Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Enjoy my loyal subjects :P
-Huff
Harry Potter's face was pressed against the window making his skin turn to pearly white. The street lights were glistening in the darkness and an ally cat was walking down the street. Harry's glasses were askew as he slept against the window whilst his lightning shaped scar was covered by his thick, messy, jet black hair. His breathe had fogged up the window, he had been here for a few hours now. His room was cluttered with mismatched objects. Empty potion bottles, sweet wrappers, spell books, ink that had soaked into the carpet, assorted robes, old quills, owl nuts, apple cores and a mess of news papers sitting on his bed. The headline of one could be seen through the light coming from the streetlamp.
HARRY POTTER THE CHOSEN ONE?
Rumours continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbances at the Ministry Of Magic, during which He Who Must Not Be Named was sighted once more.
"We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me anything," Said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night.
Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centred on the fabled Hall of Prophecy.
Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place, a growing number of wizard community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter, the only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who is also known to have been at the Ministry on the night in question. Some are going so far to call Potter the "Chosen One", believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He Who Must Not Be Named.
The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although (cont. page 2, column 5)
Another newspaper lay near the first, with the headline.
SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE
A large amount of the front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lion like mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The man was waving at the ceiling (These pictures moved)
Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister for Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the Wizarding community, though rumours of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office.
Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to (cont. page 3, column 2)
On top of this paper sat a folded paper so that the title MINISTRY GUARANTEES STUDENTS SAFETY was visible.
Newly appointed Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spoke today of the tough new measures taken by his Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn.
" For obvious reasons, the Ministry will not be going into detail about its stringent new security plans," said the Minister, although an insider confirmed that measures include defensive spells and charms, a complex array of counter-curses and a small task force of Aurors dedicated solely to the protection of Hogwarts School.
Most seem reassured by the new Minister's tough stand on student safety. Said Mrs Augusta Longbottem, "My Grandson Neville – a good friend of Harry Potter's, incidentally, who fought the Death Eaters alongside him at the Ministry in June and –
But the remainder of this story was obscured by a large birdcage. Inside was a snowy white owl. Her amber eyes surveyed the room but swivelling her head occasionally to gaze at her snoring master. On the floor near the bed was a purple leaflet with yellow writing on it.
ISSUED ON BEHALF OF
The Ministry of Magic
PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES
The Wizarding community is currently under danger from a group calling itself the Death Eaters. Monitoring the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.
1. You are advised not to leave the house alone.
2. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen.
3. Re-examine the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition.
4. Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters camouflaged as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion.
5. Should you feel that a family member, co-worker, friend, or neighbour is acting in a strange way, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).
6. Should the Dark Mark appear over any lodging or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately.
7. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.
Harry groaned in his sleep and his face slid down the window an inch or so, making his glasses still more lopsided, but he did not wake up. An alarm clock, repaired by Harry some years ago, ticked noisily on the sill, showing one minute to eleven. Beside it, held in place by Harry's relaxed hand, was a piece of parchment covered in thin, angled writing. Harry had read this letter so often since its arrival three days ago that although it had been delivered in a tightly furled scroll, it now lay quite flat.
Dear Harry,
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.
If you are agreeable, Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,
I am, yours most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Though he already knew it by heart, Harry had been stealing glances at this letter every few minutes since seven o'clock that evening, when he had first taken up his position beside his bedroom window, which had a reasonable view of both ends of Privet Drive. He knew it was pointless to keep rereading Dumbledore's words; Harry had sent back his "yes" with the delivering owl, as requested, and all he could do now was wait: Either Dumbledore was going to come, or he was not.
But Harry had not packed. It just seemed too good to be true that he was going to be rescued from the Dursleys after a mere fortnight of their company. He could not shrug off the feeling that something was going to go wrong — his reply to Dumbledore's letter might have gone off course; Dumbledore could be prevented from collecting him; the letter might turn out not to be from Dumbledore at all, but a trick or joke or trap. Harry had not been able to face packing and then being let down and having to unpack again. The only gesture he had made to the possibility of a journey was to shut his snowy owl, Hedwig, safely in her cage.
