Without Wand or Wire

After what seemed a lifetime of waiting, someone else finally stepped through the fireplace of the Death Eater rendezvous point. Two people, actually, both of them burley fellows. One of them approached Draco and Pansy, carrying two black robes and a pair of masks.

"The Dark Lord told me to expect you," said a voice Draco recognized as Goyle the Elder. The other newcomer waved weakly, and Draco knew it was Goyle the Younger. He nodded to his friend. "I get to play ferryman for the new recruits," Goyle the Elder continued. He had me bring these," Goyle the Elder continued, holding up the gear. "Put 'em on. Oh, and turn out your pockets."

Pansy scowled. "Why should we do that?"

"Dark Lord's orders," came Goyle's muffled reply. "No newcomers bring anything with them but their wands. You have to earn his trust."

"And where the bloody hell do you expect me to put my things?" she snapped. "I'm not leaving them on the ground for any Muggle to just stumble over and take!"

"I'll be holding on to yer personal effects," he told her as he pulled out his wand. "'Less you want me to just execute you now, save our master the trouble. He doesn't like followers who argue. ..."

Draco bristled, but Pansy tightened her hold on his wrist in warning, and he remained silent. She glowered at Goyle, but didn't argue as she handed over her Communication Glass, which looked innocuously like a fancy silver compact mirror. She'd just have to make sure she was close to the man when they got wherever they were going, and hope that Dumbledore could hear her from inside someone else's pocket.

* * *

Dumbledore said nothing as he overheard Goyle make his demand of Pansy, but stared at his reflection in his own mirror with resignation.

"We can always use the Tracking Spell if she can't get the word to us," Alastor Moody offered.

Albus nodded. "We can only hope that Tom hasn't managed to arrange for the Revel space to be protected against such things, because if he has ..."

"Then Parkinson and Malfoy may not make it back, unless they can manage to satisfy old Voldy that they're loyal to him, without actually doing anything that would make them disloyal to us," Moody finished grimly. "Well, I better check on the troops, 'n have them start tracking Parkinson's Glass too." With that, he Floo'd to the Ministry, where Mr. Weasley, Charlie, Bill, Percy, Mudungus, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and a handful of other Aurors, awaited orders.

Alone in the Headmaster's office, which was the true "mind" of the Order, if not it's "heart" (Grimmauld Place) or it's "hands" (the Ministry), Albus sank down in his chair, a hand to his head, and tried very hard not to mourn the two young brave souls he feared were already lost -- nor the other lives that might be snuffed out if Harry Potter was indeed Voldemort's target that night.

* * *

"See you tomorrow, everyone!" George called out over his shoulder as he and his brother pulled off their robes, revealing Muggle-passable clothes beneath.

"Yeah, do try not to blow up the place while we're gone, 'ey?" added Fred.

Katie threw a piece of Tonne-Tongue Toffee at him

They all laughed weakly, before Lee told the twins, "Seriously, guys, be careful, all right?"

"Yeah, well, you just make sure you're ready to lock up and come running if Dumbledore calls again, ey?" George told them, teasingly.

Lee and the girls nodded, looking more than a little worried.

"And hey! Knock it off with the grim looks, you'll make the customers think we're offering shoddy product!" Fred chastised with a laugh before closing the door behind him. Well, that's part of why the store is here, isn't it? Fred thought to himself. To try and offer a bit of levity during these dark days! For that matter, how did everyone keep from going mad from fear and grief during the last war? I hope George can't tell just how petrified I am right now. Oh hell, of course he can -- I can tell he's feeling the same way.

The twins had already been scheduled to play errand boys for the Order that night; despite Molly's misgivings about their sense of responsibility, they'd proven themselves more than capable at any task they'd been assigned to. Now it looked like whatever they originally would have done would have to wait: Dumbledore had sounded the alarm and told them to be ready to Apparate at a moment's notice. Sources reported (George had wondered what sources, precisely) that there was to be a Dark Revel that night. This might very well be their first real battle. Not long ago they had felt a bit jealous of how much adventuring Ron had gotten to do so far over recent years, but now they wished to do nothing more than hole up in the flat they shared with Lee above their shop and spend a quiet evening playing Exploding Snap.

