Harry Potter and the Crystal Fire

Chapter 05: Trouble Brewing

Bill and Charlie, sitting with Fred and George at a table near the stage at the Wands, looked up as a flash of spiky bright-purple hair caught their eyes. Walking into the pub, dressed in jeans and a Weird Sisters tank top, her ears decorated with small silver hoops and her face showing uncharacteristic signs of makeup, was Tonks. Beside her was an equally good-looking young woman, whose sun-streaked honey-coloured hair fell past her shoulders in riotous curls. Fred and George looked hard at Tonks' friend. She wore a long faded denim skirt and a black tank top with a small picture of a black cat in front of a white full moon, a circular jade pendant on a leather thong, and an eclectic assortment of sterling silver earrings and rings. There was a delicately-curving tattoo around her bicep and another around her ankle. The sandals on her feet did nothing to hide the toe rings. Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. They both grinned. As they watched her, Tonks' friend looked over at them and stuck out her tongue. It was pierced as well. They beamed at her, very impressed indeed.

"Who's that with Tonks?" Bill asked Charlie.

"Never seen her before," Charlie replied, uninterested, staring after Tonks as she and her friend headed over toward the stage. Fred and George exchanged a look, then grinned at each other. The lead singer waved at them cheerfully, and they joined the crowd dancing in front of the stage as they waved back. At the first break, Tonks and her friend made their way over to the Weasleys' table, accompanied by the four band members.

"Hi, guys," Tonks said cheerfully, sliding into a seat at the table and nearly knocking over someone's mug of mead. Charlie caught it with the reflexes of someone who, though normally quick, had been expecting this, and Tonks flashed him a grateful look. If she was blushing, it was impossible to tell in the dimly lit room. Charlie grinned at her, and looked up as Tonks' friend sat down in the chair that the twins had suddenly pulled out from between them.

She seemed to take it for granted that they knew who she was, and went around the table, introducing the band members to Bill, Charlie, and the twins. The band members pulled up chairs and sat down. Nicholas, the band's lead singer, seemed amused by the looks of confusion on Bill's and Charlie's faces. "Err...Morrigan," he said, "haven't you forgotten something?"

The blond looked confused for a moment, then remembered. "Oh. Sorry. It's me," she said, laughing when Bill and Charlie looked shocked. "Merlin's foot, you two, you've known Tonks for how long? A little disguise here and there can't be that surprising." She rolled her eyes when they continued to stare at her, and returned to her introductions. "Right, so you've met Nicholas," she said, and the tall, blond lead singer nodded at them all again. "Next to Nick is Gwynne," she said, indicating a short brown-haired Witch in scarlet robes, "and next to her is Tristan." Tristan, a tall, gaunt-looking young man with auburn hair and eyes so brown they were nearly black, nodded politely. "And next to Tris is Malcolm, but you already know him." Malcolm, whose black hair, brown eyes, and darkly suntanned skin made him as unrecognizable as Morrigan was, grinned at the Weasleys. Bill and Charlie still couldn't manage to find words.

"Look. We're not allowed to be seen in public with any of you. Do you think that means we won't still be around?" Morrigan asked, with overstated patience. After thinking that over for a while, Charlie grinned and shrugged. Morrigan grinned back and went on talking to Fred and George. She didn't notice that Bill's eyes were still following her, moving from earrings to tattoo as though he simply couldn't put it together. Fred and George, who definitely did notice Bill's preoccupation, could barely hold in their laughter.

"So this is Fred, and this is George," Morrigan was telling Tristan, "former troublemakers extraordinaire at Hogwarts, now owners of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," she added, and Tristan, as though recognising the name of the shop, nodded. He smiled for the first time, and Fred and George smiled back.

"Good to meet you," Tristan said, reaching over and shaking both twins' hands. "I'd imagine we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Things are looking up," he said simply. Neither Bill nor Charlie could account for the sudden, huge grins that decorated their brothers' faces.

"That's great," Fred said sincerely. "We're really looking forward to it."

George nodded. "We've got loads of ideas," he said, and within minutes, Tristan and the twins were deeply involved in a cryptic conversation that was absolutely incomprehensible to their brothers. Tonks was talking to Gwynne and Malcolm about some of the songs they'd been playing. Morrigan took pity on Charlie and Bill, and got them talking to Nicholas about Bill's former job as a Curse-Breaker for Gringott's and Charlie's work with dragons in Romania. She butted in on all three conversations from time to time, until it was time for the band to return to the stage. Almost as soon as the music started, the twins dragged her off to the dance floor, and Tonks laughed, watching them go.

"I knew they'd get along well," she said, and found herself the object of two interested stares from two very nice pairs of eyes, one bright blue and one deep brown. "Oh, well, I suppose it's a twin thing. Both sets of them are the biggest troublemakers I've ever heard of," she said with a laugh. "Mor and Mal nearly ran Caerdys into the ground between them, and Fred and George came close at Hogwarts, from what I hear."

"They don't seem like troublemakers," Charlie said. No one doubted he was talking about the Carricks, as Fred and George, at least outwardly, seemed like nothing else.

"Well, that's why they were so good, isn't it?" Tonks asked, grinning up at him. "Nicholas said they were really bad before all the trouble."

Charlie frowned. "The trouble?" he asked, his brown eyes growing intense. "What trouble?"

Tonks looked uncomfortable. "Well, it's a long story, isn't it?" she asked, obviously not wanting to talk about it. "And it's not really my story to tell. It wasn't really bad trouble, just kind of bad." She looked away when Charlie's gaze only grew more intent. "Charlie, you'd have to ask her. Really. All I can say is that it's over now. She's better. She wouldn't have gotten into Auror training if she wasn't better."

Tonks looked away, watching the dance floor for a moment as Fred and George, dancing with far more enthusiasm than talent, nearly beheaded a few dancers near them, and had Morrigan ducking gracefully on occasion to avoid severe bodily injury during one or another of the twins' particularly energetic moves.

"So they were troublemakers?" Charlie asked, hoping Tonks would let out some information unintentionally, much as he doubted it. It was true that when it came to small, unimportant things, Tonks could be clumsy. Nevertheless, she was an Auror, and though she'd told them a bit too much about her friend, she hadn't really told them anything of importance. And now that she was on her guard, she wouldn't let anything else slip. "They don't seem the type. I mean, they're Aurors, and Dumbledore let them in the Order. They had to be good at school, and all that."

"Well, they were. I mean, they were both Prefects in their fifth, sixth, and seventh years, and they almost made Head Boy and Head Girl. It was a case of hiding in plain sight, really. I doubt they were ever not out after hours, and I doubt there was a single hidden room in that castle they didn't know. Of course, being as good at Transfiguration as they are, they were never caught, not even once, though they got more than their fair share of detentions over their first four years."

"If they were never caught, how did they get detention?" Charlie wanted to know.

"Usually for stuff they did in lessons, though the Quidditch at Caerdys is pretty competitive, and they got drawn into a few duels in the hallways, from what I've been told," Tonks said, laughing.

