Ginny Weasley and the Heirs of Darkness

Chapter Two: The Trouble With Twins

Part One: Treeforts and Truffles

"Hey, Gin, give us a favor, would you?"

Ginny looked up from the mix she was stirring in preparation for the evening's dinner, eyeing her older brothers warily. "What with?" she asked, hesitant.

Fred grinned. "Just want you to try a bit of this cake, that's all. Call it a welcoming present for Charlie and his girlfriend. Since we've never met her and all, thought we'd make a good impression."

Glancing from one eager twin to the other, Ginny just shook her head. "No way, guys. Try it out on Ron or Harry. I'm not falling for any of your stunts again. I remember Ticklish Taffy all too well."

"But, Gin," George protested. "We didn't think it'd go off that loud, honest!"

"Yeah, I just bet," Ginny retorted, flicking the spoon so that both her brothers were lightly spattered in batter. "As I recollect, the two of you were on the ground, laughing like idiots, while I tried to spit the sodding stuff out. It was stuck to my teeth, too! And the whole time, it was screeching 'Oh, no, please, no more, that tickles!' Ugh!"

Fred and George both hooted with laughter at the memory; only their sister's baleful glare silenced them. George sighed. "Well, at least tell us what you think of the box, then?" He thrust a small tin in her direction. At the top were the words "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," written in an iridescent hot pink and lime green script. Occasionally, tiny images of the twins could be seen peeking out impishly from behind the letters. The tin, which was burgundy overall, was also printed with the words "Black Current Cake."

Ginny snorted, rolling her eyes. "Well, first off, you've spelled 'black currant' wrong."

"That's what you think, Gin," Fred replied with a wink. He peered out the kitchen window. "Hey, there's Ron and Harry now. Bet they'll each eat a piece if we tell 'em Gin made it." He glanced at his sister. "You in?"

Having grown up in the Weasley household, Ginny was always up for pranks. Even Percy the Prefect (which his younger brothers and sister still snidely called him behind his back, despite two of them becoming prefects themselves) could be convinced to play them from time to time, as long as they didn't get his robes dirty.

She nodded. "Absolutely."

George smiled. "Great!" Fetching a plate from the cupboard, he arranged the cakes on top of it, then set it on the table. He and Fred plopped themselves on chairs, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Gin! Run some flour across your nose, make it look like you've been working hard!"

"I have been working hard, you git," Ginny retorted, but she smudged her freckled nose with flour anyway.

"Oh, man, am I hungry," Ron announced as he and Harry burst into the kitchen.

"Really?" Ginny asked drily. "And what have you two been doing all day?"

Harry wrinkled his nose, but he smiled at her warmly. "Degnoming the garden." He frowned. "For some reason, your mother seems to be terrified that Jenica will never come back here if there are gnomes in the vegetable garden." Jenica Niculescu was Charlie Weasley's girlfriend. She was from Romania, and had never visited England before. As soon as Mrs. Weasley learned that information, she'd appointed herself virtual Representative of the British Isles, and was utterly certain that if everything didn't go exactly perfectly, all of Continental Europe would know within days that the entire Weasley family of Ottery St. Catchpole were a bunch of Lazy, Uncouth, and Awful People.

All of which meant that the twins were of course going out of their way to cause problems. And their sister was not adverse to helping them.

"Have some cake, then, boys," Ginny said sweetly, saving a special smile for Harry. Having him at the Burrow for the past week had been good for her- she was able to act more normally around him now. The secret knowledge that he returned her feelings hadn't hindered her confidence, either. If only he would talk to her about it! She had thought that his birthday would have been the perfect time, but the day had come and passed, and nothing the better for it. This cake seemed like an ideal revenge.

"Brilliant, Gin, thanks," Ron replied, tucking in eagerly. Harry nodded agreement, mouth already stuffed chock-full. The twins, knowing what was to come, could barely contain their mirth.

And it was astonishing. Ginny stared at her brother and his friend in fascination as an inky-black blot spread across their faces, over their heads and down their torsos. Almost instantly, both looked as if they'd been dipped in soot.

