Chapter One Hundred and Eleven - Christmas at Grimmauld Place
Harry was quiet for most of the train ride home. Blaise and Millie chatted to each other while he stared out the window. Every now and then, he would catch their reflections in the glass, staring at him with worried expressions before turning away and making some inane comment about the homework they'd been given over the holiday.
Harry had told Blaise about Mr. Weasley. He was sure Blaise had passed the information on to Millie. But Blaise hadn't been in Dumbledore's office. He didn't know the whole story.
The Weasley's absence had passed unnoticed. Most students were either busy preparing for their own trips home or sleeping late in their dormitories. For his own part, Harry didn't want to think about where they were now. Instead of celebrating Christmas, they would be planning Mr. Weasley's funeral.
To make matters worse, Harry was still feeling conflicted over his own role in that tragedy. He hadn't just seen the snake that killed Mr. Weasley. He was the snake.
Was he dangerous? He thought back to what Snape said to him about Voldemort being behind the attack. If that was true, then how had Harry been able to peer through the snake's eyes? He flexed his arm, remembering the pain inflicted by the knife Wormtail had used to pierce his flesh. He had needed his blood to resurrect Lord Voldemort. Could that explain why this was happening to him? Did his blood not only restore Voldemort, but allow him to bend Harry to his will?
The more Harry dwelled on the question, the more it all started to make sense. It would explain why Dumbledore was never seen at headquarters, and why even Snape had kept his distance all summer. Yes, they all blamed Narcissa Malfoy's presence, but what if Harry was the spy? And if Voldemort could manipulate him while he slept… Convince him to harm others…
"Harry?" Millie's voice broke through his reverie. He must have looked very strange, as Millie and Blaise were now openly staring at him, rather than stealing quick glances. "Are you alright?"
Harry felt a surge of affinity with Millie. She had once been manipulated by a memory of Voldemort when he was a boy. He had used her to attack fellow students. If anyone could understand what he was going through, it would be her.
"I was just thinking…" Harry began slowly, "What if… What if the thing Voldemort's been looking for… The thing he's been seeking all this time… What if it's me? Or a way to control me, I suppose… If he's using me to hurt people, then…"
"Harry, that's a load of…" Blaise began, but Millie silenced him with a wave of her hand. She was watching Harry very carefully. Instead of dismissing his worries outright, she calmly asked, 'What exactly have you been feeling, Harry? Whenever you have these visions?"
"Before, it was just an empty corridor," Harry said with a sense of relief. "I would move down this dark hallway that ended in a black door. It was always locked, so I couldn't get in. I'd feel… frustrated, I suppose? But also excited. Like I couldn't wait to see what was on the other side. But last night was different. The corridor wasn't empty. I saw Mr. Weasley sitting on the floor, and the snake… I think I was the snake! I could see through its eyes and feel what if felt and it… When I attacked Mr. Weasley…"
"You aren't an animagus, Harry," Millie reminded him gently, "You can't have been the snake."
"No, but maybe Voldemort…" Harry paused. He had just remembered the night in the graveyard. The night he had fought Voldemort and made his escape. There had been a giant serpent coiling around the gravestone where he'd been tied. Voldemort had threatened to feed Harry to it. Could that snake have been the same creature that killed Mr. Weasley?
"Voldemort's capable of a lot of things, I imagine," Millie said, following Harry's original line of thought, "If he wanted to hurt somebody, he wouldn't need to possess you to do it."
"Millie's right," said Blaise, "Besides, this wouldn't be the first time you've had a dream about You-Know-Who, is it? You've never hurt anyone before."
