AN: I do not own Harry Potter, that honor goes to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 2 - Weasley Wizard Wheezes

Fred and George approached Harry a week and a half later. They'd finished playing a game of Quidditch, and everyone was tramping back to the house. "Harry, we have two things we want to talk about," Fred whispered as they put their brooms away in the old outhouse that doubled as a broom shed.

"Yes?" Harry replied as he watched Ron and Ginny, still arguing about who flew better, tramping across the lawn toward the listing house. It still amazed Harry that everything above the second story didn't simply topple over. Four of the thick supports under the bulk of the third, fourth, and fifth story additions bowed in different directions. He thought he could hear a muffled groan from the tortured wood on the cutting wind from where he stood, over a hundred or more paces away.

"Bill did some groundwork for us around Christmas and again near Easter," George announced as he took his time closing the broom shed. "In a year, we'll have a moderately sized store ready for us in Diagon Alley."

Blinking, Harry stared at the twins, a bubble of excitement rising in his chest. "You mean that you'll start selling your products for real?" he questioned. He knew the twins' dream was one step closer to becoming a reality. "Are you leaving Hogwarts then?"

Fred grimaced and shook his head. "We want to… but... we can't. At best, we'll have another two years before we can officially open the shop," he muttered, his face twisted into a sour expression.

"We'll use the rest of the Galleons you gave us to work on making more product, testing what still needs to be tested, and…" George said in a low voice, his words trailing off at the end.

"Open a shop inside Hogwarts," the twins exclaimed together. "The sales alone from this next year could pay for the first month or two of rent plus stock up on supplies for when we graduate," Fred finished with a wide smile.

"That sounds good to me, but what do you need?" Harry asked as they made their way to the house. Mrs. Weasley appeared by the doorway for a moment before disappearing back inside.

"We'd like for you to help us test the products and maybe assist us in expanding our line of sweets. I know you liked the Treacle Tart Dream you helped us created."

"There's a bit of magic we'd love your input on," George supplied a moment later.

"And, we need to know what your intentions are with our sister," Fred joked in a lofty voice.

"Your... what? What does Ginny have to do with your joke shop?" Harry questioned with a frown.

"We've seen the looks between you two," George accused with a smirk.

"Looks?"

"Looks," Fred confirmed with a nod. " Are you going to date our sister?" the twins asked at the same time.

"I will see whoever I want to," Ginny hissed as she stepped out of the doorway, her wand clutched in her hand. She advanced on the twins with a look of such fury that Harry stepped far to the side. "He sees me as a sister," she said in an odd, stranged tone as she pointed her finger at Fred. "You stay out of it, and you," she demanded as she rounded on George, "worry about yourselves if Mum finds your stash in Ron's room!" She huffed and turned around. She gave Harry an imperious look and marched back into the house, her head held high.

"So… that happened," Harry commented with a snort. "She's right, you know. She's like a sister to me."

"Which is why she is so pissed," Fred muttered to George. "We'll talk about that later, but can you help us?" he asked with a grimace.

"You know I will."

"Brilliant!"

Mrs. Weasley gave them all a stern expression as they entered the house from the sitting room. Hedwig sat on the table, hooting with pleasure as she nibbled on a few treats from a dish. Harry, surprised to see her downstairs, went over and stroked his beautiful owl. "Hello, Hedwig," he greeted and noticed an envelope laying on the table near the plate.

"It's from Edward Tonks," he announced under his breath.

"Who's Edward Tonks?" Mrs. Weasley asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Tonks, like that Auror? Blimey, Harry, didn't you say you were going to owl her dad?" Ron asked, a large furrow above his brow.

Five sets of eyes drilled into Harry as he lifted the letter off the table. "Yes, I wanted to see if he'd consider working with Hermione," he answered as he broke the nondescript red wax seal. Fishing out the thick parchment, he frowned and read:

"Mr. Potter,

Your letter has found me at an awkward point in my life. My wife and I have read over your letter and have discussed your proposition. It has come to our attention that you know our daughter, Nymphadora, and her work within the Ministry. My wife and I have a few questions before we can give you an answer one way or another.

I will not lie and say your offer isn't tempting, but we have some reservations. If you would be willing, is there a place we could sit down and talk? Exchanging letters back and forth may take all summer. We both will be available to meet you at a respectable location in Diagon Alley anytime after lunch during the next week.

