Long-hidden Skies

Chapter Four

Back Into the Fold

Harry surveyed the mess in the bathroom; the wet towels piled on the tile, the toothpaste and shaving cream rimming the porcelain sink; and felt his temper bubble dangerously close to the surface. "Lucius!" he shouted, slamming his way out of the bathroom and stalking down the stairs.

Lucius Malfoy turned as Harry entered the kitchen, a spatula in one hand, poised in the air, the other hand covered in an oven mitt and clutching a cookie sheet. "What?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"What the hell did you do to the loo?" Harry cried.

Lucius shook his head and, if both hands hadn't been occupied, he'd have given Harry an imperious wave. "The house elves will take care of it."

"For the last time," Harry said through clenched teeth, "we don't have house elves. We can't afford house elves."

"Nonsense," Lucius stated. "I'm a Malfoy. Cookie?"

The cookies smelled delicious, but Harry was loath to eat anything Lucius had cooked. He had the annoying habit of trying to poison everything. "Have you been down in my lab today?" he asked warily.

"Of course not," Lucius answered, but a telltale twinkle in his eye told Harry that he had, indeed, been into his potions.

"No, thank you, then," he said, skirting the blond man and heading towards the coffeepot.

Living with Lucius Malfoy was proving to be a nightmare.

It wasn't as if Harry constantly feared for his life, though. He kept his most dangerous potions at Severus's cottage; and Lucius was obviously denied a wand. The most the ex-Death Eater could do was make Harry violently ill. Which was, although temporary, still something he strove to avoid.

The elder Malfoy had been residing in his home for the better part of six months, since he'd shown up on his doorstep, painfully thin, dirty and bewildered, and thoroughly determined that he stay with Harry. It only took a few requests from Dumbledore for Harry to break down and agree to let him. Why the former Headmaster had felt concerned and responsible about Lucius, Harry really had no idea. He suspected, however, that it had something to do with Draco.

Ron, of course, questioned his sanity, and Harry really couldn't blame him. Seamus, after falling victim to one of Lucius' baked concoctions, admonished him to keep a sharp eye, and perhaps a sharp stick, on the older man.

Harry didn't bother wasting his time following Lucius around the house, though. As long as he bloody well cleaned up after himself - Harry shot a glare over to where the blond man was humming softly to himself and mixing up more cookie batter - he couldn't care less what Lucius did with his time.

"I'm going to visit Severus today," Lucius cut into his thoughts.

Harry took a small sip of his coffee. "Is that right?" he asked absently.

"It's why I've made the ginger snaps," he said shortly, one brow arched. "I assure you I wouldn't be making them for you."

"Didn't think so," Harry said, glancing down at copy of the Daily Prophet from the week before. Everything arrived later than it should at the Order, although he supposed he should be grateful it reached them at all.

"Are you going to accompany me, then?" Lucius asked, his tone slightly put out at being ignored.

Harry sighed heavily and placed his cup on the table. "Would you like me to?"

"Of course not," Lucius snapped. "I'm perfectly able to walk by myself."

Harry snorted and spared a glance at his wristwatch. "I have a few things to discuss with the man anyway."

Lucius beamed his slightly scary, thin-lipped smile that Harry had recently learned was an expression of pleasure on the older man's face, and hastily piled his dirty bowls in the sink.

Goaded into hurrying through his morning ablutions, Harry found himself walking purposefully towards Severus Snape's cottage at half past eight, with Lucius Malfoy trailing after him and gingerly holding a plateful of freshly baked cookies. If anyone had told him eleven years ago that this was how his life was going to end up, he would have laughed his ass off. As it was, he supposed he should just thank his lucky stars that he wasn't dead. Yet.

Harry let Lucius knock on Snape's door, knowing that if he didn't, Lucius would most likely be in a snit for the rest of the day, and Hannah opened it with a harried smile.

"Hello you two," she said, wiping her brow. "Come on in. I've just made Severus some tea. Care for any?"

"I'd love some," Harry said, kissing Hannah lightly on the cheek as he stepped past her.

Lucius furrowed his brows suspiciously at the pretty brown-haired woman. "Yes. Please."

Harry stifled a laugh as Hannah gestured them into Snape's study, knowing that the only reason Lucius had been civil to the petite Hufflepuff was because of the stern lecture he'd gotten on rude behavior the last time he'd visited. Hannah could be quite the harridan when provoked.

