*


Jazz Hands


I’ve let him go, but it feels all wrong.

I try to explain that every impulse dictates I go after my friend’s son�”that I try to comfort him, to protect him from the monster he seeks for revenge.

“Right then, stamp it down,” The Director tells me, and I realize it’s only the remnants of Book Me that are trying to be heard above the deafening racket of the special effects team. “We’re not worrying about any of that. The question is, can you do tortured?”

He studies me earnestly. “Because what we need here is a look of deep fatigue and anguish… as soon as Harry breaks away. Got it?”

He walks off and calls for another take.

I nod to the space where he’d stood a moment before. Of course. I can certainly do tortured. We try again and this time I try to imagine I am so paralyzed at losing Sirius that I cannot think of anyone else, not even Harry. But it doesn’t work. It feels so wrong to just stand here.

I take a few tentative steps toward The Director’s chair. “Er, what about Dora? She’s badly hurt. Don’t you think I should tend to her after Harry gets away from me?”

He approaches and braces my shoulders. “That didn’t happen,” he says slowly, as if to a small child. “She appears in a shimmer of white light and that is the last we see of her. See?” he said brightly, using jazz hands to illustrate the effect. “No worries!”

But it still feels wrong, and I cannot stop myself protesting. “But what of the children? They are all badly injured. Surely I can be of use somewhere?”

I see he is trying to be patient with me, and in return, I practice my tortured look for him.

“Remus,” he began in a tight voice. “You did read the script, didn’t you?”

Of course I read the script, but I say nothing.

“Not the book, mind you, but the script?”

“Yes, but didn’t you say they were nearly the same?” He certainly has. I’ve heard him say so many times, and yet now… is it just me, or is he squirming?

Finally, he speaks. “Semantics.” He waves his hand through the air, dismissing my objections. “Let’s just go with the script.”

I look over at Dora, who is sitting back in a chair looking bored with the whole procedure.

“Right then. Remus and Harry… once more for the shot.” He settles himself into his chair as we move back to our places. “Ready, Remus? Tortured?”

I look back at Dora. She is rolling her eyes and turning her hair colors for her own amusement. She sees me and gives me a look that says, “Just go with it.” I wish I could be more like her. She hates these changes as much as I do, but she somehow manages to accept it and move on.

I square my shoulders and move out of the shot. I will be like Dora. I can do this.

On cue, I grab Harry from behind and hold on. I let him break away and I lean into the anguish, thinking of James and Sirius and all that is lost. And I do the best damn tortured The Director has ever seen.

“Yes!” he cries in triumph. “Beautiful! We’ve got the shot!”

A while later, I sit down in the chair next to Dora. She turns her hair red for me, and I realize I am falling for her.

“Do you ever miss the Book You?” I ask her.

“Hell, yeah. I had that dramatic injury, remember? The kids were messed up… it was so much more intense.”

“And believable.”

I see on her face that she agrees. She looks me over then, her hair going blue as her expression changes. “Don’t feel too bad about it.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “Want to know a secret?”

Who doesn’t want to know a secret?

“I’m faking this whole thing. So are you. There’s no need to miss the Book You because the Book You is who you actually are.” She gestures up, into the lighting grid and the elaborate sets. “All this… this is just fiction. The way things happened the first time… that’s the real deal.”

She is right, of course, and I feel better. We are both done for the day, but we sit there quietly as Harry and Sirius practice their dueling skills for the next sequence and Mad Eye stomps the floor with that ridiculous stick of his.

Every once in a while, Dora changes her face or her hair and I laugh out loud. I think about the Book Her and the Book Me, and I really want to kiss her, but I don’t. It’s nice, though. And I think the nicest bit is how far I feel from tortured.


**

**

I am (obviously) not Jo Rowling. This is all for my amusement, and hopefully... yours. Thanks to Gina/Gmariam for her wonderful help and encouragement with this scene.


Babe Magnet


“I thought Fred and George were exaggerating,” Hermione told Ron as he grabbed her hand and helped her climb up onto the landing.

He grinned and shook his head. “Not this time. You aren’t going to believe it.”

