#/#/#
Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent
#/#/#
Chapter Thirty-Two
With Drooping Wings
#/#/#
Harry heard a noise and opened his eyes. He immediately closed them again; his neck hurt like hell from sleeping in the wing chair in Snape's office all night. His mouth tasted terrible from the whiskey but his head felt oddly clear. He tried opening his eyes again and looked around the office; a dim light was coming from somewhere, and looking up, he noticed for the first time the narrow clerestory windows at the top of the high wall behind Snape's desk, partially obscured by the objects sitting before the windows on top of the bookcases lining the wall. Bell jars, mason jars with pickled dragons' eyes and other creatures' body parts. The eerie color of the light was in part from the morning light being filtered through the contents of these containers. How cheery, thought Harry. It's no wonder Snape's always in such a sunny mood.
He grimaced. Snape. Snape was just the person to suit his disposition, now. He felt he would probably want to blast out of his way anyone even slightly more cheerful than Snape usually was. Harry understood now Malfoy's irritation with him that morning in the prefects' bathroom. Misery certainly does love company, he thought.
The door to the office opened and Snape stood framed in the doorway, regarding Harry with an inscrutable expression. He nodded a mute greeting to Harry and gestured for him to follow him into the classroom. Harry rose and plodded after him, legs like lead. Snape stood at one of the ancient granite sinks in the corner of the room. He turned on the single tap for cold water and handed Harry a goblet. Harry peer into it; the goblet was dark brown, and Harry could not tell what color the contents might be. He looked at Snape, who nodded, and after taking a deep breath, he drank the contents of the goblet, remembering with a touch of irony the way he'd been appalled at Lupin for drinking the steaming potion Snape had brought him.
Harry felt dreadful; he immediately spat the contents of his mouth into the sink, where they swirled down the drain, mixing with the running water. He cupped his hand under the tap to collect water, which he brought quickly to his mouth, again and again.
Bringing the sleeve of his robes up to his mouth, he looked again at Snape. "What was that?"
Snape gave him what passed for a smile. "Homemade mouthwash. Your mouth should taste better now." To his surprise, Harry found that he was right; there was a residual taste of ginger and mint.
"I thought it might be something for hangover."
"Why? Do you feel like you have a hangover?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "No. Which is odd, because I felt like the whiskey really put me under, and I'm not used to drinking."
"You no doubt fell asleep from pure stress. I have been watering my Ogden's for some time, to cut down on my intake. It is really not good for me, but—at any rate, what you had was about eighty per cent water. Even someone with no tolerance should not find that unwieldy."
Harry nodded. "It probably was stress. Thanks for letting me stay here."
Snape nodded. "I told the headmaster and Professor McGonagall where you were, and not to worry. Where were you before that?"
Harry explained to him about having to get far enough from Hogwarts to use the tape player, the message from Wormtail. "I remember now; Hermione said that the wizards who abducted her in Bulgaria talked about doing something to a Muggle boy when he was still in his school last June. They were planning to kill him for a whole year!"
Snape looked utterly unsurprised. "I am afraid that there is very little you could tell me about Death Eaters that would shock me, Potter. Your godfather went to see your aunt and uncle; they were at your cousin's school, summoned there because of the—tragedy. He should return soon."
Harry nodded, still numb. He almost wished he'd really got pissed on drink. No, he thought, what I really wish was that I'd read Dudley's letter in time. If only—if only—
"Go upstairs. It is too early for breakfast. Let your housemates know you are all right. Professor McGonagall told them not to worry about you, but I suspect they shall be glad to see you." Harry's throat felt very tight. Snape had never seemed so—nice. He almost wished he'd stop, that he'd yell at him or take house points away.
"And Potter," he said then, a little stiffly. "You are a prefect. You know the rules." Harry furrowed his brow, clueless about what he was going to say. "No leaving the grounds without permission. And I am quite certain that you should not have let anyone see a golden griffin flying over the village. I think it would be fair to say—twenty-five points from Gryffindor. I doubt Professor McGonagall would disagree with me." Well, Harry thought, I got my wish. Although, for possibly the first time, he thought the points taken away were justified.
"Now," Snape said even more sternly. "Sleep in my office all night or drink any more alcohol and it will be fifty points from Gryffindor."
Harry restrained himself from smiling. "Yes, sir."
Harry checked his watch as he slogged up the stairs. It was early, but not early enough to run. This was the time he usually showered after running. Showering; that sounded like what he needed. He made his way to the prefects' bathroom and almost didn't see Hermione standing there waiting for him.
"Harry! Oh, Harry, I've been so worried, and Ron's been worried, and Neville, and Ginny, and even Draco Malfoy." She moved to enclose him in an embrace but he recoiled and made a face as if he found her utterly repulsive. She cried, "Harry! What—"
"Don't touch me!" he choked, trying to avoid contact with her; he backed up against the opposite wall of the wide corridor, putting as much distance as possible between them. "Never," he said, and she looked stricken at his expression, "ever touch me again!"
He ran from her toward Gryffindor Tower. He heard her crying behind him, calling his name with tears in her voice, but he ignored this and kept moving. When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he gave the password and entered, crossed the common room and strode up the stairs to his dorm. He stood by his bed, shedding his clothes and putting on his dressing gown. Ron and the others still slept. He went to use the dorm showers, to avoid going back to the prefects' bathroom. No one else would be using them at this hour. After he had put his glasses in his dressing gown pocket and hung it on a hook, he stepped under the spray, leaning against the wall and just letting it hit him like a fire hose. His tears came pouring forth again, blending with the water from the showerhead, mixing in the drain as the water swirled around his feet. After a time, he stopped and put his hand around the basilisk amulet, staring at the tiles on the opposite wall, and eventually, a feeling of calm pervaded him. He turned off the water, feeling like his head was clear at last. He knew what he must do.
When he returned to the dorm Ron was sitting on the edge of his bed and Hermione sat with him, crying on his chest. Harry looked at the other beds; they had gone to breakfast. Ron's arms were around Hermione and her own arms were crossed over her chest as she huddled against him like a child, tears wetting the T-shirt he wore with his pajama trousers. He looked unspeakably sad as he gazed at her, then at Harry.
Harry's calmness went flying out the window; he felt a wave of hostility roll through him again at seeing her. "What's she doing here?" he said as hatefully as he could. It wasn't easy, but this was what had to be done…
Ron whispered something to her, she nodded, andhe kissed the top of her head before she stood and left, without looking at Harry.
Harry didn't meet Ron's eyes, going to the wardrobe for clothes. "Well, I'll bet you're happy."
Ron screwed up his face in confusion. "What?"
"Not about Dudley. About me and Hermione. What you've been waiting for, isn't it?" Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. Maybe that's what I should do, he thought. Alienate everybody. If I don't have any friends, Voldemort can't hold anything over my head.
Ron ran at him and threw him against the wall, his hands grasping Harry's upper arms. Harry gasped with the shock of the impact, wincing at the pain from his head striking the wall. He felt a sudden grudging respect for Malfoy, for not crying out when Ron had done the same thing to him. Ron spoke with his face very close to Harry's.
"You don't know anything, Harry! What do you think we were doing up here? She was crying because you said you don't ever want her to touch you again! What the hell is wrong with you? How can you blame her for this? This is not her fault, Harry. You think you could have saved him from Wormtail, but if they really wanted it to happen, how could a Muggle be safe? Unless your aunt and uncle let Dumbledore bring him here? As if that would ever happen. Don't take this out on her! You need her, you can't afford to push her away. She wants to be there for you. Don't you think she feels dreadful? She needs you to tell her it's all right, that she did nothing wrong, as much as you need to hear it, too. Don't be a sodding bastard to her, Harry. She didn't kill Dudley. No more did you."
Harry stared at Ron, amazed. He swallowed; he'd been very tense, but now he collapsed against the wall, and when Ron released him, he sank down onto his haunches, nodding.
"You're right, of course. Damn you. I hate it when you're right."
He looked up to see Ron smiling. "I'm still getting used to it, frankly. It's a weird feeling."
Harry tried to smile feebly back. "You can see a lot when you want to, Ron, you know that? After those essays you wrote for Moody…maybe you should go to Muggle university, become an Oxford don, teach literature."
Ron looked ill. "Nah. I can't wait to finish school. Muggles are gluttons for punishment, all those years cooped up in libraries. I want to get a job as soon as I walk out of the castle for the last time."
Harry was silent while Ron sat on his bed again. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was a pleasant, companionable silence. Oddly, it reminded Harry of sitting quietly with Snape in his office. Suddenly, Ron spoke again.
"Harry, at least—at least you and Dudley became friends before—you know—"
Harry shook his head. "But we didn't." He explained to Ron about the Congeniality Charm. Ron tried to offer explanations: maybe Wormtail was lying, just trying to wind up Harry, maybe… But Harry told him about Hermione's recollections about being abducted, and he stopped talking, unable to reconcile these things.
"They made me care about him, Ron, just to take him away. How could anyone…how can a human be so cruel?"
Ron sighed. "I'm not sure Death Eaters are humans anymore, Harry. This just goes to show that you can't hold yourself responsible. They were planning this for a year. A year, Harry. If you didn't do what You-Know-Who wanted, he was going to do this, any way that he could. If you'd caught Wormtail, someone else would have been sent to do it."
"At least if I'd caught Wormtail, there'd be a chance of Sirius getting cleared."
