Chapter Three - Back to Bed, Back to Reality
Several hours later Harry staggered out of the fireplace at The Burrow. He and Neville had only broken up the party when Lupin and Tonks had arrived, obviously on orders to retrieve them. Harry had hidden under the cloak, shaking with laughter, while Neville tried to pretend that he was meeting his girlfriend. The cloak hadn't fooled Tonks for a second. She'd whipped it off Harry's head and joked that she was glad she didn't have to mend a broken nose this time, seeing as she was a bit tired: "… and Bill says bugger off back home, unless you want him to wake Molly."
Fortunately, the living room was dark and deserted. Harry kicked his trainers off, trampling on the laces and nearly crashing to the floor when he caught his foot in the hem of the Invisibility Cloak, which kept slipping from his grasp. With some difficulty, he threw the loose bundle in the general direction of the table. He crept up five flights of stairs to Ron's attic room, which he was sharing in advance of the wedding hordes. He passed Ginny's open door on the way and closed it gently, knowing that Hermione hated being woken by even a chink of light.
As he mounted the final flight of stairs, Harry was starting to feel slightly sick and incredibly tired. He opened Ron's door quietly and was greeted by the final shock of the evening. Facing away from the door, Ron and Hermione were lying on Ron's bed; fully clothed but sound asleep. Ron's long frame was curved into Hermione's, his face almost hidden in a mass of bushy brown hair. The orange curtains were wide open and Hermione had pulled a corner of the duvet up over her eyes.
Harry softly closed the door again. He crept back down to the third landing and went into Ginny's empty room. He collapsed onto her bed like a sailor reaching dry land after a very long voyage. He turned his face into Ginny's pillow, searching for a hint of her achingly familiar flowery scent. He slept.
Harry awoke with sunlight streaming directly into his eyes. He blinked frantically, groping for his glasses, which had torn themselves off his face at some point during the night. Mrs Weasley came into focus, hands on hips, looking down at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Before he could start stuttering apologies and excuses, she turned on her heel. He heard her deliberate tread going up the attic stairs and sank back into the mattress, covering his face with his hands. His mouth felt like the bottom of Hedwig's cage.
Ten minutes later, clean teeth and clothes had wrought a wonderful improvement in Harry's spirits. He slipped into the kitchen and beckoned the jug of pumpkin juice sitting on the dresser with his wand. He sat down at the table with Mr Weasley, Bill, Fleur and the twins. Hermione was standing over by the cooker, her hand on Mrs Weasley's arm, talking earnestly in a low voice. Harry silently wished her luck but thought her only chance of talking her way out of Mrs Weasley's bad books would be with a dose of Felix Felicis. Fred winked at him and George waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Sneaking off…"
"Out 'til all hours…"
"Naughty, naughty…"
"Ah, shut it you two." Harry helped himself to porridge.
"Fine. We'll get to you later …"
"But only 'cause we want to watch the floor show …"
Ron slunk through the kitchen door. He saw Hermione talking to his mother and nearly turned tail again. "Ron – get over there and make your peace with your mother – now." Mr Weasley rattled his copy of the Daily Prophet and disappeared behind it again. Harry and Ron exchanged looks. To Harry's surprise, Ron looked more cheerful than Harry had seen him since the funeral. "Why didn't you wake us, you idiot?" he said in a resigned voice. "Fell asleep waiting up for you …" Harry's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
"Didn't think of it. Sorry. Bit, you know …"
"Smashed," said Fred and George in unison. Harry looked at them with narrowed eyes.
"Don't you two have a shop to run?"
"Can't get rid of us that easily, Oh Hungover One. We're helping Mum ..."
"Yeah – you're stuck with us until tomorrow, mate." Fred helped himself to more bacon.
"Oh, well – better get this over with I suppose." Ron shuffled off to join Hermione and his mother. Mrs Weasley pointed at the back door with her wand. It flew open. Mrs Weasley pointed again and followed Ron and Hermione out into the garden. The door slammed shut of its own accord. Immediately, Fred and George pointed their wands at the sash window, which shot up several inches with a loud groan.
