#hpff

Artemis narrowed her eyes as she stared at the line where sky met sea. A shadow of dark clouds gathered in the distance.

“Is that it?”

Kingsley gave a curt nod in response, and a heaviness settled in the pit of Artemis’ abdomen. She pulled her eyes away from the cloud on the horizon to look at her friend.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

Her grim determination must have shown on her face, because Kingsley only hesitated for a single moment before pulling a small flask from the pocket of his robes and handing it to Artemis. She opened it and sniffed its contents before pulling a face.

“Polyjuice potion,” Kingsley said simply. “Unfortunately, it tastes as bad as it smells.” He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a vial containing three ash-blonde hairs. “Proudfoot’s. That’s who you’ll be.”

“Did Roberta agree to this?”

“If only under duress.”

Artemis took the vial and tipped the hairs into the Polyjuice potion, which fizzed and foamed, turning a dark, almost blue-tinged grey. She held her breath before bringing the flask to her lips and swallowing a mouthful of its contents.

The Polyjuice potion, as Kingsley had warned her, tasted foul, but the taste was nothing compared to the deeply unpleasant sensations that followed. Her insides churned, and a blazing heat spread from her middle to her extremities. She could feel her skin bubbling and see it stretching as her short arms and legs began to lengthen and thicken, as her wiry frame stretched to become that of the more sturdily built Auror Proudfoot.

The strange feelings stopped in the space of a second, and Artemis could only assume that her transformation was complete. She turned to Kingsley and asked him, in a voice that sounded unfamiliar in her ears, “Has it worked?”

“Perfectly,” said Kingsley. “But the effects will only last an hour, so we should act quickly. Are you ready to go?”

Perhaps not, now that she had seen that dark shadow on the horizon. Still, they were too close to turn back now. She pocketed the remnants of the Polyjuice potion and linked her arm Kingsley’s.

“I’m ready,” she told him. “Let’s go.”

Kingsley’s arm tensed before he Disapparated away from the cliffside, Artemis at his side. He did not relax when they arrived at their destination. Artemis could understand why. The morning had been cool before, but now she was shivering in her cloak, and every muscle in her own body stiffened slightly as she took in the sights of this new landscape.

Gone were the crystal skies and rolling blue sea. The sun had been blocked from view by an ice cold mist, and the dark air around her was heavy and oppressive. The rocks were bare, and the waves high and powerful as they crashed against the ragged shore. The noise echoed across the desolate land, otherwise silent.

Artemis frowned. Worse than the cold, the damp and dark, was a niggling and chilling sensation that something was missing.

“Dementors,” she heard Kingsley almost growl. “Even without performing the Kiss, they manage to suck the life out of everything.”

With a jolt, she realised what it was. The birds. They had stopped singing. The ground beneath her feet was not softened by the dewy grass. No birds, no grass, Artemis had no doubt that there were not even fish in the water.

Nothing living belonged in this place.

She gave another shudder, and Kingsley indicated with his head in the direction of a narrow path climbing up the rocks away from the shore. At the end of it, a large, austere building rose high up towards the ominous sky above. There it was. Azkaban.

“That way.”

The path was not easy to follow. It was narrow and uneven, with loose stones that rolled under Artemis’ feet, and made slippery with sea water. Unused to moving in Roberta Proudfoot’s body, she stumbled behind Kingsley until they reached the prison. Up close, it was not merely a building, but a fortress. Sheer vertical walls with small barred holes for windows, and just a single door. Though it had several bolts, the door was open. Standing in the open entranceway was a Dementor.

A distantly remembered flash of green light flickered behind Artemis’ eyes and a sliver of ice seemed to pass up her spine as the Dementor turned towards the sound of their footsteps and glided towards them, its tattered black cloak rippling in the breeze. It stopped with its hooded face — if it even had a face — inches from Kingsley’s own. Kingsley did not so much as flinch.

“Auror Shacklebolt, here to interrogate prisoners as per the Ministry’s arrangements. This is my colleague, Auror Proudfoot. You are expecting us, I believe.”

His voice, steady and assured, was the warmest thing on the island. The Dementor moved even closer to him, and Artemis’ hand reached unconsciously for her wand. But then, it backed away without launching an attack. Its head turned as it were looking from Kingsley to Artemis and back again, before it floated away, back inside the fortress. One skeletal finger emerged from beneath its cloak and beckoned them. It wanted them to follow.

“Follow the Dementor,” Artemis whispered under her breath, her words fogging in the air in front of her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Kingsley almost chuckled.

“This was your idea.”

It had been Artemis’ idea, though she could no longer remember why she’d ever thought it was a good one. None of her ideas ever had been good, everything she’d ever turned her hand to had ended in disaster. The challenges for the Triwizard Tournament, the dragon she’d tried and failed to rescue from Gringotts, the search for the Cursed Vaults that had led to Rowan’s death. How she had blamed Jacob, but really, it was her fault. Hers.

“Breathe, Auror Proudfoot,” Kingsley whispered to her. “Focus on the job at hand.”

It was hard to focus, however. As she trailed behind Kingsley through Azkaban’s labyrinth of passageways, she passed more Dementors than she ever knew existed. Each one brought with it yet another memory she wished she could forget altogether, and her courage slipped away from her with each step she took deeper into the gaol. Somehow, it was colder inside the prison than it had been out of it, and now that she was in here, she missed the eerie silence of the shore. Here, there were signs of life, but those signs came only from the cries and bloodcurdling screams that punctuated the atmosphere and echoed between the walls.

“Unless, of course, you would prefer a different posting?”

Kingsley was looking at her, softness and concern filling his brown eyes. Artemis took a breath. It was not too late to turn back. She and Kingsley could leave this place, return to London, and find another way to help the Muggleborns, one that was less dangerous.

But Artemis had never been one to turn back. And as another cry echoed through the prison, this one undeniably belonging to a child, Artemis shook her head.

“I want to do this,” she told Kingsley, half-truthfully.

They had reached the end of a corridor, where the Dementor they were following paused in front of a metal gate. It extended its bony hand once more, and with a small movement of its finger, the gate creaked open. They passed through it to find yet another corridor, long and lined with inhabited cells. The inmates were visible through the bars, all of them ashen-faced. In the cell opposite the gate, a woman who might have been five years Artemis’ junior or twenty years her senior crawled up to the bars to speak to them.

“Please,” she said. “Please, I’m innocent, you have to help me. I shouldn’t be here, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

There was a look of desperation in her eyes that almost verged on wildness. Her skin was mottled with dirt, and she smelt as if she hadn’t washed in weeks. Artemis paused, her revulsion overpowered by her pity, but Kingsley continued walking.

“Is this all of the recent inmates? Those convicted of magical theft?” he asked the Dementor, which inclined its head. “Then you may leave us. We can conduct our interviews alone from here.”

It took a moment for the Dementor to acquiesce, but after a few seconds that felt like an age, it floated away. Her surroundings were no less bleak, but in its absence, a tightness eased in Artemis’ chest, and her head no longer seared with the pain of a bright green light.

With the gate safely closed behind the Dementor, Kingsley turned and spoke directly to her, a single word that sufficed as a question.

“Who?”

Artemis’ eyes were still fixed on those of the woman who had called out to her, who still called out, though her voice sounded increasingly weak with each word. Somewhere behind her, though, she could hear another prisoner, a child, crying so softly that they could only be crying to themselves. Clearly, they had given up hope of anyone coming for them.

“I’m sorry,” Artemis told the woman. “I can’t help you right now.”

It took all her strength to walk away from the prisoner and towards the crying child, a boy she found huddled in the back of a cell, his face stained with tears. He looked vaguely familiar; could this scrawny child be one of the plump pre-teens she had seen at Kings Cross less than a week before?

“What’s your name?” she asked. The boy sniffed before responding.

“Timothy.”

“Where do you come from, Timothy?”

“Bristol,” Timothy replied. His eyes welled with tears; Artemis could almost see the shadow of the home he missed deep within them. “I live at 10 Clifton Park Avenue. My mum… I want my mum. I want to go home!”

As he began to sob again, Artemis looked over her shoulder at Kingsley. Without a word, Kingsley approached her and opened the door of Timothy’s cell with a wave of his wand. Artemis stepped inside, but the boy flinched and cowered away from her.

“It’s fine, Timothy. We are here to help you,” Artemis told him, her voice a low whisper. “We want to get you out of this place, but you have to do what we say, okay?”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the boy nodded. Artemis removed the outer parts of her Auror uniform and handed them to him.

“Put these on,” she said, and though Timothy frowned, he did so. “In the pocket of the cloak there’s a bottle of potion. When you get outside, drink it. It tastes horrible, and it feels even worse, but it will disguise you so Kingsley can get you somewhere safe.”

Timothy looked anxiously up at Kingsley’s broad frame. He swallowed before asking, “Can’t you take me?”

Artemis struggled to speak, but she managed to shake her head. Before Timothy could ask her why not, Kingsley answered him for her.

“She’s staying here,” he said. His voice was low and reassuring, and the boy seemed to relax slightly. Kingsley looked slowly in the direction of where the Dementor had left. “Are you ready?”

It was not clear whether he was asking Artemis or Timothy, but both nodded their heads. Once the boy was outside of the cell, and Artemis alone within it, Kingsley waved his wand and the cell door closed with the clank of metal on metal. Another flick of his wrist, and the bolt slid across, locking her in.

