Fate

by TheTrueSpartan

When Ron discovers that he can see the future, his entire fate is thrown off of its course. A story about adventure, friendship, growing up, and pushing forward through hardships. This story will get darker as it progresses, just like the original Harry Potter novels. It will cover all Seven Years of Hogwarts, but mostly from Ron's perspective. No Mary Sues, no Character bashing.

166. Chapter 166 - Useful Pain

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not intend to make any money off of this. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling , and I take no credit of it whatsoever.

I was also inspired by Demon Eyes Laharl's: THE RED KNIGHT! and also from Random-Fruitcake04's: CHOICES! I hope you check them out as well because they are genuinely very good stories.

There's also a few more Ron fics out there that are on point! They're called 'There and Back Again' by Chuchi Otaku, 'Stay Standing' by Windschild8178, 'Scala ad Caelum' by GRND (criminally underated story, so go give it some love), and 'Cooking Like a Bachelor' by Avatar Vader. Please, go check 'em out! You won't regret it, spread the Ron love, people!

P.S: Starway Man is a chad! (I'm never removing this)

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Fate

Chapter 166 – Useful Pain

Daphne Greengrass' POV

Sunday 4th July, 1994 (Hafren Forest – Near Midnight)

She couldn't get the image of him out of her head; his hair a wild mess, his eyes burning with determination, his mouth covered in Argenope's blood…

There were no words that could properly describe the feeling bubbling in her belly, some strange cocktail of awe, pride, and terror, and so, she had given up entirely on figuring out how she felt, choosing instead to make herself useful to Director Reid. The Vampire, on the orders of Ron, was working diligently to keep Argenope alive, despite the angry protests of her warband. The old Centaur herself was barely holding onto life, the burns on her forelegs had already brought on a fever, and the bite-wound on her neck had caused a great deal of blood loss. He bit into her… Like she was a piece of ham… He mauled her like some wild beast-…

"The bandages, Daphne," Director Reid called out, and she absentmindedly handed them over. "Don't be afraid, child, she will live. Her injuries aren't as severe as they look."

"They aren't?" Daphne questioned, staring at the burns as Director Reid covered them with the soaked bandages.

"She is not human," he explained with a comforting smile. "Centaur bodies are much more resilient than ours. We've stopped the bleeding, and now, we're dressing her burns. She will recover within a few days."

Daphne nodded weakly, letting out a sigh of relief. "Is there anything else I can do to help you, Director?"

"No, my dear," the Vampire answered. "I think, it's best that you find Mr. Weasley and return home. You've been subjected to enough excitement, tonight." …Right.

She shifted in her spot for a few moments, before walking away from the Healer and his patient. The camp was bursting with activity, with Ron's mercenaries working tirelessly to put the yurts back into place whilst also keeping a vigilant eye on Argenope's warband, who were stuck somewhere between outrage and confusion. …They expected her to kill Ron, didn't they? They didn't expect a 'child wizard' to defeat their Chief, and to do it in such a dominating fashion. She'd always known that Ron was strong, possibly the strongest wizard of their generation, but what she had seen tonight was more than strength… It was something else entirely, something beyond human. The way he moved, the way he broke his spine to dodge the shield, the way he climbed onto her like an insect… What sort of Magic was that? I've never seen anything like it before, nor have I ever seen him practice it. How could his body do those things? I just can't bring myself to understand what I witnessed with my own eyes, that's how unnatural it was.

Again, the image of him staring right at her after his victory exploded at the forefront of her mind, causing her to shudder. The way he looked at me… He's never looked at me like that before, like I'm just another obstacle in his path.

"I'm warning you, Daphne Greengrass, you don't want to pick their side over mine!" his voice boomed in her head, full of fury and venom. "If you do, I'll bury you right next to them."

She lowered her gaze and hugged herself, moving aimlessly through the camp as she did her best to stop herself from trembling. …I don't know him, do I? The real him? The one lurking underneath his compliments and kindness? No one knows him, and not through lack of trying on our end. Is this how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley feel? Is that why they're… scared… of him? I don't like to admit it, but he's always scared me to some degree, but lately, all he ever does is scare me. He scares all of us, and I'm not entirely certain he does it on purpose. His presence alone is enough. His presence, his anger, his talent for violence… His endless secrets… I've been such a fool, haven't I? I prided myself on being the one who knew Ron best, even if I never said it aloud, but the truth is that only Ron knows Ron, and that is never going to change. He's not like us, and he's done trying to be, and that alone scares me more than anything.

It wasn't long before she spotted Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Percy, all three of them appeared just as perturbed as she did, and upon joining them, she was swiftly comforted by Bill, who put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her to his side.

"You okay?" he asked gently, and she gave a short nod in response. "All right, then… We should get out of here, let Ron's people do their work. Dad? What do you think?"

"…Yes," Mr. Weasley answered distantly. "London… She can take us back. I'll um… I'll go find her. Stay here."

The man left without delay, leaving Daphne in the care of his sons. The three of them stood in silence until Mr. Weasley returned with London by his side, and Daphne swiftly noticed that the ebony witch was carrying Ron's discarded clothes and wand. She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to take them into her own custody, knowing that she'd protect them far better than London ever could. Is that really true, though? Maybe, I feel this way because I've made a habit of cleaning up after him? Maybe, despite whatever I'm feeling, I want him to come to me so we can talk? Is that really what I want? No… No, I'm not ready to face him, again. I need time to process what he pulled off, tonight. I need time to figure out how I really feel about the person he's become.

She pulled her gaze away from Ron's clothing and wand, shifting closer to Bill.

"I'll take you lot back to the Werewolf Sanctuary, and you can find your way home from there," London broke the silence, searching her pockets with her spare hand. "Where's that blasted Portkey?"

"Is Ron there, now?" Percy asked, stopping London.

They all looked to her, keenly waiting for her answer. "No, lad, your brother left the Sanctuary." What? "Something happened, something I'm not at liberty to share, and he thought it best to leave for the Werewolves' safety." For their safety? What happened?! Did someone make an attempt on his life, again?!

"Something happened?" Mr. Weasley questioned, visibly concerned. "What?"

"I just told you that I can't tell you," London sighed out. "I don't know where he is, to be honest, but wherever he is, he's being looked after."

"By that Elf he left with?" Bill asked promptly. Marty. She's right, Marty will take good care of Ron. He always does. "When did Ron get himself an Elf?"

Daphne kept her mouth sealed, knowing that, eventually, this very question would be aimed at her. I should just tell them, just to put their minds at ease, but knowing Ron, he'd be greatly displeased. He guards information about himself like a Dragon guards its nest. If I tell them, he'll tear me to pieces as recompense.

"…Just take us back," Mr. Weasley murmured, shaking his head to himself. "…I'm done with this place, with my son's secrets. There's no point in asking questions that we'll never get the answers to." Daphne exchanged a glance with Bill and Percy, an uncomfortable feeling passing through each of them. "Wherever he is, you make sure he's safe. You make sure he's…" the man trailed off, losing himself in his thoughts.

"The boss can look after himself," London smirked. "You've seen it for yourself, now. Wherever he is, he'll be just fine without you." Daphne frowned to herself, displeased with how smug the mercenary sounded. "Now, let's get you lot home, shall we? My night has only just started."

---

The entire household had stayed awake, eager to hear of what had transpired tonight, and after being stonewalled throughout the very late dinner, they'd eventually gotten what they'd asked for. Bill, with some help from Percy, had described the night's events, leaving absolutely no detail out. The sick Centaurs, Argenope's warband, Ron's strange arrival, the battle between Ron and Argenope, even Ron's speech, word-for-word, had been shared… These revelations had resulted in a very different response from those who hadn't witnessed the 'show' firsthand, with Charlie, Kirsten, Astoria, and Ginny, being quite thrilled with Ron's latest achievement. The twins, however, especially Fred, seemed quite alarmed, no doubt due to their recent disagreements with their youngest brother. As for Mrs. Weasley, she seemed to be stuck somewhere between relief and dread, much like Daphne herself, as if she couldn't quite picture her 'little boy' being capable of such violent altruism, or rather, she didn't want to picture it, despite being more than capable of it. I can't imagine what she and Mr. Weasley must be feeling right now.

"And, then, he just left with this mysterious Elf," Bill finished, massaging his forehead. "Merlin's Beard, Ron's something else, I'm telling you lot. A Centaur Chief, and he pummelled her into compliance like it was fucking noth-"

"William!" Mrs. Weasley clicked her tongue, shooting a quick glance towards her husband, who was already deep into his fourth glass of Firewhiskey. "…There is no need for such language."

"There had to be a better way of handling that entire situation," Percy commented, his eyes narrowed on his untouched dinner. "A brawl in the mud? Those Centaurs are savages, and Ron was no better-"

"You can't solve every problem with a quill, Perce," Charlie cut in, scoffing. "From what I'm hearing, Ron did what had to be done."

"I agree," Kirsten nodded, sharing a knowing look with her boyfriend. "Our cultures are different, and Ron is smart enough to understand that. He played their game, and he beat them at it. That's a clever way of making people respect you."

"It's the same with Dragons," Charlie added. "You can't be soft, or you'll lose a limb. Sometimes, you have to crack some heads-"

"We are not animals," Percy sneered at the pair. "There are rules in place to stop us from being so barbaric! Those rules need to be respected, especially by someone as influential as Ron!"

"Rules?" Charlie cocked an eyebrow. "Wizarding rules, you mean? Why should Centaurs care about our rules? What exactly have we done for them? Besides robbing them of their homes and happiness? Get your head out of your arse, little brother." Percy bit his tongue at that, looking back to his dinner with a conflicted expression. "Ron did what needed to be done, and I'm proud of him for it. Strength respects strength, as my old supervisor liked to say." Why are none of them talking about the fact that he attacked Mr. Weasley? Why are they all glossing over that particular detail? Where was the strength in that wretched act?

"Did he really bite her?" Ginny asked Bill, a strange sort of excitement behind her gleaming eyes. "Right in the neck?"

"Hard enough to tear a chunk out, yeah," Bill confirmed, his expression unreadable. What's wrong with all of you?!

"Woah," Astoria grinned, much to Daphne's dismay. "That's so brutal!" Would you have that stupid look on your face if you'd seen what he did with your own eyes? I don't think so!

"None of that, young lady," Mrs. Weasley chastised Astoria, looking again to her husband. "Arthur, tell them that violence solves nothing." Mr. Weasley didn't respond, focusing only on his drink. What's happening inside his head, exactly? Ron didn't just beat up Argenope, tonight. He also did a number on his own father, nearly broke the poor man's back without batting an eye. That was… evil… "Arthur… Love, say somethi-"

"…He saved them," Mr. Weasley whispered into his glass, finishing it off and removing his spectacles. "He fought for them, he got hurt for them, and he left without so much as a 'thank you'. When she fell on him, I think I heard his leg break. It was an awful sound… Just awful. Gods, I wish I never heard it, but I did." That was not what I was expecting. Not at all. "Does he even realise how close he came to dying? Does he even care, anymore?" I don't think he does, Sir. "I broke my finger when I was around his age, fell off my broom like an idiot… I remember crying for an hour straight… Ronnie, though… He didn't pay his pain any mind…"

"…Arthur…" Mrs. Weasley blinked, shocked by her husband's mumblings.

"The Ministry couldn't have helped in that situation, I know that," Mr. Weasley continued, his voice frail and submissive, almost as if he were speaking only to himself. "They'd want to, good men like Amos, but the Centaurs… We've hurt them for too long, sown too much hatred all these years… What a mess we've made of this world, huh? That our children have to fight to clean it up? What a mess I've made of everything…" He got up slowly, grunting as pain shot up his back. "…I have work in the morning. Goodnight."

Everyone watched him leave in silence, there was an air of defeat about him that alarmed every single person on the table, even the Greengrass sisters and their Elf. In that moment, whatever anger she held towards the man for his persecution of his youngest son faded away. She was not a parent, and as such, she couldn't even fathom the pain Arthur Weasley was in. I've only known Ron for three years, and in that short time, I've loved him, hated him, fought with him, cried for him… He's become such a vital part of my life, and I can't imagine a world where he and I aren't close. So, what do I know of what his family feels? They've been with him for far longer, and to lose him as they have… To be cast aside by him with such contempt on his end… I don't even want to imagine what such a loss feels like. I just wish I could bring them back together, somehow, but I know I can't. It's not my place. I'd give anything for Ron to be sitting at this table with us, happy and content, but that's not who he is. Not anymore.

"…Did he really use Magic on dad?" George asked, shooting a quick glance towards the stairs. Oh, they were waiting for him to leave.

Bill merely gave a nod in response, and the mood on the table became evermore sombre. Even Mrs. Weasley was silent, staring at her husband's now-empty chair with a pitiful expression. The rest of the dinner occurred in heavy silence, until Charlie and Kirsten announced that they had to head home. The twins were next, sneaking off to their shared room in hushed whispers. More and more of them left over time, until finally, only Daphne and the Weasley matriarch remained.

"I'll help clean up, Mrs. Weasley," Daphne offered, not wanting to leave the older witch alone with whatever thoughts that were clearly plaguing her.

"No, Daphne," Mrs. Weasley refused, waving her wand and sending the dirty dishes floating to the sink. "You um… You go up to your room and sleep, okay? I can see how tired you are. Go on, now." She wants to be left alone. That's fair.

"Very well," Daphne whispered as she moved out of her seat. "Um… Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning, when I come to fetch the eggs."

Mrs. Weasley didn't respond, already too busy wrestling with her thoughts to acknowledge the outside world. Daphne made her way up the stairs, lingering by main bedroom's door for a bit, before eventually finding herself in her sister's company. Astoria was dressed in her pyjamas, but was excitedly sitting up on her bed to bombard Daphne with more questions. Spinny sat behind the eager witch, brushing Astoria's hair with a pensive look on her small face. Even she's disturbed by what she heard, but my sister? My sister can't even begin to imagine what-…

"What was the Chief Centaur like? This Argapepe, or whatever?" Astoria asked, while Daphne dragged her feet towards her own bed. Ezekiel… I can't sleep unless I'm cuddling him, anymore. Isn't that silly of me? Childish, even? Still, he makes me feel so very safe. Like one of Ron's hugs. "Was she really as massive as Bill described? And did Ron really fly on a piece of ice? Was there a lot of blood during their fight? I always knew Ron was tough, but I had no idea how tough! I bet, he could even fight a Giant! I'd love to see him fight a Giant! It would be so bloody epic!"

Daphne continued staring at the man-sized teddy that Ron had gifted to her during their first outing to Hogsmeade, feeling sick in her stomach. I'm sorry, Ezekiel, but I can't be anywhere near you, tonight. She lifted the fluffy, white bear off her bed, carrying him to an unoccupied corner, where she unceremoniously dumped him. …Sorry… She moved back to her bed, climbing into it and covering herself with her blanket.

"Daphne, aren't you going to change?" Astoria questioned.

"That is enough, young Mistress," Spinny spoke up, her tone almost reprimanding. "That is more than enough."

"What? What did I do?" Astoria asked, puzzled. "…Sorry, I guess… Was just curious, nothing more…"

Daphne closed her eyes, and Ron immediately invaded her mind, bloodied and staring right into her soul. …Mother and father don't stand a chance, do they? Not against someone like him. Circe's Breath, what am I going to do? What am I supposed to do?

---

?

Daphne sat up with a displeased frown, her eyes scanning the darkness. I just can't! I can't sleep without him!

She shuffled out of her bed, tiptoeing in the darkness until she reached Ezekiel, holding him tight and carrying him back to her bed. She carefully placed him in his usual spot, before snuggling up with his fluffy body. …I hope Ron got his injuries healed. I know how he likes to 'punish' himself, claiming that it makes him stronger, but just this once, I hope Marty got through to him.

---

Sebastian Greengrass' POV

Monday 5th July, 1994 (Savoy Hotel Berlin – Early Morning)

He kissed his wife's naked calf, eliciting a sweet laugh from her as she pulled her leg out of his grasp.

"Coffee first, love," Mary raised herself up on her elbows, shooting a teasing smile back at him. "Then, you can keep having your fun."

"Four teaspoons of sugar?" Sebastian asked, wearing a knowing smile.

"Sounds perfect," Mary hummed, replanting her head on her pillow. "Hurry along, now, before I fall asleep."

He moved off the bed, smacking her round rear along the way, before shuffling out of the room in nothing but his black, silk robes. Coffee, coffee, coffee… There should be some in the-…

"Morning," Jürgen called out from the sofa, lounging on it with a copy of the Daily Prophet in his lap. Merlin's Beard!

"What are you doing in here?" Sebastian hissed, hurrying back to the bedroom door and closing it. "Mind my wife, you fool!"

"Ah, you and the Mrs. have started making up properly, then," Jürgen grinned, flashing his filed teeth. "I'm glad. A happy customer is a paying customer, after all."

Sebastian frowned darkly, before shaking his head to himself. No point in arguing with this degenerate. He enjoys it. "Why are you here, Jürgen? I remember giving you your orders."

"And I've fulfilled them."

"Already? How?" Sebastian questioned, and when the mercenary offered him the Daily Prophet, the Greengrass patriarch moved across the room and snatched it away.

Mystery Buyers scoop up half the MARKET on Wolfsbane Leaves, Mandrake Leaves, Moon-Stones, and All Murtlap-Related Goods

Potioneers across Magical Britain in Disarray!

Sebastian smirked at the headline, greatly pleased with the quick results. He might be a degenerate, but he's efficient, clever, and well-connected. With these purchased through various names and companies, I'll control the production of the Wolfsbane Potion in Magical Britain for the most part. The Minister will be displeased, I'm sure, but she's the one who foolishly promised to provide the potion to all businesses hiring Werewolves. I'm sure she'll pay whatever price I charge her; she can't afford scandal of any form right now.

"We'll wait a couple of weeks, then we'll raise the prices of the ingredients bit by bit," Sebastian told the mercenary, moving towards the kitchen. "Not enough to send the Ministry looking for foreign suppliers, but enough to make a profit before the end of the year." I'll need to discuss the prices with Mary. She understands the Potioneering business far better than I do.

"Why only half the market?" Jürgen asked, curious. "And why only half the ingredients needed for the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Wolfsbane Leaves were a must, they are the base of the potion as Mary explained," Sebastian began. "As for Mandrake Leaves, I already control the other half of the British market through my wife's endeavours. Mary breeds Mandrakes by the hundreds in her greenhouses. Moon-Stones are costly, yes, but they are also vital for the potion, and Murtlap ingredients are needed for a vast array of other potions besides Wolfsbane. We don't want to be seen as malicious, or greedy, by the public at large, nor do we want to cripple the market people like us built in the first place, so we take only half, and we only buy the essential ingredients as to not overspend on this venture. This entire plan… It's just a little something on the side to increase our overall profits over the coming years." Or, rather, to pay for the raised taxes that are on their way. Taxes that will, no doubt, target the Pureblood families.

"A little something on the side?" Jürgen rolled his beady eyes. "I sometimes forget that you're richer than Midas himself."

"Do you disapprove?" Sebastian asked icily.

"Do you even care for my opinion?" Jürgen asked in response.

"No."

"…That's what I thought."

"What about the other task I gave you?" Sebastian asked, working on his wife's hot beverage. "Have you made contact with Bernard Koch?"

"I've gotten word to his people, yes. We just need to wait until we're summoned."

