Chapter Text
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To say things were tense in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place would be an understatement. Harry Potter slumped moodily in his chair at the foot of the scarred, greying kitchen table, patiently ignoring his best friends, Ron and Hermione, as they bickered — yet again — over Kreacher the house elf, who Ron swore had tried to curse Hermione earlier in the drawing room when her back was turned.
Harry's Godfather, Sirius, was in the basement with Ron's mother, attacking an especially virulent Bundimun which had infested the timbers of the old house. The Bundimun, a greenish, acid-secreting fungus which gave off a melancholic vapour to encourage home-owners to abandon a property to its depredations, was part of the reason for the house's dank and forbidding nature. Other nasty household pests were drawn to the Bundimun's vapours and had reproduced rampantly in the empty house, which prevented Harry from slipping away and finding a quiet corner to himself. Despite the hours they had spent disinfecting the house from the more minor pests, the Bundimun was only susceptible to magic, which precluded the youngsters for helping as-
Well, Harry was already in enough trouble for underage magic, wasn't he? It was so bloody unfair! he thought sullenly. All to try to save someone's life, not that anyone seemed to believe him. In fact, all to save Dudley bloody Dursley from a Dementor. Good God, if he was going to have his wand snapped for this, why couldn't it have been someone he actually liked?!
A finger jabbed him in the ribs, making him jump.
“Pick up that lip before you trip over it, Harry!” said Ginny as she breezed over to the kitchen sink to get a drink from the groaning faucet. When he glared at her, she just grinned and stuck her tongue out at him. Involuntarily, he felt his lip twitch up.
Her grin widened as she put her mug back on the counter. “I know I'd be looking a bit grim if I had to listen to these two all the time. How do they do it?”
He grunted vaguely in reply. Ginny, now. Ginny wouldn't have been so bad. Actually, he had saved her life once, but even if they had contemplated slinging him out for killing a centuries-old basilisk he would at least have had the consolation of having done it for a genuinely nice person, let alone her family.
Actually, he owed her family rather a lot more than he cared to think about. Never mind that he was friends with most of the Weasley children, Mr and Mrs Weasley had taken him in and treated him a like a son. No matter what, they hadn't hesitated to stand by him — like now, living in this horrendous old dump when they could have just shrugged and gone back home any time that they liked. He wondered if he'd ever be able to tell them how grateful he was.
Another, gentler, prod bought him back to the present. Ginny was standing in front of him, looking at him with big, serious eyes. “All this unresolved sexual tension is robbing you of the power of speech,” she said solemnly, with a nod of the head at Ron and Hermione who were still at it, oblivious to everything. “I think you'd better come with me before it melts your brain entirely.”
He let her pull him out of the chair and lead him along the grimy, cavernous hall. You had to step carefully, as despite the holes in the moth-eaten carpet it seemed to trip you rather more often than natural — and judging by some of the other things they'd found in the house, it probably had some long-term aim of eating its victim.
The library was one of the few rooms which was now more-or-less habitable, probably inevitable in a house containing Hermione for any length of time. There was an old horse-hair settee next to a writing desk along one wall, and a matching wing-backed armchair under the single narrow, high window which lit the room. It was into the latter that Ginny cast herself with a sigh, tucking her legs up underneath herself.
“I swear, those two will either marry each other or kill each other, and there's no telling which. I just wish they'd get on with it.”
In spite of his bad mood, Harry snorted. “You reckon? Try living with the two of them at school.”
Ginny laughed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind one ear, “How on earth you survived the whole 'Krum' thing last year without slapping the pair of them — repeatedly — is a mystery to me!”
Harry grunted, “Looks like I picked the wrong year to miss out on Quidditch. Painful wasn't the word for it! They've always been like that, though, even in first year.”
Ginny grinned, “I'd say it's been getting even more frequent in the last year or so. All those excuses to listen to each others' voices, all that leaning close together, all that heavy breathing on Hermione's part.”
She made an obvious gesture over her chest, making Harry's eyes bug out. “Ginny!”
“What?” she said innocently, “Don't tell me that you need to work out that Hermione's a girl, too? I don't think anyone could stand another year like last year.”