“Kingsley.”

Artemis reached through the bars, and took hold of Kingsley’s hand. His palm, lighter than the rest of his skin, was warm in her own. He squeezed her hand gently.

“Tiny.”

Their fingers stayed in contact until the very last moment as Kingsley moved away from Artemis’ cell, and his eyes stayed on hers until he had turned away. Artemis stayed at the bars, watching Kingsley and the boy’s shadows elongate as they walked away, their echoing footsteps growing quieter as they left her there in the darkness, alone. Though she didn’t see the gate open to let them out, she heard it creak, then clank closed once more.

She stayed close to the front of the cell even as she felt the effects of the Polyjuice potion wear off, her body shrinking inside her robes. A draft swept along the corridor and through the bars, but Artemis had given her cloak to the boy she’d allowed to escape. She tugged at her sleeves and pulled them down over her hands, balling them into fists and pulling them tight towards her. Still shivering with the cold, she finally retreated to the back corner of the cell and curled herself into a ball, pulling in on herself more and more. It was far too late to turn back, but at least she was not really trapped. She only had to wait a couple of days, and then she could leave.

At the front porch, Artemis raised one hand to knock on the front door, the other clutching a cardboard box close to her body. After the third knock, the door opened to reveal Bill’s scarred face and red hair, a few strands of which were coming loose from his ponytail. He held a barely concealed wand, which he began to lower before he stiffened and asked Artemis:

“When and how did we first meet?”

“In my second year at Hogwarts, and your fourth,” Artemis replied. Her lips twitched slightly. “As for how, I think it involved you losing in a duel against a twelve-year-old.”

“It was a draw.”

“Yielding counts as losing, Bill. So, can I come in, or what?”

“Sure. I think we’ve ascertained that you’re definitely you,” Bill muttered. He stepped sideways so that Artemis could bypass him. “And, in my defence, you were a very precocious twelve-year-old.”

After the door was closed behind him, he smiled at her. His usual smirk was softened by the wearied look in his eyes.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Artemis took a breath before telling him, “The Auror office has arranged an inspection of Azkaban tomorrow morning. Kingsley and I are going.”

“I see.” Bill nodded. His half-hearted grin slipped from his face. “You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?”

In response, Artemis shrugged. Bill raised one eyebrow at her.

“Anything I can say or do to change your mind?”

“No,” replied Artemis. “There is something I’d like you to do for me, though.”

“And what might that be?”

Artemis did not respond. She did not know how. Instead, she walked through to the kitchen and placed her cardboard box on the table. She rummaged inside until she found what she wanted, and turned to face him with her hand outstretched to him, a scroll of parchment in her palm. Frowning, Bill took the parchment from her hand and unrolled it.

“The last will and testament of Artemis Hexley.” He looked from the parchment to Artemis and back again, his cheeks blanching slightly. “You’ve written a will?”

“Yeah. I want you to be in charge of it, in case… well, you know.”

Bill didn’t speak for almost a minute as his eyes scanned the page, Artemis gnawing on her lower lip as she watched him read. Eventually, he looked up at her over the parchment, and asked her, “You’re leaving me your house?”

“My half of it, anyway. I thought that would piss Jacob off the most,” Artemis admitted, and Bill chuckled softly.

“And there I thought you were being generous,” he said. “By the way, you know my parents aren’t going to accept having all your money.”

“They’ll have to. I’ve bequeathed it to them.”

“And you know there’s no ‘f’ in the word ‘bequeath’, right?”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “Do you want to be in charge of my will or not?”

“Honestly, no. I really don’t.” Bill rolled the parchment back up, but he did not return it to Artemis. Instead, he pocketed it. “I’ll do it, though.”

“Thanks.” Artemis sighed, relieved. “The house and the money are the only big things. Mostly, it’s stuff I just want keeping safe. Photos and old bits and bobs. I know it’s not much, because I don’t have much to give away, but the stuff that I do have is… Well, it’s not really important but…”

“It’s important to you,” Bill finished her sentence for her. He rolled up his sleeves and peered into the box, taking items out, one at a time. Artemis stood back to watch him.

“That’s a Walkman, it’s a Muggle music machine. I want Ginny to have that. My record player was too big to bring, but Kingsley can have that, and all the records, too. Any photos of friends can go to whoever is in whatever photo, all the rest are for Ros.”

Bill nodded slowly, before reaching in and pulling out an unevenly shaped parcel wrapped haphazardly in brown paper. Artemis followed his gaze as he frowned at it.

“That’s for Charlie,” she told him.

“What is it?”

“It’s for Charlie,” Artemis repeated. Bill looked across at her with an expression of mingled curiosity and concern, and she sighed, resting back down on her heels. “A few photos I took when I was staying with him in Romania and I thought he might like to keep, and some stuff we sent or gave each other over the years. That sort of thing.”

Without her needing to think about it, Artemis’ hand reached towards her collarbone. It quickly flinched away as she realised that her neck was bare. She felt the draft from the window more keenly than she had before.

“There’s a letter in there, too,” she told Bill in a quiet voice. She raised her eyes to meet his. “It’s a goodbye letter.”

Bill’s face fell, and he took a step backwards, away from her.

“I can’t give him that,” his voice almost broke as he whispered.

“You have to.”

“Artemis, I can’t do that to him. You don’t understand.”

“No.” Artemis shook her head so forcibly that her ears began to ring. “No, Bill, you don’t understand. You have to do it. Because I’m Charlie’s best friend, and I lost my best friend, and I know how it feels when you lose your best friend forever. It’s the worst feeling in the whole wide world, and you know what would have made that feeling just a little bit easier to bear? Being able to have said goodbye, but Charlie wouldn’t say goodbye and now he won’t get to, but at least if you give him this then he’ll have something, because something is better than nothing, and… and…”

The ringing sound in Artemis’ ears was louder, making it harder for her to think straight, and tears were stinging the back of her eyes. Bill sighed and moved closer to her again.

“Come here,” he said, before wrapping his arms around her. She returned his hug and allowed her tears to dampen his clothes. Bill’s chest moved and she heard him sigh. “Don’t take it personally. He refused to say goodbye properly to me, too.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. I think the idea of anyone getting seriously hurt or killed is too much for him, so he just shuts it out.”

Artemis’ nose wrinkled. “How can anyone just shut that out?”

“By being as stubborn as Charlie,” Bill half-laughed. “It’s easier for him to ignore the possibility of bad things happening. Honestly, I prefer it that he does. He’d never have gone back to Romania if he wasn’t convinced that things would be okay, and he’s safer there than he is here.”

Bill was right, Artemis had to admit that. Still, she wasn’t happy. She pursed her lips and refused to soften. Charlie wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn.

“He’s just in denial, Artemis. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care.”

“I know that. But denial doesn’t help anyone,” she repeated Kingsley’s words. “It won’t stop anything from happening, and it won’t make him feel any better if it does.”

Artemis knew that better than anyone, the profound grief that only came from the loss of someone so important as a best friend. The anger and the guilt, the aching and the wishing. The realms of love left over, with nowhere for it all to go. How it still felt like a piece of her was missing, even almost a decade later. Bill hadn’t scared her by telling her all the things that might happen to her if her plan went wrong, by telling her how much danger she was putting herself in. She never had been scared of danger, and wasn’t scared of dying. She wanted to live, of course she did, but she wasn’t afraid of not living. But leaving Charlie behind to bear that unbearable pain? That frightened her more than anything.

“I just hate the idea of him feeling the way I did after Rowan died, that’s all,” she told Bill. He still had his arms around her, but she made no move to wriggle out of them. She stayed put, and looked him straight in the eye. “That’s why I need you to make sure that he gets that parcel, if… if I’m not still here by the time this war ends. Please, Bill.”

Though he still looked reluctant, Bill inclined his head. Artemis tilted hers.

“Promise?” she asked him. Promises meant something to Charlie; surely they must have meant something to Bill as well.

“I promise,” Bill said slowly, “to give him that parcel.”

“Thank you.”

But Bill wasn’t finished.

“On the condition,” he continued, “that you promise to try and make sure I never have to.”

It was a fair deal. Artemis didn’t want him to have to, either. She nodded her head in agreement. Both she and Bill were quiet, and neither let the other one go. They rarely hugged like this. It felt strange, but it was a strange world, these days.

“I’m very glad that you lost that duel. I don’t know what… I’m just very happy that we became friends, y’know?” Artemis took a deep shaky breath. “It’s funny, I don’t really like my brother. But I do love you.”

There was a moment of quiet that followed her words. When Bill spoke again, he did so in a voice that sounded hoarse and cracked.

“I love you, too, little one,” he said. He took another breath before clearing his throat and removing his arms from Artemis’ shoulders. “Though, once more, it was a tie.”

“You know, you’re going to have to start admitting that it wasn’t if I get murdered.”

The laugh like relief almost exploded from Bill’s lips, and a tear escaped the corner of his eye. Artemis raised her eyebrows at him, mock-serious.

“I mean it, Bill. I will haunt you.”

He shook his head, his laughter subsiding. He wiped away his tear. “So, one last evening of freedom for you. Anything you’d like to do?”

Artemis looked across to the window, through which she could see the sea rolling into the shore and kissing the sand. The reflection of the low sun on the surface shimmered like liquid gold. She half-smiled.

