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Author: Aibhinn Story: Heal The Pain Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 9 Words: 198,021
A/N: The beginning of this chapter is rated R for mild adult content. Harry Potter propped himself up on an elbow and looked down into the sleeping face of the woman he loved. The treehouse swayed gently in the morning breeze, which smelled fresh and green. The storm had blown itself out sometime during the night, while they had slept wrapped in each other's arms, covered in Ginny's Summoned bedclothes and resting on a Cushioning Charm that kept them off the hard floorboards. He reached up and gently swept a strand of hair out of Ginny's face. Their lovemaking had been passionate, breathtaking, as though they had been trying to block out the pain and sorrow of the past few months. He should have felt drained after so little sleep; instead, he felt strangely content, as if Ginny's touch had somehow healed some of the raw, unseen wounds the Last Battle had left on him. His side throbbed painfully, but he didn't care. All that mattered to him now was that he had Ginny here, safe and warm and his once again. She shifted slightly, turning onto her back, and he ran his eyes down the length of her quilt-covered body, stopping at her flat stomach. His heart twinged, and he reached out a hand as though to touch her, but held back at the last moment, not wanting to awaken her. Her revelation of the night before still shook him, all the more so now that he'd had a chance to think about it. A baby. His baby. And it had never had a chance at life because Voldemort had risen again, greater and more terrible than ever before. If Ginny hadn't done what she'd done, the whole wizarding world would now be in his power. And Ginny would be dead, alongside Sirius, and Dumbledore, and Hagrid… He gave in to his desire to touch her and let his hand rest on her abdomen, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her soft breaths. For a moment, one brief moment, he closed his eyes and let himself imagine what his life might be like now if the Battle had not taken place. Ginny would be—he counted silently—about four months pregnant. We'd be planning for the baby—choosing names—probably panicking more than a little, trying to figure a way for Ginny to finish school—almost certainly married as soon as we could— His eyes sprang open again. Married to Ginny. The idea had never been spoken aloud by either of them. But ever since last September, when he'd had his first and only Vision, he had known that it would happen. He'd Seen it; it had been an accepted part of his plans for the future. It still was, come to that—their marriage, and the little, black-haired infant he had Seen in his Vision as well. He couldn't imagine any other outcome. But Visions don't always come true, he reminded himself, stroking his thumb across the quilt, over her flat stomach. Things change. For better or worse, things change. All he had ever wanted was a normal life, a normal family. All he had ever wished for was to love and be loved. The night before, he had been too concerned over Ginny's own fears and well-being to truly consider what it was she was telling him. Now the realisation came crashing down on him. I was almost a father, he thought, his stomach lurching and a feeling of awe beginning to form. A father! We almost had a child! But then the enormous reality struck, and the awe fled, replaced by the bitter anger he was far too familiar with. And Voldemort took that from us, just like he took everything else. Ginny made a small sound of protest and shifted again. Harry noticed that his hand had tightened on the bedclothes, pressing down on her. He consciously relaxed his muscles and she settled down, rolling slightly onto her side away from him, presenting him with an appealing view of her naked back. Sliding out from under the covers, he slipped his boxers on and moved silently to stand at the window, looking out into the first streaks of dawn on the eastern horizon. I—we—almost had a child. I was almost a dad. And if it hadn't been for Ginny's Vision yesterday, the Death Eaters could have taken someone else I care about. Harry leaned against the windowsill, fingers gripping the rough wood, shoulders tensed. He wanted desperately to hit something. No, not something, someone. Preferably someone in a black Death Eater cowl. Those bastards! Why can't they just leave us the hell alone? His hands tightened on the sill. My parents. Ginny and that damned diary. Sirius in Azkaban. Bertha Jorkins. Cedric. Barty Crouch. The Battle, where they killed a lot of people whose shoes they aren't fit to lick. Remus, kidnapped and tortured. Children dead in the streets. And then the baby. Our baby. And the goddamned bastards are after the Weasleys now, too! A sharp pain pierced his hand, and he looked down, raising his hand to see what had happened. He had been gripping the unfinished wood so hard that a splinter had dug into the centre of his left palm. He closed his fist over it, squeezing tightly, almost enjoying the pain. It was something to focus on besides the consuming fury. He stood there in the chill morning air, letting the pain radiate through his palm, trying to slow his heart rate and calm his nerves before he did something stupid—like trying to punch a hole through the side of the treehouse. Oh, for a wand and ten minutes alone with Lucius Malfoy… "Harry?" He jumped and spun, his hand automatically going to his hip, searching for the wand that lay beside their makeshift bed. Ginny was sitting up, holding the quilt over her breasts, leaning on one hand. Her expression was contrite. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you." She looked so beautiful, tousled from sleep, that he was drawn back to her side. He sat down beside her, trying to push the anger away. "It's okay, Gin," he said, and kissed her gently, cupping her cheek with his hand. "I just didn't know you were awake." "Are you all right?" she said, pulling back to look at him, her soft brown eyes wide with worry. "You looked—upset." He opened his mouth to tell her a reassuring lie, but suddenly, he couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to her. "I am," he admitted. "A bit. I was thinking about…the baby." He saw fear appear in her eyes, and suddenly realised how that must have sounded. "I'm not upset with you, love," he said quickly, bringing up his other hand to curve around her cheeks, brushing her cheekbones with his thumbs. "I'm angry that we never had the chance. I'm angry that our child was taken from us before we even knew he—or she—existed. I'm angry that Voldemort and his cronies have taken so much from us, and from so many people that we know and love." He kissed her again. "But not at you, Gin," he said softly, meeting her gaze and praying that the truth of what he was saying was written in his eyes. "Never at you." She looked at him for a long moment before she smiled, and he felt some of the tension leave her. He felt another rush of resentment at Voldemort for having hurt Ginny so terribly and for giving her reason to fear him—him, Harry, of all people!