Harry shook his head. He didn't know how to make his friends understand that this had felt different than the dreams he had before. But then again, Blaise was right about one thing. The connection he had with Voldemort existed long before this. He had other visions of what Voldemort was doing in his dreams. And he'd been able to tell what Voldemort was feeling, even when his scar hurt during the day. Perhaps that connection was getting stronger, and if that were the case…
"I shouldn't go back," Harry announced, "If I'm really seeing into Voldemort's mind, then what if… What if it works both ways? If he can look through my eyes, I'd end up showing him the headquarters for the Order. He'd know everything. I'd be putting everyone in danger…"
"But Grimmauld Place isn't the headquarters for the Order," Blaise commented.
Millie and Harry stared at him in shock. Blaise was just as stunned by their looks of astonishment.
"Don't tell me you guys didn't know?"
"What are you talking about?" demanded Millie.
"I thought it was obvious!" Blaise remarked. "It's all because of the Malfoys, isn't it?"
Blaise was being maddeningly vague, and both Harry and Millie proceeded to berate him with questions until he explained himself in full.
"Look, it's like this. The Order wants to keep Narcissa close, in case she is a spy, right? But they don't want to betray any of the Order's secrets. So Sirius and Remus keep the place busy. Order members coming and going at all hours and so on… Make it look like Grimmauld Place is the main hub. Meanwhile, the Order's top secret business is moved to a different safehouse."
"But where?" asked Millie.
Blaise shrugged, "Dumbledore's the leader, so my guess is Hogwarts."
"A school for children is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix? Are you sure you're not just speculating?"
"Just think about it. Where else are we safest from You-Know-Who? And if Dumbledore's running the show from Hogwarts, that would explain why we never see him at Grimmauld Place."
Though it had seemed unlikely at first, Blaise's theory was starting to make some sense. Harry was feeling more reassured than he had since his dream. As usual, talking through the problem with his friends did more to pacify his thoughts than dwelling on his fears had done. With renewed energy, he sat forward and asked them both, "What about Mrs. Malfoy? Do you still think she could be a spy for the Death Eaters?"
Millie shrugged, "We haven't exactly been around her, have we? Who knows what she and the Order have been up to since the start of term?"
"Something's been bothering me, though," added Blaise, "If Lucius was really upset about his wife leaving, then why hasn't he come to Hogwarts and demanded to see Draco? He's still a school governor, after all. He could easily pull Draco out of school and taken him somewhere far away just to punish Narcissa."
"Maybe it's because of our OWLs?" Harry suggested lamely, "Maybe he doesn't want to disrupt Draco's education?"
Millie scoffed, "With money like the Malfoys, you don't need an education."
"I suppose they could just be keeping up appearances," Blaise continued thoughtfully, "Thanks to the Ministry, no one outside of the Order knows that Voldemort has returned. Maybe Lucius doesn't want to draw attention to the fact that his wife left him because he's a Death Eater."
"I'll believe that before I believe that he gives a damn about Draco's future," said Millie.
When they arrived at the station, Sirius and Remus were waiting for them. Sirius hugged Harry just a little tighter than normal and whispered for only him to hear, "Dumbledore's told us everything. You did the best you could, Harry. It's not your fault."
Harry was already feeling better after talking with his friends, and Sirius's reassurance was enough to bring him close to tears. He returned the hug gratefully, burying his face in his godfather's shoulder until he had composed himself.
When at last he was released from Sirius's embrace, he noticed that Blaise was looking around the platform in expectation, clearly searching for his mother.
"She's tending to Molly today," Remus informed him.
"Are the Weasleys staying with us?" Harry asked with some anxiety. It hadn't occurred to him until that moment that their summer accommodations might extend into the holidays.
Much to his relief, Sirius informed him that the Weasleys had returned to their house.
"What about Mrs. Malfoy?" asked Millie.
"Waiting for us back home. Speaking of which, we'd better get a move on. Draco's already left with Tonks."
Sirius transformed into his canine form before they left the platform. His shaggy coat was still more gray than black, but Harry was relieved to notice no other changes in his appearance.