“How about a walk on the beach?”

Tell him I love him, she wrote back. Charlie’s response had been quick.

I already have. But I’ll do it again.

On Monday, the Daily Prophet told of yet another dire change in the running of the country. Severus Snape, the old Hogwarts potionsmaster, who had been the one to kill Professor Dumbledore in cold blood, had been appointed headmaster in his stead. Not only that, but two known Death Eaters had taken jobs as professors of the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies.

“‘The curriculum of these subjects has been updated to reflect the values of today’s Britain’ — oh, Merlin’s chest hair — ‘in a long overdue return to traditional wizarding values. The reshuffle in faculty is a welcome change for the school, who under Dumbledore’s leadership had come under scrutiny following three student deaths on schoolgrounds in the past sixteen years, the unleashing of several curses in the eighties, the abduction of an eleven-year-old girl and the hiring of a werewolf in 1993, and the unfair dismissal of Dolores Umbridge in ‘96,’” Artemis read aloud. “Unfair dismissal, my arse.”

Beside her, Kingsley let out a low chuckle. Still scowling, Artemis returned her attention to the newspaper.

“And there’s more, listen: ‘Dumbledore’s death remains unsolved, but Harry Potter (Undesirable Number One) remains a top suspect. Anyone with further information on Potter’s whereabouts should contact the Auror Office.’ Really, do you think anyone actually believes that?”

Beside her, Kingsley tilted his head, eyes still looking forward.

“Possibly not. But justifies Snape being taken on. And many would rather believe that than the reality. No one wants their loved ones to be in danger. For some, it is easier to live in denial.”

Charlie’s face, his forced breeziness and determined smile, flashed behind Artemis’ eyes. She tossed the newspaper to one side and sighed heavily.

“I guess you’re right.”

“It happens, on occasion.” Kingsley smiled, but only briefly. “Unfortunately, denial helps no one.”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I know that.”

“Even those who do not believe the Prophet and the Wireless are struggling to get the correct information. Luckily Xenophilius Lovegood is reporting the truth in the Quibbler, but how long it’ll be before the Death Eaters put a stop to that, I do not know. They have his address, after all, and his daughter is at Hogwarts, so as of today they have her as leverage.”

It was the first of September. Very soon, the Hogwarts Express would be on its way to the highlands, hundreds of underage witches and wizards on board. Sitting outside Kings Cross Station, waiting for them to arrive, were Kingsley and Artemis.

“People need to know the truth, though, don’t they?” Artemis said.

“That they do.”

“Well, maybe there could be a way of having the news — the real news, stuff the new Ministry doesn’t want people to know — released in secret. That way the Death Eaters couldn’t put a stop to it, because they wouldn’t know who or where to go to. People would know what’s going on, who they should be helping out, or who they should be careful of…”

“Not a bad idea,” said Kingsley. “I’ll see who I can talk to. There are many wanting to help. Transporting fugitives, stealing contraband, setting up safehouses, that sort of thing.”

“My friend Chiara is setting up a Healing ward in her kitchen,” Artemis told him. “Her boyfriend is going to smuggle in all the supplies she needs.” She paused before adding, “And then there’s us. Kingsley?”

“Artemis?”

“About the safehouses, my brother said a while ago I should get a Secret Keeper. That way, I can turn our house into one.”

“That would be worth doing. What you’re planning is dangerous, and it will be good for you to have somewhere you can go that only those who already know how to find you can do so.”

Kingsley’s words tugged at Artemis’ conscience. Why? she wondered for a moment, before the answer came to her: Snitches. Ron’s friend, the one who had reminded her so much of Rowan, had asked her about hiding things inside them so that the person who had caught it could find it. In all that had happened since, she had forgotten to look into it, and she certainly didn’t know about it herself. Professor McGonagall might, though. She made a mental note to write to her former Transfiguration professor later that day.

For now, however, she had more pressing matters to attend to. She bit her bottom lip.

“Kingsley, will you be my Secret Keeper?” she asked. Kingsley’s eyes widened, and she backtracked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. I know it’s a big ask, it’s just that Tonks has the baby on the way, and Charlie’s off in Romania, Bill… Well, I guess I could ask Bill, but you know all about everything else I’ve got planned and—”

“Tiny, it would be an honour.” Kingsley’s voice was thick with emotion.

“It would?”

“It would.”

“Oh.” Artemis nodded. “Yeah. Good. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” Kingsley smiled at her, and the station clock struck ten. “We should go. It’s time.”

Artemis took a deep breath before she and Kingsley set off into the crowd. Both of them were wearing Muggle clothes to better blend in with the Muggles at Kings Cross Station. With only an hour to go before the train was due to leave from Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, the crowds were growing larger by the second, as Wizarding families arrived ready to see their children off. The majority of them had not made as much effort to blend in as Artemis and Kingsley had, and even those who had were still recognisable as witches and wizards if you looked closely enough to see the outlines of their wands concealed beneath their coats and hidden up their sleeves.

The young witches and wizards who knew best how to pass themselves off as Muggles were the ones they were most concerned about. The deadline for the signing the Muggleborn Registry had come and gone, and a list of known Muggleborns who had failed to present themselves to the Ministry had been published in the Daily Prophet. Many of them were underage. Not all Muggleborn teenagers received the paper during the holidays, and even if they did, they wouldn’t have known how to get into the Ministry’s headquarters to present themselves to the Commission; they would be arriving at Kings Cross unaware that they were about to be arrested for breaking the law. Making a scene by hijacking the train may have been out of the question, but if they could pick out even a small number of the Muggleborns before they reached the gates to board it, that would be a small number that would avoid being sent to Azkaban.

“There.”

Artemis pointed to a family who would not have looked out of place at the Muggle train station were it not for the fact that both of their teenagers were pushing large trunks, one of which had an owl in a birdcage perched on top of it. She took a step in their direction, but was prevented from taking any more by Kingsley’s hand on her upper arm.

“Wait,” he told her, his dark eyebrows furrowing.

A moment later, a man in a grey suit and black cloak stepped out in front of the family, blocking their path to the gates between platforms nine and ten. He produced a clipboard, which he scanned as he spoke to the family. Eventually, he stepped to the side, but the family did not continue their journey onwards. At least, not all of them did. After hugging their parents goodbye, the two boys went on without them.

“Interesting,” Kingsley murmured. “I think they’re disallowing Muggle parents from accessing the Platform altogether.”

He nodded his head at another family in the distance, also clearly composed of Muggles. They too were being stopped by another wizard with a clipboard. This wizard, however, Artemis knew.

“That’s Barnaby!” she half-gasped. “Ellie’s husband, the one who went missing last week. Let me talk to him.”

Before Kingsley could stop her, she ran across the station, dodging her way through the Muggle crowds towards her old schoolfriend, reaching him just as he and a teenage girl with a toad waved goodbye to a pair of middle-aged Muggles.

“Barnaby! What are you doing here?”

“Security,” replied Barnaby. Artemis frowned at him. There was a peculiar look in his eyes that she recognised. “Muggles aren’t allowed on the Platform.”

“Right. What about Ellie?” Artemis asked. Barnaby’s expression didn’t shift at the mention of his wife’s name. “She’s worried about you. Why haven’t you been home?”

“I have to do security.”

Barnaby’s response was matter-of-fact, as his responses often were, but he somehow did not seem like his usual self. Artemis looked deeper into his eyes, narrowing her own as she did so. Her talent for Legilimency was poorly honed, but Barnaby had always been easy for her to read. Now, though, he wasn’t. It felt as if she were looking at Barnaby through deep water, or a fogged up mirror. He was there, she could tell, but his mind was hazy. He had clearly been placed under the Imperius Curse.

“Oh, Barnaby,” she whispered. “They got you, didn’t they?”

“I’m just doing security. It’s important,” Barnaby told her blankly. “People on this list have to go through to the platform alone.”

“Alone? Why?” Artemis looked towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The two boys from before were about to go through. A knot formed in her abdomen. “Barnaby, what happens after they go through to Platform 9 ¾?”

“I don’t know. I have a list.”

Artemis’ blood ran cold. She and Kingsley had hoped to stop the Muggleborns from boarding the train, but it looked like the Death Eaters were planning to stop them from doing the same thing. She backed away from Barnaby and ran back to Kingsley.

“I think we got it wrong. They’re not arresting them at Hogsmeade station, they’re doing it here, on the Platform,” she told him. “You go outside, see if you can stop them from coming into the station.” She looked at the girl Barnaby had stopped now approaching the barrier, all alone other than her toad. She swallowed. “I’m going through. I want to see what they’re up to.”

Kingsley nodded his assent, and stood in front of her so that she could take her Animagus form without anyone noticing. Hidden from the crowds, Artemis transformed, and looked out across a dense forest of legs. Though she was far smaller as a cat, her senses were more finely tuned. She could hear the rolling wheels of the Muggleborn girl’s trunk as she headed for the platform. She darted after her, dodging the crowds of feet and running in cat-form straight through the barrier.

On the other side, there was a sense of chaos and thinly veiled terror. Over two dozen witches and wizards in dark Ministry garb were standing near the entrance of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Two of them were talking to the teenagers she had witnessed going through the barriers without their families. She slunk forward, pretending to be hunting for mice, so that she could listen closely to one of the conversations.

