Disclaimer: This world and all its characters belong to JK Rowling. I wrote this purely for entertainment purposes, and have no wish to sell, copyright or otherwise claim any of this content.

The door swung shut behind him, and Percy let out the breath he had been holding since the first firecracker went off. Where the twins had even gotten them was a mystery – there were no stores that sold them in Ottery-St-Catchpole, and Errol would never have been able to collect them in time for the funeral. As it was, he could hear Mum's voice all the way through the carpeted floor and multiple walls that separated them, and it didn't sound as though she would let up any time soon.

Percy sank to the floor, letting his head fall back against the old wooden door. It used to be green, a nice lime green to match to fuchsia carpet, but now it was battered and chipped to reveal the old paint underneath. It was a mosaic of lime green, deep blue and dirty orange, as well as the sandy brown of the original wood underneath it all. And although he complained to his parents and asked for a new door almost every year, Percy had grown to like it. It showed that the door had been used, and loved – there was history in it that would be hidden if Percy ever went through with his plans to repaint or even replace it.

There was a brief pause in the shouting, and then Fred's voice drifted up the stairwell for just three seconds before Mum started yelling again. Sighing, Percy pushed himself to his feet and placed his wand on his desk before shrugging out of his dress robes. The twins deserved what they got, even if they were grounded for life. Uncle Billius deserved a solemn, dignified farewell.

Percy had expected a ruckus in the morning. Everyone had had to dig out their dress robes, and that was always bound to be at least a little hectic – no one liked dress robes in their family, not even Bill. And there was always bound to be a fit when Ronny had to wear a dress. This morning, though, had been oddly quiet: Bill had only frowned and tugged on his sleeves, Fred and George had been too preoccupied staring at each other to make much noise (which should have tipped them all off), and Ronny had protested loudly for about five minutes before giving in and staying uncharacteristically quiet for the remainder of the morning.

The first half of the funeral had been fine, too. Dad, Great-Aunt Muriel, and a few others who Percy didn't know had spoken about what a great man Uncle Billius had been. Ginny had only needed to use the loo once, and Charlie had been too busy trying to distract Ronny to become distracted himself. Percy had been tentatively hopeful that the day might end without explosions, when the twins suddenly announced that they both had to use the loo. At the same time. And Percy realized that it had been foolish of him to even entertain the notion of a smooth, dignified family event.

Percy carefully folded his dress robes – which were a faded navy, fraying around the edges and half a size too big – before placing them in the very back of the top shelf of the closet. He new that money was tight, and he didn't mind hand-me-downs, really, he just wished that dress robes at least might be deserving of a bit more lavishness. Dress robes were what you wore when you wanted to impress people.

He hadn't used to be self conscious. Percy had never really noticed that his family was poor – or rather, he had never thought that there was anything unusual about that. Before Hogwarts, the only unusual part of his life was Ronny, who insisted that she was a boy even though she was clearly a girl. Percy had been there when she was born, after all, and that many people couldn't be wrong about whether a baby was a boy or a girl. But then Percy went to Hogwarts and realized that being poor meant that someone somewhere in the family had made a mistake, and that his family was a running joke among the richer purebloods. Now all Percy wanted was to make a good impression. He would make sure that even though one of his relatives may have made a mistake, people would know that he was different, and he would never make a mistake like that. He would be smart and good looking and wealthy, and he would bring his family up with him.

Fred and George, it seemed, hadn't had the same realizations that Percy had. They still took any and every opportunity to make fools of themselves, not seeming to care who was around to witness it. Hopefully when they reached Hogwarts they would calm down – it wasn't that Percy didn't sometimes appreciate their joking around (only when it wasn't directed at him, though), it was just that they seemed to have no self-preservation, no sense of where the line was or when they had crossed it. They were explosions waiting to happen, but when they went off they didn't diminish in size and scale – they expanded, and the next explosion was only bigger and more chaotic than the last. Sometimes Percy wondered if the reason their house looked to be in such shambles was because it kept getting battered from having to contain the twins.

Unlike the rest of his siblings, Percy kept a tidy room. He knew exactly where everything was, and anything coming into his room always had a specific place where it belonged. He liked to think that keeping his room neat was cultivated as a survival trait – until he learned how to perform a locking charm, Percy needed to know exactly where everything was so that if (or rather, when) anything went missing he would know exactly what it was. He'd found that the sooner he'd realized something was missing, the easier it was to track down. It also made it easy for him to know what to do; he knew exactly where everything was, so if he wanted to read a specific book he didn't have to try and remember where he was the last time he read it. Whenever a book was removed from his shelf, it was always returned at the end of the reading or homework session.

