CHAPTER 33: INTRICACIES OF CELEBRATION
Harry's tranquil musings shattered abruptly as Ron burst into the room, the disruption resonating through Harry's thoughts much like the intrusive clash of the recently acquired knives for the kitchen that Kreacher had proudly unveiled. Swiveling to face his longtime companion, Harry couldn't help but observe the additional inches that now adorned Ron's frame—a perpetual growth that appeared to defy the very laws of nature. The scattering of freckles that once adorned Ron's countenance had all but vanished, replaced by a subtle refinement that only served to accentuate the perpetual scowl etched across his features.
Upon locking eyes with Ron, Harry, in a tone tinged with surprise, extended a welcome to both him and Hermione into the confines of Grimmauld Place. However, the lack of warmth in his voice betrayed the underlying tension simmering within him, fueled by an earnest desire to address certain unresolved issues with his closest companions—issues that couldn't be delicately articulated in polite company.
Yet, Ron, true to his tunnel vision where Slytherin House was concerned, immediately fixated on Draco, his disdain for anything remotely Slytherin evident in the accusatory edge of his question. Draco, in response, sported an amused glint in his eyes, seemingly relishing the chaos Ron inadvertently threatened to unleash.
"Hermione, you won't believe what they've done to the Quidditch pitch," Ron exclaimed, barely acknowledging Harry's greeting as his attention remained laser-focused on the Slytherin in their midst.
Hermione, ever the peacemaker, attempted to steer the conversation away from potential conflict. "Ron, let's not get worked up about house rivalries right now. We're here for Harry, after all."
But Ron, undeterred, shot back, "Easy for you to say, Hermione. You didn't spend years dealing with Malfoy's nonsense at Hogwarts."
Draco, leaning against the wall with a sly smile, interjected, "Ah, Ronald, always quick to judge. You should know, not all Slytherins are cut from the same cloth."
The tension in the room escalated, each word exchanged becoming a chess move in an unspoken game of allegiances and grudges. The air crackled with unspoken grievances, and Harry, caught in the middle, knew that the time had come to confront the unresolved issues that lingered beneath the surface of their friendship.
Inhaling deeply, Harry embarked on the delicate task of elucidating to Ron and Hermione that Draco and Daphne were not just casual guests but unexpected members of his extended family. Hermione, ever the inquisitive one, couldn't help but delve into the concept of extended family, especially considering Harry's lack of known magical relatives. Harry, with a surprising twist in the narrative, unveiled the connection, revealing that his grandmother Euphemia Potter was a Greengrass, effectively making Daphne his second cousin.
Ron, showcasing an unexpected aptitude for deciphering familial ties, acknowledged the revelation with a softened frown, though not entirely convinced. The notion of Slytherins infiltrating Harry's extended family didn't sit well with him, and Harry winced, bracing himself for the impending storm. In a bid to avert potential conflict, Harry firmly grasped Ron's shoulder and steered him toward the less contentious task of meeting his parents.
Despite Ron's vocal protests, Harry led the way, offering a nod of understanding to Daphne. The trio approached Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who regarded Harry with a mix of appraisal and, if he interpreted their expressions correctly, a hint of remorse.
Acknowledging the lingering awkwardness from past encounters, Harry extended an olive branch, expressing regret for the misunderstandings. Arthur Weasley, in turn, reciprocated, admitting fault on their part and expressing genuine confusion over where things had gone awry with Percy.
"Honestly, Harry, we've been trying to understand where we might have faltered with Percy," Mrs. Weasley confessed, her eyes reflecting a mix of sincerity and regret.
Harry, sensing an opportunity to mend bridges, replied, "I know families can be complicated, and misunderstandings happen. Perhaps we can find a way to clear the air and set things right."
The conversation veered into a thoughtful exploration of family dynamics, each revelation contributing to the complex tapestry of connections and histories. Meanwhile, Ron, though still uneasy about Slytherin ties, found himself gradually drawn into the familial reconciliation, the storm of tension dissipating in the face of shared understanding and the possibility of healing old wounds.
