Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
Rita Skeeter was not a happy woman. Never mind that she was seldom a happy woman, but sometimes she noticed her own unhappiness more than others. Today was one of those days. More accurately, this week was one of those weeks, and she could make good argument for it being one of those years, too.
As a tabloid journalist, she received a level of respect befitting her job, and although she would never admit it, this was a monumental achievement. But ever since Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, her quiet, obnoxious, backstabbing, repugnant and vile opinions of the young man and his friends fell upon deaf ears; but only until the middle of October.
It was now barely a month since the confrontation at Hogwarts and Rita Skeeter sat at her usual table in the second-floor pub on a corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It was more of a private club than a public pub, and that suited the middle-aged woman well. Few patrons were around at this time of the morning, just a couple men looking as if they’d worked all night at some menial labor involving grunting, sweat and heavy objects. They smelled the part, too; Rita gave the barman a dissatisfied look, which he returned, followed by an apathetic smile.
The later morning hours passed more pleasantly after the laborers left, and, except for a few irritating disruptions from the one man staff, Rita could dictate to her Quick Quotes Quill at her leisure. When the clock tower at Gringotts struck noon, as was her custom, Rita signaled to the newly arrived waiter that she was ready for lunch. This one meal a day, hearty by most people’s standard, would be the only real nourishment she had each day of the week. She kept this routine except on Sundays, when she ate at a fancy Muggle establishment off Trafalgar Square.
The afternoon wore on and by tea time a number of the regulars were filtering into the pub/club, as was their routine. A few greeted Rita from across the room and one stopped by to pass on a piece of new gossip. First making himself comfortable and ordering ale, the squirrelly middle-aged man made no pretense of timidity, as his appearance might suggest.
“Afternoon, love. ‘Ow’s the business these days?”
“Until you arrived it was pleasant. Do you have something for me or are you just sponging again?”
Jimmy Squeerek regarded the woman as the waiter brought his drink. He took a long pull and wiped his mouth on the tablecloth, an action he knew Skeeter hated. “Oh, yes, love, I do ‘ave something for you.”
“Stop calling me ‘love.’ What is it?” she asked a second time.
Again, Squeerek took a drink and watched Rita react to his uncouth behavior. “It’s a good’un this time, Rita. Your favorite subject, the Potter boy.”
Looking down to her tea, Skeeter hid her delight. “Hmm, that may be interesting, Jimmy. I hope it’s better than that last ‘tip’ you gave me.”
“Do you want to ‘ear what I know or not?”
“Alright, but I expect something better than that last load of codswallop you fed me.”
“It’s gonna cost you, this time.”
“You’ll get a cut, if it’s worthy.”
“Oh, it is. Actually, I’m surprised you ‘aven’t ‘eard it yourself.” Squeerek looked around the room. He noticed that the reporter’s eyes followed his gaze. “Potter’s in trouble…”
“Potter’s always in trouble, what do I care…?”
“Don’t interrupt me, Rita… it ain’t… lady-like.” He watched Skeeter until she had given him her attention. Most of Squeerek’s gossip over the years had been ‘newsworthy.’ “Potter’s in trouble with the people “ the regular people. They’s saying ‘e botched the job again. You know, killing You-know-‘o, jus’ like ‘e did the last time. There’s ugly talk I’m ‘earing. Personally, I can’t blame ‘em, either.”
“Yes, Jimmy, I’m sure. For some reason you and ugly things do go together.” Squeerek gave her an appropriately ugly stare, but said nothing. “All right, so some people are unhappy…”
“I says all the people are un’appy. You ask ‘em.” Squeerek stood and called across the room to a table with a middle-aged couple enjoying an intimate conversation. “You two… yeah you. Wha’d’ya think of that ‘Arry Potter kid? The ‘ero, eh?”
The two looked at each other for a moment. When they turned back both had a scowl. The man spoke up first. “A sodding prima donna, that’s what I think of Harry-bloody-Potter. Supposed to have killed You-know-who, but I haven’t heard one word from the Ministry. Have you?” he finished, looking at the woman sitting with him.
“He’s God Himself, from what his friends say. But it was the poor Longbottom boy what killed the old bugger.” The woman’s partner nodded in agreement.
The couple rambled on for another minute and the waiter joined in, confirming that he had heard the same thing. Adding, too, that ‘the Potter boy’s got himself a harem, and an American tart.’ The others sounded off in agreement. All the while, the grin on Rita Skeeter’s face grew wider. When everyone had had their say, she turned politely to Squeerek and thanked him. Gathering her things, the ‘journalist’ made a hasty exit and returned to her flat.
Today didn’t turn out so bad after all.
With the students settled into a routine, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry enjoyed an unusually sedate first week of classes. Outside of the expected confusion many of the first year students experienced, only Diane Bradley appeared troubled by the previous six days. She explained to Harry, Ginny and Hermione that her evaluations with all her instructors were complete and that only in Potions would she be studying lessons below her grade level. But this did not irritate her as much as what she talked to Harry about the first Friday of the new term. Following their final Charms lesson that afternoon, Diane approached her other three friends in the Gryffindor common room and asked Harry if they could take a walk around the lake. Ginny immediately spoke up.
