To Dare

A/N: Thanks to pyrostarglow (again!), moon_muse (again!) and Michaela Dragonsworth for reviewing. I have been having a couple of really crappy weeks at work. Your comments did a lot to pull me out of my bad mood.

To Dare

Chapter Five

Thalassa smiled as she breezed through the front door of the apothecary. “’Morning, Mum,” she fairly chirped. Fred and George had both been to escort her home the previous evening and they’d stayed to listen to the Quidditch game on the Wizarding Wireless Network. They’d discussed the game and compared it to other matches until late. Though the discussion had grown heated at times, it had never quite devolved into a row. It was just like all those Hogsmeade weekends back at school, when they’d sit in the Three Broomsticks, drinking butterbeer and arguing Quidditch half the afternoon with Lee Jordan and the Chasers from the Gryffindor team—and anyone else unlucky enough to get dragged into the conversation. Surprisingly, Thalassa didn’t feel tired, despite the late night. The evening had actually recharged her somehow.

Euryale clamped her hand down on Thalassa’s arm with bruising force. Her long black hair fairly crackled with the fury emanating from her. ”You lied to me,” she hissed. She relocked the front door and steered her daughter into the workroom, slamming the door behind them. “I had tea with Silvia Rookwood yesterday.”

Thalassa shook her arm, trying to dislodge her mother’s grip. “What are you raving about?”

“Your friends, those wizards you had the temerity to refer to as being well-connected at the Ministry are no such thing. Silvia took great delight in educating me. It seems their father is head of the Department for the Detection and Destruction of Dark Artefacts.”

“I can see why the Rookwoods might find that a matter of some concern, but I didn’t lie to you. Will you let go of my arm? Did you take Strengthening Solution this morning?”

Euryale all but threw Thalassa away from her. “You know perfectly well that you implied that the connection was potentially useful. And the brother that’s supposed to be the Minister of Magic’s personal assistant is nothing more than a tea-boy.”

Thalassa rubbed her arm to get the circulation back. “If you weren’t such an insufferable snob, Mother, you wouldn’t have these problems. What business is it of Silvia Rookwood’s who my friends are? What business is it of yours, now that I think on it?”

“Everything you do is my business when it gives Silvia an opportunity to hold up her useless squib of a son as an example of a devoted and dutiful offspring.”

Thalassa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She remembered Gaius Rookwood from school. A perverted little sneak, slight of build and slight of talent, his main skill seemed to be an affinity for blackmail. She’d run afoul of him during her fourth year.


Thalassa hung back as the other students filed out of the Potions classroom. “Professor Snape? Sir, may I have a moment?”

“Yes, Miss Hartwell? Don’t tell me there was anything in today’s lecture you didn’t understand.” Snape’s usual icy contempt was firmly in place.

“No sir, that’s not it. I was wondering if you would allow me to start a study group to tutor some of the students who are having trouble with their Potions work.”

“You are free to do as you like in your house common room. If you wish to waste your time on those who lack either the wit or the will to apply themselves, that is, of course, your prerogative.”

She pushed her hair back from her face. “I was hoping to extend participation to all the houses, and also to include some practical sessions here in the classroom.”

“Allow a pack of students to run amok in my classroom with only you to supervise? I think not,” he sneered.

She felt her face grow hot, but pressed on. “The sessions would only be open to students who genuinely wish to improve their skills.”

“If they ‘genuinely wish to improve’ they need only apply themselves in class.”

“But, Professor—“ she bit her lip, searching for some argument that would sway him.

“Yes?” He arched one eyebrow.

“Sir, I just think some of the students could benefit from the opportunity for a little extra practice.” Without you looming over their shoulders, she added silently.

He stared at her beadily for a long moment as she tried not to quail under his scrutiny. “I have grave doubts about your ability to teach but, as you seem determined, I have a Slytherin fifth year student I think would make an excellent test of your skills. You will be here at eight o’clock tomorrow evening.”

