XV
The silence from the Weasleys weighed heavily on Thalia, but she pushed the thoughts aside as best she could. True to her promise, the following day she set about packing their trunks with the help of Hermione and Lee. The task was meticulous, yet oddly intimate, especially when she found herself in the boys’ dormitory for the first time. The room felt strangely personal, filled with little details that spoke volumes about its usual occupants—scattered Quidditch gear, mismatched socks, and half-finished jokes scribbled on scraps of parchment.
After carefully folding the last of George’s clothes, Thalia hesitated for a moment, her fingers lingering on the edge of his trunk. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of parchment. After a moment of deliberation, she scrawled a simple note in her neat handwriting:
Thinking of you,
T x
She placed it gently on top of the neatly folded clothes, her heart fluttering slightly as she closed the trunk. It wasn’t much, but she hoped it would remind him that no matter how far apart they were, he wasn’t alone.
Two days later, Thalia's grandfather returned home, his presence as cold and imposing as ever. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he stormed past her, the heavy thud of his boots echoing in the silent house. The slam of his office door reverberated through the hall, making her flinch.
She stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the closed door, straining to hear what might come next. A rage-filled shout erupted from within, followed by a deafening crash. It sounded as though he had swept everything from his desk onto the floor in a fit of fury.
Instinctively, Thalia backed away, her pulse quickening. She knew better than to face him when he was like this—his temper was a storm she’d learned to avoid at all costs, knowing she would mentally and physically bear the brunt. Deciding it was safer to keep her distance, she retreated to her bedroom, the familiar walls of her sanctuary offering a fragile sense of security. She closed the door softly behind her, sinking onto the edge of her bed as the muffled sounds of his anger continued to rumble through the house.
There she stayed, the days of the Christmas holidays slipping by in quiet isolation. A week had passed since the start of the break, and Thalia had spent it buried in her homework, trying to ignore the oppressive silence of the house and the lingering tension that her grandfather's return had brought.
That morning, however, she awoke to something unexpected. A piece of parchment lay on her pillow, as if it had appeared out of thin air. Her heart skipped a beat as she picked it up, breaking the wax seal with trembling fingers.
The message was simple:
Your contact. 11:30. The Three Broomsticks. Table 42.
Turning the parchment over in her hands, she searched for a signature or any other clue, but there was nothing. She didn’t need one, though. Deep down, she knew exactly who it was from. This had to be the contact Dumbledore had mentioned—the person Fawkes had delivered the letter to.
A pit opened in her stomach, her thoughts racing. She had agreed to this, had known what it meant, but now the reality of the situation was sinking in. How was she supposed to leave the house without drawing her grandfather’s attention, let alone his wrath? The thought of sneaking past him sent a chill down her spine, but she had no choice. If she was going to keep her promise and play her part, she had to find a way out.
Quickly dressing, Thalia pulled on a chunky cream knit jumper and a pair of black jeans. She twisted her hair into French braids with practiced ease, her fingers working nimbly despite the nervous energy coursing through her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she headed downstairs, hoping to catch her grandfather at breakfast before he disappeared into his office for the day.
Luck was on her side—for now. He was seated at the table, a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him. His sharp, hawk-like gaze was fixed on the newspaper he held in one hand, the other resting on the table. The faint clink of the silver spoon against his cup was the only sound in the otherwise silent room.
Thalia paused in the doorway, her heart pounding. She needed to tread carefully, to give no indication that anything was amiss. Forcing a neutral expression onto her face, she stepped forward, her boots clicking softly against the polished floor as she approached.
He barely looked up from his place at the head of the table as Thalia grabbed a slice of toast, spreading sweet strawberry jam over its surface. Each bite felt like cardboard, scraping her throat as she forced it down. Her nerves were making it impossible to eat, and halfway through, she gave up, setting the half-eaten toast back on her plate. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, gathering her courage before turning her attention to her grandfather.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sir,” she began politely, her tone carefully measured. She waited for him to acknowledge her, but his eyes remained fixed on the newspaper. The silence stretched, but she pressed on regardless.
