A/N: For those of you who read "More Than a Mug of Hot Chocolate," here is the novel-ish length story I promised about the Weasleys' visit to Egypt. It's about a dozen chapters plus an epilogue. I will update every Wednesday.

Kudos aren't enough credit for my beta vancabreuniter. I wrote this for National Novel Writing Month (yes, I know including "Chocolate" was cheating. But I didn't make 50,000 words even with those sections, so . . .), and I didn't realize until I was well into it that while I had volunteered to write a novel in a month, she certainly hadn't volunteered to edit one. But she gamely, and competently, rose to the challenge. As always, her support and encouragement have been invaluable. I also want to thank Betsy for pre-betaing, especially her feedback on my original character.

I am taking advantage of having an American character to play on some of the differences between American and British English. Being American myself, I am sure there are mistakes in the British characters (especially idioms-I haven't found a good way to research idioms), but I've worked hard to learn the differences.

Finally, I want to let fellow writers know I will be hosting a missing moments challenge in January. I'm planning to mix it up a bit by having participants choose their character or timeline but not both, and I'm hoping to include an optional bonus challenge incorporating various writing techniques. I wanted to have it posted to link, but I really wanted to start this story before those of you who are students go back to school, and I know I can't get the details together by the end of this week. So, this is just a teaser, and I will let you know when the challenge is open. It will have a late deadline; I'm thinking April.

Enough rambling. Let's get on with it.

Chapter 1

July 1993

Cairo, Egypt

Bill Weasley looked at the clock on the wall, then compared it to his watch. Charlie must have missed his Portkey. Everyone else's Portkey wasn't due until tomorrow afternoon, but Charlie had said he would be here in time for lunch. Maybe dragon keepers routinely ate lunch at two in the afternoon, but bankers did not. Bill glanced at the wall clock again, then round the poster- covered walls.

He was standing in the offices of the Egyptian Department of Magical Transportation, where witches and wizards from other countries could Apparate, Floo, or Portkey in without attracting Muggle attention and violating the International Statute of Secrecy. His brother Charlie had taken time away from his beloved dragons and would be arriving from Romania, while Bill's parents, four other brothers, and baby sister would be coming from their home in England. Dad had won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw and was spending the vast majority of it on a family vacation. Not wanting to think about why they were headed here, to see him, instead of the tropics (The Bermuda Triangle: Where Magic and Muggle Collide), Bill turned back to the clock. Two- oh- four. Charlie was buying lunch.

There was a flash of color in the corner, followed by a thud, and his next- youngest brother appeared. Ginger- haired and stocky, he was more freckled every time Bill saw him. Charlie chucked a sweet wrapper into the bin.

″You're late.″

″Well, hello to you too. Can't you lay off for five minutes?″

″It's after two o'clock, and I waited lunch for you!″

″Mate has scale rot.″

″What?″

″Mate has scale rot. Ever try feeding a dragon with scale rot?″

″You named a dragon 'Mate'?″

Charlie rolled his eyes. ″Nobody could decide what to call him and the nickname stuck. Anyway, I'm starving. Let's go.″

()()()()

Bill allowed Charlie to finish half his fish and chips (English pub food was hard to come by on a Romanian dragon reserve) before introducing conversation.

″Have you heard from Ginny?″

Charlie folded another chip into his mouth and shook his head. ″I still haven't forgiven Mum and Dad for not telling us.″

Their sister Ginny, the youngest of the seven Weasley siblings, had been found at the end of the school year to be suffering from the effects of writing in a cursed diary. Only eleven years old and in her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ginny had finally told their youngest brother Ron, and the diary had been destroyed. Bill and Charlie, the only siblings not still at Hogwarts, had not found out about the incident for several days, when their father's owls reached them.

″They didn't want to tell us until they knew what happened.″

Charlie snorted. ″Dad could at least have Floo- called.″

Bill had to agree with him there. Reading about his baby sister's ordeal without being able to ask any questions smacked of— well, of cowardice, which didn't sound like his dad at all.

