Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Michael sat at Molly’s kitchen table, cup of tea cooling in front of him. Other members of the Order were gathered as well, all of them wondering what happened next.

“Albus was the one with the plans,” Kingsley admitted, deep voice hushed in the quiet midmorning. “I only know what he wanted me to know when he wanted me to know it.”

“He was a flawed man,” Molly said with a shake of her head. “A great man, to be sure. We’re all lucky to have known him, but he wasn’t Merlin. We’ll have to bumble our own way through, now.”

Tonks looked up from her seat and squinted at Michael. “And what are you doing here? The Headmaster had wanted to bring you in for years, then suddenly last summer he changed his tune. Now he’s gone and here you are. What gives?”

Michael folded his lips inward and spun his cup a few times against the table-top. “Albus found out one of my secrets – one I will in no way share with anyone who doesn’t already know. Those who do know have been Bound to keep it to themselves, so don’t bother asking around either. As to why I am here…” Black eyes shot over to Molly before addressing the larger group. “Whatever Albus’ original plans, war is coming. There will be people who we know will be targeted by the Dark Lord and his followers – specifically those who don’t agree with their ideology and those with non-magical family members. Those who cannot defend themselves will need a place of refuge, a place to hide, as will those who are injured and need to recuperate.”

Molly picked up the thread of conversation and continued. “Michael has… a very unique circumstance at his home. Unfortunately he can’t replicate it, but the town where he lives – all of it – is warded against anyone apparating in or out. There’s a five-kilometre boundary in every direction. More than that, you can only find the town on a map if you’re looking for it specifically. The only way in through magic is to floo to Remus’ little home. Or you could take the long way, land five kilometres out, and walk in. It’s almost like it’s been Secreted, and Michael is it’s Keeper.”

“The whole town?” Moody leaned forward on his elbows, brow furrowed. “How the bloody hell did you manage that?”

Michael blinked. “The best I can figure, I was under an extreme amount of pressure to keep myself and my son from being noticed or found by anyone. This is why I can’t reproduce the effect – it was created under very specific circumstances.”

“And you’re offering your town to hide people?” A young woman Michael didn’t immediately recognize asked. She had a round cap of dark hair and a rather friendly face. When he frowned at her, she seemed to remember herself. “Ah, Hestia Jones,” she introduced with a smile, dimples winking at the corners of her mouth as she reached across the table. “Sorry – there’s always so much going on, I sometimes forget my manners.”

“Quite alright,” Michael mumbled, shaking her hand briefly. “And for your question, yes. After a fashion. The citizens of the town would most certainly have questions if new-comers suddenly flooded in. And my apartment is too small for what we’d need it for. However, Remus’ home is as secure as mine, or nearly as. My suggestion, with Remus’ permission, is to expand the interior of his home to suit our needs.”

“We have my mother’s house, too,” Sirius said, voice bouncing out of his mouth as if he had something to prove. “To help hide people. Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper, but we could easily make it ol’ Mad-Eye or Kingsley here.”

Remus leaned into his friend’s space. “It’s not a competition, Sirius,” he hissed softly, praying no one overheard him. “Michael’s allowed to have good ideas, too.”

Sirius elbowed the other man in the ribs but left it alone.

“We might have some people looking for safety sooner than we think,” Tonks said, scooting forward in her chair. “There’s rumblings in the Auror offices – someone placed high up the chain wants to start questioning parents of muggle-born witches and wizards to see if they’ve ‘betrayed our race.’ If that happens, Michael, you might be put on trial.”

The man considered this for a moment. “I’ve already shown my face to the Death Eaters who got into Hogwarts. And I have a sneaking suspicion Lord Voldemort knows I’m somewhere anyway.”

Molly frowned and put a hand on his arm. “But Michael, dear, if they get their hands on you –“

“Then they get their hands on me,” he shrugged. “I warded an entire town on accident; I’m pretty sure no one is getting any information out of me that I didn’t want to give in the first place.”

“You do have a fairly stubborn mind,” Remus mumbled mostly to himself.

“They’re also talking about going after other non-magical family members,” Tonks continued, picking at her fingers now. “So say, if your mum’s a pureblood from an old and powerful family, but your dad’s a muggle-born…”

“Oh Nymphadora,” Molly cooed. “Your father-“

“They’re fine for right now, but-“

“They can stay at the old family place,” Sirius said, honestly reassuring his baby cousin now. “I know your dad’s got his pride – I always liked that about him – but at some point he’ll have to make the smart choice. Though I have a feeling Andi might just make it for him if it comes down to it.”

Tonks shot a small grin to Sirius. “Yeah, she will. I’ll let her know about Ye Olde and Decrepit House of Black.”

Kingsley ran a finger over his bottom lip, arms crossed against his chest, as he thought. “Albus had spies in Lord Voldemort’s camp. I don’t know who they were, but is there any way to get in touch with them? To see what can be done from their end?”

“One has already shown his hand a bit,” Tonks admitted, scratching the back of her neck. “Thorfinn Rowle, the DADA professor at Hogwarts, was working for us. When the Death Eaters stormed the school, he fought for our side. Killed one of them – I think it was Gibbon. I spoke to him after; Dumbledore was helping his sister in exchange for information. She’d been attacked by muggles when she was a girl and it… it damaged her. The whole reason he joined Voldemort was for revenge, but the Headmaster offered something better. Of course, it doesn’t matter now…”

“Is Thorfinn’s sister still being taken care of?” Molly asked, concerned. Then she tsk’d when everyone gave her blank looks. “None of you thought to check, did you?”

(When Molly floo called Narcissa Malfoy later that day, she mentioned Rowle’s sister. Narcissa assured her the girl would continue receiving the best care money could afford. It might be wise, she added, to come up with a contingency plan in case some enterprising Death Eater figured out the best way to strike at Thorfinn was to strike at the girl. Molly agreed and promised to give the issue some thought.)

After the meeting, Moody limped back to the kitchen door.

“Stevens,” he barked from the kitchen door. “Walk me out, boy.”

With a small sigh, Michael turned from his conversation with Molly and Remus. “Of course, Mr Moody. I’m utterly at your service. There couldn’t possibly be anything more important than my seeing you to the apperation point.”

“Quit your bitchin’ and lets get on with it. I have things I need to say to you.”

“Oh, well in that case…”

Moody waited until they were quite a distance from the Burrow, magical eye roving in all directions, before he said anything. “Before he died, Albus had a conversation with me. Quite a long one. Dealing with you and that boy of yours.”

Michael kept quiet, but he could feel that old familiar fear start to rise.

“Bugged the arse offa ol’Alby, but I’ve got to commend you on how well you hid that child. Never would’a guessed you were raising him as your own, much less as a muggle.” He stopped and looked up at Severus, stared at him with both eyes. “The way I see it, you succeeded where Albus failed. But you need to realise that Albus Dumbledore saw what was comin’ down the pike, planned for it, anticipated everything he could possibly conceive. And I’ve heard the prophecy about the boy; he’s going to have to fight ol’No-Nose, right and proper, whether you want him to or not. Now I know-“ Alastor held up a hand as Severus began to speak, “I know you think of him as a son. Nothin’ wrong with that. But boy’s got a destiny, and he’s bound to fulfil it.”

Hands clenched tightly at his sides to mask their shaking, Severus took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I will encourage my son as I see fit, and I will do as I have always done – I will keep him safe. Above all else, he is mine to keep safe. I don’t care what any crystal ball says; I will never stop keeping him safe.”

Alastor scrutinized the man before him a moment longer before nodding. “Not a bit wrong with that, boy, not a bit.”

John Henry sat in Coach Roberts’ office and tried not to feel like the worst person in the world.

“Stevens, I don’t understand,” the aging blonde man shook his head with a frown. “I’ve known you for years, you’re one of our better defenders, and I know you love the game. And you’re telling me you don’t want to play any more?”

Nervous pale fingers twisted together and apart. “Yes sir.”

Coach Roberts squinted at the boy. “No. You’re a bad liar, Stevens; I don’t buy it. If you can’t play for other reasons, I’ll understand. Though if that dad of yours is pressuring you to drop the game-“

“No-no!” John Henry sat forward. “Dad would never do that. In fact, he’d probably prefer I stay on rather than what I’ll be doing this summer instead.”

“Alright, then. Some parents think that if their kid isn’t being drafted into the Primer League, they shouldn’t be on the field at all, and I always respected your dad for supporting your playing anyway.” The man studied the boy again. “So you just want to take the summer off, then. That’s fine – there’re boys on the practice squad who’d want a chance on the field same as anyone else. How long will you be gone, then? Back in time for school, I hope?”

John Henry sat back in his chair, feeling a bit stunned. Of all the responses he thought he’d get, he hadn’t been expecting to stay on the team. “Um… yeah, I’ll be back for the school year. My friends and I will just be going around the country.”

“You’re not playing for a rival team, are you?” Coach Roberts asked, eyes suspicious as he leaned in across the desk.

The boy shook his head vigorously. “Oh no, sir – I wouldn’t do that.”

“And you had better stay in shape, Stevens – you have a scholarship to Cardiff I won’t have you throwing away just because you didn’t practice while you were off, doing…. What is it you’ll be doing, anyway?”

“Uh… my friends and I are going on something of a walk-about,” he improvised. “Not to Europe, just around the UK.”

The man frowned, but seemed to accept the excuse. “Seems like you’re low-balling your holiday a bit, but alright. Anyway, stay fit, Stevens, and I’ll see you when you return.”

Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour Missing!

A call came into the Emergency Auror floo early this morning saying the Minister of Magic’s house was ablaze. Authorities seem to believe arson was the cause, finding trace elements of accelerant at the scene. No sign of Minister Scrimgeour was found, however. ‘While our hearts and minds are with Minister Scrimgeour’s family,’ acting Minister Dolores Umbridge said at a press conference later on, ‘the community must move forward. Currently, we have a taskforce dedicated to locating the Minister, and I’m sure they’ll come up with something soon.’

Ron gawped at the afternoon edition of The Daily Prophet. “No wonder the twins couldn’t find anything at Grimmauld Place,” he told Hermione, shoving the front page under her nose. “Take a look at what’s around Umbridge’s neck.”

Hermione shoved the paper away from her face so she could focus on it properly. Dressed in a pink twinset and lavender tweet, Acting Minister Dolores Umbridge wore a simpering smile – same as she always had. A hoof mark scarred her left cheek, but she’d applied enough make-up that only those who knew to look for the mark would actually see it. And around her neck, like a dark beacon taunting them, was Salazar Slytherin’s locket – an exact copy of the necklace they had fetched with Dumbledore the previous year.

“Damn,” Hermione sighed under her breath. “How in Merlin’s name did she get that? Now what are we going to do?”

