CHAPTER TWENTY
Harry's Party, Part One
The Eyes of the Wolf
It emerged during the following days that Ginny was not the only one with something up her sleeve. Suddenly Harry found himself walking into rooms in the midst of excited whispers which were hastily broken off with a great deal of unsubtle nudging.
"You know, Hermione, you should really cultivate a less guilty expression for situations like this," Harry ventured to suggest on one of these occasions. He flopped into the chair opposite the sofa, on which the girls were sitting. "Ginny does it better than you."
He smiled at the innocent gaze Ginny was directing at him, successfully concealing whatever she and Hermione had been talking of moments before.
Hermione frowned. "I prefer not to make a habit of lying, Harry."
"It's not lying," protested Ginny. "It's merely - not telling the truth."
Harry's eyebrows rose. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as her twin brothers' often did when they were plotting something. He had never been on the receiving end of her machinations before, and he only knew from others how conniving this outwardly sweet, righteous girl could be.
That was another aspect of her personality that fascinated him, simply because he had spent so many years thinking of her as 'Ron's little sister', who blushed when he spoke to her and avoided catching his eye at all costs. Now, suddenly, she had become something so entirely different that Harry's new personal ambition had become to find out everything there was to know about Ginny Weasley, no matter how long it took. If he was astonishingly lucky, there might come a prolonged opportunity in the future to do just that.
For the time being, however, Harry was content to hold his breath. He had six, well, maybe five, well-built, protective brothers to get through before he could even contemplate speaking to Ginny about how he felt.
But still -
At the back of his mind something objected. Something curiously primitive which reminded Harry that he was not as incapable as Ginny's brothers might believe. Until that moment, Harry would have agreed every time that his very presence in her life put her in danger, and the closer they became, the greater the danger. But that conversation with Dumbledore -
The Headmaster had practically handed over to Harry the means of independence and self-protection. Surely if that was enough for him, it could be enough for Ginny too -
Harry shook his head. It was absurd to be thinking as though Ginny was already his. She might never be. It seemed pointless torture to imagine life without her, but equally pointless torture to imagine life with her. Either way, at least one of them would suffer, and Harry would rather be the one any day than let Ginny bear the burden.
"Hermione?" Ginny's voice was hesitant but determined.
"Hmm?"
"Did you manage to talk to Remus?"
"About what?"
"Don't pretend you don't know."
Harry moved his eyes from one to the other, wondering whether he ought to leave and let them get on with whatever they were talking about. Remus? Since when had Lupin been Remus?
Hermione shifted awkwardly. "I may have casually brought up the subject," she replied, with a furtive glance at Harry.
"What did he say?"
"He would think about it."
Ginny waited expectantly. "And?"
Hermione shrugged. "That was all. He said he'd think about it and mention it to Dumbledore if he felt it was a good idea."
Ginny appeared far less than contented, so Harry hesitantly inquired what the matter was. Despite Hermione's urgent attempts to communicate a warning, Ginny launched into an explanation.
"Sirius has been talking to Professor Dumbledore about what I did for Charlie the night he was attacked. He told me that Dumbledore feels I might be helpful, in a medical capacity."
Harry frowned. "Helpful to who, exactly?" He had a nasty feeling what the answer was going to be.
"He didn't say," replied Hermione, cutting Ginny's response off before she could utter a word, "but I think we can all guess."
"Please, don't tell Ron, Harry!" said Ginny, urgently. "He'd hit the roof."
"I'm not surprised!" exclaimed Harry, eyes wide. "God knows what Dumbledore's planning on doing! If he means you to become involved with The Order then he's mad!"
Ginny stared at him. "Thanks, Harry. Nice to know I've got your confidence."
Damn. Damn it all to hell!
"I didn't mean it like that, Gin."
She didn't reply, but averted her eyes. Harry made a mental note to beat his head against a brick wall later that night.
