An elderly woman Harry thought he recognized carried a spray of
flowers into the sanctuary from the flower-arranging room between the parish house and the
rectory--which he supposed might be called the vicarage now. She laid the spray across the
closed coffin. The pallbearers sat then and waited for the rest of the congregation to arrive. Ron
was to his right, Draco Malfoy to Ron’s right. Hermione came into the church and sat on
Harry’s left, and Ginny say to her left. Harry looked up at the dark rafters, the grey stone, the
stained glass, remembering this place, remembering how much he had looked forward to
Christmas and Easter every year because it was the closest he came to feeling like a normal
person. When he was a child and they came here at the holidays, all of the children participated
in the Easter Egg hunt, all of them received a gift at Christmas, even if it was just a small
package of sweets. There was no discrimination, no thought of excluding him. Dudley always
claimed Harry’s Christmas package of sweets as well as his own, but Harry usually was able to
nick a piece of candy from it before giving it up.
The memory of running down the middle aisle of the church, ducking into a pew box, trying to
stop the swinging door from moving (they were quite high, more than thirty inches) so Dudley
wouldn’t know where he was....He would move the kneelers out of the way, the numerous
cushions decorated on top by needlepoint covers executed by the army of little old ladies that
used to populate the church; with these out of the way, he could hide his small, bony frame
under the pew and wait for Dudley to give up. He was never clear on how he did it, but
somehow, Dudley always managed to find him. And wrestle the candy away.
His throat grew tight as he remembered this. Yes, he thought. Remember those things, all the
times growing up that I felt like I was just running, running, running from him all the time, bullied
constantly...don’t think about last summer, about the letters we’d exchanged, about being
friends...remember the bad times...
He thought that it was a little odd that at these times, Dudley chasing Harry for the Christmas
and Easter sweets, Harry never seemed to do any accidental magic. Perhaps it just didn’t mean
enough to him, and he knew Dudley wasn’t trying to hurt him, he just really wanted the
sweets...There were even times when he remembered rather enjoying the cat-and-mouse game,
seeing what kind of ridiculous positions he could get Dudley into, luring him into places he never
would have dreamed of going...He even managed to fit himself in between some of the large,
square wooden organ pipes. Then when Dudley found him, Dudley got stuck between the pipes
while Harry slipped out easily, then went to the organ console, pressing his foot down on one of
the far left pedals, making a noise like a hundred foghorns emanate from the huge thirty-twofoot
pipe Dudley was pressed against. Dudley did a duet with the pipe, his scream summoning
the entire vestry, who had been meeting in the front of the sanctuary. Harry had gotten in a great
deal of trouble for that, everyone from the rector to the organist to his aunt and uncle were
extremely irate, and Dudley’s Easter suit had been ruined.
He couldn’t stop the tears then, even in the midst of what should be bad memories, memories
that should make him think Good riddance, I’m better off, we’re all better off, the world is
better off. But instead, he found himself thinking rather fondly of the amusement he’d been
afforded the first time he saw Dudley in his Smeltings uniform, the sight of Dudley with the pig’s
tail, the inflated tongue after he’d pounced on the twins’ toffee.
Dudley as he’d been before the Congeniality Charm deserved many things, Harry thought, but
death just for being my cousin wasn’t one of them. A handkerchief was suddenly thrust at him;
he looked at Hermione, who had taken it out of her pocket and was giving it to him now. He
nodded, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. She indicated that he should keep it, so he
stuffed it in his pocket, giving her hand a small squeeze. Somehow he would get through this.
The organist arrived and started playing something slow and mournful; the church started to fill
up, and when Harry heard a familiar voice, he turned and saw his aunt and uncle, looking very
pale and strained, and as though they hadn’t slept since hearing of Dudley’s supposed suicide.
Harry wanted to get up and tell them that it wasn’t their fault, that they hadn’t driven him to kill
himself, but he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move. After he heard Aunt Petunia raging at his mum,
in the Pensieve, knowing that she hated his mother because she wouldn’t use magic to save their
mother...He just couldn’t do it. He turned to the front again without meeting her eye, afraid that
she would see his guilt, his culpability.