″I Floo- called on Tuesday to tell Mum I was arriving a day early, and she wouldn't let me talk to Ginny or Ron. Said they were busy de- gnoming the garden.″

″I wrote Ginny two weeks ago and got an absolutely useless letter back.″ Bill poured more vinegar on his chips. ″She said she was fine, and the weather was sunny.″

Charlie paused with a bite of fish halfway to his mouth. ″Gin- Gin wrote about the weather?″

″Yeah. When Mum told me about the drawing, I was surprised when she said they wanted to come visit me again. They were just here at Christmas.″ Bill met his brother's eyes. ″I lived in Egypt for three years before Mum and Dad came to visit, and this makes twice in seven months. I don't think they're coming to 'provide my siblings with an enriching cultural experience.' ″

Charlie set down his fork. ″They're bringing Ginny to someone with experience in dark magic.″

Bill gave a curt nod. As a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank, he worked with hexes, curses, and dark magic on a regular basis. ″I reckon so. And maybe Ron too. What I can't figure out is why no one will talk about it. How the hell am I supposed to help her if I don't know what she was exposed to?"

″They'll be here for over a month, mate. Plenty of time to find out the details.″

Bill pushed away the remains of his lunch and sighed. ″I hope so.″

()()()()

Bill was winning his second game of chess in a row when there was the sound of a key in the lock, and a pretty brunette opened the door.

"Amy! What are you doing here?"

She held up the grocery bags in both hands. "Stocking your kitchen. I'm sorry. I thought your family was arriving tomorrow."

Bill crossed the room and took the bags out of her hands. "Most of them. This is Charlie. Charlie, this is Amy Green."

Amy flashed her brilliant smile and extended a now- free hand. "It's so nice to finally meet you. Bill talks about you all the time."

Charlie had stood too and was still holding Amy's hand. "The pleasure is all mine. I can see why Bill has kept you to himself."

Bill shot Charlie a warning look, but his brother wasn't paying attention— at least, not to him. Amy's smile widened.

"We're just friends," she said easily, leading the way into the kitchen. Both men followed her without prompting. "Give me those."

Bill set the groceries on the worktop, and she began unloading them. Charlie's eyes followed her as she crossed to the pantry and various cupboards, obviously familiar with the flat.

"You didn't have to do this."

"Of course I did," Amy said, stacking fruit into a bowl. "You never have food here."

"We went to the market today, didn't we, Charlie?" Bill said, hoping to distract his brother. Charlie was leaning casually against the doorframe, out of Amy's way, but he never took his eyes off her. Not that Bill blamed him. Nobody did American casual like Amy, in broken- in jeans and a scooped t- shirt.

"For chips and beer," she retorted. "Even boys need better food than that." She set eggs and milk in a cupboard and cast a cooling charm over them.

Charlie frowned in confusion, but Bill knew what she meant— crisps and beer. "Well, we can at least put them away. It's late. You should go home, go to bed."

Charlie's smile returned. Damn, why had he mentioned a bed?

"Or you could just stay here," Charlie said. "Bill has a bed."

Behind Amy's back, Bill sent Charlie the hard glare that rendered all his other brothers repentant and cooperative. For some reason, it never worked on Charlie, whose smile stretched into a smirk.

Amy Vanished the bags. "Been there, done that, have the t- shirt," she said. So that's where his favorite Gryffindor shirt went. "I'll see you guys Saturday. Tell your mom I said hi."

Bill looked for something to do, but Amy had left the kitchen neater than when she arrived.

"Friends, huh?"

"Yes," Bill said firmly. He and Amy had dated last autumn, and they both had been miserable. They were much better as friends.

"She has a key."

″So?″

″So, she obviously feels she can come and go as she pleases. Almost like she lives here.″

″She's a witch, Charlie. I got tired of resetting the wards every time she came over. You ever tried to keep a witch out?″

Charlie's brow wrinkled, as if he were trying to imagine the need for such a thing.

″That's what I thought.″ Bill opened a cupboard at random and pretended to investigate its contents.

″So how long have you two been . . . friends?″

That was a good question. He chose the easy answer. ″Since she moved here last summer. She transferred from one of the American branches out West. Her speciality is indigenous cultures.″

"Oh, I get it now. You made friends with the new kid."

Bill slammed the cupboard shut and flat out glared. ″Yes.″

″With benefits?″

″None of your business.″ Which was as good as a yes, and they both knew it. Angry for no good reason, he switched tactics. ″How is Tonks?″

Charlie pushed away from the wall, then unclenched his fists. ″What did she mean about Saturday?″

Bill twisted open another beer and walked into the sitting room. ″She volunteered to take you lot round Thebes.″

″Really?″ Unsurprisingly, Charlie ignored the in- play chessboard and sat down on the sofa. ″Did you tell her you have five brothers?″

For the first time since Amy opened the door, Bill felt a smile tug the corners of his mouth. ″Nope.″

()()()()

Bill stopped at yet another produce stand, smiled at the man behind the dates, and waited to see if this one would meet his mother's approval. Mum, Dad, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny had arrived on time this afternoon and checked into the guest cottage, but Mum wanted to buy groceries "and get it over with." Since the nearest market was the Muggle souks, Dad had come too. Bill was hoping he would have a chance to talk to him about Ginny. Finally, Mum was pointing out her selections as the farmer shook open a plastic bag.

