The night sky twinkled with bright stars as the wedding guests started to leave, thanking the Weasley’s for such an excellent reception as they clambered into the fireplace, or Disapparated with multiple loud cracks.
When it was Hagrid’s turn to leave, he stopped to talk to Harry, Ron and Hermione first.
“Well, I’ll see yer all at Hogwarts next year, even if yer not in me class,” he said with a slightly bitter note.
A look of shock graced his features when they explained that they weren’t planning on returning.
“Wha’?” He exclaimed, “Not comin’ back?”
Harry explained all about the horcruxes and their quest to find them. He also mentioned that Dobby was helping him find out about communication with Dumbledore.
“Nutter, that elf,” Hagrid muttered, “Always cheerful, for a houself.”
Hermione frowned. Apparently, she was still supporting S.P.E.W.
“Can we stay in touch? Only I might need some help from a Hogwarts insider,” Harry asked.
Hagrid inflated with pride at being asked to help.
“O’ course we can! Send Hedwig whenever yer’ wan’.”
He then bade them farewell, and walked down the Burrow’s drive with McGonagall, before disappearing behind a tree.
The next day, Harry was awoken by loud voices shouting in the kitchen. He clambered out of bed and got dressed.
As he stepped sleepily down the kitchen stairs, he was able to hear what the voices were saying.
“I DON’T want you to go to work today, Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley was saying. Her voice didn’t sound angry, but strained.
“Molly, you don’t understand! The Ministry needs me at times like these! It’s in complete disarray!”
“But it’s unsafe, you know that!”
“It’s unsafe everywhere these days, dear. You heard about Dedilus Diggle, I presume? Murdered in Diagon Alley! And Ernie Prang, remember him, the Knight bus driver? Killed while Apparating! That has never happened before! Dozens of wizards found dead in their own homes!”
“I know, I know, but…” Mrs. Weasley’s voice broke off. It sounded like she was…
“Don’t cry, Molly dear.”
“It’s just… the Order… family dying… I just don’t…” Her voice was cracking in between sobs.
“Alright, Molly, I won’t go. I’ll stay home today - but just because of the mark. Tomorrow, though, I must go back.”
Harry walked slowly back up the stairs. He felt ashamed for eavesdropping. Mrs. Weasley must have been very stressed this year. With all that had been going on in the wizarding world, who wouldn’t be? But why didn’t she want him to go to work today? What was so special about today?
~*~*~
Harry found out the answer to his questions a little bit later that day.
He, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys were sitting at the tiny scrubbed table having lunch. Mrs. Weasley’s eyes were very red. Ron and Hermione kept glancing at each other at regular intervals, but each time missed each other’s gaze. Ron awkwardly grabbed her hand on the table, sending her pumpkin juice flying. Fred and George stifled their sniggers behind their toast as Mrs. Weasley told Ron off for making a mess.
There was a loud ‘bang’ at the window. Everybody whipped around to see a fluffy grey owl sliding down the windowpane.
“Errol, you great lump you’re still alive?” Charlie laughed, running to retrieve the ancient bird. Pulling the Daily Prophet from its beak, Charlie gasped as he read the front page.
“Oh no! Dad, did you hear about this?” he said throwing the Prophet on the table.
On the cover was a giant black and white picture of a Ministry worker flitting around in blind panic beneath what was unmistakably…
“The Dark Mark!” exclaimed Ron, “at the Ministry? You-Know-Who wouldn’t dare go there again! Why would he?”
Harry was more interested in the brief article beneath the glittering photo.
Murder at the Ministry
Ministry officials are stunned this morning after a quick and vicious attack late last night on the ninth floor. Representatives are still unsure how three unidentified Death Eaters managed to penetrate the new, tight security measures.
“It was ‘orrible!” says security guard Eric DuPont as he trembles with fear. “I was ‘ere fillin’ out papers when they Apparated right in front of me!”
DuPont went on to state that the cloaked wizards didn’t seem to notice him as they hurried off to another floor.
They arrived at a quarter past eleven in the evening when the Ministry was nearly empty. Each was wearing a black cloak and a mask. Eyewitnesses on the ninth floor say that the men looked determined. After destroying the offices, apparently searching for something, ex-Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge entered the building. He was sent to see what the disturbance was and failed to save himself. The other witnesses told Daily Prophet reporters that they were hiding from sight, fearing their own lives.
“No, I don’t regret it!” says Oswald Barkley, 52. “I have a wife and child at home that rely on me.”
Story continued on page 4
Exclusive interview with Fudge’s family and friends page 7
Plans for tighter security page 13
Harry glanced up from the article, his face white with shock. Obviously, the Death Eaters weren’t bothering to keep quiet anymore. But what were they searching for?
“Oh, poor Fudge!” Mrs. Weasley gasped, looking just as pale as Harry. “I told you! I told you! If you had gone to work…”
“Molly … this happened last night,” Mr. Weasley interrupted her quietly.