“That’s a great idea, Diane, Hermione and I were going to visit Hagrid. We’ll see you at dinner.” And giving Harry a quick kiss on his cheek, she and Hermione left to visit their half-giant friend. It was obvious that Diane had made these arrangements with the other two girls ahead of time.
A short while later, Harry and Diane were watching the giant squid sun itself on an outcropping of rocks near the center of the lake. Although it was clear Diane had initiated the outing, Harry spoke first.
“Things going well, er”in classes?”
“Yes, they’re fine. It’s a lot more work than I expected it to be, but I’m not complaining.”
Harry knew this statement to be true. Diane was the only person he knew who studied more than Hermione. “I’m a little surprised you weren’t Sorted into Ravenclaw.”
“The Sorting Hat thought about it. It appeared as if it would, but suddenly changed its mind. That’s partly why I wanted to talk to you, Harry.”
“It almost did the same to me, you know; it wanted to put me in Slytherin.”
“How nice. I’m sure you would have done well there, Harry!” Diane gave him a pained look. Harry laughed.
“Professor Dumbledore always said it’s our choices that define who we are; he was spot on with that one. I told it I wanted Gryffindor, even though Ron was the only person I really knew at the time, and his brothers.”
“But I didn’t choose Gryffindor…”
“Maybe it felt like you needed to be with a house where you knew someone.”
“Could be. Look, Harry, about Ginny’s brothers. I, uh, I received an Owl yesterday from Fred.… He asked me out.” Diane stopped walking. Harry was suddenly very aware of the discomfort his friend must be feeling.
“Have you responded?” he asked, trying to buy a little time to think of something intelligent to say.
“No.”
Say something else! “Er”is going out with a bloke completely repulsive to you?”
Diane didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, what she said helped little. “I’ve never been out on a real date with a guy.”
This statement truly shocked Harry. He knew it wasn’t his affection for Diane that clouded his opinion, but Diane was, without a doubt, one of the more attractive females he knew, probably even more so than Ginny and Hermione, both of whom he considered very attractive.
“Why is that? I mean, is it just because of your… you know, your… ?”
“Harry, don’t be a jerk,” said Diane disgruntledly. “I don’t have an affliction. Actually, I don’t know what I have, I mean, what I am. But no, the idea isn’t repulsive, but the idea of going out with a girl isn’t completely appealing, either. Sometimes I feel stuck between the two. I don’t know, does that make sense?”
Harry had no idea. “Who do you look to, er”for companionship?”
“That doesn’t help, now does it? You have male friends and don’t date them, do you?”
“No, I guess not.”
“I think I turn guys off, and I have no idea how to find a girl. Even saying that seems bizarre.”
“Diane, you don’t turn guys off, at least not physically.” Harry cringed inwardly. “You might intimidate some with your smarts; I know that happens with Hermione. And finding someone, well, it can’t really matter if they’re male or female, can it? It seems like friendship should be someone’s first goal, not finding a partner for life.” Harry shut up and thought that this was probably the extent of competent advice he could give on the subject.
“Well, Hermione is a bit of a prude; at least she acts that way.” Harry caught a hint of their recent mutual animosity in Diane’s voice.
“Not really, but she was interested in Ron for so long, and it was obvious to everyone except them, so no one made any moves on her. At least no one I know about.”
“I suppose…”
They continued their walk in silence for a while. A few other couples were also strolling together around the lake; some disappearing into the bordering woods for what Harry guessed was a quick snog.
“Di, are you sure you’re a… er…” Harry started to say, but stopped himself. Too late. He had placed himself into the very awkward situation of asking his friend what was possible the most personal thing he had ever ask someone, outside of a few intimate conversations with Ginny. But he was rescued by his sincerity.
“You really are too much, Harry.” Diane paused and looked intensely pensive for a moment. “No, I wouldn’t be honest if I said I was certain. But how do you know you’re heterosexual?”
The question caught Harry by surprise, though in retrospect, it should not have. “I like… I mean, well, Ginny’s a girl…”
“So I noticed,” Diane said impatiently.
“Well, I’m… attracted to her, I guess…”
“You’re not sure?”
“NO! I mean, YES, I’m sure.” Harry suddenly felt much warmer than he wanted to.
“How would you feel if a guy kissed you?”
“WHAT?! That’s… I don’t think I’d fancy it, Diane.”
“Well, I’ve been on the receiving end of a kiss from both sexes… it didn’t help my decision making.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t dated blokes.”
“I didn’t say I’d never kissed one. And I would’ve thought you’d remember that.” A teasing smile appeared on Diane’s face and Harry suddenly cringed, recalling the impulsive peck he’d given her in August.
“Was it that bad?”
“NO, HARRY! Don’t take it personally, but you were hardly passionate that afternoon.”
“I wasn’t trying to be passionate. I was…er, trying to figure you out.”
Diane laughed; it didn’t help Harry feel any less guilty. “Look, Harry, I’ve scared guys off my whole life. Maybe it’s a religious thing. I’m the proverbial virgin, you know, saving myself for marriage, and all that crap.” She paused, then continued more soberly. “In some ways my family dying was a relief. Mom and dad would have completely freaked if they knew I was more interested in girls than guys.”
“But you’re not really sure yourself. And that kiss I gave you was hardly one to judge all us blokes by.”