"I've been trying to tell her the same thing," said Hermione, seriously. "But I suppose neither of us, nor Ron, has the right to suggest any such thing, considering what we've got ourselves into."
"My point exactly," insisted Ginny. "I'm not going to be in any danger."
"Can you know that for sure?" asked Harry, almost before she had finished speaking.
"No," she replied. "But I'm not afraid. Anyway, I don't even know what Dumbledore means to do. I - oh, the hell with it!"
She jumped to her feet and made a swift exit through the door, letting it bang rather loudly behind her.
"Ooops," said Hermione, regretfully. "Oh, good grief, Harry! That was practically the same lecture that Ron gave me."
Harry shook his head, massaging his temples. "Yeah, thanks for pointing that out, 'Mione."
"But it is rather unfair, don't you think, that the three of us should be involved and Ginny not? After all, she's the one who's kept this house together over the past week!"
"Look, Hermione. Pick an argument and stick to it!"
He regretted his sharpness immediately.
Hermione viewed him thoughtfully for a moment or two, and then she leaned forward. "Harry, don't do what Ron did, for Merlin's sake. I was afraid you'd say something like that if she told you, that's why I didn't want her to mention it. I thought you might say the same as Ron. That boy is as subtle as a steamroller, and about as tactful." She smiled, and squeezed Harry's wrist. "He's not like Ginny as a rule, but the pair of them are as obstinate as each other. Promise me that you won't mention any of this to her again."
Harry smiled back. "Why? For her sake or mine?"
"Both. The last thing we need is another row."
If he had been in any doubt before, that comment settled the matter. Hermione could read his mind.
"It's OK, I'll be good," he said, trying to lighten the mood.
Hermione nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. We want tomorrow night to go smoothly, don't we?"
***
Embarrassment was one of the things Harry felt he could safely admit to knowing a great deal about. His name emerging from the flames of the Goblet of Fire to be greeted by suspicion and mistrust, from friends and foes alike. Asking Cho to the Yule Ball. Dancing the first dance with Parvati. Crying in Mrs Weasley arms after the Third Task -
He had believed that his days of blushing and shifting in awkward self-consciousness were long gone - until he and Ron wandered into the kitchen the next day to be faced with an enormous, luxurious breakfast feast and a pile of birthday presents, not to mention the great crowd of people stuffed around the table clapping and grinning.
The amount of food consumed between eight and three was so vast that dinner seemed a pointless expense. At noon, Mrs Weasley came out onto the patio with the largest cake Harry had ever seen. He stared at it in astonishment. The plain green base was normal enough, but on the top Mrs Weasley had created a masterpiece of culinary wizardry. Three long hoops rose several inches high at either end, and between them, around the perimeter, were tall stands made of marzipan, complete with edible spectators. But most astonishingly of all were the floating figures on broomsticks that moved in mid-air between the hoops, tossing little balls from one to the other in so life-like a way that Harry was struck dumb with wonder.
"Oh, look, Harry!" cried Hermione, pointing to one particular figure in the red robes of Gryffindor. "It's you!"
Harry reached out a hand and caught the little icing version of himself and stared at it for a moment or two, until a tiny ball the size of a pea hit him on the edge of his thumb. It was a perfect miniature Bludger, and almost as violent as its larger counterpart.
The exquisite creation was praised so highly by everyone, that Mrs Weasley was forced to retire to the kitchen, blushing the colour of her hair. Nobody wanted to eat it, and it provided several hours of entertainment before the spell started to wear off and the animated figures flop lazily onto the smooth base of the cake.
The lawn was covered in idle bodies, all stretched out in the sunshine.
"Hell, I'm stuffed!" groaned Fred, clutching his stomach.
"You eat too fast," said Alicia, poking him in the ribs with her toe.
Sirius, from his seat on the patio steps beside Lupin, gave a low chuckle.
"Dance it off later," he suggested, tossing a grape stem at Fred's recumbent form. "How are the music plans going, Gin?"
