(a Harry Potter fanfiction by Poppy P)

The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

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A/N: Standard disclaimer applies, I am not making money off of this fic, it is just for entertainment purposes. All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling. This is a sequel of sorts to I’m Like a Bird, although you probably don’t have to read it to get this, (but it helps, and so does reviewing BTW, hehe). Also, there will be little tidbits from my other stories and possible cameos from other SQ universes if I can convince a couple of ROXin authors. Title of this chapter comes from the song “History Will Teach Us Nothing” by Sting. Great big thanks to my dream team: Zsenya, Soupytwist and Yolanda for their beta-ing, British-ing and all around good advise-ing. Hope you all Enjoy!

Chapter 1 – History Will Teach Us Nothing...

I know that I'm a prisoner
To all my Father held so dear
I know that I'm a hostage
To all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

-The Living Years by Mike and the Mechanics

Thirteen-year-old Petra Weasley, heaved a loud groan and put her head down. Her auburn-colored plait scraped against the blank piece of parchment before her.

“What’s wrong?” asked her cousin, Billy Weasley, a short, freckled first year. The two Gryffindors were sharing a table in their common room. Petra had several rolls of parchment lying around her as well as various quills and two pots of scarlet ink. Billy was reading a Quidditch magazine, his strawberry-blond hair barely visible over the top as he poured over the latest in racing brooms. He didn’t even bother to look up as Petra spoke.

Petra sat up with her hands over her eyes. “It’s this bloody history assignment!” she moaned through her hands. “Listen to this: Chose an important figure from the war and describe the characteristics that make that person a hero to you. You must use at least three different references. At least one of these should include an interview. Be prepared to deliver a three-minute speech on your hero before the class.” Petra’s brow furrowed in indignation. “Stupid Binns! What kind of assignment is that?”

“That doesn’t sound too hard,” reasoned Billy, setting down his magazine so that it didn’t stick to the huge gum bubble he was blowing. “Just take your pick. We’re related to half the Order,” he said, talking around the bubble.

“I know, I know. That’s the problem,” said Petra, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her quill. “Do I choose Uncle Harry or Uncle Ron? Aunt Hermione or Granny Weasley? Granddad or Auntie Ginny?”

“What about Uncle Percy?” asked Billy, causing his bubble to bob up and down. It was bigger than his face now.

“My dad? Why would I pick my dad?” asked Petra, bemused.

“Duh,” said Billy with difficulty.

“Do you really think he was a hero?” asked Petra tilting her head reflectively.

“He died in the war effort, didn’t he?” Billy’s voice took on the characteristic softness that all the Weasleys took when discussing Percy.

Petra marveled that even Billy could take this tone considering that he had never met her father either. That soft tone had always made her uncomfortable, but for some reason it really irritated her now. “Just because someone was killed by Death Eaters doesn’t make them a hero. Look at Cornelius Fudge,” she pointed out petulantly.

“Who’s Cornelius Fudge?” asked Billy, standing up to accommodate the size of his bubble.

“He was the Minister of Magic before Granddad and Sirius Black!” said Petra sharply. “Don’t you ever pay attention in History of Magic?”

“No,” said Billy indifferently, his bubble stretching towards his knees.

“Well, you should,” said Petra with aggravation.

“Yes, yes we all know how smart you are,” his voice echoed slightly inside the bubble. “You should’ve gone to Ravenclaw, really.”

Petra’s eyes flashed with anger. Billy knew she was sensitive about the fact that she wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw. She had always felt this was a disappointment for her mum. Penelope had been a Ravenclaw prefect during her time at Hogwarts. Petra grabbed her quill off the table and poked Billy’s bubble with it.

“Ha!” said Billy, pulling the bubble out of his mouth. He held the end pinched between his fingers. “It’s Drooble’s Best, so it won’t pop.” He glanced around the room slyly before turning to Petra with a smirk. “So take that, Pickles.”

Petra bristled instantly at the sound of her family nickname. “I told you not to use that name at Hogwarts you prat,” she hissed, drawing her wand and pointing it at Billy’s face. “Reventarus!”

Billy’s gum bubble burst with a resounding ‘pop!’ covering his face and robes with pink, sticky goo. He gaped at her open-mouthed, too furious to respond. “Y..you!…”

“Goodbye cousin,” said Petra sweetly before sprinting up the staircase towards the third year girls’ dorm.

“I’ll get you back for this, Pickles!” he called after her.

As soon as she entered her room she was accosted by her one of her dorm mates, Mauve Finnegan, a giggly, sandy-haired girl. “Oh my gosh! Can you believe Binns? Four rolls of parchment and three different references! It’s not fair! Who are you going to write yours on?” asked Mauve breathlessly.

Petra stared at her roommate, admiring the fact that she could cram so many sentences in between breaths. “I dunno,” she said turning away from Mauve. Her gaze fell on a small, framed picture sitting on her dresser. The photo showed Petra’s father standing behind her mother with his hands on her belly. Like all wizarding photographs, it moved, and every few seconds her father would rub his hands across her mother’s stomach, smiling broadly over her shoulder. Occasionally, her photographic mother would lean back and turn around to plant a kiss on her father’s cheek. When her mum gave her that picture, right before she started Hogwarts, she’d explained that her uncle Charlie had taken this picture when she was six months pregnant. Her father was killed shortly after the picture was taken.

Petra picked the picture up, running a hand over the gilt-edged frame. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “My cousin Billy thinks I should write about…my dad,” she said hesitantly.

Mauve’s eyes widened. “Ooh Petra! That’s perfect! You won’t even have to do much research. You can just interview three family members! You are so lucky your dad was a war hero!” she exclaimed, throwing herself back on her four-poster.

Petra had the urge to say something sarcastic like, “Yeah, it’s really great having a dead father whom I’ve never known.” However, since it was Mauve, she figured the comment would be wasted. Instead she said, “I suppose I could write about my father.” She frowned slightly. “The thing is…it’s just that… I don’t know much about him...”

Mauve sat up on her bed and looked at her skeptically. “Your family’s never told you about your own father?”

“No, I mean yes. I dunno…” said Petra, flustered, putting the photo back down on her dresser. “Granny’s always made sure I had plenty of pictures of him while I was growing up. Mum’s told me all about how they fell in love and how they were mad about each other up until he died. My Uncle Ron always talks about how smart he was and everything,” she paused, unsure of how to put her concern in to words. “It’s just that, well, they wouldn’t be very objective now, would they? What if Percy Weasley was only a hero to them? I mean, can I really write a whole essay about him?”

Mauve looked slightly uncomfortable. “You’re being silly,” she said finally. “Of course he was a hero. You’ll write a fine essay, I’m sure of it. Besides, we all know how clever you are.”

“I guess,” said Petra softly. There was an uncomfortable pause.

Mauve quickly changed the subject as she always did when something was threatening to make her think too deeply. “Let’s go down to dinner now. Maybe we’ll run into Damien Thomas.” She smiled mischievously. “I heard he’s got a crush on you,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Shut up!” protested Petra, trying to keep a blush from creeping up her face. Her history assignment was momentarily forgotten as she thought of Damien, a tall, handsome Ravenclaw with skin the color of milk and coffee. “I told you, we’re just friends. We’ve known each other forever. Our mums were friends from school.” Damien was the son of her mum’s fellow Ravenclaw, Padma Patil.

“It’s a Hogsmeade weekend on Saturday,” said Mauve with a smirk. “Maybe your friend will ask you to go with him.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh shove it, would you?” said Petra, smiling in spite of herself, aware that her ears were horribly hot now.

“I’m serious!” said Mauve, starting for the door. “I saw how cozy you two were during Astronomy.”

Petra ducked her head as she followed her dorm mate out the door. “He needed to borrow my telescope!” she protested weakly.

“Uh huh,” said Mauve before launching into a detailed lecture on her favorite subject - boys.

Petra smiled as she listened to her friend’s cheerful prattle. Mauve’s voice had a tendency to drive everything out of one’s mind.

Almost.

At the bottom of the staircase Petra stopped and looked up at the plaque above the entrance to the boys’ staircase. During her two and a half years as a Gryffindor she had read this plaque many times. She knew the inscription by heart.

This wing is dedicated to all of the brave men of Gryffindor who paid the ultimate price so that wizards and Muggles alike could one day live without fear of the dark shadow that threatened to end our world. It is an honor to recognize them as members of the distinguished House of Gryffindor.

She located her father’s name easily, Percival Angelus Weasley, Class of 93, Prefect, 91-92, Head Boy 93.

“What are you looking at?” asked Mauve, tugging at the sleeve of her robe. She had finally noticed that Petra was no longer listening to her. “Is something wrong?”

“Um, nothing,” said Petra, shaking her head and glancing around guiltily. How could she tell anyone the truth? She wasn’t sure her father was really a hero. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she felt she didn’t know much about him at all. “Let’s just go down to dinner,” she said moving towards the portrait hole.

Just as she stepped away from the boys’ staircase a burst of light cut through the air as Billy’s squeaky voice was heard shouting, “Petrificus Totalus!” However, as Petra had just stepped away, the hex hit the common room mirror, which she had been standing in front of, and ricocheted back to Billy, whose arms flew to his sides as his body became rigid. He fell to the ground to the ground with a heavy ‘clunk’!