Diane couldn’t resist her next comment. “Then kiss me again, Harry, but really mean it, like you do with Ginny. Then I’ll let you know.”
“WHAT?!” Harry’s voice cracked, but he saw a smile creeping into his friend’s face. “You’re bloody insane, Diane. Don’t joke like that.”
“Harry, I am kidding. But you’re right, it was mean. I’m sorry. Unfortunately, my indecision can’t be resolved by one kiss.” Diane threw up her arms out in frustration. “But what you said about friendship is true. I guess I’ll just have to look for friends and see what develops.” She walked up to Harry and gave him a quick hug.
“So, er”what are you going to tell Fred?”
“Not sure. Actually, yes I am. I’m too busy to date anyone right now so I guess I’ll tell him ‘thanks, but no thanks’.” Harry didn’t say anything in response, and they began walking back to the school for dinner, purposely avoiding the field where Neville had died a month earlier.
Dinner that evening was quiet, too. Ginny and Hermione came into the Hall a few minutes late, with Hagrid, who thumped Harry rather hard on the back on his way to the head table. “Alright there, Harry?” he asked as Harry choked on a bite of food he had been chewing on.
“Yeah, Hagrid, and you?” he managed to get out after catching his breath.
“Never better. Well, I best be off ter dinner.” Diane and Harry looked up to the head table where McGonagall was giving the late arrivals an irritated look.
“Have a nice visit, Gin?” Harry asked, after his girlfriend settled on the bench next to him.
“Very. Hermione and I got Hagrid to tell us the story of the fake dragon back in September. He even has the parts that couldn’t be transfigured behind his hut….”
“I just wish Hagrid would try to clear his name,” said Hermione in frustration, forgetting that only she, Harry and Ginny knew the real story of why Hagrid never officially became a wizard.
“Why, what happened?” Diane asked.
The rest of the meal was spent in storytelling and remembrance of Ginny’s first year. She didn’t seem to mind as much as she had in years past, and they made no effort to keep their stories private. So by the end of the meal, a good dozen more students knew some details of the Chamber of Secrets.
Charlie Weasley greeted his youngest brother with an affectionate hug before turning to Tré and pulling her into a somewhat more-than-affectionate kiss. When finished, Tré took the two Weasleys into her sister’s flat where they settled down with Butter Beers while Charlie related the events of the past few days. When he had finished, he showed off his new wand.
“I would have preferred Olivander, but this one is excellent; mahogany with a dragon heartstring.” Charlie pointed the wand at a vase on the mantle and levitated it to the kitchen table. Just after it clunked down solidly, the three were startled by another voice.
“You must be Charlie Weasley,” Nettie said, having quietly entered the front door. She set her bag down, walked over to the table, picked up the vase and returned it to the mantle. Folding her arms, she stood in front of it as if she were daring Charlie to move it again. Tré sighed, Charlie gave an uncomfortable chuckle and Ron shook his head. Here was the Antoinette he knew until early that morning: Stiff, formal… professional. And far too old for her real age.
“Yes, and you must be Antoinette,” Charlie responded, standing and offering his hand. For a moment Ron thought she might not take it, but she did. Tré asked her sister to join them and Nettie appeared as if she would, then she noticed the seating. Charlie was next to Tré and the only empty seat was next to Ron. Her hesitation caused Charlie to throw a questioning glance at his sibling. But Nettie ignored them and went into the kitchen for a drink, while she was gone, Charlie discreetly moved over to Ron’s sofa, leaving a spot for Nettie next to her sister. When they were all together again, the atmosphere was a bit less strained.
“So, you are all leaving tomorrow, then?” asked Nettie.
“Yeah, we’ll go to you’re parent’s place in Normandy and then off to meet some other… er, others.”
“And what time will you leave?”
Tré looked at Charlie. “Early. Portkeys and Floo are still not safe, so we’ll take the train to Caen and then Apparate to our destination.”
Tré looked at her sister. “Sure you don’t want to join us, Nettie? We could use a Healer if we run into trouble.”
The offer startled the young girl, though she did not show it. This was the third time her sister had asked for her participation, and Nettie knew it would be her last invitation. Weighing her options and responsibilities was not too difficult. Her formal education was on hold until the legitimate Ministry of Magical Affairs was back in place. “Oui, Essie, I will go.” Her acceptance was so unenthusiastic the other three almost thought she was joking.
“You will?” Ron replied first, and a little too earnestly. Charlie rolled his eyes at Tré.
“Yes, but you had better improve your French, Monsieur Weasley,” Nettie replied sternly. It wiped a bit of the smile off Ron’s face. “I had better go tell Dr. LeVasseur I will be away for a while,” their host continued, jumping up and walking briskly to the door. As it closed behind her a second later, Charlie and Tré burst out laughing.
“That’s my little brother, Mr. Subtlety himself.” Winking at Ron, Charlie told them the rest of his story, after which they began to make their travel plans.
The train to Caen the following morning was crowded and smelly. Not being one of the more widely used expresses, or the Train à Grande Vitesse, the route had become a footnote to the normally excellent train service the country offered. But it was the perfect place to blend in and avoid detection, or even suspicion. Tré had performed two coloring charms, one each on Ron and Charlie’s head to make their hair black; both thought it just made them look stupid.
