\ wherein christmas comes /
"ARE YOU ALRIGHT, HARRY, DEAR?" whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to speak to him as the train rattled along through its dark tunnel. "You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?"
Pheobe glanced over and saw Harry shake his head vigorously before he turned his gaze up to the ceiling, but she thought she had a very good idea of what was going through his head.
And, surprisingly, she didn't truly feel as horrible about finding out she was practically being possessed as Harry seemed to be feeling. After all, it was simply a word that finally described the strange dreams she'd been having for the last year.
"Harry, dear, are you sure you're alright?" said Mrs. Weasley in a worried voice, as they walked around the unkempt patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. "You look ever so pale ... are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now and you can have a couple of hours of sleep before dinner, all right?"
All of them shuffled about the house when the door to the gloomy old house swung open. Pheobe made her way up the stairs to throw on a jumper but stopped abruptly outside Ron and Harry's door when she heard shuffling, knowing full well Ron was helping Ginny with summer homework downstairs, and Harry had been instructed to go to bed.
"Hey, are you decent?" the brunette rapped on the door, waiting half a second before pushing open the door. Her eyes immediately flew to Harry seizing an end of his locked trunk and dragging it towards the door before he met her gaze. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not doing anything," he said, very unbelievingly.
"Don't give me that bullshit," Pheobe said coolly, narrowing her eyes.
"...what? No, no, you've got it all wrong, there's no bullshit, really-"
"Hey," in two quick steps Pheobe strode over to Harry and took his hands gently. "You told me to be more open with you last year, now it's your turn."
"...it's, well, it's just-"
"It is simply that Mr. Harry Potter is running away," said a snide voice, making Pheobe jump away from Harry in shock and look around.
Phineas Nigellus had appeared on the canvas of his portrait and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry and her with an amused expression on his face.
"He's what?" Pheobe spun towards Harry with raised eyebrows.
"No, I'm not running away," said Harry shortly, avoiding Phoebe's gaze as he dragged his trunk a few more feet across the room.
"I thought," said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, "that to belong in Gryffindor house you were supposed to be brave? It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks."
"It's not my own neck I'm saving," said Harry tersely, tugging the trunk over a patch of particularly uneven, moth-eaten carpet right in front of the door.
"Then who's neck do you think you're saving, Harry Potter?" Pheobe shot.
"Oh, I see," said Phineas Nigellus, still stroking his beard, "this is no cowardly flight--you are being noble."
"Harry-"
"I have a message for the two of you from Albus Dumbledore," said Phineas Nigellus lazily as Harry began to twist the doorknob.
Harry spun round and, piquing Phoebe's interest, she whirled towards the portrait.
"What is it?"
"'Stay where you are.'"
"I haven't moved!' said Harry, his hand still upon the doorknob. "So what's the message?"
"I have just given it to you, dolt," said Phineas Nigellus smoothly. "Dumbledore says, 'Stay where you are.'"
"Why?" Pheobe asked suddenly, "why here? What else did he say-"
"Nothing whatsoever," said Phineas Nigellus, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found the teenagers impertinent.
Pheobe's temper suddenly rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. She was exhausted, she was confused beyond measure, she had experienced terror, relief, then terror again in the last twelve hours, she was trying to deal with an idiot on the verge of running away, and Dumbledore still had to be a git?
"So that's it, is it?" she exclaimed. "'Stay where you are'?"
"That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those dementors, too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!" Harry snapped.
"You know," said Phineas Nigellus as Pheobe rolled her eyes irritably, "this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No. No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognise danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realise what the Dark Lord may be planning--"
"If you hated being a teacher, why become a headmaster?" Asked Pheobe loudly. "Besides, if he's planning to do something-"
"Did I say that?" said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. "Now...if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to adolescents agonizing over the simply horrible fact that they survived death and must face the challenge of life that seven billion people face ... good- day to you."
And he strolled to the edge of his frame and out of sight.
"Fine, go then!" Harry bellowed at the empty frame. "And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!" Pheobe waited a moment before swearing under her breath and turning to meet Harry's gaze.
"You need to calm down and take a breath. I don't know what's going on in that stupid brain of yours, Harry, but let me tell you, running away isn't the answer."
"I'm not-"
"Look, quite frankly, I don't care. Run away, Harry," Pheobe said finally, making Harry blink at her in surprise. "but the people here are your home. Not Hogwarts, not the Dursleys, and sure as hell not wherever you plan on taking off to. Why would you want to give them up?"
"Because I could save all of your lives!" Harry said firmly.
"You do you, Harry," Pheobe backed away, her arms raised in surrender. "But I know you. And you'll come back no matter what."
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
Everybody besides Harry spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. The last time Pheobe had seen her father this happy was before she had time-traveled; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas.
Around six o'clock in the evening, the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Pheobe huffed and stalked over to the portrait, wanting to just tell her grandmother to kindly shut the hell up, before the door swung open and in came a girl with bushy, snowflake-covered hair, and rosy cheeks. Pheobe suddenly forgot all about her grandmother screaming and sprinted to the girl, throwing her into a hug.
"Pheobe!" Hermione grinned, hugging her sister back, "you've only been gone a couple of days, has it really been that bad without me?"
"Of course, my darling Hermione, life is an absolute mess without your brawny brains here to save the day," Pheobe sighed dramatically. "Come on, I've cleaned our room and everything."
"You cleaned? Impressive," Hermione raised her eyebrows as the pair began to haul Hermione's suitcase up two flights of stairs.
"So, how's it going with the Weasley's and the adoption thing?"
"No response yet, but it doesn't matter. I'll be here when it comes."
"Alright...and how're you and Harry?" Hermione asked teasingly, rolling her trunk into the bedroom and beginning to unpack.