“You here all alone?” a Ministry wizard asked the girl with the toad. She nodded her head. “Why’s that?”

“My parents weren’t allowed on the platform this year,” she said. There was a quiver in her voice, and now that she was closer up, Artemis could see that the girl couldn’t be older than thirteen. “The man said it was for security, Muggle parents weren’t allowed on the Platform in case…”

“Ah, so your parents are both Muggles. What is your name?”

“Rose Zeller.”

“Ah, yes,” the Ministry wizard conjured a scroll of parchment from thin air. He opened it ceremoniously, and let his eyes drift down it almost lazily. “There you are. Miss Zeller, you failed to report to the Muggleborn Registration Commission this summer.”

“The… the what?”

“You are thereby in serious breach of Wizarding Law,” said the ministry wizard. Rose Zeller took a step backwards from him, her eyes widened in frightened confusion. He leaned in towards her and whispered menacingly, “First you steal our magic, then you break our laws.”

“I didn’t steal anything, I promise!” the girl squeaked. “I don’t know anything about any laws.”

“A likely story. Incarcerus!”

The wizard pointed his wand at the girl, and thick ropes emerged from the top of it. They wound around her wrists, and tightened there. A tear ran down her face. The wizard put one hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, Artemis thought he was going to comfort her, but he tightened his grip, and second later, the two of them had disappeared with a loud cracking sound.

All along the platform, similar scenes were occurring, children and teenagers being halted, interviewed, and bound in ropes by the ministry officials. Nearby, an older girl with a face like a pug and a green badge with a silver ‘P’ on it pinned to her robes was telling a ministry official:

“Thomas and Granger aren’t here. Bet they’ve both done a runner. You should talk to Hannah Abbott.”

“Abbott… That’s a pureblood name.”

“It is, but her family are blood traitors,” said the Slytherin prefect. “I heard her mother is a Mudblood, or it might have been her grandmother. I can point her out to you, if you like.”

Artemis let out a low growl, but stopped as she saw Ginny Weasley running along the platform in the direction of the two Muggleborn brothers she had witnessed being separated from their parents, both of whom were now being interviewed by a witch in Ministry robes. Artemis moved closer, keeping tucked behind a pile of luggage so Ginny wouldn’t recognise her.

“Colin,” Ginny said to the taller of the boys. “What’s going on?”

“Mr Creevey and his brother are under arrest,” said the Ministry Witch. “They both failed to report to the Muggle-born Registration Commission last month.”

“As I just told you, we would have reported if it hadn’t been for the fact that we didn’t know where the Ministry was or how to get in,” said the boy Ginny called Colin. “If you wanted people to report somewhere, then you should have given instructions on how to get there.”

“Don’t blame the Ministry for your lack of initiative,” the witch half-spat at him. “You broke the law. You know what happens to Mudbloods who break the law, don’t you?”

She raised her wand, and used it to conjure ropes the way her colleague had. Both the Muggle-born brothers were now bound. A teenage girl who had been watching the scene from nearby screamed.

“No! Let him go!”

She ran towards the brothers, but the witch raised her wand.

“Trust me, you don’t want to interfere in Ministry business,” she said threateningly. She glanced at Ginny. “You two. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get on the train like good girls.”

She took hold of the two brothers and disapparated, leaving the girl who had screamed to cry for the boys. Ginny put her arm around her.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t cry. They’ll be alright.”

“Where did they go? Where did she take Dennis and Colin?”

“I…” Ginny swallowed. “I’m not sure.”

Artemis knew that Ginny was lying. Ginny wasn’t stupid, she would be able to figure out what fate lay ahead for the Muggle-born children, who were still emerging from the barrier alone, separated from their blissfully unaware parents and being taken away in front of their peers. Azkaban. The place every witch and wizard spoke of with fear in their eyes and tremors in their voices. That was where the children would go, and that is where they would be left.

The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.

So read the Daily Prophet on Monday morning. Kingsley’s suspicions had been correct, and in the space of just one weekend, the Ministry of Magic as Artemis had always known it was gone.

The righteous anger she felt at seeing the article only grew when she travelled to work, and arrived in the Atrium of the Ministry headquarters to find that the fountain of magical brethren had already been replaced. Gone were the gleaming gold and cascading water, the shimmering fractals of light. Now, there was only a vast expanse of brutal black stone, carved into the likeness of a giant witch and wizard seated on a pair of thrones. The thrones were composed of grotesque-looking naked bodies.

“It really is something, isn’t it?”

A low, melodious voice came from behind her, and she turned to see Kingsley Shackbolt. Only once her eyes were averted did she realise how sick she had felt looking at the statue. Kingsley still was regarding it. Though his face was passive, his eyes were filled with mingled disgust and sadness.

“Those bodies, are those supposed to be…”

“Muggles, I presume.” Kingsley’s gaze dropped to the engraved letters at the base of the statue, and he read aloud: “‘Magic Is Might.’ Says it all, doesn’t it?”

Artemis swallowed her revulsion, and Kingsley gave her a wan smile that didn’t reach his deep brown eyes.

“Come. We shouldn’t be late.”

She followed him through the atrium, past the crowds that were pausing to stare up at the new statue, a mixture of emotions on their faces. Confusion, fear, resignation, admiration, all on display. They took an elevator with a wizard in the uniform of the Department of Magical Transportation, and remained in complete silence for two floors until the stranger got out at level six. Once the doors were closed and they were truly alone, Kingsley turned to Artemis.

“Did you read the paper this morning?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. She looked up at Kingsley. “I haven’t changed my mind about what I said yesterday. I still want to do something.”

“We all want to do something, Tiny. But—”

“But we have to be clever about it, I know. Still, there’s got to be something.”

Kingsley inclined his head. “Where there is a will, there’s a way. And I when it comes to being strong-willed…” His lips twitched. “Whatever your plan is, I’ll help you with it. For now, though, we must continue to carry on as normal.”

Artemis was not sure how she was expected to act as normal when nothing else in the world was normal anymore, but she knew what Kingsley meant. She gave a curt nod and the doors opened onto level two, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In the Auror office, just one floor below where the Minister for Magic was making his plans, Artemis spent the morning making her own.

It was harder than she’d realised, figuring out how to help. Each idea she had, she dismissed almost as soon as it came to her. The Order had already shot down the notion of hijacking the Hogwarts Express, there was no way to protect the Muggleborn children in their own homes — what hope did their Muggle families have against Death Eaters? — and once they were aboard the train to Hogwarts, they were like sitting Murtlaps. The Death Eaters would collect them before they even got as far as Hogwarts Castle, and once they got to Azkaban, that would be it. Azkaban was a fortress, it was impenetrable and inescapable.

Or was it?

The answer to Artemis’ question came as soon as she’d answered it: No. Azkaban wasn’t inescapable at all. Even discounting the mass exodus of Death Eaters the year before, she could think of two separate occasions on which prisoners of Azkaban had managed to bypass the dementors. All she needed to do was find out how, and she already knew who to ask.

She rose from her desk, and made her way towards Tonks’ own. It was empty. She frowned as she looked at it.

“Roberta,” she asked, turning to face Proudfoot’s desk opposite. “Have you seen Tonks today?”

Auror Proudfoot shook her head. “She’s called in sick today.”

That was irritating, if understandable. Artemis returned back to her work station, and continued to half-do her paperwork with one foot tapping impatiently against the chair leg until lunchtime.

At precisely midday, she left the Auror office, ran down to the atrium and past the horrible new statue to the fireplaces. From the Whitehall street above the Ministry, she Apparated to Tonks and Remus’ cottage, and knocked on the door. No answer came.

“Tonks?” she called through the letterbox. The hallway beyond was dark, with no sign of movement. Her heart racing, Artemis stepped back and looked to the roof, half-dreading what might be hovering above the house. But no Dark Mark had been cast, thank Godric. Tonks simply must be elsewhere. Either at the hospital, or maybe at her parents’.

The Tonkses’ house was going to be the easiest place to check, Artemis reasoned, and so she Apparated a second time, rematerialising on the front step of an impeccably decorated house. The only thing out of place was an old and broken swing set at the bottom of the garden with two mattresses lying on the ground beneath it.

This time, when she knocked on the door, she was greeted by the anxious looking face of Andromeda Tonks.

“Is Tonks… I mean, is Dora here?” Artemis asked Tonks’ mother, who loosened her grip on her wand as she nodded.

“She’s in the conservatory. But—”

“I need to speak with her. It’s important.”

Artemis didn’t wait for Andromeda’s response before walking inside, past the perfectly placed and many-times-mended ornaments in the hallway and through to the conservatory. Tonks was sitting in a wicker chair, her heart-shaped face pale and her hair a relatively boring shade of dark blonde. She didn’t smile when Artemis entered the room.

“What’s wrong? Is the baby—”

“The baby’s fine, it’s everything else that’s gone to shit,” Tonks muttered. “Remus has gone.”

Artemis looked around the room. “Gone? Gone where?”

“I dunno. He took off yesterday morning.”

“Why?”

“We argued Saturday night after we got back from Molly’s and… He said that we” — she gestured vaguely between her face and her belly — “will be better off if he isn’t around us right now. Safer.”

