Harry heard a noise and he opened his eyes. He immediately closed them again; his neck hurt
like hell from sleeping in the wing chair in Snape’s office all night. His mouth tasted terrible from
the whiskey, but his head felt oddly clear. He tried opening his eyes again and looked around
the office; there was a dim light coming from somewhere, and looking up, Harry noticed for the
first time the narrow clerestory windows at the top of the high wall behind Snape’s desk,
partially obscured by the objects sitting before the windows on the tops of the bookcases lining
the wall. Bell jars, mason jars with pickled dragons’ eyes and other creatures’ body parts as
well. The eerie color of the light was in part a result of the morning light being filtered through the
contents of these containers. How cheery, thought Harry. It’s no wonder Snape’s always in
such a sunny mood...
He grimaced. Snape. Snape was just the person to suit his disposition, now. He felt he would
probably want to blast out of his way anyone even slightly more cheerful than Snape usually
was. Harry understood now Malfoy’s irritation with him that morning in the prefects’ bathroom.
Misery certainly does love company, he thought.
The door to the office suddenly opened, and Snape stood framed in the opening, regarding
Harry with an inscrutable expression. He nodded a mute greeting to him and then gestured for
Harry to follow him into the classroom. He rose and plodded after him, legs like lead. Snape
stood at one of the ancient granite sinks in the corner of the room. He turned on the single tap
for cold water and handed Harry a goblet. Harry looked down into it; the goblet was dark
brown, and Harry could not tell what color the contents might be. He looked up at Snape, who
nodded, and he took a deep breath and drank the contents of the goblet, remembering with a
touch of irony the way he’d been appalled at Lupin for drinking the steaming potion Snape had
brought him...
Harry felt dreadful; he immediately spat the contents of his mouth into the sink, where they
swirled down the drain, helped along by the running water. Then he put his hand under the tap,
cupping his hand to collect some water, which he brought quickly to his mouth, again and again,
as when he’d been with the giants.
He brought the sleeve of his robes up to his mouth, looking at Snape. “What was that? ”
Snape gave him what passed for a smile. “Homemade mouthwash. Your mouth should taste
better now.” To his surprise, Harry found that he was right; there was a residual taste of ginger
and mint.
“I thought it might be something for hangover...”
“Why? Do you feel like you have a hangover?”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “No. Which is odd, because I felt like the whiskey really put me under,
and I’m not used to drinking...”
“You no doubt fell asleep from pure stress. I have been watering my Ogden’s for some time
now, to cut down on my intake. It is really not good for me, but...At any rate, what you had
was actually about eighty per cent water. Even someone with no tolerance should not find that
unwieldy.”
Harry nodded. “It probably was stress...But thanks for letting me stay down here.”
Snape nodded. “I told the headmaster and Professor McGonagall where you were, and not to
worry. Where were you before that?”
Harry explained to him about having to get far enough from Hogwarts to use the tape player, the
message from Wormtail. “I remember now; Hermione said that the wizards who abducted her
in Bulgaria talked about doing something to a Muggle boy when he was still in his school last
June...They were planning to kill him for a whole year!”
Snape looked utterly unsurprised. “I am afraid that there is very little you could tell me about
Death Eaters that would shock me, Potter. Your godfather went to see your aunt and uncle;
they were at your cousin’s school, summoned there because of the--tragedy. He should return
soon.”
Harry nodded, still numb somehow. He almost wished he had really gotten drunk. No, he
thought, what I really wish was that I’d read Dudley’s letter in time...if only...if only...
“You should go upstairs. It is too early for breakfast. Let your housemates know you are all
right. Professor McGonagall told them not to worry about you, but I am sure they shall be glad
to see you.” Harry’s throat felt very tight. Snape had never seemed so--nice. He almost wished
he’d stop, that he’d yell at him or take house points away...
“And Potter,” he said then, a little stiffly. “You are a prefect. You know the rules.” Harry
furrowed his brow, clueless about what he was going to say. “No leaving the grounds without
permission. And I am quite certain that you should not have let anyone see a golden griffin flying
over the village. I think it would be fair to say...twenty-five points from Gryffindor. I doubt
Professor McGonagall would disagree with me.” Well, Harry thought, I got my wish. Although,
for possibly the first time, he thought the points taken away were justified...
“Now,” Snape said even more sternly. “Sleep in my office all night or drink any more alcohol
and it will be fifty points from Gryffindor.”
Harry restrained himself from smiling. “Yes, sir.”
Harry checked his watch as he slogged up the stairs. It was early, but not early enough to run.
This was about the time he usually showered after running. Showering; that sounded like what
he needed. He made his way to the prefects’ bathroom and almost didn’t see Hermione
standing there waiting for him.
“Harry! Oh, Harry, I’ve been so worried, and Ron’s been worried, and Neville, and Ginny, and
even Draco Malfoy...” She moved to enclose him in an embrace, and he recoiled and made a
face as though he found her to be utterly repulsive. She cried, “Harry! What--”
“Don’t touch me!” he choked, trying to avoid coming in contact with her; he backed up against
the opposite wall of the wide corridor, putting as much distance as possible between them.
“Never,” he said, and she looked stricken at his expression, “ever touch me again!”
He ran from her, going toward Gryffindor Tower. He heard her crying behind him, calling his
name with tears in her voice, but he ignored her and kept moving forward, onward and upward.
When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he gave the password and entered, then crossed
the common room and strode up the stairs to his dorm. He stood by his bed, shedding his
clothes and putting his dressing gown on. Ron and the others still slept. He went to use the
regular showers, to avoid going back to the prefects’ bathroom. No one would be in there at
this hour. After he had put his glasses in his dressing gown pocket and hung it on a hook, he
stepped under the spray, leaning against the wall and just letting it hit him like a fire hose...his
tears came pouring forth again, then, blending with the water from the showerhead, mixing in the
drain as the water swirled around his feet. After a time, he stopped crying and put his hand up
to clasp the basilisk amulet. He stared at the tiles on the opposite wall, holding the basilisk, and
eventually, a feeling of calm pervaded him, and he reached out to turn off the water, feeling like
his head was clear at last. He knew what he must do.
He dried off and put his dressing gown on again. When he returned to the dorm, Ron was sitting
on the edge of his bed, and Hermione was sitting there with him, crying on his chest. Harry
looked at the other beds; the three other boys had gone down to breakfast. Ron’s arms were
around Hermione; her own arms were crossed over her chest as she huddled against him like a
child, tears wetting the T-shirt he wore with his pajama pants. He looked unspeakably sad as he
gazed down at her, then up at Harry.
But Harry’s calmness went flying out the window; he felt a wave of hostility roll through himself
again at seeing her. “What’s she doing here?” he said as hatefully as he could. It wasn’t easy,
but this was what had to be done...
Ron leaned down and whispered something to her and she nodded, then he kissed the top of
her head. She stood and left without looking at Harry.
Harry didn’t look at Ron; he went to the wardrobe to get some clothes. “Well, I’ll bet you’re
happy...”