"…Summoned…" Sebastian scoffed at the word. "By some repulsive thug?" Some commoner who thinks he's a king? How embarrassing.

"It was your idea to go about this with 'manners'," Jürgen reminded him. It was Mary's, not mine. I'd rather we simply kill him, remove him from the equation altogether. "We Germans are sticklers for the rules, for traditions. You want to sit with this man? You're going to have to wait for him to call upon you."

"And how long will that take, exactly?" I want to return home. I miss my daughters, and I have an empire to run.

"Could be days, could be weeks," Jürgen shrugged, standing up. "In the meantime, I'll get in touch with the Death's Hand. The top brass, I mean. I doubt you'll convince them to break their contracts with Elias, but you've a way with words, so who knows?" A way with words? They're going to demand favours and gold in abundance, and I'll be in no position to refuse.

"Mary wants her mother back, and that's exactly what's going to happen," Sebastian said simply, heading for the bedroom with a steaming cup in hand. "Next time, Jürgen, knock and wait. I don't find you charming, or amusing, unlike my wife. There won't be another warning." You wouldn't be the first helping hand I've dispatched.

Jürgen gave a nod, leaving the suite without another word.

"Sorry about the delay, love, but-" Sebastian stopped in the doorway, smiling softly at the sight of his sleeping wife. Took too long, didn't I?

He tiptoed into the room, placing the cup on the side table before reaching over and moving stray strands of golden hair out of Mary's face. We'll get her back, I promise, and after that, we'll get our daughters back too. Our family will never be separated, again, not while I draw breath.

---

Nymphadora Tonks' POV

Monday 5th July, 1994 (Prosperity Farm – Morning)

Her mother had practically dragged her out of bed, dressed her, and tossed her through the fireplace, not that Tonks could blame the poor woman. Her downward spiral over the last few months had caused her parents a great deal of pain, seeing their precious daughter so lost in the world couldn't have been easy, but Tonks wasn't confident about being a teacher. If anything, she was the opposite of what any decent teacher should be. A job is a job, though, right? It's just for a couple of months, and the pay is ridiculously good. Plus, I'll get to help children who truly need it.

She drew in a sharp breath, slapping some colour into her cheeks. "I can do this. I will do this. For mum and dad, and for those kids."

She made her way out of the mess hall, once again in awe of the landscape before her. This place is a paradise, honestly. Such a gorgeous piece of land. Lord and Lady Fawley couldn't have chosen a better place for the Werewolves. I've no doubt that being surrounded by such beauty, and tranquillity, helps them a great deal during their monthly transform-…

"You Tonks?" a woman called out to her, and Tonks turned her head and spotted a dark-skinned witch approaching her. …Woah… Hello there!

The witch was dressed in a black leather jacket, black-denim shorts, and fishnet stockings that held Tonks' attention long enough for her ogling to become inappropriate. That's Ron's bodyguard, right? She's been seen with him a lot recently.

"Name's London," the witch introduced herself, running a hand through her green mohawk.

"I'm Nymphadora," Tonks responded, immediately chastising herself for using her first name. "I prefer Tonks, though! Call me Tonks, please!"

London gave her an amused smile, before gesturing her to follow. "You've met Thaddeus, yeah?"

"I have, but it's been a while," Tonks shadowed London, subtly glancing down at the mercenary's swaying arse. She's fit! I'd have to cheat to get an arse that sexy! "Is um… Is Ron here? He's the one who offered-"

"The boss is busy, he expects you to get started without his supervision," London shot a wink back. "Don't worry, I'll tend to any needs you have."

Tonks blinked, wondering if she was being flirted with. Don't make any assumptions, you've been burned before when it comes to witches. "That's um… Sounds good. Thanks."

"Fair warning, the kids aren't exactly excited about you," London continued, looking ahead. "Strangers aren't something they're accustomed to, and Thaddeus has been a little heavy-handed about the whole affair."

"He just wants what's best for them," Tonks figured. "Wants them to have the life he, and so many like them, never did."

"Exactly! It's good that the boss hired you, seems to me like you've got a good head on your shoulders." When I'm sober, sure. "You know their names, yet?"

"I don't know anything," Tonks admitted awkwardly. "Ron didn't exactly give me any details. He just walked into my house, told me to be here Monday morning, and that was that."

"That definitely sounds like him!" London laughed, helping Tonks relax a little. "He's a proper fiend, he is! Don't worry, I'll help you out! There's six of them, two boys and four girls!"

"Only six?" Tonks asked, taken aback. "Out of this entire place?"

"Only six that were eligible, and allowed by their parents, to attend Hogwarts," London explained. "Thaddeus tried, but most people aren't there just yet. They worry about their kids being bullied, you know? Being ostracised, and all that." …That's sad, but understandable. Children can be quite cruel to one another.

"What are their names, then?"

"Grace Adler, she's the one you'll have the most trouble with," London started. "Tough as nails, that one, the others follow her orders, and she's a bossy bit-… girl… A bossy girl. Ahem, next is Terry Karlsson, the lad's a troublemaker through and through. Been caught peeping on the ladies when they go to the lake almost a dozen times. Shows no remorse for it, either."

"…Brilliant."

"Don't let him charm you, he can talk a circle into thinking it's a square," London sniggered, not sounding very concerned about the young boy's odd behaviour. "The next two are Josiah Hansley and Mariana Gonzales, they're both good kids. Mariana loves reading her stories, and Josiah will work hard, even if he doesn't talk much. Oh, and Chloe Hope, she's also a good one. Loves the sound of her own voice. Once she gets going, you have to stop her before she forgets to breathe."

"That's only five."

London stopped at that, turning to face Tonks. "Yeah, I know. The last girl… Sofia Langley… She's been through a lot, the poor lass. When she was seven, or something, she turned and broke out of her chains. Got into a fight with an older wolf, her own father, got carved up pretty bad and lost three fingers on her left hand. She um… She's a mute. Only speaks to her mother, and only when they're completely alone."

Tonks' hair turned greyish, a sorry look on her face. "Her own father?" Gods, that's horrible!

"…He left and never came back," London added softly. "Probably offed himself from the guilt, but who knows? Her mother is all she's got left in this world. She's not happy about leaving, but her mother wants-… I don't know… Maybe, she wants her daughter to be around normal children, or something. I can't say for certain. Be gentle with her, all right? Or, I'll know the reason why."

"I will," Tonks promised, nodding strongly as her hair turned pink, again. "So, Grace Adler, Terry Karlsson, Josiah Hansley, Mariana Gonzales, Chloe Hope, and Sofia Langley? I got those right?"

"You catch on fast, pink," London smiled, continuing forward. Pink? I like that.

They made their way through the farm-turned-village, eventually going into a home that smelled of fresh bread and lavender. As they entered the fire-lit living room, she spotted the children, who would now be under her care, sitting in a circle with various books scattered about them, and in the armchair supervising them was Thaddeus himself.

"Nymphadora!" the old wolf smiled fondly, rising out of his seat.

"Good morning, Sir," Tonks greeted merrily, shaking the man's hand. "It's good to see you, again. You're looking…" she trailed off. Don't say something dumb, Tonks, it's your first-…

"Like a new man?" Thaddeus chuckled, and she gave a swift nod. "This place has been good for me. For all of us. Come, let me introduce you to the children. They're eager to meet you." Are they? I heard differently.

"I've got to get back to my duties," London bid them farewell, leaving promptly.

"Children, come say hello to your tutor," Thaddeus encouraged, nudging Tonks forward.

"Hello, my name is Nymphadora Tonks," she started, smiling brightly. "You can all call me Tonks, though. I'm looking forward to teaching you everything you need to know before you start attending Hogwarts. Together, I'm certain we'll achieve great things here." Stop being so formal! They're children! You sound like an old woman!

"Why is your hair pink?" one of the girls, a brunette missing her left ear, stepped forward, sizing Tonks up. Is this Grace? Sounds like Grace.

"Grace, mind your manners," Thaddeus scolded, clicking his tongue. Right on the money.

"What? She looks stupid," Grace gestured towards Tonks' head, making a blonde boy with a deep scar on his right cheek laugh.

"Enough of that," Thaddeus growled, causing Grace to pout angrily.

"You don't like pink hair?" Tonks asked, maintaining her smile. "How about this, then?" She willed her hair to grow down to her shoulders, turning a dark shade of brown similar to Grace's own. "Better?"

"WOAH!" the blonde boy exclaimed, the rest of them going wide-eyed. "That's wicked! Did you lot see that?! She changed her hair!"

Tonks winked at the now-stunned Grace, before her eyes darted towards the girl who had remained seated in the corner, her mousy-brown head hidden behind a book. Sofia, I take it.

"How did you do that, Miss?" the black-haired girl asked, her voice as soft as air. "Are you a Changeling?" A Changeling?! No, I'm not a mother-eating monster!

"Not quite," Tonks chuckled, pinching the caramel-skinned girl's cheek. "I'm a Metamorphmagus! I can change everything about myself with just a thought!"

"Can you make yourself taller?" the second boy asked, he had poorly-healed scars on both his forehead and chin.

Tonks grew a few inches before their very eyes in response, much to their shock and delight.

"Can you make your tits bigger?" the blonde boy asked. Excuse me?!

"Terry!" Thaddeus reached forward and grabbed the boy's ear, twisting it. "What did I tell you about showing your elders respect? Want me to tell your father about this?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Terry winced. "Grandpa Thaddeus, you're ripping my ear off!"

"You're gross, Terry," the girl with the blonde, frizzy hair said, her scars were faint enough to go unnoticed for the most part. "My name is Chloe, Miss Tonks. Chloe Hope. Cool name, right? Not as cool as your first name, of course. What was it, again? Something-Dora? Can you repeat it, please?" Merlin, London was right. She said all of that in one breath.

"Nymphadora," Tonks repeated, making the girl giggle mischievously. Yes, I know it's ridiculous.

She looked all the children over, save for Sofia, who refused to come out from behind her book. With the exception of Mariana, they all had various facial scars and deformities, something she already knew they would be teased for at Hogwarts. The Slytherins will be especially mean-spirited to these poor souls. The world is a fucked up place, and Hogwarts is not exempt from its many flaws.

"Thaddeus, I'd like some time alone with them, if that's all right," Tonks said, eager to get started.

"Certainly," the old wolf agreed, shooting Terry one last warning look. "Behave. All of you."

As he left for the kitchen, Tonks planted herself on the armchair, rubbing her hands together. "Now, I want you all to be honest with me… Which of you are excited for Hogwarts? And which of you are dreading it?" The children exchanged looks, confused by her inquiry. "Grace? What about you?"

"Pffft, I don't care," Grace folded her arms, shrugging nonchalantly. "Mum and dad say I have to go, and I'm just a kid, so I can't do anything about it."

"Terry?"

"I reckon, it'll be fun," the blonde boy grinned. "A big castle?! Full of treasures?! Sounds perfect!" For what? Burglary?

"Right… Um, what about you, Chloe?"

"I'm going to make all sorts of friends!" the bubbly girl beamed. "And it'll be nice to meet some boys who aren't gross, like Terry!"

"I'm not gross!" Terry rolled his eyes. "Stop spreading that around, will ya?"

"Then, stop being gross!" Chloe chastised, poking her tongue out. "And you're mean too!"

"Enough of that, please," Tonks chuckled, amused. "Josiah? You're quiet."

"Oh, he doesn't talk much," Terry cut in before the black-haired boy could answer. "He's just as bad as Sofia when it comes to-"

Grace punched his arm, hard enough to make even Tonks wince. "Don't talk about her like that! I've warned you plenty, haven't I?!"

"Grace, we don't hit others," Tonks said sternly, but was met with total apathy.

"I do what I want," Grace huffed, narrowing her eyes on the whimpering Terry. "She's off-limits, got it? No more jokes at her expense. I'll sock you in the mouth if you do it, again."

"…Sorry," Terry mumbled, though his lips were already twitching upwards. "Sorry, Sofia, I didn't mean nothing by it. Promise."

There was no response from Sofia, not even the slightest acknowledgement.

"Josiah, you were about to share your thoughts?" Tonks decided to keep things moving.

"Um… I don't really care for books, but they make mum happy, so I'll do it for her," the boy stated, sounding bored. "I don't like the idea of mingling with outsiders, though."

"We'll be the outsiders there, Hansley," Grace pointed out bluntly. "We'll be the freaks they all laugh at."

"None of that, please," Tonks sighed out.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Grace asked, moving her hair aside and showing her new tutor the empty spot where her left ear was supposed to be. "Yeah, that's what I thought." She's hot-blooded, but she's also rather astute for her age. "When we're there, we'll be sticking together, understand? Even you, Chloe. We're a pack." This is going be a tough job, isn't it? I have a lot of work cut out for me.

"Mariana, your turn," Tonks put on a smile.

"I don't want to be around so many people, but Grandpa Thaddeus says that Hogwarts has a library full of stories," the small girl whispered, shifting in her spot. "Is it true? You went to Hogwarts, didn't you, Miss?"

"I did, and the library is so big you can get lost in it."

"Really?" Mariana began to smile, her dark eyes gleaming. "Then, I'm excited to go! I'll read all of them!"

"No one can read that much!" Terry sniggered. "Your head would explode!"

"That can't happen, can it?" Mariana blinked.

"It can't," Grace answered promptly. "Reading is good for you, Mariana. Terry's only saying that because he can't read at all."

"I can read just fine, unlike you, Miss. Stutter," Terry smirked, and when Grace raised her fist, he jumped behind Josiah.

"I don't stutter! I just…" Grace trailed off, grumbling. She has trouble reading? "Whatever, I don't have to justify myself to you, pervert."

"You lot are quite lively," Tonks beamed at them, glad that they were all so close. "Since we're on the topic of reading, let's start the tutoring, shall we? Bring me your books."

"You want to see what level we're on?" Chloe asked, and when Tonks gave a nod, the girl mentally patted herself on the back. "I knew it! I'll go first!"

---

Two Hours Later

She had expected a lot worse, truth be told, but she was happy to be proven wrong. They could all read, with varying skill, as well as do basic mathematics. Grace found it difficult to read long passages, but with some practice, she'd be fine. Terry, for all his obnoxious behaviour, was quite intelligent, easily able to do sums inside his head. Chloe too was sharp, and was the only one able to pronounce Latin words with relative ease. Josiah was probably the slowest of the bunch, but he made up for his shortcomings with sheer dedication. And as for Mariana, that girl was destined for Ravenclaw, Tonks would happily put savings on that bet. I still haven't managed to speak to Sofia, though. I don't want to push her into anything she's uncomfortable with, but I need to know where she stands.

"Finish reading whatever chapter you're on, then write me a summary of it," Tonks instructed, rising out of the chair and walking towards Sofia.

Before she could reach the girl, however, Grace rushed into her path with a dark frown. "What are you doing?"

"My job, Grace," Tonks answered in a gentle tone. "You can trust me with your friend. I just want to make sure she's not struggling with any of her studies."

Grace narrowed her eyes, still suspicious. "Sofia is almost as smart as Mariana. You don't need to worry about her."

"Part of my job is to worry," Tonks said, adding some authority into her voice. "Go and finish your task, now." I can't let her walk all over me. The moment I do, they'll all stop taking me seriously. "Go on."

Grace shot a quick glance back at Sofia, who paid neither of them any mind, before skulking back to her books. They're lucky to have someone like Grace, but she needs to understand that hostility breeds conflict. London was right, my focus needs to be on her until I can get Sofia to open up a little.

"Hello, Sofia, my name is Nymphadora Tonks," the Metamorphmagus introduced herself, planting herself down a couple of feet away from the girl. "I'm going to write some equations on a piece of parchment, all right? I want you to try and solve them for me." She quickly jotted down a simple multiplication question, before offering the parchment to the silent child. "Here. You can use my quill."

Sofia finally lowered her book, revealing her face for the first time whilst tucking away her disfigured hand. Tonks maintained her friendly expression perfectly, despite being inwardly shocked at the brutal scars that ran across the girl's small face. …Her father almost clawed her face off… Gods above… Sofia stared through Tonks, meek and anxious, before eventually accepting the parchment and studying it carefully. She then accepted the quill, solving the equation with ease and passing the parchment back.

"That's correct," Tonks praised, widening her smile. "Can we do a few more?"

Sofia said nothing, merely waiting for the next question. Right, this is my chance. Let's not waste it.

---

Alastor Moody's POV

Monday 5th July, 1994 (Ministry of Magic – Afternoon)

He gave Malik Hussain a grateful nod upon entering the room, glad that the man had accepted his request. With him, and a few more I'm still looking into, we'll be sorted for whatever comes our way.

"Eyes front," Alastor ordered, causing every Auror to stop chatting and face the 'Danger Wall'. "Our cousins from America have done a damn fine job of capturing the escaped convicts, but there's more work to be done. The Dark Lord's most loyal are still on the loose. Rabastan Lestrange. Rodolphus Lestrange. Phillip Travers. Augustus Rookwood. Antonin Dolohov." He then paused, pursing his lips. "Bellatrix Lestrange." The Aurors, both American and British, exchanged looks. "We need to find these bastards, got it? Find them, and put them down."

"We're to kill them outright? Not even attempt to capture them?" Kingsley questioned, taken aback.

"Crouch's orders," Alastor stated bluntly. "And mine."

"Any idea where they might be holed up?" Lucia Bellator asked, puffing on a cigarette.

"None, but we can safely assume their old friends know," Alastor replied. "These six are dangerous, all right? They are not to be engaged alone. Teams of five, or no-go. Do I make myself clear?" The lot of them nodded. "Rookies, you see them, turn tail and report back to me directly. Under no circumstances are you to face them. We've buried enough Aurors, already."

"Any priority targets?" Lucia asked promptly.

"This motherless fuck right here," Alastor growled, smacking the picture of Philip Travers with his staff. "He's the most dangerous of them, and the longer he's out there, the more damage he'll do."

"Him? Not Bellatrix? Or, the Lestrange brothers?" the youngest of Jane's Hit-Wizards asked. "What about Dolohov? The stories I've heard about that maniac…"

"Dolohov won't reveal himself, that's not his style," Jane said darkly, sneering. "He's a coward who prefers to skulk in the shadows." She's still holding a grudge, is she? Good. It'll make her more than eager to find the prick. "If we want to find him, we'll need to draw him out somehow."

"They're all fanatics, but Travers… He kills for the fun of it, and he doesn't give a fuck about rhyme or reason," Alastor explained, feeling a dull ache where his leg used to be. "Merlin knows how many people he's killed since his escape, and I'm telling you, he won't stop until he's in the dirt. He's incapable of it. I want his head as soon as possible. You see him, you call for backup and you put him down for good. Your entire team will get my personal recommendation for an Order of Merlin; First Class." He then drew in a sharp breath, leaning on his staff. "Now, where are we with the Knockturn Alley Killer? Any leads yet?"

"We've established a pattern," Jane started. "Whoever he is, he takes a boy from whichever family he targets. I'm talking several days before attacking them. I've already got my people canvasing for missing boys in the area."

"He always steals a boy from the same family?" Alastor asked.

"At first, he didn't, but now he does," Jane nodded. "We still don't know where he takes them, but…" she trailed off.

"But what?"

"Well, some people have reported seeing the missing boys walking about the camps after dark," Jane scratched the back of her neck. Are you fucking serious? "I know it sounds bizarre, but we've had multiple sightings. Tiberius, tell him."

