“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any thinner, you out-thin yourself,” groused Mrs. Weasley as she put platters on the table in the Burrow. “I want you to eat no fewer than three helpings of this meatloaf, and no excuses!”
“They’re better than Hagrid’s rock cakes any day, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry happily. “Are the rest of the family here?”
There were eight simultaneous cracks, and Harry blinked as Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron Weasley, along with Fleur Delacour and Hermione Granger, appeared in front of him, almost knocking him over in his chair.
“Yes, I would say that we are all here,” said Fred lightly, “that is, all but a certain piece of dung who still hasn’t apologized to certain other people about not believing that a certain Personage-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned.”
“As well as another certain female person who seems to already be making deliberate efforts to avoid you,” added George.
Harry sighed and looked at the ground. Suddenly, he wanted desperately to change the subject. “So, any news of what Voldemort’s up to now?” he said, attempting a lighthearted tone of voice and ignoring seven simultaneous flinches aimed in his direction.
“The usual. Still killing. Still maiming and torturing. Still trying to recruit more people to his side. Still wreaking chaos and havoc in every direction,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “We’re doing our best in the Order. Working every day against him, even on weekends and after hours, except we’ll be taking this Saturday off for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Then it’ll be back to fighting the Death Eaters as usual. And that’s enough to be getting on with, without the Deathly Hallows clamoring for attention all the time.”
Harry had no idea what Deathly Hallows were, but didn’t have the energy to ask.
“We don’t even have Dumbledore’s quirky jokes to keep us happy anymore now,” said Charlie sadly. “Or his terrifying anger to keep us in line. We’re on our own.”
“Speaking of Dumbledore, I just got the news from Scrimgeour that Hogwarts will be reopening after all,” said Mr. Weasley. “We’re just going to have even stronger security. I’m not allowed to give the details, though.”
Harry noticed a new clock on the wall. There was one hand for each Weasley, and only two phrases written around the edge: “In Moderate Mortal Danger” and “In Danger of Dying a Particularly Painful Death in the Imminent Future”. Harry was glad to see that all nine hands were pointing at “In Moderate Mortal Danger”.
“Observing our newest possession, are you?” said Mrs. Weasley grimly, gesturing towards the clock. “Yes, I thought it might come in useful, and the old one was getting rather boring, with everyone’s hand always pointing to the ‘Mortal Danger’ spot. This new one was sold to me on the street by a woman by the name of Trelawney. She said she had built it herself to perfect accuracy.”
Harry suddenly felt a lot less reassured.
After dinner, Harry went up to Ron’s room with Ron and Hermione. On his way up the stairs, Harry could see Ginny’s eyes peering out of her bedroom door, which was open a crack, before she quickly closed it. Harry sighed, pulled himself together and continued on his way up the stairs. At least this wasn’t as bad as it had been to watch her snogging Dean Thomas.
“So Hogwarts is staying open after all,” said Harry to his two friends. “I wonder who the headmaster will be now.”
“Have you considered the possibility that Dumbledore might not really be dead?” said Hermione musingly. “He might be coming back to Hogwarts, you know.”
“That’s not a nice thing to joke about,” said Harry quietly.
“I’m not joking!” said Hermione shrilly. “I’m not convinced that he really died! The evidence isn’t exactly watertight!”
“Not exactly watertight?” repeated Harry incredulously. “What d’you mean? In case you’ve forgotten, I saw him blasted off the astronomy tower by Snape’s Avada Kedavra curse! I saw his dead body! He’s dead! There’s no denying it. No getting around it. Dumbledore is no more. Snape murdered him!”
“Actually, we don’t know that for sure,” said Hermione evenly. “We don’t actually have proof that Snape isn’t still on our side.”
“Oh, you’re not still saying that, are you?” snorted Ron. “The one issue between us where I got the privilege of turning out to be right, and you won’t admit it?”
“Come on, have some imagination,” said Hermione, although soothingly, squeezing Ron’s hand. She glanced at Harry and let go with a start. “Snape and Dumbledore could have been putting on a show for the Death Eaters to help Snape keep his cover and give Voldemort a false sense of confidence about Dumbledore supposedly being dead. Snape and Dumbledore probably planned it all out beforehand. Or maybe when Dumbledore said, ‘Severus… please…,’ he really meant to please kill him. You never know. Dumbledore always trusted Snape, remember? D’you think he really could have made such a misjudgment?”
“I think you’re barking,” said Ron. Harry nodded his head in agreement.
“I’m serious!” retorted Hermione. “I don’t know how it could have worked, but I’m sure that Dumbledore couldn’t have really died that easily. And I’m sure that Snape isn’t really evil. He just can’t be! Not if I have anything to say about it!”
“Whatever,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. He was still subconsciously stroking the hand that Hermione had squeezed as though he never wanted to wash it again. Harry pretended not to notice.
“Anyway,” said Harry, “either way, we still need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And then there’s the factor of how unwilling most of the parents will be about sending their kids back to Hogwarts.”
“How could the seventh years’ parents be so unwilