The Weasleys in the First War

One

Molly Weasley rolled over in her bed early on the morning of May sixteenth with a frown. Had the gentle sunlight streaming across the bedroom woken her, or the chirping of birds outside, or anything other than the insistent rapping of a beak on glass, she might have yawned and stretched and hurried to make breakfast for Charlie, Percy and the twins without a frown. But the hard rapping continued, and would not get the hint when she ducked under the quilt. Rather, it got louder.

"All right, all right, I'm getting up, you ruddy bird," she mumbled. She slowly swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood shakily. Drat that owl, she thought as she slipped into her dressing gown. I could have gotten another hour of sleep. With a great yawn she stretched, then pulled her wild red hair from her face and shuffled across the room to open the window and let the bird in.

The tawny owl was caught off guard and flopped into the room. Molly hopped out of the way to avoid a mouthful of feathers, shaking her head gently. The bird quickly righted himself, fluttering up to sit on his post by the window sullenly. Molly tsked at him with resignation.

"You'll not live to see Charlie go to Hogwarts, will you, Errol dear?" she said, almost endearingly, as she offered the family owl one of the treats she and Arthur kept by his post. Errol hooted thankfully and munched it, settling down as if to take a nap.

"Easy there; give that note here, Errol," Molly muttered. Errol extended his left leg rather reluctantly, and then quickly shut his eyes, hoping, it would seem, a reply would not be needed.

Molly glanced at the note, and tossed it on her bureau, and Errol was safe from having to send a reply, after all.

Sorry Molly love; the raid went until one o'clock and then there was an emergency in Kent-

Arthur would not be home for breakfast.

"Toast-toast-toast-toast-toast-toast-" sang a gangly four-year-old Percy in his booster seat, his red hair exploding from his head at odd angles. He had been watching his younger brothers, the twins Fred and George, munch dry cereal happily in their seats across the table from him, and did not want to wait any longer.

"Yes, yes, Percy, in a minute," Molly replied distractedly as she turned the volume up on the radio. She only wanted the morning half-hour newscast, was that too much to ask?

"-And this is WWN, Wizarding Wireless Network, with the latest updates on the War-"

Nine-year-old Charlie scowled and shivered involuntarily. The War, the only thing Mum and Dad ever talk about, when me and Perce are out of the room of course, he thought. He was tracing the border of flying carpets and genies on his placemat with his finger; Molly had bought five of them last summer, the summer before Bill went to Hogwarts, because all the boys, even the three-month-old twins, loved listening to 1001 Arabian Nights on WWN during supper. But now they never played those fantastic stories, there was always more important news to hear. Charlie missed having Bill around while Mum and Dad would whisper or listen to the radio so attentively and forget to eat their own supper. Bill would always be able to make sense of what was going on, assure Charlie it was okay, and do little things to make Mum happy.

Fred and George giggled to each other, and Fred flicked one of his cereal pieces at Percy, who scowled at him. Charlie straightened, then grinned at the twins.

"Stop it, Fred; eat it all up quick or I'll eat it!" Fred stuffed a few handfuls in his mouth, George did too, and Charlie rolled his eyes as they competed to have the biggest cheeks. Percy, without his younger brothers to distract him, turned back to his main focus.

"TOAST!"

"Shush, Percy!" hissed Charlie. From one problem to the next...his stupid little brothers were going to make it all worse, bothering Mum like this.

"Be nice, Charlie; he's only four. " Molly flicked her wand without looking and two slices of bread popped themselves into the oven. Another flick and the porridge kettle was full and sitting in the stove, and one more flick set two glasses full of orange juice on the table. She didn't bother with the cereal-flicking twins; they were best left to their own devices unless it got very ugly. Now George was making piles of his cereal pieces, while Fred knocked them down, sending the two of them into giggles. If only those boys would be quiet...

"-pleased to report there were no attacks during the night-"

"That's good, right Mum?" Charlie asked quietly, sipping his juice.

"Yes-shh," replied his mother as she put some sausages on the table.

"-midnight raid of Willoughby Tomes on Euston Road, London, caught owner Mr. Nero Willoughby unawares; he was arrested for seven different offenses to the Dangerous Literary Works Act-"

CRASH! Percy's glass of juice flew to the floor and orange juice splattered the kitchen. Fred and George squealed, which multiplied Percy's wails at least fifty times.

