Fair Game | Foul Play : Chapter VII, Part ii

[qblackheart]

It couldn’t’ve been mere coincidence, Jared thought, that slimy git Voldemort ordering a retreat just as the Dementors had been cast into oblivion.

“What now?” Beaver asked.

“We head to Hogwarts,” Jensen said, before anyone could say otherwise. He reached out and grabbed Jared’s hand. “We’ve got friends there; family, too.”

“Neville,” Jared muttered, shaking his head. “That boy’d bloody well be all right or I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do to Great Aunt Augusta.”

“Quickest way there is to fly,” Sheppard remarked. “Over the lake. No way of telling if the Anti-Apparation wards would’ve been put back up. Can’t trust these evil blighters not to attack when we least expect them to.”

“Let’s fly,” Williams agreed. “We can double up on the brooms we have.”

A few minutes later, they took to the air, Jensen snug at Jared’s back, both of them still barely able to believe that they’d defeated the Dementors so soundly; that they’d actually managed to kill them.

“You know,” Jensen shouted into his ear. “That was a brilliant idea to intertwine our wand beams, babe. The Sorting Hat did you an injustice; you should’ve been in Ravenclaw.”

Jared laughed as a long-forgotten memory came to mind. “I almost was,” he said, much to Jensen’s shock. “But I was so scared about not fitting in that the Hat took pity on me. It put me in Hufflepuff because that’s the only House that welcomes people no matter where they come from or who they are. Open arms and no judgement. The moment it suggested Hufflepuff, I felt safe.”

Jensen’s grip on him tightened. “I would’ve kept you safe.”

“You did keep me safe,” Jared yelled, eyes bright with joy as he smirked at Jensen over his shoulder. Jensen looked like he had little choice but to kiss him, and then steady the broom when Jared nearly lost control of it.

Their shared happiness, however, died a swift death when they came upon the castle.

Or, more accurately, when they came upon what had been the castle. Now the grounds were strewn with rubble and debris and there was dust and soot and what looked like - Merlin help them - blood everywhere.

“Jared, into the Great Hall! Hurry!”

Jared flew, speeding down and through the once majestic archways, not stopping until they reached the broken steps that led to the Great Hall, both of them jumping off the broom at once and striding into the school, their friends not far behind them.

Their purposeful steps soon faltered.

“Jensen,” Jared gasped, leaning into him as they took in the horror before their eyes. It was a row of bodies, every one of them shrouded in death. Big and small, adults and…children. He frantically searched the hall, taking a calming breath only when he found who he was looking for. “Neville!” He dragged Jensen along as he ran. “And Great Aunt Augusta, crikey!”

Neville leapt on him as soon as he saw him, hugging him close, shaking uncontrollably, the dried-up blood from a nasty gash on his forehead flaking off on Jared’s robes as Jensen pulled Great Aunt Augusta into a hug; she shuddered and clung to him like a limpet.

“Are you both all right?”

She nodded, releasing Jensen only so she could hug Jared. “We’re fine. Thanks to my boy here.” She nodded in Neville’s direction, fit to bursting with pride. “You do your parents a great justice, lad. They’d be so proud of you…” Tears streamed from her eyes as Neville hugged her, and Jensen slowly pulled Jared away, giving them a bit of space.

“Let’s go check up on the others,” Jensen suggested.

It was the best and worst idea he’d had in recent memory.

Best because many of their friends had made it through the battle, alive and well; worst because they’d lost too many who’d been near and dear to so many hearts.

“Jared!” Charlie suddenly appeared in front of him, throwing his arms around Jared, stunning him and Jensen as they braced themselves for the worst, both of them looking to the floor and finding Fred’s lifeless body lying there, still and silent, Ron and George crying over him. Jared stared in shock, until his vision blurred with tears as he held Charlie in his arms, whispering nonsense, anything as long as it sounded consoling, until Jensen released his hand and walked away.

Jared saw him hug Bill and then step back, squeezing his friend’s shoulder in sympathy, nodding at the rest of the Weasleys, mute with grief, because there were no words to assuage the misery of losing a much-loved son and brother and friend.

He tracked Jensen’s steps with his eyes as Jensen walked, as he stood over Tonks and Remus lying on the floor on stretchers, their prone forms side by side, their hands less than a centimetre apart, together as always, even in death.