"Er, fine, I suppose?"
"You and I both know what I really mean," Hermione said irritably. "Look-"
"Helloo," said a voice as a lanky redhead strode into the bedroom. "Skiing wasn't as brilliant as you said, I expect?"
"No, Ron," said Hermione haughtily, "it was really good." But Ron was laughing too much to have heard her.
"Where's Harry?" Ron asked finally, grinning.
"With Buckbeak, of course," Pheobe scoffed, "prefers the hippogriff to us, I think."
"Who wouldn't," smirked a voice as the three turned to Fred, standing in the doorway, "hello, hermit. Nice time skiing?" Hermione scoffed loudly.
"It was very enjoyable."
"Expectable," Fred grinned, "Ron, Mum says she's going to light your room on fire." Ron raised an eyebrow.
"Why do I not believe that?"
"No idea. See you around, kids." And with that, he Disapparated with an echoing crack.
"She wouldn't light your room on fire, Ron, she's probably lit a fire," Pheobe sighed, "c'mon, it's kind of cold here anyways, might as well go somewhere warm."
"I'll come with, I'm interested in knowing why Harry would prefer a hippogriff to people- I mean, Ron, I understand-"
"Oi!"
"But Pheobe, I do not understand." Ron cleared his throat dramatically.
"He doesn't prefer a hippogriff to Pheobe, he prefers her to all of us, to be honest- thing is, yesterday they got into some kind of argument-"
"Disagreement-"
"And now he doesn't want to talk to her for a reason which even we don't know because Pheobe refuses to tell us." he finished. Pheobe crossed her arms sourly.
"It's his choice to tell you if he wants, willingly."
"Did he tell you willingly what he was thinking yesterday?" Ron shot.
"No, my fucking dead relative did," she snapped. Ron blinked and Pheobe hastily took the chance to change the topic. "Hermione, Harry's been shut up in there because last night- last night we heard from the Order that Harry and I- we're- we're possessed." Hermione looked barely surprised, if not bemused.
"Well, I mean, no shit, it was kind of obvious," she said loftily. Pheobe paused.
"Did- did Hermione just swear, Ron?"
"Think she did," said Ron hollowly, gaping at the bushy-haired girl before him.
"I mean, think about it, you can't Apparate out, and it wasn't a dream, and so it had to be something in between-"
"...okay, well, why not just tell us we were possessed?"
"Well, I wasn't sure about it, but now I am," Hermione shrugged. Pheobe stared at her sister.
"Okay. Okay, okay. Cool. Then, since you know, you can go up and drag Harry to Ron and his room, and Ron and I'll go up there just in case Fred took the matters of lighting Ron's room on fire into his own hands."
"Yeah, okay," Ron said, still looking shaken. Pheobe, Ron, and Hermione swiftly left the bedroom, and Hermione headed upstairs as Ron and Pheobe went to the latter's bedroom, only to find Ginny sitting on the bed, holding a tray of sandwiches.
"Ham and cheese," Ginny said, offering the plate to the two. Ron took it eagerly but Pheobe eyed it cautiously.
"It's not poisoned, is it?" she asked warily. Ginny laughed weakly.
"No, Mum sent these up. If I ever make sandwiches, though, you'd best worry- I can't cook for shit, I might've accidentally poisoned them." Pheobe grinned, rolling her eyes as she sat down beside Ron on the floor.
"I'm okay, rather not take the risk, though, thanks."
"More for me," said Ron with his mouth full. Hermione and Harry just then entered the bedroom, the door swinging shut behind them. Harry opened his mouth to speak up but Hermione quickly spoke before he could.
"I came on the Knight Bus," she said airily, "Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for the term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's and he'd given you all permission to visit. So ..."
She sat down next to Ginny, and the three girls and Ron all looked up at Harry.
"How're you feeling?" asked Hermione.
"Fine," said Harry stiffly.
"Oh don't lie, Harry," she said impatiently, cutting to the chase. "Ron and Pheobe say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."
"They do, do they?" said Harry bitterly, glaring at Pheobe and Ron. Ron looked down at his sandwich, looking slightly guilty, but Pheobe looked quite unbothered.
"Well you have," Pheobe said pointedly. "Won't even look at us anymore."
"It's you lot who won't look at me!" he snapped back.
"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other," suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.
"Very funny," muttered Harry, crossing his arms.
"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," said Hermione sharply. "Look, they've told me what you overheard last night-"
"Yeah?" growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it."
"We wanted to talk to you, Harry," said Pheobe, "but as you've been hiding ever since we got back--"
"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," said Harry, who was feeling more and more nettled.
"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," Ginny burst out finally, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who before, and I can tell you how it feels."
Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled round.
"I forgot."
"Lucky you," said Ginny coolly.
"I'm sorry," said Harry, sounding like he meant it, "so ... so, do you think I'm being possessed, then?"
"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?" Ginny asked. "Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"
Harry racked his brains.
"No," he said.
"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you," said Ginny simply. "When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."
Pheobe, listening aptly, hardly dared to believe her, but at the same time a small thought in the back of her brain made her realize that she had been right- everything would be- kind of- okay.
"That dream we had about your dad and the snake, though--"
"Harry, you've had these dreams before," Hermione said. "You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year. And Pheobe's been having them loads longer than you."
"This was different, though," Harry countered, "I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake ... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London--?"
"One day," said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, "you'll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps it will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry."
"You didn't leave your bed, mate," said Ron. "I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up."
Harry started pacing up and down the room again, thinking. Suddenly he took a sandwich from the tray Ginny had set on the bed and shoved it into his mouth, looking slowly more relieved by the second.
They heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing 'God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs' at the top of his voice.