The brothers sat in the rear of the carriage, (the Mellanson sisters sat near the front,) the elder trying to calm Ron’s irritation at not sitting with Nettie. Since boarding the train she had been approached twice by handsome Frenchmen, both of whom were politely but firmly rejected.
“Ron, clam down, you’re driving me spare. And if I feel that way Nettie’s going to feel it too. Give it time, for Merlin’s sake, Tré told me she just started to warm up to you yesterday. What’s your rush?”
Good question! “I’m not trying to rush it, Charlie…”
“Like hell you’re not. It took you, what, six years to notice Hermione?” Ron gave his brother a hateful glance. “You break up with her and three weeks later you’re chasing someone else. Don’t let Nettie become some meaningless rebound relationship. Sure, she’s attractive, but I’m not convinced you are the type of bloke she…” Charlie didn’t get the chance to finish, Ron had turned in his seat and his ears were scarlet.
“I’m not what, big brother? I’m not her type? I’m not smart enough for her? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Keep your voice down, Ron.”
“NO! I bloody well won’t keep my voice down. I decide who I like, and Hermione has nothing to do with it.”
“I didn’t say she did,” Charlie said in hushed tones, trying to prevent a scene. A number of nearby passengers were stealing annoyed glances at them. “I just… well, you were damn upset about you and Hermione, if you remember. The last time I saw you before yesterday you were still moping around.”
Ron struggled to keep his mouth shut, fearing an all-out shouting match with his brother.
“Monsieur,” a voice said.
Not wishing to be scolded or shushed by a passenger, Ron jumped up and nearly knocked Nettie into the old lady sitting across from him. “Bloody hell!” he started saying, in a tone that dripped with annoyance. Then he realized he wasn’t being reprimanded. Eyes suddenly apologetic, he answered as best he could. “Sorry, I, er”we were having a, er…”
“Yes, Ron, come with me,” she said simply, taking Ron’s hand and leading him to the front of the carriage. Tré was standing in the aisle, as Nettie and Ron passed she flashed him a brief smile and headed to the rear to sit with Charlie.
Nettie pointed at the seats. “Window or aisle seat, monsieur?”
“You sound like a bloody waitress, Nettie,” he replied, not really believing his luck. She gave him a warning look. “Sorry. You take the window.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Nettie spoke again. “What was the war like in England?” she asked in her perfect English.
Ron was momentarily shocked by the unusual topic. “The war itself was bad, but watching Harry be slowly destroyed by it was far worse. We met before our first year, on the Hogwarts Express, that’s the train that takes most of the students from London to the school… Why are you smiling?”
“Do I need a reason? No, it’s because I’ve been on the Hogwarts Express, my first year of schooling. My parents were living in Portsmouth at the time, where my father worked, and they did not want me at Beauxbaton at my age, even though I knew I would be there the following year.”
“Wait, you’re my age, when were you… oh, Tré told me you’re brilliant. You probably started a year or two before me, right?”
“Oui, Monsieur Dumbledore allowed me to attend because my father and he were friends. But I think he would rather not have let me.”
Ron found the information interesting, and it explained a lot. “Is that why your English is so good? How long did you live in England?”
“Partly, living in an English speaking country certainly helped. And we lived there three years. We returned to Vernon as my first year at Hogwarts was ending. I vaguely recall three other tall, red-haired boys, were they your brothers?”
“Possibly, Percy’s the third oldest in my family, then Fred and George, they’re twins. Then me, and Ginny’s the youngest.”
“Ah! I remember the twins. They were always in trouble, weren’t they?”
Ron laughed. “That’s them. They had a joke shop in London until a few weeks ago; some of Voldemort’s followers destroyed it. But they’ll rebuild, they were very popular.”
“I’m sure they will be successful again.”
The two lapsed in silence for the next quarter hour, looking out the carriage window, occasionally pointing at some interesting landmark.
“Why do you resent your brothers, Ron?” The question caught him by surprise. Then he remembered how angry he’d been a half-hour before. And Nettie was correct; it wasn’t directed just at Charlie.
“I’ve always been treated like the baby, even though Ginny’s the youngest. Fred and George were particularly….”
“Cruel?”
Ron thought carefully before answering, though it was difficult. He knew he was impulsive; could he also have been rash in judging his siblings? Speaking carefully, he answered. “Maybe, but if they were, it probably wasn’t intentional.”
Nettie watched Ron closely, though he did not feel she was searching for his emotions. “You are cute when you think, Ron. You need to do that more,” she said softly, almost in a whisper.
But the comment still brought Ron up short and he prepared to lay into his new friend, until he realized her challenge. With difficulty, he brought his emotions back under control and considered both why Nettie said what she had and what it meant. It took a full minute for the blush to recede from Ron’s neck and ears, but when it did, the French girl leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You see? You can do it.”
Shocked for a second, and delighted, but shocked nonetheless, Ron considered himself and the challenge Nettie had set before him. His mind was awhirl with a combination of pride and the electric jolt of pleasure he hadn’t really felt in a month. “Did you sense that in me?” he asked quietly.
