The Lewis House

Harry woke with a blinding headache. It gave him a second of panic; the harsh throbbing in his forehead was so reminiscent of his scar. But for once it had nothing to do with his scar, he remembered with a groan. It had to do with whatever Goldie had given them to drink at the pub last night.

"Blimey." Apparently Ron was awake as well, and groaned much as Harry had just done. "Bloody hell... not a great idea. Fun, though, wasn’t it?" Ron let out a monstrous yawn. "You awake, Harry?"

"Yeah -" Harry winced at the sound of his own voice in his head. It was far too loud. "I’m never doing that again."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it," Harry mumbled, giving a wide yawn of his own. "I’ll never keep up with Oliver, if I do."

"Oliver what - Wood?"

Harry nodded, and immediately wished he hadn’t. It hurt to move his head. "I’m glad the Quidditch tryouts haven’t started yet," he muttered, more to himself than to Ron. "Oliver would’ve had me out of bed and flying two hours ago, no matter what kind of pain I was in. He’s insane."

He heard Ron’s bedsprings bounce, followed by the thud of his friend’s feet hitting the floor. A moment later, Ron was leaning over him, freckled and grinning.

"Are you saying you’re definitely going to go out for the Cannons?"

Harry blinked. He hadn’t realized it, but somewhere during the course of the previous evening, he must have come to a decision.

"Yeah..." he replied slowly, feeling himself smile a bit. "I guess I am."

Ron whooped. Harry put his hands to his head and tried to block out the noise of Ron, dressing in a fury.

"Come on, Harry, get up - that’s great news. I’m really glad you’re going to try for it; Hermione’ll want to know and Sirius too - let’s go downstairs."

"My head," was Harry’s vague answer.

"Oh, stop blubbering and get up. We’ll have a coffee and it’ll be fine. Then we can go outside and you can practice for tryouts by showing me those moves you promised."

Ten minutes later, still wincing painfully, Harry managed to follow Ron down to the dining room with his broomstick gripped in his hand. Morning light was very bright in the front window. The glare made Harry’s headache worse than it had been already, though he hardly knew how that was possible. When the sun disappeared behind clouds a moment later, the shadow it left was much more tolerable, and Harry could actually make out the other occupant of the room.

Remus was already sitting at the table, sipping tea and reading the Daily Prophet. He looked up at the two of them, and though his eyes were tired, he was obviously amused. "Late night?" he asked.

Ron dropped with exaggerated weariness into a chair. "Very. You were right about that pub, though - Goldie’s a load of fun. Gave us a welcome-to-town drink, on the house."

"Only just the one?" Remus mused, lifting an eyebrow. "Are you sure it was Goldie?"

Harry leaned his broom on the wall and dropped into a seat at the end of the table. "It was him," he answered shortly.

"Yeah, he handed us the bottle and let us go," Ron said, sounding satisfied with himself. "We must've had four or five shots apiece."

Remus chuckled. "Which was it, Harry? Four or five?"

Harry shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish, and rubbed his head. His memories of the previous night seemed to be part-real, part-dream, and he found that it was difficult to sort them properly. The sound of laughter from beyond the kitchen door made his temples throb, and the smell of breakfast wafting towards the table made him nauseous. He wondered if eating would make him feel better or worse.

"Who’s cooking?" Ron asked, lifting his nose into the air.

"Ginny," replied Remus, returning to his paper.

"Oh, good," Ron rejoined - too loudly. Harry looked askance at him as he continued to half-holler toward the kitchen door. "I was worried it might be Hermione, giving that cooking spellbook another try."

Hermione appeared in the door as if on cue, balancing a stack of plates in the air with her wand. She regarded Ron with her chin in the air, even though a smile tugged at her lips. "Why would I cook anything for you?'' she asked tartly, then flashed a grin at Harry. "Morning!" she said, in an unusually singsong voice. She landed the settings safely on the table and turned away to the kitchen. "Anyway Ron, you might try and be a bit nicer; I was just out here telling Remus that you have some really good news. Although I imagine you may have forgotten it entirely by now. The two of you look a terrible wreck."

The door shut behind her and Ron watched it, a grin lighting up his face. "Well, I do have a bit of news, at that."

Harry, who had been distributing plates and forks with his wand during this exchange, now looked at Ron with interest. "What news?" he asked.

"What news?" Ron repeated, looking at Harry in disbelief.

"Yeah."

"You really don’t remember?"

Harry searched his brain, but drew a blank. "I... bet I would, if you told me."

Ron laughed. "You should have seen him last night," he told Remus, who was laughing as well. "I’m not surprised you can’t remember anything, Harry - you were in a state."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, feeling vaguely wary. He had a sudden vision of himself drooling stupidly down the bar. "What did I do?"

"Oh, just fell down a bit, talked loudly, laughed yourself sick. It was great."

Harry felt irritated at this description. "Glad I was entertaining," he said curtly. "Well, what’s your news, come on."

Ron gave a nod, and turned to Remus. "Goldie gave me a job bartending down at the pub - I start at seven tonight."

"Yeah – I knew that," said Harry at once, suddenly remembering at least that much of the evening. Ron had landed a job. Harry felt his earlier irritation disappear and he smiled at his friend’s good luck.

"Excellent, Ron!" was Remus’s reply.

"Ron, that's so great!" Ginny was in the door. She and Hermione carried breakfast to the table and sat down. "Does this mean I get free butterbeer whenever I want?" Ginny shot Harry a grin.

But he couldn’t smile back. The sight of Ginny brought the previous evening into sharp and unwelcome focus. Harry had a strong memory of her having been there at some point, though he couldn’t remember speaking to her at all. In fact - his stomach writhed slightly - if he was remembering things correctly, then he’d stood there and stared her down, for quite some time. Something about her hair...

Ginny didn’t seem to remember it, or if she did, she wasn’t allowing it to affect her. But Harry saw that her hair looked as though it had been done up for a party, then slept upon directly. It was piled up high on the back of her head, and tendrils were coming loose all over. That, coupled with the fact that she was still in her dressing gown, made her a very endearing picture at the moment.