“Yes sir, thank you.” She left before he could change his mind. She supposed she ought to be intimidated by the prospect of tutoring a fifth year student, but she found she was actually looking forward to the challenge. She was relatively certain there wasn’t a potion in the supplemental fifth year text that she didn’t already know how to prepare. Still, she thought it best to find a copy and make sure.

At dinner, she took her courage in both hands to ask Oliver Wood to lend her his book.

“Sorry, “ he told her. “I need it tonight. Got a parchment due. Percy’s on prefect duty tonight. I’ll bet you can use his. Oi! Weasley!”

Four red heads turned in response.

“You’re on duty tonight, right? Lend Thalassa your supplemental Potions text.”

The three younger Weasley brothers went back to eating.

Percy frowned at her suspiciously. “What do you want my book for?”

“I’m trying to get a study group going. Professor Snape wants me to start with one of the Slytherin fifth years,” she said. “I just need to brush up on the material.”

Oliver gave her an impressed sort of look. “You actually suggested that you could teach Potions better than Snape? To his face? Good Lord, Hartwell, you are a Gryffindor after all.”

She blushed with pleasure at his compliment. To cover her reaction, she turned to Percy. “So, may I borrow your book? Just for tonight—I’ll give it back in the morning.”

“I suppose so, just don’t lose it.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “Professor Snape didn’t say who I’d be working with. Do either of you have any idea which of the Slytherins might need some extra revision?”

“Most likely it’s Rookwood,” Percy replied. “Snape nearly took points from Slytherin yesterday when his cauldron exploded.”

Oliver took up the tale. “It splattered half the Slytherin Quidditch team. Put them in hospital for the rest of the afternoon. Heard they were late for practice.”

“Ooh, that is bad. What potion was it?”

They told her and she nodded. “Yes, I can see how that might have happened.”

“You watch yourself with Rookwood,” Percy said with a disapproving frown. “He’s a bad sort. His grandfather’s in Azkaban, you know.”

“All right.” She should have taken Percy’s warning more to heart, but she was still a little high from Oliver Wood’s unexpected approval and eager to prove herself to Professor Snape.

The next evening she arrived at the Potions classroom at precisely five minutes to eight. Gaius Rookwood slouched in four and one-half minutes later. He stopped cold when he saw Thalassa.

“What’s she doing here?” he demanded.

“Miss Hartwell has volunteered to oversee your efforts to brew the potion you botched so spectacularly the other day,” Professor Snape said silkily.

“But she’s only a fourth year. And a Gryffindor,” he spat out the name of her house like an epithet.

“She believes she may succeed where I have failed.”

Thalassa heard the traces of stung pride only because she knew to listen for them.

“Detention is supposed to be punishment, Mr. Rookwood,” Snape continued. “It was your own gross incompetence that landed you here. I suggest you apply yourself to the task at hand. In the future, if you should injure members of the Quidditch team, I will allow them to oversee your detentions. You have an hour and a half to produce an acceptable potion. Miss Hartwell may assist you in any way she sees fit, short of actually doing the work for you. I’ll be in my office.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, shutting his office door with a distinct click.

Rookwood glared at Thalassa. “Well?” he snarled.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Get out your cauldron and supplies and let’s see if we can figure out where your potion went wrong.”

“Bossy little bint, aren’t you?”

She began to understand why Professor Snape wanted her to work with Rookwood. “At least I won’t use your head for a Bludger,” she retorted.

He gave her an evil glare. “I don’t remember the components.”

“The instructions are in your book. Look them up.”

“I didn’t bring it,” he sneered.

She was almost sure he was lying. Professor Snape would have expected him to bring his book. She pressed her lips together to keep from screaming in frustration. “Very well. I’ll talk you through it.” She began to slowly list the ingredients. If he was surprised that she knew which potion to work on, or that she had it memorized, he didn’t show it.

Over the next hour, Thalassa was treated to insolence, verbal abuse and outright threats. She endured it all, patiently pointing out the mistakes Rookwood inevitably made and showing him how to correct them. When he couldn’t get a reaction from her, he progressed to feigned clumsiness, taking every opportunity to jab her with his elbow or tread on her foot. He even managed to pinch her hand between two worktables and nearly caught the sleeve of her robe on fire.