“I was hoping to go to the library this morning. I’m writing a Charms essay on the importance of annunciation and wand movements in healing magic. My book references a Saint Mungo’s journal that I know they have in the school library. I should only be gone for a couple of hours, and I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
Her words hung in the air, her heart pounding as she watched for any reaction.
Slowly, he lowered the newspaper, his sharp eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist.
“Interested in healing magic, are you?” her grandfather sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “A pathetic excuse for a career, especially for a Winterbourne. You will make your name at the Ministry, like myself and every ancestor before you.” His voice rose as he slammed his hand down on the table, the force making the cutlery and crockery clatter loudly. Thalia flinched but kept her expression carefully neutral.
“I know, sir, of course,” she said, her voice calm and measured despite the knot tightening in her chest. “But for a posting in the office of a member of the Wizengamot, I need high grades in all of my classes. The magic they teach at school may be mundane and boring, but unfortunately, I still need the grades. I read that Pius Thicknesse had some openings in his office. If I’m lucky, maybe next year I’ll secure one of those posts.”
Her grandfather leaned back slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. At the mention of Pius Thicknesse, his posture straightened, and a glimmer of approval flickered in his eyes.
“Winterbournes don’t need luck, girl,” he barked. “We get what we want with sheer determination and intellect. I expect you home before three. I have a meeting, and I don’t want you interrupting it with your heavy, clumsy footsteps. You are to be upstairs and silent. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Thalia replied with a small nod, lowering her gaze to hide the flicker of relief that he hadn’t outright denied her request.
Thalia’s steps quickened as she left the house, the weight of her grandfather’s scrutiny lingering like a shadow. His approval had been easier to gain than she had anticipated, but it came with strings attached, as always. She could still hear his parting words echoing in her mind: “I’d like to see some of your schoolwork at some point before you head back to school for your next term. I hope to see that all of your study sessions have been fruitful.”
A cold sweat trickled down her spine at the memory. She hadn’t dared turn to meet his gaze, instead replying with a carefully measured, “Of course, Sir. I’ll have some of the essays I’ve completed as homework on your desk by morning.”
Before he could press further, she had slipped from the room, grabbed her bag and coat from the hooks by the front door, and stepped outside into the crisp winter air.
She paused on the front step, drawing in a deep breath that stung her lungs but steadied her nerves. The fresh air was a welcome reprieve from the suffocating tension of the house. Luckily, she was up to date with the syllabus and had completed most of her essays before the holidays, many of which had already been checked by her professors. She decided she would leave her more complex assignments—Alchemy and Arithmancy—for her grandfather to review. He hadn’t studied those subjects during his time at Hogwarts, and their intricate content would likely be beyond his expertise. To round it out, she’d throw in her Charms and Potions essays, both of which were solid pieces of work.
Shaking her head to dispel the swirl of thoughts, Thalia refocused on the task at hand. The Three Broomsticks awaited her, but with every step she took toward the village, her legs felt heavier, her heartbeat louder in her ears.
Something about this meeting felt ominous, as if it would irreversibly alter the course of her life. She had made her choice, aligning herself with Albus Dumbledore, the Weasleys, and the ideals of justice and compassion. Yet the realization chilled her to the bone—her grandfather had chosen the opposite.
He had chosen the side of prejudice and hatred.
The two paths diverged before her, and with every step toward the Three Broomsticks, she knew there was no turning back.
Thalia sat in the dimly lit corner of the Three Broomsticks, the rustic warmth of the pub doing little to ease the tension coiled in her chest. She had chosen her seat deliberately, half-hidden by a sturdy wooden post, giving her a clear view of the room while remaining tucked away from prying eyes.