The minute hand on the alarm clock reached the number twelve and, at that precise moment, the street-lamp outside the window went out.
Harry awoke as though the sudden darkness were an alarm. Hastily straightening his glasses and unsticking his cheek from the glass, he pressed his nose against the window instead and squinted down at the pavement. A tall figure in a long, fluttering cloak was walking up the garden path.
Harry jumped up as though he had received an electric shock, knocked over his chair, and started snatching anything and everything within reach from the floor and throwing it into the trunk. Even as he lobbed a set of robes, two spell books, and a packet of crisps across the room, the doorbell rang. Downstairs in the living room his Uncle Vernon shouted, "Who the blazes are calling at this time of night?"
Harry froze with a brass telescope in one hand and a pair of trainers in the other. He had completely forgotten to warn the Dursleys that Dumbledore might be coming. Feeling both panicky close to laughter, he clambered over the trunk and wrenched open his bedroom door in time to hear a deep voice say, "Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?"
Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm's reach of his uncle whenever possible. There in the doorway stood a tall, thin man with waist-length silver hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles were perched on his crooked nose, and he was wearing a long black travelling cloak and a pointed hat. Vernon Dursley, whose moustache was quite as bushy as Dumbledore's, though black, and who was wearing a blue dressing gown, was staring at the visitor as though he could not believe his tiny eyes.
"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is foolish to remain overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."
He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him.
"It is a long time since my last visit," said Dumbledore, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. "I must say, your agapanthus is flourishing."
Vernon Dursley said nothing at all. Harry did not doubt that speech would return to him, and soon, the vein pulsing in his uncle's temple was reaching danger point - but something about Dumbledore seemed to have robbed him momentarily of breath. It might have been the obvious wizardishness of his appearance, but it might, too, have been that even Uncle Vernon could sense that here was a man whom it would be very difficult to bully.
"Ah, good evening Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up at him through his half-moon glasses with a most satisfied expression. "Excellent, excellent."
These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry and say "excellent" was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.
"I don't mean to be rude," he began, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable.
"-yet, sadly, unintentional rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Dumbledore finished the sentence gravely. "Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia."
The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, clearly halfway through her usual pre-bedtime wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces. Her rather horsey face registered nothing but shock.
"Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction. "We have corresponded, of course." Harry thought this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not challenge the term. "And this must be your son, Dudley?"
Dudley had that moment peered round the living room door. His large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pyjamas looked oddly ghostly, his mouth gaping in astonishment. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on he smiled.
"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"
Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him. Harry, still grasping the telescope and trainers, jumped the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore, who had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surroundings with an expression of kindly interest. He looked quite astonishingly out of place.
"Aren't - aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked nervously.
"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," said Dumbledore. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's welcome only a little longer."
"You will, will you?"
Vernon Dursley had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder, and Dudley lurking behind them both.
"Yes," said Dumbledore simply, "I shall."
He drew his wand so rapidly that Harry barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.
"We may as well be comfortable," said Dumbledore enjoyably.
As he replaced his wand in his pocket, Harry saw that his hand was blackened and shrivelled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.
"Sir, what happened to your -"
"Later, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Please sit down."
Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys, who seemed stunned into stillness.
"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment," Dumbledore said to Uncle Vernon, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be hopeful to the point of foolishness."
A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and five glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room.
"Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it enormously. The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat, as they were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. Harry could not suppress a suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself.
"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning toward him, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned."
Over on the sofa, Uncle Vernon's head turned, but Harry did not look at him, nor could he think of anything to say except, "Oh. Right."