Nettie broke out in laughter for a moment. “No, I was too busy feeling,” she leaned forward and pointed surreptitiously to the man sitting at the window seat across the aisle from them, “that man’s frustrations with… I think… his piles. And the woman next to him is irritated at her husband about something.” Sitting back and pointing at the seat in front of them, Nettie continued. “That was one of the men who approached me, he’s entertaining some… eh, fantasies. And the man next to him is concerned about the price of oranges this winter.”
It was impulsive, Ron knew, and probably premature, but he quickly leaned over and caught Nettie’s lips with his. He could feel her smile with his mouth and did so, too. Breaking apart a few seconds later, Nettie put her arm around Ron’s neck and rested her forehead on his chin. “Ron, this isn’t a good idea. I’m going to be in school and you’ll be going back to England when this is all over…”
“Yeah, I know, but that’s me, rash, reckless and impulsive.”
She laughed.
The reverie was interrupted a few seconds later when they heard someone clear their throat. “Are you two going to sit there or join us?” It was Tré; in the past two minutes the train had come into the station at Caen and was slowing to stop.
“Bugger!” Ron exclaimed, but not too loudly. Nettie and he released each other and stood, gathering their small collection of personal items. Charlie joined Tré, giving his brother a knowing smirk. Ron flipped him off.
“Who’s that?” Nettie asked as they walked down the platform towards the station’s entrance gate. Two men were walking swiftly in their direction. It was obvious they were coming to meet the four wizards.
“It’s Paquin and Bissette. You three stop here, I will see what they want,” Tré ordered, handing her things to Charlie. Ron whispered a derogatory comment about Charlie’s job as a servent and the older Weasley laughed. Walking to the men, Tré greeted her two acquaintances.
“Bonjour, Estrella,” the short ex-spy, Paquin, said with a smile. “It has been far too long.” Taking her hand, he kissed it and turned to his partner.
“I was happy to see you made it out of Vernon safely. My condolences to you and your family at Jacques’ death.” Bissette said sincerely, and then he too kissed Tré’s hand.
“Why are you here? We were supposed to meet tomorrow,” Tré said harshly.
“No, things have changed over the past twenty-four hours. We could not wait. Who are… ah, you have Antoinette with you. And is that Monsieur Weasley?” Bissette was looking over Tré’s shoulder at her small collection of travel mates.
“Never mind them, Bissette, what has happened? Are my parents safe?”
“Yes, yes, of course they are safe,” Paquin replied for his tall partner. “None of this suspiciousness, Madame Mellanson, we bring good news. Call your friends over and we shall retire to the café across the street.
Tré called to her sister, Charlie and Ron and introduced them to her fellow Ministry employees. Nettie had heard enough about the two men over the years to feel comfortable about her security, but the two Weasleys remained tense and cautious the entire time all were together.
Over a light snack (or in Ron’s case, a hefty meal) washed down with a strong local wine, Paquin and Bissette told their news. “The usurpers’ power is collapsing; there was a battle last night at Chartres and we,” he turned to Charlie and Ron, “the Resistance, hurt them.”
They could feel a hesitation, however, and Tré spoke up. “But? Something has happened that is not good.” Paquin and Bissette looked at each other, both cringing, having momentarily forgotten Tré’s empathic acumen.
“Uh, yes, too many escaped and have fled to the Ministry building in Paris.”
The one called Paquin did not need to say anything more to the Mellanson sisters; both had visited the Ministry building in Paris and knew it was a massive fortress. To dislodge the ‘usurpers,’ as they were known, many lives would be lost. The fact that they would be operating in the middle of one of the world’s best known cities only worked against them. Otherwise the last followers of the late Lord Voldemort could simply be blasted out of existence.
“Did you suffer many casualties… at Chartres?” Ron asked impatiently. Nettie looked at him, impressed; he had pronounced the city’s name properly: Shar’-tra with the second syllable trailing off, so the ‘ra’ was but a breath on the tongue following a softened t.
“Not as many as we inflicted, but Henri Paul was killed.”
All present saw Tré’s face fall. “C'est terrible! she exclaimed in a cry of sorrow.
“Who is this chap, Henri?” Ron asked Charlie, who appeared upset himself. Nettie had moved closer to her sister to offer comfort.
“A good friend of Tré’s, her Godfather, wasn’t he?” Tré nodded and wiped away her tears. It was the first time Ron had ever seen her really cry, she appeared much more vulnerable. She also looked much more like her much younger sister.
Tré regained her composure a minute later and the conversations continued, though more subdued. One of the reasons Tré wanted to return to Normandy, and the reason for the ‘secret papers’ Ron had seen the previous day, was to meet with a group from England. Although the situation on the island was still in flux, a number of wizards and witches had offered their service to the French Resistance. Paquin and Bissette had met them at the station to see if Tré still wanted to proceed with the plans, especially in light of the news from Chartres and Paris.
”Yes, I think we should still accept their assistance. Our Ministries have not enjoyed the best relations in recent years and we cannot afford to snub them, even if that might be an absurd interpretation.”
As she finished her statement, Paquin looked at Bissette and pulled an envelope out of his bag, handing it to the senior Ministry official present. “Tres bon, Madame Mellanson, a wise choice; here is your commission from Monsieur le President. Bon chance.” With this wish of good luck, Paquin and Bissette rose abruptly and bowed to Tré. Paquin turned and walked off, Bissette gave the newly appointed Minister a brief smile and nod before taking his leave.