"I dunno, Gin." Ron shook his head, with an air that reminded Harry distinctly of Percy. "I shouldn't give stuff away while I'm working."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Bighead Boy," she muttered under her breath. Harry snorted and tried to catch her eye to share the joke. But she had fallen to looking a bit wistfully at her plate, and he knew that she must be thinking of Percy, too. Harry kicked her foot lightly under the table to catch her attention and, when he had it, he grinned and shot a deliberate, sideways look at Ron.

But instead of playing back, Ginny looked up at Harry with such unconcealed surprise that he faltered. He realized that it had been a long time since he had openly joked with her, and he felt himself begin to blush. Just before he felt truly awkward, however, she kicked him back under the table and shot a grin at Ron as well.

Apparently, Ron had witnessed none of this exchange. He gave a satisfied sigh. "So then, that’s me taken care of for awhile. And now that we're all together, Harry here -" Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as if preparing him for some momentous event - "has some news for everyone as well. Some unbelievable news." Ron turned to Harry expectantly, a gleam in his eyes.

"Really?" Hermione asked, frowning first at Ron and then at him, as if a bit put out that she wasn't in on the secret. "What is it, Harry?

Ginny leaned forward, chin propped on her hands. "Have you got a job as well?" she demanded.

For a moment, Harry had no idea what any of them were talking about - and then it hit him. The Cannons. He was going to go out for a professional Quidditch team. He grinned at the thought, surprised by how excited he was to tell everyone about his decision, and looked from Ginny’s expectant face to Hermione’s curious frown, enjoying their anticipation.

"Out with it, Harry," Remus finally said.

Harry turned to face him, drew a breath to say it - and stopped. One seat at the table was still empty, and he felt a pang of unmistakable disappointment. "Where’s Sirius?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"He's working," Remus answered, his tone controlled.

"With Dad?" Ginny asked at once. "Have they gone back out to Azkaban?" She sounded as worried as Remus looked.

"No, no. Today he's gone to Wales. He thinks he's found a possible location for a new wizard prison."

Ginny frowned. "But they don't even know how they're going to contain the prisoners, so what’s the point of that?"

"Excellent question. I suggest you ask Sirius," Remus replied dryly, then shook his head and returned his attention to Harry. "You’ll have to tell your news twice, if you don’t mind, because now I’m rather curious." He smiled.

Harry shrugged. "It’s fine," he said, though he felt slightly less enthusiastic about telling the news without his godfather present. "It’s really not a big deal. I just thought I might go out for the Chudley Cannons, that’s all."

"Oh, Harry – really?" Ginny gasped.

"Harry, that’s wonderful!" Hermione cried.

"NOT A BIG DEAL?!" Ron bellowed. "IT’S THE CANNONS!"

Harry cringed as pain shot through his head, directly behind his eyes. Hermione covered her ears. "Honestly, Ron. We are not deaf." But she was beaming at Harry and so was Ginny – both were very clearly pleased about his decision.

Remus, however, looked unruffled by the news. "An admirable plan. But I have to say, Harry, it’s not quite news to me – I had a warning on this."

Harry looked at him in surprise. "How’s that?"

Remus lifted the newspaper a fraction. "Eloise Midgen’s report on you mentioned something about it being a ‘possibility’."

"That’s out?" Ginny asked at once. "Can we read it, please?" She held out her hand, and Remus handed her the paper. She skimmed the article quickly, with Hermione leaning over her shoulder, then blew out a breath of relief and smiled at Harry.

"It’s all right, then?" he asked warily.

"It’s fine. It says that you’re doing well and enjoying your summer, living with friends and godfather, thinking about what you’d like to do with your life – and then it uses all the things Ron said, to tidy it up. It’s really the best article about you I’ve ever seen. At least it’s true." She looked down at the paper again. "Colin’s such a good photographer," she mused, and Harry watched her, feeling a blush creep back into his face as Ginny studied his image in the paper. She tucked a curl of red hair behind her ear and bit her lip – then seemed to realize all at once whose picture she was staring at. She folded the paper hastily, handing it across to Ron as quickly as she could, accidentally catching Harry’s eyes in the process. For a split-second they looked at each other, and then Ginny looked away, quite pink. Harry hadn’t seen her flustered like this in a long time and it was somehow reassuring. He watched her for another moment as she busied herself with folding her napkin unnecessarily, and wondered what she would do if he touched her foot again, under the table.

Ron slapped the newspaper open. Startled, Harry blinked at the noise, then craned his neck over Ron’s shoulder to see just what Ginny had been looking at. Colin’s picture was indeed very good – a black and white image of himself, smiling slightly. Every so often, his photo-self would run a hand through his hair, tossing it up off his forehead. He’d never thought of himself as a handsome person because it hadn’t crossed his mind much. He’d always been a bit skinny and untidy, really. But according to this photograph, Harry reflected, he wasn’t so bad. He looked older than he was accustomed to thinking of himself, and even his expression surprised him – the smile in the photo was pensive and guarded. He hadn’t realized that everything showed up so easily on his face.

"So when are the tryouts, Harry?"

Hermione’s voice brought him back to the table. He shrugged. "Soon, I expect. I think there was something in the paper about it yesterday."

Ron flipped it to the sports section. He read aloud. "Oliver Wood, previously Keeper for the Puddlemere Reserve team and newly-named Captain of the Chudley Cannons, has announced that trials for his team will begin on Monday, July the twenty-seventh. ‘Of course I realize this is a month earlier than most teams plan to begin," says Wood, "but most teams won’t be winning the League Championship, now, will they?’"

Harry laughed out loud, and so did the rest of them. "Wood’s still out of his mind – I’m going to get run into the ground."

"Well, good," said Hermione seriously, turning to him. "I’m really very glad you’re going to do this, Harry. You need it," she added, looking a bit as though she expected him to yell at her for saying so. When he smiled instead, she looked extremely relieved.

