The Aftermath

Chapter 30: The Aftermath

August 1-2, 1997

A masked and hooded Death Eater stood before Arthur, wand drawn.

He had done all he could do now and hoped the last of his guests had escaped any harm. Panting from the exertion of battle, Arthur glowered at the figure before him. It was no mystery to him who he now faced.

"Hello, Lucius," Arthur said angrily.

The mask was swept away by the wand. "Arthur Weasley," Malfoy spat in disgust. "You're in rather a spot of trouble, I'm afraid."

Arthur didn't respond, only glared at his longtime nemesis. The cold, haughty face with heartless eyes glared back at him. Arthur had always considered himself an easygoing, friendly man, always tried to be magnanimous and forgiving. But standing here, wandless and at Malfoy's mercy, meeting nothing but an evil sneer looking back at him, Arthur felt only an icy fire of hate in his heart.

"Have I interrupted something?" Malfoy mused, looking around, feigning surprise. "A family celebration, perhaps? My heavens, Weasley... all this must have bankrupted you! A hired tent, a few morsels of peasant food...." Malfoy clucked his tongue as his boot toed a shredded gift.

Arthur glanced around at the wreckage of his son's wedding, the hate-filled heart-fire building within him. "I wouldn't expect you to understand a wedding's true purpose, Lucius. What would you know about marrying a woman for love, as opposed to genealogical gain? Isn't that why you joined our noble family of Black, after all? Working to purify your own muddy Malfoy blood?" Arthur smiled as the sneer fell from Malfoy's face.

"Where is Potter?" he snapped.

Arthur had strongly suspected Harry had been the goal of the ambush and found it interesting that Malfoy had cut to the chase so quickly. He surmised things must not be going well for Malfoy within the ranks of the Death Eaters. Arthur took only a moment's pleasure in that knowledge, however, considering the fact he had just watched his youngest son and Harry Disapparate into the unknown a few minutes ago.

"I haven't the foggiest idea, Lucius. Harry hasn't shown his face around here today." It was technically true, after all. Might even hold up against a Legilimens, if Arthur really concentrated. "Perhaps whoever your informant was," said Arthur, wrinkling his nose as if smelling something revolting, "has misled you."

"Crucio!" snarled Malfoy.

Arthur had only an instant to prepare himself for the onslaught of the curse. When he regained his senses, he had no idea for how long he had been tortured. He lay on the ground, gasping for breath, as the pain slowly receded. Must not have been too long, he thought. I still have my wits, I think....

"I am not a patient man, Weasley. I will ask you once again. Where is Potter?" he said slowly and malevolently.

"I don't know, Lucius. And even if I did, I would never betray him to your master, puppet that you are."

Malfoy ground his teeth, unwilling to consider the possibility this cur was telling the truth. "What about your son, then? Where is he?" he growled. Draco had often told him how Potter and the Weasley brat were thick as thieves at school, along with that mudblood girl. Perhaps a more familial threat would loosen the father's tongue?

Arthur had recovered sufficiently from the Cruciatus Curse to carefully rise to his feet. "I have many sons, Lucius.... Which one are you referring to at the moment?"

Malfoy bristled at the thinly veiled insult. What did it matter that he only had one child? Quality over quantity, he'd always consoled himself. It was not his fault that Narcissa was too delicate for childbearing, nor cared much for the act itself. Unlike the cow Weasley had wed himself to.

The peasant had the nerve to smile smugly at him. He knew how to wipe that knowing smirk off his face. "Crucio!" Malfoy screamed once more.

A minute later, he released Arthur from the grip of the curse. Malfoy had to be careful, after all. Mustn't destroy him outright, more's the pity. For Weasley, lowly as he was, had connections... connections that might someday be exploited, when the time was right, according to the Dark Lord's wishes.

"You know the one I mean: the one that forever rides on Potter's coattails," he hissed.

Arthur lay gasping once again on the ground. It took him several moments to collect himself. "Ron is ill, unfortunately. Missed the wedding. He's upstairs at home, if you want to see him yourself," he said shakily.

Malfoy was momentarily stunned into silence, shocked by this news. Panic began to creep into his gut. "I don't believe you!" he sputtered. "Prove it!" He grabbed Arthur by the arm and dragged him into a standing position, jabbing his wand into the soft flesh of Arthur's neck.

"Certainly, Lucius," he said, wincing at the rough treatment. "I must warn you, though... he has spattergroit. Have you ever had it? I wonder if perhaps you have, judging by your face?"