Together they crawled back to the edge of the platform, where the others watched in relative silence. They were twenty or more feet above the set, watching from a large piece of scaffolding used by the light crew to make adjustments. Hermione inched forward on her stomach and squeezed in between Ron and George. On George’s other side was Fred, and next to him, a stony Ginny. They lay side by side on their bellies like matches in a box, with their heads peering down onto the set below.

“It’s the subway scene.” Hermione clearly didn’t see what all the fuss was about. “I read this in the script.”

“Yeah,” said George, barely containing his laughter, “but it didn’t read like this. Watch.”

The Director below called for action, and Harry began to read the newspaper while Diner Girl watched him and eventually approached. When Hermione caught the tone and the looks passing between the two, she stiffened. “Oh, my,” she managed.

Both Ron and George were shaking with repressed laughter on either side of her.

“Shut up! They are going to hear us!” It was Ginny’s voice, and she was not happy.

Fred quickly cast Muffliato over the area, and everyone relaxed.

“Am I to believe Harry is picking up girls in the subway?” Hermione wanted to know.

“Wait,” Ron said, laughing. “It gets better.”

“Here it comes,” Fred said.

They all leaned in a bit more, just in time to see Harry check his breath with his hand and pull a mint from his pocket.

“Noooooo,” Hermione said with an unbelieving smile, finally beginning to enjoy herself.

“I’ve watched them shoot it five times now, and I never get tired of it,” George said.

Hermione turned to Ron. “I’m surprised Harry didn’t say something. He must be embarrassed having to do this.”

“Oh, this is nothing compared to what we’re going to do to him later,” Fred said as his brother nodded enthusiastically.

“We’re never letting him live this one down. Harry’s a Ladies Man.”

“This is just horrible,” declared Hermione in a disapproving tone. “He would never do this.”

“Hermione,” Ron said with as much patience as possible, “that’s why it’s so funny! Harry’s rubbish with girls�”as bad as me.”

She mumbled a sarcastic retort and rolled her eyes in his direction.

“What’s that for?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she said in a haughty tone, “I’m just inclined to agree with you.”

“Is that so? Well, I managed to get your attention, didn’t I?”

“Ron,” Fred began, “normally, we would love to hear you and Hermione get into it, but right now--”

“--the main show is Harry the Babe Magnet,” finished George. “Pipe down.”

Hermione lifted up a bit and looked past the twins. “Ginny,” she said gently. “You all right?”

The response was little more than a growl. “Fine.”

Ron nudged Hermione’s shoulder with his own. “They shot the scenes out of order, so we already saw what happens next.”

“I know. Harry goes with Dumbledore to recruit Slughorn.”

George laughed again. “Not before Dumbledore tells him to take his arm, and Harry looks back at Diner Girl trying to decide if he wants to go with Dumbledore or stay with her.”

“Are you saying, that he considered staying with the girl rather than obeying Dumbledore’s command?” Hermione’s eyes were wide as the twins nodded in unison.

“And then,” Fred added, “after the Slughorn scene, Harry says he plans to go back to that diner and make some excuse to get another go at her!”

Everyone laughed except George, who suddenly yelped in pain. Ginny was sitting up, glaring at her brother with her wand out.

“You hexed me!” he said to her.

“Shut. Up.” Her glare was murderous. “All of you.”

“Fred’s the one that said it, not me.”

“Yeah, Ginny,” Fred said easily. “Credit where credit is due, if you don’t mind.”

“Have it your way,” she said menacingly, as she flicked her wand and let loose another Stinging Hex. Fred grabbed his bum and glared at her.

“It’s not our fault your boyfriend’s on the pull for random Muggle girls.”

“Well, it’s really not Harry’s fault either,” Ron said in Harry’s defense.

“She can’t very well hex The Director, though, can she?” Hermione sat up and faced Ginny again. “Harry cares about you, Ginny. Try not to be angry. I’m sure he’s not enjoying himself.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ron demanded, sitting up and rounding on Hermione. “Where was this understanding attitude last week when you read the scene about Slughorn’s party?”

She narrowed her eyes. “That was an entirely different situation.”

