― CHAPTER THREE ―

Dursleys to Weasleys

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At eleven-forty five that evening, Harry was just snapping shut the lid of his trunk –which for once, was packed neatly, robes folded, spellbooks laid flat, galleons tucked in a pouch –and locking Hedwig in her cage, when he heard two explosive cracking noises downstairs, followed by Uncle Vernon's bellow of "You're early!" Hurriedly, Harry pulled a sweater over his head and grabbed his things. He paused for a fleeting look around the room that had felt like a solitary cell to him for the past six summers (Dobby banging the lamp against his head, the glare of headlights from a flying blue car at his window, Tonks in front of the mirror morphing her hair color …) and then, taking three stairs at a time, sprinted into the living room.

Ron and Hermione, dressed in the strangest-looking attires Harry had ever seen them wear, were standing awkwardly by the front door, twiddling with their wands, totally unaware of the distressing effect this act was having on the three Dursleys, who stood huddled together at a guarded distance, looking sideways at the recently-Apparated young witch and wizard.

"Harry!" Hermione beamed, flying at him in a whirl of brown curls and sparkly robes. He hugged her and drawing back, raised a quizzical eyebrow at her star-spangled pink pointed hat. "Er –your hair looks nice …"

She winked conspiratorially.

Bemused, Harry turned to clasp hands with Ron whose flaming-red shag cut touched the shoulders of his floor-length army camouflage robes. "Happy seventeenth, mate." Ron grinned at Harry as he stuck his wand into a crossbow-style sling strapped across his chest.

"Yes, congratulations for your legality to use magic the world over," said Hermione. "You can Apparate back to the Burrow with us!" Then, addressing the Dursleys with a wide, bright smile, "Aren't you going to wish Harry a happy coming-of-age birthday?"

Aunt Petunia and Dudley blinked stupidly, and Uncle Vernon, who had hit an all-time high shade of puce, growled, "Yes, yes, many wishes and best returns and all that rot, boy, now … get on with it! Go … and don't ever disturb the peace of this household again!"

Harry hadn't expected anything less from his aunt's husband, so he set his jaw and replied, "Thanks, I don't think I will."

Dudley was still eyeing Hermoine's wand and now-stern expression, and seemed to decide that courtesy would be safer than mockery in sending off his cousin. He extended a bloated hand. "So long … and, uh, thanks for not letting the Dementoids suck out my soul."

Mentally chuckling at his cousin's bravado for thanking him in front of his fuming father, Harry shook Dudley's hand and lastly turned to Aunt Petunia. Her face seemed to be negotiating between a puckered frown and a thin-lipped smile. Finally, the smile won out and she briefly squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"Farewell, Harry," she whispered. "And good luck with … with You-Know-Who."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron's eyebrows shoot up at hearing a Muggle use … well, wizard slang.

"Thanks, Aunt Petunia," said Harry. "For keeping me safe in your home … and, er –I'll send an owl when He falls."

Before Uncle Vernon could finish his outburst of "The deuce yo–" Harry had gestured to his friends, and, with a dramatic synchronized Crack! they all Disapperated, leaving the occupants of number four, Privet Drive, gaping in their vanished wake.

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"Didn't splinch anything, didya?"

Harry shook out limbs that felt like they'd been steamrolled. The three of them had reappeared in Ron's bedroom. "Not even half an eyelash," he grinned.

"That was a bloody brilliant exit –I bet your uncle's eardrums are still ringing!"

"It did have a certain panache," said Hermione with a small smile.

"What's with the get-ups, though? Malkin's fall/winter collection?"

"It was Hermione's idea," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "Themed rescue Team. Didn't you get my note?"

"Yeah, but –" Harry gestured at the camouflage and pink. "Not exactly Quidditch mitt and catsuit, are they?"

"Well, Ron wanted to scare the Dursleys into thinking he was a guerilla warrior," said Hermione, shooting Ron a retaliatory smirk. "And I tried to transfigure my robes into looking slinky and glossy, but they ended up rather Batman-esque."

"So she settled for being a fairy princess," said Ron in a half-mocking, half-admiring voice.

"Wow –and we're supposed to be seniors this year?" laughed Harry.

Hermione smiled ruefully as she flicked her wand towards Ron and then at herself, turning their travelling robes back to plain black. "We were supposed to be, yes."

Harry could see that it was breaking Hermione's heart to forgo the prospect of a heavy seventh-year curriculum, prefect duties, N.E.W.T. exams, and of course, graduation as top student. "You know for sure … Hogwart's closed?"

Ron shook his head. "We haven't heard yet."

"But even if it does reopen, Harry," said Hermione. "I've already told you, if you don't go back, neither shall we."

"We need to talk about that," mumbled Harry. "Let's just enjoy the last weeks of summer for now." His stomach gave a loud rumble. "And on that note, how about a midnight snack? I'm starved!"

