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Aurora Areli
"I KNEW IT!" RON yelled, punching the air. "You always get away with stuff!"
Harry had just returned from his Ministry hearing and, to my tremendous relief, he had been cleared of all charges. He looked positively exhausted, but his eyes were brighter and he looked happier than I had seen yet.
"They were bound to clear you," Hermione said, looking faint with anxiety and holding a shaking hand over her eyes, "there was no case against you, none at all."
Instead of words, I opted for standing up from my chair and wrapping Harry into a congratulatory hug, which he gladly returned. We both chose to ignore the looks the adults in the room were giving us.
"Everyone seems quite relieved, though," Harry said, grinning down at me when we pulled away, but still keeping an arm around me, "considering you all knew I'd get off."
I smiled back. "It's hard not to be nervous."
Looking around, I saw Mrs Weasley wiping her eyes on her apron, and Fred, George and Ginny doing some kind of war dance to a chant that went: "He got off, he got off, he got off . . ."
"That's enough! Settle down!" Mr Weasley shouted, though he was smiling as well. "Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry —"
"What?" Sirius said sharply.
"He got off, he got off, he got off . . ."
"Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."
"Absolutely," Sirius said. "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 —"
"He got off, he got off, he got off . . ."
"That's enough — Fred — George — Ginny!" Mrs Weasley said, as Mr Weasley left the kitchen. "Harry, dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast."
I took a seat next to a giddily happy Harry, while Ron and Hermione sat opposite us, looking equally as cheerful. I must have as well; knowing that Harry wasn't going to be expelled, and that he was coming back to Hogwarts with us lifted a huge weight off my chest. None of us had stopped smiling since he shared the news.
"'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," Ron said happily, dishing great mounds of mashed potato on to everyone's plates.
"Yeah, he swung it for me," Harry said. Then, to my surprise, he suddenly hissed in pain and clapped a hand to his scar.
"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned.
"Scar," Harry mumbled. "But it's nothing . . . it happens all the time now . . ."
But I had a feeling that it wasn't nothing. Apparently noticing my sudden change in mood, Harry smiled reassuringly, and shook his head.
"Really, Rory, I'm fine, don't worry about it."
How could I not worry? None of the others had noticed a thing; all of them were helping themselves to food while gloating about Harry's narrow escape over Fred, George and Ginny's singing. I opened my mouth to say something else, but before I could get any words out, Ron 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," Mrs Weasley said, setting a huge plate of roast chicken down in front of Harry. "He's really very busy at the moment."
"HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF . . ."
"SHUT UP!" Mrs Weasley roared.
Harry caught my eye and smiled, and I quickly returned the gesture, allowing my worry to subside and happier feelings to take over.
. . . . .
The next few days were spent in much higher spirits; at least, by everyone but Sirius. He had put up a very good show of happiness on first hearing the news, but it didn't last for very long. Soon, he was moodier and surlier than before, talking less to everybody and spending more time shut up in his mother's room with Buckbeak than with the rest of us.
I could tell that it was bothering Harry, whose eyes would always scan the room for his godfather whenever he entered one. When he saw that Sirius wasn't there, Harry's whole demeanor would drop slightly before he brought it back up. I felt terrible, but didn't know how to bring it up.
Luckily, I didn't have to dwell on it for too long, because Harry confided in Ron, Hermione and me one day while we were scrubbing mold out of a cupboard on the third floor.
"Don't you go feeling guilty!" Hermione said sternly, as soon as Harry was done talking. "You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he's being selfish."
Despite her strong use of words, I couldn't help but agree to some extent. Silently, of course.
"That's a bit harsh, Hermione," Ron said, frowning as he attempted to prise off a bit of mold that had stubbornly attached itself to his finger, "you wouldn't want to be stuck inside this house without any company."
"He'll have company!" Hermione said in disagreement. "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."
"I don't think that's true," Harry said, 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 hopes up even more," Hermione said wisely. "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."
"That might be a bit of a stretch," I spoke up, frowning slightly. Harry and Ron both nodded vigorously.
Hermione merely shrugged. "Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron's mum's right and Sirius gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry."
"So you think he's touched in the head?" Harry said heatedly.
"No, I just think he's been very lonely for a long time," Hermione said simply.
At this point, Mrs Weasley had entered the bedroom behind us, which was probably a good thing, considering how annoyed Harry looked.
"Still not finished?" Mrs Weasley said, poking her head into the cupboard.
"I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!" Ron said bitterly. "D'you know how much mold we've gotten rid of since we arrived here?"