"Do they send many players to professional leagues?" Charlie said, frowning.

"Well, they don't, not really," Tonks said with a shrug. Clearly, she and the Carricks had discussed this many times. "They mostly just play while they're in school, which is a bit strange, for as good as they are. But Caerdys is...well, it's just different, isn't it?" she asked. Charlie and Bill, who'd never even heard of it before, simply looked at her questioningly.

"So they got detentions for getting into duels with other Quidditch players?" Bill asked, sounding amused. He could remember Charlie doing the same thing at Hogwarts.

Tonks nodded. "And they got into trouble on daytrips, and put a Color Change Hex on the doorway to their Common Room, and set the Transfiguration rats loose in the Dining Hall during dinner. Nick said that the three of them Charmed some of the portraits into singing Muggle rap songs for an entire week before anyone could figure out a counter-Charm, and there was something about talking animals in Magical Creatures class. And Gwynne told me about one Halloween when the four of them cast Anti-Gravity Jinxes all over the castle, so people would be walking down the hallways and would suddenly be upside-down on the ceiling." Tonks was smiling widely. She clearly wished her school days had included similar pranks.

Bill and Charlie were laughing too hard to respond by the time Tonks had finished the list. When he'd finally caught his breath, Bill shook his head. "Fred and George have met their match," he said, and Charlie nodded, still laughing. "Who ever would have thought it was possible?" he asked.

"Not me, for sure," Charlie replied. He thought about the portraits at Hogwarts, imagined them rapping for an entire week, and lost it again. "Can you imagine the Fat Lady rapping for a week?" he asked Bill.

"Yo, yo, wha's the word, bros?" Bill managed, in a high falsetto, before both brothers lost it again, their heads on their arms on the tabletop. Morrigan and the twins came back while Bill and Charlie were still laughing, tears streaming down their faces.

Morrigan looked at Tonks, who shrugged. "I was telling them about your portraits rapping," she said by way of explanation, and lifted her hands up in question, knocking her mug over. Charlie, still laughing, caught it before it tilted all the way over and spilled, put his head back down on the table, and laughed some more.

"They're mental," George told Morrigan, pulling out her chair so she could sit down. Fred's eyes caught George's, enormously amused, when Bill's laughter caught in the middle, making him cough.

"Merlin's beard, if you can't laugh correctly, you shouldn't get started," Morrigan said, pulling out her wand and waving it at him with a smirk. It shot coloured sparks this time, and had the effect of a good thump on the back; Bill's coughing stopped immediately. This only made Charlie laugh harder. "Had much to drink yet, has he?" she asked drily, and Bill could only grin, trying desperately not to start laughing again.

"Can you imagine the Fat Lady rapping for a week?" Bill asked Fred and George, who started laughing along with Charlie.

"You're all mental," Morrigan decided, without heat, looking around the table. "It's them, right?" she asked Tonks. This had the effect of making Charlie laugh so hard he would have fallen off his chair had Tonks not waved her wand at him. Of course, she finally managed to spill her mug in the process. This sobered Charlie up, as the contents of the mug ended up all over him. Still grinning, he waved his wand, and Tonks' mug set itself back on the table, full again. Another wave of his wand had his clothes dry again. He avoided Bill's eyes carefully as he managed to keep a straight face for a few minutes at a stretch. Then their eyes met, and they were off laughing again.

"So Tonks, how about going for a coffee," Morrigan asked, and the laughter cut off instantly. Tonks grinned at Morrigan and Morrigan grinned back. "Right. So, why were you talking about the portraits?" Morrigan asked, interested.

"Tonks was telling us about your...err...career at Caerdys," Charlie explained. "We were comparing it to the twins' careers at Hogwarts."

Morrigan nodded, grinning. "Well, we never came up with a Portable Swamp," she said, sounding disappointed in herself, "but we did our best." Fred and George did their best to look modest. It was a dismal failure. No one minded at all.

"Yeah, but the Colour Change Hex had to have been pretty good," Tonks pointed out.

"It would have been better if we'd learned the counterjinx before our Head of House walked in," Morrigan said, her voice taking on a nostalgic tone. "She wasn't very happy. It turned her robes bright pink, and her hat orange. I'm still under death threat if I reveal what it did to her face."

"Nice," Fred said admiringly. "What else?"

"There were the Anti-Gravity Jinxes in the hallways one Halloween. Got a month of detention for that, scrubbing the Dining Hall. But it was worth it," Morrigan said with a grin and a sigh. "Once I could move my arms again, anyway," she added honestly. "Hmmm. We jinxed the mirrors in our Tower to reflect back images from other mirrors. So you'd see what was in someone else's mirror," she clarified. Then she made a face. "That one didn't last long. It was kind of gross. You wouldn't believe some of the things we saw." She gave a delicate shudder. "Then Nick came up with the idea of Charming the animals to speak German in Magical Creatures class. He got two weeks for that. And we used to Apparate from Maerview--it's right near the school, like Hogsmeade--during our sixth and seventh years. But we didn't get caught, thanks to Tris, so it wasn't all that impressive, I guess."

Charlie looked at Bill. Bill looked at Charlie. Troublemakers, indeed. But none of that was the kind of thing you'd consider bad trouble, or even kind of bad trouble, to use Tonks' phrase. It was simple mischief, not malicious. It was impressive, but not particularly worrisome. Hardly the kind of thing that would inspire the guilty look in Tonks' eyes when she'd mentioned it. Hardly the kind of thing that would inspire anyone to clam up when questioned about it. They shrugged at each other and looked at the twins.

"You could Apparate at sixteen?" Fred was asking, clearly jealous.

"Well, I didn't say we were supposed to," Morrigan explained. "You know how that works--you're supposed to be seventeen and have your permanent license, but if you don't mess things up they have a harder time catching you, don't they?" She shrugged.

Her voice trailed off and she seemed to be thinking about something. "Oh. Before one or the other of us forgets to say it. If you're ever in here and you see Mal or I looking...well, normal, I suppose, don't come over. We don't come to the Wands looking like ourselves, ever. We come here to hang out, rarely, but we're usually here for work. To meet a contact, to get information on a subject, whatever. And if we're here for work, we're being watched. So if you come over, you'll be watched, too."

"Just so we're all on the same page, you look normal when you're red-headed?" Fred asked with amusement.

Morrigan laughed. "Right."

"Same with Malcolm?" George asked, smirking.

"Same with Malcolm," Morrigan agreed. "Smart-asses," she muttered, and Fred and George burst out laughing. Morrigan started talking with Tonks about the last Weird Sisters show they'd been to, and the conversation moved on. The two women started arguing amiably about which song had been performed best, and had soon drawn everyone else into the argument, even though none of the men had been at the show. Bill found himself distracted by the way the twins constantly agreed with everything Morrigan said, how first Fred, then George, was begging to buy her a drink, how they'd sat her down between them and seemed to move closer to her every time he looked over.

