On the morning of the ceilidh, Harry and Hermione went running around the Quidditch pitch for
the first time in months. Harry was glad spring had finally arrived. Even a brisk highland spring
was better than no spring at all. As he and Hermione did their warm-down exercises, he
watched her closely. Her face was screwed up in concentration as usual. When they were done,
he put his hand on her arm and looked in her eyes.
"Hermione," he said softly. She looked back at him, but it seemed to be through a veil, a
transparent wall that was nonetheless a barrier. She was hiding.
"What?"
"Are you okay? About--yesterday. And--and Ron. And Parvati."
She gazed back at him, not speaking. Then she had a smile on her face that looked more
unnatural than anything Harry had ever seen.
"Of course I’m okay. It was--a bit of a shock at first. But--well, they’re both over the age of
consent. She’s already sixteen, he’ll be sixteen soon. He’s still our friend, Harry. Nothing will
ever change that." But her voice shook, as though she weren’t so sure.
Harry nodded as though he believed her. "I’ve been thinking, Hermione. Maybe we should tell
Ron about us. Before anyone else. I mean, I think it would be pretty awful if he didn’t find out
until the rest of the world, don’t you? He’s with someone now..."
Hermione stared into space. When she spoke, Harry got the impression her eyes were actually
focused on some spot miles in the distance. "Whatever you say, Harry. That makes sense."
There was silence between them. After a while, pulling idly at some new grass just outside the
sandy path, Harry said, "I couldn’t believe how angry Ron was about what Niamh said. I never
expected it to lead to him and Parvati--"
"What does Niamh have to do with anything?" she said suddenly, looking right at him now. He
swallowed, trying to decide how much to tell her.
"She and Padma and Mandy were in the library gossiping. Niamh was telling Padma that Parvati
should be careful of Ron, that he was only with her because she was my ‘cast-off.’ You know,
because we went to the Yule Ball. Ron was--not really hacked off, because it was about a
thousand times worse. He looked murderous. That’s when he went charging up to Gryffindor Tower." Harry couldn’t bring himself to tell her that they’d also already designated Hermione a
future Harry Potter cast-off, destined to be inherited by Ron.
Hermione looked more detached and analytical now. She nodded. "He had something to
prove."
Not that Parvati seemed to mind, Harry thought. Lavender did say she was dragging him to the
stairs...
Hermione seemed calmer, knowing what set Ron off. Harry peered at her again. "And he
certainly seemed happy at dinner last night. The last time I saw him looking like that was after
Malfoy’s performance as the amazing bouncing ferret."
"Yes, he did seem happy," she said absently. She raised her face to Harry, as though she’d just
made a resolution. "You know what? I’m happy for him. I really am."
"So am I," Harry said firmly. Did he dare hope that she meant what she said? "We should tell
him so," Harry added, standing up and extending a hand to her. She took it and swung herself
up.
"Yes. We should," she agreed, then let go of his hand and strode purposefully toward the castle.
Harry followed closely behind, wanting to ask her another question, and not daring.
But, Hermione, are you happy for Parvati?
* * * * *
Harry and Hermione went back up to Gryffindor Tower after lunch to change for the ceilidh.
Most of the students attending the ceilidh had waited to go; many of those not attending had left
for Hogsmeade after breakfast, Ron and Parvati among them. After dressing, Harry met
Hermione in the common room.
Upon closer inspection, Harry found that the MacGregor tartan was actually red with very deep
green, not black as Sirius had said. There was also a narrow white windowpane check overlaid
on the red and green pattern. Harry was wearing a simple white button-down shirt with a deep
green waistcoat Sirius had sent, plus a sporran (somewhat like a wallet) hanging in the front of
his kilt, and the red and green argyle socks and black ghillie shoes Sirius had also sent. He wore
his dirk in a special leather holster around his right calf; his wand was in a long pocket that
seemed made just for it on the left side of the front of his kilt, so he could just reach across with
his right hand to be armed quickly. Sandy was wrapped around his left upper arm, on top of the
thin white shirt, which was slightly open above the waistcoat.
Hermione wore a simple bottle-green dress that swung around her calves and that went
perfectly with the deep green in the MacGregor tartan, which was draped artfully around her
shoulders and fastened with the brooch that had the crowned lion flanked by the unicorn and
stag. Around the lion’s head was what looked like a belt with a large buckle, also crafted in
silver metal. It bore the clan motto in Gaelic; according to Sirius’ letter it meant, "My race is
royal." The MacGregors had been Kings of Scotland in an earlier time, and his grandmother’s
name was in fact King, one of the septs of the Clan MacGregor. Elspeth King had married
Henry Potter, and they’d given their son the name of other kings of Scotland, James. What had
happened to Elspeth and Henry? he wondered. He knew now about his mother’s parents, but
what about his father’s?
"Do you have your wand?" he asked Hermione softly, as they approached the portrait hole. She
surreptitiously pulled back her left sleeve a couple of inches, showing him a clever holster for it
that was strapped to her forearm. He nodded and she covered her left arm again. She also had
a small wallet that was attached to the belt of her dress, containing the ten Sickle entrance fee to the ceilidh. His money was in the sporran. They needed to maintain the appearance of going as
friends; Harry would have been happy to pay for her, but he knew she was right about this and
had not argued.
Harry heard someone else arrive in the common room and turned to see who it was. Neville
was ready to go, wearing a kilt with a black and white tartan with some thin red and yellow
stripes running through it, a black shirt, black-and-white diamond-patterned socks, a sporran
and--Harry noted--a dirk in his sock. If he had his wand, Harry couldn’t see it. Ginny also
arrived in the common room now, in a black dress with Neville’s largely black and white tartan
around her shoulders held by a silver brooch for whatever clan Neville was. Her red hair went
beautifully with the simple plaid; she had pulled it into one long braid, tied with a black velvet
ribbon at the end, tendrils curling around her face. Harry had never seen her look lovelier.
Neville appeared to be quite pleased with her himself, smiling broadly at her. She smiled back,
unsure. But now the common room was filling with others preparing to go to the ceilidh; George
and Angelina in a blue and green tartan with a red and green windowpane overlay; Alicia in a
similar blue and green tartan, but with a white and yellow overlay; Dean Thomas in the same
tartan as Alicia--were they going together? Harry wondered. But no; Dean had asked Katie, it
turned out, who was wearing a very loud tartan of red, green and yellow broad bands, giving
the impression where the red and yellow intersected of there being orange blotches scattered on
the fabric. Harry winced at the combination. Then He spotted Colin in clan MacGregor, but not
before Colin spotted Harry.
"Harry! Is that your family’s tartan or Hermione’s?"
"Mine," Harry told him.
"That’s great! Do you know what that means? We’re kinsmen! We’re in the same clan! Oh, I
cannot believe I’m in the same clan as Harry Potter..."
"Um, who are you going with, Colin?"
Colin looked even more smug now. "I can’t believe I got up the nerve; I asked that fifth-year
prefect from Ravenclaw. And she said yes! Can you believe it? I was afraid to, since I’m only
fourth year, but I guess she really wanted to go, and didn’t want to be alone..."
"Mandy’s nice," Hermione said, her mouth twisting as she looked at Harry and widened her
eyes, silently begging him to agree with her. They would not be guilty of gossip as the
Ravenclaws had been.