We await your owl,

Ted and Andromeda Tonks"

Harry frowned as he put away the letter. "Well, what does it say?" Ron questioned as he tried to peer over the table.

"They need to meet and ask a few questions."

"Harry, dear, you do realize Andromeda Tonks was Andromeda Black before she was disowned, right?" Mrs. Weasley asked into the silence.

"Because she married a Muggle-born, yeah," Harry answered with a curt nod. He knew his voice might be borderline disrespectful, but he didn't want to lose his train of thought. Harry wasn't sure Hermione would agree to apprentice under Edward for the summer. Drumming his fingers on the table, he realized another flaw in his plan. Mr. and Mrs. Granger may not agree to let a strange man teach their daughter. He grimaced and realized he didn't have a way to contact Hermione's parents.

"Hedwig, I may need you to fly to Hermione's tonight," he said as he ran a finger over her soft feathers. A hoot was all he got in reply.

That evening, he pulled Mr. Weasley aside. Before he could speak, the middle-aged wizard smiled at him and said, "you want to go to Diagon Alley to meet Edward Tonks."

Harry winced and nodded. He didn't want to seem like he only went to Mr. Weasley when he needed something. "Yes, sorry, sir," he muttered. "I'd like to see if Edward will take Hermione on as an apprentice."

Mr. Weasley pursed his lips and settled into his armchair by the fire. "Have you spoken to Denis or Eve about this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry grimaced and shook his head. "I kind of forgot," he confessed. "I'm sending them a letter to them tonight with Hedwig."

"You do realize the Grangers go on holiday almost every summer?"

Harry picked at his forearm as he tried not to fidget, where the cursed fire burned him at the Ministry. "Uh... well... no," he admitted. "I know Hermione went to France last year."

"The Grangers make it a point to see their extended family every year," Mr. Weasley informed with a judicious nod. "A good habit to get into when you get older. Family means everything. Before we discuss this business with Tonks, we need to talk about something else. Harry, you've been... grouchy recently. Even before Black was invited for dinner. Is there something bothering you? Ron, maybe?"

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley. I... I'm not sure. Sometimes I just get anxious or angry and I'm not sure why. I'll be more careful in the future."

"This isn't about being careful. It's about understanding why it's happening. Has something changed recently?"

Harry grimaced took a deep breath. He realized his knee was bouncing and forced it to stillness. "I wish I knew," he answered with deliberate calm. "It isn't Ron. He means well, even if I don't want to play Quidditch right now. The work Professor McGonagall gave me is driving me mental."

"Are you working yourself too hard?"

He had to suppress the laugh that bubbled up in his chest. With a cough, he said, "no, Mr. Weasley. If anything, I've been slacking off my normal pace. Hermione isn't here to push me to keep to the harder material. I keep getting distracted by other projects."

"Oh, like what? Have you started unlocking the deepest secrets of magic?" Mr. Weasley joked with a warm smile. "Bill wasn't much older than you when he discovered the mysteries of Curse Breaking. That boy," he said, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"No, sir. I'm just working on the normal course material, meditation, and a little wandless magic," he said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

Mr. Weasley raised an eyebrow and glanced toward the kitchen where the others were. Ron tried to shoot a glob of mashed potatoes at one of the twins but was pelted in the face with food before he could attack. Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen. "You're old enough now to be responsible about using magic outside of Hogwarts. I won't scold you, nor call you on the fact you've been doing magic since your first year, but I will caution you. Be smart, and don't let anyone catch you. Think on what has been bothering you for now. If you can get Mrs. Granger's permission, then I'll take you to see Edward," he said as he levered himself off his chair. "Boys! Clean this up before your mother sees this," he bellowed as he moved toward the kitchen table.

Later, as Harry lay in bed, he tried to get comfortable. An open potion bottle lay on his bedside table as he massaged his legs. Everything hurt, from his head to his toes. At first, it was a dull ache, but it quickly grew to real, consistent pain. He couldn't remember ever feeling so uncomfortable in his own skin. Not since he'd been disfigured by burns at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. "Meditation," he muttered to himself as he held the stone disk in his hand. The symbol of Veles, a downward triangle with an elongated 'U' above, was etched in the center around the images of a bear, wolf, snake, bandage, circle, and crooked staff. He focused on the stone disk to the exclusion of everything else. Sleep took a long time in coming.

