Wish Upon A Star

Dumbledore's Will

Ashlyn sat looking out of the window...Hermione and Ginny took a lot of time to fall asleep. Ashlyn wanted to sleep too, her eyes were stinging with tiredness, but she wasn't being able to. Feeling extremely jumpy, and anxious she paced silently across the room.

Voldemort wouldn't go off killing them, would he? He can't afford to lose his faithful servants. Then again, they might not be the one's in the inner circle and it didn't matter to him...

Ashlyn sighed. Most importantly, was Malfoy okay? That jerk had the goddamn jar, and wouldn't write. Not one letter! Some 'I'm fine' or 'I'm not fine. I'm dying' or anything! Nope! She'd make another jar but had no idea when Voldemort would be having his cosy little meeting, and if the new jar does pop up...she didn't want to imagine the shit that would go down...But then again, he should be okay. The maximum Voldemort would do is imprison them in their own house, and use the curciatus curse on them, and force Malfoy to torture others...He should be okay, right?... Yup, he should.

Mrs Weasley worked Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ashlyn to the bone, and every task she gave them kept them away from the others. She hoped that if they couldn't discuss their plans for after the wedding, she could keep them from leaving. Hermione was researching in her free time, all the places Voldemort could have hidden his Horcruxes. Ashlyn kept silent, and let her do what she was doing. They still needed the Sword of Gryffindor, and for that, they must of on that weird camping trip. Then break into the Lestrages vault, get the cup...Fly on a dragon!

 "We must decide 'ow you will be disguised, 'Arry," said Fleur, once everyone had pudding. "For ze wedding," she added when he looked confused. "Of course, none of our guests is Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey 'ave 'ad champagne."

"Yes, good point," said Mrs Weasley from the top of the table, where she sat, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. 

"Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your room yet?"

"Why?" exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother.

"Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!"

"We are holding your brother's wedding here in a few days' time, young man —"

"And are they getting married in my bedroom?" asked Ron furiously. "No! So why in the name of Merlin's saggy left —"

"Don't talk to your mother like that," said Mr Weasley firmly. "And do as you're told."

Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last few mouthfuls of his apple tart.

"I can help, some of it's my mess," Harry told Ron, but Mrs Weasley cut across him.

"No, Harry, dear, I'd much rather you helped Arthur muck out the chickens, and Hermione, I'd be ever so grateful if you'd change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Delacour; you know they're arriving at eleven tomorrow morning. Ashlyn, could you help me with the oven?"

When Ashlyn entered Harry and Ron's room, she found all three of them already sitting there.

"Everyone's here," Ashlyn said as she closed the door behind her.

Hermione was sorting books into two piles. She had collected all of theirs two days ago. Ashlyn had pointedly refused to give hers and had it all in her backpack.