Ginny's bright eyes sparkled, and she glanced at Hermione, her co-conspirator. "Excellently, thankyou. You're in for an interesting evening."
She caught Harry's eye and smiled radiantly, making his blood rush ten times faster round his body. He smiled back, as calmly as he could manage. He had been waiting for something for over twenty-four hours - a look, and word, anything, to show she had forgiven him for his insensitive remark the day before. Hermione was right. Another row would be the final nail in the coffin.
The girls continued to chat until supper time about the usual things. Since it was only family and close friends, no-one was planning on dressing up for the occasion. Not much anyway.
"Why do girls like shiny things so much?" asked Ron, thoughtfully, as Fleur and Angelina launched into a debate about diamonds over pearls.
Ginny laughed. "Why do boys like sitting on thin pieces of wood and hitting balls around?"
"Um, excuse me?" Harry rolled onto his side to face her. "Was that a derogatory comment, Gin?"
She poked her tongue out at him, playfully. "Maybe I'll tell you one day." She held his gaze for a moment, and then tugged at Hermione's hand. "Come on, you. We've got work to do. Will somebody please remove Harry for half an hour?"
Harry grinned. He was enjoying this probably more than was good for him.
"I'm sure we can think of something," said George, with a particularly wicked glint in his eye. He winked at Harry.
"Yeah, whatever you're thinking, pal, forget it!" suggested Harry, shuffling his supine body backwards a little.
To no avail. The twins hurled themselves in his direction, both laughing evilly.
"Hey, gerrof you damned great gits!" yelled Harry, struggling against various disabling locks and holds.
Laughter followed them all the way across the lawn.
"Hey, Harry!" called Ginny. She was standing beside Hermione, her arms crossed over her stomach.
"What?"
"Don't get hurt!"
Harry poked his tongue out at her.
***
Ginny viewed herself critically in the mirror.
"My legs are too short."
Hermione sighed, and then gave a lyrical laugh. "Nonsense. You look beautiful."
Ginny smiled her appreciation, but gazed doubtfully at her reflection in the glass.
She was wearing a white halter-neck top which plunged from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine revealing her smooth, brown skin. The silky chiffon material clung attractively to every curve and contour without overdoing the skin exposure at the front.
"You don't think it's too much, do you?" she asked, anxiously.
Hermione giggled. "I should have thought the question would be 'You don't think it's too little?', actually. No, Gin, it's fine. It's high at the front and low at the back, and you've got a beautiful tan. Show it off!"
"Is the skirt too short?"
She frowned as she examined the hem-line.
"Ginny," began Hermione, in the tone of voice that betrayed both fond exasperation and amusement. "Relax." She took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. "What's the matter with you tonight?"
Ginny shrugged, and drew Hermione into a warm hug. "Nervous, I guess."
"Me too."
"It'll be fine, I know it will."
"OK, if it all goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."
***
Harry was not amused. More than that - he was extremely annoyed.
"I'm going to kill them!"
Ron rolled his eyes. "That's the seventh time you've said that in twenty minutes." He reached down to the floor, and groped around under his bed. "Can't find - me damned - shoe - "
Harry threw it at him obligingly.
"Hey, quit with the attitude, Potter!"
The expression on Ron's face was so uncharacteristic that Harry burst out laughing. Ron stared at him as though he had gone insane. He opened his mouth to say something but evidently thought better of it, and turned away to collect the rest of his clothes.
"You're a strange man, Harry," he said, fastening around his wrist the watch Harry had got him last Christmas. "Ready to go?"
"As I'll ever be." Harry got to his feet and followed Ron out of the door, newly unhexed in honour of Harry's birthday.
***
Perhaps it was the clinking of glasses and the laughter of good friends that made Harry's mouth curve into a happy smile as he and Ron walked across the patio. Or maybe the colourful lanterns that hung suspended in mid-air all around the garden, or the tableful of nibbles that stood beside the swing lounger crying out to be devoured.
