To Dare

Additional disclaimers: Spoiler warnings apply for all HP books and movies to date. I have departed from canon slightly in this chapter for the purpose of advancing my plot. The smut is in a later chapter, but it is there.

A/N: Thanks are owed to many people. A sampling: Amber P., Mel S. and A_Kizzy for beta and Britpicking services, James and Oliver Phelps for their wonderful work portraying Fred and George on the big screen, Ally for reviewing, and thanks also to everyone who read but didn’t review. A big thank you to Samayel, for encouragement and for listening patiently while I turned every topic of conversation inexorably back to the world of Harry Potter.

To Dare

Chapter One

Fred and George Weasley entered the Leaky Cauldron through the door that led to Muggle London. They’d been out all day looking for a birthday gift for Ginny and they were hot and thirsty. The late July sunshine glinted off their coppery hair for a moment before the door swung shut behind them. Blinking in the dim taproom, they looked for an empty table. There were none, but off in the corner a vaguely familiar figure sat at a table alone. George elbowed Fred and nodded in the direction of the solitary blonde.

“Right.” They threaded their way through the crowd. The woman was reading a heavy book that was propped up on the table in front of her. She seemed oblivious to everything around and it gave George a brief moment to study her. He wasn’t sure, but she looked like she’d lost weight in the time since she’d left school.

“Got room for a couple of old schoolmates?” Fred asked, smiling.

She looked up, startled. Recognition dawned in her clear blue eyes. “Fred!” She answered his smile with one of her own. Her eyes flicked past him. “And George,” she said warmly.

“Thalassa,” George greeted her with a nod. It was unsettling to realize how long it had been since he’d seen her.

“Of course, sit down.” She cleared her clutter off the table and tucked her book away in her bag on the floor at her feet. “How are you both?”

“Not bad, all things considered,” Fred replied cheerfully. “And you?”

“Well enough. Busy. Here, let me get the first round. What’ll you have? Butterbeer?” She signalled the barmaid.

Thalassa had definitely lost weight, George could see now, but she didn’t look any worse for it. Her face was more oval than round now and her stubborn chin was more clearly defined. “We heard you were running the apothecary,” he remarked. “Mum swears by your stain-removing potion. Says it’s better than Mrs. Skower’s.”

A faint blush spread across her cheekbones at the compliment. “Thanks. I don’t actually run the shop by myself, though. I just do the brewing and the books. Mother waits on the customers and takes care of the front.”

“Why haven’t we run into you before?” Fred asked.

A shadow flitted across her face and disappeared so quickly it was almost as if it never happened, but George noticed. “I don’t know. Neither of you has been to any of the Diagon Alley Merchants’ Association meetings. You’ve never been into the apothecary on a Monday. That’s my day to mind the store. I haven’t developed a burning desire to turn my friends into canaries or whatever it is your sweets do now.”

“Still,” George said. “Diagon Alley’s not that big. We should’ve met up before now.”

She shrugged, her face carefully blank. “Different schedules, I suppose. Still living at the Burrow?”

They nodded. “More or less,” said Fred. “There’s a flat over the shop and we stay there sometimes, but the food’s better at the Burrow.”

“And you probably Apparate or Floo home. I’ve a flat in London. I take the Underground home.”

Their drinks arrived. “Anything from the kitchen, then?” the barmaid asked. They ordered food and she hurried away.

“What are you drinking?” Fred gestured to the bottle in front of Thalassa.

“Muggle beer.”

“Since when do you drink Muggle beer?” Fred blinked at her in surprise.

She raised one eyebrow. “Since it’s not anybody’s business what I drink,” she replied blandly and sipped from the bottle. “How is the rest of your family?” She only knew they’d all, against the odds, survived the war. She dearly hoped that this was a safe enough subject.

George smiled. “They’re well enough. Dad still works for the Ministry. Percy too. And yes, he’s just as much a pompous ass as ever. He’s Second Undersecretary (“Tea-boy,” Fred coughed) to the Minister of Magic. Perce finally got his head out of his own arse long enough to apologize and be welcomed back into the family.”

“Percy had a falling-out with the rest of you?” Her eyes went wide.

