Hello and welcome to my blog! My name is Al, I’m no longer in my 20s (I was told to change this recently), live in the U.K., and have been writing for the Harry Potter fandom since December 2020, when I started writing The Hexley Saga - the first ever completed novel adaptation of Hogwarts Mystery, featuring my original character, Artemis Hexley.
Since then, I’ve written Artemis all the way to her adulthood in the Golden Era and added a lot more stories to my collection. All my published writing and information about my characters can be found via the links below.
Alternatively, you can find me on AO3 and Wattpad, or you can find my original stories under the handle @alyslaskeywriter!
The Hexley Saga
A full-length and complete adaptation of Hogwarts Mystery, written as a YA novel series.
The Adventures of Artemis Hexley
Stories set during the timeline of the Harry Potter books, or shortly before/after. Mainly, these focus on the life of the Hexley Saga’ a protagonist Artemis, but the canon characters also get a chance to shine.
The Hexley Legacy
A collection of stories set in and around the Hogwarts Legacy Era, featuring four distant relatives of Artemis.
Next Gen Story Collection
Short stories set in the modern day Wizarding World.
See here to find out what’s currently brewing in Al’s writing cauldron…
Common Tags
“al speaks” - opinions and BTS ramblings
“artemis speaks” - conversations with my inner devil child
“al doodles” - my terrible artwork
“al loves pals” - spreading the love in our little online community
My work is fairly family-friendly most of the time, but not always. Any stories containing sensitive or mature topics should be labelled as such - if this has lapsed it will be accidental, so don’t hesitate to message me privately so that I can resolve the issue.
My ask box is always open in case you would like to know more about my stories, me, Artemis, or my other characters. I love receiving asks, so don’t be shy! The ask box is also open for submissions for the From The Vaults collection, so if there are any extra scenes you’d like to see from the Saga, hit me up.
As a fanfiction writer, I make no money from my work. However, if you have read and enjoyed my stories and are able to, you can make a small donation to my Kofi account. To honour the memory of Brianna Ghey, all money donated to my Kofi for the foreseeable future will be going to Galop, a U.K. charity supporting members of the LGBT community who have suffered abuse.
The following morning, when it broke, was crisp, cool, and clear. A cacophony of seabirds had welcomed the rising sun in the east, and called to each other as it continued to climb in the quartz blue sky. On the edge of a grass-topped granite cliff, two figures appeared, both cloaked, one tall and black, the other small and hazel-eyed.
Artemis narrowed her eyes as she stared at the line where sky met sea. A shadow of dark clouds gathered in the distance.
“Is that it?”
Kingsley gave a curt nod in response, and a heaviness settled in the pit of Artemis’ abdomen. She pulled her eyes away from the cloud on the horizon to look at her friend.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
Her grim determination must have shown on her face, because Kingsley only hesitated for a single moment before pulling a small flask from the pocket of his robes and handing it to Artemis. She opened it and sniffed its contents before pulling a face.
“Polyjuice potion,” Kingsley said simply. “Unfortunately, it tastes as bad as it smells.” He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a vial containing three ash-blonde hairs. “Proudfoot’s. That’s who you’ll be.”
“Did Roberta agree to this?”
“If only under duress.”
Artemis took the vial and tipped the hairs into the Polyjuice potion, which fizzed and foamed, turning a dark, almost blue-tinged grey. She held her breath before bringing the flask to her lips and swallowing a mouthful of its contents.
The Polyjuice potion, as Kingsley had warned her, tasted foul, but the taste was nothing compared to the deeply unpleasant sensations that followed. Her insides churned, and a blazing heat spread from her middle to her extremities. She could feel her skin bubbling and see it stretching as her short arms and legs began to lengthen and thicken, as her wiry frame stretched to become that of the more sturdily built Auror Proudfoot.
The strange feelings stopped in the space of a second, and Artemis could only assume that her transformation was complete. She turned to Kingsley and asked him, in a voice that sounded unfamiliar in her ears, “Has it worked?”
“Perfectly,” said Kingsley. “But the effects will only last an hour, so we should act quickly. Are you ready to go?”
Perhaps not, now that she had seen that dark shadow on the horizon. Still, they were too close to turn back now. She pocketed the remnants of the Polyjuice potion and linked her arm Kingsley’s.
“I’m ready,” she told him. “Let’s go.”
Kingsley’s arm tensed before he Disapparated away from the cliffside, Artemis at his side. He did not relax when they arrived at their destination. Artemis could understand why. The morning had been cool before, but now she was shivering in her cloak, and every muscle in her own body stiffened slightly as she took in the sights of this new landscape.
Gone were the crystal skies and rolling blue sea. The sun had been blocked from view by an ice cold mist, and the dark air around her was heavy and oppressive. The rocks were bare, and the waves high and powerful as they crashed against the ragged shore. The noise echoed across the desolate land, otherwise silent.
Artemis frowned. Worse than the cold, the damp and dark, was a niggling and chilling sensation that something was missing.
“Dementors,” she heard Kingsley almost growl. “Even without performing the Kiss, they manage to suck the life out of everything.”
With a jolt, she realised what it was. The birds. They had stopped singing. The ground beneath her feet was not softened by the dewy grass. No birds, no grass, Artemis had no doubt that there were not even fish in the water.
Nothing living belonged in this place.
She gave another shudder, and Kingsley indicated with his head in the direction of a narrow path climbing up the rocks away from the shore. At the end of it, a large, austere building rose high up towards the ominous sky above. There it was. Azkaban.
“That way.”
The path was not easy to follow. It was narrow and uneven, with loose stones that rolled under Artemis’ feet, and made slippery with sea water. Unused to moving in Roberta Proudfoot’s body, she stumbled behind Kingsley until they reached the prison. Up close, it was not merely a building, but a fortress. Sheer vertical walls with small barred holes for windows, and just a single door. Though it had several bolts, the door was open. Standing in the open entranceway was a Dementor.
A distantly remembered flash of green light flickered behind Artemis’ eyes and a sliver of ice seemed to pass up her spine as the Dementor turned towards the sound of their footsteps and glided towards them, its tattered black cloak rippling in the breeze. It stopped with its hooded face — if it even had a face — inches from Kingsley’s own. Kingsley did not so much as flinch.
“Auror Shacklebolt, here to interrogate prisoners as per the Ministry’s arrangements. This is my colleague, Auror Proudfoot. You are expecting us, I believe.”
His voice, steady and assured, was the warmest thing on the island. The Dementor moved even closer to him, and Artemis’ hand reached unconsciously for her wand. But then, it backed away without launching an attack. Its head turned as it were looking from Kingsley to Artemis and back again, before it floated away, back inside the fortress. One skeletal finger emerged from beneath its cloak and beckoned them. It wanted them to follow.
“Follow the Dementor,” Artemis whispered under her breath, her words fogging in the air in front of her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Kingsley almost chuckled.
“This was your idea.”
It had been Artemis’ idea, though she could no longer remember why she’d ever thought it was a good one. None of her ideas ever had been good, everything she’d ever turned her hand to had ended in disaster. The challenges for the Triwizard Tournament, the dragon she’d tried and failed to rescue from Gringotts, the search for the Cursed Vaults that had led to Rowan’s death. How she had blamed Jacob, but really, it was her fault. Hers.
“Breathe, Auror Proudfoot,” Kingsley whispered to her. “Focus on the job at hand.”
It was hard to focus, however. As she trailed behind Kingsley through Azkaban’s labyrinth of passageways, she passed more Dementors than she ever knew existed. Each one brought with it yet another memory she wished she could forget altogether, and her courage slipped away from her with each step she took deeper into the gaol. Somehow, it was colder inside the prison than it had been out of it, and now that she was in here, she missed the eerie silence of the shore. Here, there were signs of life, but those signs came only from the cries and bloodcurdling screams that punctuated the atmosphere and echoed between the walls.
“Unless, of course, you would prefer a different posting?”
Kingsley was looking at her, softness and concern filling his brown eyes. Artemis took a breath. It was not too late to turn back. She and Kingsley could leave this place, return to London, and find another way to help the Muggleborns, one that was less dangerous.
But Artemis had never been one to turn back. And as another cry echoed through the prison, this one undeniably belonging to a child, Artemis shook her head.
“I want to do this,” she told Kingsley, half-truthfully.
They had reached the end of a corridor, where the Dementor they were following paused in front of a metal gate. It extended its bony hand once more, and with a small movement of its finger, the gate creaked open. They passed through it to find yet another corridor, long and lined with inhabited cells. The inmates were visible through the bars, all of them ashen-faced. In the cell opposite the gate, a woman who might have been five years Artemis’ junior or twenty years her senior crawled up to the bars to speak to them.
“Please,” she said. “Please, I’m innocent, you have to help me. I shouldn’t be here, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
There was a look of desperation in her eyes that almost verged on wildness. Her skin was mottled with dirt, and she smelt as if she hadn’t washed in weeks. Artemis paused, her revulsion overpowered by her pity, but Kingsley continued walking.
“Is this all of the recent inmates? Those convicted of magical theft?” he asked the Dementor, which inclined its head. “Then you may leave us. We can conduct our interviews alone from here.”
It took a moment for the Dementor to acquiesce, but after a few seconds that felt like an age, it floated away. Her surroundings were no less bleak, but in its absence, a tightness eased in Artemis’ chest, and her head no longer seared with the pain of a bright green light.
With the gate safely closed behind the Dementor, Kingsley turned and spoke directly to her, a single word that sufficed as a question.
“Who?”
Artemis’ eyes were still fixed on those of the woman who had called out to her, who still called out, though her voice sounded increasingly weak with each word. Somewhere behind her, though, she could hear another prisoner, a child, crying so softly that they could only be crying to themselves. Clearly, they had given up hope of anyone coming for them.
“I’m sorry,” Artemis told the woman. “I can’t help you right now.”
It took all her strength to walk away from the prisoner and towards the crying child, a boy she found huddled in the back of a cell, his face stained with tears. He looked vaguely familiar; could this scrawny child be one of the plump pre-teens she had seen at Kings Cross less than a week before?
“What’s your name?” she asked. The boy sniffed before responding.
“Timothy.”
“Where do you come from, Timothy?”
“Bristol,” Timothy replied. His eyes welled with tears; Artemis could almost see the shadow of the home he missed deep within them. “I live at 10 Clifton Park Avenue. My mum… I want my mum. I want to go home!”
As he began to sob again, Artemis looked over her shoulder at Kingsley. Without a word, Kingsley approached her and opened the door of Timothy’s cell with a wave of his wand. Artemis stepped inside, but the boy flinched and cowered away from her.
“It’s fine, Timothy. We are here to help you,” Artemis told him, her voice a low whisper. “We want to get you out of this place, but you have to do what we say, okay?”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, the boy nodded. Artemis removed the outer parts of her Auror uniform and handed them to him.
“Put these on,” she said, and though Timothy frowned, he did so. “In the pocket of the cloak there’s a bottle of potion. When you get outside, drink it. It tastes horrible, and it feels even worse, but it will disguise you so Kingsley can get you somewhere safe.”
Timothy looked anxiously up at Kingsley’s broad frame. He swallowed before asking, “Can’t you take me?”
Artemis struggled to speak, but she managed to shake her head. Before Timothy could ask her why not, Kingsley answered him for her.
“She’s staying here,” he said. His voice was low and reassuring, and the boy seemed to relax slightly. Kingsley looked slowly in the direction of where the Dementor had left. “Are you ready?”
It was not clear whether he was asking Artemis or Timothy, but both nodded their heads. Once the boy was outside of the cell, and Artemis alone within it, Kingsley waved his wand and the cell door closed with the clank of metal on metal. Another flick of his wrist, and the bolt slid across, locking her in.
“Kingsley.”
Artemis reached through the bars, and took hold of Kingsley’s hand. His palm, lighter than the rest of his skin, was warm in her own. He squeezed her hand gently.
“Tiny.”
Their fingers stayed in contact until the very last moment as Kingsley moved away from Artemis’ cell, and his eyes stayed on hers until he had turned away. Artemis stayed at the bars, watching Kingsley and the boy’s shadows elongate as they walked away, their echoing footsteps growing quieter as they left her there in the darkness, alone. Though she didn’t see the gate open to let them out, she heard it creak, then clank closed once more.
She stayed close to the front of the cell even as she felt the effects of the Polyjuice potion wear off, her body shrinking inside her robes. A draft swept along the corridor and through the bars, but Artemis had given her cloak to the boy she’d allowed to escape. She tugged at her sleeves and pulled them down over her hands, balling them into fists and pulling them tight towards her. Still shivering with the cold, she finally retreated to the back corner of the cell and curled herself into a ball, pulling in on herself more and more. It was far too late to turn back, but at least she was not really trapped. She only had to wait a couple of days, and then she could leave.
Until then, she would stay exactly where she was, curled up in the cold and the dark, with only the Dementors and the screams of the prisoners of Azkaban for company.
A/N: Artemis asks Bill a favour that he doesn’t want to grant.
Warnings: discussion of death and grief, mild angst, hurt/comfort.
On Wednesday evening, Artemis apparated to Shell Cottage. Once the home of one of the Weasley family’s aunts, the cottage was now Bill and Fleur’s marital home. It sat nestled in a bay of the Cornish coastline, surrounded by craggy cliffs and swaying sand dunes, with a clear view of the rolling waves. The ocean seemed almost to breathe as it gently lapped the shore beneath the dusk-pink sky.
At the front porch, Artemis raised one hand to knock on the front door, the other clutching a cardboard box close to her body. After the third knock, the door opened to reveal Bill’s scarred face and red hair, a few strands of which were coming loose from his ponytail. He held a barely concealed wand, which he began to lower before he stiffened and asked Artemis:
“When and how did we first meet?”
“In my second year at Hogwarts, and your fourth,” Artemis replied. Her lips twitched slightly. “As for how, I think it involved you losing in a duel against a twelve-year-old.”
“It was a draw.”
“Yielding counts as losing, Bill. So, can I come in, or what?”
“Sure. I think we’ve ascertained that you’re definitely you,” Bill muttered. He stepped sideways so that Artemis could bypass him. “And, in my defence, you were a very precocious twelve-year-old.”
After the door was closed behind him, he smiled at her. His usual smirk was softened by the wearied look in his eyes.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Artemis took a breath before telling him, “The Auror office has arranged an inspection of Azkaban tomorrow morning. Kingsley and I are going.”
“I see.” Bill nodded. His half-hearted grin slipped from his face. “You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?”
In response, Artemis shrugged. Bill raised one eyebrow at her.
“Anything I can say or do to change your mind?”
“No,” replied Artemis. “There is something I’d like you to do for me, though.”
“And what might that be?”
Artemis did not respond. She did not know how. Instead, she walked through to the kitchen and placed her cardboard box on the table. She rummaged inside until she found what she wanted, and turned to face him with her hand outstretched to him, a scroll of parchment in her palm. Frowning, Bill took the parchment from her hand and unrolled it.
“The last will and testament of Artemis Hexley.” He looked from the parchment to Artemis and back again, his cheeks blanching slightly. “You’ve written a will?”
“Yeah. I want you to be in charge of it, in case… well, you know.”
Bill didn’t speak for almost a minute as his eyes scanned the page, Artemis gnawing on her lower lip as she watched him read. Eventually, he looked up at her over the parchment, and asked her, “You’re leaving me your house?”
“My half of it, anyway. I thought that would piss Jacob off the most,” Artemis admitted, and Bill chuckled softly.
“And there I thought you were being generous,” he said. “By the way, you know my parents aren’t going to accept having all your money.”
“They’ll have to. I’ve bequeathed it to them.”
“And you know there’s no ‘f’ in the word ‘bequeath’, right?”
Artemis rolled her eyes. “Do you want to be in charge of my will or not?”
“Honestly, no. I really don’t.” Bill rolled the parchment back up, but he did not return it to Artemis. Instead, he pocketed it. “I’ll do it, though.”
“Thanks.” Artemis sighed, relieved. “The house and the money are the only big things. Mostly, it’s stuff I just want keeping safe. Photos and old bits and bobs. I know it’s not much, because I don’t have much to give away, but the stuff that I do have is… Well, it’s not really important but…”
“It’s important to you,” Bill finished her sentence for her. He rolled up his sleeves and peered into the box, taking items out, one at a time. Artemis stood back to watch him.
“That’s a Walkman, it’s a Muggle music machine. I want Ginny to have that. My record player was too big to bring, but Kingsley can have that, and all the records, too. Any photos of friends can go to whoever is in whatever photo, all the rest are for Ros.”
Bill nodded slowly, before reaching in and pulling out an unevenly shaped parcel wrapped haphazardly in brown paper. Artemis followed his gaze as he frowned at it.
“That’s for Charlie,” she told him.
“What is it?”
“It’s for Charlie,” Artemis repeated. Bill looked across at her with an expression of mingled curiosity and concern, and she sighed, resting back down on her heels. “A few photos I took when I was staying with him in Romania and I thought he might like to keep, and some stuff we sent or gave each other over the years. That sort of thing.”
Without her needing to think about it, Artemis’ hand reached towards her collarbone. It quickly flinched away as she realised that her neck was bare. She felt the draft from the window more keenly than she had before.
“There’s a letter in there, too,” she told Bill in a quiet voice. She raised her eyes to meet his. “It’s a goodbye letter.”
Bill’s face fell, and he took a step backwards, away from her.
“I can’t give him that,” his voice almost broke as he whispered.
“You have to.”
“Artemis, I can’t do that to him. You don’t understand.”
“No.” Artemis shook her head so forcibly that her ears began to ring. “No, Bill, you don’t understand. You have to do it. Because I’m Charlie’s best friend, and I lost my best friend, and I know how it feels when you lose your best friend forever. It’s the worst feeling in the whole wide world, and you know what would have made that feeling just a little bit easier to bear? Being able to have said goodbye, but Charlie wouldn’t say goodbye and now he won’t get to, but at least if you give him this then he’ll have something, because something is better than nothing, and… and…”
The ringing sound in Artemis’ ears was louder, making it harder for her to think straight, and tears were stinging the back of her eyes. Bill sighed and moved closer to her again.
“Come here,” he said, before wrapping his arms around her. She returned his hug and allowed her tears to dampen his clothes. Bill’s chest moved and she heard him sigh. “Don’t take it personally. He refused to say goodbye properly to me, too.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. I think the idea of anyone getting seriously hurt or killed is too much for him, so he just shuts it out.”