"Is that part of it? That Wormtail got away again? You've got to stop obsessing over him, Harry. Sirius probably doesn't think about it as much as you do. I have to try really hard sometimes to forget that that rat slept in the same bed with me. How do you think it makes me feel that he's doing the things he is? And that I never worked out that he was a wizard, not a stupid, sickly rat? He lived with us for twelve years. He knows more about my family than I'm really comfortable with a dark wizard knowing. And Percy…he used to be Percy's, remember. He and I were talking about Wormtail a little last summer, about some things we noticed about him that didn't make sense until we knew he was an Animagus. Percy feels guilty for never noticing, too. The thing is, Harry, some people are determined to do certain things, and as much as we'd all like to be onto them and stop them before they can hurt people, well, I have to work really hard sometimes not to blame myself for what happened to you after the Triwizard Tournament."
Harry swallowed. "I never blamed you for anything Wormtail did, Ron. You had no idea."
"Exactly. And don't blame yourself, or Hermione, for Dudley."
Ron crossed the room to Harry and put his hand out to him. Harry took it, pulling himself up. Ron didn't release Harry's hand right away as they gazed at each other, and Harry knew he was incredibly lucky to have Ron for his best friend. He didn't want to alienate him—not that it seemed he could, even by saying quite despicable things to him. They each dressed and went to the common room, where Hermione was waiting. She stood from her armchair by the fire as Harry walked toward her, her bottom lip shaking. He strode purposefully toward her, then he was holding her in his arms, whispering into her hair, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," over and over.
She clung to him and said, "Yes, yes, it's all right."
He finally kissed her on the forehead and separated from her, looking at Ron. "You should thank Ron for talking some sense into me," he told her, looking in Ron's eyes. She smiled and gave Ron a hug, which Harry could see he took gratefully, closing his eyes, holding her tightly for a several seconds before letting her go. Ron's not being completely honest about how he feels about Hermione, Harry thought, but he's too good a person to want to get her by default... Ron steered her back toward Harry, smiling grimly.
"I can go, if you like. If there's other things you two want to say to each other."
Harry looked at her; he felt they'd said everything, all that was necessary. She had accepted his apology and forgiven him. "No. We should go down to breakfast."
Ron frowned. "You're sure?"
Now Harry was perplexed. What more did Ron expect them to say? "I'm sure. What's with you? Let's go." Hermione opened the portrait for them to scramble through, but Harry saw that Ron still looked bothered by something as they walked down the stairs to the Great Hall, Harry holding one of Hermione's hands and Ron the other.
#/#/#
After breakfast, Dumbledore asked Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny to come to his office. When they arrived in the round room with the portraits of the slumbering former headmasters and headmistresses, Harry was elated to see Sirius. His godfather gave him a crushing hug before then stepping back to look at him. He'd last seen him in person on the day of the ceilidh, but that seemed a long time ago now.
"You've grown up a lot this year, haven't you Harry?" he said quite seriously. Harry glanced toward Hermione and felt a warmth move up his face. Sirius laughed.
"I don't mean—well, that's part of it, I reckon. Having a girlfriend." Harry glanced toward Dumbledore, uncomfortable. He was very glad that it had been Aberforth and not his brother who had seen him and Hermione kissing outside the infirmary. Harry knew what Sirius meant; he had seen it himself, when he looked in his own eyes in the mirror. He still knew who he was when he closed his eyes, he could feel that entity that was Harry, his familiar, basically insecure but friendly self; but gazing out of his eyes now was a slightly haunted-looking Harry, a more serious Harry. He was also aware of losing most of the baby fat in his face, his cheekbones more pronounced and sharp (which he thought made the shape of his face more like his mother's than his father's). He didn't look like the same person he'd been a year earlier, and he didn't feel like it either.
"Sirius has talked to your aunt and uncle about the funeral. It will be at St. Bede's in the Meadow, just outside Little Whinging, on Wednesday. The interment will be in the village cemetery down the road."
"I offered my condolences," Sirius said to Harry. "They're quite distraught."
Harry's voice caught. "Do they know how he really died?" Harry didn't feel like mentioning the Congeniality Charm.
"They think it was a suicide. They're blaming themselves. It's sad, really. I never thought I could feel sorry for them, but all they could do practically the whole time I was there was to come up with yet another slight, something they'd said or done that might have driven him to it…"
Harry swallowed. He could tell them it was his fault and they could hate him even more than they already did, or he could let them think Dudley had killed himself and they'd driven him to it. Neither was a particularly attractive choice.
"They wanted to know, Harry—are you planning to come to the funeral? They said they need pallbearers… Actually, what they said was that if you came, you could make yourself useful for once and bring a couple of pallbearers, since they only have three. You'd be one too, if you want."
Harry met Ron's eye; he nodded. He turned to Sirius again. "What about—"
Sirius shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. I can't show my face. Too risky."
"Draco!" Ginny said suddenly. Harry looked at her.
"What?"
"Draco will do it. If I ask him, I'm sure he will. If it's all right for him to go, that is," she said uncertainly, looking at Dumbledore.
He smiled at her. "If Harry would like him to, then yes, Draco may go. In fact, you may all go; Harry will need his friends around him. Sirius has said that Remus Lupin has agreed to accompany you. I'll have a carriage take you to Hogsmeade on Tuesday, and then you can go from Honeydukes to Diagon Alley by Floo. That will give you a day to shop for appropriate Muggle funeral clothes; you can stay at the Leaky Cauldron before the funeral on Wednesday."
Harry frowned. "Floo? Then—why couldn't we have gone that way to the Ministry of Magic?"
Dumbledore looked unconcerned about this oddity. "We could have. If I didn't think we all needed the buffer of the time on the train. Sometimes, Harry, wizards and Muggles alike are so concerned with getting places quickly that they forget about the pleasures of something like a long, leisurely train ride. It's not jarring and sudden; you have time to adjust from one place to another. That's why we use it to bring the students to school. Well, that and it would be a bit messy for so many young witches and wizards and their belongings to be flowing out of the fireplaces in Hogsmeade all day long on September first." He smiled, his eyes twinkling at them all.
"On Wednesday, I'll have Ministry cars take you from the Leaky Cauldron to the church for the service. Are you familiar with it, Harry?"
"St. Bede's? A little; we went there for Christmas and Easter when I was young. The rector was nice, if it's the same one. It's a bit old fashioned. They still use the 1928 Book of Common Prayer." What he didn't say was that Dudley had sung in the boys' choir, even doing soprano solos when he was young, before his voice changed. Aunt Petunia had been so proud. It didn't bear thinking about.
"Ah, yes. Well. Sirius has to leave, and you have to ask Draco if he will accompany you to London and the funeral." He nodded to them, and that was all; they were dismissed. They left the office (Sirius in his dog form) and walked down to the entrance hall, the four of them patting the large black dog affectionately before he went bounding down the path to Hogsmeade. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy entered, carrying his broomstick over his shoulder. He looked like he'd gone for a morning flight around the pitch. Ginny greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He smiled at her and tried to give her a better-aimed kiss, but caught a look in Ron's eye and seemed to think better of it.
"Draco! I need to ask you—" she began.
"Hullo," he interrupted, looking out the door and frowning. "Wasn't that the same dog we saw in Hogsmeade? On the day of the ceilidh?"
The four of them suddenly stood still, tongue-tied, looking at each other. Malfoy peered at their faces. "What's the matter? Is that the password for making the four of you get the world's stupidest expressions on your faces? Oops—sorry Ginny, I meant three…"
She smiled and laughed, recovering. "No, no—it might have been the same dog. I think it's a stray the house elves have been feeding. You know how it is once you've fed them once; they keep coming back." He nodded, accepting this. Ginny took a breath and said quickly, "Draco, Harry's cousin's funeral is on Wednesday. Can you come along and be a pallbearer?"
He looked shocked. "What?"
Harry explained that three pallbearers were needed, and they'd be going to London first to shop for appropriate clothes before going to Surrey the next day.
He shook his head, though he really did look reluctant. "Sorry, Potter. No."
"Come on, Malfoy, do the right thing for once," Ron started to say, before Malfoy cut him off.
"Easy for you to say, Weasley. You have money now. I don't have a way to actually pay for new clothes, thank you very much."
Harry shrugged. "I wasn't going to let anyone pay for their own, Malfoy. It's all on me. The rooms at the Cauldron, too." He turned to Ron, to shut him up, as his mouth had started to open. "And I'm not taking no on that, from anyone. I wouldn't make you come to a funeral and not cover the clothes and rooms you wouldn't have had to pay for if you hadn't come."
Ron closed his mouth again. Malfoy looked at him, then Harry, then at Ginny's pleading face, which seemed to be the clincher. "Well, as I seem to be confronted with the opportunity to spend the night at an inn where Ginny will be sleeping," he started to say mischievously putting his arm around her shoulder and moving in for another kiss. Ron quickly disabused him of the notion he'd clearly started to entertain.
"Oh, no you don't, Malfoy. You and I are sharing a room, and I'm keeping an eye on you. Or I could just put a binding spell on you, so you can't leave the room overnight. Don't get any ideas."
Harry tried not to laugh; he couldn't have imagined Ron wanting to spend the night in the same room with Malfoy before this, but with Ginny in another room in the same inn, Ron wasn't going to take any chances.
Malfoy sighed, but he also still had the mischievous smile. "It is just too easy to get you wound up, you know that Weasley? All right; I'll do it. Isn't often one gets to go on an unsupervised field trip."
"Well, actually, Remus Lupin's supervising us," Harry told him.
Malfoy looked thoughtful, then shrugged. "Oh, well, Lupin wasn't so bad. As teachers go, he certainly wasn't as bad as Lockhart. Or Quirrell. But—when's the next full moon?"
"The last one was a week ago, Malfoy. I thought you got an O.W.L. in Astronomy?" Hermione said a little snidely. He made a face; he still wasn't quite over not getting more O.W.L.s than her or Harry, though he'd taken a couple of opportunities to point out to Ron that he'd received one more than him.