Jared thought of their infant son, orphaned now, and he couldn’t hold back a hiccupping sob. Charlie held on tighter, but Jensen didn’t make a sound, nor did he shed a tear. He just kept walking, past the bodies of fallen Aurors, warriors just like him.

The perils of war, Jared mused, staring as Jensen kept moving, almost as if his feet were working without his express consent, taking him towards the stairs that led down to the basement. Jared detached himself from Charlie, giving his old friend an apologetic look as he made his excuses and turned to follow Jensen - always following Jensen, he thought - down to the basement, like he’d done in the past, a million times or more, as he was assailed by memories of happier times.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs, startled to find yet another row of bodies not yet shrouded, lining the corridor, from the alcove underneath the stairs almost halfway to the kitchens; the bodies of dead house elves who’d been caught in the crossfire.

Jared made a concerted effort to move, his steps leaden as he walked, almost all the way down the line before he dropped to his knees on the floor beside Jensen, his hand reaching out and circling a delicate, bony ankle as his body was racked with sobs.

Fern.

Jensen wrapped strong arms around him and tucked his face into the crook of Jared’s neck as Jared clung to him, crying into his robes like he’d done that night they’d first met, as Jensen quietly cried with him.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, but they only left the familiar comfort and safety of the alcove under the stairs when the news of Harry Potter’s death breached the castle walls.



Who knew they’d had one last fight left in them?

It didn’t make any sense until Jared saw Neville - that same little tyke who’d happily toddled around after Jared, in his nappy, no less - stand up to Voldemort.

Jared wouldn’t have believed it in a fairytale, let alone in real life, but with his own eyes he watched as a flock of Thestrals, a band of house elves, a herd of Centaurs, and a bloody Hippogriff came to their aid. It looked like every resident of Hogsmeade was there as well, taking that last stand with them, parents and teachers and students, a scant group of Aurors, and a professional Quidditch team, for Merlin’s sake, taking to the sky as they cast spells and conjured Bludgers, beating them at the unsuspecting enemy below.

He thought he’d seen everything, but then he and Jensen bumped into the Ackleses. They’d Portkeyed in from Sydney, travelling all through the night only to Apparate into Hogsmeade and become embroiled in the battle over there; they arrived at Hogwarts with Madam Rosmerta, stumbling upon Jensen and Jared mid-battle - both of them rendered speechless with shock as Jensen’s father confessed that he hadn’t been unable to stay away when he saw in the Family-Glass that his son, and his son’s Soul-Bonded mate, were In Mortal Peril.

Right then and there, as Jared watched Jensen hug his father breathtakingly tight, he decided that - magic or no magic - anything was possible if you had the people you loved most fighting by your side.

And hey, last night they’d figured out a way to kill Dementors.

Perhaps today was the day Harry (who was so not dead it was a bleeding miracle) would kill - again, and hopefully for good this time - the darkest wizard to have ever lived.



Everything Jared had ever read about wars in the past, whether it’d been in his History of Magic class or in his Muggle Studies class, had been inherently flawed.

Sure, wars were destructive and devastating - soldiers fought, heroes rose, martyrs fell - and everyone acknowledged the spoils of victory just as surely as the ruin of defeat; they even made mention of how hard the rebuilding process was, but they never, ever mentioned just how crippling it was to clean up, how it was difficult yet worthwhile, easy on the soul until one stumbled upon the severed limbs of the dead.

At least they had magic to do it; however did the Muggles manage picking up the broken pieces of their lives without it?

And Merlin, the funerals.

One after another after another. Heartache and pain in a never-ending succession. So many dead, parents childless, children orphaned; it was hideous. It made him seethe. It made him ache. It made him so sad, he thought he’d never be happy again, but he muddled along, Jensen at his side, quiet and introspective, aloof, almost, as he dealt with the tragedy in his own way.

They’d lost Lanette. Not to death, but to the solitude of her own mind. She’d vanished into herself, slowly forgetting them, completely forgetting Jonah. They’d warded her at St. Mungo’s and everyone in the ADU visited her on a regular basis, hoping to, one day soon perhaps, bring her back to them.

Remus and Tonks had had an Auror’s funeral: a Twenty-One Wand Salute, three volleys blasted into the dawn sky as the haunting wail of bagpipes filled the air. They were both buried near Tonks’ father’s grave while her mother watched, young Teddy cradled in her arms.

Harry had insisted that Snape, too, be laid to rest in a manner befitting a fallen member of the Order of the Phoenix and everyone was shocked to finally learn where the Potions Master’s true loyalties had lain.

