It Only Takes A Drop of Blood
Chapter 8: The Plot Thickens...
The Order meeting started at ten o'clock sharp. The group of teenagers took over the dining room shortly after dinner, crowding around in a circle. Mrs. Weasley had nodded approvingly when she found them and left them to their own devices. When her back was turned, they all exchanged looks that had them ducking their heads to muffle their triumphant grins.
Harry added a line to his potions essay as various Order members trooped through the front door, two or three at a time, whispering and nodding to each other. Most of the people they knew rushed past with a wave or, in Dumbledore's case, a smile. Snape glared, as if daring them to make a comment, and swept down the hall like a giant bat. Moody's eye surveyed them cautiously as he walked past them and Harry dearly hoped that he hadn't spotted the Extendible Ear in Fred's pocket.
Just before the meeting was to start, Tonks tripped through the doorway with Lupin and Kingsley in tow. The teenagers waved to Tonks while Lupin and Kingsley silenced the squawking portraits.
"Wotcher," Tonks whispered, her vibrant hair bouncing as she crouched next to them. "Summer homework?" she commiserated.
"Yeah," everyone except Hermione replied dejectedly. Hermione, of course, was her usual enthusiastic self when it came to schoolwork.
"Snape assigned this horrid essay," Harry complained, poking miserably at his textbook. "Name and describe all the properties of salamander blood."
Tonks winced. "Don't forget to list all the potions that use it, especially Strengthening Solution. It's on the OWLs study list," she warned. With a shudder, she added, "Fifth year potions. That was a nasty year."
"Cheers Tonks," Harry said, seeing Hermione scribble down Tonks' tip in the corner of his eye.
"Tonks, we better get going," Kingsley said in his deep voice. "The meeting's about to start."
"Right, sorry Kingsley," Tonks said, standing up. She nodded to the group. "See you later!"
The teenagers said goodbye and pretended to focus on their studies. And when the basement door finally shut with a snap, Fred pulled out an Extendible Ear.
"Go!" he whispered.
The flesh coloured string scurried down a crack in the middle of their small circle and soon they could hear the rumble of voices. They all exchanged triumphant looks as Dumbledore's voice called the meeting to order.
"Good evening everyone," he said. "Firstly, do we need to revise the guard duty roster, Molly?"
"Not at this moment Albus," Ron's mum said. "Some switches have been made but all is in order until October."
"Good, thank you Molly," he said. Harry could practically hear the twinkle in his eyes at the next bit. "And, I must say that you, Sirius and the children have done a spectacular job on the house since the last meeting."
The twins, Ron and Ginny all rolled their eyes as Hermione and Harry stifled sniggers as they recalled Mrs. Weasley's drill-sergeant-like enthusiasm.
"Now, Severus, I believe you had a report to give?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry's face twisted in an involuntary scowl as Snape's slimy drawl rang out. "The Dark Lord has been growing more active but remains careful. He is still trying to find a way into the Ministry, but has not had any luck so far. Lucius, Macnair and Nott have been given orders to spread rumours about you, Headmaster, and Potter," he said, spitting out Harry's name. After a hesitant pause, Snape said something that had the hairs on the back of Harry's neck standing straight. "The Dark Lord has also been behaving strangely. I have had to brew three Pepper-Up Potions and prepare two Bruise Salves for his personal use in the last month alone. I thought it was inconsequential before, but I have noticed that there is always a fire in the grate of the main room, even in the middle of the day—" his voice trailed off as his train of thought was made clear to all.
Harry's heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be. He strained his ears for every word.
"Could his body be failing?" Bill Weasley asked, hope coating his voice.
"Perhaps," Dumbledore mused quietly. "But we must not be too hasty in our conclusions. Severus, make a list of the potions Voldemort orders and continue to keep a sharp eye out. Molly and Sirius, look in the library to see if you can find information on the rebirthing ritual Voldemort used. I would be grateful if anyone else could add something to the search."
Harry felt a thought niggle in the back of his head but he put it aside for later. If he was right, then he had a lot to think about.
"Of course," Mrs. Weasley murmured.
"Now, have we been able to identify any more Death Eaters in the Ministry?" Dumbledore asked.
"I have my suspicions that a new aid in the Department of Transportation, Archibald Jugson, might be one," Kingsley said. "But nothing concrete."
Moody growled something about 'constant vigilance' but Harry couldn't quite make it out.
"There's a bloke named Gibbons," a witch Harry didn't recognise said, "I've seen him walking into Borgin & Burkes often. Definitely one to keep an eye on."
"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Does anyone else have something to contribute?"
Harry listened carefully as wizards and witches, mostly people he didn't know, reported on all sorts of things. Dung mentioned something about Dark objects and shady figures in Knockturn Alley and a wizard went off for twenty minutes about someone poking around at the Daily Prophet. Eventually, Harry tuned it all out as he realised that there was nothing new or important coming up. His friends seemed to realise it too as their eyes drooped; Ginny managed to scrawl a dark line of ink across her parchment when she dozed off for a minute.
Finally, at around midnight, Harry jerked awake to Hermione shaking his shoulder.
"Harry," she hissed. He looked around blearily to see Fred stuffing the Extendible Ear into his pocket while George woke Ginny. "Come on, we need to get upstairs before Mrs. Weasley finds us!"
Jolting awake, Harry threw his books together and into his bag. The group of them hurried up the stairs just as the basement door squeaked open. The Order filed out, whispering and trying to make as little noise as possible.
The teenagers darted into their rooms, shooting fervent looks at each other. They'd have to talk in the morning.
Ron and Harry ducked into their room, throwing their books where they found free space. Toeing off his shoes, Harry wondered if he had time to get to the loo and change before Mrs. Weasley came up. Ron just stripped to his shorts in the dark, stumbling over something and muttering a curse as he fell with a loud noise. Harry bit back a snort of laughter at the excitement and madness of it all. He was about to risk the loo when he heard someone climbing the stairs.
No time. "Ron, your mum!" he hissed, throwing himself in bed, clothes and all. Ron muttered a few curses under his breath as he stubbed a few toes climbing into bed. Harry pressed his face into his pillow to muffle his involuntary chuckles as Ron settled with a muffled thump. He tensed as the door creaked open for a few seconds and light from the hallway shone in. Harry forced his breathing into a regular rhythm, trying to resist the temptation to look over at the intruder.
The door shut after a few seconds and he heard the creak of the floorboards as the person walked further down the hall. He let out a sigh of relief. "Ron?" Harry whispered, only to hear his friend's answering snore. He'd fallen asleep!