"You were so keen to help the Order," Mrs Weasley said, "you can do your bit by making Headquarters fit to live in."
"I feel like a house-elf," Ron grumbled.
"Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in SPEW!" Hermione said hopefully, as Mrs Weasley left the room. "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 of 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 Harry and I were the only ones to hear him.
. . . . .
The remainder of the summer holidays went by very quickly, despite all the tedious work we had to do. When my parents first told my brother and I that we would be staying here, I thought that the Headquarters would be much more exciting than they really were. Nobody that was still in school was allowed any information, and Dumbledore wasn't telling me what he had promised. Not exactly what I would call useful.
On the very last day before we were set to go back to Hogwarts, I was sitting on Harry's bed in his and Ron's shared room. I had already finished packing, but Hermione hadn't, and Ginny was too busy playing Exploding Snap with Atticus, so I decided to hang around with Harry instead.
"Having fun?" I asked; he was currently standing on a chair, cleaning Hedwig's mess off of the top of the wardrobe.
Harry turned around and gave a very dramatic grimace. "I'm having the time of my life."
I couldn't help but laugh lightly at his completely serious tone of voice. Just then, Ron entered the bedroom, carrying a couple of envelopes.
"Booklists have arrived," he said, throwing one of the envelopes up at Harry, and another to me. "About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this . . ."
I sat up straighter and flipped the envelope over in my hands, as Harry threw his rubbish bag over Ron's head and into the wastepaper basket in the corner. Then, he came and sat down next to me to open his letter.
My curiosity was slightly piqued as I tore open my own; prefects would be getting assigned this year. I wasn't really expecting the title to go to me, though. While my grades were well above average, and I didn't cause too much trouble, Hermione was the better student by far. As I expected, my envelope only contained two pieces of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September, and the other telling me which books were required for the following year.
"Only two new books," Harry said, reading the list. "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard."
Crack.
Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. We were all so used to them doing this now that none of us were surprised anymore.
"We were just wondering who set the Slinkhard book," Fred said conversationally.
"Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," George said.
"And about time too," said Fred.
"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.
"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."
"It's not very surprising," I pointed out. "Just look at what's happened to the last four."
"One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed and one locked in a trunk for nine months," Harry said, counting them off on his fingers. "Yeah, I see what you mean."
"What's up with you, Ron?" Fred asked.
Ron didn't answer. I looked around to see him standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
"What's the matter?" Fred said impatiently, moving 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?"
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. It wasn't that I thought Ron didn't deserve it (though he was fairly unmotivated when it came to schoolwork), but I really thought that Harry would be the one carrying the prefect title. But sure enough, when George leapt forwards to seize Ron's envelope and turn it upside-down, the scarlet and gold badge fell out onto George's palm.
"No way," George said in a hushed voice.
"There's been a mistake," Fred said, 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 turn in unison to stare at Harry.
"We thought you were a cert!" Fred said, as though he thought Harry had tricked them in some way.
"We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!" George said indignantly.
"Winning the Triwizard and everything!" said Fred.
"I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him," George said to Fred.
"Yeah," Fred said slowly. "Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right."
He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.
"Prefect . . . ickle Ronnie the Prefect."
"Ohh, Mum's going to be revolting," George groaned, shoving the prefect badge back at Ron like it might contaminate him.
Ron, who still hadn't said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, then held it out to Harry as though mutely asking for confirmation that it was real. Harry took it, frowning slightly.
I bit my lip. Harry had probably thought he would be Prefect as well — it must've been really disappointing that Ron had instead. I only hoped that he wouldn't be too upset.
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," Harry said quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. "It's Ron, not me."
Hermione looked utterly surprised. "It — what?"
"Ron's prefect, not me," Harry repeated.
"Ron?" Hermione said, her jaw dropping. "But . . . are you sure? I mean —"
She turned red as Ron looked at her defiantly, as though challenging her to elaborate.
"It's my name on the letter," he said.
"I . . ." Hermione said, looking thoroughly bewildered, "I . . . well . . . wow! Well done, Ron! That's really —"
"Unexpected," George finished for her, nodding. I threw him a look.
"No," Hermione said, 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 of our envelopes as she made her way over to a bed and began 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 pyjamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing . . . what colour would you like?"
"Get him red and gold to match his badge," George said, smirking.
"Match his what?" Mrs Weasley said absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron's pile.
"His badge," Fred said, like he wanted to get the worst over quickly. "His lovely shiny new prefect's badge."
