"Now, Molly, you really must calm down before we can leave," Arthur Weasley suggested to his wife, who at that moment was pacing before the fireplace in the Burrow and wringing her hands in anger.
"Calm. Calm, Arthur? How can I be calm when I'm about to step into that--that--Muggle's den!" She turned to her husband, beseeching. "Arthur dear, can't we use a Ministry car? It would be so much more reliable than our own. You know it's been cranky lately, not wanting to fly or turn invisible, especially when I'm in it. I don't think it likes me very much."
Mr. Weasley patted his wife's back, his expression apologetic but firm.
"I'm sorry, Molly. You know we can't. By some miracle, Dumbledore has managed to keep the news of the Death Eater attack and Harry's illness out of the press. The fact that most of the students left for holiday before word spread most likely had a lot to do with that. If we use a Ministry car, word will get back to Cornelius Fudge. He'll want to know why we visited the school in the middle of the Christmas holidays. Once he learns about Harry, there's really no telling what he might do."
Molly narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her midriff, shoving her ample breasts into prominence beneath her rose-pink, woolen half-cloak. Her opinion of the bumbling Minister of Magic was well known and quite clear.
"Call a press conference, no doubt," she predicted.
"No doubt," her husband agreed. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He dearly loved his wife, never more so than when she spoke with passion on a subject. "So. That leaves us with using our own means of transportation."
"We could Floo there," she suggested.
"The Dursley house was taken off the Floo network, remember? Besides which, I understand from Ron, the Muggles have bricked up their fireplace to prevent anyone from using it as a point of entry. I understand why, as they weren't too pleased with Fred and George's little joke with the Ton-Tongue Toffee. The closest connected hearth in the network is Arabella Figgs', and we can't draw that kind of attention to her." He picked up the keys to the family's Ford Anglia, the vehicle they'd bought to replace the one Ron and Harry lost at the start of their second year at Hogwarts. "Ready?"
"Not really," she sighed. Molly's expression melted into motherly concern. She resumed wringing her hands. "But I do so want to get to Harry. Why couldn't the Dursleys have gone to Hogwarts yesterday afternoon?"
Arthur tilted his head. "You really expect those particular Muggles to put off the holiday party they had planned for last night? To give up their own soft beds to rush to Harry's side?"
"Pffft. Not likely."
"We're rather lucky they're willing to come at all."
"Lucky!" Molly's voice rose to a fingernails-on-chalkboard screech. "How do you consider it luck to have Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley at Hogwarts?"
"Molly, dear, no matter what we may think of them, they are Harry's family. His last remaining blood kin."
She wagged a warning finger in his face. "He won't appreciate their being there. Mark me on that."
"Probably not," he admitted, grabbed her finger, and pulled her hand down. Before she could protest, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. "Albus asked me to transport them, so transport them I will."
###
At precisely two minutes of seven in the morning, the Ford Anglia stuttered to a stop outside of #4 Privet Drive, Surrey with only the smallest squeal of rubber against the cement curb. Behind the wheel, Arthur Weasley puffed up in pride. He stared at the house number with a beaming smile.
Up and down the street, each house stood wreathed in lights. In the yards, manger scenes competed with displays of snowmen and monuments to Santa Claus. Number 4 was no exception, wrapped in numerous circles of multi-colored lights. A trio of squat, cheerful figures dressed in red and green stood in the yard next to the cement fountain, surrounded by wrapped presents.
"See? Got us here just fine, and right on time, too."
"Fine, yes. If you don't count the three wrong turns."
"Ahh, but the policing man was so very helpful."
"You almost talked his ear off," she said. "He probably only gave us the directions so he could get away from your chatter."
"Molly, dear, has anyone ever told you that you do not travel well?"
"Oh, I can travel well enough. Your driving on the other hand, is enough to turn me batty."
"At this point, I am tempted to make a joke about women drivers, but I see from the fire in your eyes, that would not be an intelligent thing to do."
"No, Arthur, it would not."
He stared at #4 and heaved a resigned sigh, all trace of his earlier good mood gone. "Well then. I suppose we've put it off long enough. We should go up and knock, don't you think?"
"Since we're here, we might as well." She opened her knitting bag and took out her latest project, a sweater dress for Cousin Martha up in Edinburgh. "I'll wait here while you go and fetch them, dear."
