No Laughing Matter

Chapter Twenty-One

The scene was almost secure. Suzette, Nigel, Arthur and George had worked together to bind the four Death Eaters that had been knocked out in the battle, and took their wands. The bodies of Percy and one other Death Eater had been laid next to each other by a far wall, and covered with sheets. The house had been searched from top to bottom for clues, but no trace of the homeowners could be found. Whether they had lent their house willingly for tonight's escapade or not remained to be determined, but there were no other bodies in residence.

Carly and Fred had left for St. Mungo's, followed closely by Bill and Molly. Rowan and Mundungus had gone to find out why the MLE had not been around when they had been needed; Nigel had sent out an owl moments before he had left for this place. Mundungus had returned only thirty minutes after he'd left to tell them that this house was only one of dozens of attack sites all over Britain, and that Aurors and MLE were spread thin while trying to deal with it all. Rowan had gone to the Daily Prophet to try to gather some news and get an idea of the extent of tonight's Death Eater attacks. She had sent word with Dung that she would go from the Prophet to St. Mungo's as soon as she could. George knew that she would be very busy over the next few hours if Dung's news was true. So would Rowan.

Arthur pulled Dung aside and asked him to go to Dumbledore at Hogwarts to report what had happened, and to get further instructions from him. As Arthur was talking to Dung, George spoke quietly to Suzette and Nigel.

"Thank you both for everything you've done," he said sincerely. "I don't know how you came to be the ones that came to rescue us, but if not for you, we would have all been killed."

Suzette had tears in her eyes, and Nigel simply laid a comforting hand on his arm.

"I need to ask you to leave my father and I alone for a while. Things are secure here, and the MLE should get around to us soon. I need to have some time with my Dad to talk about...things," He said softly, pain evident in his voice. "If things are as bad as they sound, St. Mungo's is going to need all the help they can get."

"Of course," Suzette said sadly. "We will check on Molly and Fred and Bill, then stay and help out there in any way we can."

"We'll regroup there once everything is said and done," Nigel said, leading his wife over to the door. "Take care."

Suzette stepped forward to embrace him for a moment and kissed his cheek, then raised a hand in farewell to Arthur. He nodded, and watched them depart. Mundungus was on his way out as well, and merely nodded to George, his mind already on the tasks ahead of him. Once the door was closed, there were just the disabled Death Eaters, Arthur and George. Without words they righted a bench that had gone along side the table, and sat down next to one another.

"I don't know what to say, Dad," George said quietly, his voice unsteady with emotion. "There's just too much, and none of it makes any kind of sense. I lost a brother tonight - you lost a son." The tears were falling now, unchecked. "I'm so sorry."

Arthur took his son into his arms and they rocked slightly together. He let his own tears fall, and mourned for everything that had come to pass over the past two hours. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for," he finally said, pulling away so that he could look George in the eye. "Nothing."

"If I had gone easier on him; left him alone when he told me too...." George said sadly, remembering the things that Percy had said just moments before his life was taken. " I never meant to hurt him."

"I know you didn't, and it wouldn't have mattered, George," Arthur said sternly, holding his at arms length and shaking him once for emphasis. His momentary lapse into grief evaporated in the wake of his son's need for comfort and a jolt of reality. "What is, is, and we're going to have to work together as a family to deal with it. Percy chose his path, and it led him here. Asking 'what if' will only serve to drive us mad, and we need to be stronger and smarter than that. We are not going to blame ourselves; not now, not ever."

George nodded. He knew that his father was right. He thought of his mother on the floor with her son, trying desperately to revive him, and fought back a wave of helpless rage that threatened to overtake him. He stood and began to pace the room, knowing that that the image would be burned into his memory forever, and wanting to something, anything to keep that from ever happening to anyone ever again. He could only imagine what his father must be suffering in all of this mess.

