Percy Weasley: Rogue Demon Hunter, Episode 3

[viola_dreamwalk]

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Percy Weasley: Rogue Demon Hunter

Summary: It's the summer after OotP, and Percy Weasley is a man without a mission.

Episode 3, Kings for July

Weird things, Percy had learned early on, were wont to happen in his life. He didn't like it, he never had, but weird was pretty much par for the course when you were growing up Weasley. Weird was just a fact of life, right alongside noisy, poor, crowded, hectic and sticky.

None of that, however, prepared him for the very bizarre turn his life was about to take.

It started at breakfast, with the post. He didn't usually get much, apart from bills. That morning there was a note from Celia, which made him happier than maybe it should have. He was beginning to worry about the strength of his attachment to her. Percy had, after all, already been in love once, and, in honesty, it hadn't been much to his taste. Falling in love with Celia Williams, while tempting, had not been part of the plan - then again, neither had getting sacked.

He put Celia's letter aside, promising himself that he wouldn't open it until after he finished breakfast. The only other piece of mail was a small, thick envelope addressed in expensive calligraphy. He flipped it over. The return address was Waggley, Nystram and Nystram.

Dear Mr. Weasley,

Thank you for choosing Waggley, Nystram and Nystram's premium career placement service.

We have taken the liberty of scheduling your first interview. You will find the details enclosed. If the date and time chosen does not work for you, we have also included your prospective employer's contact information. Please contact them directly if you need to reschedule.

Best of luck with your career search!

Sincerely,
Sascha Lightbody
Assistant Career Specialist

Also included in the envelope were a description of the position he was to interview for and a card of general "Interview Tips" that included such helpful ideas as 'Be on time,' 'Take a shower' and 'Don't insult the interviewer's mother, even if he/she insults yours first.'

Percy put his mug down with a thunk, stood up and headed to the fireplace.

The witch manning Waggley, Nystram and Nystram's floo connection barely looked up when Percy popped up amidst the flames of their extra-large open hearth. If anything, she seemed mildly bored.

Percy waved his letter at her to get her attention. "Excuse me, miss? I'm sorry. I think there must have been some mistake -- I never signed up for this service."

The witch yawned, finally looking up at him. "All right, Mr-?"

"Weasley."

"All right, Mr. Weasley. Who is your career counselor?"

"Sascha Lightbody."

"One moment please." The witch pressed a button on her desk, and Sascha appeared almost immediately.

"That's fine, Megan," she said. "I'll take it from here." She smiled at Percy. "Hello again, Mr. Weasley. What can I do for you?"

"I received this letter this morning." He thrust the letter out of the fireplace and in her general direction. "I never signed up for this. I didn't ask for anyone to set up any interviews for me."

She reached out and took the parchment from him, scanning it briefly. After a moment, she looked up. "Technically, that's true. However, your complimentary career assessment included one free placement opportunity."

"I never asked for one!" he said helplessly. "And if I had, it certainly wouldn't be this one."

Sascha frowned. "I think you'll find this well worth your time, Mr. Weasley."

"I don't know if you noticed, but I am not a singer! I have no musical training or experience."

Sascha shook her head. "Your career assessment indicated you had talent in this direction. Our career assessments are never wrong. Waggley, Nystram and Nystram prides itself on one hundred percent accuracy."

"What happens if I don't show up for this thing?"

She frowned again, more darkly. "It's entirely voluntary, of course. But I have to stress again, Mr. Weasley, that this is a unique opportunity for you. I hand-picked this employer myself based on the results of your career assessment. Besides," she paused, seeming to choose her words carefully, "it could be very helpful for you to go to this interview."

"Just why is this so important to you, anyway?" Percy asked.

Sascha smiled. "Because, Mr. Weasley, whether you know it or not, you have an exceptionally fine aura. I expect great things from you."

*

Ginny woke up on Tuesday morning to discover Harry Potter in bed with her.

He was curled up at the end of the bed like a cat, his head pillowed on her left foot. He was snoring loudly, and Ginny couldn't be sure from this angle, but it was entirely possible that he was drooling. There was only one thing for it: Ginny rolled over and kicked him in the head.

"Ow." Harry jerked awake abruptly. "Wha-?"

"Good morning, Harry," Ginny said, propping herself up on one elbow. "Care to explain what you're doing here?"

"Huh?" Harry said, blinking rapidly.

"Why," Ginny began again, speaking very slowly and clearly, "are you in my room?"

Harry sat up so quickly he nearly fell off the bed. "Did I do it again?"

"Do what exactly?"

"Sleepwalk." He ran a hand through his exceptionally messy hair, which, considering this was Harry, was saying something. "I've been sleepwalking."

"Oh."

"Just lately," he said, sounding a bit defensive.

"I didn't think you were supposed to be here until this afternoon," Ginny said, leaning back against the pillows.

"They came and got me last night. I'm not sure why." He paused. "Nothing's happened, has it? I mean, nothing bad?"

"Not that I know of," Ginny said. "Not that that means anything."

Harry laughed bitterly, rolling over to lie on his back. "Yeah."

He lay there for a few moments, not speaking. Ginny began to wonder whether she'd said the wrong thing. But all Harry said when he spoke was "Where's Hermione? I thought this was her room, too."

"Oh, she's probably been up for hours. She doesn't approve of sleeping in."

"But it's summer holiday," Harry said, incredulously.

"And you don't have to share a room with her." Ginny leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed her stuffed rabbit from where it had fallen during the night. She hugged Dr. Floppenstein to her chest and stared up at the ceiling.

"So, how are you, Harry?"

He sighed heavily. "About how you'd expect, I guess. Voldemort still wants to kill me, Sirius is still dead and my cousin is still built like an angry and not particularly bright rhinoceros."

"Is there another kind? Of rhinoceros, I mean?" She looked over at Harry, who very nearly cracked a smile at that.

"No, I don't suppose there is. I'm glad to be here, at any rate." Harry watched her for a long moment, as though debating saying something else. Just as it was about to get really uncomfortable, he said, "Is that a stuffed bunny rabbit you've got there?"

"Harry!" The door to Ginny's room burst open and Ron slid through in nothing but his socks and pair of boxer shorts. "Harry! Don't do that to me. I thought you'd gone- I thought you were-" He stuttered to a halt. "Why are you in here?"

"Hermione and I are giving him an avocado facial," Ginny said tartly. "What does it look like?"

"Nice. Glad to see you're in your usual fine form this morning, Gin."

"Always," Ginny said, flinging the covers back and getting out of bed. She wandered over to the small vanity she shared with Hermione. She had to push Hermione's Body Shop Oatmeal Scrub back over to her side of the vanity. For someone so organized (and who owned so few quality skin care products), Hermione's stuff sure seemed to take up a lot of space. Ginny sat with a sigh (after moving a stack of arithmancy books from the room's only chair) and picked up her brush.

Ron sat down next to Harry. "Don't disappear like that on me, mate. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Ginny turned from brushing her hair to explain exactly how Harry had gotten into her room in the first place. Harry caught her eye and shook his head slightly. Ginny frowned and turned back to the vanity, watching the two boys in the mirror as she combed tangles out of her hair.