In a subtle move to ensure their privacy, Harry deftly cast the Muffliato spell, a skill he had gleaned from Snape's esoteric collection of magical knowledge. The cloak of sound buzzed into existence, enveloping the group and shielding their conversation from prying ears. Hermione, her eyes widening at the display of magic, undoubtedly filed away yet another spell for future reference.
"Please don't mind, Harry," George's voice came from behind Hermione, his tone carrying the weight of shared frustration. "Percy's been a sore point throughout this entire summer. He and Dad had a falling out after the Triwizard Tournament ended. You remember how Percy was in a pretty dark place after Barty Crouch's death, and then the Minister suddenly appointed him as a secretary. He expected Dad to be impressed."
Arthur, with a hint of regret, confessed, "I wasn't. I told him the Minister was using him to spy on us, on you."
Harry, recalling Percy's pompous demeanor during the interrogation, couldn't help muttering, "Bet he loved that."
Ron, with a hollow laugh, added, "He went completely berserk. Said loads of stuff. He claimed he's been struggling against Dad's supposed lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry. According to Percy, Dad's lack of ambition is why we've always had financial struggles. Can you believe that?"
Harry, still processing the shocking revelation, questioned in disbelief, "What?"
Hermione, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation, couldn't hold back her astonishment. "So, Percy thinks your father's lack of ambition is the root cause of your family's financial difficulties?"
George nodded, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "That's our dear brother for you. Thinks he's destined for greatness, climbing the Ministry ladder. Can't fathom why the rest of us are content with, you know, not betraying our family for a few sickles more."
The tension in the air thickened, the implications of Percy's accusations echoing through the room. Harry, torn between the complexities of familial strife and the pressing need for unity in the face of greater challenges, realized that the reconciliation he sought extended beyond his immediate circle, reaching into the deeper intricacies of the Weasley family dynamics.
Ron continued, and the room grew heavier with the weight of the revelation, Ginny's reaction echoing like the hiss of an angry cat. "I know," Ron said in a hushed tone. "And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot for associating with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble, and Dad was going down with him. Percy insisted that his loyalty lay with the Ministry. If Mum and Dad were going to be traitors to the Ministry, he'd make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags that very night and left."
The gravity of Percy's departure hit hard, and Molly couldn't contain her emotions. She broke down at the pain of her family's fracture. Ginny, her expression still resembling that of an angry cat, growled, "Mum went to his flat to try to talk to him, but that git slammed the door in her face. The next thing we know, he's arrested!"
George, his voice somber, concluded the account. "And Mum still won't stop crying." The room fell into a somber silence as the repercussions of Percy's actions reverberated through the Weasley family.
"I'm telling you all," Molly whimpered, desperation palpable in her voice, "there's something wrong. Someone's framed Percy. Someone's framed Percy!" She clutched the fabric of Harry's shirt, her eyes pleading for belief. "Harry! You believe me, right? Someone must have done something! Percy was working for Barty when the deaths happened. He wasn't even involved! You believe me, someone's done something! My son's no criminal!"
Harry, torn between the tangled web of familial strife and the looming threat from external forces, looked into Molly's eyes with a mix of compassion and uncertainty. "Molly, I want to believe you. Let's figure this out together. We can't let misunderstandings tear us apart, especially now." The room, still shrouded in the effects of the Muffliato spell, felt like a cocoon of shared concerns and shared resolve, as the Weasley family grappled with the unexpected fractures in their midst.
Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as the truth about Percy's situation, shared with him by Joshua and Sirius, pressed heavily on his conscience. They insisted on keeping it a secret until the right time, but the unfolding crisis demanded immediate action.
"Listen," he said, the gravity of the situation evident in his voice, "I understand that what happened was terribly unfair. I'll talk to Sirius and Madam Bones—she's the Head of the DMLE. We'll see what can be done. But this has to stop now, alright? There are a lot of people here, including the Daily Prophet!"
Gently holding Mrs. Weasley's arm, Harry attempted to offer solace. "Trust me, Mrs. Weasley. If there's anything I can do for Percy, I will. But you'll have to be strong. Giving up like this is not gonna work!"
