In the weeks leading up to Harry's sixteenth birthday, Grimmauld Place turns abuzz with friends and family. From Hermione's signature running bear hug (knocking the wind out of Harry yet again) to Fleur's firm, yet warm, embrace, there's no shortage of love for Harry Potter.
If only the girls could be here... wonders Harry, laying on his emerald bed in his Slytherin-themed room on the first floor. This bedroom, however, was once designated for Hermione and Ginny prior to last year's Christmas holidays. Now, the two beds are used by Harry and Ron while the girls share what was once Fred and George's room on the third floor. This also leaves the twins to take up residence in the second floor bedroom where the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black resides.
Saturday's main topics of conversation include a plethora of scams, traps, and all manner of schemes being perpetrated in the wizarding world these days. Meanwhile, Harry, Hermione, and Ron patiently await their O.W.L. results from last year, which proves to be another heated topic. This is especially evident on Sunday morning as Grimmauld's dining room ends up jam-packed with guests. Seated at either end of the lengthy table are Sirius and Harry, while Hermione, Ron, Fleur, Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny grab any available seats.
"Didn't they say the results would be coming around today?" asks Ron after breakfast, to which Hermione gasps and anxiously flaps her hands about.
"Don't talk—don't talk—don't talk! I don't want to hear about the exams, or anything related to the O.W.L.s!" she says, clearly stressed out even beyond what Harry's accustomed to seeing.
"Harry," says a stern-faced Sirius, "if you get anything less than an O for Potions..."
"Then I can't take the N.E.W.T.-level class this year."
"...then I'll have a nice little 'chat' with Severus," says Sirius, twirling his wand in his hand. "And by chat I mean beat the crap out of that piece of—"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" sighs Mrs. Weasley, "I would think, given everything that's going on these days, that you'd put all that nonsense behind you."
Sirius sits calmly in his high-backed chair with one leg crossed over the other. "Don't expect me to just sit here if that prat ends up sabotaging my godson's chances at being an Auror. To do so requires five N.E.W.T. classes of at least Exceeds Expectations."
"So what if he gets an A or E because of Snape?" asks Ginny, "Harry's already decided upon taking Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures this year. That's six classes planned, Sirius. Five if he doesn't make Potions anyway."
"Yeah, planned being the keyword," replies Sirius, "We all know the amazing standards set by McGonagall, not that I doubt Harry's chances of getting in. With Charms and Defence, I reckon Harry's also guaranteed forward there. And according to what I've spotted him doing at Hagrid's last year, I'd say he's sorted with that O.W.L. But to be an Auror without advanced Potions knowledge would be very, very dangerous indeed. Poisons are rife these days, and that's just one of the countless threats facing someone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." He now drums his fingers on the desk. "Just give me a reason to approach Snape, and I'll set him straight."
"Well, you can't exactly change the marks now, can you?" asks Mrs. Weasley. "Do tell me though, Harry; are you certain about taking Care of Magical Creatures? Professor Grubbly-Plank's a good teacher, but Hagrid..."
"Maybe Harry's just using that as a safeguard," says Ron, "No way you're slotting in an unnecessary N.E.W.T. class, right? Come on, mate, this isn't a game of sympathy."
"I'll drop Hagrid's class when hell freezes over," says Harry, frowning and glaring at those who dare question his decision. "Fine, you two can run away," he says to Ron and Hermione, "but at least I won't be alone; my girls are sticking with me no matter what."
"Those five Slytherins?" asks Ginny, "One of them has a Death Eater mum, remember? I'm surprised she hasn't been apprehended yet."
"For what?" asks Harry, slamming his fist on the table. "Pansy's mum hasn't done anything illegal yet, has she? There's no proof that she's actively a Death Eater still, regardless of the Dark Mark on her arm."
"Mate, that's a load of bollocks," replies Ron. "The Mark is proof enough that You-Know-Who can maybe contact her or whatever. Nice cover story, though."
"Come on, people," says Fleur, "Can we all stop agitating poor 'Arry? Zat is still ze family of 'is best friend, you know."
"You're a very smart gentleman, Harry," says Mrs. Weasley, "But you do need to re-evaluate some of your priorities. Is it true that you're planning on visiting Azkaban this evening?"
"Yes."
Silence, and worried expressions, cross the face of nearly everyone at the table this morning. Mrs. Weasley, however, tries to remain polite and understanding towards Harry's plans as she speaks. "Harry, Bellatrix Lestrange is indeed the foulest woman around. All you have to do is look at poor Alice and Frank Longbottom to get the faintest idea of Lestrange's absolutely vile, disgusting, evil, wicked and horrendous—"
"That's enough, Molly," says Sirius, hardly making eye contact as he merely sits staring ahead at the table.
"She's still Sirius' cousin," says Harry, "and that's all that matters to me. Same goes for Andromeda and Narcissa, the latter of whom is understandably furious these days."