Distantly, they heard the front door creak open. Given the lack of screaming from the psychotic painting of Mrs Black in the hallway, the protesting hinges obviously hadn't been enough to wake her.
“I know she's a girl!” said Harry defensively, “I'm well aware that Hermione's female, but... but that's just wrong!”
“Don't tell me you like boys? There's nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but if you tell me that Malfoy's creepy obsession with you isn't just part of a mutual hate-hate relationship, I think I'm going to be sick!”
“What?! No! I like girls!” spluttered Harry, bewildered, “I like girls just fine! Oh man, that's revolting! No, Hermione's just... it'd be like you noticing that about your brothers!”
Ginny pretended to stick her fingers down her throat. “Urgh! I see your point. Well, anyway, I don't think anyone wants to put up with another year of that. I can't believe that either of them could be so dense!”
“Including Ron?”
“Including Ron!”
They chattered on for a few minutes, and Harry gradually realised that his mood had improved. It plummeted again when he heard an ear-shattering bellow of “What?!” from the kitchen, setting off a demonic shriek of rage from Mrs. Black as she embarked on another of her vile outbursts.
One thing that Harry had noticed despite his own confusion when he arrived at Grimmauld Place was that Sirius' mental state was still rather fragile. He could be cheerful and often quite charming, but he sometimes sank into an almost frenzied manic depression, pacing and snarling like a caged beast — which to some extent he was. Despite his escape after 12 years unjustly imprisoned in the deepest pits of Azkaban, he was still very much a wanted man, and being trapped in the much-hated Gothic manor of his child-hood wasn't helping.
“Harry! Harry, get in here!” they heard Sirius' voice, tinged with panic, over the shrieks of the painting.
A moment later, Mrs Black was silenced and the tired-looking form of Remus Lupin, panting slightly, appeared in the doorway. “Hallo, Harry, Ginny. Did you hear Sirius' dulcet tones? I think something's come up.”
“Then he'll have to take matters into his own hands,” said Ginny, with a straight face.
“Really, Professor? I'd never have guessed!” said Harry acidly, completely missing the horrified look on Lupin's face. “Any idea what it is?”
“None, I've only just walked in. About the only think I can think of is that I picked up the post on the way here, though. It's probably just a bill or something and he's flown off the handle,” said Remus weakly.
“Well, we'd better go and find out before he bursts a blood vessel,” said Harry, rising. As he passed the armchair he took Ginny's outstretched hand and pulled her to her feet, and the two of them started after the werewolf.
“A Galleon says the Prophet's got hold of the story about me and it's all over the front page,” he muttered to her in the hall.
“Oh, Harry, they wouldn't! Not even the Prophet would stoop that low,” she protested.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn't be so sure,” said Harry, stepping through the kitchen door.
Inside, they were immediately assailed by a wall of noise, having passed through a silencing charm. Sirius was striding back and forth spewing a furious volley of invective which Mrs. Weasley was trying to chide him for without much success. Ron and Hermione were still at the table but, thankfully, silent for a change. Hermione was bursting with curiosity to know what had set the man off, while Ron looked like he was making note of some of the words in case he could re-use them in the future.
Lupin managed to silence the lot of them by letting off a cannon blast from his wand. “Now then, Sirius, are you going to explain what the rumpus is about?” he asked calmly into the shocked silence.
“This... this rag..,” Sirius spluttered incoherently, waving a Daily Prophet around like a war axe, “Front page; Harry Potter Charged!”
Ginny turned and gave Harry an apologetic look full of sympathy, but he could only shake his head in appalled disgust. “See? It was about as inevitable as Snape dodging the shampoo isle at the apothecary.”
Lupin blinked, then strode over to grab the paper and see for himself. “Surely you can't be serious?!”
Sirius thumped the kitchen worktop, “Damn it, of course I'm Sirius!” he roared. “And don't call me Shirley!”
There was a choking noise from the kitchen table and Hermione slid off her chair and under the table, laughing hysterically as Ron and Harry exchanged mystified looks. Ron looked down into his half-drunk tea-cup.
“Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up pumpkin juice,” he said in bewilderment.
Harry collapsed into a spare seat at the table. “Oh, for the love of Merlin! Can we cut this circus for a minute and tell me what this article actually says?”