Petra and Mauve burst into giggles over Billy’s predicament. “You’ll have to do better than that, first year,” snorted Petra.

“Idiot boy!” said Mauve rolling her eyes. “He’s as bad as my little brothers!” Mauve had four younger brothers. Michael was a first year who had been sorted into Ravenclaw, much to the surprise and delight of Mauve’s parent’s.

Billy’s eyes roved around wildly, clearing beseeching Petra for help. She leaned down and patted the side of his face with her palm. “No, I don’t think so, cousin dear. I think I’ll just leave you here and let you think about the consequences of messing with a witch who’s obviously older and wiser.”

Billy’s eyes widened further as Petra and Mauve walked away, chortling happily.

“Are you really going to leave him like that?” asked Mauve as they pushed their way through the portrait hole.

“Of course. Some prefect is bound to stumble on him on their way down to dinner,” said Petra confidently. “Eventually.”

Chapter 2: Howlers, Letters and Sandcastles

A/N: To everybody that reviewed ch 1, a big thanks and an SQ cheer! (What is an SQ cheer? Do we have one? If not, then why not?) Now if only I could get people to read/review me over at FF.N (what is it w/ that place that people never review? Or maybe [horrors!] people aren’t reading me there?) Oh okay, I’m done whining. Much appreciation to my beta, Z, (who remembered that Veelas shriek), and my British beta, Soupytwist (who provided much needed British geography assistance).

Petra made her way through the Great Hall, heading towards the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Her book bag was heavy and kept tugging on her auburn plait. She reached the table and plunked herself down next to Mauve who was sitting across from Billy. Mauve was snickering as she watched Billy in amusement.

“What’s up?” asked Petra, staring across the table at Billy. He was looking up at the enchanted ceiling anxiously. Petra followed his gaze but saw nothing unusual about the ceiling, which today was reflecting a semi-gloomy sky. She looked back at Billy and noted that he was extremely pale under his coppery freckles. She glanced at Mauve questioningly. Petra had noticed that although Mauve teased Billy unceasingly, she always seemed to be extra giggly when he was around. Petra wondered if it was Billy’s heritage working on her or if it was just the fact that Mauve was silly. She shrugged and calmly reached for her napkin.

“He’s waiting for the post,” explained Mauve finally after she saw that Petra was not going to ask again.

“Yeah, thanks a lot cousin,” said Billy, glancing briefly at Petra. “Longbottom gave me a detention and wrote to Mum and Dad about me putting Petrificus Totalus on myself.” Professor Longbottom was their Head of House and the Herbology professor. Although he was very kind, he was also very strict. Billy had spent much time in his office since the start of term. It was common Weasley knowledge that Billy already rivaled his uncles Fred and George for most mischief caused in the first month of school.

“That’s my third detention this month! Mum’s going to send me a Howler for sure,” said Billy with a shudder.

“And how exactly is this my fault?” asked Petra disinterestedly, reaching for the orange juice.

“If you had just stayed still so I could curse you…” muttered Billy. He attempted to shove a forkful of food in his mouth without taking his eyes off the ceiling. He ended up with scrambled egg on his left cheek.

Mauve snorted. “Idiot boy!”

Petra sighed heavily. “Have you ever had to put up with one of these?” she asked Mauve in an afflicted voice.

“Four of them,” said Mauve matter-of-factly. “I call them brothers.” She looked over Billy’s shoulder towards the Ravenclaw table. “Oh look, there’s one of them now. Look who’s sitting next to him.”

Petra spotted Michael Finnigan and saw that Damien Thomas was sitting next to him. Almost as if he sensed Petra’s gaze, he looked up from his plate and gave her a cheery wave. Petra smiled at him, but looked away quickly, irritated with herself as she felt her cheeks grow hot. It was just Damien. They’d known each other all of their lives. She didn’t know why Mauve had to act so silly about them being friends, after all, Mauve had known Damien for a long time as well, their fathers, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, were best friends. It was only recently that Petra got a funny, fluttering feeling in her stomach every time she thought of Damien and it annoyed her to no end. She nudged Mauve roughly. “Don’t do that!” Petra hissed. Mauve merely smirked.

Billy broke his ceiling vigil to glance over his shoulder. He turned back to Petra with a Cheshire cat grin. “What? Damien Thomas?” he asked innocently. “Oh we’ve always known they’d get together. Ever since they were ickle babies and their mums made them share a crib.”

Mauve choked on her orange juice. “You shared a crib?” she sputtered.

“We have pictures,” said Billy helpfully.

“Shut. Your. Mouth. You. Warty. Little. Toad!” Petra punctuated each word with a kick to Billy’s shin.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” yelped Billy through his laughter. “That hurts! And here I thought I was your favorite cousin.”

“What ever gave you that impression?” asked Petra acidly. She cast a furtive look across the room at Damien. Luckily he was talking to some of his housemates. She felt relieved, yet slightly disappointed.

“You shared a crib?” repeated Mauve incredulously. Petra gave her an icy glare that made her turn back to her toast hastily.

“Well, I should be your favorite cousin,” said Billy, returning to his ceiling vigil.

“And why is that?” asked Pedtra with an arched eyebrow.

“Because,” said Billy, glancing briefly at Petra. His tone turned soft and serious. “I owled Dad last night about you needing information on Uncle Percy. I figured he’d be able to give you some good stuff for your essay.”

“You did what?” asked Petra, going the color of Billy’s glass of milk.

Billy didn’t answer however as the post owls swooped in at that moment in a rush of wings and feathers. His light-blue eyes widened in panic as he spotted a pristine, snowy owl makings its way towards him with a scarlet envelope in it’s beak.

“Mum’s owl,” he croaked weakly.

“Don’t just stand there, you prat,” said Mauve as the owl delivered the Howler to Billy. “Take that thing outside!”

Billy took the envelope and sprinted out of the Great Hall amidst snickers and catcalls. In a few seconds Petra heard a tremendous explosion followed by the sound of her Aunt Fleur’s shrill voice. “William Albus Weasley! What is ze meaning of zis? Third owl in a month!”

Aunt Fleur’s high shrieks went on and on with threats of removing Billy from Hogwarts and transferring him to Beauxbatons where, “Zey don’t put up with zis nonsense!”

When her Aunt Fleur’s tirade was over, Petra was surprised to hear her Uncle Bill’s voice. “Er…yeah! Everything your mother said Billy!” His tone turned conversational, although his voice still reverberated throughout the hall. “Oh yes. Son, please let Petra know that she’s chosen a great hero. I’ll send her some information soon. Take care.”

Petra sank down in her chair, humiliated. People were looking her way with bemused smiles. “I’m going to die,” she whispered to Mauve. “I am seriously going to die.”

“You might want to save your owl first,” said Mauve helpfully, pointing at the table where their ancient owl, Hermes, lay passed out on a platter of sausages.

“Hermes!” cried Petra, giving the owl a tiny shake as she pulled the letter from his talons. The owl opened one bleary eye and gave a tired sort of ‘hoot’. “Honestly! Dunno why Mum keeps using Dad’s owl for post. We have Thor, he’s much more reliable.” Petra’s own owl Chudley, was currently in the owlery with the school owls.

Hermes drew himself off the platter with stiff dignity and regarded Petra in a sour, reproachful sort of way.

Petra rolled her eyes. “Sorry Hermes,” she said, offering him a strip of bacon, which he took in his beak before flying off with one last sulky look at Petra. She didn’t notice as she was already opening her mum’s letter.

Dear Petra,

How are you? I miss you very much. I got an interesting fire call from your Uncle Bill last night. I’m happy to hear that you’re writing an essay about your father. I’ll let all of the Weasleys know. I’m sure they can give you some wonderful information as well. Do you need anything from me? Just send me an owl. I’m really looking forward to the A.D. Ball this year…

The ball her mum was referring to was the Albus Dumbledore Halloween Charity Ball, an event held at Hogwarts for the past twelve years. Students, staff and alumni gathered on that night to raise money for war widows and orphans. Petra and Penny themselves had been recipients of one of the first awards. Petra’s mum and stepfather, Dave, came to the ball every year, as did most of the Weasley family.

I finally developed those pictures from summer holiday, so I’ve enclosed one for you. Don’t Jake and Rachelle look sweet? Owl me when you get a chance. I’ll see you on Halloween.

Love, Mum

Petra looked in the envelope and pulled out a photograph. It showed her mum, her stepfather, her three-year-old brother Jake and her one-year-old sister Rachelle. Her mum and Dave always spent a month in Cornwall with Dave’s parents on summer holiday. Petra spent the month at the Burrow with her grandparents, usually accompanied with various Weasley cousins. She could’ve gone with her Mum and Dave. Dave’s parents had always been fond of her. But the Weasleys always looked forward to having Petra and she had a feeling that it would break her grandmother’s heart if she didn’t spend summer with her.

In the picture, her mother had to reach out every few seconds to stop Rachelle from putting a chubby fist full of sand in her mouth. Dave was building a sandcastle with Jake despite the fact that he kept trying to kick it down.