“There is so much entertainment all around us,” George began.

“It’s hard to know where to direct one’s focus,” said Fred.

Just then, a pair of heads popped up from the ladder. “Wotcher, Weasleys… Hermione. Are you getting a better view from here?”

Remus was right behind her. “We can’t see anything from down below… they’ve blocked it off.”

Just as they were squeezing in to share the view, The Director yelled cut and everyone began to walk off the set.

“It’s over,” Ron said, his voice filled with disappointment. “Oh, look. Harry can’t seem to get away fast enough.”

Indeed, Harry was moving quickly from the set in the direction of his dressing room, his eyes on the floor.

Fred’s expression radiated mischief. “You’ll never escape this one, Harry.”

“Oh, please leave him alone,” Hermione begged the twins, who were looking at each other, obviously plotting evil. “He must be simply mortified.”

There was a scuffle, and the group turned to see Ginny making her way back down the ladder in a hurry.

“Good luck,” called Fred.

“Make sure he takes one of those mints first, little sister,” added George, getting big laughs from everyone except Hermione, who looked quite distraught.

Ginny lifted up, peering over the edge of the platform only long enough to eye her target before casting the deadly Bat Bogey Hex at her twin brothers. They split the effects between them, precisely as she had intended.

“We taught her well,” George said, his voice a mixture of pride and frustration.

“Right you are,” Fred agreed, attempting to clean himself up magically.

Ginny suppressed a grin of satisfaction as she lowered herself out of sight, and walked off to search for Harry.


**

*


Saving It for Seven


Ron sat at the table in the Great Hall across from Harry and Hermione, wishing this was not a performance. He often wished he could just go back and sit at the real table at the real Hogwarts with his friends, and have Hermione glaring at him from her seat for a reason that was… well, real. He finally glanced over at her and was rewarded with a look that was half-fury and half-confusion, fully directed at him.

They’d just shot the scene in which Harry slips him the liquid luck, and something had clearly put Hermione on edge. She was mad about Lavender a lot lately, which he definitely understood: if he had to watch her snogging some other bloke, he would probably have to be restrained. So he couldn’t complain about that. This seemed to be something else, and he had a feeling he knew what it might be.

When he could stand the tension no longer, he looked her in the eye and leaned toward her. “What? What’s wrong?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have to ask, of course.”

At her response, Harry got quite busy pulling out his script and reviewing it in earnest.

“Just tell me what you’re on about, Hermione.”

“Your voice was just dripping with sarcasm,” she answered.

Yes, he had guessed correctly; he knew what had set her off. “Hermione,” he began, shifting into recovery mode.

At that moment, The Director called out that they’d got what they needed, and they were done for the day. With this news, Hermione began loudly gathering her things and�”after giving Ron one last threatening glare�”stomped off toward her dressing room.

Ron looked at Harry in frustration. “Feel free to help out any time.”

“No thanks,” he said, barely looking up from the script. “Anyway, you can’t really blame her.”

“You think this is my fault?” Ron demanded.

“It’s definitely not your fault,” Harry said, finally looking up. “But you did sound like you’d rather spend an evening doing double Potions than go to that party with her. And that’s not exactly what you said when this happened for real.”

“I know, but it isn’t my fault!” He took his frustration out on his Quidditch helmet, which he viciously unsnapped, removed, and tossed onto the floor. “Why the bloody hell am I wearing this thing to breakfast?”

Harry shrugged and looked off in the direction Hermione had gone. “She’ll be getting angrier by the second… if I were you, I’d try to detonate that in an unpopulated area.”

“Yeah, all right.” His shoulders fell in a defeated slump, but he rose to go after her. “For the record,” he started.

Harry returned his focus to the script. “It’s not your fault. I know, Ron.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ron stood outside the door to her dressing room, begging her to let him in so he could apologize. “C’mon, Hermione, I need to talk to you.” What he was going to apologize for, he was not quite certain, but it did seem the thing to do. “Please?”

Finally, she opened the door and stood there with a hand on her hip, waiting.

“Are you okay?”