Sirius let out a particularly foul word, making Remus wince. Mrs. Weasley drew herself up to her full height and cast a silencing charm on the man.
“Sirius Black! That's quite enough! I'm sure you're upset, but if you can't get a grip on yourself you'll just have to remain silent!”
If anything, this encouraged Sirius to new heights. They watched his mute, frenzied swearing in fascination as he hurled the paper down onto the Welsh dresser and waved his arms in silent apoplexy. Finally, red-faced and panting, he waved to Mrs Weasley, who cancelled her charm.
“Thank you, Molly, that's much better,” he said in a calm voice.
“Will someone please put me out of my misery, here?” Harry demanded loudly. “Ginny? Please?”
Pale-faced, the girl picked up the paper and read aloud, her soft voice carrying clearly through the shocked kitchen.
“Until now, it seemed that the worst of the fallout from May's tragic events at Hogwarts had
Passed, with the death of Cedric Diggory in the re-established Triwizard Tournament.
Yesterday, however, in a sensational turn of events, a source revealed to this paper that the
Other wizard who mysteriously disappeared during the final event of the Tournament, the
Unstable and erratic Harry Potter, has recently been charged with serious breaches of
Regulations regarding the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic and the
Statute of Secrecy.
“Hours earlier, questions were again raised in the Ministry regarding Potter and his
Guardians, given his unexplained involvement in several deaths at Hogwarts.”
“What hell is this?” said Ron in disbelief, “It sounds like Rita Skeeter at her worst.”
“That's because it is Rita Skeeter,” said Sirius, with a barely restrained snarl.
“It can't be! I've... erm-” insisted Hermione, before realising what she was about to admit to and breaking off in confusion.
Ginny leaned over and pushed the paper in front of her. “Read the first letters of the first nine lines, then.”
Hermione's mouth formed a small 'o' as Ron bent his head over her shoulder. “UP YOURS HG... oh. Oh! I thought you had an agreement-”
“Oh, use your brain, Ron!” Hermione snapped acidly.
“Hermione! Manners, if you don't mind!” said Mrs. Weasley reproachfully, “I know you're upset, but I expect better from you.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” she muttered, still giving Ron a dirty look.
Remus walked over to rest a hand on Harry's shoulder, but his head had already sunk forward until it rested on the table top. “Keep going, Ginny,” said Harry, his voice tight.
“I think that's quite enough of that rot, Harry, no-one of any sense would believe a word,” said Mrs. Weasley, reassuringly.
“Ginny!”
Slowly, Ginny retrieved the paper and continued to read.
“Following the mysterious death of a promising and talented young teacher, Quirinus Quirrell, in Potter's first year the mayhem continued in his second, with Potter heavily implicated in the petrification of a number of students and the tragic mental injuries suffered by another of Potter's teachers, Gilderoy Lockhart. While the confused explanations offered by Hogwarts' ancient and venerated Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, may have passed muster at the time, serious questions were asked about Potter and his possible Dark affiliations after his apparent collusion with the notorious escaped mass murderer Sirius Black at the end of his third year. Again Dumbledore tried to smooth matters over, allowing Potter to return to Hogwarts this year. The farcical shenanigans that followed, as Potter managed to hijack the international Triwizard Tournament seemingly to satisfy his ever-growing thirst for attention, ended in chaos, mystery, and death.
“Speaking yesterday in Minister's Question Time, former member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors Lucius Malfoy (Con., Wiltshire), demanded a public inquiry into the circumstances surrounding the final task of the Triwizard Tournament and the death of Cedric Diggory.”
“'I am a Death Eater and an absolutely thundering arse,'” drawled Ron mockingly, in a passable impression of the elder Malfoy, “'I have spoken to You-Know-Who, and he assures me that he was torturing babies in Hawaii at the time'. Who the heck asked him, anyway? Everyone knows he's a lying crook!”
“More importantly, why is he keeping this in the spotlight? You'd think the last thing he'd want is for people to be asking questions, because if they do they'll see that Harry's right,” said Hermione loyally.
“Because if he gets to control the questions, then he can turn it into a prolonged slander of Harry and Dumbledore and undermine their credibility,” said Remus. “You've seen some of the stuff the Prophet's been spouting recently.”
