Ginny Weasley and the Heirs of Darkness

Chapter One: A Bevy of Redheads

Part One: The Boy in Her Dreams

Ginny Weasley, being a bright and resourceful girl with more than her fair share of brains underneath her head of flaming red hair, had developed the rather enviable skill of convincing others to do the things she wanted them to do. This was in no small part thanks to the fact that she had six older brothers on whom to practice, and on this sunny July afternoon our story starts, she was busy wheedling her way into the good graces of the eldest Weasley brother, Bill.

"I don't know, Gin," Bill said slowly, glancing uncertainly from the boots to his fifteen-year-old sister and back again. "I mean, what would Mum say?"

Bill had been home at the Burrow for a week now, on holiday from his job as a curse-breaker for Gringotts Bank, and Mrs. Weasley was making him go through the storage room and dispose of all the old things he no longer wanted. A Muggle rock band T-shirt had been foisted off on George, and Ron was the proud new owner of a collection of Bill's old books on ancient curses ("Wicked!"), but Bill was having a hard time convincing himself that his baby sister needed a pair of knee-high, multi-buckled, thick-soled arse-kicker boots.

"I imagine she'd be pleased," Ginny lied cheerfully, crossing her fingers behind her back. "After all, I need new shoes for school this fall, I've outgrown my old ones."

"These boots are hardly appropriate Hogwarts attire, Gin," Bill replied drily. "Besides, they're far too big for you."

Ginny shrugged. "I'll dip them in Shrinking Syrup. Percy has some in his room."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "He does?"

"Indeed." Ginny grinned conspiratorially. "I think he's been pondering applying it to his nose."

With a chuckle and a a wry shake of the head, Bill passed the worn black boots to his sister. "Please don't let Mum see these until after I've gone back to Egypt?"

Ginny nodded, agreeable to do anything Bill asked as long as she could have the boots. "Certainly! Thanks, Bill!" she replied, bouncing up the rickety stairs to her room, where she began to polish the boots and plan a raid on Percy's syrup supply.

The boots, she reflected, were magnificent. Reaching just to the bottoms of her kneecaps, they would barely allow the edges of her regulation grey Hogwarts socks to peek out at the top. The best part of all, though, was the pair of huge silver buckles that were on the outside of each boot, anchoring a strap that wrapped over the top of the foot; they made the boots look particularly dangerous. Ginny grinned. In her opinion, the boots were marvelously Gryffindor. She felt smug; she had just known Bill would give in eventually, and she was rather pleased with the results of her efforts.

One thing Ginny wanted that she had not been able to attain, however, was Harry Potter, and this rankled like Irresistible Itching Powder sprinkled inside a pair of wool socks. Harry was due to arrive at the Burrow this very afternoon, and Ginny had looked forward to the day all summer long with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

On the one hand, Ginny had spent the last part of her fourth year and all of the summer holiday trying to change her image. Nightmares caused by her experiences in first year had been plaguing her incessantly, and she had decided she had two choices: she could either be terrified of the Dark Arts and allow herself to be miserable, or she could look into them, try to understand them, and conquer her fears. She had chosen the latter, with the result that she was now more confident and self-assured, and Defense Against the Dark Arts had become her favorite class, in spite of the ever-changing rounds of professors.

On the other hand, though her crush on Harry was a quantifiable vestige of the old Ginny, she seemed unable to rid herself of it, no matter how many times she firmly explained to herself that it was unrealistic, inappropriate, and very unbecoming. Every time she saw Harry Potter, she still wanted to blush furiously and run up the stairs like she had when she was eleven. (Oh, how she hated being an inheritor of the characteristic Weasley family blush!)

On the third hand (which can happen; Ginny herself had had a third hand for three days this summer, when Fred had tested an Extra-Limb Elixir on her), she just didn't know what to do. Her feelings on the topic were as mixed up as a box of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans. Worry about it was useless, so she decided she might as well just wait until Harry arrived, and proceed from there.

It happened sooner than she would have liked. Putting the finishing touches on the left boot, which for some reason had been in far worse shape than the right, Ginny heard a tapping at her window.

Two owls, a bright chalk-white snowy and a golden tawny, were hovering impatiently outside. "Hedwig!" Ginny exclaimed, delighted to see Harry's owl, who for some reason had always liked her. Probably better than Harry himself did, she thought sadly. Hedwig was unencumbered, but the gold owl was not; though she didn't recognize him, she knew the baby blue paper he was carrying. A letter from her friend Fiona, a proud Ravenclaw who always wrote on blue paper with bronze ink.

