Chapter Seven
Harry and Ron bolted upstairs directly upon landing. They could not wait to feel the cool summer breeze on their faces. They grabbed their brooms and raced downstairs so fast, it sounded as if a violent thunderstorm was rolling through the house. As the two boys trampled through the kitchen, an arm was flung across their path. “And where do you think you are going?” she asked in the high-pitched tone that happened to be her most abrasive.
“Outside,” responded Ron dully, peaking around her. “To practice Quidditch, you know?” He was speaking as if she had gone mental.
“Only at the Burrow can you go outside,” she said with finality.
“Then we’ll go,” he said as he turned determinately. “Where’d you put the floo powder?”
“Not on my watch will you scamper off half-hazardly to play in an unsupervised environment!”
Ron groaned. “Muuumm. Come on, we’re not first years here!”
“I’ll have none of it. You and Harry have to stay here.”
“-But Mum!”
“No buts! There aren’t as many safety charms there as there are here. There are Death Eaters running about! You-Know-Who is free, alive and well, which is more than I can say for you two if I let you outside!” Mrs. Weasley was shaking, her face contorted in an angry fear.
“You-Know-Who isn’t going to show up at the Burrow!”
“He knows where we live, Ronald! Everyone does! I’ll not lose one of you because you wanted to play a silly game!”
“-It’s not a silly game!” he retorted angrily. “Where are we supposed to practice then?”
“Practice in the attic!”
Ron made to continue the argument, but Harry grabbed his collar and marched with him back up the stairs towards the attic. Behind her parental fear, he knew Mrs. Weasley had a point. Ron was lucky to have someone who cared, but did he notice? No… Harry found himself boiling up inside.
“I don’t see why we always have to be locked up,” Ron grumbled. “He’s only after you. Why do I always-“
There was a stern warning look from Harry. He thought Ron might soon begin to hate having to suffer like his best friend. After the Death Eaters found out who his support group was in the Department of Mysteries, they were bound to be targets. “Sorry Harry . . . It’s just-“
“You think I ask for this?
“No! I know you don’t. It just sucks to be in your place, I guess.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I’m sorry, ok?”
“Ok. Let’s just practice- however we can in a small space.”
They opened the door to the attic and climbed up the small staircase. Awaiting them was a room that must have had an expanding charm placed on it. Fields of space were available. Of course, a good part of the room was taken by sheet-covered furniture, boxes and trunks, mirrors, and objects Harry didn’t feel like investigating. “Well!” he said brightly. “I think we can manage if we clear some of this stuff away.”
“That’ll be the fun part for sure,” said Ron sarcastically.
It became obvious to them that no one had ever cleaned the attic. Cobwebs pulled a shriek from Ron every time he encountered one. He had a ludicrous fear of spiders which only intensified when he had the misfortune to meet a creature named Aragog. They eagerly worked at clearing a large area by pushing everything to the periphery. Soon enough, they had a large enough area to practice. “Ok,” said Ron, “The space there, between the two paintings of hideous goons, that’ll be the goal. I need to practice keeping more than you need to practice seeking.”
“That’ll be difficult to aim for, Ron. I’m more likely to hit the portraits. They quite resemble Crabb and Goyle, don’t you agree?” he said with a smirk.
“Yeah, I guess so. Just do your best,” said Ron, positioning himself.
Ron did remarkably well. The practice at the Burrow (Harry felt a jealous pang) had improved Ron’s skills beyond what they were in fifth year. After the portraits had taken a thorough beating, sending the occupants scrambling for cover, Ron helped Harry by being his competitor for the snitch. It proved difficult to do, even with the incredibly high ceilings of the attic. Finally, he and Ron were neck-and-neck after the snitch. The floor was coming fast, but Harry seemed determined to get it, or crash trying. The latter seemed more likely. “Just a bit further!” he grunted.
CRASH! Boxes and crates lay everywhere. He came up holding the snitch, and his glasses. They were broken- again. His hair still in disarray, and a trickle of blood from a cut on his chin, Harry looked quite satisfied with himself. “Who’s got the talent?
“You are the king of manual dexterity,” Ron conceded. “You’re glasses are broken, O Great One.”