Petra liked Jake and Rachelle very much although she felt more like an aunt than a sister due to the age difference. They didn’t look much alike either. While Petra had curly, auburn-colored hair, her brother and sister had straight, blond hair like their father’s. Petra had light brown, honey-colored eyes. Jake had their mother’s gray, Rachelle her father’s blue. Petra was also lanky and tall for her age, a trait everyone attributed to her father. Although Jake and Rachelle were still little, Petra doubted they’d be tall as both her mother and Dave were of average height.

As Petra looked at the happy little scene in the photo a familiar, wistful longing stirred within her. She wondered what if would be like to be a part of such a scene. Petra tried to picture herself there with her father in Dave’s place. She wondered if he would help her build a sandcastle like Dave was helping Jake. Unbeknownst to her, Petra gave a little sigh.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mauve, shattering Petra’s daydream.

“Nothing,” said Petra quickly, shoving the photo and the letter into her book bag. “Let’s get to Potions.” Petra shouldered the bag, which felt somehow heavier than when she had first walked into the Great Hall.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” asked Mauve, uncharacteristically intuitive.

“I’m too old for sandcastles,” whispered Petra sadly and marched on, leaving a confused Mauve behind.

Chapter 3 – Vox de Morte

A/N: So many people to thank, where do I start? Okay, first of all, you may recognize Gareth and Colin Snape and Viviana Lupin from Yolanda’s “No Clue” universe, an awesome story, go read it now. A great big thanks to her for letting me play w/ her kids. Thanks to Z and Arabella because the idea of the wand joining ceremony came from “After the End”. Also to Z for beta-ing and reminding me what SQ is all about! : ) To Katie aka Souptwist for saving me from my Americanisms and her many wonderful suggestions, she ROXs! Even my mum helped me out w/ this one guys! She suggested Hagrid’s son’s name. Appropriate that I thank her for mother’s day no? Oh yes and to my real life friend, rabinnia who helped me with the potion, she ROX’s too! Okay, on to the show…

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

From the poem “War is Kind” by Stephen Crane

Petra rubbed her hand roughly over her eyes. They had been bothering her for several days. She supposed it was from all of the extra work the professors had been piling on. Not to mention the additional time she was spending in the library looking for information on her father.

Petra’s godmother, Hermione, had taken the position of school librarian at Hogwarts when Madam Pince had retired two years ago. At Petra’s request Hermione had run a magical index on the library, searching for books on ‘Percy Weasley’. The index took longer than Petra thought, but after a couple of days, Hermione had called Petra to the library where she told her that only three books had come up: Hogwarts, a History where he was listed as a prefect and head boy; Prefects Who Gained Power, which described his rise through the Ministry of Magic but hadn’t been updated to include his work with the Order of the Phoenix; and Cauldrons, How Thick is Your Bottom?.

The last book was hidden in the back of the library with a slew of other Ministry reports, but it was worth finding it for it had been written by her father himself. Petra delved into her father’s book eagerly, half annoyed at her mother for never telling her that her father was a published author. However, Percy’s book turned out to be nothing more than an extensive Ministry report on the dangers of substandard cauldron bottom thickness. It was quite thorough, but it didn’t really give any insight on her father’s character, other than the fact that he was a great researcher.

The best part of the book, in Petra’s opinion, was the picture of her father on the back in a pinstriped cloak and lime-colored bowler. In the picture her father was looking at a bubbling cauldron and frowning as a thick, green slime oozed out of the bottom. He looked so stern and intelligent in his horned-rimmed glasses that Petra could have stared at it all day. It was certainly better than anything Petra had received from her family.

The letters had started arriving soon after Billy’s howler. Grandma Weasley had written a long letter describing her father as a wonderful son, “intelligent and obedient.” Uncle Charlie called him, “my favorite kid brother, because he never sent me trick sweets by post or made me help him smuggle illegal dragons.” Sometimes Petra wondered what in the world that one was talking about. Uncle Fred owled and said his brother was “better at making bets than me – ask your mum.” Aunt Ginny wrote that Percy was a great older brother, “who was always looking out for his younger siblings even if it meant making them take Pepper-Up Potion.” Petra noticed that she hadn’t received anything from her godfather Ron, but she wasn’t surprised. He had become more and more withdrawn since his separation from her godmother Hermione three years ago.

Uncle George wrote as well, but only to ask Petra to meet him for lunch during the first Hogsmeade weekend.

Petra tossed all of the letters into her school bag. None of them told her anything she hadn’t already heard.

Thursday evening found Petra in the library, once more poring over her father’s cauldron bottom report with bleary eyes. She was meeting her assigned Muggle Studies group for a study session. Since the end of the war, all third year students at Hogwarts were required to take Muggle Studies to improve Muggle/Wizard relations. The class was crowded as all four houses took the class together. At the start of the school year, the class was split up into groups of four and assigned a yearlong project. Petra’s group included Damien Thomas, Gareth Snape from Slytherin and Helga MacMillan from Hufflepuff. Their assigned project was Muggle transportation. The group met in the library twice a week to work on their project.

The minute Damien walked in he looked at Petra and did a double take. “What’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked.

Petra looked up at him through squinted eyes. “I dunno, but they’re really bothering me. Maybe it’s all this stupid homework.”

Damien tossed his school bag on the table and sank his lanky frame into a chair. “I know what you mean. If Snape makes us memorize one more bloody potion…”

“You’ll what Thomas?” said a sneering voice behind them, making them jump.

“Gods Gareth!” gasped Petra, clutching her chest. “Don’t do that! You sound just like your dad.” Gareth’s dad was their strict Potions Master, Professor Snape.

Gareth, a thin, gangling boy with intensely dark eyes, straddled a chair, laughing heartily at them. “Gets them every time,” he said smugly.

“Obnoxious git,” muttered Damien good-naturedly. Their group generally got on very well.

They were joined shortly by Helga, a short, round faced girl with thick, blond plaits hanging down her back. “Sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly. “I just got an owl from Mum. Guess what she sent me to use as a visual aide for my hero report?” Without waiting for an answer, Helga reached into her school bag and withdrew a small figure, which she placed on the table before them.

“Madam Granger?” asked Damien.

Indeed, the tiny figure was that of Petra’s godmother Hermione.

“Yes,” said Helga happily. “I’m going to write my essay on Hermione Granger-Weasley.”

“You and half the school,” said Gareth in a bored voice.

Petra gave Gareth a nasty look as Helga’s shoulders slumped in disappointment and said, “That’s great Helga, especially since she’s here at school and you can interview her yourself.” She looked down at the little figure, which was now sitting down on the table, with a tiny copy of “Hogwarts, a History” open before her. “That’s a really good likeness of her too. I’ve seen some that didn’t look like her at all. I even saw one of my Uncle Ron that had this horrible bowl haircut.” Petra giggled remembering how her Uncle Ron had gone on about that one.

Helga flashed her a grateful smile. “Thanks Petra.” She blinked suddenly, as though she’d suddenly remembered something. “Oh, that’s right! She’s your aunt. ” Petra smiled and nodded as Helga continued, “Is it true that she’s separated from your Uncle Ron now?”

Petra’s smile faded as she nodded tightly, her stomach clenching the way it always did when she thought about her godparent’s separation three years ago. It had come as such a shock when they split up shortly after the birth of their daughter, Hillary. The Weasley family had been in an absolute uproar when Uncle Ron had moved out of their home in Hogsmeade and back to the Burrow. Neither Ron nor Hermione would tell anyone what went wrong, not even Uncle Harry who was their best friend. The only thing anyone knew for sure was that Ron had changed. He had always been protective of Petra, but since the separation he was doubly so, to the point where it was annoying. Once her closest link to her father, Ron had stopped discussing Percy with Petra, always changing the subject whenever he came up. Ron hardly ever went out unless it was to his job at the Ministry or to pick up Hillary for a visit. He rarely smiled. The only thing that kept the family hopeful was the fact that Ron and Hermione’s wands were still joined. The dissolution of a wizarding marriage required that a Ministry official disconnect the couple’s wands. Neither of them had requested an un-joining yet.

Damien, who was aware of Petra’s discomfort concerning her godparent’s separation, attempted to change the subject. “So Gareth, who are you writing about?”

“I was going to write about my dad,” he said, “but I figured a lot of people were going to choose him as well, so I decided to pick my Uncle Michael.” He shrugged his dark hair out of his eyes.

“From the FBM in the States?” asked Petra.

“Yeah,” said Gareth sheepishly, despite the proud smile creeping up on his face. “How about you lot?”

“I’m writing about my dad,” said Petra quietly.

Damien gave her a curious look before answering. “My Aunt Parvati.”

Petra stared at him, confused. “I’ve never heard you mention her before.”

“Wait, I think I’ve heard of her before,” said Gareth. “Dad mentioned her a couple of times. Wasn’t she some kind of Seer?”

“Yeah, she died here during the Siege of Hogwarts,” said Damien quietly. “The reason I’ve never mentioned her is because I only found out that she existed a couple of months ago. She was my mum’s twin sister.”

“That’s so sad,” said Helga mournfully.

“Dad said not to let Mum know that he told me. She doesn’t like to talk about it.” Damien inclined his head to the side thoughtfully. “But the really strange thing is that nobody in the family has ever mentioned her to me before either, not my grandparents or my Uncle Narhari. There aren’t any pictures of her in the house either, though I reckon she looked like Mum since they were twins.”

