[Chapter Nine: The Woes of Mrs. Weasley.]
“Those in favor of clearing the witnesses of all charges?” said Madam Bones’s booming voice.
My head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them… more than half! Breathing very fast, I tried to count, but before I could finish, Madam Bones had said, “And those in favor of conviction?”
Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-mustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.
Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, “Very well, very well… cleared… of all charges.”
“Excellent,” said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feet, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. “Well, I must be getting along. Good-day to you all.”
And without looking once at Harry or me, he swept from the dungeon.
Dumbledore's abrupt departure took me completely by surprise. I remained sitting where I was in the chained chair, struggling with my feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry and I both stood up. Nobody seemed to be paying us the slightest bit of attention, except the toadlike witch on Fudge's right, who was now gazing down at me instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, I tried to catch Fudge's eye, or Madam Bones's, wanting to ask whether we was free to go or not, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice either of us, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase. I took a few tentative steps towards the exit.
"Ash— What are you doing?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.
"Come on." I urged, stepping forward and grabbing his arm. I took a few more cautious steps, and when nobody called us back, broke into a very fast walk, dragging Harry along with me.
We took the last few steps at a run, wrenched open the door and I almost collided with Mr. Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.
"Dumbledore didn't say—"
"Cleared," Harry said, pulling the door closed behind us, "Of all charges!"
Beaming, Mr. Weasley scooped Harry and me up in a big hug.
"That's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you two guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't the least—"
But Mr. Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had just opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.
"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley wonderingly, pulling us aside to let them all pass. "You two were tried by the full court?"
"I don't know." I huffed, "But they were all incredibly rude!"
Harry smirked teasingly at me, "You're just upset because you got called rouge."
"Shut up." I muttered, "I'm not rogue..."
One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry and I as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, 'Morning, Arthur,' to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toad like witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr. Weasley, Harry, and I were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at me as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father, Harry, and I; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr. Weasley’s mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son.
"I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news," he said, beckoning Harry and I forwards as Percy's heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. "I'll drop you two off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on…"
"So, what will you have to do about the toilet?" Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: we were cleared; we were going back to Hogwarts.
"Oh, its a simple enough anti-jinx," said Mr. Weasley as we mounted the stairs, "But it's not so much having to repair the damage, its more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one—"
Mr. Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. We had just reached the ninth-level corridor and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from us, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face.
The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He, too, broke off in mid-conversation, his cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry's face.
"Well, well, well… Patronus Potter," said Lucius Malfoy coolly.
I felt winded, as though I had just walked into something solid. I remembered Harry saying Lucius was a Death-Eater. Was he there the night my precious Cedric was killed? Just that small contemplation alone had me capable of murder. I would rather spend a thousand years in Azkaban having my soul sucked, than to let the men who helped kill Cedric walk free.
"The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter," drawled Mr. Malfoy. "Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes… snakelike, in fact."
Mr. Weasley gripped Harry's shoulder in warning.
"Yeah," said Harry, "Yeah, I'm good at escaping."
Lucius then looked to me, "Ah, darling little Acacia." how dare he speak my name? "It's a pity you're being put through this. I've always liked you. Maybe you should stop associating yourself with the like of... Them. My son, Draco, if you do recall, was a friend of yours. He'd see to it you never got in trouble with the ministry."
"I've always liked you too, Lucius," I bluffed politely, "But this was just a misunderstanding, thanks. Just because something goes wrong..." I paused to look at Harry and reach for his hand, "Doesn't mean I'm going to abandon him. I promised him my friendship, and I am a lady of her word." Harry smiled at me widely.
"How sickeningly sweet..."
"To you, maybe." I shrugged, "And as for your son, Draco. He chose to not be friends with me. Had he not be as rude and vile as he was, I would have very much enjoyed his company."
"He was rude to you? How so?"
"Well, for starters. Casting little jinxes on my other friends for things they did not do. That, in my book, is rude. Plus, the constant name calling he would throw at me." I said, scoffing.
"Thank you for telling me, Ms. Ivory. I will be sure to have a word with Draco when I get back home." He said, showing me more respect than I had seen him show anyone, "He shall do so no more."
Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes to Mr. Weasley's face.
"And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?"
"I work here," said Mr. Weasley curtly.
"Not here, surely?" said Mr. Malfoy, raising his eyebrows and glancing towards the door over Mr. Weasley's shoulder. "I thought you were up on the second floor… don't you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artifacts home and bewitching them?"
