After several years of harmony, the wizarding world faced a number of events that disturbed even those who had experienced violent adversity many times before. People like Molly Weasley, who had spent a vast majority of her life fighting against the forces of evil. The last battle she had fought lost her a child and brought on years of heartache.

With malevolence on the rise again, Molly kept a desperate tabs on her growing family. With grandchildren and in-laws to worry about, she felt nothing but stress in hearing about each incident. Since the first of the recent attacks, she had baked a string of pastries and rearranged her knick-knacks enough times for Arthur to take notice.


“I’m going to need a new belt if you keep this up,” Arthur pointed out. Molly knew he was right; she was Arthur’s personal seamstress and knew the status of his waistline. So, she did a bit of problem-solving -- and she was delighted with her own cleverness once she did.

And that was how she found herself amidst the hullabaloo of Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon, standing behind a large display of assorted baked goods, which she was selling for charity. Surely those affected by the poisonings had astronomical medical bills, and there were many who suffered irreparable damage. That much she understood, and hoped charity would provide some relief.

A wiry, middle-aged witch with greying brown hair came out from the close across from Gambol & Jape's hugging her scarf up higher to her ears and cheeks.  It was Mrs. Sellaphix, come up from her family's shop in Knockturn Alley.  She walked quickly down the uneven cobbles, hopping the curb to avoid wizarding folk who were along at a more leisurely pace.  Zelda Sellaphix wasn't in a hurry so much as she was cold and didn't want to leave the family apothecary closed for longer than was necessary.

She smelled it before she saw it. A warm, cinnamony something wafting in the cold wet air. There was a small knot of people around a bespoke bakery stand. The normally dour witch had a smile - a bit of pastry would be welcome.

"What's the cause?" Zelda asked as she picked through a palmful of coins.

"For the Leaky Cauldron." Elixa interrupted politely with a grin. "Molly!" She greeted the witch happily, "these all look bloody gorgeous."

The healer in training stepped back to appreciate the spread. Lix had just come out of one of her gruelling healing assessments and was taking a walk down the Alley on the way back home. A cake stall led by the legendary Molly Weasley was fate. It provided the very best thing to celebrate with (apart from alcohol) and it would cheer Arcturus up. He was still reeling from the dementor encounter last week, but had seemed a smidgen more himself yesterday after a night out. Lix was keen to continue the recovery with plenty of sickly sweet things.

"Wow, what's this one?"

For the Leaky Cauldron.


Idara slowed to a halt, giving the display of baked goods a considering look. She held up a hand; her entourage – an assortment of two other women and a tall, broad-shouldered man who towered over them all – slowed as well, turning their gazes in the same direction as one.

The shortest of them – a dark, petite witch who clutched a red leather portfolio close to her chest – was the first to look away, towards Idara in askance. “Mrs. Whitman?”

It had been nearly four months since the explosion—four months since the blazing fire, the deaths, the blow that seemed to have caught everyone unawares, and badly; though a pub and inn in name, the Leaky Cauldron had been more than a famous hot spot—it had been a steady presence in Diagon Alley for centuries. Now, a burned-out shell remained. There were numerous efforts for repairs in the works, but the damage, it seemed, was extensive.

As the spokeswitch for the Veela Heritage Preservation Society, Idara’s responsibilities kept her busy, often overseas. As a senior curator for the National Museum of Wizarding History, she had artifacts upon artifacts to review and appraise. As an active presence in London’s social scene, her engagements were endless. There was always someone to see, a party to host, a matter to attend to. And fresh from a divorce, she was busier than ever.

But now, looking at Molly’s vast array of cakes, cookies, pies and pastries – to name a few; it appeared that Molly Weasley was something of an expert in this particular field – Idara realized that even so, it was no excuse to slack off in one’s charity.

The other woman – one younger than the first, with short black hair cut close to her head and dressed from head to toe in black leather and denim – continued to stare. “The pumpkin bread looks good.”

Rena rolled her eyes. Idara glanced at their last companion. “Bern? Would you like anything?”

Giants fists flexed, adjusting their grip on the several shopping bags they held. The groundskeeper shook his head. “Very well, then.”

And with that, Idara made her way over.

Grey wool and cashmere billowed past black heels with every step, pristine in spite of muddy cobblestone. Any looks upward would find a slim and shapely figure cinched at the waist by a similarly grey belt—and then a pair of cherry red lips beneath the broad brim of a cartwheel hat as their owner approached. Without sunglasses to obscure her own gaze, the clear, almost crystalline blue of them was visible even under the overcast skies.