"So, um, we heard you were involved in some recruitment mission the other night," says Hermione, eager to change the topic away from Blacks and O.W.L.s. "Have you met our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? What's he like?"
"Professor Horace Slughorn's not taking the Defence post," says Harry, startling his fellow students.
"He's quite a renowned Potions Master," adds Mrs. Weasley, proceeding to explain a fair bit about her years at school. This includes mentioning that Slughorn's noticeably friendlier, but just as prone to favouritism, than Snape. "It's just a shame that achieving an O would be highly unlikely in the O.W.L.s, because I think you lot would've liked the old man."
"Don't count them out yet, mum," says Ginny, glancing from Harry to Hermione, "No offense to Ron, but those two really do know their Potions stuff. Anyway, I'll be sure to tell you all about what Professor Slughorn's classes might be like. Hopefully they're brighter and cheerier than Snape's."
"Anything's brighter and cheerier than that git," mutters Sirius, "Although I wonder how he'll cope without needing to teach and play with his chemistry set? Anyone up for losing another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? My bets are on Severus getting that Curse, hahaha!"
"That's enough, Sirius," says Mrs. Weasley. "You need to stop harbouring old grudges, young man."
"I'm 36 years old, Molly."
"Then act like it," says Mrs. Weasley, glaring at the nonchalant Sirius as the latter winks at Harry. "Back in my day, the O.W.L. results came around this time of the morning."
"You're awfully quiet, Fleur," says Harry, looking at her with much interest. "What's up?"
Fleur looks his way, flicks a lengthy lock of silvery blonde over her shoulder, and smiles. "I am waiting for your exam results, 'Arry. You talk very beeg, so I want to see if your performance was just as much."
"Oh, she's got you there, Harry!" says Sirius, laughing in delight as Fleur puts on a smug expression with her nose in the air. "She wants you to exceed her expectations today."
"I know 'Arry will exceed my expectations, because 'e always does," says Fleur, folding her arms and grinning.
"That's quite kind of you to say." Hermione grins at the haughty Fleur.
"Eef not, zen I will just dump 'is grabbable arse."
"Excuse me?" gasps Mrs. Weasley, "Where have you learnt that kind of language, Miss? Hmph, ungrateful indeed. If that's your mentality then Harry's better off with anyone else."
"I do not give a sheet what anyone theenks of me! 'Arry, you 'ad better score some beeg fricken marks, you 'ear? I will not tolerate stupid marks zat can be flushed down like crap in a toilet," says Fleur, grinning at the expressions on Ginny and Mrs. Weasley's face.
"No respect, as usual," gasps Ginny, "Can you at least try to act civil at the food table?"
"Don't theenk I do not know what you call me behind my back, leetle jerk. Phlegm? Why, I never! Go get stuffed up ze arse, leetle Weasley."
"Such vulgar manners!" says Mrs. Weasley, and Sirius now grins while applauding Fleur.
"Actually, Molly, those are Harry's manners, yep. He's pretty much the source of where Miss Delacour's picked up her newfound vocabulary." Sirius looks from Fleur to Harry and laughs. "How cute, hahaha!"
The dining room eventually quietens save for the sounds of Hermione frantically shoving soup into her mouth. Although many try to ignore it, the constant clink of her spoon hitting her bowl causes Harry to sigh.
"Would you settle down already?"
"Don't tell me what to do, Harry James Potter! The owls are on their way, and I know I made some serious mistakes in those exams," replies Hermione, speaking with nearly a mouthful of soup.
"Hermione, you really need to—"
"Be quiet, Ron!" she retorts.
"Ronald's right, you've even got soup on your chi—"
"Shut up, Harry!"
Meanwhile, Fleur turns to look at Mrs. Weasley. "Now who's ze one with atrocious manners, hmm? Zat is a 'ell of a lot of stress you've got zere, young Granger."
Hermione resumes shoving down soup in a most unladylike manner at the table. This is in stark contrast to the calm demeanours displayed by Harry and Ron as they yawn with boredom.
"Is this what O.W.L. year does to you?" asks a concerned Ginny, watching Hermione swipe up a pancake from its plate. "She's going mental."
"She is mental," mutters Harry, loud enough to earn himself a look from his girlfriend. "Oh no, spare me! It's that Granger glare again! Aaaa I'm dead." He falls forward on the table, and Ginny ends up chortling with laughter.
"Call me when the results arrive," says Mrs. Weasley, standing up and levitating some of the emptied dishes to be cleaned. Minutes later, Harry feels something sharp clawing into his hair while he remains playing dead at the table.
"They're here!" shrieks Hermione, "Oh no, oh no. Harry, quit playing the fool and sit up!"
"There's an owl on your head, Harry," says an amused Sirius from across the table. "Best do something before it decides to do its business."