"Sure … my mum's asleep, but Hermione is a whiz at ham n' eggs on toast … with this oozy yellow sauce …"

"'Eggs Benedict Carpaccio,'" said Hermione modestly.

As they made their way down the Burrow's rickety staircase to the kitchen, Harry asked casually, "Is Ginny sleeping too?"

"Not here," said Ron, shaking his head. "She's staying at the twin's flat in London until the wedding next week."

"Why?" Harry frowned.

"She felt it would be best for both of you," explained Hermione gently. "That seeing each other too much would only make it harder to part again."

Harry nodded miserably.

"Will of iron, that one," Ron said cheerfully, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if his friend was still protective of his younger sister.

Hermione had by this time conjured three mugs of foamy hot cocoa, set before them on the long wooden table, and was now busy charming her recipe ingredients. "By the way, Harry, how's your Dark Arts research coming along?"

"A lot of theory," said Harry. "Couldn't practice much, of course."

"Very funny," said Hermione. "I meant have you learned anything interesting?"

"Well, there was this bit about a wizard called the Marquis de Sade …" Harry caught a very McGonagallish look in Hermione's eyes and quickly said, "Alright, alright … I came across a topic that Voldemort is very well-versed in. Serpentry."

"As in controlling snakes?" said Ron.

"Yes, but it's much more complex …" Harry struggled to express what he had been reading that afternoon. "At its highest level, it's a kind of snake-charming power over others … spellbinding, hypnotic … I think he must use it to attract his Death Eaters."

"That sounds like the Imperious Curse."

"No," said Hermione thoughtfully, waving food-laden plates over as she joined them at the table. "The Imperious controls like a puppetmaster. Serpentry probably induces a sense of wanting to be controlled."

"Like a drug," nodded Harry. "Causing the addict to crave it even if it's dangerous or –"

"Drugs are to Muggles what potions are to us," Hermione interjected for Ron's benefit. "Actually, what they call 'recreational drugs' are the magical herbs we use in everyday potionmaking, which have no special effect on us, but on a Muggle mind they –"

"Ensnare the senses," Harry finished for her. "To quote my mother's treacherous friend."

"Your who's what?" Ron said incredulously.

"Our first Potions class …" Hermione said, looking confused.

"Aunt Petunia told me today," said Harry heavily. "In their Hogwarts days, Snape and my mum were apparently like the three of us … best friends. But then –"

Harry stopped, realizing he hadn't ever told Ron and Hermione about Snape's memory in the Pensieve. Though he didn't like exposing a side of his father that he was not proud of, his friends would have to know full details in order to help him analyze the triangle between Lily, James, and Snape. After quickly recounting the episode, Harry concluded, "So in seventh year, when my mum and dad started dating, she and Snape became estranged. And I think that's why Snape wanted them to die."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

"But, mate, Dumbledore said Snape didn't know at the time who the prophecy concerned, and how was he to know that the parents of the child would be killed too?"

"Well," said Harry stubbornly. "Knowing the history with my parents, Dumbledore should never have believed Snape's bogus remorse story."

His friends had nothing to say to this.

"I don't get how your mum and Snape were friends, though," Ron said finally. "If he used to call her 'mudblood' in public?"

"That was probably because he felt the need to emasculate himself," Hermione said sagely. "Most boys wouldn't like being defended by a girl while being humiliated in front of …"

Her voice trailed off and Harry cringed. This was the part he dreaded: the fact that it was his father who had instigated the animosity with Snape.

"Still," said Ron. "A Gryffindor and a Slytherin –not exactly ideal bonding conditions, is it?"

"Potions," Harry murmured. "They shared a common talent … Slughorn must have noticed their intimacy, she was his favorite student! But he never told me, and neither did Dumbledore."

"They must have had their reasons," said Hermione. "Maybe there's more to the story than what we know."

Harry shrugged. "I don't care about details. The only thing that interests me is payback …" He clenched his teeth. "Crucio-style."

Ron whistled softly and Hermione looked scandalized.

"I have to train harder in Occlumency," Harry muttered, more to himself than to the other two. "So he won't be able to deflect the …"

"Um, Harry," Hermione spoke up timidly. "Can I say something?"

"Yeah?"

Her brown eyes were sombre. "I know Snape is a horrid man, but don't … don't think as V-Voldemort would." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't let your quest turn into a vendetta."

There was a brief interval of silence.

Clearing his throat as he pushed away his empty plate, Harry said, "That was the best birthday breakfast ever, Hermione." Turning to Ron, "Is it O.K. if I take Percy's old room? Sorry guys, it's been a long day."

"'Course," said Ron with a huge yawn. "I'm ready to crash myself … and princess here will want her beauty sleep."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, but was still eying Harry uneasily. There was a small vein throbbing on her friend's forehead that seemed to her quite unconnected with nocturnal fatigue.