August 3rd, 1995
It was dawn when Harry arrived at the Weasleys' residence. Their squat cottage roof glowed in the first rays of sunlight, and the rotund chimney emitted puffs of smoke contentedly.
Harry thought back to the parting scene the night before at the Dursleys'. It had been one of the more touching departures - yeah, right! Uncle Vernon had muttered, "Take your time coming back. Better still, don't come back at all," before retiring to the evening news and a meagre dinner. Aunt Petunia had ordered him not to catch any 'germs from those… strange people…' if indeed he was returning. Dudley had deigned to tear his eyes away from the television screen for an entire three seconds to nod. By this time Dudley had enlarged to the extent that he could just about squeeze himself onto a three-seater sofa. It was like, "diet? What's that??"
Bringing the Firebolt down to a smooth, perfect landing on the Weasleys' front lawn, Harry was greeted by Ginny calling merrily from the front window.
"Harry!" she shrieked, waving her hands frantically. At fifteen, she had grown into a graceful, slim girl with flaming red waves of hair trailing down her back. Behind her, Ron was yawning in his pajamas, making some attempt to eat his breakfast. Fred and George, on the other hand, were snoring contentedly into their cereal.
Molly and Arthur Weasley greeted Harry at the front door. "Harry, dear… lovely to see you again. Hope those Muggles haven't been wearing you down too much…" as Arthur bustled off to work and Molly ushered Harry inside.
"Morning, 'Arry," mumbled Ron. "Would you like … some…" the rest of his words were drowned out by a massive yawn, so he gestured vaguely to the table. Harry sat down and helped himself to buttered toast, a luxury he did not get at the Dursley household.
The morning proceeded slowly. By the time Ron was fully awake, it was almost noon and Harry was getting restless. Fred and George noticed, and delightedly set up a game of broomstick tag in the front garden. Within five minutes Percy was hollering for them to keep it down.
"…And how am I supposed to get any work done if you lot are constantly making such a racket… enough to wake the dead… at this time of night… absolutely inhuman…" Everyone stood by and grinned while Percy ranted on. Harry was warmed. Percy hadn't changed in the slightest. He felt at home.
"Perce, it's the middle of the afternoon," chortled Fred.
George leaned in to Harry and whispered conspiratorially, "He hasn't yet realised that we fixed his hourglass so that it always reads 12.15am."
Percy was defying the need to breathe. "And I don't know what you kids are up to these days, making all sorts of mischief at unearthly hours…"
"Percy," Ron interrupted, "What time is it exactly?"
Percy roared, "Twelve fifteen, of course…" he broke off and looked confused as he took in the teenagers waiting below in the bright sunlight.
Ginny snickered, "And I suppose that apart from playing tag, we've invented a spell to make the sun shine at night?"
It was too much for Harry. He doubled over, choking on his mirth. It was made all the funnier when Percy began accusing everyone in sight of rigging his clock, including his mother, and Fred and George assumed identical, "Who, us?" faces. Soon everyone was rolling on the ground in stitches.
It was late evening before Harry had a chance to move into Ron's room and unpack his things. As he was doing so, a small stack of parchment fell out.
"What're those?" enquired Ron, pointing. Harry retrieved the letters.
"Oh! I'd forgotten about these. They're the birthday cards and things that people sent me. Look, here's the one from you… and Hermione… and Hagrid… and …"
Ron peered over his shoulder at the scribbled handwriting. "And… Malfoy?!?!" Pause. "Now why would he be writing to you?!?!"
Wordlessly, Harry handed him the letter.
"Geez, Harry, this is serious… On the other hand, this is dynamite! We can spread this around school, that Malfoy Senior really is a Death Eater! I mean, Paleface has been denying it for years… and now, revealed by his own written hand…"
Harry did not laugh. "Ron, this is serious. We're talking about a person's life here…"
"Excuse me? A *person's* life? Nuh-uh, I don't think so buddy. Malfoy is not a person. He does not have a soul, and he would probably be better off in 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' with a rating of four stars." retaliated Ron.
Harry looked and felt stricken. "Ron, he's written to ask me for help. Do you really think that I should just ignore him? I mean, give me your honest opinion. If Malfoy had asked you for help, what would you do?"
