In a flash, Harry found himself on the receiving end of a hug powerful enough to rival Hagrid's. He stumbled back and grinned faintly at the gesture.
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, her voice muffled against his chest. She pulled back abruptly and appeared apprehensive as she scrutinized his features for what Harry suspected were signs of dejection.
"Hermione," said Harry, "it's great to see you again." Hermione's concern faded only a little, but she smiled in return nonetheless. She moved to hug him again but seemed to think better of it and instead folded her arms, peering up at him.
Harry was taken aback by how much he suddenly towered over Hermione; he was positive he'd always found himself more or less at her eye-level before this summer. Then again, he was also positive Voldemort held Sirius captive last term, so he was not entirely trusting of his instincts just then. He forced those thoughts from his mind and focused on Hermione, who had been speaking for quite some time.
"…so Tonks left and Mrs. Weasley ran to fetch Ron. Ginny will probably want to say hello if she's not asleep," she finished.
"All right. Yeah, good," said Harry, unsure of how to reply. "How's your summer been?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you?" Hermione asked. Harry marvelled at just how quickly she could pull the rug out from under him. He felt stupid and knew he looked the part as he stood silently and stared at her. When Harry didn't reply, she sighed softly and shook her head.
The silence was strained, unlike so many of the other quiet moments Harry had experienced with Hermione. The combination of the new, unsettling atmosphere and Hermione's knowing stare made him feel off-balanced.
"Who else is here?" he asked in an effort to return to safe ground.
"Please don't do this, Harry," pleaded Hermione, her eyes serious. He knew that look well; she appeared ready to interrogate him.
"We're not talking about it, Hermione," he warned. Before she could reply, Ron arrived.
He strolled into the kitchen, ducking to avoid a frying pan hanging from the ceiling. Ron, too, seemed impossibly taller as he side-stepped Hermione and reached Harry.
"Hey, Harry," grinned Ron as he clapped him hard on the back. "Any trouble with the Muggles?"
"None at all," Harry answered, smiling in return. He glanced at Hermione, whose gaze clearly conveyed annoyance at his evasion. The voice in his head that sounded suspiciously similar to Hermione scolded him. He told it to shut up. "Things all right here, then?" Harry asked. Hermione snorted and Ron rolled his eyes.
"She's been here for a day and she's already angry with me," said Ron. He turned and scowled at Hermione.
"What'd you do?" asked Harry. Ron looked at Hermione expectantly. Her irritated expression remained intact and her frown deepened.
"I told him we should talk to you about what happened to Sirius," she said determinedly. Harry wasn't surprised. "Shockingly, he disagrees."
"If Harry's fine with not talking about it, then we should leave it," said Ron.
"But he's not fine, Ron! A person doesn't just bounce right back up from an experience like that!" cried Hermione, her voice cracking. Her eyes were wide and pleading, as though she desperately needed Ron to understand.
"Who are you to say whether he's fine or not? Harry is the only one who knows!" exclaimed Ron. He turned and looked to Harry for support.
It was clear they had discussed him at length. Harry was annoyed, but an inexplicable, selfish part of him felt joy at discovering this. He wondered what else they did when he wasn't around, and the thought sent an unexpected jolt of jealousy through his veins.
Harry was in the process of deciphering this feeling when Molly Weasley bustled into the kitchen in her worn dressing gown, interrupting his train of thought.
"Harry, dear! How are you?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she warmly hugged him. Hermione sighed and retreated to a corner of the kitchen. He felt a strange twinge of annoyance when Ron joined her and the two conferred in hushed tones as Mrs. Weasley held Harry tightly.
"Fine, thanks," replied Harry when she released him. He strained to hear what Ron and Hermione were saying, but they soon nodded in unison and stopped whispering.
"You look as though someone's placed a Stretching Jinx on you!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley as she stood on her toes and brushed his fringe off his forehead. "You're in dire need of a haircut," she continued, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and spinning him full-circle. "Those horrible Muggles still aren't feeding you enough-"
"Quit fawning over him already, Mum," Ron muttered, walking away from Hermione. Mrs. Weasley rapped him sharply on the back of his head. Harry caught Hermione's eye and they struggled very hard to restrain their laughter. He couldn't hide the grin that stretched his face, though, when he saw Hermione smiling from behind her hand. It felt infinitely better to return to familiar land rather than scramble for his footing in the tense atmosphere of moments ago.