Ron screwed up his face in confusion. “What? ”
“Not about Dudley. About me and Hermione. What you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?” Harry
couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. Maybe that’s what I should do, he thought.
Alienate everybody. If I don’t have any friends, maybe Voldemort can’t hold anything over my
head...
Suddenly, Ron ran at him and threw him against the wall, his hands on his upper arms. Harry
gasped with the shock of the impact, wincing at the pain emanating from where his head had
struck the wall. He felt a sudden grudging respect for Malfoy for not crying out when Ron had
done the same thing to him. Ron spoke with his face very close to Harry’s.
“You don’t know anything, Harry! What do you think we were doing up here? I’ll tell you what:
she was crying because you said you don’t ever want her to touch you again! That’s what.
What the hell is wrong with you? How can you blame her for this? This is not her fault, Harry.
You think you could have saved him from Wormtail, but if they really wanted it to happen...how
could a Muggle be safe? Unless your aunt and uncle were to let Dumbledore bring him here? As
if that would ever have happened. Don’t you take this out on her! You need her right now, you
can’t afford to push her away. She wants to be there for you. Don’t you think she feels terrible?
She needs you to tell her it’s all right, that she did nothing wrong, as much as you need to hear
it, too. Don’t be a sodding bastard to her, Harry. She didn’t kill Dudley. No more did you.”
Harry stared at Ron, amazed. He swallowed; he’d been very tense, but now he collapsed
against the wall, and when Ron released him, he sank down onto his haunches. He nodded at
Ron.
“You’re right, of course. Damn you...I hate it when you’re right...”
He looked up to see Ron smiling. “I’m still getting used to it, frankly. It’s a weird feeling.”
Harry tried to smile feebly back. “You can see a lot when you want to, Ron, you know that?
After those essays you wrote for Moody...maybe you should go to Muggle university, become
an Oxford don, teach literature...”
Ron looked ill. “Nah. I can’t wait to finish school. Muggles are gluttons for punishment, all those
years cooped up in libraries...I want to get a job as soon as I walk out of the castle for the last
time...”
Harry sat silently for a minute. Ron sat on his bed again. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; in
fact, it was a pleasant, companionable silence. Oddly, it reminded Harry of sitting quietly with
Snape in his office. Suddenly, Ron was moved to speak.
“Harry, at least--at least you and Dudley became friends before--you know--”
Harry shook his head. “But we didn’t...” and he explained to Ron about the Congeniality
Charm. Ron tried to offer explanations: maybe Wormtail was lying, just trying to upset Harry,
maybe...But Harry told him about Hermione’s recollections about being abducted, and he
stopped talking, unable to reconcile these things.
“They made me care about him, Ron, just to take him away. How could anyone...how can a
human being be so cruel...”
Ron sighed. “I’m not sure Death Eaters are human beings anymore, Harry. But this just goes to
show, you really can’t hold yourself responsible for Dudley. They were planning this for a year.
A year, Harry. If you didn’t do what You-Know-Who wanted, he was going to do this, any
way that he could. If you caught Wormtail, someone else would have been sent to do it.”
“But at least if I’d caught Wormtail, there’d be a chance of Sirius getting cleared...”
“Is that part of it? Wormtail got away again? You’ve got to stop obsessing over him, Harry.
Sirius probably doesn’t think about it as much as you do. I have to try really hard sometimes to
forget that rat slept in the same bed with me. How do you think it makes me feel that he’s doing
the things he is now? And I never figured out that he was a wizard, not a stupid, sickly rat? He
lived with us for twelve years. He knows more about my family than I’m really comfortable with
a dark wizard knowing. And Percy...he used to be Percy’s, remember. He and I were talking
about Wormtail a little last summer, about some things we noticed about him that didn’t make
sense until we knew he was an Animagus. Percy feels guilty for never noticing, too. The thing is,
Harry, some people are determined to do certain things, and as much as we’d all like to be onto
them and stop them before they can hurt people...well, I have to work really hard sometimes
not to blame myself for what happened to you after the Triwizard Tournament.”
Harry swallowed. “I never blamed you for anything Wormtail did, Ron. You had no idea.”
“Exactly. And don’t blame yourself, or Hermione, for Dudley.”
Ron put his hand out to Harry and he took it, pulling himself up. He didn’t release Harry’s hand
right away. They gazed at each other, and Harry knew he was incredibly lucky to have Ron for
his friend. He didn’t want to alienate him--not that it seemed he could, even by saying quite
despicable things to him. They each dressed and went down to the common room. Hermione
was waiting for them there. She stood up from her armchair by the fire as Harry walked toward
her, her bottom lip shaking. He strode purposefully toward her, then he was holding her in his
arms, whispering into her hair, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over, while she clung to him
and said, “Yes, yes, it’s all right...”
He finally kissed her on the forehead and separated from her, looking at Ron. “You should
thank Ron for talking some sense into me,” he told her, although he looked at his best friend.
She smiled and stepped over to give Ron a hug, which Harry could see he took gratefully,
closing his eyes, holding her tightly for a several seconds before letting her go with a reluctant
look. Ron was perhaps not being completely honest about how he felt about Hermione, Harry
thought, but he was too good a person to want to get her by default...Ron steered her back
toward Harry, smiling grimly at him.
“I can go, if you like. If there’s other things you two want to say to each other...”
Harry looked at her; he felt they’d said everything, all that was necessary for now. She had
accepted his apology and forgiven him. “No. We should go down for breakfast.”
Ron frowned. “You’re sure?”
Now Harry was perplexed. What more did Ron expect them to say? “Yeah, I’m sure. What’s
with you? Let’s go.” And Hermione opened the portrait for them all to scramble through, but
Harry saw that Ron still looked bothered by something as they walked down the stairs to the
Great Hall together, Harry holding one of Hermione’s hands, and Ron the other.
* * * * *
After breakfast, Dumbledore asked Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny to come to his office.
When they arrived in the round room with the portraits of the slumbering former headmasters
and headmistresses, Harry was elated to see Sirius. His godfather gave him a crushing hug, then
stepped back to look at him. He’d last seen him in person on the day of the ceilidh, but that
seemed a long time ago now.
“You’ve grown up a lot this year, haven’t you Harry?” he said quite seriously. Harry glanced
toward Hermione and felt a warmth move up his face. Sirius laughed.
“I don’t mean that...well, that’s part of it, I suppose. Having a girlfriend.” Harry glanced toward
Dumbledore now, uncomfortable. He was still very glad that it was Aberforth and not his
brother who had seen him and Hermione kissing outside the infirmary after Cho and Flitwick
had woken up. Harry knew what Sirius meant; he had seen it himself, when he looked in his
own eyes in the mirror. He still knew who he was when he closed his eyes, he could feel that
entity that was Harry, his familiar, basically insecure but friendly self; but gazing out of his eyes
now was a slightly haunted-looking Harry, a more serious Harry. He was also aware of losing
most of the baby fat in his face, his cheekbones more pronounced and sharp now (which he
thought made the shape of his face more like his mother’s than his father’s). He didn’t look like
the same person he’d been a year earlier, and he didn’t feel like it either.
