Chapter 01

A Muggle fair had come to town, boasting of wonderful music, delicious food, and fun-for-the-whole-family rides and entertainment. A bit of a break was needed from recent tragic events, which had settled over the Burrow like a lead weight; everyone agreed that they should go.

Everyone but Harry Potter, that is.

Harry, who'd been staying with the Weasleys since two days before Bill Weasley's mid-July marriage to Fleur Delacour, had exploded over the suggestion. Why weren't they out looking for Snape, he’d asked loudly. That traitorous coward who murdered beloved Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, should be found, he felt. And what about the Horcruxes that needed to be destroyed?

While many people greatly mourned the passing of Albus Dumbledore, none were as deeply affected as Harry; he had witnessed the cold-blooded murder of his teacher, confidant, and friend by the man who was said to be trusted by Dumbledore--and Harry had been powerless to stop it.

Molly Weasley tried to comfort Harry as best as she could, suggesting it would be nice for Harry to experience a fair for his birthday, but the young man was having none of it. Harry stormed off into the Weasley's backyard and began plotting new ways of torturing Snape if he ever encountered the slime ball in a dark alley.

But he’d kill me before I even knew he was there, Harry thought bitterly, as he tackled a garden gnome, spun it around, then tossed it over the bushes. Snape was quite skilled at Occlumency--something Harry had not quite mastered.

He deliberately defied Dumbledore and stopped giving me lessons, Harry thought, his brows knit together angrily as he surveyed the yard for more gnomes. Snape also opened my mind further so Voldemort could control me. Bastard.

While Harry continued to fume, everyone sat at the Weasley’s kitchen table and watched him in silence, still reeling from his outburst. Hermione, who had been staying with the Weasley’s since the end of June, stood up and declared that she would talk to Harry. She turned and began moving toward the back door, but Ginny's slender hand on her arm made her pause. Hermione glanced down at the seated girl; one look into Ginny's stricken eyes and Hermione understood that the redhead wanted some time alone with Harry.

Only Ron and Hermione noticed Ginny sigh resolutely as she stood and straightened her jumper; Bill, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley had continued their conversation pertaining to the fair and did not notice Ginny leave. Ron reached under the table and squeezed Hermione's hand, giving her a small, lopsided grin. "Thanks," he whispered near her ear, his red locks falling into his eyes.

“What for?” Hermione murmured, slightly puzzled, reaching out, unthinkingly, to brush the stray hairs up and back.

Both froze; Hermione had never done anything so forward before. She quickly snatched her hand back and began drumming her fingers on the table, not quite meeting Ron's puzzled gaze. After a moment, Ron cleared his throat. “Um, thanks--for staying here, I mean. Oh, wait--that sounded stupid; I meant--"

Fred and George, who witnessed the awkward exchange, interrupted Ron with a laugh. "Oh, come on, you twit," Fred snickered. "You've done nothing but go on about her year after year. Just tell her and get it over with."

Ron turned bright red, all the way to his ear tips. Hermione looked from the twins to Ron, her pulse quickening; however, Ron shoved his chair away from the table and sprinted towards to the upper floors.

This only caused George and Fred to laugh uproariously, garnering concerned glances from the other family members, including the newest one, Fleur. Bill Weasley's wife shook her shimmering blonde locks and rolled her sultry blue eyes, muttering something in French under her breath.

Hermione, feeling a little overwhelmed and slightly saddened by what had transpired, decided to join in on the conversation and try her best to answer Arthur Weasley's questions about Muggle fairs and and explain that cotton candy wasn’t from an actual cotton plant...

~*~*~*~*~*~

Outside, Ginny approached Harry carefully. He had been in one of his rare moods and Ginny had learned--from living with six brothers--that boys sometimes got a little out-of-hand when upset. She smiled, fondly remembering the afternoon when, after growing weary of Fred and George’s taunts, nine-year-old Ron had attempted to hex eight-year-old Ginny in their stead--because she was smaller, he admitted later.

However, Ron hadn’t bargained on Ginny retaliating with a hex of her own, causing him to turn orange and sprout greenery from the top of his head. At that moment, Ginny’s brothers realized that using magic against their little sister was not a wise idea. So Ginny decided to call Harry’s name before coming up behind him.

Harry whipped around, saw who it was, and grunted, "What do you want?"

She shrugged off his rudeness and stepped forward. "I'm supposed to keep score; Charlie wants to know if you'll beat his record of tossing seventeen garden gnomes in ten minutes," she lied, thinking quickly. At this, Harry did smile, causing Ginny's insides to relax in relief. Get him to calm down, she told herself, then maybe he'll open up about other things...

"I once saw a gnome that had been wearing bright pink pants," Ginny began, "I laughed too loudly; it scared several more out their hiding spots causing Fred and George to grow as giddy as, well... girls. They later told me they'd been in 'Gnome Heaven'."

Harry chuckled, kicking a rock into the bushes. Three gnomes squealed and ran this way and that--catching the attention of Crookshanks, who came speeding out of his hiding place to chase them.

They watched Crookshanks and the gnomes for several moments in silence. Ginny glanced sideways at Harry; he appeared to be lost in thought and not really looking at Hermione's cat. In that brief moment, Harry's eyes had turned from a light green to a deep, dark emerald.

It was such a surprise to see the sudden change that Ginny gasped, snapping Harry out of his reverie. "Ginny, what's wrong?" he asked with some concern.

"Oh, nothing," Ginny replied shakily. "I--I think I've just been bitten by a bug." She rubbed her arm and frowned, thinking that was the lamest excuse she'd ever heard.

But Harry shrugged, apparently buying it. "I'd like to squash him like a bug too," he muttered under his breath, turning his gaze back to Crookshanks silly antics.

"Who? Hermione's cat?"

"No. Snape." There was a small amount of venom in Harry's voice, which made Ginny a bit uncomfortable, but she kept quiet. Her purpose was to get Harry talking and he--obviously--had just begun.

"Why?"

The onslaught of words caught Ginny off guard. "Because he killed Dumbledore!" Harry nearly shouted, scaring nearly all the creatures in the Weasley's backyard. "And then he ran! How cowardly is that, might I ask? If only I had been strong enough--then I would have given that bastard the punishment he deserves."

"Harry, what more could you have done? Killed Snape?" Ginny was slightly shocked. When Harry didn’t readily reply, Ginny plundered ahead. “I--I mean, why don’t you leave the hunt for Snape to the Ministry and the Aurors?” I don’t want to see you killed; it would kill me too, she added silently.

Harry looked at Ginny with a nearly deadened expression, causing Ginny's heart to break. “The Ministry has proven useless. They think I am a fool--blaming Snape for Dumbledore’s death, but none of them saw what I did--none!”

“Harry, I don’t doubt what you saw, but for your sake... please let it go.”

“How can you say that? Have you forgotten Professor Dumbledore so quickly?” Harry’s tone had grown accusatory.

Ginny reeled back in surprise. “I never said that!”

“Then why are you discouraging me from looking for Snape? Did they,” he jerked his head towards the house, “put you up to this?”


“No!” Ginny shot back. She had a strong urge to hex him; perhaps it would bring Harry to his senses.

Harry pressed on, oblivious to Ginny’s rising temper. “You can tell everyone that I’m fine! I don’t need you hovering over me--smothering me with false affection!

Without batting an eye, Ginny’s wand was in her hand, pointed at Harry, and she shouted a Bat-Bogey Hex. “You pompous fool!” Ginny shrieked, as Harry fell over, covered in large brown bats. “Get a grip on yourself! Next time, I won’t be so nice!” With an exasperated sigh, she turned on her heel and stomped back to the house, blasting stones with her wand along the way.

“You call this ‘nice’?” Harry shouted at her, trying to rid himself of the many bats flying about his head and face. "After I kill Voldemort, I'm going to kill Severus Snape--make no mistake!"

Chapter 2

Ron kicked a couple of trunks stacked next to the door as he entered his bedroom.

“Prats!” he muttered, thinking of his brothers. Why did they have to interfere and make him look ridiculous in front of Hermione?

Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting noisily and annoying Ron further. “Quiet!” he snapped, smacking the wire cage with his hand. The tiny owl stopped his chatter immediately, clearly surprised.

Ron went to the single miniscule window on the far wall and looked out to see his best mate, Harry, standing next to his sister, Ginny. They look cozy, he thought to himself. If my bloody brothers hadn’t opened their traps, it could have been Hermione and I out there.

He had been quite surprised at Hermione’s spontaneous forwardness. Hermione prided herself on rules and certain things being a specific way; it had been shocking to see her display any sort of tenderness in public--and in front of his family no less!

Of course, only Fred and George had seen anything; the twins never allowed anything to escape their notice, but why weren’t they standing by the back door with an Extendable Ear, listening to Harry and Ginny?

Because he’s Harry Potter, Ron thought miserably. He’s ‘The Boy Who Lived’--and he’s the bloke who gave them the thousand galleons to get their joke shop off the ground.

Immediately Ron admonished himself for such thoughts. Harry had always been good to him and didn’t deserve such shabby treatment. However, something nagged at him; it seemed Ron was destined to be in someone’s shadow his whole life. It was no secret that Ron loved Harry like a brother, but Ron secretly dubbed himself ‘The Boy Who Plays Second Fiddle’.

He wanted to ask Harry how to ‘get the girl’, but realized that sounded ridiculous. Ron had had a girlfriend a few months ago--Lavender Brown--but one could hardly call it a relationship; Lavender gone so far as to treat him like a baby--and wanted to do nothing but snog.

Ron chuckled a bit at this; who would complain about snogging? It wasn’t that that had bothered him--it was the constant baby-talk and lack of intelligent conversation Lavender offered.

Slowly he realized how much he’d missed Hermione, though he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, for he was embroiled in a strange relationship with Lavender--and Hermione had made it clear she was angry with him.

It was during Albus Dumbledore’s funeral that Ron realized Hermione had been waiting on him to make the first move, and Ron, being thick--as dear Hermione would say--didn’t do so. Thinking back on it, Ron wished he’d not been such a stupid prat; he could have saved himself the trouble of getting involved with Lavender. He could have talked with Hermione, instead of growing jealous and making a fool of himself.

However, what was done was done; it was of no use to think about what could have been. Ron knew that if he were to erase the past, he’d have to show some effort--but not in front of his brothers!

Again, Ron glanced out the window; this time, Harry was lying on the ground, his head covered in large, flapping bats. Ron guffawed loudly, causing Pig to hoot gaily. What had his friend done to Ginny to receive the Bat-Bogey Hex?

The redhead wondered if Harry’s midnight mutterings of murder, which had kept Ron awake for the last six nights, had something to do with Harry’s odd behavior. Ron tried to ask Harry about it, but when faced with questions, Harry had refused to answer, changing the subject every time.

This evening’s outburst was only the tip of the iceberg, Ron thought wearily, striding over to his bedroom door, thoughts of helping Harry rid himself of Ginny’s hex at the back of his mind. Harry is determined to find Snape--regardless of the consequences. Ron wondered what more had happed in the Astronomy Tower that fateful night--if there was something Harry had not told him.

He yanked open the door and cried out in alarm; Hermione was standing inches away, her hand held aloft as though ready to knock on his door.

“Hello, Ron.” Hermione smiled tentatively at the lanky redhead.

“Er, hi, Hermione.” Ron suddenly felt warm; he crooked a finger into his collar and tugged.

There was an unmistakable look of concern in Hermione’s brown eyes. “Is everything... all right?” Ron noticed she was wringing her hands together.

She’s nervous too, he thought. Instead, Ron nodded. “Sure. Just going out to help Harry, is all.” When Hermione’s brows nit together questioningly, he continued, “Ginny hexed him.”

“Ginny hexed--? Ah.” Hermione bit back a chuckle. “No doubt Harry’s stubbornness and determination got the better of them.”

Ron nodded, smiling slightly. Everyone knew Harry could be quite mulish, however, Ginny could never hold her temper well. “Why aren’t you out there with Harry now?” he asked. “He could use a hand, from the look of him.”

“I--I came to see how you were.” When Ron didn’t reply, she rushed on; “Your brothers love you, you know; teasing you is their way of showing it.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “That’s not teasing; they're bloody annoying,” he replied bitterly. The story of my life, he added silently.