"See, Ginny?" George managed around his chuckles. "Harry and Ron are currently black."

Fred almost choked on his own laughter; slapping his twin on the back, the two stumbled up the steps to their room- likely to plan a marketing strategy for Black Current Cake- leaving Ginny alone with her giggles and a very dirty-looking Ron and Harry.

"Gin!" Ron exclaimed. "How could you do this? Mum will murder us! And Charlie and Jenica due here any minute!"

"What was that about us?" Charlie Weasley asked, stepping out from the kitchen hearth, a pretty brunette behind him. He raised a fiery eyebrow at the sight of his brother and Harry. "What happened to you two?" He grinned at his girlfriend. "And you were worried about getting sooty from the Floo? I'd say Harry and Ron have us beat."

Jenica smiled. "Indeed," she replied lightly, voice carrying a soft accent. Her gaze fell on Ginny. "You must be Charlie's sister. He's told me quite a bit about you, though he didn't tell me how pretty you are."

Ginny felt flames creeping onto her cheeks. "Thank you," she managed. "Nice to meet you."

Charlie gestured at the two boys, who were slowly fading to a rather unpleasant-looking grey shade. "And the pallid ghoul is my brother Ron; you'll recognize him better when his hair's the right color. The other is Harry Potter, Ron's best mate from school. Ron, Harry, Ginny, this is Jenica Niculescu, my girlfriend."

"Pleased to meet you," the three chorused, feeling foolish. Here they were, coated in flour or soot, while Jenica was the perfect picture of class and elegance. Ginny wondered idly how Charlie had gotten himself such a cultured girl. Not that he wasn't handsome, she supposed, as much as one could find her own brother attractive. Jenica just didn't look like the sort of girl who'd fall for a rough and tumble, red hair and freckles sort of guy. But Ginny was rather biased against boys with red hair and freckles.

Jenica nodded. "Pleased to meet you as well," she said, smiling at Harry and Ron, whose bright blushes shone through their now-ashen cheeks.

"Oh, my goodness! Why didn't someone come tell me! Charlie, how long have you been home?"

Charlie grinned, giving his mother a hug. "Just a few moments, Mum. I was introducing Jenica to Gin, Ron and Harry."

At the mention of the others, Mrs. Weasley turned a horrified stare on the rumpled three. "All of you! Upstairs to baths! You should be ashamed of yourselves, letting Jenica think you're some kind of heathens! What will she think of England?"

Laughing, Jenica stepped forward, taking Mrs. Weasley's hand. "She'll think England is quaint and lovely," she said gently. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Mrs. Weasley."

A blush. "Oh, please, dear, call me Molly," she said quickly, leading Jenica into the living room. "And Jenica, what a beautiful name; what does it mean?"

"'Light,'" Jenica replied, fingering a strand of her chocolate-brown hair. "I think my parents had an odd sense of humor."

Charlie turned to his siblings. "Well, it appears Mum has permanently stolen my girlfriend from me. What have you lot been up to this summer?" he asked, lumping Harry in with his brother and sister. He looked specifically at Ron and Harry. "And you two never did answer me; what happened?"

Ginny, giggling, answered for them. "Fred and George," she said simply, knowing that would be enough for Charlie.

Often a victim of his prankster younger brothers, Charlie understood perfectly. "I see," he said, winking at Ginny. He ruffled her hair and kissed her cheek. "And you? What have you been doing when not making mischief at Hogwarts?"

Ginny beamed; being a little sister of six brothers was a joy and a misery she would not have traded for anything. "Helping Mum. Trying to outwit the twins when possible. Reading every single book I can get my hands on. Which reminds me, thank you for the ones you sent in June; they were marvelous."

"Charlie sent you books?" Ron asked, curious.