"Right, Bill?" Tonks asked, and he snapped back to reality, having no idea what she was asking about.

"Sorry. Daydreaming," he said with a sheepish grin that made Tonks smile for no reason he could see.

"You saw the Weird Sisters in Egypt," Charlie prompted.

"Oh. Right. Great show," Bill said, nodding, and forced himself to ignore the other side of the table for a while. Concentrating on discussing the concert with Tonks, he missed Charlie raising an eyebrow at the twins. He also missed the twins giving Charlie a too-innocent look that had Charlie grinning and shaking his head with amusement.

It was nearly midnight when the Carricks left, and though they all wanted to protest, no one said a word. Aware of what Malcolm and Morrigan had to do tomorrow, and unwilling to bring it up in such a public place, they simply waved goodbye as the twins made for the door, one at a time, and waved back.

They seemed too good to be true, Bill thought. Smart, funny, good at Quidditch, good at magic. If anyone but Tonks had mentioned that there had been big trouble in the Carricks' past, he didn't know if he'd have believed it. What, he wondered, had the big trouble been?

***

Harry woke early the next day, well aware that today was the day the Carricks were heading to Azkaban. Ginny, using the Extendable Ears, had overheard a conversation about it two nights ago. Ever since she'd told them all, the idea of it had grown in Harry's head until it reached monstrous proportions. He couldn't ever remember being so afraid, at least not without also fearing for his own life.

He lay in bed, listening to Ron's snores, and thought back to the previous afternoon, when he'd cornered Malcolm in the garden. He hadn't been willing to bring up Azkaban then, but knowing that Malcolm was going there, and knowing what might be waiting for him, he hadn't been able to stop himself following Malcolm around. Mal had gone out into the garden, and he'd trailed after his cousin like the world's worst spy, until Mal had turned to him, grinning, and asked what was on his mind.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked, and something in his voice hinted to Harry that Mal was well aware of the Extendable Ears and how often they were used in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He pushed that thought aside, and frowned at Mal. He was taking the whole thing far too lightly, in Harry's opinion. Without noticing it, Harry leaned on the ugly statue of the House-Elf, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You're going after a Death Eater tomorrow. You might get hurt. Or Cursed," he said, and saw Mal's smile fade as he understood what was on Harry's mind. Harry had been referring to the Unforgivable Curses. Harry saw by Malcolm's expression that he understood this.

"I might," he answered, nodding. "That's part of my job. You wouldn't get far as an Auror if you refused to take on the jobs where you might get hurt, or Cursed." His tone was light, but his eyes were very, very serious.

Harry had no idea what his next question would be until it popped out of his mouth. "You could Curse them back, couldn't you?" he asked.

Malcolm shook his head. "That's not how it works, Harry. You know that. You don't just go around throwing out Unforgivables. They're illegal for a reason, aren't they?" he asked gently.

Harry hesitated. "I used one once," he said, even as his mind protested telling anyone anything so deeply secret.

If Malcolm was shocked by this, he didn't show it. "Did you?" he asked. His tone invited Harry to go on and get it off his chest.

Strangely, Harry found that he wanted to do just that. "On Bellatrix Lestrange," he told Malcolm. "After she and Sirius...I mean, after..." He forced himself to say it, even as part of him cringed, "after Sirius died. I used the Cruciatus Curse on her," he added, remembering that he hadn't mentioned this before.

"Didn't work too well, did it?" Malcolm asked, propping a disrespectful elbow on the outstretched hand of Salazar Slytherin, who scowled at him. He ignored this completely.

Harry shook his head. "I mean," he added, "it hurt her. But only for a minute. She said--" he broke off, trying to remember what Bellatrix had said, "that I had to want to hurt her. That righteous anger wouldn't hurt her for long."

Malcolm nodded. "She was right," he said simply. "That's one reason it's not an effective weapon for people who wouldn't normally use it. For one, it's extremely difficult to perform, and takes a lot of energy. And," he said, raising his eyebrows at Harry, "it takes a very particular person to be able to mean the Curse enough for it to hurt someone badly. Most people don't have the stomach for it, thank Merlin."

Harry nodded. "I was really, really angry, though. I thought it would hurt her. I wanted it to hurt her."

"Did you, really?" Malcolm asked, sounding politely curious, as though they were sitting down to tea and discussing a walk Harry had taken.

Harry thought hard. He remembered wanting to hurt Bellatrix, wanting her to feel something of the pain he had been feeling at losing Sirius. He remembered her scream, and feeling triumphant.

He remembered lying in bed after his talk with Dumbledore, feeling sick to his stomach for having wanted to hurt anyone so badly.

"I did, at the time," he said slowly. "I really did want to hurt her. But after...well, afterward I felt sick."

Malcolm smiled at him, and Harry realised that this was the answer he'd wanted to hear. For some reason, that made Harry feel better. "Sure you did," Mal said with a nod. "Because you're not the kind of person who goes around hurting people for fun. Under normal circumstances, you would never have thought to use a curse like that, would you?" he asked.

Harry shook his head, and knew he was telling the truth.

"That's why your Curse didn't work on Bellatrix," Malcolm said. "And that's why we wouldn't just go around throwing out Curses at Death Eaters. If we did, I don't know that we'd have much right to be bringing them to justice," he said reflectively, then shook his head as though to clear it.

"So why didn't I get in trouble?" Harry asked. "I mean, it's an Unforgivable Curse. They should have taken me away, shouldn't they?"

"They sure the hell should have," Malcolm said, surprising Harry. He looked at Malcolm, and his cousin met his eyes squarely. "But they didn't," Malcolm continued, "and I can't say that I blame them. You were in a situation you couldn't really handle, Harry. And you weren't thinking clearly. That's no excuse," he added with a frankness that was almost brutal, "but it's a reason.

"I don't know that Fudge knew about it. If he had, you'd probably be locked up somewhere now. At the least, you'd have been expelled. But Professor Dumbledore certainly knew about it. And I have no doubt that if he felt you hadn't reacted the proper way, so to speak, you'd be paying for having done it now."

"I guess he thought I was dealing with enough," Harry said, remembering Dumbledore using similar words in his office after the fight at the Ministry.

"I doubt that," Malcolm told him bluntly. His tone was absolutely unsympathetic. "Everyone has problems to deal with, Harry. Everyone loses someone they love eventually. It's never a good enough reason to start throwing Unforgivable Curses around."

Harry stared at Malcolm. He'd expected sympathy, or at least a little kindness. He'd expected Malcolm to shrug it off.

Mal sighed. "Harry, look at what I do for a living. I put people in jail who use Curses like that. I know what those Curses do to people. You know what those Curses do to people. Do you really expect me to pat you on the shoulder and say it's all right?"

When he put it that way, Harry thought, it sounded foolish. He shrugged uneasily.