“I can see why your mum wouldn’t want to talk about her,” said Petra. “I have twin uncles and they’re very close. I can’t imagine what one would do if they lost the other. But that is weird that no one else had ever told you about her. Does Deidra know?” Deidra was Damien’s ten-year-old sister.

Damien shook his head. “Dad only decided to tell me about her because I signed up for Divination. Apparently she was a very talented Seer.”

Gareth looked impressed. “Those are rare.”

“She also saved my dad’s life,” said Damien, slightly in awe.

“What happened?” asked Helga tentatively.

Damien took a big breath. “Like I said, it was during the Siege. A small group of Death Eaters broke through the wards protecting the school. The knew Harry Potter wasn’t here, but they were hoping to get his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.” He looked over at Petra, who nodded for him to continue. “Only they weren’t here either. The Order had hidden them away with the Fidelius Charm, they each had their own Secret-Keeper.”

Petra interrupted, perplexed, “I never knew that!”

Damien continued. “Yes, well the Death Eaters didn’t know that either. They stormed the castle, attacking all the seventh year classes.” He shuddered slightly. “Dad says they were in Divination. Two Death Eaters walked into the room, wearing masks, and disarmed everyone. When they saw that Ron and Hermione weren't there, they demanded that all the Muggle-borns come to the front. They were going to kill them,” said Damien darkly. “Dad’s Muggle-born, so he was standing in front with Lavender Brown, you know, Mauve’s mother. Just as they were about to curse them, my Aunt Parvati ran in front of them, deflecting the curse with a protective spell. The curse rebounded on the Death Eaters, it stunned them both long enough for everyone to get out, but it was too much for my aunt, it killed her.” Damien finished, looking around the table at their somber faces.

“She was really brave,” said Helga softly.

Petra nodded, unable to speak.

“Did she know she was going to die?” asked Gareth soberly. “Is that why she had the protective spell in place already?”

“Dad thinks she did,” answered Damien. “A few days after the Siege, they found Aunt Parvati’s crystal ball in the wreckage of the North Tower. It had an anti-shatter charm placed on it. There was also a note Spell-O-Taped to the bottom. Aunt Parvati wrote that if she were no longer around, she wanted Mum to save her crystal ball as she thought there might be another Seer in the family someday who could use it…” he trailed off.

Petra clutched his arm suddenly. “Damien! You’ve shown signs of the Inner Eye since we were little, do you suppose she meant you?” she asked.

“I dunno,” said Damien sadly. “But I like to think so.”

They were all quiet for a few seconds, lost in their respective thoughts.

“It’s too bad you never knew her,” said Helga finally.

“And it’s really a shame that your mum won’t talk about her,” said Petra, mentally thanking her family for at least telling her about her father.

“Yeah,” said Damien. “I just wish I could’ve known her. If only I could see her, just once, you know?” he added wistfully.

“I know what you mean,” muttered Petra.

They were all quiet again for a second until Gareth spoke up abruptly. “There’s a potion…” he said hesitantly.

“Yes,” prompted Damien.

“It’s called the Vox de Morte Potion,” said Gareth slowly.

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Helga.

Gareth glanced around the library furtively and lowered his voice so that they all crouched low over the table to hear him. “It’s Dark Magic,” he whispered.

“W-what does it do?” asked Petra, an icy chill racing down her spine.

Gareth looked at them intently before continuing. He lowered his voice further. “It was developed by Voldemort during the first war. “It seems his henchmen were sometimes a little too rough with captives, killed them before the Dark Lord got a chance to question them sometimes. So my…I mean…this potion was developed to allow him to communicate with the dead. It’s based on the ancient Egyptian ritual called the Opening of the Mouth ceremony, which allowed wizards to communicate with the dead. Only, it’s extremely dangerous.”

“How do you know about this potion?” asked Petra nervously.

Gareth turned a dark fathomless look on her, eerily reminiscent of Professor Snape. “I just do,” he stated simply.

Damien gulped audibly. “Why is it so dangerous?” he asked.

“Like I said, it’s Dark Magic, and anytime you use that stuff, you’re risking your soul. It’s called the Vox de Morte because you can converse with the dead, but it’s really limited. The dead that are at peace, don’t remember much about their living selves. That’s why they don’t become ghosts. They can only speak about the events leading up to their death and what they were feeling at that moment. Sometimes, that’s just not pretty.” Gareth trembled slightly, as though a sudden chill had struck him.

“W-why?” asked Helga tremulously.

“Do you know what runs through a person’s mind when they’re going to die?” asked Gareth harshly. “There’s so much fear, pain and regret. Not to mention that the ingredients for this potion are particularly…foul.”

“You know what they are though?” asked Damien eagerly, taking his quill in hand.

“You wouldn’t really use it, would you Damien?” asked Helga fearfully.

Damien didn’t answer immediately. He reached into his bag and drew out a clear, crystal orb. He ran his hands over the pewter base, which looked dark with age. He looked over at Petra. “Your father died before you were born, wouldn’t you give anything to be able to talk to him, to see him?”

Petra bit her bottom lip, eyes wide with uncertainty. However, she had to admit Damien was right.

“But it’s so dangerous!” said Helga, her voice rising.

“Ssshh!” said everyone in unison.

“Besides,” said Gareth, “Who says I’ll give you the ingredients anyway?”

“Name your price Snape,” said Damien quickly.

Gareth grinned wolfishly. “Well…the A.D. Ball is coming up.”

“I am not going to the Ball with you!” said Damien in horror.

“Not you, you stupid great prat!” snarled Gareth above their snickers. He turned to Petra. “Your roommate, Mauve Finnigan.”

“Wait,” said Damien, why aren’t you going with Viviana Lupin?” It was a well-known fact at school that Gareth Snape fancied Professor Lupin’s daughter.

Gareth turned a nasty, pale shade as a slight twitch began in the right side of his mouth. “She’s…going with my brother, Colin,” he said in a tightly controlled voice.

“The first year!” asked Damien in surprised amusement.

Gareth gave him a dangerous look. “Yes,” he answered sullenly.

Helga giggled. Viviana was one of her dorm mates. “Vivi told me all about it. She said Colin was so cute and bold when he asked, she just couldn’t say no.”

“Now we know why that Snape made it into Gryffindor,” smirked Damien.

“Shut up,” said Gareth sourly. “So how about it Weasley, the potion for a date with Mauve.”

Petra fought down the urge to laugh at the pleading look in Gareth’s eyes despite his tough façade. “Sorry Gareth,” she said slowly. “My cousin Billy asked Mauve already and she said yes. He and Colin made some kind of deal that they would both ask ‘older women’ to the Ball.”

The tick in the corner of Gareth’s mouth became more pronounced. He closed his eyes briefly, apparently struggling to get a hold of himself. Suddenly he looked at Petra appraisingly. “What about you Weasley?” he asked.

“Huh?” said Petra doubtfully.

“We need dates for this stupid Ball thing. You’re a girl and you’re not hideous, so I suppose you’ll do,” said Gareth ungraciously.

“Thanks a lot,” said Petra sourly.

“Wait!” said Damien quickly, he voice panicky. “What makes you think Petra would even consider going with you?” Maybe she already has a date.”

“Do you?” Gareth asked Petra.

Petra glanced at Damien uncertainly, hoping he would say something, anything. However, he stayed silent, though she thought he looked a bit distressed. “Er…no,” admitted Petra finally, “I don’t have a date.”

“So go with me to the Ball and you’ll get your potion ingredients,” said Gareth patiently, his nervous tick gone now that he had the upper hand.

Petra considered it for a few seconds. Gareth was right, nobody had asked her. She stared at Damien as she answered Gareth, suddenly furious with him although she didn’t know why. “Sure Gareth, I’ll go with you.”

Gareth smiled smugly, though his eyes betrayed his relief. “Great, that’s great,” he said weakly.

“The potion ingredients, Snape,” demanded Damien harshly.

“You’ll get them Thomas,” said Gareth, slowly pulling a piece of parchment towards him and took up a quill.

As Gareth started scratching out potion ingredients, Damien suddenly turned to Helga with a look of resolution. “Er…Helga, will you go to the Ball with me?” he asked quickly.

Petra froze.

Helga giggled, flushing a brilliant shade of pink. “Er, sorry Damien. I’m going with Maximillion.”

“Hagrid?” asked Damien incredulously.

Helga nodded with a bright smile. Max Hagrid was a fellow Hufflepuff third year.

“But he’s so huge!” protested Damien. “How will you ever dance with him?”

“At least he had the guts to ask her!” interrupted Petra petulantly. “Some boys don’t even bother to ask!” Petra knew she was being ridiculous, and she couldn’t even stop herself.

“Guess we know why you didn’t make it into Gryffindor, Thomas,” said Gareth scathingly, arrogant once again.

“Shut up Snape,” said Damien tiredly. He thumped his elbow on the table and leaned heavily on it. “Are you almost done, or what?”

“Just about,” said Gareth. He remained bent over the parchment, but Petra could see a sly smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Great,” said Damien gloomily. “I hope this ruddy potion’s worth it.”

“Me too,” said Petra miserably.