Instead, they were headed out into Muggle London for a late lunch/early dinner at their favorite little café, after which they would head out to Grimmauld Place -- they would have gone on duty right after dinner anyway.

Along the way, they were accosted by a homeless blotto wearing a beat-up old bowler with some shiny metal material peeking put of it.

"They're comin', mate! They know yer every thought, every desire, unless yeh have one o' these!" he pointed to the hat on his head, and shook another silver-lined hat, this one a cap, at them with his other hand. "Only a quid, mate! It'll save yer life!"

Repulsed by the man's stench -- clearly he had sold a hat recently and used the profits to buy a pint or two at the local pub -- the twins tried to hurry on past him, but to no avail. Old and pissed as he was, he nonetheless seemed quite adept at walking nearly backwards as he kept abreast of them.

"The secret is this special material, mates! 'S magic! You'll know all about magic, two fine, educated blokes like yourselves!" he added with a wink.

Fred laughed nervously. "Magic? Don't be a berk, there's no such thing!" He and George sped up.

Still the man stayed with them, oblivious to the people he was backing into.

"I'm tellin' yeh, mates! The Dark One is coming! He can pluck your thoughts right out of the air, 'e can! This special metal is the only thing that can protect you from--" he looked about "--you know who!"

The twins stopped short at that, causing people behind them to bump into them and mutter obscenities as they passed. They shared a look, and pulled the man to the side of the pavement, backing him against the wall and speaking low.

"Here now, what are you playing at?" Fred hissed. "There are Muggles about!"

The man's eyes grew wide and fearful as he looked around. "Muckles? What are they, sir? Are they servants of the Dark One?"

George scowled. "Muggles! Non-wizards!" he growled lowly through clenched teeth.

The blotto gave them a wary look. "Are you wizards, sir?"

"Of course we are! Isn't that why you started muttering to us about magic and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?!"

The man swallowed hard, saying nothing. A lorry backfired. As if it were a starting gun, the man pushed George aside and ran off, dropping the cap as he went.

Fred picked up the cap, looking close at the silvery material lining it. "I think it's that 'aluminium' stuff," he decided. "You know, like Muggle restaurants use when we don't finish our food, to wrap it up so we can take it home?" he elaborated as he pulled it gently out of the cap, folded it up, and put it in his pocket.

George watched him with distaste. "You don't know where he got that from, mate! And why do you want it, anyway?"

Fred put an arm companionably over his brother's shoulder and steered him back towards the café. "Every superstition has a germ of truth, little brother." (George was twenty minutes younger.) "That chap clearly knew something about You-Know-Who, so maybe there's something to what he was saying about aluminium, too. I figure we may as well ask Dumbledore -- or Hermione, since this is Muggle stuff. And even if they don't know a thing about it, it could be worth experimenting with; it might spark a new product!"

George grinned. "I like the way you think, Fred! Let's just hope that 'truth' is the only 'germ' that stuff is carrying, though, 'ey?"

They ordered the usual at the café, trying hard not to think about how it might be the last meal they ever had.

* * *

Harry and his companions decided to postpone dinner when they got out of Gringotts, opting instead to give Petunia the grand tour. She was clearly nervous but kept up a brave face; despite all they'd seen and heard of her this day, Ron and Hermione had a hard time reconciling this woman with the one they had met on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Harry seemed to perk up a bit though at this return to the wizarding world, so they put their misgivings aside and concentrated on bringing him further out of his shell.

At least they did until they ran into Dean Thomas.

Dean was sharing a sundae with his Muggle girlfriend. Thinking the girl was just one of his sisters, the trio had been about to say hello when they'd spotted him. But before any of them could speak, Dean leaned over and kissed the girl in a not-very-brotherly fashion.

"So this is how you spend your holidays, eh, Thomas? Snogging one girlfriend while you take a break from the other?" Ron said with false cheerfulness under-laden with ice.

Hermione and Harry stepped forward anxiously, each taking an arm; the only thing more dangerous than hot Weasley anger was cold Weasley rage.

Of course, Harry wasn't feeling too friendly towards Dean at that moment either, but the Occlumency, coupled with the obvious need to keep Ron reigned in before someone got hurt, helped to keep his own bubbling emotions in check. He almost looked bored, even.