By the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognizable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius and Pheobe's family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards. Everyone was in good spirits that night, especially Harry, who went to bed in his and Ron's room with grand plans of how he would burst the question to Pheobe the next day.
Pheobe awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of her bed with Hermione throwing her a box.
"Merry Christmas!" Hermione grinned as Pheobe ducked to avoid the box hitting her head.
"Yeah, thanks, 'Mione, happy Christmas- what is this?"
"You'll see." Pheobe raised an eyebrow as she tore into the box and nearly laughed when she saw a homework planner inside. Hermione didn't waste a second in telling Pheobe all about it. "I've charmed it to yell at you if you don't get your stuff done, so you'll be on top of your homework in no time, and-"
"Thanks, Hermione," Pheobe chuckled, shaking her head as the two girls tore into their stack of gifts excitedly, both brunettes forgetting about school and O.W.L.s and Umbridge for a little while as they smiled and enjoyed their gifts.
From her godfather, Pheobe had received a pack of Chocolate Frogs along with some Muggle fiction books that she swore to get started on reading right away.
Her father had gifted her a set of brilliant books titled 'Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts,' which had moving illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described. Pheobe flicked through the first volume eagerly; she could see it was going to be highly useful in her and Harry's plans for the DA. Hagrid had sent a furry brown purse that had fangs, which Pheobe guessed was supposed to help it be an anti-theft device, but the fangs prevented Pheobe putting any money in without getting her fingers ripped off. Tonks's present to her was a small bottle that looked like it was full of silver nail polish, but Pheobe read the small lettering on the bottle before using it to find out she had been correct in being wary about it; the "nail polish" had a charm where if there was a drop spilled on the floor, it would create a portal to any place Pheobe thought of.
"It's kind of like Apparition," said Hermione thoughtfully, "except it's not as hard."
"Brilliant, I'll be able to leave Hogwarts in the middle of the night to go buy crisps."
From Fred and George, Pheobe had received a set of brilliantly colored toffees which each had a different wrapper that stated the use of each one (one deep red one was stated to supposedly set someone on fire, and Hermione nearly threw it out the window.) Ron had given her a white sweater that came with a note saying 'sorry about the ink :)' along with a box of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Pheobe had just opened up a box from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley when she heard two raps on the door.
"Come in," said Hermione, opening a box of Chocolate Frogs on her own bed.
"Hello, ladies," smirked a voice. Pheobe looked up to see Fred, George, and Ginny at the door; George was wearing a maroon sweater with the letter 'G' which was two sizes too small for him, Fred was wearing a silver sweater that had the letter 'P' embroidered on it, also much too small for the lanky boy to fit, and Ginny was rolling her eyes in a large green sweater that had the letter 'G' on it.
"Um- why?" was all Pheobe could say, frowning. "Ginny and George- oh, I see- what happened, a little mix-up?"
"Yeah, Mum's totally out of it," sighed George, "but I love this sweater." Ginny scowled.
"George, give me my sweater back."
"Mum gave it to me!"
"Hang on," Hermione said with furrowed eyebrows, "I get the 'G' and 'G'...but why does Fred have one with 'P'?"
"No idea," shrugged Fred, "but I'm keeping it." Pheobe pursed her lips, looking from Fred and his sweater to the sweater in her own box with the letter 'F' on it.
"Fred, that's mine-"
"Mum gave it to me, Pheobe-"
"Does your name start with a 'P'?" Pheobe shot with a grin.
"Yeah! And yours starts with an 'F'- see, F-E-E-B-E and P-H-R-E-D." Pheobe scoffed.
"Okay, keep a small sweater, then, I'm alright with one too big."
"See, was that so hard?" Fred grinned pointedly.
"Easier than it was for you to pull on that sweater," Pheobe shot with a roll of her eyes, pulling the blue sweater over her head.
"Anyways, we came here to tell you not to go downstairs for a bit," said Ginny finally.
"How come?"
"Mum's crying again," said Fred heavily. "Percy sent back his Christmas jumper."
"Without a note," George added, "hasn't asked how Dad is or visited or anything."
"We tried to comfort her," said Fred, moving around the bed to look at the silver bottle Pheobe had set on her dresser. "Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings."
"Didn't work," said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. "So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon."
"What's that anyways, someone gifted you one bottle of nail polish?" asked Fred, squinting at the bottle. Pheobe grinned.
"Wouldn't you like to know. Speaking of, does that red toffee actually set people on fire?"
"Absolutely," George said promptly. "Feel free to use it on Malfoy any time you like, we've gifted you a get-out-of-detention-free card, too."
"Is it valid?" Pheobe cocked an eyebrow, holding up the slip of paper with bad handwriting that stated the owner would be free to leave detention.
"Hand-signed by Professor Flitwick."
"Willingly?"
"That's completely besides the point."
After the twins and Ginny had left, Hermione picked up a neatly wrapped present before the two of them made their way downstairs, where they met up with Harry and Ron.
"Happy Christmas," Pheobe said brightly to the two.
"Yeah, Happy Christmas to you too," said Ron, "thanks for the Chudley Cannons sweater, by the way, Pheobe."
"Yeah, of course, Ron- thanks for that sweater."
"Oh yes, thanks for the book, Harry," Hermione said happily. "I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron."
"No problem," said Ron. "Who's that for, anyway?" he added, nodding at the present she was carrying.
"Kreacher," Hermione said happily.
"It had better not be clothes," Ron warned her. "You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!"
"It isn't clothes," said Hermione, "although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom."
"What bedroom?" whispered Pheobe and Harry as they passed the portrait of Phoebe's grandmother.
"Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of--den," said Hermione. "Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen."
Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them 'Merry Christmas', and they all averted their eyes.
"So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?" said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry.
"Yes," said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. "Er ... I think we'd better knock."
Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.