"No," Mr. Weasley snapped.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Harry asked Lucius Malfoy.
"I don't think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Potter," said Malfoy, smoothing the front of his robes. I distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold.
"Really, just because you are Dumbledore's favorite boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us… shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?"
"Certainly," said Fudge, turning his back on us. "This way, Lucius."
They strode off together, talking in low voices.
"Why wasn't he waiting outside Fudge's office if they've got business to do together?" Harry burst out furiously. "What was he doing down here?"
"Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me," said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely agitated and glancing over his shoulder as though making sure we could not be overheard, "Trying to find out whether you'd been expelled or not. I'll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoys been talking to Fudge again."
"What private business have they got together, anyway?"
"Gold, I expect," said Mr. Weasley angrily. "Malfoy's been giving generously to all sorts of things for years… gets him in with the right people… then he can ask favors… delay laws he doesn't want passed… oh, he's very well-connected, Lucius Malfoy."
The lift arrived; it was empty except for a flock of memos that flapped around Mr. Weasley's head as he pressed the button for the Atrium and the doors clanged shut. He waved them away irritably.
"Mr. Weasley," I said slowly, "If Fudge is meeting Death Eaters like Malfoy, if he's seeing them alone, how do we know they haven't put the Imperius Curse on him?"
"Don't think it hasn't occurred to us, Ash," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord at the moment— which, as Dumbledore says, is not a lot of comfort. Best not talk about it any more just now."
The doors slid open and we stepped out into the now almost-deserted Atrium. Eric the watchwizard was hidden behind his Daily Prophet again. We had walked straight past the golden fountain, where I glanced and remembered Harry's promise. I opened my mouth to jokingly remind him, but he already seemed to be frumeting with his moneybag.
"'Wait…" he told Mr. Weasley.
He looked up into the handsome wizard's face. The witch was wearing a vapid smile like a beauty contestant, and from what I knew of goblins and centaurs, they were most unlikely to be caught staring so soppily at humans of any description. Only the house-elf's attitude of creeping servility looked convincing. I grinned at the thought of what Hermione would say if she could see the statue of the elf. I watched as Harry turned his moneybag upside-down and emptied not just ten Galleons, but the whole contents into the pool.
"Harry!" I said smiling ear to ear at his generosity.
He shrugged, "I'm thankful."
*
"I knew it!" yelled Ron, punching the air. "You two always get away with stuff. So did he really cower, you know, at your name, Ash?" His eyes held the curious look of a two year old. I threw Harry a look. I had not told them, why would he? It isn't relevant.
"No, Ronald." I giggled, "I suppose it was just a slight stutter."
Ron just gave me a look that said, "You're such a liar. Don't be modest. It's not a good look for you."
"They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry and I had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes, "There was no case against you, none at all."
"Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering you all 'knew' we'd get off," said Harry, smiling.
Mrs. Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went: "They got off, they got off, they got off…"
"That's enough! Settle down!" shouted Mr. Weasley, though he too was smiling. "Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry today—"
"What?" said Sirius sharply.
"They got off, they got off, they got off…"
"Be quiet, you three!" George just smirked and when he was done chanting, ran to tackle hug me.
"EEP!" I screamed, fumbling. Luckily, George was able to regain his balance and save us from toppling to the ground.
"Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."
"Absolutely," said Sirius. "We'll tell him, don't worry."
"Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet waiting for me in Bethnal Green. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner—"
"Acacia, Harry, come and sit down, have some lunch, you both hardly ate breakfast."
Harry and I sat opposite each other, Ron sitting beside Harry and Hermione beside me. They both looked happier than they had done since we had first arrived at Grimmauld Place, and my feeling of giddy relief, which had been somewhat dented by our encounter with Lucius Malfoy, swelled again. The gloomy house seemed warmer and more welcoming all of a sudden; even Kreacher looked less ugly as he poked his snoutlike nose into the kitchen to investigate the source of all the noise.
"Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," said Ron happily, now dishing great mounds of mashed potato on to everyone's plates.
"Yeah, he swung it for me," said Harry.
I observed him, and for a moment he seemed to be immersed within his thoughts. Minutes later, a look of great pain crossed his face and he clapped his hand to his forehead. This starltled me. I hadn't seen him do this for quite some time.
"Harry?" I asked not caring how pronounced the panic in my voice was, "Are you okay?"