"It's true, and… I even saw one of them for a brief second," Tiberius said, smoothing out his beard. "But I'd had a couple of drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, so I can't make an official report on it."

"You were off duty when you saw the boy?" Alastor narrowed his good eye.

"Yeah, I was."

"Good," Alastor exhaled. "This fucking case makes no sense, but there's got to be an explanation. Find it, already, the Minister is losing her patience. Lucia, can your people pitch in?"

"To find a child killer? You've got it," the Chief Auror gave a firm nod. "I'll put some of mine on the streets, fully disguised. We'll get this asshole."

"I want him brought in alive," Alastor ordered. "If those missing boys are still breathing, we need to find them-"

"Alastor, a word?" Crouch called, stepping into the briefing room. "Right now. Gawain, take over for him."

Alastor glowered, limping towards Crouch with ill-intent. "Why are you interrupting me?"

"Not here," Crouch said, gesturing him to follow. "In my office."

Upon entering said office, Alastor pounded the ground with his staff. "What is it? What's happened, now?"

"Tone," Crouch warned, taking a seat behind his desk. "What progress have you made with the Goblins?" Oh, fuck off with that nonsense.

"None."

"None?!"

"I'm trying to get more Aurors into this building, Crouch," Alastor reminded the man aggressively. "Chasing fantasies is not part of my job description."

"Following orders is, though," Crouch leaned forward, the dim-lighting making his gaunt face look like a skull. "We finally have some evidence we can work with, something we can use against people like Corban Yaxley."

"The Goblins don't care about our evidence," Alastor hissed. "They never have, Crouch! They care about who pays them! You want to seal off Yaxley's vault? Send in a team of Aurors and arrest anyone who tries to stop you. You'll get your way, for about a week, before the Goblins sink the economy in retaliation. Or, worse, they pack their bags and fuck off entirely."

"As long as they have gold, they can keep helping him," Crouch pointed out. "They're gone, Alastor! They slipped out of our fingers! The leverage we were always searching for is meaningless, now! The only move we have left is to cut off their funding! And only the Goblins can do that!"

"This is not a matter for the Head-Auror," Alastor grimaced. "You, or the Minister herself, are better suited for this job."

"My time in the Department of International Magical Cooperation damaged my relationship with Goblin-Ki-"

"You mean, you treated them like shit for years, didn't take their issues seriously enough, and now, they hate you for it."

Crouch pinched his eyes, exhaling angrily. "…Moody, enough of your insolence. I've given you an order." You're wasting my fucking time! "Do what you have to, but I want those vaults sealed. If we wait too long, those Death-Eater bastards will move their gold right from under our noses." …If they haven't already.

"I'll talk to them, but I'm not making any promises," Alastor turned to leave. "No Goblin ever did the right thing without asking for payment, first."

---

Monday 5th July, 1994 (Gringotts – Early Evening)

"You want us to seal our largest vaults, break our contracts with clients we've represented for centuries, and, if possible, you want us to divert large sums of their gold into your pockets?" Warwick asked in an eerily calm tone, and when Alastor gave a nod, the Goblin burst into high-pitched laughter. You little prick…

"There is no need for that," Alastor snarled, anger flashing across his face.

"Why ever not?! You're a funny wizard, Vault Eight-One-Nine," Warwick wheezed, wiping tears from under his shark-like eyes. "Please, kindly, see yourself out at once. I have no time for comedians, tod-"

"I can come back here with a warrant, if you like."

"A warrant?" Warwick lost his mirth, his sharp teeth clicking. "Do you truly want to go down this route? With us? Can the Minister afford another powerful enemy?" …No. "Don't get cute with me, Vault Eight-One-Nine. Your reputation means nothing in this building. Fame, legend, war-medals… None of that matters here. Only numbers do. And the numbers tell us to remain loyal to our clients."

"Your clients are murderous war-criminals," Alastor reminded the arrogant fool. "They'd sooner slit your throat than shake your hand. Don't pretend otherwise, not with me. How many Goblins were murdered during the Great War, huh? Hundreds? Thousands? How many had the Dark Mark flying over their houses come midnight?"

"And you wish for us to anger these people you're describing?" Warwick asked in response. "They might despise us, disrespect us, even ignore our rights… But is that so different from how the Ministry treats us? At least, these people honour their contracts with us. What has the Ministry done for Goblin-Kind over the last decade? You wouldn't even allow us to publish obituaries for those we lost because of your war." …Fuck… "This conversation is finished. We don't care about your politics, your wars, your plights… Gringotts is a business, and no business survives when it carelessly stabs its own clients in the back. Good day to you." Alastor let out a frustrated groan, rising from his seat and limping towards the door. "Oh, and tell your American friends not to get any funny ideas. Here, we outnumber them, and we haven't forgotten their crimes against our brothers and sisters in the States."

Alastor left the office with a look that would frighten a Boggart, wanting nothing more than to shove his Magical Staff up Crouch's arse. Fucking waste of time, this entire endeavour! They made me wait for two hours, then their boss laughed in my face! What else did that pencil-moustached-moron think would happen?! The Purebloods aren't stupid! They pay the Goblins, and they pay them well! Far better than we ever could! What a waste of my time! The fact that he had to leave the building just to Apparate pissed him off even more so, but the moment he stepped outside, his attention was stolen by a head of red hair. The most peculiar Weasley was sitting on the steps, wearing a burgundy suit, his back facing Alastor. What's he doing here? Don't be stupid, Alastor, he's obviously here to talk to you. How did he know you'd be here, though? Does he have eyes within Gringotts?

"Is this what the Head-Auror is reduced to?" Weasley asked, his voice almost inaudible. "Shaking down bankers? Or, did they end up shaking you down? Can never tell with Goblins, they're a cutthroat lot."

Alastor inhaled deeply, deciding to put his failed meeting out of his mind. "You chose a public place for our meeting. Smart." He limped forward, his Magical Eye swirling in every direction to see if this was a trap, stopping only a couple of steps behind the 'boy'. We're alone, as far as I can tell. His people must be wearing disguises. "But there was no need for it. I want to talk, nothing more."

"I know, but why take the risk?" Weasley grunted, rising on shaky legs. What's wrong with him?

When the redhead turned to face Alastor, the Auror had his answer. The left side of Weasley's face was bruised and swollen, such was the damage that his eye was sealed shut completely. Merlin's Beard, who did that to him?

"What happened to you?" Alastor asked, hiding his shock well.

"…Gravity," Weasley chuckled sorely.

"Go to St. Mungo's, then. Why are you walking around looking like that?"

"Every bruise is a lesson learned," Weasley smirked in a disturbing manner, as if he were enjoying the agony. …Sick fuck. Wait… Every bruise is a lesson learned? I've heard that before… Where, though? It sounds so famil-… "If you wanted to know more about me, you only had to send a letter. Instead, you crossed a line."

"You're going to lecture me about breaking and entering?" Alastor sneered. "You?!"

"I don't care about that, the cottage was just four walls and a roof," Weasley narrowed his good eye. "…Marty…" The Elf? "You hurt my friend, you piece of shit. You ever do it, again, and I'll open you up from balls to brain, and wear your skin like a jacket."

Normally, Alastor would not take such a threat lying down, but with Weasley, he thought it far more prudent to listen than to further antagonize him. "…I was careful. Hurting him was never my goal."

Weasley scoffed, absentmindedly massaging his ribs. "…Why did you want to meet with me? What do you want?" Where do I even start?

"The Werewolves weren't too happy with me," Alastor started, remembering their leader. "Thaddeus… It was strange… He and I have met before, but when I was looking for you, he acted as though he didn't even know me."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Weasley asked, annoyed.

"I went with Remus to warn Thaddeus of the Dark Lord's return, when him and his people were still living wild," Alastor elaborated. "It's like he only saw my badge this time around, and not the man wearing it." That, or he's going senile. "I can't blame him, though, because this badge… It becomes your identity, and even though I haven't worn one in a long time, slipping back into that identity happened without me even realising it."

"…Okay…"

"What I'm trying to say is that… I might've misjudged you," Alastor grumbled lowly, he'd never enjoyed admitting he was wrong. "Or, rather, I only judged you through the eyes of an Auror." Weasley simply stared at him, growing more and more bored. "…Albus pointed out that you saved the people the Carrow Twins were using for their twisted fun… That you elected to rescue them, rather than indulge in the bloodshed. Is that true?"

"It is, but I won't lie, I wanted those Purebloods dead," Weasley answered coolly. "Even if there were no hostages, I would've killed those cunts."

"But there were, and you put them first."

"I did my duty, yes."

"Your duty? You really believe you're chosen by the Gods, don't you?" Alastor was bothered to hear that. Nothing is more dangerous than a powerful, and influential, fanatic.

"I took a vow to protect people, but no God made that choice for me," Weasley frowned, massaging his ribs, again. "…I do what I do because I like it. Saving people. Helping people. Killing people. All of it. I make the decisions I make because I want to change this world. Lesser men point the finger at others, or the Gods, but I've learned enough about myself to know that no one is twisting my arm. I fight because I love the fight, and that's reason enough for me to keep going." …His tone is vexing, but his words… Can't help but respect them… Ugh, I don't like this brat… He's too self-assured, too arrogant… Too clever…

Alastor looked the younger wizard over, still unable to get a read on him. "…Those chests of yours… Where did you get all that information?"

"From your mother's book club."

"Careful-"

"You think I'm going to explain myself to you?" Weasley asked, shaking his head. "No, mate, no… You lost your chance to be privy to my secrets. I'm only here to make sure you understand that we're on the same side, but that's it. I've had my fill of Ministry Officials making my work harder than it needs to be. Look around you, you fool! Look at what kind of world you cretins have made! A world where people's lives don't mean shit unless they're famous, or rich, or born lucky! Ten fucking years the Carrow Twins murdered women and children, and what did any of you do about it?! Nothing! You fucking sat on your-!"

Weasley abruptly stopped, bending over and coughing violently. His ribs then began shifting under his skin, cracking and grinding, much to Alastor's alarm, before he spat out thick globs of congealed blood. Fucking hell! He needs a Healer!

"…Ugh…" Weasley groaned, still hunched over. "…I think, I just lost a bit of my lungs…"

"I'm taking you to St. Mung-" Alastor reached forward, only to have his hand smacked away by the Slytherin. "I don't need an explanation, all right? But you need a Healer!"

Weasley stood up straight, grinning and showing off his bloodied teeth. "A Healer? You humans are so soft, aren't you?" Humans?! "Pain is a good thing, Mad-Eye. It gives strength, and it reminds us that we're still alive. I don't need a Healer, because I can fix myself whenever it suits me. I want the pain. I want it infinitely more than I want relief."

"What is wrong with you?" Alastor blurted out. "How does someone turn out this fucked up at fourteen? Some visions? That's all it took?" No, there's a lot more Albus and him aren't telling me. A lot more.

"What's wrong with you?" Weasley asked in response, his tone now full of accusation and vitriol. "With all of you? You know what I think? I think, you lot need pain even more than I do. Far too many of you have lived comfortable lives, and that has made this society weak. Cowardly. Complacent. That's why the Carrows got away with their crimes until I came along. The people who could've stopped them didn't want to be inconvenienced, to be put in an uncomfortable position. If any of them were in my shoes right now, they'd be running for a Healer. Am I wrong?" Alastor refused to answer, especially because he'd had similar thoughts about his fellow wizards and witches in the past. "…I know that look. I've seen it in the mirror before. You understand me better than you let on, don't you? You know exactly how I feel." …Shut up. "Yes, you do. It's okay. There's no shame in it. The people around us are weak, and we have every right to look down on them for it, especially when they choose to stay that way."

"Then, why do you help them? Why the charitable works? Why go through all that trouble for people you so clearly despise?" He's a fucking enigma wrapped up in a dozen other enigmas! I ought to just blow his head off right now! Put an end to this maniac before it's too late!

"I've asked myself those very questions so many times, but now, I'm starting to realise that you don't need to like people to help them. It's not about them. It's about you. It's about the choices you make. It's about how you exercise your power. It's about what you stand for." I see. It's about serving your ideals, then, is it? "I could be just like the ingrates I share a classroom with, or like you Aurors, or like the Minister herself, but what would that achieve? What would that change? Nothing… A meaningless existence, one that serves a society that's as rotten as a Hag's cunt." Colourful bastard, isn't he? "No, I will change this world, because things can't go on like this. The slaughter has to end, before it's too late for all of us." Weasley then looked towards Gringotts, laughing dryly. "They chose to stick with the Purebloods, didn't they? They told you to go fuck yourself, am I right?"

"Was that you creeping in the vents?" Alastor frowned darkly.

"Oh, I didn't need to be there to know what happened," Weasley said softly, drawing in a deep breath. "I've learned a lot over the last few years. I'm sure you blame their greed for gold for being the reason why you failed to persuade them, but the truth is that you don't deserve their help. What has the Ministry ever done for Goblin-Kind besides treat them like they're the scum of the Earth? At least, the Purebloods pay them for such mistreatment." Weasley averted his gaze, his mood turning sombre. "How can any of you feel proud of this shithole you call 'the Wizarding World'? How can you call me insane for wanting something new? Something different? I'm not your enemy, Mad-Eye, and I won't be bullied into submission. Not by an insect like you. Get in my way, again, and your story will conclude in the most sordid way imaginable. The Headmaster's fondness for you won't save you. Your badge won't save you. Your lackeys won't save you. The Gods themselves won't save you. You remember that, eh? You put it right at the front of your mind every morning you wake up."

With that, Weasley turned around and began limping away, leaving Alastor speechless on the steps of Gringotts. …He's a fucking lunatic, but he spoke from the heart, and, I think, in his own misguided way, he does want a better world… Merlin, I was hoping I'd know what to do with him after this conversation, but I have more questions than ever. Albus hasn't told me the entire truth, of that I'm completely certain.

---

Harry Potter's POV

Monday 5th July, 1994 (12 Grimmauld Place – Night)

Who knew that dinner could be such a delight? Harry didn't, not for a very long time, but now, it was perhaps his favourite time of the day. It wasn't because of the food, either, which was always excellent, but rather, it was because he was always joined by his new family. Sirius, Remus, Kurt, Kreacher, and occasionally, Tonks, who was here tonight with renewed spirits. She'd gotten herself a new job, thanks to Ron, and it was already the only thing she wanted to talk about. Harry was glad for it, too, because he knew she'd been having a rough go of it ever since the raid on Knockturn Alley.

"They're just adorable!" Tonks repeated, a familiar glint in her eyes. "I know I keep saying it, but oh! Such an energetic bunch! And so sharp, too!"

"Wine?" Remus offered, and she swiftly covered her glass with her hand.

"No, I'm good," Tonks refused, causing Sirius and Remus to exchange subtle glances. "I thought I'd be teaching them how to read, you know? Or, to write their own names… But, no, Thaddeus, for years, has been doing what he can for all the children in his pack, and, now, even the children of the other packs."

"He's a great man," Remus nodded along, taking his seat. He definitely sounds like it. Reminds me a bit of Dumbledore, even.

"Yeah, he is," Sirius whispered under his breath, something was different about his demeanour, tonight. "I'm really happy for you, Dora. You needed a break, and it sounds like you finally caught one. Your mum and dad must be over the moon."

"Mum certainly is," Tonks laughed, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Speaking of them… I should get home before they worry. Kreacher, thank you for the meal. It was spectacular!"

The old Elf bowed deeply from behind Sirius. "Kreacher is proud to make the young Master's favourite."

Harry shifted in his seat, giving the Elf a grateful, but awkward, smile. "Thanks, again. I hope it wasn't too much work."

"Certainly not, young Master," Kreacher said reassuringly. Roasting a suckling pig every other day can't be easy, but I don't know how to ask him to stop. He gets all mopey every time I bring it up, and I end up fumbling my instructions because I don't want to upset him.

"Take care, firecracker," Sirius waved as Tonks left the kitchen, ruffling Kurt's hair along the way. "…Well, that was something, huh, Harry?"

The-Boy-Who-Lived smiled more fully, nodding his agreement. "She looked happy."

"It's nice to see her in good spirits, again," Kurt added. "Perhaps, I should go over to the Sanctuary and help where I can?"

"That's very responsible of you, mate," Sirius said in a strange tone, much to Harry and Kurt's confusion. "I'm glad someone in this house sees the value in helping their own." Remus shot the roguish wizard a bland look, but remained silent. "Shame that Dora is only teaching six of them. I bet, there are loads of little wolves who still need a proper teacher."

"Ron, or Lord Fawley, will find one, I'm sure," Remus said. "They're both resourceful wizards."

"And what are you? A pumpkin?" Sirius swiftly asked. Um… Are they about to have another go at each other?

"You want another row with me? In front of Harry?" Remus asked, giving Sirius a warning look.

Harry and Kurt looked to each other, neither of them understood the reason behind the friction between Sirius and Remus as of late.

"Don't call it a row, okay? You're not my wife," Sirius huffed, tossing his silver fork and knife onto his plate. "I draw the line at scruffy chin beards!"

"Scruffy chin beards? Really?" Remus frowned, looking to Sirius' new facial hair. "You're growing a goatee, again, in case you've forgotten."

"It's fashionable, now."

"You look like you unclogged a shower drain with your mouth," Remus smirked, causing Harry and Kurt to snigger.

Sirius drew in a sharp breath, clearly holding back insults that were too inappropriate for a child's ears. "…It's fashionable. It makes me look more distinguished."

"It makes you look old," Harry piped in.

"Old?!"

"…A little, yeah," Harry shrugged, smirking.

"Well, Harry, you little smartarse, that's what distinguished means, doesn't it?" Sirius said defensively, rising out of his chair. "I don't get you, Moony! I just don't! You're perfect for the job, but you're just-!" he stopped abruptly, looking genuinely disappointed. "If it was really for Harry's sake, like you keep telling me, I'd be fine with your decision, but I know you enough to know the real reason, and it's just pathetic. Downright pathetic." What was that about? Enough mystery! I want some answers! They've been going back-and-forth for days, now!

Sirius left the room before Harry could speak up, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. Remus exhaled tiredly, tossing his own utensils away before massaging his forehead for nearly a minute.

"…Bloody oaf," Remus eventually muttered. "Kurt, help me clean up, would you?"

"Kreacher can-" the Elf started, but Remus stopped him with a soft gesture.

"You've done enough, tonight. You need to eat, as well, so go on." I still don't get why he doesn't just eat with us. Sirius even invited him, as did I. "Oh, and don't forget to bring some of this to our guest upstairs."

Kreacher cracked out of the room, while Remus and Kurt got to work. Harry got up to join them, on instinct, but Remus began tutting at him, using his finger to tell Harry to sit back down. …What?

"I can help," Harry said pointedly. "I know how to wash dishes." I did it for eleven years straight!

"Not saying that you don't, I just don't want you to," Remus said offhandedly. "Go upstairs and wash up, instead. I'll get this done, and then, we'll practice some Magic before bed."

"…Fine," Harry moved out of his chair. Wait, this is good! If I'm alone with him, I can find out what's going on between him and Sirius, at last!

---

One Hour Later

"Hold it, Harry," Remus encouraged, lingering in the background. I'm trying!

