Continued...
Apparently, Episode 3 is too long to fit in one LJ entry, so here's the second half:
For quite possibly the first time ever, Harry found himself running away from danger.
It wasn't going particularly well.
"Get off me!" Neville said fiercely, kicking Harry firmly in the shin.
Harry just tightened his grip on Neville's arm. "Are you crazy? I mean, really completely batshit round the bend?"
"I said, get off!"
"If you go back in there, they will really, really kill you. Poof, Avada kedavra, gone. You get it?"
Neville jerked his arm away. "I can't believe you're just going to run away," he said looking very flushed.
"Look," Harry said, breathing heavily. "Maybe you want to play suicidal buddy cops, but I don't!"
"You're trying to tell me that you don't want revenge? For what You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters did to your parents? For what they did to your godfather?"
"How do you know about that?" Harry said sharply.
"Dumbledore said so."
"Well, it's nice to see that Dumbledore is keeping someone informed."
"Actually, he didn't tell me. He told my Gran, and I was listening at the door. Besides, it was obvious that you knew him and it was obvious that he was on our side."
"Oh," was all Harry could find to say in return.
"I'm not sitting still anymore, Harry. Not while the woman who-" He shook his head violently. "I've got to do something."
"Look, you think I don't get that it's a suck-fest being us?" Harry said. "I do. More than you know, way more. But we can't run around just inviting the bad guys to kill us."
"Maybe you can't," Neville replied. "But how much would it matter if I did?"
"A lot. Like I said, more than you know," Harry said, thinking of the prophecy. It still could be Neville. He'd been thinking about that possibility a lot all summer, regardless of what Dumbledore might think. Dumbledore could be wrong; he'd seen that all too clearly. "Trust me on this. We've got to play this smart."
Neville seemed to sag forward. "All right. All right, Harry."
He put a hand on Neville's shoulder. "I knew you'd understand."
Which was, of course, when Neville sucker-punched him.
*
Ginny slammed the study door hard on a Death Eater's hand. He howled in pain, and she slid the bolt home, bracing herself against the door. Seamus and Dean flung themselves against the door as well. It shuddered with the impact as at least one Death Eater tried to break it down. A knot of Ravenclaws huddled in the far corner by the fireplace; one of them whimpered.
After a minute, the door stopped shaking. But Ginny wasn't naïve enough to think that meant the Death Eaters were gone. At best, it meant they'd gone for reinforcements.
"We've got things under control here, guys," Seamus snapped, relaxing away from the door slightly. "Thanks anyway, though."
"Shit," Dean said, wedging a chair under the doorknob for good measure. "We are in seriously deep here." He walked over to the fireplace. "Quick. What's the wizarding equivalent of dialing 999?" He looked around the room, then back to Ginny. "How do you people call for help?"
"Um, we yell 'help'?" Ginny offered.
"Bloody hell, people!" Several of the Ravenclaws flinched. "No wonder you got slaughtered the first time round."
"Dean." Ginny put a hand on his arm. "We can handle this." She reached up on the mantle and grabbed an ornate Faberge egg full of floo powder. "Neville's gran is just next door. She said to use this if there was an emergency."
"We can't just leave the others!" one of the Ravenclaws piped up.
"Don't be an idiot," Ginny snapped. "We aren't going to. We're going to get help." She turned to the fireplace and threw in some powder. "Uncle Algie's," she said clearly, and stepped into the flames. "Come on then. All of you follow me."
The last thing she saw was Dean and the others following suit, before she stumbled out of the fireplace, falling hard onto the sooty hearth. Ginny scrambled to her feet and sprinted for the kitchen door, not bothering to wait to see if the others got through.
"Mrs. Longbottom? Mrs. Longbottom?!" She ran headlong down a corridor, listening for any sound of voices.
At the end of the long hallway, she heard them. Ginny flung open the door and barged into a large dining room. A group of distinguished-looking older people sat round a long, polished table holding cards. An empty decanter of brandy stood on the sideboard.
She skidded to a halt in front of the table. An ancient house-elf stepped bravely into her path and squeaked that Mister Longbottom was not receiving visitors. Ginny shoved him out of the way with one foot and reached out a hand to Neville's gran.
"What's happened, dear?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, taking Ginny's hand in hers.
"They're here. They've come for Neville."
Mrs. Longbottom was immediately on her feet. "Who has?"
"Death Eaters. Lots of them."
"Oh, dear," said an elderly, round-faced man who had to be Neville's Uncle Algie.
"I told you, Adelaide-" he began.
Neville's gran silenced him with a look. "Algie, fetch your valet. He still has one of those -- what are they called? Revolvers? They certainly won't be expecting that. Miriam, fetch the wands." A frail-looking woman with white hair sprung up with surprising agility and opened a Chinese cabinet at the end of the room. "Edward, dear, do call for the Aurors, won't you?" A man with a steel-grey handlebar mustache nodded and exited the room. "The rest of us will hold the villains off until they get here."
"You're going to hold them off?" Ginny asked, incredulous.
"Remind me sometime, dear, to tell you about my time in Paris during the second Muggle war." Mrs. Longbottom patted her on the arm and continued to go about issuing orders like a lieutenant on the battlefield.
"Here are some more of the young people," Miriam said from the doorway. Seamus, Dean and the Ravenclaws joined them in the dining room.
"And fetch brandy and blankets!" Mrs. Longbottom called out. She turned to the students. "Sit!"
They all tumbled over one another in their haste to find seats at the table. Seamus even folded his hands politely.
"I'm going with you!" Ginny said, realizing that she still had hold of Mrs. Longbottom's hand.
"Not now, dear. You sit with the others."
"But-" Ginny found herself at a loss for words. "You can't go- You'll be-"
"Now, now." She brushed a hand across Ginny's nose. "You've got soot on your face, dear. Clean yourself up and take care of the others. That's what I need you to do. Do you understand?"
Silently, Ginny nodded.
"Good girl," Mrs. Longbottom said, and they were gone.
*
Percy was feeling a bit woozy when the owl came. Not drunk-woozy, just a little sugar-shocked from the amount of triple sec he'd consumed over the course of the evening. The owl, though, looked as though it might have been drinking. It wove unsteadily toward them, tipping slightly to the right, then the left. Finally, it landed on their table, tripping over one of its claws as it went.
"Hey," Percy said, poking Kingsley in the shoulder. "I think you have an owl."
"I've got a what?"
"Owl. An owl. Someone has sent you something by owl post."
Kingsley looked up from his Peach Bellini. "Oh, so they have."
"Aren't you going to read it?"
"Sure." Kingsley unfolded the parchment with just the slightest noticeable difficulty.
The owl -- which was, Percy noticed, not too much larger than Ron's little Pigwidgeon -- lurched over to Percy's side of the table and dipped its beak in his unattended Brandy Alexander.
