By Stubby Boardman
It was raining the day they left number four, Privet Drive, but - more importantly - it was also Harry’s birthday. Mrs. Weasley had forbidden Ron and Hermione to acknowledge this in any way other than “Morning, Harry; happy birthday”, for she had a big get-together planned at The Burrow that afternoon
“Harry deserves a party,” she had said firmly. “It’s his coming-of-age, after all. He can have his real birthday here at home, and don’t you two mention a word about it.”
Hermione was awake first. She had hardly slept a wink, although Harry and Ron looked quite comfortable, snoring contently in a soothing rhythm. They weren’t sleeping on the floor, though, thought Hermione, the voice in her head slightly bitter. Each night of the near two months they had spent at number four they had drawn straws for a place to sleep “ the mattress, the bed or the hard wooden floor. After five consecutive nights in the bed (to which the boys strongly protested), Hermione was back on the floor. Without magic (they didn’t want the Ministry’s attention, as they were in a house full of Muggles), Harry had tried to make it as comfortable as possible, arranging pillows and blankets, but even ‘The Boy Who Lived’ couldn’t disguise the fact that Hermione had the crappiest sleeping place.
Hermione rolled over and sighed. It was early, but she couldn’t go back to sleep now, not when they had such an important day ahead of them, and an important journey after that, which she still couldn’t get her head around.
Voldemort. Horcruxes. God, what had she gotten herself into?
Ron emitted a particularly loud snore and, in spite of herself, Hermione blushed. A thought that wouldn’t go away was that she and Ron were in the same bedroom. No matter how hard she tried to rid her mind of it, the mental image of Ron kissing her passionately atop of Harry’s bed - its owner nowhere to be seen - lingered stubbornly.
Oh, Ron. She had loved him for years, the idiot. So much of Hermione wanted to throw herself on his sleeping form, but the other part of her, the sensible and practical part of her, knew that she had to wait. She wasn’t ready. The right time would come eventually. It just wasn’t now. She repeated it over and over again in her head and it became her mantra; it was as if the more she thought, the more it would seem true.
I have to wait… The right time will come… It just isn’t now… I have to wait… The right time will come… It just isn’t now…
“Hermione? You awake?” rasped Harry groggily.
Hermione rolled over again and yawned, coming out of her reverie sharply. “As awake as I can be after sleeping on the floor all night… Happy birthday, Harry,” she added as an afterthought.
“Seventeen,” murmured Harry to no one in particular.
Hermione yawned again. “Er, should we wake Ron?”
“Nah, let the poor bugger sleep,” replied Harry in a sleepy voice. He stifled a yawn. “He had a bad night, too.”
Hermione was suddenly more awake than ever. “Really?” she asked.
Harry laughed. “Really. You must have slept better than you thought. We were up pretty late and you kept making this whistling noise through your mouth. Very odd,” he said with a grin.
“Very funny. So you couldn’t sleep?”
“I had a bad dream,” said Harry quietly, all traces of humour gone from his voice.
“About “ about Voldemort?” she asked in a disbelieving whisper.
“No. It was about you and Ron,” said Harry, his green eyes fixed on her brown. “We were in this cave… Horcruxes and…you were killed by Death Eaters,” he finished bluntly.
Hermione gave a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Harry…”
“Hermione, you know that you don’t have to… You don’t have to come with me. You and Ron both. I mean…” His voice cracked and he finished quietly, “I don’t want you hurt.”
“Don’t be stupid, Harry, you tried to get rid of us before. And we told you before “ we’ll be there,” she said with finality. “We’re not worried and you shouldn’t be either.”
“I know. It was “ it was just so real.”
“It was a dream, Harry. A dream,” said Hermione firmly. She glanced over at Ron, who on his mattress lay between them. “What did Ron say?”
“The same as you,” he said dully.
Hermione smiled briefly. “See, Harry? We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t sure that this is where we want to be. With you.”
“Don’t put the sap on me, Hermione,” said Harry in an annoyed tone, but he was grinning.
“It’s true!” she said insistently. “Really, Harry. Ron and I “ ”
“What about me and you?” interrupted Ron, his voice croaky. “Oh, by the way, happy birthday, Harry.”
“Thanks, mate,” said Harry, smiling.
Ron started telling Harry about an amazing dream he had just had where the Chudley Cannons won the premiership. “- So d’you reckon I could be on to something? You know, with all this Divination rubbish? I mean, they’re in really good form, according to Which Broomstick’s Quidditch League article “”
Harry appeared to join in the discussion enthusiastically although Hermione suspected that he wasn’t really that interested, that his mind was on other things. Hermione, however, was quiet.