—but he swallowed it, pushing it away again so that he could comfort her. She reached up with her hand to stroke the back of his, pressing it closer to her cheek, then blinked in surprise and pulled his hand away from her face. "What in the world—" She took a look at his palm and sucked in her breath. "Harry, how did you manage to get that?" she asked, looking at the splinter. "That's huge! I need to get that out of there. Where's my wand?" "Probably back at the house," he said as she leaned over to grab her dressing gown, pawing through it. "Honestly, Ginny, it'll be fine. It's just a little splinter." "It's a great huge splinter, and it could get infected!" she said firmly. Giving up on looking for her wand, she pulled his hand closer to her, tucking it under her arm so she could get a better angle. "Hold still," she said, and tried to pull the sliver out with her fingernails. He hissed in pain, but didn't move. She had beautiful, long nails, and the splinter hadn't gone completely under the skin; she was just able to grasp the tail end and pull it free. "There," she said. With a wicked grin, she raised his hand and kissed it softly, letting her lips trail across his palm. He sucked in a sharp breath again, but for a completely different reason this time. He felt her smile against his hand, and then she was reaching upward to wrap her arms around him. Their lips met, and he let her pull him down to lie beside her once more, craving the comfort of her touch. They kissed slowly, lingeringly. He stroked his hands over her velvety skin as her own caressed him, dancing over his torso, skirting the edges of his bandages and trailing fire wherever they touched. They loved each other again, with a soft intensity that left them both shuddering in awed completion. When at last they lay together in afterglow, their pounding hearts slowing, Harry glanced up at the window. It was starting to glimmer with the light of full dawn approaching. "We should go," he sighed. "Before Ron wakes up and realises I haven't slept in my bed—and then finds out you haven't slept in yours, either." "Ron!" Ginny suddenly sat straight up in bed, eyes wide with terror. "Oh, God, Ron! I almost forgot!" "Forgot what?" he asked, sitting up beside her. The look on her face was enough to send alarm shooting through him. She turned to him, and he was shocked to see that she was shaking again. "When I had the Vision yesterday," she said, "I Saw who they were trying to target. They were after Ron, Harry. I Saw them attack Fred and George and Bill, then Disapparate with Ron." She clutched his hands. "I couldn't tell you with everyone else there, and then, what with Bill and Charlie talking to you three, and then all of us going to reset the wards after Dad and the twins and Percy set things up, it went right out of my head. Oh, God, Harry, what are we going to do? How are we going to protect Ron? We can't even tell him he's in danger!" Helplessness and fear flooded him as the full import of her words penetrated. He held her hands tightly to reassure her, though he could see nothing at all reassuring in the situation. Not another friend. Not Ron, too. He looked into Ginny's desperate eyes, seeing the resemblance to his best friend in the world, and his resolution set. The Death Eaters wouldn't get anywhere near Ron—not if he could help it. Problem was, he didn't know how he could. "I don't know, Gin," he said softly, his heart twisting at the admission. "I don't know. But I swear, I won't let anything happen to him." He hugged her to him, taking as much reassurance in her presence as he hoped she did in his. "Come on," he said into her hair. "Let's get back to the house before anyone else wakes up. Bill and Charlie wanted to take the three of us to the Ministry today. With all five of us there, Ron can't be in too much danger—and the Death Eaters certainly can't appear in the middle of the Ministry of Magic. Maybe by the time I get back, either you or I will have thought of something." Ginny looked up at him. "Isn't there anything else we can do?" she asked, tears in her eyes. "I know he's targeted. I know he is. What if they attack you lot in Diagon Alley?" "We'll be in the middle of dozens of people, with the Ministry of Magic within sight," Harry said, evading her question as he kissed her forehead and tried to hide his own sickening horror at the thought of Ron being kidnapped. "Love, I'll keep my eyes on him, I promise. But without telling someone how we know, there's just not much else we can do. I'm scared, too," he added softly, touching a finger to her lips as she started to protest. "I've lived in fear of this for years—that they might try to get to me through my friends. But I just don't know what else we can do." Ginny sighed and leaned against his chest again. "Nothing," she admitted softly. "You're right." She was silent for a moment, and he just held her, letting her take her time to get ready to face the world again. After a moment or two she sat up. "Let's go," she said. They dressed, Banished the bedding to her room, whence it had come, and tiptoed back into the house just as the sun came fully over the horizon. Ginny slipped into her room with a last soft kiss, and Harry moved as quietly as he could up the stairs to Ron's. He wasn't really looking forward to the confrontation he half-expected when Ron found out where Harry had spent the night, but there was no use trying to avoid it, either. Ron knew that he and Ginny had been together last year, and though Harry was sure Ron had never known that he and Ginny had been lovers, he certainly wasn't going to lie about it now. Harry took a deep breath outside Ron's door and opened it quietly. "Ron?" he whispered, taking a hesitant step inside. Then he stopped dead. His own bed obviously hadn't been slept in since he'd taken his nap when he came from the Dursleys'—but Ron's hadn't either. He stepped fully into the room, frowning as he pushed the door halfway shut behind him, then his eyes widened as a slow fear began to seize his heart. The wards had gone up, yes—but what if something had got through them while he and Ginny were in the treehouse? What if Ron had been taken? What if—? The door opened, bumping into Harry. He whirled to see Ron standing there, frozen in place with a wide-eyed stare, wearing only a pair of blue boxers and carrying a white t-shirt. It was patently obvious where Ron had spent the night. "Er—" Ron said intelligently, turning pink. "Er—yeah," Harry responded just as intelligently, feeling his own face flush as he realised he was still in the clothes he'd worn yesterday. Ron's eyes strayed to Harry's bed, and Harry could almost hear his thoughts. Gee, Harry, wonder what you were doing last night. Gee, Ron—probably the same thing you were, do you think? They stared at each other for a long moment. Harry tensed, waiting for for Ron's temper to explode. But against all expectations, Ron suddenly grinned. "Reckon you didn't have any nightmares last night," he offered, his ears turning even brighter pink. Harry nearly took a step backwards in shock. Ron was—teasing him? After being confronted with evidence that Harry had spent the night with his sister? Well, if he spent last night with Hermione, maybe he's feeling sympathetic. After a couple of heartbeats, Harry recovered enough to say, "No, I didn't. Reckon you didn't kick the covers off last night, either." Ron's blush deepened, then suddenly the two of them were laughing. Ron shut the door and reached out, clasping Harry's shoulder. Harry clasped Ron's, too, feeling a lightening of his heart. "So you aren't going to kill me, then?" Harry asked, only half joking. "Nah," Ron said, letting go and heading over to his dresser to pull out clothes for the day. "Not today, at any rate. We've got to go to the Department of Mysteries with Bill and Charlie, remember? Maybe after we've been trained up a bit, I can kill you and make it look like an accident." He shoved his drawer closed and turned, his arms full of clothes. "Sound fair to you?" Harry grinned. "Sure." "Right, then. I'll just grab a shower before the rest of the house gets up." Ron started out the door, but stopped on the landing and turned back. "Harry," he said, his voice serious again, "I know you love Ginny, but all joking aside, if you hurt my sister, I will kill you." "I know, Ron," Harry said, just as seriously, knowing Ron meant every word. "And since Hermione is the closest thing I have to a sister—if you hurt her, I'll kill you." Ron looked at him for a moment, then smirked. "That's fair," he said as he left, leaving Harry to face the day in a much better mood than he had any right to expect. Breakfast was fairly quiet; the twins had left for the shop and Mr. Weasley had gone to work as well. Ron and Hermione sat across the table from each other, exchanging loving looks when they thought no one was watching. Harry would have liked to have done the same with Ginny, but she was having far too much fun laughing