"Stop that," Percy said, shooing it away with one hand.
The owl looked up reproachfully. It opened its beak and made an odd noise that Percy would have sworn was a hiccup. He hadn't even realized owls could hiccup.
"Our owl is drunk," Percy said, bemused. "I think, in fact, that our owl may be a drunk. I didn't even know that was possible."
Kingsley wasn't listening, though.
"Damn it," he said, tossing the paper into the tiny oil lamp in the center of the table. "Come on. There's been an incident."
"What?"
Kingsley was already on his feet. "I've got to go. Are you coming or not?"
Percy jumped up, tossing a handful of coins on the table, and followed. The owl took flight with a flutter of wings and settled on Percy's shoulder. It hooted contentedly, having finished the last of both Percy's drink and Kingsley's slightly warm and half-finished Cosmopolitan.
"Don't you have somewhere to go?" Percy asked. It responded by digging its tiny claws into Percy's shoulder and hooting loudly in his ear.
"Where's the fire, fellas?" Lorne asked from behind the bar as they hurried by.
"Duty calls, I'm afraid," Percy said, quickening his step to keep up with Kingsley.
"Well, remember what I said!" Lorne called after him. "That opportunity is gonna come a-knockin' any day now."
*
"You hit me," Harry said in disbelief, putting a hand to his eye. "You hit me, and it hurt."
Neville shrugged. "You would've done the same."
"I would not!"
But Neville was already running back toward the house. Harry took off after him. Neville may have improved in a lot of ways in the last year, but Harry was still faster. He was on Neville's heels within a few seconds and leapt across the remainder of the distance between them, tackling Neville hard. They fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Neville let out a pained "oof." Harry scrambled up first, pinning Neville's shoulders to the ground.
"We have to get out of here," he said, leaning over the other boy. "We have to go and get help. For once, I'm going to do the smart, sensible, tragedy-averting thing -- and you are coming with me, whether you like it or not."
Neville looked up at him. The expression on his face was one that Harry had a worrying suspicion that he himself had worn in the past.
"You don't get it, Harry," he said. "I'm not afraid anymore."
"Well, maybe you should be." Harry stood, extending a hand to Neville and pulling him to his feet. “What good is it going to do anyone if you get yourself killed?"
"What else have I got to offer? I'm total rubbish at everything else."
"That is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard anyone say. You are not going to throw your life away on a bunch of second-rate Death Eaters."
"Oh, really?" said a voice from behind them. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Well," Harry said, turning around slowly and not missing a beat. "I suppose you're right. You are pretty second-rate."
There were an awful lot of them standing there, and Harry was trying very hard not to panic. Second-rate or not, they had the advantage of numbers. Between the Death Eaters and whatever suicidally insane thing Neville might attempt next, Harry wasn't having a very good time of it coming up with a plan. The Death Eaters outnumbered them four to one. Even if they managed to take out two apiece, they were still done for -- they'd be killed, or worse. What he needed was surprise, a way to stop all of the Death Eaters at once. If he was right, and they were after the "or worse" rather than killing the two of them outright, he might just have a chance.
"Are you boys going to come quietly? Or shall we do this the fun way?" The leader of the Death Eaters grinned behind his mask. "Fun for us, anyway."
Harry sighed heavily, putting on a show of annoyance. "Do they teach those lame quips in Death Eater training? Or are all of you really just that unoriginal?"
He scanned the scene, buying time. The Death Eaters, he noticed, were standing beneath an archway that supported an old, sagging second-story veranda. If it were to fall, they'd all be caught underneath. Assuming, of course, he could figure out some way to make it fall.
He could do this, he told himself. He could, if for no other reason than to live another day and prove Neville wrong. After all, he'd faced down Lord Voldemort himself. He'd beaten giant brains and man-eating spiders and Hungarian Horntails... The Hungarian Horntail, which he'd defeated by summoning his Firebolt -- which was, at this very moment, leaning up against the front door. Harry looked up again, judging the distance between the veranda's supports. If he got enough speed behind it, it could work. His old broom had managed to put a dent in the Whomping Willow after all.
Harry pulled his wand from his back pocket, "Accio Firebolt!" He swished the wand wildly, hoping to over-cast the spell the way he'd done back when he'd first been learning it.
The Death Eaters stepped forward, wands at the ready, looking bemused.
"Stand down," the leader said. "We want them alive, if possible."
Then, just as Harry had hoped, the broom came zooming wildly around the corner like a missile. It careened into the first support, sending stone chips and bristles flying; then it crashed into the other. One buttress cracked under the assault, but the other appeared undamaged. The Firebolt, though, splintered into matchsticks on impact.
The leader laughed. "Nice try, but I'm afraid that didn't accomplish much."
Harry's heart was beating quickly, adrenaline making him clumsy. "I don't know about that," he heard himself say and nearly tripped over his own feet as he took a step backward.
There was a loud crack and the last support splintered, bringing the archway down on top of the Death Eaters. Harry grabbed hold of Neville's sleeve and hauled him out of harm's way. The two boys sat down hard on the lawn, breathing heavily. Harry still had hold of Neville's sleeve and found he wasn't quite ready to let go. In the distance he could hear the voices of arriving Aurors -- just in time to be absolutely no help, as usual.
*
The action was largely over by the time they got there. Percy picked his way over the Longbottom's scorched drive, dodging Aurors, emergency healers and, oddly enough, a group of senior citizens brandishing weaponry that would have looked more at home during the Boxer Rebellion. The little owl was still riding on his shoulder, and showed no signs of wanting to leave. Its name, according to the official Owl Post tag around its neck, was Bailey -- like the Irish Cream. For, Percy assumed, obvious reasons.
It hiccuped again and nipped Percy on the ear.
"Anybody hurt?" Kingsley asked an emergency healer.
The healer shook her head. "Just a few Death Eaters. Most of the kids got out of the house before any real fighting started. The ones who were left put up a pretty good fight. I mean, these were pretty crappy Death Eaters -- strictly the B-squad -- but still."
Percy stopped listening, craning his head above the chaos for any glimpse of his sister. Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom sat on the wide front steps of the house, blankets draped around their shoulders. Neither looked hurt, but Harry appeared distinctly upset about something. Neville kept looking sidelong at him, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't.
"Come on," Kingsley said. "They need people to search the house."
"Don't they have Aurors for that sort of thing?" Percy asked.
"We're short-handed, so I'm deputizing you." There was a slight pause. "Lose the owl."
Bailey gave a forlorn little mew, and Percy slid him surreptitiously into his jacket pocket. They headed up toward the house, dodging determined-looking Aurors herding prisoners and taking statements from blanket-draped students.
