Penumbra I: Falls the Shadow

by Skaldic Oresteia

Post-HBP. As Harry disappears on the Horcrux hunt, Ginny is left behind to find her own path in the war against Voldemort. On separate paths, Harry finds an unexpected ally, while Ginny faces repercussions for helping him leave. Meanwhile, the Wizarding World faces an increasingly bleak future as Voldemort unleashes a darker and deadlier power than anyone could have ever imagined.

8. 7: For it Giveth Unto All Lovers Courage

Chapter Seven
For it Giveth Unto All Lovers Courage

"The joy of love is too short, and the sorrow thereof, and what cometh thereof, dureth over long."
—Thomas Malory, "Le Morte d'Arthur"

---

The sun set blood-red, slowly sinking below the London skyline, and Ginny sat quietly before a window in what used to be Harry's bedroom at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, holding a hot rice bag to her throbbing temple, and willing Madam Pomfrey's restorative potions to take the pain away, but unfortunately, this headache was so powerful that even most household pain potions couldn't do much for it. There wasn't anything to do but wait for it to stop. In the meantime, she had to try to relax at Grimmauld Place for the foreseeable future, at least until the Order and the Aurors completed their investigation of a security breach earlier that day, in which someone had tried to Apparate through the Burrow's wards. It hadn't appeared to be anything particularly threatening, but to play it safe, the Weasleys removed to Grimmauld Place. She had yet to hear any further news, although Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that her father was strongly considering making their stay at Grimmauld Place permanent; it was, after all, the safest haven in England, and given how many of the Death Eaters' recent victims had some connection to Harry, she figured it was only a matter of time before they targeted the Weasleys. If her suspicions were correct, it was likely that the incident earlier that morning would merely be the event that clinched it.

The move, however, was rather rough on Ginny. While she had recovered from most of her injuries, her ear was still badly damaged, and her concussion hadn't yet healed. Both, as Madam Pomfrey had told her, were internal injuries, and thus were harder to treat, and took longer to heal. The Floo journey, combined with these injuries, had left her in her present state, although Ginny didn't realize how bad it was until it was too late for the pain potions to be effective. To help ease the pain, she'd also kept the room dark and Madam Pomfrey had placed a Silencing spell around the room to block any loud noises from outside, but otherwise she'd been told to try to get some sleep, which seemed impossible.

At this thought, she looked enviously at Crookshanks, who lay curled up and fast asleep at the foot of the bed. The move had been as rough on him as it had been for Ginny. Before going through the Floo Network, she and her mother had spent nearly half an hour trying to extricate the cat from beneath the cabinet in the back room, where he had taken to hiding since Hermione had left the Burrow. In the end, Molly cast a sleeping spell on Crookshanks, allowing Ginny to safely remove him without getting clawed up. The exhaustion from this struggle had probably contributed to her headache. Now here she was, keeping herself confined in a dimly-lit bedroom with a rice bag pressed against her temple, in the sorry company of a depressed cat in an enchanted sleep.

The Order was having a memorial service downstairs for Mad-Eye and the others lost in the recent attacks. The other Weasleys, minus Bill and Ron, were in attendance, but for once she didn't mind being left out. The very thought of moving from her present position made her feel positively ill. Still, she hoped to find a way to pay respects to Mad-Eye later. Though technically alive, he was as lost to the Order and the world as surely as if he had died, existing pointlessly in a special ward in St Mungo's where the victims of Dementors were generally kept.

"Ginny? Ginny, I'm talking to you!" a serene voice suddenly said, but it seemed to smash through her working eardrum like a hammer.

Ginny winced and turned around. "Don't shout, Luna!" she hissed, rubbing her head.

"I didn't," Luna said. "I tried to speak to you before, but you didn't notice me."

"Why didn't you prod me or something?" Ginny asked. "I still can't hear on my right side. Not unless you shout, which I do not recommend right now."

"I think you have a migraine," Luna said innocently.

"You don't say?" Ginny bit back. "Mum gave me one of Madam Pomfrey's anti-nausea draughts, and as many pain potions as she deemed safe, but I have yet to feel any difference."

"I don't think those work very often."

"Tell me something new." She pressed the rice bag harder into her temple, to no effect. "Bloody hell. I hope I never have to go through one of these again. It's complete rubbish."

"Don't worry, it will be gone by this time next year," Luna said reasonably.

Ginny bit back a retort. If she were in the mood, she might have laughed, but the intense pressure in her head would suck the sense of humour out of even the happiest person. Hoping a change of subject might distract her from the pain, she asked, "I take it the service is over?"

Luna nodded solemnly. "I didn't know Mr Moody very well, but I'm very sad about what happened to him."

"So what was said?"

"They talked about his life a bit. He seemed to be a good man. It didn't sound like he'd be involved in the Rotfang Conspiracy like most Aurors."

Ginny knew better than to ask.

"They rushed me out as soon as it was over, though. Now they're having a meeting. Mr Shacklebolt wants us to compile a list of Harry's acquaintances, by the way. In case they become targets."

Ginny nodded, and then winced at the motion. "Tell him I'll get started on it as soon as I can. Just not right now." She put the rice bag down and massaged her temple. "Can't think much."

"Don't worry, he's got your brothers and Professor Lupin on it too." She then looked at Ginny's appraisingly, and asked, "Did you know your temple's all red? I think you burned it. Just how hot is that rice bag?"

"Not hot enough," Ginny grumbled, as she glanced at the mirror by the dressing table. To her surprise, her temple and cheek indeed had turned an angry red, and when she touched her fingers to it, she felt a dull burning pain, like a sunburn. "Blimey. But believe me, it hurts a hell of a lot less than the headache."

At that moment, there was a sharp rap on the door, and this time Ginny's good ear was turned towards the sound. She flinched again.

"Come in," Luna called.

The door opened slowly, and George stepped inside. "Feel any better, Ginny?"

"Don't shout," she growled, pressing the rice bag to her head again.

"I take that as a 'no'," George chuckled. "Who knew that all it took to get you all quiet was to clout you on the head and send you through the Floo network?"

"Oh, bugger off," Ginny snapped. It was to George's credit that he visibly resisted the urge to laugh, although admittedly, aside from it putting his sister in further agony, he'd probably get hexed for it.

"Is the meeting over, then?" asked Luna curiously.

"Yep. You'll be interested to know that the idiot who tried to Apparate through the wards this morning was just a bloody reporter trying to get an interview with Harry." He smirked at Ginny. "He'll get out of St Mungo's tomorrow, though from what I've heard, he's in about the same shape as you."

"Serves him right," said Ginny.

"But it shows that at least the press doesn't have any idea about Harry's disappearance."

"So are we going home, then?"

She rather dreaded this, not wanting to go anywhere near the Floo network with her headache in full force.

"Nope," George said cheerfully. "Kingsley and Aberforth decided that in light of the recent assaults, our blood traitor status and our connection with Harry, we're no longer safe at the Burrow. If a reporter is prowling around the perimeter, Death Eaters could be doing the same."

"We're here until further notice, then?"

"That's okay," said Luna. "It's a very interesting house."

"It was a very unpleasant house until recently," George told her. "But anyway, we've put up an illusion spell around the Burrow to make it look from the outside like there's people still living there, and we've left the wards up. Let the Death Eaters thinkMum and Dad still live there."

"So is that all you talked about at the meeting?" asked Ginny.

"No, but there wasn't much else of real interest," George said. "A couple of Death Eaters turned up outside Kingsley's house the other day, bound and gagged. No one's sure who left them there, but we aren't likely to find out any time soon, because the Department of Mysteries took them from the Aurors into their own custody."

"They what? What the hell for?"

"Search me. Kingsley and Gawain Robards aren't too chuffed about it. I didn't even know the Department of Mysteries coulddo that. But without someone in the Order working there, there's no chance of us finding out what they want with these Death Eaters any time soon." He shook his head in annoyance. "Percy also gave us some information about Scrimgeour's office, but nothing that's particularly important right now."

"He's joined the Order, then?" asked Ginny, vaguely surprised.

"Yeah, though you're not the only one a bit edgy about that." George frowned. "Personally, I think there's a lot to be said about him taking an Unbreakable Vow. I bet Mad Eye would make him do it, although Mum would have killed him. On the other hand, you'd be surprised at the change in Perce. He's lightened up a bit lately. Still a stickler for rules, and still a complete prat in a lot of ways, but at least he's got his priorities straightened out a bit. And anyway, Kingsley can keep an eye on him at the Ministry."

"I think he's sincere," said Luna. "He's realised he was wrong."

"So what did he tell you?" asked Ginny, ignoring her.

"Mum would have my head if I told you too much."

"Since when did that stop you?"

George grinned. "Guilty as charged. But really, it wasn't a whole lot. We do know that Scrimgeour and his lot are in full damage control now that it's out that there's been another breakout from Azkaban, especially one of this size. They're trying to push a new act through the Wizengamot. Percy couldn't give us the full details, but it sounds like they're going to set up a volunteer fighting force to assist the Aurors. They're also trying to pass an emergency law rescinding the underage magic decree."

"Seriously?" asked Ginny, astonished. She winced at another throb in her temple but she ignored it.

"With conditions attached, of course." George looked pleased. "Percy's a bit worried that there might be repercussions from the ICW."

"Who cares what they think?" Ginny asked, excited. "It won't make any difference anyway. The Ministry can detect magic, but not the perpetrator. As long as I'm in the same house as Mum and Dad, they won't be any the wiser."

"And how did you find that out?" asked George.

Ginny smirked. "Same way you did."

George burst into delighted laughter. Ginny let out an agonised yell and furiously put this flaw in the underage magic laws to perfect demonstration. George had to flee from the room to avoid her jinxes.

---

It was a sign of just how ill he was that Harry could barely wake up the next morning, feeling absolutely no energy. He supposed the sleeping draught Cecilia Grimrook had given him was partly the reason for that, but now, though his mind was conscious, his body seemed to be in a war between waking up at its habitual hour, and submitting again to the realm of unconsciousness. In time, however, he forced himself awake as the pain potions began to wear off. Eventually the effects of the sleep potion could no longer deaden him to the aches growing throughout his body and especially in his side and his sternum, and he opened his eyes, and tried to pull himself into a sitting position, but he couldn't without increasing the pain. He then mustered just enough energy to blearily look at his bedside table. He could just see the blurred outline of the potions Cecilia had left there, and he tried to reach for them, but he only could lift his arm an inch or two before it fell back to the bed uselessly.

"Ron?" he managed to call out weakly, grudgingly hoping for some help.

"Harry?" It was Hermione who answered. He could see her blurred shape hurry across the room from the door. Seeing his attempts to move, she gently chided him, "Don't over-exert yourself, or you'll make things worse."

"I know, but it hurts," Harry mumbled, as Hermione fitted his glasses onto his face.

"Of course it does. You're overdue for your potion. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Just woke up."