at her brother and best friend. "I take it you didn't have to worry about Ron's waiting up for you?" she whispered impishly after the third time Hermione's bare foot slid up under the cuff of Ron's trousers. "I expect he was rather too, er, busy last night to notice," Harry agreed with a grin. "And I take it you told Hermione as well. I wonder if Percy has any clue what's going on in his old room?" "Oh, never," Ginny said in mock horror. "He might have to come and disinfect the place or something." Harry snorted into his bacon and eggs, causing Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley to look over in surprise. "Is something wrong, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "N-no," Harry said, stifling chortles and shooting a very bad attempt at a glare at Ginny, who leaned back in her chair and laughed openly. "Everything's great, Mrs. Weasley. Thanks." "Well, if you're sure," she said worriedly. "I've been a bit concerned about you, dear. Are you sure you slept all right last night?" That set all four of them off. Harry tried to drown his laughter in his goblet; Ron developed a sudden hacking cough; Hermione put a fist to her lips and turned bright red, shaking with mirth; and Ginny just buried her face in her hands. "Well, really," Mrs. Weasley said testily, putting a hand on her hip. "I think maybe you all need to go straight back to bed if you're so tired you're giggly." She turned back to start the washing up, ignoring the redoubled hysteria behind her. Harry gasped, trying desperately to control himself. He most emphatically did not want Mrs. Weasley knowing anything about what had happened in the treehouse, and he was certain Ginny felt the same. He was equally certain that Ron and Hermione would just as soon Ron's mother believed they slept in separate rooms as well. He pressed his fist to his mouth, fighting to control the spasms of hilarity. Composure. Control. Composure. Control. At last he was able to take a shaky breath and dared to look up at Ginny again. She had regained control about the same time he did, but amusement still twinkled in her eyes. He jumped as he felt her sock-clad foot slip dexterously under the cuff of his own trousers, delicately teasing the back of his calf as she stared deliberately at him, her gaze warming noticeably. A shiver ran through him, and suddenly he was struggling for another reason entirely. Composure. Control. Composure. Control. There was an abrupt popping sound, and everyone jumped as Bill and Charlie Apparated into the kitchen. "Morning, Mum," they chorused, each dropping a kiss on Mrs. Weasley's cheek. "Good morning, boys," she said, smiling up at her two eldest. "Ron was telling me this morning that you lot are going to Diagon Alley today." "Yeah," Charlie said as Bill helped himself to some toast. "Thought it might do everyone some good to get out for awhile." Mrs. Weasley frowned. "Do you think it's safe, though?" she said. "I mean, after yesterday—" "Mum, nobody's going to attack us in Diagon Alley," Charlie said patiently, unconsciously echoing Harry's words to Ginny earlier. "They'd be within sight of the entire Ministry. Nobody's that stupid. Besides, there haven't been any attacks at all in London; they've mostly been up north." "Except yesterday's," she pointed out, then sighed. "All right, boys, I trust you. And your father and brothers will be nearby, too. Though how much good those twins will be, I don't know. I do wish they'd spend their time doing something a bit more important than playing with practical jokes!" Bill started coughing, apparently choking on a piece of toast. Ron, who was closest, pounded him on the back. "They're harmless fun, Mum," Charlie reassured her. "But if we're to get done what needs done, we'd best be off as soon as everyone's finished with breakfast. Are you?" "Yeah," Ron said, now that Bill had recovered himself. "I'm ready. Hermione?" "Just let me get my shoes," she said, rising and hurrying back up the stairs. "I'll be right back." "I'm ready, too," Harry said. He smiled at Ginny, reaching to give her hand a squeeze as he stood. She met his gaze and mouthed two words at him: Watch Ron. "I will," he said very quietly. "I always do." -------------- Harry grasped Ron's wrist, letting his best friend help him clamber out of the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. He adjusted his glasses, which had got knocked askew, and started trying to brush off his robes. "I'll be so glad when we've got our Apparition licences," he muttered, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaning his glasses. "Anything's got to be better than travelling by Floo." Bill stuck his head in the back door; he and Charlie had Apparated into the courtyard. "You lot ready?" he asked. "I wish we'd brought a change of robes," Hermione fussed, still brushing at herself as they went out into the courtyard and Charlie opened the archway into Diagon Alley. "We don't really look appropriate for applying for jobs, do we, covered in soot?" "You're not applying, Hermione," Bill said reassuringly. "You're accepting. The offer's been made and you've got a position in the Department. We just don't know where yet." "Hermione, quit fussing," Ron said in exasperation. "You look fine. Honestly." Harry put his glasses back on, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. His nerves were still on edge. What Ginny had revealed to him about Ron this morning was more than enough to destroy any feeling of well-being from last night. He followed slightly behind Ron, making sure to keep him in sight. He was going to start watching Ron's back right now, because as far as he was concerned, Department of Mysteries or not, assigned partner or not, that was going to be his job for the rest of his life. And he's never needed it quite this much before. It's always been I who needed watching, and he who did it. Time to return the favour. As they swung into Diagon Alley and strode toward the Ministry buildings, a familiar trio slouched toward them from the shade of an alleyway. "Oh, brilliant," Ron groaned as he saw the bright blonde head of Draco Malfoy in the lead. "I thought we left him behind." Harry felt his shoulders tighten and his jaw set. His anger from this morning hadn't completely faded. He'd endured enough as a result of this filth and his friends and family. An image of the Battle flashed into his mind: Death Eaters in cowled robes and masks standing in a semicircle behind their master. Keep it cool, he told himself. Keep calm. Don't overreact. This is just Malfoy. He's nobody. "Well," Malfoy drawled, "if it isn't Potter and Weasley. I see your taste in comrades hasn't improved any." He nodded insultingly at Hermione. "Actually, it's Potter and Weasleys," Ron said as Charlie and Bill, who had lagged slightly behind, talking, caught up with them. Harry noticed Ron's brothers stood behind the three of them, backing them up but not getting in the way. "Care to repeat your comment, Malfoy?" Malfoy obviously wasn't pleased that he, Crabbe, and Goyle were outnumbered. His eyes narrowed. "I don't think so, Weasley," he said. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. But then, I don't generally associate with those who need me to." Hermione laughed as she took in Crabbe and Goyle. "Tell us another one, Malfoy. We've watched you for seven years; we know who you associate with." Malfoy ignored her, stepping closer to Harry. "Think you'll forget it, do you, Potter?" he said softly. "Think it's over, now that Voldemort is gone? Too many of his servants still exist; when the new Dark Lord rises, he won't make the same mistakes as his predecessor. And there's a whole new generation of Death Eaters now—or hadn't you noticed?" "You?" Hermione interjected again in a voice that dripped sarcasm. "Oh, please. You're not Death Eaters. You're not even remotely important enough. You're more like Death Snackers." Harry and the Weasleys burst out laughing. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their fists, but didn't dare do anything without Malfoy's say-so—and Malfoy seemed to be struck dumb by the fact that he'd now been ridiculed twice by Hermione, who had spent seven years chanting "ignore him" under her breath to Ron and Harry. Hermione had tossed her hair back and was looking defiantly at the three former Slytherins, a small smile quirking a corner of her mouth. "You won't think it's so funny, Granger, when the new Dark Lord gains power," Malfoy finally said, recovering himself and turning to Ron. "You still have a sister at Hogwarts, don't you, Weasley? Just think… poor Ginny Weasley, all alone at school with no big brothers to look after her. Pity if something happened to he—" Harry didn't remember making the decision to move; all he knew was suddenly his rage overtook him and Malfoy was lying on the ground, knocked out, blood seeping from his nose and split lip. Harry shook his right hand. His knuckles hurt, but it felt surprisingly good. Then again, I've been wanting to do that for seven years. Ron stared at Malfoy, then looked at Harry. "Oy!" he said in protest. "Give a bloke a chance! I didn't even get to swing at him! And she's my sister!" Crabbe and Goyle also stared at their fallen leader, then their faces hardened and they stepped toward Ron and Harry. Five wands suddenly flicked out, pointed at them both. They froze. "Leave," Bill said warningly. "Now. And take that bit of rubbish with you. Otherwise, someone's likely to get hurt." Crabbe and Goyle stared at the wands pointed at them for a long moment, then turned and looked at each other. It was a minute or so before the cogs finished turning, but when they realised they had no way out of this situation, they took a step backwards, giving the five friends a reason to lower their wands slightly. Without a word, they picked up Malfoy, each wrapping a limp arm over their shoulders, and shuffled off out of sight. The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione let their wands drop to their sides with audible sighs of relief. "I really didn't fancy having to take them out," Charlie said. "The paperwork would have been horrible." He turned to Hermione and raised his eyebrows. "Death Snackers?" he said in an incredulous tone of voice. She flushed, but laughed with the others. "I was trying to think of something that would demean him in the most humiliating way possible," she said. "I spent seven years ignoring him for fear of getting in trouble at school—" "Except for a memorable moment in third year, when you slapped him," Ron interrupted, grinning. "—but I wasn't going to let him get away with it now, the slimy little git," Hermione finished, ignoring Ron's interruption. Harry was shaking his head, incredulous. "Wow," he said finally. "Hermione, I don't think I've ever seen this side of you." She glanced over at Harry, and her eyes twinkled at him. "Maybe I'm just loosening up a bit, do you think?" she said with a grin, then linked arms with Ron. "Shall we?" she asked, nodding toward the Ministry buildings. Harry caught Ron's gaze, but his best mate only grinned, shrugged, and let Hermione guide him forward. Harry's brow creased. He'd known, of course, that they had been a couple for more than two years, and he had figured long ago that they were—well—that they were. But even after this morning, it was still a little weird to think of his two best friends as lovers. Though if anyone can help keep an eye on Ron's back, it's definitely Hermione. The Ministry buildings—four interconnected towers at one end of Diagon Alley—were an imposing sight. Harry had seen them before, of course, but had never really got close enough for their size to impress him. Now, he looked up—and up—and up. It was like being in the middle of the highrises of London, except the buildings were even taller. "Wow," he breathed. "I didn't know any buildings in the wizarding world got that high. How do they keep the Muggles from seeing them outside Diagon Alley?" Bill shrugged. "Just a simple Anti-Muggle Charm," he said. "Like what's on the Leaky Cauldron. If you're not magical, your eyes just slide right past it. Same with these; either they just don't notice, or they assume they're Muggle buildings." The first two buildings looked as though they were made of white marble, but Charlie and Bill led them right past those two and up the stairs to the third Ministry building. This one, like the fourth building next to it, was built of black granite that seemed to shimmer in the noonday sun, and didn't seem to have any windows past the second floor. Harry felt the first shiverings of nervousness. The building loomed over him, and something in his gut began to realise just what he was signing up for. Charlie stopped just outside the doors, at the top of the steps. "There are wards here," he said. "Bill and I are the only two of us who can pass through them at the moment, so you three need to be touching us to get through." "What happens if we don't?" Ron asked, eyeing the apparently ordinary glass doorway. "You'll be waking up in St. Mungo's in about a week with the headache from hell and a bunch of newly-healed ribs from where you were flung back about fifty feet," Bill said tersely. "We're not joking about any of this, Ron. Voldemort may be gone, but the War's not over. This is deadly serious stuff. After the attack yesterday, there shouldn't be any question in your mind." Ron held up his hands. "Okay, okay. I was just asking." "Just put a hand on Bill's shoulder or something, Ron, and let's get on with it," Charlie said, his eyes roving over the people passing and looking curiously at them. "It's not a great idea to linger on these steps." Ron and Hermione each touched one of Bill's shoulders, and Harry put his hand on Charlie's. They passed through the doorway quickly, and Harry felt himself shiver. It was like walking through a ghost; an icy sensation passed through him, accompanied by a thrill of power that almost felt like an electric shock. Harry had no doubt that the wards would have done exactly what Bill had said they would. They found themselves standing in the foyer of the building. A huge staircase led up to a landing in front of them. Three doors opened off the landing; each one looked extremely solid. There was nobody in the foyer and no directory; just the black granite staircase and the white walls. "Is this whole building just the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked, looking around. His voice echoed in the empty space. "No," Bill said, leading the way up the staircase. "There are a couple of others here, mostly departments that require a lot of security. The Minister's office is on the top floor, although strictly speaking, nobody's supposed to know that." "I thought the Minister's office was in the same building as your dad's," Hermione said in surprise. "That's his public office. He does do some work there, but that's mainly for show. Most of what he does is here. He and the head of the Department of Mysteries, Umbra Nacht, are the only two people who have Portkeys that can get them through the wards. Everyone else has to come through the front doors." They had reached the landing. Harry stopped and glanced around. "This looks pretty defensible," he said, thinking of the Battle and the way the Death Eaters had been able to sneak up and surround almost every group of Ministry wizards in Hogsmeade. "A handful of people could hold this landing until help arrived." Charlie grinned at him. "That's the idea," he said. "Well spotted, Harry." He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and touched the tip to a metal plate next to the far left-hand door. He muttered something under his breath that Harry didn't catch, and the door suddenly shimmered into nothingness. "Come on," Charlie said, and he led the group inside. Bill brought up the rear. They were in a corridor filled with more doors—offices, Harry supposed, though given the magical nature of the building, they really could have been almost anything. No signs or windows gave evidence as to what was inside, except small numbered plaques to the right of each door. The corridor seemed to have