“You know,” she said evenly, “if you spent half as much effort and attention on your potion-making as you have on tormenting me, you wouldn’t have sent the Quidditch players to the hospital wing.”

“You need to be taught your place, you cow.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head close to whisper in her ear. He described in disgusting detail exactly how he planned to teach her the error of her Gryffindor arrogance. He let her go just as Professor Snape opened his office door.

“I can see by the lack of ingredients adorning the ceiling that you’ve had more success this time, Mr. Rookwood.” He inspected the completed potion. “Evidently there is some merit in allowing Miss Hartwell to tutor you.”

Any satisfaction she might have felt at Snape’s grudging praise was overwhelmed by the lingering horror Rookwood’s threats inspired. She tried valiantly to hide her feelings, but some of her inner revulsion must have leaked through.

Snape turned his piercing gaze on her. “Have you found teaching not to your liking after all, Miss Hartwell?”

“Not at all, sir.” She brought her chin up. It was only half a lie. “I only hope you’ll allow me to work with some of the other students as well.”

“How very admirable,” he drawled. “Perhaps some of Mr. Rookwood’s classmates could benefit from your efforts. I think Thursday nights from eight to nine in the Slytherin common room and every third Tuesday here in the classroom.”

Thalassa felt herself blanch. An entire hour alone with Rookwood and the rest of the Slytherins in their home territory? She was in serious trouble.

“Is there a problem?”

“No sir,” she lied smoothly. “Whatever you think is best, though I would prefer to meet in the Great Hall so students from the other houses could participate.”

“I’ll be able to monitor your progress better with students from my own house. After Christmas we can consider expanding your sessions.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You may go.”

One glance at Rookwood’s expression told her she’d be wise to be far away before Snape released him from detention. She departed as quickly as she could without making it look like she was bolting for safety. Bad sort, indeed. Percy Weasley didn’t know the half of it.

What little sleep she got that night was interrupted by horrific nightmares. After her dorm-mates complained about her talking in her sleep for the third time, she took her blanket and went to sit in front of the fire in the common room until dawn. She fretted all day, unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls at meals. She couldn’t pay much attention in class, except Potions for which she was contrarily hyper-aware.

After dinner the Gryffindor Quidditch team had practice and she went to watch, hoping it would distract her from her worries for a while. She’d been to every practice since the middle of her second year when she’d developed a huge crush on Oliver Wood. The team looked good this year with their new Seeker and it was normally a pleasure to watch them, but Thalassa couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach.

“Oi! Planning on sleeping up there?”

She jumped, startled. Practice was over and she hadn’t even noticed! One of the Weasley twins (George, she decided) and Katie Bell stood on the pitch, looking up at her in the stands.

“No, I’m coming down,” she called and suited action to words. They waited for her and walked her back to the castle.

“Are you all right?” Katie asked. “You look rather—sick.”

“Just something I need to figure out,” Thalassa replied.

“Why don’t you tell us?” George invited. “Three heads are better than one.”

She eyed the two younger students. It seemed a sincere offer, but what could they do to help? She thought a moment, then concluded that if nothing else, she would at least feel better if her worries were out in the open. “I want to get a Potions study group together. My parents own the apothecary in Diagon Alley, so I’ve been making potions every summer since before I came to school. I asked Professor Snape if I could use the Potions classroom sometimes for practical sessions.”

“I heard you talking the other night with Wood and Percy Weasley,” Katie said.

Thalassa nodded. “Then you heard that Snape had me work with Gaius Rookwood. He wasn’t happy about it. Rookwood, I mean, not Snape. Although, Professor Snape wasn’t very pleased about the whole concept—“ she broke off, realizing she was starting to babble. “Anyway, Rookwood was really horrible to me when Snape left us alone. He said some incredibly vile things and frankly, I’m a little scared of him. No, scratch that, I’m a lot scared of him.”

“What did he say?” George asked.