She looked sympathetic, and then assisted him into more of a sitting position, his head leaning on the headboard. She then poured a dose of the potion into the shot glass and placed it at his mouth (he still being too sore and weak to lift his arms). He distastefully swallowed it, but he didn't have long to wait before the aching began to stop, leaving only a dull pain in the middle of his chest.

"That's better," he said. "Thanks."

Hermione set the shot glass back on the bedside table. "Anything else still hurting?"

"Nothing except my chest."

"That'll be from the CPR," Hermione said apologetically. "Cecilia and Feidlenid said you'll still be sore there for a while."

Harry didn't know what to say to this. He supposed pain was the price of surviving a life-threatening condition, but he could tell that there was more in Hermione's expression than mere apology for the extra pain her actions had caused him, even if they had saved his life. For a while they were silent, then Harry looked around. "Where's Ron?"

'Downstairs," Hermione answered. "Cecilia's making breakfast. You know Ron can't keep away for long when there's food around."

Harry smiled. He began to feel tired again, now that the pain had stopped, and either because of his condition, or perhaps because the effects of the potions Cecilia had plied him with still hadn't quite worn off, he felt sleep overtake him. As he began to drift off, though, he thought he saw another gobliness in a blue robe and a wimple step beside Hermione. His eyes slid shut.

"How is he?" her unfamiliar voice asked in a strange accent.

"Very tired, but he's taken his potion."

"It's good. Go downstairs and have breakfast. I'll watch him."

---

Ron was already well into his breakfast by the time Hermione came into the Grimrooks' kitchen, which looked as run-down as the rest of the house, though she could tell that Cecilia and her brother had put some effort into making the place usable; at least the kitchen had been cleared of dust, mildew and cobwebs, and the willow-patterned dishes had been cleaned. A stack of such plates lay on the table by a matching bowl filled with scrambled eggs. A wood cutting board had a loaf of bread with a knife, and there was also a butter-dish nearby. The table was also covered with sprigs of parsley, thyme, lavender, and mint. Cecilia was at the sink drying dishes.

"G'mornin," Ron said through a stuffed mouth as she sat down beside him.

"Morning."

"Help yourself," Cecilia said without looking up from the dishes.

Hermione chose a seat next to Ron and brushed aside some parsley to make extra space for herself, then began scooping eggs onto a plate.

Ron swallowed his food. "How's Harry?"

"Really lethargic," Hermione answered. "He woke up for a few minutes just now. He was in terrible pain, but as soon as he took his potion, he fell asleep again."

"Well, his heart did stop for a few minutes," Cecilia said quietly. "He's going to be like that for at least a few days. I'm afraid he's in for a rough recovery."

She finished drying the dishes as she spoke, and then went to the end of the table, though rather than take a seat as Hermione expected, she pushed a chair out of the way and remained standing, sorting out the herbs.

"What happens if the villagers do find out we're here?" asked Ron.

"We're doing everything we can to ensure that they don't," Cecilia assured him. "If they do, at worst, they'll react badly and we remove you. At best, they don't react much at all and we have to remove you anyway."

The wryness of her response caused Ron to give a sardonic snort. "So in the meantime we have to stay inside and keep our heads down?"

"I'm afraid so," Cecilia said. "It could take anywhere from a couple of weeks to a few months for Mr Potter to recover, so if I were you I would get comfortable."

"Bloody hell."

Hermione could tell that he did not relish hiding in this run-down cottage for months, never going beyond the perimeter, though she suspected that the Grimrooks didn't want to spend months keeping Harry hidden here either. Perhaps, with their help, once Harry had healed enough that they needn't fear a relapse, they could move him somewhere even more out of the way.

As she watched Cecilia take some twine from her pocket and start tying the thyme into a bundle, Hermione asked, "What about your priestess regularly coming here from the temple? Won't somebody notice?"

"Don't worry about that." Cecilia turned and hung the thyme from a nail above the window. "The priestesses regularly go out to look for chicory or dog-rose or other herbs they need for their potions. Nobody will really think anything of it if they see Feidlenid going off into the woods."

As she spoke, a raven suddenly landed on the window sill outside and tapped on the glass, causing Ron and Hermione to start. Cecilia, however, opened the window, and the raven hopped into the kitchen. The raven made throaty sounds at the gobliness, who stood listening closely for a full minute, and even made a few similar sounds herself, before the enormous black bird flew back out the window. Cecilia had a grim expression on her face.

"There's a group of village children playing in the woods nearby," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "They shouldn't have seen or heard anything, but apparently the wards aren't masking the smell of wood burning, so if you'll excuse me, I need to fine-tune them, and perhaps add something extra to make sure the scamps aren't tempted to approach the property."

With that, she abruptly left the room.

Ron was gaping after her. "What was that? Was she… talking to that raven?"

Hermione nodded. "Now that I think about it, I think I remember reading somewhere that some goblins can talk to ravens in the same way that some wizards can speak Parseltongue, although I'm under the impression that it's more common. In fact, I remember that goblins have found it a useful means of communication during wars against wizards."

"Yeah, that brings me consolation," griped Ron, before returning to his eggs.

Hermione's thoughts, however, returned to their friend sleeping upstairs, and the events that had landed him there. Suddenly she didn't feel hungry anymore, and she found herself staring at her food, feeling slightly ill. Seeing her expression, Ron asked, "Are you all right?"

"No," Hermione admitted. "I feel so guilty." She put her head in her hands. "I had such a bad feeling about going to Godric's Hollow, and I didn't say anything."

"I did," Ron assured her. "I made sure Harry considered the risk."

She looked at Ron in despair. "But I've never seen Harry so… in such bad shape. I don't think he's ever been this badly injured, not even after he duelled Voldemort in that graveyard. I mean…." She looked at the kitchen door, toward the staircase that led upstairs. "He'd been in the hospital wing plenty of times, but never for more than a couple of days."

Ron watched her sadly, but then he said firmly, "We couldn't have seen this coming. And hopefully they're not wrong when they say he'll make a full recovery."

"I hope so. But what if he doesn't fully recover?" She didn't want to think about that possibility, but it was something they had to prepare for. "People have been permanently debilitated by cardiac arrest."

"Muggles have," Ron said optimistically. "Don't forget we've got magic on our side."

Hermione looked at him. His hope gave her some comfort, and with a small sob, she scooted closer to Ron and pulled him into a tight hug. "I hope you're right," she finally mumbled into his shoulder. "I really do."

Hope was really all she had; hope and the word of two gobliness Healers who she wasn't entirely sure what to make of yet, though they certainly seemed to know what they were doing. She also knew from what she'd read that the priests and priestesses of the Laelitian and Oreanchian religious orders, all highly skilled medi-goblins, were sworn never to harm or refuse treatment to anyone who fell under their care. Even in goblin rebellions they never failed to treat and protect wounded humans who were captured or by some other means ended up in their care, often to the chagrin of the other rebels. They took this oath so seriously that it was often said that a priest or priestess would surrender their lives to protect their patients. If the priestess looking after Harry upstairs made that oath with the same degree of seriousness, they at least didn't need to fear anything from her. Ron was suspicious of them—though she suspected that his suspicions at least in part were rooted in the long-running tensions between British wizardry and the goblin nation-state Tylwthteg. While she didn't approve of wizarding prejudice against the goblins, however, she didn't like being so out of control, so dependent upon people that, in spite of the Grimrooks' connection with Harry through Gringotts, remained strangers to them. She also knew that Harry would like it even less, once he'd recovered enough to really think about it.

---

The morning after the Weasleys' relocation found Ginny in the dining room at Grimmauld Place, exhausted and lightly rubbing the side of her head. Her mother had considerately left her alone during breakfast, and therefore the first words she heard that morning as she finished eating her eggs were "Wotcher, Ginny!" as Tonks entered the room. Taking a seat next to Ginny, she then asked, "How are you feeling?"

"My temple's all numb," Ginny answered quietly, "but that's better than feeling like your head's in a C-clamp, I guess. It kept me up most of the night, then it started to ebb away at about four this morning."

She saw Tonks's sympathetic nod as she talked, and tried not to grimace. She herself had seen the bags under her eyes and her pallor in the mirror earlier that morning, and knew she looked as tired as she felt.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better," Tonks said, and then added with an amused grin, "For our sakes as well as yours, given that George ended up Bat-Bogeyed just for laughing too hard next to you."

"Be fair, it's not like that didn'tfeel like he'd plunged an ice pick into my head," Ginny protested. She then smirked. "So one of them got him, then? He bolted as soon as he saw my wand."

"The last one got him." Tonks returned her grin. "Nothing Molly couldn't sort out in a second. So you're still deaf in your right ear?"

Ginny nodded glumly. "Unfortunately, although Madam Pomfrey says that should start to clear up soon."

"Oh, good," Tonks said wryly, "because then we'd have to make sure the baddies come from your left side every time you encounter them." Her face fell as she spoke. "God, I sounded almost like Mad-Eye."

Ginny watched as Tonks look downcast. She hadn't seen her look this sad since her problems with Remus the previous year, and hated to see the usually chipper Auror so glum. "I know you were close to him," she said after a moment. "I'm sorry."

Tonks looked back up despairingly. "I saw him later, you know. In St Mungo's. They have a special ward for Dementor victims. Mostly for research, since it's not possible to cure them." Ginny saw a tear escape Tonks's eyes. "He's just… gone," she whispered. "That's the only way to describe it."

Ginny had no idea what to say. Mad-Eye Moody was one of the best of the Order, and Tonks's unofficial mentor, and he'd been taken from them all in a devastating manner. The worst bit was that, given the unknown state of the human soul after a Dementor's Kiss, Ginny couldn't even express the hope that Mad-Eye was now in a better place. Before she could think of anything to say, however, Tonks brushed aside the tear and then attempted to resume her previous cheer, and Ginny knew that the subject was closed.

After a quick glance at the kitchen door and the hall door, Tonks said quietly, "By the way, the twins have had a word with me. Is it true you're thinking of restarting Dumbledore's Army?"

Ginny started, and made no response, although she looked at Tonks warily.

"I'm not going to try to stop you, or anything," laughed Tonks.

"I haven't even agreed to anything yet," Ginny said, exasperated. "It was Hermione's idea originally, and then George was on board with it, then Luna said I should do it. I like the idea, but I'm not sure how to go about it this time, or if I can, oreven if I should." Watching Tonks carefully, she asked, "What do you think?"

"Actually, I think it's a great idea," Tonks said, and Ginny was surprised at the barely-suppressed enthusiasm that suddenly appeared in her demeanour. "The more people we've got preparing to fight, the better."

"Half of them are underage," Ginny reminded her.

"So are you. Doesn't stop you. Anyway, as far as them practicing spells, it won't matter much with this new bill the Ministry's trying to put through. I don't know if anyone's told you"—

"George told me."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. So what d'you reckon?"

"I'm not entirely certain how to go about it without Hogwarts reopening," Ginny said slowly, "and I know the Order will have reservations, but as a whole, it seems like a good idea."