Tuesday seemed to come quickly. After breakfast, the five of them took small suitcases down to the entrance hall; Hermione had shown them a clever spell for transfiguring their rucksacks into the suitcases. "One can always have the right piece of luggage, if one only has a wand."
"Don't gloat, Granger," Malfoy warned her, though he seemed pretty pleased with himself when the spell converted his canvas bag into a simple black leather suitcase to which he added his initials: DIM. Ron and Harry started to laugh when they saw that.
"Perfect initials, Malfoy. What's the I stand for?" Ron chuckled.
"The I stands for I don't want to tell you."
"Do you know?" Ron tried to ask Ginny on the sly. She shook her head dumbly, but Harry wasn't sure if she was being truthful or not.
They met Lupin at Honeydukes, and one by one, they walked into the fireplace and announced that they wanted to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry hadn't used Floo in a while; he'd forgotten about the dizzying array of gratings that would be whirling past him, glimpses of rooms throughout the wizarding world, until, just as he started to feel he would lose his lunch, he tumbled into the front room of the pub, tripping over his suitcase and looking up into the kindly face of Tom the publican.
"Hello, Harry," he said calmly. Harry stood, brushing soot off the knees of his jeans. Hermione and Ginny already stood at the foot of the stairs with their bags. Ron and Malfoy followed after, and then Lupin. Tom gave them their room keys and they went up.
"How come you get a room to yourself, Potter?" Malfoy wanted to know. Hermione and Ginny were sharing, like Malfoy and Ron. Lupin was also in a single room.
"Because I'm paying. Any other stupid questions?"
"Boys—" Lupin started to say.
"Sorry," Harry said. "Don't want to make you into a referee."
Lupin smiled. "Actually, it's like old times. We didn't even need Snape to be around to pick on each other. I'd say something to Sirius, he'd say something to James…"
Malfoy stopped and stared. "Sirius? Sirius Black?"
They all froze. Lupin looked awful; Harry could tell he was mortified at having forgotten to watch what he said about Sirius.
"Yeah," Harry said, trying to get rid of the quaver in his voice. "You knew he was in my dad's crowd, surely? Everyone knew that."
Malfoy nodded, but Harry thought he was perhaps remembering the way Sirius had suddenly appeared at the Three Broomsticks on the day of the ceilidh. Did he noticed that he was wearing the same clothes as Ian Lucas? He definitely noticed the black dog. Harry wondered whether he'd ever trust Malfoy enough to tell him the truth about Sirius. Life would certainly be easier if he could. Of course, it would help if he could get Sirius cleared.
They went to their rooms and left their bags; they'd worn Muggle clothes to Floo to the Cauldron, so all they had to do was meet in the bar again before going to Diagon Alley. While Harry went to Gringotts to exchange Galleons for pounds, Lupin and the others went to Florean Fortescue's for ice cream. Harry gritted his teeth during the ride down to his vault, then waited, trying not to tap his foot, while the Goblin at the window upstairs determined how much of a surcharge he would pay for the currency conversion. When he finally emerged from the bank, he had a large wad of twenty-pound notes and enough in Galleons to pay Tom for the expenses at the inn. They returned to the Cauldron, but as they were preparing to open the street-side door, Harry realized that Lupin was going into Muggle London in robes. They waited while he took his robes back to his room, returning in rather shabby brown trousers and a brown shirt.
"My guard uniform," he mumbled with some embarrassment. Harry didn't know what to say. He still thought it a crime that Lupin had to support himself the way he did. They emerged into a bright, summery London day, looking, Harry thought, exactly like the six of them had spent the previous year in a dungeon. Which, considering how much time five of them had put in working on potions, wasn't that far off. Harry hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Malfoy immediately picked up on this.
"What's the matter, Potter? Never been in the big city before?"
"I've been to London before, Malfoy. I'm just not certain, um, where we should go."
Hermione took charge. "Right," she said, promptly hailing a taxi. A large black car rolled to a stop in front of them almost immediately. After they piled in, Hermione said firmly to the driver, "MacTavish's, please."
"Yes, miss," said the elderly driver, moving out into the traffic as if there were no other possible destination for a person in London. After about fifteen minutes, they pulled up in front of a large store with doormen dressed in highland regalia, even more elaborate than that Malfoy had worn to the ceilidh.
"Um, Hermione," Ron said nervously, "we're not supposed to wear kilts for this funeral, are we? Because I have a basic philosophical problem with going about in a skirt."
She nudged him with her elbow. "Stop panicking, Ron. They're just for show, because the name of the place is Scottish. They sell your basic Muggle clothes, and they tailor men's suits very quickly. My dad gets all of his suits here. And they have lovely silk ties."
Harry paid the driver and they went in. Harry didn't feel particularly comfortable here, but he didn't want to reveal in front of Malfoy that he'd never been in a Muggle establishment like this, with posh fixtures and immaculate young men and women who looked like they'd stepped out of glossy magazine adverts trying to squirt them with cologne or inquire every three seconds whether they needed any assistance at all, any at all. He noticed that Lupin didn't look much more comfortable than he did.
Hermione went immediately to a bank of lifts and pressed the button to go up. When the doors opened, she and Harry and Lupin stepped on; Ron, Ginny and Malfoy looked into the little room with mirrors and tartan wallpaper lining it. Their expressions were not just uncertain, but downright terrified. Even Malfoy wasn't ashamed to show how he felt about this. Hermione sighed with exasperation.
"Come on, you three! It's just a lift. Something that Muggles invented over a hundred years ago. Get on! Else we'll have to walk up five storeys."
Ginny put her foot into the lift experimentally, then crept in with her other foot, each step careful and tentative. Hermione closed her eyes in exasperation; Harry could feel the heat of frustration emanating from her, like when she knew an answer in a lesson and was trying to restrain herself from screaming it out. Suddenly, the doors to the lift starting closing, and would have hit Ron if Harry hadn't quickly found the button for opening them again. Ron screamed and leaped backward; he'd been about to board the lift, but when the doors had threatened to make a Ron snack out of him—
"Hurry up, you two!" Hermione hissed. "That happens when the doors have been open a long time. If you'd just get on—"
So Ron and Malfoy did a kind of kamikaze approach to the lift and leapt into it, each uttering a small cry, knocking into the rest of them and making the car shift slightly in the shaft, which was making Harry nervous now, and he'd never felt that way about lifts before. With more eye-rolling, Hermione punched the button for the fifth floor and the doors rolled smoothly shut. As the lift started moving upward Malfoy suddenly grabbed Harry's arm; Harry gave him an amused look and he removed his hand quickly. Harry noticed that he had beads of sweat on his forehead as he looked above the door at the numbers lighting up, one by one, passing the lower floors.
When the lift shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open, Ron and Malfoy shouldered their way past the others, racing to get out. Ginny laughed at the two of them as she strolled out with Hermione, suddenly an old veteran.
"I liked it!" she declared. "We should have those at school. I'm so tired of slogging up and down so many stairs. You'd think it wouldn't be too hard to create a spell to—"
"Sssshh!" Hermione said suddenly, putting her hand over Ginny's mouth. "Don't mention spells or anything like that!" she hissed. Ginny glared at Hermione, who removed her hand from her mouth. "Sorry, but you can't say things like that here."
Lupin nodded. "One thing I'm here for is to keep you all out of trouble of that sort. Revealing or even discussing your—abilities—would be a serious breach."
Ginny nodded, reluctantly admitting the truth of this. Harry realized that she and Ron and Malfoy had probably had very, very little exposure to the Muggle world; they just weren't used to concealing something that was second-nature to them. Harry and Hermione hadn't discovered they were magical until they'd received their Hogwarts letters (though, of course, there were the anomalous magical incidents from their childhoods). This was completely new for the others.
The rest of the shopping trip went fairly easily. The girls went off to look at appropriate funeral clothes while Lupin and the boys were fitted for suits and selected shirts and ties. Ron and Lupin also needed black oxfords. Malfoy was eyeing some expensive silk neckties, but Harry informed him they'd be wearing plain black ties with their black suits.
When Malfoy was standing before a triple mirror in his suit, he squinted and stared at the mirror in an odd way, Harry thought. Finally, he stepped up to it and started rapping it with his knuckles. "Well?" he said to his reflection. "What's wrong with you?"
Harry walked over to him, standing very close. "Stop it, Malfoy! What's wrong with you?"
Malfoy still peered into the mirror, perplexed. "Stupid thing isn't working. Hasn't said a word about whether this looks all right."
"Malfoy," he said more softly still. "Muggle mirrors don't talk."
"They don't?" He still stared at the mirror, his eyes narrowed.
"No." Finally taking this for an answer, Malfoy walked away from the mirror, as if it had slighted him by not commenting. He probably has mirrors at home that feed his ego all the time, Harry thought.
The girls' clothes were ready to go, but the suits were still being hemmed and altered by the middle of the afternoon. (Malfoy wanted to know why he couldn't just use his wand for this back at the Leaky Cauldron; Harry nixed the idea.) They went to the top floor (Ron and Malfoy weathering the lift better this time) to have a bite in the tea room there while they waited. They chose a table on a roof terrace, looking out over the neighborhood. On the streets below, newly green trees fluttered in a warm breeze, and they could see children playing in a park with a tall iron fence around it. Nannies sat primly on benches, prams parked beside them, reading or chatting with each other. Office workers ate sandwiches on other benches and enjoyed the summer sunshine.