Malfoy burned with fury at his bald impudence. He couldn't resist another go. Just a few more seconds worth. "Crucio!"

Thirty seconds later, as his prey lay motionless on the ground, Malfoy momentarily worried that he had finally gone too far. But then the worthless lump began to move again.

"Stop playing with me, Weasley, or you might get my temper riled," he warned.

"Ron is upstairs," Arthur uttered in the barest whisper. "Got sick a month ago, right after he came home from school."

"Search the house!" Malfoy shouted the order to his nearest henchman. "Tear it apart, if necessary. Bring anything... or anyone... of interest directly to me."

An hour later, after everyone had reported back to him without a single scrap of useful information, Lucius Malfoy was becoming rather put out. After the failure at the Department of Mysteries over a year ago and Draco's only partial success at Hogwarts this spring, his family was in dire need of a successful raid tonight. If Potter had been here, only to have escaped yet again.... Lucius' bowels quaked to consider the consequences.

"Assemble the rest of your pathetic ragamuffin family, Weasley. We'll see what they have to say," he ordered.

"We're all here already, Lucius. Please forgive me if I forgo the usual polite niceties... I'm not quite up to playing the host at the moment," Arthur replied.

Molly was supporting much of his weight in order to keep him upright in his seat. He gazed at the rest of his family assembled in the living room: Ginny, Charlie, Bill and Fleur. They all looked upon him with concern. The icy hate for Malfoy flared in his heart once again.

"I am looking for Potter," Malfoy spat at the family sitting before him. "Where is he?"

As a group, his prisoners all shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders. They certainly stick together: this vulgar, disgraceful rabble. He would soon teach them the folly of that.

Malfoy directed his attention to the comely girl he deduced was the bride. She really is quite exquisite, he was forced to admit to himself. He grabbed her by the chin, holding her gaze by force. A proud thing, too, he mused as she glared back at him, resisting his grip. He squeezed harder, making her wince.

The tallest young man rose in anger and lunged toward Malfoy. Another, smaller one rose as well and moved to restrain him.

So... the groom takes the bait this easily? Malfoy grinned with anticipation.

"Poor, unfortunate, stupid girl. Do you see now your mistake? Binding yourself to this common trash?" he said, shaking his head and clucking his tongue.

Fleur wrenched her face away from Malfoy's grasp and threw back her head. "My family is the finest in Britain. I see nothing before me to contradict this," she spat with fury.

Malfoy turned to the groom next, who had noticed the angry red marks now appearing on the bride's face. The disfigured young man looked at him with a burning hatred in his eyes.

"Dear, dear. Those bites look awfully nasty," Malfoy taunted the boy with relish. "You must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, hmm? An unfortunate Weasley habit, that. And now, you're left so damaged, you were forced to take a half-breed to wife? No proper witch would have you, I suppose. Oh, wait a moment; I seem to have forgotten something, haven't I? Tainting pure wizard blood is a favorite Weasley pastime as well, isn't it?"

Charlie was struggling to physically hold his brother back. Bill was growling, snapping his teeth in fury as if he wanted to shred Malfoy with them. Arthur was trying to get through to Bill by shouting at him to back down, since he was too weak yet to stand and help Charlie restrain him.

The wolfish ferocity of the angry young groom was beginning to make Malfoy uncomfortable. The boy was tall and physically intimidating even without the unpredictable effects of Greyback's attack. He flicked his wand and the curiously canine young man howled in pain. The smaller one, to his credit, took it in silence. The females sat frozen in horror, unable to help them.

Finally the great cow of a mother screamed, "Stop!"

He released the boys from the curse a moment later, noting with satisfaction how they both crumpled onto the tatty furniture. "Do you have anything to add, woman?"

"They're telling the truth!" she cried in desperation. "Ask anyone here. Harry never came today. We haven't seen him!"

"Oh, rest assured, madam, I plan to interrogate each and every one of you. Carefully and thoroughly," he said softly, enunciating each threatening word. Malfoy turned back to Arthur. "Where are the rest of your urchins, Weasley?"

"Don't know. Things have been a bit chaotic since you and your lot decided to ambush a perfectly innocent family wedding celebration," he answered, his voice still weak from before.

Malfoy grinned, belying the anxiety that was rapidly mounting within. It was imperative that he not return to the Dark Lord empty-handed like the last time. "Hmm. A few chickens have flown the coop, have they? Well, well, well, let us see who comes back to roost."

