Chapter Twenty-Nine

Whispers in the Dark

Harry remained in the unfamiliar bed for a few seconds, his mind frantically making sense of his most recent nightmare. He'd been getting flashes of gut-wrenching scenes the past few days, but tonight's was the worst. He could only remember a handful of details; even now, it was drifting out of his grasp like smoke.

There had been an old man – a muggle. He was investigating some old mansion, like the one Harry was currently staying in, except a lot more decrepit and ominous. There had been a skinny person eagerly kissing up to his boss, but Harry couldn't remember who. He massaged his forehead, hoping to simultaneously ease the pain in his scar and drag out the information he sorely needed.

Frustrated, he got up and shuffled across the hall. It was midnight, but there was light seeping out from Sirius's door. His godfather didn't sleep much.

Harry knocked on the fine wood and entered when prompted. As expected, Sirius was up. He was sitting on his king-sized bed, back against the hardwood with a book in his hands. Harry tried to glimpse the title, but Sirius angled it so that he couldn't.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked, weary eyes scanning his undoubtedly stricken face.

"My scar was hurting," he said lamely.

If Sirius wasn't fully alert before, he was now. "What happened?"

"I had a nightmare," he began, frowning. What happened again? "I…I'm not sure what it was about."

Sirius frowned deeply. "Tell me immediately something like this happens again. If I'm not there, then owl me."

Harry nodded, his worry doubling. "What d'you think it means?" he asked, tracing his scar once more.

"Hopefully nothing," murmured Sirius. He tacked on a smile. "Now then, since you're up, you might as well finish packing, eh? So long Jamaica, hello England."

He nodded absentmindedly, returning to his room. A fortnight ago, Sirius had whisked Harry away from Privet Drive and apparated them straight into Jamaica. Although there were a few wizarding covens situated there, no one bothered either of them. It seemed as if they were on a whole different world itself, where the affairs of magical Britain couldn't even touch them. It was a vacation they both deserved.

They were currently staying in one of the many vacation houses Sirius had inherited. The large, glass windows allowed a lot of light in, and Harry's skin was several shades darker than it had been at the beginning of the trip. He stood on the balcony, watching the waves of the ocean dance beneath the moonlight.

Remus appeared from time to time, just as he had last year during Christmas, but he stayed no more than a day. Even though he was no longer a professor at Hogwarts, Remus was run haggard, doing Merlin-knew-what. When he had time, they all lounged around in the airy living room or the spacious outdoors, sipping colourful drinks and swapping stories.

Eventually, Harry retired to bed. The sun was already beginning to rise, but he slept like a log regardless. He woke up to the sounds of Sirius working the blender — smoothies were pretty much the only thing he could make. After his morning routine, Harry stumbled into the kitchen and gratefully accepted a fruity concoction with a small umbrella floating atop.

"Ready to leave soon?" asked Sirius, throwing the back the last of his drink.

Harry hummed an affirmative, removing the straw from his mouth. "What time is it back home?"

"Can't be more than twelve in the afternoon," Sirius murmured, glancing at his watch.

They left an hour after that. Although Sirius assured him that the house-elves would deal with the clean-up, Harry couldn't help but tidy after himself. It didn't feel right otherwise.

Harry was proud to note that he only stumbled slightly when they apparated this time. Warmth surged through him at the sight of the Burrow. The Weasleys had invited them to stay over the night before heading to the Cup together the next day, and Harry couldn't be more excited. He knew Sirius was a little more reserved, as people tended to tip-toe around him a lot. They were either holding onto the belief that he was a criminal or acted as if was made out of glass and would break at any mention of his past. Suffice to say, it was pretty vexing.

The twins greeted them at the door. The shifty looks on their faces disappeared once they realised who had come knocking, and they welcomed them grandly.

"Hello, you two!" chirped a grinning George. "You sure look puckered from your trip."

"How 'bout some refreshments?" asked Fred, gesturing to a tin filled with candies Harry would sooner set on fire than touch.

"Don't eat anything they offer you," he told Sirius. To the twins, he said, "Ron warned me about your trick sweets. Said one of them twisted his tongue so badly he couldn't talk for hours."

