Tragedy avoided

Harri was moved to sit back between Ron and Hermione, thinking it curious Cedric was kept between the Greengrass sisters. Madam Bones had snatched the book from Kingsley and began to read almost at once.

Mr. Weasley woke them after only a few hours sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and they left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved them off with a vague "Merry Christmas."

“What’s wrong with him?” Josephine cried, upset that her fears about the Roberts’ seemed to be a reality.

“Hell be fine,” Cassandra assured gently. “It’s just an after effect of having his memory wiped after such a traumatic event.”

“How do you know that?” Nick Granger chimed in. “Have there been studies done on this?”

“Several. All on willing participants,” Cassandra promised. “I get how this could be upsetting to you, but I assure you that we don’t go around tampering with people's memories all the time. It’s rare for someone's memory to be modified that many times in succession. And I’m sure after hearing what this book has to say, the Ministry will make sure the Roberts family is sent on a vacation for the Cup.”

“We will,” Madam Bones agreed, “Miss Potter was right when she said there had to be a better way of doing things, I plan on finding it. I won’t let what transpired last chapter to repeat.”

The Granger’s weren’t sure how any of that was supposed to be comforting. 

Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

Molly was sure she had been in a right state. Had she not been in this room and got to hear her family was safe she would have been worried sick. She could only imagine what her counterpart had gone through while she waited for her family to come home. Even with their clock she wouldn’t have been able to relax until she had seen them all.

"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive....Oh boys..."

And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.

"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -"

"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred...George..."

Molly couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have felt like to think those were her last words to her boys. She never would have forgiven herself. She knew she needed to sit the twins down and have a proper conversation with them about the joke shop they wished to open and their grades. After hearing this she decided the sooner the better. She never wanted to be put in a position where the last words she said to her children were about their grades. 

When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace....Who wrote this? Ah...of course...Rita Skeeter."

“Of course it was Rita Skeeter,” Bill scoffed, his annoyance with the woman transparent.

“She’s not wrong though,” Moody pointed out, arms crossed. “Security was far too lax and dark wizards are running around unchecked. The entire investigation, if you even want to call what Diggory and Crouch did an investigation, was botched from start to finish.”

Madam Bones could only imagine the havoc Rita would have brought about with her writing.

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -"

"Do us a favor, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."

“Sorry, Perce,” Bill winced, slinging an arm around his brother. “You know how I get in the mornings and I don’t think this was a place for you to make it about your work. Gotta say, Death Eaters and the chance You-Know-Who might be back takes precedence over cauldron bottoms.”

“I get it,” Percy waved Bill’s apology away. He was starting to see himself the way his siblings did the more these books went on. Why had he thought it prudent to bring up cauldron bottoms at the time? Was he really that self absorbed?

"Not by name," said Mr. Weasley. "Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.'.Oh really," said Mr. Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods...well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."

Madam Bones could feel the headache already forming. Rita Skeeter would send people into a panic more so than they probably already were. While Arthur Weasley had probably been trying to get the woman to leave him alone by being as vague as possible, he had opened the door for Rita to twist his words, though she doubted Rita would have left things alone even if he had not given a comment. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"

"I've got to go, Molly," said Mr. Weasley. "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off...."

Molly pressed a kiss to Arhtur’s cheek. Of course he couldn’t very well leave the situation alone. He wasn’t a man who would let others clean up what he perceived as his own mess. She loved that about him. His department didn’t deserve the dedication her husband put into his job.

Ron's and Hermione's reactions were almost exactly as Harri had imagined them back in her bedroom on Privet Drive. Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.

Hermione swatted at Harri playfully. She was worried about her. She wasn’t sorry her worry was predictable. While she knew Harri didn’t want her opinion or suggestions in the book, she wasn’t sorry she had given them. She wasn’t going to push Harri about opening up to the adults in her life. She had promised she wouldn’t but she still thought she should.

"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harri. "But I was dreaming about him...him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill...someone."

She had teetered for a moment on the verge of saying "me," but couldn't bring herself to make Hermione look any more horrified than she already did.

“I’m allowed to keep secrets,” Harri reminded Hermione, before her friend could get upset Harri planned to keep this from her.

“And I’m allowed to be upset that my best friend wasn’t going to tell me someone was planning her murder,” Hermione retorted, arms crossed. 

“As long as you accept the fact I wasn’t required to tell you, I can live with that,” Harri shrugged. She honestly thought Hermione was making too big a deal out of it. Voldemort was always out to kill her. It wasn’t actually anything new.

“I accept that I don’t have to like it though.”

"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."

Fudge could only hope it was only a dream. After the last chapter the Ministry couldn’t afford for Potter’s dream to have been real.

"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harri, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it?...My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."