Ron and Christopher sat at John Henry’s desk with their heads together, pouring over a map of the town.

“If you’re right, Davies, we’ll have to use this spot as an apparition point,” Ron jabbed a finger at the far edge of the Morgan farm. It was just outside of the five-kilometer radius Hermione had drawn in red marker. “It looks like there’s an access road you’ll be able to meet us at.”

Christopher peered at where Ron’s finger rested. “Old Missus Morgan will probably ring my mum to complain,” he mumbled, “but it should be fine. How are you going to let me know to come get you, though?”

“We’ll send a patronus,” Hermione said off hand, scribbling in a notebook in her lap. “It’s an animal that manifests at a happy memory. They’re… sort of like a physical projection of protection. Mine’s an otter; Ron’s is a small terrier; Draco’s is a stallion.”

“Have you got one of those, John Henry?” Christopher asked over his shoulder. John Henry sighed and pulled his wand out from his back pocket.

“Expecto Patronum.” A small, silvery mist bloomed from the tip of his wand, coalescing in a tiny, fluttering thing.

Christopher’s jaw dropped. “A butterfly?! Your animal protector is a butterfly?!”

John Henry cancelled the spell and threw a paper ball at his friend’s head. “Shut up, arsehole.”

“A butterfly!”

Ginny sat on the grassy hill behind the Burrow and took a deep breath. The vibrant blue sky stretched forever above her, pocked with small clouds. The breeze carried the fading sent of summer – of grass and sunlight – as it tugged the hair out of her ponytail. She hugged her knees to her chest and tried not to be upset.

Next to her, a body lowered itself to the ground. Arms and legs, wrapped in clothes far fancier than she’d ever dream spending money on, mirrored her pose.

“Are you pouting?” Draco asked, his voice low.

“I am not pouting,” she grumbled. “I know I have to go back to Hogwarts, have to help the students there. The muggle-borns and half-bloods have no idea what they’re walking into. Someone has to protect them.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco’s pale head nod. “And there’s no way you’d be feeling left out, not using yourself as bait to draw out Nagini.”

She whipped around to glare at him. “I have a connection to… to that monster. From when I was… from my first year. It probably extends to the snake. We’d be foolish not to capitalize on it.”

“John Henry has a connection with it, too, Gin,” Draco reminded her. “And to be perfectly honest, if push comes to shove, I’m much more comfortable putting him in danger than you.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Somewhere in there, you just said you care about me.”

“Somewhere in there, I said I don’t care about John Henry.”

She tsked and turned back to the view from the hill. “Yes you do. Everybody does. He’s a very easy person to care about.”

Draco’s shoulders twitched. He ran his thumb over the thin leather band wrapped around his left wrist, the deep red colour standing out against the pale of his skin. A small golden square rested on the inside of his wrist – blank on the outer side, the rune of Tyr pressed against his veins. “Regardless. You’ll have far more fun dodging the Carrows broad interpretation of educational reform than you would have camping out in the middle of who-knows-where, baiting an insane megalomaniac and relocating at-risk families like the rest of us.”

Ginny sniffed, shoving her nose into the air. “I might be rather talented at baiting megalomaniacs. But now you’ll never know.”

Draco reached up and tugged the curled end of her hair, then rubbed the softness between his fingers, resting his arm against her back. “I’m sure we’ll somehow recover from the loss of such a vital experience.”

“No you won’t. It’ll haunt you the whole time you’re gone. You’ll get yourself into a pickle or be overwhelmed by muggle children and be sending me messages at all hours of the day and night. But I’ll be so busy saving the school single-handedly that I simply won’t have time to answer. And you’ll languish away, wishing I were there to help you.”

Draco gripped her ponytail and drew her face close to his as he leaned in. “Then I’ll just have to languish, and still be happy you’re safer at school.”

From the kitchen window, Fred and George frowned.

“That’s not on,” George grumbled, watching as the teens leaned ever closer to each other.

Fred ducked down, aiming his wand through the bottom of the open window, and sent a Stinging Hex at the back of Malfoy’s head. Matching yelps sounded as foreheads smacked together, and the twins decided they should leave the kitchen before Ginny realised they were there.

Minister Scrimgeour Declared Dead!

Acting Minister of Magic Dolores Umbridge is now the actual Minister of Magic. ‘I have been presented with sufficient evidence to declare Rufus Scrimgeour deceased,’ Minister Umbridge told reporters gathered in front of the Ministry steps this afternoon. ‘Out of respect for the late Minister’s meagre family, I will not be releasing the gruesome details to the public. However, I believe it’s safe to say no one could have survived what the poor man endured.’

A knock at the apartment door brought Michael out of his work room. To be honest, it wouldn’t have taken much to get him out; working on the books for the shop was always something he’d gladly put off. Standing on small landing was a grey man in a grey suit. “Mr Michael Stevens?”

“Yes?”

“I’m from the law offices of La Mare and Pomeroy. May I come in?”

Confused, Michael stepped back. “Please. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you. My name is Fulbert Pomeroy. Albus Dumbledore was one of my clients. As the executor of his will, it has been left to me to deliver those items held in trust for specific individuals. I don’t mean to seem rude, but would you mind if I verified your identity?”

Michael blinked, but before he could offer to fetch his driver’s licence, Pomeroy extended his wand and cast. A red light flashed, and Pomeroy nodded.

“As it should be. Completely confidential, of course, but a formality, you understand. Now, a number of family items have been passed to the deceased’s remaining family, and a large sum of the estate has been donated to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, there are items the deceased wished to pass along specifically to you and your family. As I understand it, your child has not yet reached the age of majority. Is this correct?”

“Um, yes.” Michael watched Pomeroy open his beaten leather satchel and remove a number of items. “John Henry is still considered a minor.”

“This item has been left for you.” Pomeroy held out a small, round parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. As he pulled out another package – larger and rather lumpy – he said it was for John Henry.

“A number of individuals from the Ministry have attempted confiscation of these items,” Pomeroy admitted, closing the satchel and pulling a folded piece of parchment from his jacket pocket. “However, our policy stands on the utmost discretion – why we’ve been chosen by so many clients over the years, you know – and each Ministry appeal has summarily been denied. If you would be so kind as to sign this bill of receipt, I’ll leave you to your business.”

Blinking, Michael nodded and searched for a pen in the hall table. “Is there any way the Ministry would know to look here?”

“Oh no, Mr Stevens. As I mentioned, this is completely confidential. One of the reasons the Headmaster sought us out specifically, you understand. Just where the arrows are, Mr Stevens. Thank you.”

Michael signed the dozen or so lines indicated as Pomeroy rocked back and forth on his heels.

“Ah, when I was making my way here, I attempted to apparate directly to you but was stopped. Would I be correct in my suspicion that I cannot apparate out, either?”

“Unfortunately yes. Terribly inconvenient; I do apologize. If you like, I can drive you the distance so you won’t have to walk.”

Pomeroy thought for a moment but ultimately waved the offer away. The signed receipt was stashed back into his inner pocket as Michael opened the front door for him again.“That’s very kind of you, Mr Stevens, but it’s such a fine day and I so rarely get to enjoy them. I believe the walk would do my old bones some good. Have a good day!”

Bill and Fleur closed the door to the guest room and looked at each other. Johanna Rowle was a silent, haunted figure, pale as a ghost and far more frail then could possibly be healthy. She spoke only in Swedish, and only to Fleur. Johanna had arrived early that morning, a large-boned nurse named Hannah McAvoy hovering in her shadow. Mrs McAvoy handed over a week’s worth of potions, a written schedule for them, and a Swedish Common Phrase book.

“I’ll be back this time next week,” the woman directed. “I’m staying in the village in case you need me. They think I’m a midwife, so don’t feel odd calling at all hours. Mr Thorfinn doesn’t even know where she is – only your mother does, William. I report directly to her and no one else. Now, Johanna responds best to gentle suggestions, but she cries at loud noises and men – when she notices them – frighten her. When she has a nightmare, which she will, it must be Fleur who comforts her. I found telling her ‘Det är över nu’, or ‘It’s all over now’, seems to help best. Oh, and ‘Ingen kommer att skada dig här’, which is ‘No one will hurt you here’. The potions are to help with her anxiety and the nightmares. Make sure Johanna doesn’t miss a dose, dear. We’ve been trying to improve her appetite as well, but we haven’t found any food she’s particularly interested in and she just throws the Hunger Inducement potions right back up again.”

Now, in the cool dark hall of their tiny home, Bill wrapped an arm around his wife and drew her into his chest. This would be strange, but they’d figure it out.

The door loomed ominously ahead of them. Ron, disguised as one of his father’s co-workers for the moment, rubbed his nose and tried not to look suspicious. “Still can’t believe dad let us follow him to work today,” he muttered.

“Lucky for us he’s learned not to ask too many questions,” Ginny said, sliding out from under John Henry’s Invisibility Cloak and up to the door to the office of the Minister of Magic.

Still under the Cloak and hidden from view, John Henry jostled his friend’s shoulder. “Lets just get in and out, guys.”

Pulling a pair of flat metal tools out of the bun she’d done her hair up in that morning, Ginny knelt down and tried to remember what the twins had taught her. The top, master, and bottom pins; the cylinder and spindle… and if there was any sort of magic involved, the chances of an alarm sounding were astonishingly high. Ron and John Henry milled around in the middle of the corridor, respectively doing their best to project responsibility and make sure they weren’t caught at the same time.

A couple of tense minutes later, the tumblers clicked and the latch opened. Very aware there might be another type of trap warding the door, Ginny rolled forward on her knees to carefully breech the doorway. Nothing happened. She shuffled a few inches into the office. Still nothing happened.

Leaning out, she snagged her brother’s cloak and pulled him into the office behind her. Ron leaned against the door once he felt John Henry brush past him, shutting it with a soft ‘click,’ and watched his sister move towards the desk. Ginny took a deep breath and cast a detection spell on the large, obnoxiously pink piece of furniture taking up far too much of the room. It glowed white and then green, and then blue around one drawer on the right-hand side.

“Over here,” she whispered, and waved a hand at her brother. Ron dug in his pockets for a moment before finding a set of gloves the twins had been working on since the previous summer. Ginny tugged them on and frowned.

“They couldn’t get them to fit better?” she grumbled, disliking the way the fingers flopped and the palm didn’t sit right.

“Anti-magic gloves can’t hold a Fit Me spell, dumbarse.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the glowing blue handle. The drawer opened easily – no mechanical lock of any kind. “Stupid cow doesn’t even believe in muggle locks. As if no one could possibly figure out a way around magic.”