His behavior when they arrived at Grimmauld Place did even more to reassure Harry that his health was finally on the mend. He seemed determined to make them all cheerful that Christmas, particularly as it would be the first Harry had spent under his roof. They spent the rest of the afternoon putting up decorations. Harry joined in to please him, though his mind was still on the poor Weasleys. While Sirius sang snatches of carols that he only partly remembered, making up humorous lyrics to fill the blanks, Harry wondered if they had already held Mr. Weasley's funeral.
Surprisingly, it was Draco who first mentioned the taboo topic. He had been only slightly put-out when he was told that they, and not the house-elf Kreacher, were responsible for the decorations. While he fought to uncoil a knotted pile of tinsel, he suddenly asked, "What service have they planned for Mr. Weasley? I haven't seen Ron… Seen any of them since it happened. I'd like to go, if that's possible…"
Harry could tell from the look on Mrs. Malfoy's face that she had no idea her son had been spending an inordinate amount of time with Ron and his Gryffindor friends that year. She sat gaping at him from the armchair where she had been busy treading oak leaves into a Yule crown.
Sirius was similarly surprised, though he smiled when Blaise added his own appeal, "I liked Mr. Weasley. It'd be nice if we could all pay our respects."
"That's kind of you both," said Remus, "But the Weasleys wanted a private ceremony. Family and close friends only."
Harry's gaze darted to Draco. He seemed a little nettled that he hadn't been included among the family's "close friends," but he wisely kept his mouth shut and continued to pick fruitlessly at the tinsel.
"If you really want to do something for the Weasleys," Sirius added, "You can finish decorating that tree, then come help me in the kitchen. They'll be joining us for Christmas dinner."
Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about seeing Ron and his family after what happened, but he knew he'd have to confront them sooner or later. They had seen him in Dumbledore's office that night. They'd have questions about why he was there. Better to get it over with before they all returned to Hogwarts. With this in mind, he threw himself more rigorously into the holiday preparations, determined to make Number Twelve the most lavishly decorated house in Grimmauld Place. It was the least he could do for the grieving family.
While he added the last touches to the large Yule tree, procured by Mundungus on one of his "supply runs," Harry had an idea. It was no secret that the Weasleys were poor. He could remember Ron alluding to the fact on their first trip on the Hogwarts Express. Harry had been thinking about this and wondering how Mrs. Weasley was going to support her large family without her husband's income. True, three of her sons were of age and already moved out, but she still had four mouths to feed, robes to buy, not to mention school supplies… Then he remembered. He could do something for them. Something more tangible than hosting a Christmas dinner or decorating a tree.
Harry hurried to the kitchen, where Sirius was already hard at work preparing roughly a ton of gingerbread dough. Blaise and Draco, eager to help in their own way, but possessing no practical skills when it came to baking, had been banished to the long, informal dining table, where they were busy cutting out shapes for ginger-wizards and arguing over the best method for constructing a castle out of the finished biscuits.
Harry, wanting to avoid their notice, covertly caught his godfather's eye and beckoned him into the hall. Sirius, with a quick glance at Blaise and Draco, sternly told them to stop bickering while he went in search for more honey. Blaise and Draco didn't appear to hear him, as they were still angrily disputing on whether Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans should be used to decorate their wizards.
"You looked just like James, peeking around corners like that," Sirius said with an amused smile, "What's this about?"
"Have you still got my winnings from the Triwizard Tournament?" Harry asked him directly.
He hadn't wanted the money. It had been too soiled, too tainted by his experiences that night. He would have given it all to Professor Moody's family if he could. But Moody didn't have a family, Mr. Weasley did.
"Of course," Sirius replied, "I know you said you didn't want it, Harry, but I thought if I set it aside, maybe put it in a trust…"
"No," said Harry, "I want you to give it to Mrs. Weasley. But don't say it's from me. She might not want it if she knows that I…"
Sirius abruptly pulled him into a hug, cutting off the rest of this statement.
