Chapter Text
As the sun set on the Hogwarts grounds, his legs propped up lazily on the desk in front of him, Lycaon surveyed his office in contentment. So satisfied was he that he barely registered the gentle whirring and clicking of Albus Dumbledore’s abandoned instruments in the peace of the warm summer night. He had achieved all he had set out to do and now he had only to enjoy the spoils. True, Dumbledore was still holed up somewhere outside of the Ministry’s reach, but he had been stripped of anything that made him a threat. Even the little power he had been afforded as Headmaster of Hogwarts had been taken from him, Lycaon thought with a smirk.
Lycaon hadn’t expected, this time last year, that this was where he would end up. He had of course seen the beginning of the Ministry’s smear campaign last summer and noted off-handedly to himself that he would do a much better job of reigning in this nonsense about You-Know-Who, but as Head of the Department of Magical Education, he hadn’t thought for a moment that he would have an opportunity to prove it. After Madame Umbridge’s ham-fisted attempts to control the students at this school though, someone must have recognised that the situation required a much more delicate touch and, as always, he had delivered.
Lycaon sighed peacefully. With the whole summer ahead of him to tackle the ongoing challenge of bringing the more Dumbledore-friendly staff back round to his side after the schism resulting from Dumbledore’s departure, he knew there wasn’t much risk of boredom in the coming year.
An unexpected knock came at the door, breaking him from his reverie. Sitting up slightly, Lycaon regarded the door curiously.
“Come in,” he called and the door swung slowly open.
His heart gave an instinctive jolt at the sight of the person behind it but, particularly after dealing with that damned Amitiel for most of the past year, he was very skilled at controlling his immediate reactions: he was certain that no alarm had shown in his face. Still, he brought his legs down from his desk, frowning disapprovingly.
“Surely you know wearing that sort of appearance is hardly appropriate in these times,” he said, indicating vaguely towards the figure. “Even with all the damage control the Ministry’s been doing, some idiot might think you really are You-Know-Who.”
The person who looked like You-Know-Who smiled, but there was no emotion behind it. Lycaon stifled an instinctive shiver. He had to admit that this person had managed a very effective Transfiguration.
“And I should thank you for that,” the person said, still smiling. “You have made my work a lot simpler than I had initially feared it would be.”
Lycaon pursed his lips; clearly whoever this idiot was, they were still committed to playing the part. Well, applying a little pressure would deal with that swiftly enough.
“I’m sure the Ministry will not look fondly on anyone scaremongering like this,” Lycaon said calmly.
He was already musing to himself about the worth of asking Barnabas to slip in an article in the Prophet about this incident, just for good measure. Perhaps the public needed a little more guidance than he had anticipated on the subject, given the Prophet’s previously light-hearted approach to Dumbledore and Potter.
“In fact,” Lycaon continued, making a mental note to consider suitable article wording later, “I would suspect an Azkaban sentence of a few years to be on the cards.”
In response, the stranger only let out a cold, high laugh. Before Lycaon had time to be surprised at such a reaction, the person who looked like You-Know-Who raised their wand and, almost lazily, flicked it at him.
“Crucio.”
Pain exploded through his body. In just three syllables, time had become meaningless: there was only pain, always and eternally. The knives slashing his insides turned to a vice squeezing his chest, turned again to lightning bolts in his very veins, the pain transforming with every gasp of breath he drew in in an endless, disorienting cycle.
When he finally came to, he was on the ground, his limbs still twitching in aftershocks. The return of normal sensation felt like the stabbing of a thousand needles in his veins. Almost sick with pain, Ametiel’s toothy grin flashed in his mind, taunting.
“I assume you no longer have any doubts about my identity?” You-Know-Who asked, looking down at him in amusement.
“No,” Lycaon gasped, desperate to do or say anything that would ensure he never experienced that pain ever again. “No.”
“Good,” You-Know-Who said.
He continued to stare down at Lycaon, appearing to expect something and Lycaon, legs still shaking like a newborn foal’s, rose to his feet. A wave of relief washed over him when, instead of striking him down with another Crucio, You-Know-Who only smiled indulgently.
“Then I have a task for you,” he said, as though there had been no pause. “You have access to all students at this school, do you not?”
Lycaon nodded shortly, trying to hide how his fingers continued to jerk uncontrollably behind his back.
“Good. Then you will kill Harry Potter.”
The sentence didn’t register with him at first, even as it echoed around the otherwise silent office.
“Kill?” he repeated blankly.
“Not immediately,” You-Know-Who shrugged, as though this was a great accommodation. “But within the next year or so. I don’t like to be left waiting.”
Perhaps the Cruciatus Curse had done too much damage to his nerves, but Lycaon felt nothing but numbness at this statement. This was not something he could wriggle out of with carefully-placed words. There was no room for negotiation here.
“And something else,” He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named added, seeming to take Lycaon’s silence for agreement. “I have… an associate, who needs some work. You will take him on as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”
“Who is he?” he asked, without emotion. There was no way around it, whoever they were.
You-Know-Who’s wand hand moved and Lycaon flinched instinctively. Smirking, You-Know-Who’s hand continued into the pocket of his robes, fishing out a piece of paper. He handed it to Lycaon, still smiling. Lycaon glanced down.
“Are you mad?”
The words had escaped his mouth before he could stop them. He recoiled as You-Know-Who’s high, cold laughter rang out in response.
“You will have to find a way to rein him in,” You-Know-Who said, his eyes glinting knowingly. “Or suffer the consequences.”
It was a threat then. If Lycaon did not succeed in his attempts to kill Harry Potter, he would be taken care of. There would be no escape. He would kill Harry potter, or his fate would hunt him to the ends of the earth.
“Well,” You-Know-Who said, turning on his heel to face the door, “that is all.” As he took hold of the door handle, he turned his flat, white face back to Lycaon for a moment, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to hearing from you sooner rather than later.”
