The twenty-seventh of December saw Percy returning to work, but the rest of the family still remained at the Burrow. They were all gathered around the table for breakfast, most still waking up, when a very confused barn owl slammed against the window.
"That's strange. Usually only Errol does that," Fred said, already out of his chair to take a look outside.
"It should be fine." Bill did not even look up from his plate. "I put up spells that should keep any hostile mail out."
"We put up spells," Fleur corrected.
"Anyone expecting mail?" Fred asked as he returned carrying a now mostly white and mildly dazed owl inside. He put it on the table and the owl took two hops in Ginny's direction, sending snow scattering everywhere, before falling over and landing in Charlie's oatmeal.
"You did that on purpose!" he said, pointing an accusing finger at Fred as the clearly concussed owl rolled out of the bowl. No longer covered in snow, Ginny finally recognised the poor bird as Ovid.
"Oh, that's for me. Hi Ovid," she said, then added when the rest of the family looked at her questioningly: "He's Astoria's owl."
"Is he usually that confused?" George asked as the twitching bird scattered oats all over the table.
"Not really, no," she said, untying the letter from his trembling leg. "Charlie, can you check if he's okay?" she asked, turning to the one brother who hadn't almost killed an animal during his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L.
"The spells must have given it some difficulty then," Bill remarked. "They probably weren't entirely sure what to do with a decent Slytherin's owl."
That at least vindicated her for her insistence that they'd exchange gifts at Hogwarts. With all the spells thrown up around the Burrow lately, she hadn't been sure any owls would get through and with how excited Astoria had been about her gift for Ginny, it'd be a shame if it was vaporised. Still, it seemed like Astoria had at least been willing to risk a letter. And Ovid, apparently.
"He's fine," Charlie remarked. "Just a bit dazed. Merlin, Bill, what kind of spells did you put up?"
"I'm sure it was one of Fleur's," Bill protested, earning him a glare.
"If the poor creature had set off one of my spells, it wouldn't be here anymore," she sniffed.
As the rest of her family bickered, Ginny unrolled the parchment. Astoria's flowery script unfurled itself in front of her, the first half in green ink and the second half in red ink. It instantly gave her a headache.
Dear Ginny,
Merry Christmas!
I hope this finds you well, or even at all. Ovid seems confident he will bring the task to a good end, but he is known for his temerity. This Christmas, and every Christmas before, he made an attempt on the pheasant and was only just rebuffed by my mother, who grows increasingly fed up with his antics. I do hope that next year, Ovid won't end up on the menu himself.
I equally hope your Christmas celebration was a good one. Ours was an unrivalled success, with mum only being called away by one of her clients around dessert. While I do not wish to spoil too much, I can reassure you that for the next Slug Club occasion, I am not at risk of reusing an earlier outfit.
Other than that, this Christmas holiday has been of the rather boring sort, characterised by ignored homework and a very snippy Daphne, who seems aggrieved that my parents don't vocally disapprove of our friendship. I miss you, my friend.
See you on the train,
Tori
"Is that a joke about your Sortings?" George remarked, catching a glimpse of the colourful palette.
"Or an excessive Christmas celebration?" Fred added, eager to escape Charlie's attention who, having chastised Bill, now seemed rather belligerent about his oatmeal au owl.
"With Tori, you never know," Ginny said absentmindedly, wishing her friend was here right now.
"I still can't get over the fact that you're best friends with a Slytherin called Tori," Bill said, then quickly added when he caught their mum's warning glance :"Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just strange."
Before Ginny could launch a vehement defence of her friend's moral character, a brilliant white hawk Patronus flew inside the kitchen and landed in the middle of the table. It took in the assembly and then spoke in Percy's voice, enunciating clearly despite the hint of panic to it.
"Ministry under attack. Please come help."
The whole table was on their feet in seconds, wands drawn. Charlie Disapparated before they could even talk, the rest grouped together. When Ginny took her mum's arm, she shook her head.
"Not you, Ginny."
"This is my war too," she protested.
"You are not of age yet," her mum said as Fred and George Disapparated.
"So what? I just stay at home worrying? I already do that enough at Hogwarts," she protested. Bill and Fleur popped away as well as her dad took her face in his hands, not even trying to avoid the scars.
"You've done enough. Let us take this one," he said kindly.
"Everyone has already done enough!" she shouted back.