At the door, John Henry listened very carefully. He could hear footsteps nearing the office, and then fade away as the person passed. “Stop stalling, Ginny; hurry up.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out and looked into the drawer. A few folded pieces of parchment were tied with a lurid pink ribbon, but other than that the drawer seemed empty. Carefully, she removed the parchment and knocked around the inside of the drawer. One corner in the back sounded hallow.

“Five points to Gryffindor,” she mumbled to herself, tugging the gloves off and tossing them back to her brother. Ginny pulled her wand out of her robes. An Identify Spell and a few curse breaking moves Bill had taught her later, the false bottom of the drawer opened. Inside gleamed the locket.

It was a pretty necklace, if a bit masculine looking – a large dark stone with an ‘S’ curved into a snake embedded in it. The chain was heavy, but shone in the half-light of the office.

‘Ginevra, my only friend.’

Ginny shook her head and leaned back, but she couldn’t look away. “I, uh…”

‘You can trust me, Ginevra. I won’t leave you.’ The stone shimmered a sickly, malicious green.

“R-Ron, you need to, um…”

“Ginny?” Ron reached out to his sister and shook her shoulder. “Ginny, are you okay?”

“Cov-cover the, uh… Ron, plea-“ The metal snake looked like it was moving, dancing over the gem it was placed in.

‘I’ll always be with you; don’t worry.’

Ron scooped the locket up and tucked it into one of his cloak pockets. Ginny gasped and shook her head, clearing it.

“Th-thanks,” she stuttered. “Lets, um… lets get out of here. We’ve been gone too long anyway.”

Leaving should have been as easy as entering had been, but then the door latched. A claxon sounded, lights strobing above their heads. Bursting into movement, the trio dashed away from the office down the empty corridor. Ron latched onto his sister’s wrist as ministry workers began coming out of their offices, looking bewildered at the noise.

“Intruders!” Ginny yelled, pointing ahead of her in a stroke of brilliance. “Thieves! Going that way! Call the Aurors!”

They ran a few more halls down when Aurors in deep blue robes raced towards them. Now, Ginny pointed in the direction the three had come from. “We’re being chased! They’re behind us! Thieves!”

The Aurors ran in the direction Ginny had directed them, leaving the teens alone for the moment. Quickly throwing the Invisibility Cloak over his friends, John Henry pressed the two Weasley’s closer to the wall so they wouldn’t be discovered. Another team of Aurors ran past them, wands out and ready. After a few moments when no one else came, they began slowly and carefully making their way back to Mr Weasley’s office.

They remained silent and hidden as they walked, barely daring to breathe until Arthur’s office was shut behind them. With a collective exhale, the Cloak dropped to the floor. Arthur looked up at his children and their friend.

“Do I want to know?” he asked.

Ron and Ginny shook their heads.

“You’ll hear about it tomorrow,” John Henry told him, “or tonight depending on how quickly the Prophet jumps on it.”

Arthur regarded the teens then looked down at his work. “Molly’s expecting you three for lunch,” he said after a moment. “I’ll escort you to the Floo Hall. Lets go. Quickly now.”

Draco was so angry with her. So irrationally, blindingly angry that she’d put herself at risk like that, even after he’d told her how important it was to him that she stay safe. As Draco focused on Ginny, both of them heaving with rage less than a hand’s breadth apart, he was caught in the glittering gold of her eyes, the flush that bloomed beneath the freckles on the apples of her cheeks, the way her lush lips were parted just so. Before he could even think to stop himself, Draco’s fingers speared into her hair and dragged her closer, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that shocked him with it’s savagery.

Merlin, but he wanted to devour her. Her heat, her light, the sounds she made. Under his hands, her skin was soft and smooth. She gripped his shoulders with tense fists while his fingers tunnelled under her shirt to count her ribs. Neither noticed the voices trailing ever closer from the hall.

“Yes, I think the rooms on this level are finished for now, Remus dear. Thank you so much for opening your home this way. It really is such a wonde-Ginevra Weasley!”

Ginny and Draco leaped apart, Ginny fixing her shirt and blushing as red as her hair, Draco turning to face the wall as if hoping it would just open up to swallow him.

“Hey, hi! Mum, hi. Wejustfinishedthisroom and-“

“I can see what you ‘just finished’, young lady, and believe me we will be having words when we get home. As for you, Draco Malfoy – no, you can’t will yourself into nothingness, you turn and face me like the man you seem to think you are. Now you be assured I will be sending your mother a letter, and I will be telling Mr Stevens exactly what I found you two up to today. I’m going to finish inspecting the rest of the rooms, and when I get to the kitchen in fifteen minutes, I expect both of you there looking respectable. Fifteen minutes in the kitchen, do you understand me?”

Remus was silent as they turned away, but once they were out of earshot he looked at Molly.

“You gave them fifteen minutes? Alone?”

She shrugged. “I was young once; I know how long it can take. Arthur and I didn’t elope just because of the first war, you know.”

Remus frowned, thoughtful. “Did I know you and Arthur eloped?”

“You might have heard it from one of the older members,” Molly waved off. “But I’ll tell you: if my daughter elopes at any age, I don’t care who it’s with, there’ll be hell to pay. It’s bad enough Bill and Fleur barely had any wedding at all.”

John Henry lay back on his cot. Remembering all the research Seamus and Alfie had done on meditation, what Hermione had found on Legilimancy and what his father had taught him, he tried to clear his mind except for one thing. He focused on the dream he’d had about Mr Weasley, over a year ago when he’d been attacked by that snake. He thought about what it was like to see the world through the snake’s eyes, how it felt to slither on the ground. He laid there for what felt like hours, thinking about that damn snake. Nothing.

But when he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the tent. He was on the ground, curled up by a large chair. A dark cloaked figure sat in it, and others in cloaks milled about. They were speaking, but he couldn’t understand them clearly. He didn’t recognize the room, either.

‘Hey,’ he nudged the mind he was in. ‘What’s going on here?’

A female voice answered back. ‘Our master is reminding those who serve him exactly why he’s in charge.’

‘Ah. Explains the grovelling.’ One of the standing figures bowed exceptionally low, and a sharp blue light had the squat figure sprawling out on the floor. As gloomy as the overall setting was, it was still strange to see the figure’s pale grey and muted green tweed skirt fly around.

‘You feel familiar,’ the snake thought at him. ‘Does my master know of you?’

‘I think he does? I’ve been looking for you, though.’

This seemed to flatter the snake. ‘Me? Whatever for?’

One of the figures pointed its wand at the prone victim on the floor and sent another spell at it, this time a sick purple. John Henry could hear the crowd cheering as the prone figure screamed, but it was like listening to music under water – distorted and strange.

‘I have something for your master – a gift.’ God, please don’t let the snake catch the lie. ‘As you can see, his followers are rather…’

‘Stupid.’

‘Yes. So asking them to do anything would be pointless and take twice as long. But you are smart, and you are loyal.’

The snake was silent for a while, watching the unfortunate figure on the floor have the tar taken out of him.

‘You are a poor liar,’ she decided after a while. ‘But you intrigue me. No one but my master has spoken to me in a very long time; I would know who you are.’

‘Come find me then,’ John Henry told her. ‘I’ll tell you all about myself, and give you the gift to take to your master.’

Nagini unwound herself from her coil and began making her way down through the halls. ‘I believe I shall find you, my mysterious new friend. And if you displease me, I also believe I shall swallow you whole.’

The next time John Henry opened his eyes, he was back in the tent. Ron and Hermione hovered over him, equal measures concern and hope. His head felt like it was about to split open.

“She’s on her way.”

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING!

Any information regarding the following individuals is immediately requested by order of Minister Umbridge:

Harry James Potter (Actions Against the Ministry)

Hermione Jane Granger (Actions Against the Ministry)

Ronald Bilius Weasley (Actions Against the Ministry)

Ginevra Molly Weasley (Actions Against the Ministry)

Thorfinn Rowle (Treason)

Severus Tobias Snape (Treason)

Andromeda Vega Tonks (Treason)

Remus John Lupin (Actions Against Nature)

Theodore Tonks (Actions Against Nature)

Xenophilius Lovegood (Spreading of False Information)

…

‘Get Alfie!’ A small silver otter burst into the park grounds, startling the boys who lounged near the swingsets. ‘Ron’s hurt – we need Alf’s car! We’re at the meeting point. Hurry!’

Jumping into motion, Seamus and Alfie rushed to the old Ford wagon in the parking lot, starting the old car with a roar. Alfie threw it into gear and tried not to cringe too much as the tires squealed. The drive out to the Old Morgan Farm seemed to take forever, but when they finally made it, John Henry and Hermione where hunched over a seated figure. Bounding out of the car, Seamus ran over to the three while Alfie rounded to the boot, tossing the hatch open. The boys and Hermione lifted Ron off the ground – one under each arm, the last one grabbing his legs – and hobbling towards the car. Hermione and Seamus steadied Ron against the bumper as John Henry climbed in to pull their redheaded friend the rest of the way in. The hatch closed with a slam and soon the group were racing back to Lupin’s Den.

“Ron, can you hear me?” John Henry checked the belt around his friend’s arm, doing his best not to look directly at the damage below.

“We had just broken down camp,” Hermione explained. “A group of Snatchers found us and we had to run. He splinched himself apperating out.”

Alfie gulped. “Do I… want to know what that means?”

“No,” John Henry called. “Not right now, anyway.”

Ron’s eyes opened, a bright and glassy blue. “Leave part of you behind,” he murmured. “Like being caught in a door, but bloody and very bad.”

“It’s okay, Ron,” John Henry shushed him. “Dad and Mr Lupin will know what to do.”

When they arrived out front of Mr Lupin’s home, Alfie helped Hermione and John Henry bring Ron out while Seamus got the door open for them. “Mr Lupin! Ron needs you!”

Michael and Remus appeared immediately.

“Dear god,” Michael breathed. “Alright, through here. All of you; lets go.” He guided the group to a bedroom near the front of the house, barking out instructions as he went.

“Remus, call Molly and Arthur. John Henry, put him down on the bed, then I need you to go to the workshop and grab the green and purple bags. Who put the belt on and how long ago?”

“I did,” Hermione said, quickly stepping out of his way. “Maybe twenty minutes ago? Less than forty minutes.”

“Well done, Hermione,” Michael told her. “Alfie, did you park out front?”

“Yes sir. I need to go move it off the street.”

“Exactly right. I don’t want you to get another fine. Seamus, can you go to the kitchen and have Remus get a pot of water boiling for me?”

“On it.” Seamus and Alfie practically ran out of the room, eager to be away from the blood.

“Now Hermione, would you tell me what was happening that would lead to Ron splinching himself at nearly midnight?”

Hermione took a shaky breath as the adrenalin started to dissipate. “We had just finished breaking down camp – you know we went to camp just outside of Hull? Well, I don’t know how they found us, but a band of Snatchers came out of the woods and we had to run. We ended up having to apperate on the move and… well, Ron’s always had some trouble with the concentrating part of apparition. He can play chess like Anand but focusing on keeping all of his body parts together through the ripple of space-time doesn’t compute.”