Harry listened to the others chatter around him with only half an ear; they were enjoying their outing, the unfamiliar setting, and he was glad he could do this for them. He, however, couldn't help being constantly aware of the reason that they were here. The next morning, they would don their newly-purchased somber clothes and go to the church for Dudley's funeral…
Lupin caught his eye and nodded; he understood. It had been strange for Harry to see Lupin wearing a nicely-tailored suit; he'd only ever seen him in rather shabby robes, and now rather shabby Muggle clothes. He had seemed very different, somehow. More authoritative, though Harry had never disrespected him when he was his teacher in third year. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
After their tea, they went back downstairs to retrieve the altered suits. Ginny and Hermione picked up their outfits in another department, where they'd been keeping the packages for them. Harry felt he'd had enough of the Muggle world for a while; he'd be immersed in it tomorrow, and then for the rest of the summer.
He couldn't imagine the summer. Trying to live in the same house with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon while they mourned Dudley, and Harry knowing it was all his fault. He dreaded seeing them at the funeral. Perhaps it would help that he'd been asked to provide pallbearers and he'd done just that. Harry didn't think they'd expect him to speak. He sincerely hoped not. He had no idea how he'd survive such a thing.
After they put their purchases in their rooms, they occupied themselves in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron before dinner. Ron challenged Malfoy to wizard chess while Ginny and Remus watched. Harry sat beside Hermione, his hand draped across her shoulder. She grew tired and put her head on his shoulder before yawning hugely.
"Oh, Hermione, don't do that, you'll make me—" he began, before a yawn overcame him as well. She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
"I think I'll take a nap in my room before dinner." She stood to go upstairs, but he still held her hand, looking at her hopefully.
'Would you like some company?"
She glanced over at Lupin, their chaperone, saying to Harry, "I really do want to sleep."
"So do I. As you've said before, it's nice sleeping in the same bed."
She nodded. "All right," she answered. As they walked up the stairs Harry looked over his shoulder; Lupin met his eye, but he nodded. Harry's chest hitched with emotion, treasuring the trust he felt from his father's old friend. He went with Hermione to the room she shared with Ginny, following her to the bed. She lay on her side in her clothes and he put his glasses on the bedside table and curled up behind her as they'd done many times. Very quickly, she was breathing slowly and regularly, her cheek on her hand in a way that always reminded him of a small child. He drew her to him, his arm around her waist, closing his eyes and letting his cares slip away.
#/#/#
Harry felt someone watching. He wasn't sure why or how he knew; he just did. His eyes flew open and he saw Ron on Ginny's bed looking at the two of them. Except that he wasn't looking at Harry's face, so he didn't seem to be aware that his eyes were open. Harry remembered him watching Hermione sleep on the train.
"Ron," he said softly, not moving from his position.
"Ah!" Ron jumped, as startled as if a statue had spoken. Probably more startled, Harry thought, since the suits of armor and artwork and mirrors at Hogwarts addressed them all the time. Harry smiled as he remembered Malfoy trying to get the Muggle mirror to talk. "Harry—don't do that!"
"Sorry, Ron; I wasn't trying to make you jump out of your skin."
He rolled onto his back, stretching. Hermione murmured something in her sleep and also rolled over, throwing an arm and a leg over Harry. Harry dared to glance at Ron, who was looking at Hermione again, his heart unmistakably on his face. Harry closed his eyes. The other day Ron had been shouting at him for trying to push Hermione away. Harry wondered how much that had cost him.
"Don't fall asleep again, Harry. It's time for dinner. Lupin got us a private dining room downstairs. Everyone else is waiting."
He woke Hermione and the three of them went down to dinner. Harry talked with the others, caught up with Lupin, telling him about the O.W.L.s, which gave the older man the chance to reminisce about his own fifth-year exams, then it was back to the bar for more wizard chess, Exploding Snap and wizard darts. The wizard darts were very frustrating to Harry, who'd never played before. The board looked at first like a regular dartboard in any pub, but the moment the dart (which spoke) was released, the board started changing and moving, so it looked totally different by the time the small projectile reached it and embedded itself in the cork. Lupin was beating Harry mercilessly, but Ron gave Lupin a run for his money while Harry played Ginny at chess and Hermione and Malfoy laughed over their Snap burns.
Ginny was going to win; his chessmen were beating a hasty retreat before her onslaught. In no time, it seemed, she was saying, "Checkmate," as Harry's remaining knight and bishop criticized him, saying, "We told you to move that pawn to protect the rook, which was protecting the king, but did you listen? No, you know what you're doing, you said…"
Ginny smiled shyly as they cleared up the pieces. When they'd finished putting it away, Malfoy started playing darts with Lupin and Ron while Hermione watched, highly amused, and Harry fetched butterbeers from the bar for him and Ginny. They sipped them slowly, watching the darts match. Suddenly Ginny spoke softly to him.
"Harry. I know he probably hasn't said anything to you, but—the Quidditch Cup. That meant a great deal to Draco. This has been so hard on him. You have no idea, the way he's been treated in Slytherin since the trial, and of course, his mother. It was a wonderful thing to do. He has a hard time saying these things, but he really appreciated it."
Harry smiled. "It just came to me suddenly. The Snitch appearing when it did… I would have had to pretend I didn't see it and try to draw Cho away too, so Ravenclaw wouldn't win, and then hope that the next time it appeared, I'd get to it first. The moment I thought, If I catch it now, we'll tie Slytherin for the cup, I also thought, And that would be a bad thing? So before I could spend more time thinking about it, I just went for it."
"It was still a wonderful thing to do. You and Draco may wind up friends yet."
Harry looked at him, playing darts, laughing and joking with the others, sipping a butterbeer between his turns. Harry had never seen him like this, just socializing happily. "Yeah, well a greater wonder seems to be happening over there. Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley getting along. A truly miraculous event."
Ginny sighed. "I just have five other brothers and my mum and dad to convince." She smiled at Harry and his chest felt strange; suddenly having her smile at him like that seemed so important and wonderful. He shook himself, looking at Hermione, who was giving that throaty laugh he adored, which made her even more attractive to him than she already was…
Harry and Ginny gave in and joined the darts match. They went upstairs rather later than they should have, laughing and rehashing the hilarious results of their trying to play this game for the first time (except for Lupin). Harry kissed Hermione lightly on the lips and watched her close the door to her and Ginny's room before saying goodnight to Ron, Malfoy and Lupin and retiring to his own room. He undressed and lay on the bed in his boxers, wondering how to conjure up a ceiling fan to dissipate the muggy heat. He hadn't even taken his glasses off, however, before his exhaustion and the oppressive heat caused him to fall asleep.
#/#/#
Harry awoke with a start. He was confused by the fact that the world was in focus, as it never was when he first awoke, until he realized that he'd fallen asleep wearing his glasses. He wasn't sorry to wake; he'd been having horrible nightmares and had been trying to wake up for what felt like a long time. He drew his dressing gown around himself, tying the belt and taking his wand out of the pocket as he approached the door. He removed the locking charm that he'd added as an extra precaution and slowly turned the knob pulling the door open a fraction of an inch, peering into the corridor to determine where the noise had come from.
An eye stared back.
He knew whose eye it was. He opened the door wide enough for her to enter and Hermione crept into his room. He closed the door as she turned to him. "Did I wake you, Harry?" she whispered. "I just thought—it was nice to take that nap earlier. If you wanted, I could just, you know, sleep here tonight…"
Harry had his back to the door. He shook his head, remembering the dreams, not wanting to remember, trying to get the damn things out of his head…
"No, Harry? Oh. Well, all right. If you want to be alone, you should be alone."
He swallowed and looked at her. "That wasn't what I meant. I mean—stay. But I don't just want to sleep."
She looked up at him, understanding now, sliding her arms around his neck. He tipped her head back and bent over her, running his tongue along her bottom lip, shaking as she opened her lips and he felt her tongue meet his, as her fingers twined in his hair and he moved his hands to the belt of her dressing gown.
He felt desperate, as if they didn't have much time, as if it were terribly important not to dawdle. He removed the clothes from both of them, his hands moving quickly, surprising her, he could tell. While she glided languidly to the bed, he moved swiftly to his table, to put his glasses and the amulet there. It seemed like he waited years for her to reach the bed. Once she was there he continued to feel the strange urgency as he explored her, tried to make her feel that there wasn't a square inch of her skin untouched by his mouth and hands. Time and again, he heard gasps of surprise from her; but she seemed to think they were good surprises, and when she drew him to her, into her, and he finally felt that surge of electricity igniting all of his nerve endings, and heard her say his name over and over in a cried whisper, he saw the dreams again on the inside of his eyelids, and knew that this wasn't a solution. He had never felt like this with her before, like he was beating back death. The dreams would not be denied; they demanded his notice…
He stood on the flat roof of a nondescript brick building, Dudley beside him, smiling and talking, but the words made no sense to Harry. He watched Dudley's mouth move and he heard words, but the two didn't merge into a meaningful whole.
Harry looked around; a fog obscured the landscape around the building. Harry could not see any other buildings, or the ground. He looked down the side of the building but the brick walls disappeared into fog. Harry didn't get the impression that this meant they were very high up. The building didn't seem to be more than four storeys.
He looked at Dudley again, still talking at him unconcernedly. Harry wanted to say, 'Why are we on the roof? Let's go downstairs; I don't like it up here.'
But when Harry looked around, there was no door, nothing to indicate how they'd reached the roof. Harry saw a mob of white rats running along the ledge around the building a storey below the roof. There were hundreds, white fur, pink eyes and tails blurring, so it was hard to tell where one animal began and another left off. Then he saw it; the silver and brown amidst the pink and white. He lay on his stomach to reach down and catch it (he shouldn't have been able to reach it, but somehow he could), plucking it from the mass of moving white rodents. It writhed in his hand, the silver paw sprouting incongruously from its small furry brown arm, the naked pink tail waving as if it could pick up things with it, like the prehensile tail of a monkey. He looked at Dudley; it was as if Dudley could not see what he was doing, he went on talking, still out of sync, looking like a badly-dubbed film.