"That's 'cos it is," Tonks said. "It might make a good training and recruiting operation for the Order."

Ginny blinked.

"That was in Dumbledore's last instructions, you know," Tonks explained, glancing at the doors again nervously. "Finding new ways to recruit efficiently. Part of the reason we've had trouble getting anything done is that too many Order members are known to the Death Eaters, or at least suspect. All of us have to take careful precautions, only going out disguised, getting false names, relocating to new homes and putting protective wards around them. We're generally safe enough at work, but the point still stands."

"So you need to increase your numbers, and preferably in such a way that the Death Eaters won't have as good a grasp on who's involved in the Order, and who isn't."

"Yes, exactly. The D.A. wasn't very well known to the Death Eaters. By the looks of things, since it originally was just a teenage student rebellion, they, like many in the Order, didn't think it was really worthy of their attention." Tonks's enthusiasm seemed to increase the more she spoke. "It's a plus that Kingsley thought to grab that list of Hermione's and destroy it when Umbridge caught you. Why do you think so few of the D.A. were actually punished?"

"So basically the only way the Death Eaters could know who was in it originally is if Draco Malfoy or one of his mates told them," Ginny said. "But Malfoy would have seen that list before Kingsley destroyed it."

"Yes, that is a danger," Tonks conceded, "but Minerva kept a close eye on the situation after the D.A. was disbanded that year, and from what she could tell, Malfoy only really kept note of a few from that list, mostly you Weasleys and Harry and Hermione. Umbridge was primarily interested in Harry and Dumbledore's involvement, and it seems that was all Malfoy really looked for himself. Once it became clear that Harry was at the centre of it, that was all she cared about. The rest was mere detail."

Ginny's concerns weren't completely assuaged, but she began to feel a more confident about the idea.

"I've talked to the twins about it," Tonks continued, "and they think you could work the D.A. in this way as a recruiting branch of the Order, with their assistance. It would give you something to do, to be sure."

The more Tonks talked about it, the more enthusiastic Ginny herself felt; additionally, the idea of having something useful to do for the Order while everyone else was out fighting bolstered her further; but she still had one particularly pressing reservation, which she'd tried to explain to Luna before the Death Eaters destroyed the Lovegoods' house, and which she felt she needed to discuss with Tonks before she started anything.

"It sounds good in theory," Ginny said insistently, "but Harry was the original leader. I'm not sure how seriously I'd be taken by either the Order or the D.A."

"Bullocks," Tonks said bluntly. "All you have to do is Bat-Bogey them and they'll know how tough you are."

"It's not that," Ginny said. "We named it 'Dumbledore's Army' as a bit of a laugh, you know, because of Fudge's paranoia about Dumbledore. As Luna reminded me, the D.A. was always more Harry's group than Dumbledore's, and without him here"—

"You're Harry's girlfriend."

"Former girlfriend."

"Only ostensibly, from what I understand," Tonks said dismissively. "You are close to him, and that's what matters. And anyway, who says they need to know about the breakup?"

Ginny couldn't help but snicker in spite of herself. Unfortunately, before either she or Tonks could press their points, the door opened and Arthur walked in, more casually dressed than usual. The moment he appeared, however, Ginny fell silent and warily watched him take a seat on her other side.

Sensing the sudden tension, Tonks said with false cheer, "Morning, Arthur. Did you get the day off?" She gestured at his outfit.

"Just the morning, really," Arthur said. "I've got a deputy looking after the office. They'll send for me if they need me. The twins and I are going to move more of our old stuff here, try to make it seem more like home." He then glanced at his daughter, and asked, "Feeling better, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded but said nothing further. In truth, she wasn't sure what to say to him. She had seen little of her father for the past couple of days, given that he'd been working overtime as a result of the recent Death Eater assaults. Unfortunately, the last time she'd been in the same room with him for more than a minute, there was still some tension between them, the same since her shouting match with her mother and the Order over Harry's departure. Thus Ginny had spoken to him even less than she'd seen of him.

"I'd better head out," Tonks said awkwardly, looking between Ginny and Arthur. "I'm supposed to meet up with Kingsley and Gawain Robards in an hour." As she passed Ginny, she bent down to mutter in her ear, "I'll run it by Remus, see what he thinks. Kingsley is more likely to agree if Remus does."

Ginny could give her no further answer than a subtle nod, and she watched glumly as Tonks quitted the room. For a moment, she and Arthur sat in uncomfortable silence. Then Arthur spoke first.

"Ginny, I should apologise for the past few days." Surprised, Ginny looked at her father, her heart hammering, but before she could say anything, he went on, "I was angry that you'd helped Harry leave, of course, but after Kingsley read Dumbledore's letter, as far as I was concerned, what's done is done."

Hurt and confused, Ginny stammered, "But then, why"—

"I suppose I was upset that none of you felt you could tell me or… well, anyone else." Ginny could tell he had purposely excluded her mother's name. His next words confirmed it. "Your mother wouldn't have let them go easily, so I understand why you kept it from her," he admitted, "but I could have used the warning. Could have helped out in some way. And, of course, I was— and am— extremely worried about Harry taking Ron and Hermione off somewhere without leaving any means for us to contact or check up on them. But that's no excuse to take it out on you. I'm sorry, Ginny."

He said all this so quietly that Ginny had to lean closer to him, her good ear turned more toward him to catch what he was saying. Sensing the shame in his voice, she asked quietly, "But you're not as upset about Dumbledore putting them up to this?"

"No, I am upset about that, of course," Arthur said, "but my biggest regret is that we, the Order, not trusting them or their abilities, put them in a situation where they had to leave secretly, and without information about the past few months that we could have given them, but chose not to." He shook his head regretfully. "The Order could easily have told him about the mass breakout, and about…." He faltered and coughed nervously. "Well, we chose not to. For foolish and nonsensical reasons, in retrospect."

Ginny sighed. She couldn't believe that even with that lesson learned, Arthur still couldn't admit to precisely whathe should have told Harry, and she hesitantly pressed, "Charlie said something about Inferi the day of the attacks."

Arthur looked at her sharply. "He wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"You yourself just said that it would have been better for Harry to know this!" Ginny retorted. "What's the point in hiding it?"

"Because we could both get into a load of trouble, and not just from your mother," Arthur countered. "Kingsley told the Order, but we're not to discuss it with anyone else."

"Why the secrecy?" asked Ginny, confused. "Voldemort has used Inferi before. It's ugly, but why would it be any worse than him using Dementors or giants?"

Arthur winced at her use of the name. "This is different. It's classified information. Kingsley could get fired for telling anyone outside the Auror office, and if I tell you and then one of Scrimgeour's lot finds out, I could get a prison sentence."

Surprised and disquieted, Ginny said, "Bloody hell. That sounds rather serious."

"It is serious, Ginny," Arthur stressed. "I'm expressing myself badly if you don't understand that."

"But what's so different about these Inferi?"

Arthur was silent for a minute, then shook his head. "I can't, Ginny. If Kingsley decides to tell you, I won't fight it, but for your own protection as well as mine, I can't disclose that. I'm sorry."

At this point Ginny began to feel genuinely scared, and hesitantly nodded. For once she'd let it slide.

"I just hope to God that Harry, Ron, and Hermione never find themselves in a situation where that information would have been life-saving," Arthur went on.

Ginny swallowed. "Did this start before or after Dumbledore died?"

"Ginny"—

"I don't think it would be harmful for me to know that," she pointed out.

Arthur hesitated. "Before."

"So he knew about it?"

"I don't know, but I assume so."

Ginny inhaled deeply, wondering what the hell Voldemort had done, even if she understood that she couldn't be privy to that information for the time being. To be honest with herself, she wasn't sure she really wanted to know anymore. But even in her ignorance, in their ignorance, she couldn't be sorry for her previous actions, and she needed her father to understand that.

"I wasn't being careless and blasé about letting Harry go, you know," she said. "I'm scared for him. I'm bloody terrified. But I trusted Dumbledore, and I believe in Harry."

"I know you do," Arthur said gently. "And I know Dumbledore did. The rest of us should have put as much faith in him. And you know what? I think Harry believes in you too. More than you might realise."

Ginny couldn't help but smile, and at the same time she felt tears well up, but she forced them back. "Thanks, Dad," she managed. "I think I really needed to hear that."

---

A soft scraping sound drew Harry out of his slumber, and upon opening his eyes, he saw a blurred figure clad in blue standing near his bedside table, their back toward him. He groped around for his glasses and then put them on. He then saw the gobliness in the blue habit and wimple who had come in just as he'd fallen asleep earlier. Hearing the creaking of the bed as he tried to sit up, she turned around to see him watching her. She was holding a mortar and pestle in her hands, which was what had been making the scraping sound; and a tray with boxes and phials of herbs and tinctures had appeared on the work table. He then realised that this must be the priestess Hermione and Cecilia had told him about.

"You're awake, Mr Potter," she observed in a foreign accent. "How do you feel?"

"A little better," he answered hesitantly.

Sitting up was still a painful struggle, and to his disgust, after a moment's attempt, he pathetically flopped back down onto the bed. The priestess Feidlenid placed the mortar back down and took a potion from Harry's bedside table. She then gently tilted the back of his head up and placed the potion at his lips.

"Slowly, slowly," she muttered as he swallowed the draught. "There. That should help."

Harry muttered his thanks. Feidlenid returned to grinding her herbs, but in the moments that followed, the aches alleviated, as did the pain that had shot through his entire body when he tried to sit up. Harry initially did not attempt it again; he still felt very tired and weak, although not so tired as to attempt to return to sleep, and so he contented himself with watching the priestess work, uncertain of what precisely she was doing. After a few minutes of this, she returned to his bedside.

"I must look at your side, Mr Potter," she said. "If you could…?"

Harry nodded, and with her help, he turned onto his side. She lifted the blankets and then tugged up his pyjama shirt. Harry couldn't see the injury in his ribs, but even with the pain draught she had given him, upon her removing the bandage, he winced at the tenderness of his skin. Feidlenid made no comment, except to instruct him to remain still. He watched as she resumed whatever she was doing at the work table by the window, dumping the powdery contents of the mortar into a small bowl and then adding other powders to the bowl, before pouring some water into the mixture and stirring it into some kind of paste. A strong, earthy smell wafted through the room, though not an unpleasant one.

As Feidlenid worked, Ron and Hermione came into the room, the latter carrying a tray of food.

"Hey, mate," Ron said. "How are you feeling?"

Harry snorted. "Absolutely terrific."

"We brought something for you to eat, if you're hungry," Hermione offered.

Harry still didn't really feel much like eating anything, but he knew Hermione wouldn't get off his case until he got something down, so he nodded cooperatively. Feidlenid suddenly instructed them to wait for a moment while she finished. As they watched, she wrapped the paste and some other herbs into a moist poultice. She then crossed the room, and with Ron's help, sat Harry up, and applied the poultice to his side, securing it in place with more bandages. A brown liquid soon began to leak through the bandages, and then through Harry's pyjama shirt, but Feidlenid sternly told them to leave the poultice where it was, although they were free to use magic to clean Harry's shirt every now and then.