Pulling Hogwarts: A History down from its place on the shelf, Percy crawled onto his bed, pushing his glasses up and flipping to chapter twelve. He didn't have money or a job yet, but he had Hogwarts and if nothing else Percy knew how to work with what he had. He drew his knees up to help balance the book, and tried to drown out the voices rising from downstairs.

As soon as he was in his room, Ron got out of the stupid dress as fast as he could. It was dark red, with loose sleeves and a long skirt, and Ron hated it. He hated the feeling of the fabric against his legs, the way they constricted his movement, and he hated the way the skirt dragged him down. He stared at the dress on the floor for a moment, wondering if he could vanish it again with accidental magic, then gave up and settled for kicking it to the back of his closet. Maybe before Ginny moved back into her own room, he could hide all of his dresses in her clothes. That's where they were headed, anyway – he wore his brothers' old clothes, and Ginny wore his.

He shut the door before he could look in the mirror. With his hair just barely brushing his shoulders, Ron didn't like who he saw in his reflection, and had taken to avoiding mirrors whenever possible. He would hang a blanket over his mirror, he decided. Then he wouldn't have to worry about it, and the only mirror that would cause a problem would be the one in the bathroom.

There was a linen closet on the second floor landing, where they kept all the extra sheets and pillow-cases. Ron skipped down the stairs, confident that no one would intercept him: Bill and Charlie were helping Dad clean up from the funeral, Percy was hiding, Mum was yelling at the twins, and Ginny was being read to by Great-Aunt Muriel. Opening the cupboard, Ron stared at the stacks of cloth for a moment before his eyes landed on an orange one and he grinned, tugging carefully at it so as not to disrupt the stack too much. Perfect.

Back in his room, it took a few tries to get the blanket to stay. He tried just draping in over the mirror, but it kept slipping off. He thought he had it when he shut the blanket in the door, but that lasted only as long as it took for Ron to realize that he couldn't open the door again without the blanket falling off. He considered asking Bill to help with a sticking charm, but then Bill would ask questions, questions that Ron didn't want to answer. Staring at the mirror in frustration, it suddenly occurred to Ron to use Spell-O-Tape – he had his own stash of it in his desk, and it was perfect for things like this. Dragging his desk chair over to the door, he fumbled with the tape for a moment before getting the top corner of the blanket attached to the door.

By the time he was done, Ron was almost out of Spell-O-Tape, but had a very secure orange blanket hanging on the inside of his closet door. Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, Ron nodded, satisfied. That blanket wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon. Glancing over at Ginny's pile of clothes, Ron knelt and began to dig through his own pile of clothes on the floor of his closet. Now to get rid of the dresses….

Charlie lay flat on his stomach, legs sprawled on the floorboards and wand clenched in his left hand as he wriggled forward under his bed. "Lumos," he muttered, lifting his wand a little higher so that the light could illuminate the dusty floor. There was a dusty cardboard box, a few random socks, two dust-covered books, a strange lump that Charlie couldn't identify, dust, more dust –

"Er, Charlie…?"

Charlie jumped, banged his head on the bed-frame and let out a string of curses followed by a hasty Finite. Rolling over, he pushed himself out from under the bed to see Bill standing over him, looking on the verge of laughter. Letting out a faint sigh of relief – if Mum of Dad had caught him using magic outside of school, he'd have had to clean up from dinner without magic – Charlie pushed himself up onto his head, pulling at his jumper to get the dust off. "I've lost my eagle quill," he sighed. "And we're leaving in half an hour, and it's my favorite quill."

"Oh. I haven't seen it. Are you sure it's in here?"

"Well, let's see," Charlie tucked his wand into his back pocket and began counting on his fingers. "I've checked the kitchen, I've checked the sitting room – I looked around the shelves and under the sofa – I asked Percy if he'd taken it, I asked Mum if she moved it, and this is my second time looking around here." He glanced up at Bill. "And before you ask, I don't remember the last place I left it, I just know that I brought it home with me. And now we're leaving for Hogwarts and I can't find it."

Bill grinned. "If only you were of age…."

Charlie scowled at his brother. "Careful, Bill; I've only got one day left, and it's technically not a holiday, so…."

"The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery clearly states that witches and wizards who have not yet reached their seventeenth year –"

"I know what the decree says, you arse –" Charlie lobbed a pillow across the room which Bill dodged, laughing. "If you ask nicely, I could use magic, since I am of age," Bill added, smirking, and Charlie groaned. "You're trying to annoy me on purpose," he accused.

Bill shrugged, still grinning, and raised his wand. "Accio quill," he said. They both sat, waiting expectantly, and then the quill flew out of Charlie's packed bag and into Bill's hand. Bill snorted and passed it over, and Charlie shot him a disgruntled look before sticking it back in his bag. "I didn't think to check there," he muttered. Bill just rolled his eyes and went to check his own bag, which was sitting on his desk.

"So I know it's my seventeenth birthday tomorrow, but what's got you so cheerful today?" Charlie asked after a moment.

Bill shot him a look, glanced at the door, then produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. Beaming, he passed it to Charlie, who smiled uncertainly and opened the letter.

To Mr. William A. Weasley,

Having reviewed your application, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the Gringott's Apprenticeship Program for Junior Curse-Breakers. To secure your place, please send a letter to the Human Employment Office at Gringotts Wizarding Bank by no later than May 31st, along with a copy of your final NEWT levels.

Sincerely,
Albert F. Ewing
Head Curse-Breaker

Charlie blinked, read the letter again, then looked up at Bill, who appeared to be having trouble sitting still. "Wow, Bill, that's great," he said sincerely, passing the letter back. And it was. Ever since Charlie could remember, Bill had wanted to go on adventures and do great things with magic. Then, late in Charlie's fourth year, Bill had come up to him in the common room and shoved a flier in his face. This, he'd said, beaming – this is what I'm going to be when I grow up. A Curse-Breaker – of course, as soon as she heard, Mum had started reminding Bill of all the gruesome things that happened to people who meddled in age-old curses, and told him that he didn't need to get himself cursed or killed in order to make a living. Even though Charlie knew that Bill hadn't really listened, he hadn't expected – well, he hadn't expected this. Most people who wanted to be Curse-Breakers worked desk jobs at Gringotts for their first year, and took extra classes on the side. The Apprenticeship, Charlie knew, was a way to bypass that and go straight into the field. Only the best got in. And Bill was one of the best.

"It means I'll only have a week between graduation and the start of the program, and they'll be sending me abroad almost straight away – I don't know where yet, I expect they'll tell me once I've owled them my scores – and then it's an entire year working with Gringotts' top Curse-Breakers before –"

"Have you told Mum?" Charlie interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

Bill sighed, shoving the letter back in his pocket. "No. I only got the letter this morning, and I didn't want to leave right after telling her. I'll tell Mum and Dad during the Easter Holidays, in April." There was a knock on the door, and Charlie and Bill both looked at it expectantly. It opened and Percy peered in, his gaze flicking between them for a moment before settling on Bill. "It's time to go," he told them. "Dad's waiting with the car."

Percy left the door open and Charlie stood, about to follow, when Bill stopped him. "Here, before we go," he said, reaching into his other pocket. "Think of it as an early birthday gift." Bill smiled as he added, "And maybe it would be best if you don't let on to Mum that I gave you – she'll never forgive me if she finds out it was my idea." He stood and clapped Charlie on the shoulder as he left, humming quietly under his breath.

Tearing away the wrapping paper, Charlie saw that it was a small book titled Fight or Flight? A Practical Guide to Surviving Dragons. Smiling, he flipped open the front cover then stopped, frowning slightly – stuck under the cover of the book were what appeared to be a letter and two brochures. Sitting back down on his bed, Charlie lifted the carefully folded letter first and opened it, staring at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Dear Bill, it read.

So you're the boy the sister is smitten with. Ah well, I suppose she could do worse … just do us a favor and don't do anything you might regret. And that's all I'll say, promise. Anyway, you asked about the sanctuary: it's this really great place in Romania – I won't say where, since we don't want to attract tourists – where we take dragons that are unable to look after themselves and essentially do the work for them for as long as they need it. Sometimes that's just until they get their feet back under them again, but there are some dragons that live their entire lives here at the sanctuary.

It's really not that hard to get a job here – at least, I didn't think so – the trick is staying. They keep a really close eye on you to make sure you're not abusing the dragons in any way, or neglecting your duties, and you don't even get a warning. One mistake and you're out. Of course, there are a lot of people who leave before then: Dragon-Keeping is not easy, I can tell you that! And I thought Maria said you were more interested in Curse-Breaking, anyway?

I thought I'd send these along, since you said you were interested. The first is just an informational brochure about the sanctuary: it goes into more depth about the types of dragons we keep here, and what we do for them. The second brochure is this thing that my employer is trying to push through (there's been a lot of backlash from the Romanian Ministry, don't ask me why), but I think it sounds like a great opportunity for anyone who is serious about pursuing a career in the Care of Magical Creatures. Let me know if you have any other questions, and don't have too much fun with my sister.

Cheers,
Timothy Barrows

Opening the second brochure, Charlie read the title and stopped, a disbelieving grin spreading over his face:

Calling All Beast Lovers: Spend a Summer at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary!

Do you like dragons? Are you skilled enough to survive them? Do you have what it takes?

Successful participants will learn how to: Trim a Dragon's Claws! Dodge a Dragon's Fire! Shovel a Dragon's Droppings! Harvest Shed Skin! and maybe even … Hatch A Baby Dragon!

All applicants contact Melissa Wurm at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.

"Blimey…" Charlie whispered.