Chapter 4: Snakes and squabbles
I would like to take this time to apologize for the late posting of this chapter, my grammer beta and I had our wires crossed; hopefully we can avoid such things in the future.
On another note, seems to be having issues with my parseltongue being italicized. It keeps the italics for the first bit, and then changes it back further down and I find myself manually putting it back in italics after I've uploaded the chapter. If anyone has a suggestion as to how I should keep this from happening in the future, I would greatly appreciate it.
ooOO00OOoo
It was the sound of bickering that woke Harry up the following day.
"Fred! George! What is wrong with you? You should know better than that! Don't mess with Hermione when she's reading a book!"
Pounding feet on the stairs was followed by two voices yelling in synch. "You haven't lived 'till you've pranked Hermione, Ron. Besides, she gives us the best ideas when she retaliates." The steps disappeared down the hall and Harry dropped his head back onto the pillow.
He was ridiculously exhausted from last night; he hadn't even had the energy to have nightmares. For which he was exceedingly grateful. He could feel them though, pushing at the edges of his consciousness, waiting for an inattentive moment. Knowing he had to either give in to the dreams or get up, Harry reluctantly threw the covers back and placed his bare feet upon the cold floor.
Shivering slightly, Harry cast about for something to put on his feet, only to realize the room was strangely bare. Not even his trunk seemed to have made it up the stairs. Glancing down at his body, he was surprised to discover he was clothed in his pajamas. A dim memory floated up from the recesses of his mind that supplied the image of Tonks shoving a sleepy Harry into the room, conjuring a pair of pajamas from his trunk downstairs with a sleepy wave of her wand.
Rubbing at the sleep crusted in his eyes, Harry shuffled over to the door and stepped into the hallway, slowly making his way to the bathroom at the end of the hall.
Business finished, Harry emerged a few minutes' later, face clean, eyes clear, and feeling slightly more awake. Glancing around he made his way for the stairs; skittering away from one of the doors when a large bang sounded and a strange greenish mist seeped out from the cracks in the doorway. Escaping down the steps, Harry glanced back over his shoulder, wary of any side effects that could have come from breathing in the mist.
Unless he missed his guess, that was Fred and George's room, and anything escaping from that room was best avoided. They were twins, the fourth and fifth eldest of the eight Weasley children, and the pranksters of the family. Harry had learned early on not to trust anything that they gave him to eat or drink, and not even common household objects were to be trusted, unless you wanted to find yourself suddenly sprouting feathers or being able to speak only in rhyme.
Turning his attention to the steps in front of him, Harry managed a brief moment of dismay before he tumbled, head over heels, over his abandoned trunk just beyond the foot of the stairs.
The 'thump' of his landing was immediately followed by a female voice screeching at the top of her lungs. Glancing up at the wall in front of him, Harry was startled to realize that it was a painting that was yelling at him, and he rubbed his head ruefully, wondering at this sudden bout of clumsiness that seemed to have assaulted him. Standing gingerly, he belatedly recognized that he had attracted a crowd and looked around, grimacing as the painting's voice reached a sudden, screeching new height.
"EVERYONE HERE IS AN INSULT TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK! I'LL NOT HAVE YOU PEOPLE STAYING HERE! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE AT ONCE! TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODES ALL OF YOU, NONE OF YOU ARE WORTHY TO STAND IN MY PRESENCE! A CURSE ON YOU AND ALL OF YOUR DESCENDENTS! YOU—"
A man came barreling around the corner, nearly upsetting the Weasley twins, who were covered in a strange glowing powder, and stalked up to the painting, grasping the thick curtains that were hanging on either side of the portrait, his black hair flying.
"Shut up you vile woman! Just shut up! You aren't even alive anymore, and you don't have any say in anything that happens here, so just shut up!" Fighting a short, but fierce battle with the curtains, he managed to wrestle them over the still cursing portrait, muffling the sounds effectively.
Everyone present let out a huge sigh of relief and the man turned, tugging his shirt ends into place uncomfortably. "Er, sorry about that Harry. We can't seem to get her down, nasty old hag that she is. Must have put some sort of permanent sticking charm on the back. She seems to have done everything in her power to make my life miserable when she realized I would be the only Black left when she died, and I inherited the house."