"Scar," He mumbled. "But it's nothing… it happens all the time now…"
That wasn't good. It wasn't normal. Bad things always happen when Harry's scar starts hurting him. Hermione looked rather anxious. Had she noticed it, too? Before she could say anything, Ron had said happily, "I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening, to celebrate with us, you know."
"I don't think he'll be able to, Ron," said Mrs. Weasley, setting a huge plate of roast chicken down in front of Harry and I. My Lord, that looked delicious. "He's really very busy at the moment."
What could he possibly be so occupied with that he couldn't even send Harry and me a small two lined letter?
*
Over the next few days I noticed that there was one person within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, who did not seem wholly overjoyed that Harry and I would be returning to Hogwarts. Sirius had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, wringing Harry's hand, hugging me with a slight congratulations, and beaming just like the rest of them. Soon, however, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody, even me, and spending increasing amounts of time shut up in his mother's room with Buckbeak.
"Don't you go feeling guilty!" said Hermione sternly, after Harry had confided some of my feelings to Hermione, Ron, and I while we scrubbed out a moldy cupboard on the third floor a few days later. "You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he's being selfish."
"That's a bit harsh, Hermione," said Ron, frowning as he attempted to prize off a bit of mould that had attached itself firmly to his finger, "You wouldn't want to be stuck inside this house without any company."
"He'll have company!" said Hermione. "It's Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it? He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him."
"Don't think that's true." said Harry, wringing out his cloth. "He wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him if I could."
"He just didn't want to get his own hopes up even more," I said finally. "And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you'd be expelled. Then you'd both be outcasts together."
"Come off it!" said Harry and Ron together, but I merely shrugged.
"Suit yourselves." I said, going back to scrubbing the cupboard, but still keeping open a keen ear.
"Sometimes think Rons mums right and Sirius gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry." said Hermione.
"So you think he's touched in the head?" said Harry heatedly.
"No, I just think he's been very lonely for a long time," said Hermione simply.
At this point, Mrs. Weasley entered the bedroom behind us.
"Still not finished?" she said, poking her head into the cupboard.
"I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!" said Ron bitterly. "D'you know how much mould we've got rid of since we arrived here?"
"You were so keen to help the Order," said Mrs. Weasley, "You can do your bit by making Headquarters fit to live in."
"I feel like a house-elf," grumbled Ron.
I choked on my own laughter. I knew it was coming. Hermione was going to start ranting, just as she always does whenever someone speaks of house-elves.
"Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in SPEW!" said Hermione hopefully, as Mrs. Weasley left us to it. "You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time - we could do a sponsored scrub off in the Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to SPEW, it would raise awareness as well as funds."
"I'll sponsor you to shut up about SPEW," Ron muttered irritably, but only so I could hear him.
"Hermione!" I giggled, "Ron said he'd sponsor you to shutup!"
I felt like a five-year-old tattle-tailing. But, for my own boredom, and for the sake of entertainment, I knew it would start a rant about Ronald's immaturity.
"What?! I did not! She's lying!" Ron yelled in fake bewilderment.
"Well, let me tell you, RONALD WEASLEY--"
Thus, a long rant and rave about immaturity started. All the while Harry and I couldn't stop laughing. It was quite funny, but I never expected her to throw scrub-brush at him for calling her loony. Poor Ron.
*
I found myself about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; I could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch with Harry, to immerse myself in charms and potions and magic; it would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed.
The fact was that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as one would have expected before they'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes of whispered conversation, Mrs. Weasley made sure that the others and I were kept well out of earshot (Extendable or normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that I needed to know anything more than I had heard on the night of my arrival.
On the very last day of the holidays I was watching Harry sweep up Hedwig’s owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered the bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.
"Booklists have arrived," he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, and one to me. "About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this…"
Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron's head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. I began opening my letter first. It contained two pieces of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling me which books I would need for the coming year.
"Only two new ones," I said, reading the list, "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard. It says here all my classes are to be advanced."
Crack
.
Fred and George Apparated right beside me. As much as they had done this, it still scared me. A shriek emitted from my lips and I covered my mouth with one hand, the other over my chest.
“Sorry, Ash. I forget you still aren’t used to that.” Fred apologized, giving my a quick side hug, "But we were just wondering who sent the Slinkhard book,"
"Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said George.
"And about time too," said Fred.
“What d'you mean?” Harry asked, jumping down beside us.
"Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back," Fred told Harry, "And from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year."
“Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four.” said George.
“One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed and one locked in a trunk for nine months,” said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“What's up with you, Ron?” asked Fred.
Ron did not answer. I looked round. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
“What's the matter?” I asked, as Fred impatiently moved around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment.
Fred's mouth fell open, too.
“Prefect?” he said, staring incredulously at the letter. “Prefect?”
“What?” I asked, not the slightest clue what was going on.
George leapt forwards, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand and turned it upside-down. Something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.
“No way,” said George in a hushed voice.
“There's been a mistake,” said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. “No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect.”
The twins' heads turned in unison and both of them stared at me, “Well, did you get yours?”
“I did not.” I said, “It’s probably Hermione.”
“We thought you were a cert!” said Fred, in a tone that suggested I had tricked them in some way.
“We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!” said George indignantly.
“Because you’re responsible and everything!” said Fred, “Plus, you’re way more magically educated that you’re supposed to be. You think on your feet, and are bloody brilliant in every aspect… It helps that you’re so humble about everything despite how famous you are.”
The more Fred went on about how smart and wonderful I was, the shyer I got. It was flattering.
“I suppose all of her trouble making must’ve counted against her.” said George to Fred.
“Yeah,” said Fred slowly. 'Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, Acacia. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right.”
He strode over to me and brushed my cheek with his thumb while giving Ron a scathing look, “And I thought Harry was going to be picked.”
“Prefect… ickle Ronnie the Prefect.”
“Ohh, Mum's going to be revolting,” groaned George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him.
Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it.
The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.
“Did you - did you get -?”
She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek.
“I knew it!” she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. “Me too, Harry, me too!”
“No,” said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. “It's Ron, not me.”
“It - what? I-“
“Ron's prefect, not me,” Harry said.
“Ron?” said Hermione, her jaw dropping. “But… are you sure? I mean –“
She turned red as Ron looked round at her with a defiant expression on his face.
“It’s my name on the letter,” he said.
“I…” said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. “I… well… wow! Well done, Ron! That's really –“
“Unexpected,” said George, nodding. I rolled my eyes at him. I saw what they hadn’t. Ron often expressed immense amounts of courage, bravery, and loyalty.
“No,” said Hermione, blushing harder than ever, “No it's not… Ron's done loads of… he's really…”
The door behind her opened a little wider and Mrs. Weasley backed into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes.
“Ginny said the booklists had come at last,” she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. “If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing… what color would you like?”
“Get him red and gold to match his badge,” said George, smirking.
“Match his what?” said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron's pile.
“His badge,” said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. “His lovely, shiny, new prefect's badge.”
Fred's words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley's preoccupation with pajamas.
“His… but… Ron, you're not…?”
Ron held up his badge.
Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione's.
“I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!”
“What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son.
“Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh, Ronnie —“
Fred and George were both making loud retching noises behind her back but Mrs. Weasley did not notice; arms tight around Ron's neck, she was kissing him all over his face, which had turned a brighter scarlet than his badge.
“Mum… don't… Mum, get a grip…” he muttered, trying to push her away.
She let go of him and said breathlessly, “Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course.”
“W-what do you mean?” said Ron, looking as though he did not dare believe his ears.
“You've got to have a reward for this!” said Mrs. Weasley fondly. “How about a nice new set of dress robes?”
“We've already bought him some,” said Fred sourly, who looked as though he sincerely regretted this generosity.
“Or a new cauldron, Charlie’s old one's rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers –“
“Mum,” said Ron hopefully, “Can I have a new broom?”
Mrs. Weasley's face fell slightly; broomsticks were expensive.
“Not a really good one!” Ron hastened to add. “Just -just a new one for a change…"
Mrs. Weasley hesitated, then smiled.
“Of course you can… well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later… little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks… a prefect… oh, I'm all of a dither!”
She gave Ron yet another kiss on the cheek, sniffed loudly, and bustled from the room.
Fred and George exchanged looks.
“You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?” said Fred in a falsely anxious voice.
“We could curtsey, if you like,” said George.
“Oh, shut up,” said Ron, scowling at them.
“Or what?” said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. “Going to put us in detention?”
“I'd love to see him try,” sniggered George.
“He could if you don't watch out!” said Hermione angrily.
Fred and George burst out laughing, and Ron muttered, “Ash, help me out?”
