Harry frowns at the Prophet as he holds it in his hand, scanning the pages. One story had been about a sighting of Gilderoy Lockhart in Diagon Alley, where he'd gotten into an altercation with a woman while leaving Gringotts, and another had been about Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange had been seen in Calais with a small group of other Death Eaters, too - it had been mentioned at last night's Order meeting, which had proved as dull as the first one.

The Prophet, unfortunately, offers no extra detail. He glances up as Tonks comes towards him, pulling one of his letters towards him and discarding the Prophet in irritation.

"Who are you writing now?" Tonks asks, leaning over his shoulder and peering curiously down at the stack of parchments on the table. He'd been worried about the Fidelius Charm, but all of the owls had come through it just fine. Sirius had explained it with a wave of his hand and a muttered set of words about different species and post charms and it's fine: it worries Harry a bit that the Charm can be so easily bypassed by owls, but he supposes the important thing is that wizards can't follow them through.

"Uh, I'm writing a reply to Mafalda Hopkirk... Do you know about something happening at Hogwarts this year?"

"No," Tonks says innocently, but there's a playfulness in her tone, and he narrows his eyes at her. He'd actually only written to Hopkirk with a technical enquiry about the use of magic objects outside of Hogwarts by underage students, but she'd mentioned excitement happening at Hogwarts this year.

"What? What's gonna happen?" Tonks taps the side of her nose, making it lengthen as she does so, and Harry leans away from her, laughing. He can't keep it from his mind, though - it's not the first sly implication he's heard of something at Hogwarts this year, and he wants to know what's going on.

After the World Cup, at least, maybe it'll be easier to find out something about it.

---

Harry sighs, unplugging the television and setting it aside with a shake of his head. "I told you," Hermione says without looking up from her book. "There's too much magic for it to work."

"My radio works sometimes," Harry retorts, and he takes up the screwdriver again, undoing the back of the television and putting the plastic casing aside.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asks, looking at him with an extremely irritating expression of amusement on her face.

"I'm going to make it work."

"You don't even know how the television works normally. Let alone with magic thrown into the mix." Much as he hates to admit it, she's right, and he throws the screwdriver down, staring at the mix of wires and confusing bits of metal in the back of the television.

"When I leave Hogwarts," Harry declares, "I'm going to make television work for wizards." Hermione drops a bookmark into her page, setting the book aside as she leans forwards. They're the only ones in the living room - Mrs Weasley is in the kitchen, baking in the peace of the household, and Narcissa is in the dining room with her own book. With everyone else out of the house, having made their way off to the World Cup, Grimmauld Place is ridiculously quiet, and the boredom is hitting Harry hard.

"They'll be back tomorrow morning," Hermione offers, and Harry sighs.

"Yeah," he agrees. "But it's not even five, yet."

"Are you children occupying yourselves?" Narcissa appears in the doorway, and Harry and Hermione glance up at her, mildly surprised. Narcissa, for the past few days, has been doing her level best to ignore Hermione entirely, but she looks at Harry and her both as she stands beside the doorframe.

"Uh, no, not really," Harry admits.

"Get up," Narcissa orders cleanly, clapping her well-manicured hands together. Harry and Hermione stare at her. "Come, come on. We must fight the ennui somehow."

"Are you bored too, Mrs Malfoy?" Hermione asks as she pulls herself out of her chair, and Narcissa les out a huff of sound, tossing her hair slightly as she leads them out into the hall and up the stairs.

"A lady is never bored, Ms Granger. At the very most, she may be disinterested." Hermione makes such an ugly face at Narcissa's back that Harry has to stifle a snort of laughter against his sleeve, and the both of them follow her into the yellow room. Narcissa sweeps the furniture aside with an easy, silent movement of her wand, and then she murmurs a quiet spell, conjuring three straw targets that fasten themselves upright before the three of them. "What offensive magic do you know? Ms Granger, you first."

"Uh, Densaugeo, Petrificus Totalus, the Jelly-Legs Jinx, Rictusempra, Expelliarmus, an Instant Scalping jinx, the Bat-Bogey Hex..."

"You know the Bat-Bogey hex?" Harry asks, and Hermione nods.

"Ginny taught me," Hermione says, and then continues, listing off a few more spells before turning to Harry.

"Uh, most of the stuff Hermione knows, but not the Bat-Bogey. And then I can cast a Knee-Reversal Hex-"

"Really?" Narcissa interrupts. She'd listened to Hermione rattle off the spells in her arsenal rather disinterestedly, only giving a nod now and then, but this spell seems to give her pause.

"Yeah, I learnt it in Snape's Duelling Club in second year." Narcissa hums, and she spells her sleeves to shorten themselves and draw themselves in against her arms, doing something similar to the skirt of her robes. "Oh, and we know Serpensortia."

"That's not really offensive magic," Hermione argues, but Narcissa gives a minute shake of her head.