"Yeah," was Harry’s brief answer. He nodded toward the portrait hole. "We should go, don’t
you think?"
They all trouped out into the corridor and down the stairs to the entrance hall, the other students
chatting merrily, the ones meeting dates from other houses running ahead. Harry and Hermione
looked at one another apprehensively, thinking about the possibility of a Death Eater strike.
Their first almost-date, and it might turn into a terrorist attack. Oh joy, thought Harry.
In the entrance hall, Colin ran up to Mandy and started talking at her very quickly. Mandy
looked like she might like to get a word in edgewise, but Harry felt it was unlikely. Then he saw
Alicia go over to--he felt like rubbing his eyes--Draco Malfoy, who was wearing the same blue
and green tartan with the yellow and white overlay. So that was clan Campbell, he thought.
Malfoy had a black leather sporran, blue and green argyle socks with the requisite dirk, black
ghillie shoes very like Harry’s, a pristine white shirt with a Campbell tartan four-in-hand necktie,
an embroidered green waistcoat and a black velvet jacket with gold braid trim, as well as a
tartan tam-o-shanter with green ribbons. Harry smirked; he looked a bit foppish, but in a way, he could also carry it off. Only Malfoy, he thought.
Malfoy was looking at Alicia in a very admiring way; her dress was rather tight, and it was still
easy to see this despite the tartan fabric loosely arranged on her shoulders. Harry looked to see
whether Ginny had noticed them. She had; then she caught Harry’s eye and looked away, and
after that she seemed determined to behave as if Neville were the center of her universe.
Roger Davies also appeared in the entrance hall, in another blue and green kilt, this one with a
red windowpane overlay. He didn’t appear to have a date; must be meeting Fleur in the village,
Harry thought. Blaise Zabini and Niamh Quirke appeared to be partners, in a blue and green
tartan with a red and yellow overlay. Hannah and Ernie were going as well, in two different
tartans (Ernie’s was the same as Katie’s), but Fred had asked Susan Bones, and they were
wearing the same pattern, which turned out to be the same one that Professor McGonagall was
wearing.
She positioned herself next to Harry and Hermione in the throng walking down to the village,
speaking softly to them. Hermione looked at the red, white, green and blue tartan around her
shoulders (she wore it with her usual robes and pointed hat), saying, "So, is that the clan
McGonagall tartan, professor?"
McGonagall frowned. "Heavens, Hermione. I thought you would have realized that there is no
clan McGonagall. It is an Irish name. My mother is a MacBean; that is what I am wearing. Note
the brooch."
She stopped for a moment so Hermione could look at the silver brooch with a cat surrounded
by the sort of belt-with-buckle that seemed to be on all of the clan crests. The motto was in
English--almost. "’Touch not the cat bot a glove,’" Hermione read, before they all went on
walking. "What does that mean?"
"’Bot’ means ‘without,’" McGonagall told her. Harry thought it was interesting that there was a
cat on the family crest. Do we really choose our Animagus forms? he wondered not for the first
time. He remembered how he had felt manipulated by Dumbledore, just a bit, concerning the
golden griffin.
Then, looking around the crowd as they approached the outskirts of the town, he realized that
Snape wasn’t with them. Harry frowned. Maybe he wasn’t coming after all. Hermione was
talking to McGonagall again.
"Are you--meeting anyone at the ceilidh, professor?" she asked, then colored. The idea of
McGonagall having a personal life was frankly disturbing to Harry. He really didn’t want to
know.
"As a matter of fact, I am. An old friend." Then she leaned in toward the two of them, saying
softly, "I understand you both know there could be trouble. You have your wands?" They
nodded. "Of course, we’re all hoping nothing will happen..."
"Of course, professor," Hermione said to her softly. The three of them turned and surveyed the
nearly three-dozen students making their way down the High Street to the hall. Harry, Hermione
and McGonagall joined them. Outside the building were large parchments bearing the legend
SCREAMING HAGGIS 1996 TOUR and an illustration of a squashed-tomato sort of thing
with what looked like tubes emerging from it at several points. It was drawn with a rather
cartoonish mouth (no eyes, ears, nose or other features) open very wide in what was,
presumably, a scream. Was that supposed to be an oatmeal-stuffed sheep’s stomach? Harry
wondered. Screaming haggis indeed.
There was something of a bottleneck at the door to the hall as everyone had to pause to pay their ten Sickles, but as soon as they were inside, they heard the wail of the band warming up;
two pipers were on the stage adjusting their holds on their sets of pipes, while a fiddler tuned his
instrument and a cellist tuned hers, and the drummer wandered around positioning various types
of percussion instruments, some of which bore only a passing resemblance to a drum, Harry felt.
The hall was empty in the middle; the seats where they’d sat for the opera had been mostly
cleared away, a few left ringing the perimeter. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, the
windows of the hall were opaque glass, so hundreds of candles floated overhead, lighting the
space.
As the students trickled in, Harry saw that there were also a number of people from the village
and possibly elsewhere who had come out for the ceilidh. Then across the room, he saw a tall
figure with a red ponytail who smiled with recognition and came striding over to see them, hand
extended.
"Harry! Hermione! Good to see you. I just Apparated into the village," Bill Weasley said
jovially. Speaking more softly, he said, "Have you seen--Snuffles yet? I’m not clear yet what
he’s going to look like, are you?" So he also knew Sirius was going to be here, Harry thought.
"No sign of him yet," Harry said quietly. Then, in a more normal tone, he said, "Isn’t that Black
Watch? Is that the Weasley family tartan?"
"Oh, mum and dad aren’t a bit Scottish. Snuffles got this for me, to have something to wear."
Harry nodded. "He told me we’d be well covered here. How many operatives you figure there
will be?"
Bill shrugged. "No idea. Where’s Ron?"
"At the Three Broomsticks, probably. He and Parvati didn’t want to come."
"Who?"
Harry hesitated. Ron hadn’t told anyone at home about having a girlfriend, evidently. And now
they’d gotten rather serious very quickly. He suddenly remembered Ron saying at the Christmas
party that his mother would kill him if he ever got a girl into ‘trouble.’ Except that he hadn’t
finished saying it, stopping with embarrassment. Harry sincerely hoped that Parvati had gone to
see Madam Pomfrey.
"Parvati is in our year. Gryffindor. She and Ron are--" Harry paused again, not wanting to spill
too much. On the other hand, Bill seemed the least likely person (after the twins) to tell Mrs.
Weasley anything about Ron’s and Parvati’s extra-curricular activities. As the pause lengthened,
Bill looked like he comprehended.
"Oh! I see," he said, and Harry thought he really might. Well, that saved him from having to say
anything else, thank goodness. Hermione had looked away during this exchange. "Well," Bill
went on, "if there’s trouble, I’d just as soon not have to worry about another member of my
family. I see that George and Fred are here."
"And Ginny came with Neville Longbottom," Hermione said, pointing them out in the crowd. At
that moment, Ginny spotted Bill and came over to them.
"Bill! What are you doing here?" she smiled up at him after giving him a hug.
"Ginny! What, are you getting taller again? Didn’t I talk to you about that?" He smiled at her,
then Harry heard him say softly, "Making sure you’re all right."
Ginny bristled, and Bill quickly amended that. "I mean you as in you and Ron and Fred and
George. All of you. Dumbledore asked me to. Just a precaution. Charlie and Percy are with
Mum and Dad." She looked a little less upset now, but a flush from her initial indignation still
showed on her freckled cheeks.