Since her time in the Chamber of Secrets had made Ginny feel somewhat alienated from the Gryffindor girls in her year, she had sought and found friends in the other houses. In particular, she was close to Fiona Wolfswaite and a pretty Slytherin named Bronwen Zabini. It was just simpler, having friends from other houses. They didn't look at you strangely, the thought, Is she a proper Gryffindor? plain on their faces.

Treating the tawny owl to a sweet from the jar on her mantel, Ginny tore eagerly into Fiona's letter.

Dear Ginny,

How has your summer been so far? Mine has been lovely; as you may have heard, I'm to be one of the Ravenclaw Chasers for this coming year, and I can hardly wait. I imagine I'll see you on the pitch- I heard you're the new Gryffindor Keeper, and a prefect, too! Congratulations, and well done. Don't forget to remind yourself that it's your very own accomplishment, and not just following in your brothers' footsteps. Have you heard yet from Bronwen? I know she was wishing to be a Chaser as well, but I've had no word of this year's Slytherin team. They're such a secretive bunch! I'm sure we can convince Bronwen to spill their line-up, though, before summer holiday is over. Other news: Cho Chang is set to be Head Girl for this year, which should be utterly brilliant. You'll absolutely love doing your prefects' training with her. A quick reminder- the last week in August, my family will be vacationing in southern Spain, but you can of course still reach me by owl post.

See you on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and don't forget to send Pigwidgeon my way, your friend,

-Fiona Wolfswaite

Ginny smiled as she refolded the letter, tucking it under the edge of the candle on her bedside table for rereading later. Fiona always wrote such delightfully random missives, full of the latest fascinating gossip. The news about Cho Chang was very exciting; Ginny had always wanted to know the older girl better, partially because she seemed fun, but also to figure out what it was about her that interested Harry so. Prefects' training, she decided, would be her chance.

As it happened, Ginny had heard from Bronwen, and that letter was already tucked under the candlestick. Written on incredibly expensive creamy vellum, the top was graced with the Zabini family crest and motto, and when the paper was turned to reflect the light just right, a small three-dimensional image of the Zabini mansion rose out of the paper imposingly. Unlike her older sister Blaise, Bronwen, though very aware that she was rich, was hardly a snob; yes, she took her wealth for granted, but not in an ostentatious way. Certainly her style of writing was unaffected by her status, and her bright, looping handwriting contrasted sharply with her choice of stationery.

Ginny!

How are you? Summer's been smashing so far, I hope yours has been, too. Father sent me and Blaise to Japan for part of the holiday, which was a real charge- did you know that Japanese witches and wizards can cast fireballs, and it isn't even considered Dark Arts? I want to learn how to do that! Anyway, I had fun, even if Blaise didn't. You know what a brat she can occasionally be. But it was really amazing: all the Muggles there have these little devices they carry around and use to talk to each other, but I forget what they're called. Some of them could even take Muggle pictures. Best news: I'm going to play Chaser for this year's Quidditch season. Between Draco Malfoy and Julius Tritt, it should be a great time for boy-gazing. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, not so much, but that's alright. Heard your team's pretty good-looking this year too- Dean Thomas, Colin Creevey and The Boy Who Lived. Lucky girl, sharing a common room with some of Hogwarts' finest! I know you don't care for Colin, but you have to admit, he's pretty cute. Well, I'd better finish writing if I'm to get this sent before dark; Mother doesn't like Phaedra to be out flying at night. I tried to explain that this is ridiculous, since she's an owl, but you know how Mother can be. Expect a birthday present when you arrive at prefects' training!

Cheers,

Bronwen

Rereading Bronwen's letter just made Ginny shake her head in amusement. She could be quite a flake when she wanted to be, but Ginny was of the opinion that the world needed more sparkling butterflies like Bronwen. They made life somehow shinier. And it wasn't as if Bronwen weren't smart- she shared Ginny's fascination with the Dark Arts, and the two secretly planned to enter Auror training together after they matriculated from Hogwarts. From a pureblood wizarding family that had fielded no small number of Dark witches and wizards, Bronwen was partially motivated by a desire to show that the Zabini family could produce a mage wholeheartedly devoted to the Light.

A loud smack sounded outside Ginny's door.

"Gin, Harry's here," her brother Ron called as he thundered down the stairs. "Come and help with his things."

Harry was there? Already? Steeling herself mentally, Ginny opened her door and proceeded to go downstairs, ready to face the boy of her dreams.

* * *

"Hullo, Harry," Ginny said uncertainly, as Harry Potter, the boy who had haunted both her nightmares and dreams for most of the summer, set his trunks down in the front room of the Burrow. In person, he looked much less like an apparition, and more like a normal teenage boy, his shirt too large, his glasses slightly askew, and his nose smudged with soot from traveling on the Floo.

It was the way Harry always came to the Weasley home now. Ginny's father had made some enquiries at the Ministry, and discovered that it was possible to have the Dursley fireplace permanently connected to the Floo network as long as no Muggles were aware of it. So Harry kept a bowl of the powder in his room, and comforted himself with the fact that what the Dursleys didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Harry smiled and pushed his glasses into their proper spot on his nose. "Hullo, Ginny. How was your holiday?"

"G-good," she stammered. "Er, c-can I help at all?"

He frowned. "Would you carry Hedwig's cage?" Harry gestured at the empty bird-carrier. "She insisted on flying here- you know how she hates the Floo, it musses her feathers- and now I haven't the faintest idea where she's gotten to. But the cage could go to Ron's room with the rest of my things, I think."

"O-okay," she replied, taking the cage and flinching as Harry's hand brushed lightly against her own. Honestly, why did she always have to act like such a silly git when he was around? No wonder he wasn't interested. Act calm, Ginny, she reminded herself. Forcing herself to look up, she met Harry's bright green eyes and coolly responded, "Hedwig came up to my room, she's resting there now. Anything else I can carry?" Way to go, Gin, that was perfect! she congratulated herself.

"Nope, that should do it. Thanks, Gin."

"Oh, my, Harry, how lovely to see you. Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, bustling her way into the entry. "Harry's here!" She beamed. "It's like the family is almost complete again!" A motherly frown that could have curdled pumpkin juice. "Now if only Charlie would get himself home..."

She began to bustle around Harry, checking his things, prodding Ginny to take the birdcage upstairs and not be a bother. Ginny glowered at the back of her mother's head, feeling a surprising burst of sudden resentment towards Mr. Perfect Potter. What makes him more special than the rest of us? she wondered irritably.

As if deliberately intending to make things worse, her father chose that moment to poke his head out of the study. "Oh, Harry, so you are here. Welcome, make yourself at home. Say, would you have some time for me to ask you some questions? Since you live with Muggles and all? There's this odd device called a mobile telephone, and I was wondering..." Her father's voice faded away as he led Harry back down the wood-paneled hall toward the study.

"Virginia," her mother's voice snapped irritably, an unwelcome intrusion in her reverie, "for the last time, take that birdcage upstairs, would you?"

Ginny realized she had been standing stock still in the middle of the steps, just staring into space. "Yes, Mum." Mrs. Weasley swept into the kitchen, grumpily muttering under her breath about teenagers and "their inability to perform even the simplest tasks when asked. Honestly!"

"Look out there, Gin!"

"Make way, make way, coming through!"

Flattened against the wall of the stairwell, Ginny glared at her brothers as they thundered past her. "Bloody hell, Fred, George! What are you trying to do, kill me?"

"Lovely to chat with you, Gin, really must get this outside!" Fred hollered as he burst out the front door, the oddly-shaped object in his hands smoking wildly.

George looked over his shoulder at his younger sister and grinned. "Invented a brilliant variation on the Stupefying Smoke Bomb, but for some reason, the 'off' function isn't working. Figured we'd better get it out of the house before Mum saw it." He shifted his face into a stern mask. "Fred and George Weasley! How dare you bring such a device into the house! And on the day of Harry's arrival, no less! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" George said in a perfect imitation of Mrs. Weasley.

"Fred Weasley! What is that you're doing in the yard?! And on the day of Harry's arrival! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" shrilled the voice of the real Mrs. Weasley through the kitchen window.

George poked his head just inside the kitchen doorway and checked the clock. The hand marked "Fred" was swinging wildly between "Mortal Peril" and "Getting Into Deep, Deep Trouble," a section of the clock that had been added as the youngest Weasleys entered their teens. He gave Ginny a saucy grin, as if to say, "Well, close, wasn't I?" before he ducked out the door to his brother's aid. Ginny could just make out a bit of the conversation: "But, Mum, if we can sell it, do you know how much money we could make?"

Exasperated, she shook her head, waving her hand in front of her face to clear away the electric purple smoke that had spewed forth from the bomb. "Brothers." And now she had to go and deal with one more. Taking the cage firmly in hand, she began to trudge up the steps to Ron's attic room. Not bothering to knock, she swung the door open. Ron, seated at his desk scribbling furiously on a scrap of parchment, didn't turn around before he began to speak.

"Hey, Harry. I was just writing to Hermione." Ginny opened her mouth, started to say she wasn't Harry, but something stopped her. "Which reminds me," Ron continued, "speaking of girlfriends, when are you going to talk to Gin? You really shouldn't worry about it, she's had a crush on you forever, I'm sure she'll say yes." He folded the paper in thirds, dripping red wax on it and sealing it with the Weasley crest.

Ginny had to clap a hand over her mouth to prevent it from emitting a squeal. Harry liked her back! Harry planned to ask her to be his girlfriend!

"Harry?" Ron repeated, turning around. He could have sworn he heard someone come in, but there was no one there.

Hedwig's cage was on the rug near the door. Ron frowned. Odd, that. He shrugged it off with a blithe "Oh, well," and went downstairs, letter in hand, to find Pigwidgeon.

***

Part Two: The Eternally Exploding Eclair

Exiting one of the Beauxbatons carriages with an elegant sigh, Georgine Belleton gave her brother an impish grin. "Good to be back, isn't it, Frédéric?"

Spreading out before them in a glow of ivory brick and creamy gold trim was Beauxbatons Académie Magique; Beautiful Wands Magical Academy for those too uncultured to speak French. Founded, according to the French, before their uncouth English cousins could even say "Lumos," (though the accuracy of any French claim about their own august history is often debatable), Beauxbatons Académie had burnt to the ground in 1662, during the reign of Louis XIV. Rebuilt in the grand style of the Roi du Soleil, but with strong influences from the magical community at large, it rather more resembled an overgrown wedding cake than an institute of learning.

Georgine and Frédéric Belleton were known to comment on this fact quite often and loudly, though they fiercely denied all charges that it had been they who topped the school with an oversized plastic bride and groom for last year's graduation ceremonies.

According to the twins, they would never do such a thing.

"Indeed it is, Georgine." Frédéric peered up at the looming building. "Miss us, you large lump of buttercream and gâteau?"

No response from the school.

"Hurry up, you two, there are others who need to unload from the carriage," snapped their older sister, Celeste, who was beginning her eighth and final year at Beauxbatoke its British counterpart, Beauxbatons started at age ten, and went for eight years. After graduation its students were funnelled into jobs with the Administration of Magic, or they continued their education at either a magical finishing school or one of the Muggle Grandes Écoles. The French, rather more tolerant of the presence of magic (some more observant scholars blame this for the French belief, circa pre-World War II, that the Maginot line would actually hold off a German invasion), welcomed the wizarding community into its graduate schools. Celeste planned, post-graduation, to attend the engineering school, stating she wanted to be a magical engineer.

Frédéric had snorted when he heard the news. "What do you want to do, build a monstrosity like Beauxbatons?"

The jibe had earned him a sharp glare from his sister and a nasty whack on the knee when their mother wasn't looking- Celeste, though supposedly the "perfect" Belleton sibling, was hardly above giving her little brother a solid smack when she felt he'd merited it. In truth, except for her older brother and sister, Celeste was rarely averse to giving any of her siblings a quick elbow or pinch when she felt they needed to be back in line. Very concerned with images, was Celeste, and keeping that many siblings well-ordered was quite a task.

When they'd set out to have eight children, Nicodème and Seraphine Belleton really hadn't considered the consequences of such an action. Their main concern at the time had been to repopulate France of her Dark witches and wizards, the status of which had suffered mightily during the 1970s.

And really, what sounded nicer than an octect of young Dark mages? "Only a redheaded octet of young Dark Mages!" was always Nicodème's cheeky response.

In an outburst of uninspiration, Mme. Belleton had named her children in alphabetical order- a valiant effort to keep track of a group of small people with whom she never intended to regularly interact.

Axelle, the oldest, had married a rich Muggle (or Moldu, as they were known in France) and lived in Provence with her three young sons; aspiring to be just like her mother at an early age, she never saw her boys, regularly had her hair and nails done, and wasted her husband's heaps of money just as soon as he could illegally earn it. (Some of her recent purchases included an ill-gotten flying carpet, day-of-the-week diamond rings, imported Indian perfume and a pack of Irish racing hounds).

Benoit, the only other boy, had taken up a Using the Dark Arts teaching position at Durmstrang, and was incessantly owling home to Maman about how miserably cold the weather was in Scandinavia. Seraphine, in an outpouring of motherly concern, had fluttered about the Belleton Chateau in an utter state for days, until the Bastille Day celebration, when she promptly forgot about her "poor darling baby" and concerned herself with more important things, such as making sure her dress robes were more haute couture than those of Marie Laquer.