Tré’s hands shook as she opened the envelope. All eyes were on her. She knew what it would say “ she hoped she knew what it would say! Out came a single piece of heavy stock paper and she read the commission. When finished, she turned to Charlie and threw her arms around him. The paper sat on the table and Nettie and Ron huddled together to read it. Both suspected it was a cabinet appointment. It was.
The party traveled swiftly from Caen to the senior Mellanson’s hideout in St. Mère Église, a sleepy village on the Cotentin Peninsula made famous by a great tragedy in the Second World War. The reunion was happy, especially when Nettie’s parents saw her, but tears were shed when their murdered brother was mentioned. The funeral and burial had been a brief, private affair and most of the family, Nettie included, could not attend for safety reasons. Also, the news of Henri Paul’s death had reached the village earlier in the day, and though a good friend of the Mellanson family, his death had not been in vain and he was remembered with great respect.
The remainder of the day was spent in preparation for the meeting with the delegation from England. Charlie had looked over the list of names, and while he had recognized a few, none were who he considered acquaintances. Ron grew frustrated with Nettie’s ‘capture’ by her parents and they spent almost no time together until dinner. There he was delighted to find his seat marked next to hers, but the young girl’s attentions were with her family. He found it a trial to remain calm and patient, but he did notice Nettie smile shyly at him twice when her parents were busy speaking with others.
At eight that evening, Tré, accompanied by Charlie and Ron as informal bodyguards, and four others who had been introduced as Resistance fighters, were standing at a small private dock on the northern side of the peninsula. An attractive cruiser came into the small harbor at an alarming speed, but slowed at the hand of what could only have been an expert pilot or captain, bumping gently into the old tires hanging alongside the wooden pier. Ropes were cast ashore by two deckhands and shortly thereafter nine English wizards and four witches disembarked.
Charlie cast his brother a concerned look as Tré walked forward to meet them, her first official job as Minister of Foreign Affairs (Europe.) Strolling casually to Charlie, while not taking his eyes off the pier, Ron asked what the problem was.
“There should have been thirty. I wonder what happened to the…” But before Charlie could finish, the remaining delegates began to appear, all far worse from the choppy Channel crossing. Two were being assisted by sailors and one could be heard shouting that Hell would freeze over before he got back on ‘that boat.’ Charlie chuckled, recalling Tré’s similarly miserable trip weeks earlier.
When the pleasantries were finished, Tré led the entire delegation into a house near the dock. Charlie had informed Ron earlier that it was a large ‘safe house’ where the visitors could refresh themselves and prepare to Apparate to their dispersed quarters for the night. When the last of the party had disappeared, more than two dozen other Resistance fighters came out of hiding, briefly startling the Weasley’s. Their commander, however, well aware of Charlie and Ron’s responsibilities, introduced himself in nearly flawless English, explaining the additional security. Shortly thereafter, the Resistance also filed into the house, leaving the two young English wizards alone.
The two walked out of sight as the cruiser gunned its engines and prepared to depart also. “Ready, Ron?”
“Sure.”
With a soft pop, they Disapparated to St. Mère Église.
“Tré’s off on her Ministry business and seems happy. Has she been trying for this position?” Ron asked Nettie later that night. He had finally found her alone after her parents retired for the night. They were sitting in a small garden behind an empty café, enjoying the cool evening air that had a faint smell of salt.
“She did not expect the top position, I am sure. She is still young for such a job, but I suppose she earned it in England, yes?”
“Yeah, she was amazing working with Harry and the rest of us. I was able to master Occlumency in no time. Does your Ministry of Foreign Affairs use Empaths a lot?”
“As much as possible, but there are not a great number of good ones. I’m biased, but Essie is probably the best in the service.”
“Well then, here’s to Essie,” Ron raised his glass of ice water. Nettie followed suit and the glasses touched gently.
“Come Ron, let’s walk. I haven’t been here for years and I miss the beaches.” Holding out her hand, Ron took it without hesitation. Before he had the opportunity to ask how close the beach was, Nettie Apparated them both to an endless strip of sand. There was no one in sight as far as either could see.
Standing side by side, Nettie pointed to the shore. “This is Utah Beach, where the Americans landed in World War II. The entire area is very famous in world history. Did you study the war?”
“A little. Grindelwald wasn’t in France after 1940, and we mainly followed his works in Russia, Poland and Germany, more so than the general course of the war. I don’t remember… and our History of Magic professor was pretty much useless.”
“It was a hard time, my parents told me. They were both very young, but they remember bits and pieces. This beach was one of the landing spots for the Americans when they came to liberate France. It was a close thing, I understand. Many on both sides died, but by the end of the day the Americans had held on.” Stepping forward, Nettie continued holding Ron’s hand and they strolled down the shallow dune to the sea wall, and then onto the hard, flat beach.
Standing still for a moment, Nettie wrapped her arms around herself and seemed to shiver. “I think the beach is haunted by the ghosts of the men who were not ready to die here. Could you believe that, Ron?”
“Uh, sure, I suppose.” He really didn’t, and he was far more interested in the girl than ghosts. Patience, patience… “Did you come here often, when you were younger?”
