The Daedylus Project

They'd had a delicious brunch--Mrs. Weasley, as usual, had outdone herself, and Harry--as usual--felt a pang of guilt at her quiet, motherly compassion. I'm not even part of her family, not really...but she's so good to me. She's so much more of a mother than Aunt Petunia...

Molly had said very little to any of them about the situation that had brought Harry so abruptly to the Burrow. She didn't know much herself, and she certainly wasn't about to expose her brood to more than they absolutely needed to hear.

After lunch, Harry, Ron and Ginny had gone down to the river to relax, but Ron hadn't stayed for long. He'd seemed out of sorts, and he left, muttering something about Quidditch on the Wizard Wireless. (Which, Harry remembered, would not air until five o' clock, but, devoted friend that he was, he allowed Ron to lie uninhibited.) He hadn't said anything, but Harry guessed that his agitation had something to do with Hermione--who Harry hadn't seen yet, though he knew she was staying at the Burrow. I'm not going to worry about it, though. I'm sick of them fighting constantly and I'm going to ruddy well enjoy myself. For once. Without Dudley. With Ginny. Apparently.

He was sitting next to her, cross-legged on the river's sandy bank. The gentle summer breeze had tousled her silky hair just slightly...her eyes were closed, as she leaned back against the ground, bare feet buried in the warm sand.

She's so serene. But she's experienced things no kid should ever have to go through. And it's all my fault.

No it's not, it's Voldemort's fault. You're just a pawn in his plan, and you've stood up to him.

Harry sighed. If there's one thing worse than voices floating around in my head, it's competing voices.

He turned his attention back to girl resting beside him. He was enchanted...her eyelashes were shaped perfectly, her cheeks had the faintest of dimples...her figure was...

Harry grabbed a fistfull of his ever-long hair and pulled hard, eliciting a yelp of pain from himself. This is crazy. This is Ron's sister. I can't be having these sorts of thoughts about her. What about Cho? Cho was...

Cute?

Hmm...

He couldn't help it, he decided. He was over Cho. If I'd ever really cared about her...everyone else around me had crushes and things, it was testosterone or something...dunno, I didn't really love her though or anything.

But Ginny...

But I can't!

But...

But I do.

***

Hermione Granger sat on the edge of her bed, staring forlornly out the slightly cobwebby window. It was a beautiful afternoon, but she didn't feel like relaxing outside--in fact, she didn't feel like doing much of anything.

Chocolate would be nice, though. But I don't think Ginny has any...and it would be so very rude go digging through her drawers and things...

I just don't understand all these emotions right now, and it's really quite ridiculous, I've read all about adolescence but nothing prepared me for...

For Voldemort. And living with fear, and having to be strong for Harry. Constant Vigilance. And...and death...and...

...Ron.

A timid--very timid--knock sounded on the door.

Hmm. Let me guess who that is...

Hermione sighed, then forced herself to put on her best nonchalant could care less face and slowly turned the knob...

***

The fountain in the garden of Number Two, Privet Drive bubbled gently, its soothing tones mingling with the buzzing of harmless insects and the distant roar of motors from the road some blocks down.

An old lady, carrying a bag of the day's shopping, passed by the house. She paused to admire the lovely floral arrangement in the front. Perfect and pristine, just the way a Privet Drive lawn ought to be! The high bushes concealing the garden were of no matte to her...such landscaping was becoming quite trendy. Though it's not very friendly...things were so much better in the old days...

She continued on her way, pausing momentarily when she heard a strange, muffled noise from the garden.

"I hate cats," she sniffed, and walked on.

Had she been a bit more observant, she might have noticed the pair of eyes peering at her through the shrubbery.

"Well, Wormtail?"

"N-n-n-no, m-my Lord, n-no one heard..."

"That is well indeed, my faithfully incompetent servant." Lord Voldemort turned his gaze to the pitiful Death Eater, lying on the sparse grass. "Great must be his pain and torment, indeed, if his screams pierce the Silencing Charms..."

"P-please, L-lor..." the Death Eater wailed.