But Harry hadn't heard him. Once he recognized the figure with flying black hair, he'd tuned everything and everyone out; a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Sirius!" he yelled, then launched himself forward and into the arms of the older man. "Sirius, I've missed you so much! Why haven't you written me all summer? I was so worried about you, I thought that the Ministry had caught you, or that Wormtail had got you or…"
Trailing off on his list of woes, Harry buried his head in Sirius's shoulder and struggled to get a hold of himself. Mixed in with all the anger and resentment that had come from the succinct letter from Sirius the night before, had been relief that his godfather was all right. Being an illegal animagus, his form was that of a large black dog, had initially given Sirius the freedom to roam that he was unable to have while he was a human. However, after the events of Harry's third year, and the subsequent leaking of Sirius's animagus form, he had been unable to use even the grimm as an escape and had been fervently sought after by the Ministry.
"I'm sorry, Harry. Truly I am, but what with the Ministry looking for me, I've been in hiding. I told you before you left with your Uncle earlier this summer that I would write you as often as it was safe." Gathering Harry closer, he gently began to rub the boy's back soothingly, for he could feel the tremors wracking the small frame. Giving a pointed look to the other people in the room that plainly said 'Get lost', he continued, "And I have. Although this is my house we're in, until recently it has not been safe for me to live here because of the monitoring spells the Ministry had put on it once I escaped from Azkaban. Even that note I sent you last night wasn't safe, but I felt I had to do something or I would be an irresponsible godfather."
Gently, he pushed Harry away just far enough to look into his eyes and was startled by the emotion he found there. It wasn't sorrow that looked back at him, but anger.
"Damn you, Sirius Black!" Harry stated vehemently. "I am not a little child that you can just push around. It would not have killed you to have Dumbledore contact me, or any one of the countless wizards that have apparently been spying on me since I moved back with the Dursley's during the summer. You would be righteously upset if I disappeared for months on end, so don't give me any crap about it! There has been more than one opportunity for the wizards to contact me when I spent hours outside by myself doing chores for those pigs." Drawing back from Sirius, he balled his right hand up into a fist and swung it at Sirius, purposefully catching him in the big muscle on his shoulder so as to minimize damage. "I will not be talked down to or ignored anymore. It is my life and you are my family and I have the right to know what is going on! I'll not be told to 'run along and play' while the adults take care of things because I am sick of being kept in the dark, and I am not a child. I haven't been one since I was first made to cook breakfast at the age of five!"
Out of breath, and emotionally spent – it was simply too early for this sort of thing – Harry subsided into insolent silence, glaring at his godfather as Sirius rubbed at his left shoulder, a surprised and shocked look on his face.
'Ah, Harry, my boy. I am truly sorry. It is not Sirius's fault that he hasn't written you. In point of fact, it's mine." A voice Harry knew all too well spoke into the silence.
"Professor Dumbledore!" He cried, spinning in place to look at the doorway to the kitchen.
"Yes Harry. Perhaps, it is time to have a talk with you. There are many things that I have been keeping from you in hopes of allowing you a childhood for a few years longer, but in truth, I see that you are right and have never truly been a child." Dumbledore stood, leaning against the doorframe, looking – for once – every inch of his one hundred and eighty-two years.
His long, pure white beard was tucked into his belt haphazardly and the blue eyes that usually twinkled merrily with amusement were dead and saddened. Even his wizard's hat drooped to the side as if it lacked the energy to stand up straight.
Straightening slowly, he gestured past a shame-faced Sirius to a door hidden in an alcove of the entryway. "Perhaps, if Sirius would not mind, I could talk to you alone for a minute?"
In synchronized motion, Harry and Sirius both nodded their heads together and stated, "Of course, Professor." Eliciting a brief smile on the tired old man's face.
"Thank you Sirius. Harry?" He called moving towards the door, his movements slow and controlled.
"Sorry I yelled at you, Sirius. We'll talk later, okay?" Harry asked, turning to face his godfather once more.
"Sure, Harry. And don't worry about it. You're right, we should have gotten word to you; at least about how I was doing. And we'll talk about the rest later." Clapping his hand onto Harry's shoulder, he wandered off, rubbing his shoulder surreptitiously.
Harry entered the room where Professor Dumbledore was waiting with trepidation. He'd been fully prepared to stand up to Professor McGonagall, and even Mad-eye Moody. But the idea of saying such things to Dumbledore had him a tad bit nervous.