Malcolm's expression softened. "I'm not saying you're a horrible person, Harry. But if no one takes you to task when you botch things up, you might not think about it next time--not until it's too late. I've also seen what Azkaban does to people. And I don't want that for you."

Harry sighed. "I just didn't think about it," he said softly. "I mean, it's not like I forgot that it happened or anything, it's just that I don't like to remember it."

Malcolm smiled. "And who could blame you?" he asked simply. "Don't get me wrong, Harry. I know you've been through a lot, and you've come through it all remarkably well. But don't start thinking that because you've been through a lot, you're entitled to special treatment. You were damned lucky that Fudge didn't catch wind of it all. Can you imagine what would have happened? Can't you see the headline in the Prophet?"

Harry could, suddenly--Boy Who Lived Curses Woman at Ministry. The mere thought of it made him a bit queasy.

"Harry," Malcolm said, and their eyes met again. "You're too important to take stupid risks like that. You've been through a lot, but you'll suffer through more before it's all said and done." He sighed, and now Harry recognised the sympathy in Malcolm's eyes. "That's not meant to scare you. It's meant to make you understand, Harry. He marked you," Malcolm said, gesturing to Harry's scar, "because you're like him, but you're also unlike him. He saw you as a threat because of your differences.

"One of those differences is your heart, Harry," Malcolm told Harry softly. "If you let it waste away, or let it be destroyed by hatred or bitterness or fear, you've already lost the battle. You have to fight those things as much as you have to fight Voldemort himself."

Harry considered that, and thought that Malcolm might have a point. After all, last year had turned out terribly, and he'd spent nearly the entire year angry or bitter, or both. The two of them looked at each other and grinned. Pointing his wand at the statue of Salazar Slytherin, who had directed a distinctly obscene and rather undignified gesture at them both, Malcolm froze the statue's arms in place. Slytherin's face looked, if anything, even more outraged than before. Laughing, Harry and Malcolm walked back to the house for the afternoon's Potions lesson.

***

It was nine a.m., and the kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was unusually crowded, even for a Saturday. No one was eating; they'd already had breakfast and done the washing up. No one was talking; they were a little nervous, and the few attempts at conversation had ended up failing miserably. When the front door opened and closed, everyone in the kitchen tensed, looked around, and grinned uncomfortably. A few moments later, Morrigan entered the kitchen, followed by Malcolm, and they grinned at everyone.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville looked at them, wide-eyed. Bill and Charlie, both drinking coffee, did their best to grin. Fred and George, unable for once to make jokes, simply watched as Malcolm, then Morrigan, headed over to the teapot. Moody scowled. Molly Weasley wrung her hands in her apron. Remus Lupin watched it all solemnly. The mood would have been tense enough without the news, from the morning Prophet, that a series of Death Eater attacks had left three Wizards in York, two in Oxford, and five in Truro dead. Suddenly, the prospect of a trip to Azkaban seemed far more serious than it had yesterday.

"You can breathe, you know. It's actually recommended," Morrigan said as she poured herself a cup of tea, and everyone relaxed. When she turned around, she was grinning at all of them. "You know, it's really not that big of a deal. Not that I understand how you lot even know about it," she said, mock-severely, to Harry and the others. Ginny's ears burned bright red, ending any doubts Morrigan still have had about the use of Extendable Ears in Grimmauld Place.

"Yeah," Ron said, doing his best to lighten the mood, "The paperwork's going to be awful. You should just stay here and play Quidditch with us." Morrigan grinned at him, and Malcolm laughed.

"It's not something to take lightly," Moody grumbled, his glare making Ron wince a bit.

"We're not taking it lightly, Moody," Morrigan assured him. "But we're not going to walk around like we're heading off to hell, either. We've got the plan. Quick trip in, quick trip out, done. Unless there's more there than we expect there to be, we won't be but a few seconds, and we've spent the week preparing for it, for Merlin's sake." She sighed when he continued to glare. "Come on, Moody," she said, and in what everyone else in the room considered a true act of bravery, walked over to him and pinched his cheek. "Give us a little smile, won't you?"

The effect of this was, predictably, worse than the glare. On Moody, a smile was bad enough. A reluctant smile was particularly hideous. Everyone found something else to look at, and most of them ended up staring at Malcolm.

"Don't look at me, it wasn't my idea," he said easily, making Harry laugh. After that, the dam was broken. Molly started fussing over the Carricks, wanting to make them breakfast, which they politely refused. Lupin came over and started talking to Morrigan and Malcolm about something that made them both grin at him, delighted. After finishing their tea, they sat down at the kitchen table, with the adults. Harry and his friends went outside into the garden, having been all but chased away by Molly Weasley, and spent a half-hour wondering what was going on inside the kitchen.

"So the Ministry changed things on you at the last minute," Moody said with a frown. "How did that come about?"

"MacInnes and Whiting called a meeting yesterday afternoon and switched things around. Told us they needed us to bring in someone who's a prime Death Eater suspect. They apparently have information suggesting he's been disappearing from sight every time the rest of the known Death Eaters are meeting. They've got some other evidence, too. Too much to go into here and now. So they're operating on the assumption that he's one of them in disguise." Malcolm's tone was neutral, as was his expression. His sister's was the same. If they had any doubts about what they were being told at work, they weren't revealing them here.

"Who is he?" Moody wanted to know.

"Turnbridge," Morrigan said. Lupin frowned. Moody scowled. Molly Weasley gasped. Her two oldest sons' faces went dark.

"Right. Not your average simple arrest," Malcolm said.

"Average simple arrest my arse," Moody growled. "He's responsible for nearly as many killings as Marshall is, and they pulled you off Marshall to get you into the office."

"Right. We had a good teacher, Moody. We're not oblivious to the implications. Someone wants Turnbridge in London, don't they? And they want us to bring him in. But they know where he is. Anyone could have been drafted to arrest him. But they picked us. Why? Who the hell knows, at this point. But we're not unprepared."

Moody's grunt might have been agreement, and it might have been annoyance. No one in the room, including the Carricks, was entirely sure. Morrigan changed the subject to ask who was going to be at the house that night. Seeming relieved by the opportunity to talk about something, anything else rather than Turnbridge, Molly Weasley started talking, a bit too fast and a bit too loud, until it was time for the Carricks to leave.

At nine-thirty, the door to the garden opened again and Malcolm and Morrigan came out, followed by Fred and George. "Right, so we're taking off. Got some bad guys to chase after," Morrigan said cheerfully. Seeing Harry's apprehensive look, she gave him a one-armed hug, calculated to reassure without embarrassment. Harry's grin indicated that it had worked.

"We'll see you back here later," Morrigan said. "We shouldn't be too late. Stop worrying, Harry. We know what we're doing, right?" He nodded, grinning at her, a little embarrassed but not minding too much.

"Right, so, Ron," Malcolm said, pointing his wand at the garden and making the Quidditch field reappear. Ron looked up, wide-eyed. "Give them hell, right?" Malcolm winked at Ron, who beamed. Harry and Ron, on their brooms in an instant, took off for the far end of the field, followed by Neville, then Ginny and Hermione. Grinning at each other, the Carricks Disapparated.

