With a flick of her wand, Mrs Weasley drew the curtains and turned on the lights in the cosy living room at the Burrow. As Pomfrey came in to heal Ron, she hovered over her shoulder for a moment, but bustled out of the room when Ron rolled his eyes at her. Hermione relaxed as she saw the nasty bruise on the side of Ron's face fade away, leaving only smooth, unblemished skin. Ron broke into an engaging grin. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

Hermione remembered her manners. "Yes, thank you so much."

Madam Pomfrey smiled and fixed them both with what Hermione could only describe as an odd look. "Perhaps I rather ought to thank you two," she said cryptically. Her manner became more brisk as she continued. "I've given him a Draught of Healing Slumber, so he should sleep deeply until morning; stay out of his room and keep it dark and quiet. It would be very helpful if you two could be there when he wakes, though. I'll be round to see him tomorrow; in the meantime I'd like you both to stay with him and cheer him up as much as possible. Talk to him, amuse him, tell him jokes, that sort of thing. I don't want him moping at all. Are you up to that?"

"Don't worry about it, Madam Pomfrey," Ron gave a genuine smile this time, "Harry's not really the Moaning Myrtle sort."

Hermione was scandalized. "Ron! How can you be so insensitive! He was just attacked by his own family! He's bound to be upset!"

"Yeah, well, fat lot of good they turned out to be. I doubt he ever expected them to be much bloody—"

"Ron!"

"—use, they've done sod-all for him ever since h—"

"Ron!" Hermione nearly shrieked.

He rounded on her, as though swearing in front of a teacher was an everyday occurrence. "What?"

Ignoring Ron with aplomb, Hermione turned back haughtily to Pomfrey, who – to Hermione's mortification – seemed to be suppressing her laughter at the scene. "We can cheer Harry up," she said. "Leave it to us."

Ron muttered something about how her idea of cheering someone up was reading aloud to them rom the Complete Oxford Wizarding English Dictionary. She gave this comment all the attention it deserved, maintaining a stony silence as Mrs Weasley escorted Madam Pomfrey out of the room, presumably to Floo from the kitchen fireplace. Stalking over to the sofa, she flung herself down onto it so violently that the cushions bounced, crossing her legs and folding her arms tightly over her chest.

Ron came and stood – towered – over her, staring at her, forcing her to look at him. "Now what have I done?" he demanded.

"Dictionary, am I?" she snapped. If looks could kill, Ron would be deader than a doornail right then, of that she was sure.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, you know what I mean—"

"Do I now?" she said coldly.

"Don't be like that!"

"Like what?"

"You can be so insensitive at times, Ron!"

"I like that!"

From the kitchen, Ron's Mum shrieked.

Hermione bolted up off the sofa. Argument forgotten, they raced for the kitchen.

What they saw there, though, wasn't even halfway threatening. Pomfrey was gone, and Mrs Weasley was conversing with someone on the Floo – who it was they couldn't see, as her back blocked the way – and was still shouting, apparently at something the person had said.

"Ssh, move back or she'll make us go upstairs." Ron motioned to Hermione to move to the edge of the doorframe and eavesdrop, and she shamelessly deferred to his years of experience at dealing with an overwrought Mrs Weasley, just as the object of her thoughts let out another scream.

"He can't go back there!" she sobbed. "Have you gone completely mad, Professor? They beat him!"

"Nevertheless, Molly, it is imperative that Harry stay with his aunt and uncle next summer."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock and she stared at Ron, who looked similarly stunned. But then the voice – Dumbledore's voice, Hermione recognized – cut through Mrs Weasley's remonstrations. "I will definitely arrange for someone to have a word with the Dursleys," Dumbledore was saying. "But given a choice between Harry suffering some unpleasantness and his death, you know what I will choose."

"Unpleasantness! A word with them!" Hermione could barely make out Mrs Weasley's words because she was crying so hard. "You didn't see it, Headmaster – they beat him senseless, they…"

"Molly," Dumbledore said sternly, "there are reasons I cannot tell you for my insistence that Harry stay with the Dursleys – for a while during the summer, at any rate." His voice softened at her obvious anguish. "I hope you trust me to do what is necessary to protect Harry's life."

"Of course I trust you, Headmaster," Molly gasped through great gulping sobs, "but–"

"Every summer until he turns seventeen," Dumbledore went on inexorably. "You would never endanger Harry's life, would you, Molly?"

"No, never, that's why I-"

"Then believe me, there is a reason for what I say – an ancient magic, I cannot elaborate further. Did you know, for example, that one of Voldemort's" – Molly flinched – "servants assumed the shape of Harry's godfather today, using Polyjuice Potion, hoping that Harry's aunt and uncle would recognize him and get him past the wards guarding their house? The only thing that saved Harry was that as soon as they recognized him, they handed him over to the Muggle police. We've only just managed to get hold of him."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a sharp look, and barely had time to cover their ears as Ron's Mum let out an ear-splitting shriek. Dumbledore went on, "Fortunately, the wizard cannot have been very familiar with Harry's home life, or he would have known that the Dursleys would neither believe Harry's protestations of Sirius' innocence nor wish to give him joy by helping arrange a surprise visit." He sighed and smiled ruefully. "Their animosity towards him is actually for the best, Molly. To my knowledge, though, they have never assaulted him before. We must all do everything in our power to ensure that they never do again."

Mrs Weasley was nodding, but Ron nodded to Hermione and they were retreating by common consent, making their way into the living room again. There was a gleam in Ron's eyes that was making Hermione vaguely nervous. Before she could say a word, he spoke. "Everything in our power, eh?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what Dumbledore said. We're to do everything in our power to make sure those bastards—"

"Ron!"

"—don't hit him again," he finished. A shadow crossed his face; he abruptly fell silent and looked at the floorboards.

Hermione contemplated Ron for a moment, remembering the cruel mark on his face. What had her old psychology book called experiences like this? Traumatic? That was it, it must have been traumatic for Ron to actually see it happening. He ought to talk about it, she decided, studiously avoiding imagining the scene herself. "It must have been pretty awful," she began, trying to draw him out.

Ron drew a shuddering breath, and she opened her mouth to tell him it was all right. She never got the chance. "It was – yeah, it was. It was right disgusting, Hermione. They weren't even angry – they were – just cold." His gaze flicked up to meet hers, briefly, and she saw his eyes narrow with a bitter hatred she hadn't thought cheerful, easygoing Ron capable of. "I want to make them pay, Hermione! I want them to think twice before they ever…" He trailed off, embarrassed at his own fervour.

"We can't do anything magical during the hols," she said hesitantly.

"No, but we can."

"What's going on, little bro? We pop in to find Harry in your room looking as if he's been attacked by a dragon…"

"…and Mum crying on the Floo to Dumbledore. So whoever's responsible…"

"…if we can make 'em pay, we will."

Fred and George stood in the doorway, wands in hand and identical businesslike expressions on their freckled faces.