Idara waited until Molly attended to Zelda and Elixa to give the former a warm smile. Beside her, her leather- and denim-clad shadow inspected the display with naked interest. With more reluctance, Rena and Bern joined them as well. “Four slices of pumpkin bread, three apple turnovers, and… a slice of your pecan pie, please.”

He had seen her on his walk through Diagon Alley.  The Weasley matriarch was not easily overlooked and the smell coming from her baked goods only cemented who she was in his mind.  There was a small crowd around her and he heard someone say that she was selling whatever smelled so delicious to raise money for the Leaky Cauldron.  He stepped closer, the hood on his coat hopefully covering the telltale hair on top of his head.  He had no wish to be noticed.

Standing behind the small crowd, his mind flashed back to his school days, how miserably he had treated the woman's youngest son, as he was most usually near the blasted Golden Boy, then there was the time they had been captured and brought to the Manor.  He still to this day did not know why he had lied to everyone when they asked  if the disfigured face belonged to Harry Potter.  Then of all things, Potter had to go and save his life...

He moved through the group of people, trying not to bump into anyone on his way, he wouldn't want to be caught caring about someone other than himself.  As he neared the stall, he was accidentally bumped from behind and his hood fell backwards as he steadied himself.  He froze.  He wasn't sure what to do, maybe, just maybe, no one would notice him.  Although in the back of his mind, he realized how fruitless that was.

Zelda nodded a thanks to the pretty young witch who'd answered her question.  Others were gathering at the cart, asking about the fare.  There was a gentle jostle, expected in a happy throng, and she looked over her shoulder. He recognized ... well, she recognized Draco Malfoy. 

She quickly looked away, but not before glancing back at Mrs. Weasley.  Those two families had a history, they surely did.  She saw no reason to get involved, even in the most tangential way.  So it was eyes on danish for Zelda.

"A cherry, a lemon, and two cheese, please."  She pointed to the puff pastries folded into neat little squares full of colorful filling. A favorite for her and her boys.

Already Molly’s station was causing quite a stir. Her baked goods tended to do that -- when the children were younger, she used it as a ploy to get them downstairs for supper. Orders flew in from every direction, giving Molly barely a moment to acknowledge each customer before rushing to fill their order. The use of magic made Molly much more efficient, thankfully. She gave a warm “Hello, dear, thank you!” for each order, and advised them to donate whatever they could. There was a large mason jar amongst the cakes and pies, already with a few coins in it.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a flash of white, and her eyes followed it until her brain made the connection. Lucius Malfoy’s boy - Draco. The Malfoy family had fallen from grace several years earlier, as did the other purists that had led to Voldemort’s rise. The once rich and esteemed families were stigmatized for their beliefs. And Molly had a hand in that. Her jaw tensed. Draco had been just a boy; her children had mixed feelings about him in the end, but Molly still held onto some of the anger she had towards the people responsible for her son’s death.

“Yes, thank you Elixa, dear - it’s for the Leaky Cauldron. For the families affected,” she said to Zelda, but addressed it generally to the queue at her booth. “To rebuild and all, you know.” Of course Mama Weasley was an advocate for reconstruction -- she helped rebuild a few times before. Too many times.

“If anyone wants to help an old woman serve some pastries -” Molly said jovially, “Feel free.” Any help anywhere - that was what it was about. She gave a satisfied smile as she watched her customers begin to try their snacks.

Draco was all for leaving, in fact, he was feeling more uncomfortable by the second. All the people around the Weasley woman's cart had him wishing he had never left the relative safety of the manor.  Then he heard her ask for assistance. On one hand, he could walk away, being the cold, unfeeling person everybody probably thought he was... or he could totally do the opposite and shock then pants off of everyone, including Mrs. Weasley.

He stood there for a few minutes, watching people buy her wares and then his feet started moving before his mind was made up.  He walked around the cart and stood right by Molly's side. He ran a hand through his hair, plastered on a friendly smile and said, "Would you accept my assistance?"

Hestia was just in-and-out of Diagon for a quick errand. That was, of course, until she noticed the congregation forming around--ah! None other than Molly Weasley. Of course.  Eavesdropping at an appropriate distance, she caught the vital details: bake sale. charity. Leaky Cauldron.  Hestia was more-than pleased.  And it seemed today even came with a little bit of tasty drama: generations-old family strife, playing out for all in Diagon to see.

It almost sounded like a line out of one of those Dickens novels her Dreogan loved.  "Would you accept my assistance?"