“About me and you, Ron?” she whispered into her pillow under the cover of Ron and Harry’s loud conversation. “There’s just nothing to say…”
Hermione and Ron let Harry say good-bye to the Dursleys alone. He had insisted that he really did have nothing to say to them, but his friends both knew that Harry had some unresolved issues with Petunia and Vernon, especially on the matter of his parents.
Because Ron and Harry were without their Apparation licences, getting to The Burrow would be by means of the Knight Bus, the one mode of wizarding transportation that Hermione couldn’t stand. She hated the rocking motion of the bus, and the way it popped and banged along the road. Growing up in Muggle Britain had made travelling by Knight Bus all the worse for Hermione, rather than Ron or, say, Tonks, because the unbelievable squeezing of the large bus between skinny lanes of traffic was just unnatural for her. Her stomach felt queasy at the thought of it.
“This,” said Hermione to Ron as they stood by the begonias with a basket-contained Crookshanks, waiting for Harry, “is my worst nightmare.”
Ron laughed at her theatrics. “The Knight Bus?”
I love his laugh.
Hermione glared at him. “Yes, Ron, the Knight Bus. I don’t remember you being so fond of the thing in our fifth year.”
Insensitive little git.
“I was fine, thank you!” Ron said hotly. “Only you were throwing up and coving your eyes and “”
“- I did not throw up!” cried Hermione.
“Neither did I!” said Ron, his voice raised.
“Well, I didn’t either!” shouted Hermione, flushed.
There was a silence. Then, “Why are we yelling?” asked Ron slowly.
Hermione giggled. “I don’t know.”
They heard the front door of number four open and turned around. Harry was trying to lug their trunks through the door, without much success.
“Oh, honestly,” said Hermione, striding across the immaculate lawn. “You can use magic, Harry; you’re of age now!”
The kitchen window curtains were drawn back hastily and Vernon and Petunia Dursley peered out. Hermione ignored them, as did Harry. She glanced at the empty street “ it was, after all, only six o’clock on a Thursday morning “ before pulling her wand from her pocket.
“Locomotor trunks,” she muttered, before slipping her wand back into her pocket.
Harry raised his own wand and directed the three trunks to the end of their driveway where Ron was waiting. He picked up Hedwig’s empty birdcage. “Thanks,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. Nodding at the kitchen window, he added, “This’ll stir them up plenty. Pity the neighbours aren’t awake.”
Hermione looked curiously at the Dursleys. “How did it go? Your talk with them, I mean.”
They followed the trunks down the driveway, the gravel crunching under their feet. Harry shrugged. “Nothing to write home about. I had some words with them, and they had some words with me.”
They reached Ron. “I guess they won’t change, ever,” said Hermione sadly. “But they are you family, Harry.”
Harry sighed heavily. “Yeah, I guess,” he echoed.
“Mate, if I were you I’d be glad to get shot of that lot,” said Ron with a grin. “Now, how d’you hail this thing? Stick your wand arm out and then what d’you “”
BANG!
Hermione only just managed not to scream and Harry tripped over his trunk in surprise. He swore loudly as Hermione pulled him to his feet and they both glared at Ron, who had been laughing wildly up until that point but was silenced with their glares at once.
In front of them was the triple-decker, hideously purple Knight Bus. Hermione hadn’t given much thought to Stan Shunpike’s job, but he had indeed been replaced. Ron let out an audible groan.
“Good morning, my name is Cormac McLaggen and I will be your conductor this morning,” droned the wiry-haired youth in a weary voice. Clad in purple uniform, he glanced down at them and grinned in recognition. He stuck out his hand to Harry, who grudgingly accepted it, and shepherded them aboard.
“Harry, Harry, so good to see you!” McLaggen exclaimed, earning them curious stares from their few fellow passengers. “Hermione, Ron, you too. Step on it, Ernie.”
The bus lurched forward with a bang and Hermione, Harry and Ron were flung backwards. McLaggen, however, remained upright.
Hermione hurriedly got to her feet before McLaggen could offer her a hand in getting up and flopped into the nearest armchair. Harry and Ron joined her, Ron slightly green and Harry clutching his stomach. Ron gave a shaky laugh as he collapsed into his orange armchair.
McLaggen noticed this and smirked. “You get used to it. Old Sluggy got me this job; he has some excellent contacts. Just for the summer, mind, I’ve got my Ministry apprenticeship coming up. Didn’t do too badly on my NEWTs, but they’re a right pain in the arse all the same,” he said, giving them a knowing look. “Now, where are you off to?”