“Well, I imagine he’ll keep all arms and legs inside the ride next time, won’t you Ronald?” The boy on the bed managed to groan a bit.

“Ron!?” Molly’s shriek echoed through the house.

“In here, Molly,” Michael called back. “He’ll be alright, just got a bit away from himself.”

Remus leaned in and slanted his mouth over Michael’s. As if electrocuted, Michael went stone still. This… this was not what he had been expecting.

He had only kissed one person in his life – an amazing summer evening with Lily when they had been young adolescents, teasing around the edges of romance. She had been soft and sweet and smelled like the outdoors. The gentle parting of her lips under his, the dreamy sigh of her breath against his cheek…. It had felt awkward and strange – as new experiences tend to – but there was a possibility there: a possibility of something wonderful. It had just been the one kiss when they were fourteen, but Severus had clung to that possibility, that almost wonderful, in his darkest hours.

Kissing Remus was… not that. Not bad, but not… not Lily.

Remus’ lips were hard and dry, and the man smelled of wolfsbane and cigarettes. And reviewing the plans for the Order’s safe house was very far removed from the prosaic wonder of frolicking in the woods behind the Evans’ house.

Instead of the soft, fluttery wings of affection brought on by Lily, Severus felt a sharp zing across his skin, standing his hair on end. His heart accelerated, he broke into a nervous sweat, and he felt a powerful need for… something move within him, something large and strange that he didn’t know how to name. Severus became hyper aware of the man in front of him all of a sudden – the heat of the man’s chest so close to his, the scrape of stubble against his chin, the press of Remus’ finger tips into the outside of his knees – and he really wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Remus eventually took note of Michael’s posture and pulled back. Tawny eyes fluttered open as he frowned. “Have… have I misunderstood?”

Michael blinked furiously as his brain stuttered and tried to catch up. Something very strange was happening within him and he couldn’t think straight. “I think… we might pick this up tomorrow? Yes, hmm.” He jolted up from his chair, stiff limbs suddenly regaining feeling as he stumbled from the table. “You can see yourself out, I believe?”

Before Remus could answer, Michael marched with halting steps to the side door of the shop and lurched out, leaving the other man reaching out towards him in silence.

“My dad’s been acting really weird,” John Henry sighed, throwing a cricket ball up into the air. Ron and Christopher looked at each other and glanced back at their friend. It was the weekend before school started and he was enjoying it as much as he could. But between his increasing headaches and his father acting strangely, he could only really talk about one of them.

“Your dad doesn’t seem like the type to be weird, mate,” Ron said. “He’s pretty normal.”

“Like, really normal,” Christopher echoed. John Henry shrugged, his shoulder blades rubbing against the grass beneath him, face twisted into frustration.

“Yeah, but he’s been all stiff and… weird. He doesn’t want to talk with Mr Lupin anymore. I think maybe something happened.”

“Like, an argument?” Ron asked, pulling up tufts of grass. “My dad gets weird when Mr Malfoy comes over to give report.”

“Maybe.” John Henry sighed again. “If it was an argument, I hope they get over it soon. It’s kinda awkward when Mr Lupin comes over now.”

“My mum gives my dad the silent treatment when they argue,” Christopher chimed in. “That’s really awkward. Maybe it’s like that?”

“Or maybe it’s to do with the,” Ron cut himself off, brown eyes cutting towards a small group of children nearby before he continued, “ah, you know…. The h-o-r-c-r-u-x-e-s.”

The muggle boy rolled his eyes and threw a tuft of grass at Ron. “We all know how to spell, you twp slebog*.”

“Hey guys!” Alfie and Seamus ran into the park. “Mr Jones’ sheep got into the school yard again.”

“Mrs Davies is going to thump him this time, for sure!”

The three boys popped up and began jogging towards the school, the conversation ended for now.

Bill sat in his mother’s kitchen and fiddled with one of his earrings.

“She just…” he sighed and shook his head. “Mum, she just won’t eat. Fleur’s been teaching her French, and that’s been good. It gives her something to be interested in, and she can communicate without resorting to gestures. She’s picked it up pretty quickly, too – just the conversational stuff, nothing written yet, but she’s not a slow learner.”

“That’s good!” Molly exclaimed, turning from the pot of stew she had going on the stove. “How is she with you, love? Still frightened?”

“A little, I think. She won’t pass me in the hall if she can help it, but she does that with Fleur, too. You’ve seen the house – the halls are pretty narrow. I don’t think she likes being touched.”

“Can’t blame the girl for that, poor dear.”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t want to be touched either. And she doesn’t like being alone in a room with me. If Fleur leaves the kitchen or living room, she’ll sit for a few moments and then go to her bedroom. But I don’t have to announce myself before entering any more, and she seems to tolerate my presence well enough as long as we’re not alone.”

Molly nodded. “Just keep at it, sweetheart. Hannah McAvoy tells me the girl has made some wonderful progress while she’d been with you.”

Bill looked at his mother, completely at a loss. “But mum, she just won’t eat. Fleur can get her to drink fortified shakes a couple times a day, but that’s all. She was already very thin when she came to us; she’s practically a skeleton now. None of her clothes fit, her hair is starting to fall out… Fleur and I don’t know what to do!”

“What all have you tried, dear?”

He blew out a heavy breath between his lips. “Oh Merlin, it seems like everything. Soups of all sorts; salads with and without dressing; plain chicken; sweets; plain rice; whatever vegetables look good at market; fresh bread – wheat, rye, and pumpernickel; all the cheese Fleur’s mum can send us; eggs; rolls…. We didn’t want to shock her system with strong flavours, but we even tried food from a Swedish cookbook thinking maybe something she recognized would do the trick. She never turns her nose up at what we make, but she either just picks at it or throws it up after a few bites.”

Molly crossed her arms and leaned back against the stove. “When you and your brothers were young, if you weren’t feeling well, all you’d want to eat was my mashed potatoes. I’ll make some for you to take with you. It’s not a trouble, dearie. And if that still doesn’t work, maybe her brother can remember what her favourite sickie-food was.” She reached over and put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “I think you’re doing the best you can, though, Billy. Just offer her food as you have been and keep making those shakes for her.”

(According to Thorfinn, Johanna’s go-to food when she was ill was cinnamon-sugar toast. She ate both slices when Bill put two in front of her, and then ate six more before she excused herself in soft, halting French for a nap. A few days later, Bill tried peanut butter toast, amazingly to similar success. It seemed the key to Johanna’s appetite had finally – thankfully – been recovered.)

Nymphadora Tonks shifted in her seat and looked at her partner. “Wanna go for lunch, Kings? I could use a bite to eat.”

“Feeling better then?” Kingsley asked. “You were sick all morning.”

Tonks shifted again. “Uh… well, lets go find something and we’ll see. I have something I want to talk to you about anyway.”

Kingsley’s dark eyes lifted up from his desk and Tonks tried not to look guilty. “There’s a cart on Diagon Alley that sells lamb plates.”

Tonks nodded and grabbed her cloak. Apperating was rough, but the cart was exactly where Kingsley said it was and they sold mineral water, which helped resettle her stomach.

They got lunch and she lead them towards a secluded section of the Alley, a corner of a near by park.

“So…?” Kingsley prompted, stabbing his lamb with a little plastic fork. “What’s wrong? And why didn’t you want to talk in the office?”

Tonks rolled her lips between her teeth and stirred the salad that came with her plate. “You know how we’ve been… on that side mission? And how this past spring, up at the school, someone we thought we were working against-“

“Killed that guy for you, yeah,” Kingsley ended for her. “What’s wrong, Tonks?”

“That guy, he and I have… sort of been seeing each other…”

“And….?”

She swallowed, feeling like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. Her stomach turned, but it had nothing to do with why she had been ill that morning. “I’m pregnant.”

Kingsley blinked and sat up. Turning to face his partner, he considered her calmly. “Does he know?”

She shook her head. “Haven’t had the courage to tell him yet.”

“When did you find out?”

Tonks picked at her salad some more, wishing she had any kind of appetite. “This morning was the first time I was sure, but I’ve suspected for about a week.”

Kingsley nodded. “I wondered why you were acting odd.” Taking a deep breath, he thought through the options. “Well, you have to tell him. And you have to figure out if you want to keep it or not.”

“I… I think I want to keep it. I mean, I know these are really uncertain times and everything, but I feel a genuine connection with him, Kings. And I think… I think he’ll be excited. He loves his family – he’d do anything for them.”

“Then you need to tell him tonight. Hell, take the rest of the day off – I’ll cover for you. He should be at the Burrow today. And Molly will be able to help with anything you might need.”

Tonks grinned. “You know she always wished I’d paired up with Charlie?”

Her partner nodded. “Well, she’s pretty much adopted your man and his sister, so I’m sure she won’t be too disappointed.”

John Henry,

My father has gone to the store, and while he hasn’t come back yet I’ll let him know you were asking after him. In the meantime, I’ll be sure to pass your request along to my maiden aunt. I’ll let you know what she says.

Does your garden have Sneaking Piffles? They like digging in the dirt.

I’ll be in touch soon,

Luna

(Decoded:

John Henry,

I’ll talk to the ghosts about Rowena Ravenclaw. As soon as I find out anything about the diadem, I’m going to look for my father. He’s gone missing. I suspect he’s been captured by Death Eaters.

The mail is being monitored.

I’ll be in touch soon,

Luna)

Census registry to open today!

All magic wilders are asked to form orderly lines organized by last name at the newly instated Census Bureau, the newest branch of the Department of Commerce, to be correctly documented by the Ministry. The head of each household will be asked to fill out a 60-part questionnaire detailing the demographics of their families. Questions will include number of individuals living under their roof, number of magic users, blood status, country of origin, and annual income.

The doorbell as 458 Bittney St rang at half six one Wednesday morning. Following the instructions of three teenagers, the Delahouse family – mother (half-blood), father (half-blood), two smaller children (one magical, one squib), mother’s elderly father (muggle) – were packed up and relocated to the most Ancient and Decrepit Safe House.

“I… I was not an attractive child, Anne,” Michael slumped in the metal chair outside of Mr Evans Café. “There was only Lily who ever seemed… interested. And then I was so busy with John Henry and the shop…”

Anne Rees frowned and leaned across the table, agog. “One? You’ve only ever… with one person? Michael! But you’re so… Well, regardless of how you looked as a child, you certainly aren’t unattractive now! Really? Only one?”

Michael’s shoulders shifted vaguely. There had been one drunken, meaningless party when he’d been 19. It had left a very odd taste in his mouth and he hadn’t been able to feel clean for days afterward. So yes, even if it hadn’t been Lily, there had only ever been one.