"Percy! Are you all right?" Molly exclaimed, the radio drowned out and forgotten.

"I'll clean it up, Mum!" Charlie leapt from his chair to grab the towel, knocking over his own glass of juice with another loud crash.

"I'll take care of it, Charlie, thank you!" snapped an exasperated Molly, but she instantly regretted it. If all this was hard for her, heavens knew how responsible little Charlie was dealing with it. Molly sighed and patted his shoulder. "You'd better go get dressed now, dear,"

"Yes, Mum," her son said quietly, red with embarrassment. He scurried away quickly, leaving Molly with a very sticky and whimpering Percy, and two chortling twins.

"Reparo," she said with a sigh, the glass flew back together to sit innocently on the counter.

"There, there, Percy dear, it's all right; Mummy's cleaned everything up now, see?" Another flick of her wand and a towel set to mopping up the mess. Percy sniffed.

"Joose?"

"Here you are." This time the cup had a little cap on it.

Then the toast was done Molly spread jam on it quickly, moving around the kitchen effortlessly and all the while directing the towel to wring itself dry and start on the next juice-speckled bit of the room.

"Here you are, Percy: toast, juice, sausages and porridge. Need anything else, love?"

"More jam?' asked Percy tentatively.

"No, dear; I have to save some for Poppa when he comes home." Percy was thoughtful for a minute, and then bit into his toast. Molly waited. Percy was eating happily, the twins were busying themselves with making cereal rows, and she could hear Charlie padding around upstairs, getting dressed. Hoping for a few undisturbed minutes of listening, she slipped over to the radio again and turned it up, perching on a nearby stool.

"-has issued a statement regarding last summer's disappearance of Mr. Caradoc Dearborn; here is Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold at the press conference early this morning:

"We are doing everything in our power, ladies and gentleman, to recover Mr. Dearborn safe and sound. But we can make no promises. I-"

Molly switched the radio off and leaned her head on her elbows on the counter. Caradoc Dearborn...she'd met him at a Ministry party Arthur had been invited to once. He'd been so kind to her, an awkward young woman with flaming red hair at a place where she knew no one at all expect Arthur. He'd chatted with her about everyday things; he'd inquired about little Bill...and Molly frowned again, sadly this time.

Two

An hour, Molly thought as she gathered up her knitting; it was amazing how quiet the house could get in a single hour. Sitting in her overstuffed armchair, she glanced up at the clock hanging above the mantle, but not to check that it had indeed been a single hour. The clock had no numbers; rather, it had several various states of being that any of the five arrows fixed in the center might point to. Percy's and the twins' were thankfully pointing steadfastly to Sleeping; Charlie's was pointing to Visiting and Bill's had rested quietly on School since Christmas. But Arthur's...it was still sitting on Work.

"It could be worse," she told herself resolutely as she settled down to do some knitting.

Little Bill was at Hogwarts, and he couldn't be safer anywhere else. Charlie was at Mrs. Whyte's down the lane with the neighborhood Ministry children, eagerly waiting his own eleventh birthday. And Percy stayed home with Molly and the twins. Whether or not he would go to Mrs. Whyte's next year, Molly thought as she slipped the yarn over her needles with a vengeance, was another question. Ministry-shimisitry; it was perfectly excusable to wait another year and by then . . . oh, bugger everything, what could possibly be different then?

Molly did not finish that disheartening thought, because just then, the front door opened and closed softly. She leapt to her feet, needles and yarn falling to the floor, everything gone from her mind expect one thought: had she really left the kitchen door unlocked?

"Molly?" called a weary voice from the kitchen, and her heart skipped a beat. It was Arthur. Behind her, the clock hand belonging to Mr. Weasley clicked quickly to Home, as if it too were as relieved as she was.

"I'm here, Arthur," she returned softly, sitting down again and gathering her wits along with her needles and yarn.

Arthur Weasley came into the living room, shoulders hunched with exhaustion and face drawn. Molly watched him in pain as he approached his chair across the hearthrug from hers. She noted each strain of his muscles under his thin overcoat as he sank into his armchair. She saw how his eyes shut of their own will as soon as he'd rested his head on the back of his chair.