I was the only one the twins even bothered listening to. Ron knew that. They loved me, and always heard what I had to say above anyone else.
“We're going to have to watch our step, George,” said Fred, pretending to tremble, “With these two on our case… ”
“Fred! George! Calm down.” I said, shaking my head.
“Looks like our law-breaking days are finally over,” said George, shaking his head, “You should’ve been a prefect, Ash.”
“Well, it isn’t, and that’s okay.” I said, “I’m sure they’ll let you get away with a lot more than you think.”
“Don’t be so sure about—“ I cut Hermione off, “Mione. Hush.”
And with another loud crack, the twins Disapparated.
“Those two!” said Hermione furiously, staring up at the ceiling, through which we could now hear Fred and George roaring with laughter in the room upstairs. “Don't pay any attention to them, Ron, they're only jealous!”
“I don't think they are,” said Ron doubtfully, also looking up at the ceiling. “They've always said only prats become prefects… still,” he added on a happier note, “They've never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose… she'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's the new Cleansweep out, that'd be great… yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows.”
He dashed from the room, leaving Harry, Hermione, and me alone.
For some reason, I found I did not want to look at Hermione. I sat down in a grungy armchair, while Harry turned to his bed, picked up the pile of clean robes Mrs. Weasley had laid on it and crossed the room to his trunk.
“Ash?” said Hermione tentatively, probably noticing I was not looking at her.
“Well done, Hermione,” I said, a little put out and jealous that I had not been picked, “Brilliant. Prefect. Great.”
“Thanks,” said Hermione smiling, and turning away from me and to Harry, who was also not looking at her. “Erm - Harry - could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased - I mean prefect is something they can understand.”
“Yeah, no problem!” said Harry, still in a horribly hearty voice that did not belong to him. “Take her!”
In moments, Hermione had gone and Hedwig had left. Harry hurried across the room, closed the door, then returned slowly to his bed and sank on to it, gazing unseeingly at the foot of the wardrobe.
“Did you forget about prefects as well?” I asked in a dulcet tone.
Harry nodded, “Yes… I mean, we’ve had to worry about being expelled. We didn’t have anytime to think about returning to Hogwarts or our fifth year.”
“I’ll ask you honestly… If you would have known the badge was on it’s way… would you have expected it to come to you?”
“Well…” He trailed off, “If I say yes, does that make me arrogant?”
“No.” I shook my head, “I adore Ron, but we all thought it would come to you.”
“And no matter how brilliant Hermione is, we all thought the badge would go to you…” Harry said, burying his face in his hands.
“I just don’t understand. I’ve done more than either of them!” said Harry, throwing the side of his fist into the wall.
“Harry.” I said, slightly caught off-guard by the way he was acting, “I don’t think he chooses things based off of the dangerous situations you’ve been put through. Take Percy, for example, before he was prefect, do you think he ever fought a basilisk?”
“I suppose you’re right, Ash.” Harry smiled slightly, “But does it not bother you that Hermione was picked over you?”
“Oh, of course. It’s eating me alive. I’d really like to know what I did wrong.” I said, “But its okay. All I know is they didn’t ask Dumbledore to give them the prefect badges. It’s not their fault. And I don’t mind sharing glory with them. They deserve it.”
At this point we could hear Ron's footsteps on the stairs again. Harry stood up, straightened his glasses, and hitched a grin on to his face as Ron bounded back through the door.
“Just caught her!” he said happily. “She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can.”
“Cool,” Harry said, “Listen - Ron - well done, mate.”
The smile faded off Ron's face, which made my heart drop, oddly enough.
“I never thought it would be me! O—Or Hermione!” He said, shaking his head and Harry and I. “I thought for sure it would be you and Ash! We all did.”
“Nah, we’ve caused too much trouble,” I said, echoing Fred.
“Yeah,” said Ron, “Yeah, I suppose… well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?”
“You’re right.” I smiled, “I’m going to go get Simba some food and finish up packing as well.”
It was odd how widely my possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since I had arrived. It took most of the afternoon to retrieve my books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back inside my pack, and extendable trunk.
Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley around six o'clock, laden with books. I decided I would follow her down to the basement and wait for the others.
“Ash, dear, can you help me hang this?” Mrs. Weasley asked, banner in hand, with the same smile plastered onto her happy face.
