Consequentially Yours by Nyruserra

Chapter One - Something Wicked This Way Came

Consequentially Yours: A Gentleman's Duty

Chapter One - Something Wicked This Way Came
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Hurrying through the empty streets, Oliver swore as he misjudged the depth of a puddle and splashed ankle-deep in cold water. He was late as it was, and desperate to get out of the driving rain which had sprung up out of nowhere and turned the early afternoon sky to the steel grey of late evening in a matter of moments.

After discussing things with Percy as coherently as he could, given his state of mind by that point of the conversation, he returned to his little-used flat and remained horizontal for the next fifteen hours. He then spent a luxurious forty-five minutes under a very hot shower trying to pretend the evening before had been an unusually vicious dream, before heading back to the Ministry on Sunday morning to drop off some forgotten paperwork. Once he got there, he found that he had, in fact, not hallucinated the entire thing in his sleep deprived state.

It had taken him longer than he’d wanted there, due to a lousy Junior Department Head who had the rather unfortunate habit of taking physical hold of her victims to prevent escape while she waxed on about unimportant details no one else cared about. Oliver felt by this time that he had definitely seen more of that place (and that girl) in the last two days than he ever wanted to see again. With one more glance at the time, and another muffled curse at the grabby junior official who had made him late, he picked up his pace again.

Oliver tried not to look too closely at the buildings looming around him as he hurried through the deserted streets. Diagon Alley had been one of the places most affected by the final stages of the war against Voldemort and his followers. The destruction in places was fairly severe, and whole sections of the settlement had been abandoned.

Oliver always found it far more depressing to be here than other sites which sustained much greater damage. He supposed it was because this hit so close to home. He had a lot of fond memories of this place. That first nervous trip for school supplies after getting his Hogwarts letter. Buying his first ever broomstick; an old second-hand Silver Arrow that he had saved up for, for over two years. Taking 15 year old Katie Bell, the first girl he ever fancied, for ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s. Somehow, he found, seeing Diagon Alley broken and wasted like this always caused a raw ache in his heart.

Today, he had promised to meet with a couple of old friends at their shop. They had been the first to return and rebuild, almost defiantly, in the face of all the rumors and superstitious terrors that still kept most the Wizarding Community away from places like these, where major actions had taken place. Fred and George had scoffed at their fears, firmly reminding everyone that living in constant fear of You-Know-Who’s return was no kind of life at all. Oliver knew, with a funny kind of pain in his chest, that it would be a long time still before laughing hoards of school children again infested the place at the end of each August, even with the re-opening Hogwarts last term.

Shaking the drops of water out of his curly brown hair as he entered the warm and inviting interior of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Oliver got no further than three steps into the shop when he was assaulted by a cacophony of noise and confusion that rattled the floorboards beneath his feet and sent vibrations through the soles of his boots and up his legs. He should have expected that, he supposed, when entering the twins’ shop — he was almost surprised that chunks of plaster didn’t begin raining down on his head, just to add to the almost cliché moment.

In the silence left in the wake of the explosion, the sound of Fred’s (or possibly George’s — he couldn’t tell with his ears still ringing) muffled, sheepish voice came floating out of the back room.

“Bit too much Draconis saliva, there; sorry, that was me, this time.”
The wobbly feeling in his legs had started to pass, as he began picking his way carefully through the fallen merchandise, heading towards the back of the shop and into the twins’ lab.

“Fred? George?” Oliver enquired, safely surveying the room from the doorway, as he watched something pink and gooey dripping off the ceiling in front of him.

“Wood! Mate, how’re you doing?” came an enthusiastic greeting from the other side of the spacious room. The voice had a tinny, echoing quality to it, and as he scanned the room, he had to quickly swallow a chuckle. The voice was emanating from inside a large metal drum, with just a pair of legs protruding from the opening like some kind of drooping stalks for a very weird plant. A cupboard door opened along the bottom of one of the reinforced cabinets that lined the back of the room, and the other twin quickly unfolded himself from an impossible-looking position for anyone who still had all of their bones in their body, and dusted himself off grandly.

“Aye, an’ after I put so much effort inta fixing the place, you two ha’ better not damage so much as one square inch of it!” Oliver growled, and fixed both of the miscreants with a mock-glare as he took in the destruction. Actually, it was more cosmetic than substantial. The Weasley clan (and Oliver, who was practically an honorary Weasley, having gone to school with all seven children during his time at Hogwarts) had helped the twins to rebuild after the shop’s destruction during the first wave of attacks. Taking this opportunity, they had put a variety of heavy warding charms in place, knowing exactly how the room was to be used (or abused). It had taken the eight of them three exhausting days to do it, though. Nice to know it had worked, really.