“No, Ron, I’m not. I’m angry and I’m disappointed.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Er, okay… but, um, you’re not upset about Lavender this time, right? This is about the lines?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re bringing up Lavender now? Every time I hear her name, I picture you snogging her on every set in this building!”

“So it’s not about her? Good… I mean, great.” He took his hands out of his pockets, but then didn’t know what to do with them, so he shoved them back in. “If you’re upset about the script, why are just reacting now? You’ve had it for weeks.”

“Because I had no idea you were going to do it like that, Ron!” she huffed. “It was bad enough when I read it and saw that you were only going to say, ‘really,’ instead of all those things you said when this actually happened.”

“What things?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to stuff them back down his throat. But it was too late, and now, in addition to anger, he was starting to see real hurt on her face.

“What things?” she repeated. “How about the way you said ‘really’ when I told you I was going to ask you to the party… like you were full of hope about it… and then I said that I could ask Cormac if you would rather I do that, and you said�”really sweetly�”that no, you didn’t want me to ask him. Which meant,” she explained, “that you wanted to go with me, Ron. We had a date for that party!”

“I know. We’ve been through this, ages ago. Why are you mad all over again, when you’ve already forgiven me?”

“Because this is entirely different!” she said, loud enough to draw attention from people in the hall.

“It’s not my fault they cut all that stuff out, Hermione. I didn’t want that to happen!” He was getting angry himself now, but tried to control his temper.

“I know, but the way you said it! You made it sound like you’d rather…” She looked around, searching for the right awful comparison to make. “That you’d rather…”

“Do double Potions,” he mumbled.

“YES! That you’d rather do double Potions every day for a week than go with me to a party! How is that supposed to make me feel?”

Pretty bad, he thought to himself, if it were real! But in a rare moment of clarity, he had the sense not to say it.

Ron sighed, trying to decide whether or not to tell her everything. On the one hand, it would probably get him off the hook. On the other, she might go completely mental and not recover for days. Then he saw the look on her face, and he worried that this retelling was beginning to feel more real to her than everything that had actually happened between them. He didn’t want to fight, and he didn’t want to deal with her when she was like this, but more than that, he couldn’t stand when she looked like that: like she was about to cry, and it was his fault.

This time, though, it wasn’t.

“He told me to do it like that,” he said in a low voice.

She stared at him, confused.

“Don’t get mad,” he said, leaning in against the doorframe.

“What do you mean?”

“When we first talked about it, he said he wanted me to do it sarcastically, with a bad attitude. He told me to do it like that, Hermione.”

“Why? Why would he do that?”

Feeling brave, he pushed a bit of her hair back over her shoulder, happy she was softening. “He said he wants to…” He trailed off, then realized what he had been about to say. He’d been about to say it�”the one thing she hated more than anything about this entire production. He closed his mouth.

Her face was getting redder by the second and he dropped his hand, taking a step back into the hall. Her eyes narrowed and when she spoke, her voice was higher in pitch. “He said it again, didn’t he?”

“Hermione,” Ron started.

“Say it. Just tell me he said it again. I swear�”I don’t even believe him anymore!”

There was no way out: she was not going to let it go. Ron squirmed and looked around for any possible help, but the corridor was empty.

“Ron Weasley, you tell me what he said right this minute!”

“He said…”

“Yes?”

“He said… ‘we’re saving it for Seven.’” Ron winced, knowing what was coming.

“Saving it for Seven? Saving it for SEVEN?,” she bellowed. “Doesn’t he care what actually happened?” She screeched in frustration and then barked out an ironic laugh. “He doesn’t! Of course he doesn’t!”

Ron tentatively approached the door again in hopes of calming her down and preventing an even bigger scene.

“We had a date, but nooooooo! The Di-rec-tor,” she spat, over-enunciating every syllable, “is saving it for Seven! So instead, you act like the thought never even occurred to you--”

“But that’s not true.”

She didn’t even hear him. “Meanwhile, I have to march around this set whining that you ditched me when clearly,” she exaggerated, “you would rather eat a pickled doxy egg than go to Slughorn’s party with me anyway!”

