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| A PIECE FROM THE PAST |
song: look after you by the fray.
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MR. WEASLEY WOKE THEM AFTER ONLY A FEW HOURS OF SLEEP. He used magic to pack up the tents, and they left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved them off with a vague "Merry Christmas."
"He'll be alright," said Mr. Weasley quietly as they marched off onto the moor. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while . . . and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."
They heard urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when they reached it, they found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamouring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; they joined the queue and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. They walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because they were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of their breakfast. As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.
"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"
Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.
"Arthur — I've been so worried — so worried —"
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Ara saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive. . . . Oh boys . . ."
And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.
"Ouch! Mum — you're strangling us —"
"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred . . . George . . ."
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr.Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says. . . ."
"Ara, dear, there's a letter for you on the table," said Mrs. Weasley, affectionately tapping Ara on the cheek.
"Thanks," Ara said hurriedly before hastily making her way inside the Burrow and spotting the letter waiting for her. She ripped the envelope open and took out the parchment, her eyes focusing on the ink.
– Ara,
Are you, Harry, Ron and Hermione alright? You mentioned you were attending the Quidditch World Cup with your family and I just read the Daily Prophet, it says Death Eaters and the Dark Mark made an appearance, is that true? Please tell me you're back home and safe, otherwise, I'll have to go and confirm your well-being myself. And make sure you write to Snuffles, he must be worried sick by now.
Answer as soon as you can.
—Moony
"Who's it from?" Ara heard Harry say as he came to stand beside her.
"Moony," she answered quietly, folding the letter and stuffing it in her pocket. "I should write to him in a bit, he's worried about what happened at the World Cup."
"Sirius must've seen the newspaper too," Harry said, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
"We'll write to both of them," Ara assured him.
When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.
"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders . . . culprits not apprehended . . . lax security . . . Dark wizards running unchecked . . . national disgrace . . . Who wrote this? Ah . . . of course . . . Rita Skeeter."
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans —"
"Do us a favour, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."
"I'm mentioned along with Ara," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.
"What? Where?" Ara said bemusedly, putting down her tea and staring expectantly at Mr. Weasley.
"Not by our names at least," said Mr. Weasley. "'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged sometime after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen. There seemed to be a female suspect at the scene of the crime, however, officials reluctantly believed her to be innocent after the alibi her companions provided; still, an investigation may still ensue.' Oh really," said Mr. Weasley angrily.
"They're trying to blame me?" Ara scoffed in disbelief, feeling bitterness rise inside of her. She clenched her jaw as she held her teacup in a punishing grip, she was sure that if she added more pressure she would break it.
"That's outrageous," Hermione shook her head.
"But they don't have any evidence, your wand wasn't the one that conjured the Dark Mark, it was mine," said Harry, catching her eyes from across the table, and giving her a reassuring look. "We were with you the whole time, they can't do anything to you."
"Yeah, well, the Ministry isn't known for being a fair system, is it?" mumbled Ara under her breath.
Harry opened his mouth once more but was interrupted by Mr. Weasley, who heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."
"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."
"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, momentarily giving up on trying to reassure Ara. He was sure that after the conversation he knew they had to have in a moment, her mood would probably worsen, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?"
"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "No . . . no, there hasn't been any post at all."
Harry gave a meaningful look at Ara, Ron, and Hermione and then he said, "All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"
"Yeah . . . think I will too," said Ron at once. "Ara? Hermione?"
"Yes," the girls said quickly, and the four of them marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"What's up, Harry?" said Ron, the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them.
"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."
Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, Ron simply looked dumbstruck with his mouth parted.
Ara had gone incredibly still, her expression not changing as she assessed Harry closely. She looked at him intensely as if she were trying to get inside his brain and read what was going through his head if he was scared or worried. She could spot his subtle panic, which he tried to unsuccessfully hide. The way his eyebrows were slightly scrunched up together in worry, how he flexed his fingers in anxiety and the fact that he couldn't quite look at either of them in the eyes. She would be lying if she said she wasn't internally alarmed herself.
"But — he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean —last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?" said Ron, looking anxiously around them, as if expecting Voldemort to pop up under his bed.
"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harry. "But I was dreaming about him . . . him and Peter — you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill . . . two people."
Ara caught the way he stuttered, how he nervously glanced at her when he'd said "two," the terror in his eyes when he'd uttered the word, not for himself, but for her. She understood then, with a simple look from him she understood the message he was trying to give her. Those two people were her and Harry. She pushed her lips together, giving him a look of understanding.
"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."
"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harry, forcing himself to look away from Ara's expression of realisation and turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it? . . . My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march."
"Don't — say — his — name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.