He smiled painfully at that. "Perhaps, but you most of all. Please, Ginny. We don't have time to argue."
And without another word, he and her mum Disapparated. Ginny was left with a table with a half-finished breakfast. Perhaps she should have told them about Dumbledore's meetings. Or about the D.A. She practised every week for battles like this.
But they had left her behind nonetheless. Left her to worry. Left her to stare at the clock's dials, terrified that any second, one would fall off. Its dials vibrated softly, as if all jockeying for the best spot to indicate mortal peril. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. It wasn't difficult to imagine spells streaking just past her family as they fought shadows. She summoned her Patronus so she wasn't alone. With Ron, she'd at least been there with him. Now, she didn't know anything. In her mind, the shadows got longer and took more familiar faces. Bellatrix Lestrange. Malfoy. Dolohov. Rookwood. Rodolphus Lestrange.
Rodolphus Lestrange is being driven by an unrestrained madness. When he throws curses, he leaves himself wide open, either confident that no one will be left standing in the wake of those grisly purple clouds that spurt from his wand, or simply not caring what happens to him. She and Luna cast a Bubble-Head charm as the cloud spreads across the whole room. It is the smallest they have been in so far, with only one exit and that one is blocked by Lestrange.
The room itself is filled with all sorts of impossible objects, geometrical shapes that seem to exist in several dimensions at once. Cubes that somehow seem to have one edge too much. Yet impossible as they are, they begin to corrode as the miasma reaches them.
She throws a Stunner in Lestrange's direction, but the purple smoke eats it. He wades towards them, seemingly undisturbed by it all. Ginny's skin, however is already starting to tingle as the tendrils reach even their corner of the room. Even through the Bubble-Head charm she can smell it, a cloying odour that seems to extend all the way to her brain.
"Tick tock tick tock, how long till it gets you?" he sings, moving his head left and right to the rhythm of his words as his voice goes higher and higher. He laughs, a horrible chortling sound, like a man choking on his own laughter. He doesn't even notice that one of the objects, a hexagonal prism made of chains, is drifting towards him.
He's still laughing when it touches him and suddenly, he's inside, ten times smaller. The smoke is transported inside with him. The room is like before, only now some of the shapes are deformed, scrunched together or bleeding a blue liquid.
"Let's go, and don't touch any of those things," she says to Luna, who just nods. Even her forever calm friend looks disturbed.
"I'm scared, Ginny," she whispers.
"You and me both," Ginny says, her hands trembling.
They return through the same door. It doesn't take them back to a hallway, but instead to another small room. This one is a bright white, with a single red statue of a horned creature in the middle. Next to it stand Travers and Mulciber.
A loud bang in the kitchen dragged her back to reality, the smell of the smoke still up her nose. She hurried back and found Charlie covered in blood, supported by a sooth-covered George.
"Ginny, a hand please?" he said.
"I'm all right," Charlie added, seeing the horror on her face. "Just a bit banged up." He slid down in the chair. "An explosion that I stood too close to. Ginny, get me a towel will you?" he asked. "George, you should go back. They need you."
"Dumbledore just arrived, they'll be fine. You're hurt," he protested.
"Ginny's here, go," Charlie repeated. George hesitated and then nodded, Disapparating with a pop as Ginny was running over to Charlie with a soaked towel.
"Thanks," her brother said before having a coughing fit. With shaking hands, she dabbed at his forehead. He was covered in blood and dust, but she saw only superficial scars. When their eyes met, she could see they were unfocused.
"I feel like that stupid owl this morning." He took the towel from her, roughly rubbing it over his face.
"What's happening?" she asked.
"Death Eater assault. You-Know-Who is there as well, I think he's trying to take the Ministry. The Order and Dumbledore just got there, we'll repel them. Speaking of which, I should be getting back," he said, pushing himself upright and collapsing instantly. If Ginny hadn't caught him, he'd have hit the ground.
"You're staying here," she said, pushing him back in his chair and reclaiming the towel. His robes were shredded, but she couldn't find any other wounds. "Everyone all right?"
"As far as I could see. The whole thing was a bit chaotic but most of us were fighting them off in the atrium," he said, head lolling.
"Are you sure we shouldn't get you to St. Mungo's?" Ginny asked, feeling so very useless in that moment. Next semester, they really should cover healing charms with the D.A.