A number of Smeltings students had come; the church became a sea of teenagers, many of them
sobbing girls. He struggled to maintain his composure again in the face of their tears. It was
worse than the urge to yawn around other yawners. He wondered whether Dudley’s popularity
had come because of the Congeniality Charm or before that. He hadn’t expected this, the
number of people who would be in the little stone church, the number of lives that had been
touched by this. Harry wondered for the first time who had found him, whether any of the other
students had looked up and seen his body falling past their windows, the things that must have
gone through their minds...
The service started, hushing the morbid thoughts rolling through Harry’s head. The organ’s
drone ceased and the vicar stood, holding his prayer book, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he
spoke the familiar words.
“I am the resurrection and the life...”
Harry remembered the book he’d read in the library, about the first Lord Voldemort who’d
tried to resurrect his son, and failed. He remembered Dumbledore saying that there wasn’t a
spell to bring someone back to life.
“We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out....”
He tried to follow along in the prayer book, then realized that the vicar was using The Order
for the Burial of the Dead, not At the Burial of a Child. He wondered whether his aunt and
uncle had noticed the mistake.
“...let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I
have to live....”
How long I have to live...that shouldn’t have been in there, Harry thought. Dudley was only
fifteen, not quite sixteen. He was still a child. Then he thought, am I still a child? He remembered
the strange feeling of being included with the adults in the conference in Madam Pomfrey’s
office, considering what was best for Neville...
...let me know mine end...
The vicar finished that psalm, then an olive-skinned boy stood and went to the front and read
another, then a blond girl read the Twenty-Third Psalm...They had tears in their voices as they
read, and Harry’s throat felt almost blocked, so hard was he trying not to cry.
“...Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for
thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me....Thou shalt prepare a table before
me in the presence of them that trouble me...” .
The valley of the shadow of death.
I will fear no evil.
He clenched his jaw, thinking of the times he’d come close to death. Had Dudley been afraid?
Would he? Of course, he couldn’t be controlled by Imperius, he knew how to fight it. Had it
really made Dudley commit suicide? Or had it simply removed his inhibitions, like Hermione?
The crying blonde girl sat down. The organist was playing again, and the vicar announced the
number of the hymn. The congregation stood, a very noisy affair, and sang their shaky off-pitch
way through Now the laborer’s task is o’er. Harry’s throat wouldn’t produce a note; he noted
the name of the tune: Requiescat. Harry mentally added, In pacem.
Rest in peace.
Hermione had to tug at his jacket to get him to sit down again; he’d let his mind wander. He
was vaguely aware then of the vicar reading a long passage from I Corinthians. He jerked his
head up; the vicar had gotten his attention.
“All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of
beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies
terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another.
There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the
stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory. So also is the resurrection of the
dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonour; it is
raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it
is raised a spiritual body...”
Sown in corruption, raised in incorruption...perhaps that was why Marvolo hadn’t been able to
raise his son from the dead...he was sown in corruption and raised in corruption...
“...then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in
victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is
sin; and the strength of sin is the law.”
The law. What law? Harry thought. The law that allows Fudge to practically pardon Lucius
Malfoy? The wizarding laws that will probably never punish anyone for Dudley’s murder?
“...remember thy servant Dudley Dursley, O Lord, according to the favour which thou
bearest unto thy people, and grant that, increasing in knowledge and love of thee, he
may go from strength to strength, in the life of perfect service...”
Harry stared up at the carved wooden screen hiding the organ console, willing Dudley to
emerge from behind it, laughing and with a chocolate-smeared face. This had to be a nightmare,
he kept telling himself, this couldn’t have happened...
“...The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be
gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace, both
now and evermore. Amen.”
The organ started playing again. Harry’s eyes had been closed at the amen, now they flew
open, hearing the music. He looked at Hermione. She nodded.
“Suo Gan,” he whispered. She squeezed his hand. A young boy, around ten years of age, had
stood in the choir loft, alone. His pink face was freshly scrubbed, his light-brown hair curled
innocently over his head, his blue eyes were pure as cornflowers. He lifted his flute-like voice
above the organ’s accompaniment, the sound bouncing off the rafters and stone and plaster, the
old lullaby’s Welsh words rolling around Harry’s brain with a comforting familiarity...
Huna blentyn yn fy mynwes
.Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon
.Breichiau mam sy'n dyn am danat,
.Cariad mam sy dan fy mron
.Ni cha dim amharu'th gyntun
.Ni wna undyn â thi gam
.Huna'n dawel, anwyl blentyn
.Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam.
Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,
.Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun
.Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
.Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun?
.Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu
.Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon
.Tithau'n gwenu'n ol dan huno
.Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?
The young woman from the funeral home signaled to the pallbearers, and the six of them stood,
marching neatly toward the casket. They hoisted it onto their shoulders; Harry was on the right,
at the front. Malfoy was behind him, Ron behind Malfoy. Dudley’s friends were on the other
side. Harry walked out of the church slowly, the heavy box cutting into his shoulder, the faces of
the congregation imprinting themselves on his mind as the boy continued to sing the lullaby...
Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen
.Gura, gura ar y ddor
.Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig
.Sua, sua ar lan y mor
.Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
.Ddim i roddi iti fraw
.Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes
.Ar yr engyl gwynion draw.
The aisle of the small church seemed to be miles long. Harry felt the texture of the rounded
stones through the thin soles of his shoes; he tried to make as little noise as possible, so he could
clearly hear the English words which the boy sang now...
Sleep, my baby, on my bosom,
Warm and cozy, it will prove,
Round thee mother’s arms are folding,
In her heart a mother’s love.
There shall no one come to harm thee,
Naught shall ever break thy rest;
Sleep, my darling babe, in quiet,
Sleep on mother’s gentle breast.
Sleep serenely, baby, slumber,
Lovely baby, gently sleep;
Tell me wherefore art thou smiling,
Smiling sweetly in thy sleep?
Do the angels smile in heaven
When thy happy smile they see?
Dost thou on them smile while slumb’ring
On my bosom peacefully.
Harry could hear the organ continuing as they walked down the path to the lane, the six of them
with their burden on their shoulders, the congregation following behind, led by the vicar and his
aunt and uncle, he knew, although he could not turn to look. He had the perfect excuse for not
looking at them. He was glad of that.
The lane was filled with the funeral procession. Harry wanted the walk to the grave to go on
forever; he never wanted to reach that ominous pit, that final destination for this burden...
At the grave, they lowered the casket from their shoulders onto the boards that were lain across
the open grave. The vicar took up a position next to it, while Harry and the other pallbearers
backed off from the grave. Harry stood next to Hermione; she reached out and took his hand in
hers. He saw that she’d been crying, her eyes red-rimmed.
“Man, that is born of a woman,” Mr. Babcock read, “hath but a short time to live, and is full of
misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never
continueth in one stay....In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for
succour...?”
Who indeed? thought Harry, thinking of the previous night, with Hermione. He had expected
too much of her, he realized now. He shouldn’t have expected her to be able to take away all of
the guilt and self-recrimination he now suffered. There was no secret potion to remove it, no
spell, no wave of a wand would do the trick...
Heavy pieces of webbing were passed under the coffin by somber, black-suited men from the
funeral home. While they held the webbing, the young woman gestured for Ron and Harry and
Malfoy to remove the supporting pieces of wood, and Dudley was lowered into the ground
while the vicar finished speaking. Then she led him to his aunt and uncle; he tried not to look at
their strained faces; Vernon stooped to the mound of earth that had been thrown up by the
gravediggers, he took a fistful of soil and threw it half-heartedly onto the coffin. Aunt Petunia did
the same, tears flowing down her face, then Harry stooped mechanically to scoop up some
earth, shower the coffin with the dark soil. He watched it leave his hand, but some of it still
stuck to his palm...
“...Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother Dudley, departed...”
Our brother, thought Harry.
“...and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...”
The vicar muttered something which induced the congregation to answer again, but Harry
missed it, his mind wandering. Then he heard the words of the Kyrie being intoned, first by the
vicar, then the people...Finally, he joined in on the Lord’s Prayer, the familiar words not passing
his lips for five years, some of the words giving him a great deal of trouble...
“And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not
into temptation, But deliver us from evil...”
Lead us not into temptation.
Deliver us from evil.
Evil. What did most of the people here know about evil? Harry wondered. He had seen evil. He
had dueled with evil...
“...We give thee hearty thanks for the good examples of all those thy servants, who, having
finished their course in faith, do now rest from their labours...”
Harry was annoyed. That’s what I need to do, he thought. Be annoyed. Be upset with the
prayers this man who probably didn’t even know Dudley is standing there mindlessly reciting.
