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A/N: So another chapter! First off, a huge thank you to The Last Marauder and Akussa who reviewed every single chapter! And everyone else who read and reviewed too, of course :)
I'm not really sure when to place the meeting of Dean and Ted with the other three, and their subsequent conversation Harry, Ron and Hermione overhear which causes Ron to leave (Deahtly Hallows, chapter 15), but my best guess is sometime during October. Anyway, let me know if you disagree, and why :)
So, enjoy!






A surprised squeal was on the tip of his tongue, when he felt like he’d been dumped with a bucketful of water, and Dean cursed his bad luck when he saw the pair of Dementors come gliding up the street. Just what he needed; he’d stayed with an elderly lady in exchange for helping her out around the house, but the area was getting too crowded with Ministry officials, Death Eaters, and others. Like now. The creatures swept closer; the Muggles they passed were shuddering and pulling their jackets tighter around them before hurrying on. Dean reached into his pocket, gripping the handle of his wand tightly. He knew he should either run for it or cast the protective spell. He knew how it worked; remembered Harry showing them all in their fifth year. But it was another thing entirely to be confronted with the real thing.

Deciding not to take the chance that the spell might not work as intended and he’d only manage to draw the Dementors’ attention to him, Dean backed up, taking a turn to the right at the next cross-road.

Something bright white almost passed right through him, or so it seemed to him. He could just make out a large, gambolling shape when his head snapped back in the direction he just came from.

“A patronus,” Dean gasped, as comprehension dawned. When his curiosity won out, Dean sprinted back to the corner, peeking into the street he’d just been in. The pearly-white shape he thought looked like one of the bears he had seen at the zoo or circus was charging at the Dementors, making them change their course. He watched as the apparition came looping back, presumably to rejoin its caster.

It was coming towards him. Dean recoiled, realising it must mean whoever cast the ‘Expecto Patronum’ must be near, and he didn’t know who it was. It could be someone from the Order, but it could just as easily be a Death Eater who just wasn’t too fond of the creatures’ presence and chased it off for their own comfort. Dean drew his wand, wanting to be prepared.

Too late he felt someone close to him, and in the next second a hand was covering his mouth. Dean kicked his feet, but was dragged into a more deserted space between two houses. Someone whispered into his ear, “Quiet, son. If you’re not going to attack me, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Dean ceased his movements; the man’s voice sounded mellow and trustworthy even at a whisper. He did not, however, loosen the grip on his wand. Feeling firm ground under his feet again and the hand move away, Dean jumped away immediately, rounding on his attacker.

“Who are you?” Dean questioned, holding his wand at the ready.

The other man raised his hand, showing his own wand. “If I had wanted to incapacitate you, I could have done so ages ago. – A wizard, erg?”

Dean did not lower his own wand. “Maybe I just enjoy carrying wooden sticks around; I have it from the authorities that I am, indeed, not a wizard.”

The man chuckled humourlessly. “Apparently, nor am I. Ted Tonks, Muggle-Born. Would you tell me your name?”

Still wary, Dean complied. “Dean Thomas, Muggle-Born. I’d be a seventh year, if I had gone. – How do I know you’re not just trying to gain my trust? You could be a Snatcher for all I know.”

“Granted,” the older man nodded. “Listen, why don’t we go to the park I saw back there? It’s fairly easy to keep an eye on our surroundings, and we could talk some more.”

“I’m not putting away my wand, though,” Dean negotiated after some contemplation. He just lowered it enough so it wouldn’t immediately be spotted by the passers-by. He thought the man’s – Ted’s – earlier statement had some truth in it; he could have killed him on the spot instead of waiting until now; and surely he wouldn’t be alone if he was a follower of You-Know-Who.

“So, I’m Ted, as I said,” Ted Tonks continued when they had sat down on a bank overlooking the path. “I’ve decided to run for it a couple of days ago, what with Death Eaters lurking around my home and after ignoring Umbridge’s gracious summons. It was only a matter of time until they’d have come for me.”

“I’m on the run since August. Immediately when the letter came, with the provision of supplying my ancestry, I knew I had to disappear. It wasn’t explicitly said, but after what happened last June and sharing a dorm with Harry for six years, how could I not suspect anything?”

“Harry? You know Harry Potter?”

“Gryffindor,” Dean supplied, as if that explained everything.