Moody was sure Potter’s dream wasn’t a dream, now more than ever. The girl was right. Too many things had aligned for it to be just a nightmare. There was just far too much they didn’t know. These books following just Potter for the most part really put a hamper on the knowledge they could gain. Potter was kept in the dark about far too many things to be much use most of the time. Still, some information was better than nothing. They would have to watch out for bias against those the girl didn’t get on with and try to look at everything they were presented with objectively. 

"Oh Harri, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"

"You weren't there," said Harri. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again...greater and more terrible than ever before...and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him...and that night Wormtail escaped."

While Lavender was ecstatic Professor Trelawney was in fact a true Seer, she could have done with her being wrong about this. What was the point if she could tell the future but couldn’t stop it because she had no memory of ever giving the prediction? Lavender felt as if Trelawney had failed them in a sense.

"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harri, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."

"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"

“I might now know what to do,” Sirius corrected, wishing his counterpart would have all the answers for Harri’s sake. “But I’ll definitely do my best. I won’t fail Harri.”

“I know,” Harri mumbled to the floor. “I know you wouldn’t have just left me confused and scared. Or at least I think I do.”

Sirius grinned as he slung his arm around Moony in joy. It was progress. They were moving in the right direction.

“I wouldn’t have, and if I did I promise you I'll find a way to reach through that book and throttle myself.”

"But we don't know where Sirius is...he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably. "Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days."

Sirius knew there was no point in holding onto things he could not change but it didn’t stop the guilt that ran through him. While he couldn’t be there for Harri immediately here in these books he could now, and he would be for the rest of her life. It didn’t matter if it was two am. He would drop everything for her if she needed him. He was going to be the best parent he could be for her. She deserved the world and he was going to give it to her.

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harri" said Ron. "Come on - three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play....You can try out the Wronski Feint...."

Harri bumped her shoulder against Ron’s. He really did know her well. A good fly sounded like the exact thing she needed right now in the book. She knew had she been allowed to stay in the house she would have just walllowed in her worry. 

"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harri doesn't want to play Quidditch right now....She’s worried, and she’s tired....We all need to go to bed..."

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harri suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."

Hermione sighed as she shook her head at both her friends. Though she supposed she could see what the Voice had meant. She had tried to mother Harri here. She had tried to decide what Harri wanted without asking Harri. 

"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told them importantly the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."

“Death Eater parade around innocent muggles but heaven forbid your quills get ruined,” Fred sniped. Could Percy get anymore self centered?

“I deserved that one,” Percy stated as he placed a hand on Bill's shoulder who looked ready to tell Fred to leave him alone. “I’ve been a complete ass in the last two chapters and if they don’t mess with me in this one I’ll be surprised. I need to be taken down a peg or two.”

Fred’s eyebrow shot up to his hairline. Where was Percy and what had the imposter sitting across from him done with his brother? He wasn’t going to discourage the change though. 

Bill clapped Percy on the shoulder rather proudly.

"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."

Madam Bones could only imagine all the false claims the Ministry would have been flooded with. It would take months to sort all of that out. She scribbled away in her notepad to beef up security at the upcoming Quidditch match. Fudge better not try to argue with her about this. 

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Harri liked this clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and "work" were there, but there was also "traveling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal peril."

“That’s honestly really neat.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I want one.”

“Prison? Someone knows their children.”

"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first -"

“That’s not fair to your father,” Molly frowned, looking at Percy in disappointment. “He did the best he could. He wasn’t trying to make the situation worse. How was he supposed to know Rita Skeeter would twist his words in such a manner?”

Percy looked away feeling guilty for having been so rude to his father. “I’m sorry, dad. I know you did everything you could to help. I don’t know why I would have said that.”

"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"

“A longhaired pillock,” Harri inquired, trying to imagine how Skeeter could find the gall to call any of the Weasleys stupid. 

Fleur simmered in her seat next to Viktor. Bill was so far from stupid. His mind was brilliant. His knowledge about curses was vast and she could talk to him for hours. He was completely fascinating; she doubted she would ever bore of the man.

"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"

"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"

“Boys,” Molly carped fondly. Honestly, what was she going to do with the two of them?

"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."

Moody couldn’t find any sympathy. Bertha’s disappearance should have been dealt with long before now. While he didn’t like Skeeter, he was glad she was writing about this. The Ministry needed to do better. They were failing at every turn.

Madam Bones wanted to know why Bertha’s disappearance hadn’t been looked into and why it had taken Skeeter to get the Ministry to look into it. 

"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly.

"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr. Weasley irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."

Percy winced as his counterpart did his best to push his entire family away. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting this way or did he always act this way?

"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" said Percy hotly.

"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" said Hermione angrily.

"Now look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants -"

“Could you be any more of a prick!” Hermione sniffed, her eyes narrowed. “Winky didn’t deserve what Crouch did to her. How can you defend him?”

“I don’t know,” Percy admitted as he fished a knut out to toss to Fred. “None of this has happened yet and while I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, I won’t defend myself because this is wrong.”