Ginny nodded, delighted at the chance to be mysterious. "Yes." She turned to Charlie. "I'm going to go change for dinner. Let me know when Percy and Penelope get back from the village?" She rolled her eyes at Harry and Ron. "I'm meant to pepper Penny with questions about Linus. You know how gone on him Fiona is- she sent me an urgent owl today begging for information. I should have known better than to tell her Penny was staying here for the weekend."

Harry and Ron grinned. Ginny's friend Fiona had had a crush on Linus Clearwater, a fellow Ravenclaw and Keeper on the Quidditch team, for as long as the three had known her. It was similar to the one Ginny had on Harry, though no one present thought it would be prudent to make that particular comparison.

After Ginny had gone up the stairs, Charlie turned for a third time to Ron and Harry. "Don't think you're going to completely dodge this one. The appalling skin tone- what exactly happened, beyond a Fred and George Special?"

***

Molly Weasley had never before been so entirely in her element. All of her children home, and their current significant others as well. She gazed around the living room happily, admiring the handsome couples strewn about the worn, plushy sofas. Bill and Elisabeth, a pretty Swedish-American witch who shared his taste for Muggle rock music and his passion for ancient Egyptian magic; Charlie and the elegant Jenica; Percy with his formerly Hogwarts girlfriend, and now wife, Penelope; Fred and Bridget, a spunky, mischievous Muggle girl he had met on one of his many prowls through London; George was seated with Alicia Spinnet, who he had started dating only recently; and Ron and the freshly-arrived Hermione, looking pleasantly tanned after another summer holiday in France with her dentist parents. And Ginny. Seated two feet from a Harry who was broadcasting "uncomfortable" on every available bandwidth. Molly's daughter merely looked as if she wanted to sink into the floor; with her brothers all neatly paired off, and her heart's desire sitting so near her, it was no wonder Ginny was miserable.

Poor dear. Molly really did hope Harry would ask Ginny about things sometime soon. In the meantime, though, she and Arthur had an announcement. She tapped a spoon gently against her teacup. "Attention, please, everyone! Thank you." She cleared her throat. "Now that you've all had a chance to meet, catch up, chat and taste Ginny's excellent biscuits, it's time for us to announce the reason you've all been asked to come home." Her voice took on a lightly scolding tone. "Not that you all shouldn't come home more often, anyway." The group chuckled. "In any case, your father and I are pleased to announce-" here she gestured for Arthur to rise, "-that he has been promoted to be the British Ministry's liaison to the International Federation of Magick!"

Several of her sons let out a whoop; Fred began explaining to Bridget; Harry, Hermione, and Ron crowded together and began chattering excitedly. Ginny went up and gave her father a hug. "Well done, Dad," she said quietly.

Arthur Weasley smiled down at his daughter, who had grown to be only a few inches shy of his own six feet. "Thank you, Virginia." Ginny smiled contentedly. Ginny was a fine nickname, but she like the class that went along with Virginia. She glanced enviously at Bridget, Elisabeth, Alicia, and Jenica, wishing she had names as pretty as theirs; wishing she was as beautiful as they were; wishing she was as happy as they seemed to be. She shot a surreptitious glance at Harry, but she knew better than to think that he could be her font of happiness. She frowned, making an internal resolution. Regardless of Harry, perhaps even in spite of Harry, she was going to enjoy her fifth year at Hogwarts. Harry could do what he wanted, but Ginny Weasley was going her own way.

Mr. Weasley shook her shoulder gently. "I'm at the Burrow, Gin, where are you?"

She smiled. "Inside myself, I guess." She squared her shoulders. "I'll be with the others."

Spending time with her brother's close-knit circle wasn't exactly Ginny's idea of an enjoyable evening, but they were the only ones there even close to her age. Hermione gave her a friendly wave as she neared the trio; of the three, Hermione seemed to be the only one who genuinely welcomed Ginny's occasional presence among them. Ginny wasn't sure if it was starvation for female company, or just a general friendliness, but she appreciated it.

"Hi, Hermione. How was France?"