Ted shrugged, seemingly needing no more explanation. “So, what do you say – you want to join forces with me? We could help each other out. Four eyes see more than two, or so they say.”

Dean considered it, eventually taking the other’s hand. “Well, where should we turn to next?”

*

Dean and Ted had agreed to leave the town, and seek their luck elsewhere. Dean didn’t count the days anymore, rather he stuck to measuring time by going from one meal to the next, or the routine of setting a foot in front of the other and finding a nice place to set up tent for the night. They’d pitched the small, inconspicuous tent three times already, and the sun was sinking lower in the sky, meaning they’d have to do so for the fifth time. Dean wondered what Seamus might be doing right that moment; or Harry, Ron and Hermione, Neville and Ginny and the rest of the DA.

“Ssh,” Ted cautioned, rousing him from his reverie. Dean stopped too, next to Ted on the narrow path that led through the copse of trees. He didn’t need to ask what Ted meant, for he could now hear it himself: somewhere to their right, someone was making the fallen autumn-coloured leaves rustle. It sounded like it was caused by something bigger than a rodent or any other native animal, so it was probably a human.

Ted touched his wand to Dean’s head, who felt a cold gush of wind wash over himself. Looking down at himself, he could only see a faint outline which seemed to melt into his surroundings; and only seconds later, Ted had also disappeared. Edging closer to the side of the path, they waited to see if their suspicions were correct.

They didn’t have to wait long; the shuffling grew steadily louder. Then, a tall figure emerged onto the path, followed by two smaller, squat ones. The first was wearing casual Muggle clothing and a dark anorak, the others clearly wore robes. Goblins! Dean thought, recalling his visits to Gringotts where he would exchange money before every new start of term. He looked at where he assumed Ted had to be to possibly get an inclination of what to do, when the other man’s voice rang out, a tad too loud and with obvious surprise, “Cresswell!”

Dean’s eyes went wide with surprise at the imprudence, instinctively casting a shield charm around them. A stunner bounced off it only moments later, making him thankful for the DA lessons, once again. Assuming a defensive position, he got ready to fight.

“Dirk Cresswell! We’re not Death Eaters, cease the spells!” Dean heard Ted’s voice again, louder this time.

“Who are you that you know me? And wouldn’t a Death Eater say the very thing just to gain our trust?” Dean would have appreciated the irony in any other situation; he’d said the same thing to Ted only a few days before. The three individuals across the way had disappeared behind tree trunks, only bits of them visible and Dean wondered whether he could still land a spell or another if need be. Despite their disillusioned state and the shield charm, the fact remained that they were still standing in the open, while the others didn’t need to concentrate on holding up an invisible protection.

“Mind giving me a second to show myself, son?” Ted whispered, taking Dean’s disbelieving hiss as a go-ahead sign.

As soon as he’d lifted the disillusionment, the same voice as before was heard again. “Ted Tonks?”

“Yes, it is me. And addressing your earlier concern: I was a couple of years ahead of you at Hogwarts, and I remember a time I caught you out after hours, coming out of a broom closet, complete with hickey on your neck. I can give the name of the girl, if you need more proof.”

“That’s alright,” the other, Dirk Cresswell, inserted hastily. “Okay, my turn I guess. Erg, okay, I’ve got something. My third year, someone had bewitched the suit of armour at the entrance to the dungeons to serenade Slughorn whenever he passed. I saw you do it the night before. Brilliant piece of magic, by the way.”

“That really was me, I never got caught for it either,” Ted muttered, whether for his own or Dean’s benefit, the Gryffindor did not know.

Meanwhile, Cresswell emerged from his hiding spot, the Goblins following behind more reluctantly. Ted stepped forward as well to meet them, and Dean followed, pushing the shield to stay up in front of them.

Ted and Cresswell shook hands, and then Ted introduced him, taking off Dean’s disillusionment as well. He nodded at their new company, compromising by taking down the shield but never lowering his wand all the way. The Goblins whispered with their heads together in Gobbledegook, and eventually seemed to deem them trustworthy enough.

“I know the area a bit, there should be a river ahead, maybe another hour or so away. We were heading there, catch us a salmon if we were lucky,” Ted commented.

It was decided that they’d stay together for the time being, although Dean vowed to keep his eyes peeled until convinced otherwise.