“And now Remus has kissed you,” Anne continued, still amazed. She blinked a few times. “Well… do you… I mean, do you like… men?”

Michael cleared his throat and studied the design on the table between them. “I don’t think it’s men or women.… I believe… I didn’t see anyone, not before Lily. And after her, I didn’t see anyone. I’ve never… been attracted to anyone who wasn’t her.”

Anne frowned. “No one? Not Kate Winslet or… or Matt Damon?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “They’re talented actors, Anne, but I don’t want to snog them.”

“Not even Idris Elba? Morgan would snog Idris Elba! And you know my husband – he’s strictly into women!”

Trying not to laugh, Michael shook his head. “Not even Idris Elba, Anne. Just… just Lily.”

“And now maybe Remus.”

“And now maybe Remus.”

Anne leaned back into her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. “You two would be cute together,” she decided. “And John Henry already likes him. I think he’d have to get rid of that dog, though – that dog does not like you, and John Henry doesn’t like it.”

“Remus’ mutt is the least of my worries, Anne. I don’t… he kissed me! What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

Anne shrugged and popped a piece of cinnamon roll into her mouth. “Was it good?”

The man shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure. I think maybe it might have been. If I hadn’t been so surprised.”

“So kiss him again.”

“That doesn’t actually solve anything, Anne.”

She smiled, sly, and popped another chip in her mouth. “Gets you another kiss, though.”

A boy with dark hair and angry eyes sat at the bottom of a closet, scraping something into the wood with a pen.

“I hate it here, Harry,” the boy sighed. He was perhaps six or seven, incredibly pale, and gangly. His jumper had a hole in one shoulder and his knees were freshly scraped. One of his socks slouched over his ankle, adding to the pitiful-looking figure he made. Pulling his knees to his chest, John Henry decided not to correct the boy on his name.

“Hmm. And where is here?”

The boy glared. “Doesn’t matter where I am,” he bit out. “Where are you?”

John Henry inspected the walls of the closet, but he didn’t recognize it. “Seems like I’m just in here with you. Is this your closet?”

It was empty save the two of them. The boy started stabbing the floor with his pen, which had turned into a small dagger. “I hate you. I hate you and I want you to die.”

“That’s not nice,” John Henry said with a frown. “You don’t look old enough to hate anyone enough to want them dead.”

The boy looked at him with hate-filled red eyes and he wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man. Or not a man – the thing a man became when he had no soul. A pale and snarling monster with a blackened, rotting mouth. Large and heaving, it grew until it loomed over John Henry, a spectre of bile and bitter cold. When it spoke again, the voice was hard and empty. “I WANT YOU DEAD!”

John Henry woke up with a gasp, sitting straight up in his bed. Sweat soaked with a splitting headache and a pounding heart, he stumbled out of bed and down the hall. He legs shook under him, causing him to hold onto the wall as he staggered to his father’s room.

“Dad,” he mumbled around the pain, shaking the man awake. “Dad, the nightmares are getting worse.”

Michael woke with a deep breath, took a moment to orient himself. “I’m here,” he soothed, gathering his trembling son to his chest. “I’m here, John Henry. It’ll be all right. We’ll figure this out together.”

Ginevera,

Your brother snores to bring the rafters down. I’m far closer to hitting him than I ever imagined I’d be. You have so many, though, you probably won’t even miss him if he accidentally ends up expired. Other than gross breathing issues, the lump is fine; Hermione is also fine. As usual, I’m marvellous.

Don’t do anything reckless.

Ginevra,

Why haven’t you written me back? You can’t possibly still be pouting. Don’t make me worry about you. I refuse to do that on top of everything else we’re attempting to accomplish. Write me back, Ginevera.

G,

You were right. I miss you.

D

Michael sat across from Remus in the back room of his shop, stiff and unsure. His eyes were trained on the table between them.

“I… I don’t have much experience with… this.”

“With men, you mean?”

Michael’s head cocked and he shook it negatively. “With… with anything.” Good lord, this was horrible. He should never have invited Remus over, never got the idea that explaining would be a good thing to do. This was horrible. “Neither relationships nor more… intimate… connections. I’m not virginal,” that awful night when he was 19 sprung to mind, “but my experience is… extremely limited.”

Remus sat back in his chair and kept his palms firmly planted on the table. He wanted to reach out, to grasp Michael’s hand and hold it to his heart, but they weren’t there yet. “I remember our school days, but even after… there wasn’t anyone special?”

Michael shifted in his chair. “There was only Lily, and then there was the war. After that… I had John Henry and then the business. I spent years looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to find us, sure that I had missed something, something vital that would lead people directly to us. And starting your own business from the ground up is unsurprisingly very difficult. Once things had settled, once I felt comfortable enough to relax…. Mrs Hudson, bless her, tried multiple times to set me up with her niece, but the girl is… bubbly.” The word came out on a sneer. “She’s an exhausting woman, Remus – not at all someone I could ever see myself even passably attracted to. Not that I have much experience with that, either,” he mumbled at the end. Remus heard it anyway, but Michael stumbled on before he could respond.

“In any case, I’m not… adverse to starting a relationship with you. You are… well, I’m not adverse to it. I will most likely be disappointing to you, however.”

Now Remus did reach across the table, catching one of Michael’s hands. He couldn’t stop a small grin creeping across his face; this practical, beautiful man was so stuffy when he was flustered. “Michael, I think I know you well enough now to know that, well…. You’d have to do something quite horrible for me to be disappointed in you. If anything, the onus is on me – I don’t want to overwhelm you. If I understand you correctly, this would be your first relationship? And with me, and I’m… Just… let me hold your hand, and kiss you sometimes. Anything else can come as it comes, if it comes – and it doesn’t have to. Trust me, even a little bit.”

“I do trust you, Remus,” Michael murmured. “I wouldn’t let you around John Henry if I didn’t.”

“Well just…. Tell me how you’re feeling, or if I do something you don’t like. I want you to be comfortable; I want to make you happy.”

Michael took a deep breath and turned his hand under Remus’, so they were palm to palm. It was rough, but so was his. And warm – Remus’ hand was warm and strong, and it felt… right. It felt good. The man’s pulse thrummed just under Michael’s fingertips, light and steady beneath the delicate skin there. When Michael finally spoke again, his voice came out as a whisper.

“I like holding your hand. It doesn’t matter to me that it’s a man’s hand, or a werewolf’s hand. It’s your hand and the longer I hold it, the more I like holding it. That’s… that’s how I feel. Right now.”

Joy bubbled up inside Remus, expanding to fill his whole chest until he was fit to bursting with it. “Thank you, for telling me. I can work with that. We can work with that.”

The door at 72 Signal Rd was knocked at four in the morning on a Friday. Three teenagers stood for twenty minutes before the tall-ish redheaded one knocked again, louder and using his whole fist. Finally, a very sleepy Mary Waterford (muggle mother of three) opened the door. In the next twenty minutes, Mary and her two youngest (the eldest was at that special school in Scotland) were packed and gone to the most Ancient and Decrepit Safe House.

From the Private and Protected Desk of Minerva McGonagall:

Arthur,

I hope this letter finds you and those of your house well. Unfortunately, I have a very unpleasant task set before me.

As has been reported, the staff of Hogwarts School has seen a realignment this year. This event has had multiple negative effects upon the student body, none the least of which have happened to the child of yours still under my care. I regret to inform you that in the course of protecting younger students from the violent ministrations of our new staff, your daughter Ginevra has placed a very large target upon herself.

Truly this girl is a credit to your lineage, Arthur. She fights for the well being of others with no thought of herself. She bears true faith to those Gryffindor principles you yourself held dear when you walked these halls as a student. She is a bright spot of hope and valour in these dark and trying times. However, I worry for her.

The staff she is up against… they are cruel. They are monsters without conscious or fear of penalty. What I have bore witness to of their actions is beyond comprehension. I have again and again riled against them to no avail. I fear they will one day kill a student such are their proclivities. I fear they will kill your daughter.

I have done all I can to protect her, to bolster her spirits, and to empress upon her the necessity for safety. Headmaster Malfoy is aware of the situation, but given his position is able to do little. I know we will be evacuating the first round of vulnerable students out of the school this coming Winter Holiday; I strongly advise you and Molly to demand Ginevra home at this time. While she has done a great amount of good for those around her and will no doubt continue to act in a way most befitting of a Gryffindor, I cannot allow her to put herself in harms way much longer.

I humbly apologize for all I cannot do, Arthur.

Minerva McGonagall

‘Hey Nagini.’

‘Voice who is not my master. Voice who I will swallow whole.’

‘If you swallow me whole, you won’t be able to deliver the gift I have for your master.’

‘So I will take you to him, and then I shall eat you.’

‘Well, you’ll have to find me first. Any idea where you are?’

‘I can feel you, and I know I am closing in on where you are.’

‘Right – snakes can’t read. Well, I’m waiting for whenever you get here.’

‘I shall find you soon, voice who is not my master.’

John Henry,

I found the funniest thing in my closet yesterday. Could you believe that beneath all the Nesting Alfaline fur and Grey Ladybird feathers was the hat you loaned me years ago? I know I swore up and down I didn’t have it, but there it was after all. I’m so sorry for the mix up.

I have to check with my father before I can answer you about Winter Holidays, but I promise to send you a great present if it turns our I can’t visit.

Hope you’re having luck with that piffle problem. Our only solution was the burn them out.

Luna

(Decoded:

John Henry,

Found the Diadem – had to make it look like a hat to get it to you. The Grey Lady said it was in the Room of Requirement and it was pretty easy to get my hands on, considering.

My father is still missing. Students will start being moved en mass beginning of Winter Hols.

They’re torturing students.

Luna)

(Things were getting very bad indeed if Luna Lovegood’s coded messages sounded as if they made sense.)

Ron and Hermione sat hunched over a table at the Hog’s Head. It was extraordinarily dirty, everything so covered with sawdust and grime that Hermione was worried their robes would stick to the seats when they moved to get up. Behind the bar was a boy they sort of recognized from the year above them.

“Is that… is that Marcus Flint?” Ron asked, voice hushed so as not to be over heard. Hermione squinted through the gloom of the pub and nodded.

“Y-yeah, I think so.”

“Didn’t know he got a job here. Though he’s not one of the old families, so I guess it makes sense.”

“Do you think we were wrong, then? Aberforth isn’t here?”

“Aberforth isn’ where?” came a voice, grizzled and annoyed, behind her. The two started suddenly and looked up.

A long, scraggly grey beard tangled with long, grey scraggly hair, forming a drooping cloud around an old man’s wrinkled, frowning face. The eyes, glaring out from behind thick glasses, were pale blue and the only thing that resembled his brother.