Glancing around apprehensively, Harry let his eyes roam about the room, unwilling to look at his Headmaster, just yet. It was a small, and rather cramped room with bookshelves lining all four walls, from floor to rather short ceiling, and seemed to be filled with any manner of objects with the rather unusual exception of the books themselves. Strange knickknacks and thingamabobs overflowed from the shelves and spilled out onto the floor, making the traversal of this enclosure a rather unusually unsafe undertaking. The objects made things even more difficult then it should have been by clicking and whirring in a decidedly distracting manner, twinkling and chirping as they compulsively rearranged themselves on their shelves, sometimes even changing shelves, and even bookcases. The end effect was a bit – dizzying.
Shaking his head a bit to try to clear the cobwebs that seem to have crept in without his noticing, Harry took the lone unoccupied chair in the room, directly across from where Dumbledore had seated himself in a straight backed chair, a steaming mug of something in his frail hands. Just what did Dumbledore have to say to him anyway? Something that would make his life even more difficult, he was sure. After all, if it was going to make his life easier, then why would the Headmaster hide it from him 'in order to leave you with a childhood as much as possible'?
Tugging on his shirt sleeves uncomfortably, Harry looked down and grimaced, for the first time noticing that he was still in his sleep clothes, having come downstairs for that express purpose, before he'd gotten sidetracked by a shrieking portrait and a surly godfather.
Dumbledore lowered the teacup from his lips and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he considered where to begin. There was so much he had not told Harry, so much that he realized he didn't want to tell him and, if Albus was honest with himself, so much he truly had not intended to ever tell the boy. But Harry's actions during the past forty-six hours or so, truly, of the entire past summer, had forced Albus to put things into a new perspective and to truly look at things from a different angle, and he had not liked what he had seen.
True, Harry was only sixteen, but he had seen, done, and lived through more in his sixteen years, than many of the Auror's had through all of their years of training. There was a…shadow behind the boy's eyes that Albus had never recognized before, though he had always seen it. Studying Potter now, Dumbledore had to admit to himself that he had not done right by the boy.
He was thin, painfully so, and his skin had the sickly cast of those who had some terminal disease. The thick glasses, heavily taped, acted like a magnifying glass and enlarged his eyes so that Harry always appeared to be in surprise or shock, wide-eyed in his innocence. A study of what those eyes held however revealed a world-weary lackluster that dulled the brilliance of the emerald orbs.
Settling his mug carefully on his lap, Dumbledore touched the pads of his fingers together, tucking the first two underneath his chin and glancing about the room.
'Erm, well, Harry, my boy I'm afraid that I don't really know where to begin. Would you care for a cup of tea?"
Finally lifting his head to look at the professor, Harry fixed the Headmaster with his disturbing gaze. "Yes, please." He responded, reaching out to accept the proffered cup and settling into his chair, suddenly cold fingers wrapped around the delicate porcelain.
"My tale starts with the night I went to the Leaky Cauldron to do an interview for the position of Divination Professor. The woman I was to meet didn't seem to have any true potential, but her grandmother was a world famous seer, and I was rather hopeful that perhaps she had inherited some of her grandmother's abilities after all." Lowering his hands to the mug sitting in his lap, Albus took a sip of the lukewarm tea before continuing.
"The meeting was disastrous, and I was just about to turn her away and begin my search anew when she suddenly went very quiet. It unnerved me a bit and so I paid extra special attention to what she said next." Straightening slightly in his seat, Dumbledore fixed Harry with a piercing look, silently instructing him to pay extra special attention as well.
"A prophecy was told that night that spoke of the downfall of Voldemort and of the only person who was capable of bringing him down. It said that person would be marked as Voldemort's equal by the Dark Lord himself." Casting an appraising look at Harry, whose face was carefully blank, Dumbledore continued, "The words of the prophecy are as follows: 'THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES…THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…'"
Falling silent, Dumbledore stared intently at Harry, waiting for his reaction, still unsure if he was right to burden a child so young with such information.
Harry, for his part, felt as if he'd been smacked in the face with a bludger. Having experienced such things before while playing Quiddich, he found the sensation remarkably similar and even raised his hands to his face to discern if he truly had been hit. Unsure as to what to do, or even what to think, he let his gaze roam around the room once again, his mind strangely blank of anything except the words of the prophecy, which was presently marching it's way around his brain for the third time.