Harry rolled his eyes, sniggered softly and changed into his pyjamas, not bothering to use the loo as Ron kept snoring. Laying back in bed, he set his glasses aside and stared up at the blurry ceiling. He felt groggy but the young wizard couldn't sleep yet.
The Order really didn't know much more than the group of teenagers after all. With Voldemort laying low, they were just trying to gather information about his followers and their movements. The only two real things of importance were 'guard duty' and Snape's report.
Harry had thought that the guard duty had been about watching him at Privet Drive but the Order was obviously still guarding something. What was it? He knew from overhearing Kingsley a week ago that they were using Invisibility Cloaks to guard it, so it obviously wasn't something the Order should be seen guarding. And Snape had said that bit about Voldemort trying to get into the Ministry... Maybe they were connected?
He sighed. The Ministry of Magic was a big place and they could be guarding anything. The question was, what did Voldemort want so bad? It's probably the weapon that Sirius was talking about, he thought furiously. But without knowing what the weapon was, Harry was no closer to discovering the truth.
He blinked bleary eyes, his mind turning over the second part of Snape's report and the niggling thought that sat in the back of his mind. Voldemort needed Pepper-Up Potions. Bruise salve. He was feeling cold in the middle of summer. Harry almost dared not hope that it was possible, but it was. The timing fit.
Taylor had first noticed his bruises shortly after he'd gotten back from the end of the term. Cedric had died less than a month before that. That meant Voldemort had been reborn about a month before he was diagnosed with cancer. Voldemort had been reborn using his blood.
Harry choked as fear, hope, excitement and dread flooded his body. Voldemort could have cancer. Could it really be that simple? He knew that his type of cancer was aggressive and that the longer it went untreated, the higher the chance it could kill a person. And Voldemort had already gone a month longer than him without treatment.
Realisation swept over him like a wave of cold water. If Voldemort did have cancer, then telling his friends the truth about Harry's cancer could be dangerous. Harry knew that Voldemort was powerful, but he was also smart. It wouldn't take the Dark Lord long to connect Harry's illness with his own, and with Malfoy, Rookwood and other the Death Eaters behind him, he would find a way to stop the cancer—even if he had to use Muggles to do it.
However, if Harry could keep quiet, even for just a few more months, the chances of Voldemort finding a cure soon enough to save himself were slim. Right now, only Harry and a few Muggles knew the truth and it wouldn't take much to keep it that way.
But what about Dumbledore? a voice that sounded a lot like Hermione asked. Harry bit his lip. He knew that hiding something so important couldn't be good for the war effort; Sirius and Dumbledore would be angry and disappointed in him when or if they found out. But at the same time, it wasn't like they could accelerate Voldemort's cancer or anything. What good would it do for them to know?
And there was Snape to consider. Even though Dumbledore trusted him, Harry didn't, and he knew that Dumbledore would tell Snape—if only to get him to confirm that Voldemort was really sick. Harry swallowed roughly. If Snape wasn't on their side, he would tell Voldemort and all this secrecy would have been for nothing.
Harry's jaw tightened. He had made his decision. Not only would it risk Voldemort finding out, but if he told Dumbledore, then the headmaster would probably have to tell the Dursleys. Fear rose like an angry snake in his belly.
He knew that he'd done something illegal by forging his uncle's signature on his hospital forms, but Harry hadn't had a better option. To everyone but the Order and his friends, the Dursleys were his legal guardians and were supposed to be taking care of him. Harry scoffed derisively. They would sooner embrace all things magical before authorising his treatments.
Harry shivered and pulled his blankets up to his chin. He didn't want to die, he'd learned that much from the last month. And as long as he needed his mother's blood protection, Dumbledore wouldn't be able to do anything about his guardianship or the Dursleys, meaning he couldn't stop them from refusing him his treatments if they so wished.
The black haired teenager firmed his resolve. Until he could get rid of Voldemort, he'd just have to keep quiet about his cancer. Dumbledore knowing wouldn't make anything better and could only make things worse.
Harry smirked wryly as an absent thought cropped up. Dumbledore doesn't need to know, for his own good. He felt a rush of righteous satisfaction at that.
Saturday dawned and Harry woke up with a nest of beetles in his stomach. Today was his last day of intense chemotherapy before the final bone marrow test to determine if he was in remission. He popped a dose of prednisone in the loo before breakfast and eyed the nearly empty bottle with satisfaction. Two more pills–one taken every two days–and he would be done with pills for more than a week until the bone marrow test results came back.
His happiness at that thought just barely covered his anxiety over what he was about to do. Harry's new resolve at keeping the cancer a secret meant that he had to get a little more creative with transportation. He'd already used the Knight Bus a few times to get to Staines and it probably wasn't a good idea to use it again any time soon.
Muggle transport would serve in the meantime, but Harry was more concerned with his ability to disappear for hours without being caught. Mrs. Weasley had been keeping an eagle eye on all of them since the Order meeting. Fred and George swore that she could smell mischief. Harry grimaced at the thought.
She'd also been keeping an extra close eye on him since he'd been ill. His fever had come back the day after the Order meeting and he'd picked up a cough from somewhere. Mrs. Weasley had frowned and clucked, forcing him to stay in bed for a whole day even though a Pepper-Up Potion had cured him in seconds. Since then, she'd been finding excuses to brush at his forehead in case his fever came back. Harry hoped it didn't because he was getting thoroughly sick of bed rest.
Ron had bemoaned Harry's bad luck to get ill twice in one week but Hermione had looked thoughtful—up until George Apparated on top of her head, effectively distracting his bushy-haired friend.
Harry nervously felt his pockets for the third time to make sure that he had everything. He needed to have enough money to take the Underground and train, as well as his cloak and wand just in case there was trouble. Feeling his trusty cap, he took a bracing breath. Trying to start a fight didn't sit well with him, but it was the only plan he had. With these weekly tantrums, his friends were going to think he was losing it.
Harry took a deep breath to brace himself and went downstairs.
"Hey Harry!" Tom, the front desk clerk, said. "Cutting it a little close, aren't you?"
Harry glanced at the clock and cursed under his breath. "Thanks Tom!" he called over his shoulder as he hurried to the lift. His finger pushed the button a few times, as if that would make the machine move faster.
"Late, deary?" an old woman asked, leaning on a cane.
With a ping! the lift arrived and Harry clambered on. "Yeah," he said. "Which floor?"
"Seven, please," she said, stepping in behind him.
Harry wished that the lift would move faster but had to wait as the doors slowly shut and it inched up with a mechanical whirr.
"I'm going to visit my grandson," the old woman said. "He broke his ankle this morning and has to stay overnight, the poor dear. Thought I'd give him some company..."