With that, he vanished down the spiral staircase and the door slowly slid shut behind him. With the sun now long since set, Lycaon was left standing alone in the darkness, listening to the sound of Dumbledore’s instruments ticking away like tiny clocks.
Surrounded by a whirlwind of papers and letters, Ron Weasley slumbered peacefully as the sun slowly rose over Ottery St. Catchpole. Many of the letters strewn across his bedroom bore Harry’s signature. Though they had been long since answered, Ron had kept ahold of them in anticipation that Harry would ask after them when he came to visit later that summer.
One such letter, now buried under the tangle of blankets, was written in an even messier scrawl than Harry’s usual chicken scratch.
Ron,
After what we found out last year I’m trying not to panic but I’ve got another Snuffles situation. Write back ASAP. Let me know you are okay and at the Burrow.
Harry
There were also scraps of parchment bearing only a few words from Harry as his requests for information became more frequent and more desperate. One particular piece of torn parchment read only: Please.
A number of letters from Hermione could also be found in the sea of parchment. One piece that lay almost flat from the amount of rolling and unrolling Ron had done in re-reading it, read:
Ron,
I had to convince my parents to let me take a few trips up to Diagon Alley to manage it, but I’ve finally formulated a solution. You should find a Galleon (fake) with this letter and I’ve sent another one to Harry, of course. They work similarly to the parchments, but without any passwords or coding, since we only need quite binary messages: yes or no. Even if a message were intercepted, there’s not much use someone could get out of knowing that information.
Anyway, when Harry squeezes his Galleon, ours will burn hot (I know it’s unpleasant but given the state he’s in these days, we need to be sure we notice the message as soon as it comes in). Tap once to signal you’re okay, twice for something’s wrong. Either way, the Galleon will cool down and Harry’s will let him know he’s got an answer.
I hope this will help him a little, since he won’t need to spend hours waiting for our owls to come back. I wish his relatives would let him use the phone! If he could just call me, half the problem would already be solved. Oh well, I’ll be visiting in a few days and I suppose Harry will be allowed over soon after too, so he won’t need to worry about us for much longer.
Hermione
Ron rolled over in his sleep and a stack of order forms perched precariously at the end of his bed spilled to the floor. In that same moment, his alarm, stuffed under his pillow to muffle the noise, went off.
“Wha—?” Ron mumbled blearily.
His eyes blinked open. Instinctively, his hand reached under his pillow to shut off the alarm and let his eyes rest for a moment, but with a groan, he finally pushed himself up and out of bed. Half-asleep, he got dressed and collected up the scattered order forms with a yawn.
Once dressed, he slowly pushed his bedroom door open and crept down the stairs. Mum and Dad would still be asleep so he needed to be sure not to wake them. Thankfully, he made it to the kitchen without incident. Lamenting the fact that cooking some bacon would have Mum swooping down on him in a flash, he shovelled some homemade granola down and headed out the door.
George was waiting for him just outside the boundary of the Burrow, at the end of the winding lane that led down to the Muggle village.
“You’re late, Lazybones,” he said, holding out his arm.
“Just because you’re early,” Ron retorted good-naturedly, reaching out for George’s arm, “doesn’t mean I’m—”
His hand made contact with George’s arm a second earlier than he’d anticipated and a dizzying moment later, they were suddenly in Diagon Alley, outside Fred and George’s shop.
“—late,” Ron finished weakly. Side-along Apparition didn’t seem to get any more pleasant the more you did it.
“I’ll be glad when you start Apparition lessons this year,” George groaned, stretching his arms behind his back. “Then you can get yourself over here next summer.”
“Must be such a chore,” Ron said unsympathetically.
“Just for that, little brother, you can get yourself over here tomorrow morning.”
“What? No, that’s not fair!” Ron complained. “Come on, I’ve already got to get up at six in the morning and it’d take me ages to get here if I’m not Apparating!”
“There’s always the Knight Bus,” George pointed out.
“And risk waking Mum?”
“Should have thought of that before you started insulting your ride,” George shrugged with a smirk, pushing the front door to the shop open.
“Oh, come on!” Ron moaned, following George through the door.
“What’s up?” came Fred’s voice from somewhere deeper in the shop.
The piles of boxes and wooden slats made it a little difficult to see where Fred actually was, but George and Ron tried their best to follow the sound of his voice and finally found him fiddling about with something on the floor. He looked up as they approached.
“You’re on pick-up duty tomorrow,” George said meaningfully.
Fred shrugged and continued to poke at the object in his hands, which abruptly sprang open to reveal a tiny fist.
“It’s still too sensitive,” he sighed. “We’ll have to keep these off the shelves until we can figure out how to fix that.”
“Call me crazy,” Ron said, frowning down at the tiny fist, “but I’m not sure I see the appeal in objects designed to punch you in the face.”
“You’re crazy,” Fred said, not even looking up at him as he selected another object from the small pile next to him.
“It’s a gag,” George shrugged.
“Not for the person getting punched in the face,” Ron pointed out. “Look, I’m just saying that turning someone into a canary for a few minutes is a laugh, but I’d be more than a bit pissed off getting punched in the face. If it had to do something, I’d have it throw out a bunch of flowers or something. That’s much funnier.” Both Fred and George were looking at him now. Ron flushed. “I just think you’ve got so much better stuff to focus on than worry about fixing a punching — what is it? A telescope?”
Fred and George were now communicating via a series of looks.
“We’ll take it under advisement,” George said finally as Fred turned back to the object in his hands. “But for now, let’s just worry about getting ready for opening.”
“Sure,” Ron mumbled, thrusting his hands into his pockets, which he’d completely forgotten were stuffed full with order forms. “Oh yeah,” he said, drawing them out, “a few order forms are still going to the Burrow. Luckily I swiped these before Mum saw them. You might want to set up some sort of redirection spell — I can’t guarantee I’ll catch them before Mum does every time.”
He handed the parchments over to Fred, who flipped through them with some interest and only gave Rona and George a short salute as they headed back towards the front of the store where the piles of wooden planks were.
