THIRTY

YOU CAN'T STOP THE STORM FROM
COMING SO YOU BETTER RUN FOR COVER
MARTY RUBIN

FRED COLLAPSED back into an empty seat at their table, his forehead glistening with beads of sweat beneath the twinkling light of the marquee. At his side, pouting dramatically, Aspen stood with her arms tucked neatly across her chest.

"One more dance!" Aspen insisted, endorsed by the several glasses of champagne she'd indulged in over the course of the evening.

"How are you not shattered, love?" Fred groaned, and yet an adoring smile had still settled on his lips. "We've been dancing all night!"

Aspen frowned, looking around the table hopefully. Charlie, Tonks, Remus and George were sat around it, and she considered which one to make her target. Tonks looked almost as exhausted as her husband, and so in an act of generosity, she refined her search to the remaining Weasley boys.

"Charlie? George?" she asked hopefully, adopting her best attempt at the puppy-dog eyes she'd mastered as a child.

"Count me out," Charlie said quickly, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. "I've got two left feet, and I don't think Fred'll forgive me if I injure you."

Fred chuckled lowly at his older brother's comment but Aspen huffed, seeing that her options were becoming slimmer by the second. She glanced optimistically at George, gifting him an over-the-top grin as if it would serve to convince him. He rolled his eyes, but scraping his chair back across the floor, he stood, offering her his hand.

"C'mon then," George said, slipping his hand into hers. "It's either this or you whine all night, isn't it?"

Aspen didn't give him a moment to change his mind. She tugged George roughly towards the dance floor, where yet another song by The Weird Sisters was playing loudly. It was almost finished, but it didn't stop the pair from unleashing a series of chaotic dance moves that had onlookers hooting with laughter. Aunt Muriel, who sat nearby, looked disgusted at the imprudent display, but that only seemed to spur George on, his limbs jutting out at absurd angles as they sang along jovially.

It was almost disappointing when the song ended and the music slowed. Aspen groaned, aware she'd only been promised one more dance, but George stuck his hand out hopefully. Her face lit up as the intent of his actions became apparent.

"One more? For the memories," George said sweetly, and she pulled him in, settling her spare hand comfortably on his shoulder.

"Let's hope Fred doesn't get jealous of us hanging out without him," Aspen teased, grinning up at George as he lead her clumsily around the dance floor. He was arguably a worse dancer than his brother, but Aspen found his concentration endearing, observing the way his tongue poked out against his bottom lip, pointed and pink as it rested there.

"He'll just have to deal with it," George retorted cheekily. "You're my sister as much as his girlfriend, Pen."

Aspen felt her lip quivering as she searched for what to say. She'd always thought of George as a brother, but to hear him vocalise it was enough to make her emotional in her alcohol-induced haziness. Instead of a verbal reply, she delved closer to him, burying herself in his chest for a much-needed hug.

"I love you guys," she said softly into the shoulder of his suit, choking back the pathetic weeping that seemed to encroach on her far too often these days.

"Don't go all soft on me now, Andrews!" George teased, his hand rubbing the small of her back comfortingly as they swayed back and forth amidst the swarm of couples and friends. "But for the record, I love you too. We all do."

It was probably the alcohol, or the sentiment of the wedding as a whole, but Aspen found herself miserably close to a invasion of affectionate tears. George hadn't helped at all, swarming her with an unexpected fondness that she had always been aware of but never heard aloud.

"George," she protested, gazing up at him with watery eyes. "You're such a twat. You were trying to make me cry, weren't you?"

He laughed, a head-tilting, attention-attracting guffaw that turned the heads of the guests nearby them. She joined him with a giggle, the kind that made her sentimental tears drip down her cheeks like the rain you dance beneath, joyful in its entirety. Onlookers might have considered them insane, but it was a special sort of happiness that only came around so rarely that it would be utterly immoral to suppress it.

"Not entirely," George admitted once he'd recovered from his bizarre fit of laughter. "But it was an added bonus, wasn't it?"

Aspen slapped his arm lightly, beaming up at him so brightly direct eye contact could have blinded him. They returned to their lazy attempt at dancing, looking quite-rightly less intimate than the other pairs that had bumbled onto the dance floor. They shared a different kind of intimacy entirely, the sort that only family would understand and reciprocate.

"I've a bone to pick with you, by the way," Aspen said, changing the subject entirely before she managed to set off the waterworks again. "How come you didn't bring a date?"

"I've not got a girlfriend, have I?" George countered, shrugging dismissively. "Who was I meant to take?"

"You might not have a girlfriend, but I do suspect you've got a crush, Georgie," Aspen teased, pleased to have the upper-hand on the quick-witted boy for once.

George swallowed thickly, trying to hide the flush of his cheeks. He averted his gaze, glancing around the dance floor as if in search of a distraction that was unwilling to come.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Pen," George said, delusional in hoping that he could fool her. "You're mental."

