Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Two
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Chapter One
Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Two
“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me,” Harry muttered to the weeds. The hot July sun beat down on his neck and shoulders, turning him another shade darker. He had taken to stripping his shirt off when out from under his aunt’s gaze. The sun felt good on his skin and it was cooler without the clothing - plus Aunt Petunia had given him just three of Dudley’s old shirts to wear for the year; if he didn’t want to smell his own stink all night, he had to take care not to get them dirty.
As he remembered, the dinner party for the Masons was winding up to a fever pitch that week. Harry had ducked out as soon as possible to avoid his aunt’s nervous cooking in the kitchen. Harry did have to admit, for being such a miserable woman, his aunt sure knew how to cook. Harry could smell the roast pork from the garden - the aroma was making his mouth water. Maybe I’ll be able to sneak some of it tomorrow morning. His stomach rumbled at the thought. He dreamed about roast cutlets, cooked chicken breasts, drumsticks, just - meat, in general. He hadn’t had a slice since the school feast - if he didn’t count the burnt bits of bacon he managed to snatch from time to time. Which he didn’t, thank you very much.
It was half past seven when Aunt Petunia let him in. “Get in here!” She shouted at him from the door. “And walk on the news paper.”
Harry scuttled inside, bolting down his dinner under his Aunt’s scowling gaze. He managed to avoid Uncle Vernon’s notice as he escaped to his room. He made sure to shut the door quietly - he’d had his fill of Uncle Vernon’s shouting that Harry had to be perfectly silent, thank you - then turned and jumped.
“Dobby,” Harry gasped out, hand pressed to his chest.
Dobby’s bat-like ears and bulging green eyes were the same as he remembered them. For a long second, grief and regret spread through Harry. He blinked and pushed the threatening memories away with mental hands. “Hello, Dobby,” he whispered and sank to the ground.
“Harry Potter!”
“Shh!” Harry winced as the noise downstairs faltered. “Not so loud, Dobby, please.”
The house elf danced back and forth in front of him. “Mister Harry Potter knows this elf’s name! Oh, Harry Potter, such an honor -”
“Quiet, Dobby,” Harry winced as he heard Uncle Vernon’s rumbling voice float up the stairs.
“I have upset Mister Harry Potter!”
“What’s wrong, Dobby?” Harry scooted closer to the elf. “Talk softly, please. And stop moving.”
“Please, you say please -”
“Dobby. Please.”
Dobby’s bulging eyes blinked a few times as he froze. “Yes, sir, Mister Harry Potter, sir.”
Harry swallowed a sigh. “Why are you here?” He thought he knew why.
Dobby jiggled in place. “Dobby brings a message from Mistress Malfoy to Harry Potter, sir!”
Harry’s breath caught. “Narcissa Malfoy,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “What does she say?”
“She says, Mister Harry Potter, sir, that you are to take great care, Mister Harry Potter, sir, that you should be wary of foes in strange places and to thank Mister Harry Potter, sir, for his friendship with Master Draco.”
Harry sat back, considering. Narcissa Malfoy, to Harry’s knowledge, had never been a Death Eater. She had stayed neutral to the war and all of the horrors her husband had participated in - until her son had been threatened. Then Narcissa had acted, to save her son’s life, at the risk of her and her husband’s lives. Harry knew Draco was Narcissa’s world - but why would she send Dobby to warn him, now, instead of…
Harry blinked again. What if she had tried to help me the first time around? How in the world would Dobby have known how to get to me, how to -
“Mister Harry Potter, sir?”
“Thank you, Dobby,” he blinked again, focusing on the house elf. “Do you know why Narcissa Malfoy sent you with this message?”
The house elf shook its head. “No, Mister Harry Potter, sir. All this elf knows is that Mistress Malfoy has been busy keeping Master Draco away from the bad men this summer. Mistress Malfoy won’t let this elf anywhere near the visitors Master Malfoy has in the west wing of the house.”
Harry let out a sharp breath. Who is she protecting Draco from? “Thank you, again, Dobby, for-”
“You says thank you to this elf, oh, sir.”
“Dobby, hush,” Harry’s breath caught as he heard Uncle Vernon’s tread on the stair.
“Boy,” Vernon growled just outside his door.
“Yes, sir, sorry, Uncle Vernon,” Harry clamped a hand over Dobby’s mouth. The house elf’s eyes bulged.
“You will be sorry, if you don’t shut up!” Vernon’s threat was a sharp hiss and a thump against the door. Then the man retreated.
Harry slumped. “Dobby, please go home. Thank you for the message. Tell Mrs. Malfoy that.”
“Yes, sir,” Dobby hesitated, eyes flicking to the door and back. “This elf wants to thank you, too, Mister Harry Potter, sir.”
“Dobby…”
“Young Master Draco is much nicer to Dobby now,” Dobby let out a loud sniff. “Master Draco wants to learn all about magical creatures now. This elf thanks you, Mister Harry Potter, sir.” Dobby then disappeared with a crack. There was a startled yelp from downstairs.
Harry spent the time between Dobby’s disappearance and his uncle’s return thinking. How things have changed, he mused, after his uncle had delivered a number of substantial smacks to Harry’s ears. And how some things get worse, he made a face at the ceiling. Vernon had never done more than box his ears, in Harry’s first childhood. Threatened to do much worse, plenty of times, but had never delivered on that promise. Until now.
Things must change, Harry considered. But when I see Ollivander again, I’ll make sure to smack him, for thanks.
~*~
Harry was down to a piece of bread and a glass of water for the foreseeable future. His aunt caved on Uncle Vernon’s punishment a week in, but only let him have a slice of cheese in the mornings to go along with his bread. He still had bread and water for dinner as well, with some left over vegetables from the dregs of their plates. He never thought he would relish the taste of cooling, buttered peas, but he did. Oh, he did.
Think positive, Harry, he tried to focus on his chores. At least I won’t get warned by the Ministry this time around.