Artemis’ nose wrinkled. “How can anyone just shut that out?”
“By being as stubborn as Charlie,” Bill half-laughed. “It’s easier for him to ignore the possibility of bad things happening. Honestly, I prefer it that he does. He’d never have gone back to Romania if he wasn’t convinced that things would be okay, and he’s safer there than he is here.”
Bill was right, Artemis had to admit that. Still, she wasn’t happy. She pursed her lips and refused to soften. Charlie wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn.
“He’s just in denial, Artemis. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care.”
“I know that. But denial doesn’t help anyone,” she repeated Kingsley’s words. “It won’t stop anything from happening, and it won’t make him feel any better if it does.”
Artemis knew that better than anyone, the profound grief that only came from the loss of someone so important as a best friend. The anger and the guilt, the aching and the wishing. The realms of love left over, with nowhere for it all to go. How it still felt like a piece of her was missing, even almost a decade later. Bill hadn’t scared her by telling her all the things that might happen to her if her plan went wrong, by telling her how much danger she was putting herself in. She never had been scared of danger, and wasn’t scared of dying. She wanted to live, of course she did, but she wasn’t afraid of not living. But leaving Charlie behind to bear that unbearable pain? That frightened her more than anything.
“I just hate the idea of him feeling the way I did after Rowan died, that’s all,” she told Bill. He still had his arms around her, but she made no move to wriggle out of them. She stayed put, and looked him straight in the eye. “That’s why I need you to make sure that he gets that parcel, if… if I’m not still here by the time this war ends. Please, Bill.”
Though he still looked reluctant, Bill inclined his head. Artemis tilted hers.
“Promise?” she asked him. Promises meant something to Charlie; surely they must have meant something to Bill as well.
“I promise,” Bill said slowly, “to give him that parcel.”
“Thank you.”
But Bill wasn’t finished.
“On the condition,” he continued, “that you promise to try and make sure I never have to.”
It was a fair deal. Artemis didn’t want him to have to, either. She nodded her head in agreement. Both she and Bill were quiet, and neither let the other one go. They rarely hugged like this. It felt strange, but it was a strange world, these days.
“I’m very glad that you lost that duel. I don’t know what… I’m just very happy that we became friends, y’know?” Artemis took a deep shaky breath. “It’s funny, I don’t really like my brother. But I do love you.”
There was a moment of quiet that followed her words. When Bill spoke again, he did so in a voice that sounded hoarse and cracked.
“I love you, too, little one,” he said. He took another breath before clearing his throat and removing his arms from Artemis’ shoulders. “Though, once more, it was a tie.”
“You know, you’re going to have to start admitting that it wasn’t if I get murdered.”
The laugh like relief almost exploded from Bill’s lips, and a tear escaped the corner of his eye. Artemis raised her eyebrows at him, mock-serious.
“I mean it, Bill. I will haunt you.”
He shook his head, his laughter subsiding. He wiped away his tear. “So, one last evening of freedom for you. Anything you’d like to do?”
Artemis looked across to the window, through which she could see the sea rolling into the shore and kissing the sand. The reflection of the low sun on the surface shimmered like liquid gold. She half-smiled.
“How about a walk on the beach?”
Outside, the sky had turned as purple as a bruise, and the wind had picked up. The brisk and salty breeze rustled through the dunes and rippled the shallows. It was brittle on Artemis’ lips and stung her eyes, and the noise of it would have made it hard to hear, but that didn’t matter any more. She and Bill had said all they needed to say, and were able to walk along the sand together in a solemn but somehow reassuringly companionable silence.
A/N: Kingsley and Artemis attempt to prevent Muggleborns getting on board the Hogwarts Express.
Warnings: bigotry and kidnapping.
It was lonely, now that Fergus had gone. Lovelace Crescent seemed dingier and bleaker than ever before, and Artemis struggled to sleep without the sound of his purrs and warmth of his little body pressed against her own. At least he was with Charlie, who had already written in his burgundy notebook how Fergus was settling in. There was still so much Artemis wanted to say, but she decided against it. If she couldn’t make Charlie listen when she was standing right in front of him, she wasn’t going to be able to make him read from the other side of the continent.
Tell him I love him, she wrote back. Charlie’s response had been quick.
I already have. But I’ll do it again.
On Monday, the Daily Prophet told of yet another dire change in the running of the country. Severus Snape, the old Hogwarts potionsmaster, who had been the one to kill Professor Dumbledore in cold blood, had been appointed headmaster in his stead. Not only that, but two known Death Eaters had taken jobs as professors of the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies.
“‘The curriculum of these subjects has been updated to reflect the values of today’s Britain’ — oh, Merlin’s chest hair — ‘in a long overdue return to traditional wizarding values. The reshuffle in faculty is a welcome change for the school, who under Dumbledore’s leadership had come under scrutiny following three student deaths on schoolgrounds in the past sixteen years, the unleashing of several curses in the eighties, the abduction of an eleven-year-old girl and the hiring of a werewolf in 1993, and the unfair dismissal of Dolores Umbridge in ‘96,’” Artemis read aloud. “Unfair dismissal, my arse.”
Beside her, Kingsley let out a low chuckle. Still scowling, Artemis returned her attention to the newspaper.
“And there’s more, listen: ‘Dumbledore’s death remains unsolved, but Harry Potter (Undesirable Number One) remains a top suspect. Anyone with further information on Potter’s whereabouts should contact the Auror Office.’ Really, do you think anyone actually believes that?”
Beside her, Kingsley tilted his head, eyes still looking forward.
“Possibly not. But justifies Snape being taken on. And many would rather believe that than the reality. No one wants their loved ones to be in danger. For some, it is easier to live in denial.”
Charlie’s face, his forced breeziness and determined smile, flashed behind Artemis’ eyes. She tossed the newspaper to one side and sighed heavily.
“I guess you’re right.”
“It happens, on occasion.” Kingsley smiled, but only briefly. “Unfortunately, denial helps no one.”
Artemis rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I know that.”
“Even those who do not believe the Prophet and the Wireless are struggling to get the correct information. Luckily Xenophilius Lovegood is reporting the truth in the Quibbler, but how long it’ll be before the Death Eaters put a stop to that, I do not know. They have his address, after all, and his daughter is at Hogwarts, so as of today they have her as leverage.”
It was the first of September. Very soon, the Hogwarts Express would be on its way to the highlands, hundreds of underage witches and wizards on board. Sitting outside Kings Cross Station, waiting for them to arrive, were Kingsley and Artemis.
“People need to know the truth, though, don’t they?” Artemis said.
“That they do.”
“Well, maybe there could be a way of having the news — the real news, stuff the new Ministry doesn’t want people to know — released in secret. That way the Death Eaters couldn’t put a stop to it, because they wouldn’t know who or where to go to. People would know what’s going on, who they should be helping out, or who they should be careful of…”
“Not a bad idea,” said Kingsley. “I’ll see who I can talk to. There are many wanting to help. Transporting fugitives, stealing contraband, setting up safehouses, that sort of thing.”
“My friend Chiara is setting up a Healing ward in her kitchen,” Artemis told him. “Her boyfriend is going to smuggle in all the supplies she needs.” She paused before adding, “And then there’s us. Kingsley?”
“Artemis?”
“About the safehouses, my brother said a while ago I should get a Secret Keeper. That way, I can turn our house into one.”
“That would be worth doing. What you’re planning is dangerous, and it will be good for you to have somewhere you can go that only those who already know how to find you can do so.”
Kingsley’s words tugged at Artemis’ conscience. Why? she wondered for a moment, before the answer came to her: Snitches. Ron’s friend, the one who had reminded her so much of Rowan, had asked her about hiding things inside them so that the person who had caught it could find it. In all that had happened since, she had forgotten to look into it, and she certainly didn’t know about it herself. Professor McGonagall might, though. She made a mental note to write to her former Transfiguration professor later that day.
For now, however, she had more pressing matters to attend to. She bit her bottom lip.
“Kingsley, will you be my Secret Keeper?” she asked. Kingsley’s eyes widened, and she backtracked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. I know it’s a big ask, it’s just that Tonks has the baby on the way, and Charlie’s off in Romania, Bill… Well, I guess I could ask Bill, but you know all about everything else I’ve got planned and—”
“Tiny, it would be an honour.” Kingsley’s voice was thick with emotion.
“It would?”
“It would.”
“Oh.” Artemis nodded. “Yeah. Good. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Kingsley smiled at her, and the station clock struck ten. “We should go. It’s time.”
Artemis took a deep breath before she and Kingsley set off into the crowd. Both of them were wearing Muggle clothes to better blend in with the Muggles at Kings Cross Station. With only an hour to go before the train was due to leave from Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, the crowds were growing larger by the second, as Wizarding families arrived ready to see their children off. The majority of them had not made as much effort to blend in as Artemis and Kingsley had, and even those who had were still recognisable as witches and wizards if you looked closely enough to see the outlines of their wands concealed beneath their coats and hidden up their sleeves.
The young witches and wizards who knew best how to pass themselves off as Muggles were the ones they were most concerned about. The deadline for the signing the Muggleborn Registry had come and gone, and a list of known Muggleborns who had failed to present themselves to the Ministry had been published in the Daily Prophet. Many of them were underage. Not all Muggleborn teenagers received the paper during the holidays, and even if they did, they wouldn’t have known how to get into the Ministry’s headquarters to present themselves to the Commission; they would be arriving at Kings Cross unaware that they were about to be arrested for breaking the law. Making a scene by hijacking the train may have been out of the question, but if they could pick out even a small number of the Muggleborns before they reached the gates to board it, that would be a small number that would avoid being sent to Azkaban.
“There.”
Artemis pointed to a family who would not have looked out of place at the Muggle train station were it not for the fact that both of their teenagers were pushing large trunks, one of which had an owl in a birdcage perched on top of it. She took a step in their direction, but was prevented from taking any more by Kingsley’s hand on her upper arm.
“Wait,” he told her, his dark eyebrows furrowing.
A moment later, a man in a grey suit and black cloak stepped out in front of the family, blocking their path to the gates between platforms nine and ten. He produced a clipboard, which he scanned as he spoke to the family. Eventually, he stepped to the side, but the family did not continue their journey onwards. At least, not all of them did. After hugging their parents goodbye, the two boys went on without them.
“Interesting,” Kingsley murmured. “I think they’re disallowing Muggle parents from accessing the Platform altogether.”
He nodded his head at another family in the distance, also clearly composed of Muggles. They too were being stopped by another wizard with a clipboard. This wizard, however, Artemis knew.
“That’s Barnaby!” she half-gasped. “Ellie’s husband, the one who went missing last week. Let me talk to him.”
Before Kingsley could stop her, she ran across the station, dodging her way through the Muggle crowds towards her old schoolfriend, reaching him just as he and a teenage girl with a toad waved goodbye to a pair of middle-aged Muggles.
“Barnaby! What are you doing here?”
“Security,” replied Barnaby. Artemis frowned at him. There was a peculiar look in his eyes that she recognised. “Muggles aren’t allowed on the Platform.”
“Right. What about Ellie?” Artemis asked. Barnaby’s expression didn’t shift at the mention of his wife’s name. “She’s worried about you. Why haven’t you been home?”
“I have to do security.”
Barnaby’s response was matter-of-fact, as his responses often were, but he somehow did not seem like his usual self. Artemis looked deeper into his eyes, narrowing her own as she did so. Her talent for Legilimency was poorly honed, but Barnaby had always been easy for her to read. Now, though, he wasn’t. It felt as if she were looking at Barnaby through deep water, or a fogged up mirror. He was there, she could tell, but his mind was hazy. He had clearly been placed under the Imperius Curse.
“Oh, Barnaby,” she whispered. “They got you, didn’t they?”
“I’m just doing security. It’s important,” Barnaby told her blankly. “People on this list have to go through to the platform alone.”
“Alone? Why?” Artemis looked towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The two boys from before were about to go through. A knot formed in her abdomen. “Barnaby, what happens after they go through to Platform 9 ¾?”
“I don’t know. I have a list.”
Artemis’ blood ran cold. She and Kingsley had hoped to stop the Muggleborns from boarding the train, but it looked like the Death Eaters were planning to stop them from doing the same thing. She backed away from Barnaby and ran back to Kingsley.
“I think we got it wrong. They’re not arresting them at Hogsmeade station, they’re doing it here, on the Platform,” she told him. “You go outside, see if you can stop them from coming into the station.” She looked at the girl Barnaby had stopped now approaching the barrier, all alone other than her toad. She swallowed. “I’m going through. I want to see what they’re up to.”
Kingsley nodded his assent, and stood in front of her so that she could take her Animagus form without anyone noticing. Hidden from the crowds, Artemis transformed, and looked out across a dense forest of legs. Though she was far smaller as a cat, her senses were more finely tuned. She could hear the rolling wheels of the Muggleborn girl’s trunk as she headed for the platform. She darted after her, dodging the crowds of feet and running in cat-form straight through the barrier.
On the other side, there was a sense of chaos and thinly veiled terror. Over two dozen witches and wizards in dark Ministry garb were standing near the entrance of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Two of them were talking to the teenagers she had witnessed going through the barriers without their families. She slunk forward, pretending to be hunting for mice, so that she could listen closely to one of the conversations.
“You here all alone?” a Ministry wizard asked the girl with the toad. She nodded her head. “Why’s that?”
“My parents weren’t allowed on the platform this year,” she said. There was a quiver in her voice, and now that she was closer up, Artemis could see that the girl couldn’t be older than thirteen. “The man said it was for security, Muggle parents weren’t allowed on the Platform in case…”
“Ah, so your parents are both Muggles. What is your name?”
“Rose Zeller.”
“Ah, yes,” the Ministry wizard conjured a scroll of parchment from thin air. He opened it ceremoniously, and let his eyes drift down it almost lazily. “There you are. Miss Zeller, you failed to report to the Muggleborn Registration Commission this summer.”
“The… the what?”
“You are thereby in serious breach of Wizarding Law,” said the ministry wizard. Rose Zeller took a step backwards from him, her eyes widened in frightened confusion. He leaned in towards her and whispered menacingly, “First you steal our magic, then you break our laws.”
“I didn’t steal anything, I promise!” the girl squeaked. “I don’t know anything about any laws.”
“A likely story. Incarcerus!”
The wizard pointed his wand at the girl, and thick ropes emerged from the top of it. They wound around her wrists, and tightened there. A tear ran down her face. The wizard put one hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, Artemis thought he was going to comfort her, but he tightened his grip, and second later, the two of them had disappeared with a loud cracking sound.
All along the platform, similar scenes were occurring, children and teenagers being halted, interviewed, and bound in ropes by the ministry officials. Nearby, an older girl with a face like a pug and a green badge with a silver ‘P’ on it pinned to her robes was telling a ministry official:
“Thomas and Granger aren’t here. Bet they’ve both done a runner. You should talk to Hannah Abbott.”
“Abbott… That’s a pureblood name.”
“It is, but her family are blood traitors,” said the Slytherin prefect. “I heard her mother is a Mudblood, or it might have been her grandmother. I can point her out to you, if you like.”
Artemis let out a low growl, but stopped as she saw Ginny Weasley running along the platform in the direction of the two Muggleborn brothers she had witnessed being separated from their parents, both of whom were now being interviewed by a witch in Ministry robes. Artemis moved closer, keeping tucked behind a pile of luggage so Ginny wouldn’t recognise her.
“Colin,” Ginny said to the taller of the boys. “What’s going on?”
“Mr Creevey and his brother are under arrest,” said the Ministry Witch. “They both failed to report to the Muggle-born Registration Commission last month.”
“As I just told you, we would have reported if it hadn’t been for the fact that we didn’t know where the Ministry was or how to get in,” said the boy Ginny called Colin. “If you wanted people to report somewhere, then you should have given instructions on how to get there.”
“Don’t blame the Ministry for your lack of initiative,” the witch half-spat at him. “You broke the law. You know what happens to Mudbloods who break the law, don’t you?”
She raised her wand, and used it to conjure ropes the way her colleague had. Both the Muggle-born brothers were now bound. A teenage girl who had been watching the scene from nearby screamed.
“No! Let him go!”
She ran towards the brothers, but the witch raised her wand.
“Trust me, you don’t want to interfere in Ministry business,” she said threateningly. She glanced at Ginny. “You two. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get on the train like good girls.”
She took hold of the two brothers and disapparated, leaving the girl who had screamed to cry for the boys. Ginny put her arm around her.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t cry. They’ll be alright.”
“Where did they go? Where did she take Dennis and Colin?”
“I…” Ginny swallowed. “I’m not sure.”
Artemis knew that Ginny was lying. Ginny wasn’t stupid, she would be able to figure out what fate lay ahead for the Muggle-born children, who were still emerging from the barrier alone, separated from their blissfully unaware parents and being taken away in front of their peers. Azkaban. The place every witch and wizard spoke of with fear in their eyes and tremors in their voices. That was where the children would go, and that is where they would be left.
It was up to Artemis to make sure that they wouldn’t remain there for long.
A/N: Artemis struggles to say farewell to two of her nearest and dearest.
Warnings: discussion of death and fascism, the eternal difficulty of getting one’s cat in a carrier...
August passed, as it always did, but this year, the world shifted with each day. By the end of the first week of the new Minister’s reign, the Muggleborn Registration Commission was fully operative, the office being run by none other than Dolores Umbridge, a toady witch who had previously campaigned against the rights of werewolves.
Artemis had to avert her eyes each time she passed her in the Ministry buildings. She’d become almost used to the deadened look of those working for the Ministry under the Imperius Curse, but the fervent look in Madam Umbridge’s eyes chilled and nauseated her. Umbridge was not acting of her own free will, she was relishing in her new role. A new pamphlet warning against the risks Muggleborns posed to the magical community was being printed, and new laws curtailing the rights of Muggleborns were being passed each week. By the end of the month, Muggleborns were no longer allowed to purchase wands, open a bank account at Gringotts, or be featured on Chocolate Frog cards.
Though the Prophet did not report it, the international magical community was in uproar. Artemis had learned from Murphy McNully that in protest of the Ministry’s new legislation, the Ballycastle Bats and Kenmare Kestrels had left the British and Irish Quidditch League, leaving the Department of Magical Games and Sports confused as to whether they should change the league’s name. Furthermore, several countries had refused to participate in the following year’s Quidditch World Cup if the British countries were allowed to compete.