“Sirius has talked to your aunt and uncle about the funeral. It will be at St. Bede’s in the
Meadow Church, just outside Little Whinging, on Wednesday. The interment will be in the
village cemetery just down the road.”
“I offered my condolences to them,” Sirius said to Harry. “They’re very distraught...”
Harry’s voice caught. “Do they know how he really died?” Harry didn’t feel like mentioning the
Congeniality Charm at this time.
“No. They think it was a suicide. They’re blaming themselves...It’s so sad, really. I never
thought I could feel sorry for them, but all they could do practically the whole time I was there
was to come up with yet another slight, something they’d said or done that might have driven
him to it...”
Harry swallowed. So, he could tell them it was his fault, and they could hate him even more, or
he could go on letting them think he’d killed himself and they’d done something to drive him to
it. Neither was a particularly attractive choice.
“They wanted to know, Harry--are you planning to come to the funeral? They said they needed
pallbearers...Actually, what they said was that if you come, you could make yourself useful for
once and bring a couple of pallbearers, since they only have three...and you’d be one too, if you
wanted.”
Harry looked at Ron, who nodded. Then he looked at Sirius. “What about--”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Harry. I can’t show my face. Too risky.”
“Draco!” Ginny said suddenly. Harry turned to her.
“What?”
“Draco will do it. If I ask him, I’m sure he will. If it’s all right for him to go, that is,” she said
uncertainly, looking at Dumbledore.
He smiled at her. “If Harry would like him to, then yes, Draco may go. In fact, you may all go;
Harry will need his friends around him. Sirius has said that Remus Lupin has agreed to
accompany you. I’ll have a horseless carriage take you to Hogsmeade on Tuesday, and then
you can go from Honeyduke’s to Diagon Alley by floo. That will give you a day to shop for
appropriate Muggle funeral clothes; you can stay over at the Leaky Cauldron before going to
the funeral on Wednesday.”
Harry frowned. “Floo? Then--why couldn’t we have gone that way to the Ministry of Magic?”
Dumbledore looked unconcerned about this oddity. “We could have. If I didn’t think we all
needed the buffer of the time on the train...sometimes, Harry, wizards and Muggles alike are so
concerned with getting places quickly that they forget about the pleasures of something like a
long, leisurely train ride. It’s not jarring and sudden; you have time to adjust from one place to
another. That’s why we use it to bring you students to school. Well, that and it would be a bit
messy for so many young witches and wizards and their belongings to be flowing out of the
fireplaces in Hogsmeade all day long on September first.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling at them
all.
“On Wednesday, I’ll have Ministry cars take you from the Leaky Cauldron to the church for
the service. Are you familiar with it, Harry?”
“St. Bede’s? A little; we went there for Christmas and Easter when I was young. The rector
was nice, if it’s the same one...It’s a bit old fashioned. They still use the 1928 Book of Common
Prayer...” What he didn’t say was that Dudley had sung in the boys’ choir, even doing soprano
solos when he was young, before his voice changed. Aunt Petunia had been so proud...it didn’t
bear thinking about.
“Ah, yes. Well. Sirius has to leave, and you have to ask Draco if he will accompany you to
London and the funeral.” He nodded to them, and that was all; it was their cue to go. They left
the office (Sirius came with them in his dog form) and walked down to the entrance hall, all four
of them patting the large black dog affectionately before he went bounding down the path to
Hogsmeade. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy came in the hall, carrying his broomstick over his
shoulder. He looked like he’d gone for a morning fly around the pitch after breakfast. Ginny
greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He smiled at her and tried to give her a better-aimed kiss,
but caught a look in Ron’s eye and seemed to think better of it.
“Draco! I need to ask you--” she began.
“Hullo,” he interrupted her, looking out the door and frowning. “Wasn’t that the same dog we
saw in Hogsmeade? On the day of the ceilidh?”
The four of them suddenly stood still, tongue-tied, staring back and forth at each other. Malfoy
looked at each of them in turn. “What’s the matter? Is that the password for making the four of
you get the world’s stupidest expressions on your faces? Oops--sorry Ginny, I meant three...”
She smiled and laughed, recovering. “No, no--it might have been the same dog. I think it’s just
a stray the house elves have been feeding. You know how it is once you’ve fed them once; they
keep coming back for more...” He nodded, accepting this. Ginny took a breath then, and said
quickly, “Draco, Harry’s cousin’s funeral is on Wednesday, so can you come along and be a
pallbearer?”
He looked shocked. “What?”
Harry explained that three pallbearers were needed, and that they’d be going down to London
first to shop for appropriate clothes, then going to Surrey the next day.
He shook his head, although he really did look reluctant. “Sorry, Potter. No.”
“Oh, come on, Malfoy, do the right thing for once,” Ron started to say, before Malfoy cut him
off.
“Easy for you to say, Weasley. You have money now. I don’t have any way to actually pay for
new clothes, thank you very much.”
Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t going to let anyone pay for their own anyway, Malfoy. It’s all on me.
The rooms at the Cauldron, too.” He turned to Ron, to shut him up, as his mouth had started to
open. “And I’m not taking no on that, from anyone. I’m not going to make you come to a
funeral and not cover the clothes and rooms you wouldn’t have had to pay for if you hadn’t
come.”
Ron closed his mouth again. Malfoy looked at him, then Harry, then at Ginny’s pleading face,
which really seemed to be the clincher. “Well, as I seem to be confronted with the opportunity
to spend the night at an inn where Ginny will be sleeping...” he started to say mischievously
putting his arm around her shoulder and moving in for another kiss. Ron quickly disabused him
of the notion he’d clearly started to entertain.
“Oh, no you don’t, Malfoy. You and I are sharing a room, and I’m keeping an eye on you. Or I
could just put a binding spell on you, so you can’t leave the room overnight. Don’t get any
ideas.”
Harry tried not to laugh; he couldn’t have imagined Ron wanting to spend the night in the same
room with Malfoy before this, but with Ginny in another room in the same inn, Ron wasn’t going
to be taking any chances.
Malfoy sighed, but he also still had the mischievous smile. “It is just too easy to get you wound
up, you know that Weasley? All right; I’ll do it. Isn’t often one gets to go on an unsupervised
field trip...”
“Well, actually, Remus Lupin’s supervising us,” Harry told him.
Malfoy looked thoughtful, then shrugged. “Oh, well, Lupin wasn’t so bad. As teachers go, he
certainly wasn’t as bad as Lockhart. Or Quirrell. But--when’s the next full moon?”
“The last one was a week ago, Malfoy. I thought you got an O.W.L. in astronomy?” Hermione
said a little snidely. He made a face at her; he still wasn’t quite over not getting more O.W.L.s
than her or Harry, although he’d taken a couple of opportunities to point out to Ron that he’d
gotten one more than him.