"I am downstairs if you need anything," she finished, before she collected her tray of ingredients. Before leaving the room, she added gently, "You will heal well, Mr Potter. Sa bylghnaam. Be patient."

She then left the room. Hermione moved a few potion phials from Harry's beside table to the work bench, and then placed the breakfast tray on the table.

"That looks disgusting," Ron said, eyeing the brown spot appearing on Harry's side where the poultice was.

"It doesn't feel bad, though," Harry said quietly. "And if it will help my skin heal…"

"I don't get it," Ron said, frowning. "I've watched them treating you for a couple of days and they only used magic to stabilise you and heal your ribs."

"I asked Cecilia about that," Hermione said. She also was looking at the stain with interest. "Apparently goblin healers believe that the body should be allowed to heal on its own, without magic, wherever possible or feasible. So except in emergencies they use herbal remedies and potions to aid the healing process but leave the rest mostly to nature. The only reason Feidlenid used magic to heal your ribs was to avoid complications and to speed up your recovery in case we need to make a quick getaway."

"Barking," Ron said, shaking his head. "Imagine waiting weeks for a broken bone to heal."

Hermione responded with a derisive snort. "You do know that Muggles have to go through that all the time? You really don't realise how convenient your life has been, do you?"

Ron blinked, and Harry could see him turning this over in his head. He knew that because of his family's poverty, Ron had never thought of his upbringing as remotely convenient.

"Look, it's just a bruise and some broken skin," Harry said uncomfortably. "It'll be fine in a few days."

"It'll take more than a poultice for you to fully recover, though," Hermione pointed out sadly.

Harry glowered at the reminder of his actual condition, and he earlier frustration returned in full force as he muttered, "I hate this. I hate being stuck here, barely able to raise my own head. I'm supposed to be looking for bloody Horcruxes, and instead"—

"Mate, you should just be happy you're alive," Ron interrupted.

"Do try to be a good patient, won't you?" Hermione asked irritably. "We don't really appreciate you complaining when not forty-eight hours ago we had to endure watching Cecilia and Feidlenid try to stabilise you, wondering if you'd ever wake up."

As she spoke, Hermione stifled a small sob and suddenly grabbed Ron's hand. Harry saw him squeeze it before throwing him an admonishing look. Brought up short, Harry initially had no idea what to say except a mumbled apology; the severity of his injuries had been made plain to him, but he knew first-hand that it was easier to wake up in the aftermath of near-death than to witness it, yet in his own suffering he hadn't given much consideration to his friends' suffering. As he watched Hermione struggling to hold back tears, he remembered her reservations about the whole trip to Godric's Hollow, and his guilt only increased.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "For everything. We shouldn't have gone there. You were right. It was too dangerous."

Hermione visibly swallowed, and then she gave him a sympathetic smile. "It wasn't your fault, you know," she said. "You might remember that we just about had it in hand, until… well…"

She fell silent again. Since his injuries and rescue were first explained to him, nobody had dared to bring up the nightmarish attack in the graveyard. But now that Hermione had brought it up, there seemed no point in avoiding a subject they inevitably would have to discuss.

"Until that wizard reanimated… them," Harry finished Hermione's sentence, looking at his blankets. At the memory, an unpleasant feeling came upon him, as though his heart had turned to ice, and yet felt leaden, at the same time. But as he reflected on the attack, he said, "That wizard… he wasn't a Death Eater."

"No," Hermione agreed.

"Who was he?" asked Harry urgently. "What was he?"

He looked between Hermione and Ron, wanting answers, though he wasn't sure he expected to receive one. Sure enough, Ron only shrugged and said helplessly, "Never heard of anything like it, mate."

"I know that Mr Grimrook and Mr Grobschmied have been looking into it," Hermione added. "I've only seen them once since we brought you here, but Cecilia says they haven't found anything out yet."

Harry nodded, though he felt frustration and anger welling within his heart; at least for once, everyone was in the dark, rather than just him. Then, thinking of the accountant he'd met several weeks before, he said, "And that's another thing. What do you make of these goblins?"

Hermione was quiet for a while, trying to think of an answer. She then glanced at the closed door, as though afraid that Cecilia might be listening there, and said in an undertone, "I don't know what to think."

"I still don't think it's a coincidence that they were there," Ron said firmly. "Bill says goblins are generally a decent lot, but you still have to tread carefully around them."

Harry nodded. "That was one of the first things Hagrid told me about the magical world."

"Goblins are very clever," Hermione said thoughtfully, "and they generally look after themselves. I know you two never paid much attention in History of Magic, but the relationship between goblins and wizards is… well, complicated, to say the least."

"That doesn't help much," Harry muttered. Ron too looked wary, but so far didn't seem to have anything further to say on the matter. Harry began to feel tired again, and seeing him slump backwards wearily, Hermione abruptly changed the subject.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about our present situation right now, except help you recover," she said in a business-like tone. Harry looked at her in surprise, and she pointed at the breakfast tray. "Broth, applesauce, eggs."

"I don't feel like eating at all, really," Harry admitted.

Ron shook his head firmly, and gently pulled Harry back into his sitting position, ignoring his protests. "Tough. You're eating this whether you like it or not."

As Hermione thrust the bowl of applesauce under Harry's nose, he knew that it was utterly pointless to argue. In the next half-hour, Harry had still found it difficult and even exhausting to manage more than a few bites of the food Hermione had brought to his room, but she and Ron stayed by his side, making small talk throughout, until he had eaten as much as he felt physically able to manage, and finally began to drift off regardless of anyone's efforts to keep him awake and eating. He slept for the rest of the afternoon.

When he woke up later that evening, he found not Ron and Hermione at his side but Cecilia and Feidlenid. The former appeared to be gathering up empty dishes from the work table (he gathered Ron and Hermione had taken their lunch in here rather than in the kitchen, though he suspected the dishes left behind were Ron's rather than Hermione's). Harry became acutely aware that Feidlenid had pulled his pyjama shirt up and seemed to be examining his side again; a cool rush of air told him that she had removed the poultice, and as he raised his head, he felt a soft, damp pressure on his tender ribs, and he realised the priestess was washing off the poultice juice.

Examining the injury closely, Feidlenid declared, "That's much better."

"The blankets are a mess," Harry said ruefully.

"It's no problem." Feidlenid lifted the blankets and sheets to examine the messy stain that had appeared there, and as Harry watched, she ran her free hand over the brown spot and mumbled something in a language he didn't recognise. As he watched, the stain vanished.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked.

"They're preparing dinner downstairs," Cecilia answered. "Miss Granger insisted on doing it tonight."

Harry leaned his head back into his pillow, wishing he could join them downstairs. "How soon do you think I'll be able to get out of bed?"

It was Feidlenid who answered. "Soon. A week, perhaps."

"Once you do, though," added Cecilia sternly, "you'll have to follow a regimen of daily exercises to strengthen your heart."

"Exercises? Like what?"

"Nothing too strenuous," Cecilia assured him. "Climbing the stairs, household tasks like cleaning. You could help out with the gardening as long as you stay within the perimeter."

Harry nodded glumly, and fell silent, allowing Feidlenid to continue working. Cecilia hovered by the door, Ron's dishes in her hands, observing as the priestess began to run her hands above Harry's side, and then his heart, as though feeling the air for something. Her small mouth was set in a deep frown, and she then said something to Cecilia in Gobbledegook. The latter gave a short response, and put the dishes back on the work table. She then reached into her pocket, from which she drew a small, octagonal brass instrument, which she wound up like a clock. It began emitting a whirring, clicking sound as she held it over Harry's heart, gradually moving it up and down.

"What's that for?" asked Harry warily.

"Your magic is still mostly depleted, as it has been since you arrived here," Cecilia explained. "Goblin Healers use these quite regularly to measure levels of magical energy with accuracy, and I've made improvements to this one to make it even more precise. Feidlenid wanted to know if there was any improvement in your magical levels she herself can't detect." Seeing Harry's alarmed expression, she hastily added, "It's not that unusual, especially following such a strong magical assault, nor is it likely to be permanent."

The instrument gave a small ding! and Cecilia pulled it away as a small strip of paper printed from a slot in its side. She tore this off and read it carefully, before saying something in Gobbledegook to Feidlenid, whose expression turned to one of satisfaction. She then looked at Harry, and said, "These are promising results. You'll need to practice your magic a little to get back up to par, but there has been slight improvement since you woke up. Maybe we can even get full magical recovery in just a couple of weeks."

"It's best not to begin until you're better…" Feidlenid paused for a moment, thinking, then continued, "adjusted… to the physical exercise. You also mustn't start with advanced spells. Use easy spells only when you begin, or you might make the problem worse."

Harry nodded, feeling some relief as he waited for the Feidlenid to give further instructions, but the priestess seemingly had nothing more to say, instead pulling Harry's shirt down and pulling the blankets up to cover him again. Seeing that Feidlenid seemed to have everything in hand, Cecilia gathered up the dishes again, and nudged the door open with her foot, saying over her shoulder as she left, "I'll go see how much longer they'll be."

As Harry listened to Cecilia's footsteps down the stairs, Feidlenid asked, "You are hurting anywhere?"

"No," he said honestly. "Just tired."

"That's expected."

She helped Harry sit up, and handed him a small glass filled with his restorative draught. Harry swallowed the slightly-bitter concoction, and handed the glass back to Feidlenid, and then lay back down. As he watched her make to leave the room, however, he called her back.

"How come nobody's lived here for so long?" he asked quietly, nodding at the peeling wallpaper and the window frames, which needed a new coat of paint. "I mean, I suppose it's a good thing, since nobody else knows I'm here, but why haven't the Grimrooks rented it out or something?"

Feidlenid frowned, and initially Harry thought she looked rather confused. While her English was reasonably good, it wasn't perfect, and Harry wondered if she'd understood the question. If that were the case, though, it wasn't long before she seemed to work out what he'd asked, and her confused expression turned contemplative. She then said, "They don't like to come here."

"They?"

"Rok and Cecilia. The villagers. Others moving in," Feidlenid explained. "They don't like it here. Not after their parents were killed."

Harry stared at her. "Killed?"

"Yes. Murdered. Their grandparents too."

Harry initially opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but Feidlenid, seemingly unwilling to say anything more, shook her head and followed Cecilia out the room, with nothing more than instructions to call for one of them, should he need anything.

---

Like most of the rest of Diagon Alley, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes closed early in the afternoon on Saturdays, although this did not mean the twins weren't working. The morning found Fred restocking the shop's displays for the next week, while George was in their office with Verity. On Saturday afternoon it was normal for Diagon Alley to be mostly deserted except for Aurors and stragglers, and people shopping at the few places, like Eeylops Owl Emporium or the odd competing apothecary, that were still open. The nearest of these places to the twins' shop was Eeylops, and even it was some distance away. It was therefore to Fred's mild surprise that he heard someone rapping on their door, and he turned around to call out that they were closed, perhaps adding some joke. He quickly forgot whatever he'd intended to say, however, when he saw that the visitor was their oldest brother.