The support from overseas was being well-used by the Order of the Phoenix and their allies. Fleur’s parents had managed to help several Muggleborns, Penny and her family included, escape to France within days of the Death Eaters’ coup, and Charlie had put them in touch with a network of international dragonologists he had been cultivating in the past two years.
But it wasn’t easy. The Order was low in numbers, and increasingly, Muggleborns were panicking and acting on their own before they could be reached. Many had already signed onto the Muggleborn register for fear of what might happen if they didn’t, and others had simply gone missing. Only days after Remus had returned home to her, Tonks’ father had disappeared into the night, refusing both to sign the register or hide overseas in safety while others suffered. And he wasn’t the only one of Artemis’ friends to vanish. Barnaby Lee, though not a Muggleborn himself, had not returned home from work the previous Thursday. His wife Ellie had sent her apologies into the Auror office every day since.
“It’ll be his dad’s doing, I bet,” Tonks said to Artemis on the sixth day of Ellie’s absence. She was less withdrawn now that Remus was back with her, though still paler than usual. “It’s a shame. Ellie’s good craic. Now the only person I can rely on to be any fun around here is you.”
Artemis was quiet. Tonks frowned at her.
“Don’t tell me you’re planning on leaving for Romania with Charlie tomorrow.”
“No,” said Artemis, quickly. “I haven’t got any plans at all.”
It was a lie. She had been planning all month, ever since Tonks had explained how people had managed to escape from Azkaban in the past. She’d passed her plan onto Kingsley, and together, they had refined it into something that actually stood a chance of working. In less than a week, she and Kingsley would enter Azkaban prison for the first time. Only Kingsley would leave. Artemis would become yet another missing person. No one else would know where she was.
Except, perhaps, Tonks.
“You’re kidding,” she said, her eyes widening with realisation. “You can’t seriously be thinking about going through with” — Artemis shushed her, and she lowered her voice — “what we talked about the other week.”
“I’m not thinking. I’m doing it.” Tonks opened her mouth as if to argue, and Artemis crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m going to do it, Tonks. You can’t talk me out of it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
She was lying, Artemis could tell. Both of them were quiet for a few moments.
“Have you said anything about it to Bill and Charlie?” Tonks asked, eventually. Artemis shook her head.
“Bill would definitely try to talk me out of it. And Charlie…”
Charlie knew her well enough to know when her mind was made up about something, knew better than to try and change it. If anything, he was likely to try and help her. Maybe that was why she’d delayed telling him about it until now, the day he was due to return to Romania. She didn’t want him to help. She wanted him to go back to the safety of the mountains and spruce trees and alpine meadows, that wild beauty to which he belonged. She wanted him to leave, and she didn’t want to have to say goodbye.
But she did have to say something to him. And with his Portkey leaving that evening, she couldn’t put it off any longer. She left work early — it was hardly like they could fire her, she had plans to go missing next week — and travelled with Fergus the cat to the Burrow, only to find it eerily quiet. Mr Weasley was still at work, Mrs Weasley was not home, and all the other boys had moved out. Only Charlie and his sister Ginny remained, along with the ghoul in the attic, who was still dressed in Ron’s clothes.
Fergus gave a doleful miaow as he padded hopefully into the kitchen, found it empty, and followed Artemis upstairs. On the first floor, Ginny’s bedroom door was open, and the youngest Weasley was sitting on her bed with a Muggle musical headband on, staring out the window.
“Hey, Gin,” Artemis said, and Ginny removed the headband. The music continued to play from it as it hung around her neck, a woman’s voice singing an angsty tune. “Where’s your mum?”
“Gone to visit Andromeda. She’s worried about her with Ted gone,” replied Ginny. “So she’s taken her over a casserole.”
“Right.” Artemis nodded, though she was not sure what use a casserole was going to be in this situation. She looked at Ginny’s Muggle music machine. “Is that Charlie’s?”
“Yeah, I should go and give it back to him, really. He’s upstairs packing now.”
“I can take it up there for you, if you like?”
Ginny shook her head and gave a mischievous smile. “I’m hoping he’ll forget about it so I can just keep it.”
Artemis laughed and left Ginny to her moody music. One more flight of stairs up, she found Charlie in the room that he had once shared with Bill. A duffel bag made of khaki-coloured canvas with brown leather straps was open on the bed in front of him. As she entered the room, he turned his face towards her and gave her the most genuine smile she had seen in days.
“Hello you,” he said quietly. As Fergus rubbed a ginger cheek against his shin, he dropped his gaze downwards. “And you, too. What’s Fergus doing here?”
“He’s coming with you,” Artemis told Charlie. His eyebrows furrowed, and she sat down on the bed facing him. “Charlie, I need to tell you something.”
“Alright…”
“There’s a job I’ve got to do.”
“For the Order?”
“Sort of.” Charlie looked unconvinced. “Not really. Well, no. I’ve come up with it myself, but it’s to help the Order. Kingsley knows about it.”
“Right.” Charlie paused. “And what is it you’ll be doing? Is it… dangerous?”
“I’m going to be breaking Muggleborns out of Azkaban.”
A moment passed. Charlie breathed in.
“Yes, then,” he said.
“Yeah.”
He looked as if he were trying to solve a difficult sum. “And Kingsley… Does he think this is a good idea?”
“I had to talk him around, but he thinks it’s as good as any. It can work, and I’m maybe the only person we know who can make it work.” Artemis raised her chin. “My mind’s made up.”
“I can see that.” Another breath, then Charlie told her, “I’ll help you.”
Of course he would. Artemis shook her head, but he continued before she could interrupt him.
“I’ve been thinking ever since the wedding that it’s wrong, me going back to Romania, what with everything going on back here. This gives me something to do, I can stay and help you with this Azkaban thing.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, Azkaban is full of Dementors and you can’t cast a corporeal Patronus.” If Charlie was offended by the bluntness of Artemis’ comment, he didn’t show it. Artemis carried on, “And anyway, you have your own stuff to do in Romania. Important things.”
“I’m not the only person who could get us allies. With the number of witches and wizards planning on leaving the country right now, there’s bound to be plenty of people who could do a better job than me.”
“That’s not true. Hardly anyone is as good at making people like you as you are. Besides, I’m not talking about allies. I’m talking about my cat.” She looked down at Fergus, lying on his side in the middle of Charlie’s old room, watching the end of his own tail as it flicked back and forth. “I need you to take him and look after him in Romania. He’ll be safer there than he will be here, where he might get lost or hurt or run into Death Eaters, and he’ll be happier there, too. He was really happy when we came to live with you.”
Like Charlie, Fergus could belong in Romania. For now, and forever, if it came to that. They could keep each other company, out in the vast expanse of wilderness that Artemis had briefly called home. She sighed, and shuffled so that her back could rest against the wall beside the bed.
“So was I, you know,” she said. “Sometimes I think that might have been the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”
When he spoke, Charlie’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“Me too.”
“I know it shouldn’t have been, because of everything that was happening back home, but it didn’t feel so real or frightening then. It feels real now.”
“Yeah, it does,” said Charlie. He swallowed. “I’ll take Fergus for you.”
Artemis twisted up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, which he returned after a few moments. The flannel of his shirt was soft and downy, and smelt like the honeysuckle tree in the garden.
“Thank you,” she said, before releasing her hold on him. She looked him in the eye. “And, Charlie, if anything bad happens to me—”
Charlie stiffened and leaned away from her, ever so slightly. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
“Yeah, but if it does, I want to say—”
“Do you have a box?”
Confused by the abrupt change of subject, Artemis wrinkled her nose. “What?”
“For Fergus,” said Charlie. “Do you have a box I can take him in?”
“Oh, no. No, I forgot. But, Charlie, I really need to—”
“I think there’s one in the broomshed. I’ll go and find it for you.”
Before Artemis could do or say anything to stop him, Charlie had risen from the bed, crossed the room, and left it. At her feet, Fergus gave a noise halfway between a purr and a growl.
“Exactly, Ferg,” Artemis agreed. She sighed loudly and used both of her hands to push her hair back from her face, her fingertips scraping against her scalp as she did so.
The evening sunlight was shining through the bedroom window, illuminating the twin beds and the walls behind their headboards. Even though Bill and Charlie had left home years ago, their old bedroom still had the same things pinned up on display: a little red and gold flag, an orange Chudley Cannons scarf, a few hand-drawn illustrations of dragons, one poster of the Weird Sisters, another of a Muggle lady in a gold bikini, yet another of the pyramids, and several postcards and white-rimmed square photos. Artemis half-smiled to herself as she looked around at the relics of a lifetime that felt far longer ago than it was.
Eventually, she decided that she should go and find Charlie, so she made her way back through the house and back out to the garden, where she found not only Charlie, but his older brother. The two of them were talking in low voices, and as they noticed her approaching, Charlie held up an old and battered-looking wicker cat basket.
“Look what I found,” he said cheerily. Beside him, Bill did not look at all cheery. He regarded Artemis with a look of anxious reprehension that made her stomach churn.
“You told him?” she asked Charlie, who shook his head. “Then how—”
“Tonks came to see me at work,” Bill explained. He took a deep breath. “Artemis, have you considered how stupidly dangerous this is?”
Artemis nodded. “Yes.”
“You realise that if you get caught, the Death Eaters know you have links to members of the Order, so you’ll probably be tortured for information?”
“Yes.”
“And if they realise that you know how to get out of Azkaban, they won’t be able to keep you there. You’ll be killed or—”
“I know.”
“— worse, the Dementor’s Kiss...” Bill shuddered and looked at Artemis with pleading eyes. “You need to think before you decide to do this.”
“I’ve already thought, and I have already decided,” Artemis told him. “It has to be done, and it has to be me who does it.”
“Even if it means you die trying?”
“Artemis knows what she’s doing, Bill,” Charlie said shortly. He gave the cat basket to Artemis. “Here, we should get him inside before he realises that something’s up and makes a run for it.”
It was as if Fergus had heard and understood Charlie, for barely had he finished his sentence before the cat had stiffened, back arched and fur raised on end. In an instant, he turned tail and darted into the long grass. Charlie sprung after him and dove into the grass, emerging with his arms covered in scratches and a hissing, spitting, writhing Fergus held tightly against his chest.
“Swap.” Artemis half-threw the basket towards Charlie and held out her arms. “He won’t scratch me.”
But Fergus did scratch her, again and again and again, as she tried in vain to get him into the Weasleys’ old cat basket. She was on the brink of crying when Bill pointed his wand at the now-feral Fergus, and called out:
“Immobulus!”
The spell hit Fergus on his flank, and his struggling movements became so slow they were almost imperceptible. While she had the chance, Artemis pushed him into the basket and locked the door closed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, stroking Fergus’ ears through the bars with a single finger. “I’m really sorry, Ferg. But you have to go with Charlie. He’ll look after you, I swear it. I’m sorry. I love you.”
“It’s for his own good,” said Charlie, as Artemis backed away. “At least this way he won’t hurt himself if he gets upset by the Portkey spinning.”
“I know,” she replied. She used the heel of her hand to push her tears away from her cheeks. “It’s just… I don’t want that to be how he remembers me, that’s all.”
“He’ll have forgotten about it and forgiven you by the time you see him again.”
Charlie was smiling his good-natured smile at her. It did not make her feel any better.
“What if I never get to see him again?”
“Of course you’ll see him again, Artie.”
Artemis blinked back a fresh round of tears and shook her head. “What if we never get to see each other again?”
“We will,” said Charlie. He sounded far more assured of it than either Artemis felt or Bill looked. “We will see each other again. We are all going to see each other again.”
His voice was steady and his tone final. Both he and Artemis looked across at Bill, who rolled his eyes and let out a soft, resigned-sounding sigh. Artemis’ front teeth grazed her bottom lip.
“Bill is just being cautious,” Charlie continued. “Don’t let him scare you.”
“I’m not scared, Charlie,” Artemis said indignantly. “I mean, I am, but—”
“Don’t be.”
“— not the way you mean. I just want—”
“You’ll be alright.”
“—to say goodbye.”
But Charlie shook his head. “I’m not saying goodbye.”
Artemis looked in disbelief at Bill, but he had averted his eyes. Charlie picked up Fergus’ basket in one hand, and wrapped the other arm around her shoulders.
“I’m saying see you soon,” he said. He squeezed gently. “Because I will see you soon, I promise.”
Charlie had never broken a promise to Artemis before, but she knew that this time, he might have to. And she could not make him see that, because for the first time, he would not listen to her. By the time he and Fergus left with their Portkey, Artemis had given up trying to say any of the things she wanted to say to him, even goodbye.
A/N: Artemis is determined to find a way to resist the Ministry’s new regime. Tonks has a personal crisis.
Warnings: flagrant bigotry, discussion of child abandonment
The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called “Muggleborns”, the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets.
Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, the so called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force.
The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.
So read the Daily Prophet on Monday morning. Kingsley’s suspicions had been correct, and in the space of just one weekend, the Ministry of Magic as Artemis had always known it was gone.
The righteous anger she felt at seeing the article only grew when she travelled to work, and arrived in the Atrium of the Ministry headquarters to find that the fountain of magical brethren had already been replaced. Gone were the gleaming gold and cascading water, the shimmering fractals of light. Now, there was only a vast expanse of brutal black stone, carved into the likeness of a giant witch and wizard seated on a pair of thrones. The thrones were composed of grotesque-looking naked bodies.
“It really is something, isn’t it?”
A low, melodious voice came from behind her, and she turned to see Kingsley Shackbolt. Only once her eyes were averted did she realise how sick she had felt looking at the statue. Kingsley still was regarding it. Though his face was passive, his eyes were filled with mingled disgust and sadness.
“Those bodies, are those supposed to be…”
“Muggles, I presume.” Kingsley’s gaze dropped to the engraved letters at the base of the statue, and he read aloud: “‘Magic Is Might.’ Says it all, doesn’t it?”
Artemis swallowed her revulsion, and Kingsley gave her a wan smile that didn’t reach his deep brown eyes.
“Come. We shouldn’t be late.”
She followed him through the atrium, past the crowds that were pausing to stare up at the new statue, a mixture of emotions on their faces. Confusion, fear, resignation, admiration, all on display. They took an elevator with a wizard in the uniform of the Department of Magical Transportation, and remained in complete silence for two floors until the stranger got out at level six. Once the doors were closed and they were truly alone, Kingsley turned to Artemis.
“Did you read the paper this morning?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. She looked up at Kingsley. “I haven’t changed my mind about what I said yesterday. I still want to do something.”
“We all want to do something, Tiny. But—”
“But we have to be clever about it, I know. Still, there’s got to be something.”
Kingsley inclined his head. “Where there is a will, there’s a way. And I when it comes to being strong-willed…” His lips twitched. “Whatever your plan is, I’ll help you with it. For now, though, we must continue to carry on as normal.”
Artemis was not sure how she was expected to act as normal when nothing else in the world was normal anymore, but she knew what Kingsley meant. She gave a curt nod and the doors opened onto level two, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In the Auror office, just one floor below where the Minister for Magic was making his plans, Artemis spent the morning making her own.
It was harder than she’d realised, figuring out how to help. Each idea she had, she dismissed almost as soon as it came to her. The Order had already shot down the notion of hijacking the Hogwarts Express, there was no way to protect the Muggleborn children in their own homes — what hope did their Muggle families have against Death Eaters? — and once they were aboard the train to Hogwarts, they were like sitting Murtlaps. The Death Eaters would collect them before they even got as far as Hogwarts Castle, and once they got to Azkaban, that would be it. Azkaban was a fortress, it was impenetrable and inescapable.
Or was it?
The answer to Artemis’ question came as soon as she’d answered it: No. Azkaban wasn’t inescapable at all. Even discounting the mass exodus of Death Eaters the year before, she could think of two separate occasions on which prisoners of Azkaban had managed to bypass the dementors. All she needed to do was find out how, and she already knew who to ask.
She rose from her desk, and made her way towards Tonks’ own. It was empty. She frowned as she looked at it.
“Roberta,” she asked, turning to face Proudfoot’s desk opposite. “Have you seen Tonks today?”
Auror Proudfoot shook her head. “She’s called in sick today.”
That was irritating, if understandable. Artemis returned back to her work station, and continued to half-do her paperwork with one foot tapping impatiently against the chair leg until lunchtime.
At precisely midday, she left the Auror office, ran down to the atrium and past the horrible new statue to the fireplaces. From the Whitehall street above the Ministry, she Apparated to Tonks and Remus’ cottage, and knocked on the door. No answer came.
“Tonks?” she called through the letterbox. The hallway beyond was dark, with no sign of movement. Her heart racing, Artemis stepped back and looked to the roof, half-dreading what might be hovering above the house. But no Dark Mark had been cast, thank Godric. Tonks simply must be elsewhere. Either at the hospital, or maybe at her parents’.
The Tonkses’ house was going to be the easiest place to check, Artemis reasoned, and so she Apparated a second time, rematerialising on the front step of an impeccably decorated house. The only thing out of place was an old and broken swing set at the bottom of the garden with two mattresses lying on the ground beneath it.
This time, when she knocked on the door, she was greeted by the anxious looking face of Andromeda Tonks.
“Is Tonks… I mean, is Dora here?” Artemis asked Tonks’ mother, who loosened her grip on her wand as she nodded.
“She’s in the conservatory. But—”
“I need to speak with her. It’s important.”
Artemis didn’t wait for Andromeda’s response before walking inside, past the perfectly placed and many-times-mended ornaments in the hallway and through to the conservatory. Tonks was sitting in a wicker chair, her heart-shaped face pale and her hair a relatively boring shade of dark blonde. She didn’t smile when Artemis entered the room.
“What’s wrong? Is the baby—”
“The baby’s fine, it’s everything else that’s gone to shit,” Tonks muttered. “Remus has gone.”
Artemis looked around the room. “Gone? Gone where?”
“I dunno. He took off yesterday morning.”
“Why?”
“We argued Saturday night after we got back from Molly’s and… He said that we” — she gestured vaguely between her face and her belly — “will be better off if he isn’t around us right now. Safer.”
“But that’s—”
“Ridiculous, I know. It’s hardly like we’re not already in danger, what with Mum being thrown out from her family of Death Eater nutters for marrying my dad.” Tonks cast a glance over her shoulder. “I thought coming here would be comforting, but they’ve spent the last two hours arguing about whether or not Dad should sign onto this Muggleborn Register or not.” She rolled her eyes. “Now I’ve got to worry about whether they’ll kill each other before Mum’s family get the chance.”