Arthur scowled. "Thank you, wife."
"My pleasure, husband."
Before Arthur Weasley made it halfway to the door, the portal opened and all three Dursleys stepped outside. Vernon Dursley, a beefy man with three necks and piggish, beady eyes, hurried to lock the door before Arthur got so much as a glimpse inside. At his side, his prune-faced stick of a wife, Petunia, held onto her son, Dudley, as though she feared the wizard would snatch the boy away.
As if I would have any reason to take the little whale, Arthur thought. My goodness, he's even bigger than the last time I saw him. I wouldn't have thought it possible. Surely all that blubber can't be real. Or healthy.
"Good morning. I'm Arthur Weasley, Ronald Weasley's father. Remember me?"
Arthur held out his hand for shaking. The Muggle pointedly ignored him. Instead, Vernon examined the Anglia, a sneer of superiority on his face. His new company car sat in the driveway, shiny under a new layer of wax.
"I see you arrived on time and by regular means."
"Yes." Arthur Weasley didn't think it prudent to mention his car's more magical features. He covered the rejected handshake by clapping his two hands together in a "well then" motion. "If you'll bring out your luggage," Arthur said, "we'll be on our way."
"No luggage," Vernon replied. "We won't be staying that long."
Mr. Weasley blinked in confusion. "But we don't know how long Harry will be ill. It could be several days, at least."
"As I said, we won't be staying long enough to need baggage. We're going to make sure there's no skimping on his care. He is, however unfortunately, our responsibility."
"Our Duddlykins has a holiday party to get to tomorrow night." Petunia fawned over the enormous boy, petting his greased-back hair and smoothing his clothing. "Don't you, Duddydums?"
"Why do I have to go?" Dudley whined. Yellow cake crumbs, flecks of chocolate icing, and colored sprinkles sprayed the sidewalk and speckled the front of his white coat. The overall effect was that of a rotund, dirty snowman. "Why can't I stay here today? I'm old enough."
"Yes, you are, dear," Petunia replied as she wiped off the crumbs, "but as this--er--person has said, we don't know how long we'll be gone, and you would have no way to contact us if something happened."
He crammed another cupcake into his mouth, whole. Three more waited in his other hand. "I wan'nu s'ay he'." Crumbs sprayed as far as Arthur Weasley's shoes.
"So do I," Vernon said, "but we don't have a choice. Get it their car, son. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can come back."
"Quickly now," Petunia urged them forward. "We don't want the neighbors to see."
The three Dursleys took over the back seat, with Petunia squashed between the bulks of her husband and son. Arthur resumed his place behind the wheel, performed introductions all around, then started the car and drove away.
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what the bluudy 'ell?"
Petunia grabbed her husband's arm and shrieked.
"Mum! Dad! We're FLYING! The car is off the ground! It's flying!" The house at #4 Privet Drive vanished behind and below them, lost beneath a blanket of fluffy white clouds. Dudley had a sudden thought. "'ere! What about Christmas? We'll be home by then, won't we? All my presents are back there!"
"Yes, son, we--we'll be home in plenty of time for you to open your gifts." Vernon grabbed Arthur's headrest and leaned forward, his face a particularly sick shade of green. "Do you have to go so high?"
"We're invisible. No one can see us."
"I'm not asking if anyone can see us. I don't give a flying . . . well, I could care less about that! We're so high!" His clawed fingers left permanent marks in the headrest.
"We're perfectly safe, Mr. Dursley." Molly did her best to be civil. "Please sit back and enjoy the ride."
"'Enjoy the ride' did you say? 'Enjoy the ride'! How can I possibly enjoy a ride in a ruddy FLYING CAR!"
Petunia's chant of doom accented Vernon's hysterics. "We're going to fall, we're going to fall, we're going to fall."
"No, we are not going to fall," Molly said. "This car is perfectly safe. I trust it completely. I trust it to carry my own dear children, which says something right there!"
The car gave a loud chuff and surged forward. The ride became, if possible, even smoother. Under the hood, the engine purred like a high-tech racing machine. Below the wheels, clouds lay like puffs of gilded cotton, painted gold by the early sun's rays.
With the distant ground invisible below the cloud deck, Vernon settled down, though Petunia had yet to ease her death grip on his arm.
