Chapter Four
Harry found himself lying on a floor. Above him, he saw only the wooden beams of the ceiling. When he heard Fred and George’s raucous laughter, he rolled over to see what was going on. The sight of Ron’s face was immeasurably hilarious.
As it turned out, Harry had lost his grip on his trunk and, when they arrived at their destination, it took aim at Ron. It ended up flying into the bench at the table, knocking over Ron, who was holding some kind of stinking liquid. This liquid poured all over him and the surrounding floor emitting fumes that were so strong, they were visible.
“Oh! Revolting!” shouted Ron.
Harry scanned the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place and his stomach dropped. Somehow, he hadn’t really expected to arrive here but, after a moment of thought, it made sense. Voldemort was still alive, and the Order was still active. It was only Harry’s world that seemed to have ended. Then Harry stopped the thought. I can’t keep doing this, he reflected. I’m still here for a reason. I have a job to do.
Only then did he notice the kitchen was full of people he cared about. Fred and George were rolling on the floor in silent laughter while Ron was screaming at them to shut it. Ginny was doubled over in silent giggles. Mrs. Weasley, Ron’s mum, rushed over and was attempting to clean him up, scolding her children for poking fun. “Honestly!” she huffed in exasperation. “I thought you lot had grown up a bit. Apparently, I’m mistaken! No one has even bothered to welcome Harry!”
She was right, but Harry didn’t care. Besides, no one really made a fuss about his arrival. Even his travelling companions had already settled down at the table, engaged in a deep, private discussion.
“Sorry, Harry,” said Ginny, who got up from her seat to give him a close hug. “It’s just that . . . well, look at him!”
When she pulled away, everyone in the room was looking at Harry, all with varying expressions of anger. “What?” he asked.
“Who gave you that black eye?” asked Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing.
“Yeah, nice shiner!” said George.
Harry only smiled, “Well, if you must know, my bed.”
Fred laughed, “Yeah, things get a little rough in my bed too.”
“Fred!” scolded Mrs. Weasley.
“I’d get up, but there’s sludge all over me,” Ron said while scrunching his nose.
“It’s not sludge!” said Mrs. Weasley, hurt. “It’s a very delicious gravy!”
“Oh!” said Tonks, pulling away from her conversation momentarily. “I thought it was Doxy poison.” She had a twitch at the corner of her mouth.
“Well then, I suppose no one wants dinner!” Molly threatened.
There were murmured apologies. Everyone knew Mrs. Weasley was an excellent cook. “All right then,” she said, satisfied. “Welcome, Harry,” she grinned and pulled him into a hug.
Fred and George were waiting for her to move. “Great to see you, Harry.”
“Yeah, it was getting a bit dull without you,” George said while shaking his hand.
“Well, George, we had better get going.”
“Too true. See you, Harry!”
“What’s the rush?” Harry asked.
“Oh, they’re just up to the usual. You know, joke shop stuff,” said Ron, taking off his soiled shirt. “They’re trying to find a new way to cheat on tests,” he whispered conspiratorially.
Ginny leaned over to join their conversation. “Yes, but Mum’s been obliterating their work every night, so she thinks they’re having to start over every day. They’ve been making loads of copies, though, so it doesn’t matter,” she said and smiled.
Harry couldn’t help but notice that Ginny was turning out to be quite pretty. Her long, red hair had begun to get a curl at the end, among other changes he didn’t want to think about at the moment. Ginny blushed lightly at the look Harry was giving her.
“So, um, did you notice Ron’s new look,” she asked quickly.
“Ginny, will you stop talking about that?” Ron said, obviously annoyed. “I’m sick of it!”
“Well, Ron,” said Harry. “You do look . . . er . . . have you been working out?” he asked, holding back a snicker.
“Well, I’ve been practicing keeping every day-“
“I catch him doing sit-ups and push-ups. Don’t let him lie to you,” she laughed.
Ron turned a lovely rosy shade. “It’s to improve my game!”
“Sure,” she smirked. She said to Harry under her breath, “If the game involved catching a certain someone we know, instead of a Quaffle.”
Ron made to lunge at her, but she quickly side-stepped him and ran over to sit next to Tonks. The members of the order were immersed in a private conversation and stopped immediately when Ginny sat with them.
“Ron?” said Mrs. Weasley, “Why don’t you and Harry go upstairs to change and wash for dinner?”
As they trudged into the bedroom, with Harry’s trunk and cage in tow, a silence fell over them. The last time Harry was in this house and in this room, it was still Sirius’ home. He was alive and his moody, yet vibrant self was talking, laughing, walking around like any other. Harry’s throat tightened.
He also distinctly felt a presence in the empty portrait. No doubt Phineas Nigellus reported his arrival to Dumbledore and even now, was paying close attention.
Ron looked at a loss for words. He had a good idea of what was going through Harry’s mind and thought it best to stay quiet. He didn’t know what to say anyway. He hadn’t talked about what happened that night in the Department of Mysteries. It was a sore subject for everyone, but it had to eventually be broached or there would never again be the level of comfort the close friends had enjoyed for so many years. “So . . . how was your summer?”
For a moment, Harry was disgusted with Ron. It must have shown in his face, because Ron spoke again. “I - look. Before you get mad, I want you to know that I’m sorry for- for everything. You don’t have to talk about it. I guess you’ll tell me when you want to,” he said, looking defeated.
Harry’s anger died as quickly as it had risen. “I know. Can we talk about something else?”
“O.W.L.s?” Ron asked with a wry grin.
“Nothing yet, actually,” he replied.
“That’s strange . . .”
“Not if Dumbledore knew I would be coming here soon. He probably didn’t want to upset the Dursley’s by summoning owls to poop all over his car. By the way, why is everyone being so nice to them lately? Not blowing up their living room? Speaking cordially? It’s disgusting!”
Ron shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, mate. Maybe they think they’re people.”
Harry laughed. Ron continued, “Your scores should be arriving sometime soon, then. Yep . . . scores,” Ron deliberately hesitated.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Ok, what did you get?”
“Passed them all!” he beamed.
Harry was quite surprised. “All of them? Wow, that’s really - “
“Well, all except Divination, but I didn't exactly have a talent for the crystal ball or anything. Then there was History of Magic. We slept through his classes anyway. What could anyone expect, with that drone? I suppose we could have tried to stay awake sometimes, eh?”
“Imagine Hermione’s face if she heard you say that.” They both laughed. Ron did an excellent impression of her face lit up with schoolwork fervour.
A shock went through Harry’s mind. Ron’s imitation of Hermione reminded him of the look on his face, right before many tiny brains began to wrap their tentacles around his body. “Ron, what happened to you that night?” he asked with a sinking feeling. Dumbledore had told him that the scarring from the incident would go much deeper than skin.
“Boys!” they heard from the bottom of the stairs, “Hurry up and get down here. Everyone’s waiting on you!”
Mrs. Weasley was notoriously impatient. Ron seemed to be thankful of the interruption, and so Harry took the hint. Ron changed into a stunning jeans and t-shirt ensemble, and gestured toward the door. "Shall we go?"
The boys headed downstairs.