Tuesday seemed to come quickly. After breakfast, they five of them took small suitcases down
to the entrance hall; Hermione had shown them a clever spell for transfiguring their rucksacks
into the suitcases. “One can always have the right piece of luggage, if one only has a wand...”
“Don’t gloat, Granger,” Malfoy warned her, although he seemed pretty pleased with himself
when the spell converted his canvas bag into a nice simple black leather suitcase to which he
added his initials: DIM. Ron and Harry started to laugh when they saw that.
“Perfect initials, Malfoy. What’s the I stand for?” Ron chuckled.
“The I stands for I don’t want to tell you...”
“Do you know?” Ron tried to ask Ginny on the sly. She shook her head dumbly, but Harry
wasn’t sure if she was being truthful or not.
They were quiet on the way to the village, then at Honeyduke’s, they met Lupin, and one by
one, they walked into the fireplace and announced that they wanted to go to the Leaky
Cauldron. Harry hadn’t used floo in a while; he’d forgotten about the dizzying array of gratings
that would be whirling past him, glimpses of rooms throughout the wizarding world, until, just as
he was starting to feel like he would lose his lunch, he tumbled out into the front room of the
pub, tripping over his suitcase, and looking up into the kindly face of Tom the publican.
“Hello, Harry,” he said calmly. Harry stood, brushing soot off the knees of his jeans. Hermione
and Ginny were already standing at the foot of the stairs with their bags. Ron and Malfoy
followed after, and then Lupin. Tom gave them their room keys and they all went up.
“How come you get a room to yourself, Potter?” Malfoy wanted to know as they went
upstairs. Hermione and Ginny were sharing, like Malfoy and Ron. Lupin was also in a single
room.
“Because I’m paying. Any other stupid questions?”
“Boys...” Lupin started to say.
“Sorry,” Harry said to him. “Don’t want to make you into a referee.”
Lupin smiled at him. “Actually, it’s like old times. We didn’t even need Snape to be around to
be picking on each other. I’d say something to Sirius, he’d say something to James...”
Malfoy stopped and stared at him. “Sirius? Sirius Black?”
They all froze. Lupin looked awful; Harry could tell he was mortified at having forgotten to
watch what he said about Sirius.
“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to get rid of the quaver in his voice. “You knew he was in my dad’s
crowd, surely? Everyone knew that.”
Malfoy nodded, but Harry thought he was perhaps remembering the way Sirius had suddenly
appeared at the Three Broomsticks on the day of the ceilidh. Had he noticed that he was
wearing the same clothes as Ian Lucas? Had he wondered about the black dog? Harry
wondered whether he’d ever trust Malfoy enough to tell him the truth about Sirius. Life would
certainly be easier if he could. Of course, it would help if he could get Sirius cleared...
They went to their rooms and left their bags; they’d all worn Muggle clothes to floo to the
Cauldron, so all they had to do was meet in the bar again before going to Diagon Alley. While
Harry went to Gringotts to exchange Galleons for pounds, Lupin and the others went to Florean
Fortescue’s for ice cream. He gritted his teeth during the ride down to his vault, then waited,
trying not to tap his foot, while the Goblin at the window upstairs determined how much of a
surcharge he would pay for the currency conversion. When he finally emerged from the bank,
he had a large wad of twenty-pound notes and enough in Galleons to pay Tom for the expenses
at the inn. They went back to the Cauldron, but just as they were getting ready to open the
street-side door, Harry realized that Lupin was going to go out into Muggle London in robes.
They waited while he took his robes back to his room, returning in rather shabby brown pants
and a brown shirt.
“My guard uniform,” he mumbled with some embarrassment. Harry didn’t know what to say.
He still thought it a crime that Lupin had to support himself the way he did. They emerged into a
bright, summery London day, looking, Harry thought, exactly like the six of them had spent the
previous year in a dungeon. Which, considering how much time the five of them had put in
working on potions, wasn’t that far off. Harry hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Malfoy
immediately picked up on this.
“What’s the matter, Potter? Never been in the big city before?”
“I’ve been to London before, Malfoy. I’m just not sure, um, where we should go...”
Hermione took charge. “Right,” she said, promptly hailing a taxi. A large black car rolled to a
stop in front of them almost immediately. After they piled in, Hermione said firmly to the driver,
“MacTavish’s, please.”
“Yes, miss,” said the elderly driver, moving out into the traffic as though there were no other
possible destination for a person in London. After about fifteen minutes, they pulled up in front
of a large store with doormen dressed in highland regalia, even more elaborate than that Malfoy
had worn to the ceilidh.
“Um, Hermione,” Ron said nervously, “we’re not supposed to wear kilts for this funeral, are
we? Because I have a basic philosophical problem with going about in a skirt...”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Stop panicking, Ron. They’re just for show, because the
name of the place is Scottish. They sell your basic Muggle clothes, and they tailor men’s suits
very quickly. My dad gets all of his suits here. And they have lovely silk ties...”
Harry paid the driver and they went into the store. Harry didn’t feel particularly comfortable
here, but he didn’t want to reveal in front of Malfoy that he’d never been in a Muggle
establishment like this, with posh fixtures, and immaculate young men and women who looked
like they’d stepped out of glossy magazine adverts trying to squirt them with cologne or inquire
every three seconds whether they needed any assistance at all, any at all...He noticed that Lupin
didn’t look any more comfortable in this setting than he did.
Hermione went immediately to a bank of lifts and pressed the button to go up. When the doors
opened, she and Harry and Lupin stepped on; Ron, Ginny and Malfoy just stood looking into
the little room with mirrors and tartan wallpaper lining it. Their expressions were not just
uncertain, but downright terrified. Even Malfoy wasn’t ashamed to show how he felt about this.
Hermione sighed with exasperation.
“Come on, you three! It’s just a lift. Something that Muggles invented over a hundred years
ago. Get on! Else we’ll have to walk up five storeys.”
Ginny put her foot into the lift experimentally, then crept in with her other foot, each step careful
and tentative. Now Hermione was closing her eyes in exasperation; Harry could feel the heat of
frustration emanating from her, like when she knew an answer in class and she was trying to
restrain herself from screaming it out. Suddenly, the doors to the lift starting closing, and would
have hit Ron if Harry hadn’t quickly found the button for opening them again. Ron screamed
and leaped backward; he’d been about to board the lift, but when the doors had threatened to
make a Ron snack out of him...
“Hurry up, you two!” Hermione hissed at them. “That happens when the doors have been open
a long time. If you’d just get on...”
So Ron and Malfoy did a kind of kamikaze approach to the lift and leapt into it, each uttering a
small cry, knocking into the rest of them and making the car shift slightly in the shaft, which was
making Harry nervous now, and he’d never felt that way about lifts before. With a little more
eye-rolling, Hermione punched the button for the fifth floor and the doors rolled smoothly shut.
When the lift started moving upward, Malfoy suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm; Harry gave him an
amused look and he removed his hand quickly. Harry noticed that he had beads of sweat on his
forehead as he looked above the door at the numbers lighting up, one by one, as they passed
the lower floors.
