Harry Potter and the Order's Death Eater

They had seen him coming, and rose to their feet at his arrival. 'Ahh Harry,' they said pleasantly, extending their hand. 'You're a little early today.'

'I was nearly late,' he said lightly, taking a moment before forcing himself to say the name that still felt a little unusual. 'Good to see you Rufus.'

This was the third time they had met like this, and it was still strange to find himself on first name terms with the Head of the Auror Department.

'It worried me when the Aurors on duty in Little Whinging reported that you hadn't left home at your usual time,' he said pleasantly. They took their seats across from one another. 'But then they reported you getting into a Muggle vehicle with someone who only quite recently received their licence, so of course I was quite at ease.'

Seeing this as an attempt to be humorous Harry smiled, playing along. 'It worried me too.'

'As you know the Auror Department are working in conjunction with the Order of the Phoenix to oversee your safety. Should you ever need quick transportation they are authorised to apparate with you wherever you need to go, you need only as-'

'Thanks, but I'm fine with the bus,' he said quickly, cutting him off.

They settled in, Harry setting the binder on the far side of the table and accepting the cup of tea Scrimgeour poured for him. They made small talk for a short while, he seemed to be one for it, and Harry played along with the niceties - it was annoying, but it broke the ice, even if it did mean answering mundane enquiries about 'what he had been up to' in the week that passed their last meeting.

Harry knew perfectly well what Scrimgeour was doing with him, that he was trying to nudge him along the path of joining the Aurors. That possibly he wanted Harry to feel indebted to him, that he might one day owe him a favour...that they were allies. On the surface they were, but Harry still felt guarded even though Scrimgeour was one of the few in authority who had believed his story that Voldemort had returned. It was fair to say that Scrimgeour had done a great deal for him, but still he kept himself on edge, never quite letting himself get comfortable with him.

It remained to be seen how Scrimgeour would let this play out. Would he be upfront with any attempts to use Harry just as Madam Bones had been? Our would he try to do it undetected?

'How are you progressing?' Scrimgeour asked, finally gesturing to the binder.

Setting aside his tea Harry picked up the binder and opened it, holding back a great sigh of frustration. 'I haven't made it far,' he admitted.

'Information overload?'

Harry nodded, rifling through the many sheets of parchment he binder had produced for him, and parchment of his own workings. Scrimgeour had given him this binder a week ago, the kind he would get in his first year should he take up Auror training.

First Year Auror Trainee - Investigation Simulator

Missing Persons: William Borley

'The binder will supply you with more content as you work your way through the investigation,' Scrimgeour had explained to him last week. 'It will give you evidence and paperwork, and visions of people and scenes will appear. You interact with scenes and witnesses as though they're real. You'll investigate the scene of a crime, verbally direct a small scale operation, follow leads and evidence. It's meant to simulate a real life investigation, but without the real life stakes. You can make as many mistakes as you need in order to learn.'

At the start there had been only a few sheets of parchment, and Harry had looked over them as nonchalantly as possible, trying to hide his interest. 'How long does it take to finish?'

'Usually some months to identify the suspect, but typically the entire first year training to develop and present a full case. But that's in and around other training classes, and some Trainees have part-time jobs on the side. But if you're as bored at home as you say you are...no more than a couple of weeks to get your head into it. You will need more time to develop a case though. This assignment expects a great deal of trial and error as you progress through the investigation levels.

Dammit. Harry's mouth was twitching, almost smiling. A challenge...it was interesting.

'I wouldn't know where to start.'

'It's self guided,' Scrimgeour had assured him. 'You'll receive your outcry report and you'll attend the scene. Ask your witnesses questions, challenge their answers -'

Harry spoke up now, for having already read numerous booked Scrimgeour had loaned him he knew what he was about to say. 'Verify statements, record information, build a timeline. Who, when, where, what and why.'

Scrimgeour gave an approving nod and pushed the binder a little closer to him. 'Good luck.'

Despite intentions to downplay his interest the binder had since occupied Harry's every evening. During the day he still couldn't stand to be in the Dursley's house, not when he didn't have to be, and sometimes he took the binder with him (though he couldn't use it fully out in the Muggle world), but returning back to Privet Drive at nightfall no longer meant an empty night of staring at the ceiling. He had something to do - even if that something was going around in circles and drowning in a mass of poorly organised parchment that seemed to litter every inch of his room.