Thalassa shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it, much less repeat it. I’m afraid I might vomit.”

“Well, it’s over,” Katie said prosaically. “Just stick around crowds for a few weeks until he finds someone else to harass.”

“It’s not that easy. Apparently, I did a good enough job with Rookwood that Snape wants me to tutor all the Slytherins that need it once a week in the Slytherin common room.”

Katie and George gaped at her.

“Oh good,” Thalassa said with a sickly smile. “It is as bad as I thought. I was worried I was blowing things out of proportion.”

“Go to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore,” Katie urged. They’ll put a stop to this.”

“But I really want to do this study group and I need Professor Snape’s permission to use the classroom. He said if I did well with the Slytherins then after Christmas I could open the sessions to the other houses. If I go running to Professor McGonagall or the Headmaster, Snape will never agree to let me continue.”

“I don’t know then,” Katie replied. “George?”

He was frowning thoughtfully. “What you really need to do is out-Slytherin them. I’ve some ideas—” His eyes took on a faraway look and he fell silent as they walked up the staircase. Somewhere between the third and fourth floors he seemed to give himself a little shake. “I’ll meet you in the common room after I’ve had a shower. Bring parchment and a quill.” With that, he ran on ahead, taking the stairs two at a time. Thalassa and Katie looked at each other and shrugged.

A short while later, Thalassa sat in one of the window seats waiting for George. She wondered idly what he had in mind. Whatever his ideas were, they had to be better than making herself sick with worry. He bounded out of the hallway to the boys’ dorm then, his hair still damp from his shower. She waved a little to get his attention and he came over and sat next to her.

“Right then,” he started outlining his plan immediately. “First, you need to write your parents and let them know what’s going on, tactfully. We don’t want them sending Howlers to the staff.”

“They wouldn’t. I need to send them an owl anyway. I’m going to need my own copies of the fifth-year supplemental text and the Advanced Potions book.”

“Whatever. They need to know the basics of what’s going on, just in case something awful really does happen. Next, we spread the word among the students tomorrow. It’ll get back to Dumbledore without you having to complain about anything. The trick of this is to make sure everyone knows you’re going to the snake pit once a week and exactly how long you’re supposed to be there. There’s a limit to how badly the Slytherins can treat you while you’re in their common room if the whole school knows you’re there.”

“That’s not going to stop them from hexing me straight to the hospital wing with something non-fatal,” she said bitterly, tucking the hem of her robe tightly around her ankles as she hugged her knees to her chest, “and I don’t dare grass on any of them. It will be just the excuse Snape needs to put an end to the whole idea. He’ll say if I can’t handle myself with a few Slytherins, I’ll never be able to keep the other students from wreaking havoc in his classroom.”

“Do you really want to go through with this? It seems an awful lot of trouble.”

She shivered as she considered his words. Then she looked around the common room. A few students worked on assignments or practiced spells. One of the first year girls had her nose buried in a book that was almost bigger than she was. Some of the first year boys took up the big table with a game of Exploding Snap. “Look at them,” she said quietly, pointing with her chin. “You’ve heard how hateful Snape’s been to them, even more so than he is with any of the other years. They can’t be learning much about proper potion brewing. My father taught me in a completely different way than how Snape runs his lessons. I just know I could help if I had the chance.”

“All right,” George nodded once. “To keep the Slytherins on their best behaviour while you’re down in their dungeon, you need witnesses.”

“I’m not going to be allowed to bring anyone with me, and I can’t imagine anyone short of one of the professors that could intimidate the Slytherins on their home turf.”

“’Intimidate’ is too strong a word. Slytherins have only one ironclad rule: Don’t get caught. Tomorrow we’ll talk to Nearly Headless Nick and see if he can round up some of the castle ghosts to haunt the Slytherin common room while you’re there.”