“Right,” George said, bending down to pick up two slats of wood and arranging them in an L-shape. “Hold these here…”
Ron held them as George indicated and George, with a swish of his wand, directed a series of nails into the wood. Ron pushed down slightly on the wood to check it was solidly attached and gave a thumbs up to George. In return, George passed him another piece of wood to hold in place.
George seemed to have a good idea of what he wanted and he continued to direct Ron to hold various pieces of wood to nail into position. It was long, tedious work, even with George being able to use magic, but finally they had something that was starting to look like a set of shelves.
They broke for a mid-morning snack soon after, sitting on the floor to eat sandwiches wrapped in foil, which were thankfully lacking in any corned beef. The cross-legged meal reminded Ron a lot of his, Hermione and Harry’s visits to Sirius in the cave, where they would just sit and eat and chat about nothing. Which was to say, for Fred and George, it was surprisingly peaceful.
With their sandwiches eaten, Ron and George returned to building and, by midday, they had two sets of shelves to show for their work.
“At this rate, we’ll be on track to open in a few weeks,” George said happily. “Not bad given the runaround we’re having to do with Mum.”
“You’re half-hoping I get caught, aren’t you?” Ron asked knowingly.
George grinned broadly and didn’t answer. Instead, he gestured for Ron to follow him outside.
“Why bother taking me back at all then?” Ron called after him, but followed without further protest.
The street was a lot busier now that the sun was high in the sky, so they had to dive into the alley next to the shop for some space. Once they were sure no-one would be taken along for the ride with them, George offered out his right hand. Ron took it and a moment later, they appeared outside the Burrow.
“Fred’ll pick you up at three,” George said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said, though George had already Disapparated with a cheery wave.
With a roll of his eyes, Ron began heading up the gravel path to the Burrow. He hoped that the noise and bustle of everyone inside would cover the sound of his arrival, but as an extra precaution, he headed round the back of the house to slip into the kitchen. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that Mum would be making lunch in there.
“Ron?”
“Oh, hi Mum,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant.
“Where’ve you come back from?” she asked, eyebrows raised and hands on her hips.
“I was just de-gnoming the garden,” he lied.
She hummed, clearly unconvinced, but before she could grill him any further, she let out a shriek at the sight of something behind him. Ron whirled round, hand moving for his wand, as he heard the back door click open.
“Bill!” Mum cried, rushing forward to hug the person standing at the threshold of the kitchen, as Ron’s wand hand fell to his side. “What are you doing here?”
Bill smiled and stepped into the kitchen, revealing that there was someone standing behind him. A strangled noise escaped Ron’s throat at the sight of her. At the same moment, Ginny burst into the kitchen, wand out. She froze at the sight of Fleur Delacour.
“Fleur and I are engaged!” Bill announced cheerily.
You could have heard a Knut drop in the silence that followed.
“Oh really?” Mum said finally, her voice a little too light and breezy to be convincing. “When did that happen?”
“Just last week,” Bill said proudly, seemingly oblivious to the Howler he had just dropped. Fleur squeezed into his side, smiling up at him. “Anyway, I thought it’d be a good idea if Fleur could spend a little time here so you could all get to know each other ahead of the wedding, since she’s only working part-time at Gringotts at the moment.”
“Well… Well, that sounds wonderful,” Mum said, her voice still sounding quite false. “Harry and Hermione will be coming round soon too, so I suppose it will be quite busy this summer.”
“‘Arry Potter will be ‘ere?” Fleur asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes,” Mum said, almost aggressively, “he will.”
“Oh eet would be lovely to see ‘im again,” Fleur gushed, and Ron tried unsuccessfully to fight the jealousy suddenly roiling in his stomach. “‘e saved my seester, Gabrielle, you know?”
The words burst from his mouth before he could stop them: “I helped too!”
There was a pause as everyone turned to stare at him.
“I remembair,” Fleur said finally, almost pityingly. “Zank you, Ronald.”
Ginny was looking at him in disgust.
“Anyway,” Bill said, finally seeming to sense the atmosphere in the room, “do you think you might have room for two more for lunch, Mum?”
“Of course,” Mum said firmly, her desire to feed people clearly winning out over any potential dislike she felt towards Fleur. “You know I always make some extra. Speaking of lunch, Ron, could you go boil some potatoes?”
“What? Why not Ginny?” Ron complained, but at a sharp look from Mum, he shuffled over to the cupboard to pull out a bag of potatoes.
It wasn’t long before lunch was ready and they were all sitting around the kitchen table, piling up roast potatoes, peas and beef onto their plates.
“So when are Hermione and Harry arriving?” Bill asked.
“Hermione’s coming next week,” Ron said through a mouthful of potatoes, eyes fixed firmly on Bill; as long as he didn’t look too closely at Fleur, he could keep control of himself. He swallowed and continued, “Dad’s going to pick Harry up the week after.”
“Just Dad?” Bill frowned.
“Well, after what happened last time, Dad thought it’d be best if he went by himself,” Ron explained.
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten,” Bill said and Fleur looked quizzically over at him. It was Mum who answered her unasked question though.
“Fred and George,” she said, voice stilted with fury, “thought it would be funny to give a Muggle boy some of their ‘merchandise’. Apparently the boy’s tongue was four feet long before they let Arthur shrink it.”
Bill knew Mum well enough to keep quiet; Fleur, unfortunately, didn’t.
“Bill told me zat Fred and George are very funny,” she said, with a musical laugh.
“Yes, very funny,” Mum snapped. “Almost choking to death on your own tongue.”
“I am sure it was not zat bad,” Fleur said airily. “Surely ‘e gets zese sorts of jokes from ‘Arry all ze time. ‘E probably zought ze ‘ole sing was quite funny.”
“His parents,” Mum breathed out with forced calm, “certainly did not.”
“Ah, but parents always worry too much,” Fleur said, waving Mum down.
