The Burrow
It had been three days since Ron had last spoken.
Since Professor McGonagall had climbed into the stands around the Quidditch pitch and approached him, Ginny, Fred, and George, unshed tears shining in her eyes.
Since they had floo'd home in a state of shock.
Their mother had pulled each of them into a tight hug, sobbing hysterically. Their father had just stood by, watching with a lost expression on his face. He'd been easier to deal with, over the last few days. He sat and sobbed, and spoke about Percy.
His mother, on the other hand, vacillated between crying like enough tears would bring Percy back, and acting like everything was normal. She hadn't let go of Percy's clock hand, at least, not that Ron had seen. She clutched it all along.
Fred and George had taken one look at each other after they had been hugged and wordlessly disappeared into their room. They only came out for meals, not speaking to anyone. It was unnerving, them being in their room with no explosions coming out. At least, it would have been unnerving if Ron's thoughts weren't running along so sluggishly.
Bill and Charlie had come in, the same night. Both of them had arrived, so pale that they looked like candles, and spent hours talking to each other in low voices.
Ginny-Ginny had broken down, sobbing and hitting the floor as if the news had forced her to revert to infancy.
And Ron. Well, he just sat and thought. It just didn't make any sense that Percy was dead. Percy, who had convinced their parents that he should pay them for his room, letting him give them money without them feeling like they were taking charity.
Percy, who had spent so long talking to Ginny after everything in her first year.
Percy, who somehow had managed to get a signed Chudley Cannons poster, and had given it to him for his birthday.
Prefect Percy the Prat, who had driven Ron and the twins mad with his constant reminders to study.
It didn't make any sense.
Ron had fished the Daily Prophet out of the garbage. He had seen the large picture of the Dark Mark, with the ominous words 'I have returned. Join, surrender, or die' carved into the marble floor beneath it.
He had even, perhaps unwisely, flipped to page eight and tapped the blurry picture there with his wand, muttering (the only word he spoke in between receiving the news of Percy's death and the funeral) "Revelio"
He had seen the picture of his brother, hanging from his own, torn off skin.
And he was angry. He was furious. Percy shouldn't have died. Not when he hadn't become Minister for Magic yet, not when he hadn't had a chance to get married and have kids and live his life.
Percy shouldn't have died.
Hermione had sent him a letter. It was short, unlike anything else she wrote and covered in splotches where her tears had sunk into the parchment.
"We'll be at the funeral, Neville and I. We're here for you. I'm so sorry. I love you"
Now he stood there, the sun beating down on him, the collar of his dress robes scratching at the back of his neck.
Now he stood, with four brothers, one sister and his parents in front of Percy's grave. It wasn't filled in yet, the coffin lid still brazenly showing its existence to the world.
They stood and listened, while Percy's boss spoke about how amazing he had been, what a thoughtful and conscientious worker, what a polite and impressive young man.
' McGonagall was better. She at least sounded like she meant it. Hell, she was crying in it!'
He hadn't been able to meet Hermione or Neville's eyes. He couldn't stand what he knew he would find there-the pity, well-meaning compassion. He just wanted to scream at the injustice of it all.
The speech finished. He saw the twins throwing something into the grave before the officiator closed it.
' I think that was one of his badges. Was that the bighead boy one?'
He stifled a laugh.
And then it was over.
He could see Ginny, hugging Luna and sobbing into her hair.
Auntie Muriel was there, her raven eyes glittering as she took in the grief before her.
He smelled her an instant before she hugged him, the scent of roses filling his nose.
And he finally broke down, crying with his head on her shoulder and the comforting weight of Hermione's arms around him.
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts
"We weren't prepared," Alastor said, scowling. "Not for an attack here, not for what's been going on in the rest of Europe. We haven't been prepared. And it's biting us in the ass now"
Albus nodded. No-one could have predicted what had been going on in Europe since Voldemort announced his return. Attacks in every major wizarding country, werewolf packs roaming and mauling across France, the Russian Ministry in flames, the German Minister assassinated. No-one could have predicted it. But he still felt he should have.
"We need to attack. We can't let them keep us on the defensive"
"Tell me," the third occupant of the room said snidely, "What would your attacks accomplish?"
Moody's scowl only grew deeper. "Scum. Why you're even here when all you want is to see-"
"All I want is to see Voldemort dead. Your attacks will gain you nothing if he still lives"
Moody snorted. "Yeah, right. I'll bet, first chance you get, you'll go running-"
Gellert stood up, chair flying back behind him. "Were I not bound to do you no harm, I would show you why once I was so feared" he hissed, standing over Moody.
"Gellert. Alastor. Stop this"
"I thought I was Augustus," Gellert said, stroking his brown hair, "if you go around calling me Gellert, it slightly ruins the whole point of assuming this ridiculous appearance and this fake identity"
He did look a bit ridiculous, with his pot belly, angular face, and button nose. No one could possibly connect Augustus Shriner to the late Gellert Grindelwald.
"Be that as it may. Alastor is at least partially correct. We cannot allow Voldemort to maintain the upper hand"
"His Death Eaters will remain a threat as long as he lives. The only way to truly deal with them is to kill him. And you know the only way to kill him"
"And I am continuing with my research on that front. But as you pointed out to me, you know the Dark Arts, better than any of us. You will train the Order of the Phoenix, help us learn how to face what we definitely shall. And next year, you will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts in this school"
"In other words, where you can keep an eye on me at all times?"
Albus inclined his head slightly. Moody snorted. "Maybe we'll get lucky and the curse will kill you"
"Curse?"
"Ah, yes" as if Albus had simply forgotten to mention it. "The position is cursed. I believe Voldemort was-"
"Bah!" Gellert slapped his palm against the desk, "you British are so boring! Voldemort this, and Voldemort that! Let us see if I am incapable of removing this curse"
Albus raised his hand. "If you could, that would be most excellent. I've found nothing, but as you say, the Dark Arts are not my area of expertise. In the meantime, I must meet with Harry"
"I wish to be present"
"Absolutely not! The boy is already-"
"Alastor"
That one, calm word shut Moody up immediately. Albus kept his eyes trained on Gellert, who simply sat serenely.
"Why?"
"A child of prophecy and you wish to keep me from seeing him?"
Albus' brow furrowed.
"You will remain disillusioned. You will not speak"
Gellert nodded.
' I cannot forget, that behind this false exterior lies Gellert Grindelwald. I cannot allow myself to trust him, not truly'
"Very well. You may sit in on the meeting"
"And I want to meet with your reformed Death Eater. I have some ideas, of a device to detect Voldemort's Mark"
"That can be arranged. Still, your identity will not be revealed to him. Not to any outside of myself and Alastor"
"Do you think me a fool?"
' In a way, this would all be so much easier if I did. So, so much easier'