Thank you guys for the continued support :)
One of these POV's is a bit different from the rest in the sense that it is first person/present tense. To avoid confusion about timelines or such, I'd like to state here that it's purely a stylistic choice because it fits the character better in my opinion, there is no deeper meaning.
As for the letters int he first POV, on FFN there is unfortunately no formatting possibility to strike through words/sentences, so I've written two different versions for each: the first ones are the drafts, the second ones the actual letters that got sent out.
Chapter 102 – The Weasley parade
Molly
Life had been quieter than feared since the evening the world had been turned upside down. She'd advised her oldest son to retreat for now, without speaking of the gnawing guilt over having put him in danger in the first place. Friends were scattered, afraid to talk or show themselves. Others apparently hadn't been honest for a while already and Molly was glad those hadn't hounded her home with defensive explanations.
One of her friends was dead.
Taking a break from staring at the dishcloth cleaning plates by itself, she sat down on a stool and turned the radio on instead. A music channel – she couldn't stand the news nowadays, news that pretended all was well – and turned the volume up louder than strictly necessary to drown out her own thoughts.
''Mum? Mum!'' Awaking from shock, Molly saw the dishes were clean already, the overzealous cloth now polishing all else in reach, from candlesticks to shoes. Shooting to her feet and brushing a couple of loose strands behind her ears, she pretended to be busy, grabbing the thing before it could try cleaning one of the pesky gnomes that had snuck in and was attempting to break into a cupboard. When footsteps had hammered down all stairs and her daughter entered the kitchen with much ado and wild gestures of annoyance, she was actually busy, flinging the gnome out of the window.
The music stopped as Ginny's hand slammed on the button, an exasperated look on her face that only a teenager could manage without looking comical. ''Mum! Luna was just about to teach me a lullaby for fairies when your banshee singers started blaring!''
''Celestina Warbeck is not-''
Just as quickly as she'd come, Ginny had flown up the stairwell again, leaving a frustrated Molly behind. Not for the first time, she was grateful for having had only one set of twins. Two Ginnys would undoubtedly have made more ruckus than Fred and George ever had. To make better use of her hands, Molly grabbed parchment, quill and ink, spreading the writing equipment out across the kitchen table.
It was the same battle as every day.
Dear Percy,
I hope this letter finds you as well as the previous dozen -
We wish you'd come visit occasionally, we don't even need to talk if you don't want to -
Dad saw you at work yesterday, it would be nice if you could at least return his greetings -
Dear Percy,
We're thinking about you. Enjoy the hobnobs – still your favourite?
Dear Ron,
Since you've ignored all other warnings so far, I won't start with another one this time -
Please give us a sign you and Harry are okay, please visit, please get out of there -
Wake up wake up wake up and give Harry a good kick in the -
There's some ginger nuts attached to share with whomever is nice enough not to commit murder-
Dear Ron,
We hope you're safe and that you won't stay away all summer.
There's some ginger nuts attached to share.
Dear Bill,
We're sorry for endangering you -
We know you're an adult now, but -
The Order is finished, live your life instead -
Dear Bill,
Your dad and I are thinking of dropping by soon when things ease up.
Stay safe. Have some madeleines.
By the time the ink on the first three short letters was dry, there was barely any spare parchment left due to all the crumpled drafts that Molly vanished with a flick of her wand. She hoped they'd respond positively, having learned by now how to filter more and more of her actual thoughts. Well, it was anyone's guess with Percy, who hadn't responded as of yet, but Ron did now and then answer, replies shorter the more she'd nagged. Ever since her son had sent a one-liner stating that 'Insulting You-Know-Who is insulting Harry and I won't respond to that' she'd been far more careful.
Molly breathed easier when writing messages to Charlie and the Twins, able to focus on everyday topics such as their jobs and asking about friends without a feel of impending doom constricting her throat.
When calling Errol and tying the envelopes and packages on the old bird's back as his claws had gotten too weak to hold a scrap, she daydreamed of the past. Days filled with boisterous liveliness and joy at the dinner table, celebrations with all her children present, politics not yet having torn into their household like a tornado.
At least Ginny was home this summer, Molly cheered herself up. This year thankfully without another boyfriend. She was proud that her daughter was focusing on school instead, only having sleepovers with her childhood friend who followed Ginny around like a lost kitten. This Lovegood was almost as strange as her father, but Molly much preferred having the quiet girl floating around the Burrow than boys who tried to sneak into Ginny's bedroom when thinking everyone was asleep.
''Hey mum?'' she heard when Errol was but a speck on the horizon – which had taken at least half an hour. Turning around, she was surprised to see Ginny and her friend enter from the front yard. Grass stains covered their robes, twigs were stuck in blonde and ginger hair both. Before Molly could ponder on what sport the girls could have possibly been playing to get this dirty (as far as she was aware, Luna didn't play Quidditch) she could only focus on worry when her distraught daughter continued with: ''Dad's home early. And err… he has a split lip.''
Arthur
(30 minutes earlier)
With a spectacular dive, Arthur hid behind his desk – quite the feat considering his office was about the size of a broom cupboard and could barely fit the two desks crammed inside of it, let alone the number of artefacts not yet properly disenchanted and a mountain of paperwork. He almost slipped on a boxing telescope. A large part of his job for the past few months had sadly consisted of checking the legality of his own sons' inventions.
''Is he gone again?'' Arthur panted, peeking up at his colleague, who sighed deeply, shuffled his chair a foot to the left and stuck his wrinkled head out the door.
''Not a single blond hair in sight.''
''Good. Merlin.'' Arthur exhaled slowly and attempted to calm his beating heart.
''Care to tell me why you're playing this game of tag with a man you wholeheartedly despise?''
Smiling apologetically, Arthur pushed his askew glasses properly onto his nose again and stood, brushing off a bunch of self-sticking notes that were trying their very hardest to turn his cloak into a colourful masterpiece of paper. ''It's a secret, sorry Andri.''
It was a good enough answer for his colleague to stop asking the same question for at least a few days. Andri Perkins was a very typical, old-fashioned wizard who liked nothing more than to live a quiet and comfortable life free of drama or secrets. It was why he'd ended up working under Arthur in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office: a love for the status quo of keeping all as it should be to not cause complications for anyone. Muggle items should stay Muggle, and magical ones should stay magical, in Andri's eyes. It was perhaps a better attitude to have for the job than Arthur himself had, always itching to snatch an item or two away to try out new spells in his not-so-legal workspace at home.
At least his own illegal hobby was mostly harmless as he ensured not to actually use the enchanted objects on anyone. Malfoy on the other hand… Now his active involvement with You-Know-Who was so blatant and not a mere rumour of the past, Arthur wasn't sure that he wanted to know about all Lucius Malfoy got up to in his spare time. It was thus highly concerning that they appeared to run into each other at every corner at work. Andri might think that Arthur was actively following Malfoy around, but he had no such intention. He rather suspected the snob to be looking for ways to corner him ever since coming face to face with You-Know-Who. At least his own office was a Malfoy-free zone. None of that lot would ever set foot in a space that contained more than zero Muggle trinkets.
''Well well, who do we have here…''
Freezing, Arthur turned around to the unpleasant sight of Lucius Malfoy leaning on his over-the-top serpentine cane. Compared to Andri and himself, Malfoy looked entirely out of place in his tailored velvet robes and ridiculous little black hat with silver stitching. Unfortunately, that clash of cultures no longer seemed to be enough to deter the despicable man from showing up in this corner of the Ministry. Arthur had clearly played tag too long even for a Slytherin's patience.
''It should hardly be a surprise to find me in my own office,'' he scowled, wanting to scream at not even Muggle junk being enough to keep the devil away. Briefly, he looked down at the floor and wondered if Malfoy could cast a Protego charm in less time than Arthur could pick up and hurl the boxing telescope at his enemy.