Gritting his teeth, and thinking of his parents' love for him, Harry began to give corporeal shape to the silver light emerging from the tip of his wand. I can do this! This is it! I feel it! The light burned ever-brighter, taking on the form of a mighty stag, and with one final joyous thought to fuel the Spell's continued existence, the very idea of him being with his new family, Harry felt his wand break the connection to the ethereal, glowing stag. …D-Did it work…? The Patronus proudly swaggered about the basement, which had been reworked by Kreacher to act as the Order's training-room, without any assistance from Harry himself, though the two remained connected in both mind and spirit. …I did it… I think, I bloody did it!

"Oh, Harry!" Remus exclaimed, running up and putting his arm around the young Gryffindor's shoulders. "You brilliant boy! You did it! Look at that! A corporeal Patronus!" Harry beamed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I told you, didn't I?! Just as talented as your mother and father! No, even more so! A proper Patronus at thirteen! Well done!"

Still unaccustomed to such high praise, Harry felt his cheeks burn. "…Thanks, Remus. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nonsense, you just needed some guidance, nothing more!" Remus laughed, ruffling his unkempt hair. "Will him to approach us, now, okay?"

"Will him?"

"Just think of what you want him to do, and be confident about it. He will listen, I promise."

"I'll try," Harry drew in a much-needed breath, focusing, again. Come over here, please. Stop right in front of us.

The Patronus turned to face the pair of wizards, before doing as it was bid. That was rather easy! Last time I managed to give it a corporeal form, it went wild and nearly killed Bulstrode.

"I'm going to teach you a very neat trick, now," Remus told Harry, squeezing his shoulders. "A Patronus, as I've already told you, can act as a messenger when required." Harry nodded eagerly. "Simply relay the message to the Patronus, then will him to deliver it to the person it's intended for. If you have an approximation of where they are, or could be, the Patronus will find them."

"Okay, I'll give it a shot," Harry took a step forward, gazing into his Patronus' eyes. He's massive! "I don't like the goatee." Now, go find Sirius. He should be upstairs.

Remus stifled a laugh, whereas the Patronus began bouncing through the air, before galloping up the stairs and vanishing from sight. This'll be hilarious!

"Excellent work, tonight, Harry," Remus commended, patting his back. "Tell me, how did you finally manage to stabilize him?"

"Um… Well, first, I was thinking of my parents, that got me most of the way through, but right before I finished, I thought of…" Harry trailed off, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "…I thought of us… All of us. Sitting around the dinner table. Eating and talking. You know, just simple stuff."

Remus blinked, looking strangely perplexed. …Yeah, it's corny, I know-… "You used two memories? Not one? Truly?"

"…I guess," Harry answered slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Is that wrong? I know you said to use only one, but it felt right to use the second one in the moment."

Remus gawked at him, his lips quirking upwards, eventually. "Your Patronus must be exceptionally powerful. More powerful than even mine, I reckon." Really? "So, you thought of us, too? Me and Sirius?"

"And Kurt and Kreacher, yeah," Harry whispered, shuffling his feet.

Remus smiled from ear-to-ear, giving the younger wizard a one-armed hug. "Thank you." For what? "I'm so very proud of-"

"REMUS!" Sirius' voice rang through the house, jubilant and excited. "REMUS!"

"This should be fun, huh?" Remus chuckled, causing Harry to grin.

"Remus!" Sirius rushed down the stairs, pointing up. "Prongs! Prongs is-!" He stopped abruptly, breathless as he stared at Harry. "…You… It was… Of course…"

He strode across the room, pulling The-Boy-Who-Lived into a bone-crushing hug. Ow! Ease up! You'll crack my ribs! "…Sirius…"

"Did the Patronus deliver the message?" Remus asked, but Sirius didn't respond. "Did the message go-?"

"Yeah, it did," Sirius finally let go of Harry, smiling despite being teary-eyed. "I got the message."

"Um… Are you okay?" Harry asked slowly.

"…I'm fine," Sirius sniffled, laughing right after. "So, you finally pulled it off! Good on you, Harry! You're a damn fine wizard!" …He doesn't look okay.

"Thanks," Harry smiled, realising that the stag had probably brought up memories of his father.

"I'll shave it," Sirius swore, pulling Harry in by his cheeks and kissing the top of his head. Oi! "First thing in the morning, I promise."

"I was just teas-"

"Some sense from him, at last," Remus cut in, smirking. "Yes, do us all a favour and get rid of the dead animal on your face. It's starting to smell."

"Shame that you never thought of joining a circus all those years in the wilderness," Sirius fired back, smirking himself. "They're always looking for clowns, aren't they?" He then looked back to Harry, grinning. "Want some ice-cream? You look like you need a break."

Harry looked to Remus, who gave an approving nod. "You've earned it, but make sure you brush your teeth before bed."

"I will," Harry promised, following Sirius towards the stairs. "Are you coming, Remus?"

"I'll um… I'll be up in a moment, okay?" Remus said, sounding a little distant all of a sudden. "Three scoops at most, Sirius."

"We'll get you four," Sirius whispered. "Just eat quickly, all right?" I didn't get the answers I wanted, but it wasn't a complete waste. I'll send Neville a message tomorrow morning. I bet, he'll be scared witless when a stag suddenly bursts into his room!

---

Ginny Weasley's POV

Tuesday 6th July, 1994 (The Burrow – Early Morning)

"Here, mum, I brought the eggs in," she walked over to the table, placing the old basket on top of it.

"Ginny?" Molly turned around, a frying pan in her hand. "Love, what are you doing awake so early?" …I had a nightmare about Tom, again.

She shrugged casually, putting on a smile. "Just wasn't tired, I suppose."

Molly stared at the basket pensively, before letting out a long sigh. "I was hoping Daphne got out of bed this morning. Have you spoken to her?"

"I tried to yesterday, as did Astoria, but she was… distracted," Ginny answered, sharing her mother's look. "Is she okay? Do you know what's wrong with her?"

"What's wrong with her?" Molly repeated. "Ginny, she saw terrible violence… Isn't it obvious?" Terrible violence? The fight between Ron and some Centaur Chief? I thought it sounded rather cool, like something out of a story book! With Ron as the hero! "Percy's also quite shaken, and I'm worried he might do something foolish. I caught him searching for cheap apartments in the Daily Prophet, can you believe that? What does that boy need with an apartment? He already has a home."

"Does he want to leave, too? Like Charlie and Ron?" Ginny promptly asked, not hiding her displeasure. "…Why is everyone leaving this family?"

"Oh, love, no," Molly walked over, placing a hand over Ginny's head. "No one is leaving this family, it's just-… Well, your brother is growing up, isn't he? It's natural. Just look at Charlie and Kirsten, they both moved out, but they come around for dinner every other night. They're still a part of this family, and always will be."

"So, you're okay with Percy looking for apartments?"

"No… I mean, yes… Circe's breath, I don't know," Molly groaned, heading back to the stove. "I'm not okay with it, but I know it's natural. Does that make sense?" Not really. "Don't worry, your father and I already have a plan for Percy. He's going to stay here for another year, we've made our decision."

"What if he finds work?" Ginny asked.

"You have a lot of questions this morning, young lady," Molly shot a bemused smile back. "Your brother will definitely find work, I've no doubts about that! Twelve N. E. W. Ts! Perfect scores on all his exams! The Ministry will be begging him to join them before long!" She sounds more excited than Percy himself. "He'll stay here while he works, so he can save some money and get himself a proper place later on."

"Does Percy know about your plan for him?" Ginny felt compelled to ask, knowing that her parents could sometimes be presumptuous.

"I'm sure he already understands, but no, we've not had a chance to speak with him," Molly replied, getting the pan hot. "Your father's been-… Well, he's not been himself these past few weeks. It's all the stress from his new job, you know? Our new Minister is working Arthur to the bone, the poor man." Yeah, I'm sure it's his new job that's stressing him, and not the fact that he was an utter prat to Ron and chased him away. "…Don't you go talking to Percy about any of this, Ginevra. I don't want you interfering."

"I would never," Ginny lied, she was going to warn her older brother as soon as she saw him. "Anyway… What are Daphne's chores for the day?"

"Why do you want to know?" Molly looked back, curious. I feel like helping her is the right thing to do.

"I want to help," Ginny admitted, earning herself a proud smile. "So? Will you tell me?"

"You've already brought in the eggs," Molly started. "Set up the table next, and after breakfast, help me clean up. In the afternoon, dust the living room and the kitchen, then take out the garbage. Oh, and help me and Astoria prepare dinner." Merlin, is Daphne our maid, now?! She's doing more chores than me!

"I can do all that," Ginny mustered all her resolve.

"Don't forget to do your own chores too."

"I won't." It's going to be a long day, isn't it? Well, at least, I'm not the twins. They've been wiping the floors clean almost every day, not that they don't deserve their punishment after what they did to Ron.

---

Neville Longbottom's POV

Tuesday 6th July, 1994 (Longbottom Manor – Midday)

"She really said that?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I told you, didn't I? She's glad Pansy and I broke up, and Gran never was the subtle sort," he sighed out, before pulling out a weed. "It's always 'That girl was a bad influence', or 'That girl is going to end up unmarried and childless'. She won't give it a rest, and I'm sick of it. She doesn't even care that I feel horrible for treating Pansy the way I did."

"You weren't that bad, Nev-"

"I ignored her, Harry, even when I knew she was upset. She was right, I was a terrible boyfriend."

"You can't keep beating yourself up over it," Harry tried. "And she's not exactly free from blame, in my eyes. If she wanted you to comfort her, she could've just asked. I feel like she set you up-"

"Set me up?" Neville looked back, and Harry shrugged. "…Whatever. I still feel like I should apologize to her."

"Then, do that, but all this moping around isn't helping anyone," Harry pointed out. "And stay away from your Gran… She's a mean old bat, just like Hermione says." I'm starting to agree with that assessment. She's always so bitter about everything. She even managed to put Ron off, and now, he's cut her loose.

"She was really impressed with your message this morning," Neville said, shooting a pathetic smile back. "A proper Patronus, Harry… You're something else."

The black-haired boy shifted in his spot, smiling bashfully. "…Thanks, Nev." He's humble, too. I've always liked that about him. He's the most famous wizard in the world, but he never makes a big deal out of it. "I can teach you, if you want. Share everything Remus taught me." …What?

"…I'm not sure I'm cut out for such advanced Magic."

"Of course, you are!" Harry said swiftly. "Neville, if I can do it, so can you! Trust me, it's not impossible! Why don't you go and get your wand? We'll start right now!"

"What? Right now?" Neville blinked. "…Harry, I've got to weed this garden…"

"Get your Elves to do it."

"…I don't know… They're not really-"

"Oh, go on, Nev! What's the harm in trying? It'll give you something to show off to your Gran! Maybe, that'll shut her up for a few months!" …That would be nice. Plus, Ron got us all a permit to use our wands outside of school, and it's a shame that I don't take advantage of that.

"…Okay, I'll um… I'll get my wand," Neville stood up, dusting off his knees. "But, Harry, don't be mad when I don't get it, okay? A Patronus is no small feat, and I'm not like you."

"Why would I get mad?" Harry asked, baffled. "Stop being so pessimistic, will you? That's your Gran talking, not you. You'll figure it out, I know you will."

Encouraged, Neville steeled himself and began making his way towards the exit. "Give me a minute, I'll be right back." He stopped only after a few steps, though, looking back at his best friend. "…Thanks, Harry."

"For what?" the other boy asked. For being you.

"For visiting," Neville replied. "I've missed you, that's all."

Harry snorted, causing Neville to roll his eyes. Prat. "When Hermione gets back from her trip, I'll tell her that you missed me more than you missed her."

"Don't do that!" Neville all but shouted. "She'll be bloody hurt, and then, she'll bite both our heads off! And I never said I missed you more!"

"You didn't have to," Harry sniggered. "I'm just teasing, mate. Go and get your wand. When Hermione sees that we can both produce Patronuses, she'll flip!" Flip? "It'll be something to remember!" Does he honestly think I can learn the Patronus Charm in a month? Does he really have that much faith in me? Why? There's no way I can do it… It took him almost a year to pull it off, and I'm nothing like him. I don't think I've ever managed to impress Gran the way Harry did this morning, not even once.

---

Amelia Bones' POV

Tuesday 6th July, 1994 (Ministry of Magic – Late Afternoon)

"…This has got to be a bad joke," Crouch frowned, tossing the transcript back on the table.

"This is no laughing matter, I assure you," Amelia stated, leaning back in her chair. "Twelve N. E. W. Ts, Crouch, with perfect exam scores all around." This young man might be the most academically gifted wizard of his generation. This Ministry would greatly benefit from having someone like him bolster our ranks, especially right now.

"He'll just be his brother's puppet," Crouch argued. "You know it, I know it, half this Ministry will know it. Put him under Amos Diggory, or some such… In a pointless Department where he'll cause none of us any problems."

"Amos is the Head of the Being Division, and I suggest you show him the respect he is due," Amelia removed her monocle, cleaning it. "He is making excellent progress in reforming the policies-"

"Twelve N. E. W. Ts, or not, that boy is going to cause us trouble," Crouch cut in, adamant in his stance. "You called me here for my advice, and this is it. Put him in a position where there's no room for advancement. Let him think he's part of the team, when, in reality, he's just an errand boy." …That is an unjust, and cruel, way to treat someone so promising. He is not guilty of his brother's constant meddling. Crouch has always been too severe, and it was my mistake to ask him for advice on this matter. He's come to view Ronald as his personal enemy, and that vendetta is compromising his good judgement.

"I'll take your words into consideration," Amelia lied with a straight face, and Crouch gave a nod. "They are not without merit."

"Good."

"You are dismissed, I've got other matters that need my attention."

"I'll try and find out more information on Durand's mission," Crouch stood up. "The French Ministry is hiding something from us, I can feel it."

"Be subtle, we can hardly afford to cause an international incident," Amelia advised, putting her monocle back on.

Once Crouch had left the office, Amelia reached forward and picked up the transcript, reading through it for the dozenth time. Even Severus Snape wrote him a glowing recommendation. 'Hard-working, eager to learn, and of high intelligence and competence'. Hm… What do I do with you, Percy Weasley? To waste your potential would be a sin, and yet, outright ignoring Crouch's warning would be equally disastrous. Your brother has a habit of interfering in Ministry affairs, and to put you in a position where he can exploit you would do more harm to this Ministry than good.

"Please, don't punish him because of who I am," Weasley's words echoed in her head, causing her to grimace. "I don't want to spy on you, and, even if I did, I'd never go to Percy for such a thing. He wouldn't agree with it. He's ambitious, but he's not two-faced. He's the most morally upright, and uptight, seventeen-year-old you'll ever meet."

"…Damn it…" Amelia muttered to herself, putting the transcript in her desk drawer. "Abigail! Get in here!"

After a few moments, the young witch popped her head through the door. "You called for me, Minister?"

"Yes, I need to talk to you," Amelia gestured her to come inside. "Shut the door behind you."

Abigail did as she was bid, taking a seat across from Amelia with a bright smile on her face. She's been a good secretary to me. She was doubtful of her abilities, at first, but now, she's truly an asset.

"Um… Minister? What is it? You're staring at me funny…" the girl chuckled nervously. "I'm not being fired, am I? Or, is this about Mark constantly coming down here? Because I can explain that…" What's there to explain? You two enjoy flirting like schoolchildren when you should be working.

Amelia sat up straighter, shaking her head. "No, Abigail, you're not being fired, and no, this is not about Mark, either. You're being promoted."

"Promoted?"

"That is what I said, yes," Amelia adorned a sterner expression. "By the end of the week, you'll be working directly under Ernest Hawkworth."

"The Head of the Ministerial Support Staff?" Abigail went wide-eyed. "In what capacity, may I ask?"

"As his successor-to-be," Amelia replied, maintaining her expression as to not give the startled girl a big head. "He's held his position for many years, and in a decade or so, he'll be looking to retire. Work hard under him, learn everything he has to teach you, and, eventually, his position will be yours." If he decides you've earned it, of course.

Abigail stared at her, clearly shaken by the suddenness of it all. "…I um… I don't know what to say, Minister… Do you really think I'd do well in that position?" Was I this doubtful of my own abilities at her age? I don't honestly remember.

"You've proven yourself loyal and steadfast over these past few months," Amelia said strongly. "I have faith in you to continue demonstrating your value to this Ministry."

Abigail nodded slowly, before drawing in a sharp breath and beaming. "I won't let you down, Minister! I promise!"

Amelia felt her lips quirk upwards, giving a soft nod in return. "I know you won't, Abigail. I know my faith in you is not misplaced. Now, return to your duties, and tell no one of this just yet. I still need to speak with Ernest. Go on."

Abigail shot out of her chair, her spirits running high. "Thank you! Thank you so much for this opportunity, Minister!"

"You earned it."

Abigail sauntered to the door, stopping and turning to face Amelia, again. "…I still don't know why you picked me to be your secretary out of the blue, but I'm really glad you did. It was the best thing that's happened to me in all my time here."

Amelia gave the young witch a fond smile, being reminded of her own youth and her own struggles to climb the ladder. "I'm glad too, Abigail."

"You'll be needing a new secretary, though," Abigail pointed out. "Do you have someone in mind, already?"

"…I do, but it could prove to be a very foolish decision, but if this Ministry is to stand for what's right, I have to take this risk," Amelia replied, much to Abigail's mystification. Don't fraternize so openly, Amelia. Remember your role. "Forgive me, that was inappropriate. Yes, I have someone in mind, already. Go on, now. We both have work to do." I need a clean piece of parchment.

---

Barnabas Cuffe's POV

Tuesday 6th July, 1994 (Cuffe Residence – Late Evening)

"Should I bring him a gift?" Barnabas asked from the bathroom.

"No, he'll think you're trying to bribe him," Marietta answered from the adjoining bedroom. "Hurry up, handsome, or you'll be late. The boss doesn't tolerate tardiness." …The boss… Merlin, to think that I had this boy on the run not so long ago, and now, I'm completely in his hands. His star has only risen higher and higher, whereas mine has only plummeted.

He fixed his collar and tie into place, before combing his thick moustache into tidiness. More grey hairs. Brilliant. Once he was somewhat satisfied with his appearance, he stepped into the bedroom and presented himself to his young lover.

"Oh, my, Mr. Cuffe," Marietta smirked playfully, stealing a half-smile out of him. "If you weren't attending this meeting, we'd have a meeting of our own."

Barnabas chuckled; he had always found her awkward way of flirting endearing. "Don't tempt me, Miss. Angel."

She smiled from ear-to-ear, sitting up on her knees. "Just imagine how fun it will be to work together! All those late nights in the office… We'll have to figure out how to keep ourselves motivated!"

"I don't want you to get your hopes up, dear," Barnabas said sombrely, giving her a meaningful look. "It's just a meeting, and he could decide to go the other way. Manage your expectations, remember?"

"I remember," she rolled her eyes, not losing her smile in the slightest. "He needs you, Barnabas, and you definitely need him. It's a perfect match."

"He doesn't know that I'm being pushed out of the Prophet, does he?" Barnabas asked, he needed all the leverage he could get.

"Are you asking if he knows? Or, if I told him?" she lost her smile this time around. "I'm not an idiot, okay? I didn't even know he arranged a meeting with you until you told me about it." …She's right, I'm being overly nervous. "Do what you always tell me to do, okay? Have faith in yourself. You're the best editor the Prophet's ever had, and the Quibbler needs you. Poor Greta is overworked to death, so the boss is trying his best to get someone into that role. He couldn't find himself a better editor than you, even if he trotted all around the globe!" Trotted? She's sounding more and more British by the day.