"I theenk 'e looks cutely funny with zat owl trying to get 'is attention."
Indeed, the clawing turns to sharp foot stomps (and a peck in the head) causing Harry to finally sit up straight. "Argh, okay! Here's your treat and thanks for the delivery."
Three handsome tawny owls eventually hoot and fly out the dining room. From here, they head for the upper floors and exit number twelve, Grimmauld Place, through any opened windows.
"The funny thing is," says Sirius, "should someone even see those owls coming in and out of this place, they'll remain clueless as to our location. Gotta love the Fidelius Charm when it's kept between trustworthy folks."
Ron, standing right beside the trembling Hermione, simply lets out a laugh. "Haha! That's just what I kinda expected; nine Outstandings, and one Exceeds Expectations in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Why do you always exaggerate and go barking mad, huh? Look at my results, Hermione, at least you never failed anything. Oh well, not like I cared about those subjects anyway."
"Hold on just a minute there," says a giggling Ginny. "Do you mean to say that you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, actually got a higher mark than Hermione Granger at something?"
"Well, er, yeah," mumbles a red-faced Ron. "So, was it that Boggart that got you again, Hermione?"
"I had succeeded in banishing it, but the examiner said my fears were overwhelming me at that point. Um, I think everything went 'okay' for me in the practical." Hermione smiles nonetheless. "It's still a step-up from our third-year exam, right? And this mark would've been less if not for my Patronus. Shame, I feel bad for the examiner who truly felt that I deserved an O. But you win some and then lose some."
Sirius whistles while reading over Hermione's parchment. "Whoa, you got more than 100 percent on your Arithmancy and Charms exams!"
"Bloody 'ell!" says Fleur, giggling at her expression. "Merlin's saggy left arse cheek indeed. Oi, why are you so quiet, leetle 'Arry? Come on, I know your marks would not be as mad as Granger's, but do let me see."
"I'm busy reading," he says, clutching his parchment as Fleur attempts to swipe it. "Hold your horses, girl!"
"Eet is not an essay or anything," groans Fleur. "Come on, come on, come on. I will not stop, you know zat, right?"
"Just let me read my results in peace," says Harry, frowning as Fleur gracefully moves to stand beside him.
"Come on, come on, come on! Oh, Monsieur..." Fleur grabs Harry into a warm hug while looking over his shoulder. According to the parchment, Harry's results are as follows (which he now reads out loud):
ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS
Pass Grades (Max: 130%):
Outstanding: 80% or more (O)
Exceeds Expectations: 70 - 79% (E)
Acceptable: 50 - 69% (A)
Fail Grades:
Poor: 40 - 49% (P)
Dreadful: 30 - 39% (D)
Troll: less than 29% (T)
HARRY JAMES POTTER HAS ACHIEVED:
Astronomy O (81%)
Care of Magical Creatures O (96%)
Charms O (125%)
Defence Against the Dark Arts O (130%)
Divination A (60%)
Herbology O (80%)
History of Magic A (64%)
Potions O (95%)
Transfiguration O (83%)
"And that, kids," says Sirius, "is why I couldn't just sit on my arse as Harry suffered those visions about the Department of Mysteries. We took a hell of gamble in April with our stunt, but those marks, Harry..."
"Lost for words?" asks an equally amazed Ginny, "Congratulations is all I can say. First, we hear Ron beating Hermione at something, and now Harry goes and destroys some of his exams!"
Before Harry can even respond, Hermione's right beside him as she speaks. "I suppose you were actually doing academic activities in the Room of Requirement. Here, take a look at mine."
There's no need to read the top section again, and Harry therefore skips to the essential bits:
HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER HAS ACHIEVED:
Arithmancy O (112%)
Astronomy O (98%)
Care of Magical Creatures O (87%)
Charms O (108%)
Defence Against the Dark Arts E (78%)
Herbology O (83%)
History of Magic O (94%)
Potions O (86%)
Study of Ancient Runes O (89%)
Transfiguration O (88%)
"Here, check mine out," says Ron, passing his parchment around the table.
RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY HAS ACHIEVED:
Astronomy A (59%)
Care of Magical Creatures E (75%)
Charms E (74%)
Defence Against the Dark Arts O (92%)
Divination D (38%)
Herbology E (71%)
History of Magic P (47%)
Potions E (72%)
Transfiguration E (70%)
"That's a pretty decent O.W.L. list there, Ron," says Sirius, still seated at the head of the table. "Molly's gonna go nuts over that Defence mark, though."
Indeed, just a few minutes later sees Mrs. Weasley entering the dining room to hear their results. Naturally, Harry and Hermione get a whole lot of adulation and praise. Mrs. Weasley then reads her son's results and grabs him into a hug.