“Speaking of Fred and George, where are they?” Bill interrupted as Mum opened her mouth to retort.
“Off wasting their time and money!” Mum huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Why they couldn’t have sensible aspirations like a job at the Ministry…”
“I’m not surprised they’re not interesting in something like that,” Bill snorted. “Not very Fred and George to spend all day sitting behind a desk.”
“Well one day they’ll need to grow up!” Mum said sharply. “Honestly, all this nonsense about a joke shop!”
Ron was certainly not looking forward to Mum finding out where he was sneaking off to for most of the day. He was most definitely going to have to be seen doing a lot of de-gnoming to shake her off the trail.
Gradually the conversation turned to safer topics, at least where Mum was concerned, like when they would be able to visit Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies. Fleur, however, seemed able to turn almost any topic into an opportunity to turn her nose up at Hogwarts and extol the virtues of her beloved Beauxbatons.
“I cannot believe zey do not tell you which books you need until a few weeks before school starts,” she said. “At Beauxbatons, ze curriculum is fixed for several years, so you always know which books you’ll need. Zis is not to mention zat many books are bought by ze school and given to ze students for free. Sometimes I do not understand ‘Ogwarts at all. But,” she said finally, “obviously, eet iz not all bad — ozzerwise I would not ‘ave met Bill.”
She turned her shining eyes to Bill, who looked down at her with just as much fondness. Ron had to look away quickly before he started boasting that he was best friends with the Minister for Magic.
“Thanks for lunch, Mum,” Bill said, putting his fork and knife together. “I’m afraid I’ve got to be off soon, but I’ll just show Fleur round the house — get her familiar with the place.”
He stood and took his and Fleur’s plates to the sink.
“I’m thinking it’s gunna be a long few weeks,” Ginny said drily once they were gone.
“Ginny, be nice,” Mum admonished automatically. Then, glancing up, she said, “She’s probably just nervous being in an unfamiliar place.”
“She wasn’t nervous,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “Did you hear her going on about how sh– rubbish Hogwarts was?”
“Ginny, clear away your plate,” Mum said, ignoring her.
Grumbling to herself, Ginny did so. Ron quickly followed her before Mum could have a go at him as well. As he approached, Ginny turned towards him, her eyes flashing impishly.
“‘I helped too!’” she mocked under her breath.
“Shut up,” Ron muttered, ears flushing red. He dropped his plate into the sink.
“It’s pathetic,” Ginny said, grinning.
“Shut up!” Ron growled. “You think I want all that? I’ve got—” He cut himself off, thinking better of finishing that sentence. “She’s not my type.”
“Certainly seemed like it.”
“You don’t get it! I can’t exactly control it!” Ron snapped, but even as he said it, he suddenly paused.
Maybe he could control it. Occlumency was supposed to keep people out of someone’s mind, and at least the initial stages of it were the same as those he and Hermione had been practicing in their goal to learn Legilimency. If the Veela allure was some sort of mind-control, perhaps the mind-clearing techniques he’d learned would be enough to block it out.
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Mum said, bustling over with her own plate and the serving dishes.
“Nothing!” Ron and Ginny chorused.
“Well in that case,” Mum said, “Ginny, could you go check on Bill and Fleur, see if Fleur needs anything to help her settle in?”
“What?” Ginny protested. Ron started heading for the back door. “But they’re probably—”
“Go!” Mum snapped and Ginny stormed upstairs, clearly trying to make enough noise to interrupt whatever it was she thought that Bill and Fleur might be up to. “And where do you think you’re going?” Mum asked, turning to Ron.
Ron froze.
“Uh, feeding the chickens?” he offered.
Mum hummed suspiciously, but made no further comment, so he tentatively continued out the door. He let out a sigh of relief when the back door closed behind him. Mum certainly was keeping a close eye on him today; he hoped he’d manage to shake her before Fred arrived to pick him up in an hour.
For now at least, though, he needed to get on with what he was doing. He rummaged around the wellington boots and rusted old cauldrons outside the back door until he finally found the feed pail for the chickens. He hefted it up and at the sound of the grain clinking against the metal sides, the chickens immediately began hopping towards him, clucking madly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, stepping through the mass of chickens. “I’m getting it, I’m getting it.”
As soon as the grain hit the trough, the chickens began scrambling over each other in their desperation to get first feed. Ron watched them with some amusement as he continued to pour grain into the trough.
When the last of the grain had finally fallen from the bucket, Ron returned the pail to the back door. He’d have to fill it when he went back inside, but for now, he thought he’d better get on with being seen degnoming the garden.
There were thankfully rather few gnomes out that day, which would lend some credibility to his story. He’d only thrown about four when they stopped appearing from the gnome holes and, in any case, it was nearing the time when Fred was supposed to be picking him up. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to explain being suddenly missing from the garden if Mum poked her head out.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. He headed over to the broom shed to collect his broom.
The hedge was just a little too tall to throw the broom over, so he swung his leg over it and kicked off from the ground. The feeling of being in the air overtook him for a moment and he spent a few minutes dashing across the fields as fast as was possible on his old Cleensweep. When he’d finally burned the enjoyment of it out of his system, he floated back down to the hedge and dismounted, placing his broom behind the sea of leaves and branches so it couldn’t be seen.
He must have been up in the air longer than he’d thought, because by the time he made it back round to the front of the house, Fred was already waiting for him. Without a word, Fred held out his hand and they Apparated back to Diagon Alley.
Ron had Fleur’s presence to thank for how well he managed to avoid Mum’s attention over the next week. Mum was so busy gritting her teeth through Fleur’s comments about how poor the Hogwarts education was, how little there was to do at the Burrow, and how much more she liked France, that Ron’s absence throughout the days seemed to go entirely unnoticed.
By mid-July, Ron didn’t even feel a twinge of alarm when he was violently awoken by the burning of a red-hot Galleon clutched in his palm and let out an unthinking yell of pain. The coin dropped to the floor as his hand instinctively unclenched to stop the pain.
