In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 48: Divided
"Take me," Ron whispered as he tossed the Floo Powder into Hermione's fireplace.
Ron hadn't yet considered where he'd want to go, simply knew it was away from her. He spun and spun as he likely traveled the entirety of the Floo Network a time or two, spotted The Three Broomsticks twice, the Leaky Cauldron three times, before he figured it out.
"Weasley Wizarding Wheezes," Ron exclaimed.
Ron flew out of the fireplace, his head already spinning as he collided with a chair, he fell onto his front, and began to puke. Ron allowed his anger, and his desire to seek revenge, to flow out with the waste—even after he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.
"Blimey! First time?"
"Sick?"
In the reflection of his new puddle, Ron spotted the two familiar faces, Fred and George stood over him. Fred had a green suit on, George had red, both with moving snow across the silky fabric.
"What's it with women?" Ron asked as he turned his head up.
"That—"
"Explains—"
"Everything."
Family, Ron thought, the refuge of last resort. It took Ron another moment to consider his reply, before he stood.
"Hello," Ron said as he extended his hand, put a grin to his face, "I'm Ronald Weasley from Diagon Alley Department of Health and Safety. I need to ensure that each one of your products endangers the welfare of your customers."
Ron spotted the internal debate Fred and George were having, as he stood there.
"Please buy and check it out," George said, "This way."
George and Fred began to escort Ron, past the snowman, to the back.
"It would've worked," Fred said, "If you weren't dressed like a Hogwarts student."
"That's where you're supposed to be," George said as he sat down, straddled the back side of a chair, "Or so I thought."
"Suspended," Ron said as he started to change his clothes.
"Wonderful!" Fred said, "Mum'd be so proud, we are."
"What'd you do?" George asked.
"It'll likely be in The Daily Prophet before tonight," Ron said, "Hermione—she didn't agree with it."
"And you fled to your brothers," Fred said, "We'll take care of you."
Ron glanced at the cap. Ron fumbled as he pulled out his wand from his school bag, Harry's rolled onto the table.
"Two wands," George said as Ron transfigured the cap into a light brown outback hat, "And—underage wizardry outside Hogwarts."
"Get your best friend pissed and everybody's pissed at you," Ron said as he stashed both wands down the front side of his T–shirt.
"Careful!" Fred said, "Some bloke in Oxford lost his family heirlooms doing that!"
"Anyways," George said as he stood, "Suspension calls for a celebration at the Leaky Cauldron, though stop by Ollivander's—"
"But I've been banned from Diagon Alley," Ron protested.
"I'm disappointed George," Fred said, "I thought our brother held us in higher esteem than this!"
"I'd be disappointed if he had any kind of respect for us whatsoever," George said, "We'll cover."
Ron sighed.
"A new low," the hat whispered as Ron left the store with his brothers. Snow fell, yet, it remained fairly warm outside.
"Shut it!" Ron whispered, "Can't go about with Harry Potter written into the cap now, can I?"
Red and green to either side, Fred and George escorted Ron into Ollivander's. A soft bell rang in the back.
"Good afternoon," the old man with wide eyes said as he came out of the back, "How may I be of service?"
"Our brother needs a holster for his wand," Fred stated.
"I shall need to see the wand," Mr. Ollivander stated.
Ron fumbled as he began to remove his, hilt of Harry's exposed. Ron caught the moon wide eyes gazing at it, the concern as their eyes stared at each other.
"He was out of sorts," Ron said, "Be returning it soon."
"Of course," Ollivander said as he took Ron's wand. "Fourteen inches, willow with one unicorn tail hair, and—" he conjured up a dozen roses, "Still in working order."
"Come to the Leaky cauldron," George said.
"When you're finished having him examine your wand," Fred said
"Gredie! Feorgie!" Ron snapped.
Fred and George left.
"The other wand," Mr. Ollivander said.
Ron handed over Harry's wand.
"Eleven inches, holly with a phoenix tail feather," Mr. Ollivander said, as he used it to pour water onto the roses, "You already knew that."
"He's mentioned it," Ron said.
"Listen," Mr. Ollivander said as he held both of the wands together, "Can you hear it? They're talking to each other."
Ron tried.
