Disclaimer: The extract is by Lewis Carroll and called how doth the little crocodile. But I found it on 'Representative poetry online' it has no relation to the story.
How to console?
Chapter one
Harry's head was ringing; Dumbledore had graciously disappeared into the shadows not two moments ago, leaving him standing outside the back door to the burrow. Harry looked down at his own un-scolded hand with contempt. It was poised centimetres away from the soft wood but he couldn't bring himself to knock.
Harry sighed and rapped on the peeling door resounded for the worst. It was all very well to tell Dumbledore he was fine and he was getting over Sirius's death but to have to talk to the Weasley's about it was different story.
"Harry dear is that you?" Said a small voice from within.
"Yes it's me," Harry relied, upon his answer the door was flung open and Mrs Weasley enfolded him in a hug.
"Come in dear we're just having dinner I'll call Ginny down, oh this is wonderful Hermione only just arrived a few minutes ago," Mrs Weasley said happily, Harry was jostled in to the warm welcoming kitchen, a smile on his face.
Ginny slouched into the kitchen a while later her long red hair swishing in the breeze.
"Hi Ginny how are you?" Harry said. Ginny replied with a grimace and a little nod towards Fleur Delacour and Bill who were engaged in a snuggling fest.
When every one was seated there was a total of eight people digging into a delicious roast dinner in the Weasley families kitchen, laughter filled the room. From the outside it looked like fun and a safe place to be, but Kingsly Shaklebolt knew better than that. No where was safe, not after last night.
'Knock Knock'
Every one around the table froze when they heard the door being rapped on twice.
"Is uh someone going to answer that?" Ron said uncertainly.
Mr Weasley nodded and got up from his seat. "Who is it?" He asked.
"It's Kingsly," was the muffled reply.
"Ok then what's the pass word?"
"The password is Glad Rags."
"Right good you may come in then," said Mr Weasley as he started to open the door.
Once Kingsly was inside, he stood at the front of the room were everyone could see him.
"So what brings you here," Bill asked.
"I have come to warn you."
"About hwat?" Fleur said sadly, a frown gracing her angelic face.
"Last night the Death Eaters raided a muggle village called Wacton."
"OH GOSH that's were Lavender lives!" Hermione squealed.
"Yes we are aware of that; she is fine, however her young brother has been sent to St Mungos. There is little chance of him surviving." There was a sombre and astonished silence after Kingsly finished his grim sentence.
"However," he continued. "That is not the exact issue. I have been asked to warn you that the Death Eaters are coming your way. That was the second town that has been raided and not the last, they will not stop they need more supporters. So please be on you're guard."
Kingsley nodded his head towards them and left.
Everyone in the kitchen was too stunned to talk, a tear trickled down Mrs Weasleys face but no one could console her. There was nothing to say, it wouldn't be all right people would die and what could you say to that?
Somewhere in East Finchley there was a red bricked house, which had a grimy door, kicked in at least a dozen times, and broken basement windows boarded up with cheap cardboard, the front garden was filled with rubbish and shards of glass.
If you were walking by you wouldn't give it a second glance, as this house looked almost respectable compared to the others on the street. But if you did and you looked up to the third floors grimy window you would see the faint silhouette of Ray Malfoy, who walked the small space in the room over to two more figures. A small round balding man and a tall filled out man. Both were wearing long trench coats.
"Have you got it?" Said Ray in a sharp all business like tone.
"Yes yes it's all here, but, uh, if I may would you tell me what you need such hu hu, dark objects for," the round man inquired his voice quavering.
"That's none of your business," Ray growled taking a step closer to the short one.
"Yes, yes of course I'm sorry!"
"Well give it to me then!"
"It's in here," the tall man barked, handing him a closed briefcase.
Ray opened it, eagerly checking what it contained. Once he was satisfied he closed the lid with an abrupt thud.
"How much do I owe you," he hissed.
The other men visibly, relaxed. The short one even let out a sigh of relief.
"That'd be £150.89," the tall man said carefully.
Ray reached into his pocket and produced a stack of 20 pound notes. With a look of disgust, he threw them at the short mans feet and strode out the room.
Muttering as he went, "unworthy muggles."
"I'll try and say 'How doth the little -- '" and she crossed her hands on her lap, as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do: --
"How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!"
"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again...