Harry had let Mrs. Weasley coddle him only moments more before protesting and insisting he was fine. Ron stared at him quizzically, waiting for him to tell what caused Harry to shout ‘Sirius’ at the top of his lungs.
That simply could not happen.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to let Ron know about the mirror and Sirius (which was what Ron seemed to be thinking, judging by the look on his face), but how could he tell his best friend what the mirror said without telling him the prophecy?
But why am I hiding it still?
There was a time when it was too much for Harry to deal with. He didn’t want to worry anyone. He didn’t want to see tears. He didn’t want to further risk their lives by telling them the truth. But now? It was no longer logical. If they wanted to be a part of the war “ insisted so, even “ then Harry could only be decent enough to give them the same weapon Voldemort stole from his mind.
I have to tell them . . .
It would have to wait, though, because while Mrs. Weasley sought to assure herself of Harry’s mental stability, he’d heard the deep voice of McKee. Urg! She’s here. He and Ron shared a grimace of mutual dissatisfaction before offering Molly a reassuring smile. “I’m sure I’m all right. Don’t worry about me. I think I was daydreaming or something. So . . . when can we get going?”
As stubborn as she was, it took some more convincing to get Mrs. Weasley to let them go. The three met Ginny and McKee downstairs (the girl looked as foul in Muggle attire as she did in her robes). After gathering a few more Order members to join them, they used Floo powder to transport them to Diagon Alley.
“If there’s any trouble “ any at all “ get to Fred and George’s shop. They’ll know what to do.”
“Do you think Death Eaters are evil enough to attack at Christmastime?” asked Ginny.
“What makes you think they care about a baby who sleeps with farm animals?” drolled McKee.
Annoyed with even the blink of her eye or a whisper of her voice, Harry suggested they split up.
“Oh, no you don’t!” ordered Mrs. Weasley. “There could be supporters of You-Know-Who-“
“But Mum, if we split up, we’re less of a target. And we’ll have Newberry and Gervic with us . . . They look a bit strong, right?” Ron attempted at a weak joke.
Molly eyed her two youngest children, undecidedly. She flicked her eyes back and forth, knowing she had to go with one, and trust the care of the other to other Order members. “Whomever I go with, the other will have no less than three guards.”
Ginny inconspicuously declined her head toward Ron. He understood. “Why don’t you come with me and Harry, Mum,” he said quietly.
“Yeah . . . erm . . . I needed help picking something for Hermione, and “ “
“Oh! Isn’t that sweet! Of course I’ll help “ “
“Mmkay, bye Mum!” Ginny and her dark friend began to stroll down Diagon Alley. Her mother’s eyes flashed and she quickly gestured toward a few of the guards who were somewhat new to the Order, but looked familiar enough to Harry. “Hurry! Go on . . . If she’s hurt,” she implied meaning with a hiss.
Without question, Molly Weasley herded them into a dress robes shop, which led to much groaning from Ron, Harry, Newberry and Gervic. The latter two looked rather resigned to the idea, however.
“They allowed women to wear them down in their old age,” cracked Ron. “Oi, Mum! Isn’t this place a bit . . .” He dropped his voice low in his self-imposed chagrin. A blush crept onto his cheeks.
Mother Weasley stuck her nose proudly in the air, reminding Harry where Ginny came from. The thought was both parts funny and disturbing. “If you don’t believe in your worth, Ron, no one else will. If Harry wants to find her a nice gift “ and you as well “ then you’ll both find it here.”
“But “ “
“No buts!” she halfway screeched.
“Pardon me, Madam, Can I . . . help you in some way?” A regal blond strolled out from behind the counter. A scowl covered her features like a veil that spoke too loudly of her thoughts concerning the small group.
Molly, apparently, was choosing to ignore the implied slight. “Yes, you can, actually. We were searching for some dress robes for a girl of sixteen years.”
“There’s a lovely shop just down that way that would be glad to craft your friend “ “
“If you speak of Belinda’s Bargain Boutique, I’m not interested. Actually, I’d like to see those lavender robes over there.” Mrs. Weasley’s brisk, commanding pace left everyone, the sales girl included, scurrying after her. Harry was impressed.
Glad I’ve only been on her bad side once, he mused.
Harry sat idly by on a puff of white silk while Mrs. Weasley ordered the tailor to ‘take this in’ and ‘tuck this here’. Ron ambled around the shop to try to amuse himself while suffering from the common male malady of shopping boredom. Harry watched his red-haired friend out of the corner of his eye as he spied a bit of a silver trinket and picked it up. Looking directly might have embarrassed him, as he was clearly thinking of their distant friend, Hermione. The snobbish counter woman accepted his coins with a limp wrist. He quickly stuffed the gift into his pocket and returned to Harry, who pretended to be infinitely interested in the tailor’s long hair.
“All right. I think we’ve got it!” beamed Mrs. Weasley.
Shopping is painless, really, Harry thought as he heard the gentle twinkling as the door closed behind them. He decided that perhaps it was good to have Mrs. Weasley shopping for him. At least he didn’t have to wander about aimlessly, looking for a present to kick him in the arse.
Diagon Alley seemed to prickle in excitement . . . except excitement probably wasn’t right . . . it was more like something was impending . . .
“Crucio!” boomed a voice and Mrs. Weasley collapsed onto the red and brown bricks of the street as if all her joints had disappeared. Her shrieks came out in great bursts, as if it was too much effort to hold a scream through her pain. Her pale arm twisted over her head. Her calf cracked in half and bent at an inhuman edge. Harry felt vomit seeking escape. He vaguely heard Ron in a horrified yell when a voice broke through the lament of No . . . no . . . no, echoing in his head.
