Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns everything. I, in turn, own nothing.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to my editor, Athena Hope, as well as my betas: 3CP, Regress, Thanos, and Thobeobo for their contributions.

ANYONE WHO JOINS MY DISCORD SERVER CAN READ EIGHT CHAPTERS AHEAD OF WHAT IS POSTED HERE!

If you want even earlier access, then sign up to my P*T*E*N page. They are currently MORE THAN THIRTY CHAPTERS ahead of FFN.

Those links are on my profile. If any give you trouble, use the direct links on my website's homepage.

Harry Potter and the Perversion of Purity

By ACI100

Book 4: TBD

Chapter 9: Rats and Rumours

August 30, 1994

Dartmoor, Devon, England

7:12 AM

Sleep clung to Ron's eyes no matter how hard he rubbed them. His limbs felt thick and sluggish and his thoughts floundered their way through an opaque shroud of mist. Fred and George looked in even worse shape. Their eyes fluttered and their heads lulled. Ron even spotted a line of drool trailing from Fred's mouth before his brother realized and dispatched it with a scowl.

"Why can't we just lie in a few more hours?" Fred demanded when their father told them all to get dressed.

Their father's lips thinned and Ron could not help but think that Fred had done it now. "Because I promised your mother we'd be home for breakfast. Now stop arguing with me and just listen for one day, please."

The twins made no more fuss as they dressed and stumbled their way through dismantling the tent. Ron breathed out his relief when the work was done. It was not uncommon for his mum to be right scary, but seeing his father look so grim and stern left him on edge and unsure how to act.

Ron reached into his pocket and ran a hand over Scabbers's sleeping form as they set out. It was Scabbers. There could be no doubting that, no matter what Fred had to say about it. The same toe was missing and Scabbers had always had a distinct face. Ron had never seen another rat with water eyes like that.

Touching his long-time pet after so long apart was calming, but he could not help but wonder how Scabbers had returned. They had been at Hogwarts when the rat had disappeared. The likelihood of him making it all the way from the Scottish Highlands in one piece, let alone finding his old owner in the forest during the dead of night…

Ron gave Scabbers a gentle pat, then removed his hand from the pocket of his robes. However it had happened, he was grateful. Not until losing him did he realize how much he appreciated the rat's presence.

The twins exchanged looks as they crested a low hill and neared the camp site's edge. The vantage point revealed why their father had insisted on an early start. About half the tents pitched over the past days were nowhere to be seen and herds of witches and wizards were milling toward the departure zones. Ron shook his head. Had they left any later, they would have been buffeted by crowds and delayed by at least an hour.

The portkey back was dizzying. The proceeding tumbles left them all in foul moods and the twins renewed their grumbling when confronted with the lengthy trek back home. Their father snapped at them three times over the next five minutes and they fell quiet. Ron could hardly believe what he was seeing. Had their father ever snapped three times in a single day? Certainly not over the course of five minutes?

How bad had the attack been? It was the only explanation for how irritable their father was, but it must have been some scene to leave him brooding like this.

The sun rose above the high hill they had trudged down as they reached the orchard. Its leaves shone in shades of green and gold and singing birds basked in the morning glow up on high branches. Ron inhaled the sweet scent of ripe apples and caught a gnome scampering from sight out the corner of his eye.

They were halfway across the garden when the Burrow's door banged open. Their mother barreled out of the house and threw her arms around her husband's neck. Ron took a half step back. She was sobbing into his father's shoulder.

"Molly," Arthur Weasley said in a gentler voice than Ron had heard him use in years, "we're all safe. Everyone's safe, it's all right."

"When I r-read the Prophet this morning, I thought… I thought —"

"Shhh." Arthur ran a hand through her tangled hair. "Ginny," he said over his wife's head, "go and make your mother a cup of tea." Ginny all but sprinted off. "You lot," he told the rest of them, "go and clean the kitchen."

Molly was far calmer when she re-entered the Burrow some ten minutes later, but her eyes were bloodshot and the grip she held around her husband's hand was vice-like.

"Blimey." Ron turned his head to look at George, who was examining a copy of The Daily Prophet.

Fred moved close and peered over his twin's shoulder. "Merlin."

Hermione huffed and snatched the paper out from under their noses. She looked at it and sucked in a sharp breath. Ron's temper flared. "Oi! Give that here!" Hermione made no move to hand the paper over, but she gestured for him to come close enough to read it.

The-Boy-Who-Saved-the-Quidditch-World-Cup

By Rita Skeeter

"Harry Potter?" His father had crept up behind him and must have read the headline over top of Ron.

"That's what Rita Skeeter says." Ron breathed an inward sigh. How his mum believed a word that Skeeter woman wrote, he would never understand.

"That's not right," Arthur murmured. "No boy could have done that."