Barnabas inhaled deeply, already feeling more confident. "You're right, he needs me, and I know what I'm about. I've been in the business my whole life, haven't I?" Ronald may have the fame, but I have the experience. I need to demonstrate that to him.

Marietta chuckled, shaking her head to herself. "I've never seen you so nervous, Barny."

"This boy has outwitted me twice, remember?" Barnabas reminded her. "He stole the Quibbler out from under me, then he countered my ploy to push him out of the business altogether. Underestimating him has cost me dearly, and tonight, I need to win him over. If I don't, I'll be…" he trailed off, feeling wretchedly angry with his current employers. "…Those bastards… I gave them my whole life, and they let the likes of Skeeter order me around? They let her sensationalise work that I've already rejected, and publish her nonsense without my permission? Like I'm just some schmuck to be ignored? Gods, I hate that woman, and everything she stands for, with all of my being." Wretched bitch! Journalists like her have destroyed this trade! They've turned the readers into morons, sucking on their thumbs while they soak in the lies, the propaganda, and the gossip!

"Barny, take a deep breath," Marietta suggested. "You remember what the Healer said about controlling your temper? It doesn't do you any good to work yourself up like this."

"…I know… I'm sorry," Barnabas sighed out, doing his best to clear his head. "I'll be off, then. Don't wait up."

"You're not going anywhere without a good luck kiss! What sort of girlfriend would I be if I just let you leave, hm?"

---

"Barnabas Cuffe?" an ebony witch asked as soon as he entered The Pond, her manic hairstyle immediately drawing his attention.

"Um… Yes," he replied, recognising her. Ronald's bodyguard, as of recently. "Where is Rudolph? He generally greets me at the door."

"Oh, he's taking the night off," 'London' smiled like the Cheshire Cat, gesturing him to follow her. "The boss hired the place out for the night. He didn't want any… distractions." Distractions? And he can do that? How? This is the best restaurant in Diagon Alley!

He followed her downstairs, into the VIP dining area, where he was shocked to see killers and renegades dining with smug smiles. Merlin's Beard… Is this some move to impress me? As immature as it is, it's working. At the centre of the madhouse was Ronald himself, his back facing Barnabas. For a moment, some primal instinct in the Chief-Editor's mind kicked in, and he took a wary step back, only for London to nudge him forward, again.

"Go on, he's waiting," she smirked darkly. …Dining with hardened mercenaries… This is all too exciting for my blood, I'm afraid…

Barnabas cleared his throat, steadying his nerves as best he could, before making his way over to Ronald's table. "Mr. Weasley, we meet once-" He stopped abruptly when he saw the boy's swollen face, his left eye so badly bruised that he couldn't even open it. "Gods above! Were you attacked?!"

Ronald smiled up in a friendly manner, his right eye gleaming with mischief. "Just a training accident, Mr. Cuffe. Please, sit down. They've redone their menu, and I can't make any sense of it."

Already thrown off his game, Barnabas did as he was bid absentmindedly. "…Should you not see a Healer? You must be in terrible pain." Half his face is completely battered… What a terrible sight to behold…

"A little pain is good for the soul, I've been told," Ronald chuckled, his right eye burrowing into Barnabas'. By who?! What maniac would ever say such a thing to a child?! "Shall we order? Watching my people eat like the animals they are has made me terribly hungry." Barnabas looked around cautiously, realizing that the mercenaries were having the time of their lives. …Savages. "Don't worry about them. We did a job together recently, and despite some hiccups, they all came through wonderfully. I'm merely thanking them by treating them to an experience very few people get to enjoy." Dining in The Pond's VIP room? Even I've only managed to come down here a handful of times. Only the Purebloods, and some select Ministry Officials, are invited here without paying ludicrous sums of money.

"…They must be very grateful," Barnabas put on his best smile. Especially because they're degrading such an esteemed establishment.

He opened the menu, realising that the dishes on display were of Italian origin. "Well, Mr. Cuffe? See anything you like? Remember, you're ordering for two."

"The squid ink pasta with mussels seems promising, so let's order that," Barnabas decided quickly, wondering if the boy was testing his decisiveness. Just remember Marietta's advice. You know what you're about, and you're done underestimating how clever this young man is. No matter what he says, every decision he makes is deliberate.

"Squid ink pasta with mussels, then," Ronald gave a nod, snapping his fingers. "London, did you get that?"

"I'll go tell the chef, boss," she answered, getting up from her seat and leaving the room without delay. Boss? Same as Marietta… Their tones reflect deep loyalty. Perhaps, something even more. They seem to be as taken with him as the general public is.

"I must say, you make for an intimidating figure, now, Mr. Weasley," Barnabas joked, trying to reignite their banter. "Just last year, I remember you-"

"Seventeenth of October," Ronald cut in. Pardon? "Our first meeting. I remember." …Good Heavens… "The past is the past, Mr. Cuffe. I'm more interested in our future. Your future, to be exact."

"Still don't like conversation before business, I take it," Barnabas chuckled. "Very well, we both know why we're here, and the sooner we hash out our business, the better."

"Proceed, then," Ronald said softly, his gaze unblinking.

"I want a change in my life, and you need the best editor you can find," Barnabas started. "I've proven myself in this business to be exactly that, the best. My sources are unmatched, I know which stories sell, and when people see my name attached to any work, they know they are in good hands. I have credibility, which I have earned through dedication and-"

"Your name attached to any work, eh?" Ronald interrupted. "That's funny… Because, as of late, your name isn't attached to most of the articles the Daily Prophet has been peddling." …Fuck! "They're pushing you out, aren't they? Skeeter is more of an editor nowadays than you are." …He was onto me this whole time, wasn't he? You damn viper… I walked right into your fangs, didn't I? Unbelievable… It happened, again…

Barnabas exhaled, feeling the wind being knocked out of his sails. Now, what? Fuck it… What do I have to lose, huh? I'm tired of tiptoeing around this whole mess. "You're right, Mr. Weasley. I… have lost much of my influence at the Daily Prophet." My influence, my dignity, my fucking integrity… And for what? A stuffed vault? What a fool I was to think that I'd make a difference if I kept playing by their rules.

"Why? Why did you lose your influence, Mr. Cuffe?"

"Because I questioned what we were putting out one too many times," Barnabas confessed. "Because I spoke out when I saw the Carrow Twin scandal being shrugged aside, despite it being the biggest story in the last five years. Because I pointed out that, in all our years, we have never taken as hard a stance against the Ministry as when Minister Bones pushed the elite out of their ill-gotten Wizengamot seats." Ronald simply stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "…I was frustrated. I have been for a very long time. It's why I wanted the Quibbler, remember? Journalism used to mean something once upon a time, before the politicians, and the wealthy, sunk their hooks into the business. They've dragged it into the gutter, Mr. Weasley. The goddamn gutter…" He huffed as he finished, like an angry boar tired of being hunted. "…Do you know what it's like to watch stupid, short-sighted people ruin your vision, Mr. Weasley? To be utterly helpless as they spit on everything you stand for? Do you know what it's like to stand there and let ignorant fools with more money than sense dictate your actions?" I am not without blame, I know that, but I wanted more than they wanted give, and they punished me for it.

"I do," Ronald replied calmly. "It's why I stopped playing by their rules." Barnabas blinked, feeling lost for words all of a sudden. …He does get it, doesn't he? The rumours about him and Lord Greengrass parting ways must be true, to an extent. "You're hired. Five hundred Galleons a year."

"…I am? Just like that?"

"Want a parade?" Ronald asked, smirking. "I won't pay you as much as the Daily Prophet did, of course, you'll need to earn that privilege, but if you do right by me, I'll do right by you. Oh, and your sources? The unmatched ones? They come with you. The Quibbler will grease their palms, if so required, because the Daily Prophet will get nothing. Nothing. I want them to starve and suffocate. Am I clear?"

Barnabas gave a slow nod; studying the young wizard, but to no avail. "…Six hundred."

"Five," Ronald lost his mirth, while the mercenaries closest to them turned their attention towards Barnabas. "Don't negotiate with me. You have no leverage, old man. When you deserve six hundred, I'll let you know." …I see… "Will there be any legal problems with hiring you?"

"No, not if I resign from the Daily Prophet," Barnabas answered. "They want me gone, and I can talk them into waving my non-competes. Despite our great successes, they still greatly underestimate the both of us. The people in charge, I mean. The Purebloods and the elite."

"Stupid and ignorant, just as you described," Ronald smiled, and for a moment, his right eye gleamed red.

Barnabas blinked repeatedly, looking up at the light hanging right above them. What was that? A reflection? "…Yes, they're set in their ways…"

"Are you all right? You've gone pale, all of a sudden."

Barnabas looked back to the young wizard, his primal instincts screaming, again. "…I've been under a lot of stress, that's all. I'm glad we had such an open dialogue, Mr. Weasley. It makes my decision much easier."

"That's very good to hear," Ronald continued to smile, his gaze piercing through Barnabas. "Now, we can eat and enjoy the meal, eh? Would you like some wine? I had them reserve an excellent selection just for you." Just for me?

"Yes, certainly," Barnabas smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Very kind of you, Mr. Weasley."

"Please… Call me Ron." I will.

---

Sirius Black's POV

Wednesday 7th July, 1994 (12 Grimmauld Place - Afternoon)

"Don't give me that shit, Remus!" he snapped, waving a dismissive hand. "Harry needs protecting at Hogwarts?! Really?! With Dumbledore there?! And McGonagall?! Hell, even Snape?! What can you do that they can't?! This isn't about Harry, so don't you dare use him as your fucking shield!"

"Lower your voice!" Remus hissed, shooting a look towards the stairs.

"He's with Neville, he can't hear us," Sirius grumbled, pacing. "I just don't get it! You could help those kids, more than Tonks ever could, but you're content to just ignore them?! What's wrong with you?! When you needed help, did Thaddeus turn his back on you?! No! He took you in, a complete stranger, because he saw you for more than your Curse!"

Remus gnashed his teeth, averting his gaze. "…You just don't get it. You never have. None of you did-"

"None of us?!" Sirius barked. "Fuck you, Remus! We did get it! We dedicated ourselves to making sure you never ran through those woods alone!"

"Is that what you remember?" Remus hissed. "Us running through the woods? Happy and young?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I was in pain!" Remus roared, shooting out of his seat and kicking the table. "I was in so much pain, I can't even describe it to you! My blood was boiling, Sirius! Every moment, with every breath! I wanted to hurt my fellow man! To infect them! I wanted to tear their flesh apart with my claws! I wanted to taste their blood on my tongue! I wanted to sharpen my teeth with their bones! And if Moony had known that you weren't animals, he'd have killed you three without hesitation! You fooled him, but never me! Grow up, already! Life isn't some fucking adventure story! You three got lucky, and I wish you'd never been as stupid as you lot were!" …That's not true… I know you were happy to not be alone for once…

Sirius stopped, slightly taken aback by Remus' outburst. "…But you didn't do any of that… So, why do you act like you did?"

Remus laughed, but it was joyless and bitter. "…My own mother was terrified of me… And I can't even blame her, the poor woman… You just don't understand, and I've never asked you to, but just-… Just leave it alone… I can't be there for those children… I-…" he stopped, plopping back down. "…I was happy that you lot joined me, but I was just a lonely boy back then. Now, I think about the danger you all exposed yourselves to, and I regret all of it. I have nightmares where I tear you apart, Sirius, helpless to stop my Curse… James… Peter… All three of you…"

"You're not a monster, Remus," Sirius clenched his teeth so hard that it hurt. "You're not some fucking animal!"

"But I am," Remus looked up, his eyes welling up. "I am, Padfoot… One mistake… That's all it'll take with me… You know, if it weren't for the Wolfsbane Potion, I wouldn't even live in this house… Not with Harry-"

Sirius moved around the table before he could stop himself, grabbing his oldest friend by the collar and yanking him up. "Snap out of this! I've had enough, you miserable bastard! Harry loves you! More than anyone in this world! If you even think about leaving, I'll fucking kill you! DO YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU?!" He shook Remus, hard, desperately hoping to make him see sense. "I don't want him to see this side of you! Ever! It'll break his fucking heart! Just like it breaks mine!"

Remus shoved him back, his eyes reflecting light like a wolf's for a moment. "…Don't push me, I'm warning you…" Bring it on, you fleabag!

"…Everything you feel, all that guilt and fear, those kids feel it too," Sirius sneered, disappointed to his core. "Tonks could never understand the burden they all carry, but you do, you fucking selfish prick. I sent you letters, and you just ignored them… Then, you come home, and I talk to you face-to-face, like a man, and you start dancing around the subject like some woman… No wonder Ron didn't wait around for you… The pup has more sense than I ever did… He saw you for the coward you are!"

"Why do you care so much?" Remus asked, his breathing heavy. "Why are you doing any of this?!"

"Because I care about you!" Sirius snapped. "Because seeing you hate yourself kills me! You think Harry doesn't notice it?! Or, Kurt?! Fucking Kurt! You could help that sorry sod in a way I never could, but you avoid him like the plague! I don't think I've seen you two have a proper conversation even once! It's wrong, Remus! What you're doing is just wrong!"

A heavy silence fell between the two, neither of them backing down, until they heard rushed footsteps heading down the stairs. Harry, and he's excited. "Oh, hey, you two! Sorry, I was just wondering if Neville and I could have some ice-cream-"

"Not now, Harry, please," Sirius said sternly, giving the startled boy a firm look. "Go back upstairs and call for Kreacher. He'll get you whatever you want."

Harry looked between the two remaining Marauders, something shifting behind his startlingly green eyes. "Fighting, again? What's going on between you two?" See! He's fucking noticed! Curios little shit that he is, he'll never stop looking into this until he realizes what a selfish prick you are! What then?!

"Want to tell him?" Sirius asked Remus derisively.

"Harry, go back upstairs," Remus instructed, much to the boy's chagrin. "This doesn't involve you, and it's rude to interfere in other people's affairs."

"…Fine," Harry didn't hide his displeasure, leaving in a huff. "…No one tells me anything."

Once they were alone, again, Sirius drew in a sharp breath, deciding to put an end to this entire argument. "…I've said all I can, Remus. I'm done. You want to keep doing this to yourself? Go right ahead. I won't bring it up, again." James and Lily would've gotten through to him, but sadly, he's stuck with me, and I never was any good at this sort of shit. "Shame on you, mate. I never thought you'd let your insecurities get in the way of doing what's right, but you've proven me wrong."

He began making his way towards the fireplace, grabbing himself a fist full of floo-powder once he was there. "Where are you going, Sirius?"

"I need a drink."

"What? It's the middle of the day!"

"I'm a free man, aren't I?" Sirius scoffed, tossing the powder into the flames. "The Leaky Cauldron!"

---

Theodore Nott's POV

Wednesday 7th July, 1994 (Yaxley's Secret Manor - Evening)

His door swung open, before being slammed shut with enough force to make him jump. …Fuck's sake! What did my door ever do to her?

"Is that really necessary?" Theo shot a frown back at Millie, pushing away his copy of 'Extinct Fauna and Flora' and removing himself from his study table.

"They're up to something, Theo," Millie said, pacing with a scowl on her face. "They're having another one of their 'secret' meetings right now. I noticed Rosier had a bunch of old maps with him-"

"Are you spying on them, now?" Theo asked, thoroughly alarmed. "Are you mental?!"

"They're up to something!" Millie repeated, glaring at him. "People could be in danger!"

"And what are we supposed to do about that, exactly?" he demanded. "…Gods, you're really starting to worry me, now."

"Don't start this, again, not right now."

"Start what? All I've tried to do is ask you about your time at Durmstrang, but you've been nothing but secretive," he rightly pointed out. "And, now, you've got this weird look about you every day… Like you want to get yourself killed! You're not an Auror, Millie, not yet! Just leave it alone!"

"How can you even say that?" Millie growled menacingly. "Your father is involved in whatever scheme Yaxley is cooking up!" …I know that… I'm not dumb, blind, and deaf… "They're our parents, Theo! We bear some responsibility in all of this!"

"Like hell we do! I didn't ask for any of this!"

"So, you'll just bury your head in the sand? Even by your standards, that's cowardly." Cowardly?! It's common fucking sense, you idiot!

"I've had just about enough of your high-and-mighty attitude, okay? After the shit you pulled with Ron, you have the gall to lecture me?" Millie blinked at that, deflating a little. "We're in no position to be foolish, got it? Fuck, what can we even do?! We don't even know what's actually going on!"

"Crabbe and Goyle seem to have an idea," Millie said promptly.

"Horseshit!"

"They do, I overheard them whispering to each other in the kitchens about some upcoming event in Magical Britain. I didn't catch most of what they were saying, but I have a feeling that's it's big. Their mothers might've shared something with them, something our parents are neglecting to share with us." …Maybe… Father has been extra cagey with me this last week… He's always busy, always 'heading out', no matter what time I approach him. "We get those two oafs to tell us what's happening, and then-"

"How?" Theo cut in. "You want to interrogate them? Flint will have your hide, Mills. You don't even have your wand."

"You have yours."

"Yeah, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"We can't just do nothing!" Millie stomped her foot, crossing her arms. "Whatever they're plotting, it could end up hurting our friends! We both know who these people are, Theo, so don't even pretend that they're not dangerous!" …Ron and Tracey… A Blood-Traitor and the daughter of a Muggleborn… "Maybe, we can get some answers out of Lady Yaxley, instead?"

"Her?" Theo groaned; he'd been trying his best to avoid the woman. She keeps trying to adopt me, or something. It's fucking weird.

"She's fond of you, and we can use that to our advantage."

"She's not an idiot, and you really think Yaxley tells his wife anything?" Theo rolled his eyes.

"I think, he tells her everything," Millie said with far too much certainty. "He might not be the ideal husband, but he trusts her. I saw her coming out of his study right before I came up here. She seemed… on edge. More so than usual. She's in on their plans, whatever they are. I'm sure of it."

Theo let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his face. "…I don't know… I really don't want to deal with her. She keeps trying to act 'motherly' towards me. It's insulting to my actual mother's memory." Still, she did mention that she knew my mother, and maybe, I can learn more about her through Lady Yaxley.

"Theo, you're my only hope here," Millie muttered, sounding rather meek all of a sudden. "My parents have hidden my wand, no one says a word whenever I'm around, I constantly feel like I'm being watched, and even-"

"Fine, fine, fine," Theo grumbled, annoyed. "Stop playing the violin in my bloody ear, already. I'll um… I'll try and talk to her, see if I can get something useful out of her."

"Really?" her voice was now full of relief. "Thank you! Be careful, but don't leave without nothing!" I just got played, didn't I? Ugh… Whatever…

"Give me a couple of days to cosy up to her," Theo returned to his desk. "I'll need her trust before I even think of attempting this barmy plan of ours." What am I doing? This shit could get me locked in a dungeon, or worse, killed! No… No, father wouldn't let it go that far. If I'm careful, no one will even notice.

---

Percy Weasley's POV

Thursday 8th July, 1994 (Charlie and Kirsten's Apartment – Late Evening)

"I'm not so sure this a good idea, Perce," Charlie scratched the back of his neck. "That pouch is-"

"Mine," Percy cut in, deadly serious. "I know Ron gave it to you, but it belongs to me, and I need it." I'm not staying at the Burrow for another year! I want to start my own life! I can't believe it was Ginny who had to tell me, instead of it being mum and dad! The nerve of them!