"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Dumbledore went on. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy —"
"His godfather's dead?" said Uncle Vernon loudly from the sofa. Dumbledore and Harry both turned to look at him. The glass of mead was now knocking quite relentlessly on the side of Vernon's head; he attempted to beat it away. "He's dead? His godfather?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys. "Our problem," he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption, "is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."
"He's been left a house?" said Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him.
"You can keep using it as headquarters," said Harry. "I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it." Harry never wanted to set foot in number twelve, Grimmauld Place again if he could help it. He thought he would be haunted forever by the memory of Sirius prowling its dark musty rooms alone, imprisoned within the place he had wanted so desperately to leave.
"That is generous," said Dumbledore. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."
"Why?"
"Well," said Dumbledore, ignoring the mutterings of Uncle Vernon, who was now being rapped smartly over the head by the persistent glass of mead, "Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."
A vivid image of the shrieking, spitting portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place flashed into Harry's mind. "I bet there has," he said.
"Quite," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."
Without realizing what he was doing, Harry sprang to his feet; the telescope and trainers in his lap rolled across the floor. Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's killer, inherits his house?
"No," he said.
"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is burdened with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position,"
"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?"
"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "there is a simple test."
He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon shouted, "Will you get these effing things off us?"
Harry looked around; all three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Dumbledore politely, and he raised his wand again. All three glasses vanished. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know."
It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of unpleasant retorts, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and said nothing, keeping his small piggy eyes on Dumbledore's wand.
"You see," Dumbledore said, turning back to Harry and again speaking as though Uncle Vernon had not spoken, "if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited…"
He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys' shag carpet and covered in grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek; nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large, bare, pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though he thought the creature might run up his pyjama trousers, and Uncle Vernon bellowed, "What the hell is that?"
"Kreacher," finished Dumbledore.
"Kreacher wont, Kreacher won't, KREACHER WONT!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, wont -"
"As you can see, Harry," said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks of "wont, won't, won't," "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."
"I don't care," said Harry again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stamping house-elf. "I don't want him."
"Won't, won't, won't, won't -"
"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"
"Won't, won't, won't, won't —"
Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repulsive.
"Give him an order," said Dumbledore quietly. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."
"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"
Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!"
It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.
"Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."
"Do I - do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, us Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.
"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make ii suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."
"Yeah," said Harry in relief, "yeah, I'll do that. Er - Kreacher - I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."
Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.
"Good," said Dumbledore. "There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements -"
"No," said Harry at once, "he can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."
"Hagrid will be thrilled," said Dumbledore, smiling. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?"
"Erm"
"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Dumbledore suggested shrewdly.
"I'll just go and - er - finish off," said Harry hastily, hurrying to pick up his fallen telescope and trainers.
It took him a little over ten minutes to track down everything he needed; at last he had managed to extract his Invisibility Cloak from under the bed, screwed the top back on his jar of colour-change ink, and forced the lid of his trunk shut on his cauldron. Then, heaving his trunk in one hand and holding Hedwig's cage in the other, he made his way back downstairs,
He was disappointed to discover that Dumbledore was not waiting in the hall, which meant that he had to return to the living room.
Nobody was talking. Dumbledore was humming quietly, apparently quite at his ease, but the atmosphere was thicker than cold custard, and Harry did not dare look at the Dursleys as he said, "Professor - I'm ready now."
"Good," said Dumbledore. "Just one last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more.
"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time -"
"No," said Aunt Petunia, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival.
"I'm sorry?" said Dumbledore politely.
"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
"Ah," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."
Uncle Vernon muttered, "Preposterous," but Dumbledore ignored him,
"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort Was returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as if he were your own."
Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.
"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."
Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.
"Us - mistreat Dudders? What d'you - ?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his ringer for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.
"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."
None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been neglected. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.
"Well, Harry . . . time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.
"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.
Dumbledore then waved his wand, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.
"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and make our way to the Burrow."
Dumbledore took his left arm in his and said quite calmly
"Harry, have you ever Disapparated?"
Harry shook his head.