When the lift shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open, Ron and Malfoy shouldered their
way past the others, racing to get out. Ginny was actually laughing at the two of them as she
strolled out with Hermione, suddenly an old veteran.
“I liked it!” she declared. “We should have those at school. I’m so tired of slogging up and
down so many stairs...You’d think it wouldn’t be too hard to create a spell to--”
“Sssshh!” Hermione said suddenly, putting her hand over Ginny’s mouth. “Don’t mention spells
or anything like that!” she hissed. Ginny glared at Hermione, who removed her hand from her
mouth. “Sorry about that, but you can’t say things like that here...”
Lupin nodded. “One thing I’m here for is to keep you all out of any trouble of that sort.
Revealing or even discussing your--abilities--would be a serious breach.”
Ginny nodded at him, reluctantly admitting the truth of this. Harry realized that she and Ron and
Malfoy had probably had very, very little exposure to the Muggle world; they just weren’t used
to concealing something that was so second-nature to them. Harry and Hermione hadn’t even
discovered they were magical until they received their Hogwarts letters (although, of course,
there were the anomalous magical incidents from their childhoods). This was completely new for
the others.
The rest of the shopping trip went fairly easily. The girls went off to look at appropriate funeral
clothes for themselves while Lupin and the boys were fitted for suits and selected shirts and ties.
Ron and Lupin also needed black oxfords. Malfoy was eyeing some expensive silk neckties, but
Harry informed him they’d all be wearing plain black ties with their black suits.
When Malfoy was standing before a triple mirror in the suit he was getting, he squinted and
stared at the mirror in an odd way, Harry thought. Finally, he stepped up to it and started
rapping it with his knuckles. “Well? he said to his reflection. “What’s wrong with you?”
Harry walked over to him, standing very close. “Stop it, Malfoy! What’s wrong with you ?”
Malfoy still peered with a perplexed look into the mirror. “Stupid thing isn’t working...hasn’t
said a word about whether this looks all right...”
“Malfoy,” he said more softly still. “Muggle mirrors don’t talk. ”
“They don’t?” He still stared at the mirror, his eyes narrowed.
“No.” Finally taking this for an answer, Malfoy walked away from the mirror, as though it had
slighted him by not commenting. He probably has mirrors at home that feed his ego all the time,
Harry thought.
The girls’ clothes were ready to go, but the suits were still being hemmed and altered by the
middle of the afternoon. (Malfoy wanted to know why he couldn’t just use his wand for this
back at the Leaky Cauldron; Harry nixed this idea.) They went up to the top floor (Ron and
Malfoy weathering the lift better this time) to have a bite in the tea room there while they waited.
They chose one of the tables on a roof terrace looking out over the neighborhood. On the
streets below, the newly green trees fluttered in a warm breeze, and they could see children
playing in a park with a tall iron fence around it. Nannies sat primly on benches, prams parked
beside them, reading or chatting with each other. Office workers ate sandwiches on other
benches and enjoyed the summer sunshine.
Harry listened to the others chatter around him with only half an ear; they were enjoying their
outing, the unfamiliar setting, and he was glad he could do this for them. He, however, couldn’t
help being constantly aware of the reason why they were here. The next morning, they would
rise and don their newly-purchased, somber clothes, and go to the church for Dudley’s funeral...
Lupin caught his eye and nodded; he understood. It had been strange for Harry to see Lupin
wearing a nicely-tailored suit; he’d only ever seen him in rather shabby robes, and now rather
shabby Muggle clothes. He had seemed very different, somehow. More authoritative, although
Harry had never disrespected him when he was his teacher in third year. He couldn’t quite put
his finger on it.
After their tea, they went back downstairs to retrieve the altered suits. Ginny and Hermione
picked up their outfits in another department, where they’d been keeping their packages for
them. Harry felt he’d had enough of the Muggle world for a while; he’d be immersed in it
tomorrow, and then for the rest of the summer...
But he couldn’t imagine the summer. Trying to live in the same house with Aunt Petunia and
Uncle Vernon while they mourned Dudley, and he knew it was all his fault. He dreaded seeing
them at the funeral. Perhaps it would help that he’d been asked to provide pallbearers and he’d
done just that. Harry didn’t think they’d expect him to speak. He sincerely hoped not. He had
no idea how he’d survive such a thing...
After they put their purchases in their rooms, they occupied themselves in the bar of the Leaky
Cauldron before dinner. Ron challenged Malfoy to wizard chess, while Ginny and Remus
watched them. Harry sat next to Hermione, his hand draped across her shoulder. She grew
tired and put her head on his shoulder, then yawned hugely.
“Oh, Hermione, don’t do that, you’ll make me--” he began, before a yawn overcame him as
well. She laughed, then kissed him on the cheek.
“I think I’ll go take a nap in my room before dinner.” She stood to go upstairs, but he still held
her hand, looking at her hopefully.
‘Would you like some company?”
She glanced over at Lupin, their chaperone, saying to Harry, “I really do want to sleep...”
“So do I. As you’ve said before, it’s nice sleeping in the same bed...”
She nodded. “All right--” she answered, and they walked up the stairs; Harry looked over his
shoulder; Lupin met his eye, but he nodded at Harry. Harry’s chest hitched with emotion,
treasuring the trust he felt from his father’s old friend. He went with Hermione up to the room
she shared with Ginny, following her to the bed. She lay down on her side in her clothes, and he
put his glasses on the table and curled up behind her as they’d done many times. Very quickly,
she was breathing slowly and regularly, her cheek on her hand in a way that always reminded
him of a small child sleeping. He drew her to him, his arm around her waist, closing his eyes and
letting his cares slip away...
* * * * *
Harry felt someone watching him. He wasn’t sure why or how he knew; he just did. His eyes
flew open and he saw Ron sitting on Ginny’s bed looking at the two of them. Except that he
wasn’t looking at Harry’s face, so he didn’t seem to be aware of the fact that his eyes were
open. Harry remembered him watching Hermione sleep on the train.
“Ron,” he said softly, not moving any other part of him.
“Ah!” Ron jumped, as startled as though a statue had spoken. Probably more startled, Harry
thought, since the suits of armor and artwork and mirrors at Hogwarts addressed them all the
time. Harry smiled as he remembered Malfoy trying to get the Muggle mirror to talk. “Harry--
don’t do that!”
“Sorry Ron; I wasn’t trying to make you jump out of your skin...”
He rolled over onto his back, stretching, and then Hermione murmured something in her sleep
and also rolled over, throwing her arm and one leg over Harry. Harry dared to glance back at
Ron, looking at Hermione again; his heart was unmistakably on his face. Harry closed his eyes.
Just the other day, Ron had been yelling at him for trying to push Hermione away. Harry
wondered now how much that had cost him.
“Don’t fall asleep again, Harry. It’s time for dinner. Lupin got us a private dining room
downstairs. Everyone else is waiting.”