Thalassa breathed a silent ‘oh’ of wonder. “George Weasley, you are truly diabolical. The ghosts are unimpeachable witnesses, they can go wherever they want, and they can’t be hurt, at least not by anything the students can do.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging her praise. “The only thing that’s left is to make sure Rookwood can’t corner you anywhere else. His best opportunities are going to be right after your sessions as you’re leaving the dungeons. There aren’t many people wandering the corridors that time of the evening. I’ll ask Percy if he can work something out with the other prefects so someone just happens to be outside the Slytherin common room when you’re supposed to be leaving.”

She nodded. “This could work. You know, if we could somehow turn the rest of the Slytherins against Rookwood, they might decide I’m more useful to them as a Potions tutor than a handy target for jinxes and hexes.”

“Let’s get to work on that letter to your parents.” While they’d been quietly plotting, the common room had nearly emptied. The first years that had been playing cards had gone to bed. A few students working against impossible deadlines still leafed through books or scribbled their essays. The first year girl with the bushy hair nodded over her huge book.

Thalassa tapped her on the shoulder. “You don’t want to fall asleep down here. You’ll get a stiff neck.”

The girl mumbled a sleepy, “Thanks,” and took herself and her book off to bed.

Thalassa and George worked until after the common room had completely cleared. They carefully ignored the sixth and seventh years (and a few fifth years) that sneaked out to their trysts in the Astronomy Tower. Shortly after midnight George’s twin, Fred, and Lee Jordan emerged from the boys’ dormitory. They stopped stock still when they saw the pair still working at the table.

“No, that’s not quite right,” said George. “Read it back again.”

“What are you up to?” Fred asked suspiciously.

Thalassa jumped and looked guiltily over her shoulder.

“Plotting the demise of the noble House of Slytherin. Want to help?” George asked lazily as he leaned back in his chair and stretched.

“You know I work best on a full stomach,” Fred answered.

George turned to Thalassa. “Want to go with us to nick food from the kitchens?”

“No thanks,” she politely declined just as her stomach growled.

“Are you sure about that?” he laughed.

She giggled. “I’ll just slow you down. Besides, I need to stay out of trouble. Go on, I’m going to finish my letter.”

“If you stay up and let us in we’ll bring some back for you too,” Lee offered. “This time of night, the Fat Lady’s usually off visiting another portrait.”

“All right,” she agreed, “but nothing sweet for me. I’ll have nightmares and I’m already in hot water with my dorm mates for last night.”

The boys were gone less than half an hour, returning with cold chicken, scones, fruit and cheese, and a flagon of pumpkin juice.

“That was quick,” Thalassa remarked as they all settled down in front of the fire. “You lot must do this often.”

Fred froze, a piece of chicken halfway to his mouth. “You’re not going to grass on us, are you?”

“No,” she smiled. “Your secrets are safe with me. Consider it my contribution to team morale.”

“You’re all right,” Fred decided. “So what are we doing to the Slytherins? Something devastating I hope.”

“Nothing that impressive,” George said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He explained the situation.

“Why does he have you working with the Slytherins?” Fred was properly outraged. “Shouldn’t you be tutoring your own Housemates first?”

“It’s a long story, but if I do well with the Slytherins, Snape’s said he’ll consider opening the sessions up to the whole school after Christmas.”

“What we need to do is make sure the school knows about it,” George said.

“What good will that do?” Lee asked.

“Think about it.” George leaned forward. “Snape doesn’t actually want her to tutor anybody. It’ll just make him look bad if she manages to help anyone improve. By turning her over to the Slytherins’ tender mercies, he’s hoping she’ll be intimidated into quitting.”

Thalassa took over the explanation. “Now, how many students can you think of that would jump at the chance to get some extra practice in without Snape towering over them, making fun of their efforts? Don’t think I can’t see that look in your eye, Fred Weasley,” she warned, pointing at him with her chicken bone. “The three of you are banned from any future sessions in the classroom.”

The crafty look on his face subsided and he thought for a moment. “I’d say about half the students would take advantage of the opportunity.”

“Then we let them know that just such an opportunity may come up as long as the Slytherins don’t scare her off,” George concluded. “Anything happens to her while she’s down in the dungeon with them and suddenly every one of them has a big sign on his or her back that says ‘jinx me’ in glowing, foot-high letters.”