Next in order after Celeste came Delphine, the most subdued of the Belleton children- she was entering into her seventh year at Beauxbatons. Nicodème's favourite, she had a quick wit and a clever eye for what should be done in a sticky situation. Her proud père always patted her shoulder fondly when company was present, boasting loudly that "still waters run deep," and "apples don't fall far from the tree," whatever those were supposed to mean. She was the one who generally invented the ideas implemented by the twins, and had congratulated herself on the bridend groom stunt for weeks afterwards.

"Go on, Eff and Ji," Delphine urged the twins in a more gentle fashion, nudging them away from the carriage doors. Her expression was placid, but Georgine saw that her eyes clearly read "We'll get back at her for it later, don't worry."

Between Delphine and the twins was Eliane, true princess of the Belleton family (a position Georgine would have dearly loved to snatch away from her). Considered the prettiest of the six girls, Eliane was recognized as the most eligible girl at Beauxbatons now that Fleur Delacour had left. Though similar to Axelle in some ways, Eliane was less selfish, and more studious as well.

A loud sigh of exasperation. "I have too many trunks this year," Eliane whined. "Eff, can't you help me?"

Frédéric shook his head. "I am not the one who insisted on bringing every back issue of La Sorcière de Vogue, thirty-seven different bottles of perfume and four Persian cats. Carry it yourself, Euh."

Eliane scowled, marring her pretty features. She hated being called "Euh." Why did the French letter "E" have to make such a preposterously ugly sound when spoken alone?

The littlest Belleton, Honorine, was much younger than the twins, and only in her second year at Beauxbatons. She was Frédéric's pet, and followed him around like a lost puppy. But she could be tempermental, too, and often deliberately tattled on her older siblings when she felt they'd slighted her.

All in all, not entirely what M. and Mme. Belleton had wished for, but still an up-and-coming crew of Dark Arts practicioners to be proud A hope for the future of les artes foncés, which had suffered a terrible blow even on the Continent after the Voldemort debacle in England.

Vol de mort. That always earned a derisive snort in French circles of Dark wizards. Flight of death, indeed. There was rumor, though, among those same circles, that even the final battle of the past year had not utterly destroyed him. Frédéric and Georgine's favorite holiday activity was listening at the door to the dining room while their parents had dinner parties, and they knew far more than two fifteen-year-olds really ought. In particular, they had heard repeated mention of some English boy named Harry Potter; supposedly he was the one who had consistently prevented Voldemort's rise to power over the years, and had done so this last time in particularly explosive fashion. Went to Hogwarts, in Scotland, according to one of their father's cronies.

But the twins really weren't terribly interested in anything happening on the British Isles, be it famous Dark Lords seizing at power or fellow teens having more than their fair share of scrapes and adventures. The important thing at the moment was the return to their beloved school, which they'd already attended for five years.

Like Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Magical Academy was divided into four houses, each of which was under the supposed patronage of an ancient Greek goddess. Though no one believed in such silliness as deities anymore, the ancient influences played a role in Beauxbatons' spurious claim to being the oldest school of spellcraft and sorcery in Europe.

Upon testing into the House of Artemis in their fifth year (all other students lived in the Unplaced Dormitory, under the guidance of eight eighth-year students from all four houses), the Belleton twins had received wands of their own aa place in the house that was, according to their mother, who had been a Daughter of Artemis herself, the most illustrious. "Producer of France's finest," she had shrilled delightedly.

House placement was something that remained with you even more indelibly than a Hogwarts housing assignment. At Beauxbatons, you received a wand of your own only when placed in a house (all Unplaceds used temporary loaner wands), and when demanded, that wand could produce the emblem of its own house, no other. In the case of Artemis, a silver bow shooting an arrow to pierce the moon.

Often, your house placement went on to determine what sort of jobs you received, where you were placed within the Gestion de Magie and so forth. The Housing Tests were very important, for they would affect the entire future of the witch or wizard taking them. For example, Fleur Delacour, a passionate member of Aphrodite House, had been selected as a participant in the Triwizard Tournament due to her quick thinking skills and courage under fire. Only students of Aphrodite House had been eligible for the tournament, which was convenient, since only members of that particular house were inclined to things like jumping through hoops and chasing after dragons.