Only Hestia wouldn't force a tearful, drawn-out reconciliation upon her friend.  Time to manage this sensibly.

"Oh, of course she will," she said, just from behind the young Malfoy. (He was indisputably a man at this point, but Hestia still thought of him as that. He was the age of her sons--therefore ripe for the ordering.)  "Moll's not picky, is she?" Hestia regarded her friend with a wicked smile.  Truth be told, Hestia hadn't the foggiest what the older witch would have made of the Malfoy boy's timid offer.  She wasn't going to open everyone up to that sort of risk.  That was why Hestia was here.  Blasting through uncertainties, protecting her friend from discomfort, and smoothing things over.   She brushed past the other customers, past Young Malfoy, and settled herself behind the table as well, next to Molly. 

"Get bagging, young sir!" she shook a finger at Young Malfoy and, with a teasing smile, handed him a stack of thin brown paper bags to slip the individual pastries into.  "Help the pretty young lady with her order," she said, a gloved hand stretching out to Elixa.  See? Here she was, helping Draco to help others.  You're welcome, Young Malfoy.  It was only belatedly that she noticed the witch had already been served.  Well, the boy was a potions master. Surely he could figure it out.

She took a stack of the paper bags herself, tugging off her long gloves.  She was not exactly dressed for this.  She was dressed for a quick errand to the apothecary, and here she was, rolling up her sleeves without question for a good cause.  See, that was what made her so deliciously nice. 

Catching sight of Idara Whitman--damn it, that witch could dress; the cloak was fabulous--she flashed a smile starting to slip slices of pumpkin bread into the paper.  Hearing the order continue and continue, she gave a single, raised brow. She was quiet a moment, a smirk slowly blooming across her face. "Well," she said simply in a dry tone.  "I'm going to need a box, then."  The half-Veela could probably eat her weight in pastries and still maintain the waistline of that fabulous frock, but she suspected the two lingering behind her were the likely beneficiaries.  Breaking out a crisp, white box, she dropped the pastries in, "Thank you for your significant contribution, Idara," she said crisply, handing over the pastries with a flash of a smile and, finally, a wink.  She'd like a moment to chit-chat. Maybe once everyone had been seen to.

Next was--ah. Zelda Sellaphix.  Well, perhaps Molly Weasley wasn't the only one in a bit of a pinch. They were all facing demons today. The woman was more-than-aware of Adon Eleor's role in putting her husband in prison.  Against Hestia's better judgment, her son had kindled a sort of friendship with the eldest Sellaphix boy.  Hestia dearly wanted to know what the other mother thought about that.  Hestia didn't like to admit it--she never would--but it was somewhat difficult to meet the woman in the eye.  She gave a smile. A restrained sort of one and realized with relief, that Zelda--like the young lady--had already been served by Molly.

Not caring to find out if the woman lingered, she looked back to Idara--ready for the distraction.  "I heard you were traveling," she said over the crowd, attempting to multitask and serve a young child a sweet.  There was the beautiful clang of knuts hitting the mason jar.  "Where was it?" she asked.

“Yes, thank you Elixa, dear - it’s for the Leaky Cauldron. For the families affected,” Molly confirmed to Zelda, who Elixa recognised for the fact she ran an apothecary. “To rebuild and all, you know. If anyone wants to help an old woman serve some pastries feel free.”

There was a pause amongst them, each looking at the other, not wanting to all offer, or not wanting to be the only one not to. Draco Malfoy offered, stepping forward. The mere gesture caused a sort of back step from the crowd around them, both Weasley and Malfoy were significantly recognisable figures in the wizarding world and the animosity for the reasons they were famous was part of the history taught in wizarding schools.

"Would you accept my assistance?”

Before Molly could answer, another woman answered for her and took control of the situation.
"Oh, of course she will.” Elixa couldn’t help but frown a little at the interruption and the way she inserted herself. Fair enough she was helping, but Elixa felt people should speak for themselves. "Get bagging, young sir! Help the pretty young lady with her order.”

It took a moment for Lix to realise the older witch meant for Draco to serve her, and the description won back a minority of favour. Lix hadn’t yet decided what she was going to have, initially asking Molly what something was on the table. She gave Draco a shrug and a consolation smile.
“It’s for my housemate, he’s got a sweet tooth and needs cheering up. Probably something with chocolate in. Let’s see…” Her eyes looked over the table. There was no shortage of things to choose from.

“There, that’ll do perfectly.” A rather over the top, incredibly rich and sickly sweet chocolate gateaux already had some slices cut out of it. “Cut me a quarter, would you?”