Severus was lounging as comfortably as he could manage in a wingback chair by a low-banked fire. He looked up as the two men entered and gave them a polite nod, making as if to rise.

"Don't bother, Severus," Harry said, dropping down into the chair opposite him. He knew it was still painful for his old Potions' Master to move around.

Severus scowled at him. "I'm not an invalid," he said.

"I never said you were."

"I've brought you some cookies," Lucius interrupted, shoving the plate under Severus' nose.

"Ah, I see," Severus said darkly, shooting Harry a questioning glance.

Harry widened his eyes and cut a hand across his throat, giving a short shake of his head.

"Thank you, Lucius," Severus continued, placing the plate beside him. "I'll have them later, with luncheon."

This seemed to suit Lucius just fine, who gave him a wide grin and then settled himself on the sofa.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Severus asked, slumping back into his chair.

"I've been working on an adjustment to the Containment Potion, and I wanted to know what you thought of it." Harry leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I think it might end up being a bit more powerful, but I'm worried that the length of usefulness would be cut down."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "If you've simply added more of each--"

"Of course, I haven't," Harry exclaimed, knowing that he shouldn't be offended by Snape's attitude, but finding that he couldn't help himself. "I'm not stupid."

"That's debatable," Snape murmured.

Harry sighed, hoping Hannah would be in with the tea soon. She'd become adept at soothing the tension between former professor and former student. "I've added some bezoar actually, but set it with the mandrake for a few hours first."

Severus lifted a hand to his mouth and gazed into the fire. "Possibly, possibly," he muttered. "But then," he continued, looking over at him, "you'd have to get rid of the asphodel all together."

Harry nodded. "I thought so, but what could I use to replace it?"

"Dragon's blood, most likely. Although that would make it even more volatile."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Would it even be worth it, though? If it had to be consumed twice as often, the risk would be increased."

The door swung open and Hannah arrived with the tea, along with a small vile that Harry could only assume was Severus' medication. The man was mending well, but slowly, and Harry knew it frustrated him no end being mothered by one of his former students, and a Hufflepuff at that.

"Thank you, Miss Abbott," Severus said stiffly as he took the draught and his tea.

To Harry's surprise, Hannah actually blushed before turning to hand Lucius and Harry their drinks. And if he wasn't mistaken, he saw a tiny twinkle in Severus' black eyes. The sly old dog.

Hannah fluffed the cushions surrounding Severus, placed a palm on his forehead briefly, and then watched as he downed the healing potion. She turned a stern eye to both visitors. "Ten more minutes, you two. Severus needs his rest."

Harry was right. Severus actually smiled into his tea as Hannah left the room. He lifted a questioning brow to the older man. "Hannah's quite pretty," he said.

Severus scowled. "I suppose."

"Almost married Macmillan last year, if I recall correctly."

"Did she?" Severus' frown deepened.

Harry chuckled at the dark man's discomposure.

"Someone almost married that horrible chit?" Lucius bit out, sounding horrified. "Why? She isn't anything like my Narcissa. Where is Narcissa, by the way? She said she'd be here. It's not like her to be late, you know."

Harry dropped his head into his hands. Narcissa invariably came up at least once a day. He didn't know if mentioning the fact that the woman was dead would cause Lucius to get violent or break down and cry, but either way Harry felt it was wise to dodge all questions about the missing Malfoy.

Severus, apparently, didn't feel the same.

"Narcissa is dead, Lucius," he said sharply. "Dead as a doornail. In fact, you may have been the one to kill her. We don't know for sure."

"Me?" Lucius said, affronted. And obviously not incredibly concerned that his wife was dead. "I wouldn't ever do that."

"Yes, well, it doesn't matter, does it?" Severus retorted.

"I suppose not," Lucius answered slowly, a hand to his chin. "I think I'll miss her, though."

Harry thought it was the oddest conversation he'd ever witnessed, which was saying something considering the way his life had been heading for the past decade. "Not to lesson the importance of the death of Narcissa Malfoy, but can we get back to discussing my potion before Hannah throws us out?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter," Severus drawled. "I believe you were worried about the potential side effects of having to up the frequency of dosages, correct?"

"Exactly."

"Try making the amounts smaller. That's the obvious solution, of course, but it's possible that the potion's properties will diminish. If that happens, then you'll have to try diluting the dragon's blood, using a sheep's bladder strainer, mind you, and lengthening the simmering time of the bezoar and mandrake. That, at least, will slow down your body's immunity to the potion."