Contrary to all claims of each house, none were superior to any of the others; they were merely a system of guidance. In addition, none had really produced the lion's share of Light or Dark witches and wizards. To the French mages, the Hogwarts system was barbaric and outdated, not to mention dangerous- why lump all potential Dark wizards together in one house where they could feed off each other? In addition, philosophized Mme. Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, why categorize children by the personality they have at age eleven? Instead, test their natural moral fibre at fourteen, see where they really belong in life.

Children of Artemis were the sorts who got up to all kinds of mischief, who loved games of both mental and physical variety, though they preferred to not exert themselves for either. They were future Aurors, entrepreneurs and general troublemakers. Delphine was also in this house, the first of the Belleton children to test in. Axelle had been in Hestia, and Eliane was, too- it was for more traditionally-minded students with a penchant for organization; Hestia tended to feed the Administration of Magic hierarchy.

Benoit, Celeste and their father had all been placed in Athena; this was the House for the more scholarly: future teachers, researchers and civil servants. And of all the children, only Honorine looked likely to fall into the waiting arms of Aphrodite. She was curious, which could have suited her to Artemis, but she tended to follow that curiousity to personally dangerous ends. Combined with her natural athleticism and inclination to prefer instant gratification, Aphrodite seemed to be her most likely place. Nicodème liked to joke, with some embarrassment, that she would be the first Belleton to play Quidditch for France.

The twins played Quidditch, too, though Beauxbatons didn't field house teams; it was strictly intramural. They had received new brooms over the summer holiday, and were eager to show them to their best friends, Simone Dillavou and René Marchincourt.

"I'll look for Simone, you find René," Georgine ordered, her eyes already scanning the rows of carriages for the one that had delivered students from the Loire Valley. Belgie, Bretagne, Suisse, Bordeaux, Alsace-Lorraine, Marseilles... There! Flapping in the light breeze, a scarlet and sapphire banner, trimmed with gold, that read "Vallée de Loire" in matching letters of gold. "ne! Simone!" she cried, spotting a familiar chestnut head.

"Georgine!" Ignoring the staring students around them, the two girls squealed loudly, chattering at each other furiously. Realizing they hadn't heard a thing the other had said, both paused for breath, each girl grinning cheerfully at her best friend.

"I've missed you, Georgine," Simone said brightly. "Pranks are no good without you and Frédéric." Here, her smile became a bit misty. "Where is he, by the way?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.

Georgine already wasn't listening; she'd been distracted by her best friend's older cousin, who was currently trying to organize his family's trunks into the best arrangement for levitation. Her lips twisted into her patented sultry smile, and one perfectly-plucked eyebrow raised just slightly. "Hello, Henri. How was your holiday?"

Not bothering to answer the question, Henri's eyes skimmed lightly over the young witch. "Looking good, Georgine," he commented.

A sheet of flame-red hair flipped elegantly over Georgine's shoulder; it was a move copied from Eliane, who had learned it from Axelle, and it always had the desired effect. Henri smiled, and Georgine's stomach made cordial contact with her knees. ("How do you do?" "A tad fluttery, but otherwise fine, thank you.") "Thanks," she said simply. "Well, I'd best be collecting my things, but perhaps we'll run into each other later; at dinner, or in the common room, or at the Spiralling Stairwell."

Henri's smile widened, and Georgine thrilled at her own boldness; the Spiralling Stairwell was where older Beauxbatons students met for eving trysts. "Yes," he replied slowly. "Perhaps so."

Georgine spun on her heel, searching for the clustered splash of bright red that would indicate her family- ah, there, just heading into the entrance hall. She could see Simone as well; her friend had convinced Frédéric to help with her trunk, much to Eliane's irritation.

The entrance hall was marvelously bedecked, hung with the four shades of Beauxbatons blue: silvery sky for Artemis, deep midnight for Athena, bright Chartres blue for Hestia and a sensual indigo-violet for Aphrodite. Tiny faery lights flickered and twinkled, hovering in midair, occasionally landing in the hair of students and staff. And clinging to the back wall, the magnificent Beauxbatons crest: four wands uniting to produce the symbol of France's magicians: a silver-gilded orchid. Used in concert, four wands from the four different houses could produce the orchid, and it had been used in the old days of wizard wars as evidence of French unity. In recent centuries, the orchid was summoned only for the opening ceremonies at the beginning of each Beauxbatons term.

Hurrying to catch up with her friends and family, Georgine scurried around the large Delacour delagation, her brow wrinkled in irritation. A family just as large as hers, the Delacours had been at loggerheads with the Belletons for years. Georgine had greeted the graduation of Fleur with particular delight, and wished Monique and Gabrielle would hurry up and do the same.

