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Chapter Twenty-Five—The Wind That Brings the Storm

“Mr. Weasley, come with me, please.”

Ron stared at Professor McGonagall in astonishment. There was murmuring behind him, too, because she stood in the doorway of the Slytherin common room. Ron hadn’t even known that professors from other Houses knew where to find their common room. He knew vaguely where Gryffindor Tower was, of course, but he couldn’t picture Professor Snape going there.

And if something had happened that he needed to be informed of, Ron would have expected Professor Snape to bring the news.

On the other hand, Draco was poking him in the back, so maybe he thought this was serious. Ron stood up and walked over to Professor McGonagall, trying to tell something from her face. But it was pale and very composed and didn’t tell him anything.

“What is it, professor?” he asked, when he stepped out of the door and the wall slid shut behind him.

Professor McGonagall motioned him after her. “We will need to discuss this in my office, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron wanted to say that they could just talk in the middle of the corridor and nobody would overhear who shouldn’t. He was a pureblood and everyone close to him was a pureblood, it should be fine.

But then he thought about how the twins might be listening around the corner because they’d sneaked into Slytherin territory again, and he grimaced and followed her.

Professor McGonagall led him into her office, and Ron stood up straight when he saw the twins were already there. They glared at him. Ron turned his head away and stared at the professor instead. “Has something happened to Mum or Dad?”

“Not them,” one of the twins said.

“Although I don’t know if you would care about them any more than you would—”

“Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said sharply, and Ron was at least gratified to see that she didn’t go easier on Gryffindors. She sighed and turned to face Ron. “Your sister has suffered an accident, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron almost asked which one, until he remembered that there was really only one way that Professor McGonagall and the twins would know about it before he did. He swallowed. “What happened to Victoria?”

“She has—been injured very badly,” Professor McGonagall said quietly, and sat down behind her desk. “In fact, she’s already been transferred to St. Mungo’s. The Healers will be doing all they can for her. I don’t know how much your parents will wish to tell you. We have already Flooed them, and they have gone to St. Mungo’s to be with her.”

Ron nodded, feeling curiously empty. He had barely seen Victoria since the hols, and he should—he should feel something, right? Even if it was only the kind of contempt that Draco would say he should feel for Gryffindors.

But he was just hollow.

“You still haven’t told us—”

“What kind of accident, Professor.”

Ron swallowed, his annoyance with the twins chasing away the hollow feeling for a second.

“I have kept quiet out of deference to your parents, as I mentioned.” Professor McGonagall stared at the twins until they stared at the floor. They were still scowling, but Ron didn’t think he should say anything about it. “Suffice it to say that it was an accident with Transfiguration, and there is…not much more than I can tell you.”

“But you’re the Transfiguration professor,” Ron said, spotting a hole that might persuade her to give more information. “If anyone would know, it’s you, right?” He gave her a hopeful smile.

He didn’t think he was mistaken about the way Professor McGonagall flinched. But she took a deep breath and shook her head. “I refer you to your parents, Mr. Weasley. You will, of course, be excused from classes and school for the next week if they wish you to join them at home or in hospital.”

I don’t, Ron found himself thinking. I can’t do anything to help her, and if she’s all right, they don’t need me.

But of course, that wasn’t the kind of thing he could say in front of his brothers or the Head of Gryffindor, so he just nodded and shuffled over to the Floo when Professor McGonagall said she would escort them to St. Mungo’s.

He wasn’t prepared for Fred, or maybe George, to shove him as hard as he could, so that Ron staggered and nearly hit his head on the corner of Professor McGonagall’s desk. “Bet little Ronniekins did something,” that twin snarled. “He always resented Victoria, getting more attention than he did—”

“Bet he cursed her—”

“It wasn’t an accident at all—”

“Mr. Weasley.”

Professor McGonagall’s voice made both twins stop cold. Ron rubbed the side of his head, because it hadn’t hit but it could have, and turned to look at her. Her eyes were narrow and her nostrils pinched and Ron had never seen her look this intimidating, not even when one of their Housemates had been making jokes about Theodore Nott the other day.

“That is enough,” Professor McGonagall hissed. “You will go through the Floo first, and then I will come behind you and watch to make sure you don’t torment your brother when you land! I expected better of you. This is a time for your family to be close.”

Fred, probably, tried to turn an angelic smile on her. “We’re sorry, Professor! We’re just really worried—”

“About Victoria, and we got a little—”

“Too rough with Ronniekins. It won’t happen again.”