"I'll try not to give you too many scares this summer, Ron," Harry said, forcing a smile. "I'm just glad to be here."

"Well, come on then," Ron said, slapping the mattress with one hand as he stood up. "Let's go get some breakfast."

"You might want to consider putting some pants on first," Ginny said mildly, without looking over her shoulder.

Ron looked down. "Oh, damn it. Tell Mum I'll be down in a minute, won't you?" He dashed across the hall to the room he shared with Harry.

Ginny put her brush down and walked over to the door where Harry was waiting for her. "Why didn't you tell him about the sl-" Harry frowned darkly at her. "About the- the thing," she finished lamely.

"Because if I tell Ron, he'll tell Hermione."

"And?"

"And then there will be lectures and advice and arguments and we'll end up not speaking to each other for days at a stretch."

Ginny blinked. "But they're your best friends!"

"Yeah, well, they hover," Harry said, not looking at her. "So you have to promise not to tell. Not anyone. Not your mum. Not even Dean."

"Uh, sure, I promise. If you're sure that's what you want."

"I am very, very sure," Harry said firmly, holding the door open for her. "Now let's have some breakfast."

"Come on, you two," Ron called from the stairs. "Let's eat. I'm starving, and Hermione has probably stolen all the crispy bacon already."

*

Fatum Fortuna was not the sort of club Percy would ever have gone to of his own accord. It was cramped and moodily lit, with a permanent scent of stale smoke and spilled liquor hanging about the plush seats and velvet curtains. Percy stood in the doorway, holding the beaded hangings to one side, feeling entirely out of his element.

A slight, swarthy man with a clipboard came jogging up. "You Weasley?"

Percy nodded.

"Nice to meet you," the man said, offering a hand. "I'm Sal. That's Lana." He gestured at a sleek woman with a trendy, asymmetrical haircut. "She's the general manager, so she's the one you need to impress. Follow me."

Sal led the way backstage. Percy practically had to jog to keep up.

"You need to warm up or anything?" Sal asked, heading up the narrow steps to the stage.

"Is that the usual way things are done?" Percy asked.

Sal rolled his eyes. "Oh, listen to him," he said to no one in particular.

They walked out onto the stage.

"That's your mark," Sal said, pointing to a Spell-o-tape X in the center of the stage. "You ever use a microphone before?"

Percy looked at him blankly.

"Do you even know what a microphone is?"

"Is that anything like a tellyphone?"

"Oh, for the love of- Stand on the X. Hold this." Sal shoved a metal cylinder into Percy's hands. "This is a microphone. It makes your voice louder without magic. Don't ask me why we use them. Lana's got this whole 'authenticity' thing. Sing into the round end and don't give me any lip. Got it? Good."

Percy adjusted his grip on the 'microphone' and looked out across the club. A green-skinned man in a white leisure suit walked through the curtained doorway and slid into the booth beside the club manager. A waiter scurried over immediately with a drink.

"Who-What is he?" Percy asked Sal, with a slight nod in the green man's direction.

"Him? Talent scout or something, from L.A. He's helping Lana hire the talent."

"Well, yes. But what is he?"

"A demon, I expect."

Percy swallowed hard. "Do they have those in Los Angeles?"

Sal shrugged. "It would certainly explain Jennifer Love Hewitt." He paused thoughtfully. "Among other things."

"Sal?" Lana said. "Whenever Mr. Weasley is ready to start..."

"Break a leg, kid," Sal said, slapping him a little too roughly on the back and heading to the wings.

Percy took a deep breath, lifted the microphone to his mouth and reminded himself that, really, he didn't have anything to lose.

"Her name was Lola; she was a showgirl..."

It was very hot and bright under the lights; Percy began to sweat. The microphone felt slick in his hand. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't drop it. Not for the first time, he reflected that this had probably been a very bad idea. But, then, so was starving to death and this audition had come to him without any effort on his part. He looked down at the nearest corner booth where the club manager was sitting with the demon talent agent.

The demon was frowning.

"Whoa, whoa." It- He held up a hand. "Hold on there, my little English crumpet."

Percy stuttered to a halt.

"I'm sorry?"

"There's a time and a place for Manilow... But, sweetie, it's just not you. Your aura is all over the place." At Percy's look, he said, "Trust me on this one. What you're feeling right now? I get it." He took a sip from his drink. "You're feeling lost, uncertain, far away from home -- and, believe me, I understand that last one. You've lost your direction; you need to find your path."

The demon smiled at him. Percy just nodded numbly.

"Try something a little closer to home. You know what I mean. Sing from the heart, you won't regret it."

Percy closed his eyes, willed himself not to think, and started to sing the very first thing that came to mind.

"He kept dreamin' that someday he'd be a star. But he sure found out the hard way, that dreams don't always come true..."

Percy wasn't sure what exactly made him pick that particular song. The first time he heard it he'd been very small, playing in his father's workshop behind the house while his father tinkered with a Muggle radio. It just seemed right somehow.

When he finished, the demon beckoned him over.

Percy looked at Sal. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

Sal shrugged, then gave Percy a little push toward the lip of the stage.

"Nice job, Mr. Weasley," Lana said as he approached.

Percy mumbled something vaguely resembling a 'thank you' in response, then realized he'd forgotten to put down the microphone when he finished singing.

"Give us minute, won't you, Lana-love?" The demon smiled brightly.

Lana gave the demon an indulgent smile in return, grinned at Percy, and slid out of the booth.

Somewhat perplexed, Percy sat down.

"That was more like it," the demon said. "Have a drink." He signaled at the bartender, who brought over two cocktails.

Percy accepted the drink a little warily. It had an umbrella in it. "Thank you, Mr.-"

"Just call me Lorne. I'm a one name kind of guy."

"All right. Thank you, Lorne."

Lorne waved off the thanks. "You're talented, mon enfant. I only tell the truth."

"I don't suppose that means I've got the job, then?"

Lorne took a long drink, then looked seriously at Percy. "I won't lie to you. You're fabulous, but I'm gonna tell Lana not to hire you."

"What?" Percy picked up his own drink and took a long gulp. "So what's the problem?"

"No problem. This just isn't right for you."

"You think I wouldn't be able to do it? I know I don't really have any experience-"

"Oh, you could do it all right, and have a bright future at it, too. There's just one problem -- it's not your future."

"Really?" Percy said, annoyed. He'd put himself out there once again, only to be shot down. "I'd love it if someone could tell me just what my future is."

Lorne looked delighted. "Well, sweetie, if that's what you're after, you've come to the right place."

"What?" Percy said, feeling sandbagged.

"That's what I do. I read destinies, and yours is talking to me loud and clear." He leaned in, propping his chin on one manicured, green hand. "Now, granted, I haven't been around in this world long, but pain is pain and yours is howling for everything it's worth. You wouldn't have even had to sing for me to see that." He grinned. "But I'm glad you did. You do Gladys and those Pips justice, let me tell you. It's a shame we can't keep you."

"You read destinies? Like Divination?"