“Oh, that’s right.” George snapped his fingers. “It was after you’d left school. Damn near broke Mum’s heart.”

“Goodness, who would’ve thought Percy capable of that? What was it over, if that’s not too personal?”

Fred rolled his eyes. “He made Junior Assistant to Fudge during that time when the Ministry was trying to pretend that everything was fine and You-Know-Who hadn’t come back.”

“And his ambition got in the way of his good sense,” she guessed.

“Right in one.”

“So did it require a trip to St. Mungo’s or was a simple counter-jinx sufficient? You know, to restore him from a position that frankly, I wouldn’t have thought Percy limber enough to manage.”

Fred and George both burst into laughter. “Still the same quick wit, I see,” George complimented.

“Thank you. What about Ron and Ginny?”

“Ron’s gone for Auror training and he and Hermione Granger are engaged. Ginny’s been working for us in the shop this summer. She has one more year at Hogwarts. They made her Head Girl. Just got her letter the other day.”

George grimaced. “Don’t know how that happened. We thought at least she would follow in our footsteps. We gave Ron up for a lost cause after his first year, but Ginny had such promise.” He shook his head sadly.

Thalassa giggled. “I’ll wager your Mum is pleased, though. That makes what, two Head Boys and a Head Girl?”

Fred nodded. “And the other two were prefects. George and I are the black sheep of the family.”

“Ah well,” she smiled, “at least you’ll never be lost in the shuffle. And the eldest Weasley brothers—all’s well with them?”

“More or less.” George nodded. “Charlie is still in Romania with the dragons. He’s got this idea of charging tourists for safari trips to fund the preserve. Got some Americans coming over next month to give a presentation about a similar program they’ve got.”

“Bill does the occasional field assignment for Gringott’s but he’s mostly desk-bound these days. He had a rough time of it for a bit. Mauled by a werewolf.”

Thalassa went pale and very still. “He’s not…”

“No,” said George quietly. “It wasn’t during the full moon, but he’s had a long, hard recovery.”

“And there were—are—some lingering effects,” Fred added sombrely.

She turned her liquid gaze helplessly from one to the other. “I don’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ seems so inadequate.”

“It’s all right,” George tried for a reassuring tone. “At least he had those months with Fleur.”

“Fleur Delacour? The Beauxbatons champion? But someone told me she’d—erm—been lost…”

Fred nodded. “She and Bill didn’t make it to their first anniversary.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Thalassa toyed with her fork and kept her gaze on her plate. Finally, she wiped her eyes with her serviette, took a sip of her beer, and then cleared her throat. “So, do you two ever see the rest of the team?” she asked tentatively.

“Not really,” Fred shook his head. “Except for Harry, of course. Mum treats him like one of her own that she just got back from the fairies.”

With a certain amount of relief, George continued on the less emotionally charged topic. “Heard Katie went to work for the Ministry in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Alicia is in R and D at ProBrooms,” he offered. “I’m sure you know Oliver plays for Puddlemere United and Angelina’s a reserve for England as well as starting for the Newcastle Knights.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can you really imagine me not keeping up with Quidditch? What about Lee Jordan? I hear him on the WWN announcing the matches.”

“Oh, he visits whenever he can, but he stays busy.” George shrugged. “Even in the off-season he lends his voice for adverts.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have more contact with Angelina. I always thought you and she would make a match of it, Fred.”

“It never would have worked out. When George and I left school, she told me she didn’t have any use for someone with no more ambition than to fuel pranksters’ juvenile obsessions.”

Thalassa laughed, but not unkindly. “Short-sighted of her, if you ask me. She’ll be sorry when you earn your first million.”

The twins exchanged a sour look. “Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen any time soon,” George said glumly.

Their food arrived then, putting their conversation on hold. They ordered another round of drinks and began to eat. After a few mouthfuls, Thalassa turned to George. “What did you mean? You two should be rolling in Galleons. The things you were developing at school were quite creative.”

He swallowed a bite of roast beef. “Sales just aren’t what we expected. Nearly every Knut we make goes for more raw materials or to pay the rent on our shop. We took a big hit during the war, as well. If it hadn’t been for all the stuff we sold to the Ministry, we’d have gone under.”