Chapter 4 – Lovers in a Dangerous Time

A/N’s: Big thanks to my beta-buddy Zsenya, my British-buddy Soupytwist and my good friend Yolanda. Title and song lyrics are from the song “Lovers in a Dangerous Time” by the Bare Naked Ladies (I love them!). Sorry for the long wait between chapters. But it turns out that I wrote two chapters at once, I just didn’t know how to separate them. As a result, the next chapter should be up fairly quickly. I dunno if Emo Tuesday is reading this fic, but the Oliver Wood element is dedicated to her (go read her cute Oliver fic guys!). This chapter is based on another Percy fic I wrote, “The Broom Shed Incident”. I suppose you don’t really need it to understand this chapter, but it makes for a better reading experience. (Reviewing that fic and this one, makes for a better author experience : ). Hint, hint, nudge, nudge, wink, wink). On with the show guys…

When you’re lovers in a dangerous time

Sometimes you’re made to feel as if your love’s a crime

Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight

Gotta kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight

Lovers in a dangerous time…

“Weasley! Get your head out of the clouds!”

At the sound of Professor Wood’s voice, Petra veered sharply to the right on her broomstick, narrowly missing the heavy Bludger pelting towards her face. Her Beater’s club banged painfully against her knee.

“Oy, Weasley! Try using your club on the Bludger next time, eh?” shouted Kathryn Davies, her fellow Beater, a sixth year Slytherin.

Professor Wood, dove towards the pitch, landed and blew his magically magnified whistle shrilly. “That’s enough for tonight!” he called up to the team.

Petra and her teammates made for the ground. She noticed that some of them were throwing nasty looks her way. Petra looked down on her broom handle, abashed. She couldn’t blame them; she had been a bit distracted lately and it was definitely affecting her game. Ever since Gareth had given her and Damien the list of the ingredients for the Vox de Morte potion, she had found it difficult to concentrate on anything else, even Quidditch.

Petra had been extremely honored when she had been chosen as a Beater for the Inter-house team. The Inter-house team represented Hogwarts in the Tri-School Quidditch League against Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. The league had been formed shortly after the war. Petra had been on the Gryffindor House team since her second year. Her uncles had been delighted when they heard the news, although her mother and grandmother Weasley were still appalled that she had chosen to play such an ‘unlady-like’ position. Her Uncle Ron however, had been livid. He thought it was a dangerous position for her to play, and ordered her to quit the team immediately. After much pleading and cajoling on Petra’s part, he had finally conceded to let her play, especially when Penny pointed out that it really wasn’t his decision anyway. Ron and Penny’s relationship had become very strained after that, much to Petra’s despair. It had been shortly after Ron’s separation from Hermione, and Petra just couldn’t fathom the change her favorite uncle had undergone. Despite all of his protests, Ron attended all of her games, although most of the time he sat by himself in the stands wearing a scowl for the duration of the match. When Petra had been chosen for the Inter-house team at the beginning of the current school year, Ron had gone through a similar reaction, although he resigned himself to the fact that Petra was going to play whether he liked it or not. Ron’s unreasonableness was especially hurtful to Petra since she had come by her love of Quidditch through him.

The last to land, Petra hung back in the semi-circle that surrounded Professor Wood. Hogwarts was most honored to have Oliver Wood coach the Inter-house team. He was the current Captain and Keeper for Puddlemore United and coached the Hogwarts team during Puddlemore’s off-season. He was strict and expected a lot from his players. But the results showed; Hogwarts had won the league championship for the past three years that Wood had coached. He was also well liked by the student population, particularly the girls. His fame, boyish charm and deep, brown eyes fringed with golden brown lashes, made him a favorite with female students and faculty alike.

Professor Wood regarded Petra critically now. “What’s going on up there Weasley?” he asked, gesturing up at the sky. “You’re supposed to hit the Bludgers, not shy away from them! How can your team function if one of their Beaters isn’t protecting them?” Petra kept her gaze down at his feet which were now pacing back and forth, kicking up little puffs of dust from the pitch. “You’re good Weasley, no doubt about it. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. But you need to keep your mind on the game, understand?” Petra nodded sadly. “You’ll be cleaning out the broom shed tonight to help you remember that,” Professor Wood continued. “Dismissed!” he called out, blowing his whistle once again.

Petra’s teammates started to drift away, some shaking their heads in disgust. Only Max Hagrid, their Keeper, hung back. “Cheer up,” he said, giving Petra a crooked grin and a playful cuff on the shoulder that almost sent her sprawling to the ground. She appreciated the gesture just the same.

Petra sighed and started towards the broom shed, when Professor Wood called out, “Petra, can I see you for a minute?”

“Yes?” said Petra hesitantly, fully expecting further reprimand.

He held back until all of the other students were out of earshot. At last he spoke. “Sorry I had to lay into you out there, Petra. It’s just that you’ve been really distracted these last few practices. Is something wrong?” he asked with concern.

Petra’s gaze shifted guiltily to the side. Was something wrong? Well, besides the fact that she had bartered herself as a date to get the ingredients for an illicit potion that would allow her to communicate with her dead father, everything was just fine.

She looked up at Professor Wood again. “Nothing’s wrong, Professor. Just thinking about my school work, that’s all.” She gave him a bright smile, though she couldn’t help averting her eyes from his anxious gaze.

“Come on now,” said Wood, his concerned look fading with skepticism. “I’ve been around too many Weasleys not to know what that look means.”

Petra’s eyebrows shot up with interest. “What do you mean?” she asked curiously.

“I can read a Weasley as easily as a Quidditch diagram,” he countered, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Petra with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders, “I forgot you were on the Gryffindor team with Uncle Fred and Uncle George.”

“Ay,” he responded a far off look in his eyes. “But actually, I was thinking about your father.”

“You knew my father?” asked Petra eagerly.

“Shared a dorm with him for seven years,” he paused. “Didn’t you know?” he asked.

“I didn’t know you were that old!” blurted out Petra. As soon she realized what she had said, she clapped her glove-covered hand over her mouth. “Oops!” she said through her fingers.

“Would you like to clean that broom shed out next week as well?” he asked sternly.

“No Sir,” responded Petra, wide-eyed.

Wood broke out with a grin. “Just having you on,” he said cheerfully. “But your father really was my mate. Brilliant student mind you, but a lousy liar.”

“What did he lie about?” asked Petra, keen to hear about this side of her father.

“Your mother mostly,” said Wood. “He was the first one of our crowd to fall in love, and we teased him mercilessly.” He smiled, as the far-off look returned to his face. “During our sixth year he kept leaving the dorm late at night. Every time we asked him where he was going, he told us some vague story about special prefects training. After a while we started to get suspicious, so one night we followed him.”

“Wait!” said Petra incredulously. “Are you trying to tell me that my mum and dad used their authority as prefects to break the rules?”

“Well,” said Wood with a smirk, “they weren’t studying. We caught them kissing, right in the middle of the restricted section of the library.”

Petra pressed her fingers over her mouth, giggling. “Did he know that you saw them?”

“Oh we let him know,” said Wood smiling. “We gave him a hard time once he got back to the dorm.” He shook his head reflectively. “We were so immature. But you know something? Percy put us in our place after your mum got Petrified.” He paused and looked at Petra. “You know about the basilisk and your mum getting Petrified, of course?”

Petra nodded. “Uh huh.”

“We were trying to cheer him up,” said Wood, “about Penny and he said ‘Don’t bother, because nothing makes sense without her. I love her.’” He looked down at Petra. “That took guts for a sixteen year old to say.”

Petra blinked hard several times and cleared her throat before she spoke. “My dad said that?” she asked quietly.

Oliver nodded approvingly. “I always admired him for that. A lot of wizards in our generation got married young because of the war, but that wasn’t the case with Percy. He had it all figured out long before the conflict started. He loved your mother and he didn’t care who knew it after that.” He shook his head sadly, then looked down at Petra with a sheepish smile. “Sorry Petra, I didn’t mean to ramble on like that. I’m sure you’ve heard all about your dad. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Thank you,” said Petra shyly. Then, before she lost her nerve, she leaned forward and did something many girls at Hogwarts would’ve liked to do. She placed a quick peck on Wood’s cheek.

Wood looked slightly embarrassed, but pleased all the same. Then he got a stern look and said, “Now get to that broom shed, missy, and let’s keep our mind on Quidditch from now on, eh?”

“I will,” said Petra, the color rising on her face from her impulsive kiss. She turned on her heel and ran all the way to the broom shed. By the time she got there, she had rationalized with herself that kissing Professor Wood on the cheek was not that much different from kissing her uncles. Still, she couldn’t wait to tell Mauve about it. Mauve would freak!

As Petra started pulling brooms off of their hooks in the broom shed, she thought about what Professor Wood had said about her parents. She had always taken it for granted that her parents loved each other, but she had never thought about them being in love at that young age. She was practically as old as they were when Penny was Petrified, and she couldn’t imagine feeling that strongly about anyone. In fact, now that Petra thought about it, lots of people Petra’s age had extremely young parents. Damien’s parents were a prime example, as were Mauve’s. Petra figured Professor Wood was right when he said that people fell in love faster and younger during times of war.