The butterbeer in her hand was warm and comforting, its frothy sweetness a small solace as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. She had arrived nearly ten minutes early, her nerves refusing to let her linger too long outside. The ancient cuckoo clock above the fireplace ticked steadily, a soothing rhythm that accompanied the low hum of conversation from the few patrons scattered about the room.
Pulling her Charms book from her bag, Thalia carefully laid out a piece of parchment and began scribbling notes. Her handwriting was neat and precise, though her mind was only half on the words she was writing. The act was more for appearances than necessity—she wanted to be able to tell her grandfather she had been working, should he ask.
The world around her faded as she focused on her quill, the scratch of its tip against the parchment blending with the muted clatter of mugs and the occasional burst of laughter from the bar. She didn’t notice the shrill chime of the bell above the door, nor the three figures who entered and began making their way toward her secluded table.
It wasn’t until the shadow of a tall figure fell across her parchment that Thalia looked up, her quill pausing mid-stroke. Three individuals stood before her, their faces partially obscured by the dim light and the hooded cloaks they wore.
The tallest of the group stepped forward, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. His voice was low and measured, carrying an air of quiet authority.
“Miss Winterbourne, I presume?”
Her heart thudded in her chest as she set her quill down and straightened in her seat. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her stomach.
The man gave a slight nod, his companions remaining silent and watchful.
“Good,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. “Let’s get started.”
The man seated in front of Thalia was tall and imposing. A single gold earring adorned his left ear, glinting faintly in the candlelight with each subtle movement of his head. His piercing eyes held hers steadily, exuding a quiet but undeniable authority. He was in charge here.
To his left, the woman was a stark contrast, a burst of color and energy in the dimly lit pub. Her bright pink bubblegum hair was impossible to ignore, and the heavy eyeliner framing her stormy grey eyes gave her a dramatic edge, though the sharpness in her gaze hinted at a deeper seriousness beneath the surface. Despite this, her round, rosy cheeks softened her appearance, lending her an almost youthful charm.
When Thalia turned to the third figure, she froze, a sharp intake of breath catching in her throat. The man before her was a near-perfect replica of the twins—shaggy ginger hair, mischievous brown eyes that sparkled with life. But as she studied him more closely, the differences became apparent. The faint smile lines around his mouth and the scars crisscrossing his forearms spoke of years of experience and hardship, marking him as older and more seasoned.
“Let us introduce ourselves first, at least,” the ginger-haired man said with a chuckle, shaking his head at the older man’s brusqueness. “I’m Charlie, Charlie Weasley. This here is Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the one with the hair is Nymphadora Tonks.”
“Don’t call me Nymphadora!” Tonks growled, leaning behind Kingsley to deliver a playful slap to the back of Charlie’s head.
“Everyone calls me Tonks,” she added with a grin, ignoring Kingsley’s huff of exasperation as he rolled his eyes at their antics.
Thalia blinked, trying to process the introduction. “I think I remember you,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “From my first year. I’m in Hufflepuff too,” she added, hoping to clarify.
Tonks’s face lit up with a wide smile. “The best house!” she exclaimed, pumping a fist in mock triumph.
Charlie leaned forward, his tone turning teasing yet warm. “Now, what’s a little Hufflepuff like you doing here, acting like a Gryffindor?”
The way he phrased the question made Thalia’s heart twist painfully as thoughts of the twins rushed to the forefront of her mind. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. “Dumbledore sent me, said you would be able to help me with the task he has assigned me.”
Charlie’s grin widened, though his tone turned more serious. “We know it’s not easy, what Dumbledore’s asked of you. But you’re in a unique position to help us. What you decide to do could make a real difference.”
Thalia hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the edges of her parchment. “I just... I don’t know if I’m brave enough for this,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.
Kingsley’s deep voice cut through the air, calm and steady. “Courage isn’t about not being afraid, Miss Winterbourne. It’s about doing what’s right, even when you are. And from what we’ve heard, you’ve already shown more courage than most.”
Tonks nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, what he said, Little Badger. Besides, you’ve got us now. We’ll make sure you’re not alone in this.”
