Light footsteps creaking over each stair, and the matriarch of the Weasley family ventures into the dining room with a short huff.

"They've all gone to bed."

"Good. They shouldn't be here for this."

Except for a few lit lengths of candle wax, the room is filled with darkness. My mother sits at one head of the table, Sirius opposite to her. Arthur and Molly sit on either side of her, whilst Remus takes a seat next to his old classmate. Bill, who had arrived at the very moment dinner concluded, braces one leg over the other. Dora and I split the misplaced bench on one side with Charlie left to the other half. Mad-Eye, who refuses to keep still, paces about the table as his eye nearly squirms out of its socket.

"The goblins, they're not giving anything away yet." Bill starts with a negative shake of his head. "I still can't work out whether they believe he's returned or not. 'Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all — keep out of it."

Arthur's words crackle next. "I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who. They've suffered losses, too."

"He murdered that goblin family last time, didn't he? I believe it was somewhere near Nottingham." Charlie nods along.

"I think it depends what they're offered." Remus cups his hands. "And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries, they're going to be tempted."

Locks of brown shift towards the eldest Weasley. "Were you able to have any luck with Ragnok, Bill?"

"He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment. He hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business — reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, that those goblins never got their gold from him, you know —"

Dora releases a cold scoff. "What a load of old codswallop!"

"Language, Nymphadora."

"She's not wrong about the bellend —"

"Delphina!"

The two sisters purse their lips so as to not upset their mother any further. Her eyes shut, hand reaching towards her temple in a manner she's picked up over the years of parenting.

"Alright, the more adult-aged children, why don't you venture down to the basement?" Molly clasps her hands at once. "It's where you'll be sleeping for the night, I'm afraid."

"Are you kicking us out of the Order, Mum?"

"Fare it. . .one more night of your fleeting adolescence before you're subjected to the unkind horrors of the Order?"

"Way to put it lightly, Sirius."

The chair and bench scrape the wooden planks below as Bill, Charlie, Dora, and I retreat to the lower floor — but not before Bill whisks his wand to animate a spout of Schletters Fine Whiskey. It floats through the air behind us, carefully avoiding the sleeping paintings and such.

A windowless room with just the one entryway summarizes the basement: four cots with sheets strewn atop, a miniscule loo tucked in a corner, and a straw mat pieced as decor in the center.

"It's only for a night, isn't it?"

"The hooch should knock us right out."

Without a touch of magic, the four draw the cots closer to the center and away from the stained wallpaper. Charlie brushes a hand over mine, prompting a gentle grin to spread and match his own.

"When'd you ransack the kitchen, Bill?"

"When Mum had me help her with supper."

I twist the seal and break it open, allowing the rich stench of cheap whiskey to envelop the room. Dora nearly snatches the bottle out of my grasp.

"Patience, twat."

"Make me, wanker."

Charlie tuts his tongue. "'Tis the very reason we were sent down here."

"Piss off!"

The two female voices ring out in a petty attempt at a threat before indulging in the drink: I take the first sip, most of which goes down smoothly except for the last bit. Dora cackles and grasps the nape before gulping a long swig. The moment it leaves her mouth, her left eye twitches at the aftertaste.

"Memories of fourth year just whiskered their way into my mind."

"How early did your addiction begin?"

Charlie rips the whiskey out of Dora's light hold and welcomes the liquor into his open mouth. Bill taps the end of the glass, causing an outpour into his throat.

"What'd you do that for, mate?"

"Just making sure you're getting a drink's worth."

He shoves the beverage into Bill's awaiting palm and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. The last of us, Bill embraces the strong liquor with a few chugs.

"That is what I assume hippogriff shit to taste like."

The whiskey hardly takes a few minutes to take effect upon the four of us: I lean against the splintering legs of a bed; Dora sprawls her teal strands across my lap; Charlie hugs his knees to his chest beside me; Bill is the only one to invite himself onto the very bed behind me.

"Have any of you come to terms with the sheer solemnity of the situation brought into our world?"

". . .I haven't the faintest clue of the words that spilled out of your mouth."

A giggle bubbles in my chest. "What I meant is. . .are you aware of just how bad things are about to become?"

"Della, you can't bring up real world matters." Dora lightly nudges my shoulder. "We're in the sanctity of the basement. Nothing else exists past the four walls."

"She's got a point, though." Charlie heaves a light sigh.

"Our lives are never going to be the same."

"Sirius was right. Tonight truly is our last night of innocence."

". . .you've made it sound manky, Bill."

"Shove off, mate."

A bout of silence brews over the group, and the high brought about by the liquor morphs into tension and languor. Having made into one of the beds, Dora puffs short snores that are thankfully muffled into a pillow. Bill, who attempted to stay awake, is slumped in a cot with his figure still tucked over the bedding. Charlie and I lay over the straw mat and stare at the ceiling, welcoming the white noise.

"Are you ready for another year at Hogwarts?"

"If it's anything like the last, I'm sure it'll take another two years off my life."

His head turns towards mine. "Della?"

"Hmm?" I hum in reply, eyes fluttering shut as a drowse clouds my mind.

"I love you."

Without missing a single moment, I say:

"I love you, too, Charles."