"He must be sneaking around upstairs," he said, and without further ado pulled open the door. "Urgh!"
Pheobe peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night.
Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and mouldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Pheobe guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer.
Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at her haughtily, including--she felt a little jolt in her stomach--Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favourite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape.
"I think I'll just leave his present here," said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine."
"Come to think of it," said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, "has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?"
"I haven't seen him since the night we came back here," said Harry. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."
"Yeah..." said Sirius, frowning. "You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too ... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere."
"He couldn't have left, could he?" asked Pheobe, "I mean, when you said 'out', maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?"
"No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house," said Sirius.
"They can leave the house if they really want to," Harry contradicted him. "Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it."
"And on top of that," Phoebe added suddenly, "family's house can mean any Black, including Narcissa Black or Bellatrix Black's house. What if he went to either of their places-?"
Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, "I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over your grandmother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died ... but I mustn't get my hopes up."
Fred, George and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.
"Oh, forget them," said Hermione as she, Harry, Pheobe, and Ron left the room, "I'm curious to know what your Christmas gifts to each other were." she was pointedly watching Harry and Pheobe.
"Oh, I didn't- I haven't given mine yet," Pheobe said.
"Yeah, I- I thought I'd give it...later." Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. Hermione wiggled her eyebrows at Pheobe but didn't press the matter further, to their luck.
"How come you're wearing Fred's sweater?" Ron asked suddenly, noticing Phoebe's blue knit massive sweater.
"He refuses to give me mine," Pheobe sighed, "it's a long story."
Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry, Pheobe, and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to 'borrow' a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Pheobe doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting inside--Pheobe knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of travelling without magic--but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill with good grace.
The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Pheobe and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.
The reception area looked pleasantly festive: the crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been coloured red and gold to become gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway; and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each one topped with a gleaming gold star. It was less crowded than the last time they had been there, although halfway across the room Pheobe found herself shunted aside by a witch with a satsuma jammed up her left nostril.
"Family argument, eh?" smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. "You're the third I've seen today ... Spell Damage, fourth floor."
They found Mr Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.
"Everything all right, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.
"Fine, fine," said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. "You--er--haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"
"No," said Mrs Weasley suspiciously, "why?"
"Nothing, nothing," said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Pheobe- this is absolutely wonderful!" the redhaired man had just opened up a box on the top of his pile to see the gift from Pheobe; a toaster. "I've seen these before- they're the things that give away hot bread, aren't they?" Pheobe had to hide a smile and Harry snorted but quickly turned it into a cough behind her.
"Yeah, Mr. Weasley," she said, "they...give away hot bread."
Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Pheobe's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.
"Arthur," she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."
"What?" said Mr Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. "No, no--it's nothing--it's--I--"
He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze.
"Well--now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea ... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in ... um ... complementary medicine ... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies ... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on--on Muggle wounds--"
Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.
"Do you mean to tell me," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"
"Not messing about, Molly, dear," said Mr. Weasley imploringly, "it was just--just something Pye and I thought we'd try--only, most unfortunately--well, with these particular kinds of wounds--it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped--"
"Meaning?"
"Well ... well, I don't know whether you know what--what stitches are?"
"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid --"
"You know, I'd like a cup of tea as well," Phoebe said quickly as she leapt to her feet.
Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with her. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA'?"
"Typical Dad," said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. "Stitches ... I ask you ..."
"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," said Hermione fairly. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?"
"Fifth floor," said Pheobe, remembering the sign at the entrance to the hospital.
They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.
"And what's that supposed to be?" he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.
"'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now--"
"Watch who you're calling gruesome!" said Ron, his ears turning red.
"--the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes--"
"I have not got spattergroit!"
"But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master--"
"They're freckles!" said Ron furiously. "Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"
He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces.
"What floor's this?"
"I think it's the fifth," said Hermione.
"Nah, it's the fourth," said Harry, "one more--"
But as he stepped on to the landing he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.
"Blimey!" said Ron, also staring at the man.
"Oh, my goodness," said Hermione suddenly, sounding breathless. "Professor Lockhart."
"Professor-?" Pheobe blinked. "Oh, the obliviated one-"
"Well, hello there!" the man said. "I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"
"Er- how are you, Professor?" asked Ron, sounding guilty.
"I'm very well indeed, thank you!' said Lockhart exuberantly, palling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"
"And look, Broderick, you've been sent a pot plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?" said a Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. "And--oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"
Pheobe's head span round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakeably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed--Neville.
With a sudden rush of understanding, Pheobe realised who the people in the end beds must be. She cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name 'Longbottom', and before Pheobe could stop him had called out, "Neville!"
Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him.
"It's us, Neville!" said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. "Have you seen--? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"
"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all.
Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.
"Ah, yes," said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shrivelled, clawlike hand for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."
"Er- thanks," said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but surveyed his own feet, the colour deepening in his face all the while.
"And you two are clearly Weasleys," Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. "Yes, I know your parents--not well, of course--but fine people, fine people ... you must be Hermione Granger?"
"Yes," said Hermione, sounding startled that the witch knew her name but shook her hand all the same.
"Yes, Neville's told me all about you...smart girl...and you must be Pheobe Black?" Pheobe raised an eyebrow at the woman's tone which had suddenly become defensive.
"Yeah, hi-"
"I know all about you, obviously," she said snippily, "you and your family." Pheobe sighed.
"Mrs. Longbottom, I promise you, I'm not who you think I am-"
"So you aren't a mass murderer? A relative of Bellatrix Lestrange herself? The woman who hurt my son and his wife?" Pheobe blinked, opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again.
"What?" asked Ron suddenly, "woman who- what? Is that your dad down there, Neville?"
"What's this?" said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?"
Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.
'Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"
"I'm not ashamed," said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Pheobe and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.