Hermione frowned a bit, but responded in a more serious tone, “Well, sometimes people are clods when it involves the ones they love.”

For a moment neither said anything as their gazes locked together. Was Hermione referring to more than just Fred and George? Suddenly embarrassed, for he didn’t know how to respond, Ron merely nodded and mumbled an excuse for a hasty exit, moving around Hermione to make his way back down the narrow stairs.

Hermione stood stock-still, mortified to the roots of her hair. Once again she tried to approach him--and once more Ron ran away. Was Ron not interested in her? Had Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, read the youngest male Weasley wrong and was only annoying him with her fanciful notions of love?

Impossible Hermione said to herself. If I’m wrong then may I turn into a frog right now. As she thought this, she held her breath and looked about as though waiting for something to strike her down. When nothing outlandish occurred, she sighed, straightened her shirt, then turned on her heel and strode purposefully down the creaky stairs. It was time to talk to Ginny.

Chapter 03

Ginny fumed, pacing back and forth in the tiny room she shared with Hermione. She ranted about boys--Harry mostly--and how thickheaded and stubborn they were. Hermione murmured pityingly, knowing exactly how her friend felt.

Why are boys such clods, each wanted to know when they had relayed their tales of the afternoon’s disasters; when no plausible answer readily came, Ginny grumbled further about losing her temper and needing to restrain herself in the future.

It was then that Fred and George barged in, Extendable Ears in hand and each with their own advice : “Perhaps you should spend the remainder of the summer in your room.” “Give me your wand; I’ll make sure you won’t use it on anyone for the next few weeks.

Ginny and Hermione had shouted at them, incensed, each brandishing their wands and spouting off hexes. The twins Disapparated immediately, the girls’ hexes bouncing off Ginny’s bedroom wall.

Mrs. Weasley announced at dinner that the group would indeed be going to the fair after the meal, so she kept the fare light--sandwiches and butterbeer, much to Fleur’s dismay. When she grumbled about the meal, Ginny told Fleur--in a falsely sweet tone--that she could go a few miles up the lane to the Muggle village and use her Veela charms to get dinner. Fleur huffed angrily, but bit into a roast beef sandwich.

Harry was stone-faced throughout most meal, refusing, at first, to touch anything Mrs. Weasley set in front of him. He formulated a plan: once everyone arrived at the fair, he’d sneak off--using his hidden Invisibility Cloak, of course--and begin the search for Snape. Harry was certain that the hook-nosed wizard would lead him straight to Voldemort.

I’d be killing two birds with one stone, Harry thought to himself, recalling one of Uncle Vernon’s favorite sayings. Or, would two birds be killing me with one stone? He shook off this last thought; it would do him no good to doubt himself now. He took a few bites of his sandwich and washed it down with a swig of butterbeer; Harry knew he’d need something in him to quiet his rumbling stomach and keep him feeling energized--and able to ignore the gnawing in his chest that indicated he was quite unsure of what he was attempting to do.

When the plates cleared themselves, everyone rose and stretched happily, chatting noisily about the events that lay ahead of them. It made Mrs. Weasley smile, for recent tragic events had taken their toll on her family. She was extremely saddened by the loss of Albus Dumbledore, but Molly Weasley knew that the recently deceased Hogwarts Headmaster would want them to continue their lives as usual--taking extra precautions, of course. She had no doubt that Albus Dumbledore would have enjoyed going to a fair, had he still been alive.

So up the lane to the village the Weasleys (minus Percy, who’d decided to stay late at the Ministry to take care of ‘high-priority matters’), Hermione and Harry went. As they drew closer, they could hear the faint sounds of music, happy cries of Muggles, and hawkers attempting to draw people in to play games or buy their wares. The group caught wisps of sweet dough scents floating on the breeze, and Fred and George began counting their money, hoping they had enough of the Muggle bills to buy their heart’s desire.

Once the group topped the hill, they paused momentarily to take in the sights and sounds that lay below. Even Fleur was awestruck, “I have never zeen such a display! Ze lights are gorgeous!”

It was true; the spinning, whirling, and blinking multicolored lights on the rides, the game and food stalls, and on the fence surrounding the fair seemed to come straight from an item in the twins joke shop. Harry noted that the twins were taking in the scene before them, rubbing their hands gleefully, probably pondering how this fair would figure heavily into their next joke shop item.

“Amazing, those Muggles and their electric--aren’t they?” Charlie breathed, a grin spreading across his features. “I wonder how they get the lights to do that?”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Arthur Weasley began speaking, taking this time to give the group a warning. “I think it’s in our best interest if we stayed together, but realistically, I know that won’t happen. So I offer three very important pieces of advice: don’t attract attention to yourselves, do not use your wand for any reason, and, lastly, don’t let anyone know you’re not a Muggle--and that includes you,” Mr. Weasley inclined his head towards Hermione, who bit her lip to keep from smiling.

“I think three hours is enough time for all of us to have some fun,” Mrs. Weasley interjected, smiling at the group. “Why don’t we meet back here at that time, so we can go back to the Burrow together?” When all heads nodded in agreement, Molly shooed them on, linking her arm with her husband’s as the couple began strolling down the hill in a leisurely fashion.

Everyone else, including the normally haughty Fleur, ran straight down, some tumbling and colliding with others in their haste, whooping and hollering excitedly, their cries mingling with the joyous shouts emanating from the fair.

Except Harry.

He held back, watching Mr. and Mrs. Weasley move towards the fair. When Harry felt certain they were far enough away, he pulled his Invisibility Cloak out from the backpack he carried, unfurled it, then threw it over himself. He thought to leave his backpack behind, but decided that if any of the Weasleys stumbled upon it, they’d alert the proper authorities and Harry would be discovered for certain.

He turned on his heel and started down the hill from which he came; he would find Snape and kill him as he killed Albus Dumbledore. But, a tiny voice at the back of his mind asked, will your heart be in it? Murdering someone was not like discussing the weather, he knew. Harry sighed heavily and turned away, desperately trying to ignore his conscience.

“Harry!” A forceful feminine voice halted Harry in his tracks. Harry turned to see Hermione standing in the very spot he’d just vacated.

“I know you are there and can hear me, so please just listen,” Hermione began hastily. “I know you want to find Snape, and honestly I don’t blame you. But please, Harry, just come to the fair with us tonight. I’ll--I’ll help you look for Snape tomorrow.” Hermione added hurriedly, knowing she was taking a big risk by saying such a thing, but she wanted only to know where Harry was at the moment.

It worked. “Are you serious?” Harry asked warily, whipping the cloak away from his head. To a Muggle, Harry would have looked quite spooky, but to Hermione, it was a relief to see that he wasn’t too far away.

“How did you know I was going to sneak away?” Harry asked warily, his body tensed and ready to run.

“Does it matter, Harry?” Hermione replied, folding her arms together. When Harry grunted skeptically, Hermione sighed and added, “If you must know, I saw you slip your cloak in to your backpack before we left.”

“Why didn’t you say something then? Why not alert the Weasleys? Not very well done of you, Hermione.”

Hermione scowled at him. “I had hoped that th--I was mistaken, but it seems I was wrong. Do you want to know why I’ve stopped you?”

“Besides the obvious?” Harry’s reply borderd on sarcasm.

“Have you thought about those who care about you? Ron, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, me... Ginny?” Hermione asked quietly. “Why would you risk your life because of Professor Snape? Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t have appreciated saving you only to have you run off to be killed weeks later!”

“I don’t know--and I don’t bloody care anymore, Hermione!” Harry realized he sounded childish, but cared little; he knew Hermione was trying to stall him; Harry wanted nothing more than to move on at that moment; between Hermione and his conscience, he was beginning to have doubts.

“What’s gotten into you, Harry? Why are you acting so... so--?” Hermione paused, searching for the right words.

“Insensitive? Rude? Devious? Like a clod? Shall I go on?” Harry interjected moodily.

Hermione stood her ground. “What’s come over you, Harry? You haven’t been yourself as of late, and I’d like to know why! What else happened that night? Did someone hex you, causing you to turn into a vengeful old man bent on destroying everything in your path?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut. She’s right, a little voice in the back of his mind told him. Just look at yourself; you’re becoming like the very man you’re looking for--bitter, angry, and cruel.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she witnessed the change in Harry. His scowl melted away and his face went from red to milky white. Hermione stepped forward, reaching out a hand in an attempt to grasp her friend should he suddenly lose consciousness.

Harry stood frozen in place, his head floating in midair. A myriad of emotions flooded him--anger, sadness, pain, relief, despair, hope and other feelings he didn't want to name--and suddenly he felt like crying.

Suddenly, he whipped the cloak away from his body and stuffed it into his bag. “I hope I don’t regret doing this,” he muttered, slinging the pack over his shoulder and brushing past Hermione to make his way down the hill.

“Harry,” Hermione called tentatively, wringing her hands, “are you all right?” She worried she might have caused him to be angry with her!

Harry stopped in his tracks. “I’m... fine, Hermione; Reality seems to have caught up with me--and it was quite nasty. Let’s go to the fair before I change my mind. Oh," he added as an afterthought, "I won’t hold you to your promise, so you can quit worrying about that.” He turned and trotted away, his bag thumping against him as he went.

Hermione didn’t want to ruin the moment with more words, so she hurried along behind her friend. She was thankful that Fred and George had told her about Harry packing his cloak; the twins, ironically, wanted Harry to spend more time with their sister and less time looking for ‘that greasy git’ Snape.

“If anyone can talk Harry out of doing the wrong thing,” Fred had told her, “it’s you.”

I may have talked Harry out of doing anything foolish for the moment, Hermione thought to herself as she caught up with Harry, but how long will take before Harry finds himself in trouble?

Chapter 04

“Where shall we go next?” Fred asked George as the two looked around in wonder. There was so much to take in; from the mechanical rides, to the twinkling lights and the neon signs, as well as the myriad of scents wafting from the row of stalls selling food, but nothing was more fun to watch then the Muggles themselves.

Fred and George had been around Muggles a few times, mostly for business, but this was likely the most the two had ever spent in a single place for a length of time near non-wizarding folks.

“Look at that bloke!” George pointed to a man in a bright orange and green Hawaiian-style shirt, brown shorts, and black socks--with sandals on his feet. “The git must be colorblind!”

“Oh, how about that lady?” Fred nudged his twin and the two turned to see a pale, older woman who had what appeared to be a shower cap over her curler-filled hair, walking a large, white, wiry-haired dog that neither Fred nor George had ever before seen. As she passed, Fred snickered and commented that the owner and canine seemed to resemble one another.

They continued to watch the strangely dressed Muggles as the two browsed the plethora of eateries. George couldn’t resist the treat called ‘Frozen Custard’ and Fred decided to sample the ‘Candy Floss’.

As each munched happily on their food, they spied their parents strolling along the lane. The two parties waved at one another, but didn’t stop to talk; it seemed Mrs. Weasley was curious about something named ‘Funnel Cake’, and Mr. Weasley wanted to speak to the Muggle in charge of the booth about it’s primary function.

Turning towards the area designated for the mechanical rides, the lanky redheads, each dressed in a matching green jumper, tried to decide where to spend their Muggle money next.

The blinking lights on the Ferris Wheel had caught George’s eye. “Hmm.” his brow furrowed in concentration. “I wanted to try that wheel-thingy--and that other spinning contraption with the dangling seats looks all right, but both go in only one direction, which seems a bit boring.”

“I agree,” Fred supplied. “How can the Muggles stand it--going in circles like that? It’s no wonder they haven’t made any progress in ages!”

For a moment, the two looked at one another, a grin passing their features. At last, they spoke in unison: “Let’s take a gander at the Muggle magic tricks!”

The twins didn’t have to look far; in the vary last lane, far from the vendors and rides, lay ‘Magician’s Row’; it was dark, quiet, and not as crowded as the other areas.

“Magician Alley?” snickered George. “How bloody original. Perhaps we shall give these primitive Muggles a run for their money?”

Fred snorted, rubbing his hands together gleefully--an evil grin spreading across his face. “Oh, yes--let’s.”