"Wands reflect the wizards who carries it," Mr. Ollivander said, "There is debate whether it's the wand or the wizard who is the ultimate, however, I consider it a symbiotic. Wands choose their wizards, but the wizard also chooses their wand. A tail feather from a phoenix that has been around—there are none alive who witnessed its first hatching, and its brother wand. … I digress, I could spend a year lecturing you about the fine art of making and understanding wands. Given these wands, they must be reliable. How long since their last polishing?"
"Um…" Ron muttered, couldn't remember.
"Worse than I thought," Mr. Ollivander said as he took out some polish and a cloth, "A polished wand is a usable wand, as pride in your wand is a must to be able to use it to its full potential." Mr. Ollivander worked Harry's wand. "Burden is light, however, something they neglect to teach the youth at Hogwarts."
"I concur," the Sorting Hat whispered into Ron's ear.
"Now you needed a holster," Mr. Ollivander said, "Think I have what you need, a moment."
Mr. Ollivander walked behind his counter, and started back into the shelves. Ron took the polish and cloth, worked his wand.
"Why aren't holsters standard?" Ron asked, loud.
"Not every witch or wizard needs a holster," Mr. Ollivander said as he returned with three long and thin boxes. "After the Triwizard cup, I redoubled my efforts on what you and your friend would need—if I was wrong, well, it's a shop. See, a witch without a House–Elf might be content to keep it on the kitchen counter or in a purse. A student can simply use their school bag without much incident. An Auror, though, needs theirs at a moments notice."
"Think I understand," Ron said.
"Each particular need can dictate the design, while others might decide to use it as a symbol of status," Mr. Ollivander said, "Given the peril of a wizard abandoning or losing, best to simply wait until the need presents itself, which it has for you."
Mr. Ollivander opened one of the boxes, took out a thin and narrow piece of red dragon hide with small loop. As he inserted Ron's wand, the wand vanished as it passed through the loop. Mr. Ollivander smiled as he set it down.
"My," Mr. Ollivander said, "It actually worked!"
"Um…" Ron muttered.
Mr. Ollivander opened the next box, black dragon hide of similar design.
"To the experienced eye, many things can be read from a wand," Mr. Ollivander said, "For instance, the wands you currently possess do not confirm any rumors in the rags, but instead confirm what the wands could foretell when I sold them. Wands are better than any tea leaves or crystal balls. A tsunami is coming, and what you've experienced is merely the beginning of your hurricane."
"It's going to get worse?" Ron asked.
"While Ollivander's sells many lines of holsters," Mr. Ollivander continued, "All of fine construction and quality, none of them are suited to the tasks that await. Custom needs dictated custom design. I offer these three as my contribution to your struggle against He–Who–Must–Not–Be–Named. Do not underestimate this offer, as it took years to gather what was needed to create these, and I had only recently finished them. I supposed the renewed urgency helped."
Mr. Ollivander handed over a roll of parchment along with the holsters.
"How much?" Ron asked.
"Consider it a loan for now, a gift upon defeat," Mr. Ollivander said, "Those three are tailored specifically for three wands, they are unique and there will be no others. Do not reveal them, and read that note, in private, at your earliest opportunity."
Ron put all three, the black, the red, and the brown, under his shirt, and paused.
"How—I mean, thank you," Ron said.
"Allies and Enemies do share one thing in common," Mr. Ollivander said, "You will find them in unexpected places. Keep your guard up, but not too much as to not to be able to sort out which is which. Bless you and good luck."
Ron left Ollivander's.
"Stop!" the hat whispered.
"What…why?" Ron paused.
"Difficult, very difficult," the hat said, "Busy, very busy, but no talk."
"Yeah?!" Ron exclaimed, "I want answers!"
"Potter saved me from becoming nothing, for that I owe a debt," the hat said, "For while I am a thinking hat, a hat that had to leap, for even observers can become entangled in messy wizarding affairs. Legilimency cannot avoid all snares."
"It's my holiday!" Ron protested.
"Your actions are your own," the hat said, "To accept or refuse is up to you."
"I—" Ron started.
"A thinking hat can only advise those willing to accept guidance," the hat said, "Events are drowning you and Potter while you seem to be crashing your friendships into the rocks. However, this hat will not interfere with those plans if that is your pursuit."