“Yes, but now I have so little time. It sounds strange, but I find their presence comforting. I think they are reassured by our being here, too, as if they are not forgotten. Have you talked with many ghosts?”
“A few, but just the ones at Hogwarts… and we have a ghoul in the attic of my home, too.”
Nettie stopped and took Ron’s hand again, hers was cold and damp. The night was still. Too still. Dead still. Ron realized they had wandered close to the water’s edge, but there was no sound of waves. The surf was calm. He felt a breeze on his face, and his hair blowing in swirls. Nettie’s hair was flowing out in front of her, too, but there was no sound flurrying in his ears. The sky darkened. It was utter silence, like being in a deep cave, absolutely alone and with no light.
And then Ron felt it, or them, he wasn’t sure. Nettie held his hand more tightly and he felt her tremble; he was beginning to shudder, too. When he looked at her, he saw she was saying something, but no sound was coming from her mouth. What had moments before been reflections of starlight on the uncommonly placid Channel were now specks of silver coming up from the water’s surface and swirling into the air around them. Millions upon millions of points of faint light were flying about. Instinctively, Ron pulled Nettie to his body to protect her and started to draw his wand. But she stopped his hand and pointed.
The points of light were converging and taking shape, forming slowly into what could only be described as figures; first scores, then hundreds of people. Soldiers.
Huddling in each other’s arms, Ron and Nettie watched the phantom parade fly around them. The images were clearly wearing their old battle uniforms and helmets, but none showed any signs of wounds. They were speechless with the wonder of the event, and it seemed to go on for hours. At times, one figure would break out of the group circling the two teens. It might approach them or fly off to an unseen location.
And just as suddenly as it started, it was over. They were standing exactly where they had been before, the moon and stars had not shifted, and they could hear and see again. The sound of the waves and the whistle of the wind over the sand had returned. Struggling with their feelings of the phenomenon, Ron and Nettie just stood together waiting for their shaking bodies to calm.
In time Nettie spoke. “My God, Ron, do you believe me now?” She could feel his head nod against hers. “This is what I saw when I was younger, but it seems so much bigger now. There must have been thousands of souls...”
“It was amazing,” was all Ron could say in agreement.
“Tell me, what did you feel from them?” Nettie’s voice was almost a command and Ron closed his eyes to think.
“They hurt… they can’t… I don’t know, uh… they’re searching…”
“YES! Ron, I was right about them, and I felt the same way, like they wanted something.”
“Our lives?”
“No, I don’t think so. When I last saw them, about ten years ago, it was as if they needed something I couldn’t give them. But tonight, some of them found what they were looking for… in me, or us.”
“But they can’t all be ghosts, you have to be a wizard to become a ghost.”
“I call them ghosts, but ‘souls’ may be a better name for them, or fragments of souls. Essie told me about the Horcruxes and how they work. Perhaps these souls are here, not because of a conscious attempt to make a Horcrux, but because of the terrible tragedy of the war, and each death. They all lost a little more than life that day.” She paused, searching for ideas. “Yes, that may be why they are here. There was no single soul present, but parts of thousands.”
Ron nodded again, still lost in the awe at what he had seen. “Has anyone else seen this?”
“Essie told me she saw it once, but I think she was just saying that. I was only seven or eight at the time, she might have been humoring me.”
“Uh, ok…. Maybe we should head back now,” said Ron, starting to break away from their embrace, but Nettie held on.
“I think they are why I want to be a Healer. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but… perhaps… as a Healer I can help a few people… oh, I don’t know!” Nettie stomped her foot in frustration. She was seldom at a loss for words.
“You might be right, and maybe Essie did see them. Look at what she does: Diplomacy, healing divisions across borders and building relationships. You two are a lot alike, just on a different scale. She prevents problems and you fix what she can’t prevent.” He scratched his unshaven chin.
Looking up to Ron, Nettie was clearly moved by Ron’s assessment. Taking both his hands, she backed off a bit. In the faint star and moon light he saw her smile. “Monsieur Weasley, I was right. You should think more!”
Ron grinned broadly and drew her hands to his face, kissing each of them. A strong emotion was building within him, something very comforting and… affectionate. The manifestation at the beach had drawn them even closer, and in a very short time. It was almost like two friends watching the birth of a child; they could not help but to be moved. Gazing at each other tenderly, their faces only centimeters apart, touching hands, Ron was suddenly shocked when he realized what he was thinking.
Nettie made the next move. She pulled him back towards her and into a passionate kiss. Their arms wrapped around the other, his gently caressing Nettie’s hair and she working her hands on Ron’s back and shoulders. It was a long, loving, emotional, exciting, yet gentle kiss. When they broke apart, Ron felt a strong wave of contentment fill him. And he realized there was something terribly important between himself and Nettie that had been lost, somewhere, between himself and Hermione. It was the gentleness of friendship and the blossoming awareness of love and fulfillment. He and Hermione had had love and friendship, but they had never truly been in love.
A wave of nostalgia and depression momentarily swept over Ron, and he knew Nettie had sensed it in him. In frustration, he let out a stream of vile curses until hands steadied his head and fingers calmly covered his lips. “Ron, you can’t force healing, give it time. She was a big part of your life, yes?” He nodded. “Many years?” Another nod. “You cannot rip her out of you like… like a painful tooth. Besides, I think there are many more good memories of this lady than bad.”