The tent they visited belonged to ‘Hamlin the Great’, a man who claimed to know the type of card one chose from a deck--all while Hamlin was blindfolded. If one could outwit Hamlin, the money in a shiny gold pot would be theirs.

Hamlin was a large, beefy man who dressed much like a genie--complete with a shiny silver turban and cape. He had a mustache that curled in at the tips and black eyes that shrewdly scanned the crowd. His assistant--a slender, dark-haired girl of about the twins’ age, stood next to Hamlin dressed in a flowing, loose white shirt and colorful skirt. She smiled sweetly at the young men when they entered the tent.

After watching several Muggles lay down money to take their chance at winning, Fred and George realized the poor blokes were being scammed.

Hamlin’s lovely assistant, who wasn’t blindfolded, had one slim hand resting on Hamlin’s shoulder at all times. Fred noticed that the brunette would ever-so-lightly tap out some sort of code on her employer when someone held up their card for all to see before placing it face-down on the table.

There was a collective groan when Hamlin called out the correct card for the sixth time in a row and his assistant collected the money that lay on the table and transferred it to the golden pot.

“Ah, how clever,” Fred murmured to his brother, “but let’s see if we can give these nice folks a wee bit of entertainment.” George nodded and the two moved to the front of the crowd.

“I’d like a chance,” Fred called out, waving two Muggle bills in the air. Hamlin, who had taken his blindfold off to wipe his face and take a sip of water, inclined his head.

Fred lay the bills down on the table, but did not remove his hand. In a loud voice he announced, “I’m going to double the wager, for I will stump Hamlin in the first try.”

A round of laughter greeted the twins. “Are ye loony?” “Look at the wee boys trying to be big men.” “Don’t go crying to yer Mum when you’ve lost all yer pocket change.” Fred and George took in all the taunts, but their grins never faltered.

Hamlin himself chuckled, but agreed to the wager, for no one had ever been able to outwit him.

However, Fred wasn’t finished. “I think it’s only fair that since I am wagering such a large sum of money, that I be allowed to make one request.”

Again, laughter filled the tent. After a moment, Hamlin held up his hand for silence. “I should say no,” he boomed, “but I find you vastly amusing, boy, So I will agree to your terms; name them.”

Fred winked at his brother before answering. “Your lovely assistant must be the one to choose my card.”

Hamlin and his assistant froze, their smiles faltering a bit. The girl looked at the seated man, desperation in her features, but Hamlin--who quickly recovered--nodded encouragingly. She moved tentatively down the steps of the stage to stand next to Fred.

Several Muggles in the crowd placed wagers of their own with George. If Fred lost, they would be owing quite a bit of money to many people.

Fred chose to ignore the taunts being shouted at him by the Muggles; his attention now focused on the girl standing next to him. She’s nervous, Fred thought to himself, as he looked down at the pretty brunette. Her almond-shaped eyes were slightly rounded in fear and she was panting slightly. Glancing quickly at George, Fred knew his brother was thinking the same thing.

Fred removed his hand from the Muggle money he’d lain on the silver-skirted table. Hamlin replaced his blindfold and settled back into his chair.

Fred then nodded to the assistant; she reached out and placed her hand on the deck, attempting to draw the card at the top of the deck. Fred’s own hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could turn it over. When she looked up at him questioningly, he shook his head and murmured, “That’s not the one I want.”

It took quite an effort to keep still as her skin prickled from the warmth of his breath upon her ear. She averted her eyes, but knew he was studying her...

So the girl returned the card to the bottom of the pile and chose the next card. She showed it Fred, then held it high for all to see: the two of hearts. Quickly, she placed the card face down next to the deck amid snickers from the onlookers.

“Make your guess, Great Hamlin,” she called out. For several long minutes all was silent as Hamlin made thinking noises and rubbed at his temples in a great display--trying to decide which card was chosen.

It seemed the entire room had held its breath--all but Fred and George, that is. Finally, Hamlin cleared his throat and called out confidently, “You’ve chosen... the seven of spades!”

Chaos then ensued; many were demanding a recount, or that Fred had cheated somehow. Hamlin, his face becoming purple with each passing second, had ripped off his blindfold and stomped down the steps to examine the card his assistant had chosen. He held it up to the light and turned it this way and that, huffing in anger at having been duped. He scowled at his assistant, who shrugged in bewilderment.

Reluctantly, the golden pot was handed over to Fred, as well as the other winnings from the side bets. Fred and George grinned like maniacs as a few in the crowd wished them well and clapped them on the shoulders.

Each boy knew they had to get out of there--and fast, before something terrible happened to them or they lost their winnings. So the twins bowed gracefully, thanked Hamlin and his lovely assistant, then ducked out of the tent, Disapparating as soon as the flap dropped.

The assistant, who was the niece of The Great Hamlin, was the only person who saw the two boys exit the tent amidst the shouting and outraged onlookers. She watched the tent flap drop, but it hooked on a pole and did not fall completely closed. The girl gasped as the twins were there one moment then gone the next--as if by magic.

Stunned, she pushed her way through to the opening and looked out, craning her head this way and that to catch some glimpse of the twins, but they were no where to be found. She went back through the angry throng--who still hadn’t noticed the twins departure--to examine the deck of cards.

The brunette took up the deck and flipped it over in her hand. There, at the bottom of the pile--the card she almost chose--lay the seven of spades.

Chapter 05

“Ze foods are so fattening!” Fleur Delacour-Weasley announced, her upper lip curling in disgust. “I cannot eat zat! I must watch my figure!”

Ginny held a half-eaten funnel cake under her brother’s new wife’s nose. “Oh, come on now, Fleur, you can’t tell me you can resist something that smells this delicious.”

Fleur pushed Ginny’s hand away, causing the fried dough to tip precariously close to the edge of the plate. Ginny righted her hand, then broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth. “Yum!” she sighed, chewing happily.

An unladylike snort emitted from Fleur. “If you think for a moment zat I will eat zat... zat nasty fried dough, you are meestaken!”

Bill laughed uproariously. “Nasty? Why, my dear Fleur, just twenty minutes ago you ate a whole funnel--” he was cut off when Fleur slapped a hand over his mouth; Bill growled playfully and nipped her hand lightly, causing Fleur to screech and snatch it away.

Ginny’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Oho! Zee truth comes out!” she cried, mocking Fleur’s French accent. “You don’t want to eat this because you’ve all ready had your fill!”

Fleur glared at Ginny, who merely walked away, joining Harry who was standing in a line waiting for his own funnel cake. She noticed several people staring at Fleur and couldn’t help but wonder how Bill was able to stand the admiring glances or the outrageous declarations of love some men bestowed upon Fleur.

Ten minutes previous, a man, with an extremely unhappy wife in tow, presented a large stuffed bear to Fleur and told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Bill had laughed and replied, “Oh, this old thing?”

Fleur and the man were outraged, but the angry wife had laughed. When the man insisted that he won the bear especially for Fleur, Bill didn’t seemed miffed, though the wife looked incensed; she walloped the husband with her large purse and carted him off, screaming at him that he’d claimed he’d won it for her! Bill had to chase them down and give back the bear, which the woman no longer wanted!

So Bill now carried huge brown bear for his wife. She treated the thing as though Bill himself had won it for her, including lavishing Bill with kisses every few moments. Fleur’s silvery peals of laughter only served to draw the attention of every male in the vicinity--except for Harry and Bill.

Harry was handed his own funnel cake, for which he thanked the woman, then he and Ginny joined Fleur and Bill, who claimed he wanted some red meat. Ginny exchanged a worried glance with Harry; Bill had been bitten by a demented werewolf-man--Fenrir Greyback--weeks ago, and had recently begun craving red meat. He was currently taking a potion that a former Hogwarts Professor, Remus Lupin, also drank, though Bill was lucky and didn’t completely transform into a werewolf during the full moon, as Professor Lupin was unfortunate enough to do.

Harry bent his head and whispered, “It’ll be fine, Gin; the full moon’s not for another week--and Bill took his potion at dinner.”

Ginny nodded, feeling a bit relieved. If Fleur and Harry don’t appear to be worried, she chided herself, watching her brother trot off to the vendor selling hamburgers, then I shouldn’t be.

She glanced at Harry, who was absently munching on his food.He seems to be miles away, Ginny thought sadly. She wondered if there was something she could do or say to bring Harry around?

Maybe he believes I’m still angry at him, Ginny bit her lip thoughtfully. In a way, she was, but Ginny didn’t want to ruin this nice evening by sulking.

She turned to Harry and coughed. When he glanced at her, she took the opportunity to speak to him. “Harry, would you like to go on a ride?”

Harry’s green eyes now fully focused on Ginny and she felt her knees go weak. It hadn’t been long ago when those eyes looked upon Ginny with happiness and love, but now...

“I don’t know, Ginny; I just ate and...” Harry sounded annoyed.

“Oh.” Ginny tried not to sound disappointed, but it was difficult.

Harry sighed heavily, then dropped his empty paper plate into a nearby refuse bin. “All right. But you do realize that we may not find anything that won’t fling us about or spin in circles?”

That wasn’t leaving many options for Ginny, but she was desperate to spend some time alone with Harry. “Oh. Well, let’s look any--”

A commotion at the hamburger stand interrupted Ginny; she and Harry looked over to see Bill arguing with the vendor, asking for a very rare patty, but--as the vendor was trying to point out--it was against the health code to serve such a thing.

“I could get in a lot of trouble for serving an undercooked patty,” the young man explained in a sorrowful tone. “If you got sick...”

Bill shook his head. “But I won’t, I promise you. I happen to like rare meat and have been eating it quite often as of late; nothing horrible has happened!”

“Sir,” the young man sighed, “I cannot oblige you; I could have my vending license revoked!” He was growing nervous; they were drawing stares!

It was then that Fleur stepped in; she smiled brightly at the vendor, whipped her white-blonde hair over her shoulder, and laid a slim hand on Bill’s shoulder. “My goodness, Bill,” she chided her husband, “Zees man says no, so let’s not bother ‘im any more. Come, my darling.”

She steered Bill away from the stall. “Many apologies, sir,” Fleur called sweetly from over her shoulder. “I ‘ope you’ll forgive us.”

The young man, now tongue-tied in Fleur’s presence, merely nodded.

“Fleur,” Bill interjected sourly as the moved further away, “I still want some red meat!”

“Hush!” Fleur scolded. “You shall have zat red meat you crave in a moment.” At this, Fleur took out her wand and--holding it between herself and Bill--murmured “Accio ‘amburgers’”.

A moment later, Ginny spied three patties zooming through the air above everyone’s heads. Since it was dark, the patties looked like round bats flying in the air, so no one took notice--no one but Harry, Ginny, Fleur, and Bill, that is.

“You weren’t supposed to use your wand!” Bill scolded Fleur, after wolfing down the three raw hamburger patties. “Besides, isn’t that stealing?”

“Nonsense,” Fleur huffed. “When I retrieved you, I left some money on ze counter.”

Ginny laughed; Fleur might appear to be vain and selfish, but even the youngest Weasley could see that Fleur cared deeply about Bill--enough to risk using her wand around Muggles.

She then nudged Harry, indicating Fleur and Bill should have some time alone; Harry nodded, following Ginny away from her brother and his wife as they shared a semiprivate moment, kissing passionately under the blinking lights of the frozen custard stall.

Harry and Ginny glanced at one another then hastily looked away. As they moved down the lane towards the oblivious Muggles crowding the rides, each thought the same thing: If only that were us...

Chapter 06

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” Ron asked, looking up at the ride he and Hermione stood waiting for. It towered over them, like a giant rainbow-colored mushroom with many chains hanging down from under the cap; there were several yellow and green molded plastic chairs attached to the chains, each with its own bar and some sort of harness contraption.

“Yes, Ronald,” Hermione sighed in exasperation. “How many times must I tell you? These rides are well-maintained; the ride operators check them for imperfections every day. If anything were wrong, they would not be allowed to run it. If they did--and something happened--they could have a lawsuit on their hands.”

“It looks like a torture device,” Ron grumbled as he and Hermione shuffled forward, inching their way closer to the front of the line. He watched in awe as Muggles ahead of them willingly allowed themselves to be strapped into the chairs and spun in a circle at dizzying speeds.

Muggles call this entertaining? Ron wondered bewilderingly. Give me broomstick and a Quidditch game any day--anything but this!