"Telephones," Dean Thomas was saying to one of the Aurors as they walked by. "Look into them, I'm serious."
"Hey, you." Kingsley beckoned a group of junior Aurors over to them. "We're making sure the house is clear. Come on."
"Who is this guy?" one asked, pointing at Percy.
"He's a, uh... special consultant," Kingsley said, not very convincingly.
"You're a Weasley," said a girl, who Percy recognized after a moment as Nymphadora Tonks. She blinked. "You're the Weasley, aren't you?"
Kingsley spared him from having to answer by ordering them all into the house. Percy would far rather have faced down a house full of desperate Death Eaters than answer that particular question.
Luckily, he didn't have to do either. The house was already clear. They didn't find anyone until they reached the massive kitchen. Kingsley eased open the door, motioning for the others to follow carefully. The Aurors fanned out, checking each cupboard and corner quickly and professionally. Percy followed, feeling somewhat awkward and trying to tread silently.
Suddenly, there was a crash from the pantry and a muffled voice hissed, "There's somebody out there. They'll hear you."
The Aurors immediately pulled their wands and lined up along either side of the pantry door. Percy followed suit.
"We know you're in there," Kingsley said, his voice low and commanding. "Come out slowly, and put your wands down. We promise not to hurt you."
"Oh, like we believe that!" said someone from inside the pantry. Followed by, "Ow! What did you have to hit me for?"
There was a long minute of ominous silence while Percy and the Aurors waited, tensed and wands at the ready. Then, abruptly, the door was flung open and a pair of figures jumped forward, yelling "Expelliarmus!" at the top of their lungs.
Percy nearly lost his grip on his wand, not so much because of the spell, but from shock when he recognized one of the figures.
"Ron? What are you doing in that pantry?"
His brother, looking rather worse for wear, spun round with one arm outstretched, effectively shielding his companion.
"Percy?" he said, looking utterly confused. "You're evil? When did that happen?"
"I am not evil," Percy snapped.
"But there were Death Eaters, and we were trapped-" Ron gestured expressively with his wand and the Aurors all tensed for action.
"Wands down," Kingsley said to Ron, sounding put out. "Which part of that didn't you understand?"
Hermione Granger peeked out from behind Ron, dropping her own wand. "They aren't evil, Ron. They're Aurors."
Ron finally put his wand down on the kitchen floor. "So they are. I guess we're saved then. Where's Harry?"
"He's fine." Kingsley picked up Ron and Hermione's wands, and the other Aurors pocketed their own. "Everyone is fine. The two of you nearly weren't, though. What were you thinking?"
"That you were Death Eaters, obviously," Hermione said in a tone of voice that made it perfectly clear that any idiot could have seen that.
Kingsley merely raised an eyebrow and, after checking them over thoroughly, gave them back their wands.
"What is he doing here, then?" Ron asked, pointing his wand accusingly at Percy.
"Helping," Kingsley said, "which is what you should be doing if you're going to insist on putting yourself in harm's way. We're checking the wine cellar. Now get behind me and shut up."
The wine cellar was empty, though, and they made their way back out onto the front lawn. Once Ron and Hermione had been seen to -- and given blankets and brandy, which seemed to be the only emergency medicine available in the wizarding world -- Percy began looking around again for Ginny. They said that no students had been hurt, of course, but no one had mentioned seeing her either. Percy was on the verge of asking Harry Potter, though unsure how Harry might react to him, when he finally saw her. She was wandering up the drive, looking slightly dazed.
"Ginny!" Percy said, forgetting himself for a moment as he ran over to her. She was covered in soot; there were smudges under her eyes and across her cheeks. Her hair was slightly singed at the ends.
Percy caught her by the arm. "Are you all right? They said no one was hurt..."
"I'm fine, Percy." She gave him a slightly lopsided smile. "I just had a little disagreement with some floo powder."
"The way I hear it," Kingsley said, coming up to stand beside them, "you helped save the day."
Ginny laughed sharply. "Yeah, by running away."
"Running for help, you mean. That was smart of you."
"Harry saved us," she said. "But then what else is new? And Neville helped, which is also becoming the usual. Who would've thought?"
"Come on," Kingsley said, draping an arm across her shoulders. "Let's get you home."
They walked back up to the house. Ron and Hermione had joined Neville and Harry on the steps. They all looked incredibly glum.
"What is it?" Ginny asked. "Everyone's all right, aren't they?"
"Well, yeah-" Ron began.
Harry interrupted. "My broom was destroyed." Percy blinked. Harry looked far too upset for this to be about just a broom. He continued, "Sirius gave it to me. He…"
Hermione looked up sharply at Percy, and shook her head at Ron, who reached over and shook Harry's shoulder in warning. Harry didn't seem to notice.
"Oh, Harry," Ginny said softly, kneeling down beside Harry, the look on her face so stricken that Percy had to turn away.
Kingsley took Percy by the arm. "Let's leave them alone for a little bit. I'll have someone make sure they get home safely."
It wasn't until he was home that night, freshly showered and lying in bed too keyed up to sleep, that it occurred to Percy to wonder whether Harry had been talking about Sirius Black. And, if so, what on earth did it mean?
*
Tonks accompanied them all back to Grimmauld Place. Ginny had hoped Kingsley would come with them, though she wasn't really sure why, but he stayed with Percy instead. She tried not to be too put out by that. Dean had wanted to come with her, but she couldn't very well allow him to come to the Order of the Phoenix's secret headquarters. So, instead, she told him he ought to go with Seamus, who was having a very difficult time explaining to his mother that, no, Death Eaters did not usually attack parties thrown by Hogwarts students.
"I am never going to be allowed out again," he'd said miserably. Dean clapped him on the shoulder, gave Ginny a kiss and flooed off with Seamus to face the music.
Now, an hour or so later, Ginny was sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, drinking tea and waiting for her mother to start yelling.
So far that hadn't happened. It had to be some sort of record.
"So, you're not mad?" Ron asked hopefully, taking a sip of his own tea.
"I am not happy that you went out without telling anyone where you were going," their mother said, showing practically superhuman restraint. "I am, however, glad that you are all safe."
Ron and Hermione exchanged perplexed looks. Harry just sat miserably in the corner, looking inconsolable.
Ginny shrugged. "Hey, I had permission to go."
"Yes, you did, dear," her mother said. "I'm very proud of you. Nymphadora tells me that you behaved very responsibly."
Ron made a face at her, but Ginny just smiled serenely.
"I think you all need to go on up to bed." They all got up to leave. "Oh, Ron? Why don't you stay here a moment."
Now the yelling would start. Ginny, Harry and Hermione exited the kitchen as quickly as possible. While she felt sorry for Ron, Ginny couldn't help being pleased that her mother had shown some sort of restraint in front of the others. Perhaps this was a sign of things to come.