Still, it was hard to be cheerful when his insides were aching with hunger. Bloody Dursleys, Harry rubbed at his face. Bloody Dumbledore, too, he set his jaw against the rush of conditioned guilt. Harry knew how much the old wizard had on his plate; he knew Dumbledore meant to have Harry behind the strongest wards he could find, but…but what good does strong wards do when the attitude of my relatives makes me want nothing to do with the wizarding world at all?
Harry pushed the thoughts away yet again and tried to sleep. It came in bits and starts, full of disjointed, ugly dreams, some about his adult life, some just made up horrors from his subconscious mind.
He was in the middle of a particularly vivid nightmare, a mix of memory and horror, of Harry trapped behind thick steels bars as Hammerstein slaughtered everyone he had ever loved just out of Harry’s reach, spraying him with their blood as the dark wizard slit their throats - when a sound woke him.
Harry flailed, feeling weak and miserable as the noise came again. He stumbled over to the window, rubbing sleep from his eyes, to see Fred and George staring back at him from the seats of their father’s flying car.
“Harry!” Fred waved at him.
Harry pushed the window up and stared at the twins. “What are you doing here?” He pressed close to the bars.
“Mate - what’d you do to your eye?” George peered at him.
Harry touched the fading bruise. Dudley had pushed him down the stairs - Harry wasn’t sure who was surprised more, himself or Dudley, at the resulting injuries. His cousin had been insufferably proud ever since. Aunt Petunia had said nothing at all.
“It’s nothing,” Harry shook the memories away. “What are you doing here?”
“We got Hermione and Neville at the house,” Fred said, passing him a rope. “Tie that around the bars.”
“If the Dursleys wake up, I’m dead,” Harry told them as he secured the knot.
The twins glanced at each other. “Don’t worry,” Fred said after a moment. “Get your things and stand back.”
Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig. His things were all locked in the cupboard under the stairs, so he grabbed the few sets of clothes he had and tied them together using Dudley’s old jacket as a makeshift bag. By that time, the twins had gotten the bars off the window and had backed their flying car up to the opening.
“That all, mate?” Fred took the bundle.
“No, my things are all downstairs.”
“Go get ‘em.”
“I can’t. I’m locked in.”
The twins shared another long look. Harry had never been able to read their silent exchanges, before, and that had not changed this time around either.
“No problem,” George said with a nod to his twin. “Out of the way, Harry.”
Fred and George climbed cat-like through the window into Harry’s room. George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock on Harry’s door.
“A lot of wizards think it’s a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick,” said Fred, “but we feel they’re skills worth learning, even if they’re a bit slow.” There was a small click and the door swung open.
“So, we’ll get your trunk and head out. Where is it?” George whispered, rising from his crouch and pocketing the hairpin.
“In the cupboard under the stairs - watch out for the bottom step, it creaks,” Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.
Harry rounded up what was left in his room and tried to get Hedwig’s cage as close to the window as possible. As he went to help the twins get his trunk up the stairs, he heard Uncle Vernon cough.
At last, panting, they reached the landing, and then carried the trunk through Harry’s room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car, while George and Harry pushed the trunk to him.
Uncle Vernon coughed again.
“A bit more,” panted Fred. “One good push.”
Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.
“Okay, let’s go,” George whispered.
“Help me with Hedwig’s cage,” Harry whispered back. George climbed onto the windowsill, turning to take Hedwig. George’s hand slipped, rocking the cage and causing Hedwig to let out a frightened screech.
“THAT RUDDY OWL!” thundered Uncle Vernon.
Harry pushed at George, whose eyes had gone wide. There was a desperate scramble as George and Fred tried to keep George from falling out of the window, as well as getting Hedwig into the car. The landing light clicked on as George tumbled into the front seat, Hedwig secured in back. Fred was reaching for Harry when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door - and it crashed open.
For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an enraged bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.
Fred had a hold of Harry’s arm. George reached and took Harry’s other hand. They pulled as hard as they could.
“Petunia!” roared Uncle Vernon. “He’s getting away. HE’S GETTING AWAY!”
The twins gave a gigantic tug and Harry’s leg slid out of Uncle Vernon’s grasp. Fred went tumbling into the front seat - “Floor it!” George howled - as Harry scrambled the rest of the way into the car.
Harry glanced back to see Uncle Vernon’s furious expression as the car shot away into the night.
“What’s with that, mate?” George hung over the front seat, staring at Harry.
“Can I let Hedwig out, first? She hasn’t flown for ages.”
George handed the hairpin over and walked Harry through how to use it on the lock. Hedwig soared out the window a few minutes later, gliding alongside them like a ghost.
“So?” Fred demanded from the front seat.
“So, what?”
“Harry.”
“No, what part do you want me to explain first?”
“We invited you over, mate,” George rolled his eyes. “A bunch of times, but you never answered. Then Hermione wrote us and we found out you’d not written to anyone.”
“They - my relatives - locked up Hedwig,” Harry looked away. “I never got your letters.”
“Never got ‘em? But…”
“They burned them.”
“Well, that’s dodgy,” George said after a small silence. “Why’d they do a daft thing like that?”
“They - magic scares them. That’s all,” Harry shook his head. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Of course, mate,” Fred and George shared yet another glance. “We have a bit of a full house with Hermione and Neville over - they wanted to come along, but Ron was watching them like a hawk. Say, Mum and Dad would love to have you stay over for at least a few days - we can have a bit of a pick up game in the paddock, don’t you think, George? And then we can…”
Harry let the twin’s chatter wash over his like a familiar blanket.
“Percy’s been acting very oddly this summer,” Harry tuned in to hear George say sometime later. “And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room. I mean, there’s only so many times you can polish a prefect badge, if you know what I mean. You’re driving too far west, Fred,” he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard.
“Does your dad know you’ve got the car?” Harry moved forward to drape his arms over the front seatbacks.
“No,” Fred flashed him a grin. “He had to work tonight. Hopefully we’ll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it.”
“What does your dad do at the Ministry?” Harry wanted to keep them talking.