Of course, it could just have been the moonlight and the warm air, the best company and Mrs Weasley's finest wine.
"Harry!" squealed Hermione, running as best she could in stiletto heels towards him. A pair of warm arms flung themselves around his neck.
"Hey, 'Mione. Nice to see you too!"
"They didn't kill you?"
Harry frowned. "No, but if I ever see either of them again, they'll be the dead ones."
"Eight," muttered Ron, under his breath. Harry elbowed him in the chest.
"What did they do to you?" asked Hermione, cheerfully.
"Locked me in the garage, among other things," replied Harry, dryly.
"Nice."
Harry nodded sarcastically.
"OK then, where's this terrific surprise of Ginny's?" asked Ron, surreptitiously reaching for a glass of wine behind Harry's back.
"Patience," said Hermione, with a wink.
Ron stared in surprise, and continued to stare as Hermione tripped away towards the back of the house.
"Don't like the sound of that, mate," he said, in a low voice.
Harry smiled as he tipped up his glass to take a sip. He took the opportunity to glance around the assembled collection of people. Mrs Weasley was pouring more wine with Alicia's and Angelina's assistance; Mr Weasley was conjuring more lanterns at the far corner of the lawn, while Percy viewed his progress with critical scepticism; Bill and Fleur were standing a little way away, very close, both with glasses in their hands, chatting lightly with tender smiles on their faces. Sirius and Lupin were walking briskly through the little avenue of trees lit by candles floating several inches above ground level. They were talking rather intensely, which made Harry watch them suspiciously for a moment or two, until his godfather gave him a light-hearted wave and a grin.
"Hey, look out," said Ron, nudging him suddenly. They both moved aside as Ginny and Fred came through the kitchen door, each supporting one of Charlie's arms.
He had awoken from his coma two days earlier, and was able to verify Mr Weasley's theory of what had occurred on the night they had found him in the kitchen. Unfortunately, his attackers had been robed and hidden in darkness, so he was unable to identify them. There could be no doubt as to why they had been sent to do him harm, though, nor from whom they had come.
"Careful, my dear!" said Mrs Weasley, pulling out a chair and instructing Ginny and Fred to guide him to it.
"I'm OK, Mum, stop fussing!" protested Charlie, irritably pushing aside her hands, which were smoothing the sling that supported his injured arm.
He had regained some of his colour, and Ginny assured everyone that there was no danger for him as long as he kept quiet and didn't move much for a day or two.
"Happy Birthday, Harry!" he said, with a grin.
Harry smiled, more out of relief to see some of his old cheerfulness and vitality than out of gratitude.
It was then that he saw Ginny.
His heart stopped. Oddly enough, his temples and throat were throbbing as blood pumped madly through his veins. His stomach had also appeared to have sunk into oblivion.
She had tied her hair loosely into a chignon, revealing vast expanses of beautiful golden skin across her back, as smooth as rippleless water, descending into curves that Harry dared not think about. At least not at that particular moment.
Her slim legs seemed to go on forever, from the hem of her skirt, daringly short, right down to the tall heels she wore. However many other thoughts and considerations had blissfully slipped his mind, he knew for sure that if he ever tore his eyes away from her he would surely die and shrivel up into nothing.
Focus, Potter.
"Happy Birthday, Harry," she said, walking gracefully towards him, her lips parted in a smile. Before he could form a reply, she had leaned towards him and pressed a light kiss on his cheek.
Oh dear God!
"Thanks," he said, forcing himself to wait a few seconds before speaking, so as to compose a tone which would not set warning bells off in Ron's head.
"I've got to disappear for a moment," she announced, allowing Ron to give her a swift hug in one arm. "The musical element, you see." She winked at Harry, and retraced her steps across the patio and behind the house as Hermione had done.
Shaking his head, he turned to look at Ron, who was equally bemused.
"What is with them tonight?" he muttered.