"How is Ginny?"

Dad tore his attention away from a collection of cuckoo clocks in the stall across the way. "Ginny? She's fine. Why?"

Why?

"I got a letter from her talking about the weather. Very unlike her. She usually writes about everything under the sun, but not the weather."

"Yes, well, it has been dry," Dad said absently, now focused on some old oil lamps. "Do those light with matches?"

"I don't know. Dad, what else can you tell me about the diary?"

"What diary?"

Bill let his irritation creep into his voice. Dad wasn't stupid; he was stalling him on purpose. "The cursed one you said Ginny was writing in."

"Oh. Well, I don't know much about it, but it has been destroyed and Ginny's fine now."

"But what happened?"

"That will do for a couple of days, at least." Mum added the vegetables to the almost- full bag Dad was carrying. "Let's go back and get your brothers and sister. It's well past dinnertime for us."

()()()()

Giza

"Absolutely not." Molly Weasley placed both hands on her daughter's shoulders and glared at her oldest son. This was the third time in as many hours, and Bill was getting impatient.

"Oh, go on, Mum."

She pulled Ginny against her chest. "I am not sending Ginny into some cursed Muggle tomb. She's just a child!"

Bill glanced at his almost- twelve- year- old sister, who stood quietly in their mother's grip. "These tombs were cleared by curse breakers and have been perfectly safe for wizards for centuries. Some of them have a Muggle- repelling charm that makes them sick, but it won't hurt any of us. She wants to go, don't you, Gin- Gin?"

Ginny shrugged. In the forty- three hours since his family had arrived in Egypt, Bill had yet to get more than a hi and a brief, if tight, hug out of his chatty, gregarious sister. He exchanged a glance with Charlie, who was waiting at the tomb's entrance. This reticence was completely unlike the playful imp who followed them everywhere and never shut up.

Bill was afraid he knew why.

He had been trying for weeks— almost two months now— to find out exactly what happened to Ginny at the end of the school year. All Dad would say was she had been writing in a cursed diary. Mum had flat out refused to talk about it, ignoring his questions and filling her letters with news about his brothers and plans for the trip. And everyone insisted that Ginny was fine.

Bullocks.

"All right, then. You go with Charlie, and I'll stay with Ginny."

His mother eyed him with insulting skepticism (he had been babysitting Ginny since she was born) before releasing her hold on her baby girl. "I don't know why I would want to go inside a dusty old tomb in the first place."

"Maybe to make sure Percy actually comes out?" Charlie said. "Fred and George followed him, Dad, and Ron in there a good ten minutes ago."

Bill exchanged another glance with his brother, accompanied by a roll of the eyes this time, as their mother preceded Charlie into the tomb. Bill turned back to his sister. In deference to the blazing Egyptian sun, her pale English skin was covered in linen pants, a long- sleeved white shirt, and a wide straw hat that hid her face.

"Tell me something only Ginny Weasley would know." No response. "You look like Ginny, but you don't act like Ginny. I'm afraid Percy tied her up and left her at home, and you're his Polyjuiced girlfriend." Not even a hint of a smile, so Bill fell back on a Weasley sibling standby. "I dare you. Tell me something only Ginny would know."

" 'You can run away to Egypt if you like, Bill Weasley, but you'll still be a stuck- up, know- it- all prat who cares more about his résumé than people.' "

He winced. That was Ginny, all right. Did he say chatty and gregarious? He meant big- mouthed and nosy. She and Lindsay Campbell were the only two people who knew Lindsay's reaction when he broke up with her just before the start of seventh year. Still, he had got more than a shrug and a one- word answer.

"Why don't you want to go into the tombs?"

She shrugged. If he didn't know better, Bill would think he was dealing with a female. He waited, having never known Ginny not to fill in a silence. But she was stubborn too, and stood silent and motionless except for her left thumb, which was worrying a hangnail.

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

Her chin came up; or rather, the brim of her hat tilted from downward to level.

"I've never been afraid of the dark before."

Before. Before what?

They were alone to the side of the entrance, so Bill conjured two chairs and a fan, and Ginny immediately dropped into hers. She hadn't acclimated to the heat yet, and unlike everyone else who had spent time in the coolness of the tombs, she had been outside all morning. He glanced at her again, thoroughly unsettled by this quiet, compliant shadow.

"I thought you might be having nightmares." She sat as still as a crocodile in the Nile. "I get them sometimes, after working round dark magic."

"They told you." She spat the words. He saw her saliva hit the sand and evaporate.

"No one will tell me anything except you were writing in a cursed diary. I've been hoping to hear the story from you."

Ginny adjusted the fan to blow directly on her. Bill refilled her water bottle with a spell and she drained it.

"I can help you, Ginny, but you have to tell me what happened."

She twisted the bottle in her hands. "You'll think I'm stupid."

"Have I ever done anything stupid?"

She had turned slightly to take full advantage of the artificial breeze, and he saw the corner of her mouth turn up; thinking of Lindsay, no doubt. She nodded.

"Do you really think I'm unintelligent?"

She shook her head. Merlin, this silent treatment was grating, and he was getting desperate to end it.

"Do you still love me?"

She shrugged.

"Bloody hell, Ginny!" Add annoying brat to that list. She still wouldn't meet his gaze, but taking the piss was a definite improvement. "You can tell me. Whatever it is, I promise I won't think you're stupid, and I'll still love you. You're my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister."

"See? You'll always be my favorite." Bill heard his mother's strident tones coming from the tomb entrance. Apparently, Fred and George had tried to leave Percy behind. "Think about it, okay?"

()()()()

Cairo

Bill moved his glass away from Ron's wild gesturing and served himself a third helping of shepherd's pie. The entire family was gathered round a long table in the guest cottage's magically expanded kitchen, and the meal was progressing boisterously, as always. Ron was retelling the story of Scabbers's escape from his pocket, journey through the crowd of tourists in front of the Sphinx, and retreat under the striped robes of an African woman (apparently, Muggles were not accustomed to pet rats). Taking advantage of everyone's distraction, Bill elbowed Fred, who was sitting on his other side.

"So, fifth year. I know you're not holding your breath waiting for a prefect badge."

Fred grinned at him. "Hell, no. Holding our breath for the Head Boy badge is more like it. Anybody but Percy, please."

Bill didn't take offense, but he did feel the need to defend his old position. "There is nothing wrong with being Head Boy."

"There is if you use it to get your brothers in trouble."

"That's half the fun," Bill said, remembering a particularly heated argument between himself and Charlie that had brought McGonagall storming into the common room. "I'm sure Percy would be fair."

"Fairly obnoxious, maybe." Fred stabbed a carrot with surprising venom. There was more to that story, but part of keeping the peace in a big family was knowing when to let well enough alone.

"Ready for O.W.L.s?"

Fred swallowed and shrugged. "We're not fussed about them."

Bill raised his brows. "Planning to be unemployed, poor, and homeless, are you?"

"Not bloody likely."

"Look, Fred, even if you're not planning to go into the Ministry"— their mother's favorite occupation for all of them— "you're still going to need O.W.L.s. You can't take a N.E.W.T- level class if you don't have an O.W.L. in that subject, and I needed six N.E.W.T.s— "

Fred scowled. "Not you too. Mum and Percy haven't shut up about it all summer, about how we had better knuckle down this year or else."

"For good reason, Fred. What decent job doesn't require an O.W.L. in something?"

Fred looked to Bill, then round the table, then back to him again. "The kind you create yourself."

"Create yourself? You mean— like a business?"

Fred nodded, mouth full.

"You and George?"

He nodded again.

Bill turned to face him fully. "What kind of a business?"

Fred swallowed and shoveled another bite in, scraping his plate clean. "We're no' thaying."

"Yeah, because I'm the one with the big mouth."

Fred considered him, swallowed again, opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, "We want to sell stuff. Stuff that we've invented."

Bill studied his middle brother. Fred and George were smart (part of what drove Mum mental about their casual attitude towards school), creative, funny, and well- liked. They would make great salesmen. He didn't need to ask what they wanted to invent.

"Jokes and pranks, huh? Seems to me Charms might be pretty useful. And Transfiguration, and Potions, and— "

"We study those, but we don't actually need O.W.L.s. It's not like our customers are going to ask to see our marks before they buy our products. We're going to spend this year working on our business plan and coming up with ideas. And winning the Quidditch Cup," Fred added.

Charlie's ears were tuned to anything Quidditch. "Is Oliver Wood still playing Keeper for Gryffindor?"

Everyone's attention shifted, and Bill knew the opportunity had passed. Fred and George and a joke shop. Merlin help them when Mum found out.