“How’d you know he works at the Ministry?” George twisted around.
Damn. “You told me once, didn’t you?”
George studied him for a moment. “Must have, I suppose. Dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”
“The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office? What’s that?”
“It’s all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antique shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks.”
Harry had forgotten this story. “What happened?”
“The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it’s only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office and they had to do memory charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up.”
“But the car?” Harry prompted.
Fred laughed. “Yeah, Dad’s crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed’s full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it and puts it back together again. If he raided our house, he’d have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad.”
“That’s the main road,” said George, peering down through the windshield. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Just as well, it’s getting light.” A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.
Fred brought the car lower. Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.
“We’re a little way outside the village,” said George. “Ottery St. Catchpole.”
Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.
“Touchdown!” Fred yelped as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard. Harry’s stomach clenched as he turned to get a look at the Burrow.
It caused shivers to spill down his spine. The house was the same as it remained in his memories - before Hammerstein’s wizards had destroyed it down to the foundations. One more thing I have to save, Harry clamped his hands down on the back of the seats.
The Burrow still looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
“It’s not much,” said George.
“It’s wonderful,” Harry whispered. It always was.
“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quietly,” Fred said as they got out of the car. “And wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then we’ll distract Mum with a story about how you showed up in the night and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car.”
“Right, good plan” said George. “One problem.”
“What’s that?” Fred asked. George pointed.
Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.
Molly, Harry’s throat closed up. The Weasley matriarch hadn’t taken sides in the divorce, keeping the Burrow open for Harry to visit his children - his children, no matter what anyone said. Molly and Arthur had died in the defense of their home and grandchildren, perishing amongst the rubble and flames that had been their home.
“Ah,” said Fred.
“Oh, dear,” said George.
Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, glaring. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of a pocket.
“So,” she said.
“Morning, Mum,” said George, a wide smile on his face.
“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” Mrs. Weasley said in a deadly whisper.
The twins cowered back as their mother began to shout.
“Beds empty! No note! Car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -”
“Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred.
“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” Mrs. Weasley prodded Fred’s chest with a finger. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job.”
It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who skittered back, nerves strung taut and fragile. I always did hate getting yelled at by her.
Mrs. Weasley’s expression gentled. “I’m very pleased to see you again, Harry, dear,” she said. “Come in and have some breakfast. Young Neville and Hermione should be up now, as well.”
Harry glanced at the twins, who made shooing motions at the door. Fred caught his mother’s arm before she could follow Harry; he glanced back to see both boys talking to her in hushed voices, arms waving. Getting themselves out of trouble, he grinned and slipped inside.
He took a deep breath of the familiar scent of the Burrow. The kitchen was still small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. Harry slid onto a chair, feeling the warmth of home settle over his shoulders for the first time it seemed in years. It has, he realized, thinking back. It’s been more than a year - almost two - since the Burrow was destroyed and I -
He closed his eyes for a long moment, pushing down the sharp ache in his chest. His grief had dulled to a steady ache he carried in his heart, but sometimes, some things would hit him like a stunner, bringing it all back, bright and searing, as if it had happened just a moment before.
Harry opened his eyes and focused on the clock on the wall opposite him. It had one hand and no numbers. Written around the edge were things like Time to Make Tea, Time to Feed the Chickens, and You’re Late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking and One Minute Feasts - It’s Magic! The old radio next to the sink was humming away, announcing that up next was, “Witching hour, with the popular singing sorceress Celestina Warbeck!”
Mrs. Weasley came in with the twins a few minutes later, sniffing suspiciously. Fred and George plunked down on either side of Harry. “All right, mate?” George threw an arm over Harry’s shoulders.
“You talked yourselves out of de-gnoming the garden, haven’t you?” Harry grinned.
“How did you -”
“We didn’t -”
“Harry!”
He turned away from the twin’s shocked expressions at the chorus of familiar voices. Neville and Hermione bounded down the stairs and barreled toward him. Harry flinched back against George’s arm, but let Hermione throw her arms around him in a hug. “We were so worried and we didn’t know what to do and…”
“Hermione,” Harry gave her a squeeze. “I can’t breathe!”
She pulled back, eyes bright. “Well, we were.”
“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Weasley called as she puttered around the kitchen. “Food is almost ready. You’ll need it,” she gave the twins a flat look.
Harry glanced at Fred. “No luck on getting out of trouble, then?”
Fred gave him a strange look and then grinned. He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“Hey, Harry,” Neville clapped him on the shoulder.
“Neville,” Harry grinned at the other boy. “Happy belated birthday, by the way. I meant to get you something, but I…” He shrugged. “Mind a late gift?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Neville smiled back at him. “And happy belated birthday to you, too.”
“Harry, are you sure you’re…”
“I’m fine. Better,” Harry was quick to cut Hermione off. He could see Mrs. Weasley frown every time she glanced at him. Harry knew he had to look suspicious - there was no way to hide how thin he’d become, or the way his wrists had become bony, nor the black eye from his cousin. Harry hoped Mrs. Weasley would accept the same explanation that he’d given the twins.
“This is wonderful, Mrs. Weasley,” Neville said as the Weasley matriarch filled everyone’s plate.
Harry tucked into his, careful to keep to small bites, knowing he would be sick if he tried to eat too much or too fast.
There was a shuffle in the hall. Harry looked up to see Ron and Ginny step into the kitchen. Ginny froze, eyes wide as she stared at the table, then gave a squeak and ran off. Ron’s expression collapsed into a glower as he marched to the table.
“That was Ginny,” George said, leaning into Harry. “Our sister. She’s been talking about you all summer. Driving little Ronnickins mad, to boot.”
“What’s he doing here?” Ron demanded as he sat. “I couldn’t have Seamus or Dean over, but Mr. Harry Potter is allowed to come over as he pleases -”
“Ronald Weasley, that is enough,” Molly sat his plate in front of him. “You know perfectly well that your friends are welcome at any time.”
“Oh, sure.”
“What was that?”
Ron hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes on his plate.
