Interlude
"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley called from the back door of the Burrow. "Come inside or you'll miss breakfast!"
Ron pulled his broomstick sharply to the left and made a stunning backhanded save before hollering back, "Okay, mum!"
In the two weeks since Percy's memorial, life in the Burrow had slowly returned to normal. One night, Harry had awoken in his blankets on the floor to the sound of muffled sobs as Ron finally allowed himself to mourn for his brother. Harry would never let Ron know that he'd actually heard him crying, but the next day, the heavy tension that Ron had carried since the memorial had been lifted.
At sunup, Ron had shaken Harry awake and whispered, "Harry, I know it's early, but would you mind a game of Quidditch?"
Every morning since then, Ron and Harry had collected their brooms and made their way to the pitch while the rest of the Weasleys were asleep. While they were playing, Harry could see that Ron was able to let the rest of the world fade away. Harry knew how he felt, and for that reason, Harry decided not to create any other reasons for Ron to need to come back to earth. He hadn't told Ron about Holly. He hadn't told Hermione about Holly. He hadn't even told Sirius about Holly. Of course, Mr. Weasley hadn't told Harry about Holly either.
Harry had spent more than his share of time pouring over his decision to blurt out such a question on what amounted to a whim, without even understanding what he was asking. Mr. Weasley's wistful expression had rapidly transformed into shock, and for several moments, Harry wondered if Mr. Weasley was remembering to breathe. Harry would never forget the look of pure pleading in Mr. Weasley's eyes when he had finally replied, "It's nobody Harry. Please, it's nobody."
Harry didn't want to accept that, but he understood very clearly that he wouldn't have much of a choice. It was also clear that he had put Mr. Weasley into an extremely tight spot or some sort, and he just couldn't do that to him again. The poor wizard had more than enough worries, and Harry decided to behave as though it had never happened. The problem was, it had happened, and Harry couldn't forget that.
Still, it was easier this way, he thought to himself as he and Ron touched down and began a leisurely stroll back to the Burrow for breakfast. Excruciating, but easier. He'd find out eventually, and he was certain the time would come soon. Until then, his mind was turning somersaults trying to make sense of that brief moment when Holly's name had appeared in his thoughts. In that moment, Harry knew he had looked into Mr. Weasley's mind. In that moment, he had discovered a trace of what could only have been the Mind Touch. He hadn't felt it again since, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to. It was one more thing that would make him different. He'd had enough of that his whole life. Still, perhaps it could answer some of his questions.
The boys let themselves in through the back door, sniffing appreciatively at the aromas of freshly cooked bacon and hot toast. Ron ran upstairs to the bathroom to clean up, and Harry made his way into the kitchen.
The Weasley's tiny kitchen seemed so empty. Charlie had left just yesterday to close up some final details in Romania before returning to assist Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore. Bill had left almost a week ago. The Gringotts goblins didn't stop work for anything, and Bill's presence was required. Mr. Weasley was still asleep, exhausted after another long night's work. With only the twins and Ginny waiting for them at the table, the room almost felt spacious. Bizarrely, Harry decided that he missed the crowding. It compensated for the isolation he always seemed to impose on himself. He sat down at the table and helped himself to the pile of toast.
"So Harry," said George as he reached across for the pumpkin juice. "Have you thought much about the Quidditch season this year?"
"Yeah, Harry," piped Fred, sounding strangely eager. "Have you?"
"Well sure. It's been over a year since any of us have really played. It's going to be a rough season."
"No, Harry." Fred shook his head, grinning evilly. "We're talking leadership. We need a new captain."
"That's easy. Angelina," Harry said firmly. "She's a good, level-headed player, and a 7th year."
George shook his head. "We just owled her about it. She says she's going to be far too busy getting ready for her N.E.W.T.'s. Plus, she may be a great chaser . . ."
". . . the absolute best . . ."
". . . but she's not really all that great at designing a training program for the other positions. She doesn't want the job."
"Have you talked to Katie or Alicia?" Harry had a funny feeling where this was going, and he didn't like it.
Fred nodded, expressing a look of absolute chagrin. "It's the same thing. Plus, neither one of them wants to take the job over her best friend. They're not Wood. They may love Quidditch, but it's not the same thing to them as it was to him."
"Although that's not necessarily a bad thing," George nudged his brother.
"True enough," Fred agreed. They both turned back on Harry.
Harry scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Well, you two are the only other 7th years . . ."
". . . and you'd be nuts to let us take over." Fred interjected helpfully.
Harry looked from Fred to George, both of whom were grinning broadly. "That leaves . . ." Harry let his jaw drop slightly as the funny feeling became a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Oh no. No you don't. No way. Not a chance. Forget about it, because it's not going to happen."
"Come off it, Harry!" Fred stood and walked over behind Harry, rubbing his shoulders patronizingly. "You're a natural born leader. You're top rate at Quidditch, and you're our seeker. You'd be great."
Harry knocked Fred's hands away from his shoulders. "Cut that out. I am not a 'natural born leader,' and I would not be great. If Angelina doesn't know much about putting together a training program, then I know less than nothing."
"Well, who else is there?" George cried, throwing his hands into the air in defeat. "We've got no other returning players, and how many brand new players could possibly know enough about our program and have the expertise to be a captain?"
"Ron knows enough about Quidditch to run a national training program. If he took over the Cannons, they might even win!" Harry shot back at George, meaning every word of it, and only realizing a second later exactly what he had said. Harry and the twins sat wordlessly for a moment, staring back and forth at each other as the obvious implications of that statement sunk in.
Fred broke the silence, speaking barely above a whisper. "Do you think it would work? A new player as captain? It's never been done . . ."
". . . but there's a first time for everything," George continued for his twin. "And Harry's right. Ron knows more about the fine details of Quidditch than the rest of us combined."
Ginny, who had been silently observing the conversation, set her empty glass on the table with a loud bang, effectively inserting herself into the dialogue. "Maybe you should discuss this with Ron before you make a decision like that for him."
"Discuss what with me?" Ron strolled into the kitchen, a little bit of water still dripping from his freshly washed hair. He pulled out a chair next to Harry's and dug directly for the toast. When his casual question was not answered immediately, however, he dropped the toast on his plate and eyed the twins suspiciously. "Discuss what with me?" He turned to his best friend. "Harry? What were you talking about?"
"Well," Harry began slowly, "we were talking about the upcoming Quidditch season. You are going to try out for the Keeper position, aren't you?" He had a hard time keeping the undercurrent of pleading from his voice. Harry had always simply assumed that Ron was going to try for it, but he had never actually asked, and Ron had never actually mentioned anything directly himself. He just had to be the Keeper.
Ron stared at Harry incredulously. "Did you ever expect that I wouldn't have a go at it?" He laughed. "Of course I'm trying for it. You know that. Why do you ask?"
"We have a couple of positions to fill this year, Ron," Fred announced as though beginning a speech. "Keeper . . . Captain . . ."
". . . and we're in a bit of a spot trying to fill those positions," George finished.
Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "You know I'll go for Keeper, but that's not it, is it? What are you two getting on about?"
Harry shook his head and sighed. This was ridiculous. He grabbed Ron by the shoulder and spun him around so they were facing each other. "Ron, we need a Captain and you're the best wizard for the job. What do you say?"
It looked for a moment as though Ron's freckles were about to jump off his face in shock. "But . . . but . . . I'm not even on the team . . ."
". . . Yet, that is," George cut in. "Not yet."
"But it would be my first year playing!" he protested, although he wasn't quite sure why he would protest such a thing. "I'd have no idea what to do."
"You know more about Quidditch than anyone I've ever met, including Oliver Wood," Harry said, as though that decided the matter. "You know the plays, you know the techniques, you know the training methods the international players use. I also couldn't imagine anyone else nearly as dedicated to Quidditch in general."
Ron stared at the piece of toast left untouched on his plate. "I can't believe you're asking me this. I had always hoped, I suppose, but I figured it would never happen." He glanced back at Harry with an unreadable expression. "I guess I always figured it would be you."
There was so much unspoken underneath the surface of that simple comment. Harry gritted his teeth to stifle the awkward twinge that was pulling at him. Ron knew Harry didn't want the spotlight, but that did nothing to erase the feeling Ron had that he was the sidekick, the second, "Harry's best friend." Harry eyed Ron bleakly. "Why would you think that? It takes a lot more than being able to catch a Snitch to be a good captain. I can't write a training program. You could."
Ron seemed to consider that carefully. He pinched at his chin, staring off at the ceiling. "Well, I would need my own dressing room, a set of Quidditch robes laced with real gold trim, and you'll have to lend me your broomstick, Harry, but I think I could pull this off." He turned his eyes back down with a broad grin. "You know I'm joking. Of course I can do it." He held out his hand to Harry.
Harry returned the smile. "Excellent." He clapped Ron's hand with a hearty grip in congratulations.
Fred jumped up from his chair. "Oh! Warm family moment!" He ran to Ron and Harry and grabbed their interlocked hands and into a vigorous three-way handshake, then proceeded to fluff Ron's hair thoroughly.
"Bugger off!" Ron yelled, swatting at his brother.
Determined not to be outdone by his twin, George pulled Ginny from her seat at the table and lifted her off the ground in a terribly awkward excuse for a hug. "Ouch! George, put me down! You're pinching my arm!"
"What is going on here?" Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen, laden with a large pot of porridge. "What are you kids yelling about?"
George let Ginny down quickly and exclaimed, "We've got a new Quidditch captain in the family, mum!"
Mrs. Weasley set the pot on the table and stared at George skeptically. "And I don't suppose you're going to say it's you, George?"
George shook his head. Mrs. Weasley turned to the other twin and opened her mouth to ask, but Fred also shook his head. "Nope." He pointed down at Ron, whose cheeks were almost as red as his hair, which was now messier than Harry's after Fred had finished with it.
"Ron? You're the new captain?" Mrs. Weasley's mouth opened in surprise as she brought he hands to her cheeks. "My goodness! Oh, I'm so proud of you! I knew you could do it." She gathered Ron into a tight hug.
"Whoa, mum, easy there! I can't breathe!" Ron fought for air through his mother's embrace, but Harry could see that he was enjoying it. For once, he was out of his brother's shadow and had gotten his mother's full attention, without having to crash a flying car into a tree.
She finally released him, still beaming. "Just wait until your father hears this."
"Hears what?" a sleepy voice asked as Mr. Weasley stumbled through the kitchen doorway, evidently just having gotten out of bed. "What's all the yelling for?"
Mrs. Weasley greeting him with a hug and kiss on the cheek before exclaiming proudly, "We have another Quidditch captain in the family."
Mr. Weasley's face fell as he looked directly at Fred and George, mumbling sleepily, "The Gryffindor Quidditch team is doomed. It's all over."
"No!" Mrs. Weasley chided him with a small slap on the arm. "It's Ron!"
Mr. Weasley's expression shifted from fear to surprise to delight in the course of a split second. "Ron?"
The youngest Weasley boy was still sitting in his chair at the table, glowing like a bright red beacon. He nodded. Mr. Weasley launched himself on Ron, grasping his hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "Oh, this is cause for celebration! Molly, we'll have a bit of a garden party tonight, bonfire and everything. Ron, I'm so proud of you!"
Ron wasn't saying a word. His face said it all. He managed to catch Harry's eye over his father's shoulder, and Harry knew that he was witnessing one of his best friends' dreams come true. It was hard not to get a bit teary-eyed watching the happy scene. Harry had never forgotten what Ron had seen the night he had stepped in front of the Mirror of Erised. Now, he was living out the one thing he had most wanted in the world: to be important.
The bittersweet thought caught Harry off-guard. Ron was finally having his dream come true, but what about Harry's dream?
{"Do you think this mirror shows the future?" "How can it? All my family are dead . . . "}
Perhaps, just maybe, she had been there before, in that incredible mirror. He had never looked closely enough at the faces of the people standing behind his parents. Perhaps, just maybe, like Ron, Harry might find part of his dream coming true. He let his shoulders slump. Since when had anything ever gone right for him?
A loud thud pulled Harry from his thoughts and the Weasleys from their celebration. A large mess of grey feathers had collided with the unopened half of the kitchen window and was lying in a heap on the sill.
"Errol!" Ginny pushed past George, rolling her eyes. "Ron, why don't you have Pig do the family mail?" she demanded as she opened the window the rest of the way and unceremoniously scooped up the dilapidated owl. She leaned out the window and reached for the copy of the Daily Prophet which had landed in the flower box.
"That's why," Ron pointed at the newspaper in Ginny's hand. "You weren't awake the morning that Pig tried to bring home the Prophet. The paper is four times his size. One of the Daily Prophet's company owls finished the delivery by bringing home the paper in one talon and Pig in the other talon, both soaking wet. Pig had ditched into a lake."
Ginny handed the copy of the Prophet to Mr. Weasley and set Errol with a piece of toast. The cheerful mood gave way to light conversation. Ron began a running commentary on all the brilliant ideas he had for the team, and the only person not surprised by the depth of his knowledge was Harry. The twins were listening, dumbfounded, as Ron outlined a tactical arrangement for Beaters he had derived from the Ireland team's methods. He was just explaining a technique of hitting the Bludger between the Chasers as a means of disrupting the Quaffle when shattering ceramic brought all conversation to a grinding halt.
Mr. Weasley's teacup lay on the floor in pieces, the spilt tea leaving a puff of steam hovering above it. Nobody cared about the cup. Behind the copy of the Prophet, Mr. Weasley's face had frozen, eyes wide. "By Merlin. How did he do it? We had secured it. I know we had secured it."
"Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley pulled down the edge of the newspaper. "What is it?"
"What happened, Dad?" Fred pushed his plate aside and leaned across the table.
Mr. Weasley did not speak, but slowly turned the paper around so that the rest of the family could view the headline.
"AZKABAN SECURED: LUCIUS MALFOY REASSURES THE MAGICAL COMMUNITY"
**********************************************************************
Holly felt it before she saw it. A cold sensation, vague as a memory and sharp as a ball of ice, had settled in her stomach. The sensation wasn't coming from her, but instead from someone else in the room. She dropped her fork on her plate and stared at Sirius.
Sirius had made a consistent effort to maintain a positive and constructive attitude during the two weeks she had known him, and in those two weeks, she had discovered how difficult the effort had been for him. A few times, she had overheard bits of conversations between him and Remus, and had almost been surprised at just how deadly serious he could be. Almost, but not quite.
He was a powerful wizard, and a strong person. Although his Transfiguration skills had occasionally created amusing results, his skills in other areas, particularly Defense Against the Dark Arts, were phenomenal. Despite his natural tendency to joke, Holly had realized slowly just how much danger he had experienced in his life, and admired how well he kept it buried when he was around her. It was as though he hadn't wanted to give her anything else to worry about, and she decided to let him have that small comfort. Now, a flood of emotion was brewing just beneath the surface. For the first time since Holly had known him, she felt fear in him. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be good.
Sirius was staring bleakly at the newspaper in front of him. His complexion had lost all color, almost waxy under his black hair. Although he hadn't moved an inch, he gave the impression that he was slowly recoiling as he read.
"Sirius?" Holly asked tentatively. He didn't respond, but almost imperceptibly began shaking his head.
Lupin looked up from his toast. "Sirius? What is it?"
His voice was ragged and choked. "Azkaban. They've got Azkaban."
"What?" Lupin cried in shock. He tore the newspaper from Sirius's hand and read aloud.
"On the behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Lucius Malfoy extends his most sincere assurances that Azkaban has been secured from those who would wish to cause further damage to the system. Says Malfoy, all convicted supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are safely inside the walls of the prison fortress, under the direct control of the Ministry and the Dementors. He reiterates that You-Know-Who has not returned, and the new crime wave is the result of a group of renegade Death Eaters who were not properly detained under Fudge's poorly-run Magical Law Enforcement program. Malfoy promises that those responsible for the recent terror will soon find themselves with the other criminals in Azkaban."
Holly gawked at the sudden change that had swept over the faces of the two wizards in the room. Usually level-headed and confident, even Lupin was obviously shaken by the news. His emotions were a mix of fury and alarm. "So that's the stronghold. That's what Malfoy was talking about," he said bitterly.
Holly was almost afraid to ask, but she had to. "What does that mean?"
Sirius continued to stare at the wall, unmoving, as he replied. "That means the threat to the Magical world, and the Muggle world, has become much, much more severe. Voldemort has his all his strongest supporters back. He has the Dementors." Sirius shuddered, then finally met Holly's eyes. "It's only a matter of time now."