He lay, staring at the ceiling, as the pain slowly dulled into an itch. He wasn’t an early riser at the best of times, and being woken even earlier than he’d expected by a flash of pain was not exactly putting him in the mood to rise. It was only the thought of Harry waiting anxiously on the other end, his own Galleon held tightly in his hand, that forced Ron into a sitting position and then down onto the floor to search for the still-burning Galleon.
Luckily, it hadn’t rolled far; it was lying just under his bed next to a set of Exploding Snap cards so old that they only crackled weakly when played. Knowing better than to try and pick it up, Ron grabbed his wand from his bedside table and tapped it once. As soon as the wand tip touched the Galleon, it stopped glowing.
Ron pocketed the rapidly cooling Galleon, his hand still twinging slightly in discomfort. He grimaced. There had to be a better way to signal messages than burning his skin off.
Without much thought, he grabbed a piece of parchment from his bedside table as he rose, though he spent some time after that searching for a quill and bottle of ink. He eventually found them in his school bag, which had remained untouched since the last day of term. With quill and parchment in hand, he dashed off a note to Hermione, bent over his bedside table.
Hermione,
I’m calling it here: a hand full of blisters is not the way to help Harry. Can we think of something else to tell us when Harry needs a response, like a noise or something?
Ron
P.S. is it just me, or are they getting more frequent…
“Pig?” Ron called quietly when he had finished.
The small owl in question swooped excitedly down from the rafters. Ron didn’t even need to hold the letter out to him before he’d snatched it up, hopping up and down on Ron’s hand as he waited for instructions.
“It’s for Hermione,” Ron said, and not a second later, Pig had taken flight and swooped out of the open window.
Ron shook his head in amusement and began searching for his clothes. Once dressed, he headed downstairs, taking care to avoid the creaking step.
He was glad that he’d have the time today to make something more substantial before heading out to meet George; he was often close to starving before he and the twins broke for lunch, since he was usually only able to grab something quick as he left the house. He was slightly distracted with thoughts of what he could make that wouldn’t wake anyone as he entered the kitchen, so he didn’t notice that there was someone already inside.
“Ahem.”
Ron froze. Leaning against the kitchen sink, arms folded and one eyebrow raised, was Mum.
“Care to explain why you’re up so early?” she asked calmly.
He knew at once that the game was up. Mum might believe, at a push, that he was going out to de-gnome the garden in between flying sessions, but she was not nearly gullible enough to believe he’d get up early to do so.
“I’m going to visit Fred and George,” he admitted reluctantly.
Mum’s hands went to her hips. For a moment, Ron was tempted to try and defend himself, but from years of watching Fred and George, he knew that it was best to let Mum run her course.
“I hope,” she said coolly, “this isn’t about the joke shop.”
Ron’s silence said it all. Mum threw her hands up in the air in exasperation.
“That bloody joke shop! I feel like I’m going mad! Am I the only one who can see what a stupid idea this whole thing is?”
“It’s not a stupid idea!” Ron burst out, unable to stop himself. “They made loads of money at Hogwarts!”
“That’s completely different,” Mum retorted, looking at him with a mix of frustration and pity. “Selling some silly things to kids in the common room isn’t like running an actual business. They’ll wake up one day and realise they’ve sunk thousands of Galleons into something that was never going to work, and then where will they be?”
“You just think it won’t work ‘cause you don’t like their stuff,” Ron argued. “But everyone goes to Zonko’s when they visit Hogsmeade, and their stuff is just as good as that!”
Ron realised at once that he had pushed too far when, instead of responding, Mum folded her arms.
“I see you’ve been encouraging them then,” she said, her voice disconcertingly calm. “I suppose you’ve been helping them out too?” She didn’t seem to expect an answer, and Ron didn’t give one. “Well, Ronald Weasley, if I see you take one step outside this house, you’ll be grounded for the rest of the holidays.”
“That’s not fair!”
“You’ll thank me later when you can say you haven’t been part of this whole farce!” she snapped.
“No I won’t!” Ron shouted and before he could think better of it, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
As he stomped up the path to the meeting point, he half-expected Mum to come out after him and drag him back inside. To his surprise though, no such retribution came. Even as he sat on the stone wall to wait for George, she didn’t appear. He supposed she thought she was giving him time to cool off.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the wall, stewing angrily over the injustice of it all, before George appeared. George took one look at his face and, instead of holding his hand out as he usually did, leant against the wall next to him.
“I’m guessing — just hear me out here,” he said, “I’m guessing that Mum found out.”
“It didn’t go well,” Ron muttered.
“Oh well,” George said cheerily. “No more sneaking around at least.”
“Yeah, because I’m not allowed out at all now!” Ron retorted.
“Oh Mum’ll calm down about that once we open,” George said, waving a hand dismissively.
“But I need— I mean, that’s still a few weeks away,” Ron complained. “Maybe more if I’m not helping out.”
“Don’t worry, Fred and I planned for this,” George said calmly. “We can still open before August, even without you. Besides, did you really want to spend all day helping us out when Harry and Hermione are around?”
“I figured they could find stuff to do without me,” Ron muttered.
“Yeah, but now you can do it with them,” George said brightly. “And maybe if you have a moment, you can test out some of the tips from that book Fred and I lent you,” he added, nudging Ron with his elbow.
Ron flushed. Fred and George had got it into their heads that he was trying to earn money to buy gifts for Hermione and had lent him a copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches with meaningful winks. It was obviously ridiculous, since Hermione was definitely not interested in him. Still, he had found himself flipping through the pages and daydreaming about putting the tips into practice, just to try them out.
“Atta boy,” George grinned, seeing the look on Ron’s face. “C’mon.” He held out his hand. Ron took it.
A moment later, they appeared in Diagon Alley outside Fred and George’s shop, which was already drawing curious looks from passers-by. Most of the attention could probably be attributed to the sign that they’d put up just yesterday, a huge explosion of yellow with the words Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes almost seeming to zoom out from the centre. They hadn’t even set the sign up to shoot off sparks yet — that would come once they actually opened for business.