He tried not to panic, but he needed to be honest with himself--he was scared. Ron Weasley was worried that spinning in a circle for too long would cause his stomach to do flip-flops and would result in embarrassment for him. He tried to remember how long ago he had eaten and wondered if the Muggles would be able to figure out what it was if he did indeed spew everywhere.

“Look Hermione,” Ron began hesitantly, tugging on the frizzy-haired girl’s sleeve, “I’m not so sure about this.”

Hermione sighed again. “Honestly, Ron, it’s perfectly safe.”

“I don’t care,” Ron grunted stubbornly.

“Fine.” Hermione’s chin jutted out and she crossed her arms.

Neither said anything for several moments, though both inched forward as the rest of the Muggles did whilst waiting for their turn.

Hermione was silently counting to one hundred, hoping that the exercise would help her calm down. She couldn’t understand how someone who loved the highly unpredictable game of Quidditch was a bundle of nerves when faced with a Muggle amusement ride.

But Hermione knew she wasn’t upset with Ron based solely on that; something hadn’t been right between the two of them since earlier this evening.

Have I pushed him too far? Hermione wondered, sneaking a glance at Ron, who was staring up at the ride, watching it spin the Muggles round and round; he was a shade of green Hermione hadn’t seen before. Was I too forward?

She tried to tell herself that dealing with Ron was like playing a game of chess; obviously she’d have to make the first move. Unfortunately for Hermione, Ron didn’t appear interested in playing this particular version of his favorite game.

How much longer must I wait for him to notice me--and how I feel about him? she wondered.

“Hermione?” Ron was tugging on her sleeve again; she looked up at him and saw that he really didn’t look well.

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione cried snapping back to attention. “I’m so sorry,” she continued, grasping his arm and ducking under the rope, “let’s get you away from here.”

“I feel like a git,” Ron muttered, once they were a safe distance from the ride. His color was returning to normal, which made Hermione sigh in relief. “They were laughing at me, weren’t they?”

Hermione thought of the snickers and comments from the Muggles and merely shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now; they don’t really know you--and you’ll not see any of them again.”

“True,” Ron nodded in agreement. “But I still feel stupid.”

Hermione laid a reassuring hand on Ron’s arm, smiling sympathetically as she did so. “Is there something else you’d like to do?”

Perhaps she didn’t realize what she was implying when she asked that question, but an image of him snogging Hermione sprang to mind anyway. This didn’t seem to be an appropriate place to experience a first kiss with Hermione, however, as Ron noted they were only feet away from a refuse bin.

Ron looked around; he knew Hermione wanted to try at least one Muggle amusement ride, but to Ron, they all looked the same--each resulting in doing nothing but turning in a circle. And where’s the fun in that? he wondered once again.

He cleared his throat. “Since I’m not, er, familiar with these sorts of events,” he grinned sheepishly, “I’ll let you choose.” When Hermione’s face it up with delight, he added hastily, “Er, no spinning rides, please.”

Hermione agreed and linked her arm through Ron’s. The pair headed back to the rides, but were careful to steer clear of the Ferris Wheel, the Swings, and the Carousel.

They had just made their way past the smaller children’s rides when Hermione caught sight of Fred and George. The pair were huddled together behind some benches. She stopped in her tracks, causing Ron to bump into her.

“Wotcher, Hermione!” he cried. When she didn’t reply, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Over there,” Hermione murmured, her chin raised in curiosity. Their heads bent over a golden pot, the twins seemed oblivious to anyone around them. “What going on with those two?”

“Dunno,” Ron shrugged, taking in the scene before him. “My guess is they had a go at one of the rides and are now paying for it.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she decided that perhaps Ron was correct; maybe Fred and George suffered the same phobia as their younger brother?

Don’t count on it, her inner voice whispered. This is Fred and George you are talking about; never underestimate those two.

“I’m not dealing with that now,” Hermione muttered aloud. She wanted to spend some time alone with Ron, and if she had to deal with those two troublemakers, then her evening would be ruined.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, leaning close.

Hermione shook her head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go over there.” She pointed to a large sign that read ‘Haunted House’.

Ron snorted, “I’ll wager that place has nothing on the Shrieking Shack.”

It was true; the most haunted place in all of England was reputed to be the Shrieking Shack, a rickety house just outside the wizarding town of Hogsmeade. It creaked, groaned, and spooked the general magical community. Once, long ago, people swore there were ghosts or demons in the dwelling, for they could hear bloodcurdling screams emanating from the place.

Ron and Hermione now knew better; many of the tales were put in place to protect Professor Lupin, who used the dilapidated home to transform into a werewolf when he attended Hogwarts years ago. However, those tales still lingered and many stayed away out of fear they would be cursed--or worse.

“Shall we give it a go?” Ron asked. “I’m dying to know what the Muggles see as scary.”

“You can be certain you won’t see any mountain trolls, dragons, three-headed dogs, or giant man-eating spiders in there,” Hermione chuckled.

Ron shivered in revulsion. “Let’s not mention the spiders!” It was well-known amongst his close friends that Ron had an aversion to any and all eight-legged creatures.

A pair of teenage girls screamed with fright when a skeleton popped out of a coffin near the front door. “Oh, honestly!” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Anyone can see that the skeleton is made of plastic and coated with paint and gauze to look decomposed!”

Ron guffawed loudly, but followed Hermione as she stepped forward and handed a few tickets to the pimply-faced boy seated near the front door.

“Welcome to The Haunted House,” he droned in a bored tone, dropping the tickets into a wooden box. “No lighters, cigarettes, or flash photography please. Have a boo-tiful evening.”

Ron made a face. “No ciga-what?”; he was thoroughly confused.

Hermione pulled Ron forward. “I’ll explain later; let’s go in, shall we?” she muttered through clenched teeth. For someone whose father liked all things Muggle, Ron certainly didn’t have a clue!

The first room they ventured into was pretty bland, as if lulling the unsuspecting visitor into a false sense of security. It appeared as if it had been abandoned ages ago; manufactured cobwebs hung from the low ceiling, the wall sconces, and some of the covered furnishings. A broken piano, worn carpets, a coating of dust, and tinned ghost sounds completed the scene.

“Looks like my aunt’s house,” Ron commented airily as the pair took in their surroundings. “Though the rugs are an improvement!”

Three blonde girls, who’d come in behind them, giggled incessantly at Ron’s comment, smiling coyly, and batting their eyes at him.

Ron grinned wolfishly in return, but the trio moved on, two of them winking as they passed by. A moment later, they disappeared through the wide, ebony double doors at the far end of the room.

At Ron’s elated sigh, Hermione elbowed him the chest. “Snap out of it,” she said crossly. Ron gets spooked when I try to flirt with him, she thought moodily, but when it comes to other girls... he has nary a problem!

Boys. She just couldn’t understand them.

Chapter 07

The Great Hamlin’s dark-haired assistant, who happened to be his niece, peered around the corner of the Ring Toss Tent. She scanned the games area, but saw no trace of the lanky redheaded twins who’d disappeared nearly thirty minutes previous.

Uncle Hamlin had been quite upset; he’d forcefully ushered everyone out of the tent, threw his gaudy silver turban across the room, then smashed the glass-topped table, scattering playing cards everywhere.

“That money was our ticket out of here!” he’d growled. However, she knew better; every evening for the last three years he’d said that, but the next morning, they remained with the traveling fair. In reality, the money they’d just lost was to be his drinking money for the evening. Tomorrow morning, she’d be fishing him out of the elephants’ watering trough--as usual.

He’d turned on her then. “This is all your fault” he hissed. “If you’d remained by my side, then we would have won!”

Outrage caused her jaw to drop. “But you agreed to the wager! I had no choice!”

Hamlin had raised his fist and she had flinched, waiting for the blow. Thankfully, it never came. “Don’t talk back to me--do you understand?” he growled, inches from her face.

She’d nodded mutely, grateful he’d not let his violent temper get the better of him this once.

“Find them and get that money back,” he’d said evenly, his voice full of anger.

“But Uncle Hamlin, there’s something you ought to know--” The way the twins had disappeared nagged at her and she’d wanted to tell someone--anyone--what she’d seen...

“I don’t want to hear any excuses!” Uncle Hamlin had shouted. “Steal it from them if you must. I want that money returned to me! It’s mine!” Hamlin had stomped off in a huff, muttering curses under his breath...

So here she stood, reduced to peering around corners and sneaking around like a petty thief; it was quite embarrassing.

Keeping to the shadows, she darted silently between the tents, muttering the occasional hello to her fair buddies, but she didn’t stop to chat; she was on a mission.

She appeared once again, but this time near the portable loos in the children’s rides area. Her dark eyes scanned every ride, person, and nook in a matter of moments. Being part of this traveling fair had it’s benefits; she knew every inch of the fair--the set up had remained same for the last three years.

When she spotted the twins near the benches twenty feet away, she inhaled sharply; she hadn’t expected them to actually stick around--let alone stand in the open with that much money.

As if they were expecting someone to come looking for them.

She chuckled. “I’ll bite,” she murmured and stepped out of the shadows--walking straight towards them. When she was less than ten feet away, she cleared her throat.

“Excuse me,” the girl announced, “but I believe that,” she pointed to the golden pot, “belongs to me.”

Two red heads snapped up and two identical faces were suddenly facing the girl.

“Hello again, friend,” one grinned. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but--”

“This is ours,” the other finished; she knew then this was the one who’d outwitted her uncle--the one who’d stood so close and whispered in her ear....

He’s going to make this difficult, she thought, pushing unwanted thoughts from her mind. If only he wasn’t so bloody cute.

“I’d like that money back,” she stated calmly, holding out her hand. “It’s rightfully mine--well, Hamlin’s; any git can see that.”

Fred shook his head. “Hamlin agreed to the wager and he lost; it’s ours now, so you can move along, miss.”

“What are your names, please?” she asked, trying to sound as polite as possible, hoping to distract them.

“Right,” the second one drawled. “We give you our names and you alert the Mug--er, authorities.”

“We may look like gits,” the first added, “but let us assure you--we’re far from it.”

She shook her head. “No, I simply want to know the names of the two who outwitted ‘The Great Hamlin’.”

The twins looked at one another then shrugged. “Fair enough,” the first one conceded. “We’re the Weird Sisters.” He thrust his hand forward in greeting.

“Who?” She burst into laughter, despite herself, shaking the boy’s hand. “Who are you--really?”

“All right. I’m George--and he’s Fred.” The two inclined their heads respectfully at her. “And you?”

“Ah,” she replied hastily, dropping George’s hand and stepping back a foot, “that’s not important.”

Fred looked at her skeptically. “Yes it is; we’ve told you ours--”

“--Now show us yours,” George finished with a grin, waggling his eyebrows.

When they batted their eyes in a mock-pleading manner, the olive-skinned girl couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, if you must know... I’m Daisy.” She looked at her feet; she always hated her name--and now it sounded really horrid.

Neither spoke a word, but both looked ready to burst into laughter.

Daisy sighed; how many times had she dealt with this reaction? “Would I lie about something like that?” she intoned with a deadpan stare.

Fred shrugged, still smirking. “I wouldn’t know; we hardly know you.”

“But that can be rectified!” George added hastily--with a wink.

She ignored him. “You must answer some questions for me. Please don’t say no.”

Fred tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose that’ll depend on what you ask.”

George, on the other hand, blurted: “Yes, I’ll be the father of your child!”

Both Daisy and Fred scowled at George, who merely laughed. Fred turned back to Daisy and said, “What would you like to know?”

“How did you outwit Hamlin?”

“Ah, but a magician never reveals his secrets,” Fred replied mysteriously.

“Oh? You dabble in the art of magic too?” Finally, Daisy thought, relieved, I’m getting somewhere! She hoped they’d reveal how they disappeared so quickly.

Fred and George only laughed uproariously, each nearly falling over the other in their mirth. “Er, you might say that,” Fred snorted between guffaws.

She tried not to feel foolish. “Well, if you do know a bit of magic, I must protest. That’s hardly fair; you tricked my un--er, Hamlin.”

Her slip didn’t go unnoticed. “Uncle? Hamlin is your uncle?” Fred questioned forcefully, sobering immediately.