"I've never been so tired," he muttered, eyes still closed. Molly clicked her needles softly. "We raided Willoughby's shop, Molly; I'm surprised we didn't run into You-Know-Who himself down there." He shuddered. "Fudge, you know, that bloke from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? He came with us, just in case, and nearly got his eyes pulled out of his head when we went through the books in the store room." Molly cringed and dropped one of her needles. She cleared her throat.

"Are you hungry? There's still toast and sausages..."

"Any jam?" Arthur asked, opening one eye and smiling a little. Molly grinned.

"Yes, I kept the last bit from Percy."

"Excellent."

Molly leapt to her feet and hurried into the kitchen, bustling about to ready some food for her husband. He hadn't been home in eighteen hours.

Set on the tea, put in some more toast, set out another place at the table: the business of taking care of someone set to right much of what had been worrying Molly. She was so lucky... how dare she complain that her husband missed meals and spent so much time at the office! He was working against You-Know-Who, and thank heavens he was alive to do so.

She heard Arthur groan a little in the sitting room as he got up and shuffled back into the kitchen.

"Just sit down, Arthur, you've been on your feet all night-"

"I didn't come home to sit in there all by myself," he replied, sitting at the kitchen table with a small smile. "How are the boys?"

"Fine, fine." The teapot whistled and she brought it to the table, summoning two teacups and saucers from the cabinet as she sat. "Charlie woke up early this morning, he was downstairs when Errol woke me up." Arthur blinked as he remembered the early morning bad news he'd sent his wife, but Molly didn't remark. "I think he had a nightmare but he didn't say anything about it."

"Poor chap. He takes on too much." Arthur sipped the tea Molly put down gratefully, and Molly smirked.

"Like someone else I know." Arthur grinned sheepishly at her.

"Molly, you know I had to go, don't you," he said in a slightly defensive tone. Goodness knows he felt guilty about staying out so long, missing dinner and breakfast. He hadn't seen the boys since yesterday morning, and he knew it well.

"Of course I do, Arthur," Molly replied in the most even tone she could muster. And then quieter: "But you do so much already; surely someone else could have had gone-"

"They've cut the office in half, Molly, the only other person that could have gone was DeLorence and with his daughter in St. Mungo's, I couldn't have asked him."

"I know, Arthur, I know." Molly sipped her own tea with resignation, not looking up. Arthur sighed.

"Everyone who can help needs to; the whole Ministry is spread so thin, not just my office. There's no money to be had anywhere, and with people popping in and out of St. Mungo's, if they're lucky..." Molly gulped slightly and was doubly guilty for even thinking of berating her husband. Arthur stirred his tea thoughtfully. "I don't know what's going to happen."

"You don't have to, Arthur."

"I know."

The muffled clanging of the resident ghoul in the attic was all that broke the peaceful silence that fell. It was around ten o'clock in the morning, and the kitchen was warmly lit with the sun streaming through the windows. It was cluttered and a little messy but, Arthur thought tenderly, every inch of it belongs to Molly. Just sitting there, having a cup of tea with her and relaxing while the boys slept upstairs and the day blossomed; it was so easy to forget about everything.

And they almost did, the two of them in the kitchen, enjoying a rare silence. But then, there was a small explosion of sorts from the kitchen fireplace, and a wizened figure stumbled into the room.

Molly and Arthur jumped up, wands at the ready and hearts beating fast, but quickly relaxed. Through the clearing Floo powder, a familiarly scarred fellow came into view as he unfolded himself out of the fireplace and dusted off his robes.

"Sorry 'bout the mess, Molly," he said gruffly, nodding politely to her as she stowed her wand out of sight.

"Moody!" Arthur exclaimed, slipping his own wand away and hurrying over. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Willoughby's dead," Moody said brusquely, and the Weasleys blinked. "Fudge had designated a team to watch him while he went to the Minister and the survivors told us what happened."

The three were silent; the Weasleys absorbing this new information, and Alastor Moody, Chief Auror of the Ministry, adjusting his robes for a more presentable appearance. Floo powder was such a bothersome way to travel when one was in a hurry.

"Sit down, Alastor," Molly said at last as she pulled a chair out for him, and the Auror nodded gruffly and sat, gingerly at first, on the offered chair.

"Thanks, Molly, but I can't stay long. I just came to tell Arthur here and take him back again."