"It's for emergencies, though," Charlie tried, looking to his girlfriend for her opinion. "What do you think?"

"I'm not getting between you two," Kirsten shrugged, heading for the kitchen. "This is Weasley business." She agrees with me, I'm certain of it.

"Thanks a lot," Charlie drawled, giving her back a dull look.

"Charlie, you and Bill left the house as soon as you finished Hogwarts," Percy reminded his older brother. "You wanted to build your own lives, right? Well, I want the same thing, but I can't do that without money. I want to work in the Ministry, not overseas or on some reservation, so it's not like I'm-"

"Stop, all right?" Charlie sighed out, rising out of his chair. "You're right, it's your pouch. I was just trying to share my thoughts, nothing more." The burly wizard left the living room, eventually returning with a Gringotts Pouch in hand. "Here, catch."

Percy caught the tossed pouch, already feeling much-needed relief and safety. "…Thanks."

"Mum and dad are going to lose their shit, you know that, right?" Charlie dropped back into his seat. "Getting an apartment with Ron's 'blood-money'? Fucking hell, I'm not looking forward to that bit of drama."

"That's part of why I want to leave," Percy pocketed the pouch, before fixing his spectacles into place. "You get it, right?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"I'm not a child, and I won't be treated like one," Percy continued. "I'll get a place that's modest and affordable. I'll be responsible-"

"This isn't about you being responsible, Percy," Charlie said, his tone dull. "We all know you're responsible."

"Then, what? It's about Ron?"

"Partly, yeah," Charlie nodded. "That money isn't as clean as it could be, and that bothers mum and dad. We might not agree with their feelings, but we can't just brush them aside, can we?" They'll get over it. Why should I be forced to endure a handicap because of their life choices? It's unfair. "Plus, with Ronnie gone, they want to keep the rest of their eggs in the same basket."

"What about you, then?" Percy asked.

"Well, you know me, right?" Charlie grinned devilishly. "I do whatever I want, always have and always will." Kirsten cleared her throat, shooting him an amused glare. "Within reason, of course!" … As if. "Look, Perce, I won't stop you from using Ron's money, but it'd be wrong of me to not point out the trouble that'll come with it. I'm still your big brother, and I've always looked out for you." …When you weren't wrestling me to the floor, or calling me weak, sure…

"I only need a place to stay, and some new, respectable clothes," Percy said, feeling more and more defensive. "I'm not asking for the world, am I? Just a fair chance."

"What about food? Furniture? Every day expenses? What about your laundry?" Charlie asked in quick succession. "Not trying to shit on your parade, mate, but let's both be honest with each other… You don't know shit about real life. We've all been where you are, all gung-ho to leave the nest and fly, but there's a learning curve, and it's fucking steep."

"Do you really need to cuss this much?" Percy asked, looking as stern as Professor McGonagall. "It's unbecoming."

"That right there!" Charlie sniggered. "You talk like that to people out in the world, all pretentious and whatnot, and they'll clock you in the mouth. The world isn't your friend, Perce, and living on your own isn't some picnic. It can be lonely, scary, and some people don't adjust very well."

"What? People like me? Weaklings, you mean?" Just say what you really mean, why don't you?

"You could stand to put on some more weight, yeah, but that's not what I'm saying. At the Burrow, you'll be looked after by mum and dad. They don't plan to keep you there forever, and during your stay, they'll be teaching you how to survive on your own. That's really not so bad, is it? Both Bill and I went through a really rough time when we left, so we promised each other that we'd talk to you lot about it when the time came. Well, your time is here, and I'm just trying to give you another perspective." I never asked for it, though. And I'm much smarter than you and Bill, much more sensible and-… "…I know that fucking look. You've got to be shitting me right now."

"What look?" Percy asked blandly.

"The 'I'm smarter than you' look," Charlie scoffed, incredulous. "Any time you hear something you don't like, or disagree with, you get that pig-headed fucking look on your-"

"Charlie, please, take it down a notch," Kirsten cut in. "And, Percy, your brother is just trying to look out for-"

"What happened to not getting between us?" Percy asked her, much to Charlie's chagrin. "As you said, this is 'Weasley business'. Butt out."

"See this? He's so fucking soft, he can't even take a differing opinion without acting like an arsehole," Charlie glowered, and Percy matched his expression in response. "Fine, do what you want. You're the smart one, yeah? Go on. If Bill comes bitching to me, I'll tell him I tried, but you wouldn't listen. Stubborn bloody brat."

"Petty insults? Very mature, Charlie," Percy stood up, rolling his eyes. "Don't tell mum and dad about this. I want them to hear it from me."

"Oh, my involvement has already come to an end," Charlie continued glaring at him. "…You ever talk to her like that, again, and I'll fuck you up. That's a promise." And you think I won't tell the Aurors where to find you right after? Don't threaten me. We're not kids, anymore.

Percy left without another word, patting his robes to make sure he still had the pouch. I'll be just fine on my own. It's not like the Burrow is lacking in rude gits, anyway. I'll be just fine.

---

Friday 9th July, 1994 (The Burrow – Morning)

"It's our family's invitation to Bjorn and Tabatha's wedding," Molly handed Arthur the letter, who quietly read it to himself. Bjorn and Tabatha? Who are they, again? "Saturday the 24th, you lot! Mark down the date! I want us all looking our best! That means haircuts, you two!" she finished by pointing at Fred and George.

"Bill has long hair," Fred pointed out.

"When you make your own living, you can grow your hair out," Bill smirked, taking a bite of his scrambled eggs. Why are you still living here?

"…Unlikely," Fred and George whispered to each other.

"They waited too long to send out the invitations," Arthur stated, putting the letter down.

"We made the same mistake, remember?" Molly smiled nostalgically.

"Who are Bjorn and what's-her-name?" Ginny asked, looking around the table. "Do we even know these people?"

"Bjorn and Tabatha," Molly gave her daughter a disapproving look. "They're friends with your father and brother. Ronald, I mean. They're Werewolves who live on the farm."

"A Werewolf wedding?!" Astoria grinned, her eyes sparkling. "How exciting!"

Daphne shifted in her seat, keeping her gaze fixed on her barely-touched breakfast. She's been very quiet these last few days, not that I can blame her. That entire spectacle with the Centaurs was a nightmare, and Ron… Merlin, I'm so disappointed in him for stooping that low, regardless of how impressive his Duelling skills were. If the Aurors ever catch wind of what happened that night, he'll be sent straight to Azkaban. Still, it's not all his fault… Centaurs are savages, and like Charlie said, he spoke to them in their language…

His musings were interrupted when another owl landed outside their window, tapping its beak against the glass. That's a Ministry Owl, isn't it? Another letter for father, I suppose. He's being bombarded with them ever since he was granted a seat on the Wizengamot. Molly let the impatient owl in, but rather than fly to Arthur, it made a beeline for Percy himself, landing beside his plate and presenting the letter in its beak to the surprised wizard. …It's here for me? No way! Is this it?! Is this really happening?! His breath caught in his throat, Percy quickly accepted the letter, realizing it was stamped with the Minister's seal. YES! There's no way the Minister herself would send me a letter if the Ministry had rejected my application! The owl hooted dutifully, flying off without waiting to receive a response. With shaky fingers, due to overstimulation, Percy opened the letter and began blitzing through it.

Mr. Weasley,

I have viewed your transcript personally, and I was most impressed with your achievements. Your time at Hogwarts was well-spent.

Before I make you any offers, however, I would like to speak with you.

Have your father bring you to my office.

Minister for Magic,

Amelia Bones

In all his years, never had he felt so vindicated and triumphant, melting in his chair and letting out a soulful laugh. …I fucking did it… I made it, at last… All those years with my head buried in my books, all for this moment… His family exchanged curious looks, waiting for him to tell them the happy news.

"It's from the Minister," Percy sat up straight, again, beaming. "She wants to meet with me."

"Face-to-face?" Molly blinked, before bursting out of her chair and running over to him, hugging his head. My glasses! "Oh, Percy! You did it! Arthur, did you hear him?! My boy is going to become the next Minister!"

"Congratulations, son," Arthur smiled proudly, the first time in what felt like forever. "You've earned this! You really have!"

Bill reached out and ruffled his tidy hair, grinning. "Damn proud of you, Perce!"

Even the twins seemed happy, despite all their jokes over the years, with Fred giving him a thumbs-up and George shooting him a mischievous wink.

"Congratulations, Percy," Daphne smiled at him in her usual polite manner, though her fondness for him couldn't be missed. "The Ministry will be most fortunate to have you."

"He'll be at the top in no time," Ginny added, smirking. "Mark my words, he'll be running his own Department in a couple of years!"

"Thanks, all of you," he felt his eyes sting a little, becoming overwhelmed. "I um… I need to go get changed… Dad, she asked if you could bring me-"

"I bought you some new robes, just for this occasion," Arthur interrupted, his smile widening. "My cupboard, top shelf. On the right side. I'll be waiting for you."

---

One Hour Later

"Dad, shouldn't you go about your day?" Percy whispered, sitting up as straight as he could as to not crinkle his new robes.

"No, it'll be fine," Arthur chuckled, not failing to notice how nervous his son was. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office is… growing. I've hired five new clerks, even. They'll handle the paperwork until I get there."

Percy felt his lips quirk upwards, a sense of pride seeping into his heart. "Someone is on the rise, is he?" Who knows? He might make Minister before me.

"Our new Minister understands the need for my work," Arthur said, shrugging. "The search warrants Crouch used to break into those Pureblood palaces? You wouldn't believe the things we found in there."

"Like what?" Percy asked, curious.

Arthur looked around, before leaning closer. "You know about Rowle, yeah? Thorfinn Rowle? Turns out, he owns a business in Muggle London that sells everyday Muggle items, things like kitchen knives and cooking pans, only some of them are Cursed by him personally."

"Why would he do that?" Percy promptly asked, not hiding his bewilderment.

"For sport… For pleasure… Who truly knows with that lot?" …Merlin's Beard… "The important thing is that we found out what he's been up to, and, thanks to the American Aurors, we have letters, written in his hand and bearing his personal seal, that incriminate him. When Crouch's Department starts issuing out warrants for arrests, Rowle's name will be on the top of that list."

"And your work will condemn him to a life in Azkaban?"

"That, or a Dementor's Kiss," Arthur shifted away, patting Percy's back. "The work that happens in this building, Percy, is what keeps this country safe and united. You're going to become a part of that, now, and I couldn't be prouder, especially because you're joining at the right time. Minister Bones… She's going to change this place into what it should've always been. Most of us are starting to realize that, and-" he stopped abruptly, looking towards an approaching figure. "Minister!" What?!

They both stood up, surprised to see the Minister herself standing before them. "Good morning, Mr. Weasleys."

"Good morning," they greeted back, though Percy's greeting was too nervous for his own liking. Why is she fetching us herself? Doesn't she have a secretary? Wait, is that why she wanted to interview me herself? That's the job Ron was trying to get me-…

"Arthur, Crouch needs your reports on your findings," the Minister instructed, even her gaze was intimidating. "Today. Do you understand?" Sounds like Thorfinn Rowle's days are numbered.

"I'll have them on his desk within a couple of hours," Arthur promised, nudging Percy forward. "I'll be on my way, then. I leave him in your care, Minister."

His father left promptly, and with him gone, Percy's nerves began acting up, again. Calm down, all right? You're ready for this. What's an interview compared to all those exams you took? You can do this!

"There is no need to be anxious, young man," the Minister stated, her eyes darting down towards his clenched hands. She noticed… Damn it, Percy, loosen up! "Come with me. I have a few minutes before my next appointment." A few minutes? Shouldn't interviews go for longer than that? Maybe, she's already made up her mind?

"Lead the way, please," Percy followed after her, entering her office, and upon her direction, taking a seat.

"As I said in my letter, your transcript was most impressive," the Minister started, taking her own seat. We're getting right into it, then? Okay, I'm ready. "Twelve N. E. W. Ts will guarantee you any job of your choosing in the Wizarding World. Any job, but I'm sure you already know that." Percy remained still, reminding himself not to act cocky. "So, why are you interested in working for this Ministry? A talented young wizard like yourself could make himself a fortune, couldn't he? Here, you'll make no more than the national average, and that's me being generous."

"Wealth has its uses, Minister, but it's never been something I aspired to," Percy answered, thinking every word through very carefully.

"Ah, you aspire to authority, instead, don't you?" the Minister figured, as if she'd seen right through him. "To power?"

"Oh, no, I didn't mean-!"

"It's fine," she smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Actually, it's a good thing." It is? "You need ambitions beyond material wealth to get ahead in this building. I don't like to mince my words, young man, so I'll just come out and say it. Your brother went to great lengths to recommend you to me, and, for a time, I came to the decision to not hire you. Nothing against you, of course, but your brother meddles in my affairs too often for me to ignore your relationship with him. However, I've decided that it would be unfair to punish you just to spite him. You are, after all, not your brother, and I am not an unfair woman. I need a secretary, someone who runs my schedule and manages all of my meetings. I need someone I can trust to work for me, and only me, and your achievements make you the ideal candidate. Can you start on Monday?"

Percy blinked repeatedly, feeling whiplashed by her no-nonsense approach. "…I can start today, Minister, if you need me to."

Something shifted behind her eyes, and she gave him an approving nod. "That was the correct response, Mr. Weasley. However, Monday will do just fine. I get in around seven, which means you'll be here by six." He nodded, a drop of sweat running down his temple. "This is a difficult job, do you understand? You won't just be my secretary, you'll be someone I depend on. That means long hours, and, some nights, you'll be sleeping at your desk. I need a grown goddamn man, Mr. Weasley, one who doesn't make excuses. One who doesn't complain. One who rises to the occasion, no matter what."

"I will do my best-"

"No, not your best," the Minister interrupted. "My best, understand?"

"…I do," he swallowed thickly. "I won't let you down."

"I'll remember those words," she told him, pulling out a contract from her desk. "Take this to your father, have him read through it with you. Everything you need to know about your position is written here, including your hours and salary. You're dismissed."

Percy took the contract most carefully, holding it as if it were sacred. "Thank you for this opportunity, Minister."

"I'm putting a lot of faith in you, so don't disappoint me."

"I won't," he stood up, trying his hardest not to jump for joy. "I won't, I promise!"

---

Friday 9th July, 1994 (Madam Malkin's Robes – Evening)

The contract had been signed, and afterwards, Percy had had the privilege of witnessing his father at work. It was an eye-opening experience in many ways, but what stuck out the most was how different Arthur was in the office as opposed to home. His father ran a tight ship, he spoke his mind confidently and without compromise, but never was he authoritative or overly-critical. Those who worked under him respected him, and they gave him their best without him ever asking for it. Honestly, the entire day had left Percy inspired, and proud, to be Arthur Weasley's son, especially because his own misconceptions of his father had been thoroughly debunked. Everyone I spoke to seemed to harbour respect for my father, even those from different Departments and Offices. He even has the Minister's respect, which is no small feat. I always assumed he never climbed higher because of his lack of ambition, but now, I'm not so certain. Maybe, he really was held back by the Purebloods behind the scenes? And since they've been removed from the picture by Minister Bones, he's climbing once again?

"Percy, are you all right?" Arthur asked from behind him. "You seem… troubled."

"Father, are you certain about this?" Percy looked away from the mirror, straightening out the robes he was trying out. "I mean, can we really afford this many new-?"

"Don't worry about the money, son," Arthur stopped him, smiling like he used to. "If you're going to represent the Minister herself, you need to look your best."

"But-"

"My pay isn't what it used to be, okay?" his father whispered, winking. "A seat on the Wizengamot? It has its perks." Oh… That's-… I should've realised… "Don't tell your siblings, I don't want them getting any ideas. The twins, especially."

"I won't," Percy grinned, looking back at his reflection. "I don't know much about fashion, but these seem appropriate, don't they? Simple, but… I don't know… Respectable?"

"Simple and respectable is good," Arthur gave an approving nod. "You look capable and professional in those, son, like you have a good head on your shoulders. That's the impression you want to give, especially at your age." He's right. I need to be someone people are willing to rely on. It's no different from being Head-Boy. The more useful I make myself, the higher I'll climb. "Go ahead and change back, all right? I'll go to the front and pay Madam Malkin's. She's in for quite the surprise."

"Thank you, father, for all of this," Percy said gratefully. "I'm looking forward to working alongside you."

Arthur chuckled at his son's formal manner of speech, as he often did, patting Percy on the back before leaving to pay. The freshly-graduated wizard made his way back to the changing room, slipping out of his new robes and putting on his old ones, pausing when he felt the Gringotts Pouch inside the inner pocket. …Oh… I still have this, don't I? I was going to use it to buy new clothes, but father's already taken care of that. Still, I ought to hold onto it. I still need a place to live, after all.

Clearing his head, Percy headed to the front of the shop with his new robes in hand, being greeted by the owner of the famous store. "Those too, dear? Just put them on the counter." He did as he was bid, watching silently as the overly-friendly witch packed his dozen new outfits into a single Charmed bag. "Starting work soon, are you? Oh! You must be so excited! My nephew couldn't sit still for weeks when he got his apprenticeship!"

"He's definitely eager, this one," Arthur chuckled, while Percy remained motionless. "He's been raving about work since he was five-"

"Father, please," Percy said sternly, not fond of being teased near strangers.

"What a serious boy," Malkin chuckled, and Arthur joined her. Boy? "Well, best of luck to you! Work hard while you're young, so you can enjoy yourself when you're old!" …Right. "That's what me nan always used to say!"

"…Thanks," Percy said dully, taking the bag and following his father outside. "…I swear, some people are far too comfortable around strangers…"

"She has to be, son," Arthur stated, putting his hand on Percy's back and guiding him towards the Leaky Cauldron. "And, as a matter of fact, you'll have to be just as comfortable as her, if not more. I mean, working for the Minister herself? You'll be dealing with strangers constantly!" …Don't remind me. "Being friendly and approachable is a necessary skill to have, it lets-"

"I know how to be friendly and approachable, father. I was Head-boy, remember?"

"…I know, son." That didn't sound very convincing. "But you can never have enough practice when it comes to being sociable, and you can get that practice whenever you go into a shop or a tavern." Tavern? "Speaking of taverns… Let's go get a cold beer, huh? How's that sound?" A cold beer?

"You want to drink with me?" Percy asked, already uncertain of the idea.

"Why not? You're of age, now, aren't you? I took Bill and Charlie, too, when they got their jobs, just as my father took me! It's a Weasley tradition!"

"…Sure, then." It sounds like it means a lot to him, and he just helped me quite a bit, so I'd best indulge him. I don't want to appear ungrateful. "I don't really know much about drinking, though."

"What's there to know?" Arthur laughed. "Just pace yourself, and you'll be fine! Come on, we'll get something to eat, too."

---

A Few Beers Later

"You're doing surprisingly well, son," Arthur teased, studying at his son's rosy complexion. "You haven't done this before, have you? Snuck alcohol into Hogwarts to drink with your friends?" What friends?

"Of course not," Percy sat up straighter, almost burping as a result. "I uh… I've always condemned such behaviour, father. Hogwarts is… is a school. An institution of learning. It is not a place for such… reckless rule-breaking." No one understands that, though, especially not my brothers. "The faculty is too soft, honestly, and they let the troublemakers run rampant. If it were up to me, there would be curfews and edicts that are enforced with corporal punishment." I'd straighten the twins out within a few weeks, I bet, if only I were in charge. "One step out of line, and you're taught a lesson you'll never forget."