no end, and they walked in silence, encountering nobody. It was a thoroughly eerie sensation. Harry stopped. Was that a rustle behind him? But nobody was there…. He turned his head to look behind him, toward the source of the noise, then gave a yell and jumped backward to the other side of the hall. His wand appeared in his hand. A man, dressed in drab olive robes, glared down at them—but there hadn't been anyone there only half a second before. The others had also whirled at Harry's yell, drawing their own wands. The stranger held up a hand, as though barring them from going any further, and something shimmered in the air front of him, like some sort of barricade. Harry tensed, waiting for something to happen. There was a pause, then inexplicably, Bill and Charlie began to laugh. "Elijah!" Bill said, sliding his wand back into his sleeve as Charlie did the same. "Scare the life out of us, why don't you?" He extended a hand, and the stranger took it, grinning. "You've still got eight or nine lives left, Seth, so what's the problem?" the old man said in an amused, gravelly voice, then reached for Charlie's hand. "And Blaze! Don't see the two of you round the Department much." He looked over Harry, Ron, and Hermione, still standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the far side of the hallway, though they'd lowered their wands. "Your young friends here have some good reflexes," he said approvingly. "I didn't think I'd made a noise." He quirked an eyebrow at Harry, who flushed. "Heard a rustle," he said, a bit embarrassed. "Shouldn't have been one there, so I looked." "A rustle? Hah!" Elijah picked up a fold of his robes and shook it at Bill. "I told that lot that this fabric made noise, but they insisted it was perfect." "It looked pretty bloody perfect to me as I came by," Bill said. "What is it, some new form of Invisibility Cloak?" "Camouflage," Elijah said, letting the pinch of fabric fall again. "Can't say more than that, Seth. They've assigned me to the bloody Weapons Development office until we get our new crop in." He nodded at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "This part of the lot?" "Will be. You three, this is Elijah. He'll be your instructor when you go in for training this fall." Elijah nodded at them in a friendly enough way. "I'll see you later, then," he said to Bill and Charlie, then grinned. "Wonder how much chaos I can cause if I appear suddenly in the Improper Use of Magic Office?" Bill and Charlie laughed. Elijah gave a nod of farewell, then turned and strode back the way they'd come. He made an odd hand gesture, and vanished without the distinctive popping sound of Apparition. Charlie shook his head and chuckled. "What do you want to bet that St. Mungo's has a sudden upswing in people admitted for heart attacks, while he's testing those robes?" he asked no one in particular. Bill smirked in reply. "Charlie?" He turned to face Hermione. "Why didn't he ever ask our names?" she asked. "And why didn't you give them?" "Because he doesn't want to know them. We're all assigned code names—mine is Blaze, because of what I used to do, working with dragons. Bill's is Seth. His is Elijah, and I have no clue what his real name is. None of us do, really. I've worked for the Department for coming on three years, and the only people whose real names I know are directly related to me. And we don't use our real names around other Department people. Ever. It's just safer that way." "Why?" Ron asked curiously. "Don't you trust the people in the Department?" "Anybody can crack, Ron," Bill said quietly as they started walking again. "Something as simple as the Imperius curse or Veritaserum will do it. Although the Death Eaters have much more—inventive—ways of extracting information from their captives." Ron swallowed audibly, and Harry noticed Hermione's hand slip into his. He suspected their thoughts had turned to Remus Lupin, who had been kidnapped just before Christmas and had not managed to get away until March, when the majority of Death Eaters had been taking part in the Battle and only a few had been left to guard him. The poor attention of his guards had allowed him to miss a draught of Wolfsbane potion, and consequently, his transformation into a werewolf had been complete—and devastating. He had killed his captors before escaping—that much he remembered—but not even he knew what had happened to him between that escape and his arrival in Hogsmeade, bloody, gaunt, exhausted, and near collapse. He was still in St. Mungo's, recovering from severe mental and physical injuries. There was some concern whether he would ever be able to make a full recovery. Another charge to lay at the Death Eaters' feet. They stopped in front of a nondescript door labelled only with the number 42. This time Bill opened it, touching his wand to the number plate and muttering something under his breath. The door clicked open, and he pushed his way in. "Keep close," he murmured to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The room inside looked like the pictures Harry had seen on television of Mission Control in the space program. Rows of desks with screens in front of them filled the room, though the screens were just that: pieces of black fabric stretched on a frame, over which each person at the desk muttered spells to display different types of information. Or apparently muttered spells; the room was deadly silent, except for the sounds of their own passage. "Silencing Charms," Bill said shortly, noticing their interest. "That way, nobody can hear what each person's working on. And don't look too closely; you don't have clearance yet. I'm pushing just to take you through here, but as you've already been offered positions and accepted them, I'm just barely on the right side of the line." Harry obediently kept his gaze on Bill's back as they strode quickly past the banks of desks and toward yet another door at the far side of the room. This one Bill just knocked on, normally. "Come in!" a woman's voice called, and Bill opened the door. The office they entered was huge—nearly thirty feet on a side—and almost entirely filled by an enormous table with chairs spaced neatly around it. One wall was completely covered with a map of Britain, upon which small dots moved and flashed continually. A desk and a much smaller table were arranged in an open square in an opposite corner from the map; they were both covered in neat stacks of papers. A row of filing cabinets stood against one of the blank walls. Seated at the desk was a dark-skinned witch of indeterminate age, dressed in pumpkin-coloured robes and holding an acid-green pen that Harry recognised as a Quick-Quotes Quill. She'd obviously been in the middle of dictating something when they'd knocked. Harry noticed that, as they walked in the door, she waved her hand over the parchment and the markings on it disappeared. The woman watched impassively as the five of them filed into her office and shut the door, walking over to her desk silently. They stood in a semicircle in front of her, Bill and Charlie on either end. Hermione had released Ron's hand; she stood straight, shoulders back, looking determined. Ron's face was set, as though he were trying not to show his feelings. Harry wasn't sure exactly what his own face looked like, but thought it was probably somewhere between fascinated, nervous, and excited, since those were the three emotions that seemed to have taken hold of his stomach. "Seth," the woman said in greeting. "Blaze. I see you've managed to convince them." "It didn't take much convincing, Umbra," Charlie said with a small grin. "I told you it probably wouldn't." "So you did." She stood up and came around her desk, walking in front of them as though inspecting them, and staring each one boldly in the face. Harry met her gaze without trepidation. So this was Umbra Nacht, the head of the Department of Mysteries. His initial impression was that this was not a woman to be trifled with, but not someone to outright fear, either. Not that he would; after Voldemort, there weren't many people