Ginny propped her chin on her hands again. "Oh, I don’t know about that," she said airily. "Harry, I don’t think you need to go out for the Cannons – why not wait for a decent team and then try out?" she asked, too innocently.

Harry had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from spitting out his tea at the look on Ron’s face.

"Take it back," Ron said warningly.

"Name me a game they’ve won and I will," Ginny retorted.

"Planning to practice a bit today, Harry?" Remus interjected smoothly, glancing at the Firebolt against the wall.

"That’s right," Ron said, still glaring at Ginny as he got to his feet. "And they’ve won games, you know. They just haven’t won the league in awhile."

"True," Ginny replied easily. "A hundred and six years definitely qualifies as awhile."

"You little –" Ron began.

"We’re off," said Harry, hastily, cutting off the conversation so that he wouldn’t feel obliged to take Ginny’s side of it. She was right, after all. "We’re going to that low field for a bit of flying."

"Not yet, you’re not," Ginny said, smiling up at her brother with the air of one who was enjoying inflicting torture. "You’re washing up – we cooked. That’s always the rule."

Ron scowled. "Ginny, first off, you know nothing about Quidditch. Second, you’re not Mum, and if you think you can set chores on us –"

"We’ll do it," interrupted Harry once more, more interested in getting it done so that they could go out flying, than in having an argument they were sure to lose. He started stacking plates in the air and sending them into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Harry." Ginny stood up and went past him, pausing to lightly touch his arm. "Have a nice practice."

Not meaning to do it, Harry reached up to cover her hand with his own briefly and said, "I will. Thanks for breakfast."

Ginny withdrew her hand after a short pause and went out of the kitchen, leaving Harry quite startled. His heart began to race. How was it that she could affect him so much with such a small gesture? And why did Ron and Hermione have to give each other a look about it? Not that they were the only ones who had noticed – Remus caught Harry’s eyes for a moment before shifting his gaze back again to his tea.

Avoiding looking at everyone, Harry got up from the table and went to the kitchen, determined to get the washing finished and get outside. Ron’s assistance made it a quick job, and before he knew it they were in the road, broomsticks in hand. Harry’s headache had almost evaporated, even as he squinted in the sunlight. He and Ron walked away from Lupin Lodge and were passing the large house on the opposite side of the road, when Ron stopped abruptly.

"Absolutely not."

Harry turned at once – the tone in Ron’s voice was unexpectedly furious and his friend’s face was taut with anger.

"What is it?" he asked hurriedly.

"Look up there, look, quick –" Ron pointed to the third floor balcony on which Harry had seen the man sunning, a few days before. There was no one on it.

"No one’s there," he began, but Ron cut him off.

"Through that glass door on the deck. I swear I thought I saw..."

Harry strained his eyes through the glass, but the house was set far back on an impressive lawn and there was a sharp glare on all its windows. It was difficult to make anything out.

"Still not seeing anything – who was it?"

"Malfoy." Ron gave a snort of disgust.

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated in disbelief, feeling his heart sink. He couldn’t think of anything more unwanted than having Draco Malfoy cut into the first peaceful summer of his life. "Are you sure?"

But Ron shook his head at once, and resumed walking. "Nah – it couldn’t have been him – I know he lives off in that manor of his." He ran a hand through his hair, roughly. "But I’m telling you - it really looked like that bastard, for a second. I must be going batty."

Harry considered a moment, then said, "I saw a man on that deck the other day. It might’ve been him that you just saw – he had blond hair."

"Maybe that’s all it was, then." Ron smacked his fist into his hand and exhaled. "I must have Malfoy on the brain, disgusting as that is. Maybe I just want to run into him, or something."

"What?" Harry asked, taken aback. "Why?"

Ron looked suddenly murderous. "There are a few things that never got quite taken care of," he muttered. "That bloody son of a bitch. I’ll never forgive him for siccing his dad on Hermione’s parents like that. Not much I could do about it while we were in school, but I’ll tell you if he ever –"

"Ron." Harry felt sick to his stomach and it had nothing to do with his hangover. His voice was very low. "Cut it out."

Ron looked at him, quickly snapping out of his rant, and he shook his head – perhaps in silent apology for having brought any of it up. The two of them walked along quietly after that and didn’t speak again until they were up in the air, tossing small rocks past each other in lieu of Golden Snitches, and hollering as they dove to catch them.

* * *

Bill regarded his father in frustration. He’d come to troubleshoot with Arthur at the Ministry after another long and incredibly tedious day at Gringotts, during which his wand had been weighed twice and he’d been half-stripped once, for purposes of identification. The London Gringotts guards were no longer taking chances – even now that the Death Eaters had been defeated, high security was still in full effect. And since not all of the goblins in the London branch were accustomed to Bill’s presence, they stopped him at every turn. He wondered if it had something to do with his hair – he knew he stuck out a mile. After just a few weeks back at work, he was already sick of protesting that he was a legitimate employee – that he was from the Egyptian branch – that if they’d just check his papers... Bill sighed. He couldn’t think of a worse way to end a workday than by having his birthmark verified by very unceremonious goblins.

And it didn’t help that he wasn’t getting anything accomplished now. It felt that he was prolonging the day to no real purpose – they were no closer to a solution for keeping the Dementors at Azkaban than they had been at first. Arthur had now been sitting with his balding head gripped in his hands for ten minutes, glaring at his desk and muttering somewhat nonsensically.

"Blaming me for this... as if I’m the one who set the Dementors out there in the first place... starting to feel for Fudge, I really am... best way to do it really would be to get rid of the Dementors altogether... especially if we could get that Imprisonment Charm together – then we wouldn’t need another guard system... no way to kill those creatures, though..."

"That we know of," Bill interjected. "They’re not Immortals."

Arthur raised his weary head and gave a half-smile. "Then why do they live forever? Just because they’re not categorized in a certain way doesn’t mean we can really kill them. They’re resistant to everything, including Avada Kedavra. They’re like walking death themselves."

"There’s got to be a way to get rid of them," Bill urged. "I’ll keep working on it."