Harry nodded politely but only listened with half an ear. She just kept talking, nattering about her grandson's favourite toys and how adorable he was as a baby. The teenager felt vaguely uncomfortable and left the lift with some relief when it stopped at the laboratory. As the doors closed behind him, he heard the woman continue her conversation with the lift buttons.
He shook his head, absently thinking that hospitals always brought in the oddest folk.
"Harry!" Maude smiled as she spotted him. "There you are!" She put an arm around his shoulders and led him to his usual chair. "I almost sent an orderly up to check if you were with Miss Clarisse," she teased. "The whole ward's been abuzz after last week."
Harry blushed and spluttered, which had Maude chuckling in response. "Oh, don't fret, dear. There's nothing wrong with a little romance at your age," she said gaily, applying alcohol and inserting the intravenous line with practised movements, "–and it's good to see you in better spirits. You've been right mopey the last few weeks." Maude of course knew why but she tactfully ignored that hippogriff as she tucked the last dosage onto the stand. "I'll just leave you to it then."
The kindly nurse patted his arm and scurried back to her desk. Harry watched the bag drip, beads of clear liquid entering his arm with every second. It was almost odd to think that this last bit of medicine could be getting rid of his cancer for good. That after this, he could be in remission. It was an amazing thought—and one that he hadn't come to before.
"Penny for your thoughts," a familiar voice chirped. Harry looked to the right to see Clarisse sitting next to him. He returned her pretty smile and the muscles in his back relaxed.
"Are they worth so little?" he teased. He tentatively reached out with his right hand and clasped hers, holding tighter when she didn't pull away.
Clarisse's smile broadened. "Depends on what you're thinking about."
"Remission," Harry replied seriously but the smile didn't leave his face.
"It'll happen," Clarisse said with a firm nod. "You're doing so well, I'm sure of it. After all, you've still got your hair!"
Harry laughed uncomfortably, remembering how his hair grew back just this morning when he found a clump on his pillow. "Is that a good sign?"
"Some say it is," she said with a shrug. Clarisse smiled wistfully. "I used to have red hair. When I went into remission the last time, I'd hoped to get it long enough to make a wig, just in case..." her voice trailed off. Harry squeezed her hand firmly as he realised what had happened. "My mum offered to have a wig made out of her hair, but it's not the same, you know?" She grinned at him. "She's blonde and I'd look like rubbish with her hair colour."
Harry laughed at her 'vanity'. "I think you look pretty as you are," he assured her.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Thanks Harry."
Harry leaned in and kissed her cheek softly, blushing as he withdrew. "You're welcome."
Clarisse's cheeks were pink and she had a happy grin on her face. After a moment, she spoke. "Your letters were lovely, by the way. Hedwig was so fast that Lucy wants an owl now. Says she's better than the postman!"
He laughed. "I'll have to tell Hedwig that. She'll be really pleased," he said.
"Good, because Mrs. Partridge saw her in our room the other day and shooed her out," Clarisse giggled. "I hope she's not cross with us."
Harry mentally grimaced. For some reason, Hedwig wasn't terribly fond of Clarisse and it was enough of a struggle to get her to deliver post without crotchety nurses shouting at her. "She'll be fine," he assured the girl. "If not, I'll just use the post when I get to school."
"Alright," she said, squeezing his hand.
Harry cast around for something else to talk about. "So... what ended up happening between Partridge and Richards?"
His heart was pounding and stomach churned with nerves as he turned the corner of Grimmauld Place. He was so late and, quite possibly, in major trouble.
After his treatment, he'd gone upstairs with Clarisse and, before he knew it, had spent over an hour with them. Harry ran back to the train station and caught one back to London but problems on the way delayed him by another hour.
Then on the Underground, Harry spotted a few oddly-dressed people on the Charing Cross platform. Two people boarded his car and he'd been forced to unfold a newspaper to hide his face. Peeking around it, he eyed the man's kilt and polo shirt combination and the vibrantly coloured dress of his female companion. He gulped as he spotted a wand handle poking out of the woman's handbag.
Harry had never seen them before and determinedly pretended to read until he got off at his stop. His heart raced even after he threw his cloak on and hurried down the empty streets. This was such a bad idea, he thought furiously. Was it just a coincidence that wizards were in the Underground on the same day he'd snuck out of the house?
Grimmauld Place appeared deserted and Harry hurried to Number 12 as it squeezed out from between 11 and 13. He prodded the door open, hoping no one was on the other side to see it open by itself. When the crack was big enough, he slipped through and shut the door with a soft snap.
Harry sighed softly in relief and was about to congratulate himself on a successful trip when he felt a rush of air as his cloak was whipped off him. Turning around, the sick feeling returning to his stomach faster than ever before, he cringed.
There stood Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin and Moody, the latter holding his cloak, glaring at him. Mrs. Weasley had her arms crossed, a sabre-tooth tiger look on her face, and seemed unspeakably dangerous.
"So..." Mrs. Weasley intoned, making Harry cringe and brace himself. He'd never before incurred the wrath of Molly Weasley but it looked like he was about to get that privilege today. "Do you have any idea how worried we've been? How many people have been looking for you?" Harry winced, recalling the strange witch and wizard on the Underground.
"Just walked out without a by-your-leave! Been looking everywhere—did you even care?—You could have been captured, you could have died! Voldemort would do anything to get his hands on you—"
Harry's shoulders fell lower with each admonishment and he could feel all the eyes on him. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" she roared. "IF YOUR PARENTS WERE HERE—WON'T SIT DOWN FOR A MONTH—NEVER EXPECTED THIS FROM YOU, HARRY JAMES POTTER!—" It went on forever.
The portraits behind the adults were screaming too but for once no one was shutting them up. Lupin had taken the cloak from Moody and he was muttering softly to Sirius. His godfather looked upset—more disappointed than cross. Moody was scowling and his magical eye was staring straight at Harry, as if to make sure that he was really Harry Potter.
When Mrs. Weasley's voice began to crack and whisper, she stopped yelling and Harry nearly sighed, thinking it was over. That was until he felt two fingers grip his ear and twist.
"Ow!" he shouted involuntarily, more out of surprise than pain, and found himself unceremoniously dragged down to the basement with Mrs. Weasley leading the charge. Harry saw his friends staring at him from the stairs and grimaced. They didn't look very happy with him either. Bugger.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley released his ear and pushed him into a seat near the fire. "You just sit right there, young man," she said seriously. "Dumbledore will want to speak with you. Alastor, could you let Arthur and Kingsley know that he's alright on your way out?"