“Damn it, I should have ripped his lungs out through his ears twenty years ago,” snarled Sirius.
Harry cut across Remus' rebuke. “What did he say, Ginny?”
Ginny fidgeted silently for a minute.
“Well?”
She cleared her throat nervously and continued.
“'Professor Dumbledore, while no doubt well-intentioned, has shown a remarkable disrespect to Cedric and his family by denying them the truth of what occurred during the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. The fact remains that the two boys emerged from the task together, and one of them had clearly been murdered. That the notoriously unstable Harry Potter can only produce a patently ridiculous fairytale about You-Know-Who in his defence is extremely suspicious. That Professor Dumbledore should choose to place his backing behind that story is nothing short of scandalous.
“'I call upon the Minister to order a full public enquiry into the events surrounding the final task of the Triwizard Tournament and the death of Cedric Diggory. I call upon the Hogwarts Board of Governors to demand that Professor Dumbledore resign immediately as Headmaster of Hogwarts, or be sacked for gross misconduct. Lastly, I call upon Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, to immediately take Harry Potter into custody until he may be questioned by the Wizengamot regarding the death of Cedric Diggory and also the other deaths, suspicious injuries, and violence which has trailed in his wake during his time at Hogwarts.'”
The room descended into uproar as Ginny read the final sentence, with Ron and Hermione shouting their protests at the injustice, Sirius transforming into dog form to voice his displeasure in savage barks, and even Mrs. Weasley reaching boiling point.
“This is bollocks, mate! Absolute bollocks! You're going to get out of this, and we're with you every damn step of the way!” Ron shouted.
“Ron's right, we can't let them get away with this,” said Hermione passionately, her earlier grudge with Ron temporarily forgotten. “We've got to stop this from going any further.”
“That's all well and good, but let's not go off at half-cock just yet. They don't know where Harry is, so for the time being he's perfectly safe,” said Remus reasonably.
“Yes, right up until they convene their kangaroo court,” growled Sirius. “If it gets to that point, he's got no chance. I've seen just what passes for justice when the Ministry has a mind for it.”
“Is there anyone on my side?” asked Harry in despair.
“All of us, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley firmly. “The whole Order, and Professor Dumbledore, too. If he can't find a way out of this, no-one can.”
“I'm not sure whether I should be reassured by that or not,” said Harry. “I meant anyone in the Ministry? As much as I like you guys, you're not going to be the ones who get to make the decision.”
Ginny bit her lip. “Well... I guess Minister Fudge is. Sort of.”
“Cornelius Fudge?” groaned Harry, “Oh my God, I'm doomed! Someone light a fire in that hearth and I'll throw my wand on it now! What exactly do you mean by, 'Sort of'?”
“Ginny, stop,” said Mrs. Weasley in a quiet, firm voice. “I know you mean well, but you're not helping.”
“Please?”
Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath and continued to read.
“Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge (Whig, Suffolk), rebuffed Mr. Malfoy's demands as an overreaction. 'While I agree that Potter's story is patently untrue, locking up a traumatised teenager is not the way forward, nor is removing a great servant of this country at a time when instability threatens. What this country needs is firm leadership-
Blah, blah, blah. The rest is the usual self-serving rubbish you'd expect.”
“Good, so with that in mind he's resigned, has he?” snorted Ron. “He couldn't lead his way out of a wet paper bag!”
“Maybe not, but he's all we've got,” said Sirius darkly.
“Keep it up, this is all very encouraging,” said Hermione sarcastically.
“Well, if you've got a great idea, let's hear it,” snapped Ron. “Come on, we're all ears.”
The room descended into argument once again. Harry listened for a moment, a crushing ball of ice in his stomach, before he could take no more. He slid out of his chair and slipped, head down, for the door. Ron noticed him gone as the door hinges creaked. “Oh well done, Ginny, nice one.”
“Young lady, I warned you-” Mrs. Weasley began to scold her youngest child, but was cut off by the door slamming back against the wall.
“Don't you dare start on Ginny!” he spat, furious, “Out of all of you, she's the only one with the guts to tell me what's going on! And you call yourselves my friends!”