"Oh no. No, you have disappointed Lord Voldemort, Crabbe. I must have funds to continue my assault, and your pitiful failure at the Goblin Bank indicates your lack of...maturity."

"My Lord, I--"

"Silence! Wormtail, are my Death Eaters in position at Diagon"

"We are still waiting to hear from Lucius Malfoy, my Lord..."

"Very well." The Dark Lord flicked his wand casually back toward Crabbe; fear grew wild on the Death Eater's pallid face "Time for more entertainment, then. Crucio!"

***

Ron and Hermione sat on opposite sides of her bed, each looking anywhere but at one another.

The same old routine, Hermione sighed to herself. We are getting a bit old for this...then again, I suppose it's my fault too...but...but he was so rude! I merely insinuated that he has an unhealthy obsession with Quidditch--which he does! And he went off on me. Again.

She sniffled a little, in spite of herself. Ron seemed to snap to; at any rate, he started, and turned to fix his gaze on her...their eyes locked, and Hermione tried desperately--though unsuccessfully--to keep hers from tearing up.

"'Mione, I'm...I'm sorry...I..."

She sighed. "I'm sorry too, Ron, but I just don't..."

"No really" His voice had an edge to it. "You're always right, honestly, and I just have to argue with you 'cuz...'cuz..."

"No, but you love Quidditch Ron, and there's nothing wrong wi--"

She stopped talking suddenly as Ron took her hand. "'Mione, I like Quidditch, but..."

A long moment passed between them.

"But--?"

"Oh--bloody hell!"

Ron leapt up from the bed, and started for the door, leaving Hermione more confused than ever.

"Ron!"

His hand froze midway to the doorknob.

I give up. Nothing for it, but...yeah...

Ignoring his nausea, Ron turned slowly around. Tears sparkled in Hermione's eyes now, and he felt his own stinging a bit. He crossed his fingers and his toes, stepped carefully up to he bedside, and collapsed--arms wide open--onto Hermione.

Somehow, their lips connected in a fiery, pure, emotionally charged kiss. Their tears mingled, as Ron pulled Hermione closer and each tangled their hands in the other's hair. They smiled as they kissed, their grins broadening with each passing moment.

Finally, they came up for air.

"Bloody hell!" Ron whispered, almost reverently.

"That was--wow, Ron. Wow, I--"

"I'm so sorry, 'Mione. I promise I won't argue with you any--"

"No Ron." It was Hermione's turn to be firm. "That's part of what I like about you, really. It's part of who you are, and I could never change that..."

You have changed me, 'Mione."

"A little, perhaps. You've changed me too, Ron Weasley."

"I--"

"I love you, Hermione."

"You too. I mean--I love you, Ronmmmmmmm..."

They fell back in together.

***

Albus Dumbledore paced back and forth in his study. Things were definitely not right. The murder of Cornelius Fudge, Dumbledore was certain, was just a cover for a much deeper plot Voldemort was clearly developing.

The Daedylus Project. But it was never completed. The prototype has remained in the Diggle family for generations. I can only assume that Tom has somehow concocted the final component for the Project.

Dumbledore shuddered involuntarily.

The pain he could inflict...the trauma he could cast over the entire wizarding community is phenomenal. Tom could win this war with the Project.

Of course, Dumbledore considered, the reverse is also true. If we can decipher and obtain that final ingredient, we could end this conflict entirely. It must be doable, or Tom would not be so eager to obtain the Project.

Dumbledore sighed, and drank a long draught of his hot chocolate. Tonight, we will formulate our plan. This must be a high priority for the Order...second only, perhaps, to protecting Harry...

Dumbledore crossed the room and headed to the library.

***

Dedalus Diggle scurried about, gathering parcels quickly. "Must leave, must leave quickly..." he muttered to himself, as he packed his large duffle bag.

"Always knew He'd come after it eventually, knew it wasn't safe, don't know why Dumbledore didn't have it placed somewhere else long, long ago...