''Truly? I wasn't quite sure whether you actually worked here, so figured I'd have better chances catching your attention while you were running errands in the corridors like a House-Elf or hanging around in the lunchroom for free scraps. Well, no matter.'' He raised the cane and tapped on the metal sign right next to the office door. A typical, small mean smile settled on the pale face. ''You do take your visitor hours seriously, I presume. Need to look good for inspections?''
Had Malfoy seriously just waited around the corner for three minutes for the visitor hours to start?
''What do you want,'' he ground out.
''A little chat about children.''
Arthur blinked. ''Is that a threat…?'' Anger bubbled up, the topic a very sore point after no less than three of his sons had decided to break away from their family and the others barely came home anymore either.
''Perkins,'' Lucius called out, ignoring the question. ''I'm sure you can handle any non-existent visitors by yourself. Weasley, follow along. In case you are inclined to refuse, do remember who has the upper hand regarding this specific topic.''
Certainly a threat. It was wondrous how much further Malfoy's esteem could sink in Arthur's eyes. Implying having access to the children in question had accomplished just that. A spark of logic just about overcame his rage, but it'd been a close call. Stalking after the pampered fop, Arthur's steps only faltered when Lucius led them right to where he'd just insinuated Arthur to spend the majority of his time: the lunchroom. More specifically though, they went around the main area, right past the golden ribbon that separated the rabble from the bosses and the good old mash from much smaller plates of potato croquettes. Classicism at its finest that was often a central point of jabs between Arthur and his colleagues when on break.
Two of whom had apparently just finished their own lunch and were now not so sneakily walking up to Arthur right before he was about to cross the usually forbidden ribbon of snobbishness.
''Hey Arthur,'' Bob spoke, eyes flicking back and forth between him and the odd company, a forced smile appearing on the round, bearded face. ''You okay there, pal? Don't forget we were about to have a meeting in five minutes.'' Having received no notice of such a meeting happening, let alone a briefing on what said meeting would be about, Arthur knew Bob was simply offering an excuse to get away from this bizarre situation.
''Not in trouble, are you?'' a far less subtle Ralphonse nervously babbled.
''All good,'' he answered, clearing his throat. ''Just a friendly chat… Let's delay our conference to fifteen minutes from now, alright? If I'm not back by then- er… you know. Inform Molly not to wait for me with dinner, then.''
Molly always waited with dinner. It didn't matter how long his shifts were, she'd prepare food for the kids, then wait with taking a single bite herself until they could share their meal. It was one of the many, soft ways his wife insisted on showing appreciation for his work, and at the same time made Arthur always hurry home as fast as he possible so she wouldn't go hungry. So, if anyone were to inform her to go ahead… she'd not need the clock to show he was in mortal peril.
With thumping heart, Arthur followed the pompous prick into the adjoining room, praying silently that it'd be otherwise empty now that it was twelve thirty. Breaktime differed depending on the department – his own had ended half an hour ago - but there were few that had theirs this late. He internally groaned when scanning the tables. There indeed weren't many people. However…
Yaxley. Gibbon. Avery. All of Malfoy's – and thus You-Know-Who's – cronies at the Ministry of Magic who'd slithered their slippery selves into positions of note were of course present, as well as a handful of higher-ups he only vaguely knew the names off. Whether the Weasley reputation preceded him or if it was the second-hand robes, everyone here knew that he did not belong, looks of disdain being thrown left and right. He had to stay classy, Arthur decided, inhaling deeply as he followed Malfoy's lead to the table where Yaxley and an Auror he thought was called Proudfoot were sitting. If he wouldn't be, Malfoy would bite down on every ill mannerism and declare it a fault of bad breeding.
Shockingly, Yaxley openly cast a silencing barrier around the four of them. Was it not considered rude to state so clearly that eavesdropping wouldn't be appreciated, while in the presence of people who were also their bosses? His gaze flicked to Avery and Gibbon, who both sat at different tables. If not for the fact that both men met his stare the same second he looked at them before turning their attention elsewhere, Arthur could almost have been fooled that they weren't interested at all.
Well, at least this barrier meant there was no need for feigning too much courtesy. He ignored the plates that appeared with an array of expensive food to get straight to the point: ''What urgent matters concerning my children do you need to speak about, Malfoy?''
''Yours?'' the other scoffed. Cold grey eyes, as unfeeling as a fortress wall, narrowed. ''This is about mine. Yours are simply… unfortunate collateral, should anything happen to mine.'' Confused, Arthur didn't even jerk backwards when the dangerous man leaned over the table with a sneer. ''Something happened at the Dark Lord's house that night. Something involving you and your… litter. Harry has been distraught and secretive ever since, only letting slip to my wife that he was fine, in that annoyingly obvious tone he always uses when lying. So, Weasley… What did you lot do to hurt him?''
Baffled, Arthur stared at Lucius Malfoy. ''Hurt?'' he echoed. ''You think I hurt Harry?''
''The evidence is obvious,'' Malfoy huffed, leaning back again and spreading his arms. ''My Lord's plans worked out, the threat of Dumbledore is gone, Harry is surrounded by people who care deeply about him. And yet,'' At the biting word, Arthur could only concentrate on the single finger that was suddenly threateningly raised in front of his nose. ''Yet he remains crestfallen, a tiny bit more each time one of yours – with the exception of your youngest son – is mentioned. A little bit more with each letter your son receives, too. Now, I'm not above using pain to get my answers, but I thought I might try the civil route first, show how real wizards deal with conflict. As opposed to raiding a house in the middle of the night to extract unwilling children.''
Unable to believe his ears, he heatedly retorted: ''We thought they were kidnapped. Ron certainly was!'' Malfoy was attempting to turn this whole ordeal on him? As if You-Know-Who regularly plucked children out of perilous situations to save their lives and shelter them? He turned to Proudfoot, then. ''Aren't you an Auror, a dark-wizard-hunter? Are you really going to sit here and listen while Malfoy confesses to being loyal to You-Know-Who?''
Proudfoot just looked bored and yawned. ''We Aurors have such a strange reputation. I hunt criminals, Weasley. The way I see it, you conspired in a break-and-enter recently, did you not?'' At the words, Yaxley let out an unkind laugh, though both men got silenced by an irritated wave of Lucius' hand.
''I'm not interested in counter-questions, Weasley. What did you say to him?''
Truth be told, Arthur genuinely could not figure out what he could have said to upset Harry so. No direct words had been exchanged that day, as he'd been far too conflicted to ask any of the questions that had arisen after first listening to Ron's, then Harry's story.
Arthur grabbed his wand arm, which had been struck most severely by the fangs of You-Know-Who's wicked serpent, an attack Harry had warned his professors about before Bill had had a chance to, barely half a year ago. Harry had been family and had recently saved Arthur's life, the main argument raised against any nonsense suspicions of possession. To then find out that Harry not only swore allegiance to the Dark Lord years ago, but was living with the blood-thirsty tyrant, was romantically attached to his parent's murderer, was a shock too severe to quickly recover from.
His answer of 'We didn't speak' clearly wasn't satisfactory. The addition of 'Our letters are only addressed to Ron' even less so. Truth be told, Arthur wasn't fully aware of the content of the letters sent to their children, as Molly always wrote those whenever he was at work and only gave brief summaries. They'd both agreed not to make the boy's life harder by directly criticising him through written response though, trying to appeal to Ron first. Hearing each letter sent to their son dropped Harry's mood did make him wonder if Molly had stuck to that agreement…
You-Know-Who's clique clearly started to lose patience with each vague answer. For all of his faults though, Lucius Malfoy at least made a decent father. Even if Arthur couldn't give the snobbish peacock the information he was after, giving a warning between worried fathers was the least he could do.
''I don't think it's me you should be concerned about,'' he thus spoke. ''Do you know what you oh so holy Lord is doing to Harry?''
''The Dark Lord protects him.''