The older girl smiled. "Typical. Ate too much, sunburnt myself terribly, wandered through a million tourist-jammed museums. Did manage to do a bit of reading, though, so it wasn't an utter loss." She passed Ginny a box leafed in gold foil. "Truffle?"

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "The mushrooms?"

"No, no, the chocolates," Hermione replied, laughing.

"Oh, thank you," Ginny replied, selecting one that had been coated in milk chocolate, then drizzled with a bitter dark. She bit in, then her eyes lit with surprise. "Oh! Orange cream!"

Hermione nodded. "Nice, isn't it? I've got just boxes of them, my parents insisted." She frowned. "Odd, though, considering that they're dentists."

Ron grinned evilly. "What say we go out to the treehouse and dig into those boxes of chocolates, everyone?" Upon congratulating Mr. and Mrs. Weasley on their good fortune, Bill, Charlie, Jenica and Elisabeth had decided to visit the local pub; Percy and Penny had Apparated home to York, where their small daughter was being minded by a nanny; and Fred and George were dragging an enthused Bridget and an amicably resigned Alicia upstairs to see their latest inventions.

Hermione nodded, agreeable, and Harry and Ginny shrugged and said the idea was fine. A few moments later, heavily-laden with butterbeers that had been enchanted not to spill, several thick blankets, some pillows and Hermione's multitude of French chocolates, the foursome tromped out to the yard, where the three oldest Weasleys, along with their father, had constructed a magnificent treehouse.

Levitating the treats and blankets through the entry hole, the four of them clambered up the ladder into the treehouse. Ginny had always loved coming up here. When she was very little, Bill had brought her up to explain about the stars and tell her tales about the people who lived on them. A few years later, the treehouse had been transformed into Quidditch headquarters by Charlie, and Ginny had been allowed to keep score. After that, the twins had used it for a thousand of their nefarious purposes, and when they had gone off to Hogwarts, Ginny and Ron had played a multitude of "pretend" type games inside its protective walls and branches. After Ron had left, she hadn't wanted to be there alone, but recently it had proved a pleasant place for reflective solitude. And more importantly, a fine locale for her stash of Dark Arts tomes. She hoped Harry and Hermione didn't explore the treehouse's interior too carefully.

Settling herself on a heap of cushy blankets, Hermione propped her elbow against one of the windows, admiring the night sky. "It's so lovely," she sighed. "You can't see this same sky from London."

Ron grinned, flopping next to her and sneaking his arm around her shoulders. "Oh, you can see it," he teased. "It just doesn't have any stars."

"You know what I mean," Hermione groused, huddling into his embrace. She exhaled softly. "I've missed you."

He nodded, oddly subdued. "I've missed you, too."

Harry and Ginny squirmed uncomfortably. "Mmmmm, butterbeer, delicious," Harry said loudly, taking a big gulp.

Hermione giggled. "Alright, alright, you two, we're sorry." She bit delicately into a truffle. "Ugh! Amaretto!" she cried, face twisting into a mask of disgust. She waved the remains of the chocolate. "Anyone want it? It's awfully nasty."

"Gee, 'Mione, now that you've convinced us with that wonderful selling point of 'awfully nasty,' I'd just love to eat it," teased Harry sarcastically, snatching it out of her hand anyway.

They whiled away the evening that way, swapping chocolates, teasing each other, reminiscing and just being generally glad to be young and alive. After last year's awful Voldemort scare, it was wonderful to act like normal teenagers again.

"Hey, Gin," Harry whispered, pointing at the blanket-enfolded lump that was Ron and Hermione, "think they're asleep?"

Ginny grinned. "I'd say it's a likely bet," she replied. "What should we do to them?"

Harry blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Harry," Ginny said patiently, "you have two vulnerable sleeping friends- my silly prat of a brother and his giddy girlfriend. Surely you know that we can't just peacefully leave them like that, not when they've left themselves open to a prank."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "What do you suggest?"

Ginny's grin widened. "Thought you might want to help. I was thinking we could maybe do something entertaining with their hair?"

Harry's eyes lit with an evil fire. "I know a Frizzing Charm," he volunteered, pulling his wand from under his shirt. "Learned it just to annoy Hermione, too."

"Harry, no!" Ginny hissed, putting her hand over his. "No wands on holiday, remember?"

"Oh, right," Harry said, disappointed. "What, then?"

Ginny smiled. "Static electricity."

A few minutes later, having pilfered several pairs of freshly-laundered socks from indoors, Harry and Ginny sat back and admired their handiwork.

A giggled escaped Ginny's lips. "What a lovely couple!" Ron and Hermione, still sound asleep, now sported two rather excellent hairdos, both of which looked, according to Harry, as if they had stuck their fingers in electrical outlets. Ginny hadn't the faintest idea what he'd meant by that, but the pair did look as if they weren't having the best of hair days. She offered her hand to Harry. "Well done."

Harry took her hand, staring at it for a minute. Ginny felt her heart begin to pound. "Ginny," Harry began, "do you still have feelings for me?"

Ginny frowned. She wasn't interested in letting Harry trap her into something embarrassing. "Why?" she asked instead.

He raised his head, bright green eyes locking on her wide espresso-colored ones. "Because I think I have some for you," he said honestly, shaking his dark fringe out of his eyes as he spoke.

Ginny reached up, brushed the errant strands of hair away. "Harry," she said softly.

"Gin, would you be my girlfriend?" Harry blushed furiously, his gaze darting away from hers.

She felt like a million fireworks were exploding behind her eyes. Harry, the magnificent, sweet, wonderful, talented Harry Potter had asked her to be his girlfriend! Every smile she had thought he ignored, every flush of embarrassment when he'd caught her staring, every speck of misery she'd felt when Draco Malfoy mocked her for having a crush on Harry, all of them disappeared in the sheer joy of the moment.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, throwing her arms around him, eagerly seeking his lips. She had imagined kissing Harry a thousand times, but the reality was ever so much better.

A snicker came from the corner of the treehouse where Ron and Hermione had been fast asleep.

Hermione was beaming. "Oh, wonderful! It's about time you two were together!"

Ron, too, looked happily smug. "Aren't you two quite the sight?"

Ginny recovered first, gently disengaging her lips from Harry's. "I think," she said maliciously, winking at her new boyfriend, "that you two are quite the sight yourselves."

***

Part Two: Broken Batons

It wasn't as if the twins had never seen the inside of Mme. Maxime's office before. Quite the opposite, in fact- the two of them had already been there more in their fairly short Beauxbatons careers than most students ever were.

Her office wasn't nearly as imposing after repeated exposure, but Georgine could vividly remember her first visit there. It had been the third month of her first year, and she and Frédéric had been caught holding the blankets on short-sheeted beds in place with Spellotape and bubble gum. A minor offense, but the visit to the office had been terrifying at the time.

Two large mahogany doors, inlaid with silver aspen fleur-de-lis designs, opened into the massive chamber where Mme. Maxime spent her days. ("A large bureau for a very large lady," Frédéric liked to joke to awed first- and second-years who were curious about the forbidden room). The windows were set with stained glass in the four shades of famous blue, and the floors were laid in a terrazzo pattern with a peculiar pale indigo marble mined in southern Greece. Mme. Maxime's desk was on a raised platform in the middle of the room, set high above two other chairs located in the exact place that would make the students occupying them feel most insignificant.

Neither Georgine nor Frédéric Belleton had ever felt insignificant before today.

Today, however, was the first time Mme. Maxime had actually managed to scare them. Pacing angrily across the floor, her huge size was no longer comical- she was terrifying.

She shook a sheaf of letters at them. "Do you know what these are?" she spat, furious. When no answer from the shrinking Belleton twins was forthcoming, she neared the two velvet-covered chairs where they sat, cowering. "These are just a portion of your file! These are letters from angry parents, demanding you be expelled!" She leaned closer, voice abruptly quiet. "And in the hospital wing are Claude and Alexandre Delacour, demanding your heads. You two are reckless," she hissed. "And moreover, you have endangered the life of a fellow student." The stack of papers slammed down onto the desktop under the weight of one thick hand. "Monique could have been killed! I have tolerated your behavior to an extent, but no more."