***

He saw Morrigan block the Curse and he Disapparated as it deflected toward him. Malcolm Apparated silently right behind Turnbridge, and pointed his wand. "Stupefy!" he shouted. The Stunning Spell shot, brilliantly red, from his wand and caught Turnbridge unaware. He dropped like a rock in the middle of the clearing, and Morrigan wasted no time in binding him up in an Anti-Apparation jinx that prevented Turnbridge from escaping. Malcolm pointed his wand again and had Turnbridge floating toward him, cursing the whole time.

Malcolm looked at his sister. There were a few bruises on her face, more on her arms, and the cut on her arm would need looking at, but all in all, she was in fairly good shape for what they'd been through. He had a few bruises himself, and his newest leather jacket was destroyed--that would teach him to buy Muggle clothes and wear them on the job, he thought with a grimace--but all in all, an hour-long chase and duel had come out all right.

"So you'll take him in?" Morrigan asked. "And I'll head to the office and get the report done." Turnbridge scowled at them as Malcolm replied in the affirmative. Almost instantly, Malcolm was gone. At the same instant, Morrigan Disapparated toward Azkaban, sending a Cloaking Spell ahead of her.

She knew the moment she left that it was a bad idea, but as she didn't fancy a swim in the frigid North Sea, or a splinch halfway through, she made the trip. As soon as she arrived, her Cloaking Spell already waiting for her, she Disapparated back to the Ministry and ended her Spell. Even that short time on the island, barely three seconds, was enough to tell her what she'd come to find out.

A bit shaken despite having suspected the real situation at Azkaban, Morrigan headed to her desk and started writing up her report on Turnbridge's capture. She was halfway through when the back of her neck began to tingle. She turned casually, and saw Brent MacInnes standing there. She grinned at her boss, and swiveled her chair around halfway so she could see him better. "Brent. We just got back with Turnbridge. I wasn't sure whether you'd be in today or not," she said, smiling.

He smiled back, but there was something about his expression that didn't ring true. Leaning against the wall of her cubicle, he watched the quill completing the last sentence she'd dictated, then his eyes returned to her. "Figured I'd stop by and see if you were both back yet."

"Mal took him straight down to the new holding area," Morrigan said cheerfully. "So I came up here to get the paperwork done. It's easier without Mal offering suggestions that begin with 'And then the sorry bastard...'" She laughed. MacInnes laughed with her, but she still thought her boss' expression was a bit off. Vaguely threatening.

"So what happened when you found him?" MacInnes asked. He had moved forward, and was standing much closer to her. Too close, she thought. Far too close. Her mind raced. She was effectively trapped. If he suspected that she or Malcolm had gone to Azkaban, making a move for her wand would confirm it. And if she wanted to do anything about MacInnes, she needed her wand. Part of her cover was that she was a 'normal' witch, and she worked hard to make sure that no one at the Ministry suspected the extent of her talent for wandless magic. Only a few people in the Ministry, Order members all, knew about her magic. MacInnes was not one of the few.

"Well, he ran, didn't he? Just like we figured he would. Let's face it, Brent, if they gave up peacefully whenever we showed up, we'd all be out of jobs," she said, still grinning as her mind went through her options.

She couldn't Disapparate, not from inside the Department. She couldn't throw a spell at him. A Memory Charm would work for in the short term, but could easily be broken. If she Stunned her boss she would be throwing away the cover she and Mal had worked so long to perfect, and she might well find out the hard way what was being done with prisoners these days. A Shielding Charm worked with her wand, if it was strong enough to shield her from what she was afraid he was about to throw at her, would deflect his spell back at him, which would give away the fact that she was on to him.

Whatever he did, as long as it wasn't a Killing Curse, she was going to have to put up with. Fleetingly, her words to Harry ran through her mind: sometimes knowing you've made a choice makes it easier. She had a feeling that knowing she'd made a choice to take what came wasn't going to make it much easier.

When the Cruciatus Curse came, she was prepared for it. Her mind was blocked off; everything she wouldn't reveal to him was deeply locked away inside her head. Even being prepared for it didn't prevent her from being knocked out of her chair with the force with which he delivered the Curse. Needles. Thousands of needles making her flesh scream. Pain digging in, taking hold, taking over. Great, racking waves of agony washed over her one after the other. How, she wondered, could your bones hurt? When the pain disappeared long minutes later, her muscles were aching with the need to spasm. She wouldn't let them. He looked into her eyes, and asked the question again. "What happened when you found him?"

She ignored the question. Even if it hadn't been in her nature to resist giving information so brutally demanded, it was in her training to resist giving any information when it was being forced out of her. So she lay there, gasping for breath, and heard the word again. "Crucio!"

Fighting only made the pain worse. She did her best to relax--as though that were truly possible when huge swells of agony were rolling across her body--and let the pain move through her. It didn't help. At least, if it helped, she didn't notice the difference. This time he let the Curse work longer than he had the first time. When it was over, she curled into a ball on the floor inside her cubicle, beside her overturned chair. Tears she refused to let fall shone in her eyes. He bent over her. "What happened when you found him?" MacInnes repeated, his eyes dark and cruel. Harder to ignore this time. She tried to contact Malcolm, concentrating every aching part of her mind on reaching his. On reaching him and telling him not to come up to the office. She was still trying when she heard him repeat the Curse for the third time. And the fourth. And countless times afterward.

***

Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George were at the Wands, having been ordered out of the house by their mother, who was marshaling a sudden rush of activity centered around making Number 12 Grimmauld Place sparkling clean. The four of them were of the opinion that that particular house was not likely to ever achieve the description 'sparkling', and Fred had been stupid enough--or smart enough, depending on your viewpoint--to have mentioned this opinion out loud. They had been ordered out of the house in the same breath that Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville had been ordered to start cleaning.

It was six o'clock, and they figured that they had another half-hour before the cleaning frenzy was over, so Charlie had just gone over to the bar to get the second-last round of drinks. They'd been in the pub for close to two hours, and had found it hard to resist talking about what was on everyone's mind--how Malcolm and Morrigan were doing. Bill was looking around the bar for any friends when, at the door, he caught a flash of bright red-gold hair. He swore. Bad news. She looked awful. If she was normally pale, now she was ashen. There were bruises on her face and on what he could see of her arms. She was walking unevenly, as if every step were an agony. She moved toward the back of the pub, to a table in a dark corner already occupied by two Wizards.

He turned in time to catch Fred about to stand up. "Sit back down," he said, and the uncharacteristically curt order startled Fred into obeying. "Do you remember what she said yesterday? Don't go over to her if she shows up looking like herself. Do you want to get her killed? Or to get us killed?"

"She doesn't look like herself, she looks like she's going to pass out," Fred argued, his eyes snapping fury at his oldest brother.