She nodded sadly. “It’s true.” Daisy lived with her uncle from the time she was four until now; he’d never been the best sort of parent, but Hamlin was all she had.

Fred crossed his arms, staring at her evenly. “Then you won’t mind my saying that he was tricking the Mug--er, money away from the folks who thought they had a chance.”

Daisy’s hackles rose; he was getting too close to the truth--and that bothered her. “Isn’t that what it’s all about? “ she asked quietly. “Chance?”

“No one has any sort of chance if you are helping him!” Fred protested.

“Prove it.” The young woman crossed her arms and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder; Fred and George took that as a challenge--one they’d easily win.

Fred cleared his throat before announcing: “Your hand on his shoulder.”

“And quite a lovely hand, at that.” George grasped Daisy’s hand once again and brought it to his lips.

She snatched it away; feeling the need to stall, she replied haughtily. “It’s there for comfort--to let him know I haven’t gone far.” Daisy’s dark eyes flashed, daring them to say more.

Fred didn’t disappoint. “Poppycock,” he told her. “You’re pulling our legs, Miss--and we ought to know; we’re experts in that field, so we can spot a prank mile away.”

“Ten miles away!” George supplied with a grin.

Fred chuckled. “We invented the prank.”

George nodded solemnly. “Pranksters around the world ought to erect a statue in our honor.”

“I get your point!” the young woman replied, rolling her eyes; she sighed heavily, knowing she was caught. “Oh, all right,” Daisy relented, a small part of her relieved to be sharing a secret with someone her own age. “We have a code worked out; I see the card and let him know what it is by pressing my hand on his shoulder a certain number of times--like Morse Code. We’ve never lost--til now.”

Fred and George exchanged a confused look at the words “Morse Code”, but the look was fleeting. “You ought be grateful that no one else has figured out your little game,” Fred told her. “Some people don’t take kindly to being parted from their hard-earned money like that.”

George nodded his agreement. “We should to know,” he said. Fred and George had once been tricked out of several Galleons prize money by a Ministry of Magic official when they placed a wager on the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago; the money they thought they’d won turned out to be Leprechaun gold--disappearing after a few hours. They’d nearly resorted to blackmail, but Harry Potter had helped them out in the end by giving them his Triwizard Tournament winnings--a thousand Galleons.

The brothers used that money to fund their joke shop, Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.

The girl gasped. “Have you ever--?” The thought of these two handsome boys tricking people in the same manner she and her uncle had done was shocking; she hoped it wasn’t true!

The twins laughed in unison. “Heavens, no!” Fred replied in mock horror. “We may be many things, but ‘dishonest thieves’ isn’t listed on our business card.”

Daisy bristled visibly and Fred apologized, saying he didn’t mean for the comment to hurt. She nodded, but remained skeptical, because when faced with the truth, even Daisy couldn’t deny that ‘dishonest thieves’ described her and her uncle accurately.

“All right,” she said quickly, determined to change the subject, “I have one last question, and I want a clear, concise answer--none of this namby-pamby stuff you’ve been feeding me.”

"Fire away," George replied cheerfully.

"How did you disappear so quickly after you left the tent? One moment you were there--then the next... POOF!" Daisy thrust her hands into the air to accentuate her words. "How did you do that? Is there something the two of you aren’t telling me?"

Chapter 08

Harry had to admit it: the Muggle rides were quite enjoyable. His aunt and uncle had never taken him to a fair--they’d always left him with Mrs. Figg when they’d gone off to do anything fun--but his cousin Dudley had always bragged about it when they’d returned.

Dudley would boast about pushing to the front of the lines on every ride so he wouldn’t have to wait, and how he always won the biggest prizes, or when he ate so much popcorn once that the vendor had to close shop. Well, by the size of Dudley, Harry had always thought, I’m sure that’s true.

Harry’s cousin was an enormous boy; Harry often likened him to a pig. Dudley used his size to bully people into doing what he wanted and had the worst sort of tantrum if he didn’t get his way.

Dudley’s parents, Petunia and Vernon, thought he was an angel, but Harry knew differently; if his aunt and uncle knew the real Dudley, they’d have heart palpitations.

However, Harry tried to push all thoughts of his Muggle family aside so he could enjoy the time spent with Ginny. A large part of him still wanted to slip away, but he had promised Hermione he wouldn’t go anywhere.

Not that he’d be able to get away, he chuckled inwardly; Ginny held his arm tightly everywhere they went. Harry didn’t mind, but the redhead had never clung to him like this before. As Harry looked about, he realized perhaps the other Muggle couples had something to do with Ginny’s closeness.

So Harry allowed the youngest Weasley to choose their destinations. Her excitement was contagious and soon Harry found himself smiling and laughing along with Ginny. When the two slid into a contraption that resembled a large teacup, Ginny’s intake of breath caused Harry to grin. Her squeal of delight on the Ferris Wheel and the deep-bellied guffaws while riding the Swinger made Harry laugh out loud.

It was obvious that Ginny was genuinely amazed at the forms of entertainment the Muggles used--and, frankly, Harry had to admit that he was impressed too.

After they’d ridden nearly all of the rides, Harry suggested they play a few games. Surprisingly, Ginny was quite skilled at ‘Ring the Bottle’, as well as the game called ‘Break A Plate’. Harry didn’t do so well with the ‘Bowler Roller’, but had a better time when playing ‘Tip the Cat’.

“I just pictured Snape’s face in place of the fuzzy blue cats’,” Harry told Ginny, when he handed her a stuffed pink unicorn, “and it wasn’t difficult to knock them down at all!”

Ginny snorted, turning the unicorn over in her hand. “A pink unicorn? Boy, those Muggles have great imagination! Did you see the prizes they had over at the ‘Guess Your Weight’ game? Since when do dragons come in yellow--?” She passed a couple carrying a purple dragon with silver wings. “--Or purple?” she gasped; turning to Harry, a look of disgust on her face, she added, “Charlie must be having fits.”

Charlie Weasley worked with real dragons in Romania; Harry guessed that no Muggle would want to win a stuffed version of the real thing; real dragons were quite ugly...

“What are your thoughts on visiting the ‘Haunted House’?” Ginny piped up suddenly. Harry turned in the direction she was pointing--and laughed.

The crudely constructed building looked like an overblown version of the Shrieking Shack. After all that Harry had been through over the years, he knew nothing inside that ‘Haunted House’ could possibly frighten him. “Er, I think I’ll pass,” he replied after a moment.

Shrugging noncommittally, Ginny steered Harry towards the area designated ‘Sideshow Alley’: an odditorium of scarred souls, gaunt carnies, and an endless mob of gawkers. “I’m curious,” she told him. “Walk with me.”

It was the tone of her voice that caught Harry’s attention; it seemed Ginny was daring him to say no. Harry knew better; if he naysayed her, it was likely he’d again be on the receiving end of her Bat-Bogey Hex.

They saw what was billed as ‘The Smallest Horse in the World’, ‘The Lobster Boy’, and ‘The Headless Woman’--and shook their heads in disgust throughout each presentation--but neither could contain themselves when faced with ‘The Siren of the Sea’.

“Bloody hell! That’s not a real mermaid!” Harry gasped, nearly choking from shock.

The woman behind the glass was obviously a Muggle dressed in a rubber suit; her long, blonde hair was definitely a wig, and the shells she wore were likely fake too. She was seated on a boulder in a pool of water, singing sweetly and combing her synthetic golden mane.

In his fourth year at Hogwarts, Harry had grudgingly taken part in the Triwizard Tournament. He and three other ‘champions’ had to complete three tasks in order to determine the winner.

One of his tasks was to face the mermaids that dwelled in the lake on the school grounds. Harry would never forget the chilling darkness of the water, nor the realization that mermaids were neither friendly or beautiful.

“’Who is right, the man who believes he is being deceived, or the man who believes he is not?’” Ginny quoted, as they left Sideshow Alley; she sounded eerily like Hermione for a moment. When Harry looked at her askance, she added, “A Muggle named Lichtenberg said that; my father has that quote hanging in his office.”

Feeling duped and quite disgusted with Muggles in general (“Turning oddities into a show for profit--how awful!” the youngest Weasley declared hotly), Harry and Ginny decided they’d try something different; so off to ‘Magician’s Alley’ they went.

“Let’s see The Great Hamlin,” Ginny suggested, but were turned away when a small, disgruntled crowd came streaming out on the tent. A large, beefy man in a silver turban was shouting after them in a language that Harry didn’t understand.

Stopping one of the Muggles exiting the tent, Harry asked him what was going on.

The short, balding man with several missing teeth was happy to explain. “Two blokes--twins, by the looks of ‘em--won the golden pot; ‘amlin’s right angry.”

“Golden pot?” Harry was confused.

The man nodded. “ ‘E kept money in a gold pot; said anyone who could out wit ‘im would win it. Well, those blokes did and ‘amlin ain’t too ‘appy. Says they cheated and them’s gonna pay.”

A wave of apprehension swept over Harry. “These two ‘blokes’--the twins--” he began, “what did they look like?” He steeled himself for the answer, though deep down he knew what was coming.

“Red hair,” the man spat; he jerked his head towards Ginny. “Like ‘ers.”

Ginny gasped and Harry squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Er, thank you, sir,” Harry blurted, steering Ginny away; the man nodded, then disappeared into the crowd.

“Harry,” Ginny whispered frantically, “that man was talking about Fred and George!” It seemed Ginny had the same idea as Harry.

“I know,” Harry sighed deeply. Trust Fred and George to get into trouble wherever they go, he wanted to say out loud, but for Ginny’s benefit, he didn’t dare.

“We need to find those two--to warn them!” Ginny’s fingernails dug into Harry’s forearm.

“That Muggle, Hamlin, is no match for Fred and George; I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Harry murmured, looking around, wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of the twins. Not likely, he told himself. They are as far away from here as possible, knowing them.

Ginny fidgeted in place for a moment and Harry could tell she was torn between searching for her brothers and remaining with him.

“Ooh, if I see either of them,” she announced in a scathing voice, “they’re going to receive a piece of my mind--after I hex them, of course,” she added with a sly grin.

Harry agreed to help keep a lookout for Ginny’s brothers, though he secretly believed neither was still lurking about; they were probably at home, counting their Muggle money and wondering how much in wizarding gold they’d be able to get for it.

Ginny knew the twins well enough to admit that Harry was correct; after all, they’d gone up against the horrid Professor Umbridge, so a Muggle was definitely no match for Fred and George.

Dolores Umbridge was a Ministry of Magic official who’d become the hated ‘Hogwarts High Inquisitor’ two years previous; she reveled in imposing all sorts of strict rules and shocking punishments--all with the backing of the former Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge.

When she and the Ministry tried to have Albus Dumbledore arrested at one point--unsuccessfully, that is--Umbridge had taken over Hogwarts temporarily. However, students like Fred and George (and members of the D.A., which included Ginny and Harry) had given her a real fight.

Umbridge eventually ended up in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies--after a disastrous scrape with the centaur herd in the Dark Forest--and hasn’t been the same since.

Fred and George, upon hearing about Umbridge’s fiasco, decided that someone should thank the poor woman for showing the Ministry how loyal Hogwarts students could be. So twice a year--on randomly chosen dates--they sent her a nice gift: a small statue of a centaur.

As she was musing, Ginny’s eyes scanned Magician’s Alley; surely there was someone here worth seeing--even if they were Muggles who seemed to enjoy parting unsuspecting, gullible visitors and their money--for the sake of entertainment.

“Want to have your palm read?” Ginny asked Harry with a grin, pointing to a tent with a neon sign bearing the words ‘Madame Zota--Fortune Teller: Tarot Card and Palm Readings’.

Harry gave her a look that clearly said, ‘You must be joking.’ “I’d wager ‘Madame Zota’ has more success than Professor Trelawney does,” Harry added with a snicker, referring to the ‘seer’ who resided in Hogwarts and taught Divination; Sybil Trelawney was extremely outlandish and rarely--if ever--correctly predicted the future. However, Harry knew why she was allowed to remain at Hogwarts: she foretold the prophecy concerning the Dark Lord and himself.