The twins laughed unabashedly, with Sirius quickly joining in. Harry grinned. While he didn't envy Ron's position, he could see the appeal in watching him fumble for the better part of the day.

Naturally, the noise attracted the other residents. Soon Harry was swamped in a massive hug courtesy of Mrs Weasley, as well as a fierce pat to the back from Mr Weasley. They greeted Sirius warmly if awkwardly, which wasn't surprising.

Ron was pointedly not looking in the twins' direction, and Harry knew he still wasn't over the little prank. As they made their way up to Ron's room, he spotted a familiar black cat dozing on the stairs.

"What's Alex's cat doing here?" he asked bemusedly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "She brings it with her everywhere."

Hermione couldn't see what was wrong with that. "I brought Crooks along too," she said, a little defensive.

Ron shook his head and muttered something that sounded a lot like "Crazy cat ladies", which earned him a smack from Hermione. Ginny snickered.

Just then a door on the second landing opened, and Percy's face poked out. He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression. "Oh hello, Harry," he said, surprise clearing his irritation a bit. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know—I've got a report to finish for the office—and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs."

"Harry's here?" asked a familiar voice. Oddly enough, Alex emerged from Percy's room. "Hey. How was Jamaica? Did you get me any souvenirs?" When Harry shook his head, she clicked her tongue and made a face at him.

"We're not thundering," grumbled Ron. "We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic."

"What're you working on?" said Harry.

Alex tuned out a little as Percy began to ramble about his report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Cauldron thickness was a big deal to him, and she could understand it to an extent. Incomplete potions were bad enough, but ones that leaked through the bottoms of cauldrons? Nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.

Ron didn't seem to think so, though, and he made this fact known. Percy went slightly pink.

"You might sneer, Ron," he said heatedly, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger —"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," said Ron, and he started off upstairs again.

Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. Alex had to dance out of the way so her toes wouldn't get caught. Deciding Percy needed time to vent by himself, she followed the group upstairs.

"Did you just arrive?" she asked Harry.

"Yeah. What were you doing in Percy's room?"

"Unlike some people, I find his work fairly interesting. Of course, Percy jumped on the chance to brag about his dealings with the Ministry, so he pretty much dragged me to his room and talked my ear off."

Harry frowned. "You don't seem like the type to sit there and humour him."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have to if I didn't pity the poor guy." She lowered her voice to a volume that neither Ron nor Ginny could here. "He's feeling severely underappreciated since none of his siblings care about what he has to say. Even his parents aren't interested."

He shifted in discomfort, always wary of criticising his pseudo family. "How was your break?" he asked, desperate for a change of topic.

"Enlightening."

"Yeah? What'd you do?"

She shrugged. "Nothing of interest. Worked, mostly. Lot of customers from around the world coming in for the World Cup."

They reached the explosively orange room belonging to Ron. The walls were covered in posters of the Chudley Cannons, who were showing off by doing trick-shots in the air. There was a large frog in a fish tank Alex was immediately drawn to. When it slapped her hand away, she pouted and doted on Pig instead. It was a tiny grey owl that almost died twice in the short time Alex had sheltered it – first, when it reached her house with a World Cup invitation from Ron, and a second time when Spitfire decided to use the poor thing as a new toy.

With permission from Ron, Alex opened the cage and held her arm out for Pig. The hyperactive avian hopped onto her and preened under her doting care. She had good taste in picking out pets.

"Why are there four beds in here?" Harry asked, shuffling through the crowded room.

"Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room," explained Ron. "Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work."

Alex peered up with a frown at the bite in Ron's words. "You should ease off Percy."

"You don't get it," said Ron, disgusted – but not at her. "He's so smug and snobby and won't shut up about his job."

"He's just proud of himself for scoring a position at the ministry, since no one else is," she shot back.

Harry seemed eager to dismount the growing tension. "Percy's enjoying work, then?" he said, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.

"Enjoying it?" Ron scoffed. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch…as I was saying to Mr. Crouch…Mr. Crouch is of the opinion… They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."

Pig lost his balance as Alex shot up in disgust. As much as she wanted to catch up with Harry, Ron was being increasingly annoying this summer, and she wanted to be as far from his as possible in the meanwhile.