"No matter, I will assist you." Said Dumbledore
The last thing Harry saw was Dumbledore spinning. Spinning into darkness taking Harry with him. A sudden tight feeling closed around his stomach, it felt as though he was being squeezed through a pipe. He could hardly breathe and when he thought he was going to suffocate his feet hit the ground and he could breathe again.
"Wow!" Whispered Harry, stumbling
"It is always unpleasant the first time, but you will gradually get used to it." Said Dumbledore "Now Harry before we part my I ask you if you will have privet lessons with me this year." It was more of a statement then a question.
"What about sir?" Asked Harry curiously
"I will tell you when at Hogwarts." Dumbledore started towards the house with Harry by his side. Harry's mind was racing with thought. Did Dumbledore want to teach Harry complex spells, maybe to help him survive? You just never know him…
They finally reached the door into The Burrows kitchen. Dumbledore knocked twice on the door before a cry of "Arthur?" was given.
"It is I, Albus Dumbledore delivering Harry Potter to your home." Said Dumbledore
The door was wrenched open to revile a plumped little witch with short ginger hair and a kind face.
"Good Evening Professor, hello Harry. We weren't expecting you until morning." Said a rosy cheeked Mrs Weasley.
"Sorry Molly but I deemed it prudent to make sure Harry got here as fast as possible. I hope that it wasn't an incontinent measure? Oh Hello Tonks!" Said Dumbledore.
And sure enough a mutter of "Hello" came from the kitchen table
"Sorry Molly but I really must be off, it's getting quite late." Said Tonks walking through the door.
"Oh-I-Of course, would you like to come round for tea tomorrow?" Asked a hopeful
"Sorry Molly I can't im very busy tomorrow maybe another time." Before she Disapparated
"Oh well come in Harry don't just stand there, Oh Goodnight Professor I will see you soon."
"My very best wishes to you Molly and have a nice stay Harry." As he walked off and Disapparated at the exact same place as Tonks. The Burrow looked the same as ever. He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
"Im sure you must be starving Harry!" Said a flushed
"Actually I am. Thanks !" Said Harry noticing how hungry he was, Mrs Weasley flicked her wand as a pot full of French onion soup was slowly cooking. Harry noticed Mrs Weasley kept on looking at her magic clock; it looked as if she had been carrying it around with her. By the looking of it all of the seven hands were pointing to Mortal Peril.
"So weres Mr. Weasley?" Asked Harry braking the silence
"Oh, at work he should be home by now but the office has been keeping him very busy." She said coming out of her trance
"I guess it's because of Voldemort? Asked Harry
Mrs. Weasley twitched but then burst out saying
"Arthur got a promotion!" Harry guessed she had been dying to say this.
"Wow! That's brilliant! What department is he in now?"
"Hes Head of The Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects! It normally keeping him quite late and hes been really busy." Finished Mrs Weasley. She served him up French Onion soup with some bread. Just as Harry started to eat a knock at the door was heard. Mrs. Weasley jumped up and hurried to it; with one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed against the wood she called softly, "Arthur, is that you?"
"Yes," came Mr. Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"
"Oh, honestly..."
"Molly!"
"All right, all right. . . What is your dearest ambition?"
"To find out how airplanes stay up."
Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned the doorknob, but apparently Mr. Weasley was holding tight to it on the other side, because the door remained firmly shut.
"Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!"
"Arthur, really, this is just silly…"
"What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?"
Even by the dim light of the lantern Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley had turned bright red; he himself felt suddenly warm around the ears and neck, and hastily gulped soup, clattering his spoon as loudly as he could against the bowl.
"Mollywobbles," whispered a mortified Mrs. Weasley into the crack at the edge of the door.
"Correct," said Mr. Weasley. "Now you can let me in."
Mrs. Weasley opened the door to reveal her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired wizard wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a long and dusty travelling cloak.