From what labors was Dudley resting? He hadn’t been able to live long enough to have
labors...Harry listened to him for a few more minutes, using this new tactic to survive, to keep
from breaking down utterly, from falling to his knees and confessing before his aunt and uncle
and a host of Muggles that Dudley had died because he was under the Imperius Curse, that it
was because he was someone who had come to mean something to him and a dark wizard had
used him...
“Amen.”
The final word at last. The vicar quietly walked away from the grave, leading the Dursleys and
Harry, and Hermione and the others followed after, then the rest of the congregation slowly
trickled away from the grave, while the gravediggers materialized seemingly from nowhere, and
began to move the mound of earth into the long, rectangular hole. Harry could hear the earth
hitting the wood, thump! thump! He couldn’t resist turning back to look. He stood still, letting
the others flow past him, until he alone stood at the gate to the graveyard, watching the
gravediggers work, doing their job, oblivious. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large
black dog up on a hill, standing near a small stone. He walked toward it, gladder to see that
black dog than he thought was possible.
When he reached the dog, it didn’t change into a man, but Harry recognized him all the same.
He patted him on the head, then sat down on the grass, ignoring the stains he would get on his
new suit. Then he saw the grave marker.
JAMES GODRIC POTTER
1960-1981
LILY EVANS POTTER
1960-1981
Beloved parents and friends
RIP
Harry’s voice caught. He turned, and suddenly, Sirius was sitting beside him, his hands clasped
around his knees like Harry.
“They’re here? ” he asked. “There were here the whole time I was growing up, and I never
knew?”
Sirius nodded. “Your aunt took care of it. There wasn’t actually a service. Remus told me about
it last year. I’d never seen it either. Well, you know why. Remus doesn’t know who paid for the
stone. Somehow, I don’t think it was your aunt. Look at the carving; that wasn’t done with a
chisel. Too clean. That was done with a wand, with magic.”
Harry remembered Snape in the garden of the cottage at Godric’s Hollow, his mother’s body in
his arms. It could have been Dumbledore, Harry supposed, but then again, it would be like
Snape to do it. Even more like him not to tell anyone.
“I mean,” he stammered, “I used to come running in here, into the graveyard, on the way home
from school every day, when Dudley and his friends were chasing me. They were superstitious
about coming in, so I knew I’d be safe. Somehow, I always felt safe here...”
Sirius put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “So maybe you did sense they were here after all,
Harry. I’m sorry that this is the best I can do as far as being here for you today. I’m sorry for so
much. I wish we could have done something to prevent this...”
Harry thought of the unread letter again and shook his head. “Don’t, Sirius. It’s not your fault.”
His godfather looked at him levelly. “It’s not your fault either, Harry. Please remember that.”
Harry looked up at him and nodded, not able to lie verbally to him. It would be an uphill battle,
but he knew that he had to try, if only for his mental health. Wormtail wanted to paralyze him, he
knew, anyway he knew how. He’d participated in putting Lucius Malfoy away, and still they
thought they had the upper hand...
“I have to tell you something else, Harry.” Harry looked at him expectantly. “Avery and Nott
were found--dead. The Dark Mark was over them. It seems that Malfoy had no trouble giving
them up for two reasons. They hadn’t actually committed the murders he said they did, and
they’d already been killed themselves for botching the Three Broomsticks, plus getting caught
so easily.”
I did that, Harry thought. Moody and I caught them. And now they’re dead. Even if they were
Death Eaters, they didn’t really hurt anyone that we know of...
“People are clamoring for Fudge to reinstate Malfoy’s suspended sentences, but he hasn’t done
it,” Sirius went on. “So whoever killed the Clearwaters, and Mrs. Flint and her friend, is still out
there. Plus--”
“There’s more?”
Sirius heaved a great sigh. “I’m afraid those jurors were right to be afraid. But they weren’t
afraid enough. They did the right thing, but two of them have already paid for it. One’s dead.
One’s in St. Mungo’s, the burn ward. You don’t want to know. And two others have received
threats. It doesn’t look good, Harry. No one will want to be on a jury at a Death Eater trial at
this rate. And the Daily Prophet is covering other Death Eater activities now. If anything, their
audacity is worse than when Fudge was trying to hush it all up. They seem to have become
publicity-mad. Now, I’m the last person to want to say that Fudge knows what he’s doing, but
maybe--maybe he had the right idea after all. The wizarding world knows the danger now, but
the Death Eaters also are able to throw their weight around now. Some appalling things have
been happening...I won’t bother you with it now, Harry, but--things are sure to get worse
before they get better. Remus and Mundungus Fletcher and I will be very busy this summer, I
think, and Severus as well.”