"Not quite. I'm not so much with the tea leaves or the crystal balls." He paused. "When people sing, they let their psychic guard down. Once that door is open, I can read all the possibilities in there. My job is to set people on the right path; just like I'm here to set you back on your path."

"And that is?"

Lorne grinned at him. "Finish your Sea Breeze, kiddo. You're gonna save the world."

*

Ginny was more than a little surprised the next day to receive an invitation to Neville Longbottom's birthday party. She wasn't surprised to be invited; she was surprised Neville was having a party in the first place. She liked Neville quite a lot, but she never would have pegged him for a party sort of person. Then again, she never would have imagined that he'd have been able to hold off a roomful of Death Eaters nearly single-handedly, either.

Ron, Harry and Hermione, predictably, refused to go. The invitation had specifically included all four of them. Ginny, who thought that getting out of that horrible house for an evening sounded better than great, accepted immediately. Then she set to work trying to convince the others to go. She started with Ron, figuring he'd be the easiest sell.

"It will be fun," Ginny said. "Mum won't mind. Neville's gran will be there."

Ron just slouched further down in his chair and mumbled something indistinct, casting a slightly furtive glance in Hermione's direction. So, Ginny tackled Hermione next.

"This is hardly the time to be thinking about a party," Hermione said, frowning vaguely. "I'm rather surprised at Neville."

And, finally, Ginny hiked up to the attic on Thursday afternoon to have a go at Harry. It was raining and Harry was holed up there, surrounded by dusty, old trunks.

"What are you doing up here?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose against the dust and cobwebs.

"I'm just going through some things. Cleaning stuff out," Harry said, sliding a book hurriedly under a drop-cloth to keep Ginny from seeing what it was.

"I just thought I'd mention that Neville's party is Saturday," Ginny said. "He'd really like it if we'd all come."

Harry sighed. "Ron and Hermione aren't going, are they?"

"Well, no," Ginny said. "But I am."

"Are you? I didn't think you were." Harry sat up, seeming almost interested. Ginny was surprised. Of the three, she'd thought Harry would be the hardest to convince.

"It seems important to Neville. I thought I should go."

Harry paused. "I probably ought to. I just-" He faltered. "I wouldn't want to ruin it for everyone else."

"Harry…" Ginny knelt down next to him. "I know things are bad. I know you feel awful, like nothing's ever going to be right again. I do understand that. But you can't-"

She never got the chance to finish, though, because the door to the attic creaked open and Professor Lupin poked his head through.

"There you are, Harry," he said. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Sure," Harry said. Turning back to Ginny, he said," I know you're trying to help, but I think it's better if I stay here. You should go, though."

"Thanks," Ginny said, a little sourly. "Glad I've got your blessing."

Harry wasn't listening, though. He was already following Lupin back downstairs. Ginny stood up, dusted off her jeans and followed them, too.

*

On Saturday night, Kingsley walked into 12 Grimmauld Place and right into the center of a shouting match.

"I can't believe you don't respect Harry's feelings on this, Ginny," someone was saying loudly from the drawing room.

"Harry said he doesn't want to go. He never said I shouldn't go, and good thing, too." That was Ginny. "It would do him some good, though, to get out of here. Staying locked up all the time isn't good for anyone. We all ought to know that by now."

"Now just what is that supposed to mean?"

The drawing room door flung open and Ginny came storming into the hall. She had a broomstick in one hand and a denim jacket in the other. She whirled back around to face the open door, without seeing Kingsley.

"I’ve told you, Ginny," Ron said from inside the room. He sounded vaguely apologetic. "We aren't going."

"Fine. Wallow." She slammed the door.

"Well, looks like I got here just in time," Kingsley said.

Ginny turned to face him, her dark look disappearing. "Hello, Kingsley."

She turned toward a hallway mirror, digging a tube of lipstick from her jacket pocket. The mirror hissed something poisonous-sounding at her. "Oh, shut up already," Ginny said to it, and began touching up her make-up.

Kingsley walked over and leaned against the wall beside the mirror, folding his arms across his chest. "And just where, exactly, are you going?"

Ginny gave him a look. "A party." She returned to applying her lipstick.

"A party?" Kingsley asked, incredulous.

"Yes. It's Neville Longbottom's birthday." She flung her jacket over one shoulder and tossed her hair, turning back to examine herself in the mirror. "Don't wait up... Dad."

"It sounds like your brother and his friends don't want you to go."

"Well, Hermione doesn't think I should. I don't think Harry cares one way or the other. And who knows what Ron thinks these days. Puberty has made him really weird."

Kingsley grinned. "What else is new?"

Ginny frowned, looking up at him. "The thing is... I know things are bad, but sitting around thinking about how bad they are won't make them not bad. It won't even do anything to make them a little better."

Kingsley felt a sudden swell of pity for her. He'd been just about that age himself during Voldermort's first go-round.

"I know how you feel," he said, dropping a hand to her shoulder. "Just make sure you're careful. Okay?"

"Okay," she grinned.

"Is somebody going with you?"

She nodded. "Dean's meeting me at the end of the lane. We'll be super-careful." She paused. "Thanks, Kingsley. I don't know what I'd do without you," she said, and was out the door before he could respond.

*

Ginny had always had a suspicion that Neville came from money, but his house turned out to be even bigger and more ostentatious than she'd expected. Longbottom Lane was large and Victorian, with neo-gothic gables and lots of stained glass. Iron lanterns lined the drive, casting flickering shadows as they walked. Dean looked up at the house and let out a low whistle.

"Nice," he said. "You think there'll be a butler?"

Ginny grinned, threading her arm through his. "Nah. Probably a lot of house elves, though."

"Those little bastards give me the serious willies."

Ginny laughed, reaching up to pull the doorbell. "Don't let Hermione hear you say that."

"Where is she, anyway? I figured she and Ron and Harry would come, too."

Ginny groaned. "Such a long story..."

"Let me guess," he said. "Harry freaked out again and Ron and Hermione have to be there to hold his hand."

"Maybe not such a long story then."

The door was opened by a very old and very tiny house elf. It ushered them in without a word. Dean made a face, and Ginny stifled a giggle.

"It's not," Dean said, taking Ginny's jacket and moving to hang it up in the hall closet for her, "that I'm blaming Harry. If half the stuff that's happened to him had happened to me, I'd be freaking out, too."

"Half the stuff that's happened to Harry has happened to me," Ginny said grumpily.

Dean looked down at her, surprised.

"Well, maybe not half," she admitted. "More like a fourth, and I was unconscious for a lot of it."

He shook his head, grinning. "Just when I think I get you, you surprise me."

"Well, that's why you like me."

"Among other reasons." Dean grabbed her by the forearm and was about to pull her to him when they were interrupted by Neville.

"Ginny! Dean!" he said, coming down the front hallway. "Nice to, uh, see you." He looked a bit ill at ease. "I suppose I should have been out here to greet you. I'm not very good at this sort of thing. This whole party was my Gran's idea."

"Hi, Neville," Ginny said. "Don't worry about it. We were able to find the coat closet all by ourselves."

"Well, come on in," Neville said, still looking a bit nervous. "There's plenty of food and drinks."