“Er, Ottery St. Catchpole,” said Ron, “Devon.”
“That’ll be three galleons, twelve sickles and a knut for the lot of you,” he said in a business-like fashion. “No discounts, sorry, even if we were Old Sluggy’s pals,” added McLaggen, winking at Hermione and Harry.<
They did not return the wink.
Harry handed over the money and McLaggen gave him their tickets, commenting on the changing countryside. “Ooh, here we are in Belsworthy, pretty little village,” “ there was a loud BANG! and the bus gave a lurch, now speeding down the middle of a busy highway, cars leaping out of their way (“My godmother lives in Bristol, you know,”)… And squeezing through an alleyway “in Cornwall someplace, don’t ask me…”
It seemed to Hermione that they were taking forever to reach Ottery St. Catchpole. They had picked the most unfortunate time to travel, not many people were getting on, only off, so McLaggen, as conductor, didn’t have much of a job to do.
“How much is he getting paid for this?” Harry whispered in her ear as McLaggen waffled on about Hogwarts’ rumoured closure. In spite of herself, Hermione laughed. McLaggen looked quite chuffed.
Finally, McLaggen announced that they had arrived at Ottery St. Catchpole. Relieved, Hermione grabbed Crookshanks’ basket and hurried off the bus, leaving Ron and Harry to move the trunks. McLaggen bid them a cheerful farewell and with a bang, the Knight Bus vanished.
“Never,” said Ron, shaking his head, “again.”
“Agreed,” said Harry heartily. The both turned to look at Hermione.
“It was a pleasant trip,” she said, catching Ron’s eye and leaving Harry puzzled as they shared a grin.
“Who’s there?” came the voice of Mrs. Weasley from behind The Burrow’s back door.
“It’s us, Mum,” said Ron, a tad impatiently, “Ron and Harry and Hermione.”
They heard numerous (Hermione counted at least eight) locks and latches unlocking and unhooking by magic; the door opened and there stood Mrs. Weasley in the doorway, beaming at them.
“I’ve tightened security, Minerva said that… Oh, come here, you three!”
They stepped up into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley promptly hugged Ron very tightly. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her apron before beckoning to Hermione. She found herself engulfed in Mrs. Weasley’s embrace and feeling wetness on her shoulder, found, to her surprise, that Ron’s mother was sobbing into her cardigan. Hermione patted her on the back helplessly for a moment before Mrs. Weasley drew back with a watery smile.
“I “ I’m sorry, it’s just the three of you by yourselves… I was beside myself with worry. You should have told me… But never mind, never mind,” she said, seeing Hermione’s face. She turned to Harry, hugged him warmly and wished him a happy birthday, although, as she had with Ron, she had to stand on her tippy-toes to kiss his cheek.
“We did tell Moody and Tonks,” said Harry apologetically, sitting down at the table. He looked sideways at Hermione. Well. They hadn’t been completely honest with the Order members who met them off the train, telling Moody and Tonks that they were going to Little Whinging and would return to The Burrow in a few weeks in a vague manner.
“I know, I know, and “ I was away on Order business… should have met you three and Ginny at King’s Cross…” trailed off Mrs. Weasley. “But,” she added briskly, “that’s all in the past now, isn’t it? All that matters is that you’re here, safe and sound.”
Hermione sank down into the chair across from Harry and Mrs. Weasley busied herself in the kitchen’s corner with a pot of porridge.
“Where’s Fleur “ and, er, Bill and everyone?” Ron asked, his ears slightly red, as he sat down next to Hermione. Hermione glanced over at Ron at the same time as he glanced over at her and they both looked away hurriedly.
“Well, Bill and Fleur are in the south of France staying with the Delacours,” said Mrs. Weasley (she seemed to have missed the following exchange and Hermione was grateful), serving porridge onto three chipped, mismatching plates with the ladle, “and they’ll be back the day after tomorrow with her family and her close friends. One ladle or two, Hermione?”
“One will be fine, thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Oh, and Charlie’s here, he’s out at the Fawcetts talking security. Two ladles, Harry?”
“Yes, thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”
Mrs. Weasley bustled over to the table and placed the plates in front of them. “Careful, they’re hot,” she warned them. “Now, let’s see… Fred and George are in London and they’ll be coming down for the wedding, of course. Arthur’s at work, busy, no doubt. And Ginny’s upstairs, she’ll be down soon, I expect.”