"I know that, Fred. Put two and two together," Bill said softly. "If she looks like that and she's here, something really, really bad is going down. But we don't know what it is. I'm not saying don't be ready to help her. I'm only saying to wait until she asks for it, or we'll mess the whole thing up. We have no idea what's going on."

Fred took a deep breath, sat down, and worked on getting calm. He knew damned well that Bill was right. He didn't like it one bit, though. George, though he hadn't moved, had the same expression on his face as his twin. Charlie and Bill, facing the room, were outwardly calmer, but both had their wands ready beneath the table.

Fred started looking through the pockets of his robes as though it were the most important thing in the world. George, seeming to catch on, thrust his own hands into his pockets. Their brothers, momentarily distracted from the scene across the room, stared at the twins as though they'd gone insane.

George looked relieved, and tossed something on the table. It looked like a long, flesh-colored string. Fred clapped his twin on the back, clearly ecstatic. Neither Bill's nor Charlie's expressions changed a whit.

"Extendable Ear. New version," Fred said softly. He pointed his wand at the string and said, "Audius mobilus a Morrigan." The string separated into two pieces. The shorter piece, perhaps an inch long, stood itself up on end. As the four of them watched, the top of the short piece seemed to stretch, and little holes appeared in it. The longer piece of string began to move, a bit like the world's fastest worm, and slid across the table. In seconds, it was on its way over to the other end of the room.

"If they notice it, it'll disappear," George assured his brothers. "We've been testing them for ages. It's the new model. It's only just in the store." He waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. The piece of the Extendable Ear that was still sitting on the tabletop, now looking very much like an old-fashioned Muggle telephone receiver, let out a squawk that had the brothers starting. Bill and Charlie did their best not to stare at it as they heard snatches of conversation from other bar patrons filtering through the Extendable Ear.

It didn't take a full minute before they heard Morrigan's voice, weary and a bit irritated. "I'm just in here for a moment. I just couldn't seem to get it out of my head. I feel really sick suddenly, might be coming down with a summer flu or something. But I saw you here, and I thought it would be rude not to say hello."

"That's bloody well amazing," Bill said, staring at his younger brothers. They grinned at him, then concentrated on the Extendable Ear again.

Looking across the room, Bill saw MacInnes' mouth moving along with the words coming out of the Ear. "Good to see you. How did things go with Turnbridge? Did you have any problems getting him in?" Whiting leaned forward, staring hard at Morrigan. His expression was one of patently false concern. She didn't seem to notice.

"He's a Legilimens. Whiting is. He's staring at her while MacInnes asks the questions," Bill reported softly, then looked away, and Charlie took over watching.

"Merlin! I can't believe it's MacInnes and Whiting," Charlie said in a half-whisper. "They're two of the most senior Aurors in the Ministry, now Moody's gone," he added. Fred and George frowned.

"Everything went fine. We showed up, we dueled, Mal brought him in and I went to write our report." Morrigan's voice seemed to be fading. "I really don't feel well."

"He didn't give you any trouble?" MacInnes asked.

"No," she answered, sighing. "He ran for it, of course, but that's nothing out of the ordinary."

"And you took him right in to the Ministry?" Whiting asked. Charlie saw Whiting's eyes narrow with intense concentration as he stared at Morrigan.

"Of course. That's what the memo said, the one from Fudge," she said. Her voice had taken on a tone of whiny irritation that was wholly believable given her physical state. She really did look sick.

Whiting and MacInnes, Charlie noted, seemed well-satisfied. He saw Whiting nod at MacInnes. "Well, we don't want to keep you, Carrick. You look like you could use some rest. Really, do you want help home?" MacInnes asked. He sounded honestly concerned.

"I'll be fine," she managed, and worked up as cheerful a good-bye for them as she could--it was clearly an effort--before turning away from their table.

"When she leaves, don't so much as look at her," Bill warned, getting a good look at MacInnes' and Whiting's faces. If he'd ever seen two people more suspicious of a third, he couldn't remember the occasion. "Don't get up, don't follow her out, don't do anything," he said.

Charlie nodded. "They're suspicious. And they're not the only people in the pub watching her. So don't do anything stupid."

Fred and George, having realised how serious the situation was, simply nodded. Fred pointed his wand at the Extendable Ear and muttered a few words, and it disappeared with a soft popping sound as Morrigan started walking toward the street door. She never even looked at the Weasleys sitting at the table near the door. She only made it out the door on pride, Bill thought, and fought the urge to follow her out the door.

The next fifteen minutes were some of the longest moments of their lives. They drank and smoked and did their best to look like they were having a good time. Whiting left, than MacInnes, then several other Wizards who had been watching Morrigan. Bill and Charlie did their best to memorise the faces. "Fred and George. Head for Grimmauld Place. Don't use the Floo," Bill said, ten minutes later. They made a show of looking at watches and going reluctantly, for which Bill would have given them a medal if he'd had one to award. Ten minutes after that, Charlie and Bill left. According to the plan they'd come up with after the twins had left, Charlie went after the twins. Bill went to the Carricks' apartment.

He showed up in the living room, and Malcolm gave him a relieved look. "We need to get her to Grimmauld Place," he said, indicating Morrigan, who was barely standing.

"Damn it, Malcolm, don't worry about getting me there, I'll get there myself. You've got to get there first...make sure they aren't using the Floo," she said hoarsely.

"Fine. I'll go. You wait a few minutes and then come with Bill. If you try it now, there's no telling where you'll end up, Mor. You're a mess."

"You're telling me," she muttered, darkly amused, as her brother Disapparated. She swayed on her feet, and Bill hurried over to steady her. She was really in bad shape. If she'd been pale in the Wands, she was now nearly colorless. She was trembling so hard that it was affecting her balance. "Thanks," she told Bill, sounding vaguely surprised, just before she collapsed entirely. He caught her before she hit the ground, and walked over to the couch with her. She was out cold, shaking as if it were winter.

Bill's curse was soft and heartfelt. Unless his guess was very, very off, she'd been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, and more than once. Nothing else would make you shake so badly while you were completely unconscious. He couldn't imagine how she'd made it through her twenty minutes at the Wands, how she'd made it back here at all, given the shape she was in now.

Suddenly realising how stupid it was to be waiting for an unconscious woman who'd just passed out to wake up so she could Disapparate, he got out his wand, scooped her up in his arms, and Disapparated to Grimmauld Place.

He knocked on the front door as best he could, and the door swung open immediately, his mother, wide-eyed with worry, stepped aside so he could make his way into the house. As soon as he'd gotten through the door, Molly slammed the door behind him and worked the locks with a speed born of fright.

Bill carried her into the kitchen, set her down in a cozy-looking plush easy chair that had appeared near the hearth since the last time he'd been here, and stepped back so that Malcolm could get a good look at her. She was starting to come around, her eyelids fluttering uncontrollably. When her eyes finally opened, all it took was one look at her for Malcolm to come to the same conclusion Bill had.