Fred quickly opened the door and allowed him in. "You're back a bit earlier than we expected. How was the honeymoon?"

Bill grinned almost stupidly. "Amazing, thank you."

Fred smirked. "I'll bet it was."

He was about to make some remark about Veela women when Bill interrupted in a warning voice, "You might want to rethink whatever it was you were about to say. That's my wife, you know." He then dropped all pretence of severity, and said, "I got your letter. You and George wanted to talk to me as soon as I got back?"

"Yeah, we did." Fred put down the last box in the love potions display. "Tell you what, how about we go upstairs and have a quick drink while George finishes with Verity? Today was her last day working here, more's the pity."

"Who are you going to hire once she's gone?" asked Bill.

"We've got someone in mind," Fred told him with a mysterious grin. "Someone really in the spirit of the pranking business."

"Lee Jordan?"

"Sadly, no. But this candidate shows excellent potential."

For a moment, Fred thought he saw slight suspicion suddenly appear in Bill's expression, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and he said with a shrug, "Well, I hope they accept the position without much of a hitch. It's a rather risky time to be working in Diagon Alley, you know."

He and Fred didn't have to wait around for George; as they were about to climb the stairs, the office door opened and George showed Verity out the door.

"Well, I can't say we're not sorry to see you go," they heard George say. "We hope this new job of yours is as fun as this one was."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," she said politely. "And I wish you luck with your business." She then gave a nod of farewell to Fred, before heading for the back door, from where she'd Disapparate home.

George, catching sight of his brothers, exclaimed, "Fancy seeing you here, Bill! How was Egypt?"

"It was nice, for the few days we were there. It was a hassle getting back here after Harry disappeared, and when that happened we decided it would be simpler to spend the rest of the honeymoon in France, visiting some of Fleur's favourite places." Bill then looked at the twins worriedly. "We decided to cut the honeymoon short after we heard about the attacks on Thursday. I heard that Ginny was hurt. Is she going to be all right?"

"She'll be fine," the twins said at the same time.

"She was concussed, but otherwise she wasn't seriously injured," George explained.

They arrived in the sitting room, and Bill and George each chose an armchair. Fred disappeared into the kitchen, but a moment later he returned with three bottles in his hands.

"Only got Butterbeer, sadly," he told Bill. "We used up the rest of the strong stuff the other day."

He didn't explain further, not wanting to cast a pall over Bill's visit with the reminder of the attacks and that he, George, and Charlie had gotten themselves completely sloshed once the dust began to settle and what had occurred began to sink in. Instead Fred passed Bill and George a Butterbeer bottle each, and both used their wands to pop open the bottle-caps.

"To Bill's bachelorhood," Fred said seriously, raising his bottle. "May it rest in peace."

"I thought you already made that toast at my stag party," Bill said, amused, but he took a swig nonetheless.

"Did we?"

"Yes, among the many you proposed. Charlie thinks you two were just trying to get Harry and Ron pissed. I had no idea Harry could hold his Firewhisky so well."

"Honestly, I don't think he was drinking much of it," George said thoughtfully. "If we had normal lives, I bet that Harry would be the responsible one who nurses one glass and then Apparates the rest of us home."

"Shame," Fred added ruefully. "Now we have to rely on Percy instead."

Bill repressed a snort. "So," he said, looking between the twins, "What did you want to chat about?"

George glanced at Fred, and then stood and moved to a desk in the corner, taking up a document and handing it over to Bill. He skimmed it over in a minute, and then looked back at his brothers in surprise.

"You want to buy a second flat?"

"We already have, actually," Fred told him. "It's in Muggle London. But we need it to magically connect to the shop, but notthrough the Floo Network. Don't say it can't be done, we all know how Vanishing Cabinets work."

"But what on earth for?" asked Bill.

"We've got some ideas," George explained. "We think it could make a good rendezvous point for the Order, as well as a useful emergency escape."

Bill gave them both a scrutinising expression, but rather than answer, he asked, "Is there anything else you want to add to this flat?"

"We want it unnoticed," Fred said quickly. "Probably not invisible, but bewitched so nobody can see what's going on inside, and casual observers won't notice it or somebody approaching it. The door should only be opened with a password. Oh, and there should be a Fidelius Charm with one of us as Secret Keeper. You know, the usual."

Bill took another swig of his Butterbeer. "Well, those aren't difficult, but the connection to the shop will be trickier. How do you want it to connect?"

"Through the alley out back," George answered.

"Behind the flat?"

"You've seen it. No way to enter it except through the shop or over the brick walls, and it would be easy enough to make it impossible to jump over them."

Bill considered this. "Well, it's a nice setup, I admit."

"Can it be done?" asked Fred eagerly.

"Yes, I think so," Bill said. "I'd need assistance from some of the others. Unfortunately, it was Mad-Eye who was good at this sort of thing, but I reckon we can pull it off."

"Excellent." George raised his bottle appreciatively.

Bill replaced the cap on his bottle and again tapped it with his wand, resealing the cap. He then stood. "Thanks for the Butterbeer. Is there anything else I can do for you two?"

"Yes," Fred said warningly. "Don't mention this to Mum just yet."

Bill raised an eyebrow, but his only response was, "Fleur and I are having dinner at headquarters. Are you gonna be there?"

"Not sure," George said thoughtfully. "We'll be there for Ginny's birthday on Monday, of course. But I wouldn't mind some of Mum's cooking for a change."

Bill shrugged. "Well, I'll see you two there, if you decide to come."

He then took a handful of Floo Powder from a box on the twins' mantelpiece, tossed it into their lit fireplace, and stepped inside, clearly enunciating the address of the flat he and Fleur had newly acquired.

"Well," Fred said, as soon as Bill had gone, "that's the first step of the operation in place. Since Verity's gone, that clears the way to the next step."

"Ginny," George nodded.

"Have you spoken to her about it?"

"Not yet. I gather you haven't either."

Fred took a swig of his Butterbeer, and wiped his mouth, his expression thoughtful. "She'll be all for it, of course."

"For the job, yes," George said. "The D.A.? I dunno, Tonks says Ginny's acting a little sceptical of the whole idea."

"Nah. Ginny's shrewd, not sceptical," Fred opined. "She's a prankster at heart too, but she uses a cautious, subtle, well-planned style of mischief. She's the one who became good at Quidditch by nicking our brooms and practicing at night, and we didn't know about it until almost ten years later. Makes her a good asset, actually, if the Order would only take her more seriously." Smiling, he added fondly, "It also means she's more unpredictable. Everyone always suspects usto be up to something"—

"Wonder why that is?" George said innocently.

"But with Ginny it's impossible to know. Probably makes her more dangerous than we are."

George leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh, and said, "Tell you what. Whichever of us is at Grimmauld Place first, with Mum not around, gets to run the offer by Ginny."

"Okay. Two Galleons that I get to be the one to tell her."

"You're on."

---

Sunday proved to be a milestone in Harry's recovery, after he woke up feeling considerably more energetic than he had the day before, and found himself able to sit up or roll over without help; and with Ron's assistance, he even was able to tentatively slide his legs over the side of the bed. When Ron helped him to try to stand, however, his head suddenly started spinning, and he had to sit back down. Feidlenid had warned him that it would still be a few days before he had regained the strength to get up, but at least it was a start. Moreover, the day somehow seemed brighter, more peaceful as a whole, even within the confines of the sick room. It was the first day in which Harry had spent more time awake and in conversation with Ron or Hermione or one of the goblinesses, than he did asleep. For the first time, he also noticed the distant sounds of activity from the village. He knew that the house was in a wooded area, somewhat remote from the rest of Aelyn Dionn, but it was evidently just close enough that Harry could hear distant laughter and singing from somewhere nearby. It also seemed somewhat warmer than it had been in the whole summer, and when the sun began to set, he could hear a sound in the woods he'd only ever heard at Hogwarts in early spring, the singing of field crickets, an insect on the verge of extinction in non-magical Britain, Hermione had once told him, but which appeared to have found refuge in rural and wooded areas protected by the Wizarding World.

As it became darker, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione finished having dinner in his room, they heard knocking downstairs, causing them to look at each other, puzzled and wary; Feidlenid didn't usually knock. After a moment, they heard a deep, male voice, and then footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later the door opened and Cecilia came in.

"You have a visitor," she told him.

She then stepped aside and an elderly goblin with a raven perched on his shoulder stepped in; Harry didn't recognise him, but he knew, from what everyone had told him, who it must be. Benedict Grobschmied had thinning grey hair, except for thick white sideburns behind which his pointed ears protruded, but apart from laugh lines at his mouth and eyes, he had little wrinkling. He stood about a foot and a half shorter than Ron, though he had a heavier build than most goblins Harry had encountered, suggesting great physical strength in spite of his age. He also wore half-moon glasses that reminded Harry strongly of Professor Dumbledore.

Cecilia looked at Harry and said, "Mr Potter, this is my uncle, Mr Grobschmied."

"Hello," Harry offered awkwardly.

"Mr Potter," the goblin greeted, stepping to his bedside and shaking his hand. "I was very relieved to hear that you'd woken up. My niece tells me you're doing much better, but I'm glad to see it for myself." He spoke with a soft baritone, deeper than he'd ever heard any goblin speak, and somehow this stood out to him more even than the reminder of Dumbledore.

"Er, thank you." Harry swallowed awkwardly. "And… thanks… for saving our lives. It was risky of you."

"It was nothing, truly," Grobschmied said quietly. As he spoke, he drew up a chair Feidlenid sometimes used as she worked, and took a seat. "The Death Eaters didn't know we were there. We were able to take them out from behind with minimal risk to our own lives."

"All the same, it's lucky you were there." Harry hadn't intended to insert a note of irony in his words, but judging by the twitch of Grobschmied's ears and a slight fidget in his hands, Harry was sure the goblin hadn't missed it.

"I was in the neighbourhood," he said hesitantly. He then reached up and stroked the raven's feathers. "Ravens are uniquely perceptive of danger, and when we arrived in Godric's Hollow, Huginn directed us to the commotion. I'm only sorry that we weren't in time to prevent the worst of it, and that the assault was directed in such an obscenely personal way."

Harry felt what little remained of the previously relaxed atmosphere vanish at the reminder, but he was slightly surprised at the obvious anger that briefly appeared in the goblin's eyes. For a minute the room was utterly silent. Then Hermione hesitantly asked, "Mr Grobschmied, what was done with… with the Potters' bodies?"

Harry looked at her sharply. He'd wondered this himself, whenever he allowed himself to dwell on it, but nobody had dared to bring it up, and he wasn't sure he himself was ready to hear it. Grobschmied stared at Hermione, and then looked from Harry to Cecilia in mild surprise.