Harry looked at him, appalled. “Summer! How can I face Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia all
summer...”
Sirius shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to, Harry. It’s the only safe place for you. Now
more than ever. In fact, you should go back to the house now. For the wake. They’ll be
wondering where you are. I can walk with you, if you like.”
Harry nodded, and Sirius became a dog again. They walked down to the gate to the graveyard,
then along the lane, going back to Privet Drive. Harry liked walking along with Sirius in his dog
form; there was no pressure for conversation, just the two of them keeping each other
company, a simple togetherness. But Harry didn’t think; when he went through the front door of
the house and into the front hall, Sirius was still with him. He could hear the other mourners
milling around in the living room and dining room. Hermione came to him, giving him a brief,
gentle hug and handing him a cup of some kind of fruit punch. Lupin, Ron and Ginny looked at
him morosely, but Draco Malfoy...
“It’s that dog again!” he said with surprise. Harry looked down at Sirius.
“Um--” he stalled trying to think quickly. The four of them looked back and forth at each other
nervously. Malfoy looked from one face to another, clearing waiting for someone to enlighten
him. His face was getting angrier and angrier as he saw that no one was going to do this.
“Oh, fine!” he finally sneered bitterly. “I save your sorry arses,” he pointed at Ron, Harry and
Hermione, “get my own dad put in prison, I’m here at your cousin’s funeral as a pallbearer, but
you still don’t think you can trust me. Fine! And people think Slytherins hold grudges...” He
started to turn away toward the door (although where he thought he might go in Little Whinging
was unclear). Ginny reached for his hand, pulling him back.
“It’s not that...” Harry started to say, when Sirius-the-dog bounded up the stairs. “Hey!” he
exclaimed, sprinting up the stairs after him. He heard the others following him.
The large black dog had entered his room and leapt on his bed, lying down comfortably as
though he lived there, looking at Harry pointedly. Tell him, the look in his dark expressive eyes
seemed to say. Harry sat down on the bed next to him, sighing wearily and idly petting the dog.
Ron and Hermione stood uncertainly near his desk, and Ginny and Malfoy stood in the
doorway, Malfoy having been dragged upstairs with her.
“Everybody in,” Harry said. “Close the door.” After they did this, Harry nodded at his desk
chair. “Have a seat, Malfoy. It’s kind of a long story...”
So he finally told him, with help from the others. The Fidelius Charm, Peter the traitor, the truth
about the street of Muggles who were killed, Peter being Wormtail, Sirius and his dad and Peter
all learning to become Animagi to accompany Remus Lupin when he was in his wolf form, what
happened in the Shrieking Shack at the end of their third year, even how he and Hermione had
helped Sirius escape from Flitwick’s office...
Malfoy looked round at them all, as they each leapt in at different points, filling in bits of the
story (Hermione was very proud of Crookshanks, and her narration made this clear). When
they were done, Harry would have liked to capture the expression of utter amazement on
Malfoy’s face with a Muggle camera, so it would have been a still picture, no movement, a
moment of frozen shock.
Suddenly, Sirius changed, and Malfoy stood up, knocking Harry’s desk chair over. He was
even paler than usual, virtually no difference between his skin and the white shirt he wore with
his black suit. Sirius also stood and stepped toward Malfoy, his hand extended. Harry stood
and smiled with perhaps too much pleasure at seeing Malfoy’s reaction.
“Draco Malfoy,” he said, “meet Sirius Black.”
Sirius smiled his most charming smile and shook Malfoy’s hand. “Nice to finally officially meet
you, Draco.”
Malfoy nodded dumbly; it appeared that even after hearing the whole saga, and knowing that
the dog on the bed was Sirius Black, illegal Animagus and erstwhile denizen of Azkaban, he still
didn’t quite believe it. He started to sit down again, but Sirius kept hold of his hand until Ginny
could scramble to right the chair he’d knocked over, then he let him sit.
“So you mean,” he choked, finally regaining the power of speech, “that Wormtail is actually
your stupid pet rat,” he said, pointing at Ron, “and that he was the one who killed that street of
Muggles and betrayed Potter’s parents...”