"I only just got home, Moody," Arthur said quietly, though Molly could see he was already resigned; if Moody had come to fetch him there was no arguing. She waited for the blow to fall, but Moody seemed sympathetic.

"I know, Arthur."

"At least stay for some tea, Alastor," Molly offered, but she didn't hurry to the kettle; she knew what he would say:

"No, thank you though, Molly."

"But you will tell me what happened while I finish mine, won't you?" Arthur said, sitting across from the Auror, who checked his pocket watch. It was a curious thing, with many different colored hands and several rings of numbers and symbols. But then, Molly thought as she watched his tuck it safely away, there were a lot of curious things about Alastor Moody.

"Well Fudge has got it all under control, for now at least." He snorted and Arthur grinned. "Pompous git."

"Is he?" Molly sat as well. "I've never met him." Moody grunted again.

"You don't need to, I can tell you he's too full of himself. Bagnold promotes him to head of the M.L.E. department and he thinks he's high lord and master over the Aurors even."

"I trust he had something to do with this mess, eh?" said Arthur, shaking his head a little.

"Of course," Moody replied harshly. "He was too important to guard Willoughby himself, so he set a guard to do it. He wanted to make his report personally to Bagnold and there you are; some Death Eaters show up and kill Willoughby and four of the guards. The only reason the other two survived was because I showed up with reinforcements."

"Other Aurors, I presume," said Molly. Moody snorted again.

"I was with a trainee when we got the tip."

"That Black boy?" asked Arthur with a small smile. "I hear Frank is rather fond of him." Moody snorted and took a swig of his hip flask.

"Frank had asked me if I would talk with the impudent hooligan about last night's raid and all."

"Hooligan, eh?" Arthur chuckled. "Frank said he was bound to turn out a great Auror."

"If he can keep his head on for more than a minute and a half," Moody rolled his eyes. "Wasn't listening to a word I was saying when - when we heard about Willoughby. He did well in the fight, though," conceded the old Auror with a small shrug and another sip from his flask.

"How did you find out what had happened?" Molly asked.

"Can't tell you that." Moody wiped his mouth on his wrist, then checked his watch again. Molly glanced at Arthur and raised her eyebrows, and her husband shrugged. "Best be off, Arthur; Bagnold will want more than one source on what happened during the raid, as will Frank, I'd wager."

"All right." Arthur got up slowly and grinned at Molly, who could only smile wearily back. "How long do you think it'll take, Moody?"

"A couple of hours, as the Prophet will want an interview too." Moody looked at Arthur with, was it a wry smile? "I reckon Bagnold will put you up to that; Fudge is no good with the press and they all think I'm a nutter."

"Excellent," said Arthur sullenly, and Moody chuckled a little.

"See you at the Ministry." Moody took a handful of Floo powder, stepped back into the fireplace and with a clear command, vanished in a puff of smoke.

Arthur turned to Molly, still grinning guiltily.

"Better get going, then."

"Hurry back safe," Molly replied, adjusting his glasses tenderly. Arthur's smile vanished as he took her hand and kissed it gently.

"Stay safe yourself, Molly-mine. Mrs. Whyte is bringing Charlie home, right?"

"Yes, in an hour," Molly replied, still holding her husband's hand tightly. "You'd better get going, or Moody will be after you."

Arthur chuckled a little and pecked her on the cheek before ducking into the fireplace. Molly watched, arms folded and a strained smile on her lips.

"Ministry Front Hall," Arthur said loudly, dropping the dust to his feet and vanishing.

Molly's smile slowly faded and she hugged her elbows tightly. It was so awful. Every time he went out, it was impossible to tell if she'd ever see him alive again. With a sigh, Molly set to sweeping up the mess the Floo powder had left, but the silence was oppressive. She took out her wand and flicked it toward the radio, for the quiet hum of voices was preferable to the worrisome quiet. At least the boys will be up soon, she thought with a small smile.

Three

The boys were indeed up soon. George woke up first, he always did, and Molly whisked him downstairs to see if Fred would sleep a little longer. But it was no use. George was fidgety and whiny, and not ten minutes later did she hear Fred wailing from his crib. Molly had to bring Fred down as well, and then the two of them were happy as clams, scurrying around the sitting room floor.

The peace was brief. One of Fred's wails woke up Percy and Molly heard a whimper at the top of the stairs not ten minutes later.