"Seven O.W.L.s, that's more than Fred and George's put together, and one Outstanding too! Ninety-two percent!? Well done, Ronald Bilius Weasley!"
While Ron continues to get some much-deserved praise (at last) from his mother, Harry spots Hermione looking on with a tearful smile. Then a sudden wicked idea comes to mind as Harry calls Sirius to the hallway area.
"Hey, how about we prank Hermione?" he whispers.
"That's the magic word!" whispers Sirius. "Let's hear it..."
Around late afternoon, Harry and Sirius welcome Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Lupin, Fred, George, Bill, and Moody into Grimmauld Place. Once they're all settled down for an early dinner, Ron's results receive a noticeable amount of applause around the table. Next, Hermione eagerly reads her marks...
"Oh, alright," says Moody.
"Not bad," adds Tonks.
"Mm-hmm," says Mr. Weasley.
"Okay," says Lupin.
The twins and Bill nod while carrying on nonchalantly with their meals. A tense silence ensues as Hermione sits, horrified, with her parchment still clutched tightly. Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, Ron, and Ginny all seem to be equally as bemused as Hermione now, given the uncaring response to the overall top-achiever. Finally, Harry reads out his marks and the guests drop everything in tremendous celebrations.
"W-What?" Hermione watches on (quite tearfully) as the latest guests swarm around to shake Harry's hand, pat him on the back, and fuss over his marks. "I... don't understand."
"To Harry," says Sirius, holding up a glass of Butterbeer. "To a magnificent set of O.W.L. results which I couldn't have been more proud of!"
"Blimey, you sure annihilated those exams," says Tonks, shaking Harry while hugging him from behind.
"But, my marks..." mutters Hermione, staring at her parchment as if trying to understand what she's missed. Why is nobody in the least bit happy for all her hard work?
"Look at all those O's," gasps Bill, holding Harry's parchment up high as if it's sacred. "Even I'm impressed by the effort you've put in, Harry."
"What ze 'ell is going on?" whispers Fleur, glancing most suspiciously at the excessive congratulations around Harry. "'Ermione, your marks are overall better zan 'is, and you even did more classes."
"Three cheers for Harry James Potter, the Chosen One of the O.W.L.s!" says Lupin, singing songs of praise alongside Sirius.
"Arthur!" shrieks Mrs. Weasley, instantly quelling the joyous atmosphere.
"Yes, Molly?"
"Is this some kind of a joke?"
"Of course, dear," says Mr. Weasley, beaming as looks of comprehension dawn across Hermione's (as well as Fleur, Ginny, and Ron's) face at the table. "It was all Harry and Sirius' idea of fun, you know."
"Funny as hell!" laughs the twins, and Bill, as they point at a scowling Hermione.
"Laugh a little; it was just a prank," says Sirius, "Come on, don't be such a sour-face."
"That wasn't funny," says Hermione, glaring at the sniggering Harry. "I'm going upstairs."
And with that, Hermione storms out the dining room en route to the third floor. This leaves all eyes on Harry as he gets up from the table and heads to Hermione's room.
"Hey," says Harry, approaching the furious girl laying on her bed. "I didn't mean anything bad by it, just thought we all needed a good laugh."
"At my expense?"
"Sorry."
"Get out," says Hermione, causing Harry to return to a silent dining room downstairs.
"Whew, I dunno, guys," says a nervous Harry. "She seems pretty peeved off no—Argh!" He trips and lands at the foot of a giggling Ginny's chair.
"How'd you get a perfect score in Defence if you got caught so stupidly, Potter?" asks Moody, shaking his head while most others laugh. "Constant vigilance, boy! Even against your own lads and ladies."
"Mad-Eye's right," laughs Sirius, "You got guilt-tripped the old fashioned way. Oh, nice shot, Hermione!"
"Can't believe you thought I would truly get mad over something so silly," mutters Hermione, stepping over Harry while returning to her seat. "Pick yourself up, prankster."
"You're the joke now, Harry," says Fred. "Oh, how the tables have turned on the wicked."
But Harry takes it in stride, and he returns to the table where Hermione snorts with laughter. By dusk, however, all smiles are gone as Harry prepares to be escorted for his evening trip.
"I sincerely hope you know what you're doing, young man," says Mrs. Weasley in the dining room. "Are you truly going ahead with this? She's bound to attack you in some way! You'd better keep a distance and be ready to flee, understand?"
"Yes ma'am, but it's my decision." Harry exits the room to join Sirius, Lupin, Moody, and Tonks. They now depart to Disapparate from the centre of Claremont Square to the cold, stormy island of Azkaban. But without the Dementors in place, it feels remarkably different for Harry to be back here.
"Listen, Potter," growls Moody, as the group approach the outer prison perimeter, "this is a once-off, you hear? The Ministry thinks we've come to ask a few questions from Lestrange, who's currently secluded near the centre of the tower. If she starts yelling and acting up, then we'll have to call off this foolish trip."