“I just thought of something,” Lee interrupted, grinning. “You’ll know the password to get into the Slytherin dormitories.”

“It’ll probably change for the week just as soon as my session ends,” she reasoned. “Will you help?” she asked, including Fred in her request. “I know it’s not a task worthy of your talents, but I don’t really know what else to do.”

“Oh, and anything that we can do to drive a wedge between Rookwood and the other Slytherins will probably smooth things considerably,” George added.

“Don’t ask,” Thalassa begged, as the other two opened their mouths to do just that. “You can start by playing up the fact that he put Pucey and Higgs in the hospital wing earlier this week when his cauldron exploded in Potions class.”

“I can do that,” Lee volunteered. “Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw tomorrow, I’ll open with a comment about how they seem to have recovered nicely.”

She shot him a grateful smile. She’d never felt the lack of close friends before this nasty business with Rookwood. It was rather nice to feel like she wasn’t standing alone, even though she suspected Fred and Lee were only helping for the joy of making at least one Slytherin miserable. George seemed to be relishing the opportunity let his devious imagination run riot. Oh well, everyone gets something out of this, she thought, everyone but Rookwood.

The plan worked perfectly. After the first few sessions, the Slytherins stopped casting random jinxes on her. It helped that the Bloody Baron had taken a shine to her. She was always careful to treat him with the same respect she showed Sir Nicholas, the resident ghost of her own house. The Baron would hover behind her, staring down any student that raised a wand to Thalassa.

Rookwood was thwarted in his attempts to exact revenge. On Thursdays, one of the Slytherin prefects would escort Thalassa from the Great Hall down to the dungeon and open the door to the common room for her. When it was time for her to leave, there was always a prefect from one of the other houses in the corridor to walk her at least as far as the ground floor. She was careful not to go anywhere alone during the rest of the week.

It wasn’t until the first study session of December that Rookwood found a way around the system George had devised. The prefect that was supposed to meet Thalassa afterwards had to deal with some disturbance in another part of the castle. Rookwood was laying in wait not thirty steps from the door to the Slytherin common room. Before she even realized he was there, he’d grabbed her roughly and shoved her into a shadowed alcove. He twisted her arm up behind her back so she couldn’t reach her wand.

“I told you I’d put you in your place,” he hissed, his foul breath making her choke. “There’s no one here to rescue you now; no prefects, no ghosts, no Quidditch players.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” George contradicted. He stood in the corridor, wand pointed at Rookwood. “Let her go. Now.”

She wrenched her arm out of Rookwood’s suddenly lax grip and pushed him out of her way. “Thanks, George.”

“Don’t mention it.” He kept his wand trained on the older boy until she was well out of reach. “Find another hobby, Rookwood,” George advised coldly.


“What do you have to say for yourself?” Euryale demanded.

Thalassa dragged her attention out of her memories and pushed her hair back from her face. “Nothing, Mother.”

“Nothing?” Euryale shrieked.

“What would you have me say? I’m sorry? Very well. I’m sorry you’re such a snob. I’m sorry your idea of friendship is a competition with points awarded for extreme cruelty. I’m sorry you haven’t any accomplishments of your own to use to make your friends envious. But above all, I’m sorry that you value the qualities that I do not share with Gaius Rookwood.”

Euryale’s open palm connected with Thalassa’s face. The whipcrack sound of the blow echoed off stone floor and walls.

“Do you feel better now?” Thalassa asked dully. “Because I have work to do if we’re finished here.”

Euryale whirled around and slammed out of the workroom. For long moments, Thalassa pressed her palms against the big granite worktable as if drawing patience from the cool, polished surface. Then she took a deep breath and pushed away to begin the day’s work.


At the other end of Diagon Alley, Fred and George Apparated to the flat above their shop and threw around a few Cleaning Charms. Fred glanced around at the shabby furniture and sighed.

“Depressing, isn’t it?” He couldn’t help but compare it (unfavourably) to Thalassa’s flat.