"What on earth were you thinking? Taking Harry out to a party with alcohol and who knows what else?" her mother's voice came from the kitchen.
Then again, perhaps not.
Professor Lupin was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. "Could I have a word, Harry?"
"No."
If Lupin was shocked, he didn't show it.
"Nonetheless, Harry, I think we should talk."
"So talk," Harry said belligerently. "Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Hermione and Ginny, can't you?"
"Yes, I suppose I can." Lupin paused. "I thought you might want to talk about your Firebolt."
"Well, guess what? I don't!" He crossed his arms. "I can't even leave the house without Death Eaters attacking, and the broom is destroyed and it's all just to be expected after the way my life has gone lately. Sirius gave it to me and it was all I had left. So let's all cry about it, why don't we?"
Ginny took a step back from Harry and saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Hermione had done the same.
"It isn't the only thing," Lupin said quietly. "I wasn't going to tell you right away. It isn't yours until you turn seventeen anyway, but-"
Harry just looked coldly at Lupin.
"I don't know if this will make you feel better or worse, but you ought to know." He paused. "I'm trying, Harry, to be straight with you from now on. I'm trying to make sure you have all the facts. I hope you know that."
"All right then," Harry said impatiently.
"Sirius left you almost everything he still had. Including this house."
"The house?"
"You're Sirius' godson, his heir. Technically, that makes you the last member of the Black family."
Ginny was appalled. She couldn't imagine that Harry would want that horrible house.
"When you're of age, it will all be yours. Not just what Sirius left you, but everything that was left by your parents and grandparents as well."
Now, Harry looked confused rather than angry. "But I've already gotten the money my parents left."
Lupin frowned. "That's only a trust. Eventually, you'll receive your full inheritance from the Potters. There's still a house somewhere, if I remember correctly. Though it isn't the one James grew up in..."
"Why didn't anyone tell me this before?" Harry cut in hotly.
"Someone should have," Lupin said mildly. "Who set you up at Gringotts?"
"Hagrid."
"Ah," was all Lupin said in reply. "You ought to go on to bed, Harry. If there's anything else you want to know, please ask me. I will tell you if it's in my power to do so."
Harry just nodded and turned to walk away.
"I am trying, Harry," Lupin said, sounding very tired. "I want you to know that. I want you to feel as though someone has learned from our mistakes."
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said gruffly, but without turning around. Some of the tension around Lupin's eyes eased at the words, though.
Harry went into his and Ron's room, and Ginny and Hermione followed. Harry sat on his bed, not looking at them, while Hermione tidied up Ron's dresser. Ginny picked Crookshanks up from the floor and draped him across her shoulders.
Ron was in a foul temper when he finally came back to the room. "That is the last time I ever listen to anything you have to say!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Ginny.
"Hey, nobody forced you to come out. I only told you what Neville had planned. The decision was yours."
Ron ignored her. "Of course Mum said it was all my fault, without the twins to blame for every damn thing that goes wrong..." He was building up a fine head of steam. "And what was Percy doing there? Why were you being so friendly with him?"
Ginny said nothing.
"Have you been in contact with him? Ginny, what are you thinking? Mum will have kittens!"
"Ron, no matter what else he's done, he's still our brother. I couldn't just-"
"I can't believe this." He flung himself onto the bed.
"Now, Ron-" Hermione began.
"Don't you go defending him, too, Hermione."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off.
"It's the thirty-first," Harry said just then, apropos of nothing.
The others abruptly stopped bickering and turned to look at him.
"What's that, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"It's past midnight. It's the thirty-first, my birthday."
"Oh." Ginny sat down on the bed beside him.
"Not that it matters," Harry continued. "It's only that I'd forgotten until just now."
"Happy birthday, Harry," Ginny said softly. "And I'm sorry about- you know." She dropped a hand briefly to his shoulder.
"Thanks."
"I'm going to bed," she said to the others, and was out the door before Ron could say another word.
Continued in Episode 4, The Long Way Back
Next time on Percy Weasley: Rogue Demon Hunter...
"It's this new job of mine."
"Things aren't going well?"
"Oh, they've gone wonderfully. I've been very successful so far. They've consistently given me intriguing projects and more responsibility, the work environment is very positive, and the benefits-"
It sounded, quite frankly, like a little slice of heaven. Percy was trying very, very hard not to burst with jealousy. It was a close thing. "And the problem is?" he asked, managing somehow not to visibly salivate at the mention of the word 'benefits.'
“My gut.”
“Your gut?”
“I know it probably sounds silly, but I generally trust my instincts and right now my instincts are telling me that something is very wrong. Everything was fine until this week. We’ve taken on a new client, some American outfit - which is suspect in itself - and now there's talk about special projects, top secret stuff. I did a little digging, and these Americans… The things they’ve done and the people they generally represent, even on paper - not the even the stuff they’ve bothered to hide... Well, they make Dolores Umbridge look positively cuddly."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "I always found Madam Umbridge very polite."
"Oh, please," Williams said. "That's because you had, what? Three conversations with her, total? She was Hitler in high heels." At his skeptical look, she added, "The woman collected knickknacks: little ceramic kittens playing with yarn, adorable ragamuffin children and chubby, barefoot angels. She was straight-up evil, like the Martha Stewart, hand-knit doilies kind of evil. She made us sing carols at the Christmas party last year -- Victorian Christmas carols."
"I must have missed that," Percy mused. "I was rather drunk."
"I wish I'd been. Even now, one chorus of 'Angels We Have Heard on High' and I have to find a drink." She shook her head. “You know, there was a time when this honestly wouldn’t have bothered me that much. I would have done my job, taken the paycheck and then moved on. But now-" She looked at him and there was something in her face that he couldn’t quite read. “Now, I’m finding that my conscience is a little louder than it used to be. If this new client is mixed up in something illegal or even morally questionable, I’m not sure I can do it. But before I do anything, I want to be sure I’m not jumping to conclusions because of, well, recent events.”
“Recent events?”
She shrugged but that somehow significant look was still on her face. “We all learn our lessons in different ways, Weasley.” A pause. “I came to you because you- Well, anyway, you know people. You know better than I would who to talk to about something like this - like that Auror... Kingsley is his name, I think?” She paused. “Will you help me?"
"I'm not at all sure I'm the right person to be helping you with this. Surely there are proper channels you could go through-"
"Percy, please," she said, and he realized that it was quite possibly the first time she'd ever used his given name.
"All right, all right... Celia. I'll see what I can do." He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Who's Martha Stewart?"
* Copa Cabana was originally sung by Barry Manilow, and Midnight Train to Georgia is, as Lorne says, a Gladys Knight and the Pips song. Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok clan himself belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. He's the first, but not the last, Angel character to show up in this series.