He and George set to work arranging the furniture, which they’d finally finished building the day before. Since Mum now knew about him leaving the Burrow, Ron didn’t worry about heading back around lunchtime like he normally did. Instead, he, Fred and George wandered over to the Leaky Cauldron for a bite to eat, where Fred and George insisted on paying, arguing that it was looking like it might be his last day for a while, so he deserved a send-off of some sort.
They were being worryingly nice to him, so when they handed him his final pay, he opened it with some caution. Knowing Fred and George, they might have put just about anything inside as a farewell prank. Then, seeing the amount of money inside the drawstring purse, Ron stared. He looked back up at the twins, eyes narrowed.
“This is more than before,” he said suspiciously.
“Oh good, you can count,” Fred said cheerily. “We were beginning to get a bit worried you see.”
“Yes,” George agreed, “education just isn’t what it used to be, is it?”
“Why is there more?”
“You can read, can’t you?” Fred said, rolling his eyes.
Frowning, Ron looked further into the coin purse and spied a small scrap of parchment inside, tightly furled. He fished it out and unrolled it curiously.
“‘Product design’?” he read in confusion. He looked up at Fred and George. “What?”
“Well,” Fred said slowly, looking over to George. “George and I had a talk after what you said about the punching telescope and we decided you were right. It wasn’t good enough for something that has our name attached to it. So…” From his robes, he pulled out a telescope. As he squeezed it, a tiny fist clutching a bouquet of flowers sprung from the large glass end. Ron stared at it.
“We came up with some other options too,” George added, grabbing a telescope from a nearby cardboard box. As he squeezed his, the telescope exploded in a shower of cherry blossoms. “We’ve got two tiers too: reusable and one-use only.” With a flick of his wand, the cherry blossoms coalesced and, with a flash of yellow light, became a telescope once more.
“But… I didn’t do anything,” Ron said blankly.
“You told us straight when you didn’t think the product was good enough,” George disagreed. “And gave us ideas for improving it.”
“We appreciate it,” Fred said. “Honestly.”
Ron looked back down at the collection of coins in the purse. Perhaps paying Hermione back wouldn’t take quite as long as he’d feared.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“No, thank you,” George winked.
Ron was still in a bit of a daze over the extra money that he barely noticed as he and George headed out into the Alley and Disapparated. It was only when George gave a cheery wave and said, “Say hi to Mum for me,” that he realised he was back in Ottery St. Catchpole.
“Wait!” Ron called out, whirling around, but George had already gone.
With a sigh, Ron tucked the money into the pocket of his robes and began treading his way back to the Burrow. Mum was likely to blow her top again when she saw him, but maybe if Hermione was already there — or arrived mid-rant — Mum might soften up a bit. Then again, he seemed to vaguely remember some time when Harry had visited and that hadn’t stopped Mum yelling at him and the twins.
He slipped in the front door, hoping that he might at least be able to avoid Mum for a while longer.
“Ronald Weasley!” Mum called from the kitchen, instantly dashing his hopes. “If you think that sneaking away for several hours would give me a chance to change my mind, you are sorely mistaken!”
Reluctantly, Ron slunk over to the kitchen. He was surprised to see that Fleur was sitting at the table, but was distracted at once from her when Mum, who was standing by the sink, whipped round, brandishing a wooden spoon in one hand and her other hand on her hip.
“You are grounded for the rest of the holidays!” she snapped. “In fact, you’re lucky that it’s too late for me to tell Hermione to turn back because let me tell you, you won’t be seeing much of her! You’ll be too busy doing chores, since it seems you want to work so much!”
“I don’t see what ze problem is,” Fleur said, interrupting Mum mid-rant.
With those deep blue eyes suddenly focused on him, Ron hastily opened his mind to the void so Fleur’s allure would just wash straight through him. He’d thankfully had a lot of practice over the past couple of weeks, which meant it was almost second nature to him now. He could now stand in the same room as Fleur without making a total fool of himself.
“So ‘e wants to work at ‘is bruzzers’ shop,” Fleur continued obliviously, as Mum’s head turned slowly to face her. Anyone else would have immediately began backtracking hastily at the expression on Mum’s face, but Fleur didn’t even blink. “I am not surprised zat ‘e wants to get out: zere is so little to do ‘ere.”
Mum seemed to struggle with herself for a moment between responding to Fleur and continuing to yell at Ron. Apparently the need to defend herself won out.
“They’re encouraging him to slack off,” Mum started, but Fleur interrupted again.
“By doing ‘ard work?” she asked, an amused smile playing on her lips.
“Excuse me?”
“Ze — what do you call zem? Les cals? On ‘is ‘ands.” She gestured to her palms and fingertips.
“Calluses?” Ron offered helpfully.
“Yes, probably,” she acknowledged with a nod and turned back to Mum. “Ze calluses on ‘is ‘ands — ‘e is doing ‘ard work. And ‘ow many boys ‘is age are choosing to do work in ze first place, ‘ard or not?”
“The point is…” Mum sputtered, looking uncomfortable being on the back foot “It’s a joke shop! They can’t make a living off that! It’s all… it’s all rubbish encouraging kids to pay more attention to messing around than actually sitting down and preparing for their exams! And I can’t condone that.”
“You haven’t even seen half their stuff!” Ron burst out. “Some of it’s nothing like that!”
“Oh, some of it isn’t, is it?” Mum said, rounding on him. “I can imagine the sort of thing: tricks to disrupt classes and cheat on your homework. It’s one thing for your brothers to do that sort of thing, but for them to encourage others—! And if they’ve been encouraging you during your O.W.L. year—!”
“But you ‘ave not even seen ‘is marks yet,” Fleur pointed out calmly. “Maybe ‘e ‘as done well. Why don’t you let ‘im see?”
“Wait a minute,” Ron said, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “did my results come today?”