Harry tried to throw the rat off the roof in his fury, but as it left his grasp it moved incredibly slowly. Harry watched it change in mid-air, morphing into a large snake, its limbs disappearing, its body lengthening and turning green, the pupils of its eyes becoming vertical, like a cat's. The snake continued to grow and now it had limbs again, scaly green ones, now its head changed shape, now it sprouted wings that it used to fly above Harry's and Dudley's heads. Harry watched the dragon with trepidation. It moved its mouth, but, unlike Dudley's words, what the dragon said was intelligible to Harry.
'You can trust me,' it drawled.
Harry stared at it, thinking, No. I can't.
'You can trust me,' it said to Dudley. Still moving his lips ceaselessly, Dudley nodded and stepped up on the lip running around the roof of the building. Harry tried to stop him, but even though he was only five feet away, his movements seemed slower than slow; watching himself move was like watching the movements of others when he had blocked the pain of the Cruciatus Curse in the forest. He could feel his feet moving, his legs pumping, he could see his hands reaching out for Dudley. He could also see Dudley nodding calmly at the dragon and jumping. Harry flailed and windmilled, trying to reach him. But by the time he arrived at the spot from which Dudley had jumped, his cousin was descending toward the fog. Harry, helpless, stared at the fog, and then Dudley went through and could be seen no more…
The dream was the same every time. He looked at her. Time seemed to be moving in the usual manner again. She gazed at him, her hands wrapped around his upper arms, her legs still binding him to her, a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip, her forehead, her neck and chest. She looked concerned, and he tried to reassure her, but he wasn't certain who was going to reassure him. He kissed her neck, moving his mouth down, making her arch her back and smile. Distract her, arouse her again, do anything but fall asleep. If I sleep I might dream…
Mustn't dream.
No more dreaming.
None.
But he fell into an exhausted heap beside her, staring at the streetlights bouncing off the ceiling. She snuggled into the crook of his arm, having no idea of the horror he'd just seen, and he felt her breath on his neck, her skin pressed against his, as he committed himself to never, ever sleeping again, and promptly broke his promise to himself in ten minutes, his eyes feeling welded shut and refusing to open.
#/#/#
He woke in the night, furious with himself that he'd broken his new vow of no-sleep already. He looked at her. She lay beside him, her body shining and promising, and he lowered his lips to hers, coaxing her into consciousness, hoping she would help him to stay awake again. He moved his mouth down to her neck, then her chest; he stroked his hands down her body until she could deny his movements no more, and her eyes flew open before being squeezed shut again, while she breathed, "Oh, Harry…"
There are worse ways to stay awake, he thought, as she came to life in his arms. When she whispered that she was feeling sticky and sweaty, he suggested they take a shower; he hoped it would be harder to fall asleep, harder to have the dreams again. She smiled and pulled his mouth down to hers, to show she approved of the idea.
In the small shower in the bathroom adjoining his room, they soaped and explored each other, but Harry was feeling desperate again, feeling like it was dreadfully important that this work, that this make the dreams go away. The water beat against him, washing only his skin clean, leaving his soul with a film that could not be removed.
He carried her back to the bed, her legs around his waist, trying to achieve forgetfulness and oblivion again…
When he was lying beside her once more, staring at the ceiling, struggling to keep his eyes open, listening to her even breathing, he finally gave in and closed his eyes, but the images appearing on the insides of his eyelids they were different this time…
He was standing with Hermione in the garden at Godric's Hollow. He looked down at himself and Hermione; they were naked, but for some reason they were not trying to cover themselves. His mother stood at the door of the cottage, holding a black-haired, green-eyed baby, pleading with Voldemort, falling on her knees, begging. Harry hadn't thought she could see him, but then she turned to him and said, 'I'm sorry Harry. I wanted to be there for you. I did. We never meant for you do grow up without us…'
He looked at her through his tears. 'Then,' he said, 'do something about it!'
Suddenly, Snape was behind her, coaching her, speaking softly. 'You don't have to mean it,' he said. 'Just say it. Do what you must. Save yourself, and Harry.'
She appeared not to have heard him but looked up at the menacing figure before her in the dark, hooded cloak, opening her mouth in a scream. 'Yes! Yes!' she cried through her tears. 'I will give him to you! I will raise him to be your servant! Please don't hurt him…'
Suddenly, the dark figure was gone, his mother and Snape was gone, the baby was gone. Harry turned to Hermione, still beside him, as lacking in clothes as he was.
But it wasn't Hermione.
'Ginny...' he breathed as he took her body in his arms, and she put her arms around him and brought his mouth to hers before drawing him to the ground and pulling him on top of her.
'It will be all right…the scar is gone…' she murmured between kisses, her mouth on his chest, his arms, his neck, his face, and finally his forehead, where he could feel that the skin was smooth and uninterrupted, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him to her…
He blinked and she was gone. He was lying prone on a skeleton. The bones collapsed beneath him, his face was beside the skull, and he rose up, screaming. He turned back to the cottage, but it was gone; he saw instead ruins, the ruins of the castle at Hogwarts. He had no doubt that's what it was. It looked as if it had been abandoned for a thousand years. He opened his mouth in a horrified cry:
'Mum! Mum! MUM!'
Harry opened his eyes. He'd been asleep for a while, having the same dream over and over, but only now did he cry out. The bright light of morning invaded the room. His heart raced in his chest. Hermione was asleep beside him, having no idea what mental torture he was going through. She had pulled a sheet over both of them at some point in the night; they were still unclothed. Suddenly, Harry heard a voice cry, "Alohomora !" and the bang of the door hitting the wall as the spell flung it open violently. Harry realized that he'd neglected to put the locking charm back on the door, so it would be impervious to Alohomora. They must have heard him screaming, or Ginny had seen Hermione's empty bed and worried.
Ron, Draco and Ginny stared at them. Harry didn't know what to say; he was in bed with Hermione, they weren't wearing anything, and he'd been screaming. What had he been screaming? He couldn't remember. He looked at Ginny and tried to remember. She was there, and she hadn't been wearing anything either…
He tried to wipe this thought from his brain, swallowing and looking at their shocked faces. He couldn't speak. Evidently, neither could they.
Beside him, Hermione stretched and started to sit up. Harry saw Ron's and Malfoy's eyes go wide, and when he turned he saw that she was no longer adequately covered by the sheet. He pushed her down again, pulling the sheet up to her chin. She opened her eyes, gazing up at him sleepily.
"Harry, what's the big idea?" Then she saw the others at the foot of the bed and promptly screamed.
Malfoy smirked. "Good morning to you, too, Granger."
Hermione pulled the sheet up over her head, unwilling to look at anyone after that. Harry was pleased to see that Ginny was livid; she pointed at the door. "Out!" she commanded, and Draco Malfoy immediately took in the frightening expression on her face and obeyed without question. Now she's seeing his true colors, Harry thought. Ron was still wide-eyed.
"Ron? Could you—excuse us?"
He nodded dumbly. Harry doubted whether he'd blinked in the last five minutes. Perhaps he's afraid he'd miss another show. Ron turned to go, still eyeing the outline of Hermione under the sheet, taking far too much time for Harry's taste. Harry turned to try to talk to Hermione, but he realized that Ginny remained. Harry looked back at her, the sheet around his waist. He suddenly felt more exposed than the times he'd gone about on the school grounds without a shirt. Ginny didn't seem to be quite conscious of the way she was gazing at him.
"Ginny?" He startled her. She widened her eyes and practically ran for the door, closing it loudly behind her. Now that the door was closed again, he looked at Hermione. She had rolled onto her stomach and what he could see of her face was red. "Oh my god," she said into the pillow. "Malfoy is never going to let me forget that, is he? I'm going to be hearing about rack of lamb from him for the next two years…"
Which was just what Harry needed to jerk him out of his stupor. He laughed and kissed her shoulder. She frowned up at him. "Oh, it's funny, is it, that I just flashed Malfoy and Ginny and—" she swallowed "—Ron," she finished softly.
Well, Harry thought, Ron didn't look like he objected. But he dare say it. She dressed and left the room. He took another shower, trying to forget his nightmares. Today will be enough of a nightmare. He leaned against the wall while the water ran into the drain. He'd thought he could distract himself with her last night, but it hadn't worked. His brain had simply not cooperated. He hoped the others would not tell Lupin. He wondered whether Lupin knew anyway.
He put on his new suit and went down to the bar. Tom pointed down the corridor to the private dining room where they'd had dinner the night before. The others were there already, eating a quiet breakfast. Hermione had pulled her lengthened curls into a tight, uncompromising-looking French twist, her face looking very thin and exposed without the tangle of curls surrounding it as usual. She kept her eyes on her plate, not daring to meet anyone's gaze, even Harry's. Ginny was looking at her in a distinctly unfriendly way. Brilliant, thought Harry. We're off to a perfect start.
Malfoy, to his credit, was gazing longingly at Ginny, as if Hermione didn't exist. He has a hole to climb out of, Harry thought. But Ron…Ron couldn't take his eyes from Hermione. Which was odd, because she could not have chosen a sterner ensemble for the funeral. Her charcoal-grey suit was high-necked and the skirt fell to mid-calf. The color wasn't good for her, Harry thought; her normally lightly-tanned skin looked sallow, and she had dark circles under her eyes (from him waking her up in the night, he knew).
