prefer.