Harry's voice broke on the last word, and he turned and hurried away, rage and humiliation and fear bubbling unpleasantly in his gut. They could sit and argue about who was right and throw blame around until the cows came home if that was what they wanted.
He just wanted to be alone.
=====// \\=====
He was unsurprised that she was the one to find him. The slowly deepening shade of gold in the light coming though the grimy windows told him that most of the afternoon had passed since he walked out of the kitchen after hearing that news of his latest scrape had made the front page.
He watched her bow cautiously to the hippogriff, and then drop a brief curtsey in reply to its stately nod of approval. Graceful, and with the hint of puckish humour he had come to expect.
She didn't come over to him, or even attempt to speak, but went and stroked the hippogriff's neck in silence as it chirped approvingly, rustling its wing feathers. She laughed, a surprisingly merry sound in his gloom, when it snuffled hopefully at her pockets.
“Sorry Buckbeak, I don't carry dead rats around with me. You'll have to wait for Sirius if you're hungry.”
Eventually she went and sat quietly on the floor, leaning against the wall opposite and regarding him in silence. With a scowl, he ignored her. Irritatingly, she paid no attention. Buckbeak followed the girl over and lowered his head for further scratches, distracting her, but after a few minutes the hippogriff lost interest and stalked back to the nest it had made in the remains of Sirius' mother's bed.
The echoes of the hippogriff's heavy footfalls and the protesting squeaks of the floorboards died away into silence, and Harry realised just how quiet the old house was. The house somehow managed to swallow sound at the best of times, despite the presence of many inhabitants, but now all was still.
The quiet gradually made its way into his bones, slowly draining the anger and embarrassment away to leave a cold, dull knot of hopelessness in his chest. She remained silent, moving only a couple of times to change her weight, her patience seemingly endless. Merlin knew his wasn't. Locked up with the damn Dursleys again for another summer, tolerating their barbs and petty spite during the day only to relive the sadistic glee of Voldemort reborn and the dull, accusing stare of Cedric's vacant eyes during the nights. It was enough to make you scream.
He did feel a twinge of guilt for unloading on Ron and Hermione the second he walked through the door, but his frustration had boiled over. As much as he was loath to admit that he needed them — too much touchy-feely girly-stuff — he knew that he had been unfair to them and probably really needed to apologise.
Even so, had it been too much for someone to let him know that Sirius was alive and safe? He had been on tenterhooks all summer, but not a peep from anyone. If it was so secret that it couldn't be committed to paper, which had made Ron and Hermione's tantalising letters even more irritating, as the damned Order of the Phoenix was camped around Privet Drive twenty-four hours a day surely one of them could have said something? Although unless appearances were very, very, deceiving, given the nature of his 'guard' when he'd been attacked by the Dementors, the Order looked more like a Disorder.
It felt good just to sit in quiet for a while and let himself unwind, but gradually he realised that the light was fading and his backside hurt. Ginny was still sitting silently, waiting.
“I wonder what's going on down there?” he said, his voice scratchy and dry.
Ginny made a face. “Sirius and Mum sniping at each other. Dad falling asleep by the kitchen fire. Ron and Hermione bickering about nothing and making eyes at each other. Fred and George annoying Crookshanks and winding Bill up. Same as every night for the last month or so. Either that or they sling us all out and have their super-secret meetings in the kitchen.”
Harry was silent for a bit. “Look, I'm sorry if I got you into trouble earlier,” he muttered awkwardly.
“Don't worry about it. It's bad enough that they won't tell us anything about Voldemort, but not to tell you what's going on in the Ministry about your hearing is ridiculous.”
Harry stared. “You used his name.”
Ginny gave a bitter laugh and tossed her head, an oddly proud gesture. “That's not his name. We both know that.”
Of course. And Ginny would know that better than anyone. “I suppose you're right. Somehow it's difficult to think of Voldemort and Tom Riddle as being the same. Voldemort just seems...”
Harry trailed off, and Ginny filled in for him. “More than human but at the same time, much less.”