"As much as I hate to say it, I'm pretty sure it wasn't a coincidence, much less just a dream," breathed Ara, looking pointedly at Ron, then Harry. "Like you said, it's quite weird that you had that dream and then a few days later Death Eaters show up where we were, and the Dark Mark is conjured after not being seen for at least thirteen years. Something's most certainly going on."
"You're right, and remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on. "At the end of last year?"
Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort, "Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"
"You weren't there," said Harry. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance — a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again . . . greater and more terrible than ever before . . . and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him . . . and that night Wormtail escaped."
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.
"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"
"Did you write to Snuffles?" questioned Ara.
"Yeah, I told him about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."
"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"
"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.
"It always takes a while for answers to come back, Wonder Boy. He's in hiding, so he's not exactly near right now. Hedwig's not going to manage that journey so quickly." Ara said.
"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry," said Ron. "Come on — Ara and Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play. . . . You can try out the Wronski Feint. . . ."
"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very sensitive sort of voice, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now. . . . He's worried, and he's tired. . . . We all need to go to bed. . . ."
"Oh, but he does want to play," said Ara before looking at Harry with a charming smile. "Don't you?"
"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."
Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like "Children."
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NEITHER MR. WEASLEY NOR PERCY WERE AT HOME MUCH OVER THE FOLLOWING WEEK. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night.
"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told them importantly the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."
"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.
"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."
Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had ten golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the family's names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and "work" were there, but there was also "travelling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal peril."
Nine of the hands were currently pointing to the "home" position, but Mr. Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to "work." Mrs. Weasley sighed.
"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."
"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first —"
"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.
"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"
"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me —"
"No, Mum."
Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for her, Ara, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.
Ara was on the sofa across from Harry, who was sitting in one of the armchairs and polishing his Firebolt. She had her eyes closed but she wasn't sleeping, she'd hoped that laying horizontally would help with her migraine but she was quickly proven wrong. She tried to mainly focus on the sounds of Venus' purrs, who lay on Ara's chest, instead of the pounding in her head.
Unknowingly to Ara, Harry found himself glancing at her ever so often.
He didn't want to appear weird by staring at her when she slept so he tried to keep his eyes away but they would always eventually wander back to her. Harry wasn't even sure that she was asleep, her face was too tense, and she didn't appear at all relaxed. Her eyebrows were drawn together and her breathing was too rapid. He blinked a few times, forcing his gaze away once again. He had still not managed to get her alone to talk about the dream. Harry knew she'd gotten the message about them being the ones they were plotting to kill in that one dream he'd had. He didn't know what he'd do with himself if something were to happen to—
"What are you two up to?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply and suddenly, her eyes on the twins.
Ara groaned as she opened her eyes, wondering why silence never really lasted a long time. She sat up on the sofa and smoothed her hair back with her fingers, sending Harry a lazy smile when they crossed gazes, making him, for some reason, look away quickly.
"Homework," said Fred vaguely.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley.
"Oh your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.
Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from "work" to "travelling"; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on "home" with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.
"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room.
Ara gently put Venus on the ground so that she could go do her business in the garden. She straightened up, and immediately raised a hand to the side of her head in order to rub the ache away.
"You okay?"
Ara's head snapped over to Harry, just making the pain worse by her sharp movements. He was staring right back at her, visibly worried, so she waved a dismissive hand, "yeah, yeah, just. . .a bit tired."
A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.
"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."
"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly.
"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr. Weasley irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."
"I thought we all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" said Percy hotly.
"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" said Hermione angrily.
"Now look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants —"
"His slave, you mean!" said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, "because he didn't pay Winky, did he?"
"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. "Come on now, all of you. . . ."
Grateful for the suggestion, Ara got up and stretched her neck, visualising her comfortable and warm sheets and imagining her headache going away as soon as her head hit the pillow.
However, before she could follow the rest of her retreating family members up the stairs, she felt someone take hold of her arm and make her stop in her tracks. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion when she noticed it was Harry.
"Wonder Boy, how may I be of service?" Ara remarked sarcastically, trying to disguise her need to wince.
"Er—" Harry, for a moment, looked as though he'd forgotten the reason why he'd stopped her but he quickly regained his composure and lowered his voice slightly. "You know who the two people mentioned in the dream were, right? It was. . .us"
"I figured. . .by the way you looked at me it wasn't hard to tell," whispered Ara before slightly clearing her throat and subtly rolling her neck, hoping to soothe the discomfort.
"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Harry cautiously, regarding her closely.
"Yeah, just a headache." dismissed Ara, momentarily closing her eyes.
"Do you want something for—?"
"No," she said quickly. "No, but thanks, I think I just need sleep."