“There’s a mind-reader,” Ginny chuckled, jutting her chin towards a black tent several feet away. “That ought to be harmless enough.”

The pair surveyed the tent at the farthest end of the lane; there were no blinking or swirling lights surrounding this particular tent, no large neon signs, or other eye-catching items to attract the attention of fairgoers. A simple, hand painted wooden plaque bearing the words ‘Mind Reader’, hung from a pole under a single, dimly lit oil lamp.

Something about that tent made Harry feel uneasy. “Looks a bit dodgy to me,” Harry replied slowly. “Why don’t we choose something else?”

But Ginny had trudged ahead, bearing down on the darkened tent, her red hair swinging behind her. With a resigned sigh, Harry followed suit; he caught up with Ginny in less than five strides.

“It appears to be deserted,” Harry told Ginny as they approached the darkened tent. “Let’s go back.” The nagging feeling was growing and Harry simply wanted to be as far from this tent as possible.

“It won’t hurt to look,” Ginny said confidently, giving Harry a smile. “If it is empty, we’ll go back and look for something else to do.” She marched right up to the front flap. “Hel--”

“You may enter,” an oily voice called out from the inner part of the tent. “I believe one of you will find exactly what you’ve been searching for... just inside.”

Chapter 09

The ‘Haunted House’ was a bust. Both Hermione and Ron left feeling unfulfilled; the cheap, visual thrills and canned ghostly sounds seemed lacking when compared to Hogwarts Castle and the Shrieking Shack.

“No self-respecting ghost would float around wearing just a sheet,” Ron scoffed. “And vampire bats that drink human blood? I don’t bloody think so!”

Hermione chuckled; it was true that there was a certain amount of outrageousness to the spookiness of the ‘Haunted House’, but she had to admit the Muggles certainly gave it their best.

“Well, look at it this way, Ron,” Hermione stated, as the pair moved away from the attraction, “it was something to do for twenty minutes.”

“Yeah,” Ron admitted. “I guess it was okay--though I wanted to punch that gormless prat who followed you around.”

Hermione groaned, remembering the short, rotund boy with thick glasses and an overbite who seemed to appear wherever Hermione rested her gaze.

She and Ron tried to walk quickly in order to lose the boy, but he was surprisingly nimble--and fast. When they’d entered the mirror room, the boy finally attempted to speak to her; he wanted to know her name and asked for a telephone number. Ron, who was highly outraged at this point, told the boy to shove off because Hermione didn’t have a “fellytone”;

Hermione, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings, simply thanked him and told him she was taken.

It was at that moment that Ron turned from annoyed to angry.

Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes; Ron was sulking! She wanted to ask him why, but didn’t dare; Hermione well-remembered the last time he pouted in that manner: the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament.

She tried to get him to notice her as more than a friend, but Ron Weasley was seemingly blind--and perhaps a bit slow. So Hermione went to the Ball with Viktor Krum, the famous Seeker of the Bulgarian Quidditch team; Ron never forgave her for that.

Why must Ron be a prat and get jealous every time I merely speak to another boy? Hermione wondered. I don’t get angry when he speaks to another-- she halted mid-thought. Hermione knew she wasn’t being honest with herself; she’d been so jealous of Ron’s relationship with Lavender Brown, that Hermione had once set little birds on the poor boy!

What a pair we’d make, she groaned inwardly as the left the rides area. Neither of us can admit our true feelings to the other!

Ron followed Hermione towards the Midway. The games looked enticing, but Ron was in no mood to play; he was angry at Hermione!

How dare she lead me on like that--that scarlet woman! Ron grumbled silently, borrowing a favorite phrase of his mother’s. She’s been flirting with me when she’s obviously snogging some other bloke!

The thought of Hermione snogging another guy made Ron’s eyes cross with jealousy. If Hermione’s going to snog anyone, he thought stubbornly, it had better only me.

Ron had to admit that he hadn’t exactly been very attentive towards Hermione as of late; in fact, he’d frozen in fear or turned away whenever she simply laid a hand on his arm.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of Hermione; Ron was afraid turning into a blubbering git. To avoid that, Ron frequently ran from Hermione--so neither would be subjected to horrible embarrassment.

Ron had wanted to snog Hermione from the moment she ‘swished and flicked’ back in their first year’s Charms class, but had no experience with girls. It took dating what could be the most annoying girl in the history of Hogwarts to acquire the knowledge Ron felt he needed to approach Hermione.

However, Ron now felt it was too late; Hermione had given her heart away to some lucky--but quite undeserving, in his opinion--bloke.

But what if you still have a chance? a tiny voice at the back of his mind asked. It’s worth a shot, he said to himself, as he trudged behind Hermione. When was the last time she saw this mysterious git of hers anyway?

Staring down at the top of Hermione’s frizzy head, Ron silently willed her to stop so he could talk to her. When she continued walking, he reached out and grabbed her arm--a little too tightly, from her expression as he spun her around.

“Ronald!” Hermione cried, rubbing her upper arm. “That hurt!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking at his feet. Say something to her! he yelled silently to himself; Ron opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Hermione gave him an odd look. “Are you all right? You look a little pale; maybe you ought to sit down.”

Ron decided to take her advice; he sought out the nearest bench and seated himself. Hermione ran off to get him something to drink, leaving the lanky redhead to mentally kick himself for once again flaking out during a crucial moment.

He was very glad Fred and George weren’t present to witness this latest fiasco.

Moments later, Hermione returned with a large cup of lemonade; Ron thanked her and drank greedily, while Hermione’s gaze strayed to the rides.

She’d had fun this evening, despite Ron’s sudden mood change. Hermione wished she could ask him what was bothering him, but Ron was so touchy, she worried her questions would send him over the edge!

I suppose I’ll have to work on that, Hermione thought, nodding her head determinedly. Those Weasley’s have terrible tempers; must be all that red hair, Hermione guffawed aloud at this, gleaning a sideways glance from Ron.

“Wotcher, Hermione,” he told her, after downing the last of the lemonade, “or someone will think you’ve gone Lockhart.” Ron was referring to Gilderoy Lockhart, their famous Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher during their second year at Hogwarts; after a spell backfired on Lockhart, he ended up in St. Mungo’s--most of his memory gone.

“You forgot Myrtle,” Hermione interjected quietly; a small smile played around the corners of her mouth.

Ron looked at her blankly. “Who?”

“Moaning Myrtle.” Myrtle was the former Hogwarts student who died over fifty years previous at the hand of Voldemort. Myrtle, who haunted the bathroom on the first floor, was known for her constant moping and crying, therefore being dubbed “Moaning Myrtle” long ago.

“How could you be that sad?” Ron asked skeptically. “You look pretty happy to me.”

“But I’m not,” Hermione murmured; she was wringing her hands together nervously.

Ron rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. “Missing the love of your life?” he asked, his voice dripping with scorn.

Hermione gasped. How had he known? She thought she’d been subtle, but apparently Ron saw right through her! Hermione cleared her throat and replied, “Why, yes, Ronald, I am. What do you intend to do about it?”

The lanky redhead’s eyes nearly jumped out of his head. “Bloody hell, woman! Why not hex me and get it over with?”

Hermione shot to her feet. “I’m trying to pour my heart out here and you’re being a... a... pigheaded prat!”

Ron was now on his feet, his cup forgotten. “Pigheaded? Me?” he nearly shouted in disbelief. “Which of us has been flaunting some secret romance right under the other’s nose?” Several passing Muggles stared at the pair, but Ron didn’t care at this point; he only wanted Hermione to hurt as badly as he did at this moment.

Hermione did a double-take. “What are you talking about, Ronald? ‘Secret romance’? Have you hit your head?”

Ron went red. “I heard you! I heard you tell that fat git that you were taken! Well, let me be the first to tell you that was quite a surprise! I didn’t know you could move so fast!”

Hermione’s hand came up and slapped Ron across the cheek. “How dare you call me ‘fast’--you, the one who didn’t waste any time sucking face with Lavender Brown after we’d got into that stupid argument about McClaggen last year!”

“Don’t remind me!” Ron replied hotly, rubbing his face. “Besides, it’s not like we were dating!”

“We could have been!” Hermione screamed at him, angry beyond worrying about propriety. “We could have been together long ago, you twit! But no! You had to go and be an idiot about things! I don’t know if I should even call you my boyfriend now!”

Suddenly Ron found himself speechless--and the small crowd that had gathered gasped in unison. He stared stupidly at Hermione, who was heaving and fingering the top of her wand, which poked out of her pants pocket.

She’s talking about having a relationship withme! Ron thought, mentally smacking himself in the head; he also wanted to kick himself, as he realized Hermione had referred to having a relationship with him in the Haunted House.

Then it all became so clear; Hermione wasn’t flirting with him to torture him--and she certainly wasn’t missing some mysterious stranger! Hermione was trying to tell Ron she liked him!

“Er,” Ron began, feeling like the biggest git on the planet, “I think I misunderstood some things.”

“You think?” Hermione retorted loudly, her voice squeaking.

Ron struggled inwardly a moment before answering; he didn’t want to appear foolish once again. “Yeah. I... I owe you an apology--and an explanation.”

Hermione folded her arms. “I’m listening,” she replied; Ron was grateful her tone seemed less angry.

He looked about them; several Muggles were straining to see and hear the pair. Flushing hotly, Ron shook his head. “Not here; some people can’t seem to mind their own bloody business!” A collective groan emerged from the crowd and they dispersed quickly, disappointed that Hermione and Ron had not come to more serious blows.

“Muggles are very violent,” Ron muttered to Hermione as he grasped her elbow and steered her to a more private place to talk. “I ought to tell my dad to be more careful when dealing with them!”

“Don’t change the subject, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, pulling her arm away from him.

Ron sighed deeply; if he didn’t tell Hermione now how he truly felt, she’d be lost to him forever. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he began, gently taking her hand in his. “I’m so sorry for every stupid thing I’ve done and said--and mistaken; please forgive this gormless prat.”

Hermione froze. Ron is apologizing? She tuned out everything else but Ron; she wanted to be sure she caught every word coming from his lips.

“I was jealous;” Ron sighed heavily. “I could never bear the thought of you with some other bloke--but I could never approach you in the way you deserved.” He looked at his feet. “We’ve been friends for so long, that I felt you only saw me as such--and it hurt. Instead of talking to you--my friend--about it, I became something I’m not proud of--to make you feel as bad as I did.”


Hermione blinked several times; she was not expecting that from Ron! “I--,” She didn’t know what to say and being speechless was quite shocking.

Ron placed a finger to her lips and shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for words, as it was likely they’d ruin the moment with an argument again.

Hermione suppressed a smile; she and Ron were destined to have a volatile--but loving--relationship. However, she realized, she’d want it no other way.

For several moments neither said a word as they stared at one another; the sounds from the fair floated on the breeze, swirling around them, surrounding the pair, filling their senses, creating a kind of wondrous magic reserved for those truly in love...

“You were right, you know--as always,” Ron chuckled, his love for Hermione mirrored in his eyes. “I am a thickheaded twit, I was too scared to admit my feelings before and spent more time fighting with you instead of properly loving you. I’m sorry.”

“We’ve wasted many years bickering, Ron; let’s not continue,” Hermione murmured, reaching out and brushing a lock of stray hair that had fallen into Ron’s eyes.

He didn’t need to be told twice; Ron grasped Hermione about her waist and pulled her to him. He dipped his head down and finally kissed the frizzy-haired, know-it-all witch he’s loved since that day in Flitwick’s Charms class all those years ago...

Chapter 10

Harry yanked back the tent flap and stepped inside. It took a moment to adjust his sight to the lone, smoky oil lamp on the tiny round table. The inner part of the tent was suffocatingly small.

A hunched figure was seated in the shadows just beyond the oil lamp. It leaned forward and the light brought into sharp focus a hooked nose, greasy hair, and piercing black eyes.

Severus Snape.

“The great Harry Potter,” Snape drawled sarcastically, his eyes flashing scornfully. “Pardon me if I don’t bow before you.”

YOU! Harry yelled, pulling out his wand from his jeans pocket and pointing it directly at Snape’s heart. “You bastard!”

“Harry!” Ginny cried, trying to step between the two; she remembered Harry’s promise to kill Snape and worried that he would die instead. “Let’s just leave!”