"I suppose you learned that from Draco?" Narcissa asks, and they nod their heads. "It is excellent offensive magic for someone who isn't a duellist." She goes quiet for a few moments, considering what to say. She looks pretty, like this - Narcissa's hair is a beautiful light blonde, and her eyes are a deeper blue than Draco and Lucius', not as icy, and when she's pensive she looks ready to be added to a portrait at any moment. "Lucius and I are very different in this respect: I'm something of a natural duellist, and am comfortable with a variety of spells in my arsenal. Lucius can only cast a few hexes well, and thus he favours a more... Creative approach."

"Like conjuring snakes?" Hermione asks, and Narcissa nods her head.

"Precisely. I would guess, Harry, that you're something of a wonder on the duelling ground - a Kneel-Reversal Hex at twelve is very impressive. And you, Ms Granger, what magic would you say you're best at?" The question is asked so severely that Harry wonders for a second if it's a trick question, but Narcissa's expression is serious, and she concentrates on Hermione's face as she asks it.

"I don't think I'm best at any sort of magic, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione says eventually. "I'm not naturally gifted at any of them, particularly, but I can apply myself to different things." She seems a little nervous about answering, but Narcissa seems to approve of the answer, looking between the two of them appraisingly.

"Let's begin with something simple," she decides. "A Jelly-Fingers curse - it will debone your opponent's wand hand. Ideal for a rapid disarmament." Narcissa's targets are soon spelled into metal forms instead of straw ones, and then she says, "Watch me."

---

"I did it!" Hermione says after a few hours of practice, running towards her target. Holding up the target's gloved right hand, she shows that no metal fingers are plain inside, and Narcissa gives a little clap of her hands. It takes Harry a little longer, but when he does manage it, Narcissa beams at him, and they break to eat downstairs.

"And what is your favourite offensive spell, Molly?" Narcissa asks with the sort of forced politeness Harry has come to expect from the Malfoys. Mrs Weasley considers the question, chewing her bite of her sandwich in a delicate fashion.

"Colei novis," she answers finally, and Narcissa hides a small titter behind the back of her hand. Molly glances between Hermione and Harry, and then says, "When your opponent's got a rod and tackle, it, er- It twists them up."

"Can you teach me that?" Hermione asks immediately, and Harry shudders.

"Of course you'd want to learn it," he says. "That sounds awful."

"When faced with an opponent who will happily kill you, Harry, you ought use any tool in your arsenal," Narcissa says, pushing her plate neatly aside. "Back to work, I think." Mrs Weasley looks a little worried at the idea, but she doesn't protest, and simply settles back to let them go. Narcissa's a surprisingly good teacher, and Harry's glad to learn something a bit more... Well. Practical.

---

"Can't we keep going?" Harry asks, and Narcissa laughs, pushing the three targets she'd conjured aside. She shakes out her sleeves, bringing them back to their usual length, and she gestures for Harry and Hermione to precede her down the stairs. Harry does feel tired, he supposes, but he could easily keep on going. Hermione looks a little tired herself, but she seems to have a similar want to keep on going.

"It's nearly midnight," Narcissa replies, chuckling. "I-" There's a harsh slam as the front door is thrown open, and they freeze on the stairs: it's raining heavily outside, and Lucius stumbles over the threshold with Ginny in his arms - she's a sickly pale white, and Lucius runs with her into the dining room.

"Sirius!" Harry says as Narcissa rushes into the dining room: his godfather's hair is singed and smoking, cuts all over his face, and he supports Fred into the room. Fred is coughing blood that stains the front of his bright green shirt and the carpet, and Harry's blood runs cold as he follows them into the dining room.

Ginny is sat up on the dining table, choking as she spits water out, and Mrs Weasley rubs her back. Ginny's eyes are wide and watering, and Harry looks at her in horror. "It's a jinx," Lucius says, shaking his head and rubbing over his cheek. "It makes you feel like you're drowning. Draco, bring him over here!" Draco and George have Ron between them, and Lucius pushes him to sit down in one of the dining chairs. Ron's leg looks somehow wrong, and Lucius is careful about cutting up the denim of his jeans.

"Oh, my God," Hermione says sharply, putting her hand over her mouth and turning her head away: Harry can't quite tear away his gaze, though, and just keeps staring: Ron's leg is swollen on the right side, the flesh bent into an unnatural shape, and Harry can see his kneecap is completely out of place.

"This," Lucius murmurs quietly, "is going to cause you some mild discomfort."

"It's going to fucking hurt, Ron," George translates, squeezing his brother's shoulder, and Ron lets out a cry of pain as Lucius spells the kneecap back into place. Harry runs to grab some pain killers from the kitchen, and surveys the chaos as he pours small amounts of Auxlian Elixir into shot glasses. Mrs Weasley is bent over Fred, casting different charms over him, and Narcissa is doing her best to heal the open cuts on Sirius' face.

Harry feels utterly powerless as everyone bustles back and forth - just a few minutes ago Harry had felt like he'd really be able to handle himself in a fight, and now?

Now he's not sure at all.