who could elicit fear from him. Not for myself, at any rate. "So," she said, stopping in front of Ron and looking up—way up—at his six-foot-four-inch frame. She couldn't have been more than five-three, though until she stood next to you, she seemed much bigger. "Ronald Weasley. You're the youngest but one in your family, aren't you?" "Yes," Ron said. There was no fear in his voice, either. He sounded confident and cool, though Harry could see the telltale signs of excitement in his eyes and his slightly-tensed shoulders. "You'll have a lot to live up to, coming after your brothers." "I always have," he said, meeting her gaze steadily. She barked a laugh, startling Harry. "I suppose you have, at that," she said approvingly. She took another step along the line, standing in front of Hermione. "Hermione Granger. One of the best students to come out of Hogwarts in recent memory." "Yes," Hermione said, not explaining whether she was agreeing with Nacht's assessment or simply acknowledging her name. Nacht let a small smile curve her mouth, apparently in appreciation. "We don't have too many women coming to work for us," Nacht said. "Why do you want to?" "I've been fighting Death Eaters since I was eleven," Hermione said simply. "It might as well be official, don't you think?" This time Nacht laughed outright. "Good for you, Granger," she said. "I've always maintained that witches are tougher than wizards, anyway. We have to be, in a job like this." Hermione gave a small, tight-lipped smile, as if she thought it was expected of her. Nacht smirked and moved one more step to the side, to stand in front of Harry. "And—Harry Potter," she said, looking him over with the same appraising look she had used on the others. It should have raised his hackles, but somehow it didn't; he had the distinct feeling she was summing up his abilities. Not judging, but simply taking stock of him. "I'd been hoping you would join us." As there wasn't much Harry could say to this, he said nothing. Her grin widened. "I daresay you'll find the day-to-day routine of the Department rather dull after your adventures of the past few years." Harry met her gaze. If she was trying to make him uncomfortable, she had a lot to learn. "There have been more than a few times in the past few years," he said calmly, "when I would have loved to have been bored." Nacht laughed again, leaning back against her desk. She seemed delighted at their responses to her. "Did you two warn them?" she asked, looking from Bill to Charlie. Charlie smirked. "Nope," he said. "They're just naturally ornery." Ron shot his brother a dirty look. Charlie grinned unrepentantly at him. After a moment, Ron grinned back. "Don't get too cocky," Ron said in his deep voice, looking down from his lofty six-foot-four-inch frame on Charlie's mere five-foot-ten. "Big brother you may be, but I've still got height and reach on you." "Don't you get too cocky," Nacht warned, heading back around to sit at her desk again. "He's been trained. If he took a mind to, he'd have you on the floor with broken bones and a concussion in about two seconds. And that's before he drew his wand." She looked up at Harry from her seat. "I understand you've still got injuries from the Battle, Potter." "Yeah," Harry said. "Some." Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and he looked meaningfully at her. He didn't want her going into detail about his burn. "We'll have you looked over by the mediwizards, then, and once they've given their opinion on your progress, we'll be able to schedule your training," Nacht said, pulling a blank sheet of parchment from the bottom of the pile underneath her Quick-Quotes quill and making a few notes. "In fact, we'll have all three of you checked out. You two don't have any remaining injuries, do you?" Hermione and Ron shook their heads. "Good. Seth, you get the last of your own injuries looked at, as well. We need you off the injured list." "Right," Bill said, taking the parchment from her. "You three will be contacted when we know more," Nacht said, and smiled. "I'm absolutely certain we'll have a place for you. You can go." The five of them turned to leave. Harry shot a glance back at Nacht, who was watching them go. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her, but Bill and Charlie trusted her, and that had to mean something. "Oh, Seth!" she called just as they reached the door. They all turned. "Check with the Central Desk on your way out. There'll be messages waiting." She looked back down at her desk and picked up a pen without waiting for an answer. Bill headed on out the door, and the others followed him. The MediClinic was up a flight of stairs from the main floor of the Department of Mysteries. Harry was reminded strongly of St. Mungo's: it was white, sterile, and smelled of Mrs. Skowers' Magical Mess Remover. I guess all hospitals are like that, he thought with a smirk, thinking back to the time when he and Dudley had both had pneumonia as children, and the Dursleys had taken his cousin to hospital. They had not been best pleased when the nurses had heard him coughing, and insisted upon treating him as well, then made return appointments for both of them so his aunt and uncle had had to make sure he took the medication. The mediwizard in charge took the parchment from Bill and read through it, then each of them (except Charlie) was directed into a separate curtained-off alcove for their examinations. Harry was instructed to strip down to his boxers and lay down on the examination table. He suffered his bandages to be removed and his injuries examined closely. "This was a pretty bad hex," the mediwizard said, running an oddly-shaped stone about an inch above it and watching as it glowed varying colours of red and orange. Gently, he palpated the reddened flesh. "I don't think I've treated anything quite like this before." "I'd be surprised if you had," Harry grunted, wincing as the wizard touched a tender spot, then letting a small smile flicker across his face as he remembered just why that spot was so tender this morning. "This is almost like a Severing Charm," the mediwizard continued. "But worse—and I didn't think I'd see anything worse." He straightened. "What have you been treating it with?" "An Argentium Solution. They gave it to me at St. Mungo's. I don't have it with me, though." "Don't worry; it's a common enough treatment for severe burns. I've got some right here. Though I can't imagine why this wasn't just healed at the scene. Go ahead and relax, and I'll replace your bandages. When did you do this?" "March," Harry grated, wincing again as the mediwizard began spreading the solution over his burn again. He wasn't nearly as gentle about it as Hermione. "March?" The mediwizard stopped in shock. Harry opened his eyes and looked into the man's startled gaze. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The mediwizard blinked, then looked away, carrying on with his bandaging in silence. Harry let his eyes close again, trusting that the mediwizard had got his point. The only thing that had happened in March that could possibly have been this bad had been the Last Battle. The rest of the physical was relatively quick and painless, though the magic used to gauge his fitness did make his side throb slightly. Apparently, he still wasn't quite healed enough to be able to tolerate magic too close to his burn. Harry endured it stoically; it wasn't bad enough even to make him wince. "All set," the mediwizard said at last, making notes on a parchment form, then signing it and handing it to Harry. "You look fine, apart from your burn, but if you carry on with the Argentium, even that should heal up in the next month or so. I'm approving you for training camp starting the first of September. Go ahead and get dressed." He left Harry alone to put his robes and shoes back on. When Harry came out of the cubicle, he found the others waiting for him. "What took you so long?" Ron asked. "He had to look over my burn," Harry said. "He's cleared me for training camp this fall, though. First of September." "Us, too," Ron