Fragments of Mrs Weasley's lamentation drifted into the kitchen. "Bed-hopping!" followed a few moments later by, "…under my roof …only children …"
At this, it seemed Ron made an attempt to fight back. Mutters of: "Seventeen … weren't doing anything wrong …" filtered through.
Then Hermione's higher voice penetrated the walls. "Don't blame Ron … all my fault … missing home …" Bill whistled through his teeth.
"Oh no, Hermione," said Fred.
"You do not want to go in that direction," said George. Fleur and Harry looked startled and Mr Weasley lowered the Prophet warily. Sure enough, Mrs Weasley's voice was heard again, rapidly rising in outrage: "… brazen attitude … as though I don't have enough to worry about…" and then, distinctly, "… my dear girl, people may do things differently at home but this is a respectable house!"
Ron burst through the back door, dragging Hermione by the arm. "Let go Ron! It's not worth it!" she squeaked. Hermione's face was bright scarlet, as were Ron's ears.
"Too right it's not," snarled Ron, dropping Hermione's arm and flinging himself into a chair. "That was well out of order. How d-dare sh-she blame …" Ron spluttered to a halt, his voice strangled. Six heads turned as one as Mrs Weasley came back into the kitchen and closed the back door. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her.
"Molly – apologise to the children, please," Mr Weasley said gently. Mrs Weasley took a breath but no words came out.
"It's fine, Mr Weasley." Hermione's colour had returned to normal and her voice was formal, even forbidding. "I'm in your house after all. Mrs Weasley, I'm very sorry if I've offended you in any way. I can go ..."
"Mais non! What is zis foolishness? Ze wedding – eet is tomorrow! Bill, say somezing!" Fleur's perfect eyebrows had almost disappeared into her hairline. Mr Weasley spoke again, even more gently than before.
"You're not going anywhere Hermione, my dear. Molly, come on now…" Mrs Weasley dabbed her eyes with a tea towel and timidly met Ron's angry glare.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione, and you too, Ron ... what a terrible thing to say …"
"Yeah it was," Ron grunted. Hermione nudged him. "Fine. I'm sorry too. I promise not to go within ten feet of any girl until I'm at least thirty-five. Happy?"
Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice; not sure if he were more impressed by Ron's mention of girls in front of Fred and George, or his use of the word 'any' with Hermione sitting right next to him – wand clearly visible sticking out of the pocket of her cardigan.
"Water under the bridge then …" Mr Weasley folded the Prophet and hurried out of the room. Mrs Weasley's eyes scanned the table for victims.
"Right. Fred, George – that garden needs going over again. Bill, give me a hand drawing chairs. You three …"
"But we've got work to do!"
"Sorry Mrs Weasley, we're really busy."
"Yeah Mum. Really important, like, Dark Wizard catching stuff to do …"
Breathless with laughter, Harry, Ron and Hermione rushed from the kitchen – Ron snatching up several pieces of toast on the way – and into the living room. Ron extracted the Marauder's Map from a pile of papers and unfolded it onto the table, while Hermione sat down and opened 'New Theory of Numerology'.
"So – what did you two find to do with yourselves last night?" Harry asked, teasingly.
"Wait 'til you hear about this Harry – it's so cool. We're trying to work out whether the Map principle will scale to the Wizard London A-Z but I think it might be a bit more realistic to start with this Ordinary Survey thingy that Hermione got from the village …"
"It's Ordnance, Ron." Hermione's hair had fallen forwards as she hunched over her book and Harry noticed that the back of her neck had gone rather pink.
"Fewer people in these remote places y'know ... less work, even with needing to set the charms to ignore the Muggles … and the sheep …". Ron's voice trailed off and Harry glanced over sharply. Ron was gazing at Hermione's neck with a strange expression.
Harry grinned and walked round the table to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak from where it had landed on the carpet next to the abandoned chess game. He reached down and picked up the black knight, examining it thoughtfully. Have it your way, Ron.
"Yeah, that looks brilliant – nice one you two. Want to hear what Neville and I got up to? I should tell you though – the mead in the Leaky Cauldron's well dodgy. I'm sticking to Madam Rosmerta's in future. Much healthier." Ron sniggered and Hermione looked reproving. "Then again … maybe I'll just go teetotal …"