Never Is Our Always

The Battle Of The Eight Potters

(27th of July)

(Minnie pov)

"Hun?" I look to Fred, taking his hand, "are you ready for this?" He looked scared.

"Yeah, we got this," I told him, smiling meekly to him.

"Let's get going," George said.

"We're right behind you," I told him, squeezing Fred's hand, "which means these," I tap my rings, "need to come off— MONTY!" I call, "we'll see you soon baby!" Fred looks at me and I glare playfully as we all apparate.

-

The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. Then, one by one, figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted as well as ours.

Dominating the scene was Hagrid, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous motorbike with a black sidecar attached. All around him other people were dismounting from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

Wrenching open the back door, Harry hurtled into their midst. There was a general cry of greeting as Hermione flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the back, and Hagrid said, "All righ', Harry? Yer lookin' fit!"

"Yes, he's absolutely gorgeous, let's say we get undercover before someone murders him," Moody growled, who was holding two enormous, bulging sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity.

Harry led us all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, we were all settled on chairs, sat ourselves upon Aunt Petunia's gleaming work surfaces, or leaned up against her spotless appliances: Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; me, looking around the house in awe; Bill, badly scarred and long-haired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short hair was her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald, black, broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy basset hound's eyes and matted hair.

"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?" Harry called across the room.

"He can get along without me for one night," Kingsley said. "You're more important."

"Harry, guess what?" Tonks said from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glittered there.

"You got married?" Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, Harry, it was very quiet."

"That's brilliant, congrat—"

"All right, all right, we'll have time for a cozy catch-up later!" roared Moody over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen.

Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He's made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm does that already. What he's really done is to stop you getting out of here safely."

"Eh—"

"Second problem: You're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"What's the Trace?" Harry asked.