Hardest of all, though, was Fred’s funeral.

Jared had no clue how they’d all managed to find the strength to stand there, on a hillside overlooking The Burrow, as Fred’s coffin was lowered into the ground beside his uncles, Fabian and Gideon, the very men Jared’s father had died protecting.

Full circle, as Jensen always said: Death was inevitable, and life, just as inevitably, went on.

There was nothing foul or fair about it.



“Do you remember when we used to play Weasley Quidditch out here every summer?” Charlie asked, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. Jared smirked and nodded; as if he could ever forget. “Good times. I mean, could any of us ever imagine things happening the way they did?” Charlie drew in a deep breath, savouring - just like Jared - the crispness of the early morning, the fresh air, and the warm breeze as they sat on the grass, out in the corner of the Weasleys’ garden that was farthest from the house.

“Are you staying?” Jared asked quietly. “Or are you heading back to your fiery little pets soon?”

Charlie’s smile grew. “Depends,” he said. “It’s only been a month. Mum’s still a mess. Dad’s…just lost, innit? George… You’ve seen him. He’s like a shell of himself. They need me to hang about, I s’pose. Although Percy’s being right lovable at the moment.”

“He was shaken pretty badly, mate. Fred was his brother, too.”

“I know,” Charlie said softly. “I know he regrets not having been a good enough brother to Fred until it was too late, but he’s got Penelope to look after him. Bill and Fleur are expecting; they’ll soon have their own little brood to deal with. Ron’s got Hermione, and bloody hell, even little Ginny’s all set to marry Harry someday soon.” He sighed. “Whether I stay or go hinges on everyone else. I’m hoping to find a reason to stay.”

Jared grinned. “That’s brilliant! Everyone at home will be chuffed to hear it!”

“What about you? Would you be glad to know that I’m going to stay in England?” Charlie asked him, and Jared laughed, punching him in the shoulder.

“Of course I’d be glad to get my best mate back! I’ve seriously missed having you around, you know?” He playfully ruffled Charlie’s ginger hair. “What about you, eh? ‘Bout time you found your own reason to stay here at home. One that doesn’t breathe fire, that is. Is there anyone special in your life?” Jared asked, teasing and curious. “You’ve never mention much in your letters.” He frowned. “Not that you write very many letters. The only person I know who’s worse at keeping in touch is Jensen.”

“Ah, Jensen.” Charlie fell back against the grass, shielding his eyes from the sunlight as he peered up at Jared. “What’s that about?”

Jared smiled; he could feel his cheeks flood with warmth that had nothing to do with the sun shining down on them. “It’s what it’s always been about.”

“So where Jensen goes, there you follow?” Jared shrugged and Charlie shook his head. “Some things never change, even though they should.”

“What’d you mean?”

“He treated you like shite, Jared. Don’t think I never noticed.”

“He did not!” Jared exclaimed, affronted on Jensen’s behalf. “Or, well, maybe he was a smug, snarky bastard but I gave as good as I got.” Jared bit his lip. “Besides, he was different when it was just the two of us. And he’s different now.”

“He’s an Auror, I know. Another notch on his belt, no doubt,” Charlie drawled. “But now that the war’s over, now that he’s reunited with his family, is there still a place for you in his life? Or will he choose them over you again?” he asked, and it the one question Jared’d been dreading to even ask himself. “Even now, he’s gone for days on end while you flit about between here and Neville’s. In limbo while you wait for him to make up his mind. Jensen may’ve mucked about with us, Jared, but when it came down to doing his duty, he’s never wavered. He will always hold himself high above the rest of us.”

“That’s not true,” Jared argued. “You don’t know him like I do! Jensen’s nothing like that!”

“Jensen’s nothing like what?”

Jared whirled about on the grass to see Jensen looming above them, looked a bit worn and haggard, but still the best thing Jared’d ever seen. “Nothing,” Jared replied softly, holding out his hand so Jensen could pull him to his feet. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Jensen muttered a little dispassionately, looking off into the distance; Jared wondered how much of the conversation he’d overheard. He squeezed Jensen’s hand and that gorgeous green gaze entangled with his again; Jared smiled. “It’s done,” Jensen said. “The last of the hearings. The Wizengamot’s been at it ‘round the clock almost, sending off the remaining Death Eaters to Azkaban. Everyone but the Malfoys, and Harry’s standing by that decision.” He looked down at Charlie, so Jared looked too, but his old friend seemed, for all intents and purposes, like he was taking a nap. “Can we talk for a bit?”