There was more than unwavering loyalty in Malfoy's voice, a very telling tinge of concern that made Arthur press on: ''Is that what you call it? If an adult would protect my children that way, I'd have a few curses ready on the tip of my wand. He made the boy dependent, then took advantage.''
''They're barely past courting,'' Malfoy snapped, ignoring Yaxley's disturbed look and the accompanied whispered 'past?' ''It is an advantageous match that my wife and I are monitoring as best we can. I do not see how this is relevant to my questions.''
Arthur released a frustrated sigh, leaning back and lifting his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. Here he'd hoped they'd see eye-to-eye on this, at the very least. But no… Malfoy would be the type to turn a blind eye and fool himself into thinking it was 'for the family'. It was rather absurd that they were having this discussion surrounded by bystanders who were trying to bury their heads in the sand regarding You-Know-Who's return. A single rip in the silencing barrier… Cancelling it during a damning sentence was tempting, but this possibility was likely one of the reasons why the other two Death Eaters were keeping watch.
''I care about Harry,'' he admitted softly. ''I simply cannot understand the choices he has made, or gauge if they were indeed his independent choices. My wife and I have both tried to distance ourselves until we know what to say and how to proceed. It isn't made easier by Ron deciding to remain firmly at his friend's side. If it is our silence that is hurting Harry, I am sorry. At the moment, however, we cannot offer more. How would you have reacted if you'd found Draco among the Order of the Phoenix, swooning in the arms of Albus Dumbledore? Surely you can understand my scepticism about this entire situation when you lot disown children for daring to look twice at a Muggle.''
The look of horror on all three faces would have been funny if they hadn't been discussing such a serious topic. Malfoy's skin had turned ashen. Somehow, Arthur felt that it shouldn't have been such a stretch for them to get where he was coming from. Did these people simply… accept everything You-Know-Who did as justified and rational? Why? Obvious concern aside, it didn't make the Malfoys any more sympathetic when they were clearly barking up the wrong tree about 'hurting Harry Potter'.
Feeling obligated to impart some common sense before quietly leaving this nest of snakes behind, Arthur cleared his throat and said: ''Learning how to communicate can do wonders. You might have been too direct when speaking to Harry, he's known to be a bit avoidant when it comes to his own well-being. Simply offer a listening ear or ask about his day instead of demanding to know who hurt him.''
''Did that work out between you and Percival?'' Malfoy shot back with a sneer.
Or maybe there was just no saving bastards like these. His fist broke Malfoy's nose before Arthur even registered he'd moved at all.
Bill
''Ah, Madeleines?'' At the delighted exclamation, he handed the parcel to Fleur, who inspected one of the tiny cakes critically. '''Mmmm… your mozzer is learning,'' she added, deeming them adequate enough to take a bite.
''She was always a good baker,'' he backed his ma, albeit light-heartedly. This was just his girlfriend's way of expressing herself, one he found quite easy to take with a pinch of humour even if his mother had branded Fleur 'difficult' the one time he'd introduced them to each other – when they'd been friends still. Due to the raid that had gone so wrong, Bill had not had found the opportunity yet to inform his parents of the change in relationship. It felt wrong to do so via writing…
The letter tied to the cakes was short, only saying Your dad and I are thinking of dropping by soon when things ease up. Stay safe. There was much more to be read between the lines regarding their current situation, Bill thought with a slight frown. The last time they'd spoken in person had been under the watchful eyes and ears of You-Know-Who's followers. The air had been tense, their words scarce. Ever since, he'd not gone out much unless absolutely necessary for work, too cautious to be caught interacting with the few members of the Order who were still out there, nor sure if he wanted to.
The monster whose horror tales Bill's childhood had been filled with was keeping his little brother out of prison. The awkward, beat-down kid that Ron had dragged inside the Burrow like some sort of stray pup now commanded Death Eaters and appeared entirely comfortable in said monster's arms. Just a man, Harry had insisted during the only Order meeting the kid had been allowed to attend.
As You-Know-Who had politely accepted Bill's handshake, he was a tad more inclined to agree with that statement than before.
Sorting through the rest of the post, he flipped an envelope with unfamiliar handwriting, freezing upon seeing the crest. He should have better controlled his reaction, Bill inwardly cursed as slender arms snuck around his waist, quick as the wings of the Peregrine falcon on Fleur's family crest. ''What is wrong?'' she asked, peeking over his shoulder at the envelope before he had a chance to turn it back over. Here was to hoping the Dark mark was not as well-known in France-
''Oh…'' she breathed, plucking it from stiff fingers. He received a sharp look. ''When 'e interrogated me about our contact, I was told to wait for a sign. Zis may be it.''
''He?''
She motioned with a mysterious, languid wave of her hands to open the envelope instead of continuing his line of questioning. A gold-rimmed card was revealed.
Hereby cordially invited is
William Arthur Weasley
to partake in the upcoming celebration of the Great Sabbath of Lughnasadh in closed circles.
Refreshments and ritualistic ingredients are provided for.
For your safety, this invitation is only readable to the recipient.
Location accessible through enclosed Portkey only
to be activated on the 31st of July 1996 at six 'o clock in the evening
Formal attire required. Offerings encouraged.
The signature of interlacing letters did not reveal as much about the sender as the crest did. Had this been signed by You-Know-Who personally, or did these initials belong to an underling? Bill could certainly not make out 'Lord Voldemort' or any words that bore similarity. Troubled, he pulled a tiny Portkey out, a plain silver band on a chain. The band itself emanated a dangerous aura, rather uncommon for a regular Portkey and unnoticeable for anyone with an untrained eye. Being most certainly not a layman, he deposited it carefully on top of the other just-opened post before turning to his girlfriend.
''You know what this is,'' he calmly concluded from her earlier words. Despite the invitation only being readable for those it was addressed to, she seemed to know exactly what it had said. ''To what detail?''
''Ze charm on ze band is blood magic,'' Fleur half-answered. ''Which will extract a drop to show your name, an extra layer of security to avoid impostors sneaking in. Goblin spells, discovers any disguise less advanced zan Polyjuice Potion.''
A knot started to form in his stomach. ''Fleur-''
''I 'ave one too,'' she softly professed. ''Arrived shortly after I was visited by ze Dark Lord, ze day before yesterday.'' At his damning silence, she gracefully moved over to the windowsill, curling up to gaze at the ocean beyond. With nimble fingers, Fleur drew her silk shawl closer, a remnant of her school uniform that she kept for the sake of holding onto a dear memory. ''I know not many details of what dealings you 'ad wiz ze Dark Lord, Bill, but 'e gave me permission to speak of mine once receiving a sign.'' Slowly, carefully, he moved over to the window as Fleur's bare foot patted the wooden beam opposite where she was sitting in invitation. ''Zere is much I must tell you. Eet all started last year, wiz a group of beings and beasts being invited by my late grandmozzer…''
Bill listened with growing astonishment as she spoke of You-Know-Who fighting to free the oppressed for the sake of gaining allies, of Harry Potter convincing the man to do more than the bare minimum, of the way Fleur had been dragged further into the Dark Lord's schemes during a ball held at the Malfoys… They had been on opposite sides without Bills's knowledge all this time, Fleur printing a twisted version of the truth at times to leave You-Know-Who's enemies in the dark – although the covered news had been aimed at fooling the Ministry more than confusing Dumbledore. Her voice was exceptionally hoarse when her shocking tale was finished.
''All I spoke of will be present at zis… celebration,'' she replied when he asked about the amount she'd revealed. He'd not yet told Fleur of his own encounter with You-Know-Who in return, hadn't breathed a word about knowing of Harry's or Black's true allegiances. In spite of that, his girlfriend had not held back about their involvement. ''I want you to be prepared. More zan I was when a reporter dropped his mask in the living room of my parents' house and turned out to be a fearsome Dark Lord who slit a man's throat right zen and zere at ze behest of a Vampire. More zan I was too when encountering whom I had believed to be another serial killer at that Ball. Sirius Black was innocent, did you know?''