*

Dudley wondered. He wondered what was going on outside, and how long they would have possibly have to stay in their current hiding place. The novelty of magic still hadn’t worn off completely. There were others like him; family to wizards who were brought here for safety and who did not know how to do magic. Then, there were the ‘Muggle-Borns’, who had normal people as parents, but could do magic. For some reason he couldn’t comprehend, the bad guy who was after Harry was also after them.

“Hey Dennis.” He approached the younger boy he had talked to a few time before. Dennis had answered some of his questions, when he wasn’t off somewhere with the other teenagers in the house.

“Hey Dudley. How’s things?”

Dudley shrugged. He never knew how to answer those questions. There wasn’t much to do safe for trying to satisfy his curiosity.

Dennis went back to his book, which was titled ‘Fifty Ways of Disarming Your Opponent’, but looked up again.

“Dudley, I don’t want to be rude. But I saw you yesterday, it looked like you were trying to hide behind the big flower pot upstairs.”

Dudley’s face grew hot. He had done that, with the intention of not being seen. He’d fancied himself the hero of a spy movie, trying to gain new information, listening to a conversation of Dennis and his friends. To Dennis’s blunt words, he didn’t manage anything but unintelligible sounds.

“You were looking for answers again, weren’t you?”

Dudley wasn’t sure, but it looked like the other boy was amused at the thought. That little prat! Dudley’s hand folded into fists. No one was making fun of him, he always got to them before they could even get up the nerve to try. Only the thought of Dennis’ wand stopped him.

Dennis seemed to take the silence as confirmation. “Well, we wondered. It’s fine if you want to stick to yourself, after all, your parents do too. But next time, just sit with us; we usually don’t bite.” Waving, Dennis got up to join his brother at the other side of the room.

He looked after him, perplexed. No one had ever invited him just like that. Piers Polkiss had always sought the larger boy’s protection, as had his former group of ‘friends’. What could possibly be in it for Dennis? His high opinion of himself had taken a serious beating, and he really didn’t consider himself all that interesting to all those people. They had magic, what could he possibly offer them?

*

Percy hunched his shoulders when he left the lifts to cross the Ministry’s Atrium. He got in line to wait for a fireplace to floo out and apparate from there, as only the most senior staff had their own floo connections. Even though he’d been made Umbridge’s personal assistant, he wasn’t treated any better than anyone else. He’d seen many names he knew in the files, and although he was very tempted to amend the information contained in there, the one file he wanted to erase most was the one most closely watched. His eyes drilled holes in the man’s head in front of him while he still mulled the problem over. There had to be a way.

The man with the short light-brown hair scratched his head as if he felt an itch. As it didn’t seem to cure the itching sufficiently, he turned around.

Both showed instant signs of recognition, although neither seemed overly excited.

“Weasley!” The brown-haired man exclaimed.

“How are you, Oliver?” Percy asked politely, falling back on his perfected indifference. He’d shared a dormitory with Oliver Wood for seven years, but they couldn’t have been more different; each at home and deeply immersed in their own domains – Quidditch and academics, respectively.

Oliver looked around, before accepting Percy’s hand and answering, “Fine. Percy.” Percy was sure Oliver had had his surname ‘Weasley’ on the tongue again, only opting for his first name in the last minute. He motioned for his former class mate to go on ahead and use the now empty fireplace.

Oliver nodded and disappeared, hesitating only for a bit.

Percy didn’t think anything about it, and was therefore caught completely by surprise when he almost stumbled into Oliver again.

“Listen, Percy. Would you want to join me for a drink? I’m in the mood for some company.”

Percy was highly suspicious. Now of all times he wanted to catch up? There wasn’t anything for them catch up on anyway.

Then again, why not? He didn’t have plans for the evening, he never had. Plus, even if was being observed and word got back to his supervisors, Oliver Wood was a pure-blood and, as far as he knew, not listed as suspicious. If he wanted to be of any help to anyone, it was important to remain above reproach.

“I do have some time,” he said, falling back into old behavioural patterns. Oliver must have thought so too, but kept quiet. Instead, he told him to meet in front of the Leaky Cauldron.


When Percy entered the once so busy and lively pub after Oliver some minutes later, he was shocked to see how different it looked. It seemed quieter and less busy, for once. Tom the barman was standing behind his counter, looking glum. He perked up on seeing Oliver, but shot a short warning look towards a table in the back. With a jolt, Percy recognised Ministry robes, and some colleagues he would class as Ministry-loyal and career-minded, not Death Eaters, but also not about to stand up against injustice. A group, all in all, he would have fit into not too long ago.