"If you become a nuisance—" Ron started.
"Talking to a hat gets noticed," the hat said, "Even if it is a thinking hat."
Ron glanced around, caught the eyes that began to drift toward him, in his red Gryffindor T–shirt. Ron walked along the alley, glanced at the shops. Where the the old Dark Arts shop, "Fun and Power," used to be, a "Museum of Muggle" stood. A glance down the former Knockturn Alley, now Diagon Lane, was Bashir's Carpet Bazaar. Ron reached the brick wall at the end of the Alley, followed a witch passing through, into the Leaky Cauldron.
"Brother!"
Ron darted toward Fred, who waved him over.
"Scan the room," the hat whispered.
Ron stopped, halfway, stood as his eyes roamed the room. Doris Crockford, Daedulus Diggle, and Kinglsey Shacklebolt were at another table, while Tom served them.
"Why?" Ron thought.
"Vigilance," the hat replied, "Always know your surroundings. Gryffindor's first rule of defense."
Ron finished his walk over to Fred in his green suit.
"Acting like you didn't know who I was," Fred said, "Alright?"
"I'm here with you," Ron said, "No."
Ron followed Fred up the stairs, into a private parlor. George had his jacket over the back of his chair, green shirt on, bottle of Firewhiskey, and hot wings. Copies of The Daily Prophet littered the table. Fred closed the door as Ron sat down across from George. Fred removed his jacket, to show a red shirt.
"Yes, we got our suits mixed up," Fred said, "Luckily, George has a stone up on me."
"Hey!" George said.
Ron glanced at one of the papers, with the article, "Suit Alleges Patient's Toes Were Licked During Eye Exam at St. Mungo's."
"Your eye exam?" Ron asked.
"No," George said as he leaned over to Ron, "We want the inside scoop at Hogwarts."
"These aren't enough?" Ron asked.
"Ginny's as confused," George said, "About…" George flipped the page.
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Sorting Hat Destroyed
A beloved tradition of Hogwarts has come to an end due to the antics of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore.
Hogwarts and Ministry confirm that the Sorting Hat, a beloved tradition of Hogwarts, has been destroyed by Albus Dumbledore in an attempt to interfere with Ministry affairs. Albus Dumbledore, commonly understood to be usurping the Ministry, wrongly accused the Minister during a speech to the students and refuses to accept responsibility for the loss of a treasured legacy. Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been derelict in his duties to protect the artifacts in his charge.
"Hogwash!" Ron blurted.
"Quiet!" the hat whispered into Ron's ear.
"The Ministry is at odds with Hogwarts," Fred said, "Whether they are interfering with the editorials is a matter of debate, but it's quite clear that Harry's credibility is nonexistent, Professor Dumbledore's is rapidly falling, and ours—at least we are selling merchandise of fine quality—"
Ron snorted.
"We are," George said, "Officially we support nobody except ourselves. So far, that keeps us out of trouble with the other merchants. We understand that Harry broke up—"
Fred pointed to the third page.
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Potter's Ex–Girlfriend
In compliance with good common sense, Harry Potter has announced that he indeed has terminated relations with one Muggle girl. In a statement, Harry Potter said, "Gia (the Muggle) is no longer my girlfriend." Everyone is pleased that Harry Potter has done the right thing in this matter and we sincerely hope this becomes a trend in other matters.
"So?" Ron asked.
"Of course," George asked, "How would he know—?" He pointed to The Evening Prophet.
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Potter's Backstabber Ex–Friend
by Rita Skeeter
Harry Potter was found stabbed and possibly drunk this morning at Hogwarts, he is currently laying in the Hospital Wing undergoing treatment. Undetermined is the role of Ronald Weasley, an ex‑friend, and his bitterness leading him to backstab Harry Potter. Harry Potter's lack of memory of the incident could lend credence to popular theories about Weasley's use of Memory Charms to cover up his actions.
"I summoned—" Ron started before he realized that having Harry's wand with him might not be the best idea, "Don't you have a shop to run?"
"Did you at least get a holster?" Fred asked.
"I spent nothing," Ron replied, figured the half–truth was enough.
"It was to be your Christmas gift," George said.
"Don't bother," Ron said.
"Of course," Fred said, "With this spat with girlfriend, might do him a lick of good to lose things."