Neither Tonks nor Artemis laughed. The bright colours of Tonks’ chipped nail varnish flashed in the sun as she tapped her fingers on her thighs. Artemis frowned.
“Do you want to talk about—”
“No. No, I don’t. Tell me about something else. Tell me why you’re here.”
In her concern for her friend, Artemis had almost forgotten. She looked back into the house to check that neither of Tonks’ parents were nearby before speaking.
“I wanted to talk to you about your cousin. The one who escaped from Azkaban.”
“Sirius?” Tonks asked. “What about him?”
“How did he do it? Escape, I mean.”
“He was an Animagus. An unregistered one.”
Artemis wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What has that got to do with the price of frogs?”
“Azkaban isn’t guarded by witches and wizards, Artemis. It’s guarded by Dementors,” Tonks explained, though Artemis was still none the wiser. Tonks tutted. “Dementors are blind, Artemis. They can’t see people, only sense their presence.”
“Can they not sense an animal’s presence?”
“Apparently not. Or if they can, they weren’t expecting to sense an animal’s presence when Sirius escaped, because no one had a clue that he could become an animal at all. He just slipped straight past them.”
“Right.” Artemis nodded, her eyebrows still furrowed. “Is that how the Death Eater who pretended to be Moody managed it? Was he an unregistered Animagus, too?”
“No, someone went in under the pretence of visiting and switched places with him,” Tonks said. Her face had grown even more dejected after Artemis mentioned Moody’s name. “One person in, one person out. The Dementors didn’t notice, and the bloke used Polyjuice potion to hide his identity once he left. It’s easy when you think about it. Makes you wonder why no one’s ever tried it before.” She pulled a face and gave a little shudder. “Though I doubt there are many people who’d volunteer to take someone’s place in Azkaban.”
Artemis said nothing. Tonks narrowed her eyes at her.
“Why are you asking this?”
“No reason.”
“Artemis, no,” said Tonks, with a shake of her head. “You can’t seriously be thinking—”
“I’ve already thought about it,” Artemis told her. “I’m going to get people out of Azkaban. I just need a way to do that, and…” She paused. “This could be it.”
Years ago, during her search for the Cursed Vaults, Artemis’ friends Penny and Talbot had helped her to complete the lengthy process to become an Animagus. She’d intended on registering herself one day, but had never gotten around to doing it. Now, she was glad she hadn’t.
“I’m an unregistered Animagus, too. All I need is a way to get in, once I have that I can switch places, and then disappear without the Dementors realising. It’s brilliant.”
“It’s crazy.”
“So crazy that it could actually work.”
Tonks stared at her blankly and shook her head, but Artemis knew that she was right. She had found a way. The seeds of a plan had taken root.
Now all that was left to do was to put the plan into practice.
A/N: The new Minister for Magic makes an announcement that tells of bad things to come.
Warnings: discussions of war, bigotry, fascism, and child endangerment.
“What time is the announcement?”
Ginny’s freckled face was ashen as she asked the question, sitting on the arm of Bill’s chair. Fleur stood behind them, one hand on Bill’s shoulder, her knuckles white. All the other seats were taken. Tonks and Remus were sharing the other armchair, Kingsley and Artemis had brought seats from the kitchen table into the living room, the twins were sharing the sofa with Charlie. Mr Weasley and Mrs Weasley were standing, though Mrs Weasley seemed unable to stay still. On a low table in the centre of the room was a large tray of tea and biscuits, all untouched. No one was in the mood to eat anything.
“Any moment now,” Kingsley said, his voice deep and melodic, though quiet. He raised one hand to decline the plate of biscuits Mrs Weasley was waving under his nose. “I won’t, but thank you, Molly.”
Charlie’s eyes had been following his mother as she paced around the room. “Why don’t you sit down, Mum?” He moved from the sofa onto the floor. “Here, take this spot.”
He offered her a good-natured smile, which she did not return. Though she sat down, Mrs Weasley continued to fidget with her hands, as if she were missing her knitting. Charlie’s eyes met Artemis’. She breathed and blinked slowly. There was nothing she could do to help.
Four notes played from the wireless radio, and everyone tensed. Mr Weasley pointed his wand at it, and the volume increased.
“And now, in a change from our scheduled broadcasting, we have a live update from the acting Minister for Magic, Pius Thicknesse.”
A moment passed before Pius Thicknesse began to speak. In that moment, the Weasley family and friends were all silent. A pin could have dropped and Artemis would have heard it.
“This has been a difficult week for the Wizarding community of Great Britain,” said the cold voice of Thicknesse, crackly as it left the radio. “It is with deep regret that I inform the nation of Rufus Scrimgeour’s resignation, and take up the position in his place.”
“Of course it is, you bloody puppet,” muttered Fred, and both his parents and eldest brother shushed him.
“Last night’s scenes of violence at the Ministry Headquarters were unprecedented and shocking, but they have served to highlight the need for strength and vigilance” — Tonks made a strange guttural noise — “in the face of adversity. It is for this reason that the Ministry of Magic is taking emergency measures in order to preserve the unique power we as witches and wizards are privileged to possess.”
George leaned behind his mother to whisper to Fred, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” and earned himself another shush.
“It is vital, more so now than ever before, that we focus on honing the magical talents of our young people,” Thicknesse continued. “The future of our world depends on them, on their protection and their education. Thankfully, Britain and Ireland have always had world class education facilities in the form of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With this in mind, the Ministry has decreed that attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be mandatory for all British-born witches and wizards aged eleven to seventeen.”
Across the room, Ginny’s eyes widened, and her teeth did not so much graze her lower lip as almost bite right into it. Bill turned to her and smiled reassuringly.
“That’s okay, Gin, you’ll be seventeen next summer. If you want to leave a year early, no one will mind.” He glanced across at his parents. Neither disagreed with him. Their faces were both pale. “Besides, it’s not like McGonagall will allow anything to happen to Hogwarts under her watch.”
“The Ministry will be completing a full review of the teaching faculty and facilities in the next few weeks to ensure that your children receive the best care they can after the passing of Albus Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore’s death—”
“Murder, you mean.”
“Shush, Fred.”
“— is still being thoroughly investigated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and a new suspect has come to light. With this in mind, any witch or wizard with information regarding Harry Potter should contact the Auror office immediately.”
Across the room, Fleur rolled her eyes, and Ginny blanched, still chewing on her bottom lip. But no one interrupted.
“As Minister for Magic, I am aware that we are living in troubled times. I know that changes can be difficult, but I am positive that the new measures that my colleagues and I will be implementing in the coming months will help to secure a safe, stable, powerful, and pure community for the witches and wizards of Great Britain, and I will be working tirelessly until we have achieved this.”
Pius Thickness’ voice stopped, and the familiar clipped voice of the Wizarding Wireless Network’s usual announcer returned. In the living room, the Weasley family and their guests were silent.
“What measures is he talking about?” asked Fred, eventually cutting into the tense atmosphere. “And what does he mean ‘preserving our unique power’?”
“We shall have to wait until tomorrow’s Daily Prophet to know for sure.” Kingsley leant forward, elbows resting on his knees. “However, I have heard rumours.”
“Rumours about what?”
“There have been whispers over the past few weeks about wizarding blood being polluted and weakened by Muggle genetics. No doubt, these whispers have been put about by the Death Eaters and their loyalists.”
“Why would they do that?” Artemis asked, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Because, part of Death Eater ideology has always focused on the notion of blood purity. Now that the Death Eaters have control of the Ministry, they will want to put this ideology in place, to create laws that will persecute Muggleborns.”
“No one will support that, though.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Kingsley’s eyebrows raised. “But, many are now concerned. By voicing worries among the right sort of people — the traditionalists, the disenfranchised, those who are easily swayed — that the power of the Wizarding community has been weakened by Muggle blood, there will be enough supporters of these new measures Thicknesse alluded to that they will not face too much backlash, or any.”
Artemis shook her head. The idea was ridiculous. At least half the people she knew had Muggle relatives — she herself had two Muggle grandparents — and not one of them had weaker magic than any pure blooded witch or wizard.
“But how can anyone believe that?”
“People are scared, Tiny,” said Kingsley. “And scared people want to believe in things.”
“Have you heard anything about the exact measures the Ministry are proposing?” asked Mr Weasley, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. Kingsley bowed his head.
“A little. There is talk of a register of sorts.”
“A register for what? Muggleborns?”
“That is what I’ve heard.”
“What’s the point of that?” George asked.
“The same point as the werewolf register,” muttered Remus. “It makes it easier to keep tabs on your activity, it makes it easier for you to be discriminated against. The laws against werewolves mean that employers can decline you for work, landlords can refuse you accommodation, all on the basis of…” He shook his head. “I expect that the register is the first stage. The next will be laws similar to those controlling werewolves, then restricting Muggleborns’ rights further and further, until…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Not even the twins dared finish it for him.
“Okay, so people can just not sign the register, can’t they? Chiara never signed onto the werewolf one,” said Charlie.
“I’m sure there will be punishments in mind for those who do not comply with the legislation.”
“Like what?”
“Well, most of Azkaban’s cells have been empty since the Dementors changed loyalty and allowed all the Death Eaters to escape.”
George’s eyebrows raised. “And now that the Death Eaters are in control of the Ministry, they’re in control of Azkaban…”
“…which means that the Dementors will be back there,” said Fred. “And I doubt that the Death Eaters will care as much about them only using the kiss on people who really deserve it.”
Charlie looked straight at him. “Does anyone really deserve that?”
Everyone fell silent once more at the thought of the Dementor’s kiss, the act of one of the vile creatures sucking out a victim’s soul and leaving their body a hollow, lifeless yet still living shell.
“Thankfully, there is already talk of a network of people helping witches and wizards to leave the country,” said Kingsley. “It will be needed, I think.”
“Do you know where we can find them?” Tonks asked. She looked across at Artemis. “I’m thinking of Ben. Penny, too.”
“Penny isn’t Muggleborn, Tonks.”
“Her dad’s a Muggle, and her mum is Muggleborn. In blood-purists’ eyes, she’s as good as Muggleborn herself. The sooner she gets out, the better.”
Tonks’ eyes flicked towards her own abdomen briefly, and Artemis understood her meaning. It hadn’t been long since Penny had had a baby herself. Tonks was right; now more than ever, Penny needed to get to a place of safety.
“We should make a list right away,” said Bill. “Anyone we know who will definitely be at risk. See if we can get them away as quickly as possible, spread the word subtly to those who need to know.”
“Good idea. I’m all for it.”
“I’m sure that I can help with that,” said Remus.
“What about the people we can’t reach, though?” Artemis frowned. “There are loads of Muggleborns, we don’t know all of them! We should be helping everyone, not just some people, shouldn’t we?”
“Some is better than none, Artemis.”
“Yeah, but even so…” she glared at the wireless radio. “I mean, what about the Muggleborns who aren’t even of age? Some of them won’t even know about all of this, because their parents are Muggles and don’t understand, and then they’ll go back to Hogwarts, because they don’t have a choice but to go back now, and Godric knows what will happen to them once they’re there.”
Again, the room was quiet. Eventually, Remus spoke, in a tired-sounding voice.
“There’s only so much we can do,” he told her.
“But we aren’t doing anything!”
“We are doing what we can.”
Artemis bristled at the finality in his voice. How could he be final, when things were only just beginning?
“No, we’re sitting here talking and eating biscuits and saying it’s all so sad, writing a list of people we care about when there are so many others who need helping who we don’t even know.”
Her voice grew louder with each word she spoke, but beside her, Kingsley’s was soft. He looked at her with a peculiar sort of curiosity in his brown eyes.
“So, Artemis, what would you have us do?”
“I dunno. Anything.” Artemis threw her hands in the air. “Go back and fight the Death Eaters and get the Ministry back before they can hurt anyone.”
“We don’t have enough people for that,” said Mr Weasley. He exchanged weary looks with his wife. “Sadly.”
“Fine. Then we can steal the register from the Ministry and destroy it before they can use it. Or we could break into the Hogwarts Express, hijack it on the way up to Hogwarts and take all Muggleborns with us.”
“That would be far too risky.”
“So what? It’s a war, everything is risky!” When no one responded, Artemis exhaled. “You’re supposed to be the resistance. You should be resisting.”
“We aren’t a resistance, we are an Order. We—”
“Follow orders? Orders from who? Dumbledore’s dead, remember!”
It was the wrong thing to say, she knew as soon as she said it, could read it on the faces of everyone else in the room. Slowly, Remus sighed, as if he were about to talk to a petulant child rather than a full grown adult.
“We are low enough in numbers as it is, and half of us need to maintain a front of loyalty to the Ministry. We can’t risk a high profile stunt like hijacking the Hogwarts Express. And even if we managed to get them off the train, the Death Eaters would be onto us before we could get them anywhere. It would be a fruitless exercise.”
“It’s not fruitless. They’re children, for Godric’s sake!”
“Exactly. Think about it, Artemis,” said Remus. “We get them out, the Death Eaters get to us. The Death Eaters attack, and how will these children defend themselves? We would only be placing them in danger.”
“They’re already in danger.” When Remus did not reply, Artemis sighed angrily. “So what, you want to just leave them there with the Dementors?”
“I think that it is the only realistic option we have given the situation as it is at the moment.”
“And what if it was your child? Would you be happy to leave them? Or would they be on your little list you’re writing of people that you think are worth saving?”
Remus said nothing, just closed his. Artemis narrowed her eyes at him.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. Her voice was no longer near-shout, but a dangerously low whisper. Behind her, a table lamp had started to flicker. “Some father you’re shaping up to be.”
Her words must have hit Remus where it hurt, because his grey eyes were wide as they opened and a look of wounded fear crossed his lined face. Beside him, Tonks bristled, both her hair and expression growing dark, and she opened her mouth as if to speak. Before she could say anything, however, the Weasley twins had climbed onto their feet, each with an arm linked with one of Artemis’ own, and lifted her onto her feet.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Taking you outside.”
“You need some air.”
The twins carried a writhing and squirming Artemis out into the garden outside, and unceremoniously dropped her onto the front step.
“What was that for?” she asked, glowering at them with her arms crossed.
“This is hard enough without you causing an argument,” said Fred. “Or blowing up mum’s favourite lamp.”
“She’s had a hard enough time with Percy still not talking to any of us,” George explained. “Having you and Tonks fall out in the living room might be the last straw.”
“I wasn’t falling out with Tonks.”
“You were about to.”
“Until we put you here.”
“On the naughty step.”
“The what?”
“It’s where mum used to put us when she wanted us to think about our actions,” said George. “We had to stay here for one minute for every year of our age.”
“And if you try to leave, the timer starts again.”
Artemis stared up at them. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Nope. Serious.” Fred conjured an hourglass from thin air. “See you in a few minutes, Artemis.”
“Twenty four minutes, to be precise.”
With that, the twins returned inside, leaving Artemis still seething on the front step. She exhaled loudly, and pointed her wand at a nearby gnomehill.
“Bombarda,” she muttered, and the gnomehill exploded. She pointed her wand at another gnomehill. “Bombarda maxima.”
Having repeated the process until she had blown up a total of eleven gnomehills, Artemis felt somewhat calmer, less frustrated, but still angry. However, it was no longer Remus her anger was directed at, but the new Ministry itself. Who were they to decide who was a true witch or wizard, and who wasn’t? Who were they to create laws to persecute anyone they didn’t feel was worthy? Who were they to use people’s fear to turn them against each other? Who was anyone to do those things?
The door opened behind her, and she turned to see Tonks in the doorway. Her hair had lightened once more, and her features had softened. Artemis offered her a thin smile.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” replied Tonks. She frowned. “Why are you sitting on the step?”
“I’m meant to be thinking about my actions.”
“For twenty minutes?”
“It was the twins’ idea.”
“Right.” Tonks nodded and sat down beside Artemis, who wriggled sideways to make room for her. “So, everyone knows I’m pregnant now.”
“I’m sorry,” Artemis said.
“Thats alright, I’ve been wanting to tell everyone for weeks.”
“Yeah, well. I sorry for shouting at Remus, too. And for telling him he wouldn’t be a good dad. I didn’t mean that, I just—”
“I know.”
“So, you’re not angry?”
“I’m livid, but not with you. Well, sort of with you, but” — Tonks shook her head — “I don’t want to be. I mean, that’s what they want, isn’t it? To make us fight each other and not them?”
“I guess.”
“The way I see it, us arguing and falling out… Well, that’s them winning, isn’t it? So, yes, I’m angry, but I’m less angry with you than the rest of the world.”
“Me too,” said Artemis. She pulled her knees into her chest and rested her chin on top of them. “Is the world getting worse, do you think, or did we just not realise how bad it was before?”
“I dunno. Never really thought about it like that. Bit of both, maybe.”
“Do you think it’ll ever get better?”
This time, Tonks was far more certain of her answer.
“Yes,” she said, simply. Artemis looked at her and she shrugged. “It has to.”
“Why does it have to?”
“Because no baby of mine is going to grow up in the world the way it is right now. It has to get better, so it will. We’ll make sure of it.”
Artemis was not sure who Tonks meant by ‘we’, but she nodded her head as if she understood. Tonks elbowed her gently before hoisting herself up to standing.
“I’d better be off. Remus really wants to leave.”
“Because of—”
“Yeah, but don’t… There’s no hard feelings, okay? I just wanted to make sure you knew that before we left.”
Tonks gave her an awkward and almost nervous looking smile, and then, she left. Artemis was once more alone on the Weasleys’ kitchen step. Inside the house she heard the sound of farewell greetings, and then the house grew as quiet as the Burrow ever was. She was filled with less rage than before, but she was still restless. Something had to be done, by someone. But if not even the Order of the Phoenix was willing to do what was needed, then…
The sand stopped falling through Fred’s hourglass. It was time for her to go back inside. She did so to find the kitchen empty, aside from Mrs Weasley, who was washing dishes by hand, rather than with magic. Artemis bit her lip.
“Do you want any help, Molly?” she asked, and Mrs Weasley nodded her head. Artemis joined her by the sink and began to dry the clean dishes with a tea towel.
The silence between them was tense, and Artemis felt herself stiffen with each plate and teacup she dried. Beside her, she could feel Molly bristling with frustration and the desire to speak, presumably to tell her off. Eventually, Artemis decided to speak up.
“Molly, about earlier... I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that and said all those things.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mrs Weasley shook her head, her eyes fixed on the view from the kitchen window. “But you were right.”