He nodded blankly at them, choosing a table a little away, but not so much to rouse the suspicion they were avoiding the Ministry group.

Oliver grumbled about them under his breath, his eyes shooting fire. “Cowardly gits. Not an ounce of spine.”

“Loosing your temper in front of them isn’t going to help any,” Percy couldn’t help but say, earning himself a sharp, curious look from the other man. He realised it might have sounded a bit more criticising than he was prepared to show in public, and was glad that Tom’s arrival with their butterbeers won him some time.

“So, what did you want from me? Don’t tell me you’re doing it out of a school friendship, because we never were friends.”

“Was I that obvious?” Oliver asked, still looking slightly curious, before dismissing the matter. “As you know, gatherings of huge crowds have been forbidden since, well, basically since Thicknese became Minister. That does include Quidditch, too. Do you have any idea what they’re planning about that?”

Percy raised an eyebrow, sceptically. So Oliver was still as Quidditch-obsessed as ever. They were once again interrupted by a new arrival. Angelina Johnson and Roger Davies sank into the last two chairs, shooting incredulous glances between Oliver and Percy.

“Oliver, when you said you would get answers today, I didn’t think you’d bring him!” Angelina bit out, acting as if he wasn’t there.

“I wasn’t either. Nevertheless, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up.” Oliver insisted.

Percy had known Oliver hadn’t invited him for old times’ sake or even friendship; and that Angelina was most likely on his brothers’ side where he was concerned, but it hurt nonetheless. He was being used as a means to an end, once again. Even if this was something comparably harmless. To this group, at least, he didn’t need to keep up appearances.

He stood up. “I am not an opportunity. And if your only concern is Quidditch, I should feel deeply sorry for you.”

He had only taken two steps away when Roger caught his arm, exclaiming loudly, “Stay here, we can tell Tom from here we want two more butterbeers.” He signalled with two fingers in the innkeeper’s direction, then pulled Percy down again.
“They didn’t mean anything,” he explained hastily in a much quieter voice, “and it’s not just Quidditch. It’s also an outlet, a chance to escape the current climate.”

“What do you want with me, anyway?” Percy asked, ignoring Roger’s objection. His temper had been spiked which didn’t happen often, but he could be as stubborn as any of his brothers if he wanted to. “I’m hardly the right source if you wanted information about Magical Sports.”

“You have to understand that it’s our job, and we’ve simply been forbidden from it. Crowds apparently arouse suspicion nowadays,” Roger spoke up again. “According to the cycle, the World Cup should take place again next year, and that with our national league suspended, it’s unlikely Britain will compete this time. The three of us volunteered to ask into the matter, and submit a petition from the professional Quidditch teams if necessary. You worked in the Department of International Cooperation once, surely you still have contacts there.”

“As I said, I’ve been unceremoniously turned away today,” Oliver said, as much to Percy as it was information for the other two.

Still under Angelina’s glare, Percy answered, measuring his words carefully. What if it was all a test after all? To see how he treated some seemingly insignificant information as that of Quidditch. “Well, I don’t work there anymore. And no changes in the Ministry’s latest decisions in the matter have come to my ears.” There, he thought, that was innocuous-sounding enough, and still told them what they wanted to know.

He looked at them once more. “Thanks,” said Oliver, “there is only one other person who we could have gone to …”

“And we’re not endangering him more for every little piece of information!” Angelina interrupted him fiercely. Percy met her eyes, and immediately knew she was talking about his father.

“No, you’re definitely not. He should be more careful than ever because they are tightening the watch.” For a moment, he saw understanding and appreciation mingle with the determination in her eyes. While fastening his cloak, he added softly. “So should Lovegood; there’s something going on. Oh, and you better don’t mention where this information came from; it won’t do any good.”

Percy left after that, soon followed by Roger, and when it was only Oliver and Angelina, Oliver murmured, “I know neither Fred nor George have forgiven their brother, but I think Percy is more willing to help than they give him credit for.”

Angelina nodded her agreement. The Order of the Phoenix was as good as disbanded, but still its former members as well as the DA and likely-minded people were biding their time. They’d suspected that Arthur was being watched, not least through the fake-Runcorn’s warning, but maybe there was another Weasley who could help them.