"Oh something smells good. Oh Hello Harry wasn't expecting you till morning." Said Mr. Weasley sitting down opposite Harry whilst being handed a bowl of soup by Mrs. Weasley.
"Thanks, Molly. It's been a tough night. Some idiot's started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just hang them around your neck and you'll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons!"
"And what do they really do dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley
"Oh they just turn you a bright orange colour, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentacle like warts all over their bodies. As if St. Mungo's didn't have enough to do already!"
"Yes I suppose so" Said Mrs. Weasley
So is that why you're late, Metamorph-Medals?"
"No, we got wind of a nasty backfiring jinx down in Elephant and Castle, but luckily the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had sorted it out by the time we got there. ..."
Harry stifled a yawn
"Bed. I have Fred and George's room ready for you." Said Mrs. Weasley to a tired Harry.
"Were are they?" Asked Harry standing up
"Apparently their Joke Shop is a big success and they need to stay over night to get there very early in the morning."
"Oh Okay." Said Harry, feeling quite happy their shop was a success
"Good night Harry." Said Mr and Mrs. Weasley in union
Harry walked up stairs to find his trunk and Hedwig's cage in Fred and George's room. Harry flopped down on the bed. But he felt something hard underneath the pillow. He thrust his hand underneath and brought out half of a Puking Pastel. Smiling to himself he drifted off into a deep sleep.
Harry heard the door bang open and a great smack to his head
"Ron don't hit him!" Came a girls voice
"He didn't tell us he was already here!" Shouted a voice Harry knew all to well
"Yeah well Iv been asleep" Said Harry sarcastically to his best friends
"Harry you could have dropped a hint, see Mum was talking to Dad saying Oh I hope Harry had a good nights sleep." Said Ron in a high pitch voice
"Oh shut up Ron" Said Hermione, sitting at the end of his bed
"So Harry what was going on at the Dursleys?
"Nothing much" Suddenly Harry heard footsteps from the staircase. The door opened as Mrs. Weasley bobbed in, she was bearing a tray on which had an amazing breakfast.
"Thanks Mrs. Weasley!" Said Harry, sitting up and taking the tray.
"No problem dear" Said Mrs. Weasley leaving the room and closing the door after her.
"Oh Dumbledore wants to give me privet lessons" Said Harry casually eating his boiled egg.
"WHAT?" Said Ron and Hermione, "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY?"
"Well I sort of just woke up"
"Wow, lessons with Dumbledore…" Ron whispered
"I wonder what he wants to teach you…" Said Hermione, Ron had now started eating Harry's toast "I will proberly teach you something to do with the prophecy like how too survive.
"Oh our OWL results are coming today" Said Ron leniently
"WHAT?" Came Hermione's shrill shriek
"Yeah I asked Dad this morning and he says they usually come today."
"YOU KEPT THAT QUIET!" Shouted Hermione, running downstairs.
"Blimey, I should have kept that quiet" Said Ron, grinning
"Haha, yeah. So I wonder what we're going to pass"
"I'll make a bet that it's not Divination or History of Magic" Laughed Ron
"I think you would win that bet" Said Harry smiling
"Yeah well I best go calm Hermione down; she will be on rampage if they haven't come yet"
"Okay, can you tell your Mum ill be up soon."
"Sure thing" Said Ron before leaving. Harry got out of bed and pulled on a shirt and jeans, shoes and socks, brushed his teeth and washed his face, about to make his way downstairs.
"Hello Harry"
"Ginny?"
"Yep, when did you get here?" Asked Ginny meeting him half way up the stair case. She was one step lower then him.
"Last night, so how are you?" Enquired Harry
"Im good, you?"
"Good"
"Well ill see you around Harry, oh and Hermione's in a mood. She thinks her OWLS are here." Said Ginny her eyes sparkling
"I best go see her then" Said Harry chuckling. He walked past her down the stairs as she went up. Harry couldn't help but ponder over her eyes a little bit…
"Are you quite sure no owls have come Mrs. Weasley?" Asked Hermione
"I am quite sure dear" Said Mrs. Weasley looking worried
"Hermione c'mon lets go outside you can scream there?" Suggested Ron
"Fine." Huffed Hermione. Ron and Hermione walked outside and sat under a large apple tree.