Dean perked up. "Drinks? What sort of drinks?"

"All sorts, I should imagine. Gran is very careful about that sort of thing."

"Well, yes," Dean said. "But are there drinks of the, er, alcoholic persuasion?"

"Oh, yes," Neville said cheerfully. "Plenty. I've had an entire can of lager myself." He stopped, looking thoughtful. "I wonder if I'm supposed to be drunk yet?"

"I think you've still got a ways to go," Ginny said, pushing open the double doors.

The party wasn't exactly swinging, but she had definitely seen worse.

"There you are!" Seamus said, jogging up to them. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come."

"Your mum actually let you out of the house?" Dean said. Ginny thought he was joking, but there was a little truth in it, too.

Seamus frowned. "Yeah, she did. First time all summer, though."

"You want a drink?" Dean asked, looking longingly at the drinks table.

"I'll get them," Ginny offered. "You haven't seen Seamus all summer, after all. What do you want?"

"Anything but cider," Dean said.

"Anything's fine with me," Seamus said.

As she walked away, Ginny heard Seamus say, "Your girl's all right, mate."

"You just like her because she brings drinks," Dean replied, but looked over his shoulder and shot Ginny a brilliant smile.

"Well, yeah," Seamus said. "A pretty girl who brings me beers? Throw in a good match of Quidditch and I could die and go straight to heaven."

"Hey, my girl plays Quidditch."

"See what I mean, then?"

Ginny shook her head and kept walking across the room.

A girl stood by the drinks table, her back to Ginny, telling a group of listeners, very matter-of-factly, that her summer trip to Sydney had been simply filthy with all manner of fearsome Bunyips. Ginny thought she recognized the voice (and the subject matter), but, of course, it couldn't possibly be...

"Luna?" Ginny gasped.

"Oh, hello," Luna said, turning to face Ginny with a smile and not looking one bit like herself. Her dishwater blonde hair was pulled back neatly, secured with an antique-looking garnet comb, and she was wearing a lovely red dress. Ginny blinked.

"Luna, you look... nice," she said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. She mostly succeeded. Mostly. Well, she succeeded a little.

"Do I?" Luna said, oblivious. "I spilled punch all over my sweater earlier. It's too bad, really. It was one of my favorites: nargle wing and cashmere, and the loveliest shade of orange. My father had it imported from Italy. I'll have to show you. But Neville's grandmother was so awfully nice, she gave me this dress to wear, instead."

So that explained it. Ginny's world quietly resumed making sense.

"Well, it looks nice on you. I quite like it."

Neville seemed to think so, too, because he kept casting looks in their direction.

Ginny reached across Luna and fished two beers from a bucketful of ice. She tucked them in the crook of one arm and grabbed two more.

"So you went to Sydney this summer, Luna?"

"Oh, yes," Luna said, looking a bit distracted by the question. "It's winter there now, of course."

"Of course," Ginny said. The chilled cans were starting burn her skin. An ice chip dribbled down her front and under the waistband of her jeans. "Well, I have to take these back over to Dean."

"He's your boyfriend."

"Yup. Well, bye-"

"What about Harry?"

Ginny stopped in mid-turn. "What about Harry?" The words came out a bit more sharply than she'd intended and she regretted it immediately.

"Nothing," Luna said, and wandered off without another word.

Luna hadn't seemed offended, really, Ginny told herself as she walked back to the boys. But, then, with Luna you never knew...

Seamus and Dean were arguing heatedly about Quidditch; Neville was leaning on the back of a chair, half-listening, but looking up every once in a while to watch Luna.

"That's bollocks," Dean was saying, looking very happy. "The Cannons haven't even had a shot since 1986-" He turned to her in appeal. "Right, Gin?"

"Stranger things have happened," she said, tossing them each a can, "but I wouldn't hold my breath."

She popped the top on her own can and took a drink, letting them go back to arguing good-naturedly. She looked over to where Luna had cornered some hapless Hufflepuffs and was no doubt subjecting them to the hibernation cycles of wild Bunyips. Ginny frowned.

"What's the matter?" Neville asked, turning to her.

Ginny shook her head. "Oh, I just- Sometimes I don't know what to do with Luna. I think I might have hurt her feelings just now."

"I doubt it, Ginny. Luna knows she can be a little different. I think her skin is probably pretty thick by now."

"She is odd, but nice - and you seem rather interested in her," Ginny said, handing over the last can of beer.

Neville blushed. "It isn't that. It's just-" He glanced a bit furtively at Dean and Seamus, who weren't paying them the least bit of attention. He leaned in toward Ginny and spoke softly. "It's just nice to see her wear that dress."

Ginny blinked. "Uh, okay. I realize that her usual outfits are pretty ghastly, but-"

"Are they?" Neville said. "I hadn't noticed. It's just that the dress- Well, it was my mother's."

"It was your mother's?" Ginny repeated, aghast. "And your grandmother let her wear it?"

"I don't mind so much," Neville said. "It looks rather nice on her, don't you think?"

"That is entirely beside the point."

"Not really. If I'd minded, Gran would never have offered."

Having met Mrs. Longbottom, Ginny was not entirely convinced of that, but she didn't press the point.

"Well, you've thrown a lovely party anyway, Neville," she said, changing the subject. It really was a nice party. More people had come in since she and Dean arrived and everyone appeared to be having a very good time. That may have had something to do with the rapidly disappearing lager, however.

"I'm glad you could come. I don't suppose-" He trailed off.

"Suppose what?" Ginny asked, taking a drink of her own beer. It wasn't very cold anymore, and getting a little flat. She tipped her head back and took a long swallow. No sense letting it go warm.

"Well… Isn't Harry coming?" Neville asked, looking a bit disappointed.

"No, Neville. I'm sorry. I just don't think he felt up to it."

"Oh, well, I just thought it might be nice since it's practically his birthday, too."

It was. Ginny had forgotten.

"And, I suppose I should have told you but-" He gestured at a table behind him, piled high with gifts. "Some of these are for him."

"Really?" Ginny stepped closer to the table. In the center, a gigantic cake frosted with pearly fondant icing sat atop a small pedestal. Across the front, it read, piped in crimson and gold, "Happy Birthday, Neville and Harry."

"Oh, bloody hell," Ginny said.

"Was this a bad idea?" Neville asked, looking stricken. "I told Gran that Harry might not- But she said that was nonsense and-"

"No. Neville, no. It's a perfectly lovely gesture, and I know Harry will appreciate it. I just wish I'd known. I would have tried harder to get him to come."

"It's all right," he said. "I understand that he must feel awful, after... Well, after everything."

"You don't know the half of it," Ginny muttered. She looked up, putting a hand on his arm. "Look here, Neville. I'll fix this. Just give me a minute. Where's your fireplace?"

"You don't have to-"

"Neville," she said sharply. "Fireplace. Now."

"There's one in the study. And the music room. And the library. And the billiard r-"

Ginny shook her head. "I think it's safe to say that I'll be able to find one, then."

Neville just nodded and pointed at a pair of double doors at the far end of the room.

"Thanks. I'll be right back."