Harry’s throat was too choked to say anything. His first sight of Ginny in the Burrow had hit him in the gut - Merlin, how I loved her. He closed his eyes against the rush of memories.
“Harry, dear, you do look exhausted. How anyone could - why don’t you go have a nap, dear, and -”
“No, no,” Harry opened his eyes and turned a smile on Molly. “I’m fine, really.”
“Well,” she set her hands on her hips. “You’ve barely eaten a thing. A growing boy like you should -”
“I’m full. Really. It was wonderful,” Harry interjected.
“Mate, that’s not even half,” Fred frowned at him.
“I’ll be sick if I try to eat more, I’m really sorry,” Harry felt like a heel. “I’ll help you in the garden,” he told the twins.
“But Harry -”
“We’ll help, too,” Neville broke in, nudging Hermione.
“That’s very sweet of you, dears, but it’s dull work,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject, yes, yes…”
George groaned as she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. Harry almost did, too. Lockhart, he wanted to roll his eyes. I’d almost forgotten about him, too.
Fred protested. “Mum, we know how to de-gnome the garden!”
“Oh, Lockhart is just marvelous,” Molly said. “He knows his household pests, all right, it’s a wonderful book…”
“Mum fancies him,” said Fred.
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Fred,” said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. “All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there’s a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it!”
Harry escaped with the grumbling twins, Hermione and Neville hot on his heels.
The garden was large, exactly as Harry remembered it. The Dursleys wouldn’t have liked it - there were plenty of weeds and the grass needed cutting - but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen before spilling from every flower bed and a big green pond full of frogs.
“Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know,” Hermione told the twins.
“We’ve seen the things they think are gnomes,” George said, bent double with his head in a peony bush. “Little fat Santa Clauses with fishing rods…”
There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered and George straightened up. “This is a gnome.”
“Gerroff me! Gerroff me!” squealed the gnome.
“Oh, my,” said Hermione.
Harry wrinkled his nose at the creature. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby bald head that looked like a potato. George held it at arms length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet. Then George grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.
“This is what you have to do,” he said. He raised the gnome above his head and started to swing it in great circles. Seeing the shocked look on Hermione’s face, George added, “It doesn’t hurt them - you just have to make them really dizzy so they can’t find their way back to the gnomeholes.” He let go of the gnome’s ankles: it flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.
“Pitiful,” said Fred. “I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.”
“It really doesn’t hurt them,” Neville assured Hermione. “I’ve been helping Gran get rid of ours for years.”
They bent to it - Hermione being careful with hers until one bit her hard on the hand and she sent it flying. Harry tired fast after his first few, the world moving in lazy circles as he sat on the porch to catch his breath.
“There, that’s the last of them,” George said, just as the front door slammed. George perked up. “He’s back! That must be Dad!”
Harry got to his feet as the twins hurried into the house. Hermione had a frown on her face as she herded Harry inside - he was sure she wanted to sit him down and interrogate him - Neville too, by the looks of the other boy’s thoughtful frown.
They came in to see Mr. Weasley slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He looked younger than Harry remembered, a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children’s. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel worn.
Arthur, Harry had to blink fast and draw in a sharp breath. Harry had liked to pretend, when he was at Hogwarts the first time, that James Potter would have been as good of a father that Arthur was. Is, Harry corrected himself.
“Dad!” The twins bounded up to the man.
“What a night,” Mr. Weasley groped for the teapot as they all sat down around him. “Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned, can you believe it?” Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.
“Find anything, Dad?” asked Fred.
“All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” Mr. Weasley said between yawns. “There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms’ problem, thank goodness, not mine.”
“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” Hermione sounded bewildered.
“Just Muggle baiting,” Mr. Weasley made a face. “Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. Of course, it’s very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they’ll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they’ll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even it its staring them in the face. But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn’t believe…”
“LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?” Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley’s eyes flew open, even as he slid down in his chair.
“C-cars, Molly, dear?”
“Yes, Arthur, cars,” said Mrs. Weasley, eyes flashing. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.”
Mr. Weasley blinked. “Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that - even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find. As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t -”
“Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in the shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly in the first place!”
“Harry?” said Mr. Weasley. “Harry who?” He looked around, saw Harry and jumped. “Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Fred and George have told us so much about -”
“Your sons flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “What have you got to say about that, eh?”
“Did you really?” Mr. Weasley turned to the twins. “Did it go all right? I - I mean,” he faltered as Mrs. Weasley let out a growl. “That - ah - was very wrong, boys, very wrong indeed…”
“Arthur Weasley!”
“Let’s leave them at it,” Fred nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, you’re with me and Fred. We’ll show you our room.”
They all slipped out of the kitchen and down the narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry caught sight of Ginny’s bright brown eyes before it closed with a snap. Harry pushed the threatening memories away with a ruthless mental shove. Not now. I can’t - not now.
“That’s Ginny’s room. Hermione’s with her. Neville’s in with Ron and his room is up at the top. We’re just one more flight up.”
“You’ll have a nap, right, Harry?” Hermione trailed after them.
“She’s right, Harry. You do look knackered,” Neville said.
“Yeah,” Harry gave them a sheepish smile. “Sure.”
“Good. We’ll catch up, after,” Hermione called, as she pulled at Neville’s arm to head back down the stairs.
“Here we are,” Fred said. Harry stepped into the narrow room. There were bunk beds pushed against the wall, and a trundle bed pulled out from the bottom bunk. There were Quidditch posters on the walls and a battered bookcase full of spell manuals pushed up against the wall by the window.
“Thank you,” Harry told the twins. “I don’t think I said that yet.”
“No worries; it’s what friends are for,” Fred pushed at Harry’s shoulder. “Have a nap before Mum tries to slip you a draught. She can be frightfully pushy.”
“I will,” Harry grinned at them. “Just…thanks. Really.”