Bill shifted uncomfortably. Deep down, resentment rose at such important matters having been kept from him for so long. Was that a reasonable feeling, however, when his own involvement with the Order of the Phoenix had been a secret he'd not been ready to share so far either until an unknown point at which he would feel ready?
To think about that question, he did what his parents had always done when tempers flared up over one thing or the other: make tea.
A few steaming cups had a wonderfully calming effect on the nagging worry in his stomach and the doubts that had wormed into his head. It enabled rational thought: they'd bonded over work, a love for travelling and exploring other cultures, not over any proclamations of standing behind political organisations of any kind. Of course, whenever their worldviews had come up in conversation, those only marginally differed, but that he'd believed this to mean she could never be affiliated to the side he'd been fighting was not exactly her fault, was it? In fact, Fleur was adamant that her most important goal, rallying for equal rights of humans and non-humans alike, did not at all clash with the job she'd been ordered to take by You-Know-Who.
Bill slowly revealed his side of the story as well, even though she had already been informed of a few facts by You-Know-Who a couple of days prior. His girlfriend listened openly, attentively, no more hurling accusations of being secretive than he'd done.
They ended up at the beach, heads clearer when sniffing fresh air. When all was said and done, their hands found each other without hesitance.
''You're still the same amazing woman I bumped into at Gringotts, making short work of a rude customer,'' he decided, stopping to wrap her into his arms and kiss silver hair that shone brighter than the moon.
''In zat case… Bill Weasley, will you go to ze Ball wiz me?'' Fleur flirted. ''I'll make short work of anyone who dares to be rude to you.''
Charlie
A mighty roar ended in a pitiful whine as salve was applied to the last wound on the Fireball's flank. ''You have got to stop picking fights with Dracula,'' Charlie scolded, checking once more if he hadn't overlooked any other ripped-off scales. Yunxin sputtered a few sparks into the air, long body unfurling when she got too restless to be handled. She'd naturally not understood all words, but he hoped the tone had been clear enough. Also, after living in such close proximity, the dragons recognised not only their own human names, but those of the others they regularly interacted with as well. As Yunxin had been told off a thousand-and-one times already to stop attacking Dracula, it was no surprise the dragon reacted with indignant sputtering at the thousand-and-second time.
Painfully used to Yunxin's moods, Charlie instinctively dropped into a crouch when a claw cleaved the air, fortunately missing his head by a good few feet.
The crack of a whip sounded, at which the Fireball hissed and backed away. The withered stare thrown at his mentor Palmira was answered in kind. ''You've got to stop treating them like domesticated Kneazles,'' she huffed. ''I'm thankful we don't need to wake up one of our Healers, but my calves are cramping from squatting in the mud for so long.''
''That was your own choice,'' he dryly answered, screwing the lid of the salve back on. ''I didn't ask you to be ready to attack during my entire inspection.''
''You have not a grain of common sense, boy. Wild animals will stay wild animals. Wanting to tame a dragon doesn't mean it's possible, even if you wish it upon a fairy choir.''
''They're more intelligent than you give them credit for.''
''So is their little muggle cousin the crocodile. Does that mean you should stick a hand between their teeth without taking precautions and hope for the best? No, no it doesn't.''
''I'm not a rookie, Palmira.'' Charlie sighed as he fastened Yunxin's harness, leading her away from the clearing and into the warm cave in which she'd made a nest. On the way, he lit up every dark corner with a Lumos so the Fireball could rest easy without anxiously wasting breath checking for enemies herself before daring to rest. Feisty dragon by day, fretful one by nightfall…
The stocky woman grunted, rolling her arms and shaking her legs to get the stiff muscles loose. ''Being a fast learner doesn't exempt you from rookie status. Try to convince me of your expertise when you're still alive after twenty years on the job.''
''I'll tell your gravestone, old hag.''
''Hah, I'll burn in dragonfire or not at all. Won't be enough left to bother with gravestones.''
Leaving his mentor to her antics, Charlie just shook his head and went on with their rounds, a trek of roughly four more hours by foot. Dragons were quite solitary creatures even within their own social groups, let alone when packing multiple species together, so the hideouts lay as far away from each other as space would allow for. As brooms had been forbidden thirty-six years ago after some unfortunate incidents that had surprisingly involved lightning and a panicked stampede more than it had dragon fire, all handlers spent most of their days and nights walking.
''Not again,'' Palmira grunted upon reaching the next shielded encampment where they usually stopped by for a quick rest and butterbeers. A handful of flyers was thrown into the dying embers of the campfire left by the previous shift. Soon, the edges were curling and flames flickered to life. Charlie picked up one of the remaining flyers that had been blown into the sloppy mud by a gust of wind. Fingerprints of various species in purple ink encircled a stylised drop of blood, crossed by a diagonal wand.
''Blasted propaganda,'' his mentor complained. ''The Hand of Magic is gaining far too much traction here.''
''Many can sympathise with their goals,'' he muttered in answer, still staring at the fingerprints.
Said goals were scribbled on the back of the flyers. One-word slogans like Liberty, Safety or Unity stood out despite not saying much at all. Charlie didn't have use for empty words like that to get his blood boiling for a common cause. Didn't feel the urge to childishly leave his own prints everywhere as if he were a six-year-old pathfinder like some of the other handlers who agreed with the ideas of the Hand of Magic did.
The flyer fluttered down into the dirt again.
What he did need were answers, received in form of speeches about concrete plans. Tales of a better world in which the beautiful animals they hid from Muggle eyes could fly freely without either dragon or Muggle getting hurt, invisibly coexisting behind wards crafted with most ancient magic.
What he needed most of all was to wait for Palmira's weekly day off, so the very last who opposed these plans at the dragon reservation wouldn't be present to deny the representatives of the local branch of Magic's Hand access. They'd be welcomed with opened arms instead, with Charlie being first in line to push open the gates.
Percy
One more neat stack of indispensable reports lands on the picture-perfect pile for the Minister to sign in the morning. I gaze at my work with pride, as this assistance will make my boss' day much more bearable. Though our roles may be divided, with me supervising less public matters such as standardising communication between the Ministry and its affiliates or streamlining internal production from non-cheat quills for Hogwarts to obscure inventions in the Department of Mysteries, I firmly believe both positions hold the same weight. Minister Fudge carries the responsibility, whereas I take care of much of the actual work.
Junior Assistant is a good place to be in, for now. The absence of a Senior assistant - or anyone else between me and the Minister for that matter since Dolores Umbridge's shameful exit – helps quite a bit too for optimism to soar. Just a few more years of diligent labour before I can shoot a shot at becoming the youngest Minister of Magic to be elected in office. No-one will downplay my achievements then…
''Weasley, I'm heading home for the evening. Take care of this still, will you?''
The Minister directs a number of loose memos and two thick files towards the desk before taking his cloak, and is out of the door within seconds. Never discouraged by hard work, I delve into this new assignment with fervour. The memos contain payment corrections for the month, and I raise a critical eyebrow when seeing father's name with a notice of a temporary pay decrease by thirty-three percent for half a year.
A pang of guilt is harder to suppress than usual, perhaps due to the latest arrival of mother's constant letters a few days prior. It still sits in my desk with a half-eaten package of biscuits… Feeling this way is useless, however. They made their poor choices, and I made mine. It should have been clear as day that following the delusional views of the former Headmaster was never going to end well, and that has only been confirmed now Dumbledore remains abroad to avoid rightful persecution. The stamp hovers a few seconds longer than it should – wasted time – before leaving the same red mark on this payment correction as on all the others. Whatever father had done to warrant this temporary demotion, it has to be processed just the same without question not to risk the temptation of corruption.
I take a closer look at the files, Ministry-standard brown with the usual seals and purple twine. On the front cover of the first one, the Minister scribbled instructions in quick-dissolving ink to formally process the documents inside before transferring the papers to the respective department. His boss had likely looked it over once already and found no immediate faults.