"Can I get you anything to eat, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, already half-way toward the stove.
"No, thanks," said Harry quickly. "Where's Mr. Weasley?"
"Oh, he's still at the office," Mrs. Weasley answered in an unconvincingly casual voice. "The Ministry is scrambling these days, and they're pulling people from all departments to put out fires across the country…" she trailed off, staring past Harry. He turned around and saw she was looking at the unique clock that showed each Weasley's whereabouts. Every one of its nine hands was pointed at "mortal peril."
"It's been like that for a while now," said Ron quietly.
Without warning, the gravity of the situation hit Harry hard. The wizarding world really was at war, and from what Harry could gather, Voldemort was winning. The prophecy returned to haunt him. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as the full weight of his apparent responsibility settled onto his shoulders. At sixteen, he, Harry, was responsible for the outcome of the war and the lives of so many people.
He looked at Mrs. Weasley and noticed her drawn features and the absence of her usual merriment, even when she fussed over him. Ron appeared anxious as he watched the clock, presumable hoping for his father's return. Hermione stared resolutely at the night sky from the small window, lost in thought. They were worried enough without knowing their fate rested in his hands; how could he possibly tell them about the prophecy? Harry desperately needed a distraction from the solemnity of the kitchen.
"I'm a bit tired, actually," he said, faking a yawn. He met Ron and Hermione's eyes in turn and discreetly nodded toward the stairs.
"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, startling Harry. "I don't know why you three are still awake. Fred and George's room is open for you, Harry. They're off in their own flat now, inventing who knows what above their shop," sighed Mrs. Weasley as she steered Harry, Ron and Hermione out of the kitchen.
She kissed each of them in turn and ushered them up the stairs with the promise of a full breakfast in the morning. On the second landing outside Fred and George's old room, Ron and Hermione bid a false goodnight to Harry, knowing Mrs. Weasley was listening at the bottom of the stairs to ensure they went straight to bed. The three of them quietly made their way to the next landing - where Ron said goodnight to Hermione - before reaching Ron's room on the top level of the house.
Ron ducked to avoid the low ceiling and slouched over to his bed where he collapsed unceremoniously. Hermione followed his lead and perched herself on the edge, motioning for Harry to close the door. He did, and cleared away a pile of Ron's clothes to sit on the floor.
"Did you two ever get into trouble?" whispered Harry once he was comfortable. Seeing Ron and Hermione again made him remember other parts - besides Sirius's death - of their escapade to London. From the time they mounted the thestrals up until the Order's appearance, they had broken more rules than he could possibly count.
"What d'you mean?" replied Ron, sitting up.
"Breaking into the Ministry can't be - well, you know." Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Harry did not miss the significant glance Ron and Hermione shared.
"Well, no. The Ministry wasn't keen to supply details, for obvious reasons. The Prophet reported an `incident,' but no one has the full story," said Hermione tentatively.
"I'll bet it hasn't stopped them from speculating," said Harry darkly. In the past, the Daily Prophet never hesitated to make a story out of him. Perhaps Rita Skeeter was back to her old ways, he thought.
"It's all rubbish," Ron definitively stated. Harry was inclined to agree. "They've no idea what they're even writing about anymore. The Ministry still has a tight lead on what's reported. They don't want to cause a panic, I suppose." He paused. "Anything I've heard about the war has come from what Gin and I can gather from Order meetings and listening in on Mum and Dad."
"Scrimgeour's done nothing to help, though," noted Hermione.
"Scrimgeour?" asked Harry.
"Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister for Magic," Hermione explained. "He's quite… different from Fudge, but I don't trust him at all."
"You've never even met him," said Ron incredulously.
"That doesn't mean I can't have an opinion," countered Hermione. "He's preventing the Prophet from disclosing the full extent of the war. How are people meant to protect themselves when they don't even know what they're protecting themselves from?" She glared at Ron from her spot on the bed.