Thalassa glanced away for a moment and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you have a catalogue I can take a look at?” she asked.

“Not with us. We can owl you one tomorrow,” George offered.

“You don’t mind if I see if there’re some improvements I could suggest?”

“Are you mad?” Fred exclaimed. “The way Mum keeps going on about how we should have applied ourselves more at school, it’s enough to drive us ‘round the twist. We’re desperate for some clue to turn things around. At this point, we’d accept help from Peeves.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Well, he might have some useful ideas for product development, but hopefully that won’t be necessary. Do you keep your ledgers yourselves or do you use a private goblin firm?”

They looked at her blankly.

“You do keep track of the money going in and out?” She sighed at the dismayed look they exchanged. “What about inventory control? You know, so you can order the materials you’re going to need in bulk. You can negotiate a discount that way.” There was an uncomfortable silence. She set down her fork and rubbed a hand across her eyes. “You’re obviously still keeping up the owl post part of your business. You do have your own delivery owls, don’t you?”

“All those things cost,” Fred said defensively. “We had an investor, but most of that money is gone by now.”

“Money is not your problem,” she waved dismissively.

“You’re mental. Money’s always been our problem.”

“I am not,” she protested indignantly. “Look, money is just energy, like magic. As soon as you realize that, you can start manipulating it. You’ve spent too much time thinking of yourselves as poor. That’s a bad habit you’ll need to break.”

“Oh, of course. We just need to think ourselves rich,” Fred said sarcastically.

“Pearls before swine,” she muttered. “It’s a puzzle, all right? When you go home tonight, work it out. Now, tell me something that’s going right with Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes.”

“We’re working on a new transmutation line.” George pulled what looked like an ordinary spoon out of his pocket. “See, it’s a spoon. Works just like the real thing, but when you do this,” he grasped the spoon by the bowl, pinched the handle between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled, sliding his fingers out to the end. Then he flicked his fingernail against the handle, producing a ringing tone that suddenly dropped in pitch. “Now it’s a dowsing rod.”

She watched curiously as the spoon quivered and twitched in George’s light grasp. “What does it find?”

“This one points out secret passages. Other items, forks, knives, etcetera, find other things. We plan to have a whole range of everyday items that turn into far more useful tools.”

“We’re trying to add to our Skiving Snackboxes as well,” Fred added. “The old symptoms are too recognizable by now. We’ve Hiccough Horehounds and Sneezing Sugarplums but we can’t get the Choking Chocolates to work. Our testers couldn’t swallow the antidote. Their throats swelled closed and we had to give it to them with a nose tube.”

“Ew,” she made a face at the image. “You know, my father did a great deal of experimenting. He wrote down everything he did whether it worked or not. If you like, I’ll lend you his notes. There may be something in them that might put you on the right track.”

“You’d do that for us?” George sat back in his chair, wide-eyed.

“Of course. Why not?”

“Thalassa, your father was a genius. Everyone knows that. I’m surprised he isn’t on a Chocolate Frog card. Who knows what’s in his notes?”

“Well not me, that’s for certain. I haven’t had time to give them more than a quick glance now and then.” Suddenly, she grabbed Fred’s hand and turned his wristwatch towards her. “Great Circe! Is that really the time? I have to go. I’m late for an appointment. Just come by the shop in Diagon Alley on Tuesday and I’ll have Dad’s books ready for you. Don’t forget to owl me a catalogue tomorrow.” She finished her beer and scooped up her bag. “It’s been really great seeing the both of you again.” She gave each of them a squeeze on the shoulder in parting and went to pay for their meals.

They watched her hurry out into Muggle London. Fred reached over and helped himself to half the uneaten portion of Thalassa’s dinner. He offered the rest to George, who took it automatically. “She’s changed,” Fred remarked.

“Not so much,” George replied absently. “She’s lost some weight that’s all. I’m not surprised if she doesn’t eat any more than she did tonight.”

Fred shot his twin an incredulous look. “You’re joking. She was such a mouse at school; never did anything to get in trouble. She wouldn’t even go with us to nick food from the kitchens.”