The opening ceremonies went by slowly and painfully; after her first year, when the production of the orchid by the four heads of house had actually impressed her, Georgine had greeted most Beauxbatons ceremonies with a certain degree of ennui. She was eager to be settled back into her room and her favorite extracurriculaactivities: reading, playing pranks, flirting, gossiping and causing general mischief.

It wasn't long before she was doing just that; ensconced deep inside a comfy club chair in the elegantly-appointed sitting room of the Artemis Wing, Georgine was about to dig into some particularly juicy gossip with Simone when Frédéric snuck up behind her chair. "Ji!"

Georgine jumped. "Eff, you absolute con! Don't do that!"

Leaning around the chair so he could fully appreciate the look on his sister's face, Frédéric grinned broadly. "I need your help," he said hurriedly.

"Why?" she asked, leaning towards him conspiratorially. "What do you know?" She smiled, proud of her twin; this would be a good term, if they were getting such an early start on livening things up.

Frédéric glanced at Simone. "Pardon us," he began.

"Oh, I can tell when I'm not wanted," she replied stiffly, wrinkling her long aristocratic nose. She had waited all summer holiday to see Frédéric Belleton, and this was how he treated her? (Already she had forgotten that he had levitated her trunk). She sniffed, rising from the wing chair she was occupying. "Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Good," Frédéric replied, rolling his eyes at his sister and falling into the chair with a 'thump.' "So, Ji," he continued, "I found out from Paul Laufin that Monique Delacour has been owling him all summer long. Apparently he fancied her for awhile, and absolutely showered her with presents. But he lost interest at the end of last year, and it drove her insane. So I was thinking, perhapsstart sending her little 'gifts' from him again?"

Georgine's eyes lit. "Oh, I have just the thing," she said, her features illuminated with glee. Oh, to be starting the pranks so early- Delphine would be proud. "I've been saving this idea for something worthwhile, and getting one of the Delacour sisters is perfect." She stood. "Come on." Pulling her brother into the Girls' Hall, she led him to the armoire next to her bed and, after some digging, thrust a brown paper-wrapped package into his hands.

"'Eternally Exploding Firecrackers,'" Frédéric read. Georgine dropped two small tubes on top of the firecrackers.

"And Protective Elixir. And Shrink-and-Expand Solution," she said smugly.

Frédéric raised an eyebrow, the idea germinating slowly, but he let his sister explain. After she was finished, he grinned evilly, thrilled by his twin's sinister mind. "Perfect," he decided. "Let's show Delphine, she'll love it."

Georgine nodded eagerly; the approval of her mischeivous older sister was very important to her. Normally, no one could think up schemes as good as Delphine's, and Georgine was hoping that for once, she might have outdone her clever sibling.

As usual, Delphine was found in the square of couches located in the northeast corner of the Artemis lounge; rarely without her circle of friends and her boyfriend, Daniel Morrileaux, Delphine held court over them like a queen.

"Dey, guess what?" Frédéric asked, plopping comfortably between his sister and Daniel on the most prominent couch.

Delphine raisehead from the book she'd been reading- "A Treatise on Bending Simple Spells to Your Owne Nefarious Purposes" (Who knew that Alohomora could be used to open the clasp on a bookbag, causing the contents to spill out?)- and eyed the twins with a mixture of amusement and condescension. "I can't, Eff. What is it?"

Frédéric's bright blue eyes sparkled, and he leaned closer to his sister. "Want to help with a prank on one of the Delacours?"

Delphine's book was promptly dog-eared and tossed on a table, and Daniel looked up with interest. Belletons and their friends were always intrigued by the prospect of making the life of a Delacour more interesting.

No one was sure exactly when the mutual animosity had begun. Georgine knew that, at one point, her own mother had actually been friends with Claude Delacour (née Baisemain), but the amity had dissolved into a bitter rivalry at some point, and had been gleefully appropriated by the children of both families during their time at Beauxbatons. And beyond. Axelle Belleton-Dupré still took great delight in trouncing Claire Delacour-Niveau at their weekly bridge games.

In any case, the sudden sparkle in the eyes of his sister and her friends told Frédéric that they were more than game. He nodded at Georgine. "Go ahead, Ji, it's mostly your idea."