“Your fault, Mate. If you had been on time —“

“ —We wouldn’t have had time to kill — “

“ —And wouldn’t have been tempted to test our latest idea!” Fred/George grinned at him, unrepentant.

“Do I need a drink before I hear this idea of yours?”

The twins’ grins turned positively wicked. “Oh, definitely, Oliver - probably two!”

***

“So, how go things at the Ministry these days, Wood?”
Oliver snorted into his Firewiskey, derisively.

“I don’t work for the Ministry, Fred. I just do some occasional jobs for Percy.” Which was true, but he was doing more and more ‘odd’ jobs for Percy since the end of the war, instead of less. Oliver sighed —his heart was still with his favorite game, and hopefully, once this mess was cleared up and people could breathe freely again, Quidditch would resume, and he could return to the sport he loved. Percy could shove his special assignments somewhere very uncomfortable. Seeing the skeptical looks on his companions’ faces at his job distinction, he relented.

“It’s bad. Nobody’s really in charge right now —No one really knows where to go next. We lost a lot of people in the Ministry attacks last July, in key departments, too. We’re relying on a lot of Junior Department Heads, with just a few experienced people like Percy trying to run multiple, unrelated departments. I mean, one guy is trying to run the Department of Standards and Testing, The Accidental Magical Reversal Units, The Department of Magical Sanitation, and the foreign offices dealing with Czechoslovakia and Muldovia. I mean, the guy doesn’t even know how to cast a decent Translation charm! Last week, he told the Czech Minister’s wife that he was pleased to make the acquaintance of her two lumpy breasts! That took awhile to sort out, I hear. It’s all a right bloody mess.” The burr underlying his voice was getting stronger as his voice trailed off.
“Too true, mate. Everyone’s paranoid. It’s worse than it was when people knew that they could get attacked at any moment — what with the Death Eaters on the lose, and You-Know-Who popping up everywhere. People had plenty of courage then, defying the evil git to try and take their freedom — but now, when they don’t know if he’s dead or alive —“

“— It’s like they lost their nerve. When they knew what they were up against, they could fight it. But now — well they just don’t know if he’s gone for good this time. And people don’t know if they’re going to lose everything again. I don’t think people can deal with the thought of putting all this effort into rebuilding, to have it come crashing down on them again. Where we had lions before, there are now rabbits, scared of their own shadows. I think that’s the saddest part of all. Now that we have some measure of safety, people are so afraid to lose it, that they forget to live.” George finished wistfully, while staring out of the window and into the rain soaked streets. “It’s like we never won at all. Not really.”

Shaking himself, as if he could rid himself of the depressing thoughts like a dog shaking off rain, George pulled a grin out of his pocket, and turned to Oliver with a gleam in his green eyes.

“We haven’t told you of our latest idea yet, Wood…”

Oliver could already feel the headache coming on. This premonition of future suffering was confirmed when he saw an identical expression on Fred’s face. Yes, this was definitely going to be a Headache Potion moment.

***

THE FIRE had died down considerably in the dark room. They had finally abandoned the pub to return home to the twins’ flat above their shop a couple of hours ago. They had been sitting comfortably sprawled on overstuffed furniture in front of a fire while continuing to catch up on recent happenings, and, as was the nature of guys anywhere in such circumstances, getting slowly and gently inebriated.

The conversation had wandered from the politics of the pub, to the barmaid that served them (by the end of the second hour all three were convinced she could have been a model, if she had only wanted to).
They had then moved on to occupational hazards of the average house elf employed in a magical testing facility (“Ah, Gred, but it depends on just what they’re testing, now doesn’t it? I mean — I mean, if they were working for Percy in his cauldron bottom days, then they were definitely in danger of dying of over exertion when they finally beat him to death with one of the cauldrons, now wouldn’t they?”).

They were now discussing the finer points of the Weasley family tree.

“I don’t think, George, tha’ you can claim tha’ Charlie’s a Squib just because you think he’s a twit. I mean, if tha’ twere the case, don’ you think they would have exposed Snape by now?”

“Now, there’s a question — Can you be a Potions Master, if you can’t cast any spells? I mean, the ingredients themselves are magical, right? So technically, Snape could be a Squib, and no one would know. I think I could get to like the idea of Snape as a Squib…” Fred’s voice slurred very slightly at the last, betraying just how much he had drunk that night.

All three of them sniggered over this delightful thought. Fred’s slightly glazed eyes widened at a sudden thought, as he turned to Oliver.