For quite possibly the first time ever, Harry found himself running away from danger.
It wasn't going particularly well.
"Get off me!" Neville said fiercely, kicking Harry firmly in the shin.
Harry just tightened his grip on Neville's arm. "Are you crazy? I mean, really completely batshit round the bend?"
"I said, get off!"
"If you go back in there, they will really, really kill you. Poof, Avada kedavra, gone. You get it?"
Neville jerked his arm away. "I can't believe you're just going to run away," he said looking very flushed.
"Look," Harry said, breathing heavily. "Maybe you want to play suicidal buddy cops, but I don't!"
"You're trying to tell me that you don't want revenge? For what You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters did to your parents? For what they did to your godfather?"
"How do you know about that?" Harry said sharply.
"Dumbledore said so."
"Well, it's nice to see that Dumbledore is keeping someone informed."
"Actually, he didn't tell me. He told my Gran, and I was listening at the door. Besides, it was obvious that you knew him and it was obvious that he was on our side."
"Oh," was all Harry could find to say in return.
"I'm not sitting still anymore, Harry. Not while the woman who-" He shook his head violently. "I've got to do something."
"Look, you think I don't get that it's a suck-fest being us?" Harry said. "I do. More than you know, way more. But we can't run around just inviting the bad guys to kill us."
"Maybe you can't," Neville replied. "But how much would it matter if I did?"
"A lot. Like I said, more than you know," Harry said, thinking of the prophecy. It still could be Neville. He'd been thinking about that possibility a lot all summer, regardless of what Dumbledore might think. Dumbledore could be wrong; he'd seen that all too clearly. "Trust me on this. We've got to play this smart."
Neville seemed to sag forward. "All right. All right, Harry."
He put a hand on Neville's shoulder. "I knew you'd understand."
Which was, of course, when Neville sucker-punched him.
*
Ginny slammed the study door hard on a Death Eater's hand. He howled in pain, and she slid the bolt home, bracing herself against the door. Seamus and Dean flung themselves against the door as well. It shuddered with the impact as at least one Death Eater tried to break it down. A knot of Ravenclaws huddled in the far corner by the fireplace; one of them whimpered.
After a minute, the door stopped shaking. But Ginny wasn't naïve enough to think that meant the Death Eaters were gone. At best, it meant they'd gone for reinforcements.
"We've got things under control here, guys," Seamus snapped, relaxing away from the door slightly. "Thanks anyway, though."
"Shit," Dean said, wedging a chair under the doorknob for good measure. "We are in seriously deep here." He walked over to the fireplace. "Quick. What's the wizarding equivalent of dialing 999?" He looked around the room, then back to Ginny. "How do you people call for help?"
"Um, we yell 'help'?" Ginny offered.
"Bloody hell, people!" Several of the Ravenclaws flinched. "No wonder you got slaughtered the first time round."
"Dean." Ginny put a hand on his arm. "We can handle this." She reached up on the mantle and grabbed an ornate Faberge egg full of floo powder. "Neville's gran is just next door. She said to use this if there was an emergency."
"We can't just leave the others!" one of the Ravenclaws piped up.
"Don't be an idiot," Ginny snapped. "We aren't going to. We're going to get help." She turned to the fireplace and threw in some powder. "Uncle Algie's," she said clearly, and stepped into the flames. "Come on then. All of you follow me."
The last thing she saw was Dean and the others following suit, before she stumbled out of the fireplace, falling hard onto the sooty hearth. Ginny scrambled to her feet and sprinted for the kitchen door, not bothering to wait to see if the others got through.
"Mrs. Longbottom? Mrs. Longbottom?!" She ran headlong down a corridor, listening for any sound of voices.
At the end of the long hallway, she heard them. Ginny flung open the door and barged into a large dining room. A group of distinguished-looking older people sat round a long, polished table holding cards. An empty decanter of brandy stood on the sideboard.
She skidded to a halt in front of the table. An ancient house-elf stepped bravely into her path and squeaked that Mister Longbottom was not receiving visitors. Ginny shoved him out of the way with one foot and reached out a hand to Neville's gran.
"What's happened, dear?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, taking Ginny's hand in hers.
"They're here. They've come for Neville."
Mrs. Longbottom was immediately on her feet. "Who has?"
"Death Eaters. Lots of them."
"Oh, dear," said an elderly, round-faced man who had to be Neville's Uncle Algie.
"I told you, Adelaide-" he began.
Neville's gran silenced him with a look. "Algie, fetch your valet. He still has one of those -- what are they called? Revolvers? They certainly won't be expecting that. Miriam, fetch the wands." A frail-looking woman with white hair sprung up with surprising agility and opened a Chinese cabinet at the end of the room. "Edward, dear, do call for the Aurors, won't you?" A man with a steel-grey handlebar mustache nodded and exited the room. "The rest of us will hold the villains off until they get here."
"You're going to hold them off?" Ginny asked, incredulous.
"Remind me sometime, dear, to tell you about my time in Paris during the second Muggle war." Mrs. Longbottom patted her on the arm and continued to go about issuing orders like a lieutenant on the battlefield.
"Here are some more of the young people," Miriam said from the doorway. Seamus, Dean and the Ravenclaws joined them in the dining room.
"And fetch brandy and blankets!" Mrs. Longbottom called out. She turned to the students. "Sit!"
They all tumbled over one another in their haste to find seats at the table. Seamus even folded his hands politely.
"I'm going with you!" Ginny said, realizing that she still had hold of Mrs. Longbottom's hand.
"Not now, dear. You sit with the others."
"But-" Ginny found herself at a loss for words. "You can't go- You'll be-"
"Now, now." She brushed a hand across Ginny's nose. "You've got soot on your face, dear. Clean yourself up and take care of the others. That's what I need you to do. Do you understand?"
Silently, Ginny nodded.
"Good girl," Mrs. Longbottom said, and they were gone.
*
Percy was feeling a bit woozy when the owl came. Not drunk-woozy, just a little sugar-shocked from the amount of triple sec he'd consumed over the course of the evening. The owl, though, looked as though it might have been drinking. It wove unsteadily toward them, tipping slightly to the right, then the left. Finally, it landed on their table, tripping over one of its claws as it went.
"Hey," Percy said, poking Kingsley in the shoulder. "I think you have an owl."
"I've got a what?"
"Owl. An owl. Someone has sent you something by owl post."
Kingsley looked up from his Peach Bellini. "Oh, so they have."
"Aren't you going to read it?"
"Sure." Kingsley unfolded the parchment with just the slightest noticeable difficulty.
The owl -- which was, Percy noticed, not too much larger than Ron's little Pigwidgeon -- lurched over to Percy's side of the table and dipped its beak in his unattended Brandy Alexander.