What was he supposed to do now? He was supposed to kill Voldemort? Him? How? 'The power the Dark Lord knows not' wasn't exactly specific and there weren't a great many things that Voldemort didn't know about, having spent years studying the Dark Arts as well as his years as a student at Hogwarts, where he'd been Head Boy and gotten top marks in everything. Harry on the other hand was a remarkably unremarkable student with the sole exception of Defence against the Dark Arts, in which he excelled. In truth, he might be a sub-par student if it wasn't for the fact that he had made friends with Hermione, the smartest witch in his year.
And Harry was expected to kill Voldemort? Or die trying.
Clearing his throat nervously, Harry began. "Well, sir, I must admit I'm in a little bit of shock at the moment. When I decided that I'd had enough of the secrecy, I wasn't truly expecting to be told anything, much less something of this magnitude. I was fully expecting everyone to listen, or not, as his or her personality applied, and then pat me on the head and tell me to run along. I didn't expect to be told anything, much less something of this magnitude." Settling his eyes back on the Headmaster he asked, "I suppose the prophecy is not common knowledge?"
"No, Harry, it is not."
"But I don't suppose it's too much to ask that Voldemort doesn't know it, especially since it's about him."
Dumbledore grimaced. "That is where an old fool's folly comes in my boy, when Sybil – yes, it was Professor Trelawny who spoke the prophecy – was speaking, we were overheard by a spy for Voldemort. Apparently, the spy did not hear the part about Voldemort marking the child as his equal, as he was interrupted, but he did hear the part about a child who had the power to defeat Voldemort being born as July ended." Shaking his head sadly, Dumbledore took a moment to refill his and Harry's cups before offering the raven-haired youth a dish of lemon drops; the boy accepted one silently.
"At the time, there were two couples who fit the description of the parents for the child. The first was obviously the Potters, and the second was the Longbottoms. Both women were pregnant and due at the end of July and both sets of parents-to-be had personally defied Voldemort three, and only three, times." Albus waved his hand in acknowledgement of the question in Harry's eyes. "Yes, it seems that Neville Longbottom could quite possibly have been the boy-who-lived, not you. Fate and predestination are strange things, and it seems to me that either one of you was equally likely at the time the prophecy was spoken. In the end, it was Voldemort who chose you, not fate, by marking you as his equal." He nodded gravely as Harry's hand slowly crept up to touch the famous lightening-bolt scar where the death curse, Avada Kedavra, had struck him as a babe.
"It could have been Neville?" Harry swallowed, trying to imagine gentle, innocent Neville as the one who had to face Voldemort, as the one who would have faced off against him a total of four times now. He couldn't wrap his brain around it. "Perhaps—" he swallowed. "Perhaps it's best that it isn't Neville, then. He's too kind-hearted to be able to stand up to Voldemort."
Setting his teacup on the table between them, Harry leaned foreword and cradled his head in his hands. "But…I can't help the fact that the one question running through my mind is still 'Why me?' I mean, even after knowing about the prophecy and what it says, it all seems like such a fluke. Why did Voldemort choose to go after my parents first anyway? Was it because they were more dangerous? More powerful? More of a threat to what he was trying to do? Or was it something more mundane, like they lived closer to his base of operations? And why, for everything that is holy, did he do it in person? From what I've been told, he doesn't lead raids, or not very often. Was it personal revenge? For them standing up to him?"
Lifting his head out of his hands, his eyes wide with shock, Harry continued, "Headmaster, I don't understand any of this."
"Neither do I my boy, neither do I. I have long since lost the ability to reason out why Voldemort did, and does, what he does. When he was still Tom Riddle, I understood at least a little about his motivations and reasons behind his actions. But now? It seems almost random. The only thing I am certain of is that he is dead focused on killing you, Harry, but I'll be damned before I let him."
Albus's last sentence was spoken with quiet determination, and his eyes lit with a power Harry had not seen the likes of before. He finally understood why everyone said that Dumbledore was the one person that Voldemort feared. There was a quality about the way he sat in his chair and said those words; the old man melted away and in his place was left a man who had seen and done many things. Who had lived through war and come out the other side the victor. Who had complete access to his full, and astounding, range of powers, and was willing and able to use them. It was awe inspiring, and a little frightening.
Harry swallowed uncomfortably. "Thank you, sir."
The power that clung to Dumbledore dissipated, and an old grandfather sat in his place, eyes twinkling merrily at the antics of youth. "No need to thank me, Harry, I wouldn't be much of a person if I wasn't willing to protect our youth, now would I?" Setting his mug on the table he stood, and paced over to one of the cluttered bookshelves and retrieved one of the few objects that was not spinning, chirping, sparkling, or moving. "Here." He said, handing it to Harry. "Take this with you. It's a simple one-way communication device; I've got its mate in my pocket. I've more to tell you, but I think it's best, and I hope you agree with me, that we give you some time to think this through first before loading you up with anything else."