George rolled his eyes at Harry and pulled Fred from the room. Harry set his glasses on the shelf near the bed and crawled on top of the covers, falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Chapter Three
Chapter One
Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Two
“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me,” Harry muttered to the weeds. The hot July sun beat down on his neck and shoulders, turning him another shade darker. He had taken to stripping his shirt off when out from under his aunt’s gaze. The sun felt good on his skin and it was cooler without the clothing - plus Aunt Petunia had given him just three of Dudley’s old shirts to wear for the year; if he didn’t want to smell his own stink all night, he had to take care not to get them dirty.
As he remembered, the dinner party for the Masons was winding up to a fever pitch that week. Harry had ducked out as soon as possible to avoid his aunt’s nervous cooking in the kitchen. Harry did have to admit, for being such a miserable woman, his aunt sure knew how to cook. Harry could smell the roast pork from the garden - the aroma was making his mouth water. Maybe I’ll be able to sneak some of it tomorrow morning. His stomach rumbled at the thought. He dreamed about roast cutlets, cooked chicken breasts, drumsticks, just - meat, in general. He hadn’t had a slice since the school feast - if he didn’t count the burnt bits of bacon he managed to snatch from time to time. Which he didn’t, thank you very much.
It was half past seven when Aunt Petunia let him in. “Get in here!” She shouted at him from the door. “And walk on the news paper.”
Harry scuttled inside, bolting down his dinner under his Aunt’s scowling gaze. He managed to avoid Uncle Vernon’s notice as he escaped to his room. He made sure to shut the door quietly - he’d had his fill of Uncle Vernon’s shouting that Harry had to be perfectly silent, thank you - then turned and jumped.
“Dobby,” Harry gasped out, hand pressed to his chest.
Dobby’s bat-like ears and bulging green eyes were the same as he remembered them. For a long second, grief and regret spread through Harry. He blinked and pushed the threatening memories away with mental hands. “Hello, Dobby,” he whispered and sank to the ground.
“Harry Potter!”
“Shh!” Harry winced as the noise downstairs faltered. “Not so loud, Dobby, please.”
The house elf danced back and forth in front of him. “Mister Harry Potter knows this elf’s name! Oh, Harry Potter, such an honor -”
“Quiet, Dobby,” Harry winced as he heard Uncle Vernon’s rumbling voice float up the stairs.
“I have upset Mister Harry Potter!”
“What’s wrong, Dobby?” Harry scooted closer to the elf. “Talk softly, please. And stop moving.”
“Please, you say please -”
“Dobby. Please.”
Dobby’s bulging eyes blinked a few times as he froze. “Yes, sir, Mister Harry Potter, sir.”
Harry swallowed a sigh. “Why are you here?” He thought he knew why.
Dobby jiggled in place. “Dobby brings a message from Mistress Malfoy to Harry Potter, sir!”
Harry’s breath caught. “Narcissa Malfoy,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “What does she say?”
“She says, Mister Harry Potter, sir, that you are to take great care, Mister Harry Potter, sir, that you should be wary of foes in strange places and to thank Mister Harry Potter, sir, for his friendship with Master Draco.”
Harry sat back, considering. Narcissa Malfoy, to Harry’s knowledge, had never been a Death Eater. She had stayed neutral to the war and all of the horrors her husband had participated in - until her son had been threatened. Then Narcissa had acted, to save her son’s life, at the risk of her and her husband’s lives. Harry knew Draco was Narcissa’s world - but why would she send Dobby to warn him, now, instead of…
Harry blinked again. What if she had tried to help me the first time around? How in the world would Dobby have known how to get to me, how to -
“Mister Harry Potter, sir?”
“Thank you, Dobby,” he blinked again, focusing on the house elf. “Do you know why Narcissa Malfoy sent you with this message?”
The house elf shook its head. “No, Mister Harry Potter, sir. All this elf knows is that Mistress Malfoy has been busy keeping Master Draco away from the bad men this summer. Mistress Malfoy won’t let this elf anywhere near the visitors Master Malfoy has in the west wing of the house.”
Harry let out a sharp breath. Who is she protecting Draco from? “Thank you, again, Dobby, for-”
“You says thank you to this elf, oh, sir.”
“Dobby, hush,” Harry’s breath caught as he heard Uncle Vernon’s tread on the stair.
“Boy,” Vernon growled just outside his door.
“Yes, sir, sorry, Uncle Vernon,” Harry clamped a hand over Dobby’s mouth. The house elf’s eyes bulged.
“You will be sorry, if you don’t shut up!” Vernon’s threat was a sharp hiss and a thump against the door. Then the man retreated.
Harry slumped. “Dobby, please go home. Thank you for the message. Tell Mrs. Malfoy that.”
“Yes, sir,” Dobby hesitated, eyes flicking to the door and back. “This elf wants to thank you, too, Mister Harry Potter, sir.”
“Dobby…”
“Young Master Draco is much nicer to Dobby now,” Dobby let out a loud sniff. “Master Draco wants to learn all about magical creatures now. This elf thanks you, Mister Harry Potter, sir.” Dobby then disappeared with a crack. There was a startled yelp from downstairs.
Harry spent the time between Dobby’s disappearance and his uncle’s return thinking. How things have changed, he mused, after his uncle had delivered a number of substantial smacks to Harry’s ears. And how some things get worse, he made a face at the ceiling. Vernon had never done more than box his ears, in Harry’s first childhood. Threatened to do much worse, plenty of times, but had never delivered on that promise. Until now.
Things must change, Harry considered. But when I see Ollivander again, I’ll make sure to smack him, for thanks.
~*~
Harry was down to a piece of bread and a glass of water for the foreseeable future. His aunt caved on Uncle Vernon’s punishment a week in, but only let him have a slice of cheese in the mornings to go along with his bread. He still had bread and water for dinner as well, with some left over vegetables from the dregs of their plates. He never thought he would relish the taste of cooling, buttered peas, but he did. Oh, he did.
Think positive, Harry, he tried to focus on his chores. At least I won’t get warned by the Ministry this time around.
