Errol shivered and looked to the sky. Clouds were gathering overhead.

"Storm's coming," said Bill. "We'd best get a move on."

"Coming, Charlie?" George asked, a few feet away. Their trusted Quidditch Captain was still combing through the ruined envelopes and packages.

"Your precious love letters will have to wait," Fred joked.

Charlie glanced up to respond but looked past them instead. When he stood, they followed his gaze. It was their dad. He was walking across the lawn, wand out and at the ready. Arthur seemed to be searching for something and smiled when he noticed them.

"Everything all right, Dad?"

"You okay?"

Mr. Weasley pocketed his wand and joined his boys near the tree. "That explains things," he said, slightly out of breath. "You lads must've set off the proximity trigger. Thought I might need to scare off a few Muggles. What's all this? Errol's been stockpiling the mail again, has he?"

"Have a look." Bill handed him the letter from Professor Dumbledore. "Fred and George are allowed to take their advanced courses early."

"Are they now? What's on offer these days?" He read the letter carefully as they made their way back to the Burrow. "The Triwizard Tournament? Smashing! I have that to look forward to now. Let's see here. Hmm, you must take Care of Magical Creatures. Always useful. Oh, and Muggle Studies. I suspect that'll be all sorts of fun. Your brothers never showed an interest in Muggle Studies."

"Because it's not interesting," said Charlie with a small laugh.

"My scaly tail it's not," countered Mr. Weasley. He passed Dumbledore's letter back to one of the twins. "Were I your age... Sadly, Muggle Studies was after my time. They instituted the course after... well, there was a tragedy at the castle, actually. A student was murdered. The Ministry took it upon themselves to establish a program of study at Hogwarts. Optional, of course. And still took decades to approve. But once and for all, the negative perception of Muggles and Muggle-born wizards would be addressed. And, if need be, reformed. Dark times, those. Count yourselves lucky, boys."

The clouds thickened as they passed the detached garage. Charlie and Bill were stunned that they had never heard about a murder taking place at Hogwarts. Not Fred and George. While their older brothers pressed their dad for more details, the twins reminded themselves privately of all they had seen in the Pensive and how young Hagrid had been blamed for the death of Moaning Myrtle, the ghost who continued to haunt one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor. The twins were mentally recalling that they were still waiting for a full explanation from Dumbledore when Bill stopped and pointed past them, in the direction of the village.

"Dad, I think you might've been right about that trigger. Look."

They all turned to see a woman walking through the tall grass toward the house. There was something regal about her. The woman's face was stern but warm, and her dark hair fell in excessively long curls. She was finely dressed and carried a vibrantly blue briefcase. At present, she was frowning at the storm clouds and ignoring a garden gnome that seemed overly interested in swatting at the hem of her black and burgundy robe.

"Ah, splendid!" Arthur exclaimed. "I was hoping she'd be dropping by today."

When the woman noticed Mr. Weasley, she saluted him with a sturdy, authoritative wave. They met in the gravel drive and she took it upon herself to greet the boys by shaking each of their hands firmly.

"Pleasure," she said to Bill.

"Hello."

"Pleasure," she said to Fred and George.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Dad, who's this?" Charlie asked as Fred's bumbling fingers struggled to manage the woman's handshake.

"Son, allow me to introduce you to Bertha Jorkins. She works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

"Charlie Weasley. Truly a pleasure," Bertha replied, most eager to shake his hand.

"Sure," he answered guardedly. "You, too."

"As it turns out, Miss Jorkins has been sidelining as... a scout for the Wimbourne Wasps."

"Which makes this visit particularly important to Ludovic," she replied, shaking Arthur's hand last.

"Ludovic?" said Bill. He was looking suspiciously at his father.

"Ludo Bagman is the Head of my department," Miss Jorkins answered. "He was once a famous Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps."

"They're scouting for a new Seeker..." Mr. Weasley said slowly, brimming with confidence.