Thalia looked between the three of them, her heart pounding. Their words were reassuring, but the weight of the decision she’d made was starting to settle heavily on her shoulders.
“I’ll do my best,” she said finally, her voice soft but resolute. “I just hope it’s enough.”
Charlie reached across the table, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask for. And trust me, you’ve got more fight in you than you realize.”
"Now, I want to make this meeting relatively quick, there's no knowing who is watching," Kingsley said, his voice low and serious. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room before continuing. "Our role in your mission is to be your confidants, your allies. Myself and Tonks here are Aurors, working closely with the Ministry to locate and imprison any Death Eaters still operating in the shadows. We're in the thick of it, tracking down leads and dealing with the aftermath of their activities. But we can't do it alone, and that's where you come in."
Tonks nodded, her pink hair catching the dim light of the pub as she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "And Charlie, well, he's a dragon handler at a Sanctuary in Romania," she added, her tone light but with a hint of teasing. "He spends most of his time wrestling dragons and trying not to get roasted alive like a massive ginger marshmallow."
Charlie groaned and slouched in his seat, clearly annoyed. "Hey, I’ll have you know I’m an expert in handling dragons," he grumbled. "I’m just... not sure how much help I’ll be with Death Eaters while I’m halfway across Europe."
Tonks grinned, not missing a beat. "Exactly. So, he's just along for the ride, really. Not much use to you when he's off dramatically forward rolling away from a dragon's fiery breath."
Charlie shot her a mock glare, but Kingsley simply ignored the pair's antics, his gaze unwavering as he continued. "As I was saying, we are all working under the assumption that Voldemort has returned. All the signs point to it, based on what we managed to gather from Harry after the final Triwizard Tournament and the information we extracted from Barty Crouch Jr., who had been posing as Alastor Moody. The pieces are falling into place, and we know he’s recruiting. Past Death Eaters, new recruits—he’s gathering them all."
Thalia's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Voldemort's name, the weight of the situation suddenly hitting her like a ton of bricks. Her fingers clenched around the edge of her parchment, trying to steady herself.
Kingsley paused, his expression hardening as he met her eyes. "The names you gave Dumbledore—Avery and Gibbon—have been on our list for years. We’ve suspected their involvement, but we never had the evidence to pin anything on them. Your Grandfather, Thalia, has always been good at working in the shadows. A powerful man in the Ministry, one who has garnered respect and loyalty from those around him. There were whispers after the last war about his potential ties to the other side, but again, no solid proof."
Thalia’s breath caught in her throat. The realization was hitting her hard—her grandfather, the man who had raised her, the one she had always believed to be a figure of authority and strength, was likely connected to the very people she was now fighting against. Thalia listened intently, her eyes darting between the three figures as Kingsley spoke. The weight of his words pressed down on her, making her feel both important and deeply anxious.
“We’re not asking you to be a spy in the way you might imagine,” Kingsley continued, his voice calm but firm. “Your role is to observe and report. Listen to conversations, take note of visitors, and pass on anything that seems out of the ordinary. It’s dangerous work, but it’s vital.”
Tonks leaned forward, her pink hair catching the dim light. “Think of it like being a sneaky little badger. You don’t have to confront anyone or do anything risky—just keep your ears open and stay out of sight. If something feels off, trust your instincts.”
Charlie, who had been leaning casually against the table, straightened up. “And don’t listen to her,” he said with a grin, jerking a thumb at Tonks. “I’m useful in plenty of ways. You need a dragon smuggled into your Grandfather’s office? I’m your guy.”
Tonks rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yes, because nothing says ‘covert operation’ like a Hungarian Horntail crashing through the dining room.”
“Enough,” Kingsley interjected, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Miss Winterbourne, the reason we’re telling you all this is because you’re in a unique position. Your Grandfather’s influence and connections make him a key player, whether or not he’s officially aligned with Voldemort. If he’s hosting Death Eaters or aiding their plans, we need to know.”