"This is still a tremendous waste of time," sighs Lupin, "but Professor Dumbledore's told us to go ahead so... we'll go ahead."
"Have your chat with my aunt," says Tonks, "and make it quick so we can get out of here. If need be, we might have to Obliviate Lestrange afterwards for security purposes."
"That makes no sense, forget that crap," scoffs Harry, entering the well-guarded grounds of Azkaban before heading up the tower itself. Without the Dementors around, it falls to numerous groups of guards (overseen by roughly a handful of Aurors) to maintain surveillance here. Finally, after traversing the spiralling stoned staircase, the group arrives at the tower's centre. They now turn right, at the landing, to head down a well lit passage with merely one doorway at its end.
"We'll hang a bit back to give you some space," says Sirius, positioning himself within view of Harry. "Raise your hand and signal if there's trouble."
Harry walks a few metres, alone, to approach the doorway lined with near impenetrable cell bars. Bellatrix Lestrange, clad in her usual prison wear, sits on a bunk bed within the dimly lit room. Messy black hair flows to her shoulders as the furious woman leans forward with elbows on knees. It takes barely a few seconds for her to look over her right shoulder once Harry stands at the doorway.
"You," she mutters, looking Harry up and down with those cold, brown eyes. "So, the Aurors have sent their precious Potter to try and interrogate me? Feeling awfully bold now that Fudge is out of the top seat, Potter?"
"Actually," says Harry, calmly leaning against the bars (contrary to Moody's stern warnings), "I'm just here to talk."
"Talk is cheap; if you want information, then you'll have to try something more... effective," says a smug Bellatrix. "Come on, you're capable of using both the Killing and Cruciatus Curse, so give the latter a test. Scared, baby Potter?"
"Why should I torture you?" asks Harry, shrugging as Bellatrix stands up.
"Because you need information, idiot; something or anything to use against the Dark Lord. Well, unfortunately for you, my lips are sealed tighter than a Gringotts vault. Don't you dare think me stupid enough to fall for your tricks and mind games, Potter!"
"Anyway, how are things going in here? It must be quite different without the constant presence of Dementors like before," says Harry, grabbing hold of Bellatrix's hand as she tries to reach for his wand.
"It's boring and it's dull," she scoffs, bringing her hand to her side. "What the hell are you here for, anyway? Don't tell me you merely came for another chat?"
Harry steps back and aims his wand at a curious Bellatrix.
"Do your worst, boy! Your lies and 'kind' words mean nothing when it's clear you're here for information. Go ahead, say Crucio, or Avada Kedavra if you're feeling particularly vindictive. Has Neville Longbottom sent you to inflict a bit of righteous vengeance on me, hmm?" Bellatrix folds her arms and smirks.
"I don't give a crap about that fool, Tergeo."
"Oh look, the Half-Blood is trying so hard." Bellatrix glances at her now cleaned uniform. "These black prison rocks can really leave stains, I swear. Ahem, make yourself useful again, Half-Blood." She holds out her hand for Harry to cast a few Cleaning Charms. "You serve your superiors well in your doomed existence, how delightful. Now then, hand over that lookalike-of-the-Dark-Lord's wand."
"Do I look like an idiot?"
"Yes, you do."
"You're too kind, baby Bella."
"Go and die, baby Potter."
They stare at each other with equal looks of appraisal, as if sizing one another up. "There, now you can't say I never did anything good for you. All squeaky clean and fresh from a few spells. Although you're free to step into that shower over there at any moment."
"Nice hands, Potter, would be a shame if they ever got burnt someday," says Bellatrix. "Better be careful where you end up fumbling around. I've heard some folks tend to safeguard things with Curses and duplication spells; that's a nice, painful way to die, don't you think?"
"All you ever speak about is death," sighs Harry, pacing up and down outside Bellatrix's cell. "Don't you wanna live?"
"I'm alive now, dimwit. Or do you think I'm an evil Death Eater ghost? Wooooooooo."
"Very funny; hilarious, Bella." Harry shakes his head at the sneering woman. "But I'm talking about living a life worth living, and not sucking up in vain."
"Don't you question my loyalties, Potter. Damn it, stand still when I speak to you!" Bellatrix returns to sit at the edge of her bunk bed. "Surely you must have better things to do over the holidays than question the Dark Lord's most faithful?"
"Well, I haven't managed to locate Bartemius Crouch Junior yet." Harry grins as Bellatrix loses her smug expression.
"Stand closer and let me grab that throat, Potter."
"You can grab something else," says an amused Harry. "In all seriousness, though, I think it's pretty clear that you're not—"
"I am the Dark Lord's most faithful servant, and there is no need for me to explain why." Bellatrix smiles once again.
"Prove it," says Harry, standing with his hands on his hips while eyeing Bellatrix. "Talk is cheap, isn't it?"