After unwrapping the twine, it is particularly pleasing to find the contents to be nothing less than filled-out forms of my own design. Instantly after being promoted, I ensured to restructure the mess of informal applications that came in all shapes and sizes, creating easy-to-use forms instead. Using this particular nifty one, one could apply for reassigning shifts or task, either for oneself or subordinates. Leafing through the stack, I count a total of forty-six individual applications, all signed by Auror Fay Proudfoot. Odd, considering the applications themselves mainly concern the formal assignments of tasks and several shifts between the Aurors Tonks, Odell, Kingsley and Lassiter. I pause and glance at the ever-changing organization chart pinned to the wall, indeed noticing a blue dot next to the name.
''Ah,'' I mutter, checking the second file and glad the misunderstanding is cleared up immediately as a contract regarding the promotion slides out. Since Scrimgeour's accident in the deepest Department, they've been missing a Head Auror, and although Dawlish filled in as interim, his reputation was tarnished after the whole ordeal with Umbridge as he first failed to protect the Senior Under-Secretary and afterwards was clueless as to how she'd ended up a werewolf of all things unholy. Williamson and Savage suffered the same dip in confidence, no longer allowed to speak to the Minister directly.
Good to see a man of repute is stepping up to the plate now. Proudfoot reminds me of myself in a way. Who knows what heights the Auror Department will reach under his guidance.
One of the most important aspects of an efficient workflow is for all cogwheels to seamlessly cooperate… With great speed, I take care of the formal approval of the promotion and work through the entire stack of Proudfoot's applications in one go, determined to prove my methods of simplification are a blessing instead of the 'bureaucratic curse' some ignorant scum referred to them in the corridors. There's no need to check each reassignment in-depth, not when everything is meticulously filled out and the applicant has the necessary authority.
Perhaps I should personally hand these documents over. Proudfoot usually works just as late as I, so unless he's in the field on a mission, he should still be in the office at this hour.
Yes… Being seen in a positive light by the newest Head Auror can only give a positive boost. Glad for that foresight, I stride out the door with both files tucked tightly under my arm.
Fred
''Fifteen Galleons on the little girl near the pimple-vanishers,'' his brother whispered with a crooked grin, peering over a stack of empty boxes.
Nonchalantly, Fred leaned to the side to look at the customer, a young girl barely old enough to have started Hogwarts. Her two long braids did nothing to conceal the cantankerous expression that looked far too out of place on the youthful face. Another odd detail was that when she moved, it was with a confident stride of someone used to carry power.
''Wouldn't even bet three sickles with you if he's making it this obvious. No wonder we never heard anything of note when listening in on meetings if that's our best spy. Come on, let's have a bit of fun.'' Hopping down the stairs, Fred made his way across the shop, waving at some of the regulars and grabbing a handful of edible dark marks on the way, very obviously eating them as he popped up behind the girl, who was predictably looking at the love potions now. '''Fraid the minimum age for buying those is sixteen, professor. Oops. I mean, little child I've never seen in my life. Want something to snack on?''
Pale skin flared up bright red as Snape-not-Snape whirled around, one dose of Twilight Moonbeams in hand. The disguise melted away even a little bit more when bright green eyes narrowed venomously upon catching sight of the Dark-Mark-shaped sweets. ''How-'' he hissed. ''Get those out of my face, Mr Weasley!''
''How?'' Fred asked in disbelief. ''You think eleven-year-old students come into our paradise of miracles to stalk up to the love potion display, looking as if they'd rather be anywhere else? If you want to give Forge and I some truly challenging bets, you'll have to go up in the role, Professor. Vacant expression, hair-twirling, a bit of uncomfortable shifting at the horrifying thought of getting caught by non-existent parents!'' For good measure, he acted out perfect imitations of what he meant, flipping his own shoulder-length hair dramatically. ''Mighty shame we didn't have a drama club at Hogwarts, might have helped you out.''
''You two created enough drama for the entire school,'' Snape sneered, which once again did not fit his chosen disguise at all.
Putting a hand over his heart, Fred answered: ''Thank you. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Now, hand me that bottle, I still can't be seen selling these potions to minors.''
''You are evidently aware I'm no minor! Furthermore, illegal business clearly never stopped either of you miscreants.''
''Hmmm… yes but consider this: I don't like you and making it obvious that you wouldn't want to be seen dead in our shop to buy potions isn't helping your case. Sooo, bye bye, see you again after another batch of Polyjuice has been wasted. Have a hair of an older student on hand next time.''
Under enough fuming that even some of the other customers noticed despite the shop being filled with noise and flashing, Snape was at last forced to leave. ''That was a good mood-booster,'' George laughed, winding the flesh-coloured thread, through which he'd followed the whole exchange, around his arm. ''We should wait half an hour and then close up early for the day so he truly does waste another dose.''
''A perfect plan. Bit too perfect, does our early closing time not happen to coincide with the end of dear Angelina's shift?'' he teased. When George slung an arm around his shoulder, the grip was just a tad too tight, very telling of how right he was. Not yet done poking fun, Fred mentioned: ''I'm glad it was my abhorrent dancing at the Yule Ball that put her off dating me, not my astonishingly good looks. You're welcome, Georgie.''
''Are you sure it was your dancing and not the way you got drunk on the liquor we smuggled in making you get on stage half-naked to sing along with the Weird Sisters?''
''That was the dancing I meant, I was a perfect gentlemen during the whole waltzing thing. Don't act as if you wouldn't have joined me had you not been too busy directing the teacher's attention elsewhere to avoid my early and entirely unjust expulsion.''
''Ah, good times… Times we can reminisce about thoroughly with everyone who was present to witness our glorious acts. I didn't only want to meet up with Angelina today, the rest will be there too.''
''Dumbledore's army?''
''A good chunk of it as far as I heard. You should check the Galleons once in a while, Neville keeps them up to date. I already announced we'd join later in the evening, but being on time for the party and slamming the door close in Snape's face is too good to pass up on, even if it costs us some business.''
Agreeing vocally wasn't necessary for his brother to know that he was fully on board with this plan.
It wasn't surprising that George had kept checking the fake Galleons after leaving school, not since he'd started dating Angelina and wanted to feel connected to his girlfriend through more than the occasional letter. It came in handy for Fred now too, for they'd not met up with many of their friends so far due to booming summer sales. Every single student who'd attended Hogwarts last year wanted to see the empire of fun they'd built up since their spectacular exit from Hogwarts, and tired working parents had found Weasley Wizard Wheezes to be their best choice for entertaining bored kids at home over the holidays.
There was little time left for socialising between running the shop and developing and testing new products to fill the ever-growing shelves. Only Lee swung by regularly just to see them. Since that without fail ended in evenings playing reckless games or having a drop of good old Ogden's too many, Fred hadn't received many updates about their peers. Their best friend didn't exactly keep up to date on news that he considered boring. Which meant anything that didn't involve exotic pets or mayhem on such a scale that Hogwarts shook on its foundations.
In an even better mood than before, Fred chased the majority of the customers out by use of a nifty system of muggle plastic aerophones he'd dug out of dad's workspace and placed in half-hidden corners of the shop like the world's most annoying booby traps. It didn't work on everyone – which was fair, since their usually already loud shop attracted a certain type of clientele that wasn't put off by blinding and deafening devices.
Having some money to spare and a certain level of respect for these people, Fred and George simply handed them a couple of coins and free fireworks with instructions to create shows around the block for a bit of marketing. They might have gained much popularity from word-of-mouth, but the shop was never as full as it could be due to their unfortunate location in Knockturn, post orders being the popular choice for most customers. Even once they'd get enough gold to buy a better place in Diagon or Hogsmeade, Fred wasn't sure whether it would be worth the hassle until they'd saved enough to open a second location.