“Sure,” I said, sliding up a chair and pinning the banner where it belonged. It was crimson with gold lettering that read:
CONGRATULATIONS
RON AND HERMIONE
NEW PREFECTS
I sighed the slightest at seeing Hermione’s name instead of my own. Mrs. Weasley noticed and her smile dropped, “Are you terribly disappointed?”
I shook my head no, “I’m a bit put out, but all is well. Hermione really deserves to be prefect. I know she works hard for good behavior and grades. Well, the magic just comes naturally to me. I don’t have to apply myself and I still do exceedingly well. I promise myself to work as hard as her this year, though. And besides all that, being a prefect means punishing, you know, detentions, stripping points, things of that nature… And to be completely honest, I don’t think I have the heart to do that to anyone.”
I said this all while staring at the banner intently. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Mrs. Weasley.
“You are a good girl, Acacia.” She said compassionately, sounding touched. A smile returned to her bright face once more. “Your heart is pure gold.”
Footsteps sounded, and as we looked up, the whole lot was descending down the stairs.
“I thought we'd have a little party, not a sit-down dinner,” she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny as they entered the room. “Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron. I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled,” she added, beaming.
Fred rolled his eyes.
Sirius, Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Harry had got himself a Butterbeer, and I sat beside him reassuringly. He was obviously still a bit put out about Ron being a prefect.
“Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here,” said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his travelling cloak. “We've been wanting to ask you for ages - could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it just in case it's something really nasty.”
“No problem, Molly…”
Moody's electric-blue eye swiveled upwards and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen.
“Drawing room…” he growled, as the pupil contracted. “Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it… yeah, it's a Boggart… want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?”
“No, no, I'll do it myself later,” beamed Mrs. Weasley, “You have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually…” She gestured at the scarlet banner. “Fourth prefect in the family!” she said fondly, ruffling Ron's hair.
“Prefect, eh?” growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swiveling around to gaze into the side of his head.
“Well, congratulations,” said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, “Authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you…”
Ron looked rather startled at this view of the matter but was saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of his father and eldest brother. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had brought Mundungus with them; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody's travelling cloak.
“Well, I think a toast is in order,” said Mr. Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. “To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!”
Ron and Hermione beamed as we all drank to them, and then applauded.
“I was never a prefect myself,” said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved towards the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato red and waist-length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. “My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.”
“Like what?” said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato.
“Like the ability to behave myself,” said Tonks, throwing in a very discreet wink at me from across the room.
Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of Butterbeer and choking on it.
“What about you, Sirius?” Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back.
Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual bark-like laugh.
“No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”
“I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,” said Lupin. “I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.”
“Who was the female prefect?” I asked, rather curiously.
Sirius smiled the smallest bit, “Vampelyne. She also returned as Head Girl.”
My breath caught in my throat, as I was caught off guard. My mother was Prefect for Gryffindor? I suddenly felt a bit down. I wish I could have done the same as her. Make her proud to be my mother.
Ron was rhapsodizing about his new broom to anybody who would listen.
“… nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two Ninety's only nought to sixty and that's with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?”
Hermione was talking very earnestly to Lupin about her view of elf rights.
“I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they're superior to other creatures…”
Mrs. Weasley and Bill were having their usual argument about Bill's hair.
“… getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would look much better shorter, wouldn't it, Harry?”
“Oh - I dunno –“ Harry replied.
I, however, had been standing in a corner, talking to Ginny.
“So, heard from Viktor Krum lately?” She asked, an excited glint in her eye.
“No. Can’t say I have. Not since our last goodbye.” I shrugged. “I’ve had no owl, so no way to get in touch with him. No one can ever find me because I’m constantly on the move.”
Ginny squealed lowly, “Ooh! I bet he’s tried every way possible to get in touch with you! How romantic!”
I snorted, “Let’s not get carried away now. Mr. Bulgarian Bon-Bon has probably forgotten about little old Acacia Ivory already.”
“Come on Ash!” Ginny sighed, “What do you do all day, in your spare time? Do you ever day dream about just being whisked away? Thinking about romance might get you away from the real world for a while.”
I smiled at her, even though on the inside I was writhing. “I haven’t day dreamed in a long time, Ginny…”
Immediately my thoughts went back to Cedric, and I could feel the tears coming like sparks on my heart, “Excuse me for a moment.” I had to get away from everyone before I started crying. I’d prefer not to be questioned, especially when the answer for the tears is a gut-wrenching case of heartache. It was hard to explain really. The way I missed Cedric, was like being home-sick. I just wanted to get back to him, and feel his arms around me. Feel his fingers wrap through my hair, as I looked into those perfect gray eyes of his. I’d never have that again.