"Not certain…" Ron said. Her flashing eyes, her shoving him, they were fresh in his mind.
"You've been buddy buddy with her for a while," Fred said, "Some solo time could do you good."
"Like Angelina?" Ron asked.
George smirked.
"But, you could try to become like us," George said.
"Twins?" Ron said, "N—No."
"While we do have hired help," Fred said, "Leaving the shop alone to them for long is a bad idea."
"Could use your help over the holiday," George said.
"Like you'd pay?" Ron asked.
"Family, of course not," Fred said, "But we've got a roof to pay for, and it'll be busy for Christmas. Luckily, we've got a great selection of socking stuffers."
Fred and George put on their suit jackets after they stood up. Ron adjusted the cap, and they left.
"Be back at the store by six," George said before he and Fred ran.
Ron went slower, came back to the Museum of Muggle and entered.
"Hello," came the voice, "Weasley, Ron is it?"
Ron turned, saw the stooped timid–looking old wizard with fluffy white hair of beards to either side of the face. Perkins extended a hand.
"Your father's dream for quite some while," Perkins said, "We managed to secure an educational grant from the Ministry. Shame he can't see it from Azkaban."
Ron went among the artifacts, seemed familiar, including the iron bars they had pulled from Harry's window many years earlier. He stopped at the fuse wire.
"Mostly his," Ron said.
"He had quite a collection of artifacts," Perkins said, "Though not all survived the destruction—I'm sorry."
Ron didn't have to glance at those eyes, but he did. Sympathetic, however, the wizard couldn't understand, impossible until it's one own home laying in ruin.
"It's alright," Ron said, he appreciated the concern from wizard who spent many years working with Ron's father.
Ron stopped at the description of eckletricity, a diagram of how muggles unwittenly channel magic across thing strips of wire. Ron smirked at the light switch, realized that spending even a day with a muggle would allow one to understand them way better than his Dad ever did.
"Know how much about muggles?" Perkins asked.
"A bit," Ron said, not wanting to disclose the time he'd been spending with Harry among them.
Ron came to the exhibit on muggle attitudes toward magic, describing an inability for muggles to understand, along with fear and respect. He wondered if he should volunteer some time here, help out.
"Could use a bit more advertising," Perkins said.
"You're on Diagon Alley," Ron said, "Rather busy out there."
"Not busy in here," Perkins said.
Ron came to the big yellow diagram of a rubber duck, split apart to show the chamber, along with pictures of many in bathtubs and ponds; a small parade was on the shelf beneath the diagram. Ron chuckled.
"If only Mum knew he finally found a somewhere to put all this," Ron said, "Been yelling at him for years."
"Fine woman she was," Perkins said, "Your Dad hopes for this to be a tribute to her memory, to show that Muggles are as clever as we are, that we can accept them as brethren. Love in them in turn loves ourselves."
"Love…" Ron muttered, his mind turned to Hermione.
Hermione sat on the chair to her desk in her bedroom, brought the quill to the paper of her diary.
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Dear Diary
Ron thought I was angry—he's wrong, very wrong. Angry doesn't even begin to describe it. If he wants to make up, he's sorely mistaken. He'll have to—I've got his Portkey. No, he won't have it easy, he'll have to do it on my terms, not his. Ron must beg, beg forgiveness for his injury, from me, and he must come back crawling. Having disconnected the fireplace and several Untrackable charms, Ron must do this the hard way.
0.38 blood alcohol level, I did the math, it means it was at lethal levels last night — lucky Harry made it into the morning. Ron's negligence nearly killed Harry, and Ron had the pure nerve to imply that I was the moron! How can I trust an idiot who intentionally endangered his friends? I mean, sure, somebody else stabbed Harry, but would it had even been possible if Harry was sober enough to avoid it altogether? Until Ron grows up, he's an ex–boyfriend.
At least Harry is recovering, I think—no news since I left Hogwarts. Thought he had a spine, though, thought he wouldn't cave in to that blasted committee. They were so happy and Harry flushed it down the loo without shedding so much as a tear, nor Gia come to think about it. I..
"Hermione!" came the yell, "Come down here."
Hermione sighed as she put the quill down, stood.