“She had her reasons. I’m sure she didn’t realize what an honour it was to be invited along.”

Fred shook his head. “Still, I can’t believe she’s the same quiet little thing that used to sit through all our Quidditch practices. Never thought we’d run into her in the Leaky Cauldron drinking Muggle beer. That stuff’s a lot stronger than butterbeer.”

“You’re just thinking of the last year she was at school. She kept to herself because she had problems at home. Don’t you remember that time she stood up to Marcus Flint? And when Snape had her tutoring the Slytherins on Potions down in their dungeon?”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten.” He took a swallow of butterbeer. “Maybe she wasn’t as much of a mouse as I thought.”

“You wouldn’t have noticed,” George needled. “You were too busy sniffing after Angelina at the time.”

“Can’t blame me for that. Fine girl, Angelina.” Fred sighed nostalgically.

“I suppose not, but you might have been more sensitive to Thalassa eating her heart out over you.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Why else do you think she watched every Quidditch practice: early, late, rain, snow or broiling sun?”

“You’re barking if you think she was there watching me, bro’.”

“Who, then?”

“Well, Katie always thought it was you,” he said slyly.

“Me?” George dropped his fork.

“Yeah. Now who’s the insensitive lout?”

“But she never—and I asked her—More than once. No, Fred,” he shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’m sure she never thought of me as anything more than a friend.”

“Suit yourself,” Fred smirked. “Decent of her to offer to help us, at any rate.”

George nodded. “And to lend us her father’s notes. I heard once that Dumbledore offered him the Potions post before Snape.”

“Too bad he turned it down.”

“Too bad Thalassa had to leave school before she took her N.E.W.T.s. She’d have made a good replacement for Snape. You know, every single one of those Slytherins she tutored received an ‘Outstanding’ on their O.W.L.s in Potions that year and her only a fourth year student at the time.”

“That wouldn’t make any difference, not taking her N.E.W.T.s. Dumbledore hired Hagrid and he’d been expelled in his third year. I’m sure he or McGonagall would have done the same for Thalassa. Besides, only Ginny has to worry about Potions class any more. Who cares?”

“I was thinking of future generations.”

Fred gave him an odd look. “Something you’d like to share, George?”

“Think about it, Fred. How old are we? And Charlie and Percy? One of us is bound to settle down before long, although it seems like Ron and Hermione will beat every one of us to the altar. Hell, even Bill will likely take the plunge again, eventually.”

“I’m in no rush.”

“No, I’m just saying…might’ve made a difference to have had someone we could’ve all counted on teaching Potions the last couple of years. What sort of difference might it make for the next crop of Weasleys?”

“Ah, but they’ll have the benefit of all our combined experience. Relax, George. We’ve got enough to worry about right now without thinking about something that won’t be an issue for years.”


The catalogue arrived as promised the next day and Thalassa went through it carefully. Several improvements suggested themselves to her almost immediately and she began making notes on fresh parchment. After she’d been through the catalogue, she added her ideas for areas to improve the twins’ business based on what they’d told her the previous night. She also spent some time leafing through her father’s notebooks and sorted them as best she could. There didn’t seem to be much of a system to her father’s notations. Standard recipes and experiments were jumbled together with old lists of prices and order quantities. Most puzzling were several passages of apparent gibberish. Thalassa shook her head and boxed up the lot, sticking scraps of parchment between each of the sets. She skipped watching the news and went to bed early. That night, her dreams were filled with a surreal mixture of memories of her school days and more recent events. Some of her dreams were quite disturbing, but they faded quickly enough as she went about her morning routine.

She arrived at the shop early, greeted by the familiar, musty smell of dried herbs and the sharp odour of pickled animal parts. She stowed the box under the desk in the back. As she’d told Fred and George, her mother had Mondays off, leaving Thalassa to mind the shop by herself. There were dozens of small tasks to be accomplished before the shop was ready to open for the week’s business. Restocking the shelves and wiping them down, dusting bottles, sweeping floors, and cleaning the display windows, her mother never did any of it before she left for the weekend. A busy Monday morning was the price Thalassa paid for taking Saturday afternoons off. She reflected with a small smile that last Saturday made the extra work worthwhile. It had been a delightful surprise, meeting up with the Weasley twins. Gods, had it really been three years since she’d seen either of them? Where had the time gone?