He turned to the men who had accompanied him on this mission. "Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen. That is, what paltry comfort you can find in this dirty hovel. It appears we will be imposing upon the Weasley hospitality for a while longer, I'm afraid."

*

The sky was just beginning to lighten with the coming dawn when a silvery fox coalesced from nothing at the foot of Annie's bed. "Come home now. We told them you were at Aunt Muriel's, who then sent you to the shop. Keep the story straight, you will be asked." Then the spectral animal disappeared in a puff.

"Fred's Patronus," George responded to Annie's baffled look. "I'll explain it more to you later. Stay at home today.... I'll be back as soon as it's safe."

He kissed her – more urgently than his calm tone of voice would have indicated necessary – then was gone.

*

"We need to talk, George."

The Burrow was finally quiet once more. It was mid-afternoon, and the rest of the family was asleep. But George and his father were standing guard by the hearth.

George met his father's eyes. He had known that this was coming sooner or later. It was inevitable, after last night. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but here it was.

"I know..." he answered with a sigh. George watched as his father took a seat next to him on the sofa.

Arthur rubbed his face with his palms. "George, I'm worried... about you and Annie."

"Don't be. We'll be fine," he replied, deliberately misinterpreting his father.

Arthur gave George a look that told him he would brook no nonsense from him at the moment. "I'll be straight with you, son. She knows too much already. She could identify practically every member of the Order, even if she doesn't know precisely what it is."

"She'd never tell! You don't know her like I do!" George protested.

"And you have no idea the brutal tactics a Death Eater will resort to. She's a danger to us and a danger to herself. If they ever found out...."

"They never will!" he hissed.

"And how can you guarantee that, George? There's only one sure way...."

"NO!"

"You have to give her up," his father persisted. "For her own good. For now, at least."

"I can't! I won't!" George argued, nearly shouting, carefully omitting the fact that he had already tried to do so unsuccessfully.

"George, you must see reason! If nothing else, you must remember you have a responsibility to the Order. Look, she's a lovely girl; I like her, too. But you're both only nineteen years old...."

"Oh, not you, too!" George spat. "It doesn't matter! How can you, of all people, expect me to swallow the 'you're too young' crap?"

Arthur had to concede his son had him dead to rights on that point. He and Molly had been the same age when they were wed, after all. But this was completely different. Wasn't it? "You have some other solution?" he asked, exasperated.

"Actually, I do."

George had been thinking about it for a while now. Well, to be precise, he'd been very careful not to think of it all day today, just in case. But now the house was empty of uninvited guests. They had only really been interested in where Harry was, anyway. The fact that a Muggle had slipped through their clutches had completely escaped their notice.

"Bring her in. Give her the Fidelius," he urged softly. "You're Secret Keeper – you could do it. Then she wouldn't be a danger to the Order anymore."

Arthur looked at his son in shock. "George, be serious! How would putting her under a Fidelius Charm keep her safe?"

"It wouldn't, I know. But it would protect the Order, right? And that's your main objection, isn't it?" George looked at his father, whose pained expression confessed silently that he had no argument with his son's logic so far. "Then I could protect her! I'll charm their house."

Arthur shook his head. "It wouldn't work. Nothing in their home would function anymore. And all those spells on a Muggle house would stand out like a searchlight, if someone was looking for trouble. You'd be putting her at incredible risk, George."

George nodded reluctantly, understanding the logic of his father's argument. It galled him to think of her alone with her Gran, utterly unprotected. But as long as no one found out.... "I know, but... I have to. She'll say the same, I'm sure of it. Just ask her."

Arthur's eyebrow rose inquisitively. "Is it truly that serious between you two?"

George looked earnestly into his father's eyes and nodded. "She's the one, Dad," he said softly.

Arthur sighed deeply, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted and aching, desperate to lie down. Despite all the sensible arguments he could pile up against his son's relationship with the Muggle girl, he wouldn't go up against true love. No one had the right to interfere, if that's what this really was.

"All right, look – we'll leave the choice up to her. But George, if she chooses not to take the oath, then that's the end of it, understand? She has to do it of her own free will. And if she doesn't, you will drop it, is that clear? Promise me now you will not do anything rash!"

George nodded with a smile, brimming with confidence at an argument he judged to be already won. He leaped to his feet. "Fair enough. Let's go get her."

"Later," Arthur sighed. "I need to rest for a bit, first."