She stepped away from the table, grabbing Dean by the arm as she went. She pulled him a safe distance away from Neville and said, "We have a problem."

"What's the matter?" Dean asked.

"That." She pointed at the cake. "Neville intended this party to be for Harry as well."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I know."

"You knew?" she said. "Why didn't you warn me?"

He shrugged again. "Neville said it was supposed to be a surprise. He said we were supposed to keep it a secret."

"From Harry, not from me."

Dean grinned at her. "Neville said not to tell you, Ron or Hermione. He knows how you guys are about Harry."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she said, pulling away from him.

"Hey, hey," he said, catching her arm. "If the twins had been around, Neville would have said the same thing about them, too. Your whole family is like that about Harry. I think it's nice, that you all care so much. He hasn't got anyone else." He smiled down at her. Ginny began to feel a bit weak in the knees.

"Quit doing that," she said.

He smiled even wider. "Quit doing what?"

"Being so sweet. I was on a roll."

"I know." He leaned down and kissed her quickly.

"All right, then," she said, pushing him away with a laugh. "I've got to go tell Ron. I can't let all Neville's work be for nothing."

Neville hadn't been exaggerating. There were fireplaces in practically every room -- and Longbottom Lane had a lot of rooms. Unfortunately, just at the moment, most of them were occupied by snogging teenagers.

"Honestly!" Ginny said, after the fifth room. "Well, really! ...And now I sound just like Hermione. I've got to find a fireplace."

She got to the music room at the same time as Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Oh, no you don't," Ginny said. "This room's mine. If you can possibly control your hormones for ten minutes, you can have it after I'm done. But I need to call Ron."

Hannah and Justin looked at her, perplexed. "We were looking for the kitchen. We've run out of kettle crisps. I don't suppose you know where it is?"

Wordlessly, Ginny pointed in the general direction of the kitchens.

Inside the music room, she wasted no time tossing powder into the fire.

"Ron! Damn it, Ron! I know you're there."

Ron looked up from the kitchen table, where he appeared to be making hot chocolate.

"Ginny?"

"And put in extra marshmallows!" Hermione's voice came from somewhere else in the house.

"Oh, very nice," Ginny said. "What a thrilling evening. I suppose you're all going to do word puzzles and play a rousing game of charades? Then a nice cup of Postum and off to bed at a reasonable hour?"

"Shut up about it, will you?" Ron snapped. "What do you want?"

"You have to come to this party."

Ron sighed heavily. "Not all of us can go gallivanting off like you can, Gin. We've got bigger worries than which shoes are on sale at Gladrags."

"Leaving aside for the moment that the three of you are not the only people involved in the whole fight against ultimate evil... Would you mind hearing me out?"

"What do you want from me?" Ron picked up a heavy, blue cup painted with the words "Hermione's Study Mug" and tossed in three extra marshmallows.

"Try, just once, not to be a complete idiot, won't you?"

He made a face. "What is with you lately? Every time you open your mouth it's like you're the Queen Bitch of Bitch-topia."

Ginny ignored him. "You have to come to Neville's party. Right now. And bring Harry."

"Wha-?" he sputtered. "Give me one good reason!"

"Neville's gran had a cake made. For Harry. People brought presents. I think they might even have been planning on jumping up and yelling, 'Surprise!'"

Ron's jaw dropped. "Why didn't Neville say so?"

"It was a surprise, Ron." She made a face. "None of us were supposed to know. Neville thought we'd warn Harry. But now we all know, and it isn't a surprise anymore, but at least Harry can show up for a little while-"

Ron was shaking his head. "It won't work..."

"Oh, of course not!" Ginny snapped. "We wouldn't want any of you to have to actually leave the house at any point this summer. Sitting in the attic, staring moodily at old photos is helping Harry so much, after all-"

"Ginny, if you would just shut up for half a second, you'd know that isn't what I meant."

Ginny stopped short in the middle of taking a deep breath. "Huh?"

"Mum will never let us go. She hasn't let Harry out of her sight since he got here, says he's in a 'delicate frame of mind.' She wouldn't even let him play Quidditch the other day!"

"Is that all? Well, you'll just have to sneak out," Ginny said, exasperated.

"Don't say that like it's something you do all the time because-" Ron paused. "It's not something you do all the time, is it?"

"No!" Ginny said, annoyed. "But if, for the sake of argument, you did want to get out of the house without being seen, there's a hidden side door east of the pantry."

Ron just shook his head.

"So you're coming then?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll come." He turned to go, muttering something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said, we wouldn't have told Harry."

"Oh, please. Like you or Hermione could ever keep a secret from him."

Ron's cheeks went inexplicably pink. "A lot you know," he said, belligerently, and disappeared from the room, carrying the three mugs of chocolate.

*

"I don't think this is a very good idea," Hermione said, for what had to be the one hundred and fiftieth time that evening.

Harry stopped in the doorway, his broomstick in one hand. "You don't have to come, you know, but I'm going."

Hermione looked as though she might say something in response, but just then Ron shoved her gently out the door, pulling it shut behind him. "Come on, then. Let's go if we're going."

"All right," Hermione said. "Fine."

"You're sure you're up for this, right, Harry?" Ron asked, without looking at him. He seemed very interested in cleaning a spot from his own broom.

"Yes. I said so, didn't I?" Harry replied shortly, irritated at having this same conversation again. He'd already been through it twice with Hermione before they'd made it through the kitchen.

Ron looked up. "Just making sure."

"I can't just sit around waiting for things to get better. Both Ginny and Professor Lupin said that to me recently." Ron mouthed 'Ginny?' in disbelief, and Harry added, "Well, they each said it in their own unique ways, of course - but they're not wrong."

"But, Harry," Hermione said, finally seeming to find her voice again, "it's okay to be sad. You have good reason to be. You don't have to force yourself into things before you're ready."

"I want to go," Harry said. "It was nice of Neville. I wish I'd known in the first place."

"Hermione," Ron said, in that tone of voice that usually meant he was about to completely lose his patience, "get on."

"What?"

"Get on. The broomstick." He gestured at a spot on the broom in front of him. "Now."

Hermione seemed uncharacteristically flustered by this. "I- Well- You know, perhaps..."

"Hermione, get on or we're leaving you."

She did.

"I don't approve of this," Harry heard her say as Ron kicked off from the ground.

"Well, gee," Ron replied off-handedly. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"You're still twelve, you know that?"

Ron soared up past the eaves, grinning down at Harry, the wind ruffling both his and Hermione's hair as they picked up speed. Harry stood for a moment and watched them from the ground, before climbing on to his broom and following.

*

"Look," Kingsley said, peering suspiciously into his glass, "I know I said we ought to have a drink, but this is ridiculous."

"I think it's quite tasty," Percy said, defensively pulling his glass closer, effectively hiding it behind the cocktail menu.

"It has a pineapple wedge in it," Kingsley pointed out, "and it's electric blue."

Percy put his head in his hands.

Kingsley chuckled. "That's what you get for letting strange demons buy you drinks. I'm just saying."

"Lorne is hardly a stranger. He interviewed me for a job just this week."