George stabilised the wobbly table with a half-hearted wave of his wand. “Never really thought about it before, but I see what you mean. Had more important things to worry about than rubbish furniture up until now.”

“What’s this about rubbish furniture?” Harry Potter Apparated in halfway through George’s sentence.

“Nothing important,” Fred smiled. “Shall we call this shareholders’ meeting of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes to order?”

“Sure,” Harry said, draping himself over the sturdiest-looking chair at the table. “But I don’t know why you want to bother with this. I’ve told you I don’t care how much money you make. As far as I’m concerned, my involvement ended when I gave you my Triwizard winnings.”

“You’ll want to see this, mate,” said George, opening a ledger and pushing it across the table to Harry.

Harry squinted at the rows of numbers. “Can’t make heads or tails of it. What’s it mean?” He frowned. “Since when do you keep ledgers?”

“Since our business consultant suggested it,” Fred replied. “And it means that things are finally turning around. Did you know there’s a Diagon Alley Merchant’s Association?”

“No,” the dark-haired wizard shook his head. “Had no idea.”

“It started during the war,” George explained. “When half the shops closed up, the rest of the merchants banded together for self-protection. We’re thinking about joining.”

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Harry said. “As long as I don’t have to go to any meetings, you have my full approval. Anything else?”

George sighed dramatically. “Looks like I owe you ten Galleons, Fred. He was just hanging about all summer to see Ginny.”

“Nose out, George,” Harry warned. “Ginny’s got her own life to lead.”

“Yes, yes, and she’s still got another year of school to finish, but after that…”

“Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes branching out into matchmaking services, Fred? Stick to making U-No-Poo. At least that idea is supposed to be full of—“

George cleared his throat. “Back to our agenda.” He conjured a roll of parchment and an ostrich-feather quill. “Financial statement, check. Merchant’s Association, check. Take the mickey out of Harry, check. All that’s left is…Quidditch.” George Vanished the parchment and quill.

“Catch the match last night?” Fred asked.

“No. I had to go bail my cousin out of gaol again.”

“That fat lump you said used to use you as a punching bag? Why’d you bother?”

“For the same reason you and Fred put up with Percy all those years. Dudley’s family.”

“You’re not doing him any favours, springing him from the nick, you know.”

Harry sighed and pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know,” he said tiredly. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

“Transfigure him into a Bludger and dump him at the World Cup,” George suggested helpfully.

“Leave him overnight in the Forbidden Forest,” Fred recommended.

“Force-feed him a flobberworm.”

“Lock him in a room with Kreacher.”

“Turn him over to us. We need someone to taste-test experimental sweets.”

Harry chuckled. “That would fall under the heading of ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ I think. But thanks for the laugh.”

Fred shrugged. “It’s our calling.”

“Well, if that’s all, I’m off. I have loads of errands to run before I meet Hermione and Ron for lunch.”

“I suppose,” George sighed. “Mum wanted to know if you were coming to Sunday dinner.”

“Not this weekend, much as I hate to miss out on your mum’s cooking. I made arrangements with Professor McGonagall to use the library at Hogwarts.”

Fred and George stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “What could you possibly need to use the library at Hogwarts for?” Fred asked.

“Entrance exams for Auror training are coming around again next spring. The practical won’t give me any problems, but the written…” he shrugged. “There’s some rare texts that aren’t accessible anywhere else, according to Hermione. Oh, and keep this to yourselves. I don’t want your mum fussing over me.”

Fred laughed. “Nobody wants that. She was like a Crup chasing both tails when Ron went for his exam. Couldn’t decide whether to be worried for his safety or proud that her ickle Ronniekins was going to be an Auror.”

“It’s not Mum you need to worry about, mate,” George added, nodding sagely. “When Ginny finds out, you’re going to be missing a buttock. Or some other vital part of your anatomy.”

“Ginny’s fine with it. Supports the idea one hundred percent.”

“Really. Well, I suppose after letting you go after You-Know-Who—“

“You can say his name, Fred. He’s dead. I made sure of that.”

“Whatever. After that, being an Auror ought to be a piece of cake.”