*

Gran wanted to hear all about the wedding, of course, as they sat at the table in the kitchen for breakfast. Annie had to carefully edit the tale, sticking to the traditional highlights regarding the bridal dress, decorations, cake, et cetera. When she got to the part about dancing at the reception, though, her voice caught. She wasn't quick enough to hide the contradictory smile on her face and eyes welling up with tears.

"What is it, Annie?" Gran asked, concerned and confused.

Annie shook her head. She wasn't ready to share George's proposal with Gran just yet. "It was just... very romantic, that's all."

She spent the rest of her day keeping herself busy with household chores, keeping out of Gran's view as much as possible. Annie struggled to remain calm, to hide the anxiety she felt for George and the rest of his family, while she waited. It didn't help that George didn't return until well after dark. She had grown quite desperate for news of his family's safety as the day had worn on and was therefore frantic when he finally reappeared in her room.

"Are you safe? Are they safe? What happened?" she spluttered as she kissed him fiercely.

George was almost as agitated as she was. "Calm... down.... Let me... breathe," he was barely able to gasp out between the kisses.

"Sorry." She stopped kissing him but still clung tightly to his neck.

"We're all fine, as far as we know. Nobody's sure where Ron is, other than he's with Harry and Hermione. The Death Eaters," his voice spat the name like a particularly vile epithet, "are finally gone, but we're likely being watched."

George sat her down on the edge of her bed and knelt before her. He held her by the shoulders as he looked seriously into her eyes. He took a deep, steeling breath, then began to speak once more.

"Annie, as you can tell from recent events, things are getting a bit hairy around here. That's not likely to change, considering who's in charge now. My family... is involved in s-something.... I can't tell you specifics, but it's s-secret... and dan-dangerous... and right."

Annie noticed that, for some reason, George was having difficulty saying what he wanted to say. Almost, but not quite, like he was having trouble choosing the right words. His speech was full of awkward pauses, and she could see that he had an almost physical struggle to speak.

"B-but something's changed.... It's not just my d-decision anymore.... For us to be together... you have to do s-something. If you love me like I love you, then I need you to come with me tonight."

"For how long?" she asked frantically.

George's words, aside from being cryptic, struck panic in her heart. She couldn't leave Gran! Not yet – not for good. She prayed George wasn't asking her to make a choice between them. She felt her heart begin to rip apart at the thought....

"For a while. I'll have you back by morning. Will your Gran be all right until then?"

Annie sighed with relief, saved from tearing her heart in two, and nodded. "I think so."

"So, will you come?"

"Of course."

They snuck out of the house after Annie checked in on her Gran to reassure herself she was sleeping peacefully. As they crept past the garden gate, she was startled to see George's father waiting for them in the shadows.

"Hello, Annie. I'm here to take you to the Burrow now, the only safe way that's left to us. It will be a bit uncomfortable for you, but only for a moment. Do you trust me, dear?"

Annie nodded. Even in the darkness, she could see Arthur was rather the worse for wear at the moment. She wondered what had happened over the past twenty-four hours to take such a toll upon him.

"All right, then; come stand by me, and I'll hold on to your shoulder like this. You might want to put your arms around me to help steady yourself. Ready?"

Again, Annie nodded silently, obeying his instructions.

Suddenly, she felt as though she had been instantaneously plunged to the bottom of a deep oceanic abyss. An immense blackness and monumental pressure began to stuff itself into her ear canals and nostrils. She was sure something had gone terribly wrong. This must be death....

And then, another instant later, she opened her eyes in front of a crackling fire in the living room of the Burrow, still clutching George's father around his waist. A second later, George popped into being right next to her.

"Here we are, dear. I hope that wasn't too terribly disconcerting for you," Arthur said as he patted her on the shoulder.

She shook her head to reassure him, confident that if she tried to verbally respond, it would be made completely obvious by her quivering voice that whatever had just happened had shaken her tremendously indeed.

She looked to George, who directed her to the sofa. They sat together, completing a small circle of family members. Molly was there with Fred. A shabby-looking man she had seen here once or twice before but never been properly introduced to was also in the room, nervously hovering around the margins.

"Now, Annie. I'm not sure how much George has already explained to you, but I want you to know that whatever happens tonight, whatever decision you make, I promise we will do our utmost to keep you and your grandmother safe. That is our ultimate priority," Arthur began in a serious voice.