“But that’s—”

“Ridiculous, I know. It’s hardly like we’re not already in danger, what with Mum being thrown out from her family of Death Eater nutters for marrying my dad.” Tonks cast a glance over her shoulder. “I thought coming here would be comforting, but they’ve spent the last two hours arguing about whether or not Dad should sign onto this Muggleborn Register or not.” She rolled her eyes. “Now I’ve got to worry about whether they’ll kill each other before Mum’s family get the chance.”

Neither Tonks nor Artemis laughed. The bright colours of Tonks’ chipped nail varnish flashed in the sun as she tapped her fingers on her thighs. Artemis frowned.

“Do you want to talk about—”

“No. No, I don’t. Tell me about something else. Tell me why you’re here.”

In her concern for her friend, Artemis had almost forgotten. She looked back into the house to check that neither of Tonks’ parents were nearby before speaking.

“I wanted to talk to you about your cousin. The one who escaped from Azkaban.”

“Sirius?” Tonks asked. “What about him?”

“How did he do it? Escape, I mean.”

“He was an Animagus. An unregistered one.”

Artemis wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What has that got to do with the price of frogs?”

“Azkaban isn’t guarded by witches and wizards, Artemis. It’s guarded by Dementors,” Tonks explained, though Artemis was still none the wiser. Tonks tutted. “Dementors are blind, Artemis. They can’t see people, only sense their presence.”

“Can they not sense an animal’s presence?”

“Apparently not. Or if they can, they weren’t expecting to sense an animal’s presence when Sirius escaped, because no one had a clue that he could become an animal at all. He just slipped straight past them.”

“Right.” Artemis nodded, her eyebrows still furrowed. “Is that how the Death Eater who pretended to be Moody managed it? Was he an unregistered Animagus, too?”

“No, someone went in under the pretence of visiting and switched places with him,” Tonks said. Her face had grown even more dejected after Artemis mentioned Moody’s name. “One person in, one person out. The Dementors didn’t notice, and the bloke used Polyjuice potion to hide his identity once he left. It’s easy when you think about it. Makes you wonder why no one’s ever tried it before.” She pulled a face and gave a little shudder. “Though I doubt there are many people who’d volunteer to take someone’s place in Azkaban.”

Artemis said nothing. Tonks narrowed her eyes at her.

“Why are you asking this?”

“No reason.”

“Artemis, no,” said Tonks, with a shake of her head. “You can’t seriously be thinking—”

“I’ve already thought about it,” Artemis told her. “I’m going to get people out of Azkaban. I just need a way to do that, and…” She paused. “This could be it.”

Years ago, during her search for the Cursed Vaults, Artemis’ friends Penny and Talbot had helped her to complete the lengthy process to become an Animagus. She’d intended on registering herself one day, but had never gotten around to doing it. Now, she was glad she hadn’t.

“I’m an unregistered Animagus, too. All I need is a way to get in, once I have that I can switch places, and then disappear without the Dementors realising. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s crazy.”

“So crazy that it could actually work.”

Tonks stared at her blankly and shook her head, but Artemis knew that she was right. She had found a way. The seeds of a plan had taken root.

Artemis had still been awake, unable to let sleep take her until she received word from her friends. She breathed as she read Charlie’s message, but did not reply immediately. After a few moments, he wrote again.

Hope you’re alright.

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. She wasn’t the one who had been interrogated for hours. Still, she picked up her quill to respond.

I’m fine. Good that you are, too. Write properly tomorrow?

Course. Night, mate.

But even with the reassurance of Charlie’s message and the notebook closed, Artemis remained restless. Eventually, she gave up on the idea of sleep at all. After helping herself to some coffee — black and sugared — from the Three Broomsticks’ kitchen and leaving a note to thank Madam Rosmerta for the use of her old room, she returned to London. First, to Lovelace Crescent, then after finding there too to be too stifled and quiet, to the Ministry Headquarters in Whitehall.

There was a strange sort of hush when she arrived at the workers’ entrance, even considering that it was early and a Saturday. Perhaps it was her imagination, but those present seemed quieter than usual, their heads carried low as if they did not wish — or did not dare — to make eye contact with others. Did they know that the Ministry was now under the control of Death Eaters? Did they believe it? Artemis wasn’t sure that she believed it herself, not entirely. It was unfathomable, impossible, and yet…

She entered the Atrium via one of the fireplaces lining its tiled walls, and her face fell.

A group of wizards and witches in Ministry robes were gathered in the middle of the hall, wands pointed at the large central fountain. With each spell they cast, a part of one of its golden statues broke apart, sloughing away and hitting the floor below with a deafening thud that echoed around the whole chamber.

The Fountain of Magical Brethren had been the thing that caught Artemis’ attention the first time she had been to the Ministry of Magic. She’d been captivated by it, the way the water and the gold caught in the light. Admittedly, the statues were a little gormless looking on closer inspection, but even so, she would not have had the fountain destroyed. Her eyes widened as she watched the workers dismantling the statues, her stunned disbelief and dread growing with each step she took towards them. As one witch aimed a spell at the golden arm of the centaur and broke it off cleanly at the elbow, she felt the stinging prick of tears.

She was not the only one whose eyes were dewy as they watched the decimation. A few feet away, her colleague Ellie Hopper was also staring at the fountain, front teeth grazing her lower lip and a look of baffled resignation on her face. She offered Artemis a brief, wan smile as she approached her.

“Looks like it’s really true, doesn’t it?” she murmured under her breath. “I’m guessing you came to see if it was true for yourself, too.”

Artemis nodded. “Do you know what happened last night?”

“Sort of. My grandfather was here when it happened. A load of Death Eaters came into the Ministry late evening. Ones that broke out from Azkaban last year when the Dementors changed loyalty; Lestrange, Malloy, the lot of them. They attacked everyone in the Atrium, and marched right up to Scrimgeour’s office.”

”Is he—”

“Dead.” Ellie shook her head sadly, her honey-coloured curls tumbling around her shoulders while her tears did not fall from her eyes. “Granddad, Kingsley, Proudfoot, and Savage were all on duty, and they all fought against them, and so did a bunch of others who’d been working late in the offices, but apparently all their spells kept getting deflected.”

”By the Death Eaters?”

“No, that’s where it gets really awful. The spells were being deflected by people supposed to be on our side. That allowed the Death Eaters to get away, and then Thicknesse and a few other heads of departments started making orders. That was when Granddad said they’d known for sure that it all must have been set up, that the Death Eaters had planted people ready for a coup, Thicknesse included.”

Artemis could have cursed herself. Jacob had told her this was coming. She should have warned Kingsley right away.

Ellie continued, “Granddad managed to cover Kingsley so he could get a warning out. Just as well, really, because after that they started calling in the Obliviators.”

“Obliviators?” Artemis’ jaw dropped as Ellie nodded grimly.

”Any witnesses who didn’t have the good sense to get away quickly think that Thicknesse and a couple of his colleagues saw off the Death Eaters before any real harm could come to anyone, and the Prophet this morning has called for Scrimgeour’s resignation. Shameful security lapse on his watch, you know what Rita Skeeter’s like. There’s going to be an announcement tonight on the WWN about Thicknesse taking over as acting Minister for Magic. Only until there’s an official election, but you can guess what will happen once people start voting. As far as most people know, Thicknesse fought bravely against You-Know-Who’s lot, and who knows how many have been turned to the other side?”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Artemis had to try not to turn her head to look around at the other people in the Atrium. She kept her eyes on the fountain, and the group dismantling it. Sure enough, two of them had a strange vagueness to them when she looked into their eyes, as if she were looking at them through a pool of water. She hadn’t known why at the time, but it was how she’d felt each time she saw Madam Rosmerta the previous year. And Thicknesse the previous night, too, he’d had that very same look to him, she realised what it was now. They were under the Imperius Curse, all of them.

”Thicknesse turned up last night, at the wedding,” whispered Artemis, and she told Ellie under her breath about how the evening had come to its rapid end. “I think your father-in-law was with them, the Ministry officials.”

Ellie didn’t look surprised in the slightest. “Well, he never did admit to being a Death Eater, but…” She sighed. “I had this feeling he was up to something. He’s been sending owls ever since the wedding, telling Barnaby he’s made a mistake marrying into a blood traitor family. Presumably he knew what was coming. I should’ve said something to Granddad.”

”My brother said he thought You-Know-Who’s supporters had something big planned. I thought it was just Jacob being Jacob, trying to act like he’s cleverer than everyone else. I should have said something, too. But I just didn’t believe him.”

Or maybe she simply hadn’t wanted to believe. Maybe it was the same thing.

“Why are they destroying the statue, anyway?” Artemis asked. “What’s that got to do with all of this?”

“Apparently it was damaged in the battle last night.”

”So, they’re damaging it even more?”

”They’re replacing it,” said Ellie. “They want something to show the strength of the Wizarding community in the face of a war. I heard one of them saying that it’s about time we tore down the old one, that centaurs and goblins and house-elves are not fit to be on the same standing as wizards. That it’s demeaning.”

She scowled at the closest wizard to them, his wand once more brandished at the fountain. The centaur was now lying in scattered pieces on the tiled floor of the atrium, along with the remnants of what used to be the goblin and house-elf. Only the wizard was still upright.

Guests ran in all directions, they pushed against each other and reached for each other. There were cries and shouts as people looked for their loved ones in the chaos, and several loud cracks as many Disapparated away. More of the same noises came from outside the marquee, and from the darkness, half a dozen figures emerged, cloaked and masked. Death Eaters.