Moody grunted and clunked out of the kitchen, leaving Harry with Mrs. Weasley and two cross Marauders. The teenager stared at his hands, picking his fingernails nervously. What were they going to do to him? Uncle Vernon would have hit him round the head and locked him in his room without meals for a month—but that didn't seem like something Mrs. Weasley would do and Sirius had never disciplined him before.
"Harry," Lupin said softly. "Why did you leave the house?"
He looked up to see Sirius and Lupin sitting across from him on the table while Mrs. Weasley banged some pots around on the stove, keenly listening to their conversation. Harry bit his lip and avoided their eyes. What can I say that doesn't give away the truth? he wondered.
"I wanted to get away to think," he lied.
"Where did you go?"
"Just around."
"Harry, we went outside to look for you but not even Mad-Eye could find you. Where did you really go?" Lupin said reasonably.
"I don't know," he lied. "I just walked around for a bit."
"You just walked around London for over six hours?"
"Er...yeah?"
Lupin sighed, disappointment dripping in his eyes and from his stooped shoulders. The werewolf started pacing in frustration, leaving the teenager to bow his head miserably. Harry knew that they knew that he was lying; that or they were seriously thick to believe that load of bull. Mrs. Weasley clearly didn't completely believe him as she set water to boil with a furious flick of her wand. Sirius slumped in his chair, silently brooding.
As the kettle began to scream shrilly, the fire flared green and Dumbledore stepped out of the grate. His eyes were serious and for once he looked straight at Harry, if just for a few seconds, before looking away.
"It is good to see you are safe, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely, sitting down at the table. "We have all been very worried about you." The abject disappointment in his headmaster's voice didn't sit well with the teenager. "Where have you been for the last few hours? Why did you leave the house, my boy?"
Harry braced himself and looked firmly at the tabletop. "Around. I just needed to get out. That's all," he said. His eyes flickered to the headmaster's face but the man was looking everywhere else but at Harry's face.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, ignoring Mrs. Weasley's muttering as she set tea on the table, "it's not safe for you to be wandering around on your own. You know this. Why would you risk going out by yourself?"
Harry shrugged and looked at his fingernails as if they were the most interesting things on the planet. Wood in the fire popped loudly in the silence. He could feel Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley and Lupin's eyes on him. Sirius, the one person he wanted to talk to, was still brooding.
Dumbledore frowned at his refusal to answer. "I'm afraid I do not have time to get to the bottom of this, Harry, but I need to ask you not to leave Headquarters again for the remainder of the summer. Mrs. Weasley will be keeping an eye on you and we will discuss this when you return to Hogwarts in September," he said sternly, disappointment coating his every word.
The teenager nodded and didn't look up until Dumbledore had left. He felt bad that he had disappointed his headmaster but he couldn't find it in himself to be upset after Dumbledore hadn't even bothered to look into his eyes or ask more than a few questions. Harry reluctantly looked up when Mrs. Weasley set a cup of tea in front of him.
"You will be helping me with dinner every evening for the rest of the week," she said in a tone that brooked no-nonsense, "and with the washing up. You will also be in bed by ten every night." Harry's jaw dropped in horror as she instituted a bedtime of all things but shut it with a snap at her raised eyebrow. "Dumbledore has also asked me to hold onto your Invisibility Cloak while you are here," she explained, her tone softening at the look on Harry's face. "You will get it back before you go to Hogwarts."
Knowing it wouldn't do him any good to argue, Harry nodded defeatedly, although he did cross his arms in annoyance. It wasn't as if he'd gone out on a lark, not that they knew that, he thought irritably. If they knew the truth, none of this would be happening. It's all Voldemort's fault, he scowled.
After all the chaos of the day, all he wanted to do was go up to his room, away from headmasters and parental figures. Mrs. Weasley must have sensed that, because she said, "If Remus and Sirius don't have anything else to add, go on up to your room, dear. Supper will be ready in another hour."
The teenager eyed the two men. Lupin shook his head and Sirius grunted. Harry assumed that meant he could go and darted out of his chair. The steps creaked as he hurried up them and into the room he shared with Ron, only to find all his friends waiting for him.
"Hi," he said weakly, eyeing the large group.
Ron looked mutinous and Hermione was worried. Ginny, Fred and George also looked concerned but they didn't seem as upset as the other two. Harry sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed, next to Ginny, waiting for the pregnant silence to break.
"Where were you?" Hermione blurted.
The guilt was worse than it had been with the adults. He'd never seriously lied to his friends before and here he was, about to do it to their faces. "I just went outside," he said quietly, refusing to look at them.
"But where did you go? To the park? Diagon Alley?"
Harry just shrugged.
Ginny huffed. "What, is it some sort of secret?" she asked with a scowl.
He shook his head hastily. "Look, I just needed to clear my head alright?" he said. "I wanted to walk around, get some fresh air and I must have fallen asleep or something. I lost track of time, that's all."
That seemed to placate Ginny and the twins, but Hermione's face changed from worry and annoyance to concern. "Oh, Harry," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "I understand, I really do. But you can't just walk out of here like that! It's just not safe!"
"Yeah, I know, Hermione," Harry said quietly. "Look, I'm sorry I worried everyone. I really only meant to go out for a few minutes."
"Don't you think that we might want that too?" Ron asked abruptly, a scowl crossing his features. "You aren't the only one stuck in this place at all hours!"
Harry reeled, feeling wretched. While going out to get poison pumped into his body to kill off a terminal disease wasn't fun, at least got him out of Grimmauld Place. His friends had been confined to the house for far longer than he.
"I'm sorry, Ron. I wasn't thinking, alright?" he said. "And it's not like I'd be able to sneak out again. Your mum has my cloak until term starts." His face was creased with remorse.
Ron grunted. Harry felt guilty but knew that his friend would come around, given time.
"Look," Hermione reasoned. "We're just feeling a little shut in. Let's ask Mrs. Weasley if we can make a small trip to the park for an hour with some of the Order as guards in another day or two." At their doubtful looks, she added, "It couldn't hurt to ask, right?"
"Yeah," Ron said, looking a little brighter, "it's better than just sitting here. That's brilliant, Hermione!"
"We should ask her at dinner," one of the twins pointed out, "just so she has time to cool off first."
"Yeah, probably a good plan," Harry winced, rubbing his ear. The Weasleys grimaced sympathetically.
"You forgot to head her off Harry!" reminded the other twin. "We told you, that's the important bit."
"You must have been in real trouble if she twisted your ear and threatened to wallop you," Ginny noted with a grimace.
"Yeah, that I could handle," Harry moaned. "But instead I've got punishment: helping with dinner and dishes for a week and a bedtime." He shuddered, his face bright red with embarrassment.