The faint outlines of two figures, one half a head taller than the other, slipped through the shadows on the far side of the candle-lit avenue, heading for the riverbank. Bill and Fleur.
"Aye aye," said Ron, with an amused chuckle. "He's a lucky man."
"Ron! Behave yourself!" ordered Mrs Weasley, poking him in the back as she bustled past.
Harry sniggered into his glass, and heard a splash and a hiss of breath which indicated Ron was doing the same. He doubted that they'd see Bill again for an hour or so.
Mr Weasley managed to harass Ron into helping him with something, giving Harry the opportunity to go over to Sirius by the avenue and enquire what was going on.
"You two look damned furtive over here," he said, sternly. "What's the matter?"
His godfather exchanged thoughtful glances with Lupin, and then turned to Harry.
"OK - since Gin and Hermione were going to all that trouble over arranging tonight, we thought we'd do our bit as well." He smiled as Harry's eyebrow rose. "We thought we'd do our best to round up the gang."
"Gang?"
Lupin intervened. "What he means is - since everyone at the Ministry is busy working out what the hell to do about you, among other things, we thought they should make a point of - um - observing you in the field, shall we say?"
Harry's eyes widened. "You mean - Tonks and Kingsley and Mundungus and all?"
Sirius nodded. "Give Mad-Eye half an hour to arrange the cover and check for spies and imposters and conjure security spells and survey the scene and - "
"They'll be here soon," said Lupin, his unusual green-gold eyes shining in the ethereal light. He tossed sinuous strands of burnt almond hair out of his line of vision, which promptly fell straight back again.
Harry thought that at that moment he would have seen straight through Lupin's carefully guarded secret had he not already known of it. It was there in those dark orbs, a darker, wilder green than Harry's own, with flecks of amber that became the dominant colour as the full moon drew closer. The cool silver reflected in those shrewd and mystifying pools, revealed in their depths a primal fever, wild and untamed - the lupine eyes of the wolf. Framed by waves of wayward chestnut hair, they seemed more than ever like windows into the soul of both man and beast.
Stunned by the hypnotic trance he was being slowly drawn into, Harry narrowed his eyes. Never before had such energy simmered in Lupin's persona. Never had Harry encountered any such burning intensity in man or woman. Lupin was perhaps the last man on earth he would have supposed could summon up such entrancing enigmas. There had been a time when his hair had hung limply across the back of his head, his grey eyes dulled and limpid. Tattered robes and weary movements were the trademarks of the DADA Professor of his third year, a figure which the past had claimed and sucked into oblivion.
What had invoked this change so suddenly? Was this even the same man who had sat with them in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place two years before? Secrets and mysteries, untouchable and unique, seethed and smouldered inside him in a frenzied mass powered by creation itself.
Those curious words of Sirius' came back to Harry, as he tore his gaze away: "He had his moments. We all did."
Sirius nudged him, and Harry, conquering the unnerved turbulence in his head, glanced in the direction his godfather indicated.
Soft notes of blissful music had started to float through the air from a corner of the patio, shrouded in amber shadow.
Straining his eyes, Harry saw three violins being stroked with bows held by invisible fingers. A flute beside them was playing the same notes, without a player blowing into it. Other instruments, evidently enchanted to play alone, were arranged below a canopy of soft lanterns and Mr Weasley's moonflowers.
Harry edged closer, with Sirius and Lupin behind him, until he came to stop beside Ron and the twins.
"Is this Ginny's surprise?" he asked.
Ron shrugged.
A figure stood in shadow just in front of the magical orchestra, and soon a sweet, mellifluous voice joined the beautiful musical compound. The song was something about a girl lamenting the loss of a man - the typical sentimental drivel of modern Muggles. Harry wondered who was singing. Had Ginny engaged somebody to come especially?
The light shifted, revealing first a pair of stiletto sandals and brown legs, then the hem of a short black and white dress patterned rather like the Chinese yin and yang symbol.
Harry recognised that dress.
And so did Ron.
Hermione.