“I… Wait, what?”
“What they’re planning on doing, all those poor little children. They might not be mine, but they are still children. They’re all somebody’s children.” For the first time since Artemis had returned to the kitchen, Molly looked directly at her. “Someone has to do something to help.”
“They will,” said Artemis. She considered it for a moment. “I will.”
Who else, if not her? She was not part of the Order, she did not have to obey their rules. She could act. And she would. She looked Molly in the eye, and told her in an unwavering voice:
Summary: Artemis heads to the Ministry Headquarters to find out what happened the night before. Ellie Hopper belongs to the wonderful @thatravenpuffwitch.
Warnings: mentions of death, violence, political corruption, coercive control.
A message had appeared in Artemis’ burgundy notebook in the early hours of the morning, the blue ink etching itself across the first blank page in Charlie’s familiar handwriting.
They’ve gone now. No one was hurt, they just asked a load of questions then left. Pretty sure they’re watching the house though, so write here before you come over or anything.
Artemis had still been awake, unable to let sleep take her until she received word from her friends. She breathed as she read Charlie’s message, but did not reply immediately. After a few moments, he wrote again.
Hope you’re alright.
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. She wasn’t the one who had been interrogated for hours. Still, she picked up her quill to respond.
I’m fine. Good that you are, too. Write properly tomorrow?
Course. Night, mate.
But even with the reassurance of Charlie’s message and the notebook closed, Artemis remained restless. Eventually, she gave up on the idea of sleep at all. After helping herself to some coffee — black and sugared — from the Three Broomsticks’ kitchen and leaving a note to thank Madam Rosmerta for the use of her old room, she returned to London. First, to Lovelace Crescent, then after finding there too to be too stifled and quiet, to the Ministry Headquarters in Whitehall.
There was a strange sort of hush when she arrived at the workers’ entrance, even considering that it was early and a Saturday. Perhaps it was her imagination, but those present seemed quieter than usual, their heads carried low as if they did not wish — or did not dare — to make eye contact with others. Did they know that the Ministry was now under the control of Death Eaters? Did they believe it? Artemis wasn’t sure that she believed it herself, not entirely. It was unfathomable, impossible, and yet…
She entered the Atrium via one of the fireplaces lining its tiled walls, and her face fell.
A group of wizards and witches in Ministry robes were gathered in the middle of the hall, wands pointed at the large central fountain. With each spell they cast, a part of one of its golden statues broke apart, sloughing away and hitting the floor below with a deafening thud that echoed around the whole chamber.
The Fountain of Magical Brethren had been the thing that caught Artemis’ attention the first time she had been to the Ministry of Magic. She’d been captivated by it, the way the water and the gold caught in the light. Admittedly, the statues were a little gormless looking on closer inspection, but even so, she would not have had the fountain destroyed. Her eyes widened as she watched the workers dismantling the statues, her stunned disbelief and dread growing with each step she took towards them. As one witch aimed a spell at the golden arm of the centaur and broke it off cleanly at the elbow, she felt the stinging prick of tears.
She was not the only one whose eyes were dewy as they watched the decimation. A few feet away, her colleague Ellie Hopper was also staring at the fountain, front teeth grazing her lower lip and a look of baffled resignation on her face. She offered Artemis a brief, wan smile as she approached her.
“Looks like it’s really true, doesn’t it?” she murmured under her breath. “I’m guessing you came to see if it was true for yourself, too.”
Artemis nodded. “Do you know what happened last night?”
“Sort of. My grandfather was here when it happened. A load of Death Eaters came into the Ministry late evening. Ones that broke out from Azkaban last year when the Dementors changed loyalty; Lestrange, Malloy, the lot of them. They attacked everyone in the Atrium, and marched right up to Scrimgeour’s office.”
”Is he—”
“Dead.” Ellie shook her head sadly, her honey-coloured curls tumbling around her shoulders while her tears did not fall from her eyes. “Granddad, Kingsley, Proudfoot, and Savage were all on duty, and they all fought against them, and so did a bunch of others who’d been working late in the offices, but apparently all their spells kept getting deflected.”
”By the Death Eaters?”
“No, that’s where it gets really awful. The spells were being deflected by people supposed to be on our side. That allowed the Death Eaters to get away, and then Thicknesse and a few other heads of departments started making orders. That was when Granddad said they’d known for sure that it all must have been set up, that the Death Eaters had planted people ready for a coup, Thicknesse included.”
Artemis could have cursed herself. Jacob had told her this was coming. She should have warned Kingsley right away.
Ellie continued, “Granddad managed to cover Kingsley so he could get a warning out. Just as well, really, because after that they started calling in the Obliviators.”
“Obliviators?” Artemis’ jaw dropped as Ellie nodded grimly.
”Any witnesses who didn’t have the good sense to get away quickly think that Thicknesse and a couple of his colleagues saw off the Death Eaters before any real harm could come to anyone, and the Prophet this morning has called for Scrimgeour’s resignation. Shameful security lapse on his watch, you know what Rita Skeeter’s like. There’s going to be an announcement tonight on the WWN about Thicknesse taking over as acting Minister for Magic. Only until there’s an official election, but you can guess what will happen once people start voting. As far as most people know, Thicknesse fought bravely against You-Know-Who’s lot, and who knows how many have been turned to the other side?”
Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Artemis had to try not to turn her head to look around at the other people in the Atrium. She kept her eyes on the fountain, and the group dismantling it. Sure enough, two of them had a strange vagueness to them when she looked into their eyes, as if she were looking at them through a pool of water. She hadn’t known why at the time, but it was how she’d felt each time she saw Madam Rosmerta the previous year. And Thicknesse the previous night, too, he’d had that very same look to him, she realised what it was now. They were under the Imperius Curse, all of them.
”Thicknesse turned up last night, at the wedding,” whispered Artemis, and she told Ellie under her breath about how the evening had come to its rapid end. “I think your father-in-law was with them, the Ministry officials.”
Ellie didn’t look surprised in the slightest. “Well, he never did admit to being a Death Eater, but…” She sighed. “I had this feeling he was up to something. He’s been sending owls ever since the wedding, telling Barnaby he’s made a mistake marrying into a blood traitor family. Presumably he knew what was coming. I should’ve said something to Granddad.”
”My brother said he thought You-Know-Who’s supporters had something big planned. I thought it was just Jacob being Jacob, trying to act like he’s cleverer than everyone else. I should have said something, too. But I just didn’t believe him.”
Or maybe she simply hadn’t wanted to believe. Maybe it was the same thing.
“Why are they destroying the statue, anyway?” Artemis asked. “What’s that got to do with all of this?”
“Apparently it was damaged in the battle last night.”
”So, they’re damaging it even more?”
”They’re replacing it,” said Ellie. “They want something to show the strength of the Wizarding community in the face of a war. I heard one of them saying that it’s about time we tore down the old one, that centaurs and goblins and house-elves are not fit to be on the same standing as wizards. That it’s demeaning.”
She scowled at the closest wizard to them, his wand once more brandished at the fountain. The centaur was now lying in scattered pieces on the tiled floor of the atrium, along with the remnants of what used to be the goblin and house-elf. Only the wizard was still upright.
Artemis swallowed hard. All together, the witches and wizards turned their attention to the last remaining statue. The light from their wands reflected on the shining surface before their spells hit it, causing cracks to split through the gold, which broke apart and fell down in pieces. The wizard’s head was the last piece to hit the ground below. The sound of it echoed through the atrium, resonating in Artemis’ ears as the wizard’s gold eyes stared blankly up at the starry ceiling above.
Summary: The wedding is crashed, and the fight begins. Artemis goes to an old friend for support.
Warnings: violence, mild threat.
“They are coming.”
Kingsley’s lynx Patronus disappeared, and for a moment, everything was silent. Then, someone screamed, and the marquee was filled with noise and movement once more.
Guests ran in all directions, they pushed against each other and reached for each other. There were cries and shouts as people looked for their loved ones in the chaos, and several loud cracks as many Disapparated away. More of the same noises came from outside the marquee, and from the darkness, half a dozen figures emerged, cloaked and masked. Death Eaters.
Only three years before, another night of celebration had come to a violent end when the Death Eaters rampaged through the campsite at the Quidditch World Cup. Artemis had been there, with Tonks and Penny and Chiara, she could still remember the fear on Penny’s face, the tears in her eyes. She could still feel the tug of panic when the girls had become separated, the horror as the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, and the injustice that it all had spoiled a night that was supposed to be fun and carefree.
She was not going to let them ruin Bill’s wedding.
Charlie was still at her side, they had not become separated. His arm brushed against hers as they both drew their wands and pointed them at the nearest approaching Death Eater.
“Expulso!”
“Protego!”
Artemis’ curse hit the Death Eater in the chest, blasting them backwards into the garden with a jet of blue light. The Death Eater’s own spell bounced off Charlie’s shield charm, hovering in the air in front of him and Artemis. He was not the only one to cast the charm, all the remaining guests were casting every protective enchantment under the sun.
“My family,” said Charlie, his eyes lost as he looked around the crowd. Artemis touched his elbow.
“Go. I’ll take care of that one.”
The Death Eater she’d blasted into the garden was back on their feet, but Artemis’ wand was already raised, her feet positioned ready for combat. As Charlie lowered his arm and ran towards his sister, she vollied a series of spells at the Death Eater. Weakening Hex, Stunning Spell, Tempest Jinx, Reductor Curse, Confundus, Body-Bind, Knockback.
And she was forcing them back, her opponent, as were so many others. The Death Eaters had started the fight, but the wedding guests were winning it. Flashes and jets of spell-light — red, purple, white, blue, even green — lit up the darkness, again and again, until eventually, the masked figures gave up and disappeared into the night.
But any relief at their leaving was short lived. Mere moments after the Death Eaters vanished, another handful of witches and wizards appeared in the Weasleys’ orchard, surrounding its four sides. This time, however, the newcomers did not wear masks. They wore Ministry robes.
“Impedimenta!” Artemis shouted, pointing her wand at the nearest one. “Bombarda!”
But though her Impediment Jinx slowed one Ministry wizard, her second spell only served to blow a hole in the canvas canopy overhead, as someone grabbed hold of her wrist and forced her wand skywards.
“What did you do that for?” Artemis asked Bill, who quickly let go of her arm.
“Defensive spells only,” Bill told her, rolling up his sleeves. Around them, others were raising their own wands, readying for another fight. “Let’s not cause ourselves any more trouble than we need to.”
“But the Ministry—”
“As far as we are meant to know, the Ministry is still on our side.”
He was right. They couldn’t break Kingsley’s cover. Artemis withdrew her wand only slightly, but kept her feet in a duelling stance, just in case.
Yet another three wizards arrived, two dressed in Auror uniforms, each flanking a third in smart office robes. He had long black hair and a beard streaked with silver, and a dimness in his eyes that didn’t match his upright comportment. Artemis frowned. Something about him was familiar, aside from the fact that she recognised him from the Ministry offices. As he approached the marquee, Bill and Charlie’s dad definitely recognised him, for he stepped forward with his hands raised at the level of his shoulders.
“That’s enough, everyone!” Mr Weasley called out, a forced smile plastered on his face. The newcomer also smiled, a cold smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “By Jove, Thicknesse. You gave us quite the fright there. We thought we were still under siege.”
“Thicknesse?” Artemis whispered to Bill. “But he’s the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. He of all people shouldn’t be working with…”
“Mr Thicknesse,” said Bill, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I am sorry about our poor welcome. Like my father said, you gave us a fright. I assume you’re here because of the Death Eaters?”
“No.”
“Oh, right.” Bill let out a soft laugh. “In that case, I must ask why you are here. We were told that our protective enchantments would be enough to see off any welcome guests. My new wife is incredibly upset.”
He nodded his head in the direction of Fleur, who looked far less upset than she did livid, her face contorted into an expression of unadulterated contempt as she glared at the nearest Ministry official.
“My apologies,” said Thicknesse, still smiling his cold smile. “We are aware of the Death Eater threat, of course, but tonight we are here because new evidence has come to light regarding a certain… undesirable individual.”
“Ah. And who might that be?”
“Harry Potter.”
Whispers echoed across the marquee as the remaining guests repeated the name.
“He is wanted for questioning regarding the murder of Albus Dumbledore,” continued Thicknesse, over the sound of the guests’ whispers growing louder and more fervent.
Mrs Weasley stepped forward, one finger raised angrily at him. “Harry would never—”
“Well, I’m sure that Mr Potter would be more than obliging to answer your questions, Mr Thicknesse,” Mr Weasley said, one hand on his wife’s shoulders. “But unfortunately, you’ve come to the wrong place if you’re looking to find him. We haven’t seen or heard from Harry in… Why, it must be months. Not since Dumbledore’s funeral, at least.”
“He isn’t here, then?”
“Heavens, no! What on earth would Harry Potter be doing at a wedding?”
Artemis frowned as she looked at Mr Weasley. He was right, of course, she had been here all day without seeing anyone who looked even remotely like Harry Potter. But there was something in the way that Mr Weasley shuffled on his feet, his fingers gripped tighter on Mrs Weasley’s upper arm, his eyes widened fractionally behind his glasses… If Artemis hadn’t known otherwise, she would have sworn that he was lying. She turned to look at Charlie, who was holding his sister Ginny’s hand tightly, and as they made eye contact, he gave her an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
Thicknesse also seemed to think that Mr Weasley was not being entirely truthful.
“In that case,” he drawled, “you won’t mind if my colleagues conduct some interviews and a search of your house.”
“Do you have a warrant?” Artemis asked, before she could stop herself. Every pair of eyes in the marquee rested on her. “I’m a trainee Auror. You need to have a warrant if you want to search—”
“By all means, you can search the house. I shall be more than happy to show you around myself,” said Mr Weasley. “But please take care in the attic. My youngest son is unfortunately suffering from a bad case of Spattergroit.”
The two Aurors flanking Thicknesse shared nervous and disgusted glances, and Thicknesse sighed heavily.
“Very well,” he said. “We shall conduct a search of the house, and leave the rest of you to interview the guests. After you, Mr Weasley.”
Mr Weasley squeezed his wife’s shoulder and lit his wand before leading Pius Thicknesse and the two Aurors across the orchard in the direction of the house. As he left, Bill leaned down to whisper something to his mother, who nodded tearfully.
The other Ministry officials entered the marquee. The wizard Artemis had aimed her Impediment jinx at approached her, revealing himself to be middle-aged, with greying brown hair, high cheekbones, and sceptical looking eyes of the deepest grassy green. Artemis’ own eyes widened as she looked at him. She knew this wizard, too — or, at least, she knew of him. The only person she had ever met with eyes that shade of green was her friend Barnaby Lee.
“Your name?” asked the wizard who had to be Barnaby’s father.
“Artemis Hexley.”
Mr Lee did not react, a fact which did not surprise Artemis in the slightest. She would have been surprised if Barnaby had mentioned any of his friends to his father.
“And you’re an Auror, you say?”
“Not yet. I’ve just finished my first year of training,” said Artemis. “My mentor is Kingsley Shacklebolt.” Mr Lee still did not react, so she added, “And I’ve been partnered with Ellie Hopper.”
Barnaby’s father narrowed his eyes slightly as he recognised the name. As well he might, Artemis thought to herself. She would have been very surprised indeed if Mr Lee had not reacted to her mentioning his own daughter-in-law, even if he was now estranged from his son.
“And why are you here tonight, Miss Hexley?” he asked.
“It’s a wedding.”
“Are you here as a guest of the bride or groom?”
“The groom. I went to school with Bill and his brother Charlie. And then I worked with Bill as a Curse-Breaker for a few years after leaving school. He’s like a brother to me.”
“So you know the Weasley family well, do you?” asked Mr Lee, a question which Artemis answered with a definite nod of the head. “And have you ever interacted with Harry Potter in the course of your friendship with the family?”
“No.”
“Was Harry Potter here tonight?”
“No,” Artemis said. She tried to push the look in Mr Weasley’s eyes as he had spoken to Thicknesse and Charlie’s furtive head-shake out of her mind. “Not as far as I’m aware, anyway. And it’s not like he’d be easy to miss, is it? He’s got that great big scar on his face, after all.”
Barnaby’s father narrowed his eyes at Artemis, as if trying to tell whether she was lying or not. Though his eyes were the same colour as his son’s, they lacked all of Barnaby’s compassion. Instead they were filled with menace.
“If Harry Potter was here tonight, I didn’t see him,” she said, completely honestly. Apparently, her answer satisfied Mr Lee, who made a low humming noise and moved on to question another guest.
Artemis walked away from him and across the marquee, past Bill eyeing his new wife nervously as she loudly and angrily berated the wizard attempting to question them in a mixture of colourful French and English; Aunt Muriel was interrupting another guest’s interrogation to inform anyone who could hear her that if anyone was going to know whether or not Harry Potter had been in attendance, it was her; and a ditsy-looking girl with dirty blonde hair and protruding eyes who was suggesting that perhaps Harry Potter had been there, but no one could remember him being there because Wrackspurts were affecting their short-term memories. Further away, a Ministry witch had just finished questioning Charlie and his sister Ginny, who was gripping his palm, both her face and knuckles ash-white.
“Charlie, what’s going on?” Artemis asked him, her hand already reaching out to touch Ginny’s shoulder. “Why are they asking about—”
“Not here. Not now,” Charlie said shortly. Ginny closed her eyes tightly, and he glanced over her head before mouthing to Artemis: “I’ll tell you later.”
“The wizard questioning me,” Artemis said as Ginny opened her eyes again. “I think he was Barnaby’s dad.”
“Makes sense.”
“Hardly. He works in the Department of Magical Artefacts, not Law Enforcement.”
“No, but he’s always been a supporter of… well…”
“Do you think—”
But before Artemis could ask Charlie what he thought, because Mr Weasley and Thicknesse had returned to the marquee. Thicknesse muttered something to Barnaby’s father, before nodding his head curtly and speaking aloud.
“Thank you all for your co-operation. You will all be relieved to know that the suspect in question has not been located on these premises.”
“I could have told you as much,” said Aunt Muriel. “And I did, did I not? Excuse me, young man, I believe that I just asked you a question.”
Thicknesse ignored Muriel as he continued, “This gathering has now been disbanded by order of the Ministry of Magic. All guests are to return home immediately. Close family members of the homeowners are to remain here for further questioning.”