“Hermione,” he said, reaching for her hand. “C’mon…” He put on his most irresistible half-smile in an effort to coax her around.

She drew her wand and leveled it at his chest.

Ron put both hands up, showing his innocence, and truly, a little fear.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes, you. Him.” She looked around wildly, then pointed to a random bloke down the hall carrying a couple of textbooks and a handful of fake wands. “And that man, too.” She backed into her dressing room, slowly lowered her wand, and put her hand on the doorknob. “Go away, Ron.”

He stuck his foot between the door and the doorjamb. “No. This isn’t my fault!” They held each other’s gaze for several moments, Ron struggling to read her changing emotions.

She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. “You should have said something to him, Ron. You should have fought for us.” She gave him a little shove, and he backed up, shocked by her words. “Or are you saving that for Seven, too?” Her voice cracked on the last words as she backed up and slammed the door.

A wave of shame washed over him. Maybe she was right. Maybe he’d become so used to just taking it, to doing whatever The Director told him to do, that he’d simply resigned himself to going through the motions of this new version. He’d quit standing up for himself. And now Hermione thought he’d quit standing up for them as well. She was right. Even Harry had seen that she was right.

Ron immediately moved forward and tried the handle, but she’d locked the door. He placed his forehead and palm against the door. “C’mon, Hermione, open up…” he pleaded. Nothing. He fingered his wand pocket, trying to decide whether to use Alohamora or respect her wishes and leave her alone.

At that moment, Harry and Ginny walked up, holding hands and laughing.

Ginny looked Ron over. “Bit of a lover’s spat?” she quipped.

Already distraught, Ron spun on her in an instant. “How’s it going with that script, Shoelace?” He’d drawn his wand as he’d spoken the words, but he was still not fast enough. Before his shield charm could fully take form, he’d already become the most recent victim of her Bat Bogey Hex.

“Stop. Calling. Me. SHOELACE!” Her tone was murderous, but Ron barely heard it as he took off toward his own dressing room to clean himself up.

“You shouldn’t have done that you know,” Harry told her, trying to hide his amusement. “He’s having a rough day.”

“Me? Did you hear what he said? If one more person starts calling me�”“

Just then, Hermione swung open her door and looked both ways down the hall. Her face was blotchy and her hair a mess�”Harry thought she looked quite scary.

“He left?” she demanded.

“Well,” Harry stammered, “He had to go, er… I mean, Ginny here…” He looked to Ginny, but she said nothing to help the situation.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as Hermione, it seemed, was beyond reason. Her already substantial fury grew exponentially the moment she realized Ron had vacated the hallway. She closed her eyes and let out a brief scream of frustration, then went back inside and slammed the door. A moment later, they heard a heavy object hit the door from the inside; Hermione was apparently throwing things.

Ginny raised her eyebrows in Harry’s direction. “Perhaps she needs some time.”

Harry turned her toward his own dressing room.

“Did you see Malfoy?” Ginny asked as they walked off.

“Yeah, he’s wearing the suit again,” Harry said with interest.

“Every single scene… I don’t get it.”

“Maybe he’s on a dare,” Harry speculated.

“Maybe The Director wants him to look like a tortured rich kid,” she suggested, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe he’s grown tired of Slytherin green.”

“Whatever the reason, it’s quite entertaining. He obviously hates it, judging from the way he yanks on the collar after every take.”

“And he looks like an arse,” Harry concluded. “It’s brilliant.”

They were both laughing as they rounded a corner and disappeared.


.

Fired Up

â€�“Molly, do sit down and have some tea,” said Minerva, trying to calm her friend.

â€�“Tea?” asked Molly incredulously. â€�“However will that help anything?”

Minerva pursed her lips, possibly recalling the numerous occasions upon which she’d seen Molly offer tea to others as a solution to all sorts of worry and trial.

â€�“Do you not understand what he is planning to do?” Molly demanded.

Minerva changed her expression into one of patience. â€�“I understand the situation perfectly and am only suggesting that a cool head might be an asset if you must speak to The Director yourself.” She offered the steaming cup to Molly, who waved it away and continued to pace the floor. â€�“Try not to worry. I’m sure Arthur will sort everything out.”