"I didn't say he was a stranger, I said he was strange."

"As opposed to all those run-of-the-mill demons, I suppose."

"Some demons are stranger than others." Kingsley shrugged. "You can't deny that."

"Have you met many demons?" Percy asked, interested.

"Only a few. They're pretty rare around here. The States are lousy with them from what I hear." He paused thoughtfully. "And Belgium, for some reason."

Percy sighed and took another drink. It was a bit sweet, true, but not altogether bad. He felt very tired. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt properly rested. Before he'd been sacked, surely. Maybe even before that.

"You okay?" Kingsley asked.

"Oh, yes. I suppose." Percy slid off his glasses and began polishing them with a napkin. "I was just trying to remember the last time I had a good night's sleep."

"You and me both." Kingsley leaned back in his chair. "In fact, I think it's been about twenty years."

"Surely not," Percy said.

"Maybe I'm exaggerating a little." He took a drink. "But sometimes it feels like I've been fighting something every day since I turned eleven. You're probably too young to remember what it was like then."

"I don't remember much," Percy admitted. "I seem to remember that Mum wouldn't let us go outside much. And I remember a time when my father was gone for a long time. I hardly recognized him when he came back." Percy felt a flash of long-forgotten guilt. "I think I may even have been a little frightened of him when he finally did come home."

Kingsley nodded. "I was remembering tonight how things were back then - everybody afraid all the time. I was totally convinced that I'd die before I turned twenty-five."

"That didn't happen."

"No, it didn't. I'm practically ancient now." Kingsley took another drink. "But I remember how it feels not to have a future."

"Is that why you bother with us? With Ginny and me?"

Kingsley looked up, an odd expression on his face, but he never got to answer because just then Lorne came up to their table. He was wearing a burgundy suit coat that should have clashed with his skin, but somehow managed not to.

"Well, hello there. How are you boys enjoying those drinks? Just a special little something that I had Manny back there whip up." He tipped an imaginary hat to the bartender who looked as though he didn't quite know what to make of Lorne.

"So, you, uh, own this place?" Kingsley asked, neatly sidestepping Lorne's question about the drinks.

"Oh, no," Lorne said, waving a hand, "I've got my own little club in L.A., and, let me tell you, I'm itching to get back."

Kingsley turned to Percy. "You moving to Los Angeles?"

"No. Why would-?"

"You said that you interviewed for a job."

"Oh, that," Percy said. "I interviewed here, with Lorne and the club manager. I did not, however, get the job."

"Not for any lack of talent," Lorne said, smiling sympathetically. "You sing like a young Harry Connick, Jr., and you're every bit as cute."

Kingsley sat up, looking at Percy like he'd never seen him before. "You sing?"

"Like a little angel," Lorne said. "But that's not the beauty part. Percy here is going to save us all from the Big Doom." He slapped Percy on the shoulder. "Isn't that right, kiddo?"

"That's what he says," Percy mumbled, suddenly becoming very interested in the contents of his glass.

"Which doom is that again?" Kingsley asked grumpily. "We've got more than our share lately."

"Wow. You two sure are a pair of Gloomy Gus-es, aren't you? I think another round is in order. How does a Midori Sour sound, boys?"

Kingsley stifled a groan.

"Oh, I know you're probably more an oatmeal stout sort of a fella, but you could use a little pizzazz." Lorne leaned in. "Or maybe just hum a few bars of something for me. It will help, I guarantee."

"No way. There aren't enough girly-drinks in the world to get me that drunk."

"You're a tough one, aren't you? Big, strong hero-type? But you're closed off." Lorne looked long and hard at Kingsley. "That might get you into trouble one of these days, big guy. I'm just saying." He brightened up abruptly. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where the music is."

Kingsley sighed and took a long drink of his Electric Watermelon. "See, this is why I don't hang out in demon bars."

*

Sometime after eleven, someone turned the lights down and the music up. A group of Ravenclaws were sitting on the floor by candlelight, playing a complicated game that involved drinking on cue, accepting dares and possibly removing pieces of clothing. A few couples had migrated to the enormous sofas in the parlor, and even more couples were dancing slowly in the dark. Neville was dancing with Luna, both of them looking a bit awkward and bemused.

Ginny grinned at Neville over Luna's shoulder, then grabbed another drink and wandered into the foyer to look for Dean. It was brighter out here, though only just, and quiet. No one appeared to be around, except Harry, who was sitting on the front stairway by himself and staring at nothing in particular.

Harry was working on his second glass of cider. Ron and Hermione had been hovering all evening, which was thoroughly annoying, but Ginny understood why they felt the need. The last thing she (or they, she guessed) wanted to deal with tonight was a drunk and despondent Harry. Now, though, he was alone. He didn't look depressed exactly, just sort of uncertain. Ginny went over.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked, sitting beside him on the stair.

"I'm enjoying myself," he said, sounding completely surprised by the fact. Perhaps, Ginny reflected, he'd forgotten how. "I mean, I'm not exactly the life of the party but-"

"It's an improvement," Ginny finished for him. "Look, I can't pretend to know how it feels for you to have lost Sirius, but I do understand what it's like to be lied to." She paused, taking a breath. "I know how it feels to be misled and manipulated by someone you really trusted. It isn't fair. I don't know if I've felt ever anything worse than that. But it really does get better."

"I know," Harry said. "The problem is, I'm afraid I won't have the chance to let it."

Harry took another drink.

"But I'm not thinking about that tonight," he said, "and neither should you. We're all right now."

"Yes, we are," Ginny said.

Harry gave her a half-smile and stood up to leave.

Ginny sat there a few moments longer. She was about to get up and keep looking for Dean when she heard someone calling her name.

"What?" Ginny asked, looking up into the shadows above her.

"Yes, that's right, dear. Up here."

Ginny stood, squinting into the half-light as her eyes adjusted.

"Come here, dear," Mrs. Longbottom was beckoning from the landing. Ginny went up and sat beside her, out of sight of the others.

"You're Arthur and Molly's girl," she said. It wasn't a question. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you for having us."

"No need to be polite," Mrs. Longbottom said, but she looked pleased.

"Neville seems to be having a nice birthday. And," Ginny paused significantly, "Luna Lovegood looks quite pretty tonight."

"Oh, yes. That," Mrs. Longbottom said, with a slightly evil grin. "A terrible shame. But I'm getting on, you know, and I'm a bit clumsier than I used to be."

Ginny gaped up at her.

"Of course," Mrs. Longbottom continued, "it will be nearly impossible to get crème de cassis out of that horrible orange sweater. It will have to be thrown out. More's the pity, I suppose."

"You are my new hero," Ginny said, with more than a shade of deference.

"The trick, my dear, is managing people without letting them catch on that they're being managed." She paused. "And if that doesn't work, a swift boot to the arse just might." She offered Ginny a rose-sprigged plate without breaking stride. "Have a chocolate, dear."

Ginny accepted, took a bite and nearly choked on the whiskey filling. "Good Lord."

"Just what the doctor ordered," said Mrs. Longbottom, popping two into her mouth at once. "You seem to have a handle on things, though - especially where the Potter boy is concerned. Don't let him get away with anything, no matter how much your family wants to let him."