The remaining guests did not need to be told twice. Loud cracks echoed through the night air as one by one, they disapparated to leave only the Weasley family in the marquee.
And Artemis, of course.
“Artie.” Charlie’s voice was low as he leant closer to her. “You need to go. You heard them.”
“Yeah, they said they want to interview—”
“The family,” he said simply. Artemis swallowed hard and Charlie looked at her apologetically. “Think about it, Artemis. They don’t know you, and have no reason to suspect you of anything. You aren’t in the Order, you’ve never met Harry Potter. You have no reason to be here.”
“Yes, I do!”
“Not right now, you don’t.”
Artemis blinked and looked away from Charlie, her eyes drifting across the marquee. She caught Bill’s eye, and he gave her an urgent look and pointed outside. He wanted her to leave, too.
“We need people to write to Kingsley and anyone else who might need to know, tell them what’s happened,” Charlie whispered to her, removing his smart jacket and placing it over her shoulders. “They’ll be worried. You need to let them know we’re all safe.”
“But you’re not.”
“We’ll be alright. Please, Artemis.”
The look in Charlie’s eyes was earnest and frightened. Reluctantly, Artemis nodded. She took one last look back at the rest of the Weasleys, all huddled together, before stepping backwards and summoning her shoes. She apparated directly into the living room of her house in Lovelace Crescent, which was dark and silent, as always. She was alone. Completely alone.
Except for Fergus, that was. The sound of him purring alerted her to his presence, and she scooped him up into her arms, burying her face into his marmalade-coloured fur.
“Come on, Ferg,” she said. “We need to let everyone know what’s happened.”
She found a quill and inkpot resting on top of a burgundy notebook and hastily wrote a letter, which she used her wand to duplicate. Not only one for Kingsley, but for all the people she trusted to be on their side: Penny and Chiara, Ben Copper and Merula Snyde, Barnaby Lee. Tulip Karasu, Andre Egwu, Badeea and Chester Davies. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout.
Not having an owl herself, she stuffed the letters and notebook into one of the pockets of Charlie’s jacket, picked up both Fergus and a handful of powder from a pot on the mantelpiece, and stepped into the fireplace. “The Three Broomsticks,” she said, dropping the powder into the hearth.
A second later she found herself in a large inn, empty except for a blonde haired witch cleaning a number of empty glasses behind the bar.
“Rosmerta.”
Madam Rosmerta jumped at the sound of Artemis’ voice, but softened as she turned around to look at her. There were dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there a year previously, and the hand holding her wand trembled slightly.
“Artemis, love,” she said, lowering her wand. “You made me jump.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Artemis apologetically.
Poor Rosmerta. A Death Eater had placed her under the Imperius Curse for the better part of the last year. The curse had been lifted, but still, she was skittish and defensive, and the Three Broomsticks’ clientele had diminished. Artemis hadn’t yet managed to track down the Death Eater who’d done this to her beloved Madam Rosmerta, the woman who on multiple occasions had taken her in when she’d had nowhere else to go. Oh, but when she did…
“Why aren’t you at the wedding?” Rosmerta asked her, stepping out from behind the bar. Artemis unclenched her fists.
“Something’s happened, Ros. Something bad.”
Without even batting an eyelid, Ros summoned a pair of glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the shelves behind her.
“Want to talk about it, love?”
“Can I borrow your owl first?”
With the letters on their way, and two freshly poured glasses of whiskey and a ginger cat sitting on the bar, Artemis told Rosmerta about Kingsley’s Patronus, the fallen ministry and the Death Eaters invading the wedding and searching the Weasleys’ home.
“I wanted to stay with them,” Artemis said. “But Charlie told me I should leave because I’m not one of the family and someone needed to let Tonks know we were okay.”
Rosmerta smiled gently. “Sensible boy.”
“And now I’ve done that, I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back in case the Death Eaters or the Ministry are still there, but I don’t really want to sit in my house twiddling my thumbs, either.”
“You can stay here.”
“Really?” Artemis asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Really. Strangely enough, not many people want to take rooms here at the moment.”
They were the only ones in the whole bar. It was late, but not so late that The Three Broomsticks should have been so completely empty, so quiet and dull. She’d never known it to be like this. Even that Christmas after Rowan died, the inn had been warm and bright and bustling. The war had ruined that, as well as the wedding, and everything else. Artemis sighed.
“Why did everything suddenly have to get so hard?”
Madam Rosmerta tapped her hand. Though she smiled, her eyes were filled with sadness.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, love, but they’re about to get a whole lot harder.”
Summary: One of the guests reminds Artemis of someone she used to know, and her Legilimency gets her into trouble.
Warnings: mentions of death and grief.
The day gave way to evening then night, the festivities growing raucous as the sky darkened above the marquee. The light and noise was too great to be contained by its canvas, and spilled out into the orchard outside.
As one song ended and another began, Artemis slipped away from the dancefloor, crossing paths with one of the Weasley twins as he led a pretty silver-haired girl out into the garden. At a table nearby, Charlie was singing Odo the Hero with an inebriated Hagrid, and at another, Molly’s aunt Muriel had cornered her latest victims: an older wizard and a teenage boy with hair so red he could only be one of the Weasleys’ many cousins. She ignored them all, and headed to the bar, where a tray filled with Butterbeer was waiting for her.
“Grab me one, will you?” said a voice from behind her. The voice alone made her smile, and she did as instructed.
“I hear it’s thirsty work, this getting married,” she said, as she picked up two bottles and passed one to the wizard at her side. “Cheers to the groom.”
“Cheers to me, indeed. Godric, I think I might be the luckiest man in the world.”
Taking a sip from the bottle, Bill’s smile was as broad as it had been all day. It brightened his features to the point that his recent scars were barely noticeable. He looked just as handsome as he always had, ever since Artemis had first met him when she was twelve years old.
“So, what happened to you this morning, anyway?” he asked, once he’d taken a swig. “I thought you were coming down early this morning with Charlie and Tonks.”
“That was the plan, but I got held up.”
“Let me guess, you lost track of the time? Or did you go off on some harebrained adventure?”
“I don’t do anything harebrained,” Artemis said indignantly. Bill raised a single eyebrow at her. “Well, I don’t anymore.”
“And was that how you lost the bottom half of your dress?”
Artemis hit a laughing Bill with the back of her hand. “Hey! It’s not that short!”
“Well, we all missed you. Especially Charlie. Have you seen what Mum did to his hair in your absence?”
Bill nodded his head at Charlie’s cropped hair. Of course, that could only have been Mrs Weasley’s handiwork. Artemis sighed heavily.
“Couldn’t be helped. I had an unexpected guest turn up in my sitting room.”
“Who?”
“Who else has keys to my house?”
“Jacob.” With one word, Bill’s tone turned dark, and his smile finally slipped. He shook his head. “What the hell did he want?”
“To lecture me about keeping safe, mainly. Oh, and to let me know he’s going to be helping with the war efforts.”
“Oh, Godric. What’s his plan? I expect he’s been scheming meticulously.”
There was no love lost between Bill Weasley and Jacob Hexley. Bill mistrusted Artemis’ brother even more than she did.
“He’s going to try and join Death Eater ranks and act as a spy.”
Bill’s eyebrows shot upwards. “He what? But that’s—”
“Insane, I know.”
“And do you believe him? You don’t think he’s joined the other side and is playing you, do you?”
Artemis shook her head. “No.”
“Because — and don’t take this the wrong way — but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like that, would it?”
“No. No, I know that, too.” How could she not? “But he was telling the truth this time, I could tell.”
Though Bill said nothing, Artemis could tell what he was thinking. She wasn’t even certain she was using her Legilimency. She looked up at him.
“He also said they’re planning something big. And soon.”
“Did he say what, or when?” Bill asked. Artemis shook her head. “If he’s planning on being a spy, it would be useful if he’d give us more solid information rather than cryptic warnings.”
“I’ll tell him if he turns up again.”
“Might be worth talking to Kingsley, see if he can get any information. No one knows he’s in the Order. Would you be able to have a word?”
“Fine. I’ll ask him on Monday,” said Artemis. She took a breath. “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“Well, it’s your wedding day, and I’m here ruining it with stuff about my brother and the war.”
“It would take more than a war to ruin my day, don’t you worry about that.” Bill cast a glance over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “Maybe don’t mention it to Fleur, though.”
“I won’t.”
Bill ruffled Artemis’ hair and walked away in the direction of his bride, his face once more filled with joy. Less joyous having talked about her brother, and the balls of her feet starting to ache, Artemis took a seat at a nearby table and removed her shoes. As she rubbed her arches, she noticed a witch approaching her.
She had seen the witch earlier in the day, laughing at a joke Fred had been telling her as the ceremony was about to begin. Now that she was closer, she could see that the witch was a few years younger and a few inches taller than her — but then, most people were — with bushy brown hair, intelligent-looking brown eyes, and a slight rounding to her shoulders, as if she were used to sitting hunched over a desk to write or carrying a heavy bag of books on her back. Artemis swallowed. The girl reminded her more than slightly of…
“Excuse me,” the girl said, interrupting Artemis’ thoughts. Her voice was clipped and almost bossy-sounding. “You’re Artemis Hexley, aren’t you?”
Artemis kept her eyes on her as she nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m Hermione Granger. I’m Ron’s… I’m a friend of Ron’s.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I don’t mean to bother you,” said Hermione Granger, taking a seat in the chair next to Artemis. “But Ron said that you’re a Seeker.”
“Not really.” Artemis frowned. “I mean, I played Seeker for a bit when I was at school, but that was a while ago.”
“Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling me about” — Hermione leaned in slightly and lowered her voice to almost a whisper — “Snitches?”
“They’re small and gold, and they have wings,” Artemis told her. “They’re really fast, so they’re hard to catch.”
Hermione blinked before speaking again. “And what do you know about flesh memory?”
“I know that they have it. I don’t know much more than that.”
She looked disappointed by this answer. Artemis was unsure why she cared so much.
“You know,” she said, “Viktor Krum is here tonight. He’s a professional Seeker, so he might know if you ask him.”
Viktor Krum was standing near the bar, where Artemis had been not so long ago, watching the guests on the dancefloor. Across the other side of the tent, Ron Weasley was glaring at him sullenly. Hermione looked between the two of them, a resigned and apprehensive expression on her face.
“Fine, so not Krum,” Artemis backtracked. “What about Charlie? He was a Seeker, too. He was much better at it than I was, as well. Just don’t tell him I said that.”
Artemis nodded her head in Charlie’s direction, and found herself immediately making eye contact with him. Charlie frowned slightly before standing up, patting Hagrid on the back, and making his way over.
“You alright?” he asked as he drew closer to them.
“Yeah. This is Hermione, Ron’s” — Artemis looked between Hermione and Charlie’s youngest brother — “friend, sort of.”
“We’ve met.”
”Oh. Well, she was just asking me if I knew anything about Snitches and flesh memory. I said she’d be better off asking you.”
“Why do you want to know about flesh memory?” Charlie asked Hermione, who gave Artemis a cautious look. Charlie smiled. “Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of Artemis. I promise.”
“Okay,” said Hermione, still eyeing Artemis dubiously. “So, it’s about Dumbledore’s will. He left some things to the three of us when he died. Peculiar things. Like a Golden Snitch.”
Artemis’ nose wrinkled. “Why would anyone leave someone a Snitch in their will?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. The Snitch was one Harry caught in a game of Quidditch, so I thought it might be something to do with the fact that Snitches have flesh memory, because I read about that in a book once. I was thinking that it could have been enchanted to reveal something only the person it remembered could access...”
“Makes sense.” Charlie nodded. “I’ve heard about people putting things inside Snitches before. I know a bloke who proposed by putting the ring inside a Snitch.”
“That’s very sweet,” said Hermione, “but when Harry touched the Snitch, it did nothing.”
“Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the flesh memory, then.”
“I’m not so sure. It was Dumbledore, leaving it for Harry. It has to have some sort of deeper significance, I’m certain of it. Might it be that there could be a way in which the flesh memory could utilised so that only the person who caught the Snitch would be able to access something from it, but do so without having to physically touch the Snitch?”
Charlie made a low humming noise. “Honestly, mate, I’m not sure. Artemis, do you still have the Snitch I gave you in our seventh year?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, so I’m back until the end of the month. If you like, I can have a fiddle around with an old Snitch and see if I can figure anything out for you?”
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Would you?”
“Of course. Like you said, it’s Dumbledore and Harry, so it’s bound to be important,” said Charlie. He turned to Artemis. “I mean, you don’t mind, do you?”
“No. I can help, if you want.”
“That settles it then.” Charlie shrugged. “Anyway, Hermione, I actually came over to see if Artie wanted to dance.”
He held out his hand to Artemis, who took it, feeling relieved to be leaving the table. Her shoes remained on top of it as Charlie led her back barefoot towards the dancefloor, waiting until they were out of Hermione’s hearing before asking her in a low voice:
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
“Nothing, it’s just… Never mind.”
“No, why?”
Charlie said nothing, but his eyes drifted back towards Hermione, who had gone to speak with the red-haired Weasley cousin Artemis didn’t recognise. She sighed.
“You noticed, too.”
“Hermione’s visited a few times before. I noticed a while ago.”
Artemis’ heart was heavy in her chest. She pulled her own gaze back to meet Charlie’s own.
“I couldn’t put my finger on it, she just reminded me of her. Her eyes, or the way she walked or something.”
“It’s the way she talks, too.” Charlie smiled sadly. “She’s a lot like her. Very academic and hardworking. Really clever — not just with books, but with people as well.”
“That does sound like her,” said Artemis. “Like Rowan.”
Rowan had been, and still was, the cleverest person Artemis had ever met, both with books and with people. She was bright and she was brilliant, she was academic and infinitely curious and the best friend anyone could have asked for. She was Artemis’ best friend, and she was so loved and so missed, even now. Especially now, when one of these brief passing moments reminded Artemis of the grief she’d held for eight years, since the night Rowan died.
As if he knew that she needed a distraction, Charlie raised his hand that still held hers aloft, and pushed against her shoulder until she spun beneath his arm. She smiled, then laughed as he ducked down to turn underneath her arm as well, stumbling slightly as he struggled to keep his balance.
“You always were more graceful on a broomstick than on the ground,” she told him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m graceful everywhere.”
“Hm. Sure.”
“I am, look.”
He turned in towards her, rolling along the length of her arm, then rolled back out again. In the process, he knocked into a middle-aged witch in a large fascination who looked far too prudish to enjoy dancing. Artemis struggled to hold back giggles as Charlie spluttered an apology, his cheeks bright pink between his freckles. Once the witch had gone, casting a scathing look at Charlie as she walked away, Artemis laughed out loud.
“So graceful,” she said breathlessly. Charlie narrowed his eyes at her.
“Right. That’s it.”
He took hold of Artemis’ wrists in both hands and spun around on the spot, so fast that her bare feet almost lifted from the floor as she was pulled around in a circle. The witches and wizards around them were giving them a wide berth, but most of them joined in with their laughter. And they were laughing, both of them, laughing so hard Artemis’ cheeks hurt, her fingertips clinging to his freckled forearms as she tried to stay upright, tripping over her own feet as Charlie slowed to a stop before she did, and half-falling against his chest.
Steadying herself, her hand reached up to touch his short hair. The ends were sharp, but soft, like stroking velvet in the wrong direction. She wriggled her fingers to rid them of the sensation, and rested her forearms on his shoulders as the next song began to play, slower than the one before. Across the marquee, the girl who had reminded her so much of Rowan was now talking to both the Weasley cousin and Charlie’s brother Ron. She tilted her head to watch her, smiling softly.
“She’s beautiful like Rowan was, too.”
Her temple was so close to Charlie’s lapel that she felt him take a breath, the flower pinned to his robes brushed against her skin and tickled her hairline.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
“It’s no wonder your brothers are in love with her.”
“What?”
“Look at the way Ron’s looking at her right now.”
It would have been nice, to have seen someone look at Rowan in that way. It would have been nice, to have seen Rowan look as happy as Bill had looked all day. But before she could say as much to Charlie, she heard him half-laugh, even as she felt his muscles tense.
“That’s just one brother, Artemis,” he said.
“Yeah, but Fred was looking at her earlier, too.”
“People look at each other all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Not all the time, but this time it does.” Artemis looked up at him with a conspiratorial smile. “Trust me, I’m a Legilimens.”
She’d expected Charlie to laugh at her half-joke, but he did not. Instead, he recoiled from her, his hands dropping to his sides and his eyebrows knitting together.
“Since when did you start using your Legilimency to try and get into people’s heads like that?”
“I wasn’t trying to. I just noticed, that’s all. Like how you noticed—”
“That’s not the same.”
Artemis crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him.
“What’s not the same?” she asked.
“I’m not a Legilimens, I can’t snoop in and spy—”
“It’s not spying if I don’t—”
“— on people’s secret thoughts and feelings like that.”
“— even mean to do it!”
Charlie looked unconvinced. Artemis was indignant, almost offended by his accusation of spying. She looked at him, and he avoided her gaze.
“Why are you so annoyed at me for something that I didn’t even mean to do?”
“Because,” Charlie said with a shrug. He paused, as if even he didn’t know. “Well, it’s just awkward, isn’t it? Those are my brothers, and you’ve told me something they don’t want anyone else to know, and now I do know, and I shouldn’t.”
It was hard for Artemis not to roll her eyes. “Honestly, Charlie, I’m surprised you didn’t already know. It’s really obvious.”
He took a step back from her. She could almost feel his pulse quicken. Was he really that angry with her? That wasn’t fair. She glowered at him.
“What now?”
Charlie exhaled loudly. The sound was both frustrated and frustrating, and Artemis’ nostrils flared, dangerously close to losing her temper. Both of them opened their mouths to speak, but before either Charlie could say anything to dissolve the situation or Artemis could say anything to escalate it, the music abruptly stopped and the dancefloor became quiet and still.
A ball of silver-white light had appeared and was descending from the canopy ahead. The wedding guests stepped back from it as it landed in the middle of the dance floor and began to swirl into a new shape, that of a large cat-like creature with tufted ears. A lynx. The lynx Patronus opened its mouth, and spoke in the familiar and deeply reverberating voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”
Summary: Artemis is let in on a secret during the wedding reception.
Warnings: alcohol use, language.