But Molly looked far from convinced.

Though she wasn’t involved in any shooting, she’d come to the studio hoping for a chat with Ginny or one of the boys. But thoughts of her children had flown far from her mind when The Director bid her a bright â€�“Good Morning” and handed her a thin script with the word â€�“addition” hand-written across the top. (She’d long ago realized the word usually meant trouble.) She’d skimmed through the pages as she wandered to a common area where breakfast food had been laid out for the cast and crew. That was when she’d seen it:

Death Eaters set fire to Burrow; Weasley family watches in shock and horror as their home burns.

Stunned and disoriented by the words, she’d glanced around. Minerva and Albus had been there, holding the very same scripts, and eyeing Molly and one another in turns. The knowing, concerned expressions on their faces had confirmed the truth of the words she had seen on the script.

Predictably, Molly had exploded. â€�“He can’t be serious!” The shouting had drawn the attention of a woman carrying a clipboard and a man she’d seen before setting up lights. At this point, Albus and Minerva had quickly ushered her to the nearest of their dressing rooms, the one Molly and Arthur shared.

Arthur had arrived moments later, after receiving the information via a Patronus message from George. Though visibly shaken by the news, Arthur had also been somewhat hopeful that reason might still prevail, and had insisted on going to The Director to explain why the family would prefer this scene not be included.

There had been shouting; Molly had declared that this was â€�“the living end” and â€�“the final straw” and made several other comments not to be repeated—one of which involved Godric Gryffindor and a spell rarely mentioned in civilized company. Albus had gazed amusedly over his spectacles at Minerva, whose eyebrows had crawled up under her hat and nearly disappeared.

In the end, Arthur had kissed his wife’s cheek, told her not to worry, and left the room in search of The Director.

That was nearly half an hour ago, and now Minerva stood sighing, holding both her own and Molly’s cups of tea. Molly, for her part, continued to pace a hole in the carpet as Albus sat calmly in a chair, glancing at the door every little while.

When it finally opened, Arthur came into the room, looking very much like he was bracing himself for something wretched. Remus and Tonks were right behind him, chatting happily, clearly unaware of the drama unfolding as Molly continued her pacing, muttering under her breath with every step.

Then she spotted her husband, and the whole room went momentarily still. â€�“Well?” she wanted to know. â€�“He’s not going through with it, is he? Did you talk him out of it?”

He drew his lips into a tight line, avoiding her gaze.

â€�“Arthur?”

â€�“I’m afraid it’s going to happen, dear. He’s quite adamant.”

There was a moment of silence in which a pin could have been heard hitting the floor. Reumus and Tonks apparently didn’t understand the source of the growing tension in the room. Finally, the latter asked, â€�“Sorry… what’s going on?”

Molly’s breaths were coming so hard and fast now that her shoulders rose every time she inhaled. â€�“What’s going on,” she screeched, â€�“is that The Director is going to burn down my house!”

â€�“Our house,” Arthur corrected easily, though no one minded him, least of all his wife.

â€�“And we’re still just going to stand there, I assume? Isn’t that what he said?” She adopted a mocking tone and recited as best she could from memory, â€�“Weasley family stands in shock and horror as Burrow burns at the hands of Death Eaters.”

Remus stepped forward. â€�“Surely it won’t be that bad.” He’d meant it as comfort, but it had come out more like a question.

â€�“Don’t be so sure about that, Remus,” Molly snapped. â€�“Besides, you’ve got your own problems, don’t you? You’ve got to stand there with us, gaping at a burning house as if you don’t have any magical ability of your own! You’ll look as stupid and pathetic as we are!” She swung around, speaking to no one in particular. â€�“If something like that had happened, which it did not,” she spat, her voice rising again in volume and pitch, â€�“every single one of us would have been furiously casting spells to put out the fire!”

Arthur came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. â€�“You’re quite right, of course, dear, but I think we’ll have to go along. We’ve lost this round, but we’ll manage it. It’s not the first time we’ve had to make adjustments.”