"This is Neville," she said then, realizing that she ought to introduce him to her oldest brother.
"Neville, this is Bill."
They shook hands, each of them looking a little like they were squeezing too hard. Bill smiled.
"Nice to meet you Neville. You know that if you ever hurt my baby sister I will personally kill
you." He smiled broadly, having said this in the friendliest voice imaginable. Neville looked at
him with his mouth open. Ginny’s eyes were wild.
"Bill!"
Now George had come over with Angelina and Fred with Susan Bones. They’d heard what Bill
had said. Bill laughed, clapped Neville on the shoulder. Neville winced. "Just kidding, Neville!
Just kidding!"
Fred and George looked at Neville very seriously (especially for them). "No he’s not," they said
in unison.
Neville looked nervously back and forth between Ginny’s brothers. Harry remembered what
Ron had said about what Ginny would think if he had gone on a date with her and shaken her
hand at the end. "What I’d think if you went out with Ginny and did that is that maybe you’d
decided you wanted to go on living after all." A girl with six brothers. And Percy and Charlie
were no less protective than the others. Talk about having to run a gauntlet.
Just then, a large man with a broad, muscular chest barely contained by his rough-woven shirt
leapt up onto the stage before the band. His chestnut hair curled messily on his head, becoming
an unruly sort of curly beard and mustache lower on his face. More curly hair showed on his
chest where his shirt was unbuttoned. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to the elbow, revealing
strong, sinewy forearms, and his socks covered very muscular legs as well. His kilt was of a
complicated, intricate-looking blue and green tartan overlaid with a white windowpane pattern.
His sporran looked well-worn, as did his shoes. Harry thought he wore his kilt as though it were
an everyday garment, not the costume it was for the rest of them. He wondered briefly whether
this meant he wore nothing under it, in the traditional way. Harry knew he would never dare to
do that; he hoped no one would be checking.
The large chestnut-haired man helped a handsome middle-aged woman with lustrous brown hair
swing up onto the stage beside him. The tartan around her shoulders matched his kilt. Harry
turned to Hermione. He’d noticed her looking at Bill’s legs when they’d first seen him (Bill had
seen her looking and seemed highly amused) and now he saw open admiration in her eyes as
she looked at the man on the stage. That’s right, Harry remembered. She looks at men’s legs.
Okay, he thought, there’s certainly enough of that available today.
The man on the stage spoke now with a broad Scottish accent. "All right! Wailcome to the
Screamin’ Haggis tour and to the Hogsmeade ceilidh! Now, since there’s sech a number o’ ye
here from the school, I thought we’d start fairst with a wee dancin’ laysson. I’ll wager most o’
ye have never done this before. I’m Ian Lucas of Clan Lamont, as ye can see, and this here’s
m’lovely bride o’twenty year, Mary. We’ll be demonstratin’ some reels and other dances, and
you lot’ll do what we do. Aye? Are ye up fer it?"
The crowd roared its assent, and Harry began to relax, rotating around the floor with Hermione
in his arms, and sometimes other girls, as they switched partners, swinging round by the elbow,
then back to the start again. He’d been a bit worried about looking like a fool, but learning the
dances first made his fears drop away, and before long his face was actually hurting from
laughing and smiling so much, as he whirled Hermione, then Angelina, then Hannah, then a girl
he didn’t know, then Hermione again...
When the lesson was over, Ian Lucas said, "Aye, that’s the stuff. Y’all look ready fer the band!
Take a wee break fairst and get some drinks from the bar in the anteroom. Oh, and you young
lads and lasses--just butterbeer for ye! Leave the hard stuff to those of us who’ve already
ruined our livers." He smiled and laughed, jumping off the stage, his kilt flying. Harry glanced at
Hermione, who looked like she was about to choke.
"What is it, Hermione?" he asked, concerned.
"Oh, nothing," she answered, her voice higher than usual. "It’s just that--um--"
"What?"
"Well, he, uh, certainly believes in being traditional."
Harry thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then he realized what she meant, what she
must have seen.
"Hermione!"
"Well, it wasn’t like I made him walk over a mirror or anything! I heard that’s what they used to
make them do in the military."
Harry watched her eyes follow Lucas off the dance floor. He couldn’t afford to appear even the
slightest bit concerned about where she looked; and actually, he was starting to find it somewhat
amusing in a discovering-just-how-libidinous-Hermione-was sort of way. He merely smiled at
her now. "Do you want a butterbeer?" he asked, making her jump.
"Oh! Yes, please. I’m already thirsty, just from the lesson."
"Okay, two butterbeers. And--" he took off his waistcoat, "could you find a place for this for
me? I’m already too hot to wear it."
Hermione took it and looked at him appreciatively. Harry felt her eyes and smiled back at her,
feeling vindicated for not having let it get to him when she’d been looking at Bill Weasley and
Ian Lucas.
"You know," he said quietly, "people aren’t going to believe we’re here as friends if you keep
looking at me like that."
"Oh, sod that," she started to say, then sighed and nodded. "All right, all right. But Harry--"
"What?"
"You just--look like you were born to wear that. With just a few more shirt buttons undone, of
course."
"Hermione!"
"And there’s just one problem when we’re dancing..."
"Just one? I felt like I was treading on everyone’s toes."
"The one problem is, when I’m dancing with you," she lowered her voice and smiled
mischievously, "I can’t see your legs."
He laughed. "Well, I’m going over there now to get us some butterbeer, so you can see them
the whole time I’m walking there and back."
"You can bet that I’ll be looking."
He knew she would. He made his way through the crowd to the bar. But when he returned, he
found that she was not in fact ogling his legs. Hermione was with the cellist, who was standing
holding her instrument while Hermione spoke very rapidly to her. Then Harry was utterly
amazed; Hermione sat down on a chair, took the cello between her legs, touched the strings
delicately with her left hand while holding the bow reverently with her right, and began to play.
It was a haunting, sad melody that Harry knew he’d heard before. She played only a dozen
measures or so, reluctantly standing up and handing the cello back to the witch from the band. As the cellist returned to the stage, Harry walked over to her in shock, handing her the bottle of
butterbeer, which Hermione opened as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He took a
drink himself before he said, "Hermione! I didn’t know you played the cello!"
She looked at him, smiling mischievously. "There’s a lot about me you still don’t know, Harry
Potter." He smiled back at her; that wasn’t a double entendre, not at all. "I used to play before
Hogwarts. But it wasn’t really feasible to bring it with me to school, so I don’t play much any
more. When I saw it--I just got nostalgic."
"What were you playing?"
"Bach. Air on the G-String." She looked at his face, then hit his arm playfully. "Get your mind
out of the gutter, Harry!" He laughed.
"Oh, think you’re psychic now, do you?"
"I think I know how teenage boys think..."
He said softly to her, "And you’d be right." They both laughed guiltily, then tried to sober up as
McGonagall walked over to them with her friend. Harry was shocked to see it was a man. He
couldn’t have been a day under sixty, but Hermione was regarding him with as much
appreciation as she had Bill and Lucas and Harry. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard were
meticulously groomed, and his hazel eyes looked around the room as though nothing in the
farthest corner could escape his notice. Harry didn’t know when he’d ever seen anyone who
looked so alert. He wore a Campbell kilt.