Ron opened his mouth to answer…
It was dawn when Harry arrived at the Weasleys' residence. Their squat cottage roof glowed in the first rays of sunlight, and the rotund chimney emitted puffs of smoke contentedly.
Harry thought back to the parting scene the night before at the Dursleys'. It had been one of the more touching departures - yeah, right! Uncle Vernon had muttered, "Take your time coming back. Better still, don't come back at all," before retiring to the evening news and a meagre dinner. Aunt Petunia had ordered him not to catch any 'germs from those… strange people…' if indeed he was returning. Dudley had deigned to tear his eyes away from the television screen for an entire three seconds to nod. By this time Dudley had enlarged to the extent that he could just about squeeze himself onto a three-seater sofa. It was like, "diet? What's that??"
Bringing the Firebolt down to a smooth, perfect landing on the Weasleys' front lawn, Harry was greeted by Ginny calling merrily from the front window.
"Harry!" she shrieked, waving her hands frantically. At fifteen, she had grown into a graceful, slim girl with flaming red waves of hair trailing down her back. Behind her, Ron was yawning in his pajamas, making some attempt to eat his breakfast. Fred and George, on the other hand, were snoring contentedly into their cereal.
Molly and Arthur Weasley greeted Harry at the front door. "Harry, dear… lovely to see you again. Hope those Muggles haven't been wearing you down too much…" as Arthur bustled off to work and Molly ushered Harry inside.
"Morning, 'Arry," mumbled Ron. "Would you like … some…" the rest of his words were drowned out by a massive yawn, so he gestured vaguely to the table. Harry sat down and helped himself to buttered toast, a luxury he did not get at the Dursley household.
The morning proceeded slowly. By the time Ron was fully awake, it was almost noon and Harry was getting restless. Fred and George noticed, and delightedly set up a game of broomstick tag in the front garden. Within five minutes Percy was hollering for them to keep it down.
"…And how am I supposed to get any work done if you lot are constantly making such a racket… enough to wake the dead… at this time of night… absolutely inhuman…" Everyone stood by and grinned while Percy ranted on. Harry was warmed. Percy hadn't changed in the slightest. He felt at home.
"Perce, it's the middle of the afternoon," chortled Fred.
George leaned in to Harry and whispered conspiratorially, "He hasn't yet realised that we fixed his hourglass so that it always reads 12.15am."
Percy was defying the need to breathe. "And I don't know what you kids are up to these days, making all sorts of mischief at unearthly hours…"
"Percy," Ron interrupted, "What time is it exactly?"
Percy roared, "Twelve fifteen, of course…" he broke off and looked confused as he took in the teenagers waiting below in the bright sunlight.
Ginny snickered, "And I suppose that apart from playing tag, we've invented a spell to make the sun shine at night?"
It was too much for Harry. He doubled over, choking on his mirth. It was made all the funnier when Percy began accusing everyone in sight of rigging his clock, including his mother, and Fred and George assumed identical, "Who, us?" faces. Soon everyone was rolling on the ground in stitches.
It was late evening before Harry had a chance to move into Ron's room and unpack his things. As he was doing so, a small stack of parchment fell out.
"What're those?" enquired Ron, pointing. Harry retrieved the letters.
"Oh! I'd forgotten about these. They're the birthday cards and things that people sent me. Look, here's the one from you… and Hermione… and Hagrid… and …"
Ron peered over his shoulder at the scribbled handwriting. "And… Malfoy?!?!" Pause. "Now why would he be writing to you?!?!"
Wordlessly, Harry handed him the letter.
"Geez, Harry, this is serious… On the other hand, this is dynamite! We can spread this around school, that Malfoy Senior really is a Death Eater! I mean, Paleface has been denying it for years… and now, revealed by his own written hand…"
Harry did not laugh. "Ron, this is serious. We're talking about a person's life here…"
"Excuse me? A *person's* life? Nuh-uh, I don't think so buddy. Malfoy is not a person. He does not have a soul, and he would probably be better off in 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' with a rating of four stars." retaliated Ron.
Harry looked and felt stricken. "Ron, he's written to ask me for help. Do you really think that I should just ignore him? I mean, give me your honest opinion. If Malfoy had asked you for help, what would you do?"
Ron opened his mouth to answer…