'Is there usually this much paperwork?' he asked.

'Unfortunately, yes. However do keep in mind that during an actual investigation you have a team to work with, and administration personnel who would help you manage paperwork. But yes, it is the bane of our existence.'

Scrimgeour was rifling through the parchment and looking over his work, and Harry watched him a little impatiently, eager for feedback but still trying to be nonchalant. Despite his interest it did annoy him that Scrimgeour was actively encouraging him to do it.

Quite suddenly the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Sitting amongst the mess of parchment was a small envelope, shimmering grey ink addressing the enclosed letter to him. On the back were the return instructions. Kindly return to Amos and Deborah Diggory.

Harry's hand shot out, quickly grabbing the letter from the jumble of parchment. Naturally Scrimgeour stopped and looked up at him, but Harry kept his expression nonchalant as he quickly folded the envelope up and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. This is what he got for being disorganised. The letter must have been sitting on his desk, unopened like the others Mr Diggory had sent him, and in his haste he must have accidentally picked it up.

Tactfully, Scrimgeour pretended he hadn't seen a thing and promptly returned his attention to Harry's work in the binder. A few minutes later he set the parchment down, murmuring 'A good start,' under his breath before looking up at Harry. 'So, tell me. What's the story so far?'

'I've got practically nothing,' Harry began, glad to distract himself from the Diggory's letter. 'William's boss reported him missing when he didn't show up for work two days in a row. None of his neighbours saw anything strange, he wasn't acting off. Everything was normal.'

'Except for the fact that he's missing?'

'Well, yeah.'

'Tell me about him. Who is William Borley?'

'Kind of a nobody. He works for the Nimbus Company in research and development, but he doesn't seem to care all that much about flying.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Well, there's no posters on his wall,' he said, instantly realising posters were probably more of a teenage thing, not something for grown wizards. 'He doesn't seem to follow the leagues, he doesn't have any memorabilia, he's not a member of any clubs. He doesn't even own a broomstick, the one he had at home belonged to his department.'

'What else do you know about him? The story, Harry,' he emphasised. 'At the heart of every investigation is a story.'

He knew this, Scrimgeour had stressed it last week, and so had the training manuals he had devoured over the last few months. But he was growing frustrated already because there didn't seem to be much of a story. 'He's got no family. No one at work seems to consider him a friend. He's on a Muggle bowling team, that's about the only interesting thing about him.'

'That he socialises with Muggles?'

'That he bowls. He's kind of boring. Even his flat is boring.'

'Tell me about his flat.'

'It looked normal. He rents it,' he added, rifling through some of the parchment to find a copy of the lease agreement. 'He's lived there twelve years.'

'Who are his enemies?'

Harry let out of a huff. 'The only one who ever had a problem with him was a downstairs neighbour who complained that William yelled at her cat...' he shuffled through the parchment again, going back to the lease folder. 'Three years ago. The neighbour doesn't even live there anymore.'

'Think beyond the obvious enemy,' Scrimgeour encouraged. 'Very rarely does someone come out of the shadows and declare themselves to be one's enemy...particularly when one has gone missing under mysterious circumstances.'

'Right,' he muttered, figuring this made sense. Not everyone was as blatant as Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

'A colleague might secretly wish him ill. A Muggle bowling competitor might want to clear the way to a prize. Someone he trusts might be working against his interests.'

Though he nodded, Harry took a deep breath, not liking what he was about to say. 'I don't know what to next. I...I can look at enemies again, but other than that...'

Scrimgeour seemed unconcerned that he didn't know what to do. 'What do you think happened? Throw an idea at me. Anything.'

At this he leant back in his chair, thinking. 'He might have just left,' he said offhandedly. 'Got sick of his boring life and went to be boring somewhere else.'

'That's a valid line of enquiry.'

'No, it's not,' he sighed, immediately seeing the flaw. 'He didn't pack anything. And why would he just leave without telling anyone?'

'Why would anyone leave their life without telling anyone?'

He looked at Scrimgeour, feeling a lightbulb turn on inside his head. 'Maybe he was running.'