"See you needed a bit of fresh air." Said a grinning Ron
"Yes I suppose…" Said Hermione feeling calmer
"Im sure you have done brilliantly"
"No I have not! Iv failed everything I just know it!"
"No you haven't you've passed everything properly"
"Sure I have"
"Hey are they…Owls…" Said Ron squinting into the sky
"OH MY GOD!" Shrieked Hermione running into the house, Ron following her. They let the Owls in. There were three of them, one for each of them. Harry had just come down the stairs with a slightly dazzled look on his face.
"You okay mate?" Asked Ron
"Um yeah, these our OWLs then?" Happiness being replaced by fear
"Yep, we should open em right" Said Ron fearfully. Ron's Owl was on the far right, Hermione's far left and Harry's in the middle. Harry opened it with fumbling hands, and finally managed to extract his letter.
Ordinary Wizarding Level Results
Pass Grades
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)
Harry James Potter has achieved:
Astronomy A
Care of Magical Creatures E
Charms E
Defence Against the Dark Arts O
Divination P
Herbology E
History of Magic D
Potions E
Transfiguration E
Harry reread this several times his breathing becoming easier with each reading; they were as good as he could have hoped for. But he felt a twinge of regret… this way the end of his ambition to become an Auror. To think, it had been a Death Eater in disguise who first told Harry he would make a good Auror.
"Hey im just gonna go upstairs and look for something Okay?" Said Harry to the other two
"Yeah sure, me and Hermione are gonna go out side for a bit" Ron answered
"Okay ill see you later then" Harry was walking up the stairs now, he didn't really want to find something he just had a hunch Ron wanted to get Hermione on her own.
Ron and Hermione walked outside and sat under the tree they had been sitting at earlier before they had got their OWLs.
"Feeling better?" Asked Ron sitting down
"Yes, yes I am" Said Hermione sitting next to him
"I told you, you would do great"
"Yeah, yeah" Hermione was grinning
"So you still doing SPEW?" Asked Ron
"Yes I am theirs house elfs still not freed!"
"Well Ill help you with it this year, as will Harry" Said Ron laughing
"Really?"
"Yeah"
"Thanks Ron, lets get back to the house." Just after Ron stood up Hermione gave him a kiss on his cheek.
"What was that for?" Asked a bemused Ron
"For being you" Said Hermione smiling
"The usual me would be telling Harry about that" Said Ron laughing
"Good thing your not the usual you" Grinned Hermione
As they walked back to the house Ron felt a burning sensation where Hermione had kissed him. He smiled to himself. They kept on walking Ron taking Hermione's hand.
He had to admit he always fancied her a little bit, but nothing much, lately however he found he couldn't help but beam when he was round Hermione and couldn't help but scowl when he was around Lavender…
Ron and Hermione were heading back to the Burrow, the warm summers sun was hitting the back of his neck. Hermione had just kissed him… on the cheek of course (A/N XD) But he couldn't help but think…what if he had never even dated Lavender, would Hermione's kiss of been a kiss of something more then friendship… No he couldn't think like that, but he was going to brake up with Lavender. Today. He would write her a letter saying how he didn't think it best they keep going out and hes ending it. Perfect. That will do nicely.
"I think Harry knows…" Thought Ron.
"Oh Ron, I forgot to ask how are you and Lavender?" Asked Hermione bringing up the subject he least wanted.
"Oh-I ugh fine," Started Ron
"Don't lie to me Ronald"
"Well, we sort of broke up…" Said Ron forging sadness
"Oh well that's a shame" Said Hermione forging sadness too. Really on the inside they were both cheering for joy. As if a Cheering Charm had been cast over them.