Only three years before, another night of celebration had come to a violent end when the Death Eaters rampaged through the campsite at the Quidditch World Cup. Artemis had been there, with Tonks and Penny and Chiara, she could still remember the fear on Penny’s face, the tears in her eyes. She could still feel the tug of panic when the girls had become separated, the horror as the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, and the injustice that it all had spoiled a night that was supposed to be fun and carefree.

She was not going to let them ruin Bill’s wedding.

Charlie was still at her side, they had not become separated. His arm brushed against hers as they both drew their wands and pointed them at the nearest approaching Death Eater.

“Expulso!”

“Protego!”

Artemis’ curse hit the Death Eater in the chest, blasting them backwards into the garden with a jet of blue light. The Death Eater’s own spell bounced off Charlie’s shield charm, hovering in the air in front of him and Artemis. He was not the only one to cast the charm, all the remaining guests were casting every protective enchantment under the sun.

“My family,” said Charlie, his eyes lost as he looked around the crowd. Artemis touched his elbow.

“Go. I’ll take care of that one.”

The Death Eater she’d blasted into the garden was back on their feet, but Artemis’ wand was already raised, her feet positioned ready for combat. As Charlie lowered his arm and ran towards his sister, she vollied a series of spells at the Death Eater. Weakening Hex, Stunning Spell, Tempest Jinx, Reductor Curse, Confundus, Body-Bind, Knockback.

And she was forcing them back, her opponent, as were so many others. The Death Eaters had started the fight, but the wedding guests were winning it. Flashes and jets of spell-light — red, purple, white, blue, even green — lit up the darkness, again and again, until eventually, the masked figures gave up and disappeared into the night.

But any relief at their leaving was short lived. Mere moments after the Death Eaters vanished, another handful of witches and wizards appeared in the Weasleys’ orchard, surrounding its four sides. This time, however, the newcomers did not wear masks. They wore Ministry robes.

“Impedimenta!” Artemis shouted, pointing her wand at the nearest one. “Bombarda!”

But though her Impediment Jinx slowed one Ministry wizard, her second spell only served to blow a hole in the canvas canopy overhead, as someone grabbed hold of her wrist and forced her wand skywards.

“What did you do that for?” Artemis asked Bill, who quickly let go of her arm.

“Defensive spells only,” Bill told her, rolling up his sleeves. Around them, others were raising their own wands, readying for another fight. “Let’s not cause ourselves any more trouble than we need to.”

“But the Ministry—”

“As far as we are meant to know, the Ministry is still on our side.”

He was right. They couldn’t break Kingsley’s cover. Artemis withdrew her wand only slightly, but kept her feet in a duelling stance, just in case.

Yet another three wizards arrived, two dressed in Auror uniforms, each flanking a third in smart office robes. He had long black hair and a beard streaked with silver, and a dimness in his eyes that didn’t match his upright comportment. Artemis frowned. Something about him was familiar, aside from the fact that she recognised him from the Ministry offices. As he approached the marquee, Bill and Charlie’s dad definitely recognised him, for he stepped forward with his hands raised at the level of his shoulders.

“That’s enough, everyone!” Mr Weasley called out, a forced smile plastered on his face. The newcomer also smiled, a cold smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “By Jove, Thicknesse. You gave us quite the fright there. We thought we were still under siege.”

“Thicknesse?” Artemis whispered to Bill. “But he’s the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. He of all people shouldn’t be working with…”

“Mr Thicknesse,” said Bill, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I am sorry about our poor welcome. Like my father said, you gave us a fright. I assume you’re here because of the Death Eaters?”

“No.”

“Oh, right.” Bill let out a soft laugh. “In that case, I must ask why you are here. We were told that our protective enchantments would be enough to see off any welcome guests. My new wife is incredibly upset.”

He nodded his head in the direction of Fleur, who looked far less upset than she did livid, her face contorted into an expression of unadulterated contempt as she glared at the nearest Ministry official.

“My apologies,” said Thicknesse, still smiling his cold smile. “We are aware of the Death Eater threat, of course, but tonight we are here because new evidence has come to light regarding a certain… undesirable individual.”

“Ah. And who might that be?”

“Harry Potter.”

Whispers echoed across the marquee as the remaining guests repeated the name.

“He is wanted for questioning regarding the murder of Albus Dumbledore,” continued Thicknesse, over the sound of the guests’ whispers growing louder and more fervent.

Mrs Weasley stepped forward, one finger raised angrily at him. “Harry would never—”

“Well, I’m sure that Mr Potter would be more than obliging to answer your questions, Mr Thicknesse,” Mr Weasley said, one hand on his wife’s shoulders. “But unfortunately, you’ve come to the wrong place if you’re looking to find him. We haven’t seen or heard from Harry in… Why, it must be months. Not since Dumbledore’s funeral, at least.”

“He isn’t here, then?”

“Heavens, no! What on earth would Harry Potter be doing at a wedding?”

Artemis frowned as she looked at Mr Weasley. He was right, of course, she had been here all day without seeing anyone who looked even remotely like Harry Potter. But there was something in the way that Mr Weasley shuffled on his feet, his fingers gripped tighter on Mrs Weasley’s upper arm, his eyes widened fractionally behind his glasses… If Artemis hadn’t known otherwise, she would have sworn that he was lying. She turned to look at Charlie, who was holding his sister Ginny’s hand tightly, and as they made eye contact, he gave her an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

Thicknesse also seemed to think that Mr Weasley was not being entirely truthful.

“In that case,” he drawled, “you won’t mind if my colleagues conduct some interviews and a search of your house.”

“Do you have a warrant?” Artemis asked, before she could stop herself. Every pair of eyes in the marquee rested on her. “I’m a trainee Auror. You need to have a warrant if you want to search—”

“By all means, you can search the house. I shall be more than happy to show you around myself,” said Mr Weasley. “But please take care in the attic. My youngest son is unfortunately suffering from a bad case of Spattergroit.”

The two Aurors flanking Thicknesse shared nervous and disgusted glances, and Thicknesse sighed heavily.

“Very well,” he said. “We shall conduct a search of the house, and leave the rest of you to interview the guests. After you, Mr Weasley.”

Mr Weasley squeezed his wife’s shoulder and lit his wand before leading Pius Thicknesse and the two Aurors across the orchard in the direction of the house. As he left, Bill leaned down to whisper something to his mother, who nodded tearfully.

The other Ministry officials entered the marquee. The wizard Artemis had aimed her Impediment jinx at approached her, revealing himself to be middle-aged, with greying brown hair, high cheekbones, and sceptical looking eyes of the deepest grassy green. Artemis’ own eyes widened as she looked at him. She knew this wizard, too — or, at least, she knew of him. The only person she had ever met with eyes that shade of green was her friend Barnaby Lee.

“Your name?” asked the wizard who had to be Barnaby’s father.

“Artemis Hexley.”

Mr Lee did not react, a fact which did not surprise Artemis in the slightest. She would have been surprised if Barnaby had mentioned any of his friends to his father.

“And you’re an Auror, you say?”

“Not yet. I’ve just finished my first year of training,” said Artemis. “My mentor is Kingsley Shacklebolt.” Mr Lee still did not react, so she added, “And I’ve been partnered with Ellie Hopper.”

Barnaby’s father narrowed his eyes slightly as he recognised the name. As well he might, Artemis thought to herself. She would have been very surprised indeed if Mr Lee had not reacted to her mentioning his own daughter-in-law, even if he was now estranged from his son.

“And why are you here tonight, Miss Hexley?” he asked.

“It’s a wedding.”

“Are you here as a guest of the bride or groom?”

“The groom. I went to school with Bill and his brother Charlie. And then I worked with Bill as a Curse-Breaker for a few years after leaving school. He’s like a brother to me.”

“So you know the Weasley family well, do you?” asked Mr Lee, a question which Artemis answered with a definite nod of the head. “And have you ever interacted with Harry Potter in the course of your friendship with the family?”

“No.”

“Was Harry Potter here tonight?”

“No,” Artemis said. She tried to push the look in Mr Weasley’s eyes as he had spoken to Thicknesse and Charlie’s furtive head-shake out of her mind. “Not as far as I’m aware, anyway. And it’s not like he’d be easy to miss, is it? He’s got that great big scar on his face, after all.”

Barnaby’s father narrowed his eyes at Artemis, as if trying to tell whether she was lying or not. Though his eyes were the same colour as his son’s, they lacked all of Barnaby’s compassion. Instead they were filled with menace.

“If Harry Potter was here tonight, I didn’t see him,” she said, completely honestly. Apparently, her answer satisfied Mr Lee, who made a low humming noise and moved on to question another guest.

Artemis walked away from him and across the marquee, past Bill eyeing his new wife nervously as she loudly and angrily berated the wizard attempting to question them in a mixture of colourful French and English; Aunt Muriel was interrupting another guest’s interrogation to inform anyone who could hear her that if anyone was going to know whether or not Harry Potter had been in attendance, it was her; and a ditsy-looking girl with dirty blonde hair and protruding eyes who was suggesting that perhaps Harry Potter had been there, but no one could remember him being there because Wrackspurts were affecting their short-term memories. Further away, a Ministry witch had just finished questioning Charlie and his sister Ginny, who was gripping his palm, both her face and knuckles ash-white.