In response, Harry grasped Ginny’s jumper with his free hand and pushed her out of the way.

Snape was on his feet in a flash; his own wand drawn. “I knew you and your little friends--” he sneered at Ginny contemptuously, “--couldn’t resist this ridiculous Muggle circus.”

“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” Harry asked, stunned. “You’re--”

“--A half-blood in hiding? How observant, Potter,” Snape intoned snidely. “My being here is none of your business.”

“How long have you been hiding here--like a coward?” Harry wanted to kill Snape at first sight, but curiosity was winning out; he had to know why Snape was seeking refuge with Muggles.

“Again, that is information you need not know about.” There was an edge to Snape’s voice--a deadly tone that hinted Harry ought to back off.

But Harry wasn’t listening. “I ought to blast you right where you stand!” he growled, bringing his wand up a notch. “You killed Dumbledore!”

“Harry! Don’t do it! Please!” Ginny pleaded, tugging at Harry’s shirttail.

Harry ignored her; his focus was solely on Snape.

“May I remind you, Potter, that I can easily hurt you--without words?” It was true; Snape was quite skilled at wordless magic--something Harry had not truly mastered.

“Why don’t you, then?” Harry growled. “Why won’t you kill me--isn’t that what you’ve wanted to do all along? Are you too much of a coward--killing a defenseless old man instead?”

“Albus Dumbledore was never defenseless,” Snape replied quietly, his tone rather cool.

“Are you saying he could have fought back? That’s ridiculous! He was weakened by--” Harry stopped, thinking it was probably a bad idea to reveal too much to Snape; he might pass the information on to Voldemort.

Snape’s eyebrow shot up an inch. “Is it?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Stop trying to distract me!” Harry shouted back. “He trusted you--and you killed him, you... you coward!”

“Baiting me with feeble-minded, childish taunts won’t work again, Potter, so save your breath.”

“Murderer! I’m going to kill you like you killed Dumbledore! “ Harry shouted.Avada Ke--”

“NO!” Ginny screamed, flinging herself onto Harry. “HARRY, STOP!” The two fell headlong into the dirt floor of the tent.

Harry angrily shoved Ginny off of him. “Stay out of this!” he ordered.

“How touching,” Snape commented in a nasty tone. “The little woman comes to the rescue, only to be scolded by the tragic hero.”

“You shut up!” Ginny hissed at Snape. “We wouldn’t be in this predicament if it weren’t for you!”

“Touché, Miss Weasley.” Snape retorted, with an quick incline of his head. “After all, it wasn’t me who suggested the two of you come in here.”

Ginny reddened and looked away.

“Stay out of this, Ginny,” Harry barked again, pushing her out of the way. “I told you--nothing was going to stop me from killing Snape--not even you.” He turned back towards Snape, who hadn’t moved at all. “Avada Kedavra!”

A thin jet of green light shot out of Harry’s wand, but Snape, ever vigilant, ducked out of the way; the chair behind him exploded into tiny pieces.
“Your heart’s not into it, Potter!” Snape taunted him. “Is Dumbledore not worth it--or do you like me too much?”

“Be quiet! Dumbledore meant more to me than you’ll ever know!” Harry hissed, searching the near darkness for the Potions Master. He saw a slight movement in the corner to his left. “Avada Kedavra!”, Harry shouted, watching as the green light hit nothing but dirt.

“Harry, please stop!,” Ginny pleaded from behind him. However, Harry was distracted by the sound of Snape’s voice eminating form somewhere in the darkened tent.

“How many times,” Snape called loudly, his oily voice filling the tent, making it impossible to detect its origins, “must I tell you to never reveal what you are going to do to an enemy? It’ll only give them time to prepare for your attack and think of one of their own.” He pointed his wand at Harry in response and flung a silent curse at the young man.

Ginny screamed again, as Harry fell to his knees; his wand clattered to the floor. The pain overwhelmed him, nearly consuming him, and he fell onto his side. The top of the darkened tent seemed to rush up to meet him. Was he dying?

Ginny’s cries seemed to fade away, being replaced by another, deeper gut-wrenching sound. It was then, Harry realized, it had come from himself.

”ST-STOP IT!”

Snape’s nostrils flared, as he glared down his hooked nose at Harry. A moment later, he lowered his wand and turned away, cursing.

“W-why are you g-giving up so easily?” Harry panted, still lying on the hard ground. Ginny stood in the corner, sobbing; he wanted desperately to comfort her, but could barely move.

“That is no business of yours,” Snape replied coldly, whipping around to face him. “Go back to Hogwarts and forget you ever saw me here.”

“You’re my teacher no longer; I don’t have to listen to you!”

“Spoken like a true man, Potter,” Snape replied sarcastically. “Suit yourself, but I’m not going to stand here, listening to your foolish ranting.” He turned his attention to Ginny. “Take him home and see to it that your parents help him recover properly.”

Ginny, who was more concerned with Harry’s well-being, merely nodded. She grasped Harry by the elbows and hauled him to his feet; surprisingly, Harry did not resist. With some difficulty, they reached the tent’s entrance and began to move out into the fresh night air, but Snape’s voice held them back.

“One moment.” Snape strode forward and thrust out his hand; there lay Harry’s wand. Ginny gasped and tried to search Snape’s features for some sort of understanding, but the Potions’ Master kept his face devoid of emotion. “Take this and do not seek me out again.”

Ginny didn’t need to be told twice; she snatched the wand from Snape’s hand and stuffed it into her jeans pocket, along with her own wand. She pulled Harry out of the tent and down the lane, heedless of the curious stares they were receiving from passersby.

She needed to find someone in her family--and quickly; Harry still couldn’t stand on his own two feet and he was becoming rather heavy. The only thing he seemed capable of doing was repeating one word over and over: “Why?”

Ginny wanted to cry; she wished she’d never made Harry go into that tent; he’d warned her--even tried to get her to change his mind, but she was too stubborn to listen. Part of her wanted to march back and hurt Snape too, but Harry’s predicament was indication enough to obey Snape just this once and stay away; next time he might just kill one of them--and that wasn’t a chance Ginny was willing to take.

She found a bench and helped Harry be seated; she plopped down next to him, and hugged him tightly, tears streaming from her eyes. “Harry, you’ll be all right, won’t you?” she asked quietly.

“Ginny?”

“Harry!” the redhead gasped, sitting upright and staring at Harry incredulously. “Are you okay?”

However, it wasn’t Harry who said Ginny’s name; a few feet away and closing in fast were Hermione and Ron, both looking pale and frightened. Ginny stood up and threw herself in Hermione’s arms.

“What in bloody hell happened here?” Ron asked angrily, looking at Ginny’s tearstained face and then at Harry, who had quite a vacant expression in his eyes.

“Snape!” Ginny bit out, tears flowing freely now. It took a few moments, but she was able to give her brother and Hermione the shortened version of recent events. When Ron wanted to storm back to the tent and kill Snape himself, Hermione and Ginny had to restrain him forcibly.

“Someone must get Molly and Arthur,” Hermione said, attempting to remain calm. Ginny and Ron agreed; their parents would be able to get Harry home quickly, but there was a problem: who would fetch them? None of the trio wanted to leave Harry’s side. At the moment, all Harry seemed capable of was sitting upright--a defeated, haunting look in his eyes.

After a moment’s silent deliberation, Hermione had an idea.

“I’ll be breaking one of your father’s rules, but in this case, I think he’ll make an exception,” Hermione began. “I’ll go behind those tents--” she pointed to a cluster at the edge of Magician’s Alley, “--and send up some red sparks. The Muggles won’t know the difference; they’ll think it was fireworks or some such thing.”

“What if my mum and dad think the same thing?” Ron asked, seated next to Harry. Harry had come around a bit and was nodding after everything Ron said.

“Mum and dad know aren’t that thick, Ron,” Ginny replied sarcastically.

Hermione moved behind the tents, careful not to be seen; moments later, Ginny, Ron, and even Harry saw red sparks shoot high into the air. Several Muggles turned their faces to the sky and made noises of awe, but didn’t attempt to look for the source of the lights; Hermione predicted correctly, it seemed.

Within five minutes, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who’d been on the Swinger, came running over, their faces full of concern and alarm. Arthur opened his mouth to scold the children, but one look at Harry made him clamp his lips together.

Molly decided to was best not to make Harry move any more, but wasn’t certain how to get him home without using magic--and without the Muggles seeing.

Arthur suggested that he call in Aurors to modify the Muggles memories, but Molly voted against that, stating there were too many non-wizarding folk for the Aurors to handle.

In the end, it was Hermione who came up with the best idea. When Bill, Charlie, and Fleur approached--also looking frightened--Hermione spotted Harry’s backpack over Bill’s shoulder. She quickly removed Harry’s Invisibility Cloak--to the shock and awe of several Weasley’s-- and asked them to crowd around Harry.

Quickly, the group complied; Hermione wasted no time in throwing the shimmery fabric over Harry until it covered him completely.

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly to the now-invisible boy, “you must remain quiet and still until we can get you home to the Burrow. Do you understand?”

A weak “Yes” was all Hermione needed; she straightened up and looked about to see if any Muggles were nearby.

Molly, understanding what Hermione wanted to accomplish, pulled out her own wand instead and murmured, “Locomotor Harry.”

The group had to rely on touch alone to be certain Harry where was--floating two feet off the ground. When they were assured of Harry’s exact location, they proceeded towards the fair’s entrance, surrounding Harry on all sides--to be sure no Muggles accidentally bumped into something they couldn’t see.

Each was contemplating the evening’s events and all came to the same conclusion: this would be a night no one would forget.

Once they made it to the top of the hill, they group began Disapparating back to the Burrow two by two: Mrs. Weasley with Harry, Ginny and Charlie, Ron and Hermione, and Fleur and Bill. Only Mr. Weasley remained, stating he would fetch the twins.

After the last of the group had vanished, Arthur Weasley trudged back to the fair, determined to locate more than just his sons that evening.

Chapter 11

Daisy stood, arms crossed, waiting for the twins to explain their earlier hasty departure. What sort of excuse will they peddle this time? she wondered.

Fred and George looked at each other and shrugged.

“Would you believe we can run really fast?” George asked with a hopeful grin.

“No.” It was difficult for Daisy not to roll her eyes heavenward.

“It’s true,” George continued. “Comes from years of running from three older brothers--”

“--And a mum who’s scary beyond all reason when she’s angry,” Fred finished.

“Am I to understand that the two of you are often in trouble?” Daisy wanted to know, giving them a skeptical look.

“Some would say that,” Fred replied sheepishly.

“But we aren’t as horrible as we once were,” George added with a wink.

“I agree,” Fred nodded. “We’re worse.”

Daisy sigh in exasperation. “That still doesn’t explain what I saw; was that some sort of magic trick?”

“Er, if you’re inclined to believe such a thing, then sure, why not?” There was a hint of a smile on Fred’s lips.

“Ha!” Daisy cried, snapping her fingers. Quietly, she added, “You’re very good, you know.”

“Why, thank you,” George replied, inclining his head. “We have our own shop.”

Daisy perked up, interested in this bit of information. “Really? That’s fascinating; where might I find it?”

Fred shot his brother an annoyed look; apparently George had said too much. “Er, in London,” George replied, looking away from his brother.

“Wonderful!” Daisy laughed. “The fair will be setting up near there in two weeks; I must stop by and say hello.”

“Well--” they were just about to concoct an outrageous story as to why Daisy couldn’t visit, when Mr. Weasley appeared, striding towards them and looking worried.

“Fred! George! There you are!”, their father sighed with relief. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Didn’t you see Hermione’s sig--?” He stopped, suddenly aware that his sons were not alone.

Fred turned to the dark-eyed, olive-skinned girl next to him. “This is Daisy. Dad. She works here.” He emphasized his last words, to make sure his father didn’t say or do anything outrageous.

“Oh.” Mr. Weasley said blankly; then it dawned on him that Daisy was a Muggle. “Oh! Hello, young Mug--er, lady. A pleasure to meet you.”

Daisy took in the man’s faded tweed jacket and odd black cap. It was quite obvious, even without an introduction, that this man had to be their father. She shook his hand, smiling as she did so. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

Mr. Weasley turned to the twins. “The two of you need to head back to the Burrow; something has happened to Harry and it’s not safe for you to remain here.”