"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley called from the back door of the Burrow. "Come inside or you'll miss breakfast!"
Ron pulled his broomstick sharply to the left and made a stunning backhanded save before hollering back, "Okay, mum!"
In the two weeks since Percy's memorial, life in the Burrow had slowly returned to normal. One night, Harry had awoken in his blankets on the floor to the sound of muffled sobs as Ron finally allowed himself to mourn for his brother. Harry would never let Ron know that he'd actually heard him crying, but the next day, the heavy tension that Ron had carried since the memorial had been lifted.
At sunup, Ron had shaken Harry awake and whispered, "Harry, I know it's early, but would you mind a game of Quidditch?"
Every morning since then, Ron and Harry had collected their brooms and made their way to the pitch while the rest of the Weasleys were asleep. While they were playing, Harry could see that Ron was able to let the rest of the world fade away. Harry knew how he felt, and for that reason, Harry decided not to create any other reasons for Ron to need to come back to earth. He hadn't told Ron about Holly. He hadn't told Hermione about Holly. He hadn't even told Sirius about Holly. Of course, Mr. Weasley hadn't told Harry about Holly either.
Harry had spent more than his share of time pouring over his decision to blurt out such a question on what amounted to a whim, without even understanding what he was asking. Mr. Weasley's wistful expression had rapidly transformed into shock, and for several moments, Harry wondered if Mr. Weasley was remembering to breathe. Harry would never forget the look of pure pleading in Mr. Weasley's eyes when he had finally replied, "It's nobody Harry. Please, it's nobody."
Harry didn't want to accept that, but he understood very clearly that he wouldn't have much of a choice. It was also clear that he had put Mr. Weasley into an extremely tight spot or some sort, and he just couldn't do that to him again. The poor wizard had more than enough worries, and Harry decided to behave as though it had never happened. The problem was, it had happened, and Harry couldn't forget that.
Still, it was easier this way, he thought to himself as he and Ron touched down and began a leisurely stroll back to the Burrow for breakfast. Excruciating, but easier. He'd find out eventually, and he was certain the time would come soon. Until then, his mind was turning somersaults trying to make sense of that brief moment when Holly's name had appeared in his thoughts. In that moment, Harry knew he had looked into Mr. Weasley's mind. In that moment, he had discovered a trace of what could only have been the Mind Touch. He hadn't felt it again since, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to. It was one more thing that would make him different. He'd had enough of that his whole life. Still, perhaps it could answer some of his questions.
The boys let themselves in through the back door, sniffing appreciatively at the aromas of freshly cooked bacon and hot toast. Ron ran upstairs to the bathroom to clean up, and Harry made his way into the kitchen.
The Weasley's tiny kitchen seemed so empty. Charlie had left just yesterday to close up some final details in Romania before returning to assist Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore. Bill had left almost a week ago. The Gringotts goblins didn't stop work for anything, and Bill's presence was required. Mr. Weasley was still asleep, exhausted after another long night's work. With only the twins and Ginny waiting for them at the table, the room almost felt spacious. Bizarrely, Harry decided that he missed the crowding. It compensated for the isolation he always seemed to impose on himself. He sat down at the table and helped himself to the pile of toast.
"So Harry," said George as he reached across for the pumpkin juice. "Have you thought much about the Quidditch season this year?"
"Yeah, Harry," piped Fred, sounding strangely eager. "Have you?"
"Well sure. It's been over a year since any of us have really played. It's going to be a rough season."
"No, Harry." Fred shook his head, grinning evilly. "We're talking leadership. We need a new captain."
"That's easy. Angelina," Harry said firmly. "She's a good, level-headed player, and a 7th year."
George shook his head. "We just owled her about it. She says she's going to be far too busy getting ready for her N.E.W.T.'s. Plus, she may be a great chaser . . ."
". . . the absolute best . . ."
". . . but she's not really all that great at designing a training program for the other positions. She doesn't want the job."
"Have you talked to Katie or Alicia?" Harry had a funny feeling where this was going, and he didn't like it.
Fred nodded, expressing a look of absolute chagrin. "It's the same thing. Plus, neither one of them wants to take the job over her best friend. They're not Wood. They may love Quidditch, but it's not the same thing to them as it was to him."