I made my way around the corner quietly; when I reached the stairwell, I distinctly heard my name.
“… why Dumbledore didn't make Ivory a prefect?” said Kingsley. “She’s one of the strongest leaders I’ve yet to see. She’s a Stormwell, Lupin. I’m assuming you now know, of course”
“Yes, I now am aware of her bloodline, Kingsley. But, he'll have had his reasons,” replied Lupin.
“But it would've shown confidence in her. It's what I'd've done,” persisted Kingsley, “Especially with the Daily Prophet having a go at her and Potter every few days…"
I did not look around; I did not want Lupin or Kingsley to know I had heard. My pleasure in the party had evaporated as quickly as it had come; I wished I were upstairs in bed.
I tiptoed up the stairs in the hall past the stuffed elf-heads, glad to be on my own again, but as I approached the first landing I began to hear noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.
“Hello?” I asked, pushing the door open gingerly, “Anyone in here?”
There was no answer but the sobbing continued. I climbed the remaining stairs two at a time, walked across the landing and opened the drawing-room door.
Someone was cowering against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. Sprawled on the dusty old carpet in a patch of moonlight, clearly dead, was Ron.
All the air seemed to vanish from my lungs; I felt as though I were falling through the floor; my brain turned icy cold - Ron dead, no, it couldn't be – what happened in the time I had sneaked away?
Harry appeared behind me, just in time to catch my falling body. Then, in a horror stricken moment, he saw Ron’s dead body too. I knew because his arms began shaking and he steadied himself against the door frame, struggling to hold me up as well.
“Mrs. Weasley?” I asked, shakily.
“R - r - riddikulus!” Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's body.
Crack
.
Ron's body turned into Bill’s, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide, open, and empty. Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever.
“R - riddikulus!” she sobbed again.
Crack
.
Mr. Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face.
“No!” Mrs. Weasley moaned. “No… riddikulus! Riddikulus! RID-DlKULUS! RIDIKULUS!”
Crack
. Dead twins. Crack. Dead Percy. Crack. Dead Harry. Crack. Dead me…
“Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!” shouted Harry, staring down at my dead body on the floor. “Let someone else –“
“What's going on?”
Lupin had come running into the room, closely followed by Sirius, with Moody stumping along behind them. Lupin looked from Mrs. Weasley to the dead me on the floor and seemed to understand in an instant. Pulling out his own wand, he said, very firmly and clearly:
“Riddikulus!”
My lifeless body had vanished. A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke.
“Oh - oh - oh!” gulped Mrs. Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands.
“Molly,” said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her. “Molly don't…”
Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder.
“Molly, it was just a Boggart,” he said soothingly, patting her on the head, “Just a stupid Boggart…”
“I see them d-d-dead all the time!” Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. “All the 't-'t- time! I d-d-dream about it…”
Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the Boggart, pretending to be my body, had lain. Moody was looking at me, but I was avoiding his gaze. I had a funny feeling his magical eye had followed me all the way out of the kitchen.
“D-d-don't tell Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. “I d-d-don't want him to know… being silly…”
Lupin handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.
“Ash, Harry, I'm so sorry. What must the pair of you think of me?” she said shakily. “Not even able to get rid of a Boggart…”
“Don't be stupid,” I said, trying to smile.
“I'm just 's-'s-so worried,” she said, tears spilling out of her eyes again. “Half the f-f-family’s in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this… and P-P-Percy’s not talking to us… what if something d-d-dreadful happens and we've never in- in- made it up with him? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g- g- going to look after Ron and Ginny?”
“Molly that's enough,” said Lupin firmly. “This isn't like last time. The Order is better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to –“
Mrs. Weasley gave a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name.
“Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing his name - look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time. You weren't in the Order then, you don't understand. Last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one…”
“Don't worry about Percy,” said Sirius abruptly. “He'll come around. It's only a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology,” he added bitterly.
“And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” said Lupin, smiling slightly, “What do you think we'd do, let them starve?”
Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.
“Being silly,” she muttered again, mopping her eyes.
But I, closing my bedroom door behind me some fifteen minutes later, could not think Mrs. Weasley silly. The image of the Boggart posing as the corpse of each member of Mrs. Weasley's family in turn kept flashing before my eyes.