He woke Hermione and the three of them went down to dinner. Harry talked with the others,
caught up with Lupin, told him quite a bit about the O.W.L.s, which gave the older man the
chance to reminisce about his own fifth-year tests, then it was back to the bar for more wizard
chess, Exploding Snap and wizard darts. The wizard darts were very frustrating to Harry,
who’d never played before. The board looked at first like a regular dartboard in any pub; but
the moment the dart (which spoke) was released, the board started changing and moving, so
that it looked totally different by the time the small projectile reached it and embedded itself in
the cork. Lupin was beating Harry mercilessly, but Ron gave Lupin a run for his money while
Harry played Ginny at chess and Hermione and Malfoy laughed over their Snap burns.
Ginny was going to win; his pieces were beating a hasty retreat before her onslaught. In no time,
it seemed, she was saying, “Checkmate,” as Harry’s remaining knight and bishop were
criticizing him, saying, “We told you to move that pawn to protect the rook, which was
protecting the king, but did you listen? No, you know what you’re doing, you said...”
Ginny smiled shyly at him as they cleared up the pieces. When they’d finished putting it away,
Malfoy had started playing darts with Lupin and Ron while Hermione watched, highly amused,
and Harry fetched some butterbeers from the bar for him and Ginny. They sat sipping them
slowly, watching the darts match. Suddenly Ginny spoke softly to him.
“Harry. I know he probably hasn’t said anything to you, but--the Quidditch Cup. That meant a
great deal to Draco. This has been so hard on him. You have no idea, the way he’s been
treated in Slytherin since the trial, and of course, his mother...It was such a wonderful thing to
do. He has a hard time saying these things, but he really appreciated it.”
Harry smiled at her. “It just came to me suddenly. The Snitch appearing when it did...I would
have had to pretend I didn’t see it and try to draw Cho away too, so Ravenclaw wouldn’t win,
and then hope that the next time it appeared, I’d get to it first. The moment I thought, Hey, if I
catch it now, we’ll tie Slytherin for the cup, I also thought, And that would be a bad thing
why? So before I could spend much more time thinking about it, I just went for it...”
“Well, it was still a wonderful thing to do. You and Draco may wind up friends yet.”
Harry looked at him, playing darts, laughing and joking with the others, sipping a butterbeer
between his turns. Harry had never seen him like this, just socializing happily. “Yeah, well a
greater wonder seems to be happening over there. Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley getting
along. A truly miraculous event.”
Ginny sighed. “Now I just have five other brothers and my mum and dad to convince...” But
then she smiled at Harry, and his chest felt strange; suddenly having her smile at him like that
seemed so important and wonderful. He shook himself, looking over at Hermione, who was
giving that throaty laugh he adored, which made her even more attractive than she already was...
Harry and Ginny gave in and joined the darts match. At last, they all went up the stairs rather
later than they should have, laughing and rehashing the hilarious results of their trying to play this
game for the first time (except for Lupin). Harry kissed Hermione lightly on the lips and watched
her close the door to her and Ginny’s room, then said goodnight to Ron, Malfoy and Lupin
before retiring to his own room. He undressed and lay on the bed in his drawers, wondering
how to conjure up a ceiling fan to dissipate the muggy heat from the room. He didn’t even have
a chance to take his glasses off, however, before his exhaustion and the oppressive heat caused
him to fall asleep.
* * * * *
Harry awoke with a start. He was confused by the fact that the world was in focus, as it never
was when he first awoke, until he realized that he’d fallen asleep with his glasses on. He wasn’t
sorry to wake up; he’d been having horrible nightmares, and he’d been trying to wake up for
what felt like a long time. He drew his dressing gown around himself, tying the belt and taking
his wand out of the pocket as he approached the door to his room. He took the locking charm
off the door that he’d added as an extra precaution, then slowly turned the knob and pulled the
door open a fraction of an inch, peering into the corridor to try to determine where the noise
had come from.
An eye stared back at him.
But he knew whose eye it was. He opened the door wide enough for her to enter, and
Hermione crept into his room. He closed the door again and she turned to him. “Did I wake
you up, Harry?” she whispered. “I just thought--it was nice to take that nap earlier. If you
wanted, I could just, you know, sleep here tonight...”
Harry stood with his back to the door, while she stepped toward him. He shook his head,
remembering the dreams, not wanting to remember, trying to get the damn things out of his
head...
“No, Harry? Oh. Well, all right, then. If you want to be alone, you should be alone...”
He swallowed and looked at her. “No. That wasn’t what I meant. I mean--stay. But I don’t just
want to sleep.”
She looked up at him, understanding now, sliding her arms up around his neck. He tipped her
head back and bent over her, running his tongue along her bottom lip, shaking as she opened
her lips and he felt her tongue meet his, as her fingers twined in his hair and he moved his hands
to the belt of her dressing gown.
Somehow, he felt desperate, as though they didn’t have much time, as though it were terribly
important not to dawdle. He took care of removing the clothing from both of them, his hands
moving quickly, surprising her, he could tell. While she glided languidly to the bed, he moved
swiftly to his table, to put his glasses and amulet there. It seemed like he waited years for her to
reach the bed. Once she was there, he continued to feel the strange urgency as he explored her,
tried to make her feel that there wasn’t a square inch of her skin untouched by his mouth and
hands. Time and again, he heard gasps of surprise from her; but she seemed to think they were
good surprises, and when she drew him to her, into her, and he finally felt that surge of
electricity igniting all of his nerve endings, and heard her say his name over and over in a cried
whisper, he saw the dreams again on the inside of his eyelids, and knew that even this hadn’t
been a solution. He had never felt like this with her before, like he was beating back death. The
dreams would not be denied; they demanded his notice...
He stood on the flat roof of a nondescript brick building, Dudley beside him,
smiling and talking, but the words made no sense to Harry. He was watching
Dudley’s mouth move, and he heard words, but the two didn’t merge into a
meaningful whole.
Harry looked around him; there was a fog obscuring the landscape around the
building. Harry could not see any other buildings, or the ground at the bottom of
the building they were on. He looked down the side of the building; the brick
walls disappeared into the fog, but Harry didn’t get the impression that this
meant they were very high up. The building didn’t seem to be more than four
storeys.
He looked at Dudley again, who was still talking at him unconcernedly. Harry
wanted to say to him, ‘Why are we on the roof? Let’s go downstairs; I don’t like
it up here...’
But when Harry looked around, there was no door, nothing to indicate how
they’d gotten to the roof. Harry saw a mob of white rats running along the ledge
around the building a storey below the roof. There were hundreds, white fur and
pink eyes and tails blurring, so that it was hard to tell where one of the animals
began and another one left off. Then he saw it; the silver and brown amidst the
pink and white. He lay on his stomach to reach down and catch it (he shouldn’t
have been able to reach it, but somehow he could), plucking it from the mass of
moving white rodents, and then there it was; it was writhing in his hand, a silver
paw sprouting incongruously from its small furry brown arm, the naked pink tail
waving as though it could pick up things with it, like the prehensile tail of a
monkey. He looked up at Dudley; it was as though Dudley could not see what he
was doing, he went on talking, still out of sync, looking like a badly dubbed
Japanese movie.