“Occulus Repairo!” Harry said, his wand pointing at his spectacles. Instantly, the glasses mended to a smooth sheen.
Ron kindly went to help his friend out of the dusty pile of boxes. In the crash, one of the filth-ridden boxes had fallen over and spilled its contents. Many photographs littered the area. Curiosity took hold, and the two sat down to browse through the old pictures.
“Here’s one of Sirius and your dad,” said Ron, handing him a slightly faded photograph. They looked to be fourth years. They were posed on a park bench, with the sun shining on them through the canopy of a large tree. Sirius looked composed and arrogant as usual. James had a particularly awkward smile on his face, and a bad case of bed hair.
“They look happy,” mused Harry nostalgically, remembering the same smile plastered on his godfather's face in a fireplace at Hogwarts.
Ron leaned over to look. “Yeah, mate, they do. But you got to look at it as a good thing, you know? They made every minute count, that’s for sure!”
Harry had always been bothered by happy pictures of people before their untimely deaths. But now, looking at this picture of his father and godfather, waving and grinning at the camera, Harry thought Ron had a fair point. They did lead happy lives, and had a lot of people who loved them. If that wasn’t a useful use of their time, Harry didn’t know what was.
While a picture was a poor substitute for reality, seeing Sirius smiling and waving lifted his spirits quite a bit. Harry slipped the picture in his jeans pocket while Ron wasn’t looking. He could swear he caught sight of him looking out of the corner of his eye, though.
“I’m surprised at you, Ron. You had a deep thought! O, Hermione would be so proud!” he teased.
Ron socked his shoulder even as he blushed. “Shut up, Git!”
“You know,” said Ron, changing the subject, “I’m surprised Sirius’ mum didn’t blast this stuff into oblivion.”
“She probably didn’t know it was here. There are centuries of rubbish up here. How would she notice, even if she was up here a lot?”
“Lucky us,” said Ron. “We get to look at the good child’s stuff. Hey! Look at this one!”
The two spent the entire afternoon looking through the pictures. By the end, they had still only gone through two boxes. Their time was punctured by the occasional girlish shriek whenever Ron spied the inevitable spider or two. Harry also managed to stow away a few more pictures. If Ron saw it, he uncharacteristically didn’t mention it for Harry’s benefit.
They were busy laughing at one picture when the sun began to set. In it, Sirius and James were sitting with two very attractive girls at their sides with their arms around their respective partners. It was at Hogwarts, obviously, and when they spied an afro in the background, they did a double-take. It was Snape! Uncontrollable laughter seized their sides until they couldn’t breathe.
“Harry? Ron?” was followed by a knock at the door.
They looked at each other. “Look, Harry. I think we both know that we’re throwing you a birthday party. Um . . . if you don’t like something, can you just- er- pretend?”
Harry raised an eyebrow. Ron seemed to be showing a lot more concern for feelings these days. “Sure, no problem. I’m sure it’ll be great,” he said and smiled. Whatever had happened to Ron while Harry was away, he came out much less an oaf than he was going in.
So they obligingly opened the door and followed Mrs. Weasley downstairs.
There were balloons on the banister, walls, corners, and everywhere else the eye could see in the sitting room. Harry was- in a very childish way- very excited. It would be his first birthday party! His grin was amplified when he saw all the decorations were in Gryffindor colors- red and gold. The ceiling was temporarily enchanted to look like a starry night sky (“I know how you must miss being outside,” Molly had said). Stacked on the coffee table were several presents whose shimmering paper matched the room. “Wow! This is really great everyone! It’s fantastic! Thank you!” he said earnestly.
“Wait until you go into the kitchen!” smiled Ginny tauntingly.
They all trotted through the swinging door, and to Harry’s delight, Dumbledore was there with a warm smile. “Well, hello Harry.”
Harry responded with a nod, and a vaguely sarcastic tone. “Great present, Ginny. Did you make him all by yourself?”
His negative feelings towards Dumbledore had dissipated somewhat over the break, but his belly still bubbled in his presence. He felt his face rise in heat. It was useless to stay angry with him, but he still felt angry. After all, with a little warning from the Headmaster, Harry would have known Voldemort would be playing mental games. Sirius would still be alive. Yet, some small voice of reason occasionally squeaked, If you're going to need anyone in the future, it's him.