Ron snorted. "Trust me, the bedtime is better than the walloping," he said firmly. "I can't believe you got the full grounding and everything!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well of course he did!" she said primly. "He could have gotten seriously hurt and half the Order was looking for him!"
The atmosphere sobered at the reminder but the twins exchanged glances.
"I think we have to make it official Forge."
"You are quite right, Gred. Grandad Weasley would never forgive us if we didn't."
"What's that?" Ron asked, looking curiously at his brothers.
Fred and George stood up, waved their wands in unison and popped out of the room. Harry raised his eyebrows curiously at their departure. His eyebrows rocketed up further as Ron, Hermione and Ginny started laughing.
"What's so funny?" he asked. Ron pointed at Harry's head, too busy laughing to explain. Harry ran to the mirror and stared at his reflection.
Everything was mostly normal, except his black hair was now a bright Weasley orange. "What?" he cried, touching his hair. "Why'd they do this?"
Ginny slowed her giggles and looked at him like it was obvious. "You just got reamed out and grounded by mum," she said.
"Yeah, so?" Harry said slowly.
Ginny rolled her eyes and huffed. "It means she sees you as a son," she said slowly, her tone implying that he was beyond thick.
"But what does that have to do with my hair!"
"Can't have a black-haired Weasley, mate," Ron explained, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Although, I have to say that you look rubbish in orange."
As his friends started laughing again, Harry grinned at his reflection. It was true, he thought ruefully. Orange just wasn't his colour.
Sirius sat in the corner nursing a glass of Firewhiskey, the flames in the grate warming his back while the full kitchen table warmed his insides. Harry was sitting there, laughing about something or the other. Ron and Hermione were flanking him while Ginny and the twins sat on the other side. He'd long stopped paying attention to the conversation and really couldn't get himself to join in again.
Ever since Dumbledore had forced him to return to the Black Family home, he'd been sleeping poorly and found himself in a persistently foul mood. Being cooped up, forced to stay in like a good little dog, just didn't suit him at all. He needed to be out there, in the action, helping the Order and his godson. Sirius scratched his arm futilely as a restless itch burned through him. He couldn't blame Harry at all for sneaking out.
When Harry had stomped off that morning, he hadn't thought anything of it. He'd often lost his own temper and shouted at James for no reason at that age—it happened with close friends. He figured Harry would go upstairs, sulk a little, then come and apologise when he'd cooled down.
But when Harry hadn't shown up for lunch again, Molly went to call him down and couldn't find him. Ron wondered aloud if Harry had hidden under his cloak for a little privacy, so Molly had called Alastor to find him. Sirius had scowled. She was always fussing over Harry like that. So what if he was hiding from them? If he was hungry, he'd come down and eat.
But when Moody couldn't find him, things got out of control. Moody contacted every available Order member and Molly fire-called Dumbledore, pulling out all the stops to go after Harry. Molly had ignored him when he mentioned that Harry had probably just stepped out for fresh air and he'd be back soon. But as time wore on, Sirius found himself doubting his own reasoning.
He'd been forced to stay in the house by Remus on Dumbledore's orders, meaning that he'd had a guard body-binding him to a chair to keep him there. No one had listened to him or even entertained the idea that he could help. It's not like I'm a dog Animagus who could track down my own godson, he'd thought furiously.
In the end, Harry had come back on his own, perfectly safe and unharmed. When he saw the teenager standing in that entryway, all he'd wanted to do was sweep the boy into his arms. But then Molly started off on the kid, yelling at him like he was one of her sons. Grounding him, even! That was Sirius' responsibility.
Everywhere he looked, people were taking things from him, Sirius mused moodily. Dumbledore took away his freedom. Wormtail took away his adulthood. Hagrid took Harry from the ruins of Godric's Hollow. And now Molly was taking Harry away from him.
Sirius took a large gulp of whiskey as he watched Harry help Molly clear the table. A part of him was grateful that Molly loved Harry and that the boy had a mum in her. But it was so frustrating to feel like he had no role in Harry's life. The kid was so independent, like a little adult himself. He didn't need his old, ex-convict of a godfather, not really.
The strong aroma of his drink wafted to his nostrils. Even if Harry didn't need him, it didn't stop Sirius from loving that boy like a son. All he wanted was a chance to take care of Harry like the teenager deserved, like Lily and James wanted him to; but every time he turned around, something was keeping them apart. Dumbledore could have let him discipline Harry, not Molly.
But would you really have punished him for it, when you would have done the same thing? his conscience whispered. It was a good question. If he'd been the one with the Invisibility Cloak, he'd have skipped out without a second's thought. Heck, if Harry had for his advice, Sirius would have approved and joined him!
That's not what a responsible parent would do, that conscience whispered. And it wasn't. Molly wouldn't have let Harry sneak out or do anything reckless. She would have done what was safest and best–he grudgingly allowed–for Harry. Swallowing another large mouthful, Sirius pondered.
Sirius knew he wanted the best for Harry but those feelings warred with that restless urge to run around like a wild animal. He knew intellectually that the latter wasn't what was best for Harry—as it could get him caught and stuck in prison again—but it was what he wanted.
Maybe it isn't about what you want, the voice whispered, but about what Harry needs. Sirius finished his whiskey morosely. The voice was probably right. But did Harry really need to have his godfather around?
The voice was silent.
Harry trudged out of the bathroom at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, rubbing his exhausted eyes. He'd woken up at four with restless dreams of dark corridors and locked doors, only to have to go to the loo to vomit violently. He had had enough warning to go to the hallway loo and managed not to disturb anyone else.
As if by magic, the nausea wasn't as bad as it had been after the other treatments and he hadn't even taken Mrs. Weasley's stomach potion yet. The usual exhaustion and weakness still throbbed in his bones but despite that, Harry was feeling better than he had been for almost two months.
His appetite had also returned with a vengeance, leading Harry to go down that morning for a little breakfast. The kitchen was empty and cold, as the fire had become embers overnight. He used a candle to light the fire again, sitting back on his haunches to feel the small flames warm his body. He'd lost enough weight from the treatments that he chilled easily but had confidence that he could gain it back once he was in remission.
When the fire was roaring, Harry started helping himself to eggs, toast and bacon. The stove was an old-fashioned gas burner that had to be lit by hand or with a wand. As Harry struggled with the contraption, and ended up pinching his fingers, he dearly wished that he could use magic in the summer holidays.
"Here, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, coming in to light the stove. "You're up awful early."
Harry murmured his thanks and set a pan on the burner. "I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I got hungry so I thought I'd make breakfast."