Harry didn't appear convinced but he nodded anyway and carefully said, "Okay, Good Night then. . ."
"Night, Harold," with one final and sleepy smile, Ara turned on her heels and climbed the staircase, her feet determinedly and rapidly taking her to the blissful space that was her room.
She sighed as she rested her back against her closed door and tilted her head back, her whole skull was feeling unnaturally hot. She wished she'd taken Venus up with her, but her cat enjoyed sleeping in the cosy armchair stationed in the living room from time to time. She decided to let her be tonight, and truthfully, she'd forgotten about Venus for a split second. It was quite easy to forget basic information when one felt like their brain was being split open.
A sudden and faint tapping sound by her window made her break her stance from the door, she squinted her eyes and spotted a large, black owl, which was carrying what appeared to be a medium-sized parcel along with a letter.
Ara all but sprinted as she made her way over, excitedly opening her window and taking the package and letter from the animal, giving him a quick but appreciative, "thanks." The owl hooted happily and waited patiently by the window, she supposed it would wait for her to write a letter so that he could deliver it back.
Ara placed the items on the bed; She reached for the letter first:
Little Wolf,
I'm so glad you're safe, you have no idea how I was after I found out what happened at the World Cup, I couldn't get the thought of something happening to you out of my head. But you're safe now, and that's all that matters! Don't pay attention to that ridiculous article from that idiotic Skeeter woman, she has no idea what she's talking about. They won't accuse you of anything because they have nothing against you. Just because your last name is tainted doesn't mean you are as well. Don't forget who you are, Ara, our family's actions don't define us, so don't let it define you. Their words only have meaning if you give it to them.
Changing to a more interesting and enjoyable topic, you mentioned you needed a formal dress for this year, so I got something special for you, I hope you haven't bought one already because I guarantee you the one I chose is a million times better.
This dress is very special and a story accompanies it; your Mum wore this dress the very first time we danced together, sounds very sweet when I say it like that but the truth is I dragged her to the dance floor and she glared at me most of the time—charming woman she was. We were in our fourth year, she still wasn't fond of me by that time for some reason. She didn't know what she was missing, my darling was stubborn.
I had to take a risky trip to your Mum's family's old Manor to get it, most of her old clothing from our early Hogwarts years was there, if you want any more pieces of clothing from her just let me know. I reckon you should give it a wash, though, it's quite dusty.
I know you will look just as beautiful as she did that evening, I hope you love it as much as she did.
With much love,
Snuffles :)
Ps: I haven't seen Hedwig yet, so I don't know which letter from Harry's you're referring to, but I'm sure it'll arrive soon. As soon as I read it I'll reply, tell him I'll be as quick as I can.
Ara gave a watery chuckle, a wide and gentle smile stretched across her face as she reread the words, trying to engrave the short story of her parents into her brain. After a moment, she put the letter aside and took hold of the package, she undid the ribbon and then lifted the lid.
Her mouth parted in awe and she lifted the delicate piece of clothing; The dress was a dark red, and it had thin straps and a square neckline, glittery sparks decorated the bodice and they slightly faded when they reached the waistline and the top of the skirt. The bottom half was flowy, she could already picture how gracefully it would fall when she put it on.
She gingerly folded the dress on top of her dresser before grabbing a spare bit of parchment and a quill.
Dear Snuffles,
Don't worry, I've learned to ignore those types of accusations and words as the years passed, I barely acknowledge them anymore. I won't believe what they say because I know it's not true.
The dress is beautiful, thank you for getting it for me. I'm sure Mum had her reasons to be annoyed by you ;) you mentioned you were insistent at that time, I imagine she was fed up!
As much as I would want more things that belonged to her, you can't be spotted very near, so stay hidden and be careful. I know we're not built to follow rules you and I, but you have to do it for a while, at least until we prove your innocence.
Love,
Ara :)
Ps: I'll make sure to tell Harry, he's been quite anxious lately, I know a letter from you can help to ease his worries.
Ara sealed the letter and gave it to the black owl, who immediately took off into the endless night. She watched it fly for a moment before she quietly made her way to her dresser, she changed into her grey pyjamas and let herself fall onto the bed.
She curled into a ball, raising her blanket up to her chin and hugging her black plush to her chest. Her head was calm, and her pain had ceased; with a tired breath, she let sleep overtake her.
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HIIIIII
How are you?? I hope you darlings are doing amazing! I've been busy doing some things for uni but otherwise I've been alright!
I already have Ara's dress saved in my Pinterest ;) you'll get to see it when we get to the Yule Ball chapter!
Sirius and Ava were so precious *insert crying face*
qotd: favourite Disney princess? Mine's Mulan!
Remember to COMMENT and VOTE!
Love you and see you in the next chapter! <33