Dinner that evening was a delightful affair; the TonFruit and nightshade casserole steamed purple and smelled delicious. Everyone, including the often-picky Ginny and recently-dieting Mr. Weasley, showered Mrs. Weasley with compliments that made her face turn the same pleasing red as her hair.
After everyone had wolfed down one helping and started another, Mr. Weasley touched his mouth with his serviette and set it on the table.
"Molly, children, I need to tell you something rather dire. I hardly like to spoil dinner—"
"Then don't, dear," Mrs. Weasley said quickly.
"Molly, I am afraid I must. I want you each to be aware that the Ministry has been alerted that one of You-Know-Who's spies running amuck. In truth, they have asked those who know not to spread the news, as it may reach the spy and forewarn them. But…I rather felt I had to."
Harry stopped eating and looked at Mr. Weasley intently, who had been subtly avoiding meeting his eyes.
"Mr. Weasley—why should you have to tell us specifically?" Harry asked, feeling a dark sense of foreboding.
"Because, Harry, the spy is supposedly going to try and become very close to you. I want you especially to beware any new relationships with those nearby." Mr. Weasley held Harry's gaze for another moment, then looked down at his plate.
Everyone was silent.
"Right, well then," Mr. Weasley said perkily, "In an effort to dispel this gloom, I have something new and exciting to show you!" He exited, heading into the workroom.
"Not another set of enchanted jump-cables," Ginny whined softly, making Harry snicker and Ron groan in remembrance.
Mr. Weasley returned to place a new Muggle toy on the table: a "slothful Susan," he proudly announced. In his excitement he began to set the centerpiece onto the table, and Hermione hurriedly picked up the casserole dish to move it out of the way.
She tried to inform Mr. Weasley of the centerpiece's proper name, but just as she was saying "It's actually called a lazy—" her arms started to wobble with the strain of holding up the bowl. "Aaaahhh—" she yelped, as the bowl tipped and spilled all over her plate, shirt and lap. And, incidentally, Ron's hands. He looked sheepishly at her, his hands still cupped around hers on the bowl.
"Sorry—couldn't stop it in time," he said.
"Ron, dear, go help Hermione to the sink," Mrs. Weasley said, more than a hint of regret in her voice for the wasted casserole.
In the kitchen, Ron scrubbed the casserole dish as Hermione rinsed her arms.
"This top is completely ruined," she said despairingly.
"The Hermione I know wouldn't care," Ron said, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione huffed. "Are you suggesting that I somehow mysteriously changed into this spy during dinner?"
Silence.
"It could've been before dinner."
"You're ridiculous, Ron! I am Hermione Granger, your friend and, I'll have you know, a girl who likes to wear nice clean clothes." Hermione harrumphed.
"Ok, that sounded more like you. And I know you're a girl, and that your clothes always smell very clean," Ron said unthinkingly.
Hermioned eyed him with a small smile as Ron began to blush.
"But wait…the Hermione I know wouldn't have to defend herself about clothes. She'd be worried about Harry and start thinking of a plan right off the bat, maybe she'd come up with a code for making sure we're really us—"
"ARGH!" Hermione cried, drying her hands furiously and stomping back into dining room.
Cleanup was left to Harry and Ginny. Harry brought the rest of the dishes over (still streaming with the purple TonFruit and nightshade casserole juices) and joined Ginny at the sink to do the drying.
"Tell me again why won't your Mum just use magic on these?" Harry asked grumpily.
Ginny continued to scrub.
"Ginny?" Harry asked.
"Oh! Sorry, Harry—I was just thinking…what was it you said?" Ginny asked, flushing brightly.
"Why can't we magic the dishes clean?"
"Apparently Mum thinks it builds 'character,' " Ginny replied dejectedly.
They scraped and rubbed quietly, until Harry stopped and looked directly at Ginny.
"Ginny, are you ok? You were really quiet at dinner…and when your dad said that bit about the spy—"
"I'm fine, Harry, thanks for asking," she replied, also turning to him but looking downward. "I was just remembering—don't be angry—when you were talking to Fred and George's new assistant, there was something strange about her. I get a really bad feeling about her, Harry. I—I just think she's trying to get close to you and don'twanttoseeyougethurt," Ginny rushed, finally looking up at him.
Harry stared at her. "You mean you think Dabra's the spy?" he asked incredulously.
"She's my age, Ginny! She works for Fred and George, for Merlin's sake! Do you really think they'd hire someone out to get me? And that the spy would work in a joke shop I hardly go to?" Harry's voice got louder and louder; he didn't know why he was defending this girl he hardly knew to Ginny.
"Fine," Ginny said simply. Harry noticed a shininess in her eyes as she walked past, and he immediately felt like he'd been squashed by a Hungarian Horntail.
"Why me?" he asked, looking at the ceiling.