She sighed. Like everything else, the time had gradually and inevitably slipped into shadows and memory. Nothing truly lasted forever, not the good, and thankfully not the bad. Too many people had been lost in the struggle against Voldemort. She shivered as she thought the name, but reminded herself that neither the dark wizard nor his name had any power any more. She wondered briefly if it was truly worth the horrible fates suffered by so many to be rid of that evil once and for all. She gave herself a mental shake. Of course it was worth it. As long as some good survived, it was worth any sacrifice to defeat evil. And a great deal of good had survived. Yes, they’d lost Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape, after a fashion, but Hogwarts still stood; most of the professors had come through the war alive, if not unscathed. Diagon Alley and its less-reputable sister Knockturn Alley endured. Some wizarding communities had been all but levelled, but more escaped relatively untouched. It was the loss of life and the promise for the future that had injured the wizarding world the most. That, and all those who were left alive but so damaged in body or soul that the ones that were able to, prayed for death.

Voldemort had returned too soon after her father’s death, and Thalassa was still in mourning when the war had come upon them all. She did her part, volunteering at St. Mungo’s nearly every night and on her days off. She worked in their potions lab brewing healing draughts and antidotes, nutritive potions, analgesics and outright painkillers, and all too often, the draught known euphemistically as the Cup of Grace.

One time she’d run into Severus Snape up at the hospital and the sight of his sallow, sneering face nearly made her cry. Of course, he treated her to his biting sarcasm until she regained her composure. He bullied her into assisting him to brew some of the most complex and darkest potions she’d ever seen. They worked side-by-side for over twenty hours without food or sleep or a personal word exchanged. When they were finished, he never thanked her or gave her any hint that he found her efforts anything more than acceptable. She discovered that she actually took heart from that. Surely only the end of the world could have drawn kindness out of Snape.

And then, she’d heard the horrible news that he’d been responsible for Dumbledore’s death. That had hurt almost as much as the loss of the wise and kindly old Headmaster. Thalassa couldn’t have ever said that Snape was her favourite professor, but she’d always felt a certain unwilling kinship with him. To realize he truly was capable of horrible deeds had caused her to acknowledge the darker aspects of her own spirit. It had shaken her to the foundations of her soul. She’d spent most of her life to that point denying her mother’s influence on her psyche. To realize that her love of secrets, and her keenly honed powers of observation were a legacy from her Slytherin mother was a bitter potion to swallow.

Thalassa knew that was part of the reason she’d lost touch with all her old schoolmates. Throughout the whole horrible time, she’d kept her head down and determinedly steered clear of any situations where she might meet up with an old acquaintance or their grieving family. She avoided the rest of the hospital, particularly the emergency department. She moved from over the apothecary into a flat in Muggle London to help minimize her social contact with the wizarding world. Though she maintained her subscription to the Daily Prophet, she only read the sports page. The rest carpeted the floor under her owl’s perch. For all her efforts, trickles of news reached her ears. Customers exchanged information is furtive whispers in the apothecary and the other shop owners discussed the latest news at Merchants’ Association meetings. Occasionally, the sports section mentioned the loss of a former Quidditch player.

So the days had followed one after the other. Thalassa rebuilt the family business and made friends with her Muggle neighbours. The war ended and people began picking up the pieces of their shattered lives. The habit of avoiding anything that would remind her of how much they’d all lost was too deeply ingrained by then, though. She no longer knew how to reawaken the connections between herself and her former life. She found it hard to believe that such a short amount of time had actually passed. It felt like decades instead of months. It was only in the past couple of weeks that she’d come out of her shell enough to make a chance meeting in the Leaky Cauldron not just possible, but a happy event.