Harry's eyes darkened. "Sir, you said –"
"I know what I said Harry, and I will tell you everything, you have my word as a wizard on that, but even you've admitted that what you heard is quite shocking. Just give yourself time to adjust, and when you are ready to hear more, speak my name into the device and I'll come tell you more. Deal?"
Harry looked down at the strange object in his hand. Did he trust Dumbledore to honor his word and tell Harry everything? He'd been lying to him about why Voldemort wanted him dead, how far could he trust the Headmaster? Who knew what else he had to say? But…Harry knew he wasn't up for much more in the way of shocking news, it was only nine-thirty in the morning, he was still in his pajamas, he'd not even had breakfast, and he was expected to kill the most evil wizard alive today? No, he definitely wasn't ready to hear more at the moment.
"Deal."
"Excellent." Dumbledore clapped his hands together and rubbed them brusquely. "I'll see you after you've done some thinking then, eh?" Ushering Harry to the door, he held it open, allowing Harry to pass through into the entrance hall. "Now, I must be going dear boy, after all, time waits for no wizard." Once more clapping Harry on his shoulder, Dumbledore headed to the front door and quickly exited.
"Well that was interesting." Harry stated into the foyer, sarcasm lacing his words. "We'll definitely have to do it again."
Turning towards the stairs, Harry discovered his trunk was gone. Perhaps some kind soul had moved it into his room? He clumped up the stairs, thinking that a hot shower sounded very appealing at the moment.
Entering his room, Harry was overjoyed to see that not only had his trunk been placed in his room like he'd thought, but Hedwig had made it into his room as well.
"Hedwig!" He cried, rushing over to her and gently stroking her head. "I wondered where you'd gone off to. Did you get lost on the flight over?"
Hedwig hooted indignantly even as she pushed her head into his hands, encouraging him to scratch.
"Of course not, I'm sorry I ever thought that. Well, I'm glad you're here Hedwig, things have gotten crazy, and in a very short amount of time too. I'll have to tell you about it later though, I feel filthy, and I'm starving. I'll fill you in after I get a shower and some food, alright?" Giving her a final pat on the head, Harry turned to his trunk and began to rifle through its contents, flinging clothes and books haphazardly around the room. Having located the necessary toiletries, and a fresh change of clothes, he glanced about the room for his wand.
Not seeing it upon cursory inspection, Harry wandered over to the bed, placing his clothes on it to look more closely around the mattress and the nightstand next to it. "Hmm, now where --?"
When the drawer and the nightstand both came up empty, Harry threw back the covers of his bed thinking that perhaps it had fallen out of his pocked as he slept and almost let out a shriek of fright. He'd found his wand all right, and it was moving.
ooOO00OOoo"Sserin! Don't do that ever again!" Harry admonished, trying to slow down his rapid pulse. "You sscared the sshit out of me!"
"I don't ssee why. It issn't like I bit you. I wass ssimply trying to sstay warm."
"I don't care if you are trying to sstay warm, do not wrap yourself around my wand!" Harry was presently making his way to the showers with a rather pissy snake coiled around his wrist.
"Well, maybe if you hadn't forgotten me, then I wouldn't have had to warm mysself on your wand, now would I?" Serin had been rather grumpy when he'd realized that Harry had gone off without him that morning. "How am I ssuppossed to protect you and be your companion if you forget me placess?"Harry sighed. A snake was lecturing him about being forgetful, a snake! "I'm ssorry Sserin, I wass really exhausted lasst night and I hadn't brought my clothess up to the room with me. I wass jusst going to get them and come right back before I wass…sside tracked."
"Hmph. Sside tracked."
Harry tossed his clothes on the counter and turned the water on. "I ssaid I wass ssorry. And why were you wrapped around my wand anyway?"
"Harry." Serin said in an annoyed tone. "I wass cold."
"I caught that part Sserin, thankss. What I meant wass, why my wand? It doessn't give off heat." Harry said, slowly beginning to strip.
"Perhapss not to you, you are warmer than your wand. But for me…it wass the warmesst thing I could find."