Georgine flipped her hair over her shoulder, enjoying the feeling of power that rippled down her spine as she realized she had the full attention of five upperclass students. "Well," she began slowly, "Eff here found out that Monique Delacour still has a bit of a crush on Paul Laufin-" here she indicated with a gesture where Paul was seated with a few friends on the other side of the room-;and we thought we'd take advantage of that." She dumped the package of firecrackers and tubes of elixirs on top of Delphine's book. "So here's what I was thinking. We coat the firecrackers with protective solution- that way, they won't actually blow her to bits, they'll just jump around a lot- and then shrink them to go inside some kind of pastry that we'll pick up from the kitchen. Then we put them in Monique's post, implying they're from Paul. She eats them, and gets the best case of indigestion possible!" She looked eagerly at her sister. "What do you think?"

A slow smile had spread its way across Delphine's face. "I think it's brilliant, Ji." She turned to Daniel. "See? My little protegés are going to be outdoing me soon."

But Daniel looked uncertain. "Are you sure it's really such a good idea?" he asked, directing his question more at Delphine than the twins. "Protective Elixir is, ironically, volatile, you know; anything containing diced bat stomach lining in it is really unstable. What if it doesn't completely coat the firecrackers? They could be scraping bits of Monique Delacour off the walls of the Aphrodite Lounge for weeks."

Snickers burst forth from everyone on the couches, even Daniel himself, at this mental image. Delphine just rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder how you tested into this house, Daniel," she commented, ruffling his black curls. "I think you should do it," she told her brother and sister firmly. "It's too well-thought-out for you to pass up the chance."

Georgine nodded. "That's what we thought. Any last-minute suggestions?"

"Not really," said Delphine, shaking her head. "I'd say youtwo have my confident stamp of approval."

Georgine glowed. It was all she'd needed to hear.

***

Giggling wildly, Georgine put the finishing touches on the small package: a sparkly red bow and a note written in beautiful calligraphy- A sweet gift for my eternally sweet Monique. "Done!" she exclaimed, bursting into another fit of laughter. "Oh, Eff, I can't wait to see her face!"

Slipping the parcel into the golden post office box labeled Monique Delacour, Aphrodite, the twins settled on a plushy couch near the row of boxes, nonchalantly sipping cups of chamomile tea. Before the dinner bell sounded, Monique and a cluster of her friends stopped by their mail boxes, checking for the beginning-of-term announcements that were always delivered to their school post.

They could hear Monique's breath catch when she saw the parcel. "Look, Amélie!" she exclaimed. "It must be from Paul." Whispering excitedly, Monique's friends watched, awed, as she opened the box. "An éclair?" she asked rhetorically, clearly disappointed. Then she brightened. "Well, he did say it was something sweet! I'll save it for after dinner."

Frédéric and Georgine shared a disappointed glance; neither of them was fond of waiting.

Positioning themselves at the end of Artemis table closest to the Aphrodite one, the twins watched Monique carefully, itching to see her eat the éclair. "What if it doesn't work?" Georgine hissed. "The solution's only meant to last two hours, she'd better eat it soon."

Frédéric shushed her with a ge "Quiet. It will work, don't worry."

Sure enough, her dinner finished, Monique began to nibble on the éclair; only when she had finally finished it did the twins both exhale a huge sigh of relief. "Won't be long now," Georgine said excitedly.

Moments later, Frédéric noticed the first signs of their prank beginning to work. "Look, she's jumping," he whispered.

Georgine nodded, snickering. "This is so perfect!"

"Monique, what's the matter?" asked one of her friends, Anne-Marie Pontfouf. "You look ill."

Monique was clutching her stomach. "I don't feel so well," she admitted. Suddenly, her body convulsed with a violent shudder, and she was catapulted a meter into the air.

Anne-Marie shrieked shrilly, and students all over the hall were staring, forks halfway to their mouths, shocked and alarmed. "Monique!"

Her exclamation caught the attention of several teachers, and they rushed to the Aphrodite table. "Mlle. Delacour, are you-" began the Transfiguration professor, when Monique flew across the room, slamming against the wall. Several students screamed, dodging out of the way. Monique was bouncing all over the dining hall, clutching her stomach, her eyes wide with terror. "I don't know what's happening to me!" she cried as she whizzed past the Hestia table, face frozen in a rictus of fear and obvious misery.

A loud bang echoed through the hall, and Monique dropped to the floor, curled into a fetal ball.

Frédéric turned to his twin, eyee. "Georgine? D-did we... kill her?"

A throat cleared noisily behind them, and they turned to see the wide girth of Mme. Maxime looming above. "For your sakes, M. Belleton, Mlle. Belleton, you had best hope not." She turned her attention to the Charms teacher. "Please see to Mlle. Delacour, and keep me posted on her well-being." Her gaze fell on the twins again. "You two will follow me to my office. Now. You have some explaining to do."

***