Hermione faltered in her anger. Percy looked too defeated for her to continue to yell at him. She could see how much he regretted everything his counterpart was saying. She couldn’t bring herself to kick him while he was down.

"It's been over a week," Harri said, looking at Hedwig's deserted perch. "Ron, you don't reckon Sirius has been caught, do you?"

“Ye of little faith,” Sirius joked weakly. “I managed to be on Hogwarts grounds for a year while it swarmed with Dementors. I think I’ll be fine with the whole world as my playground.”

“I think it’s reasonable for me to worry,” Harri protested. “You’re the last bit of family I have left that cares about me and from the sounds of it, you reply when I write to you. Even though I know all of this is placed in the future I still don’t want to sit here and hear about you being captured.”

“He means to say he appreciates your worry and he's glad you care about his well being,” Remus cut in before Sirius could put his foot in his mouth. “He’s just terrible at admitting he’s touched.”

"Look, here's the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she's got some gold out of your vault for you...and she's washed all your socks."

Harri felt as if she was always going to constantly be thankful for the Weasleys. She didn’t know what she would do without them. Molly especially. The woman seemed to be constantly going out of her way for her.

He was holding up something that looked to Harri like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.

Fred and George shared wicked grins, liking where this was going. Those robes sounded dreadful and they wondered if they could get the room to show them Ron in them.

"Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress," said Ron, handing it out to her.

"Of course I haven't," said Mrs. Weasley. "That's for you. Dress robes."

“I’ll buy you some this summer if you need them,” Bill promised, sending his little brother a look of pity. Making Ron wear those robes would be social suicide. 

“Thank Merlin,” Ron sagged in his seat.

"Dress robes!" repeated Mrs. Weasley. "It says on your school list that you're supposed to have dress robes this year...robes for formal occasions."

"You've got to be kidding," said Ron in disbelief. "I'm not wearing that, no way."

“I really hope you do,” Fred snickered as the screen shot down to show the entire room the dress robes. They were hideously spectacular in his humble opinion.

“Absolutely not,” Ron refused stubbornly. He wouldn’t be caught dead in those.

"Everyone wears them, Ron!" said Mrs. Weasley crossly. "They're all like that! Your father's got some for smart parties!"

"I'll go starkers before I put that on," said Ron stubbornly.

“Will you, now?” George asked more than willing to make this a bet. “A knut says you don’t have the balls to go starkers first.”

“I bet I would,” Ron took the bet without thinking, his gaze still on the image of those awful robes. There was no way he’d ever wear those.

"Because...well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't a lot of choice!" said Mrs. Weasley, flushing.

“You could have asked me or Charlie to pitch in for some decent Robes,” Bill pointed out. “We wouldn’t have minded lending a help.” It was an offer he had made plenty of times.

“We’ve already told the two of you to keep your money and save up for a nice home one day for your future families,” Molly bristled. She could take care of her children, even if that meant second hand things. Ron wasn’t going to die because he had to wear some used dress robes. They weren’t that bad.

Draco curled his lip up in disgust. He was expected to wear that secondhand rubbish. The clothes the room made him wear now were bad enough, and he hated agreeing with Ron Weasley for anything, but the boy was right. Going starkers first was the only option if that monstrosity was the other.

Narcissa's lips twitched up in a cruel smile as she suggested, “If Ron is going to be getting a new robe from his brother, perhaps Draco could wear that one.”

Draco shot his mother a look of utter betrayal, wishing his tongue didn’t burn and stick to the roof of his mouth when he tried to speak directly to her.

“I think that’s a lovely suggestion,” Molly agreed, catching on. “He is rather obsessed with blood. Maybe the color red would suit him."

"I'm never wearing them," Ron was saying stubbornly. "Never."

"Fine," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "Go naked. And, Harri, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh."

“Mum,” Ron cried, cheeks flushed. He hoped at least Fred’s and George’s were just as bad. At least then he wouldn’t have to suffer alone.

"Why is everything I own rubbish?" said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak.

Molly was reminded of the conversation she and her family had had about Ron with the Voice. Maybe she should have swallowed her pride and asked Bill and Charlie for help. While it would have stung to ask her children for money, she could have lived with it just that once for Ron. 

Bill shared a look with Charlie and they both nodded. Enough was enough. They were going to make their mother accept their help no matter how much she’d hate it. This couldn’t continue.

Sirius perked up as he had just found the perfect way to pay the Weasley’s back for everything they had done for Harri. He was the King of pushing his wealth on others in the form of gifts, despite their protest. If Molly and Arthur were going to be taking in Harri, who was to say he couldn’t give them far too large a sum of money every month for food and the likes? He was willing to act as if he had no idea it was too much for Harri and refuse to take it back. And if he happened to buy too many school books for Harri, well, he guessed he would just have to push them off on Ron.