"He trusts me beyond all others, Potter. The proof is in the pudding; or rather, a very hot and cursed pudding where things you touch go from one to two all the time, idiot."
"Such a pity," sighs Harry, "But I really don't think you're crazy, Bellatrix. A little misguided, perhaps?"
"You're the one that's crazy, Half-Blood. Crazy, deaf, and ignorant as usual. Why don't you actually try and listen, for a change? Go burn and drown under a pile of treasure, kid."
"Go and make yourself neat, Bella," retorts Harry. "You had such nice hair, truly."
"I ought to put that as your epitaph after you're dead, Potter." Bellatrix swings her legs up to lay casually on her bed. "This is clearly a waste of my time." She yawns quite rudely. "And here I thought this would be a fun little test of my resolve. Not even a little Hex or Curse? No torture? You're pathetic, boy."
"It wouldn't be fair to attack you like this," says Harry, with an honest tone in his voice. "It'll be like fighting a Muggle."
"Oh, that's rich." Bellatrix gives a mocking laugh while relaxing beneath her only bed sheet. "Sounds like something Sirius might say; is he here?"
"Yeah, but mostly out of earshot of our conversation," admits Harry. "Unless you start screaming like a madwoman, which I don't think you are."
"Well, if you see my cousin, then tell him he needs to keep his big, reckless head in check. Otherwise, he'll end up duelling in precarious places yet again, like at the Veil of Death."
"Yeah, good thing I saw through your plan and stopped it."
"How observant of you, Potter, would you like some applause?" Bellatrix yawns yet again. "Why am I so goddamned tired all the time? Okay, if you're done gloating your freedom around, then I'd like to get some shut-eye, thank you very much."
Harry takes aim and casts a Transfiguration spell at Bellatrix's pillow. Although it remains seemingly unchanged, the pillow ends up noticeably more comfortable to lay on.
"You broke the law again, Potter, excellent," says a sarcastic Bellatrix, turning about to lay on her side. "Now, how about doing that in a more public space? Torture a few Muggles while you're at it as well."
"It's a real shame this visit is a once-off, Bella," says Harry, turning around to face the lengthy tunnel. "I would've enjoyed having more chat sessions with you."
"Save your energy for school, boy; N.E.W.T.-level's nothing to joke about. Although I'm sure being capable of non-verbal spellcasting should work in your favour from here on out. Have a pleasant day and enjoy the rest of your doomed life," says Bellatrix. "At least try and graduate before my Lord kills you, Potter."
"Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite."
"Potter," says Bellatrix, right before Harry turns to leave.
"What's on your mind, Madam Lestrange?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's a real bitch, don't you think?"
"Uh, maybe, although I can't speak as if I knew her." Harry waves and walks away down the tunnel to reunite with his group.
"That was a tad tamer than I'd pictured," says Tonks, standing beside Moody along the wall. "Just what were you two even talking about, anyway?"
"Random crap, I guess," replies a shrugging Harry. "But at least you could see that she wasn't all murderously insane, eh?"
"No more Azkaban trips, alright?" says Lupin. "This isn't a courtyard at Hogwarts to meet up with pals, Harry. Wait a minute... Hey, Sirius, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Yes I am; and no, I don't ever want to see Wormtail again. How unfortunate that that rat isn't even aware of his surroundings in here, wherever he is. I had to spend twelve fully conscious years in this hellhole."
"If it makes you feel any better," says Harry, "nobody knows just what it's like to be trapped forever in a Dementor... or whatever happens after getting Kissed. So, Wormtail's already in the purgatory which he deserves."
There's no arguing with that, and Harry soon follows the group as they descend the spiralling staircase. Once in the reception area, Moody informs the Aurors that all seems clear upstairs, but no information was gained. Now, the group heads far outside to return to Grimmauld Place, where Harry's greeted with a plethora of questions.
"For the last time, nothing crazy nor deadly or whatever happened!" he says, groaning out loud in the drawing room. "I just had a chat with Bellatrix Lestrange; is that really so hard to believe?"
"Yes!" says Mrs. Weasley. "If it was almost anyone else, then it might be understandable, Harry. Bellatrix is not unlike a spider that traps its prey before getting them."
Mr. Weasley speaks next, and his expression conveys nothing but sheer concern. "I do find it hard to believe that that woman can be civil to you, of all people. There's something not quite right with the way you describe Bellatrix Lestrange as being. I don't mean this in any sort of derogatory way, but you're a Half-Blood, Harry. Of course that doesn't even matter to any of us here, but to someone like Lestrange it certainly should."
"Bella can spew all the blood insults she wants, but she's one of the Death Eaters who knows, deep down, that Lord Voldemort is a Half-Blood too. Just ask Ginny over there and she'll remind you," says Harry, to which Ginny nods and recalls some of her experiences with Tom Riddle.