'What was in his kitchen sink?'

'I...I don't know.'

'Were his dishes clean? Was he halfway through tidying up when someone knocked on his front door? Was he drinking his morning coffee when he got a threatening letter? Was his tie and briefcase on the bed while he got ready for work on Monday morning? Did he even make it home Friday night?'

He was catching on. 'What was he doing last?'

Scrimgeour nodded. 'You need to get to know your victim, and to do that you must ask questions. Ask again and again and again. I've seen a case solved because Aurors knew what size trousers our victim wore.'

'Trousers solved a case?'

'Asking questions solved a case. Being an Auror is a surprisingly loquacious profession. Some of us are better at it than others, and this part of your training is when you'll figure out if it's a skill you need to work on.'

'I'm not really a people person.'

'As long as you have empathy you can learn to be a people person. At the very least you can learn the skills that will get you what you need. Most people only want to know that you care.'

At this comment Harry was taken aback, because in his opinion Scrimgeour, Head of the Aurors, was not all that good at showing he cared about Harry's story. He had seemed cool and stand offish almost every time they interacted, which hadn't exactly fostered much trust...were it not for Kingsley and the Order Harry might have had no faith at all.

He changed the subject. 'Is it a simple pass or fail, or does it get graded?'

'Both. A trainee will technically pass this assignment if they identify the suspect and correctly state the happenings of the case. But to actually demonstrate skill and learning you must present evidence in a comprehensive report that both a department official and a layperson can understand. Don't worry, I'm not expecting much. You've not undertaken any training whatsoever, and this assignment is normally completed in teams of three. This is just to give you small a taste of what an investigation might entail.'

'Paperwork and talking,' Harry muttered, feeling his excitement had waned a little.

'Being an Auror is about more than protecting people and catching bad guys,' Scrimgeour said, understanding his disappointment. 'You have to make sure those bad guys are convicted for their crimes, and that requires paperwork and procedure.'

'Can I ask you a question about the Auror training?'

'Of course. Ask me anything.'

'Muggle Studies isn't part of the grades required to get in. Why is that?'

Scrimgeour chuckled, and it was then Harry finally decided that for all the good Scrimgeour had done he really didn't like him much. 'Well, there's really no need for an Auror to have taken Muggle studies.'

'There's not even a test though. Are you saying every Auror would know how to blend in with the Muggle world?'

'Yes, of course.'

'They wouldn't stand out in a crowd? Give themselves away?'

'They're highly trained.'

Now Harry hesitated. He didn't want to be openly rude, but it had to be said. 'I'm just asking because yesterday of your Aurors gave himself away trying to buy a bus ticket. I managed to give them the slip while he was figuring out the difference between pence and pounds.'

Scrimgeour paused, his mouth tensing into a line. It seemed this was news to him. 'It's not often that our work takes us into the Muggle world.'

'Until it does,' Harry pressed, standing his ground. 'I feel quite safe knowing that the Aurors there to protect me can be thwarted by a bus ticket. As far as I can tell there's not even a test to pass,' he stressed, taking the curriculum book from the back of the binder. 'There's an optional extra class to take in Second Year, and that's it.'

'Are you saying it shouldn't be optional?'

He couldn't believe he was saying this, that he was advocating for extra classes. 'They should at least be able to buy a bus ticket.'

The atmosphere felt a little awkward not that Harry had called out a flaw in Auror competencies, though it was one in his mind that should have been rather obvious. But he couldn't keep it to himself, not when he had slowly come to realise that the reason it wasn't important was that the Ministry didn't think Muggles were all that important.

'We might not be able to meet again for a while,' he said lightly, wondering if Scrimgeour would be glad after this. 'I'm being taken somewhere else soon.'

Scrimgeour nodded, likely having known this already. He closed Harry's binder and returned it to him. 'Sometime this week, right? Where are you off to?'

'I've been told not to tell you.'

'Why's that?'

'The Order are worried about leaks.'

'It doesn't take a genius to predict where you will be moved to.'

'No, but I suppose it's the principal. So what's going on?' he boldly asked, figuring he couldn't offend any more than he already had. 'I thought the Order and the Aurors were getting along.'

'As did we.'

'What happened?'