“Still, it’s very dangerous, I don’t feel safe in my own house “ what was that?” She turned around so quickly that she cricked her neck.
“It’s just the toast, mum,” said George.
“I don’t want to stay here, Arthur. Isn’t there anywhere safer we can go?”
“How about Number 12 Grimmauld Place?” Ron suggested with a nervous glance at Harry.
Hermione seemed impressed. “That’s not a bad idea, Ron.”
He beamed at her and awkwardly decided to busy himself with some more spaghetti, dropping the majority of it on the floor.
“It’s extremely well-protected, I mean …” she continued, blushing slightly, watching Ron mop up tomato sauce. “With all the safety measures Mr. Black put on it in his day …”
“Didn’t Lupin say he sold everything in the house under Harry’s order?” Charlie said with an inquisitive look at his parents. Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He had said that, but only because he hoped never to go there again. He remembered Sirius’ disgust at all his family heirlooms while they were cleaning last year. The family tree, he supposed, must still be stuck firmly on the wall, along with the portrait of Mrs. Black. He remembered Mundungus trying to steal objects of worth like the silver goblets with the Black family crest; expensive silverware and jewelry, like the heavy locket that no one could open. Sirius had caught him most of the time, and on the occasion when Mundungus had been smuggling the locket in his hat, Sirius had kicked him out of the house. But Kreacher was another matter all together. He tried to salvage memories of his masters.
Harry cringed at the thought of Kreacher, Sirius’ traitor, but he decided to ask if he might be useful.
“You know, Harry, he might be!” said Mrs. Weasley enthusiastically.
“Molly, are you serious?” said Mr. Weasley with a sigh, “our house is perfectly safe!”
“No, Arthur, I don’t trust it!” she shrieked, looking positively insane with worry, “I care about the well-being of my family too much, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, dear, of course,” he muttered sheepishly.
“Harry, why don’t you summon Kreacher?” Charlie suggested, turning to face Harry.
He called Kreacher’s name with complete revulsion in his voice. There was a loud crack as a hideous houself materialized in the Weasley’s cramped kitchen. He was wearing a shrunken tea towel around his waist, which was covered in dark stains.
“Oh, great,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “the mudblood and blood traitors… oh, and it’s that Potter boy, oh yes, Kreacher’s new ‘master’, oh, but he’s not a Black, it’s not the same, him and his mudblood friends.”
“Shut it Kreacher,” George spat.
“Kreacher,” Ginny said, speaking for the first time, “Go find out if Number 12 is fit for living.”
Kreacher gave a start to see her talking to him.
“Oh, look, the blood traitor talks to me, as if she has the right to command me, oh, if my master could see me now, oh what would he say to old Kreacher…”
“Go to Number 12 now! And see if it’s fit for living,” Harry said venomously. “And come back with news right away.”
With one last hateful look around the kitchen, there was a loud crack, and Kreacher was gone.
“Harry, would you be alright with staying there?” asked Mrs. Weasley, giving him a furtive glance.
“If it means that everyone will be safe, then yes, it’s for the best,” he replied truthfully.
He did want the Weasley’s to be safe, even if it meant living amongst awful memories of Sirius’ pain. He thought of Ginny, and of what Lupin had told Hermione; Number 12 Grimmauld Place would be a safe spot to hide if they got back together…
CRACK!
Kreacher, who had obviously just returned from his old master’s house, brought Harry abruptly back to reality.
“With a few touchups, it is fit for human habitation” he said bitterly, “although my mistress would not approve of mudbloods and blood traitors in her home, oh no. But the Potter boy will ignore what Kreacher says, indeed. Oh, if my mistress could see who Kreacher is bound to now…” he added as a nasty afterthought.
“Good, Kreacher, now go back and work at Hogwarts, I’ll call if I need you,” said Harry, averting his eyes from the insane elf as it dissolved into thin air.
“Anyway,” Charlie said. He seemed to want to get off the topic of Kreacher. “Who did Lupin sell everything to?”
“I think he gave it to an associate at the Ministry, who works on the ninth floor, or something,” said Mr. Weasley, with an absentminded wave of his hand.
“You’d best go and pack some things that you’ll need at number 12,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly as she cleared the plates.
Fred, George, Ron and Hermione got up at once and ascended the stairs. Charlie flicked open the paper to read up on the happenings at the Ministry. Harry already had all his belongings packed in his trunk, so instead decided to help with the dishes.
“No, no, Harry dear, you go and relax,” Mrs. Weasley said as he tried to clear the table. Reluctantly, he headed upstairs.
“Hiya Harry!” It was Fred, beaming at him. “I’m off to find all my socks, do you want to come and see if you lost any too?”
“Um, no thanks, Fred, I’m going to help Ron,” he lied.
As Fred marched back down the stairs, Harry walked determinedly towards a door on his left of a room he had never entered. He knew if he didn’t do it now, he never would. He raised a slightly shaking fist and knocked.