"Hermione!" came the yell, a second time.
Hermione walked down the hall, down the steps, her mother stood there.
"We were with patients when this came," Charles Granger said, holding the parchment letter with familiar green loopy handwriting.
"I told you not to start with that," said Linda Granger, "Darling, go out back and make sure the water's warm."
Charles Granger left.
"Honey, please sit," Linda Granger said to Hermione.
Hermione sat on the sofa, felt like she was a child.
"I found this," Linda said, held up the silver ring, "Seem familiar."
"It's—toss it," Hermione said.
"Talk about it?" Linda said, "What did Ron do?"
"He—he's been a complete idiot," Hermione said, "We—parted ways."
"He made one mistake and that's it?" Linda asked.
"A big mistake," Hermione said, "It's not been his first, won't be his last, but how can I trust an idiot who doesn't think his plan through? It harmed Harry."
"You think your Dad's perfect?" Linda said, "There's a reason I drive, even when he's with me."
"That bad of a driver?" Hermione asked.
"I'm not riding with him ever again," Linda said, "And when we dated—there's places we were caught. Boys, once they think an idea's great, they'll act on it, not think it all the way through. It's in their nature, can't change that."
"All Ron has to do is grow out of it," Hermione said.
"Boys never grow out of it," Linda said, "They simply get a bit better at learning if they can get away with it."
"Ron screwed up," Hermione said, "I don't think I can bring myself to forgive him."
"Sixth year," Linda said, "You've known him for ages."
"Not like I want to throw that away," Hermione said, tears welted down her face, "His choice to act out, like an idiot."
"I'm not saying to let him off the hook," Linda said as she handed the silver ring back, "A little wait to make him think, understand, until you're confident he's learned; then take him back. Sure, it's a risk you'll both lose, but a bit of distance does make the heart grow fonder. Too much, and they separate, forever."
Hermione dropped the ring back down onto the wood coffee table; even though it matched the groove on her finger, it no longer felt right.
"So I presume this had something about the letter we received from Hogwarts?" Linda asked.
"Likely," Hermione said.
"As you never want to see him again," Linda said, "Think we can help."
"How?" Hermione asked.
"There's no requirement you continue at Hogwarts," Linda said, "Stress, suspensions, and this, it all means you're outgrowing it, time to move on."
"What?!" Hermione stammered, she hadn't considered quitting Hogwarts, not seriously after the troll, "Harry's still there, Ron was a thing too."
"Come along," Linda said, "Think your Dad's got the water ready, out back and relax as we talk this over."
Hermione went up to her bedroom, changed, returned in a one piece bathing suit, and went out the back, into the darkened early evening sky, and into the hot tub. Her father was already there, chest hairs above the foam, as Linda came out in a two–piece and slipped in.
"I'm staying in Hogwarts," Hermione said. She wanted to as anything else would be to deny who she was to herself.
"How many times has your life been in danger at school?" Charles asked.
"Um…" Hermione started.
"This year?" Charles asked.
"Um…" Hermione tried to start counting on her fingers.
"Any terms it wasn't?" Charles asked.
"Fourth year—I think," Hermione said.
"Get our point?" Linda said.
"We're never really in danger," Hermione said, "So long as Dumbledore is there."
"Is he the one putting you in danger?" Charles said.
"He's trying not—" Hermione started.
"It's inherently UNSAFE," Linda said, "See it from our point of view?"
"No," Hermione lied, even though, she privately agreed it could certainly seem dangerous.
"I've asked around," Charles said, "Found a nice tutor who can help you take the GCSEs privately and do anything else you'd like to do."
"Hogwarts is where I have friends," Hermione said.
"Friends that would abduct you to be raped in the woods?" Linda said, "How's that friendship?"
"More than friends there," Hermione said, "Enemies—"
"See our point?" Charles said, "We'd rather you decide on your own rather than us having to protect you."
"What does that mean?" Hermione asked, as she stood.
"Application form is on the dining room table," Linda said, "All you have to do is sign that and a letter to Hogwarts—then you'd be safe."
"SAFE?!" Hermione stammered, "You—you don't understand!"
Hermione bolted from the hot tub, ran past the dining room table with the Hogwarts withdrawal form, and ran up the stairs. She slammed the door, went back to the diary.