'I've been told not to tell you.'

Seeing his statement reflected back at him Harry promptly moved on. He hadn't been expecting an answer in the first place. 'Well, anyway this is probably our last meeting for a few weeks.'

'A crying shame. You must write to me often, share updates on the case. Investigations are typically not a solo venture, you're expected to seek help.'

'I will. Thanks.'

'So, are you going to keep me on tenterhooks?' he asked lightly, sitting back in his chair and looking at him. 'Regardless of the Investigation Simulator, it's about time you either accept my suggestion, or let me down easy.'

He knew what Scrimgeour was getting at. He paused for a moment, only briefly second guessing himself before taking an envelope from the back of the binder. Application for Correspondence Study - First Year Auror Training.

'I wasn't playing hard to get,' he explained, passing the envelope to Scrimgeour. 'I needed recommendations from Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, and my godfather had to sign the application. He took some convincing.'

Scrimgeour looked gratified, and he took the parchment and looked it over before putting it into his briefcase. 'Thank you Harry. I'm very pleased with your decision. The first semester is a little dry, but once you get through that I think you'll enjoy the course material.'

'I might not qualify. Still haven't got my OWL results.'

'Your OWL results are not something I would worry about.'

'I don't want special treatment.'

'Nor would I give it,' he assured him. 'But even if your exam results are not up to par it doesn't mean you are excluded from joining the Aurors - it just means some extra hoops to jump through. Numerous Aurors have achieved only average results in their school examinations only to more than prove themselves through additional training. Myself included. I was not an academic. What classes are you planning to take?'

'Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology and Potions.'

'Defence Against the Dark Arts?'

Harry pursed his lips. His favourite class...now to be with Snape. 'Yep,' he said tightly, swiftly clearing his throat and changing the subject. 'Can anyone apply for this class?' he asked. He got the feeling that Ron might want to do this correspondence course too, for he had talked about joining the Aurors too (though always under the guise of how cool it would be). And to be honest Harry wasn't exactly thrilled by the prospect of self-guided study - it would be good to have someone else to study with.

'It's open to anyone who passes the OWL requirements. Even if they do not, applications can be made for consideration. Getting in for the first year is easy, it's getting into the second year that is trickier.'

'Why's that?'

'You'll need to sit an interview. You'll have to make a statement as to why you want to become an Auror. The Department will want to know what's motivating you. Whether you just want perceived glory of catching bad guys, or if there's something else at play.'

'What kind of answer are you looking for?' he asks boldly, wondering if Scrimgeour would actually tell him.

Scrimgeour smiled knowingly. 'You'll know after the first year of training. And if your interview doesn't make the cut you'll almost always get an excellent recommendation from the head trainer. We tend to lose about sixty percent of trainees at this stage.'

'What?' he exclaimed. 'Just because you didn't like their answer?'

Scrimgeour nodded. 'We want only the right people, and we know who they are.'

'Sixty percent?'

'Last year from a class of fourteen we took only four into second year training. I look forward to seeing which group you fall into, Harry.'

When Scrimgeour held his gaze he started to sense that this was a test, that he was looking for something other than general disbelief. And so he let a little arrogance come to the surface, and he sat back casually. 'I'm not worried.'

'That's the spirit.'

The Burrow

Saturday mornings called for a big breakfast, a strong brew, and time in his shed. Cracking open a couple of the old windows Arthur welcomed the summer breeze that swept through, freshening the air after a week closed up.

Bustling around Arthur tried to dispel the restless energy that was pent up inside. There was too much on his mind, and despite the sweet relief Saturday mornings brought from the work week he was in an odd mood. He knew it, and Molly did too. And so breakfast had been fed, a hearty affair as always, and then a cup of tea was pressed into his hand. His place at the table was already cleared, the plate and cutlery whisking itself off to the sink to be cleaned - and he knew what this signal was.

Take your tea and get out of my hair. Off to the shed with you.

After more than two decades together it was a solid understanding between husband and wife - if you're in a bad mood take it out of the house. Though Arthur often chuckled that this rule that didn't seem to apply to Molly. No, if she was in a bad mood everyone was to know about it - they would heart the banging of pots and pans miles away.