Ginny had pulled only some of her hair back, gathered with a hair clip at her crown; most of it still cascaded onto her shoulders. Her pale skin looked translucent; Harry noticed a very pale blue vein near her hairline and found it hard to not stare at it. She wore a simple dress of the same charcoal-grey color as Hermione, but it was a far better choice for her. Suddenly he realized that she was looking back at him, frowning, and he looked at his plate again. Blood hell, he thought. It's going to be nearly impossible to have a conversation with any of them again.
When Lupin spoke it was like a thunderclap. "The Ministry car will be here soon. We should get ready." His new suit hung perfectly on his slight frame, making Harry think of an accountant sitting quietly in an office, adding columns of figures, except that he was hairier than most people probably expected their accountants to be.
The Ministry car accommodated the six of them with ease, being far bigger inside than outside. The driver knew where to go and the car slipped between cars and trucks, moving in spaces that wouldn't have fit a bicycle, or, sometimes, a very thin stray cat. Harry stopped looking out the window; it made him feel dizzy and ill. He met Hermione's eye; she tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth didn't quite turn up enough. He found himself turning to Malfoy, and to his surprise, he found a look of sympathy there that was unexpected and without baggage.
The only person at the church was the vicar. Apparently the parish had fallen on hard times and could no longer afford a rector. To Harry's surprise, he was a quite young man who looked like he couldn't have been much older than Percy. How odd for this person to be in a position of authority. He reminded Harry of Stan Shunpike, the conductor on the Knight Bus. He even had some acne, as if he were not quite out of adolescence. He had sandy hair and hazel eyes, and thinking of this, Harry suddenly wished he'd brought Sandy with him instead of leaving her in Neville's care. He could have used someone else to talk to. He couldn't tell Hermione about his dreams, nor Ginny, Ron, Malfoy, Lupin…
They waited in an uncertain, irregular cluster by the lane, waiting for the hearse and the Dursleys. The vicar was called Mr. Babcock, and he tried to make small talk with Harry.
"So," he said, clearly uncomfortable. "Dudley was your cousin."
"Yes."
A long pause. He's terrible at this, Harry thought. "I don't think I've ever seen you at services."
"I've been at boarding school for five years."
"Ah." Pause. Foot tapping. Staring at the sky. "You like your school?"
"Yes."
"Mmm… Do you do sports?"
"I'm, er, the captain of the Dueling Club."
"Ah. Fencing. Yes. I quite liked The Three Musketeers. I've seen many a Shakespeare production ruined by poor stage fencing. Yes…"
Harry knew he'd think this was what he meant; he couldn't correct him, of course. It gave the nervous young man something to babble about. He eventually exhausted his store of fencing references, however, and trailed off into silence.
They were saved when the hearse starting making its way down the lane from the village, followed by two long, dark cars. After the hearse stopped, Harry, Ron and Malfoy moved to the rear of the vehicle, waiting for their instructions. The first car behind the hearse stopped, but it was the car behind it that opened its doors, and Dudley's old friends emerged, the boys who, with Dudley, had chased Harry in the schoolyard when he was young. They looked odd; Harry realized he hadn't seen them in five years. He knew they recognized him and registered the surprise in their faces at the change in his appearance. They nodded. They were all on the same team today.
A far too cheerful young woman in a black skirted suit stepped out of the passenger side of the hearse and walked to the back of the vehicle to brief the pallbearers. They would carry the coffin into the church now using the handles, but after, they would hoist it onto their shoulders and walk down the lane to the cemetery, about an eighth of a mile. Do you all feel up to it? she wanted to know. The six of them looked warily at each other, wizards and Muggles (though the Muggles didn't know they were confronted by wizards) and nodded, nobody wanting to show trepidation at the task ahead.
Ron leaned in to say to Harry, "She's the undertaker?" in a low voice. Harry shrugged.
"I reckon. But I don't think that's what she's called. Perhaps mortician. Or funeral director. Or post-life planner, I don't know what they go by these days."
Ron smirked. "Hang in there, Harry. After all, you didn't have such a bad night, did you?"
Harry looked away. Ron thought the night had been all about pleasure; he had no idea of the horrific images he'd been trying to exorcise from his mind…
They grasped the handles of the coffin, carrying it carefully down the flagstone path and in a side door to the sanctuary before placing it on a table draped in black that sat before the communion rail. An elderly woman Harry thought he recognized carried a spray of flowers into the sanctuary from the flower-arranging room between the parish house and the rectory—which he supposed might be called the vicarage now. She laid the spray across the closed coffin. The pallbearers sat and waited for the rest of the congregation to arrive. Ron was to his right and Draco Malfoy to Ron's right. Hermione sat on Harry's left, and Ginny to her left. Harry looked up at the dark rafters, the grey stone, the stained glass, remembering this place, remembering how much he had looked forward to Christmas and Easter every year because it was the closest he came to feeling like a normal person. When he was a child and they came here at the holidays, all of the children participated in the Easter Egg hunt, all of them received a gift at Christmas, even if it was just a small package of sweets. There was no discrimination, no thought of excluding him. Dudley always claimed Harry's Christmas package of sweets as well as his own, but Harry was usually able to nick a piece or two from it before giving it up.
He remembered running down the center aisle, ducking into a pew box, trying to stop the swinging door from moving (they were quite high, more than thirty inches) so Dudley wouldn't know where he was. Harry would move the kneelers out of the way, the ubiquitous cushions decorated by needlepoint covers executed by the army of little old ladies that used to populate the church; with the kneelers out of the way, he could hide his small, bony frame under the pew and wait for Dudley to give up. He was never clear on how he did it, but somehow, Dudley always managed to find him and wrestle the sweets away.
His throat grew tight as he remembered. Yes, he thought. Remember those things, all the times I felt like I was just running, running, running from him all the time, bullied constantly. Don't think about last summer, about the letters we exchanged, about being friends. Remember just the bad times…
He thought it odd that when Dudley chased Harry for the Christmas and Easter sweets he never seemed to do any accidental magic. Perhaps it just didn't mean enough to him, and he knew Dudley wasn't trying to hurt him, he just wanted the sweets. There were even times when he remembered enjoying the cat-and-mouse game, seeing what kind of ridiculous positions he could get Dudley into, luring him into places he never would have dreamed of going. Harry even managed to fit himself in between some of the large, square wooden organ pipes in the loft. When Dudley found him, he got wedged between the pipes while Harry slipped out easily and went to the organ console, pressing his foot on one of the far left pedals, making a noise like a hundred foghorns emanate from the huge thirty-two-foot pipe Dudley was pressed against. Dudley sang a duet with the pipe, his scream summoning the entire vestry, who had been meeting in the front of the sanctuary. Harry had been in a great deal of trouble for that; everyone from the rector to the organist to his aunt and uncle were extremely irate, and Dudley's Easter suit had been ruined.
He couldn't stop the tears then, even in the midst of what should be bad memories, memories that should make him think Good riddance, I'm better off, we're all better off, the world is better off. Instead he found himself thinking rather fondly of the amusement he'd been afforded the first time he saw Dudley in his Smeltings uniform, the sight of Dudley with the pig's tail, the inflated tongue after he'd pounced on the twins' toffees…
Dudley before the Congeniality Charm deserved many things, Harry thought, but death just for being my cousin wasn't one of them. A handkerchief was suddenly thrust at him; he looked at Hermione, who had taken it out of her pocket. He nodded, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. She indicated that he should keep it so he stuffed it in his pocket, giving her hand a small squeeze. Somehow he would get through this.
The organist arrived and began playing something slow and mournful; the church started to fill and Harry heard familiar voices. He turned and saw his aunt and uncle, looking very pale and strained, as if they hadn't slept since hearing of Dudley's supposed suicide. Harry wanted to tell them that it wasn't their fault, that they hadn't driven Dudley to kill himself, but he couldn't. His legs wouldn't move. After he heard Aunt Petunia raging at his mum, in the Pensieve, knowing that she hated his mother because she wouldn't use magic to save their mother… He just couldn't do it. He turned to the front again without meeting their eyes, afraid that they would see his guilt, his culpability.
A number of Smeltings students had come; the church became a sea of teenagers, many of them sobbing girls. He struggled to maintain his composure in the face of their tears. It was worse than the urge to yawn around other yawners. He wondered whether Dudley's popularity had soared because of the Congeniality Charm or before that. He hadn't expected this, the number of people who would be in the little stone church, the number of lives that had been touched by this. Harry wondered for the first time who had found him, whether any of the other students had looked up and seen his body falling past their windows, the things that must have gone through their minds…
The service started, hushing the morbid thoughts rolling through Harry's head. The organ's drone ceased and the vicar stood, holding his prayer book, his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke the familiar words.
"I am the resurrection and the life."
Harry remembered the book he'd read in the library, about the first Lord Voldemort who'd tried to resurrect his son, and failed. He remembered Dumbledore saying that there wasn't a spell to bring someone back to life.
"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out."
He tried to follow along in the prayer book before realizing that the vicar was using The Order for the Burial of the Dead, not At the Burial of a Child. He wondered whether his aunt and uncle had noticed the mistake.
"…let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I have to live…"
How long I have to live. That shouldn't have been in there, Harry thought. Dudley was only fifteen, not quite sixteen. He was still a child. Then he thought, Am I still a child? He remembered the strange feeling of being included with the adults in the conference in Madam Pomfrey's office, considering what was best for Neville.
…let me know mine end…
The vicar finished that psalm and an olive-skinned boy stood to read another, then a blond girl read the Twenty-Third Psalm. They had tears in their voices as they read, and Harry's throat felt almost blocked, so hard was he trying not to cry.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me… Thou shalt prepare a table before me in the presence of them that trouble me…" .