Professor McGonagall just shook her head, instead of melting the way Mum always seemed to, and pointed to the fireplace. “Into the Floo, gentlemen.”

Fred, or maybe George, Flooed first, followed immediately by the other twin. Before Ron could pick up the powder, he felt Professor McGonagall wrap her arm around his shoulders. For a second, he leaned against her and let himself feel the comfort that he knew her Gryffindors got a lot of from her.

“It is not your fault, not in any way your fault,” Professor McGonagall said. “And I know that you might feel you have not been close to her in the past few months, but even twins may go different ways if Sorted into different Houses.”

The hollow feeling was back as Ron mumbled his thanks and reached for the Floo powder again. He didn’t think he’d caused Victoria to suffer this accident; that was ridiculous. But he did wonder if he would have noticed something was wrong with her, like the symptoms of her sickness were acting up, if he’d paid more attention.

But coming right after that was the thick, boiling resentment that he’d felt so often when they were younger. Special Victoria, who had everyone ready to run after her, who was the miracle daughter and Dad’s favorite.

I’m not glad something happened to her. I’m not.

But it still made Ron shiver as he stepped through the fireplace.

*

Minerva stepped out of the hearth and readjusted her hat. They had come directly to the Magical Children’s Ward, and luckily, the older Weasley boys had gone ahead instead of staying to torment their brother. Minerva followed Ron Weasley to the room where loud sobbing could be heard.

When Minerva stepped into the room, she saw Arthur nearly crumpling, being supported by Molly. Molly gave her a glance born of desperation, and Minerva sighed and walked briskly towards Arthur, turning him so that he wasn’t looking at the bed.

The bed contained a simulacrum of Victoria Weasley, no more. Headmistress Carrow had contacted someone who had, essentially, constructed a skin that would look like her to hold in the potion and the…other things that had spilled out of her. Minerva knew that the boys would see her as essentially filled with soupy material that sometimes rolled in odd directions and made her skin bulge.

It was not a sight any child should see. But then, Victoria Weasley was the ultimate victim here, someone who should never have existed in the first place and might have reached the limits of her ability to go on existing.

Minerva swallowed heavily against her own thoughts, and turned to comfort Arthur. Whether he had used that potion and Transfiguration to create the girl or believed that she had been born naturally, he was still a parent whose daughter had essentially died.

“Arthur,” she said gently. “Looking at her can do no good.”

“We can—there are ways to revive her,” Arthur said frantically, grasping Minerva’s shoulders with claw-like hands that made her wince. “There have to be. We can find—we can find another child and—”

“And what?” Minerva whispered, instantly changing her mind to the certainty that Arthur had known about the way that Victoria was created, and might have done worse things than that.

Arthur paused, his eyes darting back and forth, and then he shoved himself away, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing can save her,” and he began to weep again.

Minerva sighed, tired, and stepped back so that she could watch the children’s reactions.

The twins looked sick, which was no surprise. The younger boy had his hands clasped over his mouth, and after a moment, he turned away from the bed, sprinting towards the loo. Minerva watched him go in pity. She had come to accept that Ron Weasley truly belonged in Slytherin, but she thought he had overestimated his own toughness this time.

“Minerva.”

Molly was coming up to her, and Minerva stepped over to follow her outside the bedroom. “I didn’t know if I should have brought the boys straight up,” she began, even though that was what Molly and Arthur had told her to do. Maybe they hadn’t thought through how the sight of Victoria would affect their sons.

Molly shook her head a little. “No, they…they had to understand why it would take a miracle to bring her back. Otherwise, they might have some kind of faith that it could happen, and I didn’t want them to hope for the hopeless.”

Minerva blinked, and narrowed her eyes. This wasn’t the reaction she expected of a woman whose daughter had died. “Molly?” she said, softly.

Molly stared at her, and her eyes looked ancient. And far dryer than Arthur’s. Minerva wondered if this was a test from the Ministry of Magic or something equally warped, and let her hand hover near her wand. The Weasleys were close to the Malfoys, after all.

“I knew this day would come,” Molly said softly. “Arthur loved the thought of having more children, and daughters specifically, and he asked me to take the potion that’s guaranteed to produce extra fertility and often twins.”

Minerva felt her eyes widen. She didn’t think a test from Lucius Malfoy was happening after all. Her hand fell back to her side as she watched Molly. She thought she knew what Molly was doing, but the woman was being extremely subtle about it.