"Although that's not necessarily a bad thing," George nudged his brother.
"True enough," Fred agreed. They both turned back on Harry.
Harry scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Well, you two are the only other 7th years . . ."
". . . and you'd be nuts to let us take over." Fred interjected helpfully.
Harry looked from Fred to George, both of whom were grinning broadly. "That leaves . . ." Harry let his jaw drop slightly as the funny feeling became a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Oh no. No you don't. No way. Not a chance. Forget about it, because it's not going to happen."
"Come off it, Harry!" Fred stood and walked over behind Harry, rubbing his shoulders patronizingly. "You're a natural born leader. You're top rate at Quidditch, and you're our seeker. You'd be great."
Harry knocked Fred's hands away from his shoulders. "Cut that out. I am not a 'natural born leader,' and I would not be great. If Angelina doesn't know much about putting together a training program, then I know less than nothing."
"Well, who else is there?" George cried, throwing his hands into the air in defeat. "We've got no other returning players, and how many brand new players could possibly know enough about our program and have the expertise to be a captain?"
"Ron knows enough about Quidditch to run a national training program. If he took over the Cannons, they might even win!" Harry shot back at George, meaning every word of it, and only realizing a second later exactly what he had said. Harry and the twins sat wordlessly for a moment, staring back and forth at each other as the obvious implications of that statement sunk in.
Fred broke the silence, speaking barely above a whisper. "Do you think it would work? A new player as captain? It's never been done . . ."
". . . but there's a first time for everything," George continued for his twin. "And Harry's right. Ron knows more about the fine details of Quidditch than the rest of us combined."
Ginny, who had been silently observing the conversation, set her empty glass on the table with a loud bang, effectively inserting herself into the dialogue. "Maybe you should discuss this with Ron before you make a decision like that for him."
"Discuss what with me?" Ron strolled into the kitchen, a little bit of water still dripping from his freshly washed hair. He pulled out a chair next to Harry's and dug directly for the toast. When his casual question was not answered immediately, however, he dropped the toast on his plate and eyed the twins suspiciously. "Discuss what with me?" He turned to his best friend. "Harry? What were you talking about?"
"Well," Harry began slowly, "we were talking about the upcoming Quidditch season. You are going to try out for the Keeper position, aren't you?" He had a hard time keeping the undercurrent of pleading from his voice. Harry had always simply assumed that Ron was going to try for it, but he had never actually asked, and Ron had never actually mentioned anything directly himself. He just had to be the Keeper.
Ron stared at Harry incredulously. "Did you ever expect that I wouldn't have a go at it?" He laughed. "Of course I'm trying for it. You know that. Why do you ask?"
"We have a couple of positions to fill this year, Ron," Fred announced as though beginning a speech. "Keeper . . . Captain . . ."
". . . and we're in a bit of a spot trying to fill those positions," George finished.
Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "You know I'll go for Keeper, but that's not it, is it? What are you two getting on about?"
Harry shook his head and sighed. This was ridiculous. He grabbed Ron by the shoulder and spun him around so they were facing each other. "Ron, we need a Captain and you're the best wizard for the job. What do you say?"
It looked for a moment as though Ron's freckles were about to jump off his face in shock. "But . . . but . . . I'm not even on the team . . ."
". . . Yet, that is," George cut in. "Not yet."
"But it would be my first year playing!" he protested, although he wasn't quite sure why he would protest such a thing. "I'd have no idea what to do."
"You know more about Quidditch than anyone I've ever met, including Oliver Wood," Harry said, as though that decided the matter. "You know the plays, you know the techniques, you know the training methods the international players use. I also couldn't imagine anyone else nearly as dedicated to Quidditch in general."
Ron stared at the piece of toast left untouched on his plate. "I can't believe you're asking me this. I had always hoped, I suppose, but I figured it would never happen." He glanced back at Harry with an unreadable expression. "I guess I always figured it would be you."
There was so much unspoken underneath the surface of that simple comment. Harry gritted his teeth to stifle the awkward twinge that was pulling at him. Ron knew Harry didn't want the spotlight, but that did nothing to erase the feeling Ron had that he was the sidekick, the second, "Harry's best friend." Harry eyed Ron bleakly. "Why would you think that? It takes a lot more than being able to catch a Snitch to be a good captain. I can't write a training program. You could."