Mrs. Weasley smiled at him and got a kettle out for tea. "Could you pull out more of those eggs? I should probably start breakfast for Arthur. He has to go in early this morning."
"On a Sunday?" Harry asked concernedly as he pulled out the requested items. He added more bacon to his pan as the oil got hot enough and eyed it carefully. Living with the Dursleys had given him enough practice in watching the bacon.
"Unfortunately," Mrs. Weasley said sadly. "There have been more raids against Muggles and Arthur gets called out for each one."
Harry flipped the bacon and eggs as his friend's mum started chopping tomatoes and mushrooms. "More regurgitating toilets?" he asked.
"Something like that," she said with a smile. It turned into a frown as the knife in her hand failed to slice through the tomato. "Hmm, the blade must need sharpening."
Harry glanced at the food to make sure it wasn't burning when he heard a shriek. He turned to see Mrs. Weasley's arms bleeding furiously as a cursed knife slashed menacingly at her.
"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry cried out. He grabbed the nearest thing, an empty pan they were going to use for the mushrooms, and swung it at the knife.
The force of his blow sent it flying across the room to where it fell harmlessly on the floor. Ignoring it for the moment, he turned to his friend's mum. She was futilely trying to heal her wounds but the spell wasn't working. Harry noticed that the woman was trying to cast with her left hand as her wand hand was unable to.
"Oh Merlin," Harry moaned weakly as he grabbed a few cloths and pressed firmly on her arms to stop the bleeding. "We need to get you to a hospital!"
"Episkey!" she tried again, waving her wand to little success. Her face had drained of colour and an awful lot of blood was on her clothes. A large puddle pooled on the floor. Harry blanched. There wasn't enough time for the hospital. There wasn't enough time to call anyone else. Sod it.
Pulling out his wand, he pointed it like she had and shouted, "Episkey! Episkey!" After a pause, the cuts started knitting together. "Episkey!" The flow of blood stopped and Harry sighed with relief.
Mrs. Weasley wavered on the floor, still ghostly pale from blood loss, so Harry helped her lay down. He tucked his jumper under her head and straightened out her legs, elevating her feet with a few balled up cloths. A blanket had been left on the table last night, so he spread it out over the prone woman.
He'd learned several things at the Muggle hospital, including how to help a person suffering from blood loss, when an extra pair of hands was needed during an emergency. As Harry pulled the blanket to her shoulders, he recalled the little boy that had collapsed shortly after he started working for Taylor. He'd started vomiting blood and Harry had been next door in the office.
He'd gotten so scared when a nurse ran by with bloodstains on her clothes that he'd gotten up to take a look. He'd immediately been enlisted to retrieve a spare blanket and pillow from the supply closet and when he'd returned, Harry had watched the nurses do exactly what he was now doing for Mrs. Weasley.
Shaking himself out of the memory, he turned off the stove as the burnt food spit up small mushroom clouds of black smoke, making his eyes water. Waving away the smell, he got a pitcher of water and encouraged his friend's mum to drink at least two glasses. He found half a bar of Honeyduke's chocolate that had been left on the sideboard and encouraged her to eat a few bites before he even thought about leaving her.
"Stay here, Mrs. Weasley," he instructed calmly. "Drink more water or eat another piece of chocolate, if you can. But don't go anywhere. I'm going to get help, alright."
Her eyes were half-closed and she was slow to respond with a nod. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered.
Harry squeezed her hand briefly before running up the stairs. "Mr. Weasley! Sirius! Someone!" he cried once he hit the second landing where most of the adults were staying.
Arthur Weasley stepped out of the bedroom he was sharing with Mrs. Weasley, his robe half on. "What is it Harry?" he asked worriedly.
"Please, you've got to come quickly!" Harry begged. "There was a cursed knife in the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley got hurt!" The two wizards thundered down the stairs to the sound of doors opening behind them, their occupants groggily peeking into the hall. "I was able to stop the bleeding but she's lost an awful lot of blood."
They burst into the kitchen and Mr. Weasley fell onto his knees next to his wife. "Molly?" he said softly, brushing her cheek with a hand. "Molly, can you hear me?"
"Arthur?" she whispered, opening her eyes halfway. "I'm alright, I'm okay."
The older man teared up gratefully and kissed her carefully. "Thank goodness." He looked around at the gory scene around them. His wife's blood was drying in rust-coloured puddles, smears graced the floor in several places and blood-covered cloths were being used to prop up her feet. Her arms were bloody but the skin was smooth and unblemished.
Harry knelt on her other side and held out the glass of water again. "Come on, Mrs. Weasley," he coaxed. "You've got to drink more."
As his wife sipped, Mr. Weasley stared at the young teenager curiously. "What are you doing, Harry?"
"She's lost a lot of blood," he answered, "and Muggles drink water and eat sweets to help with blood loss. I'm not sure why exactly, but it works."
"Really?" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, instantly excited. "Muggles do this?"
Harry bit his lip to squash the smile that threatened to break out. Mr. Weasley's enthusiasm for anything Muggle was inescapable. "Yeah," he said. "But Mr. Weasley, shouldn't we get her to a hospital or something? St. Mungo's?"
Mr. Weasley frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, I'll have to take her," he said quietly. "Harry, I need you to help me get her to the entrance hall. We'll have to Apparate."
Harry nodded and helped Mr. Weasley get his wife to her feet. She swayed immediately, so they swung her arms around their shoulders. It took lots of grunting and bumping into walls, but they managed to get to the ground floor in time to see the twins, Sirius, Lupin, Ron, Hermione and Ginny barrel down the main staircase,
"Mum!" the Weasley children cried as they saw their mother and the blood she was covered in. Lupin hurried down and took Harry's place under Mrs. Weasley's arm. Harry's shoulders sagged in relief.
"She'll be alright," Mr. Weasley said quietly, reassuring his children. "She'll be back before you know it."
With that, the two wizards took her down the hall and out the front door. Harry let out a deep breath as he heard the cracking of Apparation and Lupin stepped back into the house.
"Harry, what happened?" Lupin whispered concernedly, eyeing the blood covering Harry's hands and shirt sleeves.
The rest turned to Harry as if seeing him for the first time.
"We were making breakfast," Harry explained as they all filed into the kitchen, "and Mrs. Weasley said something about her cutting knife being dull. I was tending to the bacon when she screamed. A knife, I think it was cursed, was attacking her. I hit it with a cooking pan and it fell over there," he pointed to the instrument laying innocently on the floor.
Lupin pulled out his wand and cautiously approached it. Just as he got within a foot of it, the knife quavered and shot at him. Lupin slashed his wand and froze it's movement.