Inside the marquee, everything was golden. Gold flowers bloomed from the seams of the fabric, gold vines climbed the supporting poles, gold balloons floated in mid-air, and rows of gold chairs faced a makeshift altar, where Bill Weasley was standing with his brother, Charlie. When the bride arrived, and Fleur Delacour walked down the aisle, she was flanked by two bridesmaids in gold dresses, and with a look of such bliss on her and Bill’s faces that joy seemed to radiate around the room like sunshine.
Once the ceremony was over, the sides of the marquee had disappeared to reveal the views of the orchard and Devonshire countryside that extended as far as the eye could see. The guests were milling around inside, across the golden dance floor that had appeared in the centre towards the chairs that had disappeared then reappeared in groups around several white-clothed tables. Artemis picked up a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a waiter who had appeared out of thin air, and made her way towards the table where the groom’s parents were sitting next to a familiar-looking elderly witch with a beaky nose and pink feathery hat.
“Artemis, dear,” said Molly Weasley, Bill’s mother, her arms already outstretched to pull her into a hug. “It’s just lovely to see you.”
“You too, Mrs Weasley,” Artemis replied. Once she had been released from Molly’s arms, she waved one of her own in the direction of the dance floor. “This is all brilliant.”
“It has all turned out rather well, hasn’t it? The ceremony was beautiful, I don’t know about you, but I certainly shed a few—”
“And who might you be?” the beaky-nosed witch interrupted Molly mid-sentence, her eyes narrowed as she looked Artemis up and down. “Well? Do speak up.”
Mrs Weasley barely stifled a sigh. “Aunt Muriel, you remember Artemis, don’t you? Bill and Charlie’s friend. Goodness, Artemis used to come here so often in the summer, she was almost part of the family.”
“I’ve never laid eyes on this woman in my life.”
Artemis frowned. “Actually, I think we did meet once.” Once was enough. “Don’t think it was for very long, though.”
It definitely wasn’t for long. Molly’s aunt Muriel had paid the Weasleys a brief visit when Artemis had been staying with them during the summer between her fifth and sixth years at school. Muriel had taken a near-instant dislike to Artemis, and Charlie had suggested a broomstick ride to Stoatshead Hill as soon as it became clear that the feeling was mutual.
“Oh, yes. I remember now.” Muriel’s eyes narrowed further. “You’re that little savage girl from London.”
“That’s what my friends call me.”
Muriel sighed and continued as if Artemis hadn’t spoken. “That’s cockneys for you, I suppose. Uncouth. Vulgar. Take what she’s wearing, for example. Really,” she dropped her eyes to the hem of Artemis’ dress, “in what world is that suitable attire for a wedding? Completely inappropriate.”
“Well, I think you look lovely, Artemis,” said Mrs Weasley, with an apologetic smile.
“You look like you’re wearing lingerie, girl. And I thought Ginevra’s dress was indecent.”
“Right,” said Artemis, trying her hardest not to roll her eyes. She looked around the room for someone else — anyone else — to talk to. “Well, thanks again, Mrs Weasley.”
She made a conscious effort not to tug at the hem of her dress as she walked briskly away from Muriel and towards two red-haired young wizards who would have been identical to one another if it weren’t for the fact that one of them was missing an ear.
“Hey, Artemis,” said the twin with both his ears intact — Fred — as Artemis approached. “What’s… Ah.” His voice tailed off as he looked back in the direction from which she had come. “Oh no. You got caught by Muriel.”
“That’s bad luck. She’s really on form today.” Fred’s twin, George, rolled his eyes. “She told me my ears are lopsided earlier. I mean” — he pointed at his missing ear — “did she really think I hadn’t noticed?”
“What charming comments did she have for you?”
“Nothing that bad,” Artemis shrugged. “Just that I was as uncouth as you’d expect a cockney to be—”
“Classic Muriel.”
“—and that my dress looks like underwear.” The twins’ gaze drifted down the length of Artemis’ dress, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t look like underwear!”
Both twins’ eyes snapped back to her face in an instant.
“No, not at all.”
“Absolutely not.”
“If anything, you look…”
“Prudish. Like a...”
“Nun.”
“Exactly, yeah.”
Artemis scowled at the boys, and turned to look at a third red-haired wizard who was making his way over to join them, a glass of champagne in his hand and a white rose pinned to his lapels. His hair had been cropped far closer to his scalp than she knew he liked it, but he still had a good-natured smile on his heavily freckled face.
“Charlie,” Artemis said to him, without so much as a greeting. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with my dress, do you?”
“No, it’s nice,” came Charlie’s answer. “I like the colour. It matches the little gold bits in your eyes.”
The twins exchanged glances, and Artemis’ eyebrows, which had been raised pointedly and triumphantly at Charlie’s younger brothers, immediately furrowed.
“Did Andre tell you to say that?”
“Yeah.”
Charlie nodded, before raising his glass to his lips and drinking silently. His hair really was brutally short. Artemis sighed.
“Did your mum cut your hair?” she asked him. He nodded. “And you let her?”
“It wasn’t worth the argument. She was stressed enough today as it is.”
He mouthed the single word ‘Percy’, and Artemis nodded her understanding. Beside them, Fred and George were paying no attention to Charlie’s hair and had already forgotten about Artemis’ dress, their focus having switched to a pair of pretty girls talking in French.
“I can’t believe you jumped in when I was trying to talk with them earlier,” George muttered darkly.
“You snooze, you lose,” replied Fred, not even looking at his twin as he waved to the girls. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Fleur will have some Veela cousins or something.”
“Yeah, right.”
“She does, actually,” said Charlie. “They were sitting a few rows back.” Artemis raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. “Well, I was standing at the front facing the guests, so...”
“Yeah, that’s why you noticed,” Artemis smirked. “Was that the reason you noticed the Veela you and Felix met in Bucharest that time, or—”
“You weren’t even there that time.”
“No, but I heard the story.”
“Why,” Fred and George exchanged glances as Charlie shot Artemis a warning look. “What’s the story?”
Charlie shook his head. “There isn’t one. Nothing happened.”
“Really? Nothing at all?”
“I don’t believe him.”
“Me neither. Artemis, tell us.”
“Artemis, don’t,” Charlie muttered. Artemis pursed her lips.
“Artemis, do.”
“Please,” Fred stuck out his bottom lip. “We really want to know the story about Charlie and a Veela in Bucharest.”
“Hm…” Artemis tilted her head at an increasingly awkward-looking Charlie. “It was just the one Veela, wasn’t it?”
Fred and George looked as if Christmas had come early.
“Two Veela?”
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Charlie said. Artemis bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing.
“Sorry,” she told him.
“You’re not.”
“No, not entirely.”
Charlie sighed and put his glass down on the table beside him as Artemis started to giggle. “You and I might fall out tonight, you know.”
He walked away briskly with Fred and George following after him, their voices overlapping as they asked him a series of questions, all of which went unanswered. Artemis laughed at them before picking up Charlie’s champagne glass and tipping its remaining contents into her own.
“Wotcher, Artemis,” said a voice behind her, and she turned to see the familiar heart-shaped face of Dora Tonks behind her, her ever-changing hair currently such a pale shade of blonde in colour that it almost matched the bride and her Veela cousins perfectly. “You do know the champagne is free, right?”
“Still, it seems a shame to waste it,” Artemis reasoned. She eyed the empty glass in Tonks’ hand, and held up the glass that had previously been Charlie’s. “Want some?”
Tonks shook her head. “Nah, I’m alright.”
The last of the guests still mingling in the centre of the marquee moved to the edges as Bill and Fleur walked into the middle of the dance floor, and a few witches and wizards applauded gently. Many raised their own glasses to them.
“Looks like we’re toasting,” Artemis said, and she pouted the rest of Charlie’s champagne into Tonks’ glass. “Here.”
“I… Oh, okay. Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
The two of them raised their filled glasses. In the centre of the marquee, Bill and Fleur began to dance together, arms wrapped around one another, foreheads pressed together, each smiling and gazing at the other in a way that made it clear nothing else in the world mattered to them than each other. It might not even have existed. And there, watching from the sidelines, was Artemis, not fully comprehending how that kind of love worked, having never experienced it herself. It might have been enough to make her feel lonely, or even sorry for herself, but she did not. Instead, a warmth akin to that of a crackling fire seemed to spread out from Bill and his bride, across the marquee and over everyone in it, including her.
“Merlin, they are both so graceful and so beautiful, it’s actually sickening,” said Tonks, but like Artemis, she was smiling. “I wish I’d been able to look so happy during my first dance, instead of like one of those ugly dogs with a scrunched up face, you know?”
Her face contorted, eyebrows furrowing together and lips pursing together. Artemis held back a snigger.
“Why were you pulling that face during your first dance, anyway?”
“Easy. I was trying really hard not to step on Remus’ toes.”
Across the marquee, Tonks’ husband was looking pointedly between Tonks’ face, her feet, and those of Bill and Fleur. Tonks narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed.
“How is it, anyway?” Artemis asked. “Married life, I mean.”
“Nice, yeah. Surprisingly not that different from not being engaged, really, except now I have another ring I have to try and not lose.”
Tonks finished her sentence and took a sip from her champagne. A moment later, she pulled a face, and turned around so her back was turned to the rest of the guests. With no one but Artemis able to see, she spat the champagne back out into the glass.
Artemis frowned and sniffed her own glass suspiciously. “What’s wrong with the champagne?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why—”
“I can’t drink it,” whispered Tonks, and she nodded her head downwards at herself. Confused, Artemis wrinkled her nose, and Tonks sighed. “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”
“Are you?”
“Yeah.” Tonks nodded, and lowered her voice even further than before. “But you can’t tell anyone. Not today, anyway. Fleur won’t want anyone stealing her thunder.”
“No, probably not,” said Artemis. “Does anyone else know?”
“Remus, obviously.”
“Obviously. Have you told Penny?”
Tonks looked at Artemis as if she were stupid.
“What part of this being a secret do you not understand?” she asked. Artemis nodded.
“Yeah, fair enough. So, I’m the first friend to know.”
“Well, no. Chiara knows. I went to her pretty much straight away, what with her being a Healer and… well, you know.”
Artemis couldn’t be annoyed at that. With both Chiara and Remus being werewolves, it only made sense for Tonks to go to Chiara right away.
“So, will the baby be—”
“We don’t know. Sadly, not many people want to marry werewolves, so there’s not really any precedent to go on.”
“Oh.” Artemis frowned. “I was going to ask if it will be a Metamorphmagus like you.”
“I hadn’t even thought about that,” said Tonks. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Godric, I hope not. I don’t want this baby to be anything like I was as a child. You know, I’ve seen photos of my parents before I was born. I actually aged them.”
She shuddered and took another sip of her drink. Artemis tilted her head to one side.
“Um, Tonks...”
“Shit.”
Tonks turned back around and spat the champagne out again. She placed her hands over the sides of her abdomen and grimaced at Artemis.
“I hope it didn’t hear that.” She lowered her head and whispered downwards. “Shush, don’t listen.”
“Can it hear yet?” Artemis asked. “When does it grow ears?”
“Dunno, actually. I don’t really know anything about babies. To be honest, I still kind of think of myself as a baby most days. But I’ll ask Chiara next time I see her.” Tonks handed Artemis her glass, now half-filled with a mixture of champagne and her own saliva. “Here, take this, will you?”
“I don’t want it now!”
“You don’t have to drink it, I just need you to stop me from drinking it.”
“Fine.”
Artemis’ own drink was almost empty, and she finished it in one swallow. On the dance floor, several guests had joined Bill and Fleur and were dancing to a more upbeat song. She placed both her and Tonks’ glasses down on the nearest table.
“Come on. Let’s dance. You are still allowed to dance, aren’t you?”
“Don’t see why not,” Tonks shrugged. “I mean, between my accidental drinking and swearing and walking into things, I think a bit of dancing is the least of this baby’s worries.”
She took hold of Artemis’ hand, and the pair of them made their way into the centre of the marquee, laughing and dancing. And the music was loud, and it was good, and the rest of the wedding guests were joining them, and it was as if not one of them had any worries at all.
Summary: it’s Bill’s wedding day, and Artemis is running late again. The last thing she needs is an uninvited house guest…
Warnings: mentions of war, death, and betrayal. Jacob Hexley being a shady and scheming mofo.
A little over a year after Albus Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt’s meeting, the young woman named Artemis Hexley was back in London, sitting cross-legged and barefooted on a bed inside a small attic bedroom, a marmalade-coloured cat curled up in a ball beside her. The early August sunshine poured through the skylight above her dark-haired head, and illuminated her surroundings.
On the door, both a short dress and a set of Auror robes hung from coat-hangers, and a striped and pom-pom tasselled scarf was draped over one corner of a mirror. One wall bore a tattered map littered with pins, the others were all decorated with white rimmed photos, stuck to the chipped plaster by magic. Herself, at her graduation with Madam Rosmerta and Kingsley Shacklebolt on either side of her; in The Leaky Cauldron with her friends Tonks, Penny, and Chiara; with the same group of girls at Penny’s wedding the previous year, with a pair of red-headed brothers in a garden in front of a honeysuckle tree; with only one of the two brothers at the top of a mountain, the Romanian countryside sprawling out below them, and a dragon flying in the distance. One photo, not lined with white, was framed on a set of drawers beside a small pile of stacked books, a Muggle camera, and a Golden Snitch inside a jam jar: a much younger Artemis, a carefree smile on her face, her arms wrapped around a tall girl with long black hair and silver glasses that framed intelligent, doe-like brown eyes.
But Artemis was not looking at any of the photos, not even the one of her and Rowan Khanna. Her own eyes, hazel in colour and lined with green around the pupils, were trained on the open newspaper on her lap, on the article entitled:
In Defence of Dumbledore: Elphias Doge speaks out against Skeeter’s biography of his late friend.
Artemis made a derisive noise. She turned to the cat.
“Honestly, Skeeter needs to learn to shut her mouth,” she told the cat. “Dumbledore’s dead, and there’s more important things to worry about these days.”
Almost a month had passed since her former headmaster’s funeral. She had attended with several of her old school friends, had held the hand of Penny Haywood — no, Penny Parkin, now — as Penny sobbed silently, both of them trying and failing not to think about the first memorial they had attended at Hogwarts almost seven years earlier, the one for Rowan. Not even a month, and already Rita Skeeter had gotten wind of a story to twist and turn until it barely resembled the truth, much like she had once done with the story of the Hexley family, of Artemis’ father’s death and her brother’s disappearance, of the Cursed Vaults, and all that had happened because of them. Not that Rita Skeeter knew the truth about all that. Only Artemis knew the whole truth, now that Dumbledore was gone.
Clearly as unimpressed as she was by Rita Skeeter’s article, the cat unfurled itself and stretched out his body with a wide yawn.
“You’re right, Fergus. It is bloody boring.” Artemis discarded the newspaper and leant across to the bedside table, where she picked up an old alarm clock and swore loudly as she read the time. “Fergus! Why didn’t you say anything!”
She got up from the bed and rushed across to the other side of the room to take the dress hanging from the bedroom door off its hanger. She wriggled into both the dress and a pair of high-heeled shoes fetched from the shabby, child-sized wardrobe in the corner, and hurriedly did her make-up in the standing mirror, before giving herself one quick assessment of her appearance in the reflection. Her sceptical eyes took in the short hem and thin straps of the dress she was wearing. Probably, the dress was too revealing for the occasion, but her fashion-conscious friend Andre had assured her that this was the latest trend among the Muggles.
“And besides,” he had added, “the colour will look gorgeous on you. Bring out those little flecks of gold in your eyes.”
Artemis had not known before that she had gold flecks in her eyes, but like she had with the dress, she had taken Andre’s word for it. And she did like the colour, the way the fabric shimmered between black and gold as it caught the light.
A doleful miaow from Fergus the cat reminded her once more that it was time to leave — or, rather, that the time to leave had come and gone, as she had planned to have been early for a change. After all, today was no ordinary day. Bill Weasley, one of Artemis’ oldest and dearest friends, and perhaps the closest thing she had to a loving sibling, was getting married.
This was not the first wedding that Artemis had been invited to this summer. In June, her first boyfriend Barnaby Lee had married her former Quidditch teammate and now-colleague Ellie Hopper, and in mid-July Tonks had surprised a few close friends and her family by inviting them at the last minute to attend her own wedding to werewolf Remus Lupin. And it wasn’t just weddings. Their werewolf friend, Chiara, had recently moved out of Artemis’ house a few months previously to live with her boyfriend Jae, and Penny’s little girl would be celebrating her first birthday before the end of the year.
In spite of Dumbledore’s death, Lord Voldemort’s return, and the rising threat to the country’s security, love clearly was prevailing.
Artemis grabbed a small, velvet bag from the wardrobe and Bill and Fleur’s wedding present from the top drawer of the chest with Rowan’s framed photo on top of it. Something tightened around her heart and then released, and Fergus let out another miaow from the bed.
“Fine, I’m going. I’ll see you later.”
She just had to get her invitation first, a thick piece of white card daintily embossed and painted with both Bill and Fleur’s names and his parents’ address. She’d left it in the kitchen, stuck to the cold cupboard with a magnet. It would only take her a moment to fetch it.
Or so she thought.
In the end, Artemis did not reach the kitchen. Having descended to the ground floor, she stopped abruptly in her tracks as she opened the door to the living room and found that she was not alone in the tall, narrow house. A dark-haired and hazel-eyed wizard was sitting in the armchair beside the fireplace, one ankle resting on the opposite thigh, a book in his hand. At the sight of Artemis, he closed the book and it disappeared. At the sight of him, Artemis reached for her wand. Not because the intruder was unfamiliar, but because he was simply unwelcome.
“Jacob,” she muttered, fixing him with a scathing look. “What are you doing here?”
“Can a man not visit his baby sister without an agenda?” Jacob raised one eyebrow at her, before looking around the room. “You’ve not really decorated much since you’ve been here.”
“It’s only temporary,” said Artemis, though in fact she had been living at Lovelace Crescent for almost two years, ever since Kingsley had convinced her to return to England from Romania, where she had been staying with her friend Charlie Weasley. Still, she refused to admit that she would be here forever, especially now that she no longer had Chiara, or Tonks before that, for company. “Once I finish my training, I’ll be able to afford to rent somewhere. Until then, I’m stuck in this hellhole.”
“Not a nice way to talk about our childhood home.”
Jacob would say that. The house had never been a prison for him. First he’d disappeared, and then left for America. Artemis put her bag down and folded her arms across her chest.
