Disclaimer- Harry Potter and all other recognizable patterns and/or settings were created within the mind of JK Rowling, not my own.
A/N- I took a long time to write this. I hope it's written well.
Urgent Explanations
Slamming against the grate once again, wincing at the pain of his side that took the brunt of the impact, feeling some of the stitches come loose, Harry found himself back in the Weasley household. Stumbling out of the grate, he looked around at the crowd in their kitchen.
The entire Weasley family (minus Charlie and Bill, Ron's eldest brothers) and Remus Lupin sat on the spindly wooden chairs at the twice expanded kitchen table.
Mrs. Weasley was the first to react, jumping from her chair, causing the empty plates on the table to leap from their spots, and grasping Harry in an overbearing hug, smothering him in her flowery apron. Harry could feel the warmth radiating from her, but instead of comforting him it only made him feel awkward and irritated.
Once Mrs. Weasley had finally released him he was able to see that the rest of those who had been sitting at the table were now circling in on him. As he moved towards Fred and George who were eagerly waiting to pat his back, his outstretched arm brushed against the pale skin of Ginny.
The expression of relief that had flooded Ginny's face was now replaced with one of horror. She backed away, and Harry was grabbed by Fred and George before he had time to ponder this. With George and Fred's hands throwing threatening blows down on his back, Harry found it hard to hold Percy's hand, which was gripping his own fiercely.
"G- glad to s- see you're okay, Harry."
In amazement, Harry watched the stuttering Percy, so out of character.
Ron was watching him as well. He threw Harry a questioning glance, one filled with suspicion; but of what?
Mr. Weasley's voice rose over the crowd, instructing them all to take a seat, and Harry was about to do just that when Remus Lupin pulled him aside.
"As I'm sure you've already guessed, Sirius told me where you were, and what you overheard."
"So, it's true," Gulped Harry. "They've found out Voldemort's ally?"
Remus nodded. "Well, Serverus has. He refuses to share the information with anyone but Dumbledore, though. We'll know soon enough."
Harry returned the nod, while Remus's expression hardened.
"What were you doing at the Malfoy's in the first place?"
Fred and George's strains to hear their conversation were no good, as Remus's voice was purposely hushed.
Harry suddenly remembered Ron calling his name when he was about to depart back to the Weasley's by Floo Powder in The Leaky Cauldron. "It was a mistake."
After watching his expression for a long while, Remus finally decided there was truth in this and turned back to the Weasley family, his tattered robes swaying with his motion. "I'll be off then. Thank you for your hospitality."
But Mrs. Weasley wasn't going to let him escape this time. She threw a quite menacing look at him, standing from her seat and gesturing to a seat beside her son, Ron.
Nervously, Remus took the seat, and Harry sat beside him.
"Scalloped potato, Harry?" Asked Remus, gesturing to the newly appeared pile of them.
Harry laughed. It was surely saying something if Mrs. Weasley could intimidate even a werewolf.
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After fifth helpings of scalloped potatoes, great globs of orange carrots, fried trout, and sugared custard, Harry followed suit of Remus Lupin, (who had disapparated only seconds before) and excused himself from the table, after much insisting from Mrs. Weasley that he help himself to some more custard. He climbed the steep, winding staircase to Ron's room.
He sat down on the small cot he'd slept on last time, and looked around the orange room. Chasing away all thoughts, he decided to mercifully give himself up to his subconscious under a sea of thin blankets. This brilliant idea was put to an abrupt stop when Ron entered the room, causing Harry to cease his undressing. Staring longingly at the gray pajamas Mrs. Weasley had set at the end of the cot, he watched as Ron's long legs carried him to the other side of the room.
Sitting on his bright orange bedspread, he stared up at Harry expectantly. "Hurry then, it's almost dark and I'm bloody tired."
Harry turned his back to his friend, beginning to change into the pajamas, nonchalantly asking, "What are you talking about?"
Ron let out a bothered sigh and stared at Harry so hard it might have burned holes through the back of his head. "Where did you end up? You know, from the Floo Powder? Whose grate?" Harry found it odd that Ron was so desperately jogging his memory.
Finished changing, with his dirtied laundry on the floor, he sat on the cot facing Ron. "The Malfoy's."
As hard as he might have been trying, Ron's gasp could not be stifled. Without bothering to change he slipped under his orange covers, staring up at the chipped white ceiling.
Harry continued.
"Malfoy and his father were bickering about him going to Crabbe's. Crabbe has a Firebolt."
"He does?"
"Yeah," Said Harry, sliding under his own covers of a faded maroon. "And Malfoy has a Lightning Speed 8000."
With a sharp intake of breath, Ron let out something that sounded suspiciously like "Wow."
Regaining himself, Ron asked. "That's all that happened?"
Of course, it wasn't. Sirius and Snape had been there, discussing Voldemort's new ally. But something held back this explanation and Harry made his decision, nodding to himself. "Yeah."
Ron shut off the bedside lamp, ending the conversation and diminishing the room's light.
After a few moments of silence, and Harry on the verge of sleep, he called out his friends name.
"What, Harry?"
"Why'd you call me back at The Leaky Cauldron."
With his ears no doubt turning the shade of red they always did when under pressure, he muttered "I thought you had dropped your glasses when you slid them in your pocket."
Yawning, Harry took the explanation as the truth, not realizing he wasn't the only one who could leave a vital story untold.
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He'd left the comfort of the furnace that was Ron's room for the cool night air of a quiet Muggle neighborhood. Well manicured lawns and picket fenced houses sped by him as he walked up the paved street. It was entirely empty, without a single light lit, yet it was surprisingly easy to see.
But, as Harry's eyes traveled to the far end of the street he saw that it wasn't empty. A dark cloaked figure stood facing him, its hood masking its face.
A sense of urgency filled him, and Harry began to run. Soon he was on top the still figure, beating him vainly with his fists.
The figure's hood fell, and Harry began to slip away.
The figure's forehead held a lightning scar; Harry's lightning scar.
Panting, Harry awoke back in Ron's room, happy to notice he hadn't changed into his wizard's robes this night.
The dream was troubling him to no end, though, and the intense pounding of his scar wasn't helping his state of mind.
Muttering over and over "It was just a dream," Harry fell back into a state of uneasy sleep.