Harry nodded, and she continued. “Of course he does. That's what he wants you to think. Voldemort is the legend, the name which the nightmares are built around. It's a name that gives him power that the old Tom Riddle never had, not really. Voldemort is a name that has his enemies defeated before he even lifts a finger. Tom Riddle just sounds like a kid who might give you a nasty Chinese burn behind the Herbology greenhouses.”
Harry laughed, startled. “That's a unique way of putting it.”
“Perhaps. But as much as he tries to hide it, underneath he's still human. Nasty, twisted, sadistic, and as close to utterly evil as you can get, but human. He'll never escape that.”
Harry just nodded, unnerved by Ginny's careless deconstruction of the most feared Dark Lord in centuries. He let a diplomatic silence descend over the room, watching curiously as Ginny stared detachedly into space for a few moments before shaking herself back to the present, her long red hair coiling and glinting like a river of fire in the fading light.
“First things first, I suppose. If I don't win this hearing I don't think Voldemort will have too much to worry about. You say Fudge is on my side?”
Ginny snorted derisively. “Fudge is on Fudge's side. He may not have jumped when Lucius Malfoy said 'Jump', but that's only because he probably has a haunting fear that you might be right. And when he can't put his head in the sand and deny it any longer he's going to have to go crawling to Dumbledore, and try to explain to the public why he locked up the Boy Who Lived and sacked the only wizard Voldemort was ever scared of.”
“You're awfully cynical sometimes, Ginny,” Harry said, half in admiration.
“Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?” she asked sweetly.
Harry chuckled, “Not if I fancy my bogeys where they are! What did Fudge actually say?”
“I can't remember it word for word, but the gist of it was that Dumbledore should have someone appointed to keep an eye on him and you should be sent to St. Mungo's rather than to prison. Which is awfully nice of him,” she concluded sarcastically.
“St. Mungos?” said Harry, horrified. His mind flashed to the Janus Thickey ward. Would they lock him up with the likes Gilderoy Lockheart? Strap him down to a bed to stop him escaping? If they did, he knew pictures would be in the Prophet the following day and any faint remaining hope of losing the tag of mental instability would be lost forever.
“Well, better that than Azkaban, I suppose,” said Ginny.
“St Mungo's?” Harry repeated, still rather dazed at the thought. Ginny gave him an odd look.
“It's a large magical hospital in the centre of London disguised as a disused Muggle department store, but that's not important right now. Harry, we have to make sure you're not in a position where they can put you in either.”
“I know, I know,” Harry sighed dispiritedly. “Just how I'm going to do that, I haven't a clue. The Prophet's taking the mickey out of me on a daily basis. Lucius Malfoy is telling anyone who'll listen that I'm nuttier than dried squirrel poo. And Rita Skeeter's not only on the loose but now she's out for my blood even more than usual, although how the hell that happened I haven't a clue.”
Ginny made a face. “For once, Hermione's not been as clever as she thought. Her leverage was that Skeeter is an unregistered animagus. So earlier I went and looked through some of last week's Daily Prophet's and sure enough, buried in the announcements is a notice that she's registered, backdated a number of years after she paid a nominal fine. It doesn't say any more than that, which technically it's supposed to according to Professor Lupin, but either way it means that Hermione's got nothing on her any more.”
Harry winced. “'Up yours, Hermione.'”
“Exactly. And by association, 'look out Harry', she's spitting mad and has a whacking great grudge to nurse.”
“Wonderful. Just wonderful!” moaned Harry. “I wonder if there's anything that could depress me more?”
The door crashed open to reveal Professor Snape, making the two of them jump. His face bore the trademark signs of his utter disdain.
Harry sighed in the sudden silence, “Of course it could.”
Behind them, Buckbeak leapt to his feet, his wings raised threateningly.
“I thought I heard your familiar, self-obsessed whining as I was coming down the hall, Potter. If you can drag yourself away from your teenage angst for a moment, I have a letter from Professor Dumbledore,” said Snape, staying in the doorway.
“Nice to see you, too, Professor,” said Harry through gritted teeth. He held out a hand for the letter, but Snape's scowl just deepened.
“As I expected, you immediately assume it's for you.”
“Well, if it isn't then why did you come all the way up here to tell him?” asked Ginny, with some asperity. Harry felt like applauding.
“Like you, I couldn't stand to be without the light of his company, you arrogant brat!” said Snape sarcastically.