"Stop that," Percy said, shooing it away with one hand.
The owl looked up reproachfully. It opened its beak and made an odd noise that Percy would have sworn was a hiccup. He hadn't even realized owls could hiccup.
"Our owl is drunk," Percy said, bemused. "I think, in fact, that our owl may be a drunk. I didn't even know that was possible."
Kingsley wasn't listening, though.
"Damn it," he said, tossing the paper into the tiny oil lamp in the center of the table. "Come on. There's been an incident."
"What?"
Kingsley was already on his feet. "I've got to go. Are you coming or not?"
Percy jumped up, tossing a handful of coins on the table, and followed. The owl took flight with a flutter of wings and settled on Percy's shoulder. It hooted contentedly, having finished the last of both Percy's drink and Kingsley's slightly warm and half-finished Cosmopolitan.
"Don't you have somewhere to go?" Percy asked. It responded by digging its tiny claws into Percy's shoulder and hooting loudly in his ear.
"Where's the fire, fellas?" Lorne asked from behind the bar as they hurried by.
"Duty calls, I'm afraid," Percy said, quickening his step to keep up with Kingsley.
"Well, remember what I said!" Lorne called after him. "That opportunity is gonna come a-knockin' any day now."
*
"You hit me," Harry said in disbelief, putting a hand to his eye. "You hit me, and it hurt."
Neville shrugged. "You would've done the same."
"I would not!"
But Neville was already running back toward the house. Harry took off after him. Neville may have improved in a lot of ways in the last year, but Harry was still faster. He was on Neville's heels within a few seconds and leapt across the remainder of the distance between them, tackling Neville hard. They fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Neville let out a pained "oof." Harry scrambled up first, pinning Neville's shoulders to the ground.
"We have to get out of here," he said, leaning over the other boy. "We have to go and get help. For once, I'm going to do the smart, sensible, tragedy-averting thing -- and you are coming with me, whether you like it or not."
Neville looked up at him. The expression on his face was one that Harry had a worrying suspicion that he himself had worn in the past.
"You don't get it, Harry," he said. "I'm not afraid anymore."
"Well, maybe you should be." Harry stood, extending a hand to Neville and pulling him to his feet. “What good is it going to do anyone if you get yourself killed?"
"What else have I got to offer? I'm total rubbish at everything else."
"That is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard anyone say. You are not going to throw your life away on a bunch of second-rate Death Eaters."
"Oh, really?" said a voice from behind them. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Well," Harry said, turning around slowly and not missing a beat. "I suppose you're right. You are pretty second-rate."
There were an awful lot of them standing there, and Harry was trying very hard not to panic. Second-rate or not, they had the advantage of numbers. Between the Death Eaters and whatever suicidally insane thing Neville might attempt next, Harry wasn't having a very good time of it coming up with a plan. The Death Eaters outnumbered them four to one. Even if they managed to take out two apiece, they were still done for -- they'd be killed, or worse. What he needed was surprise, a way to stop all of the Death Eaters at once. If he was right, and they were after the "or worse" rather than killing the two of them outright, he might just have a chance.
"Are you boys going to come quietly? Or shall we do this the fun way?" The leader of the Death Eaters grinned behind his mask. "Fun for us, anyway."
Harry sighed heavily, putting on a show of annoyance. "Do they teach those lame quips in Death Eater training? Or are all of you really just that unoriginal?"
He scanned the scene, buying time. The Death Eaters, he noticed, were standing beneath an archway that supported an old, sagging second-story veranda. If it were to fall, they'd all be caught underneath. Assuming, of course, he could figure out some way to make it fall.
He could do this, he told himself. He could, if for no other reason than to live another day and prove Neville wrong. After all, he'd faced down Lord Voldemort himself. He'd beaten giant brains and man-eating spiders and Hungarian Horntails... The Hungarian Horntail, which he'd defeated by summoning his Firebolt -- which was, at this very moment, leaning up against the front door. Harry looked up again, judging the distance between the veranda's supports. If he got enough speed behind it, it could work. His old broom had managed to put a dent in the Whomping Willow after all.
Harry pulled his wand from his back pocket, "Accio Firebolt!" He swished the wand wildly, hoping to over-cast the spell the way he'd done back when he'd first been learning it.
The Death Eaters stepped forward, wands at the ready, looking bemused.
"Stand down," the leader said. "We want them alive, if possible."
Then, just as Harry had hoped, the broom came zooming wildly around the corner like a missile. It careened into the first support, sending stone chips and bristles flying; then it crashed into the other. One buttress cracked under the assault, but the other appeared undamaged. The Firebolt, though, splintered into matchsticks on impact.
The leader laughed. "Nice try, but I'm afraid that didn't accomplish much."
Harry's heart was beating quickly, adrenaline making him clumsy. "I don't know about that," he heard himself say and nearly tripped over his own feet as he took a step backward.
There was a loud crack and the last support splintered, bringing the archway down on top of the Death Eaters. Harry grabbed hold of Neville's sleeve and hauled him out of harm's way. The two boys sat down hard on the lawn, breathing heavily. Harry still had hold of Neville's sleeve and found he wasn't quite ready to let go. In the distance he could hear the voices of arriving Aurors -- just in time to be absolutely no help, as usual.
*
The action was largely over by the time they got there. Percy picked his way over the Longbottom's scorched drive, dodging Aurors, emergency healers and, oddly enough, a group of senior citizens brandishing weaponry that would have looked more at home during the Boxer Rebellion. The little owl was still riding on his shoulder, and showed no signs of wanting to leave. Its name, according to the official Owl Post tag around its neck, was Bailey -- like the Irish Cream. For, Percy assumed, obvious reasons.
It hiccuped again and nipped Percy on the ear.
"Anybody hurt?" Kingsley asked an emergency healer.
The healer shook her head. "Just a few Death Eaters. Most of the kids got out of the house before any real fighting started. The ones who were left put up a pretty good fight. I mean, these were pretty crappy Death Eaters -- strictly the B-squad -- but still."
Percy stopped listening, craning his head above the chaos for any glimpse of his sister. Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom sat on the wide front steps of the house, blankets draped around their shoulders. Neither looked hurt, but Harry appeared distinctly upset about something. Neville kept looking sidelong at him, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't.
"Come on," Kingsley said. "They need people to search the house."
"Don't they have Aurors for that sort of thing?" Percy asked.
"We're short-handed, so I'm deputizing you." There was a slight pause. "Lose the owl."
Bailey gave a forlorn little mew, and Percy slid him surreptitiously into his jacket pocket. They headed up toward the house, dodging determined-looking Aurors herding prisoners and taking statements from blanket-draped students.
"Telephones," Dean Thomas was saying to one of the Aurors as they walked by. "Look into them, I'm serious."