"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" said Mrs. Longbottom. "My son and his wife," she said, turning haughtily to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Pheobe, and Ginny, "were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers. Namely," she narrowed her eyes at Pheobe, "her relative."
Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified.
"They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community," Mrs Longbottom went on. "Highly gifted, the pair of them. I--yes, Alice dear, what is it?"
Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Pheobe had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.
"Again?" said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well-- Neville, take it, whatever it is."
But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.
"Very nice, dear," said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.
But Neville said quietly, "Thanks, Mum."
His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Pheobe did not think she'd ever found anything less funny in her life.
"Well, we'd better get back," sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. "Very nice to have met most of you. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now."
But as they left, Pheobe was sure she saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket.
The door closed behind them.
"I never knew," said Hermione, who looked tearful.
"Nor did I," said Ron rather hoarsely.
"Nor me," whispered Ginny.
They all looked at Harry and Pheobe.
"I did," Harry said glumly. "Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone ... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."
"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" whispered Hermione, horrified. "That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?"
There was a long silence, broken by Lockhart's angry voice.
"Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!"
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
Night approached on Christmas day with everyone still having fun and laughing as they enjoyed the holiday indoors with Wizards Chess, crackers, a mountain of sugary treats, and seeing Mrs. Longbottom give her son a candy wrapper just a memory,
"Alright," said Mrs. Weasley finally after a few more hours of blasting Christmas songs and playing games, "time for bed, children."
"Okay, Mum," responded Ginny tiredly as Pheobe looked over and saw Fred and George already fast asleep on the couch.
"G'night, guys," said Ron heavily as he and the half-asleep twins trudged up the stairs.
"Yeah, night you lot," Ginny disappeared up the staircase with a yawn.
"Night Pheobe, Harry." said Hermione, getting to her feet.
"Oh, wait up, 'Mione, I'm coming-"
"Actually," Hermione grinned, "you're not. Night." and with that, the brunette dashed up the stairs.
"What's that supposed to be about?" Pheobe frowned, turning to Harry who was grinning sheepishly.
"Well...I had this- this idea, you know-"
"God, Potter, what've you done now?" Pheobe rolled her eyes. "I'm tired, Harry- I'll see you in the morning, yeah-?"
"Can you come with me?" Harry blurted out. Pheobe raised an eyebrow and surveyed him for a second.
"Sure."
Within moments the two of them wound up outside the door to the Blacks' library, Harry grinning like a child.
"Aren't you going to start telling me there's no need to go to the library at midnight?" He prompted.
"It's the library, Harry," Pheobe said through a yawn, "I love them as much as I love- er, beef wellington."
"You were about to say me," Harry said teasingly, but continued, "go on, open the door." Pheobe put a hand to the old gold doorknob and pushed the door open.
"What?" Pheobe asked, seeing nothing different about the room but still falling in love with every book she hadn't read yet all over again.
"I got you something," started Harry with a smile, entering the library as the door swung shut behind him, "for Christmas."
"Oh, Harry, you didn't have to get me anything- that book you gave me at our last DA meeting was more than enough-"
"Take it," Harry grinned, pushing the small box into her hands. Pheobe hesitated for a moment before letting her curiosity take the better of her, and she gently unwrapped it to see a small book titled 'Romeo and Juliet'.
"...oh, Harry-"
"Open it," he prodded eagerly. Pheobe sighed with a smile and flipped it open, surprised to see words, underlines, and highlights in every page.
"What's this?"
"Well, I remembered how you told me that they both die in the end," Harry began, "so I changed it a little."
"You- you changed Shakespeare's writing? For me?" Pheobe smiled bashfully, flipping through the pages and reading the replaced writing he had scribbled in. "Well, we really are stupid, aren't we?"
"How do you reckon?"
Pheobe smirked and pulled a little box out of the pocket of her hoodie. Harry took it gently and opened it to reveal her Christmas gift to him- a book named 'Othello'.
"Shakespeare," Harry noted.
"Yeah," Pheobe shook her head with a small laugh, "in the end, the "hero" kills his wife 'cause of jealousy...but I made a few changes."
"Really?"
"Great minds think alike. Although, why Romeo and Juliet?"
"Well, after you got mad at me about it...I read it." Pheobe blinked. "And I- I fell in love with it. It's my favorite book now- besides the dying part- and- and obviously, I knew you read it, so along with the changes I made, I also added some- some notes, some of my thoughts- I don't know, I just thought it'd be cool to do, like, you're kind of seeing my thoughts on this-" Harry said as Pheobe smiled to herself, watching his lit up emerald eyes as he rambled passionately. "I know, it's kind of stupid-"
"It's not stupid." Pheobe said firmly.
"Yeah, but maybe you'll read it and think to yourself 'oh, a toad could've given me this' and then you'll be disappointed and-"
"Harry-"
"And then you'll decide 'well okay screw Harry let me go to, like, some other really really hot guy who gives got presents-'"
"Harry. I love it." Pheobe said over his rambling, gently intertwining their fingers. "And...I love you. Just a bit, though, don't get your head all bloated up..." Harry looked down at her, a hopeful twinkle in his eyes.
"You mean it?"
"No, obviously," Pheobe scoffed mockingly, pulling back. "I hate this book because it's the most bloody thoughtful and amazing gift anyone's ever given me, and I hate you and your stupid adorable smile, and the stupid way your eyes light up when-" Harry didn't let her finish and instead leaned down and crashed his lips onto hers. Pheobe's hands were tangled in Harry's hair as his arms dropped down to fit snugly around her waist, and this time, there wasn't an entire common room waiting to open the door and interrupt them, nor was Ron standing on the other side of the door, ready to barge in.