Jared’s heart flew to his throat with such swiftness, it threatened to choke him. “Yeah. ‘Course. Let’s go for a walk.” Leaving Charlie where he was, they walked to another end of the garden, where the Puffskein patch was; it now housed Ginny’s Pygmy Puffs. Jared tried hard to be patient and wait for Jensen to say something but he couldn’t, blurting out his greatest fear with his next breath. “Are you leaving me again?”

“What?” Jensen looked genuinely flummoxed and Jared could’ve smacked himself for letting Charlie’s words get to him.

“Never mind.”

“Why would you think I’d leave you, for Merlin’s sake? We’re Soul-Bonded, you twit. Neither of us would survive that!”

“That’s why you’re not leaving? Because you can’t?” Jared asked, more than a little hysterical.

Jensen rolled his eyes. “Is that shaggy mop of yours suffocating your brain somehow? Did it slip your mind that I love you more than the air I breathe?” Jared’s delighted laugh snuck up on him, and he glommed onto Jensen, hugging him had and pressing smacking little kisses all over his freckled cheeks. “I take it all back,” Jensen said, sighing. “No way a Ravenclaw would ever be as daft as you, brat.”

“Prat,” Jared chided playfully. “I’m a Hufflepuff through and through.”

“My bristly little badger cub,” Jensen murmured, stroking a hand down Jared’s cheek. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah? That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“Depends on how you look at it.” Jensen shrugged. “Shacklebolt’s asked if I want to stay on as an Auror.”

“What’d you say?”

“That I wanted to talk to you first,” Jensen admitted, looking uncharacteristically unsure.

“Well, you’re brilliant at it. I reckon the Auror Office will be lucky to have you.”

“Shacklebolt said exactly the same thing.”

“So why the hesitation? Will the ADU be disbanded now that the threat is gone?”

“Yeah. He wants me in the Auror School, training others.”

“That’s great. Right?”

“I’d be based in London.”

“So? Oh.”

“Oh.”

“Jensen, if it’s what you want, then I’ll move, too.”

“It’s a solitary life, Jared. I’ll be away from home all the time.” Jensen rested his head against Jared’s shoulder. “I don’t want that.”

Jared held on to him for dear life, per the usual for them. “Forget duty. Forget destiny. Put aside everything, Jensen, and look into your heart. What do you want?”

“I want…” Jensen started, looking Jared in the eyes, “…what you want.” Jared blinked. “I want you, in my life, every day, close enough to touch. I want us. Our family: Neville and Great Aunt Augusta, Rogue and Penny, Florence and Daphne. I want Jonah to come and live with us; he likes us best, anyway, and the others can come and babysit whenever they like. I want to play Quidditch and love every moment of it. I want to always have our friends nearby. I want to be on better terms with my family. I want them to get to know you and love you as much as I do.” Jensen looked up at him sheepishly. “I want a lot of things.”

Jared smiled, pulling Jensen into a crushing hug. “What’s stopping you then?”

“Being an Auror is important work. It’s for the greater good.”

“You’ve more than paid your dues, though,” Jared reminded him. “And it’s not as if you can’t play with the Falcons and then teach a class at Auror School in the off season, right?” Jensen looked taken aback, as if he’d never even considered the possibility. “What’s stopping you from having it all, Ravenclaw? If anyone can manage it, you can.” He kissed Jensen’s gaping mouth as it dropped open in surprise. “Plus, you’ve got me to help you out. Bonus.”

“You’re too bloody smart for your own good,” Jensen muttered, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“So, Jonah, huh?”

Jensen grimaced guiltily. “I might’ve already told Julian we’d taken him in. Until Lanette gets better... If she gets better. But no matter, she’ll still learn to love him, because how can anyone not fall in love with him? He’s adorable. All chubby and sweet and dimply-cheeked when he grins…”

“Careful, you’re blushing again.” Jensen glared at him but Jared just chuckled. “I adore that baby, and you know it.”

“I was counting on it.”

“I might’ve told Julian we’d take him in, too,” Jared confessed, smirking.

Jensen laughed. “No wonder he looked so smug. Meddlesome old bastard.”

“So, are we good?”

“We’re brilliant,” Jensen stated, waving at someone over Jared’s shoulder. “That’s Kingsley. Wonder what he’s doing here.”

“Let’s go find out,” Jared said, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they walked back towards the house; Charlie’d apparently gone inside already.

Kingsley - Jared’d tried to call him Minister Shacklebolt, but the man had threatened to hex him, so Kingsley it was - was there to get Jensen’s decision. He didn’t appear too surprised by Jensen’s response, but he was certainly amenable to the offer to teach a course in Auror School in the Falcons off-season.

“So you’re both back with the Falcons for good then?” he asked.

“Well, I never really left the team,” Jared said. “We just had a rather erratic season, what with all the goings on over the past couple of years.”

“And I don’t know yet if they’d be willing to take me back,” Jensen said, smirking. “But the chances are pretty good, I’d say.”

Kingsley grinned. “I know. I’ve watched you two play against my team - the Prides - and it was like watching the Broadmoor boys back in action. My dad used to take me to Falcons’ games just to see them go at it. Brilliant fun. Which is the other, more ulterior, motive for my visit, because, sorry to say, Jensen, you are not subtle. I didn’t, not for a moment, believe you would ever choose a Ministry job over Quidditch and I was right.” He sat back in his chair and smirked at them. “I like being right.”

“Good to know, Minister,” Jensen quipped. “What are these ulterior motives you speak of?”

“The Four Hundred and Twenty Third Quidditch World Cup, gentlemen,” Kingsley stated officiously. “It was cancelled amidst Death Eater threats earlier this year, but the Norwegian Ministry have given it the go-ahead now that we’ve vanquished the threat, so I’ve decided to send our teams out there. I think the wizarding world could do with a bit of a boost, and, who doesn’t enjoy a good game of Quidditch?”

Jensen’s eyes gleamed with excitement but Jared, ever the practical one, sputtered. “It’s June! The World Cup’s usually held in August! That’s less than two months for Norway to organize the biggest sporting event in the wizarding world!”

Kingsley rolled his eyes, and on him the move was rather regal; it was a neat trick. “We’re wizards, Jared.”

“He tends to forget,” Jensen joked, dodging out of the way of Jared’s kick. “Aside from building and securing the stadium and the rest, what about the actual teams? England, Scotland, Wales - Merlin, even Ireland - won’t have played for ages, whereas the rest of Europe has been bashing on. We’ll get trounced.”

Jared snorted. “We got trounced last year. When we had four bloody years to prepare for it.”

“That’s because we didn’t have the best Beaters the League has ever seen playing for England back in 1994. It’ll be different this time. We’ll have an edge,” Kingsley declared nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the weather and not the fact that he’d pretty much bestowed on them the highest honour one could give a professional Quidditch player.

Jared shot a look at Jensen. “He does mean us, right?”

“Fairly certain he does,” Jensen confirmed, smug smirk firmly in place.

“I’ve been chatting to Mark Sheppard,” Kingsley told them. “I’ve asked him to have a look around the league and pick an Alpha team for England, along with a reserve squad. I’ve asked the managers of the Prides and the Harpies to do the same for the Scottish and Welsh teams. I've heard that the Irish Minister has entrusted Jeff Morgan with that task. There’ll be no tryouts; it’s far too lengthy a process. This way, it’ll give the new national teams time until the World Cup to practice.”

“It’s a good idea,” Jensen agreed.

“It’s definitely doable,” Jared granted.

“Excellent!” Kingsley clapped his hands and stood. “You two report to Sheppard posthaste; leave the rest to my Office.” He nodded towards the kitchen. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just visit with Molly and Arthur before I leave. I was promised tea and scones.” He stood, picking up his cane, the one that held his wand, and nodded his farewell. “Gentlemen, adieu.”

“Cheers, Kingsley,” Jensen called out as he left and Charlie and Ron loped into the room.

“We heard,” Ron said, a melancholic sort of smile on his face. “I expect free tickets. That is all. Ta very much.”

Jared grinned. “Done.”

Charlie, though, stared Jensen down. “So you picked Quidditch over the Ministry, eh?”

“No,” Jensen said, his gaze direct and serious, belying the friendly smile playing about his mouth. “I picked Jared.”

“Good,” Charlie said after an age, after a staring contest with Jensen that had Jared and Ron exchanging bewildered, quizzical looks, before Charlie smiled, as if satisfied with whatever he’d seen in Jensen’s gaze. “Just checking.” He ruffled Jared’s hair. “If you two are going to be in the World Cup, then I might hang about here at home until then. See if you can bring the Cup back to England.”