Dedalus grabbed an apple, and took a juicy bite as he casually flicked his wand, sending disorganized socks and salamander skins flying across the room into his bag.

"Dear me, dear me...must leave, must find somewhere to go..."

He knew just what he would do. There was a London penthouse, in the family for years and years...no one knew about it, it was completely unplottable--or so they said. It would be the ideal place to lie low for a bit, at least until the danger had passed.

Which will be soon, I hope. Hardly more than a Squib myself, certainly not prepared to fight off hordes of Death Eaters or V-v--He Who Shall Not Be Named!"

Dedalus finished his pacing, and, with a last affectionate look at his small house, hurried out the door.,

***

The Hog's Head pub was virtually empty. Dark and dingy as ever, it was easy to miss the three figures huddled together in a far corner, sipping with great nonchalance at tall, frothy firewhiskeys.

"So. You come from a far-off land, you say, " one of the cloaked figures whispered.

"From over the mountains." A slightly shorter person answered.

"And you believe you have information that can help us?" the third figure chimed in.

"Yes, I saw your cryptic advertisement in the Questars section of the advertisements in The Quibbler. Not a very reliable read, that, but--"

"Yes, but you understand the nature of this business. We must maintain utter secrecy, or risk danger far greater than any we are ready for. Even us," he winked at his companion.

"Yes, well, as you know, the...the Project is a legacy of great--"

"Yes, it is a legacy of great renown, passed down from Diggle to Diggle--an elegant, fatally powerful weapon that could--if it were abused--wreak havoc on the entire wizarding community. We know that part. Tell us where you come in."

"Well. As you know, the Project was never completed. One key element was neglected; until it is obtained, the Project is utterly useless."

"And--?"

"I have found the missing element."

All three figures were silent for a long moment.

"Are you saying...you have the ingredient?" the firs speaker finally queried.

"No, no," the informant said impatiently, "if I had it I would take it to a higher bidder. No, it must be obtained--and I believe that you may have what it takes to do just that. It's worth it, you know. I assure you, there is only one of this item, it is entirely unique..."

Fred and George Weasley exchanged glances. Then, George carefully removed a pouch from somewhere within his cloak and counted out a pile of shiny gold galleons.

"Tell us everything."

***

The lights were on at the Burrow, blazing across the garden and filtering through the woods that guarded the quiet river, but the two teenagers didn't care. It was comfortable out, and besides--for the bespectacled sixteen-year-old, freedom from the Dursleys after two solid months of tortuous confinement was absolutely intoxicating. He treaded water floating on his back and gazing up at the tiny pinpricks of light that would morph slowly into stars over the minutes and hours to come, only to fade once more at the first light of dawn.

"They're beautiful, aren't they? The stars...I come out here often, to watch them..." Ginny swam over to where Harry floated, watching the night sky with interest. "Yeah. Beautiful." He gulped. The thing is, it's awkward 'cuz I don't know what I'm supposed to say to her...how do you talk to a girl, anyway? All I ever talk to is Hermione and she's...well, she's different.

"Harry," Ginny asked quietly, "do you really like it here at the Burrow?"

"Of course!" he was startled. "Why wouldn't I?! You are all like..."

He was going to say family, but realized that it might be a bit premature for him to insinuate something like that with his best friend's little sister. She's probably ticked at her mum for taking me in like she has. I know I would be.

"Harry, listen. I know...we can't do much for you, we don't have much money, but we all love you. A lot. I mean it. So--so don't be afraid to consider yourself an Honorary Weasley, or something."

He smiled. "Thanks, Gin." Guess I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time, probably won't be the last.

They stayed in the water for a few more minutes, until the chill of evening began setting in, in earnest. Then, with an inevitable mix of contentment and and disappointment, they got out, dried off and headed back to the Burrow. Harry debated for a moment, then casually took Ginny's hand.

She continued to stare straight ahead, as they walked on...but a small smile played at her lips.

***

Nymphadora Tonks stepped out into the empty street. The dusky, darkening sky left marks of red and gold where the glowing sun had burned hot an hour before...the vendors, so busy during the long summer afternoon, had finally packed their carts of assorted cabbages and cat's claws and headed off to their modest homes.