"Done what?" his wife asked him. "All the Prophet says is that they were You-Know-Who's followers coming for Harry and that he fought them off."

"Death Eaters coming after the Potter boy?" Arther shook his head. "What rubbish. They were just a bunch of drunkards out for a twisted little laugh."

"Then where did the lightning come from?" piped in Ginny.

Fred groaned. "We told you there was no lightning," he grumbled. "It was a clear sky."

Ginny crossed her arms. "I saw it through the trees," she insisted for the hundredth time. "Besides, what does the weather have to do with anything? Wizards can conjure lightning."

"How the hell do you—"

"Language, Fred," their mother chided before refocusing her attention. "What happened, Arthur?"

"Whatever it was sure sounded like thunder, and it did look like lightning." Seldom had the Burrow been so silent as everyone waited for him to go on. "I don't really know what else to say. There was a standoff, then a bright flash that half-blinded most of us."

"Wasn't pretty," Bill added. "There was an explosion and it wiped out a lot of them. The rest scattered after that."

"Whatever it was, I don't know why she's dragging the Potter boy into all this." Arthur threw a disgusted glare toward the paper. "Anyone who believes that pile of droppings is mad."

"Then what do you think happened?" Ginny projected casual disinterest well enough, but she was balanced on the balls of her feet and Ron was unfooled.

"I don't know," their father admitted. "Lightning sounds about right, but I don't know where it would have come from."

Percy sipped from a steaming mug of tea. "Ginny is right about one thing, Father. Wizards can conjure lightning. Grindelwald was known for things like that back during the Blood War."

"Is there a book you haven't read?" George asked as Ginny smirked smugly at the twins.

"We would've thought you'd slowed down this summer," Fred snarked. "What with you making moony eyes at that girl from work and drafting love letters every hour you're at home."

The tips of Percy's ears glowed beet red. "Those are not love letters. Mister Crouch has been overworked given the preparations for the Quidditch World Cup and Miss Fawley is his second in command."

George feigned a yawn. "We don't care about your love life, Perce."

"We might if he runs off with a former Slytherin," Fred growled in a too loud stage whisper.

"What was that about wizards conjuring lightning, Perce?" Charlie asked with the hint of a smile still playing on his lips.

Percy pursed his lips and responded in clipped tones. "There were plenty of important and powerful wizards at the World Cup. It's not impossible one of them could have done it."

Bill drummed his fingers along the table's edge. "I don't know how likely it is, Perce. Grindelwald was a centennial sorcerer. Feats like that aren't easily replicated. I can't think of many living wizards who could do that."

"I'll ask Mister Crouch," Percy said as though it settled things. "He knows everyone there is to know. If someone attending the cup was capable of it, Mister Crouch will know."

"Does he happen to know the cure for world hunger yet?" Fred asked with a straight face.

"How about the answer to world peace?" George chimed in.

"Oh, shut up," Percy snapped at them.

"Sorry, Perce, we just thought with how much you talk about him that Mister Crouch must be capable of anything."

"That's enough," their father said, but Ron could see he was holding back a smile. "It's a great mess, whatever happened, and I feel for the Potter boy. I don't know why Skeeter dragged his name into all this, but he'll get heaps of attention now if he doesn't already."

"Do you think he could have done it?" Ron asked Hermione once they were alone in his bedroom.

Hermione pursed her lips. "If it's really something that Grindelwald was doing, then surely it's too advanced for him."

Haunting memories teased the edges of his mind. "He did duel Riddle in the chamber. He lost, but he looked damn good."

"I can't imagine someone our age using magic like that." Hermione fidgeted, almost as if she were uneasy.

"I think he might have done it," Ron stepped between a crouching Crookshanks and the nightstand on which Scabbers perched before the cat could pounce. "Oi! Knock it off." A short staring match ensued, but when Crookshanks looked away, Ron turned back to Hermione. Her mouth was half open and she had that stubborn set to her shoulders that heralded long arguments he wanted no part of. "Listen," he said, "I know it sounds crazy, but he did beat You-Know-Who. No one else has done that."

"No one knows how he beat You-Know-Who," Hermione huffed at him. "Plus he was a baby. It's not like he would even remember whatever happened." Her posture was growing more and more confident the longer she went on. "I don't think he could have done it. I don't think anyone our age could have done it. Skeeter must just have been wrong."

Witches and wizards began appearing outside soon after the Weasleys finished dinner. Ron craned his neck so he could better see out the kitchen window even as his mother ordered them upstairs. It was no good. Dusk had descended outside and the kitchen window was not only small but steamed over and obscured by his mother's frame.

"It's bloody unfair!" Ron raged when back up in his room. Scabbers was fast asleep atop his nightstand. "We should know what's going on too."