''Hurry,'' he urged his brother, who decided last-minute to bring along some experimental candy samples and put them in tiny hidden pockets in his sleeves.
A large man with arms the width of tree trunks rounded the corner: a famous gambler who also happened to be called George, which had sparked several conversations when they'd first settled in the area that had ultimately led to 'G minor and major'' now being an infamous team during Poignant Poker evenings in The White Wyvern. Combining the facts that George minor was prone to taking afternoon naps and never wore this impatient of an expression, it wasn't difficult to guess who had just lost another hair.
''Better luck next time, Professor!'' Fred shouted, then sprinted away with his laughing twin at his heels.
…
George
They should have gone to the Wyvern, he thought upon entering the crowded teashop that was Rosa Lee's teabag. Why everyone had agreed to Cho's suggestion of visiting the equivalent to Madam Puddifoot's for their meetup was a mystery. A mystery wrapped in far too many quaint decorations of waving Muggle garden gnomes and miniature bunnies. Her excuse was that the Leaky Cauldron sold nothing 'remotely edible when actually looking at the plate'. Which might be true, but George found closing his eyes a better solution than moving to Rosa Lee's. If their meeting spot had to be kid-friendly enough to exclude any place in Knockturn, he'd have much preferred Fortescue's over this.
''Diagon Alley needs a proper pub,'' Fred echoed his thoughts. ''Next investment, Georgie? Maybe we can buy the Leaky one day and patch the old cauldron's holes to make it a more trustworthy establishment.''
''Sounds like a plan. Hey, Angel!''
He ignored his brothers' very loud 'Cringggeee' at the nickname, slipping through the crowd to reach his girlfriend, who was already surrounded by several other members of their group. Rather surprisingly, George counted two Slytherins as well. Ursa Saeth was ordering a slice of cake at the counter, whereas former enemy number one Pansy Parkinson was already throwing hands with George's little sister.
Angelina smirked and snuck an arm around his waist. ''That's still 'Captain' for you. I never gave you permission to quit the team.''
''Oooh, yes Ma'am,'' he replied, only getting a kiss in when correcting himself by calling her Captain thrice. ''What's going on with those?'' he asked, nodding at Ginny and Pansy, the latter's robes ruined by patches of green goo.
''The usual. Parkinson was recklessly name-calling and got what she deserved. I doubt she'll ever learn. Honestly, not sure why she bothered showing up.''
''She must not have many real friends in that snake den,'' he replied, less light-hearted than he'd wanted to appear. It was true though; he could hardly imagine the cutthroat hierarchy in Slytherin to promote tight bonds based on trust and mutual hobbies like in their own House, not even – or especially not – for those on top.
Angel hummed, her eyebrows drawn into a frown. ''Does she have any here?'' she hesitantly questioned.
Not having an instant funny one-liner on hand for once, George turned his attention to greeting everyone he hadn't seen in a while. The D. A. was a rowdy, mixed bunch and it starkly showed now some of them had graduated from Hogwarts. Saeth joined Cedric, Roger and Lem's calm conversation over a cup of tea about their perceived importance of involving international independent organisations in British politics on one table whereas Terry, Parvati, Michael and Lavender complained about their O. W. L. results and gossiped about the teachers that had replaced Umbridge and Binns since Snape held the reins of Hogwarts.
Squeezed between those tables, a couple of the younger members were taking advantage of their smaller forms to make themselves comfortable on the floor, chatting in loud excitement about their upcoming thoughts and ideas about the D. A. It was refreshing to hear, as Fred and George themselves had left when a single whisper of the 'study group' would have brought Umbridge's rage down on them all. From what Ginny had told them, Snape had officially punished the members and disbanded the army by order of Fudge, but as Fudge did not know who had all been part of it, the new Headmaster had, to much surprise, easily given permission to form a new Defence Association under guidance of the newly appointed Ministry-approved Defence teacher Amycus Carrow. George wasn't sure what to think of this new change, but if it ensured his sister wouldn't get he hand carved open for daring to mention practising defence, he would push his hesitance about Snape aside. It helped a bit that Harry had trusted the man, in the end, enough to accept his help in toppling Umbridge.
Searching for a single vacant chair to no avail, he concluded once more that this tea shop had truly been a bad idea. The owner didn't seem happy with their choice either, looking about ready to either break down in tears or to start yelling at them to get out. No wonder: even though they were far from complete, about thirty people - only counting the D. A. - had showed up in a tearoom meant for a maximum of twenty customers at a time.
Slowly, he wandered over to his sister, who'd propped herself up on the narrow sill that lined the display window and was now throwing a few dark glowers at Parkinson instead of further hexes.
''Cooled down?''
''You'd have attacked Pansy too if you'd heard her snide comments about dad,'' Ginny replied, pulling her lips up to show sharp teeth.
That assumption was entirely unfair and frankly, he felt a tad wounded, because hearing the actual comments was unnecessary: the sudden urge to feed Parkinson a Ton-tongue Toffee that would choke her to death already rose up the second George knew she'd been talking shit about their family again. One of the candies already slipped into his palm, only Ginny grabbing onto his robes stopped him from going through with that plan that instant.
''Don't, I still need her for something today. Which is why I'm sitting over here, calming down, instead of scratching her eyes out.''
With the greatest difficulty, George joined his sister, leaning against the ledge as well after pushing a flowery teapot out of the way. ''Anything in particular she was making fun off?''
''Dad's suspension.'' At his puzzled look, she raised her eyebrows. ''You should keep in contact with mum more often.''
''We do! She sends us letters almost daily!''
Ginny's face fell. ''Maybe she only writes about the good news,'' she sighed. ''Mum's been down even before dad was temporarily let off. He punched Malfoy at work, by the way, a couple of weeks ago. That's probably why Pansy knows about it too, as his niece. I bet Malfoy's been bragging to the whole family about getting rid of dad for a while.''
''We'll send some money over,'' George promised. ''Anonymously, of course.'' Their parents never accepted charity, not even from their own children. Giving them money that they believed to be undeserved would simply be mailed back if they had an address to send it back to. One could hardly refuse Sickles that rolled out of cracks in the house, though. ''Any idea what put a downer on mum's mood before that?''
''Honestly…'' she hesitated, for the first time today looking him straight in the eye. Knowing all of his siblings like the back of his hand, George could barely stand to be faced with the amount of hurt he saw in them. ''I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Ron or Harry. Mum used to write about them constantly when I was still at Hogwarts and they were the only topic of discussion right when the holidays started. Speculations on where they could be, making ludicrous plans to comb through every inch of the country... Then, two days into the holidays, both she and dad abruptly stopped talking about it. I don't know why, I'd snuck out to Luna's place for the night… which I've kicked myself for more than once as something must have happened. I made the mistake of bringing up Ron once more after that, and her reaction was worse than when name-dropping Percy.''
''Gin, you should have said so earlier,'' he whispered, putting an arm around his sister, drawing her in for a hug. ''Instead of keeping this to yourself for a whole month. Fred and I could have helped… gathering information and such in Knockturn.''
She shrugged helplessly. ''I thought I'd figure it out by myself,'' she admitted, obviously not too thrilled about not having managed so far. ''Oh, the rest arrived,'' Ginny noted as the shrill bell of the shop rang, another five people crossing the threshold. Among them was Luna, which very quickly made his sister slip out of George's grasp to head over to her girlfriend. Feeling troubled, he also kicked away from the sill again to return to Angel, Fred and Lee, who were loudly commenting on the latest Quidditch matches.
Ginny's words had been quite the wake-up call. One thing was for certain: Fred and he had been focusing on the wrong aspects of life for too long. The search for their missing brother and Harry should take priority.
Maybe he'd stop by the Wyvern later after all to search out some of its shadier patrons.
