Surpassing Danger
Chapter 2: Doubts, Dreams, and Destruction (Year 6)
By Anne B. Walsh
"So what can we expect this year, Professor?" asked Hermione as the Hogwarts Express rounded the first curve out of King's Cross.
"From me, or in general?" Letha—no, Harry reminded himself, he had to get used to calling her Professor Black—tapped her fingers together thoughtfully. "I'll be running my classes as fairly as I can, but there's a great deal to cover at the sixth year level. We'll be moving quickly, so I expect those of you who are better with Potions to help those of you who aren't." Her eyes moved meaningfully from Hermione and Draco to Harry and Ron. "You do have all your books, I assume?"
"Wouldn't have bothered, if we hadn't heard you were taking over Potions," said Ron. "It's good, because we couldn't have taken it otherwise and we would have been short a N.E.W.T. for Auror apprenticeship, but it does mean Snape for Defense…"
Professor Black cleared her throat, and Ron sighed. "Professor Snape, I mean," he corrected himself grudgingly.
"That's better, and I suggest you lose the sarcasm before the Opening Feast." Brown eyes, Letha's in all but their cool, detached expression, swept across the Pride, sparing no one. "What you do and say in private sets your habits for what comes out in public, and both his position and his accomplishments mean Severus Snape deserves your respect. His actions are not always above reproach, but it's not your place to rebuke him. If he does something truly egregious, bring it to me, or to Professor McGonagall, and we will handle it as we see fit. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said after a quick poll of the Pride by eyeball.
"Good." Professor Black settled into her seat more comfortably. "Of course, pranks which cannot be accurately traced to any one person or group cannot fairly be punished. But I would remind you," she added, cutting off the incipient manifestations of glee around the compartment, "that Severus has seldom felt it incumbent upon him to be fair. Bear in mind the time of year, any upcoming events, and possible repercussions before you embark on anything which cannot be quickly undone."
"Yes, ma'am," said Harry again, stowing the warning in the back of his mind. It would be just like Snape to say only the DA has learned the spell that someone cast in his quarters, and ban every DA member from, say, an upcoming Quidditch match…
"And I think that's enough on that particular unpleasant topic, don't you?" Professor Black chuckled. "O.W.L. year for you two, Ginny, Luna. Do you think maybe this lot might have some advice for you?"
"Do they have anything else but?" asked Ginny tartly. "At least I haven't got Percy on me about it. We've barely seen him. Something to do with that group he's starting up, the Red Shepherds…"
Percy Weasley, at that very moment, was covered in dirt, grime, and substances better unnamed, but in the peculiar way of life, he had seldom been happier. Running one fingernail under another to remove the ingrained bits of a peculiar brick-orange stuff like modeling clay, he strolled down the main ground-floor corridor of the seemingly abandoned house, peering into rooms as he passed to check on the progress of his people.
Time to announce the arrival of the new player on the scene. The Red Shepherds, devoted to saving innocent lives and ridding the world of Death Eaters, as spectacularly as possible. And in that spirit, why don't we start things off… He grinned, looking, in that moment, startlingly like his brother Bill. With a bang?
"How's it coming?" he asked, looking around the corner into the dust-filled kitchen.
"Another few minutes," said George, looking up from the fine cord he was carefully inserting into a block of the same stuff Percy had just been digging out from under his nails. "Remind me why this place again?"
"Isolated." Percy held up one finger. "We won't harm anyone, especially not by accident." A second finger joined the first. "But then, it's close to several towns and villages the Order of the Phoenix suspects are hubs for Death Eater activity, so we'll rattle their windows and remind them that we could have come for them instead." A third finger rose to keep company with the first two. "And we know it's been used for Death Eater activity in the past, so this will make sure they don't come back." He glanced over his shoulder towards the front door, out of which he had once staggered, only to be abruptly Side-Along-Apparated into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic by Sirius Black.
In nothing but my underwear.