"The plan is for you to give any information to Professor McGonagall, who will, in turn, pass it along to us. However, if for any reason that doesn’t work, or if you feel a particular piece of information is urgent or important, send it via one of the school owls. But here’s the key: use a different owl each time, and code your messages. This will help keep everything as secure as possible.” Thalia listened carefully, her grip tightening slightly on the edge of the table as Kingsley continued.
She nodded, "I’ll make sure to do that. What kind of code should I use?"
Tonks smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Well, we can’t make it too complicated, or you'll forget it yourself," she teased. "But we’ll give you a basic cipher to start with. A simple substitution code should do the trick—just swap some letters around. Keep it simple, but make sure it’s something your Grandfather wouldn’t easily recognize."
Thalia nodded slowly, her fingers twisting in her lap. “I understand. But what if... what if I’m caught? What if he finds out what I’m doing?”
Kingsley’s expression softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “That’s why we’re here. If you ever feel like you’re in immediate danger, you need to let us know. You’ll have a way to contact us discreetly.”
Tonks reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a delicate silver locket, handing it to Thalia. “This is a portkey. If you’re ever in immediate danger and need to get out, just hold it tightly and say ‘Haven.’ It’ll bring you to a safe house. But only use it if you absolutely must—it’s a last resort.”
Charlie added, “And don’t forget, Dumbledore wouldn’t have asked this of you if he didn’t think you could handle it.”
Thalia turned the locket over in her hands, the intricate etching on its surface catching the dim light. It felt cool and solid, a tangible reminder of the trust they were placing in her. She swallowed hard and met their gazes, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling in her chest.
Kingsley nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. "This is bigger than just your Grandfather. We’re fighting a war, and every bit of information helps. You’re playing a crucial part in this, Thalia. I trust you’ll make the right decisions."
Thalia met his gaze, her heart racing with the weight of the responsibility now on her shoulders.”I will,” she confirmed. "He's got a meeting with an associate this afternoon at three. He's asked me to be back beforehand, so I should be able to eavesdrop," Thalia said, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. She glanced at the group, her mind racing with plans and contingencies.
Charlie gave her a nod of approval. "Good. Keep your distance, but stay close enough to hear what’s going on. You don’t want to be caught."
“Take note of times, dates, any code words they appear to be using regularly," Kingsley continued, his tone calm but serious. "It is unlikely that they’ll let any names slip in such an intimate one-to-one meeting, but if they do, make sure you tell us so we can investigate. Try and get a description or name of the person he’s meeting.”
Thalia nodded, committing every word to memory. She knew this was the kind of detail that could make all the difference.
"Don't worry," she said quietly. "I’ll be as discreet as possible.”
Kingsley sent her a reassuring grin, one that lit up his face and melted his hard exterior for a couple of seconds. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a pleasure to work with you, Thalia,” he said warmly, his voice carrying a rare note of genuine admiration.
Thalia felt a small flutter of pride at his words, the weight of the responsibility settling more comfortably on her shoulders. She gave him a small, determined smile in return.
Tonks stood up, brushing her hands off as she gave Thalia a wink. "You’ve got this, kid. Just keep your head down, stay smart, and don’t let anyone see you sweat."
Charlie gave a reassuring smile. "And if you ever need a dragon to help you out of a tight spot, you know who to call."
Thalia allowed herself a small, grateful smile at their teasing, though the weight of the situation was never far from her mind. She tucked the locket safely into her bag, knowing this was just the beginning.
As they stood to leave, Kingsley gave her one last look. "We’ll be in touch soon. Stay safe, Thalia."
Tonks gave her a last wide grin. “Welcome to the fight, Thalia Winterbourne.” Together the trio began to head towards the door.
Before she could stop herself, Thalia called out to the retreating figure of Charlie, "How is your father? And George?" she asked, then mentally slapped herself, quickly adding, "And Fred, Ron, and Ginny, of course."
