CHAPTER NINETEEN: PREPARATIONS

William Weasley's Flat

London, England

3 January 1995

Bill's hand rested firmly on Ron's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Ron shrugged. The entire holiday had flooded by in staccato bursts, and at this point, he felt mostly numb. He tried not to think of Mum's funeral, and the way they'd lowered the pine box into the ground. He tried not to think of the headstone, now engraved with Mum and Dad's names, and the words that scrolled across it. Always Together. Never Apart. Forever One Heart.

As much as it hurt him to admit it, Ron knew it was true. His memories of his dad were hazy, but he did remember how much his parents loved each other.

And now they were both gone, and Ron just felt empty.

"Ron?"

"I'm okay," Ron said quietly.

"I owled your Head of House about everything," Bill said. "If you need anything, you can talk to him. My work schedule is going to be a bit more flexible for the next week or so, and you can always Floo if you need to."

Ron looked down. "Thanks."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Ron looked up. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

Bill let the lie slide. "Remember, I'm always here for you. Is everyone else ready?"

"Fred and George were still packing. Not sure about Ginny."

Bill rummaged around in his pocket for a moment and withdrew a small box. "You should have this," he said quietly. "I was going to give it to you over Yule, but then it didn't seem right with everything going on."

Ron took the box, and carefully opened it. Inside were a pair of gold cufflinks in the shape of a lion rampant.

"It's for the Gryffindor lordship," Bill said softly. "Now that you're officially going to be Lord Gryffindor when you are of age, I thought it'd be appropriate for you to have them."

Ron swallowed. "Thanks."

"Be careful, Ron. There's something big happening soon, and Skeeter's latest article shows that. Someone important is moving things behind the scenes, and you've got to be ready for it." Bill grimaced. "Symbols...symbols are important to Traditionalists. Just keep your eyes open, okay?"

Ron nodded. "What do you think is going on?"

"Honestly, I don't know. There's been a groundswell of support for Traditionalist policies lately, especially with the upcoming Ascension vote. I think the Traditionalists are preparing for something big, and the Blood Purists are in on it as well. I've heard a few rumors, but I don't think any of them are true."

"What rumors?"

Bill looked over his shoulder. "Ones I probably shouldn't repeat." He looked back at Ron. "Lord Gaunt may be making overtures to Ireland."

Ron froze. "Ireland. Not Northern Ireland?"

"Not Northern Ireland," Bill said quietly.

"What type of overtures?"

"Marriage, allegedly. Not to any of the Morholts," Bill added quickly, seeing Ron's panic.

"Who, then?"

"The Rowans. Perhaps the Sayre Coven as well."

"...that's not good."

"No, it isn't," Bill agreed. "Keep your eyes and ears open. If Lord Gaunt is making diplomatic moves towards Ireland, we could be in for something bigger than an undesired Ascension vote."

Ron didn't have to ask Bill what he meant by something bigger. "Do you think it will be as bad as last time?"

Bill fidgeted with his hair. "Merlin, I hope not. But, to be honest with you, I fear it will be."

Ron swallowed hard.

"Try not to think about it. It's just a rumour, and one of many surrounding Lord Gaunt. Just keep your eyes and ears open for anything about the Blood Purists, and let me or Percy know if you hear anything important, alright?"

"Alright."

Bill squeezed his shoulder. "Everything will be okay, Ron. Don't forget, I'm always here for you."

Ron nodded mutely.

"Let me know when your next Quidditch game is. I'd love to see you play."

Ron managed to find his voice. "I'll owl you once I'm back at school."

"Good. Let's find the rest of you lot—we don't want to be late for the train."

The journey to Hogwarts passed by in a blur. Harry made several good natured attempts at conversation before leaving Ron alone with his thoughts. Hermione and Millie also had noticed something was wrong, but neither commented. Truth be told, Ron wasn't sure why he hadn't told his friends. The funeral had been a small, solemn affair, and it wasn't as if any of them had known his mum personally. It just didn't seem right, to burden them with that knowledge.

Ron hardly noticed the feast, and it wasn't until they were back in the common room that Hermione cornered him.

"I need your help."

Ron's head spun as he tried to collect his thoughts. "For?"