Suddenly, the man said in a low voice, "So, Potter. What are they charging for the drinks?
Double the going rate, I suppose?" The voice was completely unfamiliar, but the tone--
"Is that you, Professor Snape?" Hermione whispered with wide eyes. It was indeed Snape.
Harry hadn’t realized he wouldn’t come as himself. Whose likeness had he borrowed?
"What should we call you?" Harry asked softly while opening his butterbeer.
"Duncan MacDermid. My uncle." Harry nodded. He looked around the hall as people stood in
small groups, drinking and talking, waiting for the band to start playing. Was Sirius here yet? he
wondered. If so, what did he look like?
But Harry didn’t have a chance to wonder at this for long. The fiddle player and cellist started
tuning up again, then the pipers. The drummer seated himself on a stool, holding a large drum
between his legs. The cellist also sat, but the others all stood. The drummer started by hitting the
edge of the drum with his knuckles, producing a hollow, sharp noise. The pipers started the low
undertone emanating from their instruments, that drone that was supposed to have driven the
enemy to distraction in the days of yore, when pipers led armies into battle. Then it began in
earnest, as the pipers started to play a fast, high melody and the cellist produced a kind of basso
continuo under the drone, and the fiddle danced an obligato above the pipes. And under it all
the persistent whack!whack! of the drum, interspersed now with the softer sounds of the drum
being struck in the middle of the taut skin.
Couples started moving onto the dance floor. Lucas and his wife led them all in a lively reel
which, as far as Harry could tell, had him dancing with every girl or woman present at some
point, as they changed partners and the kilts whirled and feet stomped and laughing, sweaty
faces smiled at the strangers they had linked hands with. They were united in the dance, the
skirling pipes were in their blood, it mattered not whether a person was actually Scottish.
After a couple of reels and a strathspey, the band quieted a bit and played a lilting waltz; Harry
and Hermione danced near Ginny and Neville; Draco Malfoy was also nearby, his arms around
Alicia. They actually made a very striking couple, Harry thought. Then he saw that Draco Malfoy’s eyes looked quite alarmed, and Harry twisted his head around to see why.
Lucius Malfoy had entered the hall, resplendent in his clan Campbell kilt with all the trappings,
escorting his wife, who wore a sweeping dress and the tartan around her shoulders, the clan
crest brooch on her shoulder glittering in the candlelight. Seeing him now made Harry remember
seeing him in the Pensieve, in his twenties, recruiting Snape. Snape was probably right not to
come as himself, Harry thought.
He looked back at Draco Malfoy and Alicia. Upon seeing his father at the entrance to the hall,
he dutifully left the dance floor, taking Alicia with him. Harry managed to dance Hermione over
near the door, so they could hear what was going on.
"Father! Mother! I didn’t expect to see you here," Draco Malfoy said to his parents; he didn’t
sound like it was a pleasant surprise. "This is Alicia Spinnet," he introduced her to them. Alicia
smiled charmingly, but this was met with a cold, icy stare from Lucius Malfoy.
"Spinnet?" the elder Malfoy said suspiciously.
"She’s Head Girl," his son said helpfully; he sounded just a bit like he was bragging. Harry
wondered how many Alicia-on-a-horse fantasies had gone through his head since he’d met her
in the entrance hall at the school.
"Yes, I knew that," he said, still somewhat grumpy. "But your parents--they’re Muggles, aren’t
they?"
Alicia swallowed and looked at her date. "Yes, sir," she said timidly. It was a good trick to
rattle Alicia, Harry thought, but he certainly didn’t admire Lucius Malfoy for it. Quite the
opposite.
Harry whispered in Hermione’s ear; she nodded and let go of him, and they walked over to the
Malfoys.
Lucius Malfoy was saying rudely, "I can’t believe they couldn’t find any pure-bloods to be
Head Gi--"
"Hello, again, Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said in a rather loud voice. "Sorry to interrupt,
but I was wondering if I might dance with Alicia? You won’t be without a partner; Hermione
doesn’t mind dancing with you, do you Hermione?"
She smiled at Harry. "Not at all." Draco Malfoy, confused, tucked her arm in his, preparing to
return to the dance floor. Before that, though, Hermione turned to his parents, smiling brightly
and saying, "My parents are dentists."
Harry tried not to laugh at the thunderous look on Lucius Malfoy’s face as Harry moved in
circles holding Alicia. She looked relieved to be away from the Malfoys.
"So. You came with Malfoy," he said to her while they danced. She looked up at him, reminding
him very much of that awkward moment in the Quidditch changing room.
"Why do you care?"
"It’s just that--I’m surprised. Because he knows how his father feels about Muggle-borns. This
almost amounts to a rebellion, for him."
Alicia looked over at Draco Malfoy’s parents, who were socializing with some other older
witches and wizards who were not dancing. Then Harry glanced at Hermione, who had
managed to steer Draco Malfoy over to where Neville and Ginny were dancing. She separated
herself from Malfoy and said something he couldn’t hear to Neville and Ginny. Then the dancing
couples were different again, Neville holding Hermione, not looking altogether disappointed,
and Draco Malfoy holding Ginny, who was blushing into her hair. Harry frowned; she needed to
stop being so transparent. He looked at the elder Malfoys again. He thought it was possible that Lucius Malfoy would rather his son were with a Muggle-born girl than a Weasley.
When the song ended, the band segued seamlessly into a different waltz, so the couples
continued dancing. Harry looked about the room over Alicia’s head, still trying to figure out
where Sirius was. He saw Roger dancing with Fleur, Fred with Susan Bones, George with
Angelina, Bill with a witch he didn’t know. Then he realized that Bill, Fred and George were
looking very agitated about Ginny’s dance partner. Her partner had also noticed.
Ginny and Draco Malfoy worked their way over to Harry and Alicia. After a few moments of
dancing next to each other, Malfoy stood still, taking his arms from around Ginny.
"If you don’t mind, Potter, I think I’d like my date back."
Harry stepped back from Alicia, thanking her for the dance, and then he realized, I’m dancing
with Ginny now. He took her in his arms; he had very little choice but to look in her face, since
she was so tall, unlike Alicia. He swallowed, trying not to think about how it felt to hold her, his
hand at her waist, his other hand wrapped around hers, her long fingers lightly wrapped around
his shoulder. She looked at him, too. Her gaze was impassive. Harry again found that he had a
hard time looking away from her. But something was bothering him.
"So," he said, trying to make small talk. "What tartan is that?"
"Neville’s gran was named Gillespie, which is clan MacPherson." They danced in silence for a
few minutes. Then Harry couldn’t take it anymore.
"Ginny," he said softly. "Are you mad at me?"
She opened her mouth in surprise, then closed it quickly. "Harry, of course not. Why are you
saying that?"
"Well, it just seems like when you look at me--I don’t know. You probably just have a lot on
your mind, I suppose." He made an excuse for her so she didn’t have to do it herself. But he
wasn’t convinced. She looked down.
"Harry, I--I haven’t been very honest with you and I just thought that if we actually spent much
time talking, I would be."
Harry frowned. "What? You say that like it would be a bad thing to be honest with me."
She also frowned. "It would be. Because--because I’ve been helping Draco. With his plans to
expose his father. And you’re not supposed to know what they are. And I--I keep wanting to
tell you, but I know I shouldn’t--" she trailed off. Oh, thought Harry. That explained so much.