"Yes, yes, you're right. Excellent." Harry gave him a grateful smile. "Hopefully I won't need this too much longer."

"Yes," Severus said, taking a sip of his tea. "I've heard that they're bringing Granger back into the fold."

"Granger?" Lucius straightened in his seat, ears practically pricking. "Miss Hermione Granger?"

Harry frowned over at him.

Lucius settled back into the sofa, a lazy smile playing about his lips. "Keen-witted girl, Hermione."

"What do you know of her?" Harry demanded.

But the blond man's eyes had glazed over, his fingers tapping idly on his knee, a tuneless hum vibrating the air.

Lucius was quiet on the walk home. Which wasn't an abnormal occurrence, of course, except Harry recognized it as a thinking silence, and Lucius thinking was never a good thing.

Upon reaching their house, Harry somewhat reluctantly left the man to his own devices and slipped down into his lab to start his day's work. Just over an hour later, he smiled into his cauldron as he heard a soft tread on the stairs. "Morning, Flint," he murmured.

"Morning, Potter."

Glancing up at her with a grin, he said, "You're a little late today."

Parvati sank down onto the stool next to him with a sigh. "Andrew was being difficult."

"Like father, like son," Harry muttered dryly.

"Ah, well," Parvati shrugged, "I dropped him off at Ron's. Let Mel deal with him for a little while."

"Mel's just about the only one who can deal with him," Harry pointed out.

"I'm alternating between dreading the thought of him starting Beauxbatons next year and rejoicing that he'll be out of the house. Can you imagine all the trouble he'll get into without Mel to rein him in?" She shook her head and rubbed a hand along the back of her neck. "He's going to be just as bad as Marcus. I know it."

Harry snapped a sprig of mint and dropped it into the bubbling potion. "Not true. Why, Flint couldn't stand me." He lifted a brow. "I believe Andrew worships the ground I walk on."

She laughed, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. "Just because you taught him to fly," she said. Mouth dipping into a sudden frown, she added, "I wish Marcus could have, though."

Harry gave her an understanding smile.

"Anyway, enough chatter. What can I help with?"

"Nothing."

Parvati cocked a brow. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," Harry repeated, shaking his head. "You deserve a day off. We both do. In fact," he added, smiling, "we're getting out of this house, because Lucius is driving me up a wall."

"But--"

"No buts. Parvati, we're both worn thin," he said seriously.

Eyes widened in alarm, Parvati jumped off her seat and hovered over him, placing a palm on his forehead and then turning it over to run the back of her hand over his cheek. "Are you okay? Feeling sick?"

Harry chuckled and grabbed her hand, squeezing it lightly. "I'm not a child, Parv." He was used to being treated like one, though. Everyone seemed to think he'd been on the edge of breaking for years.

Parvati blushed. "Sorry." She shook her head. "Automatic mother reaction, I suppose. Although Andrew's starting to balk at affection now."

"He's hit the grand old age of ten." Harry smiled.

"Yeah," Parvati agreed, glancing down at their entwined hands. She blushed again and reluctantly removed hers from his grip. "But you are feeling all right? Professor - I mean, Severus said the alterations wouldn't cause any side effects?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing worse than usual." He got up and stretched, then slipped his wand out of his robe pocket. Quickly, he Accio'd a small green bottle and moved to pour the resulting healing potion out of the cauldron.

"Harry," Parvati admonished, "you know you're not supposed to perform simple magic."

"It's just about the only thing I can manage nowadays," Harry said, his voice nearly emotionless.

"But you have to save your strength, Harry--"

"And how old am I, Parv?" Harry arched a brow at the dark-haired woman.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine, but don't think I'm not telling Severus about this."

"Now who's behaving like a child?" Harry muttered, but without much heat. It was hard to be angry with someone who cared about you, and truth to be told he rather enjoyed the fuss Parvati made over him.

The widowed Mrs. Flint had been assisting Harry with his potions for almost three years. It had taken him nearly five just to admit he needed any help at all in his lab. Having even the simplest spells drain him of his energy was frustrating to say the least.

He'd gone through the requisite period of anger and denial, of course. He'd been a veritable hermit for two years, relying heavily on the Weasleys for survival and drowning in a dangerous depression.

It had been Professor Snape - Severus, now - who'd snapped him out of his downward spiral, helpfully pointing out what a selfish prick he was being, and then setting up an elaborate potions lab in his ex-student's basement. The man had shown him exactly how foolish it was to hide away and lick his wounds, when he could be perfectly useful to the cause. And that was what it all boiled down to. Usefulness.

And so Harry had struggled through years of creating potions, using the bare minimum of magic even after Severus had created the first version of the Containment Potion for him. His body couldn't have been drained completely of his magic, Severus had pointed out, or he would have been dead already. Magic was part of his molecular make-up. His very soul. And the potion helped solidify and sustain what was left inside him.

In the end, he could only hope that Dumbledore was correct in his assumption that the bulk of his power could be returned to him. He still dreamt of Avignon, about the burning pain, the physical rendering of his skin as Voldemort attempted to suck him dry of every ounce of magic contained inside his body. Dumbledore, desperate and unable to stop the arc of power being ripped out of him, had siphoned what magic he could into the two nearest members of the Order - Hermione and Ginny. They were his saving grace and perhaps his only hope.

But in the meantime, he wasn't going to stop living.

Harry straightened up his workbench and glanced sideways at his assistant. She looked tired, shadows curving under her dark eyes, her hair a bit unkempt and pulled back in a messy bun at her nape.

Parvati had lost Marcus in a raid on Diagon Alley over five years before, only a day after the four-year anniversary of Padma's capture and execution. The Death Eaters had been tipped off about a gathering of shopkeepers that were sympathetic to the Order. Most of Diagon Alley, actually, were willing to help Order members in any way they could, while still maintaining a public civility to the New Ministry. It had been Marcus' turn to head the meeting of informal spies, gleaning what information he could from the merchants. Only he never made it back to Headquarters, and Parvati had been left to raise their five-year-old son alone.

And Andrew was a terror. More than any one parent could possibly be expected to handle. Yet Parvati did it exceptionally well.

"I'm feeling fine, Parvati," Harry stressed, ushering her up the stairs. "And we're spending the day outside."

"We're going to be behind in the potions Pomfrey ordered," she protested.

"So?" They stepped into the kitchen and Harry breathed a sigh of relief that Lucius was no where in sight.

"So?" Parvati echoed incredulously. "You know how important this job is for me, Harry."

Harry sighed and leaned back against the sink. "You don't want to get paid for doing nothing, is that what this is about?"

She worried the front of her robes and tilted her head to glance out the window. "I won't take charity."

"Jesus, Parvati," Harry exclaimed, pushing away from the counter and moving to stand in front of her. "Haven't you ever heard of a Personal Day? Paid Vacation?"

She remained quiet, avoiding his eyes and staring off to the side.

"Fine," he snapped. "We'll gather some herbal ingredients while we're out. Does that work for you?"

She flinched and slowly nodded her head. "Don't be mad, Harry."

He ran a hand through his short black locks, causing bits and pieces to stick straight up. "I'm not mad. I'm just... I just hate it when you make me your boss."

Her lips quirked up at the corners and she finally shifted to look at him. "You are my boss."

"I know, Parv, but... you know exactly what I mean. Boss or not, I'm your friend first," he said, exasperation evident in his voice.

"I know," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Thank you."

Slight embarrassment stained his cheeks. He hated having her feel indebted to him. If anything, it was the exact opposite. He wouldn't have been able to do half as much as he did without her help. "Enough," he said gruffly. "Let's get out of here."

"Where are we going?" she asked as she followed him out the kitchen door.

"Anywhere there isn't a Malfoy," Harry replied, and then stepped down into the yard to see Lucius' son striding towards them. Harry let out a pained groan. "Why me?" he grumbled to himself.

"Potter," Malfoy nodded. "Parvati," he added with a slight smile.

"Hello, Draco," Parvati greeted him warmly, stepping close to buzz his cheek.

Harry grimaced at the sight. Their closeness rankled, but Malfoy had been best man at her wedding to Flint and had helped her through her tough times just as much as Harry had. "Your father's somewhere inside," he said shortly, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Actually," Malfoy said, "I was looking for you."

"Fabulous," Harry drawled.

Parvati shot him a disapproving frown. "Harry. Be nice."

"Yes, Harry. Be nice," Malfoy repeated smugly.

Harry scowled at him. "What's got you all chipper?"

"I've just spent a horrifyingly uncomfortable night on Miss Weasley's couch," he said, twisting his back slightly with a small moan.

"Ginny's home, then?" Parvati asked.