Arthur blinked, visibly taken aback by the confession. "…Really? We had corporal punishment back when I was at Hogwarts, and it didn't stop anyone from having a bit of fun." A bit of fun? Shagging in broom closets at fourteen? Drinking from flasks whilst in class? Bullying younger students for a kick? That's not the kind of fun I'd ever allow in a school. "You never got drunk with your Housemates? Really? No one ever snuck a bit of Firewhiskey into the Tower?"

"I never wanted to," Percy shrugged. "I had goals, father, which required my undivided attention. I had no time to be a buffoon."

"Well, I admire your… dedication," Arthur smiled strangely, taking another sip from his tankard. "You're very sensible for your age, I've always said so." Yeah… I am sensible, aren't I? I know what my priorities are, unlike most people. I always achieve my goals, no matter what.

Percy smiled at his father, glad for the support. "I am also sensible enough to realise that I can't have another one, father. I feel lightheaded, like I'm going to fall over. I don't want to upset mother by becoming an invalid."

Arthur reached forward and took Percy's tankard, placing it next to his own. "More for me, then!"

"Are you sure you can drink more?"

"Oh, son, believe me… This is nothing," Arthur smirked, downing his entire tankard in one go. "See? Your old man has the tolerance of a Troll."

"…Most impressive," Percy said blandly. Not exactly a thing to be proud of, is it?

"Before I take you home, and get an earful from Molly about the state of you, there's actually something important I wanted to discuss with you," Arthur said, his mood shifting far too suddenly for Percy's liking. Does he know about the Gringotts Pouch?

"Um… Sure… What is it?"

"Your mother tells me that you're looking for apartments in the paper," Arthur elaborated, giving his son an anxious feeling in his belly. Is this why he brought me here? To get me drunk before this conversation?

"I don't want to discuss this whilst I'm-"

"I'm not against the idea, son," Arthur said, surprising him. …What?

"Really? Because mother told Ginny-"

"Your mother tends to make up her mind before we've finished discussing matters," Arthur chuckled, having another sip. "I told her that I understand her feelings, and that I agree with some of her points, but I wanted to hear your thoughts before making any decisions. I know that, for young men, it's important to become independent as quickly as possible. I was the same, after all, as were your older brothers."

Percy gave a slow nod, trying his best to focus his inebriated mind. "I um… I just want to start my own life, father. I feel like you and mother still treat me like I'm a child."

"You are our child, Percy, and nothing will change that. However, you're also a man, now, and you're right, we don't always take that into consideration, but we will. Just… give us some time to adjust, okay? We thought we'd get used to it by the time it was your turn to leave the nest, but it never gets easier." He then leaned forward, whispering. "And with the Dark Lord regaining power… Your mother and I have good reason to worry about you." The Dark Lord… That's right, I almost forgot about him with everything going on in my life…

Percy shifted in his seat, the stories he'd heard throughout his life about the most vile, sadistic wizard in living memory terrorised him still. "…The Minister knows, right? About You-Know-Who?"

"She does, and the top-brass are already taking action," Arthur answered, leaning back. "Enough about that, though. This isn't the place to talk about such matters. I just want you to understand our position, too. We're not trying to run your life, but keeping you, and your siblings, safe is our responsibility. It will always be our responsibility. When you have children of your own, you'll be no different."

"So… I can't go, can I?" Percy asked, not hiding his disappointment. "I can't find my own place?" What a great surprise!

"I didn't say that," Arthur drew in a sharp breath. "If you want to do this, then you'll do this. I know you, Perce. You set your mind on a goal, and that's that. There's no reasoning with you, no debating… You become pig-headed… So, instead, I'll help you. Make sure you do this properly."

"Help me? How?" Percy asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I'll pull some strings, get you into the Ministry's Recently-Graduated Program," Arthur explained. What's that? "Basically, if you choose to work in the Ministry right after your graduation, they'll help you with things like accommodation. They'll find you a decent, safe place to live, and they'll even pay half the rent for a year or so. I don't know much about the program, it's rather new, but I'll ask around and get you into it. This way, you can save some money, as well as get some freedom."

Percy thought about the offer, and it was too tempting to refuse. "You can really get me in? Why haven't I heard of this program until now?"

"It's not exactly advertised to the public," Arthur sighed out. "Fudge pushed for it, but when the bill came, he got cold feet. He couldn't exactly go back on his word, so he had the program suppressed as best he could. Those of us who work in the Ministry use it to help out our children, who are also looking into becoming Ministry Officials."

"That… sounds like nepotism, father," Percy muttered, looking around them for any eavesdroppers. "You don't think that's wrong?"

Arthur nodded, not looking very proud, now. "…The Ministry isn't perfect, you've probably realised that by now, but we need it. Without it, you'd have people like your brother running around doing whatever they please… That entire business with the Centaurs… That would be a common occurrence, I can promise you that. Not to mention all the other forms of violence and criminality… A bit of corruption is better than a world constantly at war, isn't it?" …Hard to argue against that. Imagine if we had to fight to the death, like Ron did, just to get what we want. That's not the kind of world I'd want to live in. The Wizarding World is better off having left the Dark Ages behind.

"You said that he saved that Tribe," Percy remembered. "When we got home, you said that the Ministry couldn't have helped in that situation."

"I know," Arthur looked down at his current tankard, exhaling. "And, I stand by what I said, even though the whole thing disgusted me. It was just vile, all of it, but your brother loved every second of it. Did you see how happy he was during that fight? How lively? That twisted grin he was wearing the whole time? I know why he did what he did, I even understand that he saved lives by risking his own, but everything about that night makes me feel sick."

"Me too," Percy confessed, relieved that he wasn't alone in his feelings. "I tried to say it at the table, but Charlie and Kirsten ganged up on me. They were praising Ron for being so violent, so brutish, and I wanted to… clock them both in the face! We're not savages, not anymore, and we should be proud of that. 'Strength respects strength'… What sort of drivel is that? That Centaur Chief should be in Azkaban, as well as her goons. And Ron… Ron needs to get help… I don't know what kind, but he needs it…" Wasn't he seeing Madam Pomfrey? What happened to that? Why can't she just do her job?

They sat in silence for a few moments, both of them recalling the fight as if it happened just an hour ago. "…Give me some time to get you into the program, son. It won't take long, okay? Until then, just make your mother happy and stay with us. I'll talk to her, sort everything out for you. Can you do that for me?"

"…Yes, I can do that," Percy agreed, the Gringotts Pouch feeling heavier and heavier in his pocket. If father comes through for me, then I won't need it, right? I mean, why take the risk if it isn't necessary?

"One more thing before we go," Arthur said, finishing off the beer. "If the Minister tries to get information on Ron from you, don't say anything. Got it?"

"…What?"

"They have an uneasy alliance, Percy, and she's tried to get me to spy on him for her," Arthur continued. "You don't want to get in the middle of it all, trust me. It'll sink your career." Sink my career?! "If she asks, tell her that Ron doesn't share anything with you. Don't let her put you in a compromising position, okay? You're there to work, to live life the honest way, and that's that."

"Would she really do that?" Percy asked in disbelief. "I didn't get that impression from her."

"I just told you that she tried it with me, didn't I?" Arthur countered. "You only just met her, so don't make the mistake of thinking that you know her. I agree with a lot of things she's doing to reform the Ministry, but she can be devious when she needs to be. And Ron… Well, your brother does whatever he wants, and he doesn't care about concepts like rules and laws. He's incredibly selfish, in that regard, because he puts his family at risk without even thinking of them. I don't want you to get mixed up in his scandals, okay? You're a good, honest boy, Percy, you always were. Don't lose sight of that just to sate your ambitions. Don't turn out like your brother. Your mother and I… We wouldn't be able to bear it…" Lost for words, all Percy could do was to give a weak nod in response. "C'mon, then, let's get you home. Don't forget the bag." Could associating with Ron really damage my career? Everything I've worked so hard to achieve? It's not impossible, certainly… Guilt by association is a very real thing, isn't it? Why didn't I think of any of this before? Wait… Is this why the Minister hired me in the first place?! Just so she could ask me to spy on him?! What the fuck?! …No… No, I refuse to believe that… I got in because of my hard-work, my dedication, not because I'm Ron's brother… I resent the very idea, so it can't be true… It can't be…

---

Daphne Greengrass' POV

Saturday 10th July, 1994 (Hafren Forest – Morning)

"Thanks for bringing me back," Daphne said as they entered the camp, noticing that it looked exactly the same as before the fight. Like it never even happened. I wonder where Argenope and her people are. Did they leave? Probably.

"You sure you're ready to be back here?" London asked, shooting her a concerned look. "You didn't look so good after the fight, princess."

"I was just in shock, that's all," Daphne said softly, she'd spent the entire week living in her head, and it was past time that she returned to the world. "I mean, I've seen Duels before, but this was… different."

"I get it," London slowed down, walking beside her, now. "Sometimes, you've just got to stop and think, right?"

"Yes."

"So, what did you think about?" London asked, and Daphne drew in a sharp breath. About how violence ended up being the answer, and how much I wish that things could be different. Am I really cut out for this sort of life? Is this the road I want to travel on? I can't do what Ron does, no one can, so why even try? Why not become a Healer, instead? "Princess? You okay?"

"Do you think the Centaurs are savages?" Daphne asked, surprising London.

"What? Where'd that come from?"

"Their laws, their customs, their punishments… Their lives are so full of violence and brutality, and they seem proud of that… So eager to hold onto such outdated ideas… Don't you think that's absurd? Uncivilised, even?" Percy believes they're little more than animals for thinking the way they do, and I'm not sure where I stand, anymore.

"Like we're so civilised, huh?" London smirked. "Your father is civilised? Murdering children and destroying homes just to make a profit? Is your mother so civilised, when she deliberately ignores the evil she sees because life's more convenient that way? Am I civilised? Threatening to murder you because you grew up rich? Is the Ministry civilised in their treatment of Goblins, Elves, Centaurs, and what-have-you? The world isn't as civilised as we think it is, Daphne. We're all just animals looking for meaning in our lives. If I were you, I'd focus more on what you want out of your life, rather than worrying about who is, or isn't, civilised."

Daphne nodded weakly, thinking the mercenary's words through. "…I want to help people, to remove the stain of dishonour from my family's name, but I can't do the things Ron does… If I'd gone up against Argenope, I'd be dead right now."

"Who cares about what the boss can do?" London asked swiftly. "You're not him, and he's not you. Do things your way, princess. You don't need to follow in a man's footsteps, no woman does. Your life is your own, so make your own choices. It's really just that simple." That's… a good point. There's more than one way to skin a cat, right? "What? You think the boss is trying to mimic someone? No… He does what pleases him, and that's that. I don't see why it needs to be different for you."

Daphne nodded, again, more assured than the last time. "What happened after we left? Did Argenope leave? Was there any trouble?"

"She left, yeah, but only for a bit," London replied, looking into the distance. "She um… She's moved her Tribe close to this camp-"

"What?! Why?!" Daphne asked, panic shooting through her. "I thought it was over!"

"Relax, all right? She hasn't caused any trouble," London clicked her tongue. "Actually, she's done the opposite. She's been sharing her people's food, and she's been taking care of the Chief herself." …What? No way… "Oh, and she's accepted those kids Jon saved into her Tribe, already, as well as the adults."

"That's great news," Daphne sighed in relief, smiling for the first time in days. "She stayed true to her word, after all."

"Pretty civilised of her, don't you think?" London teased, causing Daphne's smile to grow. "Every now and then, some of her people come here to spend time with their sick friends and family. Everyone is finding peace, at last, even if it came so late."

Daphne felt all the tension leave her body, as if a mountain had been lifted from her shoulders. He really did it, then. "Ron must be very pleased with this outcome."

"If he is, he doesn't show it," London shrugged. "When I told him, he couldn't have cared less. He's already focusing on his next 'project'." …Of course. He doesn't stop, does he? There's always more work to be done. "Still, he did a great thing here, and even if he doesn't care, I do. For the first time in a very long time, I'm actually proud of myself when I wake up in the morning. Who knew that would happen, huh?"

"You should be proud," Daphne commended. "I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I know that, without you, Ron couldn't have pulled this off. You did really good work here."

"Aw, thanks, princess!" London grinned, putting an arm around Daphne's shoulders. "I'm glad someone here understands my importance! Logistics is nothing to scoff at!" As they neared the centre of the camp, a strange monument caught Daphne's attention, making her stop in her tracks. What's that?! "Princess?"

Daphne stared at the monument, it was a collection of scythes, spears, bows, arrows, and shields, planted into the Earth in a circular pattern, and at the heart of it all was the monstrous war-hammer Ron had used to shatter Argenope's will. …This is where the Barkashtra took place, isn't it?

"Who made this?" Daphne asked, unable to look away.

"Oh, that? Yeah, Argenope's people did," London explained, removing her arm from Daphne's shoulders. "It's a Centaur custom, actually. Wherever history is made, or a great battle is fought, they mark it with the weapons of the defeated. This 'shrine', if that's what you can call it, is dedicated to the boss. To his great victory. From what I've heard, it was Argenope's idea. No one is allowed to touch it, not for any reason. It's to become a part of the world's memory, or something."

"I… don't know what to say," Daphne muttered, wondering if she should add to it since she doubted Ron's plan. "What do they think of Ron? Argenope's people, I mean?"

"No idea, they're not exactly easy to talk to," London answered. "But, I reckon, they respect him. I mean, why else would they mark his victory, right? Against their own Chief, no less? He's given them a chance to say proper farewells to their kin. Something like that can't be ignored."

Once again, the image of Ron glaring at her after the battle invaded her mind, but this time, she didn't feel half as frightened. Instead, she felt drawn to the strength he had displayed, the bravery and the nobility, in the face of such terrible danger. As Mr. Weasley said, he saved them. He fought for them, he endured suffering for them, and he never asked for a thing in return. What did I do during that entire time? I doubted his abilities, I worried about what I would lose if Ron failed, and before that, I mindlessly protected the one person who caused this entire nightmare. Some part of me never lost hope that father would play a role in this Tribe's salvation, but now, I understand that it was just my naïve dream. I wanted him to keep trying, to make peace with Ron even in the face of countless insults, but that's not him, is it? The moment Chief Zotair forgave him, my 'Lord Father' put this entire mess out of his mind and moved on with his life. Ron was right about him… He wasn't sorry for his crimes; he was just sorry that he got caught.

Daphne scowled in disgust, what sort of coward had reared her, exactly?

"I need to speak to Chief Zotair," she said strongly, knowing that his wisdom would help guide her towards the path she was desperately searching for. "Is he awake?"

"Should be, yeah," London nodded. "You know the way, right? I've got some things to take care of in Diagon Alley."

"For Ron?"

London merely smirked in response, before leaving Daphne on her own. She made her way through the camp, and just as London had said, she spotted a few Centaurs who weren't sick walking alongside those who were, adding another dimension to the tragedy this Tribe had been subjected to. How many families were broken because of this sickness? How many children were separated from their parents? Or, vice versa? I mean, whenever I think of Tori's Curse, or Ron's growing illnesses, I feel like I can't breathe, because even the idea of them being gone is too much for me. It's one thing to see such horrors, but it's entirely another to live them. London's right, we wizards and witches are savages too, only we pretend to be otherwise. We're worse than savages. We're hypocrites. We think we're better than everyone, when the truth is that we simply hate anyone who isn't like us.

Daphne entered the yurt with as much confidence as she could muster, only to lose it all when she saw Argenope towering over a boiling cauldron. The old Chief locked eyes with the young witch, before her expression turned dark. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit-…!

"The Greengrass girl," Argenope whispered dangerously, causing Daphne's blood to turn ice-cold. "You walk into a Chief's yurt uninvited? Are you bold? Or, does your father's arrogance course through your veins?"

"I um…" Daphne felt her throat tighten, her body seizing up from fear. "I… didn't mean any-"

"Leave her be, mother," Chief Zotair groaned, resting on his side. "She is nothing like her father, and she is welcome within my home. Come, Gold-Hair, I have missed your company."

Daphne looked between the two Chiefs, before reluctantly making her decision. "…Thank you for the invitation, Chief Zotair." Argenope scoffed, watching the young Slytherin like a hawk as she made her way to the sickly Chief's side, taking a seat on her knees with her head held high. "How are you faring, today?"

"…Every breath is a battle hard-won," Chief Zotair wheezed, his eyes closed behind the iron-mask. "…Not much longer, now, I hope… Not much longer…" I feared as much.

Daphne deflated a little, just the sight of him struggling for air broke her heart. "It wasn't my intention to disturb your rest. I can come back later, if that's-"

"No, please, stay," the scabbed Centaur whispered. "You have need of me, I know, and I wish to meet that need before my time comes." Guilt, mixed with sadness, was a terrible cocktail to drink, but drink it she did. "Do not feel ashamed, child, I do this because I wish to, not because I feel compelled to. Your future is of great interest to me."

"What of the future of our children, Zotair?" Argenope asked, not bothering to look back. "Does her father care as you do?"

"I am not her father, for I have four legs instead of two," Chief Zotair countered, his tone almost impish. "Don't you see, mother? This girl sees what her father does not. Her veil has been lifted. She is not guilty of his sins, but she may yet unmake them." I hope so… I really do.

The older Chief looked back at Daphne, peering into her eyes for several seconds, before frowning to herself and looking back to the cauldron. "…The stew must rest. I will return within the hour." …Okay, then… That was weird…

Argenope marched out of the yurt, leaving a dreadful silence in her wake. Gods, she's frightening… That white hair and coat, with those black eyes… Somehow, she's scarier in daylight-…

"When there is too much anger within a soul, it lashes out in all directions," Chief Zotair broke the silence. "Forgive her, Gold-Hair, old wounds have been torn open once again."

"I'm surprised to see her here," Daphne admitted. "In your yurt, that is. She's really taking care of you? Why?"

"Why? She adopted me, did she not? I am her son."

"…But she abandoned you…"

"Yes, and until recently, I failed to fully grasp her intentions," Chief Zotair confessed. "I was blinded by my own ideals, my own righteousness, but no longer. Life is too short for grudges, too short for contempt. I wish to be in harmony with her before I begin the next journey of my life. It will bring us both peace." He must have the largest heart in Magical Britain, aside from Ron.

"Then, I'm glad she stayed," Daphne managed a smile, already feeling more at ease due to his presence and voice. "It's easy to see that she cares for you, despite all that's happened."

"She loved my father, and he loved her, but the stars revealed that she would die childless, so my father chose my mother as his mate," he told her, sombre and distant. "Knowledge can be a terrible burden, for it can make decisions for us before we are ready to endure the consequences. It is a burden my people know all too well, and yet, we have never been able to confront it. We are slaves to it."

"Why, then? Why read the stars, at all?" Daphne asked, confused but curious.

"At first, it was for guidance, but then, it was for survival," he replied, barely audible. "Before man took up the wand, only Goblin-Kind could challenge us. They hid themselves away inside their mountains and their hills, that's where their power came from, so my people looked up to the open sky, and it became the source of our power. What fools we all were… We all failed to see what was happening right in front of us, above ground and below sky. Desperation drove Wizarding-Kind to the Fae, who, in their endless mercy, shared their secrets to a dying people. All of our fates were sealed on that day, I believe, until now." Until now? What's changed?