She was polishing the broom brackets when a memory hit her suddenly, and so clear that it was like watching a mental movie of herself. She was five years old, it was before her mum had started dating Dave. Petra had always thought her mum was beautiful with her long, dark, curly hair, sparkling gray eyes and happy laugh. Yet sometimes at night, unbeknownst to Penny, Petra would sneak to the door of her mum’s room and hear her sobbing. It didn’t happen very often, but sometimes, Penny would even cry out Percy’s name. Petra could remember feeling scared and sad that someone as beautiful as her mum could feel such pain. In her five-year-old mind it was her father’s fault that Mum was sad, and Petra hated him for that. She could never tell anyone about those nights of course. She couldn’t betray Mum’s secret like that. Besides, her Weasley grandparents and uncles always spoke so fondly of her father. But on those nights, listening to her mum’s anguish, Petra hated Percy.

She clenched her polishing rag convulsively, remembering her irrational hatred of the dead father she had never known. Petra hadn’t thought about this in a long, long time. She had grown out of it, of course. Her mum had moved on as well, happy with her new marriage and children. But Petra remembered a promise she had made to herself at that time, that even to this day she had kept. She would never shed a tear for that man, Percy. And she never had.

Petra had been in the broom shed for one long, dusty hour when she heard banging on the door and a familiar voice calling out her name. “Petra! Are you still in there?” Damien poked his head around the doorway and walked in.

“What are you doing here?” asked Petra, hastily wiping at the front of her purple, practice robes. She knew she must look a fright after dusting off the rows and rows of cupboards.

“Adrienne Lynch told me about practice. She said you might still be out here.” Adrienne was a fifth-year Ravenclaw and Seeker on the Inter-house team. “Tough practice?” he asked.

Petra grimaced. “You have no idea. I can’t think about Quidditch, knowing what we’re about to do.”

“Yeah.” Damien nodded. “That’s what I came out here to talk to you about. I’ve been doing some more reading on Vox de Morte. Guess what I found out?” In his eagerness he didn’t wait for Petra to ask. “If the potion is taken near the vicinity of the person’s death, the reception is much stronger. Anywhere they’ve been while they were alive works really, but their site of death works best. They’re naturally drawn to that place.” His dark eyes sparkled eagerly in the growing dimness of the broom shed.

“Really?” asked Petra excitedly. “That’s great! You can just take the potion up in the North Tower. All we have to do is get that old dingbat Trelawney out of the tower for a couple of hours.” She frowned suddenly. “But…”

“But what?” said Damien.

“That’s not so great for me, I guess. I don’t know where my dad died,” said Petra.

“You’ve never asked?” Damien’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Not really,” said Petra. “I don’t know very many details of his death because every time I even tried to ask, my family gets all sad and teary-eyed. I can’t handle that.” Petra shuddered.

Damien moved closer to Petra and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I know it must be hard on you.”

Petra looked up at him with a grateful smile. Damien smiled back and squeezed her shoulder. Suddenly, Petra felt very aware of their close proximity to each other and she became extremely nervous. She stiffened as Damien suddenly swooped down towards her face. She wondered if Damien was actually going to kiss her. However, he merely looked over her left ear and frowned. “What’s that?” he asked.

Petra turned around, her knees shaking. “What?” she asked breathlessly, squinting at the spot on the cupboards where Damien was looking.

“It looks like writing,” he said, pulling his wand out from his sleeve holster. “Lumos,” he muttered. His wand light illuminated a small heart carved into the edge of the cupboard. In the middle of the heart were the initials P.A.W. + P.C. “Aren’t those your initials, P.A.W?” asked Damien, looking at Petra curiously. “Petra Angelica Weasley.”

Petra frowned at the sound of her middle name. She had never really liked it. “Yes, those are my initials.” Damien’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?” asked Petra. “Oh!” she said, cottoning on, “I didn’t carve that there!”

“Then who’s initials are these?” asked Damien.

“I dunno,” said Petra irritably, “These could’ve been there forever. Hogwarts is over a thousand years old, you know.”

“I suppose,” said Damien doubtfully.

Petra leaned closer to the carving, struck by a sudden idea. If she didn’t know better, she might swear that these were her parent’s initials. But that couldn’t be. Petra just couldn’t imagine her father defacing school property. From all she had heard about him, it would go against his nature. Her mother was just as bad about following the rules. But still… Petra remembered Professor Wood’s words, “He loved your mother and he didn’t care who knew it after that.”

Damien leaned closer as well. Petra could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck as he pressed close behind her. He touched his wand to the middle of the carving and read the initials out loud. “P.A.W. plus P.C.”

Suddenly, there was a flash of light as the carving took on a warm, pink glow. The initials in the heart disappeared and were replaced by the words Yule Ball, 1994. The scent of roses filled the broom shed, replacing its normally stale, dusty smell.

“Wow,” murmured Damien.

Petra, however, remained silent, for in that moment, she knew exactly whose initials those were.

Damien pulled his wand off the carving. The letters in the heart reverted back to the initials. The scent of roses slowly faded away like an old memory, or a dream. “Cool bit of Charm work, that,” said Damien, putting his wand away. “I guess we should be heading back to the castle. Are you all done here?”

Petra smiled. “For now.”

“What do you mean?” asked Damien curiously.

“I think,” said Petra, “that I’ve found the perfect place to take that potion.”

A/N’s II: In the next chapter, George makes an appearance as does Ron and Hermione. We’ll also get to meet Hillary, Ron and Hermione’s 3-year-old daughter. Petra asks some questions that don’t get answered. Billy gets tricked. Ron gets mad. Damien prepares to take the potion. See you soon!

Chapter Five: Curious, Very Curious…

When I was born they looked at me and said
What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy
And when you were born they looked at you and said
What a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl

We've got these chains that hang around our necks
People want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath…

What a Good Boy, Words by Steven Page, sung by Barenaked Ladies

A/N: Had to use another BNL song! I love those guys! The title, of course, comes from ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’. A big thanks to those who’ve reviewed. (See RogueAngel, it’s late, but longer!) Your reviews mean so much to me! I found George’s girlfriend and description on a Chocolate Frogs card (credit to the Chocolate Frog Co.). Reminder: Gareth and Colin Snape appear courtesy of Yolanda. There are two obscure movie references in this chapter. One is from Star Wars, another is a play on one of Alan Rickman’s lines in “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves”. A cameo for the first person that guesses both correctly and e-mails me at: alatmig@netzero.net

Hope you enjoy! A/N2 at the end of the fic are partially written by Z and put there especially for Alphie. ; )

Petra went to the infirmary on Friday morning at the insistence of her dorm mates. They were tired of having Petra stumble about the dormitory, knocking things over. She had managed to disregard the fact that her eyesight had gotten worse since she started Hogwarts. However, this year, it had become increasingly harder to ignore. The final straw had come when Petra sat on Mauve’s cat Binky, thinking he was a furry, black cushion. Not to mention that Petra was getting increasingly alarmed at her inability to see the Bludgers coming at her in Quidditch practice; a dangerous situation indeed. However, Madam Pomfrey’s diagnosis was so alarming, Petra almost wished she hadn’t gone to the infirmary.

“No way!” exclaimed Petra, swiping a pair of glasses off of her face and pushing them away.

Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts’ elderly nurse, looked at Petra, aghast. “What do you mean, Miss Weasley?”

“I am not wearing these glasses. Ever!” said Petra firmly.

“And why not?” demanded Madam Pomfrey.

“Look at them!” Petra held up the black, horned-rimmed glasses with their thick, heavy lenses.

“These are standard issue Hogwarts glasses,” sniffed Madam Pomfrey. “If your parents can afford it and they agree, you can always send away for a pair to your liking.” She looked quite disapproving at the thought. “But it seems like a waste to me.”

“I’m owling Mum tonight,” said Petra adamantly. “But in the meantime, can’t you at least Transfigure them or something?” Petra held the glasses disdainfully by the earpiece. “These are hideous!”

“Absolutely not,” said Madam Pomfrey sternly. “Transfiguration could change the lens strength. We can’t have that now, can we?”

“Some school of magic this is,” grumbled Petra.

“Miss Weasley, if eye problems could be easily solved with magic, do you really think wizards would continue to use glasses?” asked Madam Pomfrey.

“I’m going to ask Mum about contacts as soon as possible,” Petra mumbled sullenly.

“Miss Weasley!” gasped Madam Pomfrey, outraged. “I don’t care how famous your family is. Having ‘contacts’ isn’t going to change the fact that you need glasses! Now off with you.”

Petra turned her face away so that the old nurse wouldn’t see her rolling her eyes. Obviously Madam Pomfrey was unaware of Muggle contact lenses or she had misunderstood Petra. She suspected it was the latter, as Madam Pomfrey had grown increasingly deaf with age. Like old nurse had said herself; there were some things even magic couldn’t fix.

At least Petra had finally learned why her father had always worn that particular style of glasses. Her mum had once told her that the Weasleys were quite poor when the children were young. Petra found this hard to imagine. As long as she could remember, they had always been well off. Her uncle Ron once told her that the royalties from his action figures alone were enough to support a small country.

Petra left the infirmary to head for the library for a meeting with her Muggle Studies group. On her way in she passed Hermione who was levitating a large, dusty stack of library books before her with her wand. Hermione’s bushy, brown hair was just barely visible over the stack. “Hello Aunt Hermione,” said Petra hurriedly, trying to rush past her.