"Ron! Harry! Hermione!" Dean sounded like he would have been pleased to see them if not for Ron's snide remark, which had him a bit baffled. "Look, mate, I know--"

"What does he mean, 'Snogging one girlfriend while you take a break from the other', Dean?" snapped his girlfriend. "You told me you broke up with that other girl!"

[Dean's girl snaps at him, while Harry and Hermione hold back an irate Ron.]

"Ho, did you now?" Ron asked not-so-sweetly, a dangerous glint in his eye. "And when precisely did you do that, Thomas? I don't recall seeing you at all this summer, and Ginny never mentioned it."

Dean at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "Well, I ... I sent her a letter. And I know she got it!" he added quickly, slightly indignant.

Hermione's smug smile wasn't a bad match for Ron's menacing one. "She sent you a Howler back, didn't she?" It was clear Hermione thought the boy deserved it.

"Yeah, she did," Dean smiled ruefully. He turned to his girlfriend. "That was that scary red letter -- the one that screamed and burst into flames?"

"Oh!" the girl put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide as she remembered. She put her hand on Dean's, and faced the trio. "Look, blame me if you want. I'm the one who'd dumped Dean the first time, and for a stupid reason, really." She gave him an apologetic smile. "If I hadn't done that, then he and Ginny would never have even had a chance to hook up, and he wouldn't have ended up hurting her when we got back together. But Deanie and I have known each other our whole lives, so it's only natural that he would come back to me, given the chance. Not that your sister isn't a nice girl and all," she added hastily. "It's just that, well, Ginny and Deanie hadn't gone out all that long, and ..." She shrugged, then gave Ron and Hermione -- or more specifically, their linked arms -- a shrewd look. "I mean, haven't you ever fought over something really stupid, and thought you would never speak to each other again, but somehow you did, and suddenly it was like you'd never fought to begin with?"

"Er, what, us?" Ron squeaked.

"Oh, no, w-we're not--" Hermione protested at the same time, quickly letting go of Ron's arm.

"Yes, they have." Harry replied firmly (and with more than a little annoyance), directing his gaze at his companions. "Need I remind you two of the whole Crookshanks and Scabbers debacle? Or of what happened when I got the Firebolt from Sirius? I've been on the outs with both of you as well, now and again -- it happens sometimes with friends," he told them pointedly. He turned to Dean and the Muggle girl. "I'm glad you two were able to work things out." Although you deserved the Howler, ya prat, he added silently to himself, before stifling his anger and turning away, dragging Ron and Hermione with him.

"I suppose it's all for the best anyway, Ron," Hermione offered once they were out of Dean's earshot. "You'd had a fit when you'd found out they were dating in the first place, remember?"

"And apparently with good reason!" he countered. "He went and broke her heart, didn't he?"

"First of all, I rather doubt that that was what you were actually afraid might happen," she began, and he blanched at the idea of even thinking of the possibility of his sister's intimate relations. "And secondly, Ginny doesn't exactly seem like she's heartbroken!"

Harry thought about the letter she'd sent. "No, she doesn't, but she does seem lonely. Have you two been neglecting her all summer?" he asked, grinning a bit.

"What's that --- when have you -- when did she -- what has she been telling you??" Ron finally managed.

Hermione, who said nothing, was curiously pale -- probably because she was wondering just what exactly the other Weasleys were saying about the time she and Ron had been spending together. Suddenly she found herself feeling considerably less charitable towards Ginny and her relationship status.

Harry, oblivious to Hermione's mental state, stayed rather calm and unconcerned in the face of Ron's more obvious panic. "Just that she's been bored silly, since Dean'd broken up with her and you two are never around."

Ron stopped abruptly, and Petunia, who'd been walking a bit of a ways behind them, almost collided with him. He didn't notice. "Wait a minute! You knew they'd broken up and didn't say anything?

"Well I only just found out a few days ago," Harry explained. "Besides, I didn't know you didn't know."

"Well why didn't she tell me?" Ron growled, throwing his hands up in the air.

Harry just shrugged, while Hermione rolled her eyes. "Gee, Ron, maybe she was afraid you'd overreact," she suggested dryly.

"Well, am I just supposed to just sit there when one of my so-called mates toys with my sister's affections?!"