Malcolm swore softly, knelt down next to them and looked at her closely. "How many times, Mor?"

She shrugged weakly. "Lost count," she said, in a voice that was shaky and entirely without her usual cheer. "They...were trying to..." Her voice trailed off, and she started again. "Trying to find out about Turnbridge," she managed.

Malcolm cursed again, went out the kitchen door, and headed to the living room. He came back with a bottle of Firewhiskey, Lupin on his heels, and closed the door and locked it. Molly cast a Silencing Charm and set about making tea. It was clear from her face that she knew no one would want any, but she needed something to keep her occupied.

"I heard voices and figured you'd both returned--" Lupin stopped dead when he saw Morrigan leaning back in her chair, pale as chalk and shaking like a leaf in a high wind. His face darkened perceptibly, but he turned and looked around. Malcolm had stopped in the center of the room, apparently at a loss for what to do next, the bottle still in his hand. Lupin waved his wand and had glasses--eight of them--floating across to the table. Malcolm, as if waking up, poured, and handed the glasses around.

After managing a drink or two Morrigan heaved a sigh. "Got a cigarette?" she asked, and three packs landed on the table in front of her. She took one with hands that were still trembling, and Charlie lit it for her.

"It was MacInnes," she said finally, after a long drag on the cigarette. "We've got very big problems. Azkaban is empty. And MacInnes is on the other side." She sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment. She seemed not to know what to say next. After a long moment, something occurred to her, and she added, "So is Whiting."

"Mor. What happened when I left with Turnbridge?" Malcolm said. Her pallor worried him, but now that he was reasonably sure that she wasn't hurt as badly as she might have been, he was calmer.

"Went to Azkaban. Bad idea. Sent the spell out and as soon as I was leaving I knew it was a bad idea." Her sentences were fragmented, but considering how many times she'd heard the word "Crucio" today, she decided that getting the basic idea across would have to be good enough. "Could feel it. But once I left I had to go. Couldn't risk splinching or missing it altogether. So I went. Left for the Ministry as soon as I got there. Empty. Dead empty. No Dementors. No prisoners."

"Were you there long enough to tell that there were no prisoners?" Lupin asked gently, and added more Firewhiskey to her glass. She gave him a grateful look and drank again.

"South wall is completely blasted away. No way they could hold anyone there," she said. The others exchanged grave looks. It was worse, then, than they'd expected.

"And when you got to the Ministry?" Lupin asked.

"Went to write our report. MacInnes showed up. Seemed odd somehow. Leaning on the wall of my cubicle. Wanting to know what happened. Started to tell him. He got really close all of a sudden." She paused, looking exhausted. "He was too close. Threatening." She dragged on the cigarette again, and sighed. "And I knew what he was going to do. Couldn't do anything about it. Would have made him suspicious if he realised I knew it was coming. And if I defended against it we would have been lost," she said. Malcolm, understanding, nodded. The anger in his eyes, if anything, grew.

"He Cursed you?" Lupin asked gently, sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs. Fred and George stiffened; they had known that she was in bad shape, but hadn't had any idea what had caused it.

"Cruciatus. And in between every one, he asked what had happened. When we arrived at Turnbridge's house." She closed her eyes, trying not to remember. "Don't know how long--what time is it?" she asked. Her voice was fading.

"Six-forty-five," Charlie answered, his voice dangerously soft.

"I got there at five-fifteen. So I guess it was--" she paused, almost too exhausted to think "--about forty-five minutes. Didn't tell him anything." Her tone took on a strange urgency, and she repeated herself. "Didn't...tell. I'm not sure he expected me to. We're trained not to...say anything, if we're being forced." She leaned back, feeling too tired to go on. She pushed it, because they needed to know. They needed to warn the others. "I think he just kept doing it because he was having fun," she added. Her voice was barely a whisper. When her eyes opened, they seemed far too large in her pale face.

"He let you go?" Malcolm prompted.

"Memory Charm," she said softly. "That I could block."

"Block and absorb?" Malcolm asked, raising an eyebrow. It was a difficult piece of wandless magic, and he couldn't imagine how much it had taken out of her to manage it after what MacInnes had put her through.

Morrigan nodded wearily, her eyes closing again. "He thinks it worked. When the Charm was supposed to be working, he told me I had to meet him at the Wands. Bill and Charlie and the twins were there. Didn't...say hi. Sorry," she added irrelevantly, making Bill's lips twitch reluctantly.

"Whiting was with him. At the Wands. He's a Legilimens," she said softly. It took an obvious effort for her to continue. "I showed him what he expected to see. What happened with Turnbridge, starting to write the report, and then just confusion. He's satisfied." She sighed wearily. "Need to sleep." Her head rolled to the side, and the glass slid out of her fingers. Malcolm caught it before it hit the ground. Bill thought she'd fallen asleep. Then her eyes opened again. "Went home first. Floo. Wanted him to think I was there. Don't use the Floo. They're watching it again." Her eyes closed, and her features relaxed as she finally let go and fell asleep. Bill could see her still trembling, her tortured muscles unable to stop their spasms.

Malcolm, the Weasleys, and Lupin stared at each other, appalled by what they'd just heard. Lupin stood up after a moment, taking charge. "Mal, take her upstairs and put her to bed. She needs rest more than anything else right now. How she even managed to hold on this long is beyond me.

"No one uses the Floo network. Not to talk, not to travel. Not for anything. Bill and Charlie, get hold of your father and as many people as you can reach. We need a meeting. I'll get in touch with Albus and Moody. Molly, if you could explain to Harry and the others what happened--Fred and George," he said as Molly hurried out of the kitchen. They nodded and followed their mother, who looked as though she might not make it up the stairs on her own. Malcolm picked his sister up and Disapparated upstairs with her. Bill and Charlie headed out to find their father and contact the other Order members.

***

When Malcolm entered the kitchen twenty minutes later, he saw that nearly the entire Order was present.

"How is she?" Remus asked softly.

"Asleep. She'll be fine, with a chance to rest," Malcolm said. A small smile curved his lips as he glanced upward. "I think the kids are sitting guard duty. I heard them sneaking down the hallway when I came downstairs."

Remus grinned, but the expression did nothing to erase the worry on his face. "Well, at least it will keep them occupied," he decided, and Malcolm nodded in reply.

At the sound of the front door opening, everyone in the kitchen turned toward the door expectantly. After the sounds of the door being re-locked filtered through the kitchen door, Minerva McGonagall, walked into the kitchen followed by Albus Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall's entire body, from the tips of her pointed shoes to her tightly-fixed bun, radiated an outrage that seemed to reassure the people already in the room. She settled into a chair with her accustomed regal dignity, her green robes swirling about her. Dumbledore chose the chair Morrigan had recently occupied, his features drawn in a preoccupied frown. Footsteps sounded from the hallway, moving up the stairs at a fast pace. After the usual Charms had been place on the door, Dumbledore began.