"Your father would be so proud of you," he murmured. When he pulled away, Harry could see by his expression that Sirius shared the sentiment. "Of course I'll give the money to Molly. I'll tell her it's a gift for the children. But Harry, you can't avoid taking credit forever. Molly's not an idiot. She'll figure you out eventually."
Harry awoke Christmas morning to the sounds of Sirius's bright tenor voice singing more carols through the house. It was enough to make him forget, just for a moment, that they were expecting the Weasleys later that day. A grin spread over his face as he caught the scent of sugary baked goods. The smell permeated the entire house, reaching him even in his bedroom. Even Blaise found it impossible to sleep in with such intoxicating aromas floating around, and they had soon joined Millie on the stairs, pulling robes over their pajamas as they hastily raced toward the parlor.
Sirius brought them breakfast as they sat around the massive tree, decorated with live fairies and twinkling lights. Harry stuffed himself with mouthfuls of scone and jam and he sorted through his stack of Christmas presents.
"I've got one from Hermione!" he exclaimed without thinking.
"Don't get too excited," Millie remarked dryly, holding up a similarly wrapped parcel, "She's gotten something for each of us."
Blaise tore the paper off his and groaned, "A homework planner? Is she joking?"
Harry felt slightly disappointed that she had given him the exact same thing, though he defended her choice, saying, "I think it's thoughtful. She knows we've still got mountains of work to do before exams. This might be something we can use!"
"I hope you remembered to get her something," Millie said pointedly.
"Course I did," Harry retorted, "We're friends, aren't we?"
He pretended not to notice the knowing look that passed between Sirius and Remus and turned instead to a rather large box gifted by the two of them. It turned out to be a set of books titled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. He flipped through the pages, admiring the moving color illustrations of each counter-jinx and hexes described.
"Let me see that!" Millie demanded. Harry handed the first volume to her with a grin, certain she was thinking of future Marauders meetings.
Hagrid's gift was a furry brown wallet with fangs. It was supposed to be an antitheft device, but Harry wondered how he was supposed to put any money in it without the thing ripping his fingers off. Then Blaise said it reminded him of their furry textbooks during third year, and Harry was delighted to find that running his fingers along the crease of the wallet worked just the same as the spine of the book.
Dobby had also sent him a present. It was a terrible portrait of Harry himself. While Blaise and Millie teased him over its rather clownish appearance, Harry wondered if it would be possible to hang the picture up in Phineaus's place. He hoped that Dobby enjoyed the presents he had left for the elf in his dormitory - a new pair of mittens and a matching hat. He had considered leaving something similar for Winky, but wasn't sure a gift of clothing would be appreciated. In the end, he settled on leaving her a box of chocolate frogs, hoping that elves liked the treat as well as wizards.
With his thoughts still on house-elves, Harry set aside his painting and grabbed another parcel that had been left under the tree. While the others finished unwrapping their gifts, he quietly made his way toward the kitchen.
Harry had no love for Kreacher. The old house-elf was mostly mad. He'd absorbed all of the hatred and prejudice of the Black family and was generally unpleasant to be around. Remus often reminded Harry that Kreacher wasn't to blame. It was the years of abuse he suffered that made his mind so twisted and miserable. Harry knew this, and yet he couldn't bring himself to befriend Kreacher the same way he had Dobby.
Still, it had been Kreacher who revealed the truth about Sirius's brother, Regulus. He told them about the locket and its connection to Lord Voldemort. Harry felt they owed him a lot for his service. He couldn't give him clothes, of course. Harry wasn't his master, so he wasn't sure doing so would truly set the elf free. But even so, he understood that Kreacher knew too much about the Order to be set loose now, and besides, there was a chance the elf would be insulted by a gift of clothing, anway. Instead, Harry came bearing a box of Bertie Botts beans, having been assured by Dobby that house-elves considered the particularly foul flavors a delicacy.