Harry tried to throw the rat off the roof in his fury, but as it left his grasp it was
moving incredibly slowly, and Harry watched it change. In mid-air it
metamorphosized into a large snake, its four limbs disappearing, its body
lengthening and turning green, the pupils of its eyes becoming vertical, like a
cat’s. Then the snake, floating in the air next to the building (while Dudley
continued his strange speech) continued to grow. Now it had limbs again, scaly
green ones, now its head was changing shape, now it had sprouted wings and
was using the wings to fly back and forth above Harry’s and Dudley’s heads.
Harry watched the dragon with trepidation. Now the dragon was the one moving
its mouth, but, unlike Dudley’s words, what the dragon was saying was
intelligible to Harry.
‘You can trust me,’ it drawled.
Harry stared at it, thinking, No. I can’t.
‘You can trust me,’ it said to Dudley now. Still moving his lips ceaselessly, Dudley
nodded and stepped up on the lip running around the roof of the building. Harry
tried to stop him, but even though he was only five feet away, his movements
seemed to be slower than slow; watching himself move was like watching the
movements he’d seen when he had blocked the pain of the Cruciatus Curse in the
forest. He could feel his feet moving, his legs pumping, he could see his hands
reaching out for Dudley, but he could also see Dudley nodding calmly at the
dragon and jumping from the ledge. Harry flailed and windmilled, trying to reach
him. But by the time he arrived at the spot from which Dudley had jumped, his
cousin was descending toward the fog. Harry, helpless, stared down at the fog
shrouding the building, and then Dudley went through and could be seen no
more...
The dream was the same every time. He looked down at her. For now, time seemed to be
moving along in the usual manner again. She was gazing up at him, her hands wrapped around
his upper arms, her legs still binding him to her, a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip, her
forehead, her neck and chest. She looked concerned, and he tried to reassure her, but he
wasn’t sure who was going to reassure him. He leaned down and kissed her neck, moving his
mouth down, making her arch her back and smile at him. Distract her, arouse her again, do
anything but fall asleep again...If I sleep I might dream...
Mustn’t dream.
No more dreaming.
None.
But he fell into an exhausted heap next to her, staring up at the streetlights bouncing off the
ceiling. She snuggled into the crook of his arm, having no idea of the horror he’d just seen, and
he felt her breath upon his neck, her skin pressed against his, as he committed himself to never,
ever sleeping again, and promptly broke his promise to himself in ten minutes, his eyes feeling
welded shut and refusing to open...
* * * * *
He woke in the night, furious with himself that he’d let himself break his new vow of no-sleep
already. He looked down at her. She lay beside him, her body shining and promising, and he
lowered his lips to hers, coaxing her into consciousness, hoping she would help him stay awake
again. He moved his mouth down to her neck, then her chest; he stroked his hands down her
body until she could deny his movements no more, and her eyes flew open suddenly before
being squeezed shut again, while she breathed, “Oh, Harry...”
There were worse ways to stay awake, he thought, as she came to life in his arms. When she
whispered that she was feeling sticky and sweaty, he suggested they take a shower together; he
hoped it would be harder to fall asleep, harder to have the dreams again. She smiled and pulled
his mouth down to hers, to show she approved of the idea.
In the small shower in the bathroom adjoining his room, they soaped and explored each other
some more, but Harry was feeling desperate again, feeling like it was dreadfully important that
this work, that this make the dreams go away. The water beat against him, washing only his skin
clean, leaving his soul still with a film that could not be removed.
He carried her back to the bed, her legs around his waist, trying to achieve forgetfulness and
oblivion again...
When he was lying beside her once more, staring at the ceiling, struggling to keep his eyes open,
listening to her even breathing, he finally gave in and closed his eyes, but when the images
appeared on the insides of his eyelids they were different this time...
He was standing with Hermione in the garden at Godric’s Hollow. He looked
down at himself and Hermione; they were naked, but for some reason they were
not trying to cover themselves. His mother was at the door of the cottage,
holding a black-haired, green-eyed baby, pleading with Voldemort, falling on her
knees, begging. Harry hadn’t thought she could see him, but then she turned to
him and said, ‘I’m sorry Harry. I wanted to be there for you. I really did. We
never meant for you do grow up without us...’
He looked back at her through his tears. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘do something about it!’
Suddenly, Snape was there behind her, coaching her, speaking softly to her. ‘You
don’t have to mean it,’ he said to her. ‘Just say it. Do what you must. Save
yourself, and Harry...’
She appeared not to have heard him, but she looked up at the menacing figure
before her in the dark, hooded cloak, opening her mouth in a scream. ‘Yes! Yes!’
she cried through her tears. ‘I will give him to you! I will raise him to be your
servant! Please don’t hurt him...’
Suddenly, the dark figure was gone, his mother and Snape was gone, the baby
was gone. Harry turned to Hermione, still standing beside him, as lacking in
clothes as he was.
But the girl wasn’t Hermione.
‘Ginny...’ he breathed as he took her body in his arms, and she put her arms
around him and brought his mouth to hers, then drew him down to the ground
and pulled him on top of her.
‘It will be all right...the scar is gone now...’ she murmured between her kisses, her
mouth on his chest, his arms, his neck, his face, and finally his forehead, where he
could feel that the skin was now smooth and uninterrupted, and she wrapped her
legs around his waist and pulled him to her...
But he blinked, and when next he looked, she too was gone, and he was lying
prone on a skeleton. The bones collapsed beneath him, his face was next to the
skull, and he rose up, screaming. He turned back to the cottage, but it was gone;
he saw instead ruins, the ruins of the castle at Hogwarts. He had no doubt that’s
what it was. It looked as though it had been abandoned for a thousand years...He
opened his mouth in a horrified cry:
‘Mum! Mum! MUM!’
He opened his eyes. He’d been asleep for a while, having the same dream over and over, but
only now did he cry out. The bright light of morning invaded the room. He felt his heart racing in
his chest. Hermione was asleep beside him, having no idea what mental torture he was going
through. She had pulled a sheet up over both of them at some point in the night; they were still
both unclothed. Suddenly, Harry heard a voice crying, “Alohomora !” and the bang of the door
hitting the wall as the spell flung it open violently. Harry realized he’d neglected to put the
locking charm back on the door, so that it would be impervious to Alohomora. They must have
heard him screaming, or Ginny had seen Hermione’s empty bed and started worrying.
He saw the appalled faces of Ron, Draco and Ginny staring at them. Harry didn’t know what to
say; he was lying in bed with Hermione, neither of them wearing anything, and he’d been
screaming. What had he been screaming? He couldn’t remember. He looked at Ginny and tried
to remember. She was there, but she hadn’t been wearing anything either...
He tried to wipe this thought from his brain, swallowing and looking back at their shocked
faces. He couldn’t speak. Evidently, neither could they.