Still, it was hard to be cheerful when his insides were aching with hunger. Bloody Dursleys, Harry rubbed at his face. Bloody Dumbledore, too, he set his jaw against the rush of conditioned guilt. Harry knew how much the old wizard had on his plate; he knew Dumbledore meant to have Harry behind the strongest wards he could find, but…but what good does strong wards do when the attitude of my relatives makes me want nothing to do with the wizarding world at all?
Harry pushed the thoughts away yet again and tried to sleep. It came in bits and starts, full of disjointed, ugly dreams, some about his adult life, some just made up horrors from his subconscious mind.
He was in the middle of a particularly vivid nightmare, a mix of memory and horror, of Harry trapped behind thick steels bars as Hammerstein slaughtered everyone he had ever loved just out of Harry’s reach, spraying him with their blood as the dark wizard slit their throats - when a sound woke him.
Harry flailed, feeling weak and miserable as the noise came again. He stumbled over to the window, rubbing sleep from his eyes, to see Fred and George staring back at him from the seats of their father’s flying car.
“Harry!” Fred waved at him.
Harry pushed the window up and stared at the twins. “What are you doing here?” He pressed close to the bars.
“Mate - what’d you do to your eye?” George peered at him.
Harry touched the fading bruise. Dudley had pushed him down the stairs - Harry wasn’t sure who was surprised more, himself or Dudley, at the resulting injuries. His cousin had been insufferably proud ever since. Aunt Petunia had said nothing at all.
“It’s nothing,” Harry shook the memories away. “What are you doing here?”
“We got Hermione and Neville at the house,” Fred said, passing him a rope. “Tie that around the bars.”
“If the Dursleys wake up, I’m dead,” Harry told them as he secured the knot.
The twins glanced at each other. “Don’t worry,” Fred said after a moment. “Get your things and stand back.”
Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig. His things were all locked in the cupboard under the stairs, so he grabbed the few sets of clothes he had and tied them together using Dudley’s old jacket as a makeshift bag. By that time, the twins had gotten the bars off the window and had backed their flying car up to the opening.
“That all, mate?” Fred took the bundle.
“No, my things are all downstairs.”
“Go get ‘em.”
“I can’t. I’m locked in.”
The twins shared another long look. Harry had never been able to read their silent exchanges, before, and that had not changed this time around either.
“No problem,” George said with a nod to his twin. “Out of the way, Harry.”
Fred and George climbed cat-like through the window into Harry’s room. George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock on Harry’s door.
“A lot of wizards think it’s a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick,” said Fred, “but we feel they’re skills worth learning, even if they’re a bit slow.” There was a small click and the door swung open.
“So, we’ll get your trunk and head out. Where is it?” George whispered, rising from his crouch and pocketing the hairpin.
“In the cupboard under the stairs - watch out for the bottom step, it creaks,” Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.
Harry rounded up what was left in his room and tried to get Hedwig’s cage as close to the window as possible. As he went to help the twins get his trunk up the stairs, he heard Uncle Vernon cough.
At last, panting, they reached the landing, and then carried the trunk through Harry’s room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car, while George and Harry pushed the trunk to him.
Uncle Vernon coughed again.
“A bit more,” panted Fred. “One good push.”
Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.
“Okay, let’s go,” George whispered.
“Help me with Hedwig’s cage,” Harry whispered back. George climbed onto the windowsill, turning to take Hedwig. George’s hand slipped, rocking the cage and causing Hedwig to let out a frightened screech.
“THAT RUDDY OWL!” thundered Uncle Vernon.
Harry pushed at George, whose eyes had gone wide. There was a desperate scramble as George and Fred tried to keep George from falling out of the window, as well as getting Hedwig into the car. The landing light clicked on as George tumbled into the front seat, Hedwig secured in back. Fred was reaching for Harry when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door - and it crashed open.
For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an enraged bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.
Fred had a hold of Harry’s arm. George reached and took Harry’s other hand. They pulled as hard as they could.
“Petunia!” roared Uncle Vernon. “He’s getting away. HE’S GETTING AWAY!”
The twins gave a gigantic tug and Harry’s leg slid out of Uncle Vernon’s grasp. Fred went tumbling into the front seat - “Floor it!” George howled - as Harry scrambled the rest of the way into the car.
Harry glanced back to see Uncle Vernon’s furious expression as the car shot away into the night.
“What’s with that, mate?” George hung over the front seat, staring at Harry.
“Can I let Hedwig out, first? She hasn’t flown for ages.”
George handed the hairpin over and walked Harry through how to use it on the lock. Hedwig soared out the window a few minutes later, gliding alongside them like a ghost.
“So?” Fred demanded from the front seat.
“So, what?”
“Harry.”
“No, what part do you want me to explain first?”
“We invited you over, mate,” George rolled his eyes. “A bunch of times, but you never answered. Then Hermione wrote us and we found out you’d not written to anyone.”
“They - my relatives - locked up Hedwig,” Harry looked away. “I never got your letters.”
“Never got ‘em? But…”
“They burned them.”
“Well, that’s dodgy,” George said after a small silence. “Why’d they do a daft thing like that?”
“They - magic scares them. That’s all,” Harry shook his head. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Of course, mate,” Fred and George shared yet another glance. “We have a bit of a full house with Hermione and Neville over - they wanted to come along, but Ron was watching them like a hawk. Say, Mum and Dad would love to have you stay over for at least a few days - we can have a bit of a pick up game in the paddock, don’t you think, George? And then we can…”
Harry let the twin’s chatter wash over his like a familiar blanket.
“Percy’s been acting very oddly this summer,” Harry tuned in to hear George say sometime later. “And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room. I mean, there’s only so many times you can polish a prefect badge, if you know what I mean. You’re driving too far west, Fred,” he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard.
“Does your dad know you’ve got the car?” Harry moved forward to drape his arms over the front seatbacks.
“No,” Fred flashed him a grin. “He had to work tonight. Hopefully we’ll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it.”
“What does your dad do at the Ministry?” Harry wanted to keep them talking.