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Dad—knowing him, will want to push me into dentistry, a trophy daughter to take over their practice!
They think they know what's best when I've already spent five and a half years at Hogwarts, time that'd be wasted if I quit. I am not the same person that left for Hogwarts, they do not realize I no longer need them. I wish them gone, out of my life.
She went onto her bed—wasn't even six, only an hour since they arrived, and she was mad at her folks. She wished Harry was around.
Ron returned to Weasley Wizarding Wheezes a few minutes after six, entered.
"George!" Fred yelled, "You can stop checking the rubbish bins!"
"Upstairs? Ron asked, his eyes on his brothers still in their red and green suits.
"No," George said as he came to the front, "Used for a proper office."
"Sofa?" Ron asked.
"We'd happily add more lumps than you require," Fred said, "However, no."
"We've found a spot," George said, "A spot where Health and Safety don't check."
Ron nodded.
"Relax, it was funny," Fred said, "As we'll have walk since you can't apparate, this way."
Ron grabbed his school bag, strap over his shoulder, and followed Fred and George. They walked along Diagon Alley, through the Leaky Cauldron, onto Charing Cross Road, and kept walking under the dark evening sky. Their breaths billowed steam as they spoke.
"Sure you don't mind?" Ron asked.
"We'll enslave you to help out," George said.
"Better than an angry Hermione," Ron said.
"We know you're desperate," Fred said.
"Either us or Percy," George said.
"Who'd outlaw drinking," Ron said.
"He's got a point there," Fred said.
"It was supposed to help Harry get out of Slytherin," Ron said.
"Ooh…" George said, "Sounded like a pickle. What'd he do to deserve that?"
"Live," Ron snapped.
A brisk walk, they came to Blackfoot Yard, a road that was a dead end, and went along it. A small red and green door appeared squeezed between two others, at four and one third. Fred opened it.
"Come on in," George said.
Ron entered the dim room, lit only by the streetlamp below. A small room, with a fireplace, and a set of stairs to the immediate left.
"Welcome to the estate of Fred or George," Fred said, "Not much, but it's now home. You can use one of the bedrooms on the second floor."
"Or make you to clean up after Fred," George said, "We could use a House Elf!"
"Whatever!" Ron snapped as he started to climb. Being a house elf sounded better than facing Hermione.
Sharp right to the landing on the first floor, with double doors marked "Danger!" Ron kept climbing. Another sharp right corner, to the second floor landing. Two doors, both open, to a pair of small bedrooms.
"Which one?" Ron asked, before he quickly glanced to the stairs that kept going up.
Room to the left had a bed that fit the room lengthwise to the left of the door, the right mirrored with a similar bed to the right. Room on the right, though, had a small desk under the sole window, dead straight from the door.
"Right," Ron said as he stepped into the room on the right.
Ron closed the door to the small room, big enough for the bed and the desk, with a tall cracked mirror on the wall across the tiny floor from the bed.
"You've sunk," Ron said to himself.
Ron sat backward, his rear onto the ill–fitted red sheets, his back to the wall, and placed the cap onto the bed beside him, before he stared at the dim reflection.
Thought of writing it down seemed too distant, instead, he imagined the journal entry. A day, Ron realized, a day for things to go from good to bad. Hermione—he hoped she would have calmed down by the time he gets around to calling her. Or Harry.
He'd try to talk to her tomorrow, see if she's done with her anger once Harry's back. With everything he's read to help Harry, Ron knew time can be the best medicine, if one's afforded the opportunity to spend it.
Ron pulled out Harry's wand, examined it in the dim light—he'll see Harry the next day in Noigate, return it then.
"Every wizard should know their holster," the hat said, "And their wand."
Ron reached for his trousers.
"Other wand," the hat stated.
"Just kidding," Ron said as he pulled out the roll of parchment.
Ron used Harry's wand for light, the parchment blank on both sides.
"A maker of wands gave you that note," the hat said.
"Oh yeah," Ron said, "Right."
Ron used his own wand to shine light onto the parchment, the note came forth.
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These holsters are tailored to your three specific wands, they will not work with other wands. Significant enhancements include self–polishing, modified Fidelius Charm to mask their presence, and each will expand to hold any of your three wands, when needed.