"Yes. I escaped with my skin barely intact after the Weasley brigade arrived. I swear, I've never seen so many redheads in one place." He shook his head.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Dumbledore wants to see us both," he said with a shrug.

Harry sighed. "Damn it," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Parv."

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll just get some work done while you're gone..." She turned to slip back inside the house, but Harry caught her arm.

"No you don't. You're still taking the day off." She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off. "I don't want you alone in the house with Lucius - sorry, Malfoy," he added, sending the blond man an unapologetic glare.

Malfoy shrugged again. "I wouldn't want her in there with him either."

"Right," Harry went on, "so you're just going to have to spend the day out here. Gather herbs, if you want," he narrowed his eyes, "but no going to get Andrew. Ron can handle him, okay?"

Parvati sighed and nodded her acquiesce.

"All right. Come on, Malfoy," Harry ground out. "Let's get this over with."

With a final wave to Parvati, Harry stalked down the path that ran through the center of the village, knowing that they'd need to get to Dumbledore's house, the only home with an open floo for travelling.

"Potter, wait a minute," Malfoy called after him.

"What?" Harry paused until the blond man reached his side, then started forward again.

Malfoy fell in step beside him, his hands crossed behind his back. "I saw Andrew earlier," he started. "He's..."

"A miniature Marcus," Harry finished for him.

He nodded and tipped his face up to the sky. "He didn't even know me," he murmured thoughtfully. He sighed and said louder, "I wanted to thank you, though."

Stunned, Harry stopped in his tracks. "Why?"

Malfoy shot him a small sneer, but there was little to no maliciousness behind it. "For not molding him into a miniature Potter."

Understanding dawned and Harry gave a short laugh. "I don't think anyone could ever mold that kid into anything other than what he wants to be. God bless Parvati's strength."

Malfoy visibly relaxed at Harry's offhand refusal of his thanks. "Except maybe Mel," he said easily.

"Mel Weasley is the exception to every rule," Harry agreed as they continued down the path.

"She's a powerhouse."

Harry found himself grinning over at him. "A compliment for a Weasley?"

"Anyone who can handle a Flint deserves as many compliments as I can dish out," Malfoy replied absently.

"That's it, isn't it?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side. "Why you like Parvati so much?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Parvati's just about the only Gryffindor I can stand in large doses."

They walked without words for a few moments, their silence caught somewhere between awkward and companionable.

"Do you know what Dumbledore wants?" Harry finally asked as they turned down the walk to their old Headmaster's house.

Malfoy shook his head. "He's already yelled at me for apparating here without the Weasel."

Harry nearly smirked. "Dumbledore doesn't yell."

"No," his expression matched Harry's, "but he has a way of making you feel as if he did, doesn't he?"

"I don't particularly like this, you know," Harry said as Malfoy stepped ahead of him and performed the spell that would let them into Dumbledore's home. It was smaller than Harry's house, only a single floor, but considering Dumbledore spent most of his time at Beauxbatons it suited the older man's needs perfectly.

"Like what?" Malfoy asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leant against the doorway into the living room. "Talking civilly. To you."

"We've done it before."

"Yes, and I've never really liked it. Too... surreal, I suppose."

Standing in front of the hearth, Malfoy grabbed a handful of floo powder and arched a brow. "Potter, our whole world is the epitome of surreal," he pointed out. "I just waded through a pack of Weasleys without imparting a single insult. George managed to corner me in the pantry and tossed off some inane idea of my being the godfather of the newest redheaded brat, and I'm not completely sure he was joking. Hell, I spent the entire night looking after the Weasel's little sister." He shuddered. "We've been fucked up since Avignon."

Malfoy threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the licking green flames before Harry could say a word.

It really didn't matter though, since Harry could hardly disagree with his conclusion. With a sigh, he scooped up a measure of powder and followed Malfoy to France.

******

Whispers gathered around her ears like swarming bees...

"Shhhh... Mr. Malfoy said not to wake her..."

"But that was over an hour ago..."

"Mr. Malfoy said she needs to sleep..."

"No! Up!"

"I'm up," Ginny groaned, rolling her face into her pillow.

"Aunt Ginny!" someone screeched, and she felt the bed bounce as a little body threw itself onto the mattress next to her.

Ginny yawned and cracked open a lid to see her youngest niece's face hovering inches above her own. Reaching out, she caught the little girl around the middle and drew her down to her side. "Sleepy time, Sarah," she mumbled, eyes drifting closed again.