He took a deep breath and worked hard to master himself, as his father was doing. There were so many things to be done now, he couldn't begin to fathom the work ahead of them all; he needed to pull himself together and make himself useful in any way he could. Taking another cleansing breath, he spun on his heel to face his father, when the nearest Death Eater on the floor regained his senses and shot out a let to trip George up. George tried to keep his balance, even as Mr. Weasley sprung to his feet with his wand in his had to stun the Death Eater responsible for the fall he could see his son about to make. George had twisted his body in an effort to give his father a clean shot at the bound man on the floor, and over-balanced, falling awkwardly until his head made sharp contact with the corner of the kitchen counter. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and then the world went black.

When he came to, George was still lying on the kitchen floor, with his father leaning over him, pressing a tea towel to his head, which was very sore.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Arthur asked with a calm he didn't feel, surveying his son's eyes for signs of blurred vision or uneven pupil dilation.

"Two," George answered, easing himself into a sitting position. "How long was I out?"

"About thirty seconds," Arthur answered with obvious relief in his voice. "You've already got a nice bruise to go with that goose egg, and you're bleeding. It's St. Mungo's for you."

"I'll be fine until the MLE gets here," George protested. He did not want to leave his father here alone.

"Who knows how long that will take?" Arthur said, shaking his head. "You need a healer to look you over. You hit pretty hard, and I wouldn't want to take any chances."

Only a moment later, a tired looking member of the MLE arrived in the doorway, wand drawn, followed closely by another. They surveyed the scene in front of them, taking in the bound and disabled Death Eaters, and the two red-haired men standing by the counter, then came all the way into the room.

"Mr. Weasley, sir," one of the men said. It was evident that he knew Arthur, and that he respected him when he said, "It doesn't seem like you need much from us, except to take out the trash here." He nudged the newly stunned Death Eater with his toe in disgust. "They've got Azkaban back in order already, and so we're Port Keying any captured Death Eaters directly there."

"What do you mean they've got Azkaban back in order?" Arthur asked warily.

"Sorry. You wouldn't know, would you? There were attacks all over the country tonight," the man answered, while his partner inspected the bound men on the floor. "But the main event seems to have been at Azkaban. Almost every man on duty there was killed or stunned - only three of them got to the Apparition point in time to save themselves. Every single last prisoner was freed and now the prison is empty. They've rebuilt the wards around the island and are going to be allowing prisoners in for now, but it's a right mess. We've got to put them somewhere, though, and that seems to be the only place, really. We still haven't learned how they gained entrance in the first place, but we will. In the meantime, we've got a hell of a lot of messes to clean up."

"We've got two dead here, Stewart," the man's partner said, pulling back the sheets that were covering Percy and his companion.

"Bloody Hell, Arthur," Stewart replied as he looked at the two bodies. "I'm so sorry."

Stewart's companion noted the red hair and Death Eater's robes on the young man in front of him and his expression hardened. George met his gaze steadily, and said; "I don't think my brother poses a threat to the community anymore, officer. I think that our family would like to take him home and give him a proper burial."

Arthur looked up at George with a bright sheen of tears, but definite pride in his eyes and nodded when Stewart looked at him questioningly. The other man just placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder and said, "Okay."

"But," the other man began to protest, but was cut off.

"Michael, that boy isn't going to tell us anything. Let his family have him."

George removed the tea towel from his head when he felt the blood begin to seep through, and folded it into a more compact bandage and replacing it. He head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and his vision occasionally went gray.

"You should be heading to St. Mungo's," Stewart said, noting the nasty wound on George's head.

"Go on, son," Arthur urged. "There's nothing more you can do here. I'll give these gentleman a description of what happened, and make any arrangements that need to be made." He steered George toward the fireplace and kept his voice low as he said, "I'll come to St. Mungo's when I'm done here, and after I've checked in with the Order. Get yourself fixed up, then go and check on your mother and Fred and Bill. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Be careful, Dad," George said. "This might not be over yet."

Arthur nodded and threw some Floo Powder into the fireplace and George stepped in calling out, "St. Mungo's Hospital!" and was gone.