"He's had it rather tough recently..." Ginny began.

"All the more reason not to back down."

"Not to be rude," Ginny said, "but I'm not sure that's necessarily the best way of going about it. I mean, just look at Neville-"

"Yes," Mrs. Longbottom said, "just look at Neville. Perhaps I am a bit tough on him, but he was such a delicate little boy. Always bringing home stray pets and orphaned baby birds; would cry at the least little thing. But I knew, Ginny dear, that life was going to be hard for him; that he wanted some toughening up. And I knew I couldn't mind if he hated me for it, not if I wanted to see him survive. Love isn't always hugs and warm milk, dear. Too many people think it is."

"Oh," was all Ginny said in reply.

"You're the same, whether you see it or not. You aren't afraid of a good, sharp kick to the shins if it's warranted. I've seen that."

"You got all that from listening to my one conversation with Harry?" Ginny asked.

Mrs. Longbottom remained suspiciously silent on the subject, merely offering Ginny another chocolate. Ginny made a mental note to ask Harry if he knew whether Dumbledore was spying on them. That was an incredibly disturbing prospect, to say the least.

"Did you know, my dear," Mrs. Longbottom began, deftly changing the subject and unwrapping a chocolate of her own, "that I was on the first voyage of the Queen Mary? They say it was the finest ship ever to sail the Atlantic..."

Ginny listened while Neville's gran told several amusing and mildly scandalous stories from her youth. The plate of whiskey chocolates had gone and Ginny's head felt slightly fuzzy by the time she finished.

At last, Mrs. Longbottom stood, wrapping an elegant, embroidered shawl around her shoulders.

"Well, you young people seem to have the party well in hand. I'm going to nip over to Algie's for a bit. It's canasta night." She straightened the shawl. "If you need me, there's plenty of floo powder by the fireplace in the study. Neville knows where it is. And try to keep the others out of the twelve-year-old scotch, if at all possible."

"Right-o." Ginny grinned, following her down the stairs.

"There's a lovely bottle of my favorite cordial on the sideboard in the music room, though, which you're more than welcome to, Ginny dear."

"Thank you," Ginny said. "It was lovely talking to you. It's the most fun I've had all evening."

"You mustn't be so polite," Mrs. Longbottom chided. "People will take advantage of you."

But as she headed through the door to the study, Ginny thought she looked exceedingly pleased.

*

"False advertising, that's what it is," Kingsley said, pointing accusingly at his half-empty glass. "Nothing pink should be able to get you drunk that fast."

Percy put his glass down and looked up. "I feel strangely fine."

"I wouldn't be too proud of that, were I you."

"But," Percy straightened his glasses, "you aren't me."

Kingsley chuckled. "That's true. I'm much better looking, and handier with the ladies."

"Yes," Percy said dryly. "So I hear."

"Do you?" Kingsley looked delighted. "What are they saying about me now?"

"Just that- Well, it's just that I've heard..."

"Yes?"

Percy shook his head. "I've heard that you aren't terribly particular about the sort of young lady you keep company with."

"Huh?" Kingsley said. Then, after a moment, "Oh, you think I'm some sort of-"

"Casanova?" Percy offered helpfully.

Kingsley looked amused. "That's one way of putting it. But, yeah."

"Well, that is what I hear," Percy said, carefully neutral.

"Well, shouldn't believe everything you hear, Percy. At least half those stories aren't true."

"If even half of them are, that's rather impressive." He straightened up on his stool. "Not, of course, that it's any of my business."

Kingsley shook his head and laughed. "Why do you want to know about this anyway? You worried?"

Percy didn't respond.

Kingsley turned to him and frowned. "Look here. I like Ginny. She's a smart kid, with a lot of spunk - and I'd have to be deaf, dumb, blind and dead not to notice that she's growing into quite a good-looking girl. But, kid, she's fifteen years younger than I am, and I'd never do that to your parents. They've looked out for me since I was Ginny's age." He took a long drink. "Now, if she was a few years older, I might be declaring my intent or asking Arthur for permission to call, or whatever it is you do when you have honorable intentions toward a lady. But, as it is, there's nothing for you to worry about."

"She has a bit of a crush on you."

"Me, several rock musicians and half the boys at Hogwarts, all of which is perfectly normal at her age."

"She seems rather fickle," Percy said. "It concerns me."

"Man, do you have a lot to learn about women. Percy, fifteen year old girls are the definition of fickle. If I were you, I'd be more concerned if she seemed totally set on one boy."

"She was once," Percy said thoughtfully. "Or, at least, we all thought she was."

"Really?"

"Yes. Harry Potter, as a matter of fact. I don't think my parents would have minded at all, either."

Kingsley was frowning. "Kid doesn't seem like her type. Too moody."

"Now you're worried," Percy said.

"I just don't like the idea of Ginny mixed up with the Potter boy."

"Why? Because it's dangerous?"

"What?" Kingsley said, looking up at Percy finally. "Dangerous? Yeah, sure. It would be dangerous."

But somehow Percy suspected that wasn't what really bothered him about the idea. Wisely, though, Percy kept silent on the subject.

"Do you ever wish," he asked instead, "that you could find someone like that, though? That one person that you're totally set on?"

"I think I'm spoiled for marriage," Kingsley said. "I'm set in my bachelor ways."

"You're hardly thirty!"

Kingsley took another drink. "Feels more like fifty some days."

"You keep saying things like that," Percy said. "I don't think you mean it at all."

Kingsley grinned suddenly. "Probably not." After a minute, he said, "Married or not, I don't exactly want for female companionship. Why complicate a good thing?"

"You have someone in mind, then?"

"Oh, yes." He grinned. "The lovely Nymphadora."

"But she works with you!" Percy said, vaguely scandalized.

"Not directly. Besides, right now she won't even have drinks with me."

"Perhaps she's just not interested?"

There was an extended pause. Percy looked up and Kingsley gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, of course she is," Percy muttered. "How silly of me."

Kingsley grinned. "I'm wearing her down."

"How romantic," Percy said dryly.

"The chase is half the fun, kid. Even you ought to know that."

"I'm afraid I haven't done much chasing," Percy replied, folding his hands and resting them on the table.

"You ever wonder why not?"

Percy sighed. "Because when I was in school, I had a perfectly lovely girlfriend. Since then, I've had other priorities."

"All work and no play, Percy," Kingsley said, grinning again. "I'm just saying." He took another drink.

"What happened to your girl, then?"

"My girl?"

"The one from school?"

"Oh, Penny." Percy shrugged. "Nothing really. Nothing dramatic, anyway. We grew apart and decided to end things. It hurt, of course, but-" He shrugged again. "I suppose it should have hurt more, if it had really meant something."

"That's probably true."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes.

After a minute, Percy said, "Tonks is only a couple years older than Ginny."

"Five," Kingsley said, “and five years makes a lot of difference."

"So once Ginny turns nineteen, I should start worrying?"

"Maybe," Kingsley laughed, then pointed an accusatory finger at Percy. "You're one to talk anyway. I hear you've found yourself an older woman."