"The Triwizard task," Hermione said impatiently.

"I thought you practiced with Millie?"

"I did. I'm just worried I'm underestimating the task. I know it's some kind of flying obstacle course, but what if we have to duel each other while on brooms?" Hermione speculated, each word coming out faster than the last. "I mean, it wouldn't be out of the range of possibilities, and I'm worried that I'll be unprepared."

"Why? You're probably the best duelist in our year."

"But am I better than Talon or Georg? Probably not."

Ron shrugged.

"I want you and Harry to help me, and Millie too," Hermione said breathlessly. "I was thinking we could go down to you-know-where and practice that a bit."

Ron opened his mouth to interrupt, but Hermione kept going.

"I just feel like I really need to practice more. I'm sure Talon and Georg were practicing for the entire holiday, and they already were so much better than me to start out with and—"

"Breathe for a moment, would you?"

Hermione looked slightly guilty. "Sorry."

"I don't think Harry's going to want to bring Millie to...the place," Ron said quietly. "But that doesn't mean we all can't help you!" he added quickly, seeing Hermione's face drop. "It'll probably be better to practice outside, actually, because I'm assuming they aren't building a weather-controlled stadium for the task."

"...I didn't think of that."

"You'll need to get practice on the broom you'll use for the task," Ron added. "Harry can get you one of the Slytherin spare brooms again—it'll be a lot better than using Millie's old one. I think he's still got his old set of Quidditch gloves, too, which you should borrow so your hands don't freeze."

Hermione groaned, and Ron patted her on the shoulder.

"There's nothing better than flying in the middle of a Scottish winter!"

Hermione looked at him grouchily. "Why did I sign up for this?'

"Because you're a fool like the rest of us," Ron said cheerfully. "C'mon, let's go find Millie and Harry."

The Red Room

Deskie Castle, Scotland

5 January 1995

Standing at over six foot tall, Moray McGonagall easily intimidated most wizards. Gray had chased away the russet in his hair, but his back remained unbowed. Like his father before him, Moray was the leader of the Trifecta, the council of the three most powerful clan leaders in Scotland. The McGonagalls, the MacMillans, and the MacDougals had held seats on the Trifecta for centuries, and served as a governing body for the rest of the Wizarding clans.

Moray steepled his fingers. He was old enough to remember the horrors of Grindelwald's Rise and the Greater Good movement, and how his father had aged far too quickly. Broden McGonagall had appeared far beyond his years by the start of the Blood War, and passed beyond the Veil two years into the war. Moray had immediately taken his father's place as Trifecta leader and prayed he would never see another war in his lifetime.

Unfortunately, Beira did not appear to grant his prayer. The news Minerva presented to him over Yule chilled him to his bones, and he feared the worst was yet to come.

"Well?" Moray asked.

Archibald MacMillan looked grim. "I was able to meet with Aengus Moran. He's set out a few feelers amongst the covens, and the news isn't promising. Lord Gaunt is mustering power."

"In Ireland."

"Yes, and in England as well."

"He's been making attempts in Scotland too," Lucas MacDougal said, raising a bushy eyebrow. "He already has half the MacNairs on his side. Alastair Fergusson, Tamhas MacBeth, and Gladys Dunbar all mentioned they've received overtures from the Blood Purist and Traditionalist cohorts wanting them to advocate for certain policies in the House of Commons."

"In the House of Commons? What good will that do?" MacMillan asked.

MacDougal shrugged. "Dunno. The Commons don't have much power, unless he's looking to introduce a new bill through another avenue."

Moray's eyes narrowed. "And what did they all think of the overtures?"

"Fergusson and Dunbar are Neutral-Traditionalists through and through, and they're definitely concerned. MacBeth is a Traditionalist, but not the sort who'll get cozy with Blood Purists."

Moray breathed a sigh of relief. "Has there been any news from Reid Banquo or Gregor MacKenzie?"

"No."

"Thank Beira for small mercies," MacMillan muttered.

Moray's fingers tapped an idle beat on the table. "The question, of course, is how do we proceed? Minerva told me that Albus Dumbledore is assembling a guerilla fighting group again, which makes me think this situation is bigger than we know."