When they finally broke apart, both of them blushing furiously, Pheobe kissed him once more before putting a gap of cold air between them. Harry grinned as he ran a hand through his hair cockily, and Pheobe had the strange suspicion he had something up his sleeve.
"Truth or dare?" he asked. Pheobe furrowed her eyebrows, studying him for a second.
"Dare."
"Alright, I dare you to say 'yes' to whatever I say next."
"...what are you doing-?"
"Will you be my girlfriend?" he asked quickly. Pheobe paused, her eyes wide.
"Look, that's not even remotely fair- you can't just- that's not- bloody-" she stammered as Harry grinned.
"Look, just know that if you go for no, you're going to have to sit through this entire speech I wrote on why we should date."
"You're ridiculous," Pheobe finally spluttered out, "I've been telling you for months that we're supposed to stay friends-" before she could continue, Harry pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers for a few seconds before pulling back to study her reaction.
He watched with an amused expression on his face as Pheobe's cheeks flushed red, though she held his gaze firmly.
"That doesn't look like friends to me," he said, nodding towards her blush, his green eyes glowing. "Come on, just admit that you're dreadfully in love with me."
"Jesus, fine, I'm completely in love with you, but...look, what's your definition of boyfriend and girlfriend, Harry?" Pheobe sighed, leaning against a nightstand.
"I dunno...spending time with each other, talking about deep shit, talking to each other everyday, making out at random times-"
"I'm going to ignore that last one," Pheobe rolled her eyes, "but Harry, which of those do we not already do?"
"You talk to other guys," he pointed out. Pheobe raised her eyebrows.
"Cho. Chang."
"Fine, but I don't try to date them, or- or pretend to date them."
"You want me to stop dating or pretend-dating people? Fine, I can do that-"
"No, it's just- being in a relationship means you- you care about each other, and people like Theodore fucking Nott know that they can't hit on you-" he added the last part in a low voice, which Pheobe caught quickly, staring at him in surprise.
"He does not hit on me-"
"It means you- it means we're official. It means we're each other's person." Harry said finally. Pheobe paused.
"Alright, how about this. We'll do everything a boyfriend and girlfriend do- yes, you idiot, even snogging every once in a while- but we won't be official."
"Why?"
"'Cause Umbridge is fucking lurking around everywhere, and I don't want a Rita fanatic all up in my business," Pheobe said plainly. "Deal?"
"Fine. So basically, we're dating in secret." he said decidedly.
"No, because that would mean lying to everyone we love," Pheobe said pointedly. "I cannot lie to Hermione or Draco. They legitimately know everything." Harry wrinkled his nose.
"Are you implying you love Malfoy-"
"He's my cousin!" Pheobe said with a roll of her eyes. "You know, when we do start real-dating, you're going to learn how to get along with him...what?" she frowned, realizing Harry had been grinning cockily at her as she trailed off.
"You said when we start real-dating, not if."
"Oh, sod off," Pheobe muttered, staring intently at the shelf beside her as her cheeks flushed even redder.
"Remember that day you came down and Hermione was teaching me french?" Harry began, crossing his arms and peering at her over the brim of his glasses.
"...er, yeah, vaguely," said Pheobe with a frown, recalling how hurt she'd been that her friends had been hanging out without her. "You wanted to...er, what was it- ask for a bit of cheese, right?"
"Not really," Harry scoffed, grinning, "Hermione was actually weirdly brilliant at lying...no, I wanted to learn, well." He took a deep breath before saying, "j'aime la façon dont tes yeux s'illuminent quand tu es vraiment heureux, j'aime ton sourire quand quelqu'un fait quelque chose pour toi auquel tu ne t'attendais pas. J'aime la façon dont vos joues deviennent toutes rouges quand vous êtes vraiment heureux et vraiment choqué en même temps, j'aime que personne n'ait jamais eu à vous demander de l'aide, vous les avez juste immédiatement aidés. J'aime ton bon cœur et l'éclat de tes yeux et je t'aime." He'd stuttered over several parts and mixed up a few of the words, his face flushed, but Pheobe understood it all.
(I love the way your eyes light up when you're really happy, I love your smile when someone does something for you that you didn't expect. I love how your cheeks turn all red when you're really happy and really shocked at the same time, I love that no one ever had to ask you for help, you just helped them immediately. I love your good heart and the sparkle in your eyes and I love you.)
*author sobbing in the background*
for one of the very few times in her life, Pheobe was completely speechless. She genuinely was at a loss for words. Not only was he one of the first people to notice any of those things, but he was the first person to ever learn French just to tell her he loved her, and Pheobe knew he would tell her that in all the languages if that was possible.
...but she found that sometimes actions spoke louder than words.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
Kreacher, it transpired, had been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, no doubt looking for more relics of the Black family to hide in his cupboard. Though Sirius seemed satisfied with this story, it made Pheobe uneasy. Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood on his reappearance, his bitter muttering had subsided somewhat and he submitted to orders more docilely than usual, though once or twice Pheobe caught the house-elf staring at her avidly, but always looking quickly away whenever he saw that Pheobe had noticed.
Pheobe did not mention her vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over. As the date of their departure back to Hogwarts drew nearer, her father became more and more prone to what Mrs. Weasley called 'fits of the sullens', in which he would become taciturn and grumpy, often withdrawing to Buckbeak's room for hours at a time. His gloom seeped through the house, oozing under doorways like some noxious gas, so that almost everyone got infected by it.
On the very last day of the holidays, however, something happened that made Pheobe's mood plummet to the bottom of hell.
"Harry, Pheobe," said Mrs. Weasley poking her head into Ron and Harry's bedroom, where the pair of them were playing Wizard's chess, watched by Pheobe, Hermione, Ginny, and Crookshanks, "could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you."