She turned away from them for a moment, but when her gaze fell upon them again, her eyes were blazing, almost spitting with rage. "What," she asked slowly, voice shaking with anger, "do you think I ought to do? I have already risked my title by keeping the two of you here in the past. I cannot afford another debacle." Her expression softened with just a hint of fear. "I only hope your parents understand my choice."

Raising herself to her full height, Mme. Maxime cleared her throat formally. "Frédéric, Georgine, you are being expelled from Beauxbatons and the French wizarding community as a result of the actions you committed today."

Frédéric was stoic, silent, unmoving, but Georgine emitted a squeak of shock. "Mme. Maxime-" she started to protest.

"Our father is-"

"And he was overruled. You may speak with him later, but he is not permitted at the ceremony to come."

Georgine sniffled slightly, but Frédéric shot her a look, warning her that this was not the time to turn on the waterworks. Mme. Maxime frowned direfully. "Wands."

"Wands," Mme. Maxime repeated, her voice not utterly devoid of sympathy. They were only fifteen, after all. She longed to tell them that things would look up, but she was too scared for her own skin.

And they needed the lesson.

Bright blue eyes radiating misery, both twins produced their wands. Each was the signature wand of Artemis house, made of wood from the willow tree, carved with the goddess's sigil. "Produce the glyph," Mme. Maxime continued, trying to remain businesslike. They were horrid children, but they were still children!

Moving in complete sync, the twins performed the simple spell that summoned the symbol of Artemis. The silver bow and arrow seemed to mock them as it hovered before the tips of their wands for the last time. Mme. Maxime nodded brusquely, now certain that these were the twins' certified wands. She held out her hand. "I'm sorry," she said simply, flashfire anger expired. The twins had put her in an unenviable position, but they were still young, and a moment like this had been brewing for a long time. The political atmosphere of the French magical community was close to the boiling point, and the Belleton twins were the first casualty.

Fitting, considering the recent actions of their parents.

Hands trembling violently, both twins pressed their beloved wands into Mme. Maxime's waiting hand. Frédéric summoned up a waning mite of courage. "What happens to them?" he asked, taking his sister's hand.

Mme. Maxime released a whooshing sigh, and the twins' bright hair fluttered in the resulting breeze."That is to come."

***

Marching the twins down a long hallway lit only by flickering candles in grotesque gilt candelabras, Mme. Maxime arrived at a small, narrow door, through which she could just barely squeeze her rather hefty self. The twins recognized their location; this tiny door was one of many in the corridor leading to the Beauxbatons ballroom. They had often speculated on where the door might lead- now that they knew, they were too unhappy to care.

"To the ballroom," Mme. Maxime said crisply, feeling herself as if she were being led to the gallows. She had only performed this ceremony once before in her long tenure as Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy, and she was not relishing the prospect of reliving the ordeal.

Georgine broke her self-imposed silence. "The ballroom?" she asked. "What for?"

Mme. Maxime looked down at the girl, eyes unreadable. "For the wand-breaking."

Turning a horror-stricken gaze on Frédéric, Georgine saw that her twin was faring no better. "Breaking?" he whispered. Neither of them had ever thought their wands would be broken- confiscated, perhaps, but certainly not snapped in two.

"Follow me in," said Mme. Maxime, ignoring the question. Opening the broad doors that led to the ballroom, she swept down the center aisle, which had been formed by rows of many chairs filled with Beauxbatons students. And near the front, a row of platinum blond heads that could only be the Delacours. As Frédéric passed by Claude Delacour, he felt a shiver of fear; he had heard the Delacours were part veela, and by the look on Mme. Delacour's face upon seeing him, he felt quite certain that she would cheerfully devour him alive if given half an opportunity.

