Chasing the Chaser - Molly and Arthur

11

Sleet was cold and cutting over the quidditch pitch. The miserable match had gone on for hours. Lucius Malfoy had been on the bench most of the time. Through the goggles Potter's father had provided everyone, Molly could see that Abraxas Malfoy was not in the stands. It was just like this family to spend an entire day collectively sulking.

In fairness, there were fewer and fewer spectators every minute. The referee was watching the sky more than the match, maybe hoping to spot some lightning and end it.

Molly knew what else might finish the game. From his spot on the bench, Potter claimed to have spotted the snitch twice already. She'd held off playing him, but now Sharlene was drenched and frozen.

But it was Arthur who called for a time-out first. "I need a substitution," he said, wiping the icy water from his face.

"Are they bullying you out there?" Molly asked, trying not to sound too fussy.

He shook his head. "No, but I saw something. A quick flash. Not lightning but a spell."

"Hexing a play? That's illegal," Angelo bawled.

Arthur handed his bat to his alternate. "Not a hex. I think it was a Patronus. A weak one, noncorporeal. I couldn't hear what the message was saying, but the voice sounded like my uncle's. "

"Is he alright?" Molly said.

"Don't know. His patronus is usually a well-formed weasel, so I'm concerned about the state of the one I just saw. There's no one else to check on him. And it might have come to me for a reason," he shook the melting sleet from his hair. "Sorry, captain."

Molly nodded, the two minute pause almost over. "It's fine, Arthur. Go. And Potter – "

He leapt to his feet.

She took a deep breath. "Sharlene needs a rest. You're in. And make sure we're not still out here when Weasley gets back."

—--------------------------

Arthur arrived through the Floo in the kitchen of his Uncle Bilius's cottage, his quidditch robes still crusted in sleet. Bilius sat in a wooden chair, each of his hands closed awkwardly over his kneecaps, as if they'd been stuck in place. Arthur gasped a swear and crouched in front of him, wand raised, ready to disenchant Bilius's hands.

At the sight of Arthur, Bilius thrashed, trying to stand, the feet of the chair scuffing noisily against the floorboards. "Leave it, sonny. Get back to school."

"Oh, he will," a voice drawled from the front room. "Once we reach an agreement with young Mr. Weasley, the school is exactly where we will want him."

Arthur hopped to his feet. "Who's there?"

"We won't be shouting introductions through doorways," the voice drawled on. "Come through and meet us properly."

Arthur swore again. "Introductions? You're intruders. And you'd better clear out." With that, he levitated his uncle, chair and all, and moved toward the Floo.

"Not that way," Bilius said. "I saw them hex it so it can't be used as an exit."

The chair drifted back to the floor. Apparation was the only way out. Arthur was linking his arm through his uncle's when a new voice froze him in place – not a loud voice, but a piercing one, strong but breathy, edged with a hiss.

"There is no need to hurry away," it said. "You will stay and talk with us, young Weasley. I insist."

Without a wand, without an incantation, a second chair flew from the table, hitting Arthur in the back of the knees and catching him as he fell to sitting. Just like his uncle, his hands cupped themselves over his knees and couldn't be moved, his wand lay at his feet.