said. "Looks like we'll be going together." "They're not going to separate you now," Charlie said, grinning. "You lot have done more for the wizarding world than any other ten wizards put together. You don't break up a proven team." "Come on," Bill said, tilting his head toward the door they'd come in. "Let's get down to the Central Desk to get your messages, then we'll get out of here. I think it's about time that we got home." Harry agreed. His lack of sleep from the night before, enjoyable as it had been, was catching him up. He followed Bill back out into one of the nondescript corridors, this one with doors numbered in the three hundreds, and down a long spiral staircase. They came out in a big, open area like the foyer of a Muggle office building. A huge, semicircular receiving desk stood there, with large ficus plants at either end and three middle-aged women working industriously behind it. "Good morning, Seth," one of them said brightly as Bill approached. She was a slender, birdlike woman who looked to be in her late fifties, her gray hair neatly coiffed and her blue-and-silver robes impeccable. "Number One sent messages down for your friends." "So she said." Bill smiled at the grandmotherly figure. "Am I to sign for them, Circe?" "No," she said, "they'll sign for their own. Come on into the back, and we'll get that taken care of." She stood up, a big manila folder in hand, and moved off toward the wall behind the desk, where there was a single door. Bill followed, indicating the others should, too. Harry had never seen a building with so many doors. "Sign for them?" Hermione whispered to Charlie as they came around the desk. "You sign for every written communication you take in hand from the office," Charlie murmured back. "Don't ask me why; it's just procedure." "Sounds like a rule Percy put in place," Ron said under his breath. "Anything to make more work for himself." Harry stifled a laugh. They filed in through the door and Harry found himself in a small, narrow room, most of whose floor space was taken up by a huge conference table with chairs all round it, similar to the one in Umbra Nacht's office. Circe had gone round the table and was standing at the far side of the room. She gestured them all to take seats. Harry sat nearest Circe, with Ron next to him and Hermione in the third chair down. Bill had gone round to the other side of the table, and Charlie, who had taken up the rear, closed the door on his way to his chair next to his older brother. To Harry's great surprise, Circe pulled out a wand and performed Silencing and Locking Charms to seal them inside. Ron and Hermione looked equally startled. She certainly got our attention, Harry thought. "You three," Circe said, looking at Harry, Ron, and Hermione in turn, "have agreed to join the Department of Mysteries. Is that correct?" They all nodded. "May I have your medical reports, please?" They passed them over, and she perused them silently, nodding finally in satisfaction. "Very well," she said, reaching into her folder and pulling out three sheaves of paper. "I have your contracts here." "Contracts?" Ron said. "Binding, magical contracts," Circe emphasised sternly. "I advise you to read them through thoroughly before you sign. Make sure you use one of our quills; otherwise, the contract isn't binding, and much of the assistance we would otherwise be able to give you on assignment will not be able to reach you." "What kind of assistance?" Hermione said, taking the contract that was passed down the table and skimming over the first page. Harry was intimidated just looking at the document; it had to be almost two centimetres thick. "I can't tell you that. Not because you're not cleared, but because it changes depending on your assignment. You'll learn all of these things when you go to training camp this fall. Now, I suggest you take the next few minutes to read them through. I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have." Harry tried to wade through it; he really did. But by the time he got three pages in, he was floundering worse than he ever had in Professor Binns' class. The first sentence alone, which began "The party of the first part ('applicant') does hereby swear, aver, and affirm to the party of the second part ('Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic', hereafter known as 'the Department') …" took half the page! He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at Circe. "Do all of our contracts say the same thing?" he asked. "Yes, all our contracts are the same. Your assignments may vary, but the contracts themselves are identical. Except your names, of course." Harry met Ron's gaze, and they nodded in complete understanding and agreement. Hermione was deeply engrossed in her own contract. If she came across anything dodgy, she'd be sure to mention it; otherwise, they could leave her to it and simply pretend to look through their own. She'd lecture them once she found out that's what they'd done, of course—but a lecture from Hermione was infinitely better than trying to wade through phrases like "indemnify, release, and hold harmless any and all instruments thereof" for dozens of pages. There was silence for the better part of ten minutes before Hermione raised her head. "Wait a minute," she said, frowning. "What does 'reasonable chance at recovery' mean?" Circe frowned slightly. "Read the whole sentence, please," she said. "I need the context." Hermione quoted, "In the case of kidnap or capture by enemy forces, the Department will make every effort to rescue officers when there is a reasonable chance at recovery." She looked up again, raising her eyebrows. Circe exchanged glances with Bill and Charlie, then sighed and put her elbows on the table, leaning forward. "It means that we'll try to rescue you if there's a decent chance that we can get you without undue risk to the rescuers. We won't sacrifice an entire squad to get one person out, but we also won't leave you to the wolves if we have a reasonable chance of getting you back." Ron's head jerked up and he frowned. "So who defines 'reasonable'?" he said, a note of irritation in his voice. Hermione put a hand on his. "Your commander," Circe said promptly, cocking her head to the side like the bird she resembled and looking completely unruffled. "Whose job it is to make life-and-death decisions like that." "But—" Ron began. "Ron," Charlie cut in, his tone weary, "would you want to be responsible for a whole squad of officers getting wiped out just to save your sorry arse?" "Of course not, but—" "This isn't a decision they're going to make based on the flip of a coin, Ron," Bill added with a sigh. "If there's a decent chance of getting you out, we will, like Circe said. And we'll keep trying, and keep watching—we're not going to completely throw in the towel just because we couldn't rescue you right away. But you have to understand that there's a chance you could be captured and we won't be able to rescue you right away. And there's a smaller, but still existent, chance that we won't be able to rescue you at all." There was silence for a moment. Ron didn't look at Hermione, but he turned his hand over to clasp hers and give it a squeeze. Harry was sure he was thinking of the possibility that she might be captured and held for hours, days, even weeks, even weeks, before they'd be able to rescue her. Images of Remus Lupin in St. Mungo's came to mind, and Harry shuddered. "Are you reconsidering your decision to join?" Circe asked. Her voice held no censure. "This is your last chance." "No," Hermione said firmly before Ron could speak. "I'm not. I've finished reading my contract through. May I have a quill, please?" Harry took the quill and ink bottle from Circe and passed it along. He noticed that Ron's hand was shaking slightly, but he managed to hand them on to Hermione. She withdrew her hand from his and unscrewed the top from the ink bottle, then dipped her quill and signed her name with firm, even strokes. She set the pen down and stood, contract in hand, shoulders squared and expression