The three of them arrived at the front of the room and stood on the low dais. Mme. Belleton unearthed a thin silver box from one of the voluminous pockets in her robe and, opening it, produced a wand of teak. Gasps sounded around the room; it was illegal to possess a teak wand, according to the bylaws of the International Federation of Magick.

"This wand has received special dispensation," Mme. Maxi declared loudly, educating the uninformed. "It is used only for this ceremony." Settling the ends of the wand into two silver brackets that were placed on the table in the center of the dais, she continued, "As the hardest of all woods, teak is uniquely appropriate to this particular situation."

The adult Delacours, knowing what was to come, gave each other small nods of satisfaction; most of the students just shifted uncomfortably.

Holding the twins' wands aloft, Mme. Maxime announced, "The wands of Frédéric and Georgine Belleton." Members of the house of Artemis winced- to see their signature wands in the hands of Mme. Maxime, a former Hestia....

Without warning, Mme. Maxime held Frédéric's wand above the one, bringing it down with a sharp, decisive force. A sickening crack echoed throughout the hall, and the willow wand splintered and broke, the moonflower petals from inside crumbling to the floor like weak powder. Frédéric's face was white as a sheet, his eyes pools of suffering. To have no wand was to be a nothing, a nobody- a Moldu. And to have your wand broken publicly was like losing a bit of your soul.

Eliane was seated in the front row, and she had buried her face in Delphine's shoulder, sobbing pitifully. Delphine's face was unreadable, but it was clear that she, like every other member of Artemis house, was shaken and horrified. Celeste was subdued and her cheeks were flushed scarlet with embarrassment, and Honorine looked quietly miserable.

Igniting the fragments of Frédéric's wand with a simple spell (whole wands were enchanted to be impervious to fire, but broken ones were just sticks of shattered wood, and as flammable as kindling), Mme. Maxime moved on to Georgine's.

"No-" she choked. She couldn't stop herself, knew she should be proud and dignified like her brother, but she couldn't help it. The wand she had earned just last year; how proud she'd been; the spells she had cast with it; the look on her mother's face when two more of her children had entered her beloved house-

Mme. Maxime paid her no heed. Fingers wrapped around the hilt of Georgine's wand, knuckles white, she slammed it against the teak wand, and it split reluctantly, as if full of its former owner's spitfire and stubbornness.

To Georgine, though, it was enough. The wand would never function again, and before her eyes, it transmuted into ashes. Resolutely biting her inner lip, she vowed not to cry- she refused to give the haughtily beautiful row of Delacours the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

Taking Frédéric's hand, she strode purposefully down the center aisle, avoiding eye contact with the audience, be they sympathetic or hostile. She didn't want to look at any of them, now. Only Frédéric, her twin, who had suffered the same experience, could possibly understand.

Georgine was not to have the solitude she had wished for. Waiting in the Artemis lounge, face carefully shaped into a mask of maternal concern, was Seraphine Belleton. "Oh, my poor angels!" she cried when the twins slunk through the doorway. She fluttered over to them, the absolute picture of motherliness. She didn't touch them or embrace them, though, like a normal mother; instead, she fell gracefully onto one of the nearby chaises, fanning herself gently. "I've never had such a shock in my entire life," she continued pitifully, utterly unaware of the twins' emotions, and reveling in the drama of the moment.

Seraphine gestured at two brocaded chairs with a limp wrist. "Come, sit, tell Maman everything," she simpered.

Flinging herself into a chair and holding her head in her hands, Georgine burst into tears. Not the helpless cry she allowed herself in Mme. Maxime's office. No, these were genuine wracking sobs, the tears of someone who was sure that nothing in life would ever be bright, beautiful or light-hearted again. Frédéric sat next to her, a mirror of his sister's pain, though he refrained from indulging in the loud sniffling. "Maman, we're finished," Georgine choked around her shuddering. "We have no wands, we're meant to never do magic again..."