The valley of the shadow of death.
I will fear no evil.
He clenched his jaw, thinking of the times he'd come close to death. Had Dudley been afraid? Could he feel afraid while under the spell? Of course, Harry couldn't be controlled by Imperius, he knew how to fight it. Had it really made Dudley commit suicide? Or had it simply removed his inhibitions, like Hermione?
The crying blonde girl sat. The organist was playing again, and the vicar announced the number of the hymn. The congregation stood, a very noisy affair, and sang their shaky off-pitch way through Now the Laborer's Task is O'er. Harry's throat wouldn't produce a note; he noted the name of the tune: Requiescat. Harry mentally added, In pacem.
Rest in peace.
Hermione had to tug at his jacket to get him to sit again; he'd let his mind wander. He was vaguely aware of the vicar reading a long passage from I Corinthians. He jerked his head up; the vicar had captured his attention.
"All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory. So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body…"
Sown in corruption, raised in incorruption… Perhaps that was why Marvolo hadn't been able to raise his son from the dead; he was sown in corruption and raised in corruption.
"…then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law."
The law. What law? Harry thought. The law that allows Fudge to practically pardon Lucius Malfoy? The wizarding laws that will never punish anyone for Dudley's murder?
"…remember thy servant Dudley Dursley, O Lord, according to the favour which thou bearest unto thy people, and grant that, increasing in knowledge and love of thee, he may go from strength to strength, in the life of perfect service…"
Harry stared at the carved wooden screen hiding the organ console, willing Dudley to emerge from behind it, laughing, with a chocolate-smeared face. This had to be a nightmare, he kept telling himself, this couldn't have happened…
"…The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace, both now and evermore. Amen."
The organ started playing again. Harry's eyes had been closed at the amen, now they flew open, hearing the music. He looked at Hermione. She nodded.
"Suogon," he whispered. She squeezed his hand. A young boy, around ten years of age, stood in the choir loft, alone. His pink face was freshly scrubbed, his light-brown hair curled innocently over his head, his blue eyes were pure as cornflowers. He lifted his flute-like voice above the organ's accompaniment, the sound bouncing off the rafters and stone and plaster, the old lullaby's Welsh words rolling around Harry's brain with a comforting familiarity.
Huna blentyn yn fy mynwes
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon
Breichiau mam sy'n dyn am danat,
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron
Ni cha dim amharu'th gyntun
Ni wna undyn â thi gam
Huna'n dawel, anwyl blentyn
Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam.
Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,
Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun?
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu
Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon
Tithau'n gwenu'n ol dan huno
Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?
The young woman from the funeral home signaled to the pallbearers and the six of them stood, marching neatly toward the casket. They hoisted it onto their shoulders; Harry was on the right, at the front, Malfoy was behind him and Ron behind Malfoy. Dudley's friends were on the other side. Harry walked out of the church slowly, the heavy box cutting into his shoulder, the faces of the congregation imprinting themselves on his mind as the boy continued to sing the lullaby...
Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen
Gura, gura ar y ddor
Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig
Sua, sua ar lan y mor
Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw.
Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,
Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun?
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu
Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon
Tithau'n gwenu'n ol dan huno
Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?
The aisle of the small church seemed to be miles long. Harry felt the texture of the rounded stones through the thin soles of his shoes; he tried to make as little noise as possible, so he could clearly hear the English words the boy sang now:
Sleep, my baby, on my bosom,
Warm and cozy, it will prove,
Round thee mother's arms are folding,
In her heart a mother's love.
There shall no one come to harm thee,
Naught shall ever break thy rest;
Sleep, my darling babe, in quiet,
Sleep on mother's gentle breast.
Sleep serenely, baby, slumber,
Lovely baby, gently sleep;
Tell me wherefore art thou smiling,
Smiling sweetly in thy sleep?
Do the angels smile in heaven
When thy happy smile they see?
Dost thou on them smile while slumb'ring
On my bosom peacefully.
Harry could hear the organ continuing as they walked down the path to the lane with their burden on their shoulders, the congregation following behind, led by the vicar and his aunt and uncle, he knew, although he could not turn to look. He had the perfect excuse for not looking at them. He was glad of that.
The lane was filled with the funeral procession. Harry wanted the walk to the grave to go on forever; he never wanted to reach that ominous pit, that final destination for this burden…
At the grave, they lowered the casket from their shoulders onto the boards across the open grave. The vicar took up a position beside it, while Harry and the other pallbearers backed off. Harry stood beside Hermione; she took his hand in hers. She'd been crying; her eyes were red-rimmed.
"Man that is born of a woman," Mr. Babcock read, "hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay… In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succour?"
Who indeed? thought Harry, remembering the previous night, with Hermione. He had expected too much of her, he realized. He shouldn't have expected her to be able to take away all of the guilt and self-recrimination. There was no secret potion to remove it, no spell, no wave of a wand would do the trick.
Heavy pieces of webbing were passed under the coffin by somber, black-suited men from the funeral home. While they held the webbing, the young woman gestured for Ron and Harry and Malfoy to remove the supporting wood, and Dudley was lowered into the ground while the vicar finished speaking. Then she led him to his aunt and uncle; he tried not to look at their strained faces; Vernon stooped to the mound of earth that had been thrown up by the gravediggers, he took a fistful of soil and threw it half-heartedly onto the coffin. Aunt Petunia did the same, tears flowing down her face. Harry also stooped mechanically to scoop up some earth, shower the coffin with the dark soil. He watched it leave his hand, but some of it still stuck to his palm.
"…Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother Dudley, departed…"
Our brother, thought Harry.
"…and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"
The vicar muttered something that induced the congregation to answer again, but Harry missed it, his mind wandering. Then he heard the words of the Kyrie being intoned, first by the vicar, then the people. Finally, he joined in on the Lord's Prayer, the familiar words not passing his lips for five years, some of the words giving him a great deal of trouble.
"And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil…"
Lead us not into temptation.
Deliver us from evil.
Evil. What do most of the people here know about evil? Harry wondered. He had seen evil. He had dueled with evil…
"…We give thee hearty thanks for the good examples of all those thy servants, who, having finished their course in faith, do now rest from their labours…"
Harry was annoyed. That's what I need to do, he thought. Be annoyed. Be upset with the prayers this man who probably didn't even know Dudley is standing here mindlessly reciting. From what labors was Dudley resting? He hadn't been able to live long enough to have labors… Harry listened for a few more minutes, using this new tactic to survive, to keep from breaking down utterly, from falling to his knees and confessing before his aunt and uncle and a host of Muggles that Dudley had died because he was under the Imperius Curse, that it was because he was someone who had come to mean something to Harry and a dark wizard had used him…
"Amen."
The final word at last. The vicar quietly walked away from the grave, leading the Dursleys, Harry, Hermione, and the others away from the grave. The rest of the congregation slowly trickled away while the gravediggers materialized seemingly from nowhere and began to move the mound of earth into the long, rectangular hole. Harry could hear the earth hitting the wood, thump! thump! He couldn't resist turning back to look. He stood still, letting the others flow past him, until he alone stood at the gate to the graveyard, watching the gravediggers work, doing their job, oblivious. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large black dog on a hill, standing near a small stone. He walked toward it, gladder to see that black dog than he thought was possible.
When he reached the dog, it didn't change into a man, but Harry recognized him all the same. He patted him on the head and sat on the grass, ignoring the stains he would get on his new suit. Then he saw the grave marker.
JAMES GODRIC POTTER
1960-1981
LILY EVANS POTTER
1960-1981
Beloved parents and friends
RIP
Harry's voice caught. He turned and suddenly Sirius was sitting beside him, his hands clasped around his knees like Harry.
"They're here? There were here the whole time I was growing up, and I never knew?"
Sirius nodded. "Your aunt took care of it. There wasn't a service. Remus told me about it last year. I'd never seen it either. Well, you know why. Remus doesn't know who paid for the stone. Somehow, I don't think it was your aunt. Look at the carving; that wasn't done with a chisel. Too clean. That was done with a wand, with magic."
Harry remembered Snape in the garden of the cottage at Godric's Hollow, his mother's body in his arms. It could have been Dumbledore, Harry supposed, but then again, it would be like Snape to do it. Even more like him not to tell anyone.
"I mean," he stammered, "I used to run here, in the graveyard, on the way home from school every day, when Dudley and his friends were chasing me. They were superstitious about coming in, so I knew I'd be safe. Somehow, I always felt safe here…"
Sirius put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "So maybe you did sense they were here, Harry. I'm sorry that this is the best I can do as far as being here for you today. I'm sorry for so much. I wish we could have done something to prevent this…"
Harry thought of the unread letter again and shook his head. "Don't, Sirius. It's not your fault."
His godfather looked at him levelly. "It's not your fault either, Harry. Please remember that."
Harry looked up at him and nodded, unable to lie verbally to him. It would be an uphill battle, but he knew that he had to try, if only for his mental health. Wormtail wanted to paralyze him, he knew, anyway he knew how. He'd participated in putting Lucius Malfoy away and still they thought they had the upper hand.
"I have to tell you something else, Harry." Harry looked at him expectantly. "Avery and Nott were found—dead. The Dark Mark was over them. It seems that Malfoy had no trouble giving them up for two reasons. They hadn't actually committed the murders he said they did, and they'd already been killed themselves for botching the Three Broomsticks, plus getting caught so easily."
I did that, Harry thought. Moody and I caught them. And now they're dead. Even if they were Death Eaters, they didn't really hurt anyone that we know of.
"People are clamoring for Fudge to reinstate Malfoy's suspended sentences, but he hasn't done it," Sirius went on. "So whoever killed the Clearwaters, and Mrs. Flint and her friend, is still out there. Plus—"
"There's more?"