But given that the alternative at that time was to be attacked by Lord Voldemort's pet snake…
He hadn't particularly cared for that humiliation, but he had survived it, as he had survived a great many other things he would once have thought would destroy him. Instead, to his intense surprise, his experiences had changed him, shaken him out of a calm and complacent view of the world, and awakened what he had overheard the twins referring to as his "inner Weasley".
Or, as Mother calls it, the "rulebreaking streak".
Rules, up to a certain point in Percy's life, had been there to be obeyed, no matter who had made them or why. Their mere existence was enough to compel obedience. But though he would never have admitted it aloud, Percy was beginning to understand the need to transgress, to push the boundaries, which drove so much of his brothers' (and sister's) personalities. He still wanted and needed structure in his life, but enough shocks had rolled over him in the last several years that even he could now admit that no one set of rules could cover everything.
And that sometimes, rules are made for the wrong reasons. In which case, with proper precautions in place, of course, those rules can and should be broken.
His, and the Red Shepherds', initial foray into wholesale rulebreaking would begin in the few minutes George had specified.
"We may not see much overt activity from the Death Eaters for a while," Aletha told the Pride, silently hoping she was correct. "And what there is, we hope, will be devoted to trying to identify and locate the Red Shepherds. The Order is… not going underground, exactly, but stepping back for a while, staying out of sight. Which was always the idea, anyway."
"Because they can get a lot more done if the Death Eaters think they're not a threat any longer," said Hermione, nodding. "That makes sense."
"I'm sure they'll be glad you approve," Aletha teased gently. A flush rose on Hermione's cheeks, but she also giggled. "Yes, and it wouldn't hurt if you can run something of the same double game with the DA, Harry. Your skirmishers—they're the ones who are supposed to be so good they're bad, yes?—let them know that they always need to be ready to step up in practice, if… certain people should happen by."
"Certain people, like the sort who should think we're a bunch of kids who don't know one end of the wand from the other?" Harry flipped his once casually in his hand. "We'll be ready."
"How do we know who, though?" Neville rotated the chambers on his potion piece with a rhythmic, clicking sound. "Last year, when Mum taught Defense, she was our sponsor, but this year's professor…"
"Is not necessarily untrustworthy," Aletha finished firmly before anyone else could nip in, "but may need to be able to truthfully report what he has seen and heard. What he suspects or believes to be true is another matter entirely."
Two or three members of the Pride looked baffled by this, but the rest were nodding thoughtfully.
"Now, if you'll excuse us for just one moment…" Aletha pointed a finger at Harry, then beckoned him to her side. "Amuse yourselves as you see fit, the rest of you. Without explosions, if you please, I'd like to reach Hogwarts in one piece."
Ron snapped his fingers in mock disgust, and Ginny and Meghan pouted. Luna was already pulling out the latest issue of The Quibbler, folded back to a particular article which Draco leaned in to peer at with her. Hermione adjusted her seat to account for Crookshanks' weight on her lap, Summoned her current book, and reached over without looking to help herself to a handful of Bertie Bott's from the bag Neville had just opened.
Settling himself beside Aletha, Harry waited until she had set the Privacy Spell around them, then spoke before she could. "Occlumency lessons?"
"It is generally considered polite to let the adult bring up the topic of conversation," Aletha said coolly, letting just a hint of the patronization and disdain that her Pack-son was likely to experience from Snape into her own tone.
"Oh, I didn't know you wanted me to pretend I was stup—" Harry began heatedly. He caught himself up with a flush, but they both knew that had he in fact been closeted with Snape, the damage would have been done.
Time to walk the fine line. Make sure he understands, without rubbing it in if at all possible. "I don't." Aletha kept her tone as neutral as possible. "He might, if only so he can castigate you for it. But then he'd also take it badly if you tried to prove you were smarter than he is."
"So I can't win, no matter what I do?" Harry glared daggers at the inoffensive gray mist of the Privacy Spell. "Sounds like the whole damn war."
"It does, in some ways." Aletha traced a circle on her palm with a finger, thinking over all she knew of Severus Snape.
"There are, when it comes down to it, only three types of encounters between human beings," she said finally. "Adult to adult, child to child, and adult to child. Two of those are evenly matched, one is not. Which one would you rather be in, and on which side?"