"So," he said softly, "do you know who sent the school owls?"
Her face looked blank. "What school owls?"
Harry frowned again. "Never mind. I’m relieved to know you’re not mad at me, that’s all.
When Will was so great and then all the other Gryffindors stood up with me, you wouldn’t
come near me, and I thought you thought--that I’d done it. To Flitwick and Cho."
She nodded. "I see. No, Harry, I can honestly say that I never once thought you did anything to
Professor Flitwick or Cho Chang."
He looked at her face, so close to his as they danced. Her eyes still looked very sad. "Ginny, I
have to say, you don’t exactly look happy."
She looked directly into Harry’s eyes now. "Why should I be? Sneaking around because I’m
afraid everyone will hit the roof when they find out about me and Draco, worrying about him,
worrying about getting his father away from him so he can’t hurt him anymore...and worrying
about Ron, and--and you--" She looked down and away. She worried about him? he thought,
feeling a warmth inside his chest, trying not to smile, since she still looked pretty miserable.
"You sound like you’re under a lot of stress," he told her. She nodded in agreement.
"I’ll just be glad when all this is over..."
The song ended and they separated, clapped with the rest of the crowd. The band struck up
another fast tune. She went to look for Neville and Harry moved to the perimeter of the hall,
where Snape was standing, looking like his uncle. He was talking to Ian Lucas, or rather, Lucas
was talking at him jovially, while Snape looked rather miffed. Somehow, his trademark sneer
managed to penetrate his uncle’s features. They both took swigs from hip flasks, Snape’s a
shining silver, Lucas’ a dirty leather-encased specimen.
"So!" Lucas said, putting his arm around Harry’s shoulders. "Ye’re Harry Potter!" Harry smiled
feebly and nodded at him. He looked for Hermione on the dance floor; she was swinging arms
with Bill. He nodded at her and she nodded back, her face flushed with the dancing. He turned
to Lucas.
"I’m glad we had a chance to learn the dances first--" he started to say to Lucas, who slapped
him on the back hard, so that Harry almost lost his glasses. He pushed them up his nose and
tried to stand upright again.
"I noticed ye’re wearin’ clan MacGregor. Ye know, don’t ye, that clan Lamont and clan
MacGregor are forever linked, don’t ye?"
"No, I don’t really know anything abou--"
"Wail--" Lucas began, ignoring Harry, still grasping his shoulder. "Ye see, a long time ago there
was a wizard o’ clan Lamont who was travelin’ through the MacGregors’ country an’ stopped
at an inn fer the night. Now, doonstairs in the pub, he and the other men praysent got to
drinkin’ quite a lot, and Lamont kilt none other than the son of MacGregor of Glenstrae, head of
the clan, whilst tryin’ t’disarm him. When he flew back’ard, ‘e struck ‘is ‘ead on a pike in the
wall. Wen’ right through ‘is brain. No magic can revairse that. ‘Course, now mos’ books abou’
clans say ‘twas ‘is dirk. Wail, ‘e hightailed it outa there faster’n a jackrabbit in heat! Wen’ over
the moors, with the mob from the pub hot on his tail. Prob’ly all too shitfaced to Apparate
withou’ splinchin’ themselves.
"Now, in those days, people still held great store in the code of hospitality o’ the Highlands. If a
stranger is at yer door askin’ for sanctuary and succor, ye give it, no quaystions askit. Ye don’
tell yer name and ye don’ ask ‘is, in case it tairns out yer enemies. So this Lamont comes to a
hoose and says t’the man standing in the door that he’s slain a man, save ‘im from the death
which now pursues’im. The man takes pity on ‘im and takes ‘im in, tells ‘im ‘e’ll always be safe
under ‘is roof. Wail, no more’n a few minutes passed when the mob from the pub is at the door,
askin’ whayther MacGregor’s seen the fugitive, tellin’im, ‘That’s the man kilt yer son!’"
Harry looked at Lucas shrewdly; what was he up to? he wondered. Making friends by telling
Harry that one of his ancestors killed one of Harry’s?
"Wail," Lucas went on, "MacGregor stands there weepin’ over ‘is son, but ‘e tells’em they
mayen’t have the man; he’d asked fer sanctuary and received it, and they wasn’t to harm a hair
on ‘is head. ‘E even gave ‘im safe passage to ‘is ‘omeland. Later on, durin’ the great
proscription against the MacGregors, they wasn’t to use the MacGregor name nor wear the
tartan, and the Camerons and Campbells--" he gave Snape a hard glare "--were gettin’
rewarded fer going out and killin’ as many MacGregors as they could find. Any man who kilt a
MacGregor was held scaithless; he wasn’t punished, but actually rewarded! And the
MacPhersons fought with’em against the Camerons, but it was the Lamonts who gave ‘em
sanctuary, who gave’em succor, because of the MacGregor who protected his own son’s
killer.""I’ll just be glad when all this is over..."
The song ended and they separated, clapped with the rest of the crowd. The band struck up
another fast tune. She went to look for Neville and Harry moved to the perimeter of the hall,
where Snape was standing, looking like his uncle. He was talking to Ian Lucas, or rather, Lucas
was talking at him jovially, while Snape looked rather miffed. Somehow, his trademark sneer
managed to penetrate his uncle’s features. They both took swigs from hip flasks, Snape’s a
shining silver, Lucas’ a dirty leather-encased specimen.
"So!" Lucas said, putting his arm around Harry’s shoulders. "Ye’re Harry Potter!" Harry smiled
feebly and nodded at him. He looked for Hermione on the dance floor; she was swinging arms
with Bill. He nodded at her and she nodded back, her face flushed with the dancing. He turned
to Lucas.
"I’m glad we had a chance to learn the dances first--" he started to say to Lucas, who slapped
him on the back hard, so that Harry almost lost his glasses. He pushed them up his nose and
tried to stand upright again.
"I noticed ye’re wearin’ clan MacGregor. Ye know, don’t ye, that clan Lamont and clan
MacGregor are forever linked, don’t ye?"
"No, I don’t really know anything abou--"
"Wail--" Lucas began, ignoring Harry, still grasping his shoulder. "Ye see, a long time ago there
was a wizard o’ clan Lamont who was travelin’ through the MacGregors’ country an’ stopped
at an inn fer the night. Now, doonstairs in the pub, he and the other men praysent got to
drinkin’ quite a lot, and Lamont kilt none other than the son of MacGregor of Glenstrae, head of
the clan, whilst tryin’ t’disarm him. When he flew back’ard, ‘e struck ‘is ‘ead on a pike in the
wall. Wen’ right through ‘is brain. No magic can revairse that. ‘Course, now mos’ books abou’
clans say ‘twas ‘is dirk. Wail, ‘e hightailed it outa there faster’n a jackrabbit in heat! Wen’ over
the moors, with the mob from the pub hot on his tail. Prob’ly all too shitfaced to Apparate
withou’ splinchin’ themselves.
"Now, in those days, people still held great store in the code of hospitality o’ the Highlands. If a
stranger is at yer door askin’ for sanctuary and succor, ye give it, no quaystions askit. Ye don’
tell yer name and ye don’ ask ‘is, in case it tairns out yer enemies. So this Lamont comes to a
hoose and says t’the man standing in the door that he’s slain a man, save ‘im from the death
which now pursues’im. The man takes pity on ‘im and takes ‘im in, tells ‘im ‘e’ll always be safe
under ‘is roof. Wail, no more’n a few minutes passed when the mob from the pub is at the door,
askin’ whayther MacGregor’s seen the fugitive, tellin’im, ‘That’s the man kilt yer son!’"
Harry looked at Lucas shrewdly; what was he up to? he wondered. Making friends by telling
Harry that one of his ancestors killed one of Harry’s?
"Wail," Lucas went on, "MacGregor stands there weepin’ over ‘is son, but ‘e tells’em they
mayen’t have the man; he’d asked fer sanctuary and received it, and they wasn’t to harm a hair
on ‘is head. ‘E even gave ‘im safe passage to ‘is ‘omeland. Later on, durin’ the great
proscription against the MacGregors, they wasn’t to use the MacGregor name nor wear the
tartan, and the Camerons and Campbells--" he gave Snape a hard glare "--were gettin’
rewarded fer going out and killin’ as many MacGregors as they could find. Any man who kilt a
MacGregor was held scaithless; he wasn’t punished, but actually rewarded! And the
MacPhersons fought with’em against the Camerons, but it was the Lamonts who gave ‘em
sanctuary, who gave’em succor, because of the MacGregor who protected his own son’s
killer."
Lucas looked at him closely and then Harry opened his eyes wide.
"Snuffles?" he said softly. Lucas grinned widely.
"Aye, there’s some’at call me that." Then he spoke lowly to Harry without the broad accent.
"How are you Harry? Have you seen anything suspicious?" The bagpipes were so loud now that
Harry had to lean in to hear him.
"No. Who--whose body are you in?"
"The name really is Ian Lucas. Cousin of mine. And that’s not really his wife; that’s Arabella,
another operative. I am actually clan Lamont. Black is one of the Lamont septs. And, see
there?" He pointed to a man across the room also wearing the MacGregor tartan. "Mundungus
Fletcher. Another operative. Plus Remus and Moody are at the pub. Going to meet them later
to regroup."
Harry looked onto the dance floor, seeing Arabella/Mary Lucas dancing with a man he thought
he’d seen in the pub. He turned back to Sirius.
"Why did you tell me that story? Is it true?"
"Yes."
"And--and is that what you think I did? Took in my parents’ murderer? Because I do not blame
you for--"
"Harry." Sirius looked at him levelly. "Do you blame yourself for what happened to Cedric
Diggory?"
Harry didn’t answer him for a good long minute; they just looked at each other. "Yes," he finally
said.
"Then I don’t have to tell you, do I?"
Harry grimaced; no, he didn’t have to tell him how consuming guilt could be. How ironic that
history seemed to be repeating itself, though. A Lamont kills a MacGregor, receives shelter and
forgiveness, and in turn protects the MacGregors when they are in need. And the Campbells
were enemies of both clans...
"Does--does your cousin really talk like that?"
Sirius made a face. "He’d probably say I’m overdoing the accent. But there’s people here
who’ve met him; I need for them to think I really am him."
Harry’s mouth felt dry. He eyed Sirius’ flask. "I don’t suppose there’s any hope of that being
nonalcoholic--" he started to say, but Sirius pulled it closer to him.
"Polyjuice Potion!" he said softly. "And that was the last drop. Soon I’ll have to go." Harry
stopped; of course. The ceilidh was certainly going to be longer than an hour; it was actually
getting to be quite late in the afternoon.
Suddenly a great whoop! went up from somewhere and the middle of the floor cleared; the
band started up "All the Bluebonnets Over the Boarder," the swords went down, and a wizard
enchanted them so that human hands didn’t have to hold them; they moved of their own accord.
Lucius Malfoy led the way now, picking his way through them expertly, and Draco Malfoy
joined him in the sword dance. Snape-as-MacDermid looked resigned and joined his kinsmen
as they skillfully avoided the sharp edges of the swords and held their hands over their heads.
Draco Malfoy had taken off his jacket, waistcoat and necktie and unbuttoned his shirt a little,
but left his cuffs securely fastened at the wrist. Harry looked at Ginny standing only about ten
feet away. Harry ached, seeing how she gazed at him. Her fifteenth birthday was just over a
week away.
Hermione had come to stand with him. Harry turned away from the sword dancers to tell her that Lucas was actually Sirius. She immediately reddened and looked away from him upon
learning this.
"What’s with her?" Sirius wanted to know.
"Um," Harry stalled. "Long story."
Sirius shrugged. He looked around the hall, at the crowd watching the sword dancing, some
more wizards joining in. Sirius frowned.
"I don’t understand. There are people here I’d bet my life were Death Eaters--and not just
Lucius Malfoy. Yet they’re not making any trouble. Either we were given bad intelligence again,
or--
The building suddenly shook with a large crash. The band stopped playing and everyone looked
around, bewildered. The hovering swords clattered to the floor. Harry went running to the
anteroom at the entrance to the hall, then outside, Hermione and Sirius right behind him. Further
down the High Street, he cold see smoke and flames coming from the direction of the Three
Broomsticks.
Ron and Parvati were at the Three Broomsticks.
Harry ran toward the mayhem without thought; he had hoped that he could be prepared; he’d
worn Sandy, who was too far away from the pub to be able to See this coming; he’d brought
his knife from Sirius, he had his wand. And still it had done no good.
As he reached the smoking ruins of the pub, he heard someone say, "MORSMORDRE!" in a
shaking voice, and the Dark Mark flew up into the sky over the rubble. Harry ran in the
direction of the voice. Around the corner of the next building, he saw him; a tall wizard in a
hooded cloak, a mask on. He jerked around upon seeing Harry; the mask kept Harry from
seeing his expression. He tried to move quickly, tried not be distracted by not knowing who this
was.
"Stupefy!" he cried, pointing his wand at the wizard before he could Disapparate. The stunned
wizard fell to the ground. A moment later, Harry heard someone else growl the stunning curse,
and he turned to see who was trying to attack him.
But it wasn’t him they were putting the curse on; he saw Mad-Eye Moody with his wand
pointed at another hooded, cloaked and masked Death Eater who had been coming up behind
Harry. Remus Lupin was with him. Moody used his wand to move his stunned prisoner over
near the man Harry had laid out. He grunted and kicked his man with his wooden leg absently.
"Hmph! He sent amateurs. Or they’re out of practice. Not to mention they think we’re stupid.
Good job, by the way, Potter. You got here fast."
Harry looked at him in amazement. "You--you did too."
Moody shook his head. "Nah. We were in the pub." Oh, that’s right, Harry thought. "But I saw
these two through the back wall, figured out what they were up to."
"Alastor and I quickly put cushioning charms over the entire pub, so that anything falling would
go down slowly and softly," Lupin said. "We’ll still have to move this rubble out of the way--"
"--bloody pain in the ass--" Moody interjected.
"--but the people underneath shouldn’t be injured," Lupin continued. "C’mon. How are you at
levitation charms?"
"Not as good as Hermione, but she’s coming now." Lupin nodded.
Harry saw Hermione coming down the High Street with Bill, Sirius, Snape, McGonagall and
Arabella, as well as a number of other people who’d been at the ceilidh. Suddenly, Arabella
stopped; Harry stared. Her hair was changing color, and her face. She put her hands up to her face, held a strand of hair before her eyes, then turned and ran the other way down the High
Street. Her potion must have worn off, Harry thought. But as her face was changing, something
about her seemed familiar...