The next morning, Ron left him alone as rain pelted the windows in fat droplets. The rhythm of the rain helped soothe him into a relaxed state so he could clear his mind. A knock at the door obliterated his concentration, the image of the disk exploding away in his mind. "Yes?" he called, trying to keep the frustration from his voice.

"Sorry, mate," one of the twins apologized as he stuck his head in. The left side of his reddened face looked swollen and had little white pimples growing over his cheeks. "The arnica didn't work," he stated as his face contorted.

"Yes, I can see that," Harry remarked with a snort. "Come in, let me see." He hopped off the bed and cupped his hand, gesturing at the bedside table. His wand lept into his hand from two feet away. "Right, let's start with the basics. Egritudus," he intoned and pointed the tip of his wand at the twin's face.

A strange, otherworldly sensation seemed to superimpose itself over Harry's consciousness. He was Fred, for it was Fred and not George who stood in front of him, but he was still, at his core, Harry. The Diagnose Spell, normally a non-verbal spell, could tell him only the basic information plaguing the patient. Once he mastered the non-verbal portion of the spell, he could get a more in-depth and complete understanding of what ailed his patients. Fred and George seemed to become his near-constant subjects for practice since the start of the summer.

"The mixture of the bitter root and arnica seems to have overpowered the bezoar shavings. You poisoned yourself when you ate the toffee. The pimples and swelling were probably from the extra bit of moly you used in the potion. Why are you trying to make a vomiting toffee again?"

Fred tried to glare, but a renewed pulse of pain made him stop. Harry felt the twinge of pain like a phantom in his mind. A feeling of razor-sharp fingernails raking across the side of his face. "Delentio," he intoned with his wand inches from Fred's face. A strange sensation radiated out of Harry's body that made him gasp at the same time his friend gasped. When Harry reached for his magic, he didn't feel the usual vaporous, ethereal feeling of his magic, but rather a firmer grasp of power. It was almost like he touched a physical representation of his magic.

The effects on Fred's face were immediate. The pimples burst with white puss, covering the side of his face, before receding back into his skin as if they'd never existed. The swelling abated, and seconds later, Fred looked like he had the previous day. "Blimey, thanks... again," the redheaded boy muttered as he wiped the sticky gunk off his face with one finger. He grimaced and drew his wand. "Scourgify," he muttered. The charm cleaned his face, making the puss disappear as if it had never been.

"No problem," Harry muttered as he tried to inspect his magic with his mind. He wasn't sure what to think or feel about this new development. It took him a moment to realize Fred asked him a question. "Oh, right, uh..." he stumbled, trying to recall what his friend asked him. "Try adding a little more bezoar, reducing the amount of arnica, and forget using bitter root. If you want someone to throw up, use boiled kelp. Maybe a good bit of mallowsweet and or sage to help with improving the sweetened taste."

"Thanks!" Fred called as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Harry crawled back into bed and held the stone disk again. The excitement he felt made it difficult to clear his mind.

By midday, the rain stopped for more than an hour. Ron knocked on the door and entered a moment later. "Mate, we can go to the orchard now!" he said by way of greeting and peered around the room. Harry, having given up on meditation, now had about twenty sheets of parchment spread out on the floor as he went over his summer homework Professor McGonagall gave him.

"Hello," Harry muttered as he glared at two pieces of parchment in his hand. All his work for the last two hours was for naught because he'd messed up the formula on the second page of his calculations. Frustration welled in his chest. "I'm really not in the mood to play Quidditch right now," he growled as he slapped the offending parchment down on the floor.

"Er... mate, maybe you should think about letting off some steam by flying around a bit. It might help."

"No, I should go back over this problem again until I get it right. Who could have imagined the Extension Charm was so bloody difficult?"

"Just about everyone," Ron muttered just loud enough for Harry to hear him. "Come on, mate. It isn't like magic is going anywhere. I don't know long the clouds will stay away. Unless you can magic-up a way to make it clear for us to play all the time."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Maybe tomorrow, Ron. I want to get this down," he said and gathered up his parchments.

"Ugh!" Ron grumbled and threw up his hands. He left the room, leaving the door open behind him again.

Hedwig returned that evening, just before dinner. She flew in through the open window and gave Harry a piercing look as she stuck out her leg. The soggy letter attached to her foot dripped water onto Charlie's desk. "Thank you, Hedwig," he said and fished out two treats for her. It was one of the new types he'd had delivered. The advertisement in the Daily Prophet promised that every owl would swoon to have but a peck of their new rat-flavored Honey Biscuit.