Arthur nodded, and sat up straight. "Until then, the thing to do is find another way to keep them at Azkaban. I just can’t ask Moody and the rest to stay out there any longer. It’s ludicrous, asking them to perform Patronus Charms twenty-four hours a day. Ludicrous. Not to mention that there’s no guarantee they can’t escape – we lost one once, didn’t we?"

Bill felt his stomach lurch slightly. "Not your fault, Dad."

"Then whose?" Arthur asked flatly. "It’s just too damned difficult to keep count of them; they keep back in the shadows and blend together. Good thing Moody’s got a sixth sense on him when it comes to Dark creatures –" Arthur was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. "Come in," he called.

Mundungus Fletcher, whom Bill knew to have been heading up the M.L.E.S. since the end of the war, stuck his head around the door and addressed Arthur.

"Another one of these kids," he said, shaking his head. "Young girl. Pretty little thing. What do you want me to do?"

Arthur sighed. "St. Mungo’s Children’s Home," he replied wearily, sounding as though that answer cost him something. "It’s the only place right now, and at least it’s got beds and baths and food for them, until we have time to investigate missing persons and locate the parents."

Behind his beard, Fletcher’s face was a deep-set frown. "Y’know that they’re probably all dead or Death Eaters, Arthur."

"Maybe not all. We’ll take the time to check when we have the manpower."

Fletcher looked as though he would have liked to reply, but held his tongue and nodded. "Right. I’ll draw up some papers for her, if she’ll sit still long enough. Every time I open the door she tries to bolt." He shook his head once more, pulled it back around the door, and shut it behind him.

"Dad?" Bill looked at his father for a better explanation of what had just transpired.

"Orphans. Seems to be a gang of them hiding down Knockturn Alley. More keep turning up. Some because their parents were murdered. Some probably are children of the Death Eaters we have in custody." Arthur looked wearier than Bill had seen him since Percy’s funeral, though he slapped one hand determinedly on his desk. "One thing at a time. There’s an idea Charlie said he wanted to discuss with me about the Dementors. Who knows, maybe he’s got something."

"When’s he supposed to be here?"

"Half-an-hour ago."

Bill rolled his eyes. Of course. Charlie was notoriously late for everything. "Nice of him to keep his appointments with the Minister."

Arthur laughed, a little. "Now, don’t get –"

"Big ideas. I know, Dad." Bill grinned. "I guess it’s just throwing me off, how everybody keeps coming to you for permission to do everything. I keep thinking it means you’re in charge around here."

There was a small ‘pop’ behind him, and Charlie’s voice came over his shoulder.

"Damn, Dad – that’s one gymnasium you Ministry types have got for yourselves. I’ll have to watch it or I’ll get spoiled. ‘Course it’s not as fun as riding dragons."

Charlie had Apparated, Bill noted with amusement, straight from the locker room showers. His brother had obviously spent the day hard at play and now he stood in the office of the Minister of Magic with his knapsack over his shoulder and a towel around his waist, his red hair sopping wet. He wore nothing else, save the High-Security Apparition Admissions badge that hung around his neck, and the red and gold scaled dragon tattoo that climbed his right side.

"Charlie," began Arthur dubiously, his eyebrows raised high.

Charlie looked around, then down at himself. He shrugged. "What? I was running late." He stretched from side to side, making the dragon tattoo breathe magic fire across his chest as his muscles flexed, then stuck his wand sideways in his mouth and bent down to grab his robes. "S’riously, Dad," he muttered through the wand, "you should take ‘dvant’ge of that stuff down there. ‘S’great."

Arthur exchanged a look with Bill as Charlie pulled his robes over his head right there in the middle of the office.

"Too much time in the company of wild animals," their father muttered across the desk. Bill chuckled. Charlie was certainly the least tame among them, and in a family that wasn’t exactly low-key to begin with, that was saying something.

"What’s that?" Charlie asked good-naturedly, settling himself next to Bill with a satisfied exhale. "Right. Ready for a meeting."

"So glad you could join us," Bill remarked.

"What’s this plan, then, Charlie?" Arthur leaned forward on his desk attentively and Bill watched his father’s face with some concern. All the Ministry’s current struggles were really wearing on Arthur Weasley – but this one was particularly crucial and Bill knew that his father was taking personal responsibility for seeing that that Azkaban was set to rights.

"Well." Charlie patted his knapsack as though it contained vital information. "An assistant of mine had sort of a brainwave. What do you think of trying out a couple of dragons?"

Bill and Arthur stared at Charlie blankly.

"Dragons." Arthur pushed his glasses up on his nose. "In terms of..."

"In terms of guarding Azkaban. Keeping the Dementors at bay. What d’you think?"

Bill snickered. He couldn’t help it. It was an immature reaction, but he’d had a long day and this was really too much.

Charlie looked at him as if a bit offended. "What?" he demanded. "It’s a good idea."

"You think dragons are a good idea for everything," Bill muttered, still laughing a little. "You’ll be telling me they’re good babysitters, next."

Arthur chortled.

Charlie narrowed his eyes and pushed his wet hair off his forehead. "For your information," he shot at them both, "dragons have a force field around them – natural energy, like."

Bill put up his hands in silent appeasement. "Of course they do."

"They do – and you can hang up the wisecracks. My assistant’s drawn up a sort of proposal on the whole thing – a dragon’s force field is made of the same stuff as a Patronus Charm, for the most part – it’s like a sort of... impenetrable energy... Dementors can’t affect it with their depression. Hell, I can’t put it right, she put it a lot better than that. Hold on, I’ll read you what she said." Charlie bent his head and began to rummage in his knapsack.

Bill couldn’t resist. "She?" he asked politely. "Is this your assistant, then?"

Charlie stopped moving for a fraction of a second. Bill could see the back of his brother’s neck go pink.

"Yeah," Charlie answered momentarily, continuing to rummage.