Kreacher made his nest in a cupboard off the kitchen. Harry, after knocking politely at the door, realized that Kreacher was not within. Perhaps he was taking the opportunity to skulk around the upper rooms while everyone else was below, seeking relics of the old Black family. Harry opened the door and paused for a moment. The cupboard was disgusting, filled with stale bread crusts and a moldy old blanket. But for the second time, Harry was reminded of his old cupboard under the stairs and Number Four Privet Drive. He set the box of Bertie Botts in the middle of the nest, resolving that Kreacher would have a new blanket as soon as he had a chance to buy one.
A knock accompanied by sudden wailing notified Harry that the Weasleys had arrived. Though it was an encounter he had been dreading, he resolved to get the worst of it over quickly. Running into the hall, he quieted the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black as Sirius and Remus welcomed their visitors into their home.
Bill and Charlie accompanied their mother and younger siblings, but there was another guest Harry had not expected to see. Percy Weasley, former Head Boy and current undersecretary for the Ministry of Magic, stood peering through his horn-rimmed glasses, looking both forlorn and nervous.
The last Harry had heard, Percy was on the outs with the rest of his family, having disagreed with them over Dumbledore's assertion that Voldemort had returned. It seemed that his father's untimely death had brought him back into the fold. From the way Mrs. Weasley leaned on his arm as she was guided into the parlor, it was evident that she found great comfort in having him there.
Percy met Harry's eye as they passed into the next room. He gave him a solemn nod, and Harry read in the tilt of his chin a bit of his old pomposity. But if he was there, then Remus had revealed their location to him. Percy might work for the Ministry, but he might also be a member of the Order. Harry followed the rest of the family through the doors into the parlor, actively quashing his feelings of jealousy that Percy Weasley may have been inducted before him.
"Thank you for having us," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice sounding rather thick, as if she had a cold. Mrs. Zabini promptly offered her a chair, while Mrs. Malfoy poured her a cup of hot chocolate.
"We've brought presents!" Bill added, attempting to sound cheerful as he passed a few packages out amongst them.
Harry was stunned when one of the gifts was placed into his hands, but his surprise couldn't match that of Draco, who opened a similar parcel to reveal a dark gray jumper with a silvery D stitched on the chest.
"Look at that!" cried one of the twins, "Draco's got himself a Weasley jumper!"
"What?" Draco said, puzzled.
Fred and George pulled open their jackets to reveal matching knit shirts, each emblazoned with the first initials of their names.
"We've all got one," said the twin wearing the letter G, "It's tradition."
"Right," said the twin wearing an F, "So I suppose this means we'll have to call you Big D, now."
Draco cringed at the horrible nickname and quickly replied, "Then should I call you Gred and Forge?"
The twins stared at him in shock, until Draco added, "You swapped jumpers, didn't you?"
Ron, laughing all the while, said, "See? I told you he could tell!"
Harry looked at his own sweater, knitted in green to match his eyes. Unlike Draco, who seemed touched by the gesture, it only made him feel worse. The thought of Mrs. Weasley, knitting for them all, while Harry had been too late to save her husband… It was almost too much to bear.
The family was subdued over dinner, though Fred and George's antics did much to liven the mood. Ron joined them in teasing Draco, while Harry, Blaise, and Millie chatted with Bill and Charlie. Ginny had to excuse herself once or twice to cry, but everyone politely pretended not to notice. Overall, the meeting was going better than Harry had expected.
It was toward the end of their meal, as a few lingered over their desserts and Remus assisted Mrs. Zabini with cleaning up, that Percy first addressed Harry directly.
"Could I have a word?" he asked.
Harry was curious to know what Percy could possibly have to say to him. They weren't close when Percy attended Hogwarts. As far as Harry knew, Percy had never seen him as more than just another troublesome Slytherin. With a nod, Harry followed him out of the kitchen and down the hall, back into the parlor where the Christmas tree stood.
"I don't know whether to apologize or thank you," Percy began awkwardly.