“You know, I could leave right now if you’d actually agree to buy my half of it from me.”
“You’re not the only one with a low income, Missy. Sorry, Artemis,” Jacob corrected himself as Artemis glared harder. “I can’t afford to buy your half.”
“Or—”
“We are not selling the house to strangers. Especially not now. We might need it. You might need it.”
Artemis wrinkled her nose. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just a little thing like the war that’s currently going on,” said Jacob. His smirk infuriated her, but it faded quickly. “I’m serious, Artemis. Right now, with the way things are headed, it’s looking increasingly likely that people will need safehouses.”
“The way things are headed…”
“Yes. Surely, you must know what I mean?”
Stubbornly, Artemis shook her head, and Jacob sighed.
“I’m talking about all out warfare. Ministry coups, Voldemort’s lot in power.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
The very idea of it was ludicrous. Voldemort had returned from the dead three years before, and it had taken a whole one of those years for the Ministry of Magic to even admit it. Having now worked for the Ministry in two different departments, Artemis wasn’t surprised. Nothing ever did happen fast at that place, and the things Jacob was talking about weren’t likely to happen ever, and certainly not soon.
“For Godric’s sake, Artemis, it already is happening!” Jacob snapped at her. Artemis raised her eyebrows, unmoved.
Her brother was wrong. Jacob was arrogant enough to think he knew everything, but on this occasion, he knew little. He’d been out of the country since she left Hogwarts. He hadn’t been around since Voldemort had returned, he hadn’t been there at all. All of Jacob’s information would have come from following the news, from reading the occasional alarming article in the Daily Prophet. Artemis had read those articles, too, and so she knew how it must look from the outside.
But, here, actually living here, day-to-day, nothing had really changed. People were going to work and going on dates and getting married, Bill and Charlie’s younger brothers had opened up a joke shop in Diagon Alley, the Quidditch season was arranged to go ahead as planned from October. Yes, there had been that mass Death Eater breakout from Azkaban, and poor Madam Rosmerta was still recovering from that horrible business with the Imperius Curse, and there were the odd reports of people dead or going missing, which Artemis was always aware of, training as an Auror, but aside from that, things were just going on as they always had. Really, if Jacob had been there for more than five minutes, he’d have been surprised by how normal things were, most of the time.
“If you’re so worried about it, why are you here? Why didn’t you stay in America?”
“Because,” said Jacob, “when Dumbledore funded my research, he made it clear I was to come back if something were to happen to him. He and I are the only ones who know — knew — how important my findings could be in the fight against Voldemort.” He looked up at Artemis from his chair. “I’ve been back since the funeral. Kept myself out of sight.”
Artemis couldn’t see how Jacob’s research would ever be useful. As far as she knew, he’d been looking into the historical accuracy of old fairy tales. But, she wasn’t in the mood to show interest in her brother’s work. And, something about his demeanour was making her suspicious. There was something he wasn’t telling her, she was certain of it.
“So, if you’ve been back for almost a month, why are you here now?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What have you been doing the past four weeks?”
Jacob was silent as he stood up. Once he was on his feet, he took a step towards Artemis, his face urgent and concerned.
“Because, I wanted to warn you. Things are starting to change. The other side, Voldemort’s side, they’re mobilising.” Jacob stepped towards Artemis, his face urgent and concerned. “They’ve got something planned. Something big. I’ve been keeping tabs on the situation, and I think it’ll be soon. You need to—”
“Keeping tabs how?” Artemis interrupted Jacob. “How do you know what his side have got planned?”
Her brother did not answer the question. He did not have to. His eyes spoke for him, just as they always had when it was just the two of them. Artemis recoiled from him.
“Really?”
“Artemis…”
“You’re working with them?”
“Ostensibly, yes. In reality, no. I’m pretending to be sympathetic to their cause so that I can—”
“For Godric’s sake, Jacob!” Artemis shook her head in disbelief. “Did Dumbledore ask you to do that?”
“He didn’t ask me not to,” was Jacob’s response. “I didn’t get a chance to get many instructions from him, what with him being deceased by the time I got here. And he never asked me to join his Order of the Phoenix when he was alive—”
“Probably because the rest of them didn’t want you.”
Bill Weasley would never allow it. He despised Jacob, and had done for years, ever since the business with the Cursed Vaults. And as nice as Artemis was sure Charlie would be to Jacob’s face, she knew that he’d never trust Jacob, either. No one trusted Jacob anymore, not even her.
“Are you really just pretending?” she asked Jacob. “Or are you just saying this so I won’t believe it when I find out you’re actually one of them?”
Jacob tilted his head. “How can you even ask that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because of everything that happened the last time you ‘pretended’ to work for people.”
“That was—”
“Don’t say it was different.”
“— a long time ago, Artemis.”
A sting threatened the back of Artemis’ eyes. “Not that long ago,” she muttered. “And what happens this time, if you need to hurt someone to keep up the act? Would you do it? Hurt someone innocent?”
Jacob was quiet. Though she kept staring at him, he did not look directly at her, only at the space above her head. Like her, he was thinking of Duncan, of Rowan. Both of them, dead because of the things he had done in order to get to the Cursed Vaults.
“Would you hurt someone you care about, someone I care about? Will you?”
A lump was forming in the back of Artemis’ throat as she remembered her best friend, as she remembered the day she’d realised just how involved Jacob had been in Rowan’s murder. How he’d tried and failed to hide it from her, and refused to say sorry to her. He’d still never said that he was sorry.
“When you do it, will you feel bad? Or will you not care, because you’ve done it for the right reasons?”
Jacob’s eyes met hers. He sighed.
“This is a war, Artemis.”
“Yeah,” said Artemis. She swallowed, hard, and unfolded her arms to place her hands on her hips. “And I think it’s clear which side we both stand on.”
“We’re both on the same side, Artemis,” Jacob told her. “Believe it or not, I have always been on your side.”
His words hung in the still, stale air. But not for long.
“I want you to leave my house.”
“This house is just as much mine as it is yours.”
“Fine, then. I’ll leave.” Artemis picked up her bag and wand. “I have a wedding to go to anyway.”
With that, Artemis turned on her heel and left the house. She did not stop, not as Jacob said her name, not as he reached for her arm, nor as he called out about getting herself a Secret Keeper, before the door slammed shut behind her. She did not stop at all, not even to pull down her dress, until after she had already disapparated, and was standing in a large garden in front of a marquee, London and Lovelace Crescent and the tall, dingy house she’d grown up in and the brother she no longer trusted, all of them miles and miles away.
A/N: Oh dear, we are back. And we’re starting off with a prologue, of sorts.
Warnings: Mentions of war and death, some exposition. Dumbledore being a shady and scheming mofo.
Under a cloak of darkness, the train had left London. With the sun climbing steadily in the sky above, it had travelled northwards, across fields and country and moorland, scarlet in the vast expanse of green. Only one carriage was occupied, a single wizard seated inside. Black, bald, and dressed in purple robes, he watched the speeding countryside finally slow to a stop at a small station overlooked by a castle-topped cliff.
The train having reached its destination, the wizard drew to his full, impressive height, placed a pointed hat on his head, and disembarked. The steam rolled out of the engine, obscuring his view of the castle in the distance, but he already knew where he was headed. He made his way up the platform, past the station clock that made the time to be ten minutes earlier than it actually was, and out onto the village street beyond. There, he disappeared with a loud crack! and rematerialised a mere moment later in front of the castle’s gates, the pillared posts of which were topped with statues of winged boars.
It wasn’t often that Kingsley Shacklebolt was called to attend a meeting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At least, not alone, and not by the headmaster himself. If it were on Auror business, Kingsley would have expected a Ministry official to have organised the occasion, but then, Professor Dumbledore always had run the school on his own terms. Unless, of course, Dumbledore wanted him for something to do with the Order. But, surely not. As far as anyone else was concerned, Kingsley had no idea there even was such a thing as the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore knew that; it had been his idea for Kingsley to maintain that cover. He would not risk breaking it now.
Either way, only one thing could have prompted his unexpected summons. Voldemort was back, and as of the previous Friday, the Ministry of Magic was prepared to admit it. As of the previous Friday, the Wizarding World was officially at war.
From a window on the second floor of the castle, Kingsley watched the students climb aboard the Thestral-drawn carriages that would transport them down to the train station from which he had just come, ready to take the Hogwarts Express back home for the summer holidays. He shuddered as a thought struck him: how many of these students would be able to see the creatures pulling the carriages the next time they rode in them? Perhaps that had been the reason Dumbledore had asked for him. The security of the school must be a priority, and Kingsley could be trusted with the task.
Consciously focusing on potential solutions rather than the question that had entered his mind unbidden, Kingsley continued his journey up to the headmaster’s office. Having given the password to the gargoyle at the entrance (“exploding bon-bons”, inexplicably) and climbed yet another spiral staircase, he found the door to Dumbledore’s chambers open, the man himself standing inside, in front of an open cupboard from which something was shining a silvery light on his lined face and grey beard. Whatever the light was coming from, the headmaster was staring at it so intently he did not appear to notice Kingsley arriving.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Dumbledore.”
“Not at all, Mr Shacklebolt, not at all. After all, it was I who invited you.” Professor Dumbledore gestured with his hand in the direction of a seat at his desk. The door closed behind Kingsley as he entered the room to sit down. “I have a matter of great importance that I wish to discuss with you.”
“Of course. I have considered the safety of the school, and I feel that Auror guards would be preferable to a Dementor presence.”
Though Kingsley had taken a seat, Dumbledore remained standing by the glowing cupboard. Now he was inside the room, Kingsley had a view of what was inside, a wide shallow basin made of stone, filled with a shimmering silver liquid. Dumbledore’s gaze had returned to it, and he smiled to himself before replying.
“I think that anything would be preferable to that, but the item of discussion today is a far more pressing concern, and of a somewhat personal nature. For you, I must add.”
Kingsley frowned, and Dumbledore looked back towards him.
“Mr Shacklebolt, when was the last time you heard from Artemis Hexley?”
Artemis Hexley. Shortly after Kingsley had finished his Auror training, he had been tasked with the covert operation of monitoring the Hexley house. The mysterious death of Leander Hexley, the even more bewildering disappearance of his son Jacob during a search for the fabled Cursed Vaults of Hogwarts, and the lingering safety concerns of his young daughter, Artemis, had prompted the move. Kingsley had meant to keep his distance from the remaining Hexleys, but even at eight years old, Artemis had proved stubborn in everything, including her insistence at friendship with the undercover Auror who lived in a boat behind her house.
Nearly fifteen years later, Artemis Hexley was no longer a little girl, but a young woman who had faced dangers and challenges most witches and wizards her age could scarcely imagine. Not only that, she had faced them head-on, such was Artemis’ way. Kingsley’s heart plummeted at Dumbledore’s question. What had Artemis done this time?
“She sent me a letter only last week,” he managed to say, in spite of his drying mouth. “Why, has something happened?”
“To Artemis Hexley? Heavens, no! Not to my knowledge, at least.” Dumbledore shook his head and chuckled. “No, Miss Hexley is, as far as I am aware, perfectly well.”
“So, she is safe?”
“As safe as I assume one can be on a compound surrounded by dragons.”
Kingsley’s lips twitched, but his eyebrows remained furrowed. “Then why do you ask?”
“Because,” said Dumbledore, “Artemis Hexley is the very subject I wished to discuss with you this morning. Moreover, I have a favour I wish to ask of you, one pertaining to your young friend.”
“And what favour might that be?”
The headmaster stepped away from the cupboard with the basin, but left the door open behind him. The contents of the basin continued to swirl, the light emanating from them rippling on the wooden cupboard walls.
“To start with, Miss Hexley must return from Romania, and I believe that you are the person to convince her to do so. But, I fear you disagree.”
A sigh, and Kingsley nodded. “I do disagree. Artemis is not one to be convinced of something once her mind is made up. She will not be persuaded to come back willingly until she has already decided on it herself. Which she is unlikely to do for some time. The death of Amos Diggory’s son affected her more deeply than I would have imagined.”
“Ah, but that is understandable, is it not? Given what happened to her friend Miss Khanna at a similar age.” Dumbledore smiled sadly, his eyes seemed to sparkle more than usual. “I worry that we shall lose far too many good witches and wizards far too young in the not-too-distant future.”
“All the more reason for her to stay put. The further Artemis is from this war, the better.”
“For now.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Dumbledore sighed and sat down in his chair, across his desk from Kingsley. He raised one hand to gently stroke the beak of his phoenix, and glanced back in the direction of the stone basin, still aglow.
“I am afraid, Mr Shacklebolt, that there will come a time, when Artemis Hexley will need to return and help us in our fight against Voldemort. She has a part she must play in all of this, and sooner or later, she will play it.”
“She has already played her part. The Cursed Vaults—”
“Yes, yes, the Cursed Vaults!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “The Vaults contained a great power, one which holds the key to defeating Voldemort. Artemis opened the Vaults and discovered this power, as she was prophesied to do. But, she still has to do more.”
The Cursed Vaults had been where it all started. Jacob Hexley’s search for them, his disappearance, Artemis’ determination to find him. Kingsley’s involvement had been minimal, until after one of Artemis’ friends had been murdered. Still, she’d pressed on. Five Vaults she’d entered, each with its own trial or horror. Cursed guards, Boggarts, Acromantula, a dragon, and a terrible, hopeless darkness that he still didn’t fully comprehend years after Artemis had told him about it.
“No.” Kingsley shook his head. “Artemis has done enough.”
“I agree with you wholeheartedly. Like so many of us, Miss Hexley has done quite enough.”
A moment’s pause. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
“But then, there is still so much still to be done, is there not?”
It was hard to argue with that. Before Kingsley could do so, the headmaster continued.
“And I am afraid that no one else can do what it is that Artemis must do. And she must do it, make no mistake about that. The fate of us all depends on it.” He stood up again and began to pace the room, between the desk and the basin. “You see, Mr Shacklebolt, thanks to a combined endeavour of Miss Hexley, her friends, her brother, Patricia Rakepick, and — without wanting to appear immodest — myself, Artemis fulfilled the prophecy regarding the Cursed Vaults. She became the one to open the Vaults and reveal what power was hidden within the final one.
“However, what both Hexley siblings failed to realise was that there was a second prophecy regarding the Cursed Vaults, and the one who managed to open them. It is not enough that Artemis merely discovered the power inside the Vaults. She must also wield it. This prophecy makes it clear, and now that Voldemort has returned, it too must be fulfilled.”
Perhaps it was clear to Dumbledore, but Kingsley was still mystified.
“But I thought that Potter…”
“Harry Potter must be the one to kill Voldemort, this is true. But Artemis Hexley also has a destiny, and a vital one at that.”
The professor returned to the stone basin and used his wand to stir the silver liquid, peering into it with a look of mingled serenity and contemplation.
“The second Vaults prophecy speaks of a shadow that threatens to bring nothing but doom and despair. Without Artemis’ efforts — her unconscious efforts, I should say, for the prophecy is clear that she must act without the knowledge of exactly how her actions will affect the course of the war — this shadow will plunge our land into darkness forevermore. Harry Potter will be the one to rid the world of Voldemort, that we already know, but Artemis Hexley? She will be the one to make sure there will be a world left that is worth living in.”
Kingsley took a deep breath. “And she has no choice in the matter?”
“Sadly not,” said Dumbledore. “Such is the nature of these things. Which, incidentally, leads me back to why I summoned you here today. Whilst I am needed here at Hogwarts to ensure that Harry has all that he needs to destroy Voldemort when the time comes, Artemis will need someone to guide her and protect her.”
“Me.”
“You, my dear Shacklebolt. It is a task only for someone trustworthy. I trust you, and more importantly, so does Miss Hexley.”
“And so,” mused Kingsley, “because she trusts me, I must lie to her.”
“Ah! Quite the conundrum! That one must lie to prove that they may be trusted. Although, is it a lie to omit a single truth?”
“A vital truth.”
“Oh, certainly. But, that is what you must do if you are to prepare her for what lies ahead.”
A conundrum indeed. Kingsley took his hat off his bald head and rubbed his brow.
“How am I to prepare her to do something when neither of us will know what it is she will do?” he asked. “I don’t even know how I would convince her to leave Romania.”
“That much is simple. You make her an offer she cannot refuse.” Dumbledore’s eyes glittered over the top of his half-moon spectacles as he stared at Kingsley. “By total coincidence, I read in the Daily Prophet just this morning that the Auror office has lowered the entry requirements for its training program this year. Quite the program, it would seem. Extensive combat training, sleuthing. Why, if only we knew of a young person who would both benefit from and be interested in such a thing…”
It didn’t take a genius to know who Dumbledore referred to. Still, Kingsley was unconvinced. “It will take more than some duelling lessons to change Artemis’ mind.”
“Then I’d suggest that you appeal to her heart instead. After all, she is a close friend of your colleague Miss Tonks, who is very recently bereaved and struggling to cope with the loss.”
The headmaster’s audacity was almost laughable, if only Kingsley had been in the mood to laugh.
“You really are quite the general, Dumbledore.”
“I shall decide to take that as a compliment.”
“It almost was one.” Kingsley sighed. “I wish that you had not told me any of this.”
“But, alas! I have,” said Dumbledore, simply.
Kingsley considered all that he had been told.
“You say that if I can get Artemis to return, get her onto the Auror training program, and guide her as you suggest… Then she will be safe?”
Professor Dumbledore shook his head. “I have said no such thing, and nor will I. I am afraid that even with the best of intentions, I cannot guarantee her safety.”
“But it will give her a fighting chance, at least?”
“That it will.” Once more, Dumbledore regarded Kingsley over the top of his glasses. “So, Mr Shacklebolt, what do you think?”
It took a moment for Kingsley to respond. When he did, it was with a sense of heavy foreboding. His brown eyes met Dumbledore’s blue ones.
“I think I am the one who is being made an offer I cannot refuse.”
The Wizarding World is at war. Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters are gaining power, and the country is being torn apart by their reign of terror. As friend turns to foe, and hope turns to fear, trust has become a luxury few can afford.
But in the darkness of this new world order, small acts of resistance are taking place, tiny fires that will only rise. One such fire lies within the heart of Artemis Hexley, once Curse-Breaker, now turned jail-breaker. With the task of freeing the innocent from the Dementor-run prison Azkaban, Artemis has her own battles to face. Can she survive the fight ahead without losing herself?
For little does she know that the fate of everyone and everything she holds dear relies on her success…