"Has no one told you yet?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. Grobschmied gave Cecilia a mildly irritated look.

"The moment never seemed right," Cecilia said defensively. "My apologies if I was wrong to be more concerned about his health."

Judging from Grobschmied's expression, he didn't relish being the one to tell Harry. Nonetheless, he said in a remarkably collected voice, "We removed them from the site of the attack, and cleared up any sign that it had happened. As far as I am aware, no mention of it has reached the Ministry of Magic, though the Order of the Phoenix might know. The Muggle vicar you met was under the Imperius Curse. We've lifted it, but he doesn't remember anything, including meeting you. The two Death Eaters involved should be safely in Azkaban by now."

"But couldn't the Ministry learn about it from the Death Eaters?" asked Ron. "We don't want Scrimgeour's lot trailing us."

"I don't pretend to know what's going on in the Ministry but to my knowledge, Scrimgeour thus far knows nothing about your disappearance," Grobschmied said. "He won't be wasting the Ministry's resources looking for you, not while he still thinks you're safe under the Order's protection. Most likely he believes you to have joined the Order by now. Regardless, we wiped the Death Eaters' memories of the attack before leaving them somewhere the Aurors would find them, so it's unlikely anyone knows of your presence in Godric's Hollow." Harry noticed that he had grimaced in distaste as he said this. "But even if they did remember, what happened at Godric's Hollow was… unusual, to say the least." Looking between Harry and Ron and Hermione, he added, "I don't think you yet comprehend the full implications of what occurred there. It was as unprecedented as it was horrific. If those Death Eaters value their own lives, I don't imagine they would dare tell the Ministry what happened."

"And my parents?" Harry asked shakily.

"We mended their tombstone and resealed their grave," Grobschmied informed him. "As for their bodies, we felt it was your right to decide what to do. Feidlenid has been looking after them."

"They're in the temple morgue?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"Of course not," Grobschmied said patiently. "Far too conspicuous."

"Even if none of the villagers were aware of their presence, the priests and priestesses would be," Cecilia said.

"I believe they're being kept in the cellar for the time being," Grobschmied told them.

"You brought them here?" Ron cried in shock. "But what if they're still bewitched?"

"They're not. We made quite sure of that," Grobschmied said emphatically. He then looked at Harry. "We could easily return them to Godric's Hollow and put them back in their graves." Then in a harder tone, he added, "It's your decision, of course, but I don't think any of us want Voldemort to pull a stunt like that again."

It was surprising enough that Grobschmied had used Voldemort's name; but what made Harry start wasn't the goblin's use of the name, nor even his utter lack of fear, but the hateful, vengeful way he spat the syllables, as though uttering them left a foul taste in his mouth. Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron; they too looked unnerved at Grobschmied's sudden fury. It appeared to be far more than moral outrage at the appalling attack: it was loathing, and whatever the cause, to the goblin it was deeply personal.

The room was quiet for a long time, nobody really knowing what to say, until the whining sound of a whistling kettle drew their attention. Cecilia looked out the door, and then left the room with a mumbled "Excuse me."

Once the door closed behind her, Grobschmied asked in a calmer tone, "I trust you've found the place secure enough for your comfort?"

Harry couldn't answer with certainty, having seen nothing of the house or the property beyond his room, but he said slowly, "Everyone's insisting it's safe enough, and inconspicuous."

"Yes, it is a bit out of the way," Grobschmied said quietly. "We've put up an array of illusion and concealment spells. Also, the villagers tend to avoid the place anyway, so as long as you remain within the array, it's most unlikely they'll realise anyone's here."

Harry nodded. "The priestess told me Cecilia's parents were murdered here."

Ron and Hermione looked at him in surprise. Evidently this was news to them.

Grobschmied seemed to be making an effort to look unperturbed. "My sister and her husband, yes. And my parents."

His carefully neutral expression made Harry feel slightly mortified for bringing it up. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have"—

He fell silent when the goblin raised a hand. "I've had nearly twenty-five years to come to terms with it. In many ways, I'm still coming to terms with it. But yes, the villagers started avoiding this house after Voldemort killed them here."

His anger returned, but Harry was again stunned at the revelation. Finding his voice, he asked in amazement. "Voldemort killed them? Here? In person?"

"It's not as though he has any kinder feelings towards goblins than towards Muggles," Grobschmied said dispassionately.

"But… Voldemort doesn't usually join in the random killings the Death Eaters are always involved in," Harry argued. "When he comes to call, it's usually something serious, because someone did something to seriously anger him…"

At this thought, he looked back at the goblin in curiosity and suspicion.

"I see you understand him quite well, Mr Potter," said Grobschmied, "and you are quite right."

"So then… why did he kill them?" asked Ron, staring at him.

Grobschmied levelled a cool look at him, leaving Ron to look away awkwardly.

"I don't know," he eventually admitted. "We've never been able to find out." He spoke calmly, but Harry could still see a hint of the earlier rage and hatred in his demeanour. "Anyway," he continued in a suddenly brighter tone, "nobody should disturb you here. Occasionally village children will play games daring each other to approach the house, but Cecilia told me she's put up a ward similar to a Muggle Repelling Charm to keep them from doing so while you're here. And nobody who knows you're here has any intention of harming you or revealing your presence here to anyone." He then stood, and looked back at Harry. "I hope you don't mind if I continue to check in on you every now and then?"

Harry only stared at him.

"It certainly would put me more at ease to see for myself that you are recovering well," he added.

"Sure," Harry said. "Of course you can."

Grobschmied nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I'll let you get some rest now."

He then left the room. Once they heard his footsteps die down, Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and saw that they too were wearing surprised, thoughtful expressions.

"Well," Ron said after a moment, "at least we know he hates Voldemort. That's for sure."

Hermione was frowning. "Yes. But for that very reason, I doubt if he's really as indifferent to Harry Potter being in his niece's care as he's trying to sound."

---

"Well, it appears to be healing nicely," Madam Pomfrey said, moving the tip of her lit wand around Ginny's ear and looking at it carefully. "You say you can hear much better now?"

"Yes."

"Good." The nurse stowed her wand in the pocket of her apron, looking satisfied. "I'd say your ear will be in perfect shape in a day or two. And your concussion has healed."

"So you don't need to look after me anymore," Ginny said, pleased.

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "No. But do let me know if you think there's still something wrong with your hearing in a week or so."

"Okay." Ginny stood and stretched her back out a bit.

Gathering up her bag, Madam Pomfrey said, "Now I'd better see to Mr Lovegood."

"How is he?" asked Ginny in concern. "He wasn't looking any better when we brought him here."

She didn't know the nature of the curse the Death Eaters had hit Luna's father with, but judging from the hushed whispers whenever anyone mentioned Mr Lovegood, it sounded bad. Even Luna, who spent a lot of time in the guest room her father was staying in, was evasive whenever Ginny asked how he was doing, but she knew Luna well enough to know that hidden behind her odd mannerisms, she was very worried about her father. Ginny had seen little of Mr Lovegood herself, generally seeing him when summoning Luna for dinner, but all she could see was him lying pale and clammy in bed, his breathing laboured, staring at the ceiling and jumping at sudden noises.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head gloomily. "If he hasn't improved since my last visit, I'm afraid he'll have to go to St Mungo's."

Ginny winced. "I knew he'd been hit hard, but I didn't see what it was."

"I'm really not supposed to tell you about my patients' conditions," Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

"Right. Sorry. I was just wondering." Ginny glanced towards the door. "Worried about Luna."

Madam Pomfrey nodded sympathetically, and then left the room. Ginny then tapped the exterior of her right ear experimentally, testing her hearing again. The sound was still muffled, but at least she could pick up a little. Satisfied that her hearing was indeed improving, as Madam Pomfrey had assured her, Ginny stepped into the hall and began down the stairs, intent on finding Crookshanks and trying to coax him out from whatever corner he was hiding in. She still felt rather ashamed about forgetting about the cat for nearly a week before she'd spotted him hiding under that bloody cabinet, and since then was determined to bring him out of his withdrawn, depressed state. At first, she'd only been able to make minimal effort, mostly because her mother and Madam Pomfrey had insisted on her staying in bed to allow her injuries and her concussion to heal more fully, but at the very least she had made sure that her mother had been leaving food out for him, though she understood that Crookshanks had not accepted much of what was offered him. Ginny had seen little of him since the move to Grimmauld Place, and she feared that the sudden change of environment would seriously set back what little progress was made. Still, she felt she owed it to Hermione to try. Given the size of the house, there were any number of places the cat could have hidden, but perhaps Dobby would know where to look for him.

As she reached the ground floor, however, she became alert to an absolutely delicious smell, and curious, she wandered into the kitchen, where she found her mother busy cooking some beef sausages, baked beans, potato cakes, and fried eggs. As soon as Molly became aware of Ginny standing there, she retrieved a plate from the cupboard and began piling it high with food, which she then handed to Ginny.

"Thanks, Mum," Ginny said, confused. "Er, what's the occasion?"

Molly looked at her with a very odd expression. "I thought it was customary to give you a full breakfast today, or have you forgotten it's your birthday?"

"Is it?" Ginny asked, taken aback.

"Good heavens, Ginny," Molly said, amazed. "Hasn't anyone discussed it with you?"

"Might have done," she answered uncertainly. "Turning sixteen hasn't exactly been the foremost thing on my mind."

To her apprehension, she saw her mother's astonishment turn to worry and even suspicion. But after an awkward few seconds, Molly merely shrugged, and said, "Well, we're discussing it now. What do you want for dinner tonight?"

"You know what I like, Mum."

"Out of almost everything I cook?" Molly rolled her eyes. "That should be easy to choose from."

It wasn't from nowhere the Weasley children got their sarcasm. Ginny repressed a giggle and said, "Oh, fine. Just some roast chicken would be nice."

She then took her seat at the table and began to eat. As she started on the sausages, she noticed the morning's copy of the Daily Propheton the table, and she turned it over. The headline "EMERGENCY DECREE NO. 44" instantly caught her eye.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Read it and find out," Molly said. "I daresay you'll be pleased."

Ginny looked at her curiously, but Molly now had her back turned. She then looked back at the paper and began to read:

In light of the recent closure of Hogwarts School and other wizarding schools, and the assaults upon Hogsmeade, Immingham, Little Whinging, and numerous other magical and non-magical communities and households, the Wizengamot has approved the following edicts:
1. Muggle households with a wizarding family member are hereby considered to be wizarding households.
2. Muggle households under the magical protection of a wizarding family member are hereby considered to be wizarding households.
3. Until further notice, the Restriction for Underage Sorcery has been revoked, in the following circumstances:
a. Underage magic is performed under the supervision of an adult.
b. Underage witches and wizards only perform magic within the perimeter of a wizarding household or establishment.
Outside these conditions, the Restriction for Underage Sorcery remains in effect, except for emergencies, the determination of which shall be left to the discretion of the witches or wizards involved. Any such emergency use of underage magic is to be reported to the Improper Use of Magic Office within fourteen days.
4. The magical community is strongly encouraged to assist Muggle-born underage witches and wizards in practicing defence magic under the supervision of a wizarding adult.
The Wizengamot has also approved the Voluntary Defence Act, in which lessons in advanced defence will be taught at the Ministry of Magic. Enrolment applications will shortly be sent to every wizarding household.