“I took the potion,” Molly said. “But with the way that Evangeline’s been sick, and now Victoria, I knew that this day would come.” She shook her head. “The medicine that healed Evangeline probably wouldn’t work on Victoria. She’s too far gone.”

Minerva tried to pick her way through a conversation that felt like it had become a maze of Confundus Charms. “Did—are you worried that something’s going to happen to Ginevra, as well?” she asked, wondering if that would lead her to clearer ground.

“No. Ginny was born without the potion. And the sicknesses do seem connected to the potion, don’t you think?”

She knows. Minerva straightened her spine and concentrated on the best wording that would tell Molly she was an ally. “Does Arthur think that there’s some other kind of medicine that would heal Victoria? Something other than whatever you gave Evangeline?”

Molly’s smile was bitter. “Minister Malfoy procured the medicine for Evangeline himself,” she said, and dabbed non-existent tears away with a handkerchief that also blocked the intense stare she was giving Minerva. “For various reasons, he can’t do that himself anymore. It’s become complicated to harvest the ingredients.”

Minerva kept her reaction as composed as possible, the way she did when she had to deal with crying students. “I am truly sorry for your loss, Molly. Do you think Arthur would go out and try to harvest these ingredients on his own? For a cure that might do for Victoria what the other one couldn’t?”

“He hasn’t the slightest idea where to look for them. And he knows that I wouldn’t help him. Sometimes, you have to let nature take its course.”

She’s prepared to let the girl die.

Minerva could hardly comprehend it. She knew how fiercely both the Weasleys loved their children, having known them for so many years. But then again, she hadn’t known that they evidently knew the truth about these children, or the potion, or that Molly seemed to have taken the potion under duress.

Or that the only “cure” for children born of the potion was the magic harvested from Muggleborn or half-blood children.

She isn’t choosing to let her daughter die, Minerva decided then. She’s choosing not to be responsible for the death of innocents.

Minerva met her gaze and said quietly, “That is indeed a tragedy. But I suppose that you’re trying to prevent further tragedy by not letting Arthur go out to harvest these dangerous ingredients.”

Molly nodded rapidly. Tears lit her eyes now. She sniffed into the handkerchief for real and turned to stare into the room where her daughter lay. “And I would oppose anyone else who wanted to put themselves—or others—in danger just to bring Victoria back. It’s clear as crystal.”

Minerva jumped. Molly had withdrawn one hand from a robe pocket, and clearly showed Minerva a small crystal globe on an iron chain, before she dropped the whole thing back into her pocket and bustled into the other room. Minerva heard her scolding her children and Arthur and probably taking charge the way she had to when the only other adult in the room would be incapacitated by grief.

Minerva stared after her. She’s also—one of us? One of the rebellion, with Severus and me?

It was far more than she had expected. But she was humbled that Molly had taken the risk to put her trust in Minerva. When her daughter was dying, a child she must feel something for, having raised her, no matter the circumstances of her conception…

It was a level of bravery that Minerva could hardly comprehend, but she stood there a moment contemplating it before she went back to be there for her students.

*

Ron sat on the couch in front of the hearth in the Slytherin common room, staring blankly into the fire. His thoughts moved through his head like numb pieces on a vast chessboard.

Victoria hadn’t been part of his life since he got Sorted into Slytherin, really, any more than the twins really had, or Percy. And he had shut her out from seeing the deepest parts of his life even when she could have shared them, because he was afraid that she would disapprove of his growing friendship with Draco and his desire to be more than just another Weasley.

But he hadn’t ever tried. And now she was gone.

Ron still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. The thing on the bed hadn’t looked anything like his sister. And then the things under her skin had started moving really fast back and forth, and Mum had herded them away from the bed before anything else could happen. Ron had shouted she was his twin and he wanted to say goodbye, and Fred or George had made some crack about how he should have treated her more like his twin earlier.

Ron shook his head, tears creeping around the corners of his eyes. No, he couldn’t think about them. He had to think about Victoria, and how Mum and Dad had come out of the room an hour later, clinging to each other, and told them quietly that Victoria was gone and there was nothing that could bring her back.

Ron didn’t know why. He wanted to punish the people who were responsible for this, but he didn’t know who.

He wanted to know.

“Ron.”