Not for the first time, Alex was glad she was an only child.

Her mood improved dramatically as she entered the living room. Sirius was lounging on one of the couches, with Charlie and Bill on the others. She snuck a look at Bill. With his long ponytail, fang-earring, and punk-like clothing, he was totally her type. He smiled in greeting when he noticed she was staring. Blushing, she edged forward.

"Alex!" called Sirius, his face lighting up. She adored the bloke; he always made her feel so loved. No wonder his animagus form was a dog. "I didn't know you were here. Not going with your parents?"

She sat on the other end of the couch he was occupying. "Mum'll actually be there, but on business. Dad hates quidditch."

All three men wore similar looks of shock. "How can anyone hate quidditch?" gasped Charlie, the dragon-tamer. Why were the cool Weasley brothers the ones she saw least?

She shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe he's had a bad experience with it before? I've never asked."

"What about you, Alexandra?" asked Bill, and she tried to suppress the heat from rising to her cheeks once more. "How d'you feel about quidditch?"

"It's alright." The incredulous looks were back, so she was forced to explain herself. "The game makes me anxious. I can't help but wonder who's going to get hurt next, and if it'll be a serious injury." It didn't help that two of her closest friends were players of the game too.

"That's such a mature perspective," noted Charlie.

"He means lame," translated Sirius.

Alex gave him the finger, and the living room exploded with laughter.

"What's so funny?" asked Harry. He and the others filed into the living room.

"Nothing," said Sirius, grinning. "Alex here was just showing us her predilection for birds."

"Right…" said Harry, his confusion clear as the day outside. "We were just about to help Mrs Weasley with dinner. Alex, did you wanna lend a hand?"

"Sure," she said, following them.

Mrs Weasley approved of their manners. "We're eating out in the garden," she said when they came in. "There's just not room for eleven people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? You too, Alex," Mrs Weasley added when she made no move to follow her instructions.

Mrs Weasley nodded in approval as Alex finally snapped to it. "Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two," she said to Ron and Harry.

A loud crash resounded further down the garden. Bill and Charlie both had their wands out and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge nervously. Alex cringed at the clamour.

By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs Weasley's cooking. It was no Hogwarts feast, but the Weasley matriarch sure gave the house-elves a run for their money.

If the smell was appetising, then the taste was simply intoxicating. Alex discreetly wiped away the drool leaking out of the corner of her mouth — not subtly enough, though, judging by Sirius's snort. She flicked a pea at him. He retaliated, and Percy cleared his throat loudly before it could descend into an all-out food war. Once he was positive that they would behave, Percy continued his speech about his report to his father.

"We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports," he was saying. "Ludo Bagman—"

"I like Ludo," Mr Weasley said mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favour involving a lawnmower with unnatural power. I smoothed the whole thing over."

Alex caught Ron's eye at that. He glanced at the shed in the corner of the yard, and if they poked around a bit, she had a feeling she wouldn't be surprised to discover a newly acquired lawnmower in there.

"Oh, Bagman's likable enough, of course," said Percy dismissively, "but how he ever got to be Head of Department… I can't see Mr Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?"

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," said Mr Weasley, frowning. "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now."

"Bertha's hopeless, all right." Percy shook his head impatiently. "But all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know. However"—Percy heaved a sigh and took a swig of elderflower wine—"we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup."

Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. "You know the one I'm talking about, Father." He raised his voice slightly. "The top-secret one."

Alex's appetite vanished. They were referring to the Triwizard Tournament.

She had lied, earlier, when she deflected Harry's inquiry about her holiday. The first half of her summer hadn't been totally uneventful—it never was, really—since she had plans that required fulfillment. And it all had to do with the Triwizard Tournament.

Down the other side of the table, Mrs Weasley was loudly berating Bill for his choice in fashion.

"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," said Bill. Despite his words, his tone was patient.

"You're a curse breaker, right?" Alex asked.

Bill nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Best job in the world," he joked.

Alex bit her lip. "Don't you technically break into and rob tombs?" She winced as movement and chatter around the table quieted down, but she didn't regret her question.

Hermione was the first to speak up. "I think he's more of an archaeologist, Alex."

"Archaeologists rob tombs too."