I've made and provided in the hope they prove useful in your fight, please make me right.
Sincerely,Ollivander
"That's it?!" Ron stammered, "What's so special—I'm talking to you, hat!"
"Knowledge must be learned, not given," the hat said, "Experiment if you wish to take enemies by surprise."
Ron sighed, put the red holster on his left wrist; the dragon hide straps tied themselves around his arm. He stood up, leaned his rear against the desk. Aimed his wand, levitated the mirror to the backside of the door. He inserted his wand.
"Nice and all…" Ron started as he inserted his wand.
Ron experimented with drawing, fast, slow. A third time and the wand leaped out of the holster; the hilt came into his left hand, while the tip pointed up his left arm.
"Erm…." Ron started as the hat grimaced.
Ron secured his wand and moved the holster to his right wrist. And he tried it again, when his wand leaped out, through the loop, and the hilt landed in his wrist—ready to be used.
"Cool!" Ron said.
His wand leapt as fast back into the holster.
"Malfoy will never see—" Ron started.
"That holster should remain out of sight," the hat said.
Another glance to the mirror, neither the holster nor wand hilts were in the reflection. A quick thought, and the hilt removed itself from Ron's sight. Another thought, and it returned.
"Fidelius indeed," Ron said, "Try Harry's."
Ron stashed Harry's wand into the holster, focused to deploy it, and Harry's wand refused to leap. A quick thought, though, and Ron's own wand leaped.
"Interesting," Ron said as his wand stashed itself back into the holster.
"Wands are the maker's specialty," the hat reminded.
"Too bad it can't hide the wand when in use," Ron said.
"A deployed wand cannot be hidden by itself," the hat said.
"So need an Invisibility—" Ron started.
Click
Door knob turned as the door opened. Charlie came in to face the tip of Ron's willow wand leveled at him.
"Easy there," Charlie said, "No cause for alarm."
"Sorry," Ron said, "It's been … a day."
"Fred and George offered to take us out for dinner," Charlie said.
Ron grabbed the hat as he stowed his wand into the holster. Ron followed Charlie down the stairs.
"Visiting long?" Ron asked.
"I confess," Charlie said, "Heard you needed family—rough day."
"Very rough," Ron said.
Ron wondered about Harry as they left the house.
"McGonagall!" came the bark.
Already late, only the candle in her hand gave light as she walked along the second floor corridor. With lit fires flaming up from his shoulder lapels, the Minster for Magic walked along.
"I need to speak with your boss," the Minster said.
"I was about to see him myself," Professor McGonagall said, "I can tell you, you will not be welcome."
"I need to deliver him this," Minister Fallerschain said.
"Have you tried an owl?" Professor McGonagall said.
"You would not believe how many times people claim to have lost something in the owl post," the Minister said.
They went to the Stone Gargoyle, through the office, into the Headmaster's private chamber, where he was already awake.
"May I know—" the Headmaster said.
"Orders for you to turn Potter over to his committee for a psychiatric examination," the Minister said, "After which, he will be sent to spend his winter holiday with Narcissa Malfoy."
"Mr. Potter is under the care of Madam Pomfrey," Professor Dumbledore said, "After which, he will serve his suspension—"
Professor McGonagall bit her tongue, kept it in place.
"So you agree he'll no longer be under your jurisdiction for the near future?" the Minister said, "Therefore, this is a matter between Potter and his committee. Once your healer proclaims Potter fit to travel, send him … unless I need to issue a Form C4, order to produce a minor?"
"I will present the order to him when he comes to see me as he'll know I'm concerned for his well being too," Professor Dumbledore said, "But no earlier than the morning."
"Delays," the Minister spat, "Produce him by noon to protect your precious sleep."
Minister Fallerschain left.
"Minerva?" the Headmaster asked.
"Poppy cannot locate Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, "At first, she thought he used the loo, had supper in the Great Hall—both permitted to the alarms she had set onto him. However, Mr. Potter has not returned and his school bag, presumably with his wand, is still there. I asked Nymphadora and we checked the usual locations in the castle, however, Locator charms are not working."
"Harry did not leave in the usual way either—Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger were the last," Professor Dumbledore said, "Are you saying Harry's missing?"
"Yes," Professor McGonagall said.