“Were you paying any attention at all, Malfoy?” Ron wanted to know, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, Weasley, but when you hear something which seems to be so obviously a fairy tale, and it
turns out...”
“That it isn’t?” Ginny smiled.
Malfoy swallowed and looked at Sirius again. “Yeah,” he said softly.
Harry laughed, then thought, Thank you, Malfoy. I didn’t think I’d laugh today. Or ever
again, for that matter... “I wish,” he said, “you could see your face, Malfoy.”
Draco Malfoy grimaced. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Potter. I’m only here because
Ginny asked me to...But it certainly has been informative.”
Suddenly, there was a knock at Harry’s bedroom door which made everyone jump, and Sirius
abruptly changed back into a dog. They breathed a sigh of relief when they heard the voice that
followed the knock.
“Harry? Are you in there?” Ginny was closest to the door, so she opened it to admit Remus
Lupin. He closed the door behind himself and was clearly surprised to see the five teenagers
clustered in the small room. Then he was startled to see the large black dog on the bed . Sirius
changed into his human form and Lupin cried out, “What the hell are you doing! He’s here!”
indicating Draco Malfoy.
“He knows now, Remus,” Sirius told him. Lupin gave a sigh of relief and looked at Malfoy.
“I suppose that’s for the best...Actually I’ve got something to tell you too,” he said to Malfoy,
“but I hadn’t had the chance before. It’s about where you’ll be this summer.”
Malfoy jerked his head up. Harry had forgotten about Malfoy’s problem. Well, he certainly
couldn’t stay with Sirius or Lupin or even Snape, if they were going to be busy working against
the Death Eaters. Maybe Dumbledore would just let him stay at the school.
“The headmaster contacted your old nanny, and she’s happy to have you stay with her for the
summer.”
“My nanny? I haven’t seen her since I was four years old.”
“Nevertheless, Dumbledore said she’s heard about what you did and would be proud for you
to stay with her. That suit you?” Malfoy nodded, obviously surprised. Lupin turned to Harry.
“Now, you, Harry...You’ll be picked up at the train by your uncle and stay here for a few days,
but then...they want to get away. Portugal or something. They don’t want to hang about here all
summer thinking about Dudley. You understand?.”
Harry nodded. “And I take it I’m not going to Portugal?”
Lupin shook his head. “Of course not, Harry. Do you know what a security nightmare that
would be for those of us trying to keep you safe?”
“So. I’m to stay here by myself?”
“No. Your aunt and uncle have already made arrangements for you to stay with your old
babysitter, Mrs. Figg. They also say that someone named Dick has come round asking whether
you want a summer job when you get back...”
Harry was torn between groaning about Mrs. Figg and being quite pleased about Dick. Well, if
he was out working much of the day, he’d only have to deal with old Mrs. Figg in the
evenings...that wouldn’t be too bad. “That’s all right, I suppose,” he said. “I was hoping I could
work for Dick. I was going to call him when I got back.”
Lupin clapped his hands together. “Right! So that’s you two sorted out. See? Not so hard. We
should all go back downstairs. In about an hour, a Ministry car is coming to take us back to the
Leaky Cauldron so we can collect our things and return to Hogsmeade by floo. There’s a pretty
blonde girl down there who was looking for you, Harry. Said her name was Julia...”
Harry swallowed. Dudley’s girlfriend. He never knew how he got through the rest of the wake,
watching his aunt and uncle as the guests commiserated with them, listening while Julia told him
how just the day before he died, she and Dudley had been making plans to see each other for
the summer...
He was quite glad when the Ministry car arrived. He wanted nothing more than to be back at
Hogwarts, even though it would only be for a few more days. There wasn’t much of the term
left now; just the Dueling Club Exhibition and the leaving feast. And then the long train ride back
to London...
Before they left the doorway of Four Privet Drive, Malfoy stopped Harry and said quietly to
him, “Thanks for finally telling me, Potter. About--what is the other name you were using?
Snuffles? And--for the Quidditch Cup,” he threw in quickly, then turned away from Harry and
walked toward the car. Harry stood in the doorway, speechless. Well, wonder of wonders, he
thought. Two thank yous from Draco Malfoy.
It had been a year of miracles indeed.
* * * * *