Harry did not immediately register what she had said; one of his castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron's and he was egging it on enthusiastically. Pheobe frowned and looked up from the game.
"Sorry, what did you say, Mrs. Weasley?"
"Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word."
Pheobe's mouth fell open in horror. She looked around at Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at her. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully on to the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices. Pheobe saw her own shock reflected in Harry's face.
"Snape?" Harry repeated blankly.
"Professor Snape, dear," said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."
"What's he want with you two?" said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room. "You haven't done anything, have you?"
"No!" said Harry and Pheobe indignantly, both of them racking their brains to think what they could have done to make Snape pursue them to Grimmauld place.
A minute or two later, Harry pushed open the kitchen door to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.
Pheobe cleared her throat loudly because she couldn't figure out a better way to announce their presence.
Snape looked around at her, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair.
"Sit down, Lupin."
Pheobe didn't realize he'd referred to her for a moment, but when Remus, who had been standing in the corner of the room with a steaming mug of tea in his hands, nodded to her, she felt a small bubble of pride in her chest as she took a seat. Her mother had had three different last names; Lupin, Wilson, Black, and now Granger, but Pheobe had never really connected with the last names Wilson or Black, as they'd always tied her to her father and reminded her of her less-than-ideal childhood, but being connected to Remus Lupin- not only her favorite marauder but also the one she related to the most- she couldn't help but feel pride she hadn't felt when she found out that she was the daughter to Sirius Black.
"You know," said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see. And, my daughter."
An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Pheobe sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table while Harry sat on her other side.
"I was supposed to see you alone, Lupin, Potter," said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, "but Black-"
"I'm their father and godfather," Sirius said loudly, seemingly unbothered by Snape referring to his daughter as Lupin.
"I am here on Dumbledore's orders." said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel ... involved."
"What's that supposed to mean?" said Sirius, letting his chair fall back on to all four legs with a loud bang.
"Merely that I am sure you must feel--ah--frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful," Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, "for the Order."
It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry.
"The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, Lupin, that it is his wish for you both to study Occlumency this term."
"Study what?" said Harry blankly.
Snape's sneer became more pronounced.
"Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.
"Why?" Pheobe asked, her eyebrows furrowing.
"Because the Headmaster thinks it a good idea," said Snape smoothly. "You will both receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"
"Yes," said Harry, "who's going to be teaching us?"
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"I am," he said.
For a moment Pheobe wondered if her insides were melting.
Extra lessons with Snape--what on earth had she done to deserve this? She looked quickly round at Sirius for support.
"Why can't Dumbledore teach them?" asked Sirius aggressively. "Why you?"
"I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," said Snape silkily. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He got to his feet. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. Lupin, five o' clock on Wednesday. If anybody asks, you are taking remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them."
He turned to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.
"Wait," Pheobe said suddenly, "we're having it separate?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because that is what Dumbledore said and it is most convenient so that I do not have to spend an hour with two temperamental teenagers in one sitting," Snape responded smoothly.
"Hang on a minute," said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Snape turned back to face them, sneering.
"I am in rather a hurry, Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time."
"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Pheobe noticed, balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Pheobe was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give either of them a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."
"How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that they both are very like their fathers?"
"Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly.
"Well then, you'll know they're both so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off of them," Snape said sleekly.
Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table towards Snape, pulling out his wand as he went. Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand-tip to his face.
"Dad!" Pheobe said loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear her.
"I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better--"
"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take very seriously the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months?"
"Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"
"Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform ... gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?"
Sirius raised his wand.
"NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them. "Sirius, don't!"
"Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge.
"Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.
"Harry--get-- out--of--it!" snarled Sirius, pushing him aside with his free hand.
"Sirius Black!" Pheobe shouted, doing nothing to deter the man.
The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pyjamas covered by a mackintosh.
"Cured!" he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. "Completely cure..."
He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking towards the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces, Harry immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each, trying to force them apart, and Pheobe staring at the three of them from a safe distance away.
"Merlin's beard," said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, "what's going on here?"
Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Harry looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, yet the unexpected entrance of so many witnesses seemed to have brought them to their senses. Snape pocketed his wand, turned on his heel and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment. At the door he looked back.
"Six o' clock, Monday evening, Potter."
And he was gone. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side.
"What's been going on?" asked Mr. Weasley again.
"Nothing, Arthur," said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. "Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends." With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. "So ... you're cured? That's great news, really great."
"Yes, isn't it?" said Mrs. Weasley, leading her husband forward to a chair. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?" she added, rather menacingly.
"Yes, Molly dear," said Mr. Weasley meekly.
That night's meal should have been a cheerful one, with Mr. Weasley back amongst them, yet Pheobe felt separated from everyone, internally praying Occlumency wasn't as horrible as it sounded. But more than that, she wanted to talk to Sirius, to tell him he shouldn't listen to a word Snape said, that Snape was goading him deliberately and that the rest of them didn't think Sirius was a coward for doing as Dumbledore told him and remaining in Grimmauld Place. But she had no opportunity to do so, and, eyeing the look on her father's face, Pheobe wondered occasionally whether she would have dared to mention it even if she had the chance.
Instead, she and Harry told Ron and Hermione under their voices about having to take Occlumency lessons with Snape.
"Dumbledore wants to stop you having those dreams about Voldemort," said Hermione at once. "Well, you won't be sorry not to have them any more, will you?"
"Extra lessons with Snape?" said Ron, sounding aghast. "I'd rather have the nightmares!"
They were to return to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus the following day, escorted once again by Tonks and Lupin, both of whom were eating breakfast in the kitchen when Harry, Ron, Pheobe, and Hermione came down the next morning. The adults seemed to have been mid-way through a whispered conversation as Pheobe opened the door; all of them looked round hastily and fell silent.