She was familiar with hard work though, and that was what she was beginning to miss. Business was good, and she had a comfortable routine that enabled her to get her work done quickly and efficiently. If she became any more complacent, she’d start regaining the weight she’d lost since leaving school. She found herself looking forward to the challenge of helping get Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes back on its feet. A glance at the clock on the wall told Thalassa it was time to start the day and with a wave of her wand, she changed the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and unlocked the front door. Mondays were simultaneously her best and worst days, and both because of the change to her routine. She wasn’t entirely comfortable dealing with the public, the discomfort in itself a mixed blessing. She waited on a steady stream of customers all morning. In fact, she was busy enough she didn’t have time to stop and eat the lunch delivered from the Leaky Cauldron. Close to one-thirty, a heavily veiled witch came in and lingered in the farthest corner of the shop, apparently just browsing. Thalassa only paid her enough attention to make sure she wasn’t shoplifting. It wasn’t uncommon for some of the customers to disguise their identities if they happened to be making embarrassing purchases. She dealt with the other shoppers patiently and professionally until only the veiled witch was left.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” Thalassa asked politely.

“I wish to place a large order of a sensitive nature,” the witch answered.

Great Circe! Thalassa recognized that voice. It was Madam Pomfrey under that veil. What was the matron of Hogwarts doing, ordering from Hartwell’s Apothecary? She nodded, concealing her surprise and curiosity. “Very well. If you’d care to step into the back,” she opened the door to the workroom, “we can discuss this further.” A flick of her wand locked the front door and changed the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed for lunch.’ Then she followed the matron and closed the workroom door behind them. Thalassa recited a short incantation while sweeping her wand in a grand arc. Multicoloured sparks shot out from the tip and streaked to the walls, ceiling and floor. Wherever they touched, a sigil glowed for a second before fading to invisibility once more.

“There,” she said, putting her wand away. “No one outside these walls can hear or see what goes on here.”

Pomfrey threw off her heavy veil. “Thank Merlin! I thought I’d suffocate. Miss Hartwell, Hogwarts has need of your talent,” she got right to the point. “We need these potions by the start of the term.” She handed over a piece of parchment.

Thalassa read the list and her eyes widened in shock. Here was nearly every potion and draught the hospital wing would need for at least half the year. “I thought your Potions Master brewed all the potions for the school,” she blurted out.

“That won’t be possible at this time.”

“But surely you…” Thalassa began, unaccountably intimidated by the prospect of shouldering even part of the responsibility for the health of the students and staff of Hogwarts. What was wrong with her? An order like this would cover expenses and overhead well into the next year and many wizarding families already relied on Hartwell’s for their potions.

Pomfrey didn’t have the time or inclination to coddle this young woman’s insecurities. She took a calculated risk and invoked the one man that had, without breaking her, drawn the best out of the Hartwell girl. “Severus once said out of all his former students, only you possessed the skill and discretion that this task now requires. Can you fill this order?” Her voice was urgent.

Frowning thoughtfully, Thalassa looked over the list again and did some rapid figuring in her head. It would mean late nights and working weekends. She strode to the shelves of raw materials and shook her head at some of the low supplies. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I can make everything on this list,” she waved it casually, “and if I had the components on hand, I could meet your deadline. These potions, however,” she snatched up a quill and ticked four items, thought for a moment, and then ticked a fifth, “I can only guarantee half the quantities listed.” She handed the parchment back. “I will, of course, place an additional order later today, but some of the components are quite rare. My suppliers may have difficulty obtaining adequate quantities in time.”

Pomfrey glanced at Thalassa’s notations. “That will be acceptable. How soon might you be able to ship the remainder?”

“By Halloween at the latest.”

“Very well. I must stress that this is to be kept secret. Not a hint of this must reach the wrong ears.”

Thalassa nodded solemnly, not taking insult at the redundant warning. “Of course. Will you want the order shipped when it’s finished?”

“No, we will handle the transport from our end. Just send an owl with the bill when you have the order ready.” She held out her hand.

Thalassa shook it and said, “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

The matron replaced her veil and left. Thalassa took the time to wolf down her lunch before she reopened the shop. She’d need to begin working on the regular stock for the shop tonight. Once she started on the order for the school, she didn’t want to have to stop and brew the smaller quantities for general sale.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully and she closed up shop promptly at six. Then she worked in the back until late into the evening. Was it really this morning she’d been longing for a challenge and a change to her routine? She’d have to be more careful with her wishes in the future.