"That makess ssence I ssupposse." Harry tugged his shirt over his head, dislodging Serin and getting a pithy response in retaliation. "Ssorry. Are you warm yet?"
"No." Came the grumpy response.
"Well," Harry chewed on his bottom lip. "Do you want to sshower with me?"
"Sshower?"
"Um, well…warm water comess from above and gets dirt off of you. You usse ssomething called ssoap to get the resst of it off." Harry hadn't imagined he'd ever have to explain a shower to someone, and found it a bit difficult, especially since that 'someone' was a snake. But that didn't really matter, right? If Serin showered with him? They were both male, and besides, Serin wasn't even human.
"Ah, rain."
Harry chuckled. "Artificial rain."
Serin flicked out his tongue. "Humanss are ssstrange."
ooOO00OOoo
Harry sighed contentedly as he wandered down the hallway, slowly applying a towel to his hair. Other than the argument about temperature, Serin apparently liked it very hot, the shower had gone smoothly, and Serin had enjoyed it so much he had pried a promise from Harry that he'd always take Serin along when he took showers.
Now a clean Harry and Serin, once again safely tucked into a breast pocket, were looking for some breakfast. Harry knew that at Grimmauld Place, with Sirius around, he wouldn't be denied food, and he had a serious lack of eating to make up for.
He followed the sound of bickering voices towards the kitchen and stuck his head in cautiously, wary of flying objects. Harry's eyes lit up with amusement at the scene that met his eyes.
Ron Weasley was covered in bright yellow bird feathers and seemed to be recovering from having been turned into a canary, compliments of the twins' canary creams. His younger sister, Ginny, was laughing her head off at Ron, despite the fact that she was sporting a pair of bright red horns and two little bat wings that protruded from her back. The twins were conspicuously absent, but the sound of Mrs. Weasley admonishing them could be heard from the kitchen.
Hermione, who seemed to be the only one who hadn't been pranked, was studiously ignoring the whole situation, her nose buried in a rather thick tome.
"Hi everybody. Looks like I missed the fun."
Ginny, who had tears streaming down her cheeks, merely nodded, unable to do anything else. Ron, who had opened his mouth to say something, let out an indignant squawk as he once again turned into a canary. Lifting her head out of her book, Hermione looked at the fluttering bird crossly.
"Honestly Ron, you know what that Canary Cream does to you, why are you trying to talk?"
"What are you talking about Hermione? Canary Creams just turn you into a canary once, don't they?" Harry asked, taking a seat at the table.
"Most Canary Cream's do, but not the new version. This new one apparently turns you into a canary every time you try to talk. Something along the lines of, 'you squawk like a bird, so be one.' Or some such rubbish" She sniffed disdainfully, clearly stating her opinion on the matter. "How are you Harry? I heard about the Dementors, is your cousin okay? The ministry must be pretty mad at you for using magic. Did they really try to expel you? I heard Dumbledore –"
"Enough Hermione!" Harry cried, laughing, as he raised his hands to ward her off. "I'll answer your questions, just one at a time, please." He lowered his hands, laughter still coloring his voice. "Yes, I was attacked by Dementor's last night, and Dudley is fine, if a bit scared. Mrs. Figg, the crazy cat lady down the street is apparently a squib and has been watching me all summer, along with some other people, though I don't know whom. The ministry is pretty mad, and they did send me a letter, expelling me from Hogwarts and telling me that someone would be by shortly to destroy my wand. I didn't stick around to let them do it though, I left."
Ginny had sobered through this exchange, as had Ron, who'd managed to turn back into a human.
"You left? As in, ran away? From the Ministry? Harry, what were you thinking?" Ginny's voice was steadily rising. "If Professor Dumbledore hadn't stepped in you would have been expelled!"
Harry nodded, his eyes grave. "I know Gin, but what would you have had me do? Sit around on my thumbs, and then meekly hand over my wand when they came to snap it? That would have left me completely defenseless in a world where magic is key and where the most powerful Dark Wizard has just come back from the grave and is out for my blood. I wasn't going to let that happen, and I'd already decided that I couldn't wait for Dumbledore," ("Professor Dumbledore" Hermione corrected automatically, though she was listening intently.) "to step in and save the day; just in case he couldn't. I mean, they had already ignored the fact that I'd used the Patronus Charm to run off the Dementors who, by the way, were about to kiss Dudley. If they were going to ignore that, I had no guarantees that they would listen to anything Dumbledore said." Harry huffed.