"Anyone I know?" Bill asked suggestively, enjoying the fact that Charlie was clearly unwilling to talk about whoever it was. Charlie was usually a loudmouth about women – with Bill anyway. Getting him nervous about something personal was a definite rarity.

Charlie didn’t answer; he merely fished out a roll of parchment. Bill deftly made a grab for it, but Charlie leapt to his feet and handed the parchment over to his father.

"’S’all right there, Dad," he said, obviously making an effort to keep his voice even. "Hope it helps."

"What’s the girlfriend’s name, Dad?"

Arthur scanned the parchment, found the name, and opened his mouth.

"Not a girlfriend. And that’s my business," Charlie said flatly.

Arthur’s mouth fell shut. He looked at Bill apologetically, but Bill shrugged, half-smiling. He’d drag it out of his brother later, there was no question in his mind.

Charlie gestured to the parchment, slinging his knapsack over one shoulder as he did so. "So if you want to test her theory, after reading that, I’ll have Mick go back and harness two of the Welsh Greens. They’re the only ones we were able to tame enough to fly, during the war. Just let me know." He shot a slight glare at Bill. "Going back to the flat?"

Bill nodded. "I don’t want to Apparate, though – mind walking? I’ve been cooped up all day with those bloody goblins."

Charlie shrugged. "See you, Dad."

"Night, boys." Arthur waved to them without looking up from the proposal. Apparently whatever Charlie’s assistant had written on that parchment, it was worth a second thought. Bill shrugged. Maybe the dragons would end up being useful to the purpose after all. He didn’t get a chance to say this out loud, however. As soon as they were out in the Ministry corridors, Charlie barked at him.

"It’s a good idea."

Bill groaned inwardly, and made a mental note not to crack on dragons any time in the near future, as Charlie continued to drill it into him.

"It’s a damned good idea, and the dragons do have that energy, I’m telling you – don’t you remember? That’s why it took so long to hide them during the war – their energy kept interfering with whatever Diversion Enchantments that witch tried to put up around them."

Bill jumped.

He hadn’t had his old nightmare since moving back to England, but at the mere mention of Diversion Enchantments, Bill conjured an immediate mental image of the witch that had cast them. He tried to shake it, found he couldn’t, and gave in to the memory for a moment. It wasn’t that he wanted to dwell on her face so much as that he couldn’t help it. It helped, at least, that the memory of that incident didn’t frustrate him anymore. Too much time had passed. She wasn’t real to him now so much as a dream; he hardly thought about her except in sleep. Still, arrested by the unexpected reference to that night in the trench, Bill wound unseeingly down the rest of the corridors, and he was only half-listening to Charlie’s continual prattle about the dragons as the two of them walked out of the building’s grand front entrance and into Diagon Alley.

Bill was so lost in thought that the next event nearly caused him to tumble headlong down the Ministry’s massive and crowded front steps. He felt a shove against his back, and a moment later, a school-aged girl with tangled hair that might have been blond if it hadn’t been filthy had forced her way between himself and Charlie. She didn’t stop to apologize, nor did she look behind her – but simply bolted into the street and went careening toward Knockturn Alley.

Sufficiently snapped out of his reverie, Bill watched her go, feeling oddly pulled to follow. Not until he had lost sight of her did he realize that the girl was probably the same orphan that Mundungus Fletcher had been talking about in his father’s office, earlier on. It seemed she had indeed managed to claw her way out of having to go to the Children’s Home. Bill craned his neck, wishing he’d reacted more quickly – but she had disappeared from view. Bill sighed, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Fletcher picked her up again. He couldn’t help imagining Ginny at that age and wondering what she would have done if their parents had been taken from her.

Charlie rubbed his elbow, where the girl had knocked against it. "What was that about?" he muttered.

Bill sighed. For the rest of their walk to the flat they shared, he explained to Charlie everything he’d heard in the Minister’s office that afternoon. By the time the two brothers arrived at their makeshift home, they’d had a few words about the state of the world, and neither was in a mood to banter about dragons any longer. Bill didn’t even feel compelled to prod Charlie about his mysterious assistant. At least – he grinned to himself – not at the moment.

They pushed open the door to find Charlie’s fellow dragon keeper, Mick O’Malley, sitting in the middle of the floor, grinning into the box that sat in his lap. Around him there was evidence of packaging, which he’d strewn around wildly, as if in a hurry to get to whatever was in the box. He looked up as they entered.

"Look here!" he greeted them, excitedly. "Look who’s sent me an import from Australia."

"No way –" Charlie dashed across the room and stared down into the box. "Oh, now that’s brilliant," he cried. "Did Stillwell send you these?"

"He did that," Mick replied happily. "I’ve been wantin’ to get my hands on some of these ever since –"

"He smuggled that boxful into the keepers’ training camp," Charlie finished, dropping down on the floor and reaching into the box. "Yeah, so have I. That was ruddy hysterical."

Bill watched all this with mounting curiosity, and yet he was unsure whether or not he wanted to know which highly lethal Australian creature was living in that box. Charlie was almost as bad as Hagrid had been, when it came to crossing animal life with common sense. Raising his eyebrows and bracing himself for some small terror, Bill took two long steps across the room and looked.

"Billywigs," said Mick reverently, lifting the jar out of the box so that Bill could see it.

Indeed they were – there were a half dozen of the little stinging beasts crawling all over each other inside the glass. Bill laughed out loud, and shook his head ruefully at Charlie.

"I won’t say a word – except if Dad ends up calling on you to get your dragons together for Azkaban, and you’re sitting around all stung up on these things –"

Charlie balked. "I don’t get stung up. I just think they’re interesting. And don’t you go acting all high and mighty – I’ve heard wild stories about the kinds of stuff you can get your hands on in Egypt."

Bill deigned not to reply.

"Are we goin’ back to Romania for a couple o’dragons, then?" Mick asked Bill keenly.

"Don’t know yet," Charlie mused, taking the jar from Mick and watching the Billywigs with a fascinated eye. "My dad’s reading the proposal, anyway. So I’ll guess it’s a yes. It’s a damned good proposal."