Charlie chuckled, shaking his head with a grin. "Of course you're the Hufflepuff they won’t stop rambling on about!" he teased. "Dad’s going to make a full recovery. He’s still bandaged up, and Mum’s got him on strict bed rest. But he’s alive, and we’ve got you and Harry to thank for that. As for the twins, well, they won’t shut up about you, particularly George. They’re causing havoc and nearly giving my mother a heart attack daily, so I’d say they’re doing alright," he added with a knowing smile, noticing the blush creeping up Thalia's neck.
Thalia let out a relieved sigh. "I’m so glad," she murmured, her heart lightening at the news.
"They’re all looking forward to seeing you when they get back to school," Charlie continued. "Mum’s practically bullying them into asking you to stay at the Burrow over the summer. So hopefully I’ll see you then."
Thalia smiled wistfully at the thought of long summer days spent with the Weasleys. "Maybe," she said softly, her gaze distant for a moment as she imagined it.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Thalia," Charlie said warmly, giving her a small wave as he turned to follow the others out of the pub.
"Take care, Charlie," Thalia called after him, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched him disappear into the cold winter air.
~.~.~
That afternoon, Thalia kept herself hidden upstairs, ensuring her bedroom door was ajar just enough to catch the faintest sounds from below. She waited in tense anticipation, her senses on high alert. When the sharp pop of Apparition echoed through the house like a distant gunshot, her pulse quickened. She froze, listening intently. Moments later, the soft click of the study door closing confirmed her grandfather’s arrival with his guest.
Moving with practiced silence, Thalia slipped from her room and crept down the staircase, her socked feet making no sound on the polished wood. She stopped just outside the study, pressing herself into the shadows near the doorframe, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Polaris, we cannot be hasty! They know our plans; how else would they have stationed a guard there?" a deep, gravelly voice said, the urgency in its tone unmistakable.
"I want it done quickly, and I want it done right. That should not be a hard instruction for you to understand!" her grandfather snarled, his voice sharp and venomous. The sound of his fist slamming against the desk reverberated through the study, followed by the rattle of objects jostled by the impact.
"I understand completely," the other man replied, his tone calm but laced with tension. "And I know his need for this to be successful. But if we mess this up right at the beginning, our whole plan falls through. We can't afford even a single misstep."
Thalia’s grip on the doorframe tightened, her knuckles white. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to peek inside. Every instinct screamed at her to memorize every word, every nuance of their conversation. Her grandfather’s words carried the weight of command, but it was the other man’s measured caution that sent a chill down her spine. Whoever he was, he clearly had experience navigating dangerous waters.
"Well then, let's hope our men are up to the challenge," her grandfather replied, his tone dripping with sinister confidence.
A heavy silence fell between the two men, broken only by the faint creak of a chair being pushed back. Thalia's heart leapt into her throat. Instinct took over, and she darted silently up the stairs, pressing herself into the shadows at the top. She clung to the wall, her breath shallow and her pulse pounding in her ears. She prayed that her grandfather wouldn’t look up.
"I'll see you on Wednesday, Polaris," the other man said as he exited the office. Straining slightly, Thalia caught a glimpse of him through the gap in the banister. He was dressed in a sharp blue pinstriped suit, his dark hair slicked back with an excessive amount of gel. His polished black dress shoes gleamed even in the dim light.
"Yes, of course," her grandfather replied, his voice cool and measured. As if sensing something, he cast a sharp glance toward the staircase. Thalia flattened herself against the wall, barely daring to breathe.
After a moment, he shook his head, seemingly dismissing the notion, and turned to clasp the stranger's hand. "Relay my message to him. Our plan relies on secrecy, but it must be swift."
"I will. Good afternoon," the man replied, his voice smooth and professional as he disappeared with a sharp crack of Apparition.
Thalia let out a shaky breath, her knees weak with relief. Her grandfather’s ominous words echoed in her mind. Whatever this plan was, it was progressing fast—and she was now in the middle of it.