"Severus has brought a Potion that should help her rest more easily," Dumbledore said to Malcolm, his voice gentle. Malcolm smiled his thanks and went over to lean against the kitchen counter between Fred and Charlie. Minerva McGonagall looked over, met Malcolm's eyes, and gave him a reassuring smile. He returned it, feeling better than he had a few moments ago.

"Remus has brought us up to date," Dumbledore said. "So I suppose what remains is to bring the rest of you up to date." He looked around the room, saw that everyone was listening, and went on.

"The Carricks, as most of you know by now, are Aurors with the Ministry. They were assigned to a new case yesterday. It was the case of Martin Turnbridge." Dumbledore's gaze, filled with sympathy, flickered over Arthur and Molly Weasley for a moment, then passed over Bill and Charlie before his expression regained its former composure. "They were told where to find Turnbridge, and instructed to bring him in to the Ministry today. So they went to find Turnbridge, and brought him in as instructed.

"They also took the opportunity, having received my full approval, to investigate the situation at Azkaban. Once they had custody of Turnbridge, Malcolm brought him in to the Ministry, as instructed. Morrigan Apparated to Azkaban under a Cloaking Spell, then immediately returned to the Ministry to start on the paperwork resulting from their apprehension of Turnbridge.

"While Morrigan was in her office writing her report, she received a visit from one of the more senior Aurors in the Department. He questioned her about what had happened during the arrest of Turnbridge. She began to explain, and he performed the Cruciatus Curse on her." Dumbledore paused, because the outraged gasps and sounds of worry were too loud for him to continue, for the moment. When everyone had quieted down, he went on. "He alternated interrogating her about Turnbridge's apprehension and Cursing her for quite some time, then, when it became apparent that she was not going to reveal anything to him, performed a Memory Charm on her.

"She managed to block and absorb the Memory Charm without making it apparent to him, after which the senior Auror, who is an accomplished Legilimens, brought her to meet a colleague of his, who attempted to ascertain what had happened that afternoon using Legilimency. Morrigan, who has a talent for Occlumency that's quite rare, showed him what he wanted to see--the chase, the duel, the arrest, her trip to the Ministry, and her lack of memory regarding anything else that had happened since her arrival there. Apparently satisfied, he let her go. She went home, then came here, and is resting upstairs." Dumbledore paused again while murmurs went around the kitchen. "As you've been told, the Ministry is now watching the Floo network. The senior Auror watched the network while Morrigan used it to get home. We have to assume that it is being watched full-time now."

"Which Auror was it?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked, his face working angrily. Tonks, beside him, looked furious, and torn between running upstairs to see Morrigan and beating the living hell out of whoever had Cursed her.

"MacInnes," Dumbledore answered softly. "And his friend Whiting." Clearly, this was a blow to both Shacklebolt and Tonks. They sat stunned while the discussion went on around them.

"Why did she come here if the Floo network is being watched?" asked a voice from the far corner. Half the room turned to see Hestia Jones speaking. Murmurs of agreement could be heard from a few people in the kitchen. "Isn't she putting us at risk by coming here at all?" she asked. It was evident from the looks on several faces around the room that the normal, everyday risks that members of the Order took had just been brought home in a dramatic way.

"Morrigan has more than enough sense to put us all at risk in such a manner," Dumbledore said, his tone holding the barest edge. It was enough, however, to silence Hestia Jones and those who had agreed with her quickly. They were silenced, Bill thought, but they were not convinced. They knew too little of the Carricks to trust them unconditionally, even on Dumbledore's word. They remembered Pettigrew's betrayal of the Potters, and of Sirius, too well for that.

Dumbledore continued, his voice as weary as his eyes. He'd seen the doubt in some of the eyes watching him, and he knew he couldn't do any more to convince them at the moment. "She would have Apparated here on her own given a bit more time to rest, in order to be able to warn us that the Network was being watched and the Ministry was compromised. However, Bill Weasley and Malcolm were both at her apartment and they helped her get here." Dumbledore paused, then shook his head as though to clear it. "She sacrificed a great deal to warn us. Had she fought with MacInnes, she could have saved herself enormous pain, but would have ruined her cover and Malcolm's, which we need far more than they do." Dumbledore sighed heavily. The silence in the kitchen was thick as fog.

***

"We learned a Pain-Reducing Potion this week," Harry said finally, needing to do something for Morrigan, who was soundly asleep but moaning every so often as though in incredible pain. "We can go make some up, and ask Professor Dumbledore if it would hurt to give her some," he suggested. The hope this brought to the faces of Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Neville was almost painful to see. Harry knew their expressions were no different than his own.

"That won't be necessary, Potter," came a vaguely familiar voice from the doorway. They all turned to see Professor Snape standing in the doorway. Harry started, as did Ron and Neville. They hadn't recognised the voice, devoid as it was of its usual scorn when it addressed them. "Remus Lupin told us what happened. I have some Pain-Reducing Potion with me. Step aside please," Snape said, almost gently, and moved past his five students to wake Morrigan and administer the potion.

Harry watched as Snape woke up his cousin, who smiled weakly at Harry, then at Snape, and took the potion, which smelled as foul as it had when they'd made it three days ago, without complaint. Snape, whose arm had gone around her shoulders in order to help her sit enough to take the draught, lowered her down on the bed gently. He squeezed her shoulder for a moment, an expression of mixed sympathy and support crossing his face quickly, and went to leave the room. At the door, he turned, his black robes sketching a circle in the air around him, and looked at Harry and his friends.

"You'll be watching her, then?" he asked. Harry, remembering what Dumbledore had told him about Snape, seeing the dark circles under the man's eyes and the droop to his shoulders, nodded.

"Should we get you if she wakes up, Professor?" Harry asked, fighting to erase everything from his mind but the worry about Morrigan.

Snape didn't exactly smile, but his features relaxed a bit. His eyes, though, were as haunted as Dumbledore had suggested they would be. Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that. "I'm fairly sure she'll sleep through the night, Potter, but if she does wake up, just try to keep her comfortable until she drops off again." He turned and left, leaving more shock than fear behind him. "Any more of the potion would only hurt her in her condition."

When they were sure he'd gone, the five of them traded glances. "Ooh, Harry," Hermione said in a whisper, brushing her long hair away from her face, "he looked terrible."

Harry couldn't disagree with this, no matter how much he wanted to. He simply nodded. He remembered the sight of Snape, who looked far thinner and far more miserable than usual, and remembered Snape's voice, which had been almost gentle. Harry thought that, no matter how much he might want to deny it, Snape might have been suffering over what had happened at the Ministry like he himself had. Unable and, for now, unwilling to analyze the situation further, Harry sat down on the chair beside Morrigan's bed and waited, in case she did wake up.

He wondered how Morrigan knew Snape. The smile she'd given him had seemed to hold more familiarity than seven months working for the Order would have given them. And Snape's answering smile had been downright friendly. Shaking his head, feeling too worried to drawn many conclusions tonight, Harry sighed and settled down in his chair, watching.