Sipping at his tea he absentmindedly began to tidy up, clearing away the mess he had made last weekend and putting everything back in its place. Many teased that his shed was a mess, that he had too much junk and needed to clear much of it out, but to him this was a perfectly curated collection.

As he began to clear the benches and put things away a small weight lifted off his shoulders. Unlike his office in his shed he liked everything to have their own place. He needed space to tinker around in, space to spread out parts and room to make notes on them, drawers to hold tools and batteries and containers holding various odds and ends. But this weight off his shoulders was not enough to truly put him at ease.

Three more days. In just three more days one of the greater weights would lift off Arthur's shoulders when Harry arrived at the Burrow. Whatever reasoning Albus had for continuing to send that poor boy off to people who neglected him was not good enough in Arthur's eyes. He and Molly would rest far easier once he was away from those wretched people.

Though he tried not to think about it very much Arthur's mind cast him back to the Dursley's living room, and he felt a swell of anger deep in his belly. Was that only two years ago? He remembered the feeling of paternal excitement as he looked around for pictures of Harry as a boy - one's childhood pictures were always so endearing. Gap toothed grins, birthday parties and cakes with candles, the first day of muggle school...but there was none of those things for Harry. Not one. Arthur questioned whether those people had ever deemed Harry important enough to document his childhood with a single photograph.

Now he paused, taking a deep breath. He had not come out here to dwell on things, quite the opposite in fact - he needed to cool his head. What mattered for the immediate future was that Harry would be there in three days, and that next summer was the last time he would ever have to endure his relatives.

It had been awful having to take him back there last year. He and Molly would have happily kept him the entire summer, there was no question about it. A boy who was normally bright and engaging had become quiet and withdrawn, a walking shell of his former self. After what he'd survived Harry needed kindness and patience. A home where he could recover and start coming to terms with what had happened to him. But Albus had been insistent - Harry was going back to the Dursleys.

Of course they all knew how that turned out. Molly and Arthur had delivered to the Dursleys a child who needed only love and compassion. And they had returned a frustrated and angry child who felt abandoned and let down.

How different might it have been for Harry had he been allowed to stay at the Burrow, per his own wishes? Naturally he might have turned to anger. Might have become frustrated and resentful, but what better place for him to work through that than in the home of Arthur and Molly? Parents who had been through much the same process over the years with Ginny, who had helped her work through the recovery of what had happened at the hands of You Know Who.

At the very least, Harry wouldn't have felt so abandoned.

Now definitely needing to vent his frustrations Arthur turned to his newest toy, an electric drill. With a few taps of his wand a generator began to hum with life, and he eagerly plugged in the cord and secured the drill bit in the end. Yes, this was what he needed today. A piece of scrap wood would be his relief.

Positioning a long screw he lined up the drill and then pulled the trigger, his heart racing in excitement as the electric device sprang to life and drove the screw into the wood. Grinning to himself he took another screw from the little plastic box and repeated the process, lining everything up and then pulling the trigger.

He wasn't building anything, he was just tinkering. He had no interest in pulling the device apart to see how the motor and gears worked. Today, he just wanted to drill things.

Harry wasn't the only thing on his mind. The Hogwarts Board of Governors would be meeting this Wednesday night, and there was a half finished proposal sitting in his work bag. And even if they did get it finished and by some miracle won the support of the Governors (a long shot at the best of times), Arthur was doubtful that it would get through the Ministry with any success.

Normally having someone like Amelia in their corner would be an advantage. She was a supporter of his beliefs about Muggles, and had been a great support in passing many of the Muggle protection legislation he had drafted. She would be a critical part of the new Muggle Studies curriculum at Hogwarts were it not for her present ineffectiveness and failure to commit to anything that looked like policy making.

'That's not the position of an Interim-Minsiter,' she kept insisting. 'I am a mere guardian of the position until such a time it is voted on. I have no place taking a position on policy unless it is absolutely critical to the safety and wellbeing of our community.'

Delays wouldn't worry him. Changing an education curriculum would take more than one summer, and there was no possible way it would be voted on and confirmed in time for the upcoming school year. It was the prospect of who was poised to take the actual Minister's position concerned him - Rufus Scrimgeour.

What a gormless pillock.