Ron seemed to consider that carefully. He pinched at his chin, staring off at the ceiling. "Well, I would need my own dressing room, a set of Quidditch robes laced with real gold trim, and you'll have to lend me your broomstick, Harry, but I think I could pull this off." He turned his eyes back down with a broad grin. "You know I'm joking. Of course I can do it." He held out his hand to Harry.
Harry returned the smile. "Excellent." He clapped Ron's hand with a hearty grip in congratulations.
Fred jumped up from his chair. "Oh! Warm family moment!" He ran to Ron and Harry and grabbed their interlocked hands and into a vigorous three-way handshake, then proceeded to fluff Ron's hair thoroughly.
"Bugger off!" Ron yelled, swatting at his brother.
Determined not to be outdone by his twin, George pulled Ginny from her seat at the table and lifted her off the ground in a terribly awkward excuse for a hug. "Ouch! George, put me down! You're pinching my arm!"
"What is going on here?" Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen, laden with a large pot of porridge. "What are you kids yelling about?"
George let Ginny down quickly and exclaimed, "We've got a new Quidditch captain in the family, mum!"
Mrs. Weasley set the pot on the table and stared at George skeptically. "And I don't suppose you're going to say it's you, George?"
George shook his head. Mrs. Weasley turned to the other twin and opened her mouth to ask, but Fred also shook his head. "Nope." He pointed down at Ron, whose cheeks were almost as red as his hair, which was now messier than Harry's after Fred had finished with it.
"Ron? You're the new captain?" Mrs. Weasley's mouth opened in surprise as she brought he hands to her cheeks. "My goodness! Oh, I'm so proud of you! I knew you could do it." She gathered Ron into a tight hug.
"Whoa, mum, easy there! I can't breathe!" Ron fought for air through his mother's embrace, but Harry could see that he was enjoying it. For once, he was out of his brother's shadow and had gotten his mother's full attention, without having to crash a flying car into a tree.
She finally released him, still beaming. "Just wait until your father hears this."
"Hears what?" a sleepy voice asked as Mr. Weasley stumbled through the kitchen doorway, evidently just having gotten out of bed. "What's all the yelling for?"
Mrs. Weasley greeting him with a hug and kiss on the cheek before exclaiming proudly, "We have another Quidditch captain in the family."
Mr. Weasley's face fell as he looked directly at Fred and George, mumbling sleepily, "The Gryffindor Quidditch team is doomed. It's all over."
"No!" Mrs. Weasley chided him with a small slap on the arm. "It's Ron!"
Mr. Weasley's expression shifted from fear to surprise to delight in the course of a split second. "Ron?"
The youngest Weasley boy was still sitting in his chair at the table, glowing like a bright red beacon. He nodded. Mr. Weasley launched himself on Ron, grasping his hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "Oh, this is cause for celebration! Molly, we'll have a bit of a garden party tonight, bonfire and everything. Ron, I'm so proud of you!"
Ron wasn't saying a word. His face said it all. He managed to catch Harry's eye over his father's shoulder, and Harry knew that he was witnessing one of his best friends' dreams come true. It was hard not to get a bit teary-eyed watching the happy scene. Harry had never forgotten what Ron had seen the night he had stepped in front of the Mirror of Erised. Now, he was living out the one thing he had most wanted in the world: to be important.
The bittersweet thought caught Harry off-guard. Ron was finally having his dream come true, but what about Harry's dream?
{"Do you think this mirror shows the future?" "How can it? All my family are dead . . . "}
Perhaps, just maybe, she had been there before, in that incredible mirror. He had never looked closely enough at the faces of the people standing behind his parents. Perhaps, just maybe, like Ron, Harry might find part of his dream coming true. He let his shoulders slump. Since when had anything ever gone right for him?
A loud thud pulled Harry from his thoughts and the Weasleys from their celebration. A large mess of grey feathers had collided with the unopened half of the kitchen window and was lying in a heap on the sill.
"Errol!" Ginny pushed past George, rolling her eyes. "Ron, why don't you have Pig do the family mail?" she demanded as she opened the window the rest of the way and unceremoniously scooped up the dilapidated owl. She leaned out the window and reached for the copy of the Daily Prophet which had landed in the flower box.