"Ron, calm down!" Hermione ordered through gritted teeth, all too conscious of the people that were starting to gawk at them -- as well as noticing the suddenly uncomfortable look Harry was getting. Well isn't that interesting. Maybe Ginny didn't tell us about Dean because Harry's already occupying her attention. ...

Petunia, meanwhile, decided it was time to do something before Ron turned back around and went to pick a real fight with that other boy he'd been arguing with. She laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, flinching as he jumped at the contact, but maintaining her poise as she asked hopefully, "Why don't we take a look in that shop over there?" She gestured towards someplace called "Belle's Beauteous Baubles".

"Yes, I think that's an excellent idea!" Hermione replied, grabbing Ron by the other arm and tugging him towards the store, ignoring his protests that the last place he wanted to go was a jewelry store. She wasn't all that keen on it either, truth be told, but felt that the sooner they away from Dean -- and any possible mentions of a romantic entanglement between Ron and herself -- the better.

* * *

Snape glowered at the umpteenth person to bump into him, just as he did at all the others who'd done the same. He hated coming to Diagon Alley, even when he was only stopping for potion ingredients that couldn't find elsewhere. But at least on those kinds of trips, he could simply go where he needed to, and then leave as quickly as possible. Now he actually spend time there, and try to find Potter or Faelyn in the throng of people. So far, he hadn't any luck. He was about to take out his Communication Glass and contact the new Potions Mistress, when yet another shopper knocked into him, hard.

No, not knocked into -- put their arm over his shoulder!

"Sevy! Fancy meeting you here!" remarked a lilting voice with a faint but indeterminable accent.

His black eyes met green fleck with gold, framed by swirling ebony locks, and he felt his irritation instantly evaporate. "Faelyn," he managed in weak greeting, silently thanking whatever higher powers were out there that he hadn't managed to utter the curse that was on the tip of his tongue before he'd seen who it was.

"The Boy's in Belle's place right now, so I think we're okay waiting out here for them. Don't want to get too close if we don't have to, or they might spot us." The Order had taken to referring to Harry as "The Boy Who Lived", or rather "The Boy" for short, since throwing the name "Potter" around was likely to attract unwanted attention.

Snape quirked a brow. "I doubt very much that The Boy would notice us; he's usually fairly self-absorbed. ..."

She tsked. "Sevyyyy, cut the kid a break, eh? Teenagers are supposed to be self-absorbed. Besides, it'll make our job a lot easier if he is."

Snape only grunted in response, and privately enjoyed the warmth of the arm around his shoulders.

* * *

"No, Mr. Dursley, for the hundredth time, I will not 'kip over to the corner market' for you," Sarah told the man as she went through the rental ledger, checking things and making notations. She'd had this conversation so often she was now doing it on autopilot while her mind was concentrating on her work. "I have to stay here," she continued with all the patience of a saintly mother dealing with her hyperactive child, "as it's my job to rent out space and supplies to campers, not play bloody concierge. This is a campground, not the Hilton; if your lot didn't pack enough marshsmallows, it's not my ruddy problem, 'ey? But if you decide you want to rent some camping gear, well then, I'd be more than happy to help you!" Drive a hot iron through your eye, that is, she added silently.

If she had looked up, she would have seen Mr. Dursley growing quite purple in the face and, quite logically, assumed he was livid. And under ordinary circumstances, she would have been right; Vernon Dursley didn't take that kind of cheek lightly, especially from a lowly clerk whose manner of dress was so vulgar it should have been made illegal (no matter how attractive they were!)

This, alas, wasn't ordinary circumstances.

Sarah did finally look up at the sound of a heavy thud. "Mr. Dursley??" she cried, jumping up in alarm. Was he having a heart attack?!

It wasn't until she was checking the man's pulse that she noticed the other figure, dressed head to toe in a black, hooded robe and wearing a skull mask, stepping out of the shadows by the door. "Don't worry, pet," came a muffled, cultured voice. "He's not dead -- yet. It wouldn't be very fun to kill you Muggles so quickly, now would it? No, we have extra special plans for this one -- and you too, my sweet!"

The last thing Sarah saw before the world went dark was a lock of white-blond hair poking out from beneath the hood.