"Poor Percy dear," she crooned, scooping him up. "You don't do well without a nice long nap, do you." Percy snuggled in his mother's arms quite happily, but the sight of his brothers crawling around seemed to energize him.

"Snack? Snack, please, Mummy?" Molly sighed with a smile and reached into her apron pocket.

"Yes, yes, here's a biscuit. Just sit on the floor here and play with the twins, eh? Okay, Fred, here's a biscuit for you. Oh, sorry George, dear. Now, you're Fred aren't you, love? There you are, Fred. Everybody happy then?"

It seemed like moments, but an hour later Mrs. Whyte appeared and rang the doorbell.

"How many times have I told you, Mrs. Whyte, do come in, please? No need to ring," Molly said with a smile as she answered the door.

"There is indeed a reason to ring; isn't the door looked?" Mrs. Whyte croaked. She was an old woman, with thick, unruly white hair that was always tied tightly back but seemed to nonetheless always look absolutely wild.

"I did give you a key, didn't I?" asked Molly. Mrs. Whyte glanced to the left, to the right, and to the left again before delivering Charlie's hand into Molly's.

"I sent it back, remember? You oughtn't to be handing out keys to anybody."

"Mrs. Whyte-"

"It might not have been me, Mrs. Weasley; ever thought of that?" Mrs. Whyte croaked harshly again. Molly smiled a little. Mrs. Whyte and Moody would get along quiet well.

"It's Molly, please, Mrs. Whyte; I've known you for years. You will come in, won't you?"

"I will, and it's about time you asked me anyway. What manners were you raised with, leaving me outside and vulnerable like that?" The old woman hobbled inside and shut the door securely behind her, and watched as Molly locked it, and only then did she sit down and relax a little.

Apparently reminded of his own manners, Charlie piped up:

"Thank you, Mrs. Whyte,"

"There's a good boy, Charles, you're welcome." Mrs. Whyte smiled and patted Charlie on the head.

"Run on, Charlie, the boys are in the sitting room," Molly said, unnecessarily, as Fred and George let out thrilled shrieks for one reason or another.

"You poor thing," Mrs. Whyte said with a chuckle. "Five boys, all so close...and those twins of yours..."

"They are dears, aren't they?" replied Molly fondly, gazing after Charlie.

"Charles and William are, at any rate," Mrs. Whyte muttered.

"How was Charlie?" Molly said, turning around.

"Fine, fine, dear. He'll be quite the athlete, won't he? Clamoring for a broomstick already?"

"Well Bill comes home with tales of all the Quidditch matches at school; Charlie's absolutely enthralled by them." Molly beamed with pride, and Mrs. Whyte had to smile. "Oh, but won't you have some tea, Mrs. Whyte?"

"No, no, thank you dear, I've got to get home. Stay well, Mrs. Weasley."

"Stay well yourself, Mrs. Whyte," Molly answered with a smile as she followed the older woman to the door.

"Mummy!" shouted Percy from the other room. Molly rolled her eyes as Mrs. Whyte chuckled her way outside.

"What is it, dear?"

"Fred's got my blanket!"

"Fred, now give it back-"

"No!"

"Fred," Molly blinked. "did you just..."

"No!" shouted Fred again.

"No!" echoed George.

"No!"

"No!"

"No!"

"Mummy, my blanket-" moaned Percy, but Molly wasn't really listening. She scooped Fred and George up, giving each dozens of kisses.

"Oh my boys, dear, dear boys! Wait 'till your father hears! Your first words! How exciting!"

"No!"

"No!"

The rest of the afternoon was rather quiet. After lunch Percy and Charlie got out a chessboard and Charlie tried to teach Percy what little he knew about chess. Molly gave Fred and George their afternoon snacks and played dragons with them on the kitchen floor until naptime. And, since it was such a lovely day, she decided to take Charlie and Percy outside.

"C'mon, boys; out in the sun for a while."

Four

Charlie was explaining to Percy the finer points of how to ride a broomstick as best he could, seeing as he was lacking a broomstick and an interested pupil.

"Percy, here; look here. You have to hold it like this, see-"

"You dunno anythin' bout broomsticks," muttered a rebellious Percy as he resisted Charlie's attempts to patiently mold his fingers the correct way.