Harry personally agreed with her, but he did not think he could handle another argument from Ron and Hermione tonight without snapping. "So Fudge resigned?" he asked, hoping to quell any approaching trouble. It would not do them well to have Mrs. Weasley or any other occupants of the house hear their voices this late into the night.
"Fudge was fired," said Ron, unable to keep a small amount of joy from his voice. "It happened just after school ended." Harry figured six students and a multitude of Death Eaters running amuck in the highly-secretive Department of Mysteries was the final straw for the Minister's career.
"And Neville and Luna? Are they all right?" asked Harry. He felt guilty for not writing to either of them over the summer when they'd been just as brave and in danger as himself and the others. He hoped he'd see them on the train ride to Hogwarts and have a chance to thank them for fighting with him.
"They're both doing well," answered Hermione. "Neville's grandmother is really pleased with him for coming along with us. She even bought him a new wand." This brought a smile to Harry's face. If anyone deserved a new wand, it was Neville.
His smile dropped suddenly when he realised how close Neville had come to being in Harry's position. What would have happened had Voldemort chosen the Longbottoms' house that night instead of the Potters'? Would Harry be sitting at home with his mother and father, unscarred, wondering about Neville Longbottom, the Boy Who Lived? Could Harry really wish this life on anyone else?
"Luna says The Quibbler's circulation is up ever since your interview," said Ron, breaking Harry's reverie. "She's still Luna." Harry heard the amusement in his voice, but it wasn't mocking. He wondered what Luna's father thought of his daughter risking her life with Harry Potter. Would he be proud, as was Neville's grandmother, or would he be furious and worried sick?
Harry wondered if Hermione even told her parents about half the adventures she went on with himself and Ron. Surely
they'd forbid her from so much as looking at Harry if they knew the extent of the peril their daughter was in
regularly. His insides turned to lead as he truly realised how much danger he had put his friends into by rushing off
to the Department of Mysteries that night. He silently vowed to never allow himself to fall prey to one of
Voldemort's tricks again, even if it meant taking up Occlumency with Snape once school resumed. The mere idea of it
caused Harry to shudder unpleasantly.
There was a lull in the conversation as Hermione leant over and whispered something in Ron's ear, of which Harry only caught, "…he brought up the Department." Ron surreptitiously glanced at Harry, who braced himself for the inevitable.
"Did something else happen that night, Harry?" asked Hermione quietly, confirming Harry's suspicions. He appreciated their concern, he really did, but he did not want to add fuel to the fire. As his best friends, Ron and Hermione had enough to worry about without the added distress of the looming prophecy.
"Besides my godfather's murder?" replied Harry evasively, ignoring the sick, swooping feeling in his stomach the words produced. Hermione was momentarily stunned, but she quickly latched onto the topic.
"Are you - are you sure there isn't anything else?" she pressed. "You can talk to us, Harry; you know that, right?"
"Sirius died, Hermione. I reckon that's more than enough to be upset about, don't you?" Harry felt horrible for behaving this way when he'd truly rather not argue with Hermione, but his wish for her to just stop talking about it outweighed his guilt.
"We know that, and we're sorry, but-"
"Leave him be," interjected Ron. Harry felt a wave of gratefulness toward him.
"If he can't tell us, who can he-" began Hermione before Ron interrupted again.
"He obviously doesn't want to talk about it right now," he barked.
"When is the right time, then?" hissed Hermione hotly.
"I don't think there will be a right time, Hermione," snarled Harry, having reached his boiling point. He tried desperately to reign in his anger and frustration, but he felt it rapidly slipping from his grasp. "I reckon I've made it glaringly obvious that it's something I don't want to talk about, and it'd be best for all of us if we could just move on to another bleeding topic. O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, whatever you want, Hermione. Just not Sirius."
Ron appeared apologetic. Hermione - never one to back away from him, he realised - looked primed for a fight but remained silent. Harry was breathing heavily by this time and felt very much like last June's heated fifteen year-old version of himself who smashed his headmaster's possessions and yelled until he was hoarse. Harry didn't want to be that person anymore, but everything about this night was wrong.