“Uh… we’re looking for Aberforth Dumbledore,” Hermione began. “Is that… is that you?”

“Aye,” the man grumbled. “Whaddya want?”

Hermione shot Ron a look and he picked up the thread. Standing, he extended his hand to shake. “I’m Ron Weasley, and this is Hermione Granger. We were told you might be able to help us. We’re from the Order.”

Aberforth sneered at the hand but waved them both to follow him. “Alastor tol’ me to expect ya. Don’ even have sense to cover yer damn heads. Marcus, man the till!”

“Yes, sir.”

Hermione and Ron were lead to a large room in the upstairs of the pub, just as dingy as the lower level. It seemed to be a common area with many doors to guest rooms lining the walls. There were a few old chairs turned to face the central fireplace, and above the mantle was a large portrait of a girl. She appeared to be about fourteen with reddish blonde hair and the same clear blue eyes Aberforth and Albus shared. She blinked at them when they came in and frowned slightly at Hermione, though she gave a vague sort of smile to Ron. In the corner of the room, a goat was tied to a post. It munched passively on a bail of hay, ignoring them completely.

“Uh… we were told you might have a way of getting students out of Hogwarts?” Ron asked, deciding the best way was to dive right in. “Mr Moody said?”

Aberforth glared at him for a moment then looked to the portrait. “You know where to go, luv.”

The girl in the painting took a deep breath and smiled, seeming to be proud of having been given a task. She nodded once, and trotted down a small tree-covered tunnel behind her. Once she was out of sight, Aberforth turned back to the young pair in front of him.

“Yeah, I can get people out of the school. What’re ya gonna do with ‘em, is what I wanna know.”

“If we get them out of the school, we can floo them to one of the safe houses the Order has set up,” Hermione began. “There are two currently up and running. One can hold perhaps forty people, the other maybe ten.”

“We aren’t the Keepers for either,” Ron said, “so we can’t tell you any more about them than that. If it’s alright with you, we’d like to post someone here to help direct the traffic.”

Aberforth scratched the side of his jaw, fingers burrowing deep into his beard to reach the itch. “Tha’s fine. But they haffta pay fer room an’ board if they plan on stayin’ ‘ere.”

Ron nodded. “We’ll pass that along.”

Just then, the girl in the portrait came trotting back along the path. She held the hand of another person, and as they neared Hermione gasped with pleasure.

“Neville!”

Their friend jumped from the frame and was immediately embraced by his friends. “It’s so good to see you both,” he told them, voice muffled by their robes.

“How are things at school? Luna hasn’t said much and Ginny isn’t responding to any letters.”

Neville shook his head. “The sooner we get everyone out of there, the better. Lucius Malfoy is the Head Master and he’s put Amycus and Alecto Carrow on staff. I don’t even know what they’re supposed to be teaching – they just scream about how evil muggles are all the time and curse anyone not in Slytherin. Ginny’s too busy protecting the younger students to do much else – none of us have even bothered with schoolwork since the beginning of term.”

“How did you get here without anyone noticing?” Hermione asked.

“This portrait leads to the Room of Requirement,” their friend explained. “I noticed it our fifth year while we were doing our DA stuff. And Ariana showed me how to move between the pub and the school last year.”

“She always was a good girl,” Aberforth grumbled under his breath. “Not the best judge o’ character, bu’ a good girl.”

The girl in the painting stuck her tongue out at her brother and turned back to Neville, a moony sort of expression on her face. Neville had the decency to blush. “She’s going to help us save a lot of people, aren’t you Ariana?” The girl nodded, pleased. “We think the Christmas break is the right time for the first major push of getting students out of the school,” Neville said, turning back to his friends. “We might have to move a few ahead of everyone else – the Carrows have a handful of students they torture harder than the others – but there shouldn’t be too many of them. I was thinking we’d get those kids to safety first, then contact their families to let them know what’s going on.”

Hermione nodded. “Alright. Some of them might already be in hiding, though. The ministry is starting to arrest muggle-born and half-blood families this week. It’s been all over the news.”

“The twins started their broadcast,” Ron added. “Everyone we could tell knows to listen in, even if they’re in hiding. We can start getting information to families that way if owls start getting intercepted. Luna mentioned mail is being monitored at Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, they started that last week I think. A letter from my gran arrived unsealed. Look, I’ve got to be getting back. Keep in touch, yeah?”

Hermione gave him another hug and stepped back quickly. “We will. Tell the others to keep their heads up. We’ll have someone here to help move students as soon as possible.”

John Henry’s nose wrinkled as he swallowed the tea his father set in front of him. “Dad, this is disgusting.”

“Drink it all,” Michael told him. “It’ll help with the dreams.”

More jam went on John Henry’s muffin. Steeling himself, he chugged the rest of the tea and then stuffed into his mouth, hoping to drown out the taste.

“Can I have some normal tea now?” he asked around the mouthful.

“You’re seventeen, John Henry; I’m fairly certain you can get your own tea. As long as you promise to finish your breakfast like an actual human being.”

John Henry smiled winningly, well aware of the muffin and jam still visible on his teeth. Michael rolled his eyes and went back to scrambling the eggs.

Draco stared at the ceiling of the tent. Trying to track an unnaturally large, magical snake across Britain was not how he had imagined spending his seventh year. Neither was visiting random homes of half-bloods and muggle-borns and convincing their families to go into hiding. Especially not with his chosen tent-mates. Weasley slept at the opposite end, snoring in a way he’d never heard a human before. And he had once slept in the same room as Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione was awake sitting at the entrance keeping watch, listening to the wizarding radio on low.

“… with five out of ten rooms currently taken at cave number one. Our good neighbour Romulus is holding down a solid forty still, waiting for all the little lions, badgers, and eagles-“

“And snakes, Rapier – not all choose to slither in the path of their fathers.”

“Right you are, Sabre. Romulus is eagerly awaiting all the baby cubs, birdies and sneaky snakes to come home. To our listeners following the Saga of ShortTop, rumour has it he’ll be moving packages as early as this weekend. ShortTop has no additional information about his blasting crew, which causes Sabre and I no shortage of anxiety given it’s key member. However, as our good friend River reminds us, the blasting crew is strong and smart. If any of them have tuned in, we believe in you.”

Draco’s ears strained for any additional information about Ginny, what she might be up to or how she might be doing, but her brothers had moved on to recounting the new orders coming from the Ministry. Resigning himself to dissatisfaction, Draco rubbed a thumb against the thin leather band tied around his left wrist.

As he lay in the dark, he tried to remind himself that Ginny had a job to do at Hogwarts. It was better for everyone that she wasn’t with him in a tent in the middle of nowhere. She hadn’t responded to any of his letters the past three weeks, but she was fine. She hadn’t spoken to any of her brothers, but she was at school and she was fine.

The awful feeling in the pit of his stomach was hunger. That’s all.

In the Gryffindor Common Room, Ginny lay where she had collapsed in front of the fireplace. Every bone in her body hurt – detention was a bitch these days. Her hands shook and her skin burned even though she felt cold all over. Usually she was back to normal an hour or so after detention finished, but it was getting harder and harder to shake off the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. It didn’t help that she was getting it for longer and longer lengths of time.

Ohon Mbogoir, a sweet and timid second year, laid next to her as Neville worked on his injuries. The younger boy’s face was pressed into Ginny’s sweater to muffle his sobs; his hands were mash and his back was shredded, the skin having been peeled from his muscles and bones in ragged strips. Neville’s voice was a low murmur as he ran his wand over the wounds, slowly stitching up the skin and sinew. Off to the side, Lavender and Parvati brewed a fresh batch of SkeleGrow. The rest of the Tower’s occupants sat, pale statues with grave faces. No one knew exactly what crime the boy had committed, only that he was one of the Carrow’s new ‘favourite’ students.

“We jus-st have to make it until Chris-stmas-s,” Ginny struggled to remind everyone, her voice a hoarse whisper from screaming. “If we can… make it to Winter Hols-s, we can get you all to s-safety.”

Professor McGonagall swept in, the portrait hanging open behind her. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the solemn faces and quiet blanketing the residents before her. Eyes lighting upon the two lying by the fireplace, she knelt down by them. “Very good job, Mr Longbottom,” she said, hating the way her voice shook. No one should have to be complimented on how they handled physical torture. “Miss Weasley, how are you fairing?”

“’S-snot great, Profess-ssor.”

“They smashed his hands,” Neville murmured. His face was red, anger and pain and deep, deep sadness contorting his features as he worked. “Before she could stop them, those bastards smashed Mbogori’s hands. And as she screamed, as they tortured her, they tore his back apart.”

“Won’t s-spill my blood,” Ginny told her. “Pure blood is-s too valuable. But they s-sure can make me s-scream for hours-s.” Another shutter wrecked through her body, every nerve ending protesting loudly.

Minerva, grieved beyond words, laid a hand on the back Mbogori’s head. “It’ll be alright, my boy. You’re leaving tomorrow; I swear this will never happen again. I’ll get some potions from Madame Pomfrey,” she told the rest. “While I’m quite sure Ms Brown and Ms Patil are doing an admirable job, the Infirmary will have a broader selection than what can be made in a Common Room.”

With that, she heaved herself up off the floor and swept back out.

After making her request to Madame Pomfrey, Minerva steadied herself and set herself in the direction of the Head Master’s office.

Behind the large desk in the room once filled with brilliant glass and delightful bits of mystery, Lucius Malfoy sat. The decorations were sparse; he said it was just his style, but Minerva wondered if it was because the man knew he wouldn’t be in the position for long.

When Lucius looked up at her, his face was empty. Every hair was in place, his robes were immaculate, and his eyes gave nothing away. His unfeeling nature towards the safety of the students infuriated her, but she knew what despair lay beneath. Lucius Malfoy, head of the Ancient and Noble house of Malfoy, was drowning on dry land. Since the Dark Lord had ordered his appointment from Head of the School Board to Head of Hogwarts, Lucius had to run interference on the Carrows, the School Board, the Dark Lord, and his wife. And he still didn’t know where his son was. Let the brave little Gryffindors handle the students; Lucius Malfoy had more important things to worry about. The most he could do about anything was look the other way while the student population dwindled.

“Professor McGonagall, what have I told you about barging in here? You no longer have that right.”

“The Carrows are going to kill someone, Lucius. They mutilated a young boy tonight, his hands, his back…. And whoever gets in their way has the honour of having the Unforgivables acted upon them! You must do something!”

“It is not at your discretion to dictate what I must and mustn’t do, Professor McGonagall. Now I believe you can show yourself out the same way you showed yourself in.”