"Do you... You trust me?" Molly asked, a hint of relief coloring her tone.
Harry hesitated, biting his lip. "I believe Percy's got himself implicated in the mess. I believe he's an arrogant arselicker who loves the idea of being the Minister's secretary too much, and that bit him. But you've got to understand this, Mrs. Weasley. This is the office of the freakin' Minister. Crying about this in public? That's not gonna help."
"Harry, when did you get so…?" Hermione began.
"So?"
"Mature? Diplomatic?"
He shrugged, weariness tinting his eyes. "Had to. It's part of preparing myself for the trial."
Hermione flushed and looked away, guilt written on her face. "I'm really sorry for that, Harry. Dumbledore—"
Harry seized Hermione's arm, halting her in her tracks. "You let Dumbledore come between our friendship, Hermione. I understand why you did it, but I don't have to like it." He turned to Ron. "Same for you. And that means keeping this Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry for school!"
"But she's a—"
"Witch. Just like Hermione and Ginny. And a superb one," Harry shot back. "Her father fought as my freakin' attorney in my trial, and she helped me prepare for it. Unlike my best friends."
Ron couldn't meet his gaze and looked away.
"Bloody hell, mate!" Fred interjected, breaking the tension, "Look at you, all grown up!"
Harry rolled his eyes, a subtle expression of amusement crossing his face. "Now, you'll have to excuse me. I need to attend to the other guests. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Molly, still holding onto his hand, her tears somewhat receded, hesitated before speaking. "Mrs. Weasley?"
"We—we brought a gift for you," she sniffed, producing a gold watch and carefully tying it around Harry's wrist. "It's traditional, you know, giving a wizard a watch when he comes of age." She anxiously glanced at his face. "I'm afraid this one isn't new; it was actually my brother Fabian's, and he wasn't terribly careful with his possessions. It's dented on the back, but—"
The rest of her speech was drowned out as Harry moved forward and enveloped her in a hug. Amidst his inner turmoil over Percy's predicament and Mrs. Weasley's emotional state, he found himself at a loss for words. However, the gesture seemed to convey his sentiments, as Mrs. Weasley patted his cheek clumsily when he released her and offered a teary smile. The weight of their shared history and the unspoken understanding of familial bonds filled the room, momentarily eclipsing the looming shadows of external conflicts.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Molly said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I know you've got Sirius and your new relatives, but you're always welcome at our home. You are, and will always be an honorary Weasley!"
Harry, ever the teaser, couldn't resist a playful remark. "What about Hermione?" he teased. "Or is she a full Weasley already?"
Hermione's face turned a shade of red, and she retaliated with a playful slap. "Prat!"
Ron, in his typical fashion, just snorted in response. Harry grinned, a sense of relief washing over him. Saved by an inch, he thought, grateful for the levity in the midst of the emotional whirlwind.
About another half an hour later, Harry found himself stationed by the punch bowl, observing the various conversations swirling around him. Sirius was engrossed in discussions with Rufus Scrimgeour, Augusta Longbottom, and Lord Burke. Across the room, he noticed Malfoy attempting to engage Astoria in conversation, the tension visible on her face. Harry briefly contemplated intervening, but before he could make a move, Susan stepped in, skillfully redirecting Malfoy's attention.
Minister Fudge, in his usual pompous manner, approached Harry, presenting a bottle of Ogden's Finest as if they were the closest of friends. Harry, however, harbored suspicions that Fudge had filled the bottle with Gregory's Unctuous Unction and had no intention of coming anywhere near it.
"Ah, Harry, my boy! A toast to your coming of age!" Fudge declared, raising the suspicious bottle.
Harry, ever the cautious one, offered a polite smile. "Minister Fudge, your generosity is truly overwhelming."
As the evening wore on, Harry navigated through the sea of well-wishers and conversations, each interaction a delicate dance between the past and the present. The party, a blend of warmth, tension, and unexpected alliances, carried on beneath the twinkling lights, providing a temporary respite from the storm that awaited them beyond the confines of Grimmauld Place.