Fleur carelessly waved a hand toward two letters on the table that Ron hadn’t noticed until then. Drawing closer, he saw that both of them had Hogwarts seals: one was addressed to him, the other to Hermione.
“Oh no,” he groaned. “Hermione’s going to be insufferable.”
He reached for the two sealed envelopes and, after a moment’s hesitation, pocketed them.
“You’re not going to look at them?” Mum said, looking suddenly nervous. Ron wasn’t sure what was going through her head at that moment.
“Hermione’ll hate me if she finds out I knew how I’d done before her,” Ron shrugged.
A sudden honk made them all jump, though Fleur played it off much more gracefully than him or Mum. Ron and his mum glanced out the window to see a powder blue car cautiously making its way down the narrow lane towards the Burrow.
“Speak of the Grim,” Ron grinned, dashing from the kitchen without a backward glance.
By the time he reached the car, Hermione had appeared from the back of it, hefting a suitcase with her down the path.
“Sorry we’re a bit late!” she said breathlessly, dropping her suitcase for a moment to throw her arms around him. Ron fought the flush rising in his cheeks as he hugged her back. “Mum and Dad kept trying to turn back and I had to keep convincing them to trust me and keep going.”
“Oh, the Muggle-Repelling charms!” Mum had followed him outside. “I’m so sorry,” she said, turning towards Hermione’s mum and dad, who were standing at the edge of the Burrow, looking around curiously as though they were having trouble focusing on anything. “I didn’t think…”
“It’s fine,” Hermione assured her. “We got here in the end. I know we could have Floo’d over but they just really wanted to spend some extra time with me since I’m spending so much of the holidays here.”
She must have had no clue that the O.W.L. results had come out; otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so cheerful. Torn between the desire to see her happy and knowing that she would kill him if he held the results back any longer than necessary, Ron fingered the scrolls in his pocket.
“Hermione,” he said after a moment, reluctantly drawing them out. “Something came for you here while you were driving up.”
Hermione looked at him curiously but then saw the Hogwarts seal in his hands and let out a shriek.
“Hermione?” her dad called out in alarm and her mum soon followed with a cry of “Sweetie?”
Any Muggle-Repelling charms that had been holding them back from the Burrow failed at once at the sound of her scream: both parents came sprinting down the path that, from their stumbling, Ron imagined they could hardly see. They were so focused on Hermione that they didn’t even react to the sight of the Burrow presumably popping into existence before their very eyes when their hands touched her.
“It’s my O.W.L. results!” Hermione explained, her wide-eyes darting between her mum and dad. “Oh Merlin, I’ve failed, I know I’ve failed—!”
“Shh, shh,” her dad comforted, stroking a hand down her back and sharing a knowing look with his wife. They were both evidently relieved that the scream hadn’t signified anything more dire. “You won’t know till you’ve read them.”
“Come on,” her mum said with an encouraging smile. “Be brave!”
With shaking hands, Hermione slit open the envelope with her thumb and unfolded it to reveal her results. Her eyes scanned across the parchment and with each look, her shoulders relaxed further and further.
“Ten Os!” She beamed up at her parents, who stared back down at her in bemusement.
“And that’s… good?” her dad asked cautiously.
“It means I got all Outstandings!” she said excitedly. “That’s the highest grade.”
“Oh well done, honey!” Hermione’s mum cried, swooping forwards to wrap Hermione in a hug.
“Good job, Her-bear,” her dad winked, ruffling her hair.
Hermione flushed pink and — Ron could only assume in an attempt to divert everyone’s attention from her parents’ fawning — turned to Ron expectantly.
Ron gulped. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mum watching him in fearful anticipation. Hermione’s parents, seeming to recognise the sudden pressure shift, were pointedly not looking at him.
“I haven’t got ten Os,” he said warningly to Mum as he slid his finger under the seal. With a flick of his thumb, the seal popped open and the parchment unfolded.
Ronald Bilius Weasley has achieved:
Astronomy: A
Care of Magical Creatures: E
Charms: E
Defence Against the Dark Arts: E
Divination: P
Herbology: E
History of Magic: A
Potions: O
Transfiguration: E
Ron let out a laugh of relief. It was okay! He’d even achieved an Outstanding in Potions! He was still on track to become an Auror, even if it turned out Snape was going to be teaching them next year.
“Only failed Divination,” he said, turning to Mum, who was watching him anxiously. “No-one cares about that.”
“You…?” she said blankly. Ron held out the parchment to her and she took it in shaking hands. “Eight O.W.L.s?” Suddenly her arms were around him, squeezing the life out of him. “Oh, well done, Ron! Eight O.W.L.s! That’s more than Fred and George put together!”
“Mum!” Ron squawked. “Choking!”
Hermione hid a smile behind her hand. He grudgingly had to give it to her: she’d been embarrassed by her parents too, after all.
“Oh, sorry, of course,” Mum said, straightening up but looking at him proudly. Then, she suddenly seemed to remember Hermione’s parents. “Oh, would you like to come in, Mr. and Mrs. Granger?”
Hermione’s parents turned to each other and, after a shared conversation through a series of looks, both smiled.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Hermione’s dad said.
“So what is it that you two do?” Mum asked conversationally.
“We’re both dentists, actually,” Hermione’s mum replied as Mum led them towards the front door.
“Dentists?” Mum repeated blankly.
Foreseeing a rather long conversation about Muggle jobs, Ron cut in quickly: “Mum, Hermione and I are going up to my room.
“Okay,” Mum said absently, directing Hermione’s parents into the kitchen ahead of her. “So, dentists — is that a normal Muggle job? What do they normally do?”
With a final glance back, he saw that Hermione’s parents were too busy doing a visible double-take at the sight of Fleur to answer. Ron winced in sympathy.
He pulled Hermione towards the stairs and up towards his room. When they finally reached the top floor, he ushered her through his bedroom door and closed it firmly behind them. Hermione instantly collapsed onto his bed.