"Bill's told me lots," replied Charlie delicately. Percy wasn't convinced. Fortunately, however, Arthur Apparated under the chestnut tree by the house at that moment, and the boys were happily distracted.

"Dad!" they shouted in unison, dropping the sticks they'd been imagining were Silver Arrow 4000s to race across the lawn.

"Hello boys!" Arthur crouched down and stretched out his arms, providing a cushion for his sons to slam into and cling to.

"You've been gone for ages!" Charlie exclaimed while Percy began climbing onto Arthur's shoulders.

"I know, I've missed you terribly," replied Arthur with a smile. "Have you been good for your mum?"

"Yes," replied a confident Percy, now draped over his father's left shoulder. Charlie looked hesitant, remembering the orange juice, but Molly came over then.

"Your boys have been wonderful, dear; the best helpers a mum could want." Charlie grinned.

"Just what I want to hear!" Arthur winked at Molly as he picked Percy and Charlie up. "Hoo Charlie! You must have grown two inches since yesterday!"

"No, I'm still short," said Charlie, a little disheartened.

"Well, Seekers need to be little, don't they?"

"Yeah, I guess." But he grinned again.

"Come on inside and I'll get us all something to drink," said Molly, her heart fairly bursting. Here was her husband home again, home again safe and sound.

Charlie and Percy each had a cup of juice on the kitchen floor and picked up the Twins' dragons with enthusiasm. Molly set a cup of tea in front of her husband and flicked her wand at the lamp on the wall; the sun was setting, casting everything in a dim, rosy glow. The kitchen burst into light and suddenly everything was golden and cozy.

"I'd best get the Twins; they'll be so excited to see you, Arthur."

"How were they, today?"

"Oh Arthur, they said their first words!" Molly's faced grew flushed and she clapped her hands. "Nearly at the same time! They both said No!"

"Excellent, we'll never hear the end of it now," said Arthur with a chuckle. Molly laughed her way up stairs and scooped up the blinking Fred and George. They probably could have slept another half and hour or so, but she wouldn't take the chance Moody would show up again with some new calamity for Arthur.

They were indeed excited to see their dad; they jumped up and down on his lap and wiggled and giggled and clambered all over him for ten minutes, ten minutes Arthur enjoyed very much.

Then it was suppertime. Molly whipped together a roast and sent Charlie and Percy out for some vegetables Arthur went with them, naturally, and though Percy jabbered excitedly with his dad, Charlie knew why they needed an escort and was watchful. The twins entertained the family with a chorus of no's, which very quickly grew troublesome when it was bath time. Arthur insisted he do the dishes while she washed everyone up, and bedtime went off nearly without a hitch.

"It's been so long since you've been home for dinner," Molly said after Charlie was settled with a book in the sitting room. It was Billy's Christmas present to him, Quidditch Through the Ages.

"I've missed washing up dishes more than I could explain," replied Arthur, tossing the dishtowel back on its rack. Molly hugged him.

They talked of little things for a while. About Billy's last letter, about Mrs. Whyte and in loud whispers about getting Charlie a broomstick for his birthday next month. Then Arthur brought Charlie to bed and read him the story about dragons he and Billy loved so much. Molly picked up her knitting again, smiling as she clicked the needles. But, after Arthur helped himself to some tea and poured a cup for her, he flicked on the radio.

"The news is always so dreadful," murmured Molly, setting down her knitting to pick up the teacup.

"I just want to see if they got the release right," Arthur said gently. "There probably hasn't been anything I need to know about happening.

Greta Persnikitty was giving the weather report.

"Clouds will be moving in over the London area by noon tomorrow, and a heavy rain is expected until at least three in the morning there-"

"Good evening," snapped a crisp voice. Molly and Arthur glanced at each other. "This is Lionel Fairfetch with breaking news. We have just received word of another attack, this time near Bath." The Weasleys blanched and Molly's breath caught. "The McKinnon estate was attacked about forty minutes ago, and we have just received confirmation: Mr. Stuart McKinnon, Mrs. Penelope McKinnon, their two children Marlene and Scott, their son-in-law Gregory and their granddaughters Isabelle, Valerie and Andrea were all killed."

Molly's teacup clattered onto it's saucer and tea spilt over the sides leaving dark stains among the faint pink flowers painted on. Arthur, with a face as stony as a dead man's, reach across the table and switched the radio off.