It took a moment for Fred's words to penetrate Mrs Weasley's preoccupation with pyjamas.
"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?" George said 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 apparently took no notice; she was too busy hugging Ron around the neck and 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?" Ron said, looking as though he did not dare believe his ears.
"You've got to have a reward for this!" Mrs Weasley said fondly. "How about a nice new set of dress robes?"
"We've already bought him some," Fred said sourly, looking as though he sincerely regretted his generosity.
"Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one's rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers —"
"Mum," Ron said hopefully, "can I have a new broom?"
Mrs Weasley's face fell slightly; broomsticks were expensive.
"Not a really good one!" Ron hastily added. "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 kiss you, do you, Ron?" Fred said in a falsely anxious voice.
"We could curtsey, if you like," George suggested.
"Oh, shut up," Ron said, scowling at them.
"Or what?" Fred said, an evil grin spreading across his face. "Going to put us in detention?"
"I'd love to see him try," George snickered.
"He could if you don't watch out!" Hermione said angrily.
Fred and George's response was to burst out laughing, and Ron muttered, "Drop it, Hermione."
"We're going to have to watch our step, George," Fred said, pretending to tremble, "with these two on our case . . ."
"Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over," George said, shaking his head.
And with another loud crack, the twins Disapparated.
"Those two!" Hermione said furiously, staring up at the ceiling, through which we could hear Fred and George now 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," Ron said doubtfully, also looking upwards. "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 a 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 I alone. Harry wouldn't look at Hermione, however, and instead occupied himself by watching me tap my fingers on my knee.
"Harry?" Hermione said tentatively.
"Well done, Hermione," Harry said, so heartily that it didn't really sound like him. He still wasn't looking at her. "Brilliant. Prefect. Great."
"Thanks," Hermione said, before turning to me. "Er — Rory? You're not . . . upset, are you?"
I shook my head, sending her an assuring smile. "Not at all. You deserve that badge more than me."
Admittedly, I had felt the tiniest twinge of disappointment when I realised that the scarlet and gold badge wasn't in my envelope, but Hermione really did deserve it.
She returned the smile, looking relieved. "Erm — you wouldn't mind if I borrowed Jupiter, would you? So I can tell my Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased — I mean prefect is something they can understand."
"Yeah, go ahead," I said. "You know where his cage is."
Hermione didn't say anything as she left the room, leaving me alone with a sulky-looking Harry. Once the door had shut, he blew a long stream of air from his mouth, gazing at the wardrobe with his mind seemingly in another place.
I bit my lip again when I looked at him, frowning.
"Are —"
"I completely forgot that prefects were chosen this year," Harry said, interrupting me. When he realised this, he looked at me and added, "Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off like that."
I shook my head. "No, you're fine. But I get it — you were nervous about the hearing. It makes sense that prefects weren't the first thing on your mind."
"Yeah, exactly," Harry nodded. "I don't know what I would've expected if I had remembered, though."
"I think . . . you do know," I said cautiously, not wanting to make the situation worse, "but I also don't think it's a bad thing."
Harry screwed up his face and buried it in his hands, an action that tugged at my heart. I scooted closer to him and carefully grabbed his wrists, gently pulling them away and moving to hold his hands instead. Harry opened his eyes again and met mine; he looked almost ashamed, clearly understanding the meaning of what I had just said.
"Really, it's not," I assured him. "You're allowed to be disappointed."
"But it's not like I think I'm better than Ron," Harry said, frowning. "I'm better at Quidditch, yeah, but that's it."
"I know you don't," I said. "Anyone who knows you knows that."
"Yeah," Harry muttered. "I guess it's just that with everything that's happened since first year, Ron and Hermione were there, but not all the time. I mean, you were most of the time — we fought Quirrell, and took on Riddle and the Basilisk — but they weren't there to get rid of the Dementors. They weren't with me in that graveyard when — when Voldemort came back . . ."
"You've definitely been through more than any of us," I said, "there's no doubting that. But maybe that's the reason why Dumbledore and McGonagall chose Ron instead. Not that he's a better person or anything, but that you don't need the stress of being a prefect on top of everything else."
Harry's eyebrows furrowed, like he was thinking hard, before he turned to me again. I was about to ask why he was looking at me like that, but all of a sudden Harry was kissing me. Not that I was complaining, but the amount of affection he had been showing lately was definitely new.
He pulled away a second later, smiling at the surprised expression on my face.
"Thanks, Rory," Harry said.