"So, um (gulp), tell me more about what happened to the br--er, I mean, to Harry."
Molly waited for Arthur to answer. When he elected to concentrate entirely on his driving, she reluctantly replied, "Harry was accidentally hit by a very nasty curse. It is, I'm sorry to say, potentially fatal." That couldn't have been delight to cross their faces. Surely not! "There's only one known cure, and the main ingredient is very hard to find."
"Accident did you say? How so?"
"Some rather . . . shall we call them 'despicable people' . . . attacked one of the Hogwarts professors in the woods outside the school. Harry was hit by one of the spells."
"Incompetence. Pure incompetence on the part of the teacher who started it all. Should never have led the boy into danger. I see. Go on."
Molly fought the urge to grind her teeth together. However much she personally disliked Severus Snape, 'incompetence' was not a word readily applied to him or to anyone associated with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"Harry is currently in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. A party has been dispatched to find the main ingredient of the antidote. We can only pray they'll arrive back in time."
"He's still at the school? Why hasn't he been moved to a real hospital, with real doctors? If such a thing exists for your kind."
"Yes, it can, and does, exist. There is nothing a hospital can do for Harry that the school's mediwitch, Madame Pomfrey, can't do. At least at Hogwarts, he will be close at hand when the search party returns with the blooms from Dawn's Glory."
Throughout the conversation, Petunia's chant remained a monotonous, irritating background noise. "We're going to fall. We're going to fall. We're going to fall."
"This search party," Vernon asked. "Who all is in it?"
"The Hogwarts Potions Master, Severus Snape, and two of Harry's classmates."
"This potions master. Is he the same professor, the one from the forest?"
"Yes."
"So you've sent the man
responsible for the boy's sickness and two students to find the cure. Students,
did you say?"
"My cupcakes are gone," Dudley complained. "I'm still hungry!"
"What kind of incompetent care is this?" Vernon said. "I'll see that the school and everyone involved is made to pay. Surely there must be some sort of legal system we can go to for recompense."
"Dad, I'm hungry!"
"We're going to fall. We're going to fall. Vernon, we're flying! Do something, we're going to fall!"
At the far end of her usually limitless patience, Molly Weasley flicked her wand in the air and said, "Somnulus."
All three passengers in the back seat fell immediately to sleep. Molly returned her wand to her knitting bag and snapped it closed. With every porcine snore and puff, Dudley blew wet crumbs off his clothes and into the rear floorboard. Vernon drooled on Petunia's bony shoulder.
"Thank you, dear." Mr. Weasley exhaled and shook his head. "Oh, I do dread the return trip."
"You know now why they're coming, don't you?" Molly railed. "They don't care a fig about that dear, sweet boy. They're hoping to find fault, real or imagined, with Harry's medical care. One way or another, they mean to make profit off it! Not for him, poor boy, no, never for Harry. For themselves!"
"Calm yourself, Molly, before you burst something."
"I'd burst the car doors open and toss 'em out if I thought it would do anyone any good."
Arthur caught the driver's side door and pulled it shut. A hasty spell closed and locked the others.
"Molly Weasley. You will settle down and rein in that temper of yours. If not for my sake then for Harry Potter's. He doesn't need you prowling around his sickbed in fits of pique, and he certainly doesn't need to hear your rants about his family."
Molly melted into her seat, repentant. Arthur reached over and squeezed her hand.
"He'll be all right, Molly dear. Dumbledore will do everything humanly possible to see him well again."
"But the Devourer's Curse," Molly sobbed, her eyes bright with tears.
"Wait until we talk to Albus and Poppy. We'll know more then."
###
Molly let the three Muggles sleep until Arthur set the car down on the main Hogwarts lawn. After a moment of disorientation, Petunia realized they were safely on the ground. Despite her bony stature, she shoved her much larger husband out of the way, escaping the flying car with almost magical speed.
"Whoa," Dudley moaned. He stared up at the spires of Hogwarts, at the crowns of crenellated towers that vanished into low-lying clouds. A shaft of sunlight broke through the overcast to paint the entire castle in rich, magical color. "His school is bigger than mine. And he has a lake to swim in. And a great expanse of lawn to lie about on. That's not fair!"