"What do you mean by 'until now'?" Daphne asked, her brow creased.

"The future has been unwritten, the stars have had their eyes plucked out," Chief Zotair raved, his voice fading. "…Night reshapes the coming day…" That sounds rather ominous, doesn't it? What's he on about?

Daphne stared with a dumbfounded expression, utterly lost. "Chief Zotair? Should I call for a Healer?"

"No, I simply have too much on my mind," he answered, groaning as he tried to sit up, only to fall back onto his side. "Too many thoughts, too many doubts. It's becoming harder and harder to focus."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Daphne asked. "A Calming Draught can aid in easing-"

"No, my mind must remain free, so I can witness my death," Chief Zotair rasped, rattling her even further. "It has stalked me from the shadows for too long, but finally, I will glimpse its face. We will meet as friends, traveling companions, equals… Friends, even. Old friends." She didn't know what to say, but it was impossible to hide her sorrow. …This is awful… His mind is completely scattered, now… He's just jumping from thought to thought. What am I doing here? Burdening him further for my own gain? How selfish… "Spring, be warned… This winter… It might threaten to never end, and if it does, you must end it… You, and others like you, are the future, not him… It cannot be him…" …the fuck?

"I don't understand," Daphne leaned closer, alarmed. "Are you talking about Ron? You called him 'The Winter' before… Are you telling me that I'll have to stop him? Why? Ron saved your people, Chief Zotair, at great personal risk! He's a hero to hundreds, and an inspiration to thousands! Why would you say something like this? And who are these 'others' you mentioned?"

"…Winter follows its own will; it cares nothing for ours… It is essential, but dangerous… It cannot last forever… Death must give way to life, that is the will of Father Wood…" Father Wood? Does he mean Mother Nature? Merlin, what are we even talking about?! "Your path is hidden from my sight, so do what we did not… Observe what is in front of you, not above or below. You will never get lost if you know where your feet are leading you." Observe what's in front of me? Okay, I can do that. "Don't be afraid of destiny, Gold-Hair, it calls upon us all, eventually."

"…I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me, but if it is what I think it is, then… I don't know… Ron is my friend… No, he's more than that… He's as dear to me as my own heart… And he's sick… He won't live for much longer, and he's using what little time he has left to help people like you. I'm sorry, but you've misjudged him, Chief Zotair. People like my father… They're the winter, cold and ruthless, not Ron… He's not like that, not where it really counts." The Centaur did not respond, lying motionless on his side. "Chief Zotair?"

She observed his chest slowly rising and falling, his breathing even more laboured due to their conversation. He fell asleep, or rather, fell unconscious. Damn… I should go and alert someone, just in case. Still reeling from his words, Daphne got up and left the yurt in a stupor, wondering why someone as wise as Chief Zotair would bite the hand that fed him. Does he see something I don't? Or, is it the other way around? I've known Ron for far longer, I've seen sides of him that no one else has, so I know he's not 'The Winter'. Sure, he has his faults, but who doesn't?

She spotted Argenope standing before the monument of weapons, staring at them with a conflicted expression. I should probably avoid her, but she's looking after him, so… Here I go…

"Chief Zotair fell asleep during our conversation, Chief Argenope," Daphne made her presence known, struggling to maintain her composure whilst standing so close to the giant Centaur. "He um… He was delirious, I think, said a lot of things that made-"

"Why do you come here?" Argenope interrupted, turning to face her. "Do you believe you can change the past with your meagre efforts?"

Daphne stared up at the Centaur's grim face, finding it difficult to match her deadly gaze. "…No one can change the past, and blaming me for my father's actions reflects poorly on you." I'm no doormat, okay? No matter how scary you are.

Argenope leaned down, her jaw clenching intimidatingly. "If I had not given the Phantom my word, witch, you would have died for taking such a tone with me." Circe have mercy, she really means-… "I should have killed your father the day I set eyes on him. I knew what his arrival meant for our people, but my respect for my Chief dulled my spear. I will never make that mistake, again. You warn him, girl, that his death is seeking him out, wherever he may be."

"Killing my father won't help you, or your people, and you know that," Daphne lowered her gaze, almost whispering. "And it is not my duty to warn him, I understand that, now. He made his decisions, and they are just that… His decisions, not mine. Whatever fate he meets, it'll be one of his own making."

"Then, I would have you deliver another message for me," Argenope instructed, pressing her finger against Daphne's forehead and raising her head. "The Phantom… Fire-Hair… Ronald Weasley… Bring him to me."

"Why?" Daphne asked immediately, suspicious.

"I wish to speak with him, this time with my words rather than my spear." I'm not sure I believe you. You tried to kill him only a few days ago. "He is important to you, isn't he? That look in your eye… That's a fierce look for such a small witch. Be assured, I will not harm a hair on his-"

"You couldn't even if you wanted to," Daphne cut in defiantly. "This very monument is proof of my words." He had you running scared, we both know it!

Surprisingly, Argenope smirked a little, seemingly impressed. "Then, you have nothing to fear, witch. Bring him to me."

With that, Argenope walked past Daphne, heading towards Chief Zotair's yurt. If she's asking me, then that means she's already been denied by London. What could she possibly want to discuss with Ron? He's a wizard, isn't he? That alone makes him her enemy, right? She turned her attention towards the monument, remembering that it was Argenope herself who had ordered its construction. …I don't get her… I don't get Chief Zotair, as well… Our people are just so different, but that's an obstacle I need to overcome. Centaurs, Goblins, all of them… I have to educate myself past what my parents, and Hogwarts, taught me. I have to be better, so I can walk a path I can be proud of. My path, not someone else's. Not my father's, not my mother's, and certainly not Ron's. I'm not them, nor can I do what they can do, and there is no shame in that. I just have to find my own strengths, and build my destiny with them.

Daphne reached for her gold tennis-bracelet, undoing the clasp before carefully making her way over to the embedded war-hammer. For my doubts, Ron. I'm sorry. You walked your path, and you did it without second-guessing yourself. I finally understand your words, I think. She wrapped the head of the war-hammer with the jewellery, before doing the clasp to make sure it held. I was here too, and I did my small part as best I could. I didn't fight, but I healed the sick. I didn't shed blood, but I bandaged bleeding sores. I was ignorant, but I learned.

---

Percy Weasley's POV

Saturday 10th July, 1994 (The Burrow – Late Evening)

He paced the length of his room, holding the Gringotts Pouch in his clenched fist. He'd woken up this morning with a letter from Ron on his side-table, no doubt delivered by the mysterious Elf, inviting Percy out to dinner to celebrate his new achievement. At first, he was glad to hear from his younger brother, but soon enough, he realised that he wanted nothing more than to reject the invitation. Then, why am I hesitating? Associating with Ron out in the open, right before I start working for the Minister, is nothing short of foolishness. Surely, he understands that, right? Then, why invite me? What's he bloody thinking?! And what makes him think I'd want to see him after that Centaur fiasco?! He's mad! He breaks Magical Law on a whim almost every day, and thinks we should just ignore that?! What if the Minister finds out that I was there at that filthy camp?! That I knew of Ron's law-breaking, and did nothing to report it?!

"…Damn him," Percy hissed, stomping out of his room and charging down the stairs. He said he'd meet me in The Leaky Cauldron, right? I'll go there, tell him that we can't associate with each other out in the streets, and then, I'll give him back this pouch. I don't need it, anymore, and it's dangerous to keep it.

As he prepared the floo, he was disrupted by his mother, who'd followed him from the kitchen. "Where are you going, young man? The sun has already set!"

"There's something I need to do," Percy answered, unable to mask his agitation. "I'll be back in five minutes, I promise."

His mother stared at him, the state of him worrying her. "Percy, what's the matter? You're as red as a tomato-"

"Can't I have some privacy?" Percy demanded, why was she so damn nosey? "Why do you feel the need to hound everyone in this house?!"

His mother's expression turned from worried to vexed in an instant, her grip on her wooden spoon tightening. "Do you want to try, again? I am your mother, and you don't speak to me in that tone. Not in my house." Yeah, well, I won't be here for much longer, thank the Gods.

"…Five minutes," Percy repeated, keeping his tone in check this time. "I'll be right back, I promise."

Molly said nothing in response, grimacing at him before returning to her duties. Brilliant, she's going to tell father, who's going to have a go at me after dinner. And we were finally getting along, again, to boot.

"…The Leaky Cauldron," Percy sighed out, tossing the floo-powder into the fire.

The flames roared to life, and Percy stepped through them and into the famous tavern. Okay, he should be here somewhere. Shouldn't be hard to spot him, he'll be the only one in a suit. Ron spotted him before he could spot Ron, the Slytherin rushing over to greet his older brother. His injuries are all healed up. That's good.

"Bloody hell, Perce, where were you?" Ron smiled brightly, sounding more relieved than upset. "I've been waiting here for nearly an hour." Percy averted his gaze a little, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his gut. "The Pond won't let us in, now, we missed our reservation. Let's eat here, instead, eh? Tom was kind enough to keep me compa-"

"Can we talk? Away from the fireplace?" Percy interrupted, deciding to stick with his decision. I've worked too hard for this, and I'm not going to risk it all this late in the game. He knows where I live, he can come see me at home whenever he wants.

"…Sure," Ron led the way, shooting a curious look back along the way. "Are you all right? You seem out of sorts. Oh, you must be nervous about the job, right? Don't worry so much, big brother, you'll do great! She's lucky to have you!" I know that, and I'd like to keep it that way. "Why aren't you saying anything? You're making me nervous, now."

"I um…" Percy stopped, inhaling deeply. "Ron, father pointed out that you and the Minister… You two don't have a good relationship, do you?"

"What?" Ron chuckled, confused. "Um… Sure, I guess, but that's only because we have some very differing opinions. We're on the same side, though, and I'm sure she knows that." Does she? She's asking your family to spy on you! "What's wrong? You're being very cagey."

Percy reached into his robes, pulling out the Gringotts Pouch. "Here, take it back. I can't use the gold in here."

"…What?" the younger Weasley was visibly taken aback, losing all his mirth.

"You stole it, Ron, and if I use it, I open myself up to potential criminal charges," Percy said strongly, steeling himself. "I can't break Magical Law as readily as you do, not without losing everything."

Ron blinked, before looking down at the extended pouch. "…Where is this coming from? You didn't have a problem with it before."

"My situation has changed, hasn't it?" Percy asked in response, as if it were obvious. "I'm a Ministry Official, now, and that comes with responsibilities. If I don't uphold Magical Law, then why should anyone else?"

"It's for emergencies-"

"Like what? No, Ron, that's just a justification, and a poor one at that," Percy scolded. "The truth is that you don't respect the Ministry, or anything, as a matter of fact… You just do whatever you want, and you get away with it because you're famous. I don't have that privilege. I can't work for the Minister, and ignore your anti-Ministry rhetoric. It doesn't work that way. It could cost me my whole career! Imagine if the Minister found out that I knew about your 'dealings' with the Centaurs?! She'd toss me in Azkaban, in a cell right next to yours!"

"…What the fuck? Perce… I've supported you all the way…" Ron muttered pathetically, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "I got your foot in the door, for fuck's sa-"

"No, I did that, when I spent every waking moment excelling in my education," Percy felt his temper spike. "Don't try and take that from me, all right? You've no idea how hard I've worked for this opportunity." Drawing in a sharp breath, he grabbed Ron's gloved hand and placed the pouch in it. "I'm sorry, but you have to understand why I can't use this. The risk is too great. And…" he trailed off, but Ron just stared at him, waiting for him to finish. "Ron, the Minister asked father to spy on you for her… She's worried that you could hurt her Ministership with your irresponsible behaviour… So, I think, it's probably for the best that we don't associate in public… I don't want to get in the middle of you two, not when I'm the only one who stands to lose something…"

"…Right," Ron's pale eyes had hardened, now, and his expression was entirely indifferent. "I understand."

"You do?" Percy asked, letting out a sigh of relief. "I'm not saying we can't spend time together, but it has to be away from the public's eye. People love to gossip, Ron, you know that, right? I don't want her thinking I'm spying on her, and I don't want you thinking I'm spying on you. I want to stay neutral. You're my brother, she's my boss, that's it. That's all I want."

"I see where you're coming from," Ron said softly, gazing deeply into Percy's eyes. "Why risk it, right? After all your hard work? Seems foolish."

"You've no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," he smiled, feeling as though a terrible burden had been lifted. "I was worried that you'd think I was picking her over you, but I always underestimate you… You get it." Thank Merlin, because the last thing I want is to hurt him. I'm glad we got this sorted out. "Mother's making a beef stew for dinner, why don't you come home with me? Spend a few hours with all of us? Ginny's been dying to see you, again. It's always 'Ron this' and 'Ron that' with her."

"I have a meeting with some business associates," Ron stated, his eyes unblinking. "Some other time, eh? I can't stand these people up."

"Right, I don't want to know," Percy raised his hands, his smile growing. "If I don't know, she can't ask me about it, can she? Let's keep it that way." Being neutral is the right stance to take. I made the right decision, in the end, like always.

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Saturday 10th July, 1994 (The Leaky Cauldron – Late Evening)

In his experience, there were two sorts of pain… Pain that made you strong, being useful to the bearer, and pain that was merely suffering, being useless to all… Right now, as he watched his older brother return home via floo, Ron felt the latter ravaging his heart. To think I healed the pain that was making me stronger for this night, just so he wouldn't worry about me. To think that I pounded my broken chest with pride when I found out he achieved his dream, at long last. Ron sneered the moment Percy was gone, his gloved hand crushing the pouch as his blood began to boil. Disloyal, four-eyed faggot! I'll remember this, be certain of that! No wonder the Hat wanted to place him in Slytherin! More ambitious than he is brave! More ambitious than he is wise! More ambitious than he is loyal! What a cretin! The moment he no longer needs me, the moment he thinks I might be a liability, he cuts me loose! His own brother… The one brother who loved, and respected, him… The one brother who always defended him… I've given up everything for this? My family… My fucking useless, lowly family… My family that despises me, envies me, and disrespects me, at every turn…

Ron drew in a deep breath, using Occlumency to close his mind to the needless suffering, and with it, numbing his broken heart. …Let it go. Just let it go, before it's too late. You know what happens when you don't, and you promised the Headmaster you'd steer clear of that road. He squeezed his right forearm, his eldritch wounds sending useful pain up his arm and into his brain. He winced, but squeezed tighter and tighter, until there were tears in his eyes. …Better… That's better… Focus on this… What was he supposed to do, now? There was no other meeting, he'd reserved this night for Percy alone, and now, there was no objective. …What a waste… Maybe, I should figure out what to do with this pouch? A thousand Galleons… Can't just toss it away, and I can't go to Gringotts this late, either.

His eyes travelled towards Tom, who was busy pouring a dull-eyed witch a pint of beer. What he and I were discussing before Percy showed up… The free meals he's been offering to those who need them. He said he had to stop because he could no longer afford it, didn't he? Ron looked back to the pouch, his wet eyes glazing over. …Why not? Gornuk has assured me that it's safe to use, and it was always meant to help someone, wasn't it? Now, it can help many. It can still serve its purpose, even if it's unwanted.

He strode over to the counter, taking a seat and waiting for Tom to notice him. "Back again, lad? I thought your brother finally showed up!"

"…Here," Ron managed, his throat feeling too tight for his liking. Get it together! Be a man!

"What's this?" Tom asked, not taking the pouch. "Is that a pouch from Gringotts? Doesn't look like mine, but I see their mark on it."

"You wanted to feed the homeless, right? But could no longer afford it? Take this, then," Ron placed the pouch on the counter, moving off the seat. "There's a thousand Galleons in there. Use them for your good work."

"A… thousand Galleons?" Tom mumbled, going wide-eyed. "Lad, pick that up! I'm not accepting that! It's… mental! Go on, before someone else-!"

"Don't tell anyone where you got the money, just do what you do," Ron peered into the man's eyes, seeing compassion behind the shock. "You're one of the good ones, Tom, and you've always been kind to me. Thank you."

With that, he began making his way towards the exit, a dark plan forming in his mind with each step. Should've never healed my injuries with Marty's help. Instead, I should've used them to practice that Healing Spell from China. So short-sighted of-… He was suddenly stopped when someone took him by his left arm, Tom's concerned face popping into view. Did he chase me down? Why?

"Lad, you all right? Something about the look in your eyes caused my bollocks to shrink," Tom said, looking him over. "Why don't you come and sit, huh? I'll make you something to eat. Whatever you want, on the house. C'mon, let's go."

Ron remained rooted in place, however, putting on a false smile. "Tom, I have a meeting with Lord Fawley. If I don't show up, he'll take great offence."

"I'm not sure I buy that, lad, because you're meant to be with your brother, as you told me yourself half-an-hour ago," Tom continued looking into his eyes, his brow creasing more and more. "…Just tell me what happened, okay? We'll sort it out." What happened? I've always put my faith in the wrong people, that's what happened. Maybe, though, it's your entire species that's wrong, and not me. Maybe, I should just kill all of you, rid the Universe of your filth. I could start right now, slaughter you mouth-breathers and just keep going until the Headmaster shows up to put me down.

He broke off his gaze, feeling ashamed because of his vicious, and unwarranted, thoughts. Tom's a good person, and there's so many more like him. What the fuck am I thinking? I'm letting my anger cloud my judgement, again. I need something else to focus on, something else to feel. My mind was so clear until now, so dedicated to my mission. I need that clarity back.

"Use that gold, yeah?" Ron pulled his arm free. "If you pocket it, I'll find out."

"Lad, I wasn't expecting something like-"

"I know that, but what you were doing meant a lot to me," Ron said reassuringly. "Knockturn Alley is far from rebuilt, and people need to eat. Please, this is important to me, just as it's important to you. Plus, the goodwill will only benefit the Cauldron, eh? I'll see you around."

He left before he could be stopped, stepping into the dusk with haste. Eyes peeled, old boy. Need a tall building, but not so tall that I die from the fall. It took him nearly thirty minutes to find a building that suited his needs, one that was two stories high and had an abandoned back alley. Once he was completely certain that he wouldn't be disturbed, he pulled out his wands and placed them on the cobblestoned ground, not wanting to shatter them under his weight. Cutis Terra! With monstrous strength, he leaped into the darkening sky, easily grabbing onto the edge of the roof and yanking himself up. All right, everything is in place. Now, I just need to make sure that I land the same way I did during the Barkashtra. This building isn't as high, of course, but the cobblestones will make up for that. Steady, now, don't fuck it-…

"What are you doing?!" his own voice rang out from behind him, his past-self not hiding his panic. "Oi! OI! What the fuck are you doing?! Ron! Stop! STOP, YOU MAD FUCK! STOP THIS! THE FUCKING CYCLE! STOP!"

He maintained Cutis Terra as he peered over the edge, leaning forward more and more until he was falling, the wind battering him before the ground swiftly rose up to meet him. Indescribable agony blazed through his body, but he could not scream because his lungs were left devoid of air upon impact. Instead, he just flopped about on the grimy, damp stones, his limbs twitching grotesquely as his mind began slipping from him. …Marty… I need… you…

There was a loud crack, followed by distorted screaming as someone threw themselves onto his back, clutching onto his dirtied suit for dear life.

"…Don't… heal… me…" Ron croaked, warm blood pooling around his head. "I… need this… Deserve this… Get the wands… Take me… home…"

---

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Granite, please, meet face!