I tilted my head, confused. "For what?"
"For just . . . always knowing what to say." He let go of one of my hands to reach up and twist a lock of my hair in his fingers. "I really —" Harry stopped himself for a second before continuing. "You're probably the only person that does, and it means a lot that you even care."
It felt like some of the butterflies in my stomach had migrated to my lungs, making it difficult to breathe, let alone form words. In a good way. But there was something else I couldn't think of, even to myself. I settled for leaning up and pressing another short kiss to his lips again.
"Of course I care," I said sincerely. I cared so much I didn't know how to handle it half the time.
Ron's returning footsteps thumped up the stairs again a moment later. Harry dropped his hand from my hair, and I moved slightly to put some space between us. We wouldn't want Ron to come in and complain that we were, in his terms, "gross".
I sent Harry a smile, which he returned, keeping it on 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."
"That's great," I said. He really did deserve the recognition of being prefect, and it was great that he was also finally getting something else that he really wanted.
"Cool," Harry said, his voice significantly more genuine than it had been while talking to Ron earlier. "Listen — Ron — well done, mate."
The smile faded off Ron's face.
"I never thought it would be me!" he said, shaking his head. "I thought it would be you!"
"Nah, I've caused too much trouble," Harry said, echoing Fred and sending another smiling glance in my direction.
"Yeah," Ron said, "yeah, I suppose . . . well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?"
Because I had mostly finished packing already, I didn't have much to do that afternoon until around six o'clock, when Mrs Weasley returned from Diagon Alley. She was laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper that Ron took from her with a moan of longing.
"Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs," she said, but as soon as she was out of sight Ron ripped off the paper in a frenzy and examined every inch of his new broom, an ecstatic expression on his face.
Down in the basement Mrs Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read:
CONGRATULATIONS
RON AND HERMIONE
NEW PREFECTS
She looked in a better mood than I had seen her all holiday.
"I thought we'd have a little party, not a sit-down dinner," she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, Atticus and I as we 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.
Mum, Dad, Sirius, Uncle Remus, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there. Mad-Eye Moody stumped in just as Harry had handed me a Butterbeer.
"Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here," Mrs Weasley said 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 shocking-blue eye swivelled 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," Mrs Weasley beamed, "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?" Moody growled, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swivelling around to gaze into the side of his head. Next to me, Harry shifted uncomfortably, as the magical eye was most likely on him.
"Well, congratulations," Moody said, 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 that she didn't 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 was holding a drink. He raised his goblet. "To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!"
Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them, and then applauded.
"I was never a prefect myself," Tonks said brightly from behind Harry and I as everybody moved towards the table to help themselves to food. Today, her hair was tomato red and waist-length; she looked an awful lot like Ginny's older sister (and possibly mine, though my hair was much less neat). "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."
"Like what?" I asked.
"Like the ability to behave myself," Tonks answered.
I laughed, half at Tonks' answer, and half at Hermione, who looked as though she couldn't decide whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of Butterbeer and choking on it.
"What about you, Dad? Sirius?" I asked, thumping Hermione on the back.
Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual bark-like laugh, and my dad chuckled at his friend's antics.
"Nah, but I was Quidditch captain," Dad said. "Best two years Hufflepuff has ever known."
Sirius smirked. "Ah, but who won the Quidditch Cup?"
"We at least gave Gryffindor a damn good run for their money," Dad retorted.
Shrugging, Sirius said, "Got me there. Anyway, 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 Uncle Remus. "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."
I smiled, amused, and saw that Harry had done the same. Once we moved to begin adding food to our plates, he suddenly nudged me in the side, and at my questioning look, gestured down the table. There, Ginny and Atticus were standing, with Ginny laughing at something my brother had said.
"Are they . . ." Harry trailed off, looking confused.
"I'm surprised you picked up on it," I said, grinning. "I think so."
Harry looked even more adorably puzzled. "You're surprised? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, nothing." With that, I walked away to talk to Ron and his brothers.
"Wait — Rory —"
Ron was rhapsodising about his new broom to anybody who would listen. I joined the conversation just as he was discussing speed.
". . . 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?"
I nodded, taking a sip of my Butterbeer. Just then, Atticus, who had apparently moved on from his talk with Ginny, came up to me and said, "Speaking of broomsticks, er — Rory, could I talk to you?"
"Sure," I agreed. I was slightly confused, but followed him to a less occupied corner of the room nonetheless.
"What's up?"
Att exhaled loudly through his mouth. "I think I'm going to quit playing Quidditch."