"They did it!" Ginny exclaimed as she folded up the newspaper, her insides almost burning with excitement. "George was right, they actually did it!"

Molly shot her a stern look. "You're not to abuse it, Ginny! It's so underage wizards and witches can defend themselves without legal repercussions. Don't make the Wizengamot regret passing it!"

"I'm gratified that you think I'm so mischievous and talented that the entire Wizengamot would change their minds over something Idid," Ginny said, grinning. "But don't worry. I'll make sure that my magic is put to good use."

Molly sighed. "Am I supposed to be reassured?"

Ginny only shrugged and returned to her breakfast.

Her birthday was quiet for most of the rest of the day. Dobby had indeed found a few of Crookshanks's hiding places, but the cat remained elusive that whole morning, and in the end Ginny left out some food and gave the elf instructions to find her if he spotted him. She then spent the afternoon in her bedroom with Luna, putting the new law into use by practicing Protean charms for the D.A. coins. Unsurprisingly, Luna mastered it fairly quickly, but Ginny struggled to get the two silver Sickles she was practicing on to mimic each other.

"Imita clavitem centralem," Ginny exclaimed for what had to be the fiftieth time, carefully pointing her wand at the Sickle she wanted to be the imitator. The coin vibrated a little. Ginny then picked up the "master coin" and engraved a small number "2" on the side. She then looked at the second hopefully. Nothing.

"Blimey," she groaned. "This is harder than it looks."

"It just takes practice," Luna said.

"Maybe you should take charge of enchanting the coins," Ginny told her ruefully.

"You must have a Wrackspurt in your ears," Luna commented airily. "It's not that difficult. You just need to focus."

"I am focusing!" Ginny retorted. "I'm focusing so hard I'm gonna be dreaming about coins tonight! I wish Professor Flitwick were here. I'm not Hermione, I can't always master a spell simply from a textbook." She picked up the coin again. "Imita clavitem centralem!"

The coin didn't vibrate at all this time. Annoyed, she tried again, and when it vibrated, she began engraving the main coin and looked at the second hopefully. Frustrated, she pushed it away, ready to give up.

"Whatcha doin'?" A voice suddenly asked behind her.

Ginny and Luna both jumped.

"God, Fred!" Ginny hissed. "For a second there, I thought you were Mum!"

"Oh? And what would you be doing, sister of mine, that makes you so concerned about Mum watching?"

Ginny glared at him, but Luna serenely answered, "Practicing Protean Charms."

Fred looked at the coins in interest. "For D.A. Round Two?"

"Quiet, Fred!" Ginny snapped. "Somehow I doubt Mum would approve of this idea, you know!"

"Never fear, Gin, she's downstairs cooking your dinner. Although there isn't anything stopping her from bewitching food to cook itself and coming up here anyway. Good thing she thinks it tastes better done by hand. Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thanks. Why aren't you at the shop?" She was sure that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes didn't close for another couple of hours.

"George will look after things, he can do without me for half an hour," Fred answered. "We had a bet on who'd be able to talk to you first, so I took full advantage of this opportunity."

"Talk to me? What for?"

"What, you're surprised that we want to chat with our little sister?" asked Fred in mock offence.

"Oh, sod off." But Ginny was grinning. "So what's up?"

Fred uncertainly glanced at Luna, who beamed. "Of course," she said earnestly. "I'll step outside and makes sure your Mum doesn't come in."

"Er, thanks." Fred looked slightly nonplussed as Luna left, humming to herself. Ginny forced back a giggle. As soon as the door snapped shut, he looked back at her in amazement. "How did she know…?"

"Luna somehow always knows everything," said Ginny. "Don't bother questioning it, she just does. I take it, then, that you don't want Mum to know about whatever you're here for?"

"Not exactly, but let's say I'd like to know what you think before bringing it up at dinner." Fred glanced at the door again. "But Mum isn't going to like it, or I'm a Malfoy. She'll think it's unsafe, of course." Seeing Ginny impatiently put her hands on her hips, he finally said, "George and I were thinking—if we pull off D.A. Round Two, you'll need an excuse to leave the house"—

"I want that anyway," Ginny interrupted, thinking longingly about going outside, which so far hadn't been allowed.

"Right. So think of this as an unofficial birthday present." He grinned enthusiastically. "We're offering you a job at the shop."

"Come again?"

"We need a new shop assistant, you see… Verity's run off to join the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Sometimes reversing our own work, I imagine." He shook his head solemnly. "And I thought she was a prankster, like us. So we'd like you to replace her."

"What's so dangerous about that?" asked Ginny.

"You'll be out of Mum's sight. That's enough for her," Fred said lightly. Then, in a more serious tone, he said, "She will be right about one thing, though, that you might be more open for Death Eater attack. You know they launched a vicious attack on Diagon Alley during the first war. They've got Aurors and MLE blokes patrolling the place now and they've set up anti-Apparation and Portkey protections around Diagon Alley, but I don't imagine that it would deter the Death Eaters forever."

"Doesn't stop you from continuing business, though," Ginny pointed out.

"Nope, and it's not like we just leave ourselves unprotected." Fred smirked. "We areWeasleys, after all, and you can bet that if the Death Eaters attacked Diagon Alley, we'd be one of the first shop they went for. So we've taken precautions. Personally, I think it'll be fine. Anyway, you'll be out of the house every day, we'll have the shop assistant we need, one who isa prankster at heart. It's a win-win scenario for everyone except Mum."

Ginny grinned. "I like it. How could I refuse?"

"Excellent!" Fred exclaimed, clapping Ginny's shoulder roughly. "The job's yours, then. We'll announce it at dinner. Then I want you to sit back and enjoy the show while kindly leaving Mum and her fussing to us and Dad."

"Does he know about this?" asked Ginny.

"No, but he'll side with us on this one," Fred answered confidently. "He's told Mum repeatedly that you need something useful to do, and this is the kind of thing he has in mind. There are only so many times you can clean this place."

"What are you going to say to Mum?"

"Lots of stuff," Fred told her, looking very smug. "Trust us. When you get as many scoldings from her as we have, you learn exactly what to say to her. Just… don't listen to any of it."

Ginny could only give him a look of mock wariness. Over the course of the next few hours, she wondered on and off what the twins were planning to say to their mother, but when the party actually started, she worried that Fred and George would have to work extra hard to reassure Molly about their new idea.

Molly Weasley preferred birthday parties to be carefree, happy occasions, without any worries to mar the participants' joy. As far as she was concerned, they were occasions where everyone, especially the person whose birthday they celebrated, were to escape from their problems for a few hours. Unfortunately for her, ever since Harry Potter had brought Cedric Diggory's body from that godforsaken maze all those years ago, it had been a harder standard to implement. Her daughter's sixteenth birthday was proof of that. For starters, Ginny's brother, best friend, and boyfriend were all absent, their whereabouts unknown, their activities unclear, and she could tell that their absence deeply affected Molly, especially since none of them had sent so much as a card. Ginny knew that this was the first letdown, as her mother was desperate to hear some news from them, but there was nothing (and if she were perfectly honest with herself, it was hard for her as well).

The second letdown was the note Molly received from Arthur, telling her that he and Percy would be late from work, and to start the dinner without them. Bill and Fleur would be late too, leaving only herself, Ginny, the twins, Charlie, Luna, and Remus. As the dinner—and the lateness of the hour—progressed, Molly's disappointment turned to apprehension. Glancing out the window, she said anxiously, "I don't understand what could be taking them so long."

"Don't assume the worst," Remus said reassuringly. "If the Ministry had detected an attack, Dora or Kingsley would have informed us by now."

As he spoke, the doorbell rang.

"Let's hope that's a good sign," Fred remarked.

Remus stood to answer it. As Molly served Ginny another helping of chicken, they heard the door open, and then a moment later there was a loud crash outside.

"Tonks is here," George remarked, snickering.

Sure enough, the pink-haired Auror followed Remus in, rubbing her arm with a slight wince.

"Happy birthday, Ginny," Tonks said. "Is there any food left?"

"Plenty," Ginny answered.

"Excellent. I'm starving." Tonks took a seat, and Molly began serving her helpings of chicken and potatoes. "Haven't had a proper sit down all afternoon. We've got a new investigation. This morning Narcissa Malfoy was found dead."

"Draco Malfoy's mum?" George said, in surprise.

"But she's a Death Eater, isn't she?" asked Fred. "Why'd they off her?"

"She or Malfoy might have done something to offend Voldemort," Ginny speculated.

Molly flinched at the name. "Let's not discuss this now," she interjected.

"Well, that's what's odd," Tonks said, as though Molly hadn't spoken. "There's no evidence that anyone offed her. Her wand showed evidence of numerous failed attempts at the Avada Kedavra curse, and her wrists were slit. By the looks of things, she killed herself. But we have no idea why she did it."

"Have they found Draco yet?" asked Luna.

"No. There's been no sign of him since Dumbledore died. Lucius, of course, escaped from Azkaban in the mass breakout, but we haven't seen much sign of him either." Tonks sighed. "Mum's a bit upset about it. I just came over from her place. Since they don't know where Draco is, and Lucius is an outlaw, they contacted her. She's Aunt Cissy's nearest relative."

"Is that why Andromeda said she didn't feel up to coming?" asked Ginny.

"Yeah." Tonks sipped her drink. "I guess Aunt Cissy was the closest Mum felt to any of her siblings. Then again, the alternative was Bellatrix."

Everyone at the table grimaced in disgust.

"Anyway, there was something about her death that we all found unsettling," Tonks continued, "though I can't put my finger on it."

Molly glared at Tonks as she delved into her chicken, leaving the others to their thoughts. The twins quickly struck up a conversation with Charlie about their newest products, while Ginny found herself talking with Remus and Tonks about Quidditch. Molly, she noticed, kept glancing at the family clock, recently moved into the dining room, but Arthur, Bill, and Percy's hands stayed on "Work". Ginny wondered what the holdup was, but she just hoped it wasn't anything too serious.

They found out half an hour later, when the clock made a winding noise, and she saw her father and Percy's hands change to "Traveling", and then to "Home". Seconds later, they heard footsteps in the hall, and Arthur and Percy stepped into the dining room, both looking agitated.

Arthur squeezed Ginny's shoulder as he passed her. "Happy birthday, Ginny. Sorry we're so late."

"That's fine." Ginny frowned as she took in his exhausted, troubled demeanour. "What's up?"

Rather than answer, Arthur looked at Tonks a little urgently. "Do you know where Kingsley is?"