“Speaking of Squibs, Oliver, I heard the Ministry came out last week, publicly, with it’s concern over the rising rates of Squib-births and blood diseases cropping up in Pureblood families —“

“— Read in the Prophet, that they had issued some kind of bill, or law or something to intermarry Muggle-borns with Pureblooded lines —“ George sounded a lot more alert then he had when discussing Charlie’s questionable grey matter.

“And what makes ye think I know anything about it?” Oliver shifted uncomfortably under their combined scrutiny.

“Because, this level of stupidity had to have come from Percy —besides, whether he wants to admit it or not, he is practically the Minister for Magic, and the only one who could have passed something like this. So spill.”

So, Oliver began to fill them in on Percy’s ‘genius’. Halfway through the explanation, they were all for marching over to his office, and stuffing him in a toilet, while they thought of something more permanent to do. Talking fast, Oliver managed to dissuade them long enough to make them listen to the logic behind the plan. Eventually, even George had to admit that they would have to abandon their fun and allow Percy to remain unharmed for another day.

“So, Pureblood’s will hav’to…have to state their intentions through a formal contract, right? Issued to the Muggle-born witch of their choice, an’ the Ministry, of course – oh, an’ her family, eventually. She’ll then have a month to accept, or fin’ another offer.” Oliver was going over a couple of the finer points that the twins had missed during their mad drunken plotting earlier in the discussion. “I’m forgetting something … oh, yeah, an’ I’m supposed to do my bit. Perce says I’ve gotta contract a witch, too.”

Both twins took gave him a shocked stare, before falling out of their chairs, to lay on the floor, gasping and desperately trying to fill their lungs as they laughed and laughed.
***

“Come on, Oliver, it’s perfect — ” Fred was coaxing persuasively

“— Yeah, someone like her is sure to be picked up by one of the shite families straight away — ”

“— Think of it as a rescue! I mean, how would you feel to see someone like her with, say, Marcus Flint, or Ernie Macmillan —”

“ — Ernie? I thought his family was alright?” George broke in, confused.

“ — How okay can they be when they produced something like him? I mean have you ever spoken to the guy? He has the personality of a stink-weed. And he has no neck!”

George and Oliver gave him an incredulous look at this show of logic. Oblivious, Fred sailed on with his argument.

“Really, I mean, she’s a great catch for you’re average evil lord supporter. She’s gorgeous — ”

“Gorgeous? She’s pleasant enough, I suppose. At least she was when I saw her last, but tha’ was when she was fourteen. She can’t have changed that mu — ”

“She’s brilliant, and she’s powerful.” Fred carried on, ignoring Oliver’s interruptions. “She’ll probably produce cute little genius children if she’s picked up by anyone half way intelligent — ”

Oliver turned red at this statement. He definitely wasn’t ready to probe into that aspect of married life just yet. Still, they did have a point. She would be the type of witch to get picked up by someone truly horrible — and since he had to do this anyway, and soon, he might as well rescue the poor girl, right?

Watching the owl take off, he watched as its flight pattern wobbled and listed slightly more than the weather warranted. George had insisted they give it a drink to send it off (“It’s cold out there, Ollie. Just a drop to keep ‘im warm, eh?”), and Oliver wondered vaguely if maybe Gillywater would disagree with the poor creature.

The owl was currently winging (Well, actually, an aerial equivalent to staggering) towards the Ministry Office with the Contract forms that he had filled in with the twins’ help. Staring out into the snow, he reflected that this was indeed a rescue, despite the fact that the lady fair (well, pleasant enough, anyway) hadn’t actually been placed in any sort of ‘danger’ yet. That part was academic, it was just a matter of time before one of those evil sodding gits decided to go after her, right?

If Oliver had consumed even slightly less alcohol that evening, maybe he would have seen just how bad an idea this probably was. The fact that it came out of Fred’s mouth would surely have been a tip-off, anyway.

- … -

None of the boys managed to drag themselves upright until well into the afternoon on Monday, and Oliver enjoyed the day of leisure in his friends’ company, despite the nagging feeling of forgetting something important.
It was sometime during dinner at the pub that evening when the niggling feeling that had been bothering him all day finally resolved itself. With sudden, cold clarity, the rescue plan of the night before hit his sodden brain in an illuminating premonition of pain and consequences. Fred and George stared, alarmed as their friend suddenly jerked straight, as if he’d had ice water poured down his spine, and watched as all the colour in his face drained away.

“Oh, bloody hell …”

And in the North Tower, Hermione continued to stare at the unopened parchment with dread.
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