"What?" I said; if I was confused before, it was nothing compared to now. "But you love Quidditch — you've been dying to be captain for as long as I can remember."
"I know," Atticus said, "but there's just other stuff I'd rather do now, especially with NEWTS this year."
"Like what?"
If my brother heard my question, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he said, "Listen, I want you to have my old broom. It's that Nimbus Two Thousand and One, and if you want it, it's much better than that old Cleansweep Seven."
"You want me to have it?" I repeated, frowning. "But . . ."
"I won't have any use for it any more," said Att. "Just say you'll take it, Rory."
What was going on?
"I — all right," I said, thoroughly bewildered. "Thanks, I guess."
This time, Att grinned, and ruffled my hair. "You're welcome."
Still not fully comprehending what had just happened, I wandered back over towards the table to stand next to Harry, who looked much less cheerful than he had when I left him.
"What's wrong?" I asked him.
"It's — I'll tell you later," Harry said, turning and looking at me. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I said, "just confused, I think."
Harry nodded, looking like he would rather not be at the little gathering any longer. I set down my plate, no longer hungry, and took hold of his hand. He laced our fingers together without hesitation.
Moody was sniffing at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he couldn't detect any trace of poison, because he soon tore a strip off it with his teeth.
". . . the handle's made of Spanish oak with an anti-jinx varnish and in-built vibration control —" Ron was saying to Tonks.
Mrs Weasley yawned widely.
"Well, I think I'll sort out that Boggart before I turn in . . . Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? Night, Harry, Rory, dears . . ."
And she left the kitchen. Harry stared at the door after she had left, as if he would much rather go to bed himself.
"You all right, Potter?" Moody grunted.
"Yeah, fine," Harry said.
Moody took a swig from his hipflask, his shocking-blue eye staring sideways in our direction.
"Come here, I've got something that might interest you," he said. "You too, Areli."
Harry and I exchanged looks before obliging. From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old photograph.
"Original Order of the Phoenix," Moody growled. "Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one . . . thought people might like to see it."
Harry took the photograph, holding it so that I could see as well. A small crowd of people, some waving, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at us.
"There's me," Moody said, unnecessarily pointing at himself; anyone could tell the little figure in the picture was him. "And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side . . . that's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom —"
When my eyes shifted over to where Moody had indicated, I felt the overwhelming urge to shudder. Alice Longbottom's round, friendly face was almost scarily familiar to me, even though I had never met her, because she was the image of her son, Neville.
"— poor devils," Moody growled. "Better dead than what happened to them . . . and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously . . . Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only found bits of him . . . shift aside there," he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front.
"That's Edgar Bones . . . brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family, too, he was a great wizard . . . Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young . . . Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body . . . Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever . . . ah, your parents, Areli, Amara and Castor, they had just graduated Auror training . . . Elphias Dodge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat . . . Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes . . . budge along, budge along . . ."
The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves and those hidden right at the back appeared forefront in the picture. Including someone I recognised at once, having seen him in many pictures throughout my life.
"That's . . ." I said, not taking my eyes off the little photographic man who was smiling happily up at me.
"Morpheus Areli," said Moody. "You already knew that, of course."
"Yeah," I said softly. Now I was fighting the admittedly silly need to cry at the sight of my uncle. Harry squeezed my hand, and I bit my lip.
"That's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke . . ." Moody went on, "that's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally . . . Sirius, when he still had short hair . . . and . . . there you go, Potter, thought that would interest you!"
I heard Harry suck in the slightest breath, his grip on my hand tightening. It was then that I realised his mother and father (whom I recognised from other pictures) were beaming up at him, sitting on either side of a small, watery-eyed man whom I immediately knew as Wormtail, the one who had led them to their deaths.
"Eh?" Moody said.
Harry looked up at Moody with a look in his eye that I could only describe as disturbed. I moved my free hand to rest on his forearm, hoping to bring some form of comfort. Moody obviously meant well, but it was probably a bit of a shock to see everyone like that, knowing that many of them had been killed shortly after. Even I was slightly unsettled.
"Yeah," Harry said, grinning in a strained sort of way. "Er . . . listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my . . ."
He was spared the trouble of explaining himself when Sirius asked, "What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?" and Moody turned towards him instead.
"I think I'm going to go to bed," Harry muttered to me.
"All right," I said, squeezing his hand. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Rory." Harry leant down to kiss me on the cheek before he crossed the kitchen and slipped through the door before anyone could call him back. I frowned, knowing that he probably needed his space, and decided not to follow.