"Thank me?" Harry repeated. Both options sounded preposterous to him, "For what?"
"I was wrong before. About everything. Surely you know that I've been working for the Minister? For Fudge, I mean?"
Harry recalled countless barbed comments leveled at Percy over the summer by his siblings, but he wisely kept these to himself.
"Might have heard something about it, yeah," he said.
"Well, then you'll know that I haven't been Dumbledore's greatest supporter of late. I believed the Minister when he said this was all just a push for power, and that you… You were a sort of pawn in his schemes…"
"But now you've changed your mind?" Harry offered. He wanted to move past this topic as soon as possible.
"Well, yes! Clearly Dumbledore was right all along, wasn't he? Otherwise dad… My father wouldn't have… At any rate, my mother has spoken with Dumbledore. I know he was working for the Order, and that without you…"
"It's alright," Harry said, fearing that Percy was about to give him more credit than he deserved. After all, he may have warned others about the attack, but the warning came too late to help anyone.
"No, I'd like to hear this, too."
Harry didn't realize that Ron had joined them, and he wasn't alone. Fred, George, and Ginny were standing behind him, just beyond the entrance to the parlor. As they filed into the room, their expressions grim, Harry spotted Blaise and Millie making their way toward them. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't have to talk to the Weasleys alone.
"Alright," he said, "You all have questions…"
"What were you doing in Dumbledore's office that night?" Ron asked.
"And why does Percy think you had something to do with what dad was doing for the Order?" Ginny added.
Percy opened his mouth, but Harry waved him down. He felt that he finally knew why Dumbledore asked him to remain in his office that night. He wanted the Weasleys to see him there. He wanted Harry to explain what happened. They needed to understand.
Avoiding Ron's gaze, Harry began, "That night, I had a sort of vision. I saw the snake that attacked Mr. Weasley. I.. I watched it happen and I… I tried to help him…"
Strangely, it was Draco who came to his defense, "Harry was really sick. We thought he was just having a nightmare, but he insisted that we get help. Then Snape took him to see the headmaster."
"And it's a good thing he did!" Percy said with conviction, "Imagine if dad had been found by someone loyal to Fudge! Or worse, another servant of You-Know-Who! I mean, if someone else had found him in the middle of the night, outside the Department of Mysteries…"
"Department of Mysteries?" Fred interrupted, "What was dad doing there?"
Percy could tell from the looks of interest on their faces that he had overstepped, and he rudely said, "That's none of your concern! You know what mum says, until you're of age, you can't… you shouldn't…"
Percy knew he was fighting a losing battle, and he retreated before he could give anything else away. The others remained, gazing at each other in wonder as they each processed what this could mean.
"What's the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked.
"It's a mystery, isn't it?" Fred and George replied in unison.
Blaise was slightly more helpful on the subject.
"My last stepfather worked for the Department of Mysteries," he said, "He wasn't allowed to talk about work. One day he disappeared while on the job. No one knows what really happened to him, or at least no one's talking. One of the risks of working in that department, you know? They ended up declaring him dead sooner than anyone expected. I always thought the Ministry was just covering something up."
"Dad must have been protecting the entrance from You-Know-Who," said Ron, "But why? What could they be keeping in there that he would want?"
No one had a plausible guess. After a few moments of silence, Blaise finally said, "Listen, I'm sorry for what happened to your dad. I liked him. He was cool."
Ron actually laughed, and his siblings smiled as he replied, "You might be the first person to think my dad was cool."
"Are you kidding me? The man was brilliant! I mean, the flying car? Installing a cloaking device to hide it from Muggles? Genius!"
The Weasleys' mood seemed to have improved as each of them recalled funny stories about their father. Ron exchanged a grin with his twin brothers and said, "You know, we still have the car…"
"Bill will probably take it," said Fred knowingly, "He's the oldest."
"Maybe… But do you think he'd let us take it for a spin?"