Hermione leaned over and placed her hand on Harry's forearm, eliciting a growl from Ron who, thankfully, remained human. "I'm sorry Harry."
Harry covered Hermione's hand with his own, ignoring the sounds coming from Ron. "I know, Hermione. I know."
There was an awkward silence that followed, Ginny and Hermione seemed to be at a loss for words and Ron, his face the color of his hair, dare not speak lest he turn back into a bird. Harry was simply lost in thought.
What was he supposed to do about that prophecy? What was the power the Dark Lord knows not, and how was he supposed to use it? What about his friends? Could he keep them safe? Thinking back on his conversation with the Headmaster, Harry realized that he had a great many questions that he wanted to ask, and only one person to answer them. And, he noted wryly, Dumbledore hadn't said anything, one way or the other, about letting other people know about the prophecy. Did that mean that he wasn't supposed to tell anyone, or that the Professor was leaving the decision up to him? Best to keep quiet for now, I can always tell them later.
The silence was broken by Mrs. Weasley as she herded the twins into the dining room, both of the loaded down with food, and sheepish expressions plastered onto their faces.
"Well?" she asked, her arms folded as she tapped her foot impatiently while the twins simply stood there, heads bowed.
"We're sorry." They said in unison, softly.
"We'll change you back, Ginny." Fred continued.
"Ron, it'll wear off in another five minutes." George finished.
"Good." Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Now have a seat boys, lunch is almost ready." Shuffling over to Harry, she added. "It's good to have you here, Dear," planting a kiss on his messy hair before returning to the kitchen, rattling crockery importantly.
Taking a seat at the table, Fred and George turned their attention to the newest member of number 12 Grimmauld Place.
"Harry!" they said, faces splitting into grins, their earlier chagrin already forgotten.
"How ya been, buddy 'ole pal?" George reached out and ruffled Harry's already messy hair.
"Muggles' treat'in you alright?" Fred began poking Harry in his ribs. "Doesn't look like it."
"No worries though," George said, reaching for a biscuit from a platter his mother had just placed on the table.
"We'll fatten you up." Fred plucked the biscuit from George's fingers and lobbed it to Harry who deftly caught it.
Grinning widely, Harry muttered, "Wonder twin powers, activate!" before taking a bite.
Hermione, who had been taking a sip of her apple juice, began to cough as the juice made a valiant effort to take the road less traveled and exit out her nose.
After much spluttering, aided by a still-smiling Harry's pounding on her back, she glared at him, still breathing heavily.
"Erm, Sorry?" He commented to her before turning back to the twins. " What did you do to Ginny?" he asked, curious. "I've never seen something like that before. What's it called?"
"You are looking at the first-ever as-of-yet-unnamed costume for Halloween this year." Fred said proudly.
"We're going to be making all kinds, and by the time the masquerade rolls around…"George began, his eyes sparkling.
"We'll have enough to sell them to the students." Fred concluded. "We should be able to save enough up to open our shop."
"Before we remove it, Gin, would you mind telling us how it feels?" George asked, fingering his wand.
"Well…" she closed her eyes. "I can't really feel anything. I mean, there's pressure from the horns but…" she glanced over her shoulder, trying to see where the wings emerged from her back. "I don't think the wings are actually attached. Not to me anyway. I think they're sitting on my clothes."
George reached out and gave them an experimental tug. "Yeah, you're right. Hmm." He gave a thoughtful frown and glanced at his twin. "What are you thinking Gred?"
"The same thing you are Forge."
"That's what I thought."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obviously."
A soft 'pop' accompanied Ron's reversal back into a canary.
"This is mean guys, won't you take it off now?" Hermione pleaded, turning to George while Fred removed the horns and wings from Ginny.
"No can do, Hermy. It's timed. He'll just have to wait it out." George replied loftily, beginning to pile salad on his plate. "It's only for a minute or so more."
"Come on, Hermione, eat up." Fred cut her off before she had a chance to lecture them. "The soup is getting cold. He'll be able to talk soon. See?"
As Fred finished speaking, there was a second muffled 'pop' and Ron once again sat at the table, his face as read as his hair.
"Fred! George! What have I ever done to you?" Ron roared, rising up out of his chair before stopping, apparently stunned at his sudden ability to speak. "Wha--?" He blinked and sat heavily down in his chair. "It wore off?" Befuddled, he turned to face Hermione, who was valiantly trying to hide her snickers behind her book. "Hermione! Are you laughing at me?"