MacMillan frowned. "If it were that dire, wouldn't he warn us?"

Moray shook his head. "Not if he didn't trust anyone. I know that wizard, and he keeps everything close if he has no one to trust."

MacDougal snorted in agreement. "My da went to Hogwarts with Albus. He's always been like that."

"The question I have," Moray continued, "is what does Albus know that we don't? If this was merely a political matter, I would expect him to muster forces across both Houses and in the ICW. Reviving a guerilla group from the Blood War is a completely different matter."

"Albus could have information on the Irish that we don't," MacDougal suggested. "If Gaunt gets the power of the Morholts behind him, Albus would be well within his senses to muster an extra fighting force."

Moray pinched his lip in thought. "Maybe. I feel like there's something we're missing. I can feel it in my bones."

"What do you think it is?" MacMillan asked.

"I haven't got a clue."

MacDougal looked thoughtful. "Can Minerva find out any more information from Albus? He's a tight lipped bastard, but perhaps she can convince him."

"I'll owl her. Archibald, you need to get into contact with the covens again. Someone has got to have an inkling of what's occurring on the other side of the wardline."

MacMillan nodded, eyes hard.

"We need to begin monitoring Lord Gaunt's movements closely," Moray continued. "My son tells me there's been a subtle push towards Traditionalist values at the Edinburgh wizarding primary, and I have a feeling that the other schools likely experience the same policies. The Rowles are the school representatives for London and Liverpool, and I'm not closely acquainted with any of the instructors there."

"Amaryllis Smith—Bartholomew Smith's niece—is the school representative for Cardiff," MacMillan said. "I can speak to him next Wizengamot session. I'll also see if Aengus can make some quiet inquiries about the Belfast school. Saoirse Moody is one of the instructors, and she's got a good head on her shoulders."

Moray's eyes narrowed. "If this turns out to be true, then there's something far more insidious brewing. It's something foul, and I don't like any piece of it. I'll have my brother and his son check the wardstones."

MacDougal's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "You think it's going to be that bad?"

"Yes, Lucas, I do." Moray stared out the window at the earthworks surrounding the castle and the rolling grassland of the highlands. "I would rather be prepared and forewarned rather than caught with my kilt around my ankles. As the leaders of the Trifecta, we have a duty to the rest of the clans to ensure that Scotland endures. We will need to be prepared to send word out to the clans if a threat materializes."

"And what will we do if it does?" MacMillan demanded.

Moray smiled grimly. "The Irish aren't the only ones who remember the old ways of magic. If me and mine have to give our lives to protect Scotland, so be it."

Hogwarts Grounds

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

7 January 1995

Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot as she stole another glance at her competitors. Both appeared to be perfectly relaxed, and Hermione sternly told herself to stop fidgeting. It was easier said than done. Her mind was racing, dancing from one scenario to the next. She knew the second task would involve flying, obstacles, and retrieving an object. The parchment hints hadn't granted her any more insight than that, and Hermione quickly learned there was nothing quite as terrifying as the unknown.

The older Champions were clustered on the other side of the tent, talking quietly among themselves. Euan McGonagall and Cedric Diggory both gave her an encouraging thumbs up when she glanced their way, and Hermione quickly looked away. It wouldn't do to dwell on the situation and get any more nervous than she already was.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ludo Bagman burst into the tent. Hermione's heartbeat accelerated. This was it. She was about to find out what horrors awaited her.

Bagman grinned broadly. "Good afternoon, Champions!" he began far too jovially. "As you already should know, today's tasks will begin with our youngest Champions and move from there up to our oldest." Bagman rubbed his hands together. "If Georg, Talon, and Hermione could step forward…"

Hermione took a few steps towards Bagman, willing her legs not to tremble.

"Now," Bagman boomed, "You all know, of course, that your task will involve an aerial obstacle course, but you don't know about these." Bagman brandished three Potions vials from inside his cloak.

Hermione did her best not to pass out in a blind panic when Bagman explained just what the Potion did.

A/N: Thanks for your patience with the update! I've been busy moving and starting a new job, it should be a shorter wait to the next one. Thanks again as always for reading and reviewing!