Annie nodded slowly, taking in the gravity of the situation. Every face in the room was looking at her with a similar solemn expression. Each of them looked haggard, worn down by the day's events, but yet showed concern for her. She was touched that they spared such feeling for her even now, but also felt a resentment that was growing into anger at the ones responsible for hurting these dear people.

Arthur began to speak again. "As you have unfortunately seen throughout the last week, there are those in our world who do not respect the rights of anyone else to live peacefully as they choose. They value only power and are willing to use any means necessary to obtain it. And they have recently gained control of the Ministry of Magic: our government, so to speak.

"My family – and others like us – are committed to resist them. More than this, I cannot tell you... yet. First, I must ask you to make a decision. A very important one with far-reaching effects, I'm afraid. I must honestly warn you now: it will determine your future with George."

Annie looked at George, who was looking at her earnestly himself. She reached for his hand and squeezed it for support. Whatever they asked her to do, she would. At this moment, she was willing to take any risk for them.

"Annie... you, as a non-magical person, have far too much knowledge of our world to remain safe, either in our world or in your own. We are putting you in danger by allowing you any further contact with us. We are putting ourselves in danger as well, not to mention risking our cause. This is something we can no longer do, circumstances as they are, unless you are willing to make a commitment: to take a special kind of oath. Do you understand me so far?"

"I think so."

She understood that George's family and friends were in danger. A danger that grew as the influence of the nameless menace increased. Whatever it took, she would keep them safe if it was within her power to do so.

"Now, if you choose to continue your relationship with my family, with George, I will ask you to take the oath I mentioned before. It is magical, and binding, and permanent. It will force you to keep our secret forever, no matter what. You will never be able to reveal the secret to anyone, no matter what duress you yourself may be under. No matter your own conscious, rational thought. Even to save yourself... or someone you love."

"I would never betray you, Mr. Weasley," she assured him, falling back on formal address under the stress of the situation.

"Annie, my dear... this is not because I do not trust you to keep a secret! God knows you have demonstrated your trustworthiness beyond a shadow of a doubt over your years of friendship with the boys. The oath is necessary because the enemy who wishes to learn the secret will resort to evil measures to get it. You see, magic can be used to torture as well as heal, to destroy as well as create. I don't blame George if he has not explained this Dark aspect of our world to you."

"And the alternative?" she asked, swallowing hard.

She trusted them, trusted George completely. But this was serious. George's father was talking about forever. And Annie had a responsibility to her Gran. She couldn't justify risking Gran's safety any more than she could the Weasleys'.

"I will be forced to erase your memory. You will have no recollection of any member of my family, ever, for the rest of your lifetime."

Arthur paused to let the enormity of this sink in. The poor girl looked like she had been slapped. No – worse than that – shot with an arrow through the heart, perhaps. He looked upon her with pity, wishing that he had any other solution.

"I'm sorry, Annie," he said gently. "These are drastic options I am asking you to choose between, I know. As I said before, it is only because the safety of my family and our friends requires such measures. These are trying times for us all, to be sure.

"If you choose to take the oath, I can assure you we will do everything in our power to keep you and your grandmother safe. You will be carefully guarded. If you choose the alternative – well, we'd still keep an eye out for you, even though you'll never know it. Either way, you will be as safe as we can possibly keep you.

"I know I've given you a great deal to ponder. Do you have any questions for me, Annie?"

"Just one. If I take the oath, is my Gran affected in any way? I have to take care of her, you see: I'm all she's got," Annie said in a choked voice.

"George has assured us that she knows little more than his name and nothing about our family. Is this true?" Arthur asked.

"Yes," Annie assured him without hesitation.

"Then no, she will not be affected in the least. However, if you choose the alternative, she will lose all memory of George as well. As will anyone else who knows about the two of you."

Arthur paused for a moment, considering this young Muggle girl before him. Her head was bent, and she was gazing thoughtfully into her lap while his son George was holding her hand. He was staring at her intently with concern for her, but also with the naïve confidence in love that only teenagers have. He seemed to think he knew the decision she would make. Arthur was not so sure.

They looked so very young, the two of them. How could he ask either of them to make such a life-altering decision at nineteen? It wasn't fair of him – but what choice did he have? He glanced up at Lupin, who was seated in the corner, shaking his head slightly, looking conflicted as well. Why does love have to be so complicated?

"Would you like some time alone to consider?" Arthur asked her gently.

Annie gazed up at George, sitting beside her and holding her hand. There was never really any question that she would ever give him up. "No. Give me the oath."