Ron glanced up and blinked dully at Draco. Draco sat down next to him on the couch and looked at him a little anxiously. Ron tried to summon up a smile, but he knew he’d failed when Draco gave him a silently appalled look. Ron turned and stared at the fire again.

“She’s dead, then?” Draco asked quietly, reaching out and gently placing a hand on Ron’s arm.

Ron nodded. “Mum and Dad are planning the funeral,” he said, and knew his voice was as dull as his gaze. Draco’s hand tightened on his arm. “They’ll call us out of school when it’s time for it. And Evangeline is getting better, but the potion or whatever it was that cured her wasn’t available in time for Victoria.” He heard his voice grow bitter and stopped.

He didn’t really want to trade Evangeline for Victoria. He just wanted everybody not to get sick.

“What happened?”

“An accident, but an accident because she was sick.” Ron leaned back and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to cry in front of Draco, but he felt as if he might, any second. “I don’t know why she was sick. But Evangeline had it, too, a little while ago. Mum says Ginny is fine, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why they got sick. I don’t know why she died.”

“I do.”

Ron whipped around, eyes wide. “You what? Did you somehow cause this?”

“Of course not,” Draco said, and looked so hurt that Ron looked down and mumbled an apology. “But I know who did.” He peered earnestly at Ron. Most of their other Housemates had backed off, leaving Ron alone with his grief, so Ron didn’t think there was anyone around to hear them, but Draco lowered his voice anyway. “But my father told me not to tell anyone, so you have to keep it secret, all right?”

Ron nodded at once. He wanted to know who had harmed Victoria, and once he did, he could start plotting revenge on them.

Draco leaned even nearer. “Mudbloods,” he whispered.

“How?” Ron felt sick again, the way he had when he saw Victoria lying on the hospital bed. How could Mudbloods have got at a protected pureblood in the middle of Hogwarts? There were some Mudblood students, of course, but they would have to be suicidal to go after Victoria.

And how did they get to Evangeline, when she was at home with Mum and Dad?

“They’re polluting our magic. By being in our world.” Draco looked solemn. “That’s what Father says. We have to keep track of them, because otherwise they could reveal our existence to the Muggles. And we have to be careful about what we tell them. But that means that we sometimes let them near enough that they can poison purebloods with their polluted magic. That must have been what happened to Victoria.”

“But my little sister Evangeline is sick, too. And she wasn’t at Hogwarts. I don’t think that I ever met a Mudblood in my life until I came to Hogwarts.”

“My father said that the pollution can spread wide enough that it can affect some especially sensitive people who aren’t in direct contact with Mudbloods. Probably if Evangeline was here, she would be a lot sicker.”

Ron shivered. He had to make sure that those people were taken care of before Evangeline came to school, and that was only a few short years away.

“Can we find and arrest the one who got Victoria sick?” He knew that Minister Malfoy would arrest the Mudbloods if his son asked, although Ron didn’t think he would do it just for a Weasley.

“It’s not really one of them,” Draco said, shaking his head. “It’s all of them together. Just like if feces leak into drinking water, it’s not really the fault of the one person who—deposited that load of feces. It’s the fault of everyone who didn’t build the pipes tightly enough, or who didn’t cast the right spells.”

Ron nodded slowly. “So we have to fight all of the Mudbloods? At once?” That sounded daunting. He wanted revenge for Victoria, but he didn’t see how he could get it if that was the case.

“It means that we need to make sure that they know their place,” Draco said viciously. “My father wants the school to be all pureblood by the time that we’re in our fifth year, because he’s worried about their interference with our OWLS. Do you want to join us? Work on making sure that no more Mudbloods get accepted here, or that they leave?”

“Yes,” Ron said fiercely. Victoria probably had got sick because she was at Hogwarts, he told himself. She hadn’t shown signs of that sickness when she was at home. She must not have been as sensitive as Evangeline.

She would have lived, if not for the Mudbloods here.

Ron understood, then, a lot more deeply than he ever had, what Minister Malfoy was fighting against. It wasn’t just that Mudbloods were weak wizards and witches who might bring undesirable attention to the purebloods. It was the destruction of people. The Mudbloods killed people.

Ron had to have some part in stopping them. He might not have been able to save Victoria, but he could save other people.

I reckon I’m part Gryffindor after all, he thought, as he and Draco started discussing the details.

*

“Hmmm. I do wonder why the International Confederation of Wizards has been content to ignore what you’re doing. They weren’t so accepting in my day.”