“Run! Now!” shouted Gervic. “Go” he bellowed. Harry’s feet caught up to his brain. He grabbed Ron’s arm and half dragged him as they took flight toward Fred and George’s shop. Ron beat his arms, shoulders and back, but there was no choice. Newberry would take care of her. Newberry would save her.
Ice washed down his spine as he saw him. A Death Eater stood near the door, lying in wait. With immense frustration, Gervic pushed the two low, allowing them to be lost under the heads of the crowd. They moved quickly toward the door, but wands erupted. Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers fought to protect their loved ones they loving brought shopping with them. Harry heard a nearby shout, but it was lost among the many.
They reached the threshold and saw the collapse of the Death Eater, but here were surely more to come. The threesome moved inside, yelling, “Fred! George! Where the bloody fuck are you?”
They searched. They found them. They lay in the back room. On the floor.
“Shit!” Gervic cursed. He fumbled through their jackets, and seemed to find the prize. He unwrapped the item with shaky movements and place it on the floor. “They have to touch. All at the same time!”
Harry nodded in acknowledgement. He and Ron each grabbed the hand of one of the Weasley twins.
“One! Two! Thr “ “
“They’re dead! They can’t be . . . Help them!” Ron screeched as they landed hard in Grimmauld Place. When Harry looked at him, she saw blood covering half of Ron’s face.
“Ron,” he said gruffly, “you’re bloody.”
He leaned over the bodies they’d carried back to their home. “Who effin cares? Fred! George! Wake up! I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry. Please!”
A plump woman restrained Ron when Newberry entered. He lowered his face and spoke quietly. “It’s okay. It’s all right, Ron. I’m a mediwizard. I’ve got your mum upstairs. I’m taking care of her.”
“How can you be if you’re down here?” he spat. “I . . . Fred! What about them?” Dirt, dust and gory grime covered his face like a graveyard, and streams of tears diluted and made his eyed stand out like a cat in the night.
Newberry frowned deeply and bent down to inspect their limp bodies. He cleared his throat. Harry watched his Adam’s Apple bob several times before he spoke. “They’ve passed out. From pain.” A sheen on the middle-aged man’s forehead ripened, and his hair began plastering itself upon his skin. It had nothing to do with physical effort; it was all mental strain. He conjured two stretchers and used a charm to levitate them upstairs. The boys rushed after him. Gervic, Harry noticed, had collapsed onto the couch, his head cradled in his hands.
It’s all happening so fast! he thought as he bounded up the stairs.
A hand was thrown out, blocking them from entering the makeshift hospital. “We can’t go in there.” Bill had a deadly serious expression that seemed foreign to his features.
“You wouldn’t want to anyway,” said Charlie.
“She’s my mum!”
“She’s all our mum, Ron. We . . . just can’t.”
“What happened out there?” Arthur pushed through the small crowd of Order members. “What happened to Molly? And . . . Fred and George?” His hands shook with anxiety and fear. He was pale; all the blood seemed to have rushed to his hands.
“They . . . they attacked us . . . the Death Eaters.”
“But at Christmas?” he gasped, as if it were an impossible notion.
Harry only nodded. Ron seemed to be doing the same, slumped against a wall.
“I have to leave, Dad. I will be back in one hour. Please contact me in our way if you need me,” assured Bill before disappearing.
A moment later, there was a raucous pounding on the stairs as a red-head bobbed into view. “Where? Where are they?” she screeched.
“Ginny!”
She turned to look at the disheveled, bloody mess that was her brother’s face. “Oh, Ron!” She ran over and hugged him, landing hard on her knees. Pulling back, she began to wipe his face with her sleeve.
“Gin . . . that’s not . . .” but she only slapped the hand away.
“All right,” bustled in a robust creature with broad hips and shoulders, “I was told by the snotty girl downstairs that everyone is up here . . . and you are. Please move, dear, I’m a Healer’s Aide.”
She worked deftly and quickly. Soon, a raw pink skin shone through. The cut was a large slice along the side of his face. “Ron, is it? I’m afraid you’ll likely have a scar.”
“Among the many,” commented Arthur quietly.
Ron only scowled in return, his nose wrinkling along the sides.
“Please, tell me what happened, Ron,” Arthur asked while holding his daughter in a suffocating embrace.
It seemed hot Butterbeer never went down so well as when he felt empty inside.
They told the story to the wide-eyed, shocked crowd. In the meantime, the mediwizard worked with his apprentices long into the night. Even now, no one had been let in or out. One by one, everyone had fallen victim to an unwanted sleep. Everyone, that is, except Ron, Ginny and Harry.
“We didn’t finish our shopping,” Ron mumbled.
Ginny only tweaked her nose at him. After a deep breath, she answered this small remark with, “McKee saved me.”
Harry and Ron both raised their eyebrows at the unassuming girl with hair falling into her face. When she didn’t elaborate, they let the subject drop, as they weren’t keen on McKee in any way.
The attacks had been weighing on him. Not only the one from today, but the one before term began, and the Department of Mysteries. It was difficult to avoid the engulfing feeling that it was all his fault somehow. As he stared at his friends, he thought they had a right to know why their mother and brothers lay bent and broken.
He took another sip and choked a bit. They watched unseeingly as he coughed. He strokes his own thumb and stares at his ring as he began.
“So . . . erm . . . I know the prophecy . . .”