Harry looked over his shoulder at her. "Are you asking the Gryffindor, or the Marauder?"
"In this instance, the Marauder." Aletha raised an eyebrow at him. "The one who talked a snake into my bed on a particular date in April a number of years ago."
Something suspiciously like a snort escaped from Harry. "The Marauder would rather have the advantage," he said, getting himself back under control. "Even if Gryffindors are supposed to be 'brave, noble, and chivalrous'."
"Good answer." Aletha nodded. "And one, believe it or not, which Severus Snape will give you every chance to practice. You see, Harry, in some ways, he has never grown up. You, especially, seem to bring out his most petty, sulky, and vindictive side—that is, childish. So, logically speaking, if you want the advantage in your next encounter with him…"
"I… have to be the grown-up?" Harry hazarded.
"Precisely." Aletha smiled lopsidedly. "Mind you, I don't say it will be easy. But try to bear in mind, the same principle applies as arguing with idiots."
This time what got away from Harry was an actual laugh. "He'll try to drag me down to his level, then beat me with experience?"
"You said it, I didn't." Aletha raised a warning finger. "And I should tell you now that should he so much as glimpse this conversation in your mind, I will categorically deny that it ever took place."
"Noted." Harry hesitated a moment, then snaked an arm around Aletha's shoulders, squeezed once, and vanished through the Privacy Spell.
Aletha sat quietly for several seconds, bringing her expression back under control. When she dismissed the Privacy Spell, there was no sign she had ever been perturbed.
Or so I hope.
Taking out a notebook of her own and noticing in passing that Harry was now having a high-speed, deeply involved conversation with Hermione, Ginny, and Ron involving their Sanctuary-building project and their spell-breaking year, the new Hogwarts Potions Professor turned her attention to curricula, lesson plans, and classroom management techniques.
Focus on what you can handle, and what you can't will come in its own good time.
Though at the risk of repeating myself… or so I hope.
Remus Lupin was busily engaged in the consideration, compilation, and analysis of a number of fragmented, uncertain, or multiply-interpretable intelligence reports for the Order of the Phoenix. It said so, though in fewer words, in the sign he had posted on the door of the War Room at Headquarters, and therefore it must be true. Surely no one would dream of interpreting the rasping, rhythmic sounds escaping at regular intervals into the hallway as anything but evidence of a keen mind hard at work!
In fact, though, someone did so dream. Three someones, to be precise.
Bernadette Prichard, by virtue of her species the automatic bottom of the tower, steadied her friend Echo as the female house-elflet, the equivalent of a human seven-year-old and therefore the oldest of the three, balanced on her shoulders. Her brother Cissus, born her twin but now lagging behind her in development to "stay with Bernie" for longer, was perched atop her, a full cup of water wobbling in his hands. "A little closer," he whispered piercingly. "Just a little closer…"
A much larger hand plucked the cup out of Cissus's grasp. "You brought me a drink," Remus said, sitting up in his chair and smiling at the crestfallen three. "How nice of you."
"Dragon dung," Bernie said, scowling and reaching up to help Cissus jump down to the floor. "You weren't s'posed to wake up yet."
"So I guessed." Remus set the cup on his desk. "But you'd be surprised how loud whispers are. Next time, try talking quietly, or even in a normal tone. The person you're trying to surprise might wake up, but not bother to open his eyes, because he thinks people talking normally either haven't noticed him or aren't trying to sneak up on him."
Witch and elflets exchanged speculative looks. "Okay," said Echo after a moment. "We remem—we'll remember that," she corrected herself midstream, smiling at her carefully proper English.
"Good." Remus pointed to the partially opened door. "Now, off with you, before one of your mothers comes looking."
Identical expressions of panic crossed three faces at the thought of being caught in forbidden territory by either Voni Prichard or Winky, and three pairs of feet skittered rapidly into the hallway and back up the stairs from whence they had come.