Hedwig took the first treat and nibbled on it as Harry opened the letter. The parchments inside the letter were dry. It became clear Hermione helped her mother quill the first letter then added a scathing letter of her own. Harry bit back a laugh as he read:

"Harry,

In early August we will be going to France for two weeks. Denis and I aren't sure what you'd like for Edward Tonks to teach Hermione. (I can learn everything from a book!) We would need to discuss this with Edward and Andromeda first. I know you feel Hermione and your education is important but is this going too far, Harry? (You certainly are!) Hermione has expressed her interest in visiting the Burrow, and maybe we can use this as an opportunity. (I have not!) I'll have Hermione help us pen Mrs. Weasley a letter.

Best wishes,

Eve Granger"

Harry snorted and put the first letter on the table. He'd read the first line of Hermione's letter before but wanted to see if she had anything to say other than scathing remarks.

"Harry, seriously can't believe you're doing it again! Yes, I know Master Ogata worked out, but I mean honestly. I can learn things from a book, Harry. Who knows how much Mr. Tonks would want? Are you trying to get closer to that Nymphadora Auror?

Anyway, I know the summer has just started, but I hope you're having fun. Oh my gosh, all the homework from Professor McGonagall. My head started to swim when I started to work on just the first assignment. I can't wait to see what else she gave us! I didn't want to spoil the surprise by looking ahead. You shouldn't either! How far are you?

Zoe lettered me yesterday. She and Neville will meet his grandmother sometime next week. I'd love to be invisible to watch that. She is so scared but excited. Neville has told her all about his greenhouse, but I think she just wants to be with him.

You know you could just use a telephone like a regular person instead of making poor Hedwig fly across the country.

Hermione"

Amused, Harry tucked the two letters into his pocket and smiled at Hedwig. His owl pecked at the last biscuit with fervor. "Thank you again for delivering the letters, Hedwig," he said and stroked her feathers.

Books, Hermione's barn owl, delivered a letter to Mrs. Weasley a few minutes before dinner. Mr. Weasley marveled at the ballpoint pen Mr. Granger sent inside the envelope. "The Grangers will come round next Saturday," Mrs. Weasley announced and gave Harry a strange look.

"Wicked," Ginny said with a wide smile. "I can't wait to see Hermione."

Ron looked a little put-out but didn't say anything. The twins exchanged dark looks. Harry had the feeling they were thinking that they should hide their stash of contraband joke shop items somewhere else in case Hermione found them in Ron's room.

"Ireland plays against Peru next week," Ron announced with a fist pump. "They won their match against Romania."

"The Ministry had its hopes England or Wales would be in the finals. They did so much work on creating the stadium to look like a sixteenth-century king's arena. What an upset," Mr. Weasley bemoaned. "We'd been working for weeks on end to prepare a site for the match, but England goes and loses it all, three-hundred and ninety to ten. Ten points of all things! What a travesty."

Ron nodded with a sober expression. "Then Scottland lost to Luxembourg the next week. Our only hope of hosting the Quidditch World Cup with a home team is to have Ireland win. Their Chasers are some of the best in the world but I don't know if they can win against Peru's Seeker and Keeper combo. It will be a tough fight."

"I don't know, Xavier Chávez might not be as good as you think. A lot of their opponents in that bracket didn't have skilled many Chasers. He didn't have to block too many shots," George challenged as he pointed his spoon at Ron.

"You might be right," Ron mused and sat back in his chair, folding his arms and looking at the table. His brow furrowed as he seemed to draw in on himself.

"Sees himself as a Quiddich expert now," Fred whispered to Harry.

Percy stared at a spot on the wall as he mechanically ate. Mrs. Weasley tried to engage him in conversation, but he did his best to ignore her. After dinner, Percy went back up to his room, grumbling under his breath. Ron stayed in the kitchen to argue about Quidditch with Ginny and Mr. Weasley while Harry and the twins retreated upstairs. Once inside Fred and George's room, Harry closed the door behind him. The faint aroma of gunpowder still hung in the air, contrasting with the sickly-sweet smell coming from a cauldron bubbling away in the twin's closet. They'd piled their clothes on their beds to make room for the two large cauldrons.

"Did you have any luck?" Harry asked as he peered into the first of the two cauldrons.

"Yeah, they taste amazing, except for the horrible desire to throw up seconds later," George answered with a laugh.