Hermione peered out the window, but the visitors had come inside. "I don't see why they'd tell us," she admitted. "We can't really help and we're more likely to let something slip than them."

Ron gawked. "Potter's at Hogwarts. It makes sense You-Know-Who will want revenge. That means we're in danger, doesn't it?"

"Oh Ron," his best friend sighed. "I think You-Know-Who has better things to do than chase children."

A loud crack elicited a shrill squeak from Hermione. Two cracks, Ron supposed, but they had been so in sync it had sounded like a single noise. "They've got to be talking about the World Cup," George said as though continuing an ongoing discussion.

"It's the most tempted I've been to give those extendable ears another go," Fred grumbled.

Hermione frowned. "Extendable what?"

Both twins wore matching scowls. "Never mind," George told her. "Just a little something we tried snooping with a while back."

Fred glared out the window. "It didn't go well."

Ron winced in memory. "It didn't go well at all."

"Well that's not true," George said with a wink. "Dumbledore convinced Mum to let us use magic."

Fred grinned. "High achievement, that, ranks right up there with his defeat of Grindelwald."

Hermione looked as though she had been struck. "Your mum lets you use magic around the house?"

"Not around the kitchen," Fred admitted, "but that's probably for the best. She'd kill us if we broke anything she couldn't just repair."

George shook his head. "She'd kill us even if she could repair it."

Fred nodded sagely. "True."

"What on earth happened?" Hermione listened with a stern expression as they recounted their disastrous attempt at eavesdropping. Ginny slunk in halfway through the tale and started scratching Crookshanks behind the ears.

"But never mind all that," said Fred, "what do you reckon happened last night?"

"I don't see why Skeeter would lie," Ginny jumped in. She held up her hands when met with incredulous expressions. "I know she's a horrible gossip, but she doesn't really get anything by lying about this, does she? It was always going to be a big story and it didn't need Harry Potter's name."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Maybe she's trying to get in his good graces. Anything makes more sense than someone our age using that sort of magic."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Hermione, he's not just someone our age. He's Harry Potter." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the entire world.

Hermione was unmoved. "Ginny, it doesn't matter if he's Harry Potter, that sort of magic—"

Knock, knock, knock.

Fred and George saluted before disapparating and Ginny looked frantically around for some sort of hiding place, but found nothing feasible.

There was another soft round of knocking and Ron shook himself from his paralysis. "Uh… come in."

The door swung open and Ron's jaw went slack. "Ah, Miss Granger, so nice to see you." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. Dumbledore! At the Burrow! "I know a bit about what these two have been up to, but how has your summer been?"

Hermione was actually shaking. "It-it's been nice, Headmaster."

Dumbledore offered her a sad but gentle smile. "I am no longer the headmaster, but I'm glad you enjoyed your holidays."

"What!" Hermione leapt up off her place on Ron's bed. "No longer the headmaster?"

"Oh dear, I forget sometimes how unaware living in the muggle world can make you." Dumbledore settled his stare on Ginny, who shrank back away from him. "Miss Weasley, would you mind explaining what has happened to Miss Granger? I would like a word with your brother in the meantime, if you would be so kind."

Ginny all but dragged Hermione out of the room in her haste to escape without reprimand. Ron watched them go in puzzlement. What had Dumbledore just said? Had one of his brothers stayed behind without him noticing?

"Did you enjoy the World Cup, Ronald?"

"Uh… yes, sir." Why was his brain so uncooperative? "Got a bit dodgy at the end, but the rest was fun."

Dumbledore stepped farther into the room. "That is certainly one way of describing what happened."

Curiosity burned like a flame inside him. "Sir, did Potter conjure lightning?"

Dumbledore's shoulders drooped. It was like a great weight had come crushing down on him and added a decade onto his age. "May I take a seat, Ronald?" Ron nodded without thinking, then blushed. Had the greatest wizard in the world just asked him if he was allowed to sit? "Thank you." Dumbledore settled on the edge of Ron's bed. What a sight it was. "As for your question, I'm afraid I don't know."

Ron blinked. "You don't?"

Dumbledore smiled, as warm and fleeting as an unsteady flame. "There are some answers that elude even me, though I do hope very much this is not one of them." Dumbledore steepled his long fingers. "I actually hoped you might help with that."

"Me?"

"Oh, it's nothing strenuous. I just wondered what you thought of Harry and was pondering whether I might ask a couple questions of my own."

Later that night, at Greengrass Manor…

Astoria was unsurprised when the knocking came. She could sense people when they came close. It had started last summer after the ritual. The better she became at controlling the way magic flowed through her, the more potent the ability had grown.

Astoria did not look up from the pile of clothes she was rifling through. There was no need. She knew it was Daphne and that no matter how badly she wanted nothing to do with her right now, she had no choice in the matter.