A sense of nostalgic amusement touched the edge of Remus's mind a moment before the low chuckle which accompanied it filled his ears. "And just how long have you been standing there?" he inquired, turning in his chair to face the door.
"Long enough to know you were awake." Danger stepped into sight and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. "Not to mention, long enough to realize if you weren't, you deserved what they were going to do to you."
Remus shook his head sadly. "And this is my wife," he told the mirror on the far wall. "My helpmeet, my other half, the light of my declining years…"
"Don't expect any sympathy from me," the mirror said testily. "You're the one who married her."
Danger laughed aloud this time, and Remus chuckled in response. You know I would have considered you a de facto participant if you let them get away with it, he told her silently. And that means, whatever I had chosen as my revenge on them would have had to include you.
Revenge? Danger pressed a hand to her chest, fanning herself with the other one and fluttering her eyelashes. Why, Mr. Lupin! I cannot believe, no, I simply can not believe such a fine, gallant gentleman as you would take revenge on three such darling, adorable, innocent little children and your own beloved wife!
You keep right on not believing it, then, Remus advised with a grin. That will make my job all the easier. As for "innocent little children", are you really about to believe that? When they've been living in the same house as our cubs for months and one of them has an older cousin who works for the Weasley twins?
Of course I don't believe it. Danger came across the room and plunked herself down on her husband's lap, squirming until she found a position where her weight was evenly distributed and she could rest her head against his shoulder. But it sounds good, and that's what matters.
Whatever you say, dear. Remus wove his hand into the mass of brown hair now cascading over his arm, got a grip, and exerted the gentlest of possible pressures, thereby lifting Danger's face to the proper angle at which he could, with a minimum of effort, take her lips with his own. Whatever you say.
I won't be able to say anything if you keep doing—oh, yes, just like that…
One small, slender hand slid inside Remus's robes, extracted his wand, and aimed it at the door, which obediently closed.
Corrupting children was all well and good, but only up to a point.
Harry watched as Ginny rolled a tiny ball of modeling clay between her fingers, then began to pinch flat, round pieces, which she curled around the ball at irregular intervals. "Any guesses yet?" she said, holding it out. "I'll give you a hint—it's something I like a lot."
"Um." Harry squinted at the miniature sculpture. "Is it… a rose?"
"Yes!" Ginny added another petal to the outside of what Harry could now see was meant as a half-open rosebud. "Pink ones are beautiful, but I can't wear them." She pointed to her hair, making a face. "They don't go."
"I could probably breed you one that would," said Neville, looking up from the discussion over the pages of The Quibbler that he and Meghan had joined. "A pale pink, maybe with some orange in it, almost peach-colored."
"Oh, Neville, could you really?" Ginny stopped, flushing. "And just listen to me. I sound like every gushing girly girl I've ever hated."
"No, you sound like someone who has a dream," said Professor Black from across the compartment, not lifting her eyes from the small book in which she was writing. "And a good friend who's offered to make that dream come true. Don't disdain yourself for wanting what you want, or for being happy when someone says they'll help you get it."
"Yes, Professor," said Ginny meekly, but she was smiling. "Neville, if you could do that, it would make me very happy. Thank you."
"I'll ask Professor Sprout if I can use one of the upper-level greenhouses. She might let me count it as extra credit, too." Neville sat up straighter, his hands rising to gesture, though his right one never strayed far from the pocket-like slit in his robe which gave access to his potion piece. "And if I get started soon, they might even be ready in time for May Day, and that would mean you could carry them in… you know."
"My bouquet." Ginny's smile widened. "You can say it. I don't think Harry will run away from the thought."
"From the thought of the wedding, I might," Harry said frankly, sparking a general round of laughter. "But from the thought of getting married to you?" He laid his hand gently over Ginny's clay-covered one. "Telling the world you belong to me, and I belong to you, now and always? That's about as scary as taking my next breath."
"Need the toilet," Draco muttered, and shoved himself to his feet, hurrying out of the compartment.