"The sweet aftertaste lingers after you've gotten sick... which helps while testing," Fred continued with a grimace.

"How much does it cost to make?"

"If we go with this recipe?" Fred mused as he pulled a long bit of parchment from under his shirt. "A little under a Sickle."

Harry grunted and pursed his lips. "So two Sickles to get out of class for a period, maybe a day. Isn't that a little expensive?" he questioned.

"Bloody amusing, coming from you," George remarked with a smirk. "Yes, it is, which is why we need to adjust the recipe. I could see someone paying one Sickle to get out of class, maybe, but it would be better if it cost us ten to fifteen Knuts. We could sell it for one Sickle and still make a profit."

"There is always a price for skiving off classes," Fred remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Alright, let's look at the recipe again," Harry responded with a laugh.

Harry spoke with Mr. Weasley the next morning and got permission to meet Edward and Andromeda on Thursday or Friday before the Grangers arrived on Saturday. He wanted to get a feel for Edward's interest and worries before talking to Hermione and her parents. Mr. Weasley agreed with his reasoning despite not having received Mr. and Mrs. Granger's blessing.

After breakfast, Hedwig flew out of his window after being bribed with another treat. Unable to escape Ron's pestering, Harry found himself in the orchard again, doing stretches and practicing feints with a Quaffle against Ron. Zig-zagging through the air, Harry dodged around Ron by the tiniest of margins. Ginny had made it seem a lot easier to do the other day. Harry lost himself in the game of keeping the Quaffle away from Ron.

Thirty minutes later, Harry flew to the ground and all but rolled off his broom, his chest heaving. Ron came to a skidding halt beside him and labored for breath. "Blimey... you still fly... like you were born... for it," Ron complained as he sucked in a lungful of air.

Harry grimaced and clutched his side as his chest heaved. It hurt to breathe. The intense battle of weaving back and forth, up and down, and looping around seemed to suck a little more air from his lungs as time went on. His hands shook from the exertion. He realized he still clutched the Quaffle to his side and let it fall away.

"You fly around like You-Know-Who is on your tail," Ginny commented with a smirk as she stepped out from the treeline, one of the old brooms clutched in her hand.

"I was trying to throw Ron off," Harry replied after he got his breath back.

"It isn't a game of Catch the Niffler, Harry. Let him hit you, elbow him out of the way. As a Chaser, you should be happy to get physical."

"She's right you know, mate. I kept expecting you to body block me out of the way or elbow me when I got close. Instead, you looped or dodged out of the way as soon as I went for the Quaffle."

"I'm not looking to hurt you, Ron."

"Blimey mate, that's the entire point of playing Quidditch. It's to win! If that means you have to knock me off my broom to do so, do it."

"You and I should go at it," Ginny declared with a fierce grin and strode across the field toward where Ron sat with his broom propped up on his lap. "Ron, let me borrow your broom so I can show him."

Ron scoffed and shook his head. "No way," he shot back and clutched his broom to his chest. "You'll break it or do some witchy stuff to it, and it'll never work right again!"

Ginny huffed and rolled her eyes. "Fine," she muttered but shot her brother a dark look.

Harry and Ron took to the air, Ginny following behind on the much slower broom, after a few minutes. This time, Harry followed Ron and Ginny's advice and got physical whenever Ron went for the Quaffle. While he didn't attempt to knock Ron off his broom, he used his entire body's weight and motion of the broom to careen into him. It was Ron who had to stop the friendly match before Harry this time.

"Bloody hell, mate! I can't feel my arm. Did you file your elbows into points?" he asked in a strangled voice. He rubbed his arm and chest from a particularly vicious exchange minutes before.

Harry skidded to a stop next to his friend and sucked in a breath. "Sorry, mate. I'm still not completely sure how hard I'm hitting you. I feel some of the pain of our collisions, but not like you would... I think. I'll have bruises... if I can see them through the scarring, but I don't really feel much on my left side," he admitted with a grimace.

"Were you trying to kill Ron?" Ginny questioned with a smirk as she landed. "I heard the collisions from where I hovered."

"I think he was," Ron muttered and rubbed at his side. "That's it for me today. I think I liked it better when you tried to get away from me."

Harry snorted and hopped off his broom. He frowned before passing the Nimbus 2001 over to Ginny. Her eyes widened before she tossed the old broom to the ground. In seconds, she was on his broom and rocketing into the air with a gust of wind that kicked up dirt.