"Is Harry all right?" said a familiar voice to my right a few minutes later. I turned to see Mum standing there, wearing a concerned expression.
"Yeah, Moody just showed us a picture . . . and his parents were in it."
"I understand," Mum said, nodding. "Why don't you come join us again?"
"I —"
I began to speak, but suddenly, there was shouting from upstairs. Mum and I exchanged alarmed looks, before we both turned and hurried out the door and up the stairs, with Sirius, Uncle Remus and Mad-Eye Moody close behind. The shouts definitely belonged to Harry, and they were accompanied by loud sobbing.
My heart was racing; Mum pushed me behind her and shoved open the door to the drawing room just as Harry was yelling, "Mrs Weasley, just get out of here! Let someone else —"
"What's going on?" Mum demanded, but her strong demeanor soon faltered.
Mrs Weasley was sobbing profusely, and Harry's tense shoulders visibly sagged with relief when we met eyes. When I saw why, my own breath hitched. Lying on the floor was a girl with her unruly, dark red hair fanned around her head, her sea-green eyes open and lifeless. At first, a terrible thought crossed my mind that it might have been Ginny, but I quickly realised that wasn't the case. The dead girl on the floor was me.
"Riddikulus!"
Uncle Remus had pulled out his wand, and recited the spell in a firm, clear tone that snapped me out of my horrified stupor. My body vanished, and a silvery orb hung over the spot where it had lain. Uncle Remus waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke.
"Oh — oh — oh!" Mrs Weasley gulped, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands.
"Oh, Molly," Mum, having composed herself some time before, said bleakly, walking over to her. "Molly, it's all right . . ."
Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on my mother's shoulder.
"Molly, it was just a Boggart," Uncle Remus said soothingly, as Mum patted her hair. "Just a stupid Boggart . . ."
"I see them d — d — dead all the time!" Mrs Weasley moaned into Mum's shoulder. "All the t — t — time! I d — d — dream about it . . ."
My heart clenched at the complete despair in her voice. I looked around to see that Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the Boggart, pretending to be my body, had lain. Moody was looking at Harry, who avoided his gaze, and took a few, faltering steps to stand next to me. I wrapped my hand around his upper arm, slightly leaning into his side.
"D — d — don't tell Arthur," Mrs Weasley now gulped, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. "I d — d — don't want him to know . . . being silly . . ."
"It's not silly at all, Molly," Mum assured her, and Uncle Remus handed her a handkerchief.
"Harry, I'm so sorry. And Rory. What must you think of me?" she said shakily. "Not even able to get rid of a Boggart . . ."
"Don't be stupid," Harry said, clearly attempting a 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 m — m — 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," Mum said, kindly, but firmly. "This isn't like last time. The Order is much better prepared, we've got a head start this time, 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," Uncle Remus spoke up, "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 Amara's right, 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 . . ."
I thought back to the picture, of all those people's happy faces. Mum, Dad, Uncle Mori, Harry's parents, Neville's parents —
"Don't worry about Percy," Sirius said abruptly. "He'll come round. 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," Uncle Remus said, smiling slightly, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?"
Mrs Weasley smiled tremulously.
"Being silly," she muttered again, mopping her eyes.
Mum looked over at Harry and me, her eyes soft.
"Why don't you and Harry go to bed, Rory?"
"All right," I said, glancing up at Harry before we left the room and climbed some of the many flights of stairs.
We got to Harry's room first. When I looked up at him, my chest tightened at the thought of something ever happening to him, or anyone in this house. As morbid as it sounds, it wasn't difficult to imagine his body there on the floor instead of mine, or Hermione's, or Ron's, Ginny's, Atticus', my parents', Cedric's . . .
Squeezing my eyes shut at the thought, I let go of Harry's hand to pull him into a tight embrace. Surprised, it took a second for Harry to hug me back, but his arms soon wrapped around me just as tightly. The familiar, comforting scent of bergamot, broom polish and smoke from the fireplace invaded my senses as I buried my face in his shoulder.
"I don't think she was being silly," I mumbled into Harry's shirt. One of his hands moved up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.
"Neither do I," Harry said.
I was already asleep when Hermione and Ginny came in that night. For once, it was easy for me to slip into unconsciousness, though it was anything but peaceful. My dreams were more abundant than they had been all summer.
Flashes of my uncle's face wove in and out of them, bloody hands, strange glowing orbs full of swirling mist, and worst of all, the familiar, terrifying snakelike face of Lord Voldemort.