What… Harry winced internally, though he kept the smile plastered on his face so Ginny wouldn't worry. Stupid. Bringing all that up, it slaps right up against the reason we're doing it so soon. We can't edge around it forever, but there was no reason I had to say it today…
Except that we can't edge around it forever, and it's coming faster than any of us want.
Why do our lives have to be so damned complicated, anyway?
Draco slammed the door of the boys' toilet closed behind him and hastily examined his face in the mirror, exhaling a breath of relief when he could detect no visible signs of his momentary emotional turmoil. Leaning against the wall, he shut his eyes, swaying automatically as the train moved, trying to calm himself.
"It isn't now," he murmured. "It isn't today. And it can't have today unless I let it. Today belongs to me."
The mantra wasn't much against the fear and grief ripping him up from within, but he clung to it stubbornly, using it to beat them over their nonexistent heads. Today belongs to me, I said. That means go away. You'll get your turn, I can't stop that, but not before it's time, and I am damn well going to liveall the days I have left. Including the day my brother gets married, and I'm not going to be the ghost at the party, either. I'm going to be a proper best man: take pictures of Harry tied up so he can't escape before the ceremony, pretend I forgot the ring while it's going on and then find it in my pocket, and then embarrass him and Ginny within an inch of their lives at the reception. So you— He opened his eyes and made a horrendous face at himself in the mirror. —can go piss up a rope!
Some combination of his carefully stated plans, the childish grimace, and the adult language made him laugh under his breath, and the worst of his panic receded. Vestiges of it remained, though, lurking around the edges of his mind and trying to sneak back into the center, and Draco decided on the spur of the moment to go for a walk. A change of view, a bit of exercise, possibly even some fresh air, would help him regain full control of himself before he returned to the Pride's compartment.
With this thought in his mind, he let himself back out into the corridor and started walking the length of the train, waving a quick hello to friends and acquaintances as he passed their compartments, taking a moment between each set of cars to enjoy the scenery as it flew rapidly past. As he neared the end of the last car, though, it became clear he hadn't been the only person to want some fresh air and solitude.
Though if I'm not mistaken… Draco leaned forward, surveying what he could see of a tumble of hair only slightly less red than a Weasley's and a shape distinctly feminine even in a shrouding Hogwarts robe. Which I don't believe I am.
"First of September already," he commented conversationally, sliding open the door to the tiny balcony. "Seems to come earlier every year, doesn't it?"
Amanda Smythe jumped as though someone had hit her with a Rictusempra. "Draco! I—yes, I suppose it does." She laughed, but something about the sound struck Draco's ear as forced. "Were you looking for me, or just…" One dainty hand made a small circle, indicating the platform on which she stood. "I can always leave, if you wanted to be alone."
"No, I wouldn't mind company." Draco stepped outside and shut the door behind him. "Seeing that it's you. How was your summer?"
"Not terribly interesting." Amanda leaned on the railing again, looking out over the long stretch of train tracks behind them. "Yours?"
"More interesting than I'd expected." Or intended, or wanted. Draco considered trying to explain two weeks spent in his alternate form, locked in a bedroom in an aggressively Muggle Surrey suburb, but gave it up as a bad job. "But interesting or not, it's over."
"Over." Amanda's voice hummed through the two simple syllables, but Draco looked at her sharply. There was an undernote in her tone he didn't like at all. "Such a lovely word, isn't it? Over. Over and done with, finished, no more." Her hands gripped tightly on the railing as she leaned forward, staring into the distance. "Haven't you ever thought how wonderful it would be to have everything over with? No more decisions, no more responsibilities, no more troubles, not ever. Just… just peace. Peace, and quiet, and no more games to play, not ever again—"
"Hey, now." Alarmed, Draco reached out and caught Amanda around the waist, pulling her back onto the platform. "Be careful! You almost fell there."
"And if I had?" Amanda looked up at him, her grass-green eyes filled with a misery he had seldom seen.