Lucius blinked. Sometimes it seemed to him as though he went from one waking dream to another when he spoke with Grindelwald. Of course, being in the man’s brilliant presence, the magic he shed around him like a corona, probably had something to do with that. It was true that the moments spent with him were the most intense, while the moments without him were the darkest.

“I—they washed their hands of Britain a long time ago,” Lucius said, a little dazedly. But he knew this, and he wanted to please Grindelwald. The man sitting on the other side of his desk, the Minister’s desk, made sense. It made sense that Lucius was sitting in the chair in front of his desk. He knew it did. “They said that we were backward and they didn’t care unless our wizards or witches intruded on them. The only time we’d have to worry is if we were hunting a criminal Mudblood who escaped our shores.”

Grindelwald nodded briskly. “That would perhaps fit their style. They were only inclined to interfere with me because I crossed so many countries’ borders and there were Muggles being drawn into the war.”

Lucius felt like frowning. Hadn’t he summoned a young Grindelwald, someone who hadn’t gone through the war that had ended in his defeat at Dumbledore’s hands?

But, of course, any fool could read history. Lucius dismissed the squirm of oddness in the bottom of his stomach.

“Have you found out what you needed to about Peverell, my lord?”

“It’s interesting that you call him Peverell, and that he chose to claim that name for himself.” Grindelwald ran his fingers over the edge of the desk and looked at the paperwork that was piling up there without interest. “I can’t find any sign that he has the blood, or that he has the artifacts.”

“The arti—you mean the Deathly Hallows?” For a moment, Lucius felt as though someone had sent a cold wind across his mind, blowing away obscuring clouds. “I thought they were no more than a legend.”

Grindelwald smiled at him, and Lucius’s mind sank back into gentle intensity again. He could see why so many had followed another version of this man, to the point of world war. He was ridiculously compelling.

“They are very much real.” Grindelwald considered for a moment. “Can you keep a secret, Lucius?” For some reason, he chuckled.

Lucius leaned forwards, nodding eagerly, and watched as his lord removed the wand from his holster and laid it across the desk. It appeared to have carvings on it, which Lucius thought odd, but wandmakers in foreign countries would undoubtedly do anything.

“This is the Elder Wand.”

Lucius’s eyes widened and almost fell out of his head, or so it felt like. He edged closer and studied the wand again. It looked plain and ordinary, not like the sort of artifact that wizards would have killed for, that had killed its first master the very night he received it.

But when he was focused on it and nothing else, Lucius realized that for all its quiet appearance, it was releasing a strong and steady thrum of power that he could feel pressing gently on his skin.

“It’s incredible,” he whispered. He knew better than to ask if he could hold the wand, which, after all, only had one master. “Where did you find this wand, my lord?”

“I took it from a wandmaker, as a matter of fact.” Grindelwald smiled and shook his head. “And while that is an entertaining story, it will wait for another time. I have not noticed my wand reacting to this supposed Peverell of yours as it perhaps would have if his blood claim were real.”

“How would the wand react to one of the Peverell bloodline, my lord?”

“Curiosity. Wishing to seek him out. Contrary to some legends, of course, the Hallows do not simply obey the Peverells alone.” Grindelwald grinned and spun the wand in his hand before returning it to his holster. “But it would want to see him. And the fact that it didn’t indicates to me that there is no Roland Peverell, or that his claim to the line is a lie.”

Lucius frowned. “So there is some other powerful pureblood out there who has used the name to fool me?”

“It seems so.” Grindelwald seemed amused, for some reason. Lucius told himself that was good, since it meant that Peverell, or “Peverell,” wasn’t as big a threat as he would have thought. “To throw you off the trail. But I have other means of finding him.”

“May I ask what other means those are, my lord?”

“You may. For right now, I don’t intend to tell you.” Grindelwald stood and flicked a hand at Lucius. “Go back to your meeting, now, and tell them about the course of action I proposed to you this morning. You know the one.”

Lucius rose, bowed deeply, and stepped out of the office, striding into the bowels of the Ministry, towards the Department of Mysteries.

For a moment, it felt as though clouds were descending on his mind again, but he shook off the thought. He did have an important plan to convey to the Unspeakables, one that was sure to be hailed for its brilliance, and he was a little surprised that he had waited this long. That anyone had waited this long.

Mudbloods were dangerous, but more and more of them were in their place, and they needed to keep more being born so that they would have magic to harvest for the sake of purebloods.

The Muggles, though…

It was time to do something about them.