After a hurried breakfast, they all pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly grey January morning. Pheobe had a bad feeling about this parting; she didn't know when she and her father would next see each other and felt like she had to say something to stop him from doing anything stupid- Pheobe was worried that Snape's accusation of cowardice had stung Sirius so badly he might even now be planning some foolhardy trip beyond Grimmauld Place.
It wouldn't be beyond her father, was all she was thinking.
"Goodbye, Pheobe," said Mrs. Weasley warmly, hugging Pheobe, "take care."
"See you, Harry, and keep an eye out for snakes for me!" said Mr. Weasley genially, shaking her hand enthusiastically.
"See you," Pheobe responded with a bright smile. "I should go find Harry now, bye Mr. and Mrs. Weas- Harry, you okay?" Pheobe frowned, noticing him looking distracted.
"Yeah- yeah, I'm fine," he pursed his lips. Harry suddenly turned and looked to Sirius, opening his mouth to say something, before he got a one-armed hug and a gruff "look after yourself" and was then pushed out of the house with Tonks.
"Okay, um...bye dad," Pheobe said quickly.
"Bye," Sirius responded shortly.
"See you, then," Pheobe sighed, disappointed but having expected it, however his surly expression faded for a moment as if he came to his senses and suddenly he pulled his daughter close and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Stay safe out there, kid."
Pheobe was suddenly shunted out into the frosty air with Lupin and the door of number twelve slammed shut behind them. They followed Lupin down the front steps. As she reached the pavement, Pheobe looked round. Number twelve was shrinking rapidly as those on either side of it stretched sideways, squeezing it out of sight. One blink later, it had gone.
"Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better," said Tonks, disguised as a tall woman with silver hair, and Pheobe thought there was nervousness in the glance she threw around the square. Lupin flung out his right arm.
BANG.
A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backwards out of its way.
A thin, pimply, jug-eared youth in a purple uniform leapt down on to the pavement and said, "Welcome to the--"
"Yes, yes, we know, thank you," said Tonks swiftly. "On, on, get on--"
And she shoved Harry forwards towards the steps, past the conductor, who goggled at Pheobe as she passed.
" 'Ere! It's Pheobe--!"
"If you shout her name I will curse you into oblivion," muttered Tonks menacingly, now shunting Ginny and Hermione forwards.
"I've always wanted to go on this thing," said Ron happily, joining Pheobe on board and looking around.
It was crammed with an assortment of mismatched chairs grouped haphazardly around windows. Some of these appeared to have fallen over when the bus stopped abruptly in Grimmauld Place; a few witches and wizards were still getting to their feet, grumbling, and somebody's shopping bag had slid the length of the bus: an unpleasant mixture of frogspawn, cockroaches and custard creams was scattered all over the floor.
"Looks like we'll have to split up," said Tonks briskly, looking around for empty chairs. "Fred, George, and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back ... Remus can stay with you."
She, Harry, Ron, Pheobe, and Hermione proceeded up to the very top deck, where there were three unoccupied chairs at the very front of the bus and two at the back. Heads turned as Pheobe walked with Hermione and Tonks to the front and they handed Stan eleven Sickles each as they sat down before the bus set off again, swaying ominously. It rumbled around Grimmauld Place, weaving on and off the pavement, then, with another tremendous BANG, they were all flung backwards; Hermione's chair toppled right over and Crookshanks, who had been sitting on her lap, jumped off and hissed loudly before curling up on Pheobe's lap. A soft hoot let Pheobe, who had narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket, know that Pidgwedieon had sat on Hermione's shoulder, and Pheobe looked out of the window: they were now speeding down what appeared to be a motorway.
The Knight Bus suddenly swayed alarmingly, overtaking a line of cars on the inside. Hermione covered her eyes with her hands with Pigwidgeon swaying happily on her shoulder.
BANG.
Chairs slid backwards again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG. Pheobe frowned.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to Wellstown!" said a bright voice as the man from earlier swayed towards Pheobe, Hermione, and Tonks, "your stop's around the eighth on the list-"
"Listen, if I give you some money, how far up the list would we be able to move?" Tonks snapped finally. The man raised an eyebrow.
"Well, depends on how much moola we're talkin'."
A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering someone out of the bus and the relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until--
BANG.
They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Pheobe caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.
Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage, then got off to say goodbye. Pheobe glanced up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and saw all the passengers staring down at them, noses flat against the windows.
"You'll be safe once you're in the grounds," said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. "Have a good term, okay?"
"Look after yourselves," said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Pheobe and Harry last. "And listen ..." he lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute goodbyes with Tonks, "I know neither of you like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all--Sirius included--want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?"
"Okay," said Harry heavily, looking up into Lupin's prematurely lined face. "See you, then."
"Alright, bye Moony," Pheobe sighed, following the other six up the slippery drive towards the castle, all of them struggling not to skid downwards while dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Pheobe glanced back when they reached the oaken front doors; the Knight Bus had already gone and she half-wished she could still be on it.
Harry spent most of the next day dreading the evening. His morning double-Potions lesson did nothing to dispel his trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever. His mood was further lowered by the DA members constantly approaching him in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully if there would be a meeting that night. Harry suggested that Pheobe should have a DA meeting without him but she was firm on both of them being present at the meetings.
"I'll let you know in the usual way when the next one is," Harry said over and over again, "but I can't do it tonight, I've got to go to, er... remedial potions."
"You take remedial Potions?" asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the Entrance Hall after lunch. "Merlin, you must be bloody awful. Snape wouldn't go to that extent for regular-bad kids..."
As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron and Pheobe glared after him.
"Shall I jinx him? I could probably get him from here," he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades.
"Forget it," said Harry dismally. "It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup--"
"Hi, Harry," said an annoyingly familiar voice behind them.