"That's why," Ron pointed at the newspaper in Ginny's hand. "You weren't awake the morning that Pig tried to bring home the Prophet. The paper is four times his size. One of the Daily Prophet's company owls finished the delivery by bringing home the paper in one talon and Pig in the other talon, both soaking wet. Pig had ditched into a lake."
Ginny handed the copy of the Prophet to Mr. Weasley and set Errol with a piece of toast. The cheerful mood gave way to light conversation. Ron began a running commentary on all the brilliant ideas he had for the team, and the only person not surprised by the depth of his knowledge was Harry. The twins were listening, dumbfounded, as Ron outlined a tactical arrangement for Beaters he had derived from the Ireland team's methods. He was just explaining a technique of hitting the Bludger between the Chasers as a means of disrupting the Quaffle when shattering ceramic brought all conversation to a grinding halt.
Mr. Weasley's teacup lay on the floor in pieces, the spilt tea leaving a puff of steam hovering above it. Nobody cared about the cup. Behind the copy of the Prophet, Mr. Weasley's face had frozen, eyes wide. "By Merlin. How did he do it? We had secured it. I know we had secured it."
"Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley pulled down the edge of the newspaper. "What is it?"
"What happened, Dad?" Fred pushed his plate aside and leaned across the table.
Mr. Weasley did not speak, but slowly turned the paper around so that the rest of the family could view the headline.
"AZKABAN SECURED: LUCIUS MALFOY REASSURES THE MAGICAL COMMUNITY"
**********************************************************************
Holly felt it before she saw it. A cold sensation, vague as a memory and sharp as a ball of ice, had settled in her stomach. The sensation wasn't coming from her, but instead from someone else in the room. She dropped her fork on her plate and stared at Sirius.
Sirius had made a consistent effort to maintain a positive and constructive attitude during the two weeks she had known him, and in those two weeks, she had discovered how difficult the effort had been for him. A few times, she had overheard bits of conversations between him and Remus, and had almost been surprised at just how deadly serious he could be. Almost, but not quite.
He was a powerful wizard, and a strong person. Although his Transfiguration skills had occasionally created amusing results, his skills in other areas, particularly Defense Against the Dark Arts, were phenomenal. Despite his natural tendency to joke, Holly had realized slowly just how much danger he had experienced in his life, and admired how well he kept it buried when he was around her. It was as though he hadn't wanted to give her anything else to worry about, and she decided to let him have that small comfort. Now, a flood of emotion was brewing just beneath the surface. For the first time since Holly had known him, she felt fear in him. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be good.
Sirius was staring bleakly at the newspaper in front of him. His complexion had lost all color, almost waxy under his black hair. Although he hadn't moved an inch, he gave the impression that he was slowly recoiling as he read.
"Sirius?" Holly asked tentatively. He didn't respond, but almost imperceptibly began shaking his head.
Lupin looked up from his toast. "Sirius? What is it?"
His voice was ragged and choked. "Azkaban. They've got Azkaban."
"What?" Lupin cried in shock. He tore the newspaper from Sirius's hand and read aloud.
"On the behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Lucius Malfoy extends his most sincere assurances that Azkaban has been secured from those who would wish to cause further damage to the system. Says Malfoy, all convicted supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are safely inside the walls of the prison fortress, under the direct control of the Ministry and the Dementors. He reiterates that You-Know-Who has not returned, and the new crime wave is the result of a group of renegade Death Eaters who were not properly detained under Fudge's poorly-run Magical Law Enforcement program. Malfoy promises that those responsible for the recent terror will soon find themselves with the other criminals in Azkaban."
Holly gawked at the sudden change that had swept over the faces of the two wizards in the room. Usually level-headed and confident, even Lupin was obviously shaken by the news. His emotions were a mix of fury and alarm. "So that's the stronghold. That's what Malfoy was talking about," he said bitterly.
Holly was almost afraid to ask, but she had to. "What does that mean?"
Sirius continued to stare at the wall, unmoving, as he replied. "That means the threat to the Magical world, and the Muggle world, has become much, much more severe. Voldemort has his all his strongest supporters back. He has the Dementors." Sirius shuddered, then finally met Holly's eyes. "It's only a matter of time now."