*


Fred had checked in with the members of the Order at the Tonks safe house after visiting Elphias’s. Thankfully, George had chosen to go to Aunt Muriel’s and the Longbottoms’, which left this errand to him. Taking the steps two at a time, he beat down the now reasonably familiar path, straightening his shirt and hair before knocking softly. William Arrows and his daughter sat on the couch, both with a book in their hand.

“Good evening, young friend. How have you been?” The older man inquired, and Fred answered politely. The Slytherin seemed to reserve judgement about the thing Nora and he had – he didn’t know how to define what they had himself, as they didn’t talk about that. He was aware that Mr Arrows was not overly enthusiastic about seeing his daughter with a Weasley and a former Gryffindor, but was also too smart to show his dislike openly.

The girl who occupied a lot of his thoughts lately hadn’t said much, and after Mr Arrows excused himself to go to bed, Fred sidled up to her on the couch. “Missed me?” he asked coyly, nudging her in the side.

Nora shot the door to her father’s adjacent room a cautious glance, and then sideways at him. His demeanour was joking and flirtatious, a side of him she had come to expect. His eyes though, had a certain weariness that he didn’t manage to conceal wholly.

“What’s going on outside?” she asked instead, and only because she was already studying him did she see the second his eyes flashed before instantly settling back in that poorly-concealed weariness. There was always a copy of The Daily Prophet, which Andromeda took just to keep up to date with the Ministry’s schemes, and the Quibbler, which would reveal the details the Daily Prophet left out, but even though, the arrival of one of the Weasleys or other Order members would mean that something happened, usually also bringing a new addition to the safe house. Thank Merlin they were magical, otherwise the house would be bursting at the seams already. “New attacks? By Salazar, Fred, tell me what happened!”

Fred took her hands in his before she could talk herself in a frenzy. “Nothing of the sort. A disturbance at Gringotts, we just about saw a horde of masked and cloaked men hurry up into the bank; and then … they came back, just about ransacked every shop along the street, as if we’d hidden some Goblin behind the counter.” He laughed out loud bitterly, raking his hands through his hair.

It took her a little, as she painted the scene in her head, seeing the cloaked men upturn shelves and products, in the few shops that still held out in the nowadays so bleak Diagon Alley. “Your shop! They didn’t!” But of course, they must have, and her heart broke a little thinking of the bright, defiant splash of colour Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes had been some months ago.

Stubbornly, Fred shook his head. “We’ll build it back up; they haven’t broken us yet. It’s only the inventory, anyway.”

“No one was hurt, though, right?” she asked softly, coaxing her arms around him, hugging him sideways. “Is George okay?”

“No. No, we weren’t hurt. Just my pride, because I would have liked nothing better than to give them a piece of my mind.”

Nora buried her head in the side of his neck. Of course he would; the way she had got to know him in a few short weeks’ time, he would rather be jumping into action than just pick up the pieces in the Death Eaters’ wake.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said suddenly, twisting so he sat sideways too, facing her. “I didn’t want to unload this; I wanted some distraction and get away from that for a bit. – I was aiming to be all witty and charming and maybe snag a kiss for it,” he said, the last bit clearly an attempt at his usual humour, and Nora watched him make a conscious effort to regain his composure.

“Were you, now?” she replied, deciding to play along for his sake. It unnerved her to see Fred Weasley so vulnerable. “I guess I’ll have to give you one just for trying.” Nora brought her face close to his, keeping her eyes purposefully on his mouth as he wet his lips. Just when they were only a breath away from each other, she turned her head quickly, pecking him on the cheek.

“Oi!” Fred exclaimed automatically.

“Maybe you should try harder,” Nora whispered teasingly, nibbling on his earlobe. Since she had put her hands on his shoulders to brace herself, she could feel how tense they were. She didn’t know when she had come to care this much about a former Gryffindor, red-head and son of one of the most well-known blood-traitor families, or whether it was just the extraordinary circumstances; but she did.

Nora felt around for her wand, flicking it slightly before tossing it in the direction of the table. The room was plunged in darkness, which didn’t stop either of them.

*

Angelina entered the Wheezes’ showroom tentatively. Fred and George had told Lee about the rampage, and he had ranted to her about it. Angelina had immediately suggested that they should look in on their friends, and thus they found themselves standing in the middle of the joke shop.

“Fred? George?” Angelina called out.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she found herself suddenly faced with a wand pointing at her, and then she looked up to see George, in Muggle clothing and hair dishevelled.

“Oh.” George lowered his wand, grimacing. “Angelina, Lee. Sorry, I was just finishing up here – uh, was the door open? I thought I’d locked up.”

“It was. This doesn’t look so bad, does it? I thought, from what you told me …,” Lee replied.

George crossed the space to the door, bolting it before casting a spell at it. Shaking his head, he said, “Apparently, I’m still a bit out of it – I wanted to lock it, but apparently I didn’t. – No, we’ve already put most things back in order, before passing on the news. I just came back, too.”

“Are you alone? Where’s Fred?” Angelina wanted to know, looking around. No sign of the other twin, but from what she could see, the shelves were all back in place, but not properly stocked as was the norm. Knowing from countless hours when she’d helped out, she knew that neither of the boys went to bed unless everything was ready for a new day of sales.

“Hot date,” George answered, and she didn’t know how to interpret the accompanying expression of his face.

“Ah. You should have said, and we’d been here sooner,” Lee scolded him lightly. “Do you need us to help with anything?”

George seemed to consider the suggestion, raking a hand through his hair. “Actually, I was going to restock; there’s some boxes I’ve been hauling in when you showed up, and more in the storage room.”

Angelina soon found herself up to her neck in joke items. She was just levitating a bunch of Cheer-Up Potions into one of the display cases, when she saw George on the other side, where he was about to fill it from the other side.

Leaning against it, she folded her hands on the shelf level with her face, putting her chin on her hands. “George?”

“Hm?” he questioned absent-mindedly, concentrated on his task.

“Are you okay? Do you think they’ll come again?”

She thought he might not answer, but then he mirrored her position, so they were looking at each other through the display case. “Physically, yes. Still a bit shaken, though. I didn’t even close up, did I?”

“And you think they’ll be back,” she stated, watching him closely. George looked weary, which in itself was something she wasn’t used to. She also saw him trying to shrug it off.

“We’d be doing something wrong if they wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try to joke it off. You could get seriously hurt next time. As if you didn’t do enough already, as it is.”

“I’m definitely not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs while they go about and do as they please,” George said agitatedly.

“I didn’t think you would. Just don’t try to attract trouble, okay?” The thought alone made her stomach squirm, and she added after a moment of consideration, “Both of you.”

He started to reply, when Lee poked his head into the aisle George was standing in. “Oi, you want me to store up on the love potions as well? I don’t reckon there’s a high demand for it right now.”

George pulled back from his current position, following Lee to the other side of the shop. Angelina finished up with the section she was in, looking for the other two to see what else George wanted her to do. In doing so, Angelina noticed the scorch marks on the floor, and pulled out her wand to try and remove them.

“Leave it,” George stopped her, coming up from behind. “We’ve decided to keep the marks on the floor, as a reminder and sort of commendation. They thought us bothersome enough to try and shut us up, but they won’t.”

Just when she wanted to reprimand him that that was exactly the kind of thing she’d talked about earlier, he continued, “Listen, Lee suggested to call it a day, he wanted to stay in the spare room upstairs, and finish tomorrow. Usually, I’d finish up, but …”

“I think he’s got a point there, it’s rather late. Uh, do you want me stay as well?”

“We’ve got it, no need to trouble you …”

Angelina wanted to remind him that she was not a weak little girl, but his friend and just as capable as Lee, but decided on another approach. He looked ready to drop at any second. “Well, in that case, I’m sure you don’t mind if I get home. Alone, you know. Seeing as Lee is staying overnight …”

Maybe she shouldn’t have said the bit with ‘going home alone’, but he must really be rather exhausted as he didn’t seem to pick up on the obviousness. “No! Absolutely not! You can - you can use my bed, I’ll sleep in Fred’s room.”

Satisfied with the answer, she linked her arm with his, dragging him towards the stairs, flicking her wand to switch off the lights as she went. He insisted on changing the bedding for her, which she used to prepare three sandwiches, leaving one with Lee and practically forcing one in George’s hand. “Eat, then go to bed. Tomorrow’s another day.”

She shooed him off, changing into one of his shirts he’d lend her. As Angelina snuggled into the bed, she was debating whether or not she should tell him about her and Oliver’s meeting with Percy. The mention of his brother alone could set him off these days. On the other hand, Percy had seemed genuinely changed, and lonely. But George, and Fred, had a lot of things on their mind as it was. “Tomorrow’s another day,” she recited her own advice, as her mind grew heavy with sleep.

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