â€�“It’s the first time anyone burned down my house!”

â€�“It does seem strange,” said Tonks. â€�“It’s rather a bizarre addition, isn’t it?”

Arthur sighed. â€�“Because of everything in the story with the kids and their romances, The Director is afraid viewers will forget the danger and drama that is still out there for all of us.”

â€�“Is that what he told you?” Molly asked, narrowing her eyes.

â€�“Yes, and it’s a fair point, though I certainly don’t agree that this is the answer.”

â€�“Drama,” said Molly in a defeated tone. â€�“I suppose there's not enough drama in an impending war?” She sank down into a chair next to Minerva, who was still awkwardly managing two cups of tea. â€�“In facing continual danger and worrying over our children every minute of every day?”

Her words affected everyone, filling the room with a heavy silence.

After several moments, Albus cleared his throat. â€�“If it is drama we lack,” he said with his eyes twinkling, â€�“then perhaps I could make myself useful with another outburst of rage.”

Everyone looked at him curiously.

â€�“Surely you remember how volatile my temper is… perhaps I could attack one of the students again?”

The memory of Professor Dumbledore frantically grabbing and shaking Harry after his name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire caused everyone to laugh; even Molly had a slight twitch at the corners of her mouth.

The tension had been diffused.

Tonks put her arm through her husband’s. â€�“At least our integrity has been preserved, don’t you agree, Sweetheart?” She rolled her eyes in disgust.

â€�“Quite right, Sweetheart,” he over-emphasized.

Tonks turned back to Molly and said pointedly, â€�“Cheer up, Molly. At least no one’s discussing your cycle.”

â€�“Dora,” Remus chastised, obviously embarrassed.

â€�“Quite right,” said Arthur.

â€�“Something we can all be grateful for,” Minerva muttered to everyone’s general amusement.

Arthur sat down next to his wife as she finally accepted the cup of tea from Minerva. â€�“We must look on the bright side, dear.”

â€�“What bright side?” she asked, though she had calmed down considerably.

â€�“At least there’s a scene featuring my workshop!”

She stared at him, her face slack. â€�“Yes, what a relief that is.”

Arthur, completely missing her tone, smiled happily.

Molly sipped her tea and sighed. â€�“Well, I suppose there is one good thing about all this.”

Five heads turned her way.

â€�“The attack and the fire will interrupt the scene with Ginny and Harry, the one where she ties his trainers.” She shook her head, looking like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

â€�“His trainers?” asked Tonks. â€�“Oh, wait, is that why everyone’s calling her Shoelace?”

â€�“I’d be careful about that if I were you,” Minerva suggested. â€�“I saw Mr. Finnigan earlier: his shoelaces had been jinxed to lengthen and knot up around his ankles. Looked worse than the Leg-locker curse to me.”

â€�“She’s not taking it well,” said Molly, nodding. â€�“But I can’t say I blame her. As if a daughter of mine would stoop to… honestly!”

â€�“Right you are.” Arthur rose and held out a hand to his wife. â€�“We’ll go along with it and rescue our daughter from humiliation at the same time. Now,” he began, rubbing his hands together in excitement, â€�“you must come see the set they’re building for my workshop!”

Molly forced a weary smile and followed her husband to the door, placing her now-empty teacup on a table as they passed. â€�“Anyone care to join us?” she asked hopefully.

The others politely declined, and the Weasleys left to explore the workshop.

Remus broke the silence. â€�“It does seem strange The Director would cut the battle at the castle when he needs drama, only to add in a fictional fire? It’s a rather convoluted plan to engineer when there's so much obvious danger in a battle involving the students.”

â€�“Indeed.” Albus nodded thoughtfully. â€�“Some individuals feel bound to create complexity even when the simplest of solutions lie plainly in front of them.”

No one commented, but all seemed to be thinking it over.

â€�“I suppose in the end, it proves entertaining, does it not?” Albus asked.

Minerva glanced at the door where the Weasleys had vanished only moments ago. â€�“I believe that depends on whom you ask, Albus.”

He chuckled, as did the others. â€�“Indeed it does, Minerva. Indeed it does.”