"Hey, you." Kingsley beckoned a group of junior Aurors over to them. "We're making sure the house is clear. Come on."
"Who is this guy?" one asked, pointing at Percy.
"He's a, uh... special consultant," Kingsley said, not very convincingly.
"You're a Weasley," said a girl, who Percy recognized after a moment as Nymphadora Tonks. She blinked. "You're the Weasley, aren't you?"
Kingsley spared him from having to answer by ordering them all into the house. Percy would far rather have faced down a house full of desperate Death Eaters than answer that particular question.
Luckily, he didn't have to do either. The house was already clear. They didn't find anyone until they reached the massive kitchen. Kingsley eased open the door, motioning for the others to follow carefully. The Aurors fanned out, checking each cupboard and corner quickly and professionally. Percy followed, feeling somewhat awkward and trying to tread silently.
Suddenly, there was a crash from the pantry and a muffled voice hissed, "There's somebody out there. They'll hear you."
The Aurors immediately pulled their wands and lined up along either side of the pantry door. Percy followed suit.
"We know you're in there," Kingsley said, his voice low and commanding. "Come out slowly, and put your wands down. We promise not to hurt you."
"Oh, like we believe that!" said someone from inside the pantry. Followed by, "Ow! What did you have to hit me for?"
There was a long minute of ominous silence while Percy and the Aurors waited, tensed and wands at the ready. Then, abruptly, the door was flung open and a pair of figures jumped forward, yelling "Expelliarmus!" at the top of their lungs.
Percy nearly lost his grip on his wand, not so much because of the spell, but from shock when he recognized one of the figures.
"Ron? What are you doing in that pantry?"
His brother, looking rather worse for wear, spun round with one arm outstretched, effectively shielding his companion.
"Percy?" he said, looking utterly confused. "You're evil? When did that happen?"
"I am not evil," Percy snapped.
"But there were Death Eaters, and we were trapped-" Ron gestured expressively with his wand and the Aurors all tensed for action.
"Wands down," Kingsley said to Ron, sounding put out. "Which part of that didn't you understand?"
Hermione Granger peeked out from behind Ron, dropping her own wand. "They aren't evil, Ron. They're Aurors."
Ron finally put his wand down on the kitchen floor. "So they are. I guess we're saved then. Where's Harry?"
"He's fine." Kingsley picked up Ron and Hermione's wands, and the other Aurors pocketed their own. "Everyone is fine. The two of you nearly weren't, though. What were you thinking?"
"That you were Death Eaters, obviously," Hermione said in a tone of voice that made it perfectly clear that any idiot could have seen that.
Kingsley merely raised an eyebrow and, after checking them over thoroughly, gave them back their wands.
"What is he doing here, then?" Ron asked, pointing his wand accusingly at Percy.
"Helping," Kingsley said, "which is what you should be doing if you're going to insist on putting yourself in harm's way. We're checking the wine cellar. Now get behind me and shut up."
The wine cellar was empty, though, and they made their way back out onto the front lawn. Once Ron and Hermione had been seen to -- and given blankets and brandy, which seemed to be the only emergency medicine available in the wizarding world -- Percy began looking around again for Ginny. They said that no students had been hurt, of course, but no one had mentioned seeing her either. Percy was on the verge of asking Harry Potter, though unsure how Harry might react to him, when he finally saw her. She was wandering up the drive, looking slightly dazed.
"Ginny!" Percy said, forgetting himself for a moment as he ran over to her. She was covered in soot; there were smudges under her eyes and across her cheeks. Her hair was slightly singed at the ends.
Percy caught her by the arm. "Are you all right? They said no one was hurt..."
"I'm fine, Percy." She gave him a slightly lopsided smile. "I just had a little disagreement with some floo powder."
"The way I hear it," Kingsley said, coming up to stand beside them, "you helped save the day."
Ginny laughed sharply. "Yeah, by running away."
"Running for help, you mean. That was smart of you."
"Harry saved us," she said. "But then what else is new? And Neville helped, which is also becoming the usual. Who would've thought?"
"Come on," Kingsley said, draping an arm across her shoulders. "Let's get you home."
They walked back up to the house. Ron and Hermione had joined Neville and Harry on the steps. They all looked incredibly glum.
"What is it?" Ginny asked. "Everyone's all right, aren't they?"
"Well, yeah-" Ron began.
Harry interrupted. "My broom was destroyed." Percy blinked. Harry looked far too upset for this to be about just a broom. He continued, "Sirius gave it to me. He…"
Hermione looked up sharply at Percy, and shook her head at Ron, who reached over and shook Harry's shoulder in warning. Harry didn't seem to notice.
"Oh, Harry," Ginny said softly, kneeling down beside Harry, the look on her face so stricken that Percy had to turn away.
Kingsley took Percy by the arm. "Let's leave them alone for a little bit. I'll have someone make sure they get home safely."
It wasn't until he was home that night, freshly showered and lying in bed too keyed up to sleep, that it occurred to Percy to wonder whether Harry had been talking about Sirius Black. And, if so, what on earth did it mean?
*
Tonks accompanied them all back to Grimmauld Place. Ginny had hoped Kingsley would come with them, though she wasn't really sure why, but he stayed with Percy instead. She tried not to be too put out by that. Dean had wanted to come with her, but she couldn't very well allow him to come to the Order of the Phoenix's secret headquarters. So, instead, she told him he ought to go with Seamus, who was having a very difficult time explaining to his mother that, no, Death Eaters did not usually attack parties thrown by Hogwarts students.
"I am never going to be allowed out again," he'd said miserably. Dean clapped him on the shoulder, gave Ginny a kiss and flooed off with Seamus to face the music.
Now, an hour or so later, Ginny was sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, drinking tea and waiting for her mother to start yelling.
So far that hadn't happened. It had to be some sort of record.
"So, you're not mad?" Ron asked hopefully, taking a sip of his own tea.
"I am not happy that you went out without telling anyone where you were going," their mother said, showing practically superhuman restraint. "I am, however, glad that you are all safe."
Ron and Hermione exchanged perplexed looks. Harry just sat miserably in the corner, looking inconsolable.
Ginny shrugged. "Hey, I had permission to go."
"Yes, you did, dear," her mother said. "I'm very proud of you. Nymphadora tells me that you behaved very responsibly."
Ron made a face at her, but Ginny just smiled serenely.
"I think you all need to go on up to bed." They all got up to leave. "Oh, Ron? Why don't you stay here a moment."
Now the yelling would start. Ginny, Harry and Hermione exited the kitchen as quickly as possible. While she felt sorry for Ron, Ginny couldn't help being pleased that her mother had shown some sort of restraint in front of the others. Perhaps this was a sign of things to come.