Sirius heaved a great sigh. "I'm afraid those jurors were right to be afraid. But they weren't afraid enough. They did the right thing, but two of them have already paid for it. One's dead. One's in St. Mungo's, the burn ward. You don't want to know. And two others have received threats. It doesn't look good, Harry. No one will want to be on a jury at a Death Eater trial at this rate. The Daily Prophet is covering other Death Eater activities now. If anything, their audacity is worse than when Fudge was trying to hush it up. They seem to have become publicity-mad. Now, I'm the last person to say that Fudge knows what he's doing, but maybe—maybe he had the right idea after all. The wizarding world knows the danger now, but the Death Eaters also are able to throw their weight around. Some appalling things have been happening. I won't bother you with it now, Harry, but—things are sure to get worse before they get better. Remus and Mundungus Fletcher and I will be very busy this summer, I think, and Severus as well."
Harry looked at him, appalled. "Summer! How can I face Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia all summer?"
Sirius shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to, Harry. It's the only safe place for you. Now more than ever. In fact, you should go back to the house now, for the wake. They'll be wondering where you are. I can walk with you, if you like."
Harry nodded, and Sirius became a dog again. They walked down to the gate to the graveyard and along the lane back to Privet Drive. Harry liked walking with Sirius in his dog form; there was no pressure for conversation, just the two of them keeping each other company, a simple togetherness. But Harry didn't think; when he went through the front door of the house and into the front hall, Sirius was still with him. He could hear the other mourners milling around in the lounge and dining room. Hermione gave him a brief, gentle hug and handed him a cup of fruit punch. Lupin, Ron and Ginny looked at him morosely, but Draco Malfoy—
"It's that dog again!" he said with surprise. Harry looked at Sirius.
"Um—" He stalled, trying to think quickly. The four of them looked back and forth at each other nervously. Malfoy looked from one face to another, clearing waiting for someone to enlighten him. His face was growing angrier and angrier as he saw that no one was going to do this.
"Fine!" he finally sneered bitterly. "I save your sorry arses," he pointed at Ron, Harry and Hermione, "get my own dad put in prison, I'm here at your cousin's funeral as a pallbearer, but you still don't think you can trust me. And people think Slytherins hold grudges." He started to turn toward the door (though where he thought he might go in Little Whinging was unclear). Ginny reached for his hand, pulling him back.
"It's not that," Harry began to say when Sirius-the-dog bounded up the stairs. "Oi!" he exclaimed, sprinting up after him. The others followed.
The large black dog entered his room and leapt on his bed, lying down comfortably as if he lived there, looking at Harry pointedly. Tell him, the look in his dark expressive eyes seemed to say. Harry sat on the bed beside him, sighing wearily and idly petting the dog. Ron and Hermione stood uncertainly near his desk and Ginny and Malfoy stood in the doorway, Malfoy having been dragged upstairs with her.
"Everybody in," Harry said. "Close the door." Harry nodded at his desk chair. "Have a seat, Malfoy. It's a long story."
So he finally told him, with help from the others. The Fidelius Charm, Peter the traitor, the truth about the street of Muggles who were killed, Peter being Wormtail, Sirius and his dad and Peter learning to become Animagi to accompany Remus Lupin when he was in his wolf form, what happened in the Shrieking Shack at the end of their third year, even how he and Hermione had helped Sirius escape from Flitwick's office using Buckbeak.
Malfoy looked round at them all, as they each leapt in at different points, filling in bits of the story (Hermione was very proud of Crookshanks, as her narration made clear). When they'd finished Harry would have liked to capture the expression of utter amazement on Malfoy's face with a Muggle camera, so it would have been a still picture, no movement, a moment of frozen shock.
Suddenly, Sirius changed, and Malfoy stood up, knocking Harry's desk chair over. He was even paler than usual, virtually no difference between his skin and the white shirt he wore with his black suit. Sirius stepped toward Malfoy, his hand extended. Harry smiled with perhaps too much pleasure at seeing Malfoy's reaction.
"Draco Malfoy," he said, "meet Sirius Black."
Sirius smiled his most charming smile and shook Malfoy's hand. "Nice to finally officially meet you, Draco."
Malfoy nodded dumbly; it appeared that even after hearing the whole saga, and knowing that the dog on the bed was Sirius Black, illegal Animagus and erstwhile denizen of Azkaban, he still hadn't quite believed it, until Sirius changed. He started to sit again, but Sirius kept hold of his hand until Ginny could scramble to right the chair he'd knocked over.
"So you mean," he choked, finally regaining the power of speech, "that Wormtail is actually your stupid pet rat," he said, pointing at Ron, "and that he was the one who killed that street of Muggles and betrayed Potter's parents…"
"Were you paying any attention at all, Malfoy?" Ron rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Weasley, but when you hear something that seems to be so obviously a fairy tale, and it turns out—"
"That it isn't?" Ginny smiled.
Malfoy swallowed and looked at Sirius again. "Yeah," he said softly.
Harry laughed and thought, Thank you, Malfoy. I didn't think I'd laugh today. Or ever again. "I wish you could see your face, Malfoy."
Draco Malfoy grimaced. "I'm not here for your entertainment, Potter. I'm here because Ginny asked me to come. But it certainly has been informative."
A knock at Harry's bedroom door made everyone jump. Sirius abruptly changed back into a dog. They breathed a sigh of relief when they heard the voice that followed the knock.
"Harry? Are you in there?" Ginny was closest to the door, so she opened it to admit Remus Lupin. He closed the door, clearly surprised to see the five teenagers clustered in the small room. Then he was startled to see the large black dog on the bed. Sirius changed into his human form and Lupin cried out, "What the hell are you doing! He's here!" He pointed at Draco Malfoy.
"He knows, Remus," Sirius told him. Lupin gave a sigh of relief and looked at Malfoy.
"I suppose that's for the best. Actually I've something to tell you too," he said to Malfoy, "but I hadn't had the chance before. It's about where you'll be this summer."
Malfoy jerked his head up. Harry had forgotten about Malfoy's problem. He certainly couldn't stay with Sirius, Lupin or even Snape, if they were going to be busy working against the Death Eaters. Maybe Dumbledore would let him stay at the school.
"The headmaster contacted your old nanny and she's happy to have you stay with her for the summer."
"My nanny? I haven't seen her since I was four years old."
"Nevertheless, Dumbledore said she's heard about what you did and would be proud for you to stay with her. That suit you?" Malfoy nodded, obviously surprised. Lupin turned to Harry. "Now, you, Harry… You'll be picked up at the train by your uncle and stay here for a few days, but then...they want to get away. Portugal or something. They don't want to hang about here all summer thinking about Dudley. You understand?"
Harry nodded. "And I take it I'm not going to Portugal?"
Lupin shook his head. "Of course not, Harry. Do you know what a security nightmare that would be for those of us trying to keep you safe?"
"So. I'm to stay here by myself?"
"No. Your aunt and uncle have already made arrangements for you to stay with your old babysitter, Mrs. Figg. They also say that someone called Dick has come round asking whether you want a summer job when you get back."
Harry was torn between groaning about Mrs. Figg and being quite pleased about Dick. Well, if he was out working much of the day, he'd only have to deal with old Mrs. Figg in the evenings. That wouldn't be too bad. "That's all right, I reckon," he said. "I was hoping I could work for Dick. I was going to call him when I got back."
Lupin clapped his hands together. "Right! So that's you two sorted. See? Not so hard. We should all go back downstairs. In about an hour, a Ministry car is coming to take us back to the Leaky Cauldron so we can collect our things and return to Hogsmeade by Floo. There's a pretty blonde girl down there who was looking for you, Harry, called Julia."
Harry swallowed. Dudley's girlfriend. He never knew how he got through the rest of the wake, watching his aunt and uncle as the guests commiserated with them, listening while Julia told him how just the day before he died, she and Dudley had been making plans to see each other for the summer…
He was quite glad when the Ministry car arrived. He wanted nothing more than to be back at Hogwarts, even though it would only be for a few more days. There wasn't much of the term left now; just the Dueling Club Exhibition and the leaving feast. And then the long train ride back to London.
Before they left the doorway of number four, Privet Drive, Malfoy stopped Harry and said quietly, "Thanks for finally telling me, Potter. About—what is the other name you were using? Snuffles? And—for the Quidditch Cup," he threw in quickly, then turned away from Harry and walked toward the car. Harry stood in the doorway, speechless. Well, wonder of wonders, he thought. Two thank yous from Draco Malfoy.
It had been a year of miracles indeed.
#/#/#
Please be a responsible reader and review.
#/#/#
Author's notes: The London store called "MacTavish's" is purely fictional and not meant to represent any establishment actually bearing that name anywhere in the real world. The 1928 Book of Common Prayer of the Anglican Communion is available through multiple sources online. Although I am not a member of a church of the Anglican Communion, I opted to use it here, with apologies to John Irving for the inspiration (A Prayer for Owen Meany). If there is a St. Bede's in the Meadow Church anywhere in the world, please forgive my use of the name here; as far as I know I made it up. Suo Gan is a traditional Welsh tune, which was the melody played by the music box Hermione gave to Harry for Christmas. It first appeared in print circa 1800 and was also used to great effect in the film Empire of the Sun. The English version I have used here is by the folk scholar Robert Bryan. The Welsh is traditional.
#/#/#
Listen to Quantum Harry, the Podcast, available on iTunes, Stitcher and on the Quantum Harry YouTube channel. Subscribe today!
You can also follow me on Twitter QHPodcast and/or Instagram bl_purdom.