"Yes, this is definitely cursed, alright," he said, prodding it. "I think it's some sort of Cleaving Hex that activates whenever something living gets near it."
"But why hasn't it attacked before?" Hermione asked.
Lupin frowned and waved his wand at the kitchen's only knife block. "Perhaps because there's a Containment Charm on this," he said.
Sirius scowled and croaked out a humorless laugh. "Must be another lovely present from my parents."
Lupin waved his wand and the knife was placed into a conjured box. "I'll keep this secure," he explained. "I'll need to remove the hex before we dispose of the knife."
"And we should probably clean up in here," Harry said ruefully, looking at the mess of blood on the wooden floor. It would take forever to get it cleaned the Muggle way. "I don't suppose any of you know a good charm to get blood out of wood?"
Mrs. Weasley was back by lunch, much to the relief of her children. The kitchen had been cleaned up and Harry headed an effort to make sandwiches while Ron and the twins forced their mother to sit at the table. Of course, she only obeyed after she hugged Harry so hard that spots appeared in his vision.
"Oh, Harry! If you hadn't been here..." her voice grew soft. "Thank you dear. You saved my life." Harry blushed, stammering nonsense when Ron and the twins shook his hand and Ginny hugged him.
The rest of the day went by in a haze of studying, as Mrs. Weasley didn't want them touching anything remotely dangerous until Lupin and Moody could scan for hexes. But the downside came, as Ron found out, when Mrs. Weasley insisted on looking at his Transfiguration essay—he decided doodling was more fun than finishing his homework.
In spite of the drollness of the afternoon, evening came upon them quickly. Mr. Weasley pumped Harry's hand when he returned from the Ministry that evening to renew his thanks.
"—I don't know what I would have done, if you hadn't been there," the older man said. "Thank you, son."
Red flushed through Harry's cheeks. "Er, you're welcome, sir," he murmured. After a second, he bit his lip and eyed Mr. Weasley carefully. "Mr. Weasley? Earlier, when I, er, saved Mrs. Weasley... well, I used magic. I had to, she was bleeding so much! ... But, well, I haven't gotten a letter from the Ministry about it. After the trial and everything, Fudge probably wants my wand snapped... D'you think the owl couldn't find me or something?"
Arthur Weasley furrowed his brows. "Perhaps... Madame Hopkirk is quite prompt—Fidelius Charm could have—no need to worry Molly—" he muttered under his breath. At Harry's raised eyebrows, he cleared his throat. "Right. Harry, I'm not sure what happened. It's possible that the Fidelius Charm hid your little bit of magic. I'll inquire discretely at the Ministry tomorrow, just in case they did try to send a letter. But until we know for sure, let's just keep this between the two of us. No need to worry Molly or the Order..."
"Okay, Mr. Weasley."
The man ran a hand through his thinning red hair and shot a grin at Harry that distinctly reminded him of Ron. "Right then. I think I'll go get some dinner; a full day at the office sure gives me an appetite. Are you coming, Harry?"
Mrs. Weasley had really outdone herself. With Harry's help, she'd made a lovely roast chicken with all the trimmings, baked potatoes with butter, hot bread pudding, minced meat pies, fresh bread and a green bean and three cheese casserole, in just two hours. Best of all, she had made treacle tart for pudding and Harry enjoyed two large servings of it.
When he and Ron withdrew for bed, Harry's stomach was still comfortably full, even though Ron's was already beginning to protest for a late night snack.
"Ron, just go and get something already! You've already nicked all my Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills," Harry complained as his friend searched through their room, looking for food. "That was the last of it!"
Ron grimaced as his stomach rumbled. "Alright. You want anything?"
"No," Harry said. "Just don't eat all the Treacle Tart!"
His red-haired friend grinned and snuck out of the room. After the attack on Mrs. Weasley, the Order had restricted the teenagers to their rooms after hours, despite the kitchen being completely free of curses, courtesy of Lupin. Harry rolled his eyes and flopped back on his bed. The Order was getting ridiculous with all their restrictions.
Thank goodness Hermione convinced them to let us go outside. His other best friend had brought up the idea the night before and Mrs. Weasley promised to owl the headmaster about it. Dumbledore had given his approval provided that three Order members acted as guard while they were outside.
The good news had brought a feeling of levity to the gloomy house. Sirius had started whistling Weird Sisters songs under his breath and Ron forgave Harry for leaving the house without him. Even Hermione looked excited to leave her studies in order to go outside and walk around in the sun.
Of course, this good feeling was all contingent upon his success at sneaking off for his appointment on Wednesday. With his Invisibility Cloak confiscated, Harry was going to have a harder time sneaking out of the house and Mrs. Weasley would know something was up if he threw a third tantrum to explain his disappearance. If only he could leave the house without leaving through the front door...
Harry sat up straight. If the Ministry couldn't detect the spells he used earlier to save Mrs. Weasley, then they probably wouldn't be able to detect anything else he did in the house. Flopping on his front, he felt around the space under his bed until his searching fingers found the edges of the book he'd nicked from the Black Library.
He'd need to learn how to make a Portkey.
Harry looked over his shoulder one last time. The corridor was empty and only the muffled creaking of the house could be heard. He opened the door and edged in, shutting it behind him. Dust rose from his feet as he trod on the filthy floorboards.
After lunch, the teenagers had been roped into finishing their summer homework by Mrs. Weasley. Harry managed to finish his potions essay and begged off for a break, saying he was going to visit Buckbeak for a bit.
Not wanting to waste a second of time, Harry pulled a grey quill from his pocket. It was old, the nib dull and stained with ink. He had painstakingly charmed the quill and a scrap of parchment the day before. Hoping that his Portkey would work, he whispered, "Muggle," and felt a tug at his navel.
Within seconds he landed and his knees buckled. Picking himself up off the ground, Harry had to roll his eyes at the dirty state of his jeans and hands. He really had to get better at these landings.
Harry had chosen to arrive in a small alcove around the back of the hospital. It was hard to see inside it and was quite abandoned. Harry ducked out of the corner and went round to the front, tucking his quill in a pocket. He greeted Tom and the other nurses on his way up to the fifth floor ward.
"Hi," he said cheerily, walking into Clarisse and Lucy's room.
"Harry!" the former cried from her bed. "How have you been?"
"Pretty good." Harry sat down on the edge of her bed and took her hand. "How about you?"
"Better," she said with a small smile. A healthy blush stained her cheeks and a little red fuzz decorated her scalp. "My cell count's gone up and I might be going home soon!"
Harry smiled and squeezed her hand. "That's brilliant!"