set. Circe smiled. "Welcome to the Department of Mysteries," she said. Ron stared up at Hermione for a long moment, and Harry thought with a start that he saw a tear glisten in his friend's eye. Then Ron grabbed the pen, and signed his name furiously. He too stood up, standing so close to Hermione that his arm touched her shoulder, and Harry got the feeling that if he thought Hermione would have allowed it, Ron would have put his arm around her. Harry had made his own decision the day before, the minute Bill and Charlie had made their offer. Now that the moment was upon him, he felt no qualms about reaching for the quill and ink and signing his name as well. The ink flared on the page, turning from black to purple to red. He felt a surge of power shudder through him, drawing him to his feet. It was as though he were suddenly imbued with an energy that he hadn't ever known before. Circe's smile had widened. "Welcome, all of you," she said. Reaching into her folder again, she brought out three sealed envelopes and passed them down the table. They each had initials on the backs: H.G., R.W., and H.P. Passing Ron's and Hermione's down, Harry broke open the seal of his own and drew out a card with only one word on it: Onyx. "These are the names by which you'll be known here at the Department and to all of your fellow officers," Circe was telling them. "Do not use your real names. Between now and the time you leave for training camp, any time you are in a secure place, get used to using and answering to your code names. It won't be long until your life, and each others' lives, may depend on it." She picked up her folder and headed for the door, passing behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Your contracts," she said, pausing long enough for them to pass the signed contracts to her, then she dismissed the Silencing and Locking Charms and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. There was silence for a moment as the three friends stared at the names that would be theirs, even more than their own names were, for the foreseeable future. "Well?" Bill asked finally, a smile on his face. "Who are our new colleagues?" Harry found his voice first. "I'm Onyx," he said hoarsely. "Zephyr," Hermione said, almost in a whisper. A pause filled the room as everyone looked at Ron. His ears had turned pink, and he stared at the piece of paper with something approaching awe. "Ron?" Charlie prompted. Ron looked up, a small, delighted smile on his lips. "Red Knight," he said proudly. Hermione smiled broadly and reached up to give Ron a kiss. Harry watched his friends, grinning. This feels just like when we went after the Philosopher's Stone, he thought suddenly. All we've done for seven years is guard each other's backs. This is no different. And that thought made him stand just a bit straighter. Onyx or Harry, he would be doing what he'd always done. Nothing had really changed. And that was, perhaps, the only reassuring thing to have happened to him since March. "Come on," he said aloud. "I'm hungry. Let's get some lunch." They filed out of the room. Harry and his friends, at least, were silent, still processing the enormous step they had taken. Harry could feel the swirling warmth of the power that had been somehow transferred to him when he signed the contract. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers, half expecting them to glow with that increase in energy. Bill nodded and smiled at Circe and her two companions as the five of them came out from behind the desk. "We're still on call, aren't we, Circe?" he asked, indicating himself and Charlie. "Well, you're injured, Seth, so you're at the bottom of the pile for the nonce, but yes, you're on call. We'll be sure to—" Circe stopped, mid-sentence. In fact, everyone did. Harry felt that new power give a sudden surge, then turn…. If energy could turn colors, this one turned a muddy red-brown, roiling in the pit of his stomach. This can't be good. A piece of parchment appeared in front of Circe with a muted pop. She picked it up and read it through. "You're not on call any more," she said tersely. "Blaze and Seth, you're wanted in Number One's office. Onyx, Zephyr, Red Knight, you lot follow me. We're going to get you directly home now." "What's going on?" Ron asked as Bill and Charlie turned pale and bolted for the spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time. "What's happened?" "Something bad," Hermione said softly, her hand pressing over her midriff as though she felt sick. If she was feeling what Harry was, she probably did. "Something very bad." Circe didn't answer. Silently but intently, she led the three of them down the rest of the spiral staircase and into a small, interior room. There a thin, pale wizard in white robes handed them small, metal cylinders. Harry looked at his closely. "Ballpoint pens?" he asked incredulously. "Portkeys," the wizard said. "Click the button at the top three times to activate. It'll take you back to your home. We've set all three of them for Arthur Weasley's house. One-use only, I'm afraid, but that's all we need them for." "But what's—" Ron started to repeat, but Circe held up a hand. "You may be full members of the Department, but best you learn now that everything here is on a need-to-know basis only. If we don't tell you the answer to a question, assume that there's a good reason for it and let it go." Ron subsided, his ears turning faintly pink. "Now," Circe said, fixing them all with a keen look. "Go back to the house and stay inside the wards. Don't leave them for anything, until you hear from us again. Stay tuned to the WWN, if you are desperate to know what's going on; likely they'll get the information soon enough. And wait for us to contact you. We will, I promise." She turned and left quickly, every muscle in her body rigid. Harry swallowed, the muddy roiling in his belly affecting him even worse now. "Let's go," he said quietly. "There's not much more we can do here." Together they clicked their Portkeys and Harry felt himself yanked forward, hurtled through space until he arrived with a flump in the middle of the Weasleys' living room. Ron and Hermione were sprawled next to him. "Oh, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley came rushing in to haul them to their feet and plant kisses on their cheeks. "I've just heard, and I was so worried. Where are Charlie and Bill?" "They got called in to work, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said reassuringly as Harry and Ron struggled to keep their balance after being nearly knocked over by the enthusiasm of Molly's welcome. "We came straight on back. What's happened?" "Oh, it's all over the news," Molly said, wringing her hands. "Another Muggle family has been attacked and killed—and their children, their children, they're dead too—" "Children?" Harry said, the blood in his veins turning to ice. "The Death Eaters attacked children?" Molly nodded, tears running down her face. "Two children," she said, "according to the WWN. They're not giving details, but reading between the lines, it's—" She swallowed. "Not a … pleasant sight." Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks. "So it wasn't just us they were after," Harry growled. The anger was back, and if he knew the high color spots forming on Ron's cheeks and the way Hermione's eyes glittered, they were feeling it to. "The Death Eaters are coming out in force now. This is far from over." A/N: Ahmie and Fang-Face Dreamweaver are beta-reading gods. All hail Ahmie and Fang! Kudos go to Helen, to whom I dedicate the Argentium Solution (it's a nurse thing), and Ben, for making me laugh and keeping me going while this chapter fought me tooth and nail. They also go to my fans, who have bugged me relentlessly about finishing this chapter. You inspired me. Additional thanks to everyone who's reviewed, here and on The Broom Cupboard (http://www.thebroomcupboard.net). Two outtakes from chapter 3 are now posted there, so if you're 17 or older, feel free to take a look.
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