He resolved that whatever was going on between him and the headmaster, he would not let it ruin the birthday party for which Molly worked so hard.
“Well, yes, he's here,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes, “but look, we made a special dinner for you!” She gestured toward the table. On it were seven stacked pizzas, of all different varieties.
“Pizza!” he exclaimed. “You couldn’t have picked a better food!”
“Yeah, it was Mum’s first time making it. She said Muggle directions were too complicated, so she cheated and used magic,” quipped Ginny.
“It’s not cheating! Who knows how those Muggles survived without magic all these years. It’s tedious!” Mrs. Weasley grumped. “Your father should be home soon.”
“I’m home! Let’s celebrate! Happy Birthday Harry,” he said, shaking Harry’s hand as he entered the kitchen.
“No, let’s eat,” said the twins, as they had just arrived as well.
“Yulgh! What is that?” said Fred. “It looks grotesque!”
The rest of the family also possessed dubious looks on their faces. “Um, Mum, you sure you made it right?” asked Ron.
“Yes! I made it right! Tell them, Harry.”
He smiled at the family that had assembled to celebrate his birthday. He was lucky, he knew, in more ways than he ever thought of. “Yup, it’s right. Trust me, it’ll be the best food of your lives.”
Everyone then sat down to their fantastic Muggle dinner experience. Looks of dawning excitement and satisfaction covered each face. Soon, Molly began to worry. “I wonder if I made enough . . .”
“Just wait,” grinned Harry, “You’ll see.”
Three pizzas in, the Weasley family discovered and appreciated how a little pizza could go a long way with filling hungry stomachs. Even Dumbledore was reclining deeply into his chair. “I do believe it was a wondrous idea our ancestors had in wearing these roomy robes,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“As for you,” he said to Harry, “I have much business to attend to. However, Happy Birthday. I trust you’ll find my gift. I daresay it'll give you something to do during the long winter," he said, sounding slightly discouraged. Then, he was gone.
After a politely appropriate amount of time, the brightly wrapped packages in the next room nagged Harry’s curiosity.
Ron seemed to have the same thought, because he asked first. “Hey, Dad, can we go open the presents now?”
“Whu?” said a bloated Mr. Weasley. “Oh, I s’pose. Let’s go.”
Cumbersomely, they all wobbled onto the sitting room feeling fat and happy. Harry took a seat between the Weasley twins. “We’ve got your present from us in your room,” Fred whispered mischievously.
Harry acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing, but certainly made a mental note. As he got down to opening presents, he realized this had been one of the best days of his life. Finding the stash of photos upstairs was the best thing that could have happened. He thoroughly enjoyed visiting Hogsmeade, and he loved pizza. Harry also mentally marked that he had several new photos of his parents, and well.
In the end, the birthday inventory included a lovely Molly Weasley original knitted sweater (a staple), too many treats, a football (from Mr. Weasley, who had just discovered the Muggle sport), a journal, and more chocolate treats. This was not including a mysterious ring with foreign markings upon it, which was the gift from Dumbledore.
“The journal is magical, of course,” said Ginny. “It’ll answer any question you ask about yourself in it.”
Harry and Ron gave each other a look that said they already had Hermione for that.
Harry thanked everyone profusely for their generosity. They had worked hard to make a special birthday for him, and he truly did appreciate their efforts.
“Mum, is it all right if George and I stay the night?” asked Fred with a yawn.
“Yes, of course dear. My, you look tired. Perhaps you two should-“
“Go to bed?” asked George eagerly.
“You’re right. I’m tired. What about you?” asked Fred.
“Quite. Well, g’night everybody. Happy Birthday Harry!” said they, and shot up the stairs.
Molly raised a suspicious eyebrow. “I gave up trying to figure out all they were up to, and I’m glad of it!”
When everyone began to look a bit worn out, Harry said, “I’m getting a bit sleepy as well. Ron, will you help me carry my stuff?”
“Yeah, sure,” replied Ron, who had caught on more quickly than usual.
“Thanks again, everyone. I had a great time,” he announced, and with Ron, calmly strolled up the stairs.