My night to guard. Again. Wotcher, I'm tired! And the meeting at eleven, but I ruddy well can't miss it! Hope Dumbledore's up on the hour, can't have the wrong hands getting access they shouldn't have...bloody hell, I can't believe He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named finally remembered the Daedylus, I had hoped he'd forget...

Tonks shivered involuntarily in the lukewarm air.

***

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat together in the Weasley's den, playing an intensive game of QuadWizard's Chess.

As if the original isn't hard enough, Harry grimaced to himself. Not surprisingly, Ron was easily in the lead...also unsurprisingly, Ginny was holding her own quite well. He, Harry, was struggling to keep his queen, and Hermione had clearly given up hope and was moving her pieces aimlessly as she gazed relentlessly at anything but Ron. (It didn't take a hawk's eye to catch the furtive glances, however.)

"So." Ginny piped up. "Whaddya think? I mean, about all this...this stuff?"

"What I wonder is," Ron said thoughtfully as he annihilated Hermione's bishop, "why Dumbledore was keen to have Harry leave the Muggles. Not," he added quickly, at Harry's arching eyebrows, "not that we didn't want you to come, mate. It's just--well, he must've thought you weren't safe, right? Else he would have procrastinated like he always does..."

"Ron--" Hermione warned, but he cut her off.

"Pay attention," he mock-snapped, as he knocked one of her castles aside. She turned a very light shade of crimson, and focused her attention completely on the chessboard. Ron caught Harry's eye, and smirked.

"Yeah, well," Harry picked up the conversation, "we don't really know this about me, do we? I mean--Voldemort has tried to kill me enough times, he can't be thick enough to pull off another stunt like that last one, can he?"

"Maybe," Hermione said softly, "he's not after you for you. Y'know...maybe you serve some other end. Like...like the Hidden Ingredient."

"Huh?!" Ron stared at her.

Hermione glanced at him with a look of asperity. "Had you read the summer materials--"

"Hermione! There's a month left!"

"You've had plenty long enough. How can you expect to perform well on the N.E.W.T.s if--"

"HERMIONE! That's TWO RUDDY YEARS OFF"!

She gave him a patronizing smile. "You just tell yourself that."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"The point," Hermione continued authoritatively, "is that if you had read Strange Experiments and Lackadaisical Spellcasting, you would know that many of the most infamous weapons of wizarding history were left incomplete, awaiting a final ingredient of some sort. Sometimes they kept the weapons incomplete intentionally, faring their misuse. Other times, it was simply an oversight. Legend has it that one weapon, a particularly powerful one," she smiled at the keen interest in the others' eyes, "the Daedylus Project, needs some ingredient or some such thing, something that could only be obtained under the right conditions...maybe you have something to do with that, 'cuz if the text is accurate, it's still a secret tool of the Ministry today, and, well, we've seen how unreliable they can be..."

"You're jumping to conclusions, 'Mione," Ron cut in. "We have no idea what Voldemort is after, or why he killed Cornelius Fudge, or--"

"We'll see," she responded in a sing-song voice. "Oh, and Ron...checkmate."

***

The three masked figures watched as, one by one, prominent members of Dumbledore's Order made their way into Gambol and Japes.

Some secret meeting place, Lucius Malfoy sneered. And--ah, there's the old fool himself.

Albus Dumbledore walked calmly down the crooked road, a searching, secretive look on his face. He paused for a moment, glancing in the general direction of the concealed Death Eaters. Then, apparently satisfied, he too made his way into the joke shop.

He didn't even see us. Just as we expected--the naïve fool is too convinced of his own power to recognize his frailty. Now they will meet together, planning their pitiful attempt at the Dark Lord's demise while we obtain the girl..

As if on cue, Nymphadora Tonks stepped out into the open area of the street, gazing dreamily at the stars overhead.

"Right," Lucius whispered to this Death Eater comrades. "Let's move in."