“Don't talk to Ginny like that!” Harry snapped angrily.
“What are you going to do, set you Patronus on me?” Snape tossed the letter in Harry's approximate direction and whirled on his heel.
Harry watched the closing door, fuming. “What a charming man,” he said, when he had a grip of his temper. “I almost wish I had a daughter so I could forbid her to marry him.”
“I don't think that's likely to be a problem,” said Ginny, with a shudder. “What does Dumbledore's letter say?”
Harry collected the letter from the floor and slit the flap with his finger, reading the name off the front at the same time; “'Mr. H.J. Potter, Esq.'. A simply 'Harry' would have done!”
He pulled out the sheet of parchment and unfolded it.
'Dear Mr. Potter,
“As you have no doubt been informed, your hearing is scheduled for 9:30 a.m. on the 12th instant at the Ministry of Magic. I am taking steps to ensure that it is as much a formality as possible, but be prepared for an awkward interrogation. As ever, the truth will be your best and only defence, no matter the provocation.”
Cordially yours,
A.P.W.B. Dumbledore'
“Oh, jolly. I'm totally reassured,” said Harry flatly. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“How long have you got?” asked Ginny, with a grin. “Don't worry, according to the Professor, 'The Truth Shall Make Ye Free'.”
“More like, 'The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret',” grumbled Harry. He watched as Ginny stood and stretched like a cat. “Are you OK?” he asked.
“My butt hurts,” she admitted. “When you brood, you do it properly.”
“I wasn't brooding! I was thinking!” Harry protested. Ginny just looked at him, one eyebrow raised. After a moment he cracked. “OK, maybe I was brooding a little, too.”
Ginny bit her lip. “Look, even if Dumbledore says he's got everything under control, that doesn't mean we can't plan for every eventuality, does it? Just in case.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean we make sure you're clear on your defence, try to think of alternatives. See if we can pick holes in your story, that sort of thing. You can be sure that someone will do their damnedest to trip you up, so you might as well get some practice at dealing with it,” Ginny said darkly. “You know what they say — hope for the best, plan for the worst. Are you really sure you want to rely on other people to get you off this?”
Harry thought for a second. “Good point.”
“I'm sure Ron and Hermione will help, too.”
“I'm sure Ron and Hermione will want to help, then squabble over the best way to do it, start trying to impress each other, and completely forget what we're trying to do,” Harry corrected her grumpily. “If they can drag themselves away, fine, but if they start on that again I'm going to strangle them!”
Ginny laughed, “Perhaps we can find some sort of spell which will dump a bucket of water over them whenever they start to argue.”
“Now, that I believe we can help you with!” The door flew open with a crash and Fred and George sauntered in, bowing extravagantly to the irritated Buckbeak.
“Tsk, tsk, children, hiding away behind closed doors together, all alone! Why, you could be up to anything!” Fred teased. Harry blushed, but Ginny kept her cool thanks to years of experience.
“No, I think you're thinking of my brother. Tall, gangly, Hermione fixation?”
The twins laughed.
“Oh that one! Yes, I think I know who you mean,” said George.
“Can't possibly imagine how we mixed you up,” added Fred. “What did you say to Snape, Harry? He was practically frothing at the mouth just now?”
Harry shrugged, “Nothing much. He was being a complete berk, as per usual.”
“Well, it's safe to come downstairs again, now. He and Professor Lupin just went out.”
Harry's brow wrinkled, “Together?”
Fred and George turned and looked at each other for a second. “Snape and Professor Lupin just went out,” they chanted in unison. Harry resisted the urge to beat his head against the wall, but only just. The twins could be like that.
“Anyway, Ginny, I think Mum's looking for you. Bed time, young lady, you need your beauty sleep,” said George.
“Not half as much as you do if you want Angelina to go out with you,” Ginny fired back.
“Oooooooh!” the twins squealed in a mocking falsetto, “Get her!”
The four of them tumbled out onto the landing and clattered downstairs for the kitchen, their youthful laugher the first the old house had heard in many years. Suddenly, thought Harry, the place doesn't seem quite so bad.
It was a shame for the screams of Sirius' mother to ruin the moment, really.
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