"Of course not, Ron." She said, schooling her features into a bland mask before emerging from behind her book. "Don't you have something you want to say to Harry?" She questioned, pinning Ron with her sharp gaze and making his squirm in his seat.
Harry, who had, by in large, been ignoring the exchange in favor of stuffing his face with Mrs. Weasley's excellent food, and staring at Ginny – who, he must say, had grown very lovely over the summer – started suddenly when he heard Hermione say his name.
"Uh, yes?" He asked, his fork halfway to his mouth.
"Not you, Harry. Ron." Hermione responded, still looking at Ron sharply. "He has something he wants to say to you."
With those words, the dining room became silent, Ginny looked up from her bowl of soup, and Fred and George stopped squabbling over the last roll. They hadn't heard him say a single good thing about Harry the entire summer, and all had noted the distinct lack of letters to, or from, Harry.
"What do you have to say, Ron?" Ginny asked.
"Yeah, what is it, Ronnikins?" the twins taunted.
Ron just sat there a moment, unsure as to what to say, then, straightening in his seat, and appearing to toss caution to the winds, he began to speak.
"I just wanted to tell you, Harry, that I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry for ever believing you last year. I'm sorry for trying to make amends with you this summer, and I'm sorry I even thought of inviting you over to the Burrow for your birthday. You aren't the person I made friends with on the train my first year, and I don't know what's happened to you. You used to hate the fame that your scar gave you, but now you just do outrageous things simply because you are the boy-who-lived and you can get away with anything. Any other person would have been expelled from school for using underage magic in front of Muggles and running away from the ministry. But you are the bloody boy-who-lived and so all you'll get is a slap on the wrist. So, yeah. I'm sorry for ever thinking you were my friend."
There was a pregnant pause in which Harry sat, stunned at the words he had heard from Ron's mouth. Did he really hate Harry so much? When had he started believing such awful things about Harry? Unsure of what to say, but knowing he had to say something in his defense, Harry opened his mouth…and immediately closed it again when he looked over Ron's shoulder to see a very livid Molly Weasley standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Ronald Benjamin Weasley! How dare you say such things to Harry?" Striding quickly over to Ron, she reached out with both hands and grasped him by his ears, hauling him upwards. "Harry has been through a lot in his young life, more than you'll ever know, and he has never wanted the fame from his scar, he's wanted his parents instead! Or have you forgotten the simple fact that he is an orphan because of that scar?" Dragging him around by his ears, Molly boxed them quickly ("Ouch Mum!" Ron complained), before releasing them in favor of poking him in his shoulder with one strong finger. "I realize I can't force you to change your opinion of Harry, but I can make you apologize to him. Such words are never called for, and I would have thought I had raised you better than that! Now apologize!"
Ron turned to face Harry, his ears glowing red and already slightly swollen, with a mutinous expression on his face and Harry knew that any words that passed from those lips would be sarcasm at best and an outright lie at worst. He found he didn't want to hear any of it.
"That's alright, Mrs. Weasley." Harry cut in before Ron could say anything. "I don't want Ron to apologize for simply stating his opinion. He has a right to it after all." Calmly patting his mouth with a napkin, Harry laid it carefully on the table before standing smoothly to his feet. "But you must understand, Ron, that there are consequences to stating one's opinion and you are about to face them now." Holding up a hand to forestall Hermione's interjection, he continued coolly. "You might not know how I've changed since first year, Ron, but I don't know how you've changed since last year. The Ron I knew then would have believed me when I told him I didn't want the fame, and he would have listened to me tell my side of the story about what happened last night, instead of attacking me at his first opportunity. If this is the way you are going to treat me as a friend, then I no longer want to be your friend. At least as an acquaintance, I'll know what to expect of you."
Harry walked around to the other side of the table and wrapped his arms around Mrs. Weasley, gently kissing her on her cheek. "I'm sorry to do that, Mrs. Weasley, but I've already sworn to myself that I wouldn't let anyone treat me like that anymore. I hope you won't think less of me." He gently wiped away the lone tear that had escaped down her cheek before turning and facing the others in the room. "You either, Fred, George, Ginny, or Hermione. I'll leave you all to make your decisions." So saying, he turned and quietly exited the room.
ooOO00OOoo
The prophecy concerning Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort was written by the beautiful J. K. Rowling and can be found in her book Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on page 841. I did not write it, do not ask.