Ron
The victory of protecting his best mate didn't last as long as he'd hoped for. Instead, he quietly started agreeing with Sirius' muttered complaints more and more each day. With Dumbledore gone and everyone 'important' busy, there was little for Ron to do anymore. His training in warding had been paused (indefinitely?) now Sir Crouch had taken up the new duty of parading around as the old Headmaster, and the letters from mum – of which the tone alternated between accusing, begging and lately almost uncaring – were the only line of contact to his family.
He wasn't sure what to do with these letters exactly, unable to hide their arrival from his best friend, who did his very best not to look hurt with each one in which he went unmentioned. To be frank, Ron didn't understand his mum's approach. Harry was family, both of his parents had made that abundantly clear more than once. At Hogwarts, many of the letters he'd received had addressed the both of them. Now Ron was the only one receiving their words – regardless of not containing actual news, only misplaced concern – he felt guilt pile up with each one Sir Crouch handed over. Cutting contact would only make them go berserk again though, and pushing them to include Harry was something he'd rather do in person, once he would be reasonably certain they'd not try everything int heir power to keep him in the Burrow.
So, between his unhelpful family making it actually harder to return home and nothing much exciting happening in Little Hangleton, a feel of listless uselessness took the overhand. Even Harry's insistence on joining in his adventures every now and then wasn't enough to chase away that feeling. Whereas he could keep up with the meetings of their Slytherin peers, Ron was well aware that only his best friend actually liked his presence, and that wasn't always enough. Besides, he was very hesitant about following Harry to other places. His friend might insist that the werewolf territory was wicked, or that Ron should really broaden his horizons by coming along to trips abroad, but Sir Crouch had forbidden precisely that with the explicit instructions not to mention this to Harry. Ron wasn't often inclined to do as told without putting up a fight, but he could understand the Death Eater's insistence here.
Whether his friend could see it or not, the Dark Lord and his closest followers were preparing Harry to become a leader of his own right, someone who could stand alone and take independent responsibility. Ron very much approved of this with the difficult path Harry had picked: if his friend must insist on seducing a Dark Lord, Ron was far less worried if said Lord insisted his partner learn to handle power than if he were to keep Harry at his feet.
Flattering though it was that Harry always asked for a second opinion when Ron was at his side, it also held his mate back from becoming who he was supposed to be.
To not be responsible for that, he declined many of the invitations under guise of being busy, which in reality just meant twiddling thumbs and safeguarding a wand he didn't quite understand the exact importance of. The silence in answer to any questions about it was almost as damning as Harry's refusal to take it off his hands, but what made him wariest of all was You-Know-Who's burning stare being locked on the bloody thing whenever they were in the same room. The only time it had been actively addressed was when he'd tried to avoid said stare by leaving the wand in the Nest, resulting in the Dark Lord growing violently furious about 'irresponsible carelessness'. Ron had woken up in cold sweat three nights in a row after, knowing very well that only Harry's quiet hissing had prevented the terrifying wizard from snapping every bone in Ron's body.
Even after literal months, he had not learned how to best handle living near You-Know-Who. The strange man's moods were unreadable to all but Harry, yo-yoing from seemingly relaxed to raging anger within seconds. He could look entirely human one moment - when engrossed in a pile of books the same way Hermione often was or whenever his gaze would linger on Harry and get strangely soft and lost - then turn into a deranged lunatic who practised the most horrible curses on baby bunnies for the sake of entertainment the next.
It was an odd position for Ron to be in, because although he thankfully wasn't actively involved in most conversations with Harry's boyfriend, he saw both sides of the coin when watching from the side-lines: he understood perfectly why his family was disgusted at the thought of giving this dark wizard even a single finger, let alone a country to rule. On the other hand, he also got the appeal of devoting one's life to the Dark Lord when the powerful man showed and shared his otherworldly visions, commanding raw forces of magic for the betterment of their community. Attending the Litha rite had changed something within, and he was already eager to see what was in store for Lughnadash this very evening.
Additionally, Ron's inner tactician couldn't help but admire how every piece of You-Know-Who's plans locked together perfectly, his playing field stretching across half a continent by now. Ron imagined one would be hard-pressed to find a person whose life hadn't been influenced by the Dark Lord's return one way or the other, purposefully or without their knowledge.
Ron wished to have more say in the way he had been influenced, frustrated about being forced to kick back when the rest of the world was moving on. Even 'Mione had finally reached a point at which she was actively involved in shaping future laws…
At least he would get out of the house today, once Harry and You-Know-Who got back from their trip… An idea formed as he thought about the upcoming event. There was little use whining about his current status when about to show up at an important celebration at the side of the two most famous celebrities of their age. With a bit of good old Gryffindor brashness and pro-active conversation with those who considered themselves the crème de la crème of society, surely Ron could further prove his own worth?
Now he only needed a partner in crime… How convenient that he lived with someone who'd made mischief his mission. Ron sauntered to the kitchen, where his roommate was having some coffee whilst making quick work of a stack of Quibblers.
''Hey, would you like to pull a stunt this evening?''
At the magic word, the mug was firmly put down and the man turned all attention to Ron.
''Say no more,'' Sirius spoke, lips stretching into a smirk.
Ginny
''I apologised already.''
''Disingenuously,'' Ginny bit back, crossing her arms as she glanced over to Parkinson. About an hour had passed since their initial fight, one filled with talks, laughter and cake until Rosa Lee finally had had enough and kicked them all out for refusing to adhere to the seating rules – with more people than seats and not enough space for the adults among them to conjure any more, those rules were sheer impossible to follow. Some had already said their goodbyes, like Susan and Justin, but the bulk of the D. A. who'd answered today's summons had decided to risk food poisoning in the Leaky Cauldron rather than head home early. Ginny used the opportunity to stick close to the Slytherin Prefect, intent on getting the intel she wanted. Pansy pretended not to be bothered by it, but Ginny knew very well how to get on people's nerves – it was her favourite method of making every single one of her brothers cave to her demands.
As the Slytherin picked an empty table off to the side, Ginny was quick to claim a chair, ignoring the irritated look thrown her way. ''You think you're better than everyone else, don't you, Weasley?''
''Just better than you. Also, rich, coming from someone who actively ranks people's worth by the purity of their family tree.''
''That isn't true,'' Pansy sweetly smiled. ''I can't deny your family's pure blood and yet – traitors rank lower on my list that Mudbloods ever did. Ouch!'' she cried out, furiously turning around to glare at Katie.
''Oops, my foot slipped, must be the mud-trail of my family that follows me everywhere,'' the Gryffindor chaser remarked, reminding everyone of her father's blood status. 'Quidditch through the ages' disappeared in the pocket of Katie's robes again after its poor cover had been damaged on Pansy's head, and the girl brushed past them to join another table without looking back.
''I shouldn't have come,'' Pansy quietly muttered, putting effort in rising from he seat with as much grace as possible.
That wouldn't do. Using her quick reflexes, Ginny grabbed a thin wrist. ''Why did you? There must have been a reason,'' she pointed out. ''You were the last one to join and, let's face it, never truly became part of the army after everything you threw at us this year. Harry leaving soon after you joined didn't help. Still, you are here whereas both of the Greengrass sisters and Theodore, whom no-one ever had a problem with, are not. It can't have been peer pressure when the only other Slytherin here doesn't even attend Hogwarts anymore.''
''Oh, surely my presence must be some evil scheme,'' the other laughed, mocking.
''That isn't what I said.''
Pansy snatched her hand back, staring at the other tables, although no-one was remotely paying attention to theirs. Not even Luna, who stared at the chandeliers' candle wax drippings above her head with a fascinated awe that made it clear Ginny's evening would be filled with tales of flame spirits or the like. Not that she minded. Whether true or not, these stories were endlessly captivating. Luna looked akin a fire creature herself now, blond hair glowing red and gold in the soft light-
Pansy's voice cut through her daydreaming, pulling attention back to Ginny's current goal. ''Hearing only one side of every story gets a bit boring, don't you think?'' she mysteriously asked, having sat down again. ''As not everyone has the luxury to have the wide range of contacts I do, I thought it'd make my summer more useful by seeing what you lot got up to as well. Admittedly, all these talks of part-time jobs, quidditch and holiday trips are duller than the juicy gossip I'd been hoping for.''