Bill was on it in a flash. "Who sent that proposal, Mick?"

Mick looked up, a wicked gleam in his eye, and opened his mouth.

"Hope you’ll enjoy riding Flatulo on every assignment for a year," Charlie interrupted evenly. "I can do it, too; don’t forget which one of us is the supervisor."

Apparently Flatulo wasn’t the dragon of choice, because Mick’s mouth clapped shut again. He shrugged at Bill. Bill shrugged as well. This was getting more and more interesting.

* * *

The sun was crawling toward the horizon by the time Ron and Harry came down out of the sky. Both boys had been too excited about flying to come home for lunch - they’d popped into a shop in the village and eaten something completely unhealthy, then returned as quickly as possible to their brooms. It had been a great day, spent in a low-lying field far out on the other side of the town, which Harry had discovered on his first morning in Stagsden. They were sunburnt and sore, and their throats ached from hollering - Ron couldn’t remember the last time he and Harry had been able to fly like that. It had literally been years since they’d spent so much time outdoors together without the fear of being discovered. It was really nice to mess around like a couple of normal blokes, Ron reflected. It was strange, maybe, and new - but he found it easy to get used to, and he hoped that Harry would as well.

"Do we need to stop for anything else?" he asked, as they passed the last shop and made their way toward the other end of town, and Lupin Lodge. Harry shook his head in reply – they had already bought several bottles of butterbeer, a sack of owl treats, and so many snack items that the shop owner had stared at them. Ron hefted the grocery sack in his arms. In two hours, he’d be a working man, he thought happily. He was looking forward to cleaning up, eating something, and getting back down to the pub.

But his thoughts darkened slightly as they approached the cottage and he slowed his stride a little, letting Harry pull ahead. He wanted to take another look up at that house across the road, and he didn’t want Harry to see him do it. Not that he thought Malfoy was really around, Ron told himself uneasily. But whomever it was that he’d seen earlier might have been Malfoy’s brother, unless it had been a trick of the light. Ron strained his eyes across the lawn and shifted his gaze along the many windows of the large estate.

Seeing nothing, he quickly turned back before Harry could say anything, and followed him up the steps into Remus’s house. They walked through the hall and straight to the kitchen, where Ron dropped the sack on the countertop and sighed with contented exhaustion.

"I’m parched – butterbeer, Harry?"

"Yeah, all right."

Ron reached into the bag for two bottles, and together, he and Harry went into the sunroom, where Hermione was reading in a chair.

"Hello," she said when they came in. She kept her eyes on what she was reading, and Ron thought she sounded a little subdued. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Yeah," he answered, lightly tugging a bit of her hair. "What did you do all day? Wait, no, let me guess." Ron dropped back onto the sofa and grinned at her. "You studied Apparition until you couldn’t stand the fun anymore, and then you did a few Charms, just for a bit of summer relaxation, and then, to top it all off, you settled down with a nice big book called –?"

"Arithmancy for Life II: More Practical Applications," she answered, still not looking up from the page.

Ron sighed heavily. "You know you’re a lunatic – I don’t have to tell you."

Hermione looked up at him, but offered no rebuttal. "You look sunburnt."

Ron felt his nose. "I am," he replied, cracking open his butterbeer and making room for Harry to sit down. "You tired, or something?"

"No."

"Well, what then?"

Hermione shut her book and folded her hands on top of it. "I have to tell you something," she said quietly. "And I don’t want to tell you."

Ron painfully gulped his mouthful of butterbeer. His only thought was that she had accepted one of her job offers, and that she’d be leaving. A few days before, Hermione had mentioned something about taking an apprenticeship off on some island, and though she had seemed honestly interested in it, Ron didn’t want her to go. He’d tried to hide his dislike for the idea, but it had been clear enough to both of them. He hoped she wasn’t about to tell him that she’d decided to take the apprenticeship anyway.

"What’s the matter?" he forced himself to ask, as beside him, Harry started to get up.

"And where are you going?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows at Harry.

"Well," said Harry, a bit awkwardly, "isn’t this something between the two of you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. It affects all of us. Just... please, when I tell you, don’t get upset – I couldn’t stand it." She looked at Ron imploringly. "Don’t get upset," she repeated.

Certain, now, that she was about to announce her departure, Ron gritted his teeth and nodded. "Go ahead, you can tell us," he said, his voice low. He gripped his butterbeer and waited for it.

Hermione drew breath, and looked at her hands. "I saw Draco Malfoy today. Apparently he’s staying across the street, in that big house."

Ron sat up, stunned. "What?!" he asked, turning to Harry in disbelief.

Harry was pale. "You were right," he muttered to Ron. "You knew it. You saw him."

"You saw him too?" Hermione asked immediately, leaning forward.

"I thought I did – but I figured I was just seeing things. I must have been seeing things. Hermione, are you sure you saw him?"

"Yes."

Her answer was so swift that Ron felt certain they must have spoken. The mere idea of Malfoy speaking to Hermione made him want to curse something.

"Don’t tell me he came near you, or I’ll – "

"Don’t!" Hermione’s eyes opened wide in alarm. "Don’t get upset, oh, please – this is why I didn’t want to tell you." Hermione looked anxiously at Harry, and then back to Ron. "He didn’t say a thing to me, he didn’t come near me – I only saw him from the road. Ginny and I were going to come and watch you fly for awhile. While I was waiting for her outside, I looked up at that house and Malfoy was there on the top balcony."

"Does Sirius know he’s there?" Ron asked, his voice low.

Hermione shook her head. "Sirius hasn’t come home all day."

"Well, who lives in that house?"

"I don’t know."

"Didn’t you ask Remus?"

"I couldn’t, he went out to Wales right after you left – Sirius thinks he’s found a place for the new prison and he wanted Remus’s opinion. It was just Ginny and me."

Ron felt the hair raise on the back of his neck at the thought of Hermione and Ginny by themselves, with Malfoy across the way. Draco might have been an idiot and a coward, but that had never meant he wasn’t dangerous.