Beside him, Hermione stretched and started to sit up. Harry saw Ron’s and Malfoy’s eyes go
wide, he turned and saw that she was no longer adequately covered by the sheet. He pushed
her down again, pulling the sheet further up. She opened her eyes now, looking up at him
sleepily.
“Hey, Harry, what’s the big idea...?” Then she saw the others standing at the foot of the bed
and promptly screamed.
Malfoy smirked.
“Good morning to you, too, Granger. Thanks for the news flash...”
Hermione pulled the sheet up over her head, unwilling to look at any of them after that. Harry
was pleased to see that Ginny was livid; she pointed at the door. “Out!” she commanded, and
he immediately took in the frightening look on her face and obeyed wihout question. Now she
was seeing his true colors, he thought. Harry looked at Ron, who was still wide-eyed.
“Ron? Could you--excuse us?”
He nodded dumbly, and Harry wasn’t sure whether he’d actually blinked in the last five minutes.
Perhaps he was afraid he’d miss another little show, thought Harry. Ron turned to go, still
looking at the outline of Hermione under the sheet, taking far too much time for Harry’s taste.
Harry turned to try to talk to Hermione, when he realized that Ginny remained. Harry looked
back at her; the sheet was around his waist, and he suddenly felt far more exposed than any of
the times he’d gone about on the school grounds without a shirt. Ginny didn’t seem to be quite
conscious of the way she was gazing at him.
“Ginny?” He startled her. She widened her eyes and practically ran for the door, closing it
loudly behind her. Now that the door was closed again, he looked down at Hermione. She had
rolled over to lie on her stomach, and he could see that her face was quite red. “Oh my god,”
she was saying into the pillow. “Malfoy is never going to let me forget that, is he? I’m going to
be hearing about rack of lamb from him for the next two years...”
Which was just what Harry needed to jerk him out of his stupor. He laughed suddenly, and
leaned down to kiss her shoulder. She frowned at him. “Oh, it’s funny, is it, that I just flashed
Malfoy and Ginny and--” she swallowed “--Ron,” she finished softly.
Well, Harry thought, Ron didn’t exactly look like he minded... But he didn’t dare say it. She
dressed and left the room, and he went into the bathroom and took another shower, trying to
forget his nightmares. Today will be enough of a nightmare, he thought. He leaned against the
wall while the water ran into the drain. He’d thought he could distract himself with her last night,
but it hadn’t worked. His brain had simply not cooperated. He hoped the others would not tell
Lupin. He wondered whether Lupin knew anyway. Maybe he didn’t care.
He put on his new suit and went down to the bar. Tom pointed down the corridor to the private
dining room where they’d had dinner the night before. The others were there already, eating a
quiet breakfast. Hermione had pulled her lengthened curls into a tight, uncompromising-looking
French twist, her face looking very thin and exposed without the tangle of curls surrounding it as
usual. She looked down at her plate, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze, even Harry’s. Harry
saw Ginny looking at her in a distinctly unfriendly way. Oh great, thought Harry. We’re off to a
really great start today...
Malfoy, to his credit, was gazing longingly at Ginny, as though Hermione didn’t exist. He sure
had a hole to climb out of, Harry thought. But Ron...Ron couldn’t take his eyes from Hermione.
Which was odd, because she could not have chosen a sterner ensemble for the funeral. Her
charcoal-grey suit was high-necked and the skirt fell to mid-calf. The color wasn’t good for her,
Harry thought; her normally lightly-tanned skin looked sallow, and she had dark circles under
her eyes (from him waking her up in the night, he knew).
Ginny had pulled only some of her hair back, gathered with a barrette at her crown; most of it
still cascaded onto her shoulders. Her pale skin looked translucent; Harry noticed a very pale
blue vein near her hairline, found it hard to not look at it. She had a simple dress of the same
charcoal-grey color as Hermione, but it was a far better choice for her. Suddenly he realized
that she was looking back at him, frowning, and he looked down at his plate again. Good grief,
he thought. It was going to be nearly impossible to have a conversation with any of them ever
again...
When Lupin spoke, it was like a thunderclap. “The Ministry car will be here soon. We should
get ready.” His new suit hung perfectly on his slight frame, making Harry think of an accountant,
sitting quietly in an office, adding columns of figures, except that he was hairier than most people
probably wanted their accountants to be...
The Ministry car accommodated the six of them with ease, being far bigger inside than outside.
The driver knew where to go, and the car slipped in between cars and trucks, moving in spaces
that wouldn’t have fit a bicycle, or, sometimes, a very thin stray cat. Harry stopped looking out
the window; it was making him feel dizzy and ill. He looked at Hermione; she tried to smile at
him, but the corners of her mouth didn’t quite turn up enough for it to be a smile. He found
himself turning to Malfoy then, and to his surprise, he found a look of sympathy there that was
unexpected and without baggage.
When they arrived, the only person at the church was the vicar. Apparently the parish had fallen
on hard times and could no longer afford a rector. To Harry’s surprise, it was a quite young
man who looked like he couldn’t have been much older than Percy. How odd for this person to
be in a position of authority. Mostly, he reminded Harry of Stan Shunpike, the conductor on the
Knight Bus. He even had some acne, as though he were not quite done adolescence. He had
sandy hair and hazel eyes, and thinking of this, Harry suddenly wished he’d brought Sandy with
him instead of leaving her in Neville’s care. He could have used someone else to talk to. He
couldn’t very well tell Hermione about his dreams, nor Ginny, Ron, Malfoy, Lupin...
They waited in an uncertain, irregular cluster by the lane, waiting for the hearse and the
Dursleys. The vicar was named Mr. Babcock, and he tried to make small talk with Harry.
“So,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “Dudley was your cousin.”
“Yes.”
A long pause. He’s terrible at this, Harry thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at services.”
“I’ve been at boarding school the last five years.”
“Ah.” Pause. Foot tapping. Staring at the sky. “You like your school?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm....Do you do sports?”
“I’m the captain of the Dueling Club.”
“Ah. Fencing. Yes. I quite liked ‘The Three Musketeers.’ I’ve seen many a Shakespeare
production ruined by poor fencing. Yes...”
Harry knew he’d think this was what he meant; he couldn’t correct him, of course. It gave the
nervous young man something to babble about. He eventually exhausted his store of fencing
references, however, and trailed off into silence once more.
They were finally saved when the hearse starting making its way down the lane from the village,
followed by two long, dark cars. After the hearse stopped, Harry, Ron and Malfoy moved to
the rear of the vehicle, waiting for their instructions. The first car behind the hearse stopped, but
it was the car behind it which opened its doors, and Dudley’s old friends emerged, the boys
who, with Dudley, had chased Harry in the schoolyard when he was young. They looked odd;
Harry realized he hadn’t seen them in five years. He knew they recognized him and registered
the surprise in their faces at the changes in his appearance. They nodded at each other. They
were on the same team today.
A far too cheerful young woman in a black skirted suit stepped out of the passenger side of the
hearse and walked to the back