On anyone else's face. A sudden suspicion possessed Draco. Does she know something…
"If I fell from the train right now, this very moment, would you care?" Amanda's lower lip was trembling, her voice husky with the suppressed tears he could see glazing her eyes. "Would you wish I hadn't? Or would you be glad, because it was one more choice you didn't have to make? One more person you didn't have to hurt? One more—"
The door slammed open. Draco snatched his hands away from Amanda's waist as though she were red-hot, which was the approximate color her face was turning. Wonderful. Caught in a compromising position with a girl who is not my official girlfriend, and the year hasn't even started yet. Could this get any worse?
He turned to face the person framed in the doorway and flinched.
I should know by now.
It can always get worse.
Luna regarded them both for a long moment, one hand gripping the doorframe tightly, her only sign of tension. "This isn't something you want to do, Amanda," she said finally. "This isn't a place you really want to go. It's not necessary, and it's not worthy of you."
"Worthy?" Amanda spat. "What do you know about my worth?"
"I know that you have it." Luna could have been discussing a book she wanted to borrow or a missing box of sweets, except that neither of those would have filled her tone with the boundless compassion Draco could hear in her words. "I know that you have always had it, no matter what choices you've made. And I know that the past is not the future. New patterns don't have to be the same as old ones."
Amanda was bone white, her hands fisted tightly in her robes. "How dare you," she choked out. "How dare you stand there and say that to me—to me! Look at me! Look where I'm standing, and what I've tried to do! And you dare, you dare talk to me about worth, about choices—"
"I dare to tell the truth." Luna smiled, softly, sadly. "I speak as I must, for I cannot be silent."
Draco moved without thinking, catching Amanda's wrist as she hauled off for what he realized, belatedly, would have been a ringing slap across Luna's face. "None of that, now," he told her, releasing her as she whirled, furious, to face him. "I've no idea what she's talking about, or you either, but I heard nothing that would warrant you hitting her."
"You heard nothing—well, that much you have right." Amanda brushed her robes off, her fury transmuting in an instant from fire to ice. " Or rather, you heard everything, but you understood nothing. As I expected." She turned to face Luna and squared her shoulders. "The field is yours, madam, as are the spoils." One more fulminating glance raked Draco from head to foot. "I wish you joy of him."
Luna shook her head. "It was never a battle," she said, stepping out onto the platform. "Not to me. I wish it hadn't had to be one for you."
"You do, do you?" Amanda tried to sneer, but somehow the expression lost most of its force, confronted by Luna's matter-of-fact nod. "Well, isn't that just so special. Have you got anything else to tell me today, or may I go?"
"Only one more thing." Luna smiled again, this time more brightly, as though she were about to bestow a blessing upon the other girl. "Don't be afraid. When the time comes, you'll know what to do, and you'll do it."
Amanda stared at her for the space of three heartbeats, then bolted back into the train car, wild sobbing trailing behind her. Luna watched her go, a look of compassion creeping onto her face to match her earlier tone. Draco exhaled what felt like his first breath in over a minute and sucked another one in gratefully.
"What," he said without any real hope of getting an answer, "was that all about?"
"I'm not really sure yet." Luna shut the door and came to stand beside him, gazing back the way they'd come. "I hope we didn't harm the spells on the year by it, but what she was trying to do could have been much worse for them. She'll be important to the way it ends, you know. Or maybe you didn't."
"Generally I don't, until you tell me." Draco slid an arm around Luna's shoulders, and mentally sighed in relief when she leaned into him as naturally as she ever had. "Do you know how, or is that still hidden?"
"Most of Amanda is hidden from me." Luna sketched with her finger on the top of the railing. "She's very good at hiding. She's had a long time to practice it."
"Not that long," Draco objected. "She's only in my year, so she can't be more than sixteen, can she?"
"Her body is only sixteen." Luna brushed her hand across her invisible sketch, as though erasing it. "Her mind and her soul are much older than that. And her soul is… wounded. Wounded like someone else I've seen, only that wound was healed." She canted her head to look up at him. "I'll think of it one of these days. In the meantime, it doesn't much matter. Though I wish she wasn't so angry about my understanding."
"Sometimes, understanding is the most painful gift anyone can give you." Draco squeezed Luna's shoulders gently. "And some people don't accept gifts well, even ones they want."