"What's the problem?" asked one of the twins. "It's not like the dead are gonna need that treasure."

"So if my grandmother's tomb was filled with money and gold, would it be okay to march into the cemetery and rob her grave? No. So why is it okay to do the same to others?"

"That's different," argued Bill. "Your grandmother lived recently, as least compared to the ones in Egypt. Those tombs are centuries old. Besides, if we don't break the curses, some oblivious muggle may end up killing themselves."

Alex's lips twisted into a grimace, as if she just swallowed a bitter pill. "I see," she muttered, her eyes on her plate as conversation picked up again at the table. Sirius was the only one who tried to pry a few words out of her, and she eventually caved after his seventh attempt. He even managed to get her to smile.

Most people were full by the time the sun set. Mr Weasley conjured candles to lighten the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream. Alex politely declined. While the others made room for dessert, she sat on the grass, cuddling Spitfire as they watched Crookshanks valiantly defend the garden from cackling gnomes.

They soon left for bed, as most of them had to get up early for tomorrow's portkey. Harry was among them, having rejected Sirius's offer of side-along apparition in favour of going with his friends. Alex had no qualms, and she pounced on the opportunity to sleep in.

"Time for a sleepover," Ginny sang, leading both Alex and Hermione to her room.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Didn't your mum just tell us to sleep early?"

"Yes, but Hermione, when will we ever get a chance like this again?"

"Christmas break?" suggested Hermione, but Ginny had suddenly gone deaf.

Three single beds were situated in Ginny's room, and it was quite a squeeze. Still, there was enough room for the cats to run around a bit. Crookshanks was currently grappling with Spitfire, much to her amusement and Hermione's consternation.

"Now," said Ginny, adjusting the lighting in the room so that it illuminated them well enough without getting caught, "let's talk about boys. Alex, you start."

"They're stupid. Next."

Hermione giggled beneath her hand. "While true, I think Ginny was referring to the more romantic aspects."

"I was so sure you fancied Bill, too," muttered Ginny, shifting slightly on her bed. "Until dinner, that is."

Alex closed her eyes briefly. "Please don't bring that up again. And I don't fancy anyone."

Ginny scoffed. "Come on. There has to be at least someone you find attractive."

"Does myself count?"

"If you won't do this the easy way…" A dark look overcame Ginny's features. Before Alex could blink, a pillow was in the redhead's hands, and she barely dodged it when it was thrown her way.

"This means war," she growled, grabbing the pillow and tossing it back at her.

Ginny was good, but she wasn't good enough. The pillow hit its mark, drawing a yelp from her.

"Hermione," she gasped, scrambling upright, "let's tag-team."

Alex swallowed, suddenly cornered. Before she could open her mouth and weasel her way out of things, Ginny and Hermione shared a nod and began thrashing her with their feather-filled weapons. The girls shrieked and laughed until Mrs Weasley flung open the door, a murderous glint in her eyes. Stopping abruptly, they apologised and quickly settled into bed. They waited until Mrs Weasley was gone until they spoke again.

"What about you, Gin?" she whispered in the dark. "D'you still fancy Harry?"

"Maybe. I don't know," she murmured. "Hermione? Anyone caught your eye?"

"Not particularly," Hermione replied quietly. "Alex, don't think I didn't notice your evasion tactic. Spill."

"Well, if you're sure." Alex cleared her throat. "There's the girl who lives four houses down from me who dyes her hair a different colour every few months, the guy in sixth year who likes to wear eyeliner, the young librarian who compliments something about me every time I visit, the—"

"Do any of these people have names?" interrupted Ginny.

"More importantly, just how many people do you fall for?" added Hermione.

"What can I say?" she said, shrugging. "I have a pure heart."

Someone tossed a pillow at her face, and though Alex couldn't see who the culprit was, her gut told her it was Ginny. While she was tempted to begin round two, the thought of Mrs Weasley's fierce glare was enough to still her hands.

"You'll live to rue this day, Ginerva Weasley," Alex said ominously.

There was a huff of laughter, and soon they were snoozing away in preparation for tomorrow.

Alex remained awake. She stared at the ceiling, the cold feeling of foreboding chasing away all hope of respite.