Fred and George nodded, looking questioningly at their father, but said not a word; Daisy, on the other hand, looked alarmed.

“What’s happened? Is it serious? Are they closing the fair down?” She didn’t wait for an answer; she started moving away. “I must get back to my uncle--it was nice meeting all of you!”

Fred and Mr. Weasley shook her hand in departure, but George was more forward; he pulled her to him and gave her a hug.

Daisy then bid them farewell and slipped off into the darkness almost as quietly as she had appeared.

After a moment, Fred turned to his brother and said, “I hated lying to her like that; I hope she doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

George’s eyes twinkled merrily. “If she does, she’ll be able to find someone who can help her.”

Mr. Weasley beckoned his sons to a cluster of tents and slipped behind them. He looked about to be certain no Muggles were present then asked, “You didn’t tell her anything about... us, did you?

Fred turned to his brother, shocked. “Did Dad just insult us?”

George nodded, equally outraged. “I think he did; I think he just called us twits.”

“Fred,” Mr. Weasley said, exasperated, “I did not call either of you twits!”

“I’m George, Dad.”

“Oh. I can see why your mum gets you confused; you two are quite identical!”

George sighed. “That’s called ‘being twins’, Dad.”

Mr. Weasley ignored him. “I need the two of you to get back to the Burrow immediately. Someone placed the Cruciatus Cruse on Harry and--”

“What?” the twins asked in unison, looking stunned. “Who would do--? Is You-Know-Who here?” Fred demanded.

Mr. Weasley shook his head, making his cap fall slightly to the right. “Not that anyone in the Ministry is aware of; but I need to do a bit of investigating, so hurry along and let your mother know that I will be home in thirty minutes.”

“Do you need any help, Dad?” one of the twins asked him.

Arthur Weasley shook his head; when he saw the wand in his son’s hand he hissed, “Put that away, George! Do you want the Muggles to see?

“I’m Fred, Dad.” Fred rolled his eyes.

“Ah! Just go!” Mr. Weasley looked annoyed. “ And don’t waste any time! Disapparate at once back to the Burrow; I’ll be along shortly.”

Fred and George nodded; on the count of three, the two disappeared in the blink of an eye. Mr. Weasley looked around once more, straightened his cap and moved away, determined to get to the bottom of things.

The three wizards would have been quite mortified if they had known they were, in fact, being watched. A single, dark eye peeped out at them through a tiny slit in one of the canvas tents.

Upon Fred and George’s sudden disappearance, this eye widened in shock; Was I mistaken in what I saw--and heard? its owner wondered, feeling stunned.

There was some movement behind the canvas, then a body wiggled out from under the tent flap.

Daisy jumped to her feet and scanned the area; Fred, George and their father were no longer in sight.

She looked down at the bag in her hand; a purple velvet pouch, with a soft gold cord tied at the top, lay in her open palm--at it seemed quite heavy. At first, when she had snatched it from George during their quick hug, she thought maybe she’d taken back the money from the gold pot, but now...

Curiosity got the better of her; she quickly untied the gold cord and peered inside the pouch. What she saw took her breath away.

“G-gold?” This wasn’t the money from the pot the twins had won.

Sure enough, inside the silk-lined bag lay many large gold coins. Daisy took one out, held it up, and marveled at its size and weight.

“One Galleon,” she read aloud. No known currency was called as such; was this what wizards used to purchase things? It certainly was shiny--too shiny, as a matter of fact! Daisy put the coin in her mouth and bit down on it; it felt real enough to her!

Now it made sense: Fred and George winning the money, their sudden disappearance, and reluctance to explain anything, the strange magic and coins.... they weren’t on the lam--they had a dangerous secret to hide!

But... was ‘dangerous’ the right word for them? Daisy wondered, tilting her face to the sky. Fred and George seemed harmless enough--as did their father--but what if it were an act?

They’d mentioned words Daisy didn’t recognize; what was ‘the Burrow’ and were ‘muggles’ a new term for targets? And exactly who was this Harry who had a curse put on him?

She had mistakenly assumed that the twins were con artists-on-the-run who dabbled in magic; never could she have imagined they were wizards!

Daisy sighed heavily, tying the pouch to her belt loop. Real, live wizards; the prospect was almost overwhelming!

If people knew about them, many of the world’s problems could be solved, Daisy thought, her mind reeling at the possibility. There would be no hunger, or war, or poor people! She began dancing around excitedly, believing she had not only become very rich--she had just found the answer to the suffering of mankind!

However, something small and white slipped out of her pocket and fluttered to the ground. Curious, she snapped it up and read:

Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Number 93 Diagon Alley, London. Owners: Fred and George Weasley. Established 1994.

Diagon Alley? Daisy wondered, frowning. I’ve never heard of such a place. Of course, it was highly probable that Diagon Alley was a new shopping mall; Daisy hadn’t been to London in nearly a year, so there were bound to be many new things to experience there.

She turned the card over and saw the twins smiling up at her, wearing bright magenta jackets, standing in front of their establishment. Daisy laughed, thinking the magenta color clashed with their bright red hair.

She was about to place the card into the pocket of her multicolored broomstick skirt when she heard voices emanating from the card.

“What in the--?” Daisy murmured, shocked.

Fred and George were speaking!

“--Complete line of WonderWitch products,” Fred was saying, “as well as Portable Swamps, Skiving Snackboxes, Extendable Ears, Patented Daydream Charms--” (at this, a frizzy-haired girl appeared, smiling, saying, “That really is extraordinary magic!”) “--and Wildfire Whizbangs.”

“Ahh!” Daisy shrieked, throwing the card down on the ground. When it became silent, she poked it with her foot.

Nothing happened.

Feeling like she was suddenly thrust into a bad comedy, Daisy bent over and lifted the card from the grass. Immediately, the card became animated once more, picking up where it left off--and she found she couldn’t put the thing down.

“But that’s not all!” George continued, grinning like a maniac. “We cater to the witch and wizard who has everything--or is looking for something extra-special; see us about our line of Shield Products, guaranteed to protect you--” (a small voice in the back ground stated in a hurried voice, “Shield Products purchased at your own risk; no refunds on any product at any time, ever.”) “--so come on down to Diagon Alley and visit Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes!”

While the two continued to wave from their storefront, the same hurried voice said, “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes is accessible by Floo Network, Apparating, or gaining entrance to Diagon Alley through The Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road in London.”

The card became silent once more, with Fred and George smiling and waving up at Daisy. Unthinking, Daisy waved back, until she realized neither boy could really see her.

A commercial ...on a business card? Daisy thought, stunned. Part of her felt she should show someone, but she recalled the secretive manner in which Mr. Weasley conducted himself.

Maybe it’s best I say nothing at all, Daisy concluded, tucking the card into the pocket of her colorful skirt. Leastwise, not until I find those Weasley boys myself and get to the bottom of things; if they try to con me again, I’ll expose them--and the world they live in!

Chapter 12


It didn’t take long to find the tent in which Harry and Ginny had confronted Severus Snape.


As Arthur Weasley approached the darkened tent, he took stock of his surroundings; the striped, makeshift building was set apart from the others, making it very easy for unusual things to occur without immediate notice.


The second thing Mr. Weasley noticed was the oil lamp above the hand-painted sign; it was dark--but hot to the touch. Clearly, Snape left moments ago.


Looking around to be sure no other bodies were in sight, Mr. Weasley pulled out his wand and held it at the ready. “Expectro Patronum!” he called, and silvery wisps of smoke shot out of the tip of his wand, forming his Patronus, which entered the tent ahead of him. When it returned, signaling there was no one inside, he threw back the tent flap and peered inside.


”Lumos,” he muttered, and the tip of his wand lit up, casting an eerie glow on the inner part of the tent as the Patronus evaporated, its duty complete.


Holding the wand aloft, Mr. Weasley ventured inside and immediately noticed a blank piece of parchment on the lone rickety table in the middle of the tent. Pieces of what used to be a chair lay scattered all over.


Striding forward purposefully, Mr. Weasley snatched up the paper. He touched his wand to the surface and muttered a short incantation; within seconds, spidery black words appeared before his eyes.


Tell Potter to leave off; he’ll only receive worse.


Cursing, Mr. Weasley crumbled the paper. With a wave of his wand, the paper ball disintegrated into thin air. He then doused the light and Disapparated back to the Burrow.


*~*~*~*~*


“Harry’s recovering nicely,” Molly told her husband when he arrived; she was in the kitchen, wiping the table down, while the dishes in the sink cleaned themselves. “He’s sleeping now, but I expect in a day or two he’ll be his old self. Remus and Alastair are upstairs with him,” she added in a low tone, referring to two members of the Order of the Phoenix--and one of them an Auror for the Ministry.


Mr. Weasley took off his tweed coat--kept especially for outings in the Muggle world--and cap. “How are the others?”


“Shook up, but that’s to be expected,” Mrs. Weasley answered, wiping her hand on a towel before giving her husband’s hand a squeeze. “Do you know why Severus did this?” Concern was written all over her face.


“Honestly, I don’t know,” Mr. Weasley replied, shaking his head as he sat down at the kitchen table; a tea cup zoomed over to the table, as a kettle of steaming liquid poured itself into the cup.


At that moment, Remus Lupin and Alastair Moody came down the stairs, Moody’s leg clunking on every other step.


Mr. Weasley stood up to greet the two men when they entered the kitchen. “Glad you could come,” he said in a grateful tone.


Lupin’s pale face stood out starkly against his graying hair as he took a seat at the table; his white jumper making his features seem all the more gaunt. Moody, his electric blue magical eye spinning its socket, hadn’t changed much in the last two weeks; he still looked as gnarled and sour as ever.


“What were you thinking, man,” Moody growled limping over to a chair and settling himself into it, “--taking Harry to that Muggle fair? You want to get that boy killed?”


“Moody, calm down,” Lupin sighed. “Harry’s a young man who occasionally needs a bit of entertainment. There wasn't any harm planned for this evening--”


“But it happened!" Moody cut in angrily. "Weasley ought to have shown Harry that collection of electric plugs he’s got!” he barked. “At least he’d be safe inside.”


Molly offered the trio of men something to eat as more cups arrived and the teapot came back to the table, but all declined. Mr. Weasley filled Lupin and Moody in on his discovery at the fair.


“He always rubbed me the wrong way, Snape did,” Moody grumbled. “Don’t know why Dumbledore trusted that greasy snake.” He turned to Molly and said, “You’ll be wanting to speak to those twins of yours. Seems they’re attempting to use Extendable Ears to listen to what we’re saying.” Moody’s magical eye had apparently seen all the way to the third floor.


Mrs. Weasley turned bright red and yelled, “Fred! George! Put those things away!”


“Thanks, Moody!” was the unified, affronted response.


“Anytime, lads!” Moody hollered back gruffly, a hint of a smile on his lips.


“What I don’t understand is the threat Snape left,” Mr. Weasley said somberly. “Is Severus saying he’ll attack Harry again--or is he trying to warn Harry that... You-Know-Who might do worse?” he asked this last bit at a whisper.


No one could reply; all were speculating the very same idea.


Tears came to Mrs. Weasley’s eyes at the mention of Hogwarts former Headmaster--and leader of the Order. “I wish he were here,” she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “Dumbledore, I mean. Severus would never have done that to poor Harry!” All heads nodded in agreement.


“Should we try to contact Severus?” Mr. Weasley wondered aloud.


Lupin shook his head. “No. As much as I hate to say this, his situation is very precarious; however, he may still be able to provide us with some very useful information on the Death Eaters and Voldemort, so let’s wait a little while longer.”


“That still doesn’t explain why Severus was at the fair,” Mrs. Weasley stated. “Is he hiding from us--or them? If he’s hiding from them, he’ll be of no use to us!”


“The slimeball’s hiding from everyone,” Moody growled. “And what better way to hide than in plain sight? ‘Mind reader’. Ha!”


“What shall we do in the mean time?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her tone turning to one of worry.


“Besides look after Harry? I don’t know,” Arthur replied heavily, running a hand over his face. “Sadly, the only thing we can do now is wait--and wonder....”


THE END.