“Charlie, what’s going on?” Artemis asked him, her hand already reaching out to touch Ginny’s shoulder. “Why are they asking about—”

“Not here. Not now,” Charlie said shortly. Ginny closed her eyes tightly, and he glanced over her head before mouthing to Artemis: “I’ll tell you later.”

“The wizard questioning me,” Artemis said as Ginny opened her eyes again. “I think he was Barnaby’s dad.”

“Makes sense.”

“Hardly. He works in the Department of Magical Artefacts, not Law Enforcement.”

“No, but he’s always been a supporter of… well…”

“Do you think—”

But before Artemis could ask Charlie what he thought, because Mr Weasley and Thicknesse had returned to the marquee. Thicknesse muttered something to Barnaby’s father, before nodding his head curtly and speaking aloud.

“Thank you all for your co-operation. You will all be relieved to know that the suspect in question has not been located on these premises.”

“I could have told you as much,” said Aunt Muriel. “And I did, did I not? Excuse me, young man, I believe that I just asked you a question.”

Thicknesse ignored Muriel as he continued, “This gathering has now been disbanded by order of the Ministry of Magic. All guests are to return home immediately. Close family members of the homeowners are to remain here for further questioning.”

The remaining guests did not need to be told twice. Loud cracks echoed through the night air as one by one, they disapparated to leave only the Weasley family in the marquee.

And Artemis, of course.

“Artie.” Charlie’s voice was low as he leant closer to her. “You need to go. You heard them.”

“Yeah, they said they want to interview—”

“The family,” he said simply. Artemis swallowed hard and Charlie looked at her apologetically. “Think about it, Artemis. They don’t know you, and have no reason to suspect you of anything. You aren’t in the Order, you’ve never met Harry Potter. You have no reason to be here.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Not right now, you don’t.”

Artemis blinked and looked away from Charlie, her eyes drifting across the marquee. She caught Bill’s eye, and he gave her an urgent look and pointed outside. He wanted her to leave, too.

“We need people to write to Kingsley and anyone else who might need to know, tell them what’s happened,” Charlie whispered to her, removing his smart jacket and placing it over her shoulders. “They’ll be worried. You need to let them know we’re all safe.”

“But you’re not.”

“We’ll be alright. Please, Artemis.”

The look in Charlie’s eyes was earnest and frightened. Reluctantly, Artemis nodded. She took one last look back at the rest of the Weasleys, all huddled together, before stepping backwards and summoning her shoes. She apparated directly into the living room of her house in Lovelace Crescent, which was dark and silent, as always. She was alone. Completely alone.

Except for Fergus, that was. The sound of him purring alerted her to his presence, and she scooped him up into her arms, burying her face into his marmalade-coloured fur.

“Come on, Ferg,” she said. “We need to let everyone know what’s happened.”

She found a quill and inkpot resting on top of a burgundy notebook and hastily wrote a letter, which she used her wand to duplicate. Not only one for Kingsley, but for all the people she trusted to be on their side: Penny and Chiara, Ben Copper and Merula Snyde, Barnaby Lee. Tulip Karasu, Andre Egwu, Badeea and Chester Davies. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout.

Not having an owl herself, she stuffed the letters and notebook into one of the pockets of Charlie’s jacket, picked up both Fergus and a handful of powder from a pot on the mantelpiece, and stepped into the fireplace. “The Three Broomsticks,” she said, dropping the powder into the hearth.

A second later she found herself in a large inn, empty except for a blonde haired witch cleaning a number of empty glasses behind the bar.

“Rosmerta.”

Madam Rosmerta jumped at the sound of Artemis’ voice, but softened as she turned around to look at her. There were dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there a year previously, and the hand holding her wand trembled slightly.

“Artemis, love,” she said, lowering her wand. “You made me jump.”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Artemis apologetically.

Poor Rosmerta. A Death Eater had placed her under the Imperius Curse for the better part of the last year. The curse had been lifted, but still, she was skittish and defensive, and the Three Broomsticks’ clientele had diminished. Artemis hadn’t yet managed to track down the Death Eater who’d done this to her beloved Madam Rosmerta, the woman who on multiple occasions had taken her in when she’d had nowhere else to go. Oh, but when she did…

“Why aren’t you at the wedding?” Rosmerta asked her, stepping out from behind the bar. Artemis unclenched her fists.

“Something’s happened, Ros. Something bad.”

Without even batting an eyelid, Ros summoned a pair of glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the shelves behind her.

“Want to talk about it, love?”

“Can I borrow your owl first?”

With the letters on their way, and two freshly poured glasses of whiskey and a ginger cat sitting on the bar, Artemis told Rosmerta about Kingsley’s Patronus, the fallen ministry and the Death Eaters invading the wedding and searching the Weasleys’ home.

“I wanted to stay with them,” Artemis said. “But Charlie told me I should leave because I’m not one of the family and someone needed to let Tonks know we were okay.”

Rosmerta smiled gently. “Sensible boy.”

“And now I’ve done that, I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back in case the Death Eaters or the Ministry are still there, but I don’t really want to sit in my house twiddling my thumbs, either.”

“You can stay here.”

“Really?” Artemis asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Really. Strangely enough, not many people want to take rooms here at the moment.”

They were the only ones in the whole bar. It was late, but not so late that The Three Broomsticks should have been so completely empty, so quiet and dull. She’d never known it to be like this. Even that Christmas after Rowan died, the inn had been warm and bright and bustling. The war had ruined that, as well as the wedding, and everything else. Artemis sighed.

“Why did everything suddenly have to get so hard?”

Madam Rosmerta tapped her hand. Though she smiled, her eyes were filled with sadness.

“Grab me one, will you?” said a voice from behind her. The voice alone made her smile, and she did as instructed.

“I hear it’s thirsty work, this getting married,” she said, as she picked up two bottles and passed one to the wizard at her side. “Cheers to the groom.”

“Cheers to me, indeed. Godric, I think I might be the luckiest man in the world.”

Taking a sip from the bottle, Bill’s smile was as broad as it had been all day. It brightened his features to the point that his recent scars were barely noticeable. He looked just as handsome as he always had, ever since Artemis had first met him when she was twelve years old.

“So, what happened to you this morning, anyway?” he asked, once he’d taken a swig. “I thought you were coming down early this morning with Charlie and Tonks.”

“That was the plan, but I got held up.”

“Let me guess, you lost track of the time? Or did you go off on some harebrained adventure?”

“I don’t do anything harebrained,” Artemis said indignantly. Bill raised a single eyebrow at her. “Well, I don’t anymore.”

“And was that how you lost the bottom half of your dress?”

Artemis hit a laughing Bill with the back of her hand. “Hey! It’s not that short!”

“Well, we all missed you. Especially Charlie. Have you seen what Mum did to his hair in your absence?”

Bill nodded his head at Charlie’s cropped hair. Of course, that could only have been Mrs Weasley’s handiwork. Artemis sighed heavily.

“Couldn’t be helped. I had an unexpected guest turn up in my sitting room.”

“Who?”

“Who else has keys to my house?”

“Jacob.” With one word, Bill’s tone turned dark, and his smile finally slipped. He shook his head. “What the hell did he want?”

“To lecture me about keeping safe, mainly. Oh, and to let me know he’s going to be helping with the war efforts.”

“Oh, Godric. What’s his plan? I expect he’s been scheming meticulously.”

There was no love lost between Bill Weasley and Jacob Hexley. Bill mistrusted Artemis’ brother even more than she did.

“He’s going to try and join Death Eater ranks and act as a spy.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot upwards. “He what? But that’s—”

“Insane, I know.”

“And do you believe him? You don’t think he’s joined the other side and is playing you, do you?”

Artemis shook her head. “No.”

“Because — and don’t take this the wrong way — but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like that, would it?”

“No. No, I know that, too.” How could she not? “But he was telling the truth this time, I could tell.”

Though Bill said nothing, Artemis could tell what he was thinking. She wasn’t even certain she was using her Legilimency. She looked up at him.

“He also said they’re planning something big. And soon.”

“Did he say what, or when?” Bill asked. Artemis shook her head. “If he’s planning on being a spy, it would be useful if he’d give us more solid information rather than cryptic warnings.”

“I’ll tell him if he turns up again.”

“Might be worth talking to Kingsley, see if he can get any information. No one knows he’s in the Order. Would you be able to have a word?”

“Fine. I’ll ask him on Monday,” said Artemis. She took a breath. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Well, it’s your wedding day, and I’m here ruining it with stuff about my brother and the war.”

“It would take more than a war to ruin my day, don’t you worry about that.” Bill cast a glance over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “Maybe don’t mention it to Fleur, though.”

“I won’t.”

Bill ruffled Artemis’ hair and walked away in the direction of his bride, his face once more filled with joy. Less joyous having talked about her brother, and the balls of her feet starting to ache, Artemis took a seat at a nearby table and removed her shoes. As she rubbed her arches, she noticed a witch approaching her.

She had seen the witch earlier in the day, laughing at a joke Fred had been telling her as the ceremony was about to begin. Now that she was closer, she could see that the witch was a few years younger and a few inches taller than her — but then, most people were — with bushy brown hair, intelligent-looking brown eyes, and a slight rounding to her shoulders, as if she were used to sitting hunched over a desk to write or carrying a heavy bag of books on her back. Artemis swallowed. The girl reminded her more than slightly of…

“Excuse me,” the girl said, interrupting Artemis’ thoughts. Her voice was clipped and almost bossy-sounding. “You’re Artemis Hexley, aren’t you?”