“How’d you know he works at the Ministry?” George twisted around.
Damn. “You told me once, didn’t you?”
George studied him for a moment. “Must have, I suppose. Dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”
“The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office? What’s that?”
“It’s all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antique shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks.”
Harry had forgotten this story. “What happened?”
“The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it’s only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office and they had to do memory charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up.”
“But the car?” Harry prompted.
Fred laughed. “Yeah, Dad’s crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed’s full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it and puts it back together again. If he raided our house, he’d have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad.”
“That’s the main road,” said George, peering down through the windshield. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Just as well, it’s getting light.” A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.
Fred brought the car lower. Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.
“We’re a little way outside the village,” said George. “Ottery St. Catchpole.”
Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.
“Touchdown!” Fred yelped as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard. Harry’s stomach clenched as he turned to get a look at the Burrow.
It caused shivers to spill down his spine. The house was the same as it remained in his memories - before Hammerstein’s wizards had destroyed it down to the foundations. One more thing I have to save, Harry clamped his hands down on the back of the seats.
The Burrow still looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
“It’s not much,” said George.
“It’s wonderful,” Harry whispered. It always was.
“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quietly,” Fred said as they got out of the car. “And wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then we’ll distract Mum with a story about how you showed up in the night and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car.”
“Right, good plan” said George. “One problem.”
“What’s that?” Fred asked. George pointed.
Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.
Molly, Harry’s throat closed up. The Weasley matriarch hadn’t taken sides in the divorce, keeping the Burrow open for Harry to visit his children - his children, no matter what anyone said. Molly and Arthur had died in the defense of their home and grandchildren, perishing amongst the rubble and flames that had been their home.
“Ah,” said Fred.
“Oh, dear,” said George.
Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, glaring. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of a pocket.
“So,” she said.
“Morning, Mum,” said George, a wide smile on his face.
“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” Mrs. Weasley said in a deadly whisper.
The twins cowered back as their mother began to shout.
“Beds empty! No note! Car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -”
“Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred.
“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” Mrs. Weasley prodded Fred’s chest with a finger. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job.”
It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who skittered back, nerves strung taut and fragile. I always did hate getting yelled at by her.
Mrs. Weasley’s expression gentled. “I’m very pleased to see you again, Harry, dear,” she said. “Come in and have some breakfast. Young Neville and Hermione should be up now, as well.”
Harry glanced at the twins, who made shooing motions at the door. Fred caught his mother’s arm before she could follow Harry; he glanced back to see both boys talking to her in hushed voices, arms waving. Getting themselves out of trouble, he grinned and slipped inside.
He took a deep breath of the familiar scent of the Burrow. The kitchen was still small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. Harry slid onto a chair, feeling the warmth of home settle over his shoulders for the first time it seemed in years. It has, he realized, thinking back. It’s been more than a year - almost two - since the Burrow was destroyed and I -
He closed his eyes for a long moment, pushing down the sharp ache in his chest. His grief had dulled to a steady ache he carried in his heart, but sometimes, some things would hit him like a stunner, bringing it all back, bright and searing, as if it had happened just a moment before.
Harry opened his eyes and focused on the clock on the wall opposite him. It had one hand and no numbers. Written around the edge were things like Time to Make Tea, Time to Feed the Chickens, and You’re Late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking and One Minute Feasts - It’s Magic! The old radio next to the sink was humming away, announcing that up next was, “Witching hour, with the popular singing sorceress Celestina Warbeck!”
Mrs. Weasley came in with the twins a few minutes later, sniffing suspiciously. Fred and George plunked down on either side of Harry. “All right, mate?” George threw an arm over Harry’s shoulders.
“You talked yourselves out of de-gnoming the garden, haven’t you?” Harry grinned.
“How did you -”
“We didn’t -”
“Harry!”
He turned away from the twin’s shocked expressions at the chorus of familiar voices. Neville and Hermione bounded down the stairs and barreled toward him. Harry flinched back against George’s arm, but let Hermione throw her arms around him in a hug. “We were so worried and we didn’t know what to do and…”
“Hermione,” Harry gave her a squeeze. “I can’t breathe!”
She pulled back, eyes bright. “Well, we were.”
“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Weasley called as she puttered around the kitchen. “Food is almost ready. You’ll need it,” she gave the twins a flat look.
Harry glanced at Fred. “No luck on getting out of trouble, then?”
Fred gave him a strange look and then grinned. He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“Hey, Harry,” Neville clapped him on the shoulder.
“Neville,” Harry grinned at the other boy. “Happy belated birthday, by the way. I meant to get you something, but I…” He shrugged. “Mind a late gift?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Neville smiled back at him. “And happy belated birthday to you, too.”
“Harry, are you sure you’re…”
“I’m fine. Better,” Harry was quick to cut Hermione off. He could see Mrs. Weasley frown every time she glanced at him. Harry knew he had to look suspicious - there was no way to hide how thin he’d become, or the way his wrists had become bony, nor the black eye from his cousin. Harry hoped Mrs. Weasley would accept the same explanation that he’d given the twins.
“This is wonderful, Mrs. Weasley,” Neville said as the Weasley matriarch filled everyone’s plate.
Harry tucked into his, careful to keep to small bites, knowing he would be sick if he tried to eat too much or too fast.
There was a shuffle in the hall. Harry looked up to see Ron and Ginny step into the kitchen. Ginny froze, eyes wide as she stared at the table, then gave a squeak and ran off. Ron’s expression collapsed into a glower as he marched to the table.
“That was Ginny,” George said, leaning into Harry. “Our sister. She’s been talking about you all summer. Driving little Ronnickins mad, to boot.”
“What’s he doing here?” Ron demanded as he sat. “I couldn’t have Seamus or Dean over, but Mr. Harry Potter is allowed to come over as he pleases -”
“Ronald Weasley, that is enough,” Molly sat his plate in front of him. “You know perfectly well that your friends are welcome at any time.”
“Oh, sure.”
“What was that?”
Ron hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes on his plate.