“Well done on your O.W.L.s,” Ron said to break the sudden silence, suspecting she would enjoy hearing the congratulations.
It wasn’t until he said it that the passage from Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches on compliments flashed in his mind. He hadn’t said it intending to follow any of the book’s advice, but he found his stomach had knotted rather uncomfortably. He half-wished he hadn’t read the damn thing at all if he was going to think about it any time he said something nice to Hermione — or another witch.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, sitting up straight, a small smile on her face. She flushed. “Um, you too.”
“Thanks,” Ron grinned. “An O in Potions! I almost can’t believe it. Thank Merlin for Professor Cóir.” He shook his head fondly. “Here’s hoping we’re not stuck with Snape again next year though. I’ll be pretty pissed if I’ve done well only to have to see him again,” he said, only half-joking.
“Hmm,” Hermione said diplomatically and changed the subject. “Do you think Harry’s done okay too?”
“‘Course he has,” Ron said confidently. “Twelve Outstandings I’ll bet.”
“Twelve—!?” she spluttered, but as he started to grin, her brain caught up with her. “Oh, ha ha.”
“Your status as smartest of the group remains untouched,” Ron teased. Then, more seriously, he said, “He’s probably done about the same as me to be honest. But, um, speaking of Harry…”
Hermione sobered.
“It’s getting worse,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know how he’s managed it so far as it is. I think I’d go crazy.”
“He has the coins,” Ron pointed out, sitting down next to her. “And he’ll be here soon.”
“It’s not enough,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “He’ll know we’re safe, but what about Sirius, or Lupin? Or your mum and dad when we’re at Hogwarts? The coins are too slow: he could spend hours waiting to hear back, not knowing if they’re…” She broke off, shaking her head again. “And he’s going through that now, almost every night.” She looked up at him. “We have to find another way.”
“Another year of doing research, then,” Ron sighed. “Here’s hoping it pans out better than last year’s. Any idea on where to start?”
“Hmm,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Well, I think the best thing would be if Harry had some way to tell that the visions are fake while he’s actually in them. That way, he wouldn’t need to worry when he woke up at all. But I’m not sure where that leaves us.”
“Me neither,” Ron admitted. When Hermione said nothing further, Ron offered tentatively, “Maybe when we get to Hogwarts, the library will have something to point us in the right direction.”
“I hope so,” Hermione said quietly. “I hope so…” She drew in a deep breath. “Anyway, what have you been up to so far this summer?”
“Mostly working at Fred and George’s shop,” Ron shrugged. “Er, speaking of…”
Ron turned to rummage through his bedside table. The drawer was so overstuffed that Ron struggled to open it initially, only managing it after a particularly vicious jiggle shifted the jumble of items inside enough to allow the mechanism to slide open. He sifted through the stack of Harry and Hermione’s letters, various old knicknacks (including an old Krum figurine he still hadn’t thrown out), and a seemingly never ending supply of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes order forms to reveal the small bag buried at the bottom. He yanked it free and held it out to Hermione, who stared at it in bewilderment.
“It’s my salary so far,” Ron explained awkwardly. “It’s not near enough to cover everything but, well… I wanted to get some of it out of the way.”
“To cover—?” Hermione’s frown loosened. “Oh. Oh, yes. Well. Okay.”
Almost reluctantly, she took the pouch from him. Ron felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as she tucked the bag away.
“Ron? Hermione?” Mum’s voice floated up from the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon!”
“Oh!” Hermione said in surprise. “I forgot, I need to talk to your mum about something before dinner. Oh dear…”
“I’m sure it’s not that dire — let’s head down now,” Ron suggested.
Hermione’s parents were waiting by the door when they arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” Mum was asking.
“No, no, thank you. It’s very kind to offer,” her dad said, raising his hand to stop her. “But we really must be getting back to London. Thank you for agreeing to take Hermione for the summer.”
“It’s no bother,” Mum waved them off. “Hermione is a pleasure to have around.”
“We will miss you, darling,” Hermione’s mum said, bundling Hermione into her arms.
“I’ll miss you too,” Hermione mumbled into her mother’s shoulder. “I’ll see you again at Christmas.” She transferred her hug to her dad. “Safe journey.”
“Always,” her dad said seriously. “We love you. Be good, Her-bear.”
Hermione went pink again, but promised she would be. Then her parents settled into the car and drove off down the lane, looking much more certain about the direction now that they were heading away from the Burrow. Hermione stood at the door a moment watching them until they had disappeared out of sight.
“Ron, would you set the table?” Mum called from back inside.
“Oh, wait!” Hermione said, her wistful expression vanishing as she scrambled into motion. “Mrs. Weasley, I need to talk to you!”
She hurried off into the kitchen and, deciding it was better to leave Hermione to it, Ron headed to the table to lay out the cutlery. As usual, Fleur only appeared once the work was done, placing herself down on one of the chairs with an elegant flick of her white-blonde hair. Bill, who was almost inevitably found by Fleur’s side, took the chair next to hers.
Dinner was roast beef, one of Ron’s favourites. He was actually surprised that Hermione had managed to eat hers before him. Even Mum was leaning over her worriedly, holding the plate of leftover roast beef in one hand and trying to give Hermione seconds.
“Are you sure you don’t want some, dear?”
“Really, I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione insisted. “The vegetables were delicious, thank you.”
Mum pursed her lips and reluctantly piled another slice of beef on Ron’s plate when he looked up at her hopefully. As he began on his second helpings, Ron started to wonder if Hermione might have lost a lot of weight over the summer and he hadn’t noticed, because Mum really was trying quite insistently to give her more food. That was normally a behaviour she reserved for Harry, who really was always a little too skinny after his time with the Dursleys. Perhaps she was warming up to it: Harry normally arrived at the Burrow before Hermione, and Hermione’s presence might have thrown things out of sync. At the very least, Ron thought with narrowed eyes, it couldn’t be due to Hermione. She looked the same as she ever did: just right.