Albus Dumbledore, relentless in his curiosity, cornered Harry once again. The conversation gracefully meandered toward the enigmatic Peverell family magic, and Dumbledore, ever the inquisitor, couldn't resist probing about any issues Harry might have faced with his scar over the summer. Harry, somewhat surprised to realize he had almost forgotten about it amidst the party's whirlwind, admitted that the scar had indeed faded away. The victorious glint in Dumbledore's eyes didn't escape him as the old man swiftly inquired about his progress with the book Snape had given him. Harry revealed his upcoming month of spell-training with Sirius, focusing exclusively on the Dark Arts and its defense. Dumbledore, acknowledging Sirius's history as a formidable Hit-Wizard, urged Harry to make the most of this opportunity.
In a surprising turn of events, Dumbledore presented Harry with a Deluminator—his personal invention. Resembling a silver cigarette lighter, it held the unique ability to instantly remove light sources from the immediate surroundings. Dumbledore, with a wink, hinted at several other functions the object held, leaving Harry to discover them at his leisure.
Just as the atmosphere settled into this mix of intrigue and camaraderie, the doorbell rang, disrupting the flow of the gathering. The room hushed, and heads turned in anticipation, wondering about the unexpected visitor. The air seemed charged with a sense of anticipation, as if the evening's events were destined to take another unexpected turn.
Smiling, Harry made his way to the main door, a distinct anticipation building within him. He was well aware of the one person who could and would make a grand entrance through that very portal. Dressed in robes of midnight blue, adorned with delicate jewelry and low heels, she exuded an air of aristocratic grace, every bit a princess in her own right. Her neatly tied bun showcased opal earrings that swayed gently as she moved. A warm smile graced her lips as she extended her hand.
Without hesitation, Harry took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. He couldn't help but notice the brief shiver that traveled through her, the subtle excitement evident in the tautness of her skin. Looking up at her, he was taken aback by the raw need reflected in her eyes. It was a departure from her usual gaze, the stiffness in her posture, and the faint clenching of her jaw as she maintained a demure smile.
Contrary to popular belief, Harry was not oblivious to such subtle cues. Lately, he had been receiving similar reactions from Fleur, a marked contrast to the composed and skeptical young woman he had first encountered at Gringotts. He understood the implications, yet it left him pondering. He had always perceived her teasing as just that—teasing. As time passed, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to it.
But why? What had shifted in their dynamic, and why did he now find himself navigating uncharted territories of mutual attraction and unspoken desires? The evening's festivities continued around them, but in that moment, Harry felt a current of unspoken tension between him and Fleur, a magnetic pull that left him questioning the boundaries of their evolving connection.
"Welcome," he greeted with a warm smile, "to the illustrious Grimmauld Place." Fleur chuckled softly, a melodic sound that echoed through the entrance hall. "I trust I haven't delayed the festivities?" "Not in the slightest," Harry replied, his gaze fixed on her. "You've merely heightened the anticipation. Just like old times, reminiscent of the Yule Ball, wouldn't you say?" Fleur's laughter danced in the air. "Ah, Monsieur Potter, you flatter me. Whether early or fashionably late, all eyes inevitably find their way to moi." Harry feigned exasperation, rolling his eyes playfully. "True enough. Now, let's navigate through this magical maze together. The circus awaits within." "You did invite them," Fleur teased, linking her arm through his as they ventured beyond the ante-chamber into the heart of Grimmauld Place. "Guilty as charged," Harry admitted, noting how Fleur's touch lingered on his arm, a connection that felt strangely comforting in the midst of the revelry.
Sirius, the master of ceremonies, spotted them and raised his glass of firewhiskey in salute. "Perfect timing, Fleur! The curtain is about to rise." Acknowledging Sirius's toast, Harry handed Fleur a glass of chilled coffee, mindful of her abstention from anything whiskey-related. Her eyes sparkled with appreciation as she accepted the drink, a silent thank you that spoke volumes. Harry grabbed a glass of punch for himself and assumed a relaxed pose against one of the grand pillars.