"Hogwarts is older than your school, I imagine," Molly couldn't resist the dig, "by about 900 years, I would say."
"Dad!"
"We'll discuss it later, son."
"Ahh," Arthur said with great relief, "here's the Headmaster."
Professor Dumbledore, clad in ash gray robes decorated with embroidered dragons done in scarlet, pewter, and silver thread, met the party at the base of the school steps. Professor McGonagall, in her habitual green velvet robes and amber-studded brooch, stood to his left and rear.
Once more, Arthur Weasley performed introductions.
"Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley, may I introduce Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With him is Professor Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House."
Molly stepped forward before anyone else could speak. "How is Harry?"
"He's doing as well as can be expected, Molly. Actually, he's doing much better than we'd hoped. Your son's supportive presence, I think, has much to do with it."
"I want to see this hospital wing I've heard about," Vernon said.
"Don't you mean, you want to see Harry?"
"Yes. Harry. Take us to Harry."
Albus rested a knowing eye on each Muggle in turn. Harry's relatives wiggled beneath his all-seeing gaze. Though by no shift of expression or glitter of eye, Dumbledore left all three with an impression of unmistakable disapproval and disappointment.
"Follow me. I'll take you to him."
Within two turns after entering the castle, the Muggles were hopelessly lost.
Dudley pointed to a suit of armor from the mid-1700s and stammered, "Did . . . did that just . . . move its head--helmet--to watch us?"
"I imagine it did." The Headmaster tried very hard to keep a smile from his face. "Also, don't be surprised if some of the portraits speak or move. This is, after all, an enchanted castle."
Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost mascot for Gryffindor House, floated through a doorway and into their corridor. In true gentlemanly fashion, he tipped his nearly severed head in a nod of greeting.
"Good morning, all. Good morning, ladies."
Petunia swooned. Vernon, slack-jawed with dismay, didn't even notice his wife lying on the floor. Dudley looked like his cupcakes wanted to make a return appearance.
"Oh, my," Nick said as he looked down on the unconscious woman. "How odd."
"A-a-a-a-g-g-g-g-g-g-ghost!"
"Certainly."
"Forgive them, Sir Nicholas," Dumbledore said. "These are Harry's Muggle relations. I fear they are not accustomed to seeing apparitions such as yourself."
"Ahh, that explains the odd reaction. Very well then. I shall be on my way. Do give the dear boy my most sincere wishes for a hasty recovery. If the house ghosts or portraits can help in any way, please let us know."
"Thank you, Sir Nicholas."
The ghost vanished through the nearest wall.
Minerva offered to waken Petunia with a spell. Vernon, at last aware of his wife's condition, refused, insisting she would awaken on her own. Professor McGonagall presented the recovering woman with a glass of water. The fact that she had magicked into existence behind everyone's back was simply not mentioned.
Once everyone was once more on their feet and relatively well, Albus motioned them on. "The hospital wing is around this last corner."
The party rounded the final turn. The entire Dursley family stumbled to a halt. Rubeus Hagrid stood outside the doors to the hospital wing like a sentinel of stone, tree-trunk arms crossed over his chest. A troll's club, as tall as Dudley and shining from years of wear, leaned against the wall at his side.
Vernon jabbed a wobbly finger toward Hagrid and took a fearful step back. "You! I remember you!"
"Aye, and I 'magine you remember other things, as well," Hagrid said, a definite growl in his voice. He touched the polished grip of the club but didn't lift the weapon. "You just be mindin' your manners around that poor, sick boy in there, or you'll be risking somethin' worse than a wiggly tail."
Dudley moaned and grabbed his hindquarters. In reality, he couldn't reach that far, only able to reach his bulging hips. As an added measure, he backed against the nearest wall, using it to guard his backside until he could slip through the hospital wing doors. His parents slithered past Hagrid and disappeared from view.
"Hagrid?" Dumbledore blinked his most innocent at the half-giant. A merry twinkle filled his eyes. Beside him, Minerva McGonagall struggled to contain her own mirth. "Did something happen that I should know about? Something about a 'wiggly tail'?"
"Oh, er, Professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall. Um. No, no. Sorry, didn't see you there. The, uh, fat one blocked the view, I s'pose."
"Hagrid."
Sigh. "Oh dear."
TBC