Luna made a small noise of agreement, and they stood in companionable silence for what might have been a short or a very long while.
In the presence of love, such small things as time were hard to notice.
Harry checked his wristwatch again. "Five more minutes," he said for the third time. "If they're not back in five more minutes, I'm going out to find them."
"Oh, let them be." Ron tapped one of his chessmen on the head and indicated the square where he wanted it to move with a finger. Meghan squealed indignantly as her castle was demolished by the bishop's long staff. "We were in each other's laps most of the summer, when you and Fox weren't away. Why shouldn't they have a little alone time?"
"Besides," Ginny put in from the floor, where she was now dangling a string for Crookshanks to attack, "we can use the room in here. Expanded compartment or not, it gets crowded when half the DA seems to want to drop by at once."
"No argument." Harry allowed himself a grin at the number of people who had stopped in to say hello, to report on how often they'd practiced their wandwork over the summer, to pass along tips for potion piece maintenance or accuracy, to share ideas on the active pursuit of the harmony which would make the spell-breaking year a going concern. "All right, we'll let them take their own time. But if they're not back by the time we're usually getting into robes…"
"You know they will be." Ginny punched his leg. "Worrywart. What time is it again?"
Harry angled his wrist downwards. Ginny craned her neck to see the watch's face. "Percy and his friends should be starting their celebration any minute now," she said, looping the string loosely around Crookshanks's neck and watching him roll over in confusion. "I hope everything goes well for them."
"It's Percy." Ron moved a pawn up to strengthen his king's defense. "If anything goes wrong, it won't be because of a lack of attention to detail."
The Red Shepherds, at that very moment, were crouching in a dry ditch a safe distance away from the house they had so lovingly seeded with blocks of red-orange material. Percy held the end of a long string in his hand and his wand in the other. "Final check, please?" he requested.
Fred and George both poked their heads out of the improvised bunker, each holding a pair of Ron's improved Omnioculars. After a moment, they both pulled back in.
"No heat signatures anywhere that I could see." Fred patted the golden glasses affectionately.
"Nor on my side," said George. "I think we're good to go."
"Very well, then." Percy looked around the small group, his eyes passing over Lee, Danielle, and Crystal before lighting on Roger Davies. "Would you care to do the honors?" he asked, extending the string.
"Well, if you insist." Roger grinned and accepted the string, drawing his own wand and touching its tip to the string's frayed end. "What is it they yell again? Burning down the burrow?"
Crystal rolled her eyes. "Fire in the hole," she said in a tone of infinite patience.
"Right." Roger raised his wand ceremoniously. "Fire in the hole," he pronounced, and touched a spark to the string, dropping it before it could burn his hand.
The hissing flame raced along the fibers, disappearing over the side of the ditch. Roger cast a quick charm on his ears, tucked his wand away, and hunkered down, the rest of the Red Shepherds doing the same, George taking an extra moment to charm Crystal's ears.
Percy pressed his back against the packed dirt, his watch in his hand, his mind following the fire Roger had started to its inevitable conclusion. In five, four, three, two…
BOOM.
It was the only word possible for the sound they had created (which came through clearly in spite of the charms), and did not even begin to address the shockwave which rolled over them, or the debris which began to rain down on them until those with wands hastily raised overlapping Shield Charms to stop it. It shook him to the core, it stole his breath, it dried his mouth and turned his knees to water, and he wanted to do it again immediately.
As Fred and George worked a mass Disillusionment to ensure they wouldn't be seen by the Muggles now rushing to the spot of the "mysterious explosion", Percy scooted over to sit beside Crystal. "That was quite impressive," he said casually.
"Yep." Crystal grinned and rolled a piece of the original red-orange material between her fingers. "Like they say, when in doubt, Semtex."
"And being a basic material, it falls under Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, so now that we know its properties, we can make as much of it as we want." Percy pulled his mind away forcefully from the marvelous possibilities this opened up. "Remind me again where you got that sample you gave us?"