“Lucius-“

His hand came down hard onto the desk, silencing her. “Minerva McGonagall, you will remove yourself from this office immediately! No one has asked for your opinion on how students are to be managed, and for very good reason. This is my final word on the issue. Now leave.”

(When she finally got back to her own rooms well after midnight, Minerva McGonagall broke down and wept.)

The following morning, Ohon Mbogori tumbled tip-over-tea kettle through the portrait frame onto the sawdust-covered floor of the Hog’s Head common area. Before he could reorient himself, strong hands gripped his shoulders and set him back on his feet.

“When they told me one was due today, I have to say I wasn’t expecting you, Mbogori,” a familiar husky voice said. “You were always such a little mouse in my class; can’t imagine you making any such fuss.” Ohon looked up and blinked.

“Professor Rowle!”

“Come on now.” A gentle, heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders and guided him towards the fireplace. “Lets get you someplace a bit nicer, eh? Lupin’s Den!”

John Henry stood in front of a house. Without ever having seen it, he knew it was in a quaint village set far away from the hustle and bustle of the world. The home he stood in front of was almost utterly destroyed. It reminded John Henry of pictures he’d seen of the wreckage caused by Hurricane Andrew over in America. The home was bisected unevenly, roofing shingles and bits of siding littering the yard. The sky above was a dark green-grey, threatening and angry.

“You were to be my opus,” came a voice from beside him. It was a young man speaking, not too much older than John Henry. His face was as stormy as the sky above even though his voice was even, nearly conversational. “This was to be a symbol to my greatest opposition that all who stood against me would perish. Even as they hid, even as they continued to resist the inevitable, I would sniff them out and kill them all. You mother, your father-”

“But not me.”

“Not. You.”

They stood in silence contemplating the destroyed house.

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” John Henry asked, turning to Tom as the sky began to clear. “I mean, it seems a little… over done.”

Tom’s glare was heavy as he looked at the boy. “You were supposed to die that night.”

“Did you take drama in school? Bet you’d be good at it.”

“I hate you. I hate you and you’re going to die when I get my hands on you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t act particularly scared of that threat – you don’t have the best track record of actually killing me.”

“I will kill all the people you love.”

John Henry took a deep breath. “No one I’ve ever loved has died before.”

“Your mother is dead. Your father is dead.”

“Yeah, they are. But… I don’t remember them. So no one I’ve ever really known has died. I wasn’t even that close to Dumbledore. He was a bit of a prick, to be honest.”

“But you have friends. And I will kill them all.”

“Is that what happened to your friends? Did someone kill them?”

Tom drew back. “Did I… kill… my friends?”

“Well, I know your mum died in child birth – those records were easy enough to find once I knew your full name. Well, okay – I didn’t find them. Someone else did. And I don’t know about your dad, but she must have loved you both to have named you after him, right? To try to give you a sense of family or whatever ‘cause you’re Tom Riddle Jr. And I know you grew up in an orphanage; I can’t imagine how much that would’ve sucked.” As John Henry spoke, the man in front of him shrank. A familiar child soon stood next to him, knobby kneed with a smudge of dirt on his face. His jumper even had the same hole in the shoulder, though this time his nose was red from the cold.

“I hate you so much, Harry Potter.”

“Yeah,” John Henry sighed. “Don’t know why, though. It doesn’t seem to be doing you any favours.”

“I didn’t have any friends,” the child admitted suddenly, then seemed startled for having spoke. “I mean… I was more powerful than the other kids, more special, and it frightened them. So I didn’t have friends.”

John Henry nodded and tried to think of what to say to that. “I was a bit different from the other kids my age, too. But then I went to Hogwarts.”

This animated the child, excitement stealing over his young face. It was almost cute. “And it was a home. It was better than a home – it was magic! I could do anything! Like the universe knew that I was meant for better things than those dirty, fucking muggles who feared me. And they were right to be afraid, because I was so much more than they could ever hope to have been!”

As so many times before, the child was a monster again. Heaving, panting, with a dripping, gaping maw for a mouth, skin white and clammy, red eyes glaring holes into John Henry’s skull. John Henry clenched his fists and forced himself to face it. If he woke up, he would lose this opportunity to learn more. And his friends were depending on him.

“So that was it then? The people around you sort of expected you to be a monster, so you just… became one? Instead of actually being better than them, you just confirmed what they already knew was true?”

The monster paused, looming over John Henry, a confused gleam in its eyes. Then it started shrinking again, once more turning into the young man. Once back to original size, the young man seemed to shake himself and turned back to the house. “I’m going to kill you.”

John Henry tsk’ed and shook his head. “You keep saying that. Haven’t you got anything else?”

Tom frowned. “I will be happy when your life has ended.”

“Fine, be that way. I’m waking up now.” John Henry turned from the destroyed house and began walking towards what he assumed was the centre of town. Between one blink and the next, he was back in his room in Wales, above the little shop his father owned. Grabbing a pen and the small notebook off the bedside table, he scribbled down the dream as quickly as he could. His dad would want to know about this in the morning.

He was just glad he didn’t have as much of a headache this time.

A silvery mare with a flowing mane galloped into the tent, startling the three occupants.

'Sor-rry about silence-s,' Ginny’s voice came from its mouth. She sounded tired and hoarse, like she was struggling to get words out. 'Carr-ows taking up all my time. Have again detention tonight. S-See you soon. Love y-ou.'

It was an incredibly cold night. Snow lay in patches around the tree stump John Henry and Draco sat on just outside of Old Morgan’s farm, stars winking in the velvet black of the sky above. In the branches of another near-by tree hid Ron and Hermione, wands out and ready for whatever slithered in their direction. Christopher sat in his little white car on a near-by road, engine idling with the heat on.

“I’m not sure how smart it is for you and I to be so visible,” Draco mumbled. “I’m glad to be here if things go south, but if this thing shares a mind link with Lord Voldemort and he can see through it’s eyes, I don’t know how much I want him knowing we’re working against him.”

John Henry tipped his head from one side to the other. “I have the Invisibility Cloak in my bag if you want it. But he needs to know I’m coming for him.”

Without hesitation, Draco grabbed the bag and pulled the silvery cloak out, swiftly wrapping it around his shoulders. “My parents are supposed to be thought of as supporters of him; I’m not going to jeopardize their cover if I don’t have to.”

John Henry shrugged. “Fine with me.”

They sat in silence for a while longer before they were able to hear the sound of a large mass moving through the grass.

‘Hello?’ John Henry asked in parseltoung.

‘Hello, voice who is not my master. I have found you.’

‘Yes you have.’

The large, almost monstrous form of Nagini rose up, poised like a cobra waiting to strike. Intelligent black eyes considered John Henry for a moment.

‘Where is this place you brought me to?’ she asked.

John Henry tipped his head from side to side again before answering. Beside him, he could feel Draco’s form grow tense. ‘A neutral place. Is your master listening in?’

‘My master is with me always.’

“Good,” John Henry said, switching back to English. Then he leaned in. “Hey there, you twat-waffle. No one lives forever, and you certainly won’t when we’re done.”

“Arachnemorphus!” Hermione cried from her branch, bright blue light shooting from her wand.

“Stupify!” Ron’s voice cracked in the middle of his spell, but the red light hit the snake just as it finished transforming into a tarantula, landing impotently on the ground.

“And that’s the last one,” Draco declared, head popping out of the Cloak as he stood from off the tree stump. Going over to the spider, he scooped it into a plastic container and put a lid on it. The lid had a few holes poked through so the creature could breathe, but was otherwise sealed securely shut. “Let's get out of here and put this with the others.”

When Christopher dropped them off, the park was dark and silent. It was quick work uncovering the lead-lined box holding the other horcruxes. Ron, Hermione and John Henry hovered over the plastic container, Ron’s wand lit to see the inside. Draco sat off to the side, trying not to show how anxious he was to get to Lupin’s safe house.

“Did it have to be a spider?” Ron complained, face screwed up as he watched the tarantula fight against the walls of its prison.

“It was the only thing I could think of,” Hermione told him. “We’re just lucky it worked.”

“Stupid magical snake,” he grumbled, backing away. John Henry stared at it a bit longer.

“It’s weird,” he said. “I can still understand it. Nagini, I mean. She’s not a snake anymore, but I can still understand her.”

Hermione frowned. “What is she saying?”

“Oh you know – she’s going to kill us and enjoy herself while she does it. Her master will come for her and slaughter all who stand in his way. We’ll never get away with this; things of that nature.”

“Nothing to worry about, then,” Ron declared, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “We’ll just keep all the little bits of the most evil wizard in a hundred years together in a hole in the ground, one of them alive and maybe even able to tell him where we are, and just wait until he comes for them because we still haven’t figured out how to destroy any of them yet. Yup, no holes in this plan at all.”

“A little positivity wouldn’t kill you, would it?” Hermione asked him, throwing a loose handful of snow at his head.

“No, but this might.”

“Come on,” Draco chimed in, grouchy and hating that he actually agreed with Weasley. “Burry it with the others and lets get out of here. I have things I need to do, you know.”

Ron rolled his eyes, but John Henry ignored the bickering. He ignored the wet, the dark, and imagined that if he could just focus a little bit more, he could ignore the screeching in his head too.

Marcus Flint shuffled his feet over the rough wooden floors of the Hogs Head Pub, debating with himself if he should speak up. The bar was empty save himself and his employer, and the goats. Ultimately, he figured it was in his best interest to say something.

“Uh, Aberforth? If… If I knew something about someone I knew was being searched for… would you be able to get that information to the people looking for them?”

The old man’s old eyes squinted. “I dunno what the bloody Merlin you just said. Speak clearly, boy.”

Marcus huffed. “I know where someone is, someone your… friends upstairs are looking for. Can you tell them? At least tell them I know?”

Aberforth studied the young man behind the bar. “Who is it you think you’ve found?”

“I know I’ve found Xenophilius Lovegood, that Loony girl’s dad. He’s being held at the Crabbe house, in the basement. Crabbe Sr was bragging last night about how he and some kid – Scabor – Snatched the man out of his garden. They’ve been… interrogating him on your friends’ plans. I don’t think they’ve been getting much from him ‘cause they seemed a bit annoyed with all the nonsense he was spewin’ about bloody Nargles and whatever, but… yeah.”

At length, the old man nodded. “Yeah.”

That evening, Luna Lovegood arrived at Sirius Black's family home. A few days later, a bloodied and bruised Xenophilius was helped through the fireplace at Grimmauld Place by an equally bloodied and bruised Ted Tonks. Even before Andromeda would look the man over, Luna was held tight in her father’s arms.