Jensen snorted. “Don’t hold your breath, mate.”

When Mrs. Weasley called out to tell them that tea was served, both her sons made a beeline for the kitchen, but Jensen held back, stopping Jared in the middle of the Weasleys’ living room.

“Hey,” he said, reaching up to brush Jared’s shaggy fringe out of his eyes. “About what we were saying before… Is there anything you want that I haven’t thought of? Something just for yourself that you’ve always wanted?”

“I’ve got everything I need right here,” Jared whispered, looking right at Jensen and smiling. “But if you really insist, there is one thing you could give me.”

Jensen cupped his face, his thumb tracing the outline of Jared’s dimple. “Anything, babe.”

“How about a ring?”Jensen’s breath stuttered as Jared let the implications of his request sink in. “How about we bind ourselves to one another of our own accord this time? On our own terms and not those of some mysterious benefactor? Make it official?” Jared inched closer until his mouth was inches away from Jensen’s. “Marry me?”

Jensen laughed, the sound joyful and carefree, before closing the gap and kissing Jared breathless. “I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m going to be a very busy man, you know.”

“By all means,” Jared graciously agreed. “No rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

“A ring, eh?” Jensen regarded him thoughtfully. “I have it on very good authority that my Great Grandmama’s Marquise Sapphire might fit you. She was apparently a rather beefy woman.” Jared groaned, snorting with laughter. “I’m sure it’ll fit your Yeti fingers. And if not, I can have Mother re-size it for you.”

“Do it and die, you wanker.”

And as they went off to have tea and scones with the Weasleys, Hermione, the new Minister of Magic, and The Boy Who Bloody Well Saved Them All, Jared thought about what he’d wanted out of life, and what he’d gotten out of life, and realized that, like everyone else at the table, and everyone else they knew, it didn’t matter if you’d been dealt a bad hand; what mattered most was how you chose to play the cards you’d been given.

Fair or foul, life - and love - was only what you made of it.





Hundreds of miles away in Scotland, on the parapets of Hogwarts Castle, the Fat Friar hovered, gazing out at the setting sun.

“Good Evening, my lady,” he called out, just as the Grey Lady slunk up next to him. “Another glorious day of freedom, eh?” She nodded regally, her expression sad as she took in the spots on the grounds where the ravages of battle were still visible. The Friar tutted in sympathy. “Give it time; all will be well eventually.”

“Did you see them?” she asked, her soft voice lilting as she sighed. It was the first time she’d spoken since her conversation with that Potter lad the night of the battle; the Friar counted it as a win. Patience and good humour always won out in the end.

“I did,” he replied, a fond smile gracing his features. “They sought shelter in my alcove, just as they’d done countless times in the past.” He chortled gleefully. “I always tried to give them a bit of privacy, but that was my home, you know? Not my fault that I heard their every wish, spoken or otherwise.” He snuck a look at his companion. “They looked happy, did they not? When all was said and done, that is?”

“They did,” she answered with a smile, meaning that she’d sought them out as well, her affection for her favourite student still abundantly clear in her expression. “We did well, you and I.”

“That we did,” the Friar agreed jovially. “Although we did have a little help. Death steals our magic from us.”

The Grey Lady’s face fell; the Friar reckoned she would’ve cried if she could’ve. “She died doing what she did best. Protecting our little ones. Keeping them safe. She was so very brave; so very good.” The Lady heaved a sigh. “And she was always nice to me. Nice in a way I never was to her kind when I was alive.”

“They are a remarkable, forgiving lot, aren’t they?” the Friar asked.

“Who are?” the Bloody Baron demanded, appearing out of nowhere, the ruddy git. It was a good thing the Friar could no longer be startled; he would’ve expired from the shock of it.

“House elves, my lord,” he replied. “It’s why I like being in the Basement. Because we Hufflepuffs get to share it with them.”

“They’re also bloody useful to us, living or dead,” Sir Nicholas commented as he floated out through the wall of the Astronomy Tower bearing a tray with four ghostly goblets filled with fire and smoke. They each took one. “And who shall we toast to tonight? Which fallen hero shall we honour?”

“House elves, apparently,” the Baron replied.

“Some other night, perhaps, my lord,” the Grey Lady said. “Tonight we celebrate the life and death of only one of their number. To Fern.”

The Fat Friar smiled as all four of them raised their goblets to the setting sun.

“To Fern.”