With the eclectic mix of guests now gathered, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement, and the mansion seemed to come alive with the promise of a memorable night. As the chatter and laughter enveloped them, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the vibrant scene, wondering how the evening would unfold in the enchanting world of Grimmauld Place.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Sirius commenced, gracefully navigating the crowd with his glass of firewhiskey in hand as he approached the heart of the expansive hall. The guests instinctively shifted, creating a focal point in the center where Sirius positioned himself.
"Thank you, everyone," Sirius's voice resonated effortlessly, courtesy of a gentle Sonorous charm. "Your presence here this afternoon marks a celebration—a celebration of my godson, my heir, Harry James Potter." The room erupted in a symphony of cheers and applause, and Sirius basked in the moment with a wide, charismatic smile. "Today, my dear godson turns fifteen and, as you're all aware, steps into his role as Lord Potter. So, before I invite you to partake in the feast and enjoy all the libations my collection has to offer," a playful remark that elicited laughter, "I'll ask the newly minted Lord Harry James Potter to join us and share a few words. Now, Harry's not known for his verbosity, so let's see if we can coax him into gracing us with a speech! Come on, Harry!"
"Sirius! No way! Seriously, no!" "Harry! Harry!" The enthusiastic cheers reverberated through the hall.
"Go on!" Fleur nudged him gently from behind, encouraging him to step into the spotlight. Daphne caught his eye, gesturing for him to move forward. Ron, ever the instigator, seized Harry's hand and propelled him ahead, with the twins and Nymphadora joining the chorus of encouragement. Amidst the cheers, Harry found himself standing alone in the center, Sirius having slyly slipped away to stand beside Amelia Bones, leaving him alone beneath the expectant gaze of the assembled crowd.
"What am I supposed to say?" Harry mouthed to his godfather, a plea for guidance.
Sirius, rather than offering words, simply touched his own chest, right above the heart—a silent reminder to speak from within.
Harry felt an unexpected surge of uncertainty, a wave of self-doubt crashing over him like a turbulent sea. Speak from the heart? When had he ever bared his soul in such a way? The expectant crowd awaited his words, and for a fleeting moment, he hesitated. With a quick application of the Sonorous charm, he maintained his amiable smile as applause erupted, reminiscent of the victory celebration after the First Task—a memory that gave him some semblance of familiarity amidst the uncertainty.
"Thank you, everyone, but uh… I can't really speak unless you settle down a bit," Harry requested, and the crowd obligingly hushed, punctuating the moment with chuckles.
"Classic Harry!" The twins' boisterous voices rang out.
Harry grinned. "My godfather suggests speaking from the heart, and honestly, that's a bit terrifying. I might prefer facing another Hungarian Horntail right now." Laughter rippled through the audience. "So, speaking from the heart. It takes me back to my first year at Hogwarts. There was this… mirror."
Daphne's eyes flickered with intrigue.
"I vividly recall staring into it for the first time, seeing myself standing alongside my parents. There were these elusive shadows surrounding us, but I never quite grasped their meaning. Professor Dumbledore explained that the mirror reveals your deepest desires, what you truly want. However, I was just a clueless kid. I didn't comprehend the significance of those shadows. I spent hours pondering, but the mystery persisted—what did those shadows represent? Why were they there? I wondered endlessly but found no answers."
Harry sensed the weight of Dumbledore's penetrating blue-eyed gaze, a silent encouragement that spurred him to continue unraveling the tapestry of his past.
"Then, in a rather unconventional move, I was kidnapped by Ron and the twins during the summer after that," Harry chuckled, acknowledging their spirited interruption.
"We'd do it again!" Fred's voice echoed.
"Only time Dad let us have the car!" George chimed in.
Harry's grin widened. "It's hard to put into words, but I had never truly been part of a family before—wizarding or not. Watching Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, the twins, even Percy… They laughed together, regardless of how mundane the topic. They were united. It was… surreal. I felt... well, jealous, to be honest. Insanely so. I thought if I could just have a tiny part of it, just a little, my life would be complete."
A muffled sob escaped Mrs. Weasley, finding solace on Mr. Weasley's shoulder.
Harry's gaze dropped momentarily. "And then, suddenly, I understood it. I understood what those shadows meant."