Petunia Dursley bustled around her kitchen, making tea and desperately trying to pretend she hadn’t collapsed into a sobbing, hysterical mess when she’d opened the door fifteen minutes prior. Though if her guests in the living room were any sort of polite, they’d allow her the courtesy of ignoring the incredibly embarrassing emotional scene she’d caused. It wasn’t everyday the past literally returned to haunt someone, after all. And she honestly thought the whole mess was over after the harrowing experience in that graveyard a few years ago. But here she was, making tea for an old friend – no, not friend. Severus had been Lily’s friend. Making tea for an old acquaintance and a nephew she had never expected to see ever again.

Eventually tottering back into the living room, Petunia plastered on as much of a smile as she could muster and set the tea tray down on the coffee table.

“Ah… remind me of your name again, dear?” She asked the young man who had arrived with Severus. But that wasn’t his name anymore, either. He was called… something else? As she poured the tea, the young man shifted to the edge of his seat and cleared his throat.

“John Henry.” He had a pleasant voice, perched in the strange middle ground between youth and manhood. “My mother named me Harry, but I go by John Henry now.”

She gave him another vague smile as she handed him a cup and saucer. “Right. What a nice, strong, normal name that is – John Henry. My son is Dudley. I suppose that would be your cousin, Dudley would be.”

“Petunia,” Severus interrupted the forced niceties with his usual to-the-point manner. “I gave you something a number of years ago. I need it back now.”

“Oh.” Petunia, flustered and inexplicably sad, fluttered as she mentally scrambled for some sort of footing. It was like her brain had turned upside down and all she could remember were her finishing school manners and the fact that her sister had died. “I… I put it in the basement, with some odds and ends.”

Severus allowed her to blink at him a few times before prompting her again. “I need you to go get it, Petunia.”

“Oh! Oh, right. Um… I’ll be right back.”

As she made her way to the basement, John Henry turned to his father. “She seems…. Is she okay?”

Severus let out a long, hard breath through his nose. “When you were fourteen, she was captured by the Dark Lord’s followers. Her experience with them has left her… a little strange. I believe that in conjunction with the memory shield coming down has confused her quite a bit. But she’s still basically herself, if I remember correctly. Sixteen years ago, she was a more bitter, sad woman. Now, she seems…”

“She seems dotty, dad.”

“Be kind; she’s still your aunt.”

John Henry made a face. “She gave me away.”

“To me, which is arguable the best thing she could have done. She’s your mother’s sister, and your mother would want to you be kind.”

“We could ask her,” John Henry realized. “With that stone Dumbledore left you, we could ask mum if she really cares if I’m nice to someone who just… didn’t love me.”

“First of all, that cannot possibly be why Dumbledore left us that stupid rock. And secondly, I already know what your mother would say: she’d tell you to be kind.”

John Henry grumbled and swirled his cup. “She makes good tea, at least.”

Suddenly, the kitchen door opened with a bang.

“Mum! Juliette and I are back. We got the shopping! Oh.” A broad, well-muscled boy around John Henry’s age, arms laden with brown paper bags, stopped in the doorway when he saw the two visitors in the living room. “Who are you?”

“Dudley, don’t be rude,” hissed a smaller girl behind him. She only held one bag, resting it on her hip and the oversized swell of her very pregnant stomach. “Hello! I’m Juliette Marsters, Dudley’s girlfriend. Ms Petunia mentioned an old friend was coming to visit today – that’s you then?”

Dudley frowned, but was saved from responding when his mother returned from the basement. A long, thin box was clutched in her hands. “Dudleykins! You were both gone so long, I was afraid you’d miss them! Uh, Severus, John Henry – this is my son, Dudley. Ah, his girlfriend – Juliette – lives with us.”

“Ms Petunia and Mr Todd took me in when me mum and da threw me out,” Juliette admitted with a shrug, patting her stomach with her free hand. “Come on, Dud,” she said, tugging on his sleeve. “Lets get those groceries away.”

“Oh no, Juliette,” Petunia cooed, catching the girl’s elbow. “You come sit down, dear. Duders can put those away. Come and put your feet up.”

John Henry gaped and stood up. It took a moment, but finally his brain seemed to to catch up with the rest of the world. “Ah… yeah. I’m John Henry Stevens, and this is my dad. Um… you’re my cousin. I mean Dudley is, my cousin.”

Dudley’s jaw clenched as he started slamming cabinet doors open. Severus had never seen the shopping treated so violently. Petunia just clucked her tongue, her face twisted in concern.

“Dudley’s so protective,” she sighed, placing a pillow under Juliette’s feet. “Ever since his father passed, it’s just been the two of us, and then even with Todd around – that’s his rugby coach, we started a bit of a romance, you see – I was still…” nervous fingers traced over the silvery scars on her arms, then fluttered up to the ones ringing her neck. “Well, he’s just protective is all. Dudley, dear, why don’t you take John Henry out to the garden, have a bit of a talk man-to-man. I’ll take care of the shopping.”

Dudley swung his feet against the garden walk and chewed over his words before opening his mouth. “Didn’t even know I had a cousin until mum was kidnapped. I was at school, see, and so was Todd – he’s the rugby coach. So mum was alone when they took her. The next day, some old man in a weird suit came by the school and got me, told me what had happened to my mum. Uh, his name was… Dumbly? Something like that. He brought me to this old castle where mum was being treated, and he explained everything. Mum had a sister who had been killed when I was a baby, and I had this cousin I’d never met – or, I don’t remember having met him. I guess that was you? Anyway, the guy who took mum needed blood for this ritual, blood from her because of her sister. I guess that would be your mum. Thought magic was just smoke and mirrors before that, but he said mum’s sister had magic, and so did the man who’d kidnapped mum. And mum doesn’t have magic, but her blood does. I don’t think that makes a lick of sense, but… whatever. The old man, he said since no one could find you, they had to use mum. And everyone was looking for you, but you’d just… vanished.” Dudley scuffed his shoes in the garden dirt. “I hated you for a bit there; hated that you were the reason mum got hurt. That wherever you were, you were safe while mum wasn’t. It wasn’t fair. But… well, I guess you didn’t know people were looking for you, did you?”

“No,” John Henry admitted. He coughed a bit, trying to even out his voice. “I didn’t find out anything until the next year. I mean, I knew the story about Harry Potter – everyone in the magical world does. It’s kind of like a legend. But I didn’t know I was Harry Potter until… pretty recently, actually. If I had known, I would have gone in her place. It’s not right that someone innocent should get hurt, you know?”

Dudley shrugged. “You were fourteen,” he scoffed. “I don’t think you could’ve done much. Anyway, I’d never even known mum had any family before. So I started asking questions, you know, like anyone would when they find out magic is real and there’s a whole bunch of people related to you that can do it. But mum always got weird, say she had a headache or something, have to go lie down.”

“Well… I’m here now. What do you want to know?”

“Are you kidding? A shitton! I mean… everything. Where have you been? Why have you been hiding? Is mum still in danger? Can I help at all? I mean, fuck that guy, right? He hurt mum; I’d like to hurt him back, if you please. Dad died when I was ten and while Todd’s great, mum’s the only one I got left.”

John Henry sputtered out a laugh and nodded his head. “Alright. I’ll, ah… I’ll keep that in mind. For the rest of it… it’s a really long story. And kind of complicated.”

“I dunno what you guys are up to at night,” Seamus told John Henry after practice one day in the spring. “But you might want to try being a bit more subtle about it. Dylan’s friend Mark, his dad is a constable. Dr Jones and Mr Davies’ flat over looks the park, and Mark’s dad said Mr Davies asked him about instating a neighbourhood watch to keep vandals out of there at night.”

“Oh… crap.” John Henry ran a towel over his head. “I forgot about them. Well, I don’t think we’ll be using the park too much longer. We just didn’t want patronus’ to come to the shop – it would look weird. Hadn’t thought anyone would notice them in the park if we were far enough back from the street.”

“Just be careful when you’re out there,” Seamus advised, tugging on a clean shirt and starting to stuff his uniform into his kit. “Mr Davies doesn’t miss much, you know?”

“Yeah, sure.”

My dear friend,

Thank you so much for the unexpected gift of homemade fudge and hand-knit arm warmers. They are quite soft and the colour is lovely. I will have to seek the right occasion to wear them.

My husband has been having a difficult time of it at the school lately. The Board has been most stringent about attendance numbers and unruly pupils. It seems a key member hasn’t been sleeping well, and such poor attitudes are spilling out to the rest of the members. I wish I knew of some way to help, perhaps of a way to stop aggravating the issue, but alas I’m not as well informed as others.

As I understand it, my son is doing very well. He is enjoying his apprenticeship immensely, and his father and I are quite proud. I also understand his girlfriend, while a pert little thing, is doing wonderful at her institution of choice.

Thank you again for the lovely gifts,

Lady Narcissa Malfoy

(Decoded:

Molly dear,

Thank you for the gifts. It’s lovely of you to have sent them.

If you can, please tell Harry Potter to stop taunting Lord Voldemort in their sleep. He has begun taking his frustration out on his followers, to include Lucius. I fear for my husband’s safety.

Please let Draco know when you see him that his father and I love him and miss him terribly. And I do hope young Ginevra is recovering; Lucius tells me she had a very hard time of it at school.

Thank you again for everything,

Lacy Narcissa Malfoy)

In one of the back rooms of Lupin’s expanded home, Ginny lay on top of her bed curled on her side around Draco. Her head rested against his chest and she could hear the steady, grounding beat of his heart. One of his hands carded through her hair as they dozed, his other arm stretched up over his head. Every now and then, a shudder jerked her frame, her breath hitching as the spasm ran its course. The door to the room was open and the familiar, comforting scents of Molly Weasley’s cooking drifted through the air around them. Less familiar but just as comforting was the low murmur of voices and movement in the house around them. Lupin had a whole host of muggle-borne students, half-blood families, and students for whom returning home was no longer an option, and the sounds of them playing and arguing floated benignly around the pair.

“Hey Malfoy.” Draco opened one eye and looked to the door. Baby Pucey, Adrian’s little brother who Draco could not remember the proper name of and who might’ve been a first year, stood shuffling from one foot to the next. “A bunch of us are going to be playing a pick-up game out back. Wanna come?”

“Thanks, Pucey; maybe in a little while.”

“Alright.”

As the boy dashed off, Ginny shifted closer to Draco’s heat. “You could go play if you wanted,” she told him, voice quiet. Draco pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“When I’ve just finally got you to sit still? I can play quidditch with them later.”

“Not as s-still as I could be,” she grumbled as another spasm jerked her knees into his thigh. Draco didn’t move, just kept carding his fingers through her hair.

“Not that you were ever all that still to begin with.” Ginny’s fingers clenched his shirt and he could feel a wet spot start to form under her head. His witch was tough as dragon hide and burned brighter than any flame, but even she had her breaking point. He pressed another kiss to her head. “It’ll be alright, Gin,” he whispered. “We just need to give it time.”