Though he would rightfully respect Scrimgeour, having been of supreme help to Harry and arrest and imprisonment of Lucius Malfoy, Molly and Arthur would always hold a grudge. After what happened to Ginny in her first year at Hogwarts they had made reports to the Auror Department, their persistence finally taking their complaint all the way to the Head of the department, Scrimgeour.

They'd told him everything that had happened to their daughter, that that filth Lucius Malfoy had slipped her a dark artefact that hosted the memory of You Know Who, knowing full well it would likely murder her. And nothing had come of their repeated complaints. Back then Lucius Malfoy was untouchable, even to the Head of the Auror Department.

Arthur would always begrudge that it took the Boy Who Lived to make Scrimgeour sit up and listen to the idea that Lucius Malfoy might be a bad apple after all.

And now he was tipped to the Minister's position. About the only suitable quality was his experience in fighting dark wizards, no doubt that expertise was called for now. But long term, well...how interested would Scrimgeour be in balancing a budget? How much effort and thought would be put to other things like advancing Muggle rights, or keeping St Mungos funded without political donations from the Malfoy family to prop things up?

His tea was cold and the scrap wood full of screws by the time he was interrupted. The shed door flung open and his youngest son stormed inside in a whirlwind of teenage dramatics.

'Dad, Professor Burbage is here,' he said loudly. 'Mum's making tea, she wants you in.'

The scrap wood full of screws clattered to the floor as Arthur whirled around. 'What?' he exclaimed just as loudly. 'What did you say?'

'Professor Burbage,' Ron whined. 'And thanks for that, by the way. Inviting a teacher round during the summer? I don't need this! Can't you meet her at your office or something?'

Arthur didn't hear the rest of his son's complaining. He hurried past him, heart beating in the base of his throat as he crossed the sunny garden towards the house.

All week Charity Burbage had been in the back of his mind, a persistent question of whether or not he was overreacting. But they had been awaiting her arrival a week ago now, the kitchen table cleared for them to work on, the kids sent to go amuse themselves outside the house. When she didn't show up he had of course gone looking for her, had stopped by her summer flat thinking perhaps he had misunderstood the time or location of their meeting.

When he couldn't reach her he had of course alerted Minerva, hoping she might have insight into her teacher's whereabouts. Minerva had tried to locate her to no avail, and of course he had alerted the Order too...but a suspected disappearance of one person wasn't particularly on their radar. They had far more important work than someone who wasn't even on the Death Eater's radar. But she was no where to be found.

Arthur burst through the back door into the kitchen where lo and behold, Charity was sitting at this kitchen table. For a split second he looked her up and down, taking stock of her and ascertaining with his very own eyes that it was her. There she was, plain as day.

Behind her Molly was bustling around, setting the tea kettle onto the stove. Ginny was spooning jam into a little dish, preparing a plate of scones.

'Arthur!' Charity said brightly, rising from her chair. 'Molly tells me you've been worried sick.'

'Yes,' he confirmed, letting her round the table and kiss him on the cheek by way of greeting. 'We were expecting you last Saturday.'

'And I'm terribly sorry for the fuss,' she said. Before he could comment Charity had already turned away from him. 'Honestly Molly, I really can't stay for tea.'

'I insist,' Molly said firmly. Her offer of tea was not purely for hospitality. 'You can make time for one cup of tea after the worry you put him through.'

Charity was smiling, laughing to herself. 'Honestly, all that fuss for nothing,' she said lightly, sitting back down and addressing the room at large. 'I wasn't feeling my best, so I spent a couple of days recuperating at St Mungos. A little flare up of the pox, nothing to be alarmed about. And certainly not contagious,' she added.

Arthur and Molly exchanged a glance. After this long together a glance was all they needed.

'We checked St Mungos,' he told her. 'You weren't there.'

'Well of course, they wouldn't tell anyone that I was. Privacy and all.'

'You couldn't send a letter?'

'Arthur...I forgot entirely. I am sorry.'

At this he hesitated. It was not entirely implausible. When they had checked at St Mungos it was a last resort, they hadn't really expected an answer from them. She very well could have been there. In fact, she did look quite unlike herself - perhaps a little pallid and run down. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that she'd been ill.

Still...to have not heard a word from her all week.