"Did you just spot him and come back in, or did he see you, too?"

Hermione inhaled, a little shakily. "He saw me. I think we must have stared at each other for a full minute – and then he finally went inside." She continued in a whisper. "It was so strange. He was the last person I expected... It was so out of context... And I think he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I kept waiting for him to pull his wand, and I was ready to pull mine – I still felt like I ought to arm myself. It reminded me – of everything."

She sniffed, barely, and for the first time that evening, Ron noticed that there were light, puffy rings under Hermione’s eyes, as though she might have been crying. Every muscle in Ron’s body clenched on edge – his impulse was to cross the street now, pull his own wand, and have it done with. Malfoy was just like his father, and his father had caused more destruction against the Weasley and Granger families than any of Voldemort’s other supporters. Lucius Malfoy had climbed as high as Pettigrew in the ranks of the Dark army, and his son had as good as announced his intention to follow in his footsteps. In Ron’s opinion, that was too close to being a Death Eater, and if Draco Malfoy wasn’t dead, then at least he ought to be locked up in Azkaban.

But just as he was about to say something to this effect, Hermione seemed to sense it. She shook her head and reached out to stop him, so beseechingly that Ron bit back his anger. Wanting to comfort her as much as he could, he pushed off of the sofa and crouched before Hermione’s chair, taking her hand in his.

"Are you okay?" he asked putting his other hand on her knee.

She nodded. "Of course I am. It’s only Malfoy. We went to school with him for how long?" She gave a hollow little laugh. "And he came off worse than we did, in the end."

Ron shook his head, not wanting to say too much. "But your parents," he managed.

"No." Hermione put a hand on Ron’s shoulder and shook her head firmly. "His father did that, it wasn’t Draco. And his father is dead. At least I haven’t definitely lost my parents. Who knows – there might be a way, someday..." Hermione trailed off and sank back in her chair, looking over Ron’s shoulder to smile briefly at Harry. "Now, you both have to promise me that there isn’t going to be any of your schoolboy-fighting. I don’t want you going out and giving each other boils or fur." She tried to laugh.

Ron looked around at Harry, who had remained silent throughout their exchange. He was ashen.

"Of all the places he could have ended up," was all that Harry said. And then, looking very weary, he rose and left the room, leaving his butterbeer on the table behind him.

Ron watched him go, and Hermione sighed unhappily. "For Harry’s sake," she said softly, "I wish things would stop happening. Just when he makes a decision to do something healthy with his life... it’s unfair. Ginny was so upset when I told her whom I’d seen."

Ron lifted his eyebrows. "Ginny knows?"

"Why wouldn’t she?"

Ron shrugged. Ginny had been involved for a long time in their circle of friendship and in all of their troubles – Ron just tended to forget it, sometimes. In his mind, much as he loved his sister, he was accustomed to thinking of it as just the three of them. "You said she was upset?"

"Only because it might be hard for Harry. She cares for him so much."

Unsure of what to say about that, Ron ignored it. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you sure you’re all right?"

Hermione nodded. "I’m fine, I’m fine." She smiled, unconvincingly. "You really are sunburnt, you ought to use the sunscreen – it’s not just for the lake, you know." She reached out a finger and traced it across his cheek.

Ron shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Hermione’s fingertip drawing the lines of his face. "No point in using that unless you’re there to help put it on me."

Hermione did laugh a little at that. "You’re awful."

"You like me awful." Ron opened his eyes.

Hermione looked at him for a moment, then leaned down and kissed him softly. "Goodnight, Ron," she said, her voice still subdued and quiet.

"You’re going to bed? Hold on – it’s not even six!"

"I know. I’m just tired." Hermione got up, touched his hair, and went out of the room.

Knowing that her sudden fatigue was entirely due to the fact she’d spotted Malfoy, Ron had another impulse to cross the street and retaliate. But he wouldn’t use his wand. He just wanted to land one square punch and hear one good crack. He swigged the rest of his butterbeer in silence, exhaled loudly and got up, meaning to have a quick shower and then take a long, slow walk to work – right past that big house.

Ron showered. He changed clothes in his dark bedroom, where Harry lay on his bed facing the wall with the shades down, pretending to be asleep. He went past Hermione’s door and called out a goodnight, but she didn’t answer. And then, remembering that none of them had put away the things they’d brought home from the village, he returned quickly to the kitchen to do so, before going to work.

"Hey, Ginny." His sister was in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and eating a sandwich.

She tilted her head to the side and appraised him. "You’re all clean. Where are you going?"

"Work. When am I not clean?" he asked, lining the butterbeers up along the countertop and beginning to unload several packets of Cauldron Cakes, pumpkin pasties, and F&G’s Unbeatable Crisps "You Literally Can’t Eat Just One! Go On and Try!".

Ginny laughed at the last item. "Fred and George are so weird," she muttered. "I don’t know why you bought those – they’d’ve sent you a box free. Plus, you really can’t stop eating them, you know. It’s just not right, what those two do to food." She pointed at the growing pile of sweets and snack food. "And is that what you call dinner?"

"So?" Ron tore into a pasty and tossed the rest of his purchases pell-mell into a cabinet. "You’re seriously turning into Mum. Get off the counter."

Ginny laughed and remained where she was. "I had a letter from Mum today, actually. She says –" she cleared her throat and imitated their mother with incredible precision – "Charlie and Bill come home for dinner with your father every few nights now, and Ron certainly ought to do the same once he’s passed his Apparition tests!"

Ron groaned. "In her dreams," he grumbled. "Though Hermione’d like it. Move, come on. I have to put these owl treats behind you."

Ginny shifted slightly. "Hey – d’you want company, going to the pub? First night on the job and all? I’ll walk you down."

"Yeah, sure, that’d be..." Ron stopped. He had forgotten that Malfoy was across the road. He didn’t want Ginny coming back home by herself late at night. "Damn it," he muttered.

"What’s wrong?"

"You can’t come with me."

Ginny lifted her chin slightly. "Oh? Why not?" But she knew why – the expression on her face told Ron that she was well aware of his reasoning.