"Guarding the Prime Minister, as usual," Tonks said, bewildered. "Why?"

"We've got news," Percy said, taking his seat at the table. "It's a bit important."

"But I suppose we might as well just tell you about it now," Arthur added, looking at his assembled family.

"Arthur, I really don't think…" Molly began, nodding in Ginny and Luna's direction, but her husband cut her off.

"This isn't just a matter for the Order to discuss. Ginny and Luna are going to find out anyway, if Scrimgeour really means business."

Ginny scowled. "What does he want now?"

Percy glanced at her, then at Molly, looking stressed. "He knows. About Harry, I mean. Somehow, I don't know how, he's found out about Harry leaving. He just spent the past hour interrogating Dad about it."

The table fell silent for a moment. Then Molly said quietly, "Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before he did. He's been badgering Harry for support since last Christmas, after all. He was bound to find out sooner or later."

"Maybe so," Arthur said, "but you can bet that his men are going to interrogate all of us about Harry's possible whereabouts. Including Ginny."

"Probably especially Ginny," Fred put in.

Ginny angrily put down her knife and fork with a loud clatter. "And I don't suppose anything I say will convince him that I don't know anything?"

"The Minister is determined to bring him back," Percy said apologetically. "He's even assembled a whole Auror squad for that exact purpose."

There was a loud slam down the table, causing everyone to jump and look at Tonks, who had pounded the table in outrage. "So that's what Dawlish's team was suddenly sent away for? We need every Auror on hand. What the hell's he thinking?"

"Mostly about the Ministry's image, I imagine," Remus said impassively. "If Harry's disappearance gets out, he'll want it clear that he's trying to locate the elusive 'Chosen One'."

"So he picked Dawlish to try to save his image?" Tonks asked incredulously. "He's a good fighter, but he's also a bloody idiot! Of all the agents in the Auror force, he's the one who would most likely expose this secret!"

Arthur shook his head resignedly, and took his seat. "Pass the chicken, please, Fred."

Bill and Fleur didn't arrive until the meal was over, but politely declined from eating any leftover food until after Ginny finished opening her presents. This part of the party seemed to go fairly quickly. Charlie had given Ginny a copy of History of the Harpies, which she cheerfully accepted, while sadly wondering if her school dream of flying for the Harpies could ever be fulfilled. In the given climate, it wasn't likely. Nonetheless, she thanked Charlie and promised to read it before Christmas.

Tonks handed her a heavy parcel, which turned out to contain a boxed set of books. Ginny looked over the title on the box. "The Battle-wizard's Bible: A Compendium of Combative Spells," Ginny read out loud.

"A lot of Aurors use these books," Tonks told her. "I hope you're up for it, though. A lot of it is N.E.W.T.-level magic."

Ginny grinned and thanked Tonks, though she noticed her mother eyeing the books disapprovingly.

"Well, if that's it, I think it's time to get the cake out," Arthur said.

"Hold on, we haven't given ours yet!" George exclaimed.

He handed Ginny a soft package. She looked at him distrustfully, causing him to laugh.

"Don't worry, Gin, it's not going to pie you. I'm not going to risk getting Bat-Bogeyed twice in the same week."

Ginny smirked and opened it. True to his word, George had not installed a prank this time; instead, she opened the parcel to find a black dragon-hide jacket, which she'd expressed a liking for while flipping through a Gladrags catalog the previous Christmas.

"Thanks!" she exclaimed happily. "I'm amazed you remembered that. I only mentioned it! So this is your official present, right?"

"Official?" repeated Arthur, confused.

Fred drew himself up proudly. "We are pleased to announce that Ginny has decided to join the ranks of official mischief-makers at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and we look forward to her contributions to the business."

The others stared at him. "What's this?" asked Molly bewildered.

"Since Hogwarts has closed, and the Underage Magic decree is officially rescinded, we can put Ginny's talents to good use," George explained. "We've already spoken to her, and she likes the idea. She can get started any time she likes."

"You offered her a job?" Charlie said, bemused.

"'Ow wonderful!" Fleur put in helpfully.

Molly looked between the twins and Ginny, stunned. "But is that safe? The Death Eaters have attacked Diagon Alley before."

"It's perfectly safe." George caught his mother's disbelieving expression, and quickly amended, "Okay, reasonably. It's reasonably safe."

Molly didn't look remotely reassured. "No, I don't like this. I worry enough over you two working there. The Death Eaters would probably go straight for you if they attacked. I can't stop you two from working there, since you're of age and you own the shop, but Ginny"—

"Now Mum, I'm hurt!" Fred interrupted in an almost serious tone.

"D'you really think we'd bring Ginnykins into magical Britain's most public place without precautions?" George asked in the same manner.

"We'll look after our little sister."

"Have done since we first laid eyes on her."

"Probably more than we should have, actually." Fred looked at Ginny pointedly. "She takes after us, you know."

The others were all looking between the twins and Molly warily, though they clearly weren't willing to voice their opinions. But Fred and George, pulling the "protective big brother" card with their mother, seemed to have everything in hand.

"Seriously, Mum, if you kept her in here twenty-four/seven until this war's over, I'll bet Harry's whole investment in the shop that before Ginny's next birthday we'll lose her—and headquarters, come to think of it—because she'd spontaneously combust from cabin fever," George told Molly happily.

"Oi!" Ginny called out indignantly.

Fred ignored her. "C'mon, Mum. We've already installed all sorts of protective spells and wards around the shop. We'll look after her. It'll be fine."

Molly's face was turning pink, though she didn't look angry so much as flustered.

"Molly," Arthur interjected, "they wouldn't offer Ginny this job if they thought it was too dangerous."

"But…" Molly began, but she couldn't think of anything to say.

"Sure, it's risky," Arthur continued wearily, "but they're right. You can't keep Ginny cloistered here with nothing to do. She's not the sort of person who will sit back and wait for it all to get better. Don't forget what happened to Sirius when Dumbledore kept him cooped up here."

This was a point that Molly definitely couldn't argue with. Sirius's building frustration with his confinement, and his subsequently leaping at the first excuse to leave the house, was a factor in his death that none of them were likely to forget, nor cared to repeat.

"I… oh, very well," she spluttered, before turning away, possibly to hide tears. Ginny felt a slight stab of guilt, but she quickly forced it down. She'd had enough of her mother's over-protectiveness.

"Well, now that that's settled," Arthur said more cheerfully, "I think it's now time to get the cake out."

---

An hour later found Ginny in her room, seated at the desk with one of the Defence books Tonks had given her lying open. She was skimming through the table of contents, reading the names of useful hexes she was now itching to try. As she looked over a few, she realised that while Harry himself probably knew some (or maybe even most) of these spells, he'd only had the chance to teach the D.A. a handful of them before Umbridge caught them. She now wanted to rectify that as soon as possible. Then a thought struck her and she looked around at the red and goldenrod wallpaper, remembering that the Order had originally intended this to be Harry's room; the irony and significance that it was now hers, and that she now found herself formulating ideas for the new D.A. in his place, was not lost on her.

There was a light rap on the doorframe, and Ginny turned around to see Arthur standing there, watching her curiously. "Can I come in?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Nothing," Arthur answered, taking a seat on the bed. "Enjoying your new books?"

"Yeah." She looked back at the book. "I like the sound of this one, the Caecatus Hex. It throws dust from the ground into the eyes of the target."

"Sounds handy," Arthur remarked. "And you can practice it now, thanks to the emergency decree."

"The only sensible thing Scrimgeour's done in months," Ginny agreed. "And I no longer have to do chores by hand, thank God."

"But the Muggle way builds character, you know." He chuckled when Ginny rolled her eyes, and then said quietly. "I hope you had a good day, even if we didn't always make for very cheerful company at dinner."

Ginny shrugged. "It was fine. Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way."

Arthur's expression was unreadable, but he said slowly, "I don't know what you and the twins are up to, but if it's to prepare you to take your own place in this fight, I don't see the point in trying to stop you. I'd rather have you enter the war prepared than unprepared."

Ginny exhaled. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that."

Arthur didn't respond. After a couple of silent minutes, he then casually remarked, "I thought Harry, Ron, or Hermione might have found a way to send you something."

Ginny shook her head. Though saddened by the fact that none of them had sent even the briefest message since they left, she was not surprised, nor did she hold it against them. "They won't," she told her father quietly. "Harry won't leave or send anything that can be used to trace him."

"He really is determined to never be found, then?"

"Until he finishes his task, yes." Ginny closed the spellbook, and moved to put it away, but Arthur's next words made her pause.

"You really understand him," he remarked, amazed. "A lot more than most of us do." His scrutinising gaze caused Ginny to fidget uncomfortably. After a moment, he added, "But then, you're in a position to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Ginny, swallowing.

Arthur now looked very sad. "I know that your mother tries to keep you out of all this, and it's in part because she's afraid of losing you, but it's also because she's afraid she's losing you already." Seeing his daughter's confusion, he explained, "Molly and I both look at you and remember the sweet and energetic little girl who practically killed herself with impatience to go to Hogwarts, who loved cats, and who pleaded for an extra glimpse of Harry Potter once she realised who he was."

Ginny felt her cheeks turn a little pink, and she wanted to laugh at her ten-year-old self, but she couldn't voice her mild amusement or her nostalgia, because she knew where this was going.

"You changed after your first year at Hogwarts," Arthur continued. "You became harder, more closed up after that ordeal. Exactly like that," he said, seeing Ginny's increasingly stony expression. "It was very hard for us to watch, and the reason for it was even harder. Harry's the same way. He's a very sweet and pleasant young man, but he too is very… unforthcoming." He looked increasingly regretful as he spoke. "The point is, you understand him better than the rest of us because you, like him, have been hurt by You-Know-Who on a very personal level, and from a young age."

Ginny didn't want to talk about her encounter with Tom Riddle, but she knew that Arthur didn't require her to; he knew enough without details, and he wasn't going to press her. His words, however, struck a chord with her, and suddenly she understood her father better.

"That's why you won't stop me from fighting?"

"I'm just as scared as Molly," Arthur admitted, "but I can see that you need to." They fell silent for a moment, and Ginny thought he'd leave her alone, but then he spoke up again. "Do you love Harry?"

Ginny was floored by the directness of his question, and for a moment she had no idea how to answer. She considered refraining from it, but seeing her father's searching gaze, she swallowed painfully, and found herself looking downward. After a moment, a tear rolled down her cheek, and she nodded.

Arthur immediately pulled his daughter into his arms, and this time she did succumb to her tears.

"For both of your sakes," he whispered to her, "I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish it didn't have to be Harry in the thick of this." As she continued to quietly sob, he added, "But I won't stop you fighting because when the time comes, when this war ends, you should be at his side."

---

A/N:
I noticed as I was uploading this that for some reason when importing text on this site, spaces after italics tend to get removed, so it looks something like this: "It's reasonablysafe." I combed through this, fixing instances where this occurred, but I may have missed a few.