Clarisse nodded. "I really hope that remission sticks this time," she said quietly.
"It will," Harry assured her. "And come Christmas, you'll be in school again!"
The girl just smiled and squeezed his hand. "I hope so." A silence grew between them.
"So, where is Lucy?"
"She's got a boyfriend!" she gushed. "A new boy, Eduardo, just moved in down the hall, so she's gone to his room for a few hours."
Harry laughed. "Good for her!" he said. "I'm glad she's found someone."
"Yeah, maybe she'll stop gossiping about us now that she has something else to talk about," Clarisse said with little hope in her voice.
Harry snorted. "The Prince of Wales would have to get married before she stopped talking about us."
Clarisse returned his grin. "True," she said. Her eyes met his and she leaned in to give him a light kiss on the lips.
Harry leaned in more as she sat back and drew her into a longer kiss, his hand firm but yielding on the back of her head.
"Wow," Clarisse said dazedly as they pulled apart from one another.
"Yeah," Harry echoed. "I need to get going—my appointment's in ten minutes—but I wanted to say goodbye before I go. I leave for school next week."
"Are you coming back before...?" Clarisse asked quietly.
Harry shook his head. "Richard's faxing the results to Taylor directly and he'll take over from Dundee directly," he said. "But we can still write! And I'll try to come round during the Christmas holidays."
He looked earnestly at Clarisse. "I'll be back," he promised.
Clarisse eyed him and let out a small smile. "You better," she said teasingly, kissing him again.
Harry returned it, feeling the warm sweetness that was Clarisse. Their lips were rough and dry from the treatments but their earnestness made the kiss softer than a cloud. When they finally pulled away with a small smack!, they were both breathing a little harder and pink rose on their cheeks.
"Goodbye," Harry said quietly, standing up. He squeezed her hand and then left the room with a heavy heart.
Harry sipped his drink as he mingled in the raucous party. The edge of the banner for Ron and Hermione hung so low that it hit Harry in the head when he helped himself to another Pumpkin Pastie. Mrs. Weasley was beaming around at the whole group, gushing over Ron whenever she had the opportunity.
The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in a while. Harry idly talked to his friends and the Order members, feeling more relaxed than he'd been in a while. When he'd found out that Ron got Prefect, Harry had been admittedly jealous of his friend, if only because he would be the odd man out now that his two best friends were Prefects and he wasn't. But after thinking about it, Harry realised that he wasn't being fair to Ron. His friend had earned it and for once he was better at something than Harry. It wouldn't be right to make Ron feel miserable because Harry was upset. Besides, he'd reasoned, with my cancer treatments, I have enough to be getting on with without Prefect duties to worry about.
So here he was, trying to make the best out of the party honouring his two friends. He idly listened in on various conversations as he made his way through his mountain-like plate. He had drifted more to the edge of the party when he heard Kinglsey's deep voice.
"...why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?" he said.
"He'll have had his reasons," replied Lupin.
"But it would have shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done," persisted Kingsley, "'specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days..."
Harry picked at his food, determined not to look at the two adults. The monster of jealousy rose up in him, despite all his attempts to squash it, and fled, taking his appetite with it. He walked toward the dinner table just to get away from that conversation. Mad-Eye Moody was busily inspecting a chicken leg and Mrs. Weasley yawned.
"Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, allright? 'Night, Harry, dear."
Harry wanted nothing more than to scurry upstairs after her but Moody caught him first. He was forced to stay still as the old Auror showed him an old photograph, cheerfully reciting the names and respective deaths of each former member. Harry felt vaguely queasy as he watched the smiling faces, knowing that they had no idea that they'd all be dead or insane within a year. Sirius thankfully rescued him by distracting Moody and Harry slipped out the door before he could get called back.
He ran up the stairs, seeing those faces flash through his mind, and shuddered. That was awful. Just as he was about to enter his room, he heard sobs coming from the drawing room. He entered and saw Mrs. Weasley curled up on the floor and a dead Ron sprawled on the floor.
Harry gripped the doorjamb tightly, hardly daring to breathe. It couldn't be. Ron was dead—and then he remembered that it was impossible. Ron was downstairs...
"Mrs. Weasley?"
"R-r-riddikulus!" she sobbed, pointing her wand at Ron's body. With a crack, it became Bill, also dead. "R-riddikulus!" Mr. Weasley's bloody body replaced Bill's.
Mrs. Weasley cast the spell again and again, the bodies changing until Harry saw his own dead body laying on the floor. His stomach dropped out of his body as he saw the askew glasses and blank eyes. That could be me, in less than a year, a traitorous voice murmured in his head.
"Mrs. Weasley," he cried, his voice cracking on the words, "just get out of here! Let someone else—"
And then the cavalry arrived. Lupin quickly banished the Boggart and attempted to comfort the crying woman.
"D-d-don't tell Arthur," Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. "I d-d-don't want him to know. Being silly..."
She blew her nose in Lupin's offered handkerchief.
"Harry, I'm so sorry, what must you think of me?" she said shakily. "Not even able to get rid of a boggart..."
"Don't be stupid," Harry said, smiling weakly. He didn't think he'd be able to banish a boggart if he saw his family's bodies on the ground like that. For once he was thankful that his worst fear was a dementor—at least he knew how to fight it.
He stayed with the group until Mrs. Weasley calmed down and was shuffled off to her bedroom. Shutting the door to his own, Harry gulped, his mind flashing to all those that died in the photograph and Mrs. Weasley's boggart. It wouldn't happen, not if he could help it.
Suddenly, his scar seared with pain and he cursed, rubbing his forehead. "Cut it out," he murmured.
"First sign of madness, talking to your own head," said a sly voice from the empty picture on the wall.
Harry ignored the portrait and instead flopped ungracefully on his bed. Soon he'd be at Hogwarts and with any luck, his appointment on Saturday would confirm that the cancer was gone for good. Then all he'd have to do is wait out Voldemort. If it was that easy, then the school year could be the most peaceful one yet.
A/N: Woohoo! Another chapter completed!
This has to be a record for me, publishing two chapters for the same story within two weeks of each other. ;) Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and alerted my fics/author page! I love hearing what you think about my fics and what you like/dislike about them.
As for this fic, yes, we are finally done with summer holidays. ;) Cheer with me. I'm going to try and start on Chapter 9 as soon as I can, but school has officially picked up and I'm weeks behind on reading for nearly all my classes. I also recently found out that my uncle has liver cancer and his prognosis isn't good. I'll try and dedicate as much time to writing as I can, but I can't promise anything at the moment.
Anyway, please review and tell me what you think! Have a great week everyone!