"No! Up!" the three-year-old cried. Very close to Aunt Ginny's eardrum.

A deep, male chuckle came from the doorway and Ginny rolled over, taking a giggling Sarah with her, to glare at her brother. "Your wife's whelped a heathen, Charlie."

"What's a whelp, Aunt Ginny?"

"What's a hea... then, Aunt Ginny?"

Two identical pairs of blue eyes stared curiously at her from the edge of the bed, their red hair tousled, their cheeks smudged with dirt. Ginny burrowed her head into Sarah's stomach with a groan, causing the girl to squeal with laughter. "Can't you control your children, Charlie?"

"I'm only taking credit for Squeak, here." He mock-growled and leant over to grab his daughter, tossing her playfully into the air. "You'll have to complain to Bill about the twins."

Ginny struggled into a sitting position, her body still aching from the night before. "Is Bill here?" she asked, knowing that Bill's teaching position at Beauxbatons forced him to spend a bulk of his time at the school. As a single father, the twin boys were regularly sent to their grandparents' for babysitting.

Nick popped a thumb in his mouth and nodded.

"Daddy's in the kitchen with Uncle Ron and Uncle Fred and Uncle George and Aunt 'Lina and Aunt Natalie and Mel and Andrew and baby Freddy and Grams and Andrew stuck his gum in my hair and I don't think he really shoulda since he's old and Mel told him to shove off and kicked him and Uncle Fred laughed, only that made Grams mad and she made Mel give up her sticky bun and 'pologize to Andrew and Andrew said he didn't have to hang around a bunch of red-faced pansies and Aunt 'Lina grabbed a hold of his ear and..."

"Oh gods," Ginny groaned, pulling a pillow over her head to block out little Anthony's helpful rehashing of the entire morning in her little cottage kitchen.

"...and Mr. Malfoy told us not to wake you 'cause you were tired and s'posed to be sleeping and then he said when you woke up that you had to eat and so Grams made us pancakes and pancakes are Nick's favorite but I like French toast best..."

"Tony," Ginny interrupted finally, "is Mr. Malfoy still here?"

"Malfoy's gone, Gin." Charlie smiled and placed a hand on Anthony's head, his other arm wrapped around Sarah as she attempted to climb up his trouser leg, crying, "Ooo, ooo, I'm a monkey, Daddy, see?"

"Gone?"

"Took off as soon as he saw red. I'm sure we were all just blurs of colors to him," Charlie replied good-naturedly.

Ginny licked her lips and leaned forward. "Charlie... you didn't know that Malfoy was a spy, did you?"

Nick's mouth dropped open in a small 'o,' his wet thumb sliding across his lower lip. "Mr. Malfoy's a spy?" he asked in an awed hush.

Charlie's brows shot up. "Little pitchers have big ears and big mouths and all that," he admonished, but his tone was on the edge of laughter.

"But did you know?" Ginny persisted.

"I really don't think there's a good way to answer that without lying, Gin."

Ginny gave a frustrated oath. "Did everyone know but me?"

"Pretty sure Nick here was clueless," Charlie chuckled.

She hurled her pillow at him and flopped onto her back again. "Today," she stated emphatically, "everyone is going to tell me everything they know about everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Charlie questioned.

"Yes."

"'Cause Sarah here can go on for hours about her shit--"

"Big ears!" Charlie's wife Natalie shouted into the room as she popped her head around the doorjamb. "Morning, Gin," she smiled over at her sister-in-law. "You," she added, glaring at Charlie and crooking a finger. "Come here. Really, Charlie," she went on, dragging him and Sarah out into the hallway. "It's one thing to say that sort of stuff around Sarah, but the twins?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and glanced over at her nephews, their eyes big as saucers as they stared at her. "All right, I'm up," she exclaimed. "Go tell your Grams to fix a plate for me, will you?"

Anthony nodded and grabbed Nick's hand. "Come on, Nick. Wait till we tell Andrew about Mr. Malfoy," he said, yanking his brother from the room. "He can't think we're red-faced pansies then 'cause we know more than he does and he's twice as old as us and thinks he knows everything, only Mel knows more 'cause she can make him yelp and do you think Grams will give us cookies since you ate all your pancakes and can I have yours 'cause I know you don't like cookies as much as me and..."

As the boy's voice trailed off down the hall, Ginny sighed. Back into the fold. She smiled up at the ceiling. They were ten times better than rats.