"I think you're the mental one," Aspen said softly, her voice hushed to avoid bystanders listening in. "Verity's really sweet, you know, and I know for a fact she likes you."

"You're ridiculous, Aspen," George scoffed, but she could see the glisten of excitement in his eyes. "We just work together, it's nothing."

"Fred and I just worked together," Aspen reminded him, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she bit back a laugh at George's expense.

"It's different, Ver-" George began, but was cut off as something vast and silver fell through the ceiling of the marquee and into the centre of the dance floor. Whatever it was was glowing so brightly it illuminated the room, and as Aspen peaked through the crowd, she latched onto it: it was a lynx, gracefully positioned in the centre of the astonished guests.

Aspen felt nauseous at the sight of the Patronus, and she clutched tightly onto George's forearm, digging her nails in subconsciously. The last two times she'd witnessed a message from a Patronus had not been particularly pleasant, and she could not fathom a positive scenario that could stem from this, especially not one that was important enough to interrupt a wedding.

"Shit," George murmured, holding Aspen tautly against his side as his protective instinct kicked in.

Heads had began to turn, staring in frozen anticipation at the lynx that almost seemed to be waiting to receive everyone's entire attention. Then, its mouth opened wide, as if unhinged at the jaw, and spoke in the familiar, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

Aspen's fingertips numbed as her blood ran cold. The room seemed to have broken into a fit of fuzzy hysteria as the majority of guests reached instinctively for their wands. Some seemed to have only just noticed a commotion, and then as the room reached a fever pitch, a scream erupted from somewhere within the crowd.

As if in unison, George and Aspen broke into action, like a storm amidst the summer's humid heat. They were already amidst the panicked throng of guests, and were jostled to and fro as they barged hand-in-hand towards the edge of the dance floor. Many were disapparating, and Aspen felt her stomach lurch as she realised the protective enchantments had broken. George seemed to have noticed too, his grip on her hand tightening, vice-like as his knuckles grew whiter by the second.

"I've got to find Alessia," Aspen insisted hysterically, tugging George towards the tables they'd been situated at earlier. "And Fred. We've got to get out of here."

"We can't leave," George retorted in disbelief, wand drawn in his spare hand. By now, masked figures were appearing out of nowhere, and whirring spurts of light were expelled from all angles.

George and Aspen were buffeted roughly amidst the agitated crowd, and George almost lost his footing as he stumbled past a terrified looking witch in search of her wand. Aspen watched, horrified, as a cloaked figure approached them, wand poised and ready. Before she could process it much further, she'd thrust her own wand forwards and yelled the first spell she could remember: "Stupefy!"

The cloaked man was thrown backwards across the tent, soaring above the crowd, but before she could establish where he had landed, George had ushered her sideways. Fred was waiting, flanked by Ginny and Alessia, and all three looked sick with nerves. At the sight of the duo, they rushed forwards and indulged in the quickest of embraces.

"We've got to get out of here," Aspen said again, the only thought that seemed relevant in the whirring mess of her mind.

She'd gripped onto Alessia before she could protest, as she knew she would. Alessia — and Ginny, for that matter — were underage, and neither could perform magic outside of Hogwarts, making this scenario all the more dangerous without the possibility of defence. Then again, with the Ministry succumbing to the Death Eaters, it would likely have mattered if they'd have chosen to fight regardless. Aspen refused to take the chance either way.

George had his arms wrapped around his younger sister, who's wand was held out defensively as a sea of Death Eaters whirled around them. Fred was gazing helplessly between his siblings and the Andrews family, uncertain on who to stand by. Aspen could see the fight of indecision in his eyes, and before he had a further second to contemplate it, she made the choice for him.

"I love you!" Aspen called out blindly, her eyes latching onto Fred's at the very last second.

He opened his mouth to reply, but was met instead with a violent crack that leapt through the air like a whip. Aspen and Alessia, who had been standing before him moments prior, were simply gone, leaving an empty space on the floor and in his heart.

Aspen, meanwhile, landed with a heavy thud on her feet, swallowing down the sick sensation that had risen in her throat, a stormy wave of nausea. Her ears were clouded, her sister's screams of livid rage only a vague whisper as she looked around the room uncertainly. They were not stood in the flat, its cosy mess and homely scent a long gone memory. Instead, Aspen had acted on an age-old instinct that hadn't kicked in since childhood.

Looking around the dingy kitchen, it was more than obvious where they had arrived. The sight of Alessia's tearful resentment was not enough to phase her as she realised instead where they were. For the first time in half a decade, the Andrews sisters stood in the crumbling confines of their old home, now long forgotten — their Grandmother's old cottage.

There had always been a certain chaos to Aspen Andrews' life. Dead parents, raising a feisty teenager all by herself at the ripe age of twenty-three, and the inexplicable bond she had with the world's most hilariously disruptive twins. This, however, was a different kind of chaos, one that sank past the aching confines of her heart and into her bones, leaving behind its dreadful chill. This was a matter of life or death, and the only thing that Aspen knew how to do was run.

end of part three