That sounded suspiciously like spying and admitting to selling information, when one considered what other people Pansy surrounded herself with on the daily. Ginny blinked, trying to suppress her surprise. Had the Slytherin come here with the exact same intention as she had? ''Your… regular contacts…'' she started, dropping her tone to a hushed whisper.
''You sound more suspicious when speaking like that,'' the other pointed out instantly. ''That will guarantee we'll draw attention. Stick to a regular volume and it'll blend in perfectly.''
Undecided between embarrassment and annoyance, Ginny focused on not letting the critique rile her up. ''Fine then,'' she huffed. ''Your regular circles include many dark mages, including your own family. I don't believe for a second that the Malfoys have no idea where Harry and Draco disappeared to, and all these rumours about kidnapping are frankly something I'm unwilling to believe.'' She'd avoided clashing with her parents about those speculations right after returning home, intent on bringing it up carefully, but that choice had been taken away when her mother had suddenly dropped whatever she was holding at the mere mention of Ron. It had made Ginny all the more determined to get to the bottom of this. ''Harry returned to Hogwarts, looked me in the eye and told me my brother was somewhere safe. He instructed us on the future of the D.A. and left with the advice to always remain critical. Those were not the words of someone who was being forced or manipulated in being there.''
Pansy minimally cocked her head, suddenly looking more interested in Ginny than ever before. ''Why ask me now? It's been months, why not approach me after training or classes?''
''Umbridge might be gone, but her rules haven't been undone yet. With post still being monitored to some degree, I figured it'd be best to wait until I was sure you would be up to date due to the many connections you just boasted about.'' Ginny shrugged. ''Wasn't sure whether I'd get a second chance for a talk after bothering you once, so I wanted to make this one count.''
A small grin that flashed across Pansy's face was the first warning sign of that Ginny was not going to like what the Slytherin had to say. ''I might know a thing or two. In exchange… tell me: are your parents not part of Dumbledore's little rebellion? Surely you must know then what they are currently planning…''
''Are you serious? You want me to spill confidential information on Professor Dumbledore?'' she practically gawked.
''Is that not a fair exchange for confidential information about the Dark Lord?''
Ginny bristled, not quite sure how their talk was heading in such a drastic direction. ''I asked about Harry and Ron!'' she protested. That wasn't nowhere near the same.
''Exactly,'' Pansy nodded slowly, eyebrows raised as if she were giving some great hint.
Ginny froze. ''No. No, those were just rumours, Harry is resistant to the Imperius curse and is a damned good fighter. He'd not be captured-''
''I agree,'' came the confusing answer, the Slytherin's stupidly smug expression not helping in the slightest. ''Ginevra-''
''-Don't call me that. Either stick to Weasley or Ginny.''
''Weasley then. I'm quite sure I already said far too much, you can figure out the rest by yourself, I hope. Put two and two together? Now, as for what I want to know…''
Ginny furiously shook her head, scoffing: ''You'd better not be implying what I think you are. Harry would never. I don't care if he got stuck with the Malfoys, he'd not be brainwashed so easily into taking the side of- of-'' Too many vile words blocked her throat at once when thinking of Voldemort – damned perfect Prefect Tom Riddle who'd literally tried to kill her with a smile. Harry had saved her, then, had seen through Tom's honeyed lies before it had been too late.
Going by the red splotches that appeared on pale cheeks, she wasn't the only one here getting riled up.
''The side of what? Are you implying that Potter is too good for the likes of my family? That he'd reject our ideals? Maybe Potter finally saw what a bunch of hypocrites he was dealing with here and decided to have a look at the other side! I've upheld my end of this bargain, Weasley, give me what I want!''
''You'll not get a word out of me if you try to fool me with such obvious lies. Some nerve you've got, doubling down like that!''
''Bet?'' Pansy hissed, growing even redder in her fury. ''I'll prove it, little weasel, I'll show you that Potter isn't the perfect little prince you imagine. He's a hero, alright, but one who fights for actual freedom.''
''How?'' Ginny challenged, leaning back, crossing her arms. ''How could you possibly prove that to me?''
The other's poise had all melted away now Pansy was furiously stewing to find a solution. Someone sure didn't like being called a liar. Which was funny, considering how often she'd been caught doing so, being one of the few Slytherins who was openly dishonest almost constantly. Then, Pansy's expression suddenly smoothed over as if she'd had an epiphany. ''There's a party tonight. An exclusive one, if you catch my drift. Naturally, my family has been invited. If I could smuggle you in…''
Baffled, Ginny asked: ''You'd risk your parents' anger over sneaking me into a snake's den?''
''We still have a few hours to think of an adequate disguise…'' she continued as if not having heard the expressed doubt at all. Parkinson had to be commended for one thing: once the Prefect was set on a plan, she'd see it through. ''I'll have to make sure to get one of the portkeys my parents received. Yesterday, they were still debating whether to go together or whether mother goes ahead. If I'm convincing enough and tell them I'd like to arrive with my cousins instead of either of them to make more of an entrance, mother might be inclined to hand me hers... She was always of the opinion that one shouldn't hide behind others, parents included. Mother was one of the few who actively pushed me to always rise to the top. Now, which one of my nuisance cousins do you resemble most… Eloise, probably. I can't stand that brat and would prefer if she has an unfortunate accident that makes her have to stay at home.''
It was both impressive and disturbing to see how quickly Pansy came up with a scheme that involved incapacitating one of her own cousins, stealing from and lying to her parents and smuggling an unwanted guest into a secret meeting. Somehow, this was thrilling, for even though a hundred percent sure that Harry would not willingly attend such an event, it was the best opportunity Ginny had to speak to adults who might have a more complete picture. Very quickly, she was fully on board. Even if she'd have to fulfil Pansy's request to give up snippets on the Order of the Phoenix afterwards, she hadn't heard anything of great importance through her brother's extendable ears. There wasn't truly a way to lose this bet.
''So,'' Pansy continued, ''We'll bypass the blood security by me being the one to activate the portkey, and going with some of my confounded cousins means our arrival won't stick out too much. Even if you don't look a hundred percent like Eloise, there shouldn't be much instant suspicion. That being said, we definitely need to do something about those freckles and that hair of yours. The only one here whom I know can perform lasting glamours is Saeth and I'd prefer if she doesn't hear a whisper of this plan, so we will need to get creative.''
''Would make-up and wigs help?''
The suggestions was apparently ludicrous enough to earn a full-on gaping. ''You are saying… you want to use a Muggle disguise?'' Pansy choked.
''Would anyone expect that or be looking out for it?''
''Well… probably not but… but-''
''Perfect,'' Ginny smiled, further encouraged by the scandalised noises the Slytherin made. ''I'm sure my brothers sell an array of costumes and wigs, both muggle and magical. I'll go ask Fred about it. We'll meet in front of their shop in, say… an hour? I'll need to convince them to cooperate first.''
Feeling pretty damned good about herself, she jumped up to go bother her dear brother. Fred was preferable after most certainly accidentally worrying George during their previous talk, making him less likely to agree with suddenly covering her absence without asking questions. As Ginny practically skipped a few tables over, it felt as if her stomach held a balloon of contained excitement that was about to burst any second.
Finally, finally she'd get her hands on some answers.
AN:
The 'muggle plastic aerophones' Fred mentions are a set of the most annoying inventions known to man that still haunt my dreams since the football world cup of 2010: Vuvuzelas. That term wasn't coined until somewhere early 2000's though and they've been known by other names such as corneta, stadium horns or aerophones since the 1960's till then.
Next up, a quiet morning after for our favourite toxically wholesome couple and a turbulent Lughnasadh celebration :3
Please read and review!
xx GeMerope