As he looked up, his eyes met Sirius's glistening gaze. "Family."
"Today, I have it. I have a family—my godfather, Sirius. Andi. And, though this is our first meeting, Tonks. People I can call my own. A house to come home to."
A profound hush settled over the audience, the whispers that had buzzed through the hall now silenced. In that quiet moment, the weight of Harry's words lingered, weaving a connection that transcended the magical confines of the gathering, touching the hearts of those who bore witness to his revelation.
"This summer has been a crucible of change for me. I delved into the depths of my heritage, discovering the profound legacy of my parents and the principles they upheld. It granted me a fresh perspective on life, on society, and a newfound understanding of myself—transcending the confines of being merely Harry Potter, the oft-labeled Boy-Who-Lived. Although, I could certainly do without those excruciatingly formal writing sessions," eliciting snorts from the amused audience.
"Yet, I stand here today to express my gratitude to those without whom this transformation would remain an elusive dream. If applause is due to anyone, it is for them. So, please, join me in applauding my godfather, Sirius Black, for being the greatest blessing in my life. For…" Harry's voice faltered, emotions threatening to surface, "for being the man who extended a home to an orphan who had never known one."
Applause erupted throughout the hall as Sirius stood there, a glass of whiskey in hand, tears glistening in his eyes.
"In addition to Sirius, I have two steadfast companions, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They've been by my side through thick and thin. Merlin knows I'd probably be dead thrice over without them—especially you, Hermione," Harry teased, prompting Ron to bark out a laugh and Hermione to roll her eyes.
"But on this special day, I want to spotlight someone extraordinary. A person I never envisioned becoming an integral part of my life, and I suspect she never expected it either. Yet, here we are. She's my friend, the one who witnessed me at my lowest this summer, and who unapologetically confronted me with the truth when I was drowning in my own delusions. Without her, I might be dead or worse by now."
His gaze shifted toward her, a silent acknowledgment of the profound impact she had on his life.
"Miss Fleur Delacour," Harry announced, and the room erupted in boisterous cheers. Fleur, a pivotal figure in Harry's trial, had played a crucial role in refuting Umbridge's prejudiced remarks, contributing significantly to the favorable outcome of the trial. Her triumph had resonated widely, even earning acknowledgment from Joshua Greengrass, the lead attorney.
Fleur blushed at the enthusiastic approval, graciously nodding in acknowledgment.
"The third individual I want to recognize is the man who, to put it bluntly, saved my sorry arse from a one-way ticket to Azkaban."
Amused snickers reverberated through the audience.
"Mr. Joshua Greengrass."
As the applause and cheers gradually subsided, Harry pressed on, "I am genuinely grateful for his efforts, for his unwavering patience. I mean, it must have been a Herculean task, trying to teach a less-than-brilliant Gryffindor how to eloquently address the Wizengamot in just a week—"
More laughter echoed through the hall, a testament to the shared camaraderie among those gathered.
"—but he managed it. And no, Sirius, you don't get any acknowledgment. You only made fun of me," Harry quipped, earning a snort from his godfather.
"Joshua was the one who reached out to me, recognizing my Greengrass lineage. I admire him for all of that, but if there's something worth mentioning, it's this. Thank you, Joshua, for revealing to me the depths of a parent's sacrifice for their child."
Whispers meandered through the audience at Harry's enigmatic words, but Joshua, attuned to the sentiment, nodded in acknowledgment.
"Now, this list wouldn't be complete without acknowledging one last person."
Green eyes met blue.
"Miss Daphne Greengrass. There are myriad things I could say about her, but I'll settle for this. Thank you for illustrating to me the true essence of strength."
The crowd erupted into an indistinct chorus of cheers. As Harry locked eyes with Daphne, a radiant smile illuminating his face, he found himself momentarily taken aback. The girl, always steadfast in her choices, who knew him to a degree that both intrigued and unnerved him, stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Emotions, long dormant within her, surged to the surface. Unable to endure the intensity any longer, she closed her eyes, seeking a momentary sanctuary from the powerful currents that stirred within her.
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