Arthur removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning heavily on the mantle above the hearth. He was desperately tired, and he knew that sleep was a long, long way off. He needed to give the MLE an explanation of the night's events without giving away any information about the Order. It would be simple enough to tell them that Dumbledore had contacted him about Percy because he was his son and it was a family matter. That would suffice for now until he could speak with Dumbledore himself.

In the end, it was easy enough. The MLE were so busy this night that they didn't have time to do much more than take down the bare facts and ask Arthur to make a full written report as soon as possible. The bound Death Eaters were sent to Azkaban via a port key made from the kitchen bench, and the Dead were sent to the morgue at St. Mungo's for the time being. Arrangements for Percy's remains could be made in the coming day or two.

Arthur watched as Stewart and Michael walked to the edge of the property until they were past the wards and could Disapparate to the next crime scene. He had a moment when his control slipped, and a sob escaped him, but he swallowed it quickly and steeled himself for what came next. He walked into the frigid night, and Disapparated to the street outside of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

The front door opened the minute he approached it, and Arthur was surprised to see Mundungus waiting there. He stepped inside and Dung followed him to the kitchen, where Hestia Jones was seated at the long table writing something on a roll of parchment. She looked up when he entered, and gave him a sad smile.

"Arthur," she said softly. "How are you holding up?"

Dung was busying himself at the stove pouring tea into a cup.

"As well as I can," Arthur answered.

Mundungus handed him a teacup and said, "There's a Strengthening Solution in it, so it'll be a bit bitter, but it'll keep yer on yer feet."

Arthur gulped the foul tasting brew gratefully, and set the cup on the table. "What news?"

"It's too early to tell just yet," Hestia said tiredly. "But preliminary reports say that the largest number of casualties was at Azkaban Prison. Second largest looks like it took place in Hogsmeade, at The Three Broomsticks where there was a large Halloween gathering taking place. Some of the Order made it there to help, but we were mostly concentrating on the school, and the Death Eaters did a lot of damage before any real show of force could arrive."

"Any instructions from Dumbledore?" Arthur asked as he absorbed the news that Ron, Ginny and Harry were safe at Hogwarts.

"Yes," Hestia said calmly. "Go to your family. The Order can handle things for the rest of the night without you. One of us will contact you tomorrow...today. "

The clock on the wall was reading well past two in the morning. Arthur thought of his wife and sons at St. Mungo's, and reluctantly nodded. His place was with them; he only had two more concerns to take care of before he could go and check on them. I need to contact my other children... they need to know about Percy," he said quietly.

"Dumbledore will see to it that Ron and Ginny are told. He or Minerva will see to it personally. There are other students at the school who have lost loved ones tonight as well. Arrangements will be made for students to take leave from school, and transport them all safely to their homes. If you'd like to send them an owl..." Hestia said gently.

"I'll write to them once I get to St. Mungo's and have more news about how everyone is doing," Arthur said. "I'll need to contact Charlie."

"Of course," she nodded. "The fireplace in the sitting room would probably be the best place."

Arthur turned and left the kitchen. The Strengthening Solution was working it's magic, and while the weight of grief was still heavy on his heart, he no longer felt as if he were going to drop where he stood from exhaustion. He reached the sitting room and pulled the wand from his pocket. It felt strange in his hand, and he realized that his own wand had been taken earlier in the night and that he still had Fred's. He pointed it at the empty fireplace and muttered, "Incendio!" Flames sprang to life in the grate, and Arthur lowered himself to his knees in front of it, dreading having to tell Charlie this news. He found the pot of powder on the bricks beside the fire and took a pinch, tossing it into the flames. "Charlie Weasley, Romanian Dragon Reserve," he said clearly and loudly as the flames turned green, then he closed his eyes and stuck his head into the flames.

Charlie's home was a simply furnished two-room cottage. Arthur looked from the flames into the main room and saw his son sitting at the scrubbed wooden table in the center of the room, fully dressed and with a quill in his hand. He was clearly writing something, but looked up when the flames in his grate turned green.

"Charlie," Arthur said. As he met his son's eyes, it was evident that he had already heard the news.