Moody watched over the stunned Death Eaters while Lupin and Harry went to meet the
approaching crowd. Harry went to Sirius and Snape before Hermione. "Moody and I stunned
the Death Eaters who did this. He’s with them behind that shed there," he pointed and they
strode over in the direction he and Lupin had come from.
Hermione had tears running down her face, and Bill had frantically started waving his wand, first
producing a stream of water to extinguish some flames licking at the fallen wood, then levitating
the chunks of pub up and away from the site of the magical explosion. Harry tried to reassured
both of them by telling them about Moody’s and Lupin’s cushioning charm, but it was still slow
going to move so much debris.
Suddenly, Harry heard seven loud pops! near him and he looked up to see Dobby and Biddy
and the other free elves. "Harry Potter!" Dobby cried. "What is happening? We is having a
picnic outside the village for our day out, and we is hearing a big boom! What is happened to
the pub?"
Harry looked at his little wrinkled face grimly. "Death Eaters," he said simply. Dobby nodded.
"We is here to help, Harry Potter. Tell us what to do."
Harry looked at him gratefully. "Well, you’re pretty good at hover charms. We need to move all
this mess and find all of the people who were in the pub when it went."
Dobby gave him a kind of salute, and before long, the house elves were doubling the speed at
which they were able to remove the broken beams and other building fragments. They found
students, shocked that they weren’t gravely injured, feeling their arms and legs just to be sure
they weren’t mistaken. They found professors, people from the village, a few witches and
wizards who’d just Apparated in for the day. Just when Harry was starting to think that Ron
and Parvati had already left the pub before the explosion, Hermione and Quiff the house elf
moved a large beam and saw Parvati’s face, sprinkled with plaster dust, and she called Harry
over so they could move some other pieces of furniture and building off her. When she was no
longer trapped, Hermione pulled her to a standing position and then threw her arms around her
in a thorough hug. Harry saw her shocked face over Hermione’s shoulder, as she slowly
returned the hug. Then Hermione held her at arms’ length.
"Are you all right, Parvati?" Somehow her question seemed to have nothing to do with what had
happened to the Three Broomsticks.
Parvati nodded. "I--I thought you might hate me now, Hermione..." she said softly, tears starting
to roll down her dusty cheeks. Hermione smiled at her through her own tears.
"No. How could I? We’ve been roommates for--what? Five years? And--and Ron is one of
my best friends. I want him to be happy."
Parvati looked like she might really bawl now; she seemed incredibly touched. Harry looked at
the ruins of the pub; there was nothing like a disaster to bring people together who might
otherwise be trying to tear each other apart, he thought. But they had yet to find Ron.
"Potter!" a familiar voice called. Most of the people from the ceilidh were on site now, moving
rubble and helping the various pub patrons to their feet. But apparently, Moody and Lupin had
missed a part of the pub with the cushioning charms. Harry ran toward the voice; it was Draco
Malfoy, who was moving piece after piece of shattered wood rafter and chunks of plaster still
embedded in thin wooden lath strips. He had uncovered Ron’s ashen face. Harry cursed and put his wand away; he couldn’t think about magic now. He felt as he had when Dick had had
his leg crushed by the rocks in the Dursley’s garden. He lifted the chunks of building from Ron
and hurled them away, and Malfoy did the same, also not using his wand. Harry didn’t see
Lucius Malfoy anywhere. Of course, he’d been dancing in the middle of the hall when the
explosion had occurred; dozens of people were watching him. An ironclad alibi.
He and Malfoy worked side by side to free Ron, then each took an arm to try to draw him out
of the rest of the rubble. They dragged him clear, laying him flat on the High Street, where there
was no debris to get in the way. Harry took out his wand again to do a rejuvenation charm, but
Malfoy waved him away. Instead, he took out a hip flask and held up Ron’s head, tilted the
flask so some of its contents would run into Ron’s mouth. Harry was about to yell, but then
realized that of course Malfoy didn’t have Polyjuice Potion in his flask.
Ron immediately started to cough, and Malfoy sat him up more, slapping his back. Ron opened
his eyes, staring wildly at Malfoy and then Harry, then back at Malfoy. He nodded at the flask
and Malfoy handed it to him again, and this time Ron took a long swig, his head tilted back.
When he was done, he handed it back to Malfoy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand,
saying hoarsely, "Thanks."
Harry crouched by his side. "Where were you Ron? Moody said he saw two Dark wizards
skulking around, and he and Lupin put a cushioning charm on the pub to keep falling debris
from hurting people. But they must have missed wherever you were."
Ron swallowed, looking flushed now after his drink. "I was in the corridor on the way to the
loo. Then everything just--fell apart."
Malfoy smirked. "In the corridor, eh? Well, you’re lucky you weren’t already in there, busy
relieving yourself..."
"Enough, Malfoy!" Harry hissed at him. Malfoy smiled benignly at him, and to his surprise, Ron
laughed.
"It’s okay, Harry. You think that didn’t cross my mind? I could use a laugh anyway. Oh, and
thanks for the drink, Malfoy."
The two of them helped Ron to his feet; he was several inches taller than both of them, so he
was able to lean on their shoulders for support, as though they were live crutches. He could
walk, but Harry could tell that he felt very weak. He had a dark bruise on his temple and a deep
gash going from his right ear to the corner of his mouth, plaster dust sticking liberally in the
blood. He would need attention soon to fix that, Harry thought, or else he’d have a scar.
Then Ginny was running toward them, throwing her arms around Ron and weeping, followed by
Bill and Fred and George putting their hands on his shoulder, looking concerned. Then Harry
saw her approaching, walking next to Parvati, saw the raw emotion on her face. She started
moving faster, then she was running, and Harry thought she would knock him over with the
force of her embrace.
Hermione threw her arms around Ron, sobbing, and he gathered her to him, looking like this
was why he was glad not to be dead. He put his cheek on her hair and now there was blood
and plaster dust on the top of her head. Bill looked fascinated; Parvati did not look happy.
She pulled back from Ron, crying freely. "You’re all right. You’re--" she choked and couldn’t
speak for a second. He smiled down at her, his arms still around her. Harry felt tears prickle
against his eyelids. He was standing so close to them; he could see the look in both of their
eyes. But now Hermione was mastering herself again.
She cleared her throat and said softly, "I talked to Parvati. I’m--I’m very happy for you both. I--I just want you to be happy. You’re my best friend," she finished, looking up at him. But
now, the happiness that had glowed in Ron’s eyes when she had flung her arms around him
evaporated. He swallowed and looked over at Parvati, who was walking toward him shakily.
Hermione backed up some more and let Parvati come forward and put her arms around Ron,
pillowing her head on his chest. Ron looked over her head at Hermione. Harry could see that he
didn’t want her to be noble about this. He wanted the Hermione to return who had flung her
arms around him, who had given him that look. Not this detached friend, putting his girlfriend
into his arms.
Suddenly, Rosmerta came up to them, covered in more plaster dust, her hair and eyes wild,
holding Pinny and Zenana by their ears. She thrust them at Harry as though they were pieces of
dirty laundry.
"Are these yours?" she demanded shrilly. "I thought I told you to keep those things out of my
pub! Now look at it!"