“Oh,” said Hermione, the books wobbling precariously as she poked her nose around the stack to give Petra a friendly smile. “Hello P-petra…” Her voice died in her throat.

“I’m wearing glasses,” said Petra, anticipating her next comment.

“Yes, you are,” said Hermione, using her wand to guide the books over to a nearby table. The books trembled slightly under Hermione’s unsteady hand. When she had set the books down, she turned slowly back to Petra, an odd, stiff smile on her face. “That’s an unusual choice of style,” she said, gazing at Petra curiously. “How is your hero project going, by the way?”

“What?” asked Petra, momentarily distracted by the way Hermione was staring at her with a look that was a mixture between pity and concern. “Oh! It’s going fine,” said Petra hesitantly, disconcerted by Hermione’s manner.

Hermione suddenly pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose loudly. “You must really feel a need to connect with him, don’t you Petra?” She asked thickly.

The reason for Hermione’s strange behavior dawned on Petra. “Aunt Hermione,” she said, “These are standard issue Hogwarts glasses.”

“Of course they are, Dear,” said Hermione, patting Petra on the shoulder comfortingly. “Of course they are.”

Hermione’s tone infuriated Petra. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting with my Muggle Studies group,” said Petra in the most dignified voice she could muster. She walked away, head held high. Although there was nothing she could do to stop the hot color from rising on the back of her neck. She hoped her plait covered it.

Petra approached their regular table where Damien, Gareth and Helga where sitting, heads bent over a piece of parchment. They all looked up at Petra when she slammed her school bag on the table. If she hadn’t felt so annoyed at the moment she might have laughed at their identical looks of shock.

“Yes, I’m wearing glasses,” said Petra through gritted teeth. “No, you may not comment on them. The first one to make a comment will find themselves in their underwear in the middle of the library.” She pulled out her wand for emphasis. “And they’ll be made of Moke skin too.”

Damien and Gareth winced, though Helga looked confused. “Why Moke skin?” she asked, perplexed.

“Because, you twit!” said Gareth derisively, “Moke skin shrinks when a stranger approaches it. Trust me, it would hurt.”

“Speaking from personal experience, Snape?” asked Damien with a grin.

“Shut up, Thomas,” said Gareth, coloring slightly.

“Well, I think your glasses look kind of cool,” said Helga, “in a retro sort of way.”

“They’re… different,” offered Damien diplomatically.

“I just hope they’re gone by the time the A.D. Ball comes around,” said Gareth coolly.

Petra threw her hands up, exasperated. “Didn’t you lot just hear my threat?”

“Forget about that,” said Damien. His dark eyes were shining with excitement. “First Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow! Do you know what that means?”

“Hogsmeade, big deal,” said Petra dismissively, searching through her bag for a quill. “It’s just an excuse to stuff yourselves with sweets and buy silly tricks that will more than likely earn you a detention.”

“Excuse me, I thought you had to be in fifth year before you made prefect,” said Gareth with a sneer.

“Shut it, Snape,” said Damien before turning to Petra. “It means we can get the last ingredient we need for the potion.” He tapped his quill against the parchment before him. Petra reached out for the paper and saw that most of the ingredients on the list had a small check by them indicating that they had already been secured.

Cala Lily Bloom *

Claw of Anibus *

Henbane *

Dragon’s Blood *

Jobberknoll Feathers *

Shredded Skin of Lethifold

Petra grimaced in disgust at the last ingredient. “Can you get Lethifold skin in Hogsmeade?” she asked, almost hoping that the answer was no.

“You can if you know where to look,” said Gareth darkly.

“I dunno,” said Petra, biting thoughtfully on her bottom lip as she read down to the potion instructions. “We’re going to have to break a lot of rules…”

Damien’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. His voice became hard and derisive. “You’re not backing out are you? I thought you would do anything to speak to your father!”

“Damien,” said Petra, hurt by his accusing tone. “I said I would.”

“Yeah,” he said angrily, “well you don’t sound very convincing!” He pushed his chair back and stalked off, leaving Petra open mouthed in shock.

“Oh my,” said Helga, stunned.

“ I was afraid of this,” said Gareth quietly.

“Afraid of what?” asked Petra.

“He can’t handle it,” said Gareth. “I told you this was Dark Magic. People who aren’t used to practicing it sometimes get consumed by it.”

Helga gasped. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Petra nodded irritably. “Of course I do! But…” she bit her lip nervously. “Maybe I should go talk to him.”

Helga shook her head, eyes wide and anxious. “I dunno Petra. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Petra ignored her and ducked into an aisle of bookshelves in the direction that Damien had taken. She found him standing in front of the velvet cord that roped off the restricted section from the rest of the library. He was staring dejectedly at the Necromancy books that were just out of reach.

“I’m sorry,” Damien mumbled, without turning around to look at her. “I just lost my temper.”

“I noticed,” said Petra softly.

“It’s just that I really want to do this,” he said, running a hand over his close-cropped hair.

Petra glanced up at him. “You think I don’t?”

“Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, and if we follow all of the instructions, we should be fine,” said Damien with much more confidence than Petra felt. “Muggles talk to their dead as well, did you know that?” he asked abruptly. “Mediums they call them. They hold these seances and everything.”

“They don’t use potions that open up the spiritual reception though, do they?” asked Petra.

“No, it’s mostly just a lot of trickery. You know, knocking on the table, stomping on the floor, that sort of thing,” admitted Damien. “But no matter how many frauds are exposed, people still keep paying up, hoping to have some sort of contact.”

“Hope is a powerful thing,” whispered Petra.

“We have the opportunity to do it, to actually speak to our loved ones from beyond the grave,” he placed his hands on Petra’s shoulders, giving her a little shake. “I want to do this.”

“I do too,” said Petra earnestly, reassured by his confidence.

Damien let go of Petra and turned away, snickering.

“What?” asked Petra, bemused.

“I can’t,” gasped Damien, trying to keep his voice low. “I can’t look at you in those glasses.”

Petra opened her mouth to give him a scathing remark, but he stopped her, putting his hand up in the air. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly “And please don’t make me leave the library starkers.”

“Hmph,” said Petra, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Come on,” wheedled Damien. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” asked Petra raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“In Hogsmeade tomorrow,” replied Damien. “I’ll treat you to a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.”

Petra smiled, suddenly feeling shy. “That’d be…” she stopped abruptly, slapping her hand to her forehead. “Oh! I can’t! I promised Uncle George I’d go have lunch with him.”

Damien looked slightly hurt. “It’s all right, I guess. We can always walk down there together and don’t worry, I’ll get the potion ingredients for both of us.”

Petra nodded distractedly, frowning in thought.

“What?” asked Damien.

“I am so not looking forward to seeing Uncle George tomorrow,” she said with a groan. “He probably just wants to help me out with my hero essay.”

“Maybe he just wants to show you a new Wheeze?” said Damien helpfully.

“Maybe,” said Petra, though she doubted it very much.

*****

Petra wove her way through Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, greeting fellow students as she headed for the front of the shop. Her Uncle George was standing behind the counter beaming at her. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted Petra’s glasses.

“Not one word about the glasses!” admonished Petra. “Not one word.”

“But why…”

“Not one word!” she repeated.

He shrugged. “Come on back, you,” he said, pulling up the countertop so that she could duck under. Uncle George kept a flat above the store. He lived there and ran the Hogsmeade shop while his twin, Uncle Fred and his wife Angelina ran the Diagon Alley store, which was quite a bit bigger. Uncle George wasn’t married, but he had dated a string of witches, mostly famous Quidditch players. His current girlfriend, Gwenog Jones, was the Captain and one of the Beaters for the Holyhead Harpies.

George waited until they were up in his flat to lift Petra up in a big bear hug. “You’re getting so tall!” he said, setting her down.

Petra had grown increasingly embarrassed with her uncles’ displays of affection, though she wasn’t sure why. They had always doted on her. “Uncle George!” she whined, “You saw me last month. I haven’t grown since then.”

“I dunno,” he mused, looking her up and down. “Must be the school robes.” He led her over to his small kitchen table. “Glad you could spend your first Hogsmeade weekend with me Pickles.”

“Petra!” she hissed through gritted teeth, scrunching her eyes closed in frustration. “My name is Petra!” She opened her eyes and saw that George was smirking in a maddening way. “What are we having for lunch?” she asked quickly, hoping to distract him from further teasing.

“Pickles,” he said, affecting a serious tone. “With pickle juice and a little pickle relish on the side, maybe some pickle scones….”

“Uncle George!” screeched Petra.

They began to eat. George always set out a nice spread. Living on his own had made him an excellent cook. After a few minutes of idle chatter in which George asked Petra about schoolwork and Quidditch practice, he grew quiet and regarded Petra intently. “So,” he said, taking a swig from his goblet of water, “Is it true?”

Petra set her fork down with a clatter and forced her mouthful of potatoes down her throat painfully. “Yes!” she shouted, red with fury. “It’s true! I’m writing an essay about my poor, dead father! Poor, little, pathetic Petra! Boohoo!” She pushed her chair back from the table and crossed her arms defiantly. “Happy?” she asked savagely.

Petra was pleased to see that her uncle had the grace to look abashed for a moment. Until he said, “I meant, is it true that Billy Boy got his third detention?” Billy Boy was the Weasleys’nickname for Billy.