"Regardless," says Lupin, sitting on a couch while deep in thought, "if you asked me, I'd say Bellatrix Lestrange is playing you like a puppet. I know you care about family, Harry, but what if she's using this against you? She could be acting partially civil to get you all hyped up and intrigued by her. Then, when it's time, you'll see the real Mrs. Lestrange emerge."
"That's exactly it," says Harry, "I see Bellatrix as a Black no matter what others might say."
"It's like talking to a brick wall! And not the kind that opens up like at Diagon Alley," says Moody, standing beside the couch. "Potter, you are making the biggest distracting mistake of your life thus far. People are being abducted and murdered while you sit around worrying over the supposed 'goodness' in that Lestrange's evil heart. If only my eye could look into people's minds, then I might understand just what's going on in yours."
"Go ahead and use Legilimency then, but I'm well prepared for that," says Harry, standing with a defensive, and offended, expression near the Black family tapestry. "What do you expect me to do? Hop up, take a taxi, and go hunt Voldemort himself?"
"That's not what we're saying," sighs Tonks. "It's just... why can't you understand that some of your priorities are less than ideal? We've lost a fair bit of folks thus far; some notable names like Emmeline Vance and Amelia Bones are already dead. The last thing we need is for you to walk around distracted by some heroic idea of getting through to my deranged, psychotic 'aunt'."
"Voldemort knows you," says Sirius to Harry, "and he might be using Bellatrix to twist your thoughts and plans..."
"Finally! It's about time you took a firm stance with your godson," says Mrs. Weasley.
"... which is why I see little problem with your priorities, Harry. If Voldemort thinks he can mess with you, then stick it to that slit-nosed git by trying to get through to my cousin. Just don't go running off on your own, alright?"
Sirius' approval of Harry's actions earns much sighs and disbelief from, especially, Mrs. Weasley as she speaks. "This isn't James at Hogwarts, Sirius; there's no room for jokes and petty vengeance. This is real life and, as you should know, another era of war!"
Unwilling to hear the same arguments over and over again, Harry readies himself for bed in the last hours of the night. His initial stay at Grimmauld Place lasts merely a few days longer until Sirius opts to visit the Burrow on Tuesday morning.
"Finally away from that goddamn house," says a much relieved Sirius, sitting at the packed breakfast table beside Harry. Indeed, things seem slightly more cheerful at the Burrow, compared to Grimmauld, over the next two weeks as July nears its end. While Ginny, Ron, and Hermione spend their time playing Quidditch in the orchard, Harry has other priorities.
"Are you sure you don't wish to join them, dear?" asks Mrs. Weasley, standing in the kitchen on a sunny Tuesday morning. "You should have fun and stop stressing so much, because it's your birthday tomorrow, remember?"
"Thanks, ma'am, but I would prefer breaking the law, instead of playing Quidditch, during these next few days," says Harry, drawing his wand and holding hands with Fleur as they exit the house.
"Of all ze people around, 'Arry is Meester Voldemort's beegest target. So, I will enjoy duelling with my upcoming birthday boy."
"We adults are supposed to discourage underage magic outside of Hogwarts," says Mrs. Weasley, eliciting a scoff from Fleur.
"Rules, my arse, Madame Weasley, because 'Arry's life takes ze top priority in my eyes. To ze garden, Monsieur Chosen One!"
They sprint around the house, much like a bunch of carefree kids, until taking up positions in the lush (but slightly overgrown) garden outside. With his back to the hedge, Harry bows to initiate their duel. Fleur bows even lower, and her silvery blonde hair falls forward in a sleek, splendid mess.
"Hey, darling, you ought to put on a scrunchie—"
"Rictusempra!"
The jet of silver blitzes ahead until swiftly deflected by a Shield Charm from Harry. He then wags his finger at Fleur before retaliating with a Knockback Jinx.
"You 'ave good reflexes, 'Arry; I am most impressed. Okay, we shall step it up a notch, N.E.W.T.-boy." Fleur grins upon switching to non-verbal spellcasting, and Harry relishes the challenge of not knowing what's to come his way. Jinx after Jinx, with the occasional Hex or minor Curse thrown in, the pair of duellists happily cast their attacks as the morning goes on. At some point, a shocked Hermione comes flying on her broom towards Harry.
"You're not of age until next year, Harry! You can't just go triggering the Trace all morning."
"Oh please, this place probably triggers it all the time with Mrs. Weasley using spells around her kids," says Harry.
"But not offensive spells like you two are using!" scolds Hermione, glaring at a grinning Harry. "The Improper Use of Magic Office is certainly going to notice these attacks and Shield Charms—"
"Hopkirk can hop and suck on it!" says Harry, waving his hand dismissively as Fleur giggles at his remark. "The Chosen One will practice whenever, and wherever, he so desires. I must be the one to kill Tom Riddle, and I shall be. But you, my ingenious beauty, are free to fly around and frolic in the air without a care."