Bertha's gleaming eyes were penetrating through Charlie as she spoke, "I hear they call you The Dragon."

"What?" Charlie was stunned as the scout for the Wasps carried on.

"We were wondering if you'd be interested in playing Quidditch professionally."

One by one, their jaws dropped.

"Dad..." Charlie stammered. "Is this for real?"

"That it is, son."

"Liam Steerage, your former Captain, is scouting for the Kenmare Kestrels," she continued. "We recently got to talking and he insisted that I meet The Dragon of Gryffindor. And, as you are still a student, Charlie, I requested an audience with your father in advance."

Arthur was nodding heartily. "Surely, he would need permission to leave Hogwarts before his education is complete."

"Leave Hogwarts?" said Charlie, eyes wide and darting about. "I mean, I would be honored to play for England. But to skip my seventh year... That's a rather big decision, isn't it?"

"Are you mental? I'd quit right now," Fred complained. "Are you accepting second years?"

"We were scouted for the team in our first year, you know." George crowded the woman. "Tell Mister Bagman. We're Beaters as well."

"Too young, I'm afraid." Miss Jorkins smiled down at the twins and regarded Charlie with eyes almost too keen to be trusted. She leaned forward and pinned a small badge of a yellow and black wasp to his shirt. "So? What do you think, Charlie Weasley? Shall we give it a go?"

"NO!" shrieked an unexpected voice. "Not my son, thank you very much!"

Fred and George whirled round.

"Is that... our mother... running?"

"Didn't know she could run."

When Arthur saw the furious expression on his wife's face, his neck began to shrink into his shirt. Miss Jorkins made the poor decision to extend her hand.

"What a pleasure. You must be —"

"Think that's a wise decision, do you?" Molly cautioned, blinking rapidly. Bertha retracted her handshake. "Arthur?"

"He's a cracking good Seeker," he attempted in a clipped voice. "And she came all this way..."

"You want Charlie — our Baby Charlie — to be pummeled to death by men twice his size? Or worse! I — think — not."

"Mum..." Charlie's skin flushed pink. "A baby?"

"Shush, boy!"

Bertha Jorkins cleared her throat. "Your concerns are quite reasonable. If I may —"

"Shoo!" Molly trumpeted at the woman. "Run along now."

"Dear, is that really how you want the boys to see —" Arthur attempted before catching her glare and immediately withdrawing from the conversation. Fred and George watched with magnificent delight, bodies full of adrenaline.

"Boys, back in the house! I'm going to have a word with your father... and I'll be saying things that are inappropriate for young ears."

"George," Mr. Weasley started, eyes anywhere but on their mother. "What happened to your shoe?"

"Don't you change the subject," she warned.

Bertha Jorkins regrouped and poked her head in between them. She smiled congenially. "Frankly, Madam... I..."

"Shoo, I said! SHOO!"

Suddenly, Scabbers charged through the grass and nipped at the woman's ankle. Bertha Jorkins cried out and sliced her briefcase down at the family rat. Scabbers scuttled away. She took a deep, focusing breath and straightened her robes.

"You misunderstand. This is quite a privilege. I merely..."

Mrs. Weasley had had enough. She fired off a wind charm at the woman and pushed her back ten feet.

"Dear, oh dear. Please accept my apology," Arthur pleaded desperately.

"I hope that sentiment was directed to me," Molly admonished.

Bertha Jorkins reached into her robe and dropped a calling card to the gravel. "Charlie, owl me anytime. I would love to set up a trial."

Mrs. Weasley huffed so forcefully, she practically breathed fire. With her eyes locked on the Quidditch scout, she aimed her wand back at the Burrow and waited. Miss Jorkins lingered awkwardly in the silence that followed, and none of them were sure what to expect.

Until they saw the green wooden spoon.

Bill threw his arms around Fred and George as they watched the spoon break through the tree branches with fascination.

"It's good to be home."