"Celia is only twenty-three," Percy replied, feeling curiously defensive, “and we're just friends."

"Oh, man." Kingsley rolled his eyes. "Have you got it bad."

*

The party was starting to break up by the time Ginny came back downstairs. Neville was sitting alone at the grand piano in the music room, a half-empty glass of cider at his elbow. He played absently with the keys, tapping out a soft melody and only looking up when Ginny walked in. She sat down next to him.

"Where have you been, Ginny?" he asked, leaning toward her, his cheeks slightly pink.

"Talking to your gran." Ginny grinned at him. "She showed me her tattoo. It's wicked. A gold snake, all the way around her wrist."

The color drained from Neville's face. "Oh, dear."

"Did you know she was arrested in 1920 for wearing an indecent bathing costume to a public beach?"

Neville stopped playing and put a hand to his head.

"And she almost eloped with a Muggle. Some famous author, drank a lot. I can't remember his name-"

"Please," Neville said. "I don't want to know. I've spent years carefully not knowing."

"All right then" Ginny said, changing the subject. "Do you play?" She patted the top of the piano gently.

"A bit. Gran made me take lessons. I'm not very good, though."

"You always do that," Ginny said.

"What?"

"Act as though you can't do anything. That isn't true and we both know it."

Neville opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a voice from the door.

"Hey, Longbottom? Your gran wasn't fond of that big vase in the foyer, was she?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Neville muttered and ran out to survey the damage.

"Hey, wait!" Ginny called after him. "Have you seen Dean?"

He hadn't. Neither had Lavender Brown, or Ernie MacMillan, or any of the Ravenclaw fourth years.

Ginny sighed and headed back toward the servants' hall, thinking maybe he and Seamus had gone looking for the wine cellar. She really, really hoped not.

"Ginny!" someone called as she walked past the open door to the drawing room.

She stopped and looked inside. Dean and Seamus were draped over a matched set of wing chairs, a bottle of champagne and empty cake plates on the table between them.

"There you are," Ginny said. "I've been looking for you."

"I'm thoroughly pissed," Dean said, with a sloppy grin. "I hope I don't make an ass out of myself in front of you."

Ginny laughed, walking over and leaning in to kiss him briefly. He tasted like scotch whiskey.

"What have you been drinking tonight?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that." He grinned. "You taste like chocolate."

She grinned. "Neville's gran has been getting me tipsy on whiskey chocolates."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. She's a bit of a character."

Seamus sat up, taking a swig from a half-empty bottle of champagne. "Wish my grandmum were a bit more of that type of character. Whenever we go to visit her, we wind up spending half the time in church."

"Neville's gran doesn't strike me as particularly pious," Ginny said. "She even left me some cordial in the music room -- as if I haven't had enough to drink tonight."

Seamus' eyes lit up. "Oh, where is it? I'll fetch it for us." He stood up, handing the champagne to Dean.

"It's on the sideboard."

"I'll be right back," Seamus said, heading toward the door with a grin.

And then the lights went out.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, standing up.

Dean grabbed hold of her wrist. "Probably just a power outage. Happens all the time."

"Dean, there isn't any electricity here. All the lights are powered by magic."

"Oh," he said. Then he sat up straight. "Oh! That's bad isn't it?"

"Yes, that could be bad."

She pulled him to his feet and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"To find Harry." She pulled the door open. "If there's trouble, Harry's bound to be in the middle of it."

Completely predictably, he was.

Seamus stopped short at the door to the parlor, and Ginny and Dean crashed into him from behind.

"Oh, fucking hell," he said softly. When he turned to them, he'd gone white beneath his freckles.

"What is it?" Ginny hissed, standing on tiptoe to get a better look.

She needn't have bothered. She could have guessed without looking: Death Eaters, lots of them, as per usual.

"Oh, not again," she said. "Don't these idiots ever have a different plan?"

"So those are actual Death Eaters, are they?" Dean said, drawing his wand.

"What are you doing?" Ginny grabbed both boys by the arm and dragged them back toward the drawing room. "We have got to go for help."

"But shouldn't we, you know? Fight them?" Dean gestured with his wand.

"No. Not unless you want to get killed and take half of Hogwarts with you."

Dean frowned, tugging his arm away. "Harry would fight them."

Ginny snorted. "Harry is also a complete idiot about seventy percent of the time. We have to get out of here. Maybe we can make it out to call for help."

Seamus looked skeptical. "You think we'll be able to just walk out the front door?"

"It's worth a try."

They almost made it. Almost. The Death Eaters were stupid, sure. Unimaginative, even. But they'd still remembered to set a guard. They might still have been able to get out - there was only one Death Eater watching the front door - if they hadn't been taken by surprise from behind.

"Now just where do you think you're going?" one of the Death Eaters asked, catching Ginny by the collar of her jacket. Another leveled his wand at Dean and Seamus, who both put up their hands.

They were hauled unceremoniously into the parlor, where it appeared the Death Eaters had gathered everyone else.

"Come on now. The party's in here," said the tallest Death Eater, who appeared to be in charge. The others laughed as though he'd made a particularly good joke. Judging by their voices, they weren't all that much older than most of the kids at the party.

Harry stepped forward, looking resolved. "If you're here for me, then take me and let the others go."

The tall Death Eater cocked his head at Harry. After a minute, he said, "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter!" Harry said, sounding slightly affronted.

"Oh! Well, that's a bonus, isn't it? We aren't here for you, though. We came for him." He pointed his wand at the space just behind Harry's right shoulder. At Neville.

"There's a lady who'd like a word with you, little Longbottom. Says you have some unfinished business."

"Oh, really?" Neville said, stepping up beside Harry. He was trembling, but once Ginny got a look at his face she realized it was with anger, not fear. "I think I'll have to disappoint her. You can give her a message for me, though. I'll see her in hell for what she did to my parents. That's a promise."

Ginny's jaw dropped, and she found herself gaping stupidly at him. Everyone else in the room was doing the same.

"Neville," Harry said, trying to push him back. "Shut up, won't you? Let me handle this."

"You heard them, Harry," Neville replied. "They aren't here for you."

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Harry asked, annoyed, appearing to forget momentarily that they were surrounded by bad guys.

"Nobody needs to get killed," said the leader, sounding vaguely irritated at being ignored. "Longbottom comes with us; you all get to go home to your mummies and daddies. Sound fair?"

Harry looked around as though daring anyone to agree. Predictably no one did. Well, no one except Neville.

"Sounds fine," he said, stepping forward.

Two Death Eaters moved toward him, but before they could reach him, Neville had his wand out. Harry dived for it, trying to knock it away and pull out his own wand at the same time, but Neville was simply too quick for him. Before Ginny even had time to process that rather surprising fact, there was a large boom, and she was nearly knocked to the ground.

Everyone scattered. Ginny lost sight of Harry and Neville in the crush, but she saw Ron pull Hermione into the far corridor after him, narrowly escaping a volley of spells.

"This way," Dean said, grabbing her hand. They ducked as a large and probably priceless vase shattered into lethal slivers behind them.

*

Continued in Part II...