"Well, I can't say anything for sure." Crystal lowered her eyes and looked demure. "But if someone's father had been in the Navy for twenty-five years, and if he'd been in charge of the squad which handled disposal of hazardous materials, and if he had saved a sample of everything he ever came across, just for research purposes, mind you…"
Percy looked up at his brothers. "Her father and our father," he said, pointing to Crystal, "are never allowed to meet."
"Decided that one already," said George, coming to sit beside his lady. "Far too many possibilities inherent in that."
"Bad possibilities." Fred shuddered. "Very, very bad possibilities."
"Especially when your mum learned about it," Danielle put in. "So, are we just going to keep sitting here, or are we going to go see what we pulled off?"
As one, the Red Shepherds rose to their feet. As one, they turned to face their first target. As one, they stared.
"We're not telling Winky about this one," Fred muttered, pointing at the flattened wreckage of what had once been a spacious house belonging to an old wizarding family named Crouch. "As in, never."
"On the other hand, success." George sounded slightly shocked, as though he hadn't been prepared for the extent of the devastation possible by using only Muggle methods. "It looks like we got every major loadbearing wall, and the rest of the house just fell in under its own weight."
"Proof of concept." Lee climbed up to sit on top of the dirt mound, scooping up a handful and letting it fall from his fingers. "That looks pretty well proved to me. And you know what this means."
"If we can find it," said Roger, tapping his finger against the back end of his wand, "we can destroy it. So long as it doesn't have wards up that keep everything out."
"Which it won't, because those are incredibly power draining. You'd have to be recasting them every few hours." Danielle ran her tongue along her teeth. "They'll have the basics, hostile people, hostile spells, anything with ill intent that the ward can sense…"
"It's going to have an awfully hard time finding any ill intent in a couple dozen blocks of modeling clay with strings attached." Crystal tossed and caught her tiny piece of "clay", grinning broadly. "And by the time the people find them—if they ever do—it will be far, far too late."
"Let's not get carried away," Percy warned, facing his team. "This is only the beginning."
"Hell of a good beginning." Fred pointed. "Look, there goes the magic component. The one we put on time delay, remember?"
George handed Crystal his Omnioculars so that she could see the shape now soaring into the sky, visible to everyone else present.
High above them, outlined in red smoke, a man leaned on a crook-handled staff, using it to crush the head of a serpent. In his hand, held out for all to see, was a clock, its two hands pointing straight up.
"Mortal peril" for Death Eaters, and for their leader. Percy bared his teeth in the direction of the fallen house. This was your warning. There won't be another.
The Red Shepherds were well started indeed.
Author Notes:
This chapter is lovingly dedicated to the MythBusters, whose invaluable motto is, "When in doubt, C4." I picked Semtex instead because it's usually dyed red, which seemed appropriate.
My humblest and most abject apologies for the eight months between the first and second chapters of the story. This is not usual, and will not happen again. However, I do have some good news along the lines of writing. My eight months away from mainstream Dangerverse were not spent entirely idle. On the contrary, in that time, I produced more than two hundred thousand words… of original fiction.
The vast majority of this is the full first draft of a historical fantasy novel entitled A Widow in Waiting, the offshoot of an idea I had after watching a particular musical DVD production. I've been more forthcoming elsewhere, and will be again, but I'm currently waiting for a legal opinion on this topic so I think it behooves me to keep my mouth shut at the moment.
In any case, as soon as I have an answer as to if, when, or under what conditions I can publish AWIW as an e-book, I will be informing my readers. My Facebook page is the quickest way to stay up to date with my life (I try to keep it down to one status per day, and make sure that each one has a little something to do with writing), but now that I've broken my block on SD, more chapters should be appearing quickly, and I will of course give you all the news in the author's notes as usual.
Most of the rest of my original writing is for a personal anthology of fantasy and science fiction stories I'm planning, all of which have something to do with cats or cat-like beings. It will be entitled Cat Tales (feel free to groan) and will be published as soon as it's ready. Watch for both offerings on Amazon, hopefully very soon now.
Thank you all so much for sticking with me. The Dangerverse is not abandoned, and it is going to be finished!