Hermione looked carefully at Harry but he was nonchalantly eating his porridge.
Then Mrs. Weasley said something that Hermione half-wished she didn’t have to hear: “Your Hogwarts letters will be arriving this afternoon, I’ve had the heads up from Minerva, so “ if you like “ we can all go into Diagon Alley on Saturday and pick your books up at the same time as we do the wedding shopping!”
They hadn’t, of course, gotten around to telling anyone about their plans for the year, but they had agreed that as few people as possible would be told.
“Er,” said Harry.
“Or you can all go in on your own tomorrow with Ginny, how does that sound?”
Hermione looked at Harry and Ron. They were both looking at her. She gave them both furious glares. Typical, she thought angrily. Just typical. Any reason why they can’t just tell her? Why is it always up to me to do these things? I thought Harry, at least, would be the one to tell everyone that we aren’t going back, and surely Ron can’t tell his own mother?
Hermione opened her mouth to reply but was conveniently interrupted by Ginny’s arrival in the kitchen.
“Mum, the ghoul’s made a hole in Ron’s ceiling again “ oh, hi everyone,” she smiled.
Ron and Hermione nodded in greeting, Hermione giving the younger girl a kind smile, and Harry mumbled a hello, but Hermione noticed that he kept his eyes on his porridge.
Ginny squeezed into the seat on Hermione’s right. She was still in her pyjamas, but was looking remarkably fresh for a fifteen-year-old girl up before seven on her summer holidays. However, Hermione noticed that Ginny had a trace of make-up on and that her hair was immaculate. All the same, she didn’t take the vacant seat next to Harry.
Mrs. Weasley slopped two ladlefuls of porridge onto Ginny’s faded pink plate and brought it over to her. “Here you are, dear.”
“Thanks, Mum. Is Charlie back yet?”
Mrs. Weasley looked uncomfortable. “Well, not exactly…”
“He spent the night at the Fawcetts’?” said Ginny incredulously.
“So it appears,” was her mother’s mild reply.
The table was quiet for a moment.
“Hang on a tick,” said Ron slowly. “Rachel Fawcett, how old would she be?”
Mrs. Weasley made a noncommittal sound.
“I don’t believe it!” said Ginny, grinning from ear to ear. She stood up. “Mum, can I “”
“- Most definitely not!”
Ginny’s face fell and she said accusingly, “You didn’t even know what I was going to say!”
Hermione, Harry and a smug Ron looked on interestingly, although Harry was pretending not to.
Mrs. Weasley raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think the Fawcetts would appreciate an early morning visitor in the form of Charlie’s sister.”
Defeated, Ginny sat down again, still grinning. She mumbled something to herself before returning to her porridge.
“What was Charlie doing at the Fawcetts, anyway?” asked Hermione with interest.
It was Ginny who answered her. “Security stuff. Bill was supposed to do it “ you know, the whole curse-breaker thing “ but Charlie,” she continued, putting emphasis on her second-eldest brother’s name, “went instead.”
“What kind of security?” asked Harry quietly, speaking directly to Ginny.
Hermione stopped eating.
“Anti-Death Eater alarms and jinxes, that sort of stuff,” replied Ginny, meeting his gaze and holding it strongly. “McGonagall wants them well-protected, she thinks they could be a target, being so close to us.”
It was Harry who broke the spell. “Right,” he said into his porridge.
Hermione looked at Ron and rolled her eyes. Ron, however, was keenly observing his own bowl of porridge.
Boys, thought Hermione, spooning the last of her porridge into her mouth. Useless creatures. My patience is little wasted on them.
A/N - As I explained to my Beta, this story is basically a carefully woven plot bunny. It’s a short story, but with reasonable length chapters (that’s just fancy talk for me confessing I am the world’s worst short story writer. Teacher says 500 “ 850 words with 10% way, I’ve written 3000 words. Note to self: Must work on this) and it’s well planned out, almost to the point of being entirely written and phrased in my head.
The eventual plan is to have eight chapters for the four days at The Burrow (Thursday, Friday, Saturday & Sunday) with two chapters per character, that is, Harry x 2, Hermione x 2, Ginny x 2 and Ron x 2. Thursday and Friday have two chapters each and Saturday and Sunday have three and one respectively. Also, each chapter title is a personal value or virtue that is associated with its chapter. Wedding bells ring, Celestina Warbeck will sing and Fred & George will wear their bling bling.
If I have confused you, no fear. I confuse everybody. Comments, reviews and whatnot are appreciated and revered. Make me happy.