"No no no, it's good. Hardly the worst injury I've had. Did I tell you about that one Romanian wizard?"
"No, what about him?" Ginny asked as she rummaged through the cabinet for some disinfectant, desperate to keep him talking. Someone had once told her that was good. Probably Hermione.
"That was one of You-Know-Who's foreign acquisitions," he chuckled. "Stanislas something, he was supposed to convince a few local vampires to join the war. The vampires didn't have much truck with him and told me his location. Problem was, the shifty bastard had his whole place brimming with curses. When I broke down his door, I got hit by like ten different spells. And then this Stanislas came at me, waving his wand. Ow!" he yelled as Ginny pressed a cotton wool soaked with a disinfecting tonic against his jaw. "I managed to put him down eventually, but I was bleeding all over the place by the end. I spent a week in their local St. Mungo's. Don't tell mum," he added, sounding worried for the first time.
"I wouldn't dare to," Ginny said. "Have you been in many fights so far?"
"A few. You-Know-Who's more… brutal than last year. I suppose he no longer needs subtlety now everyone knows he's back. He's got the Order and the Aurors running ragged," he admitted. "Last week during the meeting at Grimmauld place, Tonks and Lupin fell asleep halfway. You should have heard Moody tear into them."
Charlie was still chuckling when the rest reappeared with a few loud bangs. Her mum's distressed face told her everything she needed to know. Her eyes flitted from one to the next. Dad, clothes ripped in a few places. Bill, covered in a grey dust. Fleur, looking as beautiful as ever, even if blood trickled down her neck. Percy, glasses askew. Fred and George, both with scorched hems and George still covered in sooth.
As she madly counted and found all Weasley accounted for, though each with the same grave expression, she looked up in confusion.
"What happened?"
Her mum was at a loss for words, staring emptily ahead. Bill opened his mouth and closed it again as Fleur pulled him close. Percy took off his glasses and polished the lenses, blinking as if he wasn't believing his own eyes. Even Fred and George couldn't find a joke.
"Dumbledore," her dad said finally, dropping down in an empty chair, hands in his hair and his voice empty as he began to talk. "It was a mad chaos. Spells flying everywhere and five Aurors and Scrimgeour himself trying to hold off You-Know-Who. Then Dumbledore appeared in a flash of fire."
"I only caught a glimpse of him, but he looked so tired," her mum added quietly.
"He went straight for You-Know-Who, just like last summer," her dad said with an awful, hollow voice. "Same atrium, same duel. Only, he moved slower this time. His spells were just a bit less brilliant. And You-Know-Who saw that too and he pressed him. I tried to get to him, but I couldn't get past Lucius Malfoy. Moody was trying as well, but then one of Rookwood's curses set his wooden leg on flame."
"Good thing Fleur was on hand to blast Rookwood into that centaur fountain," Percy said as he put his horn-rimmed glasses back on.
"And then suddenly, just as we'd almost pushed the Death Eaters back, suddenly… Dumbledore collapsed." Her father folded his hands together in front of his face. "I don't know what happened."
"The Killing curse," Percy filled in. "I saw it happen. Kingsley and I had just driven off the Lestrange brothers. A few steps away from helping. And then suddenly a green curse slipped through Dumbledore's artfully arranged defence." Percy balled his fist. "If only we'd been quicker."
"Not your fault, Perce," her mum said as she kissed him on the brow automatically. If Percy heard her, he showed no sign of it.
"After that, You-Know-Who laughed and then gave the sign to retreat. He must have considered that enough for one day," her dad said, biting on his nail as he made circles on the table with his other hand. "And all we could do was watch as Dumbledore lay there."
Dumbledore, dead.
Yes, oh yes, she could hear Tom crow in her head. But how could it be? That wise, kind old man she had seen so often this year. Sure, he had looked tired, but every bit as formidable before as he slowly pieced together Voldemort's past. How could he be… dead?
Her scars burned and shifted on her body, her right leg shaking so badly she almost fell before she dropped down in the chair. She grabbed her right arm with her left but couldn't still it. She didn't want her family to see it. But none of them looked like they saw very much in that moment.
The only wizard Voldemort was afraid of, dead.
Is this what your dead brother would have called checkmate?
The one who was supposed to destroy the Horcruxes, dead.
An Order without a leader, a school without a headmaster and soon, a world without mudblood filth.
What were they supposed to do now?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Dumbledore, dead.