Hermione sighs, laughs, and shakes her head before flying off to rejoin her makeshift game of Quidditch. Ginny, however, swiftly hovers over to address Harry while in midair. "You can't flee from me forever, Harry Potter. Matchday will come up at some point, and you're not exactly honing your skills, are you?" She smirks and turns around to follow Hermione back to the orchard. By late afternoon, the Burrow once again fills up with more Weasleys and other members of the Order.
"So," says Tonks, glancing suspiciously around the kitchen table until eyeing Harry, "someone in this area has been causing quite a stir at work today. Madam Hopkirk sent us Aurors a lengthy list of potential underage spells coming in succession. From the looks of things, there's been a duel..."
Mrs. Weasley sighs and drops her fork. "Did I not warn you two not to go fooling around outside?"
"Oh, so now zey are quick to enforce ze law, eh?" Fleur guffaws and loudly bites a mouthful of chicken. "But when 'Arry tried to protest 'is innocence after ze Tournament, nobody gave a flying fu—"
"Whoa, point taken," says Mr. Weasley. "Calm yourselves, folks, they've all managed to clear this incident."
Lupin speaks up next. "From what I've been told, Kingsley and Tonks basically pulled some strings in their department to negotiate an overlook by the Improper Use of Magic office. We're not exactly sure who cast those spells—"
"That would be me," says Harry proudly. "The One who is Chosen."
"—okay, but you must understand that things like domestic Charms are easy enough to ignore," says Lupin, speaking on behalf of Tonks beside him. "But when the Ministry gets notified of things like Rictusempra, Protego, Flipendo, etc. in quick succession, well, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out."
"Funny how nobody cares when it's at Sirius' place," mutters Harry.
"Unknown locations, such as those under a Fidelius Charm, tend to make the Ministry a tad nervous," says Sirius, with an expression of both pride and disgust on his face. "I should know, since my brother and I used to cast whatever we could, at home, right after getting our wands. Not a single letter nor Ministry official ever came our way at all."
"Pfft, whatever," says a frowning Fleur. "I 'ope you 'ave all gotten 'Arry something for 'is birthday tomorrow. Otherwise, you could pool together to buy a joint present between two or more of you."
"Whew, someone's awfully touchy feely with regards to her birthday boy," says Tonks, whose hair seems just a slight shade off its usual vibrant purple.
"If you ask me," says Bill, leaning back in his chair while surveying the defensive Fleur, "I reckon Harry and Fleur were in the right. Look, laws should accommodate very special circumstances for unique individuals."
"Yes, like my almost sweet sixteen over 'ere. Surely many people should know by now zat ze Dark Lord wants to truly kill 'Arry, of all people around?"
"Politics gets messy very quickly," says Hermione, stirring her bowl of chicken soup. "If they keep letting Harry off the hook, by virtue of him being in excessive danger, then more people will use that excuse. For example, and I mean no offense, someone like Susan Bones could also say that she's in grave danger, don't you think? Other underage folks might even put themselves in extremely dangerous situations to get the same special treatment of Harry Potter."
"Okay, enough grim talk," says Sirius. "Why don't we leave all the real life issues behind just for my godson's big day tomorrow?"
"Anyone heard about Ollivander? He's apparently gone missing," says Lupin, to which Sirius sighs.
"Damnit, Moony, I just said—Wait... so our finest wandmaker's likely been kidnapped?"
Lupin nods, and it's clear the Death Eaters have now gained a considerable advantage in this war.
"Anyone remember how Harry and You-Know-Who's wands did that connection thing at the Ministry?" asks George. "Could that be why they've snatched Ollivander up?"
"If Voldemort gets a new wand, then I'm so darn screwed," admits Harry. "Much less protection for me then."
A deathly silence falls across the kitchen as nobody's willing to speculate what might happen to an ill-protected Harry. The thought of losing someone so close, and essential, to the Order makes for an uneasy few minutes of contemplation.
"Nothing is going to 'appen to you," says Fleur, in a firm and defiant tone of voice. "Nothing except joy, 'appiness and good birthday presents tomorrow with lots of 'ugs and kisses."
Those are certainly things which Harry would appreciate come tomorrow. Now, as the afternoon sky fades to dusk, a growing queue gathers outside the bathroom at the Burrow.
"We could always use Cleaning Charms," says Hermione, sitting beside Harry against a wall near the bathroom. "But I guess a nice, hot bath is something that's sorely needed these days, hmm?"
"Yeah, just as a nice, cold grave will be needed for Voldemort," replies Harry, staring at thirteen inches of yew and phoenix core in his hand. A wand that he hopes could put an end to the Dark Lord someday.