Her sister's eyes flicked between her and the rough heap of clothes that had compiled near the door. Astoria tossed another skirt in the heap's vicinity. "You know there are easier ways of packing, don't you?" Daphne asked archly.

Astoria glared up at her. "I haven't practiced the charm for folding clothes. I'm worried it would rip my robes in two."

Daphne hummed. "So every spell reacts differently, then? Gaining a mastery over your magic isn't enough to reliably cast new spells?"

Astoria shook her head. "If it's like something I've done already, then it's not too bad, but if the spell's different…" she let her voice trail off.

"Interesting." Daphne's expression grew distant — it often did when discussing theoretical things like this. "What makes the spells different?"

"I don't know how to explain it." Astoria struggled for the correct words. "It's like… hmm. You know how you told me that we're like conductors and magic goes through us?"

"Yes."

"I can feel that. It's like when you drink some water and haven't eaten in hours? If it's cold enough, you can feel it. It's like that, but every spell feels a little bit different. The magic doesn't move the same. I have to… oh, I don't know. It's hard to explain."

"You have to control the flow," Daphne supplied.

"Kind of." Why was Daphne asking her as though she had any clue? This was her sister's area of expertise, not hers. "It's like… I imagine I'm pinching the opening and only letting a little through. Only what I need."

"That's clever visualization," Daphne surmised. "I hadn't considered internalizing it like that."

Astoria felt dread well up in the pit of her stomach, but she refused to lie and claim credit when it was undeserved. "It was Harry's idea. It was one of the things that finally helped."

Daphne's face did not change. Hope bloomed inside Astoria. Maybe her sister was finally working past her grudge. "You're getting better," Daphne complimented her. "When we used to talk about this, you said it felt like something was moving in you any time you cast magic, but you couldn't describe it."

"It was so weird." Getting used to that feeling had been one of the hardest things she had ever done.

"What about when you're not casting anything?" Daphne inquired. "You weren't sure before; you weren't comfortable enough sensing things like that."

"I can still feel it," Astoria admitted. "It's not as strong, but it's there."

"Then that disproves the idea that you're just overconducting." Excitement all but bubbled out of Daphne. "There really is ambient magic just whirling inside you."

Astoria cocked her head. "Does it really matter?"

"Astoria, there isn't magic inside of witches and wizards. That's one of the things that differentiate magical creatures. It's why things like dragons are so resistant to magic. It's what heightens the intellect of kneazles. All sorts of creatures benefit from ambient magic."

Astoria's heart fluttered. "So you're saying you think I might be resistant to magic, or something?"

"I don't know." Those were rare words from Daphne. "This is completely unprecedented. I don't really see how we can test your magical resistance without those tests being dangerous, but I'll think on it. Intellect is hard to quantify, but there are other things it could be."

Daphne looked like a girl again — younger than she had in years. If there was one good thing to come out of Astoria's life, it was how brilliant Daphne's research had made her and how much she loved her studies.

Which just made her shortcomings even more frustrating.

"Did you read the paper this morning?" Astoria blurted.

Daphne's expression darkened, the way the sky changes when grey clouds obscure the sun. "Are we really going to start this again now?"

"I just wish you'd stop being so stupid," Astoria told her. "None of what you talked about would even be possible without Harry."

"And none of that would have happened had I not fought with him last year."

Astoria bristled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, stop pretending." The harsh sneer on Daphne's face was like a smudge marring pristine art. "The only reason Potter pretends to care about you is to get at me. We both know it."

Astoria's entire body stiffened. Heat flooded up her neck and angry tears stung the corners of her eyes. "You bitch!"

Daphne took a step away from her. "Astoria, I didn't—"

"GET OUT!" Astoria leapt up to her feet. Daphne held her ground until Astoria whipped out her wand, and then she was sent scampering.

Astoria clenched her fists hard enough to cramp both forearms. How dare Daphne say that? How dare she try and cost Astoria her only friend? How dare she care more about some stupid grudge than she did her own sister.

The last thought twisted her face into an ugly grimace. The hurt and anguish was too much. It would burst from her if kept confined, so she threw back her head and screamed.

There was the shrill sound of breaking glass, and then painful fingers dragged hot lines of pain along her bare arms. Astoria could feel them bubbling with blood the same way her body bubbled with magic. It was stirring, swirling, and ready to explode.

She screamed a second time. Her dresser exploded and sprayed wooden splinters all over the room and her mattress burst.

Shredded bits of foam drifted down around her, but she hardly saw them. She hardly saw anything but for the fact a random boy she had known for less than a full year cared more about her than her own sister.

A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.

PS: The next chapter will be out in one week. Remember that chapters can be read early on Discord, YouTube, and P*T*E*N! All those links are on my profile, and if any give you trouble, use my website's homepage. That site can be found via a generic Google search of my pen name.