Reunions with Ron and Hermione were meant to be all smiles and laughter. They were supposed to be happy to just see each other again, not rip into one another as soon as they were alone. They tossed gnomes and played Quidditch in the garden. They were supposed to be sixteen year-olds who talked about their classmates and bickered occasionally - more than occasionally on Ron and Hermione's part - but they were meant to get along. This wasn't how the three of them operated, and Harry reckoned that Ron and Hermione understood that as they sat in a heavy silence.
The door unexpectedly creaked open and light flooded the room. Ron and Hermione jumped and Harry hardly had time to react before someone spoke.
"What're you lot up to in here?" whispered Ron's younger sister as she stepped into the room. "Oh." She paused, catching sight of Harry. "Hey, Harry," she added, smiling.
"Hi, Ginny," said Harry tiredly, reluctantly scooting toward the bed to make room on the floor. He glanced up at Hermione, who didn't break eye contact. He was positive she was trying to tell him something with her stare, but he felt oddly disconnected from her. It was very disorienting and he fought the urge to growl in frustration.
"What d'you think you're doing?" spat Ron angrily as Ginny shut the door and sat down next to Harry.
"Moving so she could sit," replied Harry absently, not taking his eyes off Hermione.
"Not you," said Ron. "We were talking before you scared the bloody hell out of us, Ginny."
"Don't let me stop you," she replied coolly, crossing her legs. She smiled at Hermione, looking for support, but found none. Her smile drooped slightly.
"We were talking privately," insisted Ron.
"Actually, you were arguing," she said. Harry thought she was on thin ice and wasn't surprised when Ron cursed loudly, causing Hermione to turn from Harry and glare at Ron.
"You were eavesdropping!" exclaimed Ron indignantly.
"It's hardly eavesdropping when you're that loud," drawled Ginny.
"Get OUT!" Ron roared suddenly as he jumped up from his bed and pointed toward the door. Apparently, Harry wasn't the only one near breaking point that night. Ron looked odd, standing there hunched over in the tiny room. Ginny appeared flabbergasted by her brother's sudden exclamation.
"Ron!" scolded Hermione in a fierce whisper. "Keep your voice down!" Ron rounded on her.
"Keep out of it, Hermione," he snarled.
"I'm already in it, Ron," she answered as she, too, leaped off the bed.
"You both need to shut up or we're all going to-" Harry was cut off as Ron's door burst open and the imposing silhouette of Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway.
Harry scrambled to his feet as Mrs. Weasley ordered, "Bed! All of you!" Harry knocked his head on Ron's low ceiling and swore loud enough to garner him a reproving stare from Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. He was sure there'd be a large lump in the morning from the two hits he sustained that night alone.
Ron scowled and said, "Thanks a lot, Ginny." Ginny turned and made a rude gesture with her hand.
"That's enough from you both!" Mrs. Weasley shushed. "Waking the entire household with your arguing," she muttered as she pushed her daughter toward the door.
Ginny marched out of the room, her head held high. She cast one last discontent look into the bedroom before turning on her heel and stomping down the stairs.
"That applies to the two of you, as well," Mrs. Weasley said sternly. She steered Harry and Hermione out of the room and shut the door swiftly. Harry heard her slightly muffled scolding through the wood and immediately felt sorry for Ron.
He met Hermione's eyes and they silently descended the stairs. She grabbed his arm when they reached Ginny's closed door and he stopped, turning to face her.
"I didn't mean to upset you earlier," she whispered.
"I know that," answered Harry. She crossed her arms and her eyes were steely as she gazed up at him. "I do," he insisted. "It's just that - well, I don't want to burden you."
"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "So there is something?" Harry remained silent. "After five years, you still don't understand that you're not a burden on anyone." Harry snorted disbelievingly and she stepped closer and she grabbed his arms tightly. He sobered and stared down at her intently as she fiercely said, "I don't care what anyone's said in the past, Harry. You're the most wonderful person I know, and there's nothing you could tell me that would change my mind."
Harry desperately wanted to believe her and tried to say as much but found he could not speak just then. Hermione seemed to understand and pulled him close for a hug, holding him securely.
"You're all right?" she murmured when she let go. Harry nodded.
"I will be," he replied, and for once, he was sure of it.
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