Seraphine sat up abruptly, dropping her mask, which had begun to wilt around the edges when her daughter started to cry. "Nonsense," she said coolly, revealing the steely inner witch that had attracted Nicodème to her when they were young. "You can go to Durmstrang, or Hogwarts, or Dulce Fulmine. Or even to a school in America or Asia, if you'd like. Mme. Maxime will write your recommendati, I'm sure."

Georgine raised blooshot eyes to her mother. "Write recommendations?" she asked, incredulous. "She expelled us! Why would she write recommendations?"

"Because she must," Seraphine said, tone icy. "We've been tricked, and Claude and Alexandre have had their way, but that isn't going to prevent the two of you from taking your rightful place as some of France's greatest mages."

Frédéric glanced at Georgine, wondering if she was as shocked to see this side of their mother as he was. But then, they saw their mother so rarely; perhaps this was her true nature.

"And you will be," Seraphine continued, oblivious to the looks her children had exchanged. She smiled at the twins, but it was clear she didn't really see them; her thoughts were far away. "You'll return to France with honor, I promise you that."

***

Mme. Maxime sat at her desk, feeling exhausted. It had been quite a day. After the Belleton twins had made their dramatic exit from the ballroom, she'd been forced to give a speech on how this was to be a lesson to all current students, etc., etc. And all the while she had suffered under the glares of the twins' sisters; even Eliane, most delicate of the Belleton siblings, had frowned direfully at her Headmistress.

This desk was the one Mme. Maxime preferred. Not the high, imposing desk of the main room, but a small mahogany one tucked into a tiny side room, which she had cluttered with papers and work, photos and memorabilia. She had come in here hoping for some reprieve, or maybe some inspiration about what to do. Instead, she just felt downtrodden, and the little office was merely a refuge, not a muse.

Where to send the twins? She had no choice; they had to go somewhere. The Delacour influence had gotten them expelled, and now the Belleton influence would get them placed in a new school with prestige equal to Beauxbatons. She flipped through her file of alternate schools. Durmstrang. The twins' older brother worked there, but it was under a fairly new Headmaster, and she wasn't sure she trusted the idea. The pair was mischievous enough without actively learning Dark Arts as a part of the curriculum.

Dulce Fulmine. Though the Italian approach to teaching of magic was similar to that of Beauxbatons, she wasn't sure that the Tuscan countryside was the best place for the Belleton twins, either. Too close to home, for one thing- Chateau Belleton was located very near the Franco-Italian border.

She toyed briefly with the idea of sending them to Canada- there they could at least continue to speak French, participate in a pseudo-version of French magical culture. But it was probably best to keep them within observation range. Mme. Maxime crossed still more nations off her list: Les États-Unis, Japon, Chine, Australie, Suede, Québec and Italie all had heavy black lines drawn through them now.

Leaving only Angleterre. Mme. Maxime frowned. There were several inherent problems with sending the twins to Hogwarts. The familial connections weren't a problem, as she was fairly certain the Belletons didn't associate with their distant English cousins. But England had just recently gone through yet another bout of battling with Dark wizards and witches; was that really the kind of environment that would be good for the twins?

Not to mention, did the poor English truly deserve such a fate?

Luckily, though, Hogwarts was run by Albus Dumbledore, a wizard Mme. Maxime recognized as being much more skilled at Defense Against the Dark Arts than she was herself. She had a talent for organization and administration; Dumbledore had been born to stand up to Dark Lords and dragons alike, all the while sucking on a lemon drop, eyes twinkling merrily.

Not to mention someone else who was at Hogwarts. Someone she had fancied briefly while she visited there during the Triwizard Tournament. Someone who had never returned her owls.

Someone the Belleton twins would take great delight in annoying.

Smirking at the mental image of Rubeus Hagrid having to keep Frédéric and Georgine for multiple midnight detentions, Mme. Maxime pulled out a special sheet of parchment that was topped with her personal seal (a pair of crossed wands shooting out three stars each), and began her letter.

To Wizard Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, from Witch Olympe Maxime, Directrice de Beauxbatons Académie Magique, salutations...

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