Clearing his throat Arthur took out his wand and summoned his work bag. From inside it he pulled out the scrolls of parchment he had prepared in anticipation of their meeting last weekend. 'Better late than never,' he said jovially, taking his seat at the table. 'Best get to work then, shall we? There's only a couple of days until the Governors meet again.'

'Well on that subject...' Charity stood up again. 'I was thinking about it while I was recuperating, and I don't think it's the right time to be making any fuss about the curriculum.'

Arthur blinked, feeling a little befuddled by her statement. 'I don't feel we were making a fuss at all. It's a proposal...one not dissimilar to that which we proposed last year, and all the years prior.'

'Well, I don't think it's the right time to be bothering the Governors with such things. They've got a lot on their plate as I'm sure you understand.'

At this he paused. He knew Charity quite well. Never had she backed down like this. There had been plenty of occasions when the timing was less than ideal - after Ginny's ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets when the school had nearly closed - after the Tri-Wizard Tournament and Cedric Diggory's death - and she had still persisted. She had still lobbied the Governors, had still annoyed Albert King near to death until he let her submit a proposal...

He wanted to insist they carry. Wanted to dig his heels in, to push forward with the proposal. It was a radical plan, to make Muggle Studies a compulsory class for First and Second Years, but if they ever wanted to change societal expectations and perceptions about the Muggle world then teaching young witches and wizards was critical.

Arthur glanced at Molly. It seemed she had figured this all out before him, for the stove where the tea kettle was supposed to be boiling had been turned off. No tea was going to be poured for this guest. Not today.

Charity was already collecting her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she prepared to leave. And now Ginny was imploring her to stay. She took Muggle Studies, an easy class without much homework that would interfere with Quidditch, and she liked Professor Burbage. Unlike Ron she wasn't embarrassed to death to see her teacher outside of school.

'I'm sorry, Ginny, but I really must be on my way.'

Without delay Arthur got back to his feet. Something was certainly wrong here, and his only priority ought to be getting it away from his children. Even if it came at the expense of another. 'Is there anything I can say to change your mind?' he enquired politely, keeping up the niceties.

Charity gave him a bright smile, one that now felt unnatural. 'I'd say things will be different next year. Shall we review again then?'

He nodded, forcing himself to return the smile. 'Of course.'

'I'll be abroad for the rest of the summer,' she announced as the three of them crossed the garden together, Arthur and Molly escorting her to the boundary. 'I've booked a lovely villa in Tenerife. The Healers told me to get some sun, and I don't need telling twice.'

Arthur held his tongue, but was increasingly certain now. Tenerife? What rubbish. The Charity Burbage he knew would not lounge about on the beach to relax, not when she finally had the chance to present to the Governors face to face.

He wanted to do something. To say something, to incapacitate her for her own protection. But he knew better. Though he'd never been in the Order during the First War he had learned many lessons. And one of those lessons was that if someone was acting strangely they were probably dangerous. Ginny was back in the house and Ron was nearby in the garden, likely climbing a tree or chasing gnomes out of the vegetable patch. And they were not lives he was willing to risk.

'Don't forget sunscreen,' he said lightly, raising his hand in a wave. 'All the best.'

'Bon voyage,' Molly added, matching his wave.

Moments later Charity was gone, turning on the spot and vanishing with a crack, disapparating off to Merlin only knew where. And for one horrible moment Arthur allowed regret to wash over him, the guilt that he hadn't done something to help her. It was obvious now...she was not herself.

'Would you suppose she was acting oddly?'

'I would,' Molly said darkly. 'I'd bet my last knut she's imperiused. And she's never turned down my scones.'

'We should have stopped her.'

'Not with our children in the house,' she said quickly, whirling around.

'She's in danger. '

'So were we.'

Without another word Molly turned on her heel and strode back inside. There was nothing more to discuss, for she was right - they knew better than to confront someone who was imperiused. When someone was not in control of their actions a situation was far too unpredictable. Friend would turn on friend without a second thought.

His heart heavy Arthur followed his wife inside. All plans for a relaxing Saturday tinkering in his shed or annoying the children were gone now. The Order would need to be alerted, and though they were overworked and under resourced this time they would be made to listen.