"It’s not safe," he said shortly, stuffing the owl treats into the cabinet and crossing his arms.

"Don’t tell me it’s because of Malfoy?" Ginny rolled her eyes. "Please. I could take him." She jumped lightly from the counter, pulled her wand, and assumed a position of mock-attack.

Ron didn’t find this at all amusing. "Listen, until we find out what he’s doing here and why he’s spending his summer right across from ours, I don’t want you –"

"What? Going outside? Walking around? Having fun?" Ginny breezed past Ron as she spoke. "I can take care of myself, thanks very much. I’ve had plenty of practice and I’m excellent with hexes."

"Ginny, we’re talking about Dark magic here, hexes are hardly –"

"You think I don’t know what we’re talking about?" She stopped in the door and let out a breath of disgust. "Honestly, Ron. I was in that war the same as you. Get that in your head." She tossed her ponytail. "And I’m walking you down to the village whether you like it or not, because we need to have a talk about Hermione." With that she pivoted, walked down the hall, and went out the front door.

Ron caught up with her in the road, and together they began walking toward the pub. "I’m not having a talk with you about Hermione."

But Ginny wasn’t listening; she had turned her face up to the house across the street and was watching it curiously. "When Hermione came upstairs, she said you had already seen him today," she mused. "Did you?"

"What, Malfoy? Yeah, I did. Through that window." He pointed to it, but it was empty now, and so was the deck. He shifted his attention back to Ginny. "Hermione talked to you when she went upstairs? Was she okay? Is she all right?"

"Oh, so you do want to talk about her now?"

Ron fell silent, chagrined.

"The thing is," Ginny continued, once they had passed the house without incident. "It really doesn’t make a difference whether Malfoy is here or not."

"What?! How can you say that?"

"Well... why are you so upset about him being here?"

"Because it’s bothering Hermione!"

"Why is it bothering Hermione?"

Ron threw up his hands. If Ginny had been there for everything, she certainly seemed to be forgetting a lot of the details. "Because his foul father as good as killed her parents! Ginny, seriously, any one of us has a right to go over there and kick Malfoy’s –"

"No, Ron, that’s not true. You blame Malfoy for what happened to her parents. Hermione doesn’t. Hermione’s upset because she’s worried that you’re going to hurt Malfoy and get arrested. She cried all afternoon; she was so afraid to tell you that she’d seen him because she knew you’d do something rash, and get taken away. She said she could stand anything except for that."

A hush fell between them, and Ron didn’t answer for a moment.

"She said that?" he finally asked quietly. He felt a sudden, strong determination never again to fight with Draco Malfoy, for any reason.

Ginny nodded. "She did. And I shouldn’t tell you, but you need to hear it."

Ron scowled a little. Even if Ginny was right, it was still obnoxious to hear advice on his love life from his little sister – and she clearly wasn’t finished dispensing it.

"Here’s what I think," she continued. "If you promise her that you’ll ignore Malfoy, then she won’t care at all that he’s across the street, because she won’t be worried about you going after him. And if Hermione isn’t bothered, then you probably won’t be, either."

Ron glanced sideways at Ginny. Every once in awhile, he didn’t have an answer for the things she came up with.

"But what about you?" he asked slowly. "Aren’t you upset that Malfoy’s butting in on our summer?"

"I just wish that Harry could have a little peace," Ginny answered, giving a tiny sigh that did not escape Ron’s notice. "But no, I could care less what Draco Malfoy does. I feel sorry for that whole family."

"Pretty sad lot, aren’t they?" Ron snorted. "Except for Lucius."

"No. Especially Lucius."

Ron turned to Ginny again, incredulous. "You can’t seriously feel sorry for that bastard."

"Why can’t I?"

A thousand answers flooded Ron’s mind. Lucius Malfoy had given Ginny the diary that had possessed her and Petrified Hermione. Lucius Malfoy had stood by and watched while Voldemort had inflicted terrible pain on Harry and tried to take his life. He had been involved in Ron’s own kidnapping, in their seventh year. He had tortured Hermione’s parents and helped to kill Hagrid – to say nothing of Percy. And not even three weeks ago, at the very end of it, Lucius Malfoy had attempted murder on their own father. There was nothing pitiable about a man who could do all that.

"He nearly killed Dad," was as much as Ron could bring himself to say.

Ginny nodded. "I know it. But his curse came back on him, didn’t it? Right out the back end of his wand." She shivered. "He killed himself right in front of his own son."

"He deserved it."

"I know. That’s what’s so sad."

They were quiet again, lost in their separate thoughts for a little while, until they came into the village itself, and headed for the pub.

"Nervous?" Ginny asked, elbowing Ron a little.

He feigned an injured look. "Me, nervous? Hell no. How hard can it be, anyway – I take a bottle, I empty it into a glass."

"There’s probably a bit more to it than that."

"Nah. I’m not worried." He shrugged, and came to a stop. They were outside the wooden door of the Snout’s Fair, standing under a sign that depicted a handsome profile of a man with a tankard raised to his lips. "Wish Hermione hadn’t been so tired," Ron said with a sigh, watching the sign swing in the summer breeze. "She was going to come down here with me."

A moment later, Ron felt Ginny tuck her arm into his.

"Want me to stay a bit instead, and watch you screw it up?" she asked, smiling. "I’ll test your drinks, if you like."

Ron didn’t mind the idea at all. "Stay the whole shift," he offered.

"All right. Anyway, I wouldn’t want you walking home past the big scary Malfoy house all by yourself."

Ron couldn’t help a laugh at that. "Watch it, or you’ll be walking back with Jelly Legs."

"You dare and I’ll turn your shirt into a spider."

Ron tickled her. Ginny pulled her wand. A small scuffle ensued outside the door of the Snout’s Fair, but no real damage was done and no spiders appeared. In fact, neither of them was able to do anything much except laugh, and at the end of it, Ron felt much better. He smoothed his hair quickly, before pulling open the door.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-24