"She won't want to give it back," Ron complained as he watched his sister fly around the clearing.

"She's always given it back before," Harry remarked with a snort. "How are you really? I've got a Wigenweld in my trunk."

"Eh, I'm fine. You really don't feel the impacts?"

"Nothing like I did when I was at Providence. When we did physical hand-to-hand practice I felt every blow. It was rudimentary stuff, but we still hit each other as hard as we could. Now, the pain is there, but it's dulled. It'll hurt later... maybe."

"Lucky," Ron muttered and got to his feet.

Harry hummed but didn't respond. He didn't agree with Ron but didn't want to talk about it. "I'll hang out here if you want to have another go. I'm sure you could show Ginny a thing or two," he tempted.

Ron nodded to himself and mounted his broom. "Toss me the Quaffle," he ordered, his eyes tracking his sister's flight.

Harry watched as the siblings fought for domination of the Quaffle. He heard every collision as the two fliers crashed into each other. Ron lasted a while before Ginny got the large red ball away from him with a particularly nasty jab to his ribs with her elbow. Harry wondered if Ron was really trying to knock his sister off her broom and started to get worried, but Ginny seemed to be having the time of her life. The grin plastered on her face eased his worries, but he still readied himself to summon his wand to him in case one of them fell off their broom.

Mrs. Weasley was not pleased when Ron and Ginny appeared in her kitchen with fat, bloody lips, and numerous bruises. She eyed Harry for a moment before turning back to her children. Ron shifted uncomfortably while Ginny glared defiantly back at her mother. "What happened?" Mrs. Weasley questioned in a hard, dangerous voice after she'd calmed down a little. Harry winced and wanted to escape the kitchen.

"We were playing Quidditch," Ginny declared as she set her shoulders.

"Yeah, Mum. We were just practicing."

"Practicing with fists and elbows?" Mrs. Weasley said in a softer voice.

The feeling of ants crawled down Harry's spine. A moment later, he had the intense, cold sensation as if a Dementor was in the room with him. He looked around, making sure one hadn't snuck into the house without anyone realizing it. While his bones didn't feel the icy chill, he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling.

It seemed his guess about the Dementor hadn't been too far off. Mrs. Weasley descended upon her children with a look of pure anger after they'd finished explaining where they got their injuries. She pinched Ginny and Ron's ears and led them outside with a hard look at Harry. He tried to ignore the screeches of indignation from the Weasley children.

"They will be doing the laundry by hand for the next hour. I've heard their side of the story, now what is yours?" Mrs. Weasley questioned when she returned to the kitchen.

It hadn't occurred to Harry to retreat to his room. "We really were practicing, but things might have gotten out of hand," he admitted after a moment. The look Mrs. Weasley gave him made him feel like he was a small child. She crossed her arms under her chest and waited for him to continue. "Ah, um, they... we... I don't know. That was really all."

Mrs. Weasley eyed him with her lips pursed. "This will not happen again. I don't care if you all are playing in the next Quidditch World Cup and are the best players in the world. This. Will. Not. Happen. Again. Do I make myself clear?" she asked in a dangerous tone.

"Completely, ma'am," Harry answered with a shudder.

That night, no one talked a lot during dinner. Mr. Weasley studiously ignored the bruises on Ginny and Ron's faces and arms as he talked about the goings-on in the Ministry. Percy perked up and listened in with rapt attention while the twins muttered to each other in quiet voices. Harry thought he heard his name a few times, but when they didn't try to engage him in conversation, he left it alone.

Ron tried to tempt Harry back up to the orchard the next morning, but Mrs. Weasley stopped them. "You and Ronald will help me in the garden today," she ordered, pointing her spatula at Ron. "If you get through weeding the garden before lunch, then you can go up to the orchard. You will not use magic," she said as her eyes flicked to Harry.

Ron complained and protested the entire time they weeded the modest garden. Harry didn't mind as it allowed him to think while completing a mindless task. He gingerly pulled a small clump of weeds from between potato plants and dropped it into a wicker basket. Ignoring Ron's constant muttering, Harry mulled over his relationship with Sirius and the possibility of living with him. He was sure his father's friend wouldn't bother him too much but would he be trading Ron's pestering for someone pestering him for other reasons?

Ginny brought them water and tea before sitting down next to them to peel the potatoes for that day's lunch and dinner. Her dark expression soured as she looked at the tubers. With a sigh, she ran the silver peeler across the rough brown skin.