“Yeah… I know… maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Nettie… you and me. I’m rubbish at this emotional stuff…”
“Ah, and now you are trying to dump me before we even get started?” she asked playfully, pulling Ron’s head down and kissing the tip of his nose.
“Nah, you were right, this just isn’t a good idea…”
“Stop that, Ron! I’ve known what you feel. Don’t you think I’ve had my share of pain? We choose what we want, you and me,” she poked him rather painfully in the chest. “If it’s a day, then that’s all it is. If it’s more, bon!” Aggravated, Nettie then lapsed into a rapid stream of French that left Ron amused to the point where he had to put his hand over her mouth to get a word in.
“Ok, ok, sorry. I guess I’ll have to hang around you a little longer, at least until I can understand what you just said.” Seeing his friend calmed, Ron tried to push lingering memories of Hermione out of his head and look at his new friend without worrying about the past. After another kiss, they turned and headed back to St. Mère Église walking many kilometers before Apparating the rest of the way at three in the morning.
Dear Ginny,
Things are getting exciting here in France, but hopefully the end is near. You probably heard that Charlie returned in one piece and Tré got a big promotion. I’m ok. I miss you all but am happy to be here.
Please say hi to Harry, Hermione and Diane for me. I probably won’t see you until Christmas break.
Your brother,
Ron
“Never was one to use a lot of words,” Ginny laughed as she finished reading the brief note to Harry, Diane and Hermione. “But he sounds happy, that’s good.”
The other three nodded, each with very different thoughts about Ron’s absence and what might befall him as the war in France came to a close.
“It’s not impossible, Arthur, look at the schedules,” Phoebus Penrose exclaimed quietly, and for the third time that evening. The two wizards were speaking softly at the Burrow, meeting earlier than usual. Penrose had stopped Arthur Weasley at the office earlier in the day requesting a private meeting before Gilbert Wimple joined them. This in itself was of great concern. Up until this point, the three men had taken extraordinary measures to ensure they were always together when not at the Ministry building - to dispel any hint of a coup. But that had changed and Arthur was having trouble believing what his old friend was saying.
“I know… it’s just too much right now. Have you asked Kingsley Shacklebolt to look at this yet?”
“No, I’d like you to do that, Arthur, you know him better than I. Would you please do that after we finish tonight?”
Arthur was not at all surprised by the urgency of the request. But he needed more information and history. “When did you first suspect, Minister?”
“The first night, in the meeting hall, when I was speaking. After Shacklebolt was voted in, I saw Wimple and two others speaking off to the side. It was clear they were making some sort of plans.” Penrose held up his hand to stop Arthur’s protest. “I know, I know, Weasley, but the other two men with Wimple were Bailey Snodgrass and McKenzie Twittle.” Penrose paused to let the impact of these two names settle on the senior Weasley.
“Snodgrass and Twittle? I thought they went out of business years ago.”
“They did. But I ran into them last year at the retirement party the Ministry threw for me and they were as thick as thieves. I had a funny feeling then, and Wimple hasn’t done anything to assuage my fears since.”
A pall of dread fell over Arthur. Snodgrass and Twittle had made a fortune after the first war against Voldemort by acting as defense attorneys. Many prominent Pureblood family patriarchs such as Malfoy, McNair and Crabbe owed their freedom to the law firm of Snodgrass and Twittle. Most knew they were nothing more than intermediaries between the defendants and the Ministry recipients of bribes; even if their fees were but a small percentage, many hundreds of thousands of Galleons must have changed hands.
The implication of Wimple’s apparent alliance with the former men of ‘law’ was obvious. The Purebloods, now defeated in battle, would try anything to retain, and regain, their power. Arthur Weasley felt nauseous. The fact that Death Eaters were unmistakably identified by the terrible wounds the Death Mark had inflicted helped little; that virtually all had been captured didn’t matter much; Voldemort was now truly dead, but his specter remained. The cloud of hate and bigotry that hung in the air became palpable.
Why did I think it would end so easily? Arthur asked himself. Looking up to Penrose, he could tell the old man felt the same way.
Godric’s Hollow… where did the name come from? It was just one of many questions Digger Allen had been asking the town residents; and with some success, too. After nearly a week of interviews and perusing local records, Allen had made considerable progress. He had identified the location of the oldest part of the town, the original police records of the Potter disappearances and a lead pointing to the Dark Ages origin of the village.
What raised Allen’s interest even further were the police records of the Potter case. None of them had much to say about the disappearances. In fact, it was difficult to synch the police reports with the stories he had heard. And when he viewed the original reports, after much flattery and empty promises made to the woman in charge of them, he was dumbfounded; the reports appeared to be almost totally erased of any important contents. It reminded him of the way letters were censored during World War II. But why would someone want to cut out mundane information like street addresses or names of neighbors? Perhaps when I interview…
After fruitlessly asking a few police officers about the case, including one officer who had worked on the case and had even signed the investigation form “ but could recall nothing at all - Allen headed back to Peachey House to review his notes and prepare for a week back in London. He would return after the break and continue his search for the elusive Harry Potter.