“Oh,” whispered Petra as a hot blush invaded her face. She sincerely hoped her head would just pop off from the pressure.

George cleared his throat, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, yet he asked, “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

Petra kept her eyes downcast as she pulled her chair back up to the table. She took her fork and brutally stabbed at the remains of her lunch. “No,” she said sullenly.

George reached across the table and grabbed hold of her hand, staying the fork. “We’re family, sweetheart. You can tell me anything.”

“It’s just…just…” Petra stopped, trying to control the quaver in her voice. “I am so sick of people feeling sorry for me ‘cause of my dad. I don’t even know who he was, so how can I miss him?” She looked up at her uncle cautiously. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

George caught her gaze and held it firmly. “No, you’re not a horrible person. But your choosing him as an essay subject makes me think that you’d like to know him better.”

“Of course I would,” said Petra quickly. “He’s my father.”

“So, what do you want to know?” asked George.

“No offense,” said Petra quickly, “but I can’t really write an essay saying: Percy Weasley was a great brother, smart, a prefect, head boy and a good son.”

“He wasn’t always a good brother,” countered George, matter-of-factly.

“He…wasn’t?” asked Petra, stunned.

“Percy was an uptight bugger,” said George. “Rules, rules, rules; he never knew when to stop.”

“He had too,” said Petra, mildly offended though she didn’t know why. “He was a prefect.”

“Not at home he wasn’t. And when he became ‘Bighead Boy’, it was worse,” said George.

“Sounds kind of like Uncle Ron now,” said Petra, frowning slightly.

“Yeah,” said George darkly. “The only difference is that Percy was born with a wand up his arse. Ron didn’t acquire it until later in life.”

“So… did you…hate him?” asked Petra with hesitation.

“Hate him?” asked George genuinely surprised. “I loved him. He was my brother. But that doesn’t mean I liked hanging around with him. Especially after he joined the Ministry.”

“Why?”

“Big Company man your father,” said George heatedly. “When the war started, he refused to believe it because the Ministry denied it.” George looked over at Petra carefully, as though gauging her reaction before continuing.

“Go on,” she prodded.

“He had a real falling out with your grandmother about it,” said George slowly.

“I didn’t know that,” said Petra, “Grandma never told me.”

“Of course she wouldn’t,” said George sadly. “When you lose someone you love, you always try to remember their good points, not their bad.”

“But my father made up for it, right?” asked Petra, hoping her uncle wasn’t done talking yet.

“He certainly did,” said George with a hint of pride. “He saved a lot of lives.”

“Uncle George,” said Petra, cocking her head to the side inquisitively. “How did the Death Eaters capture my dad?” Petra winced as a look of pain flashed across George’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I just…” He chanced a glance at her. “I guess you’ve read all about it during your research, eh?” asked George tentatively.

“Actually, there weren’t many books about him at the Hogwarts library. I had Auntie Hermione run a magical index and only three books came up.”

“Is that so?” asked George, glancing guiltily to the side. Petra suddenly remembered what Coach Wood had said about Weasleys being easy to read. She was just about to press George for more information when a loud buzzer went off in the kitchen.

“Ah!” said George with relief. “My fritters!” He ran for the stove.

“Your what?” asked Petra, momentarily distracted.

“It’s our latest invention,” said George happily. He presented Petra with a large baking sheet of pastries. “We’re almost ready to market them,” said George exuberantly. “They’re called Flatulent Fritters.” Want to try one?” He scooped a pastry onto a spatula and pushed it towards Petra.

“Uncle George,” she said severely, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m thirteen, not stupid.”

He set the tray down and wiped away an imaginary tear. “Ah yes, my ickle niece is all grown up. I’ll just put these away then.” He turned back towards the kitchen.

“Wait!” cried Petra. “Can I have some of those for Billy?”

*****

George was packaging the fritters when his doorbell rang. He pointed his wand at the door, which responded, “Hermione Granger-Weasley and Hillary Weasley.”

“Come in!” called out George and the door swung open.

“Hello!” Hermione walked in, leading her three-year-old daughter Hillary by the hand. “Oh,” she said, spotting Petra. “Hello Petra, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Pickles!” cried Hillary, flinging herself into Petra’s arms. All of the little cousins and Petra’s brother called her Pickles because they had such a hard time saying Petra. Hillary was no exception. However, Petra could hardly correct the chubby little girl with bright, red-orange curls. She was as sweet as she was cute.

“Thank you for watching her George,” said Hermione, setting Hillary’s backpack on the couch. “Ron was supposed to take her today and I made plans to go get fitted for robes for the A.D. Ball, but he flaked out on me at the last moment.”

“Stupid git,” said George, scooping up Hillary and tickling her. “What’s he up to anyway?” he asked over Hillary’s giggles.

“Work, I suppose,” said Hermione with a glum sigh. “That’s about all he does these days.”

“Yeah,” said Petra. “He didn’t even bother to write to me about my dad for my essay.”

“Speaking of which,” said George, setting Hillary down and fixing Hermione with a harsh stare. “Petra says you couldn’t find very much information on Percy in the school library.”

“Yes, well,” said Hermione, reaching up to smooth her hand over her unruly curls. “Hogwarts doesn’t always have access to the newer literature.”

Petra stared at her aunt who continued to fiddle nervously with her hair. “But Aunt Hermione, you said Hogwarts has the most complete magical library in all of Europe.”

“Did I?” asked Hermione vaguely.

Hillary looked up at her mother. “Mummy, your face is all red.”

“Is it?” asked Hermione with a nervous titter.

Hermione was a saved from further interrogation by the sound of a familiar voice coming from George’s fireplace.

“Oy! George! Are you home?”

“Uncle Ron!” cried Petra, turning towards the fireplace to see her godfather’s head floating above the flames.

“Daddy!” shouted Hillary, delighted.

“Hello Pumpkin,” said Ron distractedly. His eyes flickered over to Hermione. “I checked at the house and didn’t find you, so I thought I’d try here.”

“George is going to watch her. It’s just a couple of hours while I go get fitted for dress robes,” said Hermione. She looked at Ron with a wistful expression. “Will you be coming to the ball?”

“The Ministry requires that we make a presence,” he said in a tone that suggested he wouldn’t be there if it was his choice. “Petra, do you have appropriate dress robes for this ruddy thing?”

“Yes,” answered Petra. “I have a date too.”

Hermione and George exchanged a quick glance before focusing on Ron, whose face seemed to have caught the flames he was floating above. “A date? Who?” demanded Ron.

“Gareth Snape, Professor Snape’s son,” answered Petra.

“Don’t you think you’re a little young to date?” snapped Ron. He didn’t give Petra a chance to answer. “Oh, that’s right, this is probably another one of those things that isn’t my business, according to your mother.”

“Daddy’s on fire!” exclaimed Hillary, crouching very close to the grate as she pointed at her father who was roughly the color of an overripe tomato.

“Get away from the fire Hillary!” snarled Ron causing Hillary to retreat quickly, blinking tears away. Her lower lip trembled dangerously.

“That’s right, it’s not your business!” yelled Petra at her uncle’s head. “You’re Hillary’s father, not mine, so why don’t you try acting like it!”

Ron gaped like a fish out of water for several seconds before he shouted, “I will not be talked to in that tone, young lady!”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it? You won’t talk to anyone at all!” She turned away from the fire to grab her bag of Flatulent Fritters off of the table. “I’m leaving,” she exclaimed. Petra quickly kissed her uncle George and Hillary, then gave Hermione a quick hug. “See you back at the castle,” she muttered.

As Petra slammed the door of the little flat, she could still hear her godfather calling out, “Petra, wait!” But she didn’t stop until she reached the castle and went up to Gryffindor Tower, which took a short time considering her long, furious steps.

Billy was sitting in a corner of the common room, playing Exploding Snap with Colin Snape, Gareth’s little brother and Billy’s dorm mate.

“Back already?” asked Billy, chancing a glance up from his game. “Ergh! You know you really should do something about those glasses, cousin,” he said with a grimace. “What kind of statement are you trying to make with those anyway?”

“That she wasn’t smart enough for Ravenclaw, but she’ll try the look anyway,” piped up Colin.

Petra made a rather unlady-like gesture at them, which caused them to stare at her in disbelief. “How very rude,” said Colin with a smirk.

“Come on Petra! Tell us all about your first Hogsmeade weekend,” said Billy. “Did you bring me anything?”

“Why would I…” began Petra before she remembered the small parcel clutched in her hand. “As a matter of fact, I did,” said Petra kindly.

“Are you serious?” asked Billy, ignoring his game completely. “All right, let’s see it then,” he said eagerly.

Petra watched them down the pastries eagerly as though they hadn’t had lunch less than two hours ago.

“Thanks Petra,” said Colin thickly through a mouthful of fritter.

“You’re all right,” said Billy, licking glaze off of his fingers.

“Cheers,” replied Petra.

A/N2:

Will Hermione explain the lack of Percy books in the Hogwarts library?

Will Ron stop acting like he has a wand up his arse?

And speaking of arses, did Colin and Billy set any world records that day?

For answers to all these questions... tune in for the next installment of ... Searching for Percy...(or As the Wand Turns…)