"What on earth were you thinking? Taking Harry out to a party with alcohol and who knows what else?" her mother's voice came from the kitchen.
Then again, perhaps not.
Professor Lupin was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. "Could I have a word, Harry?"
"No."
If Lupin was shocked, he didn't show it.
"Nonetheless, Harry, I think we should talk."
"So talk," Harry said belligerently. "Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Hermione and Ginny, can't you?"
"Yes, I suppose I can." Lupin paused. "I thought you might want to talk about your Firebolt."
"Well, guess what? I don't!" He crossed his arms. "I can't even leave the house without Death Eaters attacking, and the broom is destroyed and it's all just to be expected after the way my life has gone lately. Sirius gave it to me and it was all I had left. So let's all cry about it, why don't we?"
Ginny took a step back from Harry and saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Hermione had done the same.
"It isn't the only thing," Lupin said quietly. "I wasn't going to tell you right away. It isn't yours until you turn seventeen anyway, but-"
Harry just looked coldly at Lupin.
"I don't know if this will make you feel better or worse, but you ought to know." He paused. "I'm trying, Harry, to be straight with you from now on. I'm trying to make sure you have all the facts. I hope you know that."
"All right then," Harry said impatiently.
"Sirius left you almost everything he still had. Including this house."
"The house?"
"You're Sirius' godson, his heir. Technically, that makes you the last member of the Black family."
Ginny was appalled. She couldn't imagine that Harry would want that horrible house.
"When you're of age, it will all be yours. Not just what Sirius left you, but everything that was left by your parents and grandparents as well."
Now, Harry looked confused rather than angry. "But I've already gotten the money my parents left."
Lupin frowned. "That's only a trust. Eventually, you'll receive your full inheritance from the Potters. There's still a house somewhere, if I remember correctly. Though it isn't the one James grew up in..."
"Why didn't anyone tell me this before?" Harry cut in hotly.
"Someone should have," Lupin said mildly. "Who set you up at Gringotts?"
"Hagrid."
"Ah," was all Lupin said in reply. "You ought to go on to bed, Harry. If there's anything else you want to know, please ask me. I will tell you if it's in my power to do so."
Harry just nodded and turned to walk away.
"I am trying, Harry," Lupin said, sounding very tired. "I want you to know that. I want you to feel as though someone has learned from our mistakes."
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said gruffly, but without turning around. Some of the tension around Lupin's eyes eased at the words, though.
Harry went into his and Ron's room, and Ginny and Hermione followed. Harry sat on his bed, not looking at them, while Hermione tidied up Ron's dresser. Ginny picked Crookshanks up from the floor and draped him across her shoulders.
Ron was in a foul temper when he finally came back to the room. "That is the last time I ever listen to anything you have to say!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Ginny.
"Hey, nobody forced you to come out. I only told you what Neville had planned. The decision was yours."
Ron ignored her. "Of course Mum said it was all my fault, without the twins to blame for every damn thing that goes wrong..." He was building up a fine head of steam. "And what was Percy doing there? Why were you being so friendly with him?"
Ginny said nothing.
"Have you been in contact with him? Ginny, what are you thinking? Mum will have kittens!"
"Ron, no matter what else he's done, he's still our brother. I couldn't just-"
"I can't believe this." He flung himself onto the bed.
"Now, Ron-" Hermione began.
"Don't you go defending him, too, Hermione."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off.
"It's the thirty-first," Harry said just then, apropos of nothing.
The others abruptly stopped bickering and turned to look at him.
"What's that, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"It's past midnight. It's the thirty-first, my birthday."
"Oh." Ginny sat down on the bed beside him.
"Not that it matters," Harry continued. "It's only that I'd forgotten until just now."
"Happy birthday, Harry," Ginny said softly. "And I'm sorry about- you know." She dropped a hand briefly to his shoulder.
"Thanks."
"I'm going to bed," she said to the others, and was out the door before Ron could say another word.
Continued in Episode 4, The Long Way Back
Next time on Percy Weasley: Rogue Demon Hunter...
"It's this new job of mine."
"Things aren't going well?"
"Oh, they've gone wonderfully. I've been very successful so far. They've consistently given me intriguing projects and more responsibility, the work environment is very positive, and the benefits-"
It sounded, quite frankly, like a little slice of heaven. Percy was trying very, very hard not to burst with jealousy. It was a close thing. "And the problem is?" he asked, managing somehow not to visibly salivate at the mention of the word 'benefits.'
“My gut.”
“Your gut?”
“I know it probably sounds silly, but I generally trust my instincts and right now my instincts are telling me that something is very wrong. Everything was fine until this week. We’ve taken on a new client, some American outfit - which is suspect in itself - and now there's talk about special projects, top secret stuff. I did a little digging, and these Americans… The things they’ve done and the people they generally represent, even on paper - not the even the stuff they’ve bothered to hide... Well, they make Dolores Umbridge look positively cuddly."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "I always found Madam Umbridge very polite."
"Oh, please," Williams said. "That's because you had, what? Three conversations with her, total? She was Hitler in high heels." At his skeptical look, she added, "The woman collected knickknacks: little ceramic kittens playing with yarn, adorable ragamuffin children and chubby, barefoot angels. She was straight-up evil, like the Martha Stewart, hand-knit doilies kind of evil. She made us sing carols at the Christmas party last year -- Victorian Christmas carols."
"I must have missed that," Percy mused. "I was rather drunk."
"I wish I'd been. Even now, one chorus of 'Angels We Have Heard on High' and I have to find a drink." She shook her head. “You know, there was a time when this honestly wouldn’t have bothered me that much. I would have done my job, taken the paycheck and then moved on. But now-" She looked at him and there was something in her face that he couldn’t quite read. “Now, I’m finding that my conscience is a little louder than it used to be. If this new client is mixed up in something illegal or even morally questionable, I’m not sure I can do it. But before I do anything, I want to be sure I’m not jumping to conclusions because of, well, recent events.”
“Recent events?”
She shrugged but that somehow significant look was still on her face. “We all learn our lessons in different ways, Weasley.” A pause. “I came to you because you- Well, anyway, you know people. You know better than I would who to talk to about something like this - like that Auror... Kingsley is his name, I think?” She paused. “Will you help me?"
"I'm not at all sure I'm the right person to be helping you with this. Surely there are proper channels you could go through-"
"Percy, please," she said, and he realized that it was quite possibly the first time she'd ever used his given name.
"All right, all right... Celia. I'll see what I can do." He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Who's Martha Stewart?"
* Copa Cabana was originally sung by Barry Manilow, and Midnight Train to Georgia is, as Lorne says, a Gladys Knight and the Pips song. Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok clan himself belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. He's the first, but not the last, Angel character to show up in this series.