Artemis kept her eyes on her as she nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m Hermione Granger. I’m Ron’s… I’m a friend of Ron’s.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I don’t mean to bother you,” said Hermione Granger, taking a seat in the chair next to Artemis. “But Ron said that you’re a Seeker.”

“Not really.” Artemis frowned. “I mean, I played Seeker for a bit when I was at school, but that was a while ago.”

“Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling me about” — Hermione leaned in slightly and lowered her voice to almost a whisper — “Snitches?”

“They’re small and gold, and they have wings,” Artemis told her. “They’re really fast, so they’re hard to catch.”

Hermione blinked before speaking again. “And what do you know about flesh memory?”

“I know that they have it. I don’t know much more than that.”

She looked disappointed by this answer. Artemis was unsure why she cared so much.

“You know,” she said, “Viktor Krum is here tonight. He’s a professional Seeker, so he might know if you ask him.”

Viktor Krum was standing near the bar, where Artemis had been not so long ago, watching the guests on the dancefloor. Across the other side of the tent, Ron Weasley was glaring at him sullenly. Hermione looked between the two of them, a resigned and apprehensive expression on her face.

“Fine, so not Krum,” Artemis backtracked. “What about Charlie? He was a Seeker, too. He was much better at it than I was, as well. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

Artemis nodded her head in Charlie’s direction, and found herself immediately making eye contact with him. Charlie frowned slightly before standing up, patting Hagrid on the back, and making his way over.

“You alright?” he asked as he drew closer to them.

“Yeah. This is Hermione, Ron’s” — Artemis looked between Hermione and Charlie’s youngest brother — “friend, sort of.”

“We’ve met.”

”Oh. Well, she was just asking me if I knew anything about Snitches and flesh memory. I said she’d be better off asking you.”

“Why do you want to know about flesh memory?” Charlie asked Hermione, who gave Artemis a cautious look. Charlie smiled. “Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of Artemis. I promise.”

“Okay,” said Hermione, still eyeing Artemis dubiously. “So, it’s about Dumbledore’s will. He left some things to the three of us when he died. Peculiar things. Like a Golden Snitch.”

Artemis’ nose wrinkled. “Why would anyone leave someone a Snitch in their will?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. The Snitch was one Harry caught in a game of Quidditch, so I thought it might be something to do with the fact that Snitches have flesh memory, because I read about that in a book once. I was thinking that it could have been enchanted to reveal something only the person it remembered could access...”

“Makes sense.” Charlie nodded. “I’ve heard about people putting things inside Snitches before. I know a bloke who proposed by putting the ring inside a Snitch.”

“That’s very sweet,” said Hermione, “but when Harry touched the Snitch, it did nothing.”

“Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the flesh memory, then.”

“I’m not so sure. It was Dumbledore, leaving it for Harry. It has to have some sort of deeper significance, I’m certain of it. Might it be that there could be a way in which the flesh memory could utilised so that only the person who caught the Snitch would be able to access something from it, but do so without having to physically touch the Snitch?”

Charlie made a low humming noise. “Honestly, mate, I’m not sure. Artemis, do you still have the Snitch I gave you in our seventh year?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so I’m back until the end of the month. If you like, I can have a fiddle around with an old Snitch and see if I can figure anything out for you?”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Would you?”

“Of course. Like you said, it’s Dumbledore and Harry, so it’s bound to be important,” said Charlie. He turned to Artemis. “I mean, you don’t mind, do you?”

“No. I can help, if you want.”

“That settles it then.” Charlie shrugged. “Anyway, Hermione, I actually came over to see if Artie wanted to dance.”

He held out his hand to Artemis, who took it, feeling relieved to be leaving the table. Her shoes remained on top of it as Charlie led her back barefoot towards the dancefloor, waiting until they were out of Hermione’s hearing before asking her in a low voice:

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Never mind.”

“No, why?”

Charlie said nothing, but his eyes drifted back towards Hermione, who had gone to speak with the red-haired Weasley cousin Artemis didn’t recognise. She sighed.

“You noticed, too.”

“Hermione’s visited a few times before. I noticed a while ago.”

Artemis’ heart was heavy in her chest. She pulled her own gaze back to meet Charlie’s own.

“I couldn’t put my finger on it, she just reminded me of her. Her eyes, or the way she walked or something.”

“It’s the way she talks, too.” Charlie smiled sadly. “She’s a lot like her. Very academic and hardworking. Really clever — not just with books, but with people as well.”

“That does sound like her,” said Artemis. “Like Rowan.”

Rowan had been, and still was, the cleverest person Artemis had ever met, both with books and with people. She was bright and she was brilliant, she was academic and infinitely curious and the best friend anyone could have asked for. She was Artemis’ best friend, and she was so loved and so missed, even now. Especially now, when one of these brief passing moments reminded Artemis of the grief she’d held for eight years, since the night Rowan died.

As if he knew that she needed a distraction, Charlie raised his hand that still held hers aloft, and pushed against her shoulder until she spun beneath his arm. She smiled, then laughed as he ducked down to turn underneath her arm as well, stumbling slightly as he struggled to keep his balance.

“You always were more graceful on a broomstick than on the ground,” she told him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m graceful everywhere.”

“Hm. Sure.”

“I am, look.”

He turned in towards her, rolling along the length of her arm, then rolled back out again. In the process, he knocked into a middle-aged witch in a large fascination who looked far too prudish to enjoy dancing. Artemis struggled to hold back giggles as Charlie spluttered an apology, his cheeks bright pink between his freckles. Once the witch had gone, casting a scathing look at Charlie as she walked away, Artemis laughed out loud.

“So graceful,” she said breathlessly. Charlie narrowed his eyes at her.

“Right. That’s it.”

He took hold of Artemis’ wrists in both hands and spun around on the spot, so fast that her bare feet almost lifted from the floor as she was pulled around in a circle. The witches and wizards around them were giving them a wide berth, but most of them joined in with their laughter. And they were laughing, both of them, laughing so hard Artemis’ cheeks hurt, her fingertips clinging to his freckled forearms as she tried to stay upright, tripping over her own feet as Charlie slowed to a stop before she did, and half-falling against his chest.

Steadying herself, her hand reached up to touch his short hair. The ends were sharp, but soft, like stroking velvet in the wrong direction. She wriggled her fingers to rid them of the sensation, and rested her forearms on his shoulders as the next song began to play, slower than the one before. Across the marquee, the girl who had reminded her so much of Rowan was now talking to both the Weasley cousin and Charlie’s brother Ron. She tilted her head to watch her, smiling softly.

“She’s beautiful like Rowan was, too.”

Her temple was so close to Charlie’s lapel that she felt him take a breath, the flower pinned to his robes brushed against her skin and tickled her hairline.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“It’s no wonder your brothers are in love with her.”

“What?”

“Look at the way Ron’s looking at her right now.”

It would have been nice, to have seen someone look at Rowan in that way. It would have been nice, to have seen Rowan look as happy as Bill had looked all day. But before she could say as much to Charlie, she heard him half-laugh, even as she felt his muscles tense.

“That’s just one brother, Artemis,” he said.

“Yeah, but Fred was looking at her earlier, too.”

“People look at each other all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Not all the time, but this time it does.” Artemis looked up at him with a conspiratorial smile. “Trust me, I’m a Legilimens.”

She’d expected Charlie to laugh at her half-joke, but he did not. Instead, he recoiled from her, his hands dropping to his sides and his eyebrows knitting together.

“Since when did you start using your Legilimency to try and get into people’s heads like that?”

“I wasn’t trying to. I just noticed, that’s all. Like how you noticed—”

“That’s not the same.”

Artemis crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him.

“What’s not the same?” she asked.

“I’m not a Legilimens, I can’t snoop in and spy—”

“It’s not spying if I don’t—”

“— on people’s secret thoughts and feelings like that.”

“— even mean to do it!”

Charlie looked unconvinced. Artemis was indignant, almost offended by his accusation of spying. She looked at him, and he avoided her gaze.

“Why are you so annoyed at me for something that I didn’t even mean to do?”

“Because,” Charlie said with a shrug. He paused, as if even he didn’t know. “Well, it’s just awkward, isn’t it? Those are my brothers, and you’ve told me something they don’t want anyone else to know, and now I do know, and I shouldn’t.”

It was hard for Artemis not to roll her eyes. “Honestly, Charlie, I’m surprised you didn’t already know. It’s really obvious.”

He took a step back from her. She could almost feel his pulse quicken. Was he really that angry with her? That wasn’t fair. She glowered at him.

“What now?”

Charlie exhaled loudly. The sound was both frustrated and frustrating, and Artemis’ nostrils flared, dangerously close to losing her temper. Both of them opened their mouths to speak, but before either Charlie could say anything to dissolve the situation or Artemis could say anything to escalate it, the music abruptly stopped and the dancefloor became quiet and still.

A ball of silver-white light had appeared and was descending from the canopy ahead. The wedding guests stepped back from it as it landed in the middle of the dance floor and began to swirl into a new shape, that of a large cat-like creature with tufted ears. A lynx. The lynx Patronus opened its mouth, and spoke in the familiar and deeply reverberating voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.