Moody had come around the corner from where the stunned bodies were. "Rosmerta, leave the
damn elves out of this. They didn’t do anything except help get humans out of the wreckage.
This was the work of Death Eaters. Who will be punished."
But now Rosmerta was staring at Sirius, who no longer looked like Ian Lucas. Her mouth was
open. Harry swallowed. "Sirius Black!" she screamed. "It was Sirius Black! Get him!"
Harry’s heart was in his throat; he looked at Draco Malfoy, who goggled at Sirius. Everyone
froze except Sirius, who, realizing that he looked like himself again, ran behind the shed where
the bodies were. No one else moved; Rosmerta tried to follow him, but then a large black dog
came from the direction Sirius had gone, getting in her way. She ignored the dog; after it was
gone she rushed behind the shed, then emerged again, looking at them all wildly. "Where is he?
It was Sirius Black, I tell you! If anyone blew up my pub, he did!"
They all looked at her as if she were unbalanced, except for Draco Malfoy who was still clearly
in shock. She looked from face to face, her mouth hanging open. "But you all saw! He was
here!"
Harry heard a familiar voice say, "Mobilicorpi!" and Snape came around the corner looking like
himself (except for the fact that he didn’t normally wear a kilt). The stunned bodies of the Death
Eaters accompanied him, floating.
"I’m afraid, Madam Rosmerta, that these two men are the ones who destroyed your
establishment," he said, sounding even more oily than usual, Harry thought. Now he removed
the mask from the first one. "Ah, Nott," he said, upon seeing his face.
He removed the other man’s mask and Moody grunted, saying, "Avery. Well, that explains the
incompetence. Not that we’re not grateful for it."
But Madam Rosmerta wasn’t done pointing fingers. "And you!" she said, seeing Lupin. "I don’t
want your kind in my pub either! Filthy werewolf..."
Moody looked like he wanted to put a good hex on her. "Shut it, you! You didn’t mind him
being in the damn pub when he was paying you good money for your overpriced drinks!
Well--" he said, waving his arm over the pile of rubble that used to the Three Broomsticks.
"You can ban anyone you want from your bloody pub now. Feel free."
She looked at him with raging eyes, then turned and stalked off. Harry looked at Ron and
Hermione, wondering, but then Sandy distracted him, saying, "A large black dog awaits." Good,
thought Harry; Sirius wasn’t totally gone. He wanted to talk to him. It was such a shock to turn
and see his real face. Would Rosmerta alert the Ministry of Magic? And what about Malfoy?
Harry could tell that Dumbledore must have filled in Moody about Sirius. Perhaps Moody could
allay any fears at the Ministry about Sirius having been in Hogsmeade.
Moody came to him now, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You all right, Potter?"
They all started walking slowly down the street and in the direction of Hogwarts. "No," Harry
told him truthfully as they walked. He looked over at where Neville and Ginny and Hermione
were walking, then at Ron and Parvati. "I feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, like
I’m becoming a bit paranoid." He could have bitten his tongue as soon as he said it; Moody had
a reputation for being the most paranoid person in the wizarding world.
Moody laughed now. "Potter, if someone really is out to get you--then it’s not paranoia. It’s
called facing facts. And hopefully, being prepared." He smiled at Harry, but Harry had to look
away. He could not take Moody smiling at him. It just looked too strange.
He glanced at Draco Malfoy, who was walking near Snape, giving him a strange look through
narrowed eyes; would he catch on to the fact that he hadn’t seen Snape at the ceilidh, yet here
he was, walking along in a kilt as if this were how he always went to Hogsmeade? Harry
thought about Malfoy also seeing Sirius. Would he put two and two together about the large
black dog?
Then Harry put his hand to the back of his neck; it was as though he could feel someone looking
at him. He stopped, making Neville plow into him. He mumbled an apology, then went to the
side of the road and started walking back toward the village, until he was clear of the somber
parade of Hogwarts students and teachers returning to the castle, many of them limping and
dusty from the pub explosion.
Standing alone at the edge of the village, staring at Harry, was Lucius Malfoy. Harry stood in
the middle of the road, glaring back at him. The elder Malfoy looked every bit the aristocrat,
every piece of metal on his ensemble glittering; he looked at Harry like a lord who was sure of
obeisance.
Harry both feared and hated this man and wondered what he was up to, what Draco Malfoy
knew, what Ginny knew. He felt he understood more about the son every time he saw the
father; how could you not develop a thick skin when your own father thought nothing of
torturing you?
Harry continued to gaze at the man who had spawned Draco Malfoy. He would not back
down. The tall, pale-haired figure gazed back impassively, minute after minute. Harry did not
waver; he felt he could wait all day.
Finally, Malfoy pulled out his wand. Harry quickly pulled out his too, a defensive reflex. But
before he knew it, Lucius Malfoy was gone; he had merely been preparing to Apparate. He had
presumably returned to Malfoy Manor. Harry continued looking at the space where he’d been;
it was right at the edge of the village. He wouldn’t have been able to Apparate if he’d been any
closer to Hogwarts. Harry finally turned and ran to catch up with the others, still clutching his
wand.
* * * * *
"Surprise! Happy Birthday!"
Ginny leaned against the doorway to Hagrid’s hut in shock, staring around at her friends,
laughing and putting her hand to her chest. When she’d recovered, she shook her finger at Zoey
Russell, one of her roommates, who was looking sheepish.
"Oh, you! I told you I didn’t want anyone making a big deal--"
"Now, Ginny," Hermione cut in. "Don’t blame Zoey. You’ve been doing so much for other people, I thought you should have a nice little party too. Zoey, Annika and Ruth just helped get
you down here." Before Ginny had arrived, Hermione told Harry that Ginny had been told there
was extra work they all needed to do for Hagrid’s class. Hermione smiled at Ginny’s fellow
fourth-year Gryffindors. There were more than seventeen people crammed into Hagrid’s very
modestly-sized hut, and Ginny registered this.
"Little, Hermione? I think it stopped being little long before I got here."
"No problem!" Fred said. He and George levitated Hagrid’s large table out the door and into
the front garden, then magicaly stretched it by a couple more feet. Harry and Ron and Colin
moved all of the seating outside that Hagrid possessed, and Angelina and Parvati conjured up
some more seats to provide a place for everyone.
Soon Ginny was in a place of honor at the head of the table, opening presents. George’s and
Fred’s gift was first. She unwrapped a large box that turned out to be chocolates. She smiled
and thanked them, and started to pass it around the table. Everyone present looked alarmed as
it approached them and hastily sent it on its way, until it got to Neville. He casually picked up a
light-brown chocolate and bit into it. Everyone stared. Nothing happened. Ginny laughed,
looking at the twins.
"Oh! That’s the joke, isn’t it? There’s nothing wrong with them!"
George and Fred smiled, looking at Neville mischievously, saying "April Fool!" But Harry
thought, No, that’s not it. It’s coming...wait, just wait...
And yet, Neville was still fine. He shrugged and took another chocolate out of the box, put it on
his plate. No one else would have anything to do with the sweets. Ginny moved on to her other
presents. She exclaimed over everything and thanked each person or group of people who’d
gone in on a present. Then she reached for Harry’s gift. She tore off the paper and looked at
the framed photo.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Colin; it’s another one of yours, isn’t it?"
Colin smiled bashfully; he was really getting to be quite the popular phot