Harry’s throat was too choked to say anything. His first sight of Ginny in the Burrow had hit him in the gut - Merlin, how I loved her. He closed his eyes against the rush of memories.
“Harry, dear, you do look exhausted. How anyone could - why don’t you go have a nap, dear, and -”
“No, no,” Harry opened his eyes and turned a smile on Molly. “I’m fine, really.”
“Well,” she set her hands on her hips. “You’ve barely eaten a thing. A growing boy like you should -”
“I’m full. Really. It was wonderful,” Harry interjected.
“Mate, that’s not even half,” Fred frowned at him.
“I’ll be sick if I try to eat more, I’m really sorry,” Harry felt like a heel. “I’ll help you in the garden,” he told the twins.
“But Harry -”
“We’ll help, too,” Neville broke in, nudging Hermione.
“That’s very sweet of you, dears, but it’s dull work,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject, yes, yes…”
George groaned as she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. Harry almost did, too. Lockhart, he wanted to roll his eyes. I’d almost forgotten about him, too.
Fred protested. “Mum, we know how to de-gnome the garden!”
“Oh, Lockhart is just marvelous,” Molly said. “He knows his household pests, all right, it’s a wonderful book…”
“Mum fancies him,” said Fred.
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Fred,” said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. “All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there’s a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it!”
Harry escaped with the grumbling twins, Hermione and Neville hot on his heels.
The garden was large, exactly as Harry remembered it. The Dursleys wouldn’t have liked it - there were plenty of weeds and the grass needed cutting - but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen before spilling from every flower bed and a big green pond full of frogs.
“Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know,” Hermione told the twins.
“We’ve seen the things they think are gnomes,” George said, bent double with his head in a peony bush. “Little fat Santa Clauses with fishing rods…”
There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered and George straightened up. “This is a gnome.”
“Gerroff me! Gerroff me!” squealed the gnome.
“Oh, my,” said Hermione.
Harry wrinkled his nose at the creature. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby bald head that looked like a potato. George held it at arms length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet. Then George grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.
“This is what you have to do,” he said. He raised the gnome above his head and started to swing it in great circles. Seeing the shocked look on Hermione’s face, George added, “It doesn’t hurt them - you just have to make them really dizzy so they can’t find their way back to the gnomeholes.” He let go of the gnome’s ankles: it flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.
“Pitiful,” said Fred. “I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.”
“It really doesn’t hurt them,” Neville assured Hermione. “I’ve been helping Gran get rid of ours for years.”
They bent to it - Hermione being careful with hers until one bit her hard on the hand and she sent it flying. Harry tired fast after his first few, the world moving in lazy circles as he sat on the porch to catch his breath.
“There, that’s the last of them,” George said, just as the front door slammed. George perked up. “He’s back! That must be Dad!”
Harry got to his feet as the twins hurried into the house. Hermione had a frown on her face as she herded Harry inside - he was sure she wanted to sit him down and interrogate him - Neville too, by the looks of the other boy’s thoughtful frown.
They came in to see Mr. Weasley slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He looked younger than Harry remembered, a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children’s. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel worn.
Arthur, Harry had to blink fast and draw in a sharp breath. Harry had liked to pretend, when he was at Hogwarts the first time, that James Potter would have been as good of a father that Arthur was. Is, Harry corrected himself.
“Dad!” The twins bounded up to the man.
“What a night,” Mr. Weasley groped for the teapot as they all sat down around him. “Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned, can you believe it?” Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.
“Find anything, Dad?” asked Fred.
“All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” Mr. Weasley said between yawns. “There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms’ problem, thank goodness, not mine.”
“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” Hermione sounded bewildered.
“Just Muggle baiting,” Mr. Weasley made a face. “Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. Of course, it’s very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they’ll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they’ll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even it its staring them in the face. But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn’t believe…”
“LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?” Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley’s eyes flew open, even as he slid down in his chair.
“C-cars, Molly, dear?”
“Yes, Arthur, cars,” said Mrs. Weasley, eyes flashing. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.”
Mr. Weasley blinked. “Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that - even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find. As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t -”
“Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in the shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly in the first place!”
“Harry?” said Mr. Weasley. “Harry who?” He looked around, saw Harry and jumped. “Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Fred and George have told us so much about -”
“Your sons flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “What have you got to say about that, eh?”
“Did you really?” Mr. Weasley turned to the twins. “Did it go all right? I - I mean,” he faltered as Mrs. Weasley let out a growl. “That - ah - was very wrong, boys, very wrong indeed…”
“Arthur Weasley!”
“Let’s leave them at it,” Fred nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, you’re with me and Fred. We’ll show you our room.”
They all slipped out of the kitchen and down the narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry caught sight of Ginny’s bright brown eyes before it closed with a snap. Harry pushed the threatening memories away with a ruthless mental shove. Not now. I can’t - not now.
“That’s Ginny’s room. Hermione’s with her. Neville’s in with Ron and his room is up at the top. We’re just one more flight up.”
“You’ll have a nap, right, Harry?” Hermione trailed after them.
“She’s right, Harry. You do look knackered,” Neville said.
“Yeah,” Harry gave them a sheepish smile. “Sure.”
“Good. We’ll catch up, after,” Hermione called, as she pulled at Neville’s arm to head back down the stairs.
“Here we are,” Fred said. Harry stepped into the narrow room. There were bunk beds pushed against the wall, and a trundle bed pulled out from the bottom bunk. There were Quidditch posters on the walls and a battered bookcase full of spell manuals pushed up against the wall by the window.
“Thank you,” Harry told the twins. “I don’t think I said that yet.”
“No worries; it’s what friends are for,” Fred pushed at Harry’s shoulder. “Have a nap before Mum tries to slip you a draught. She can be frightfully pushy.”
“I will,” Harry grinned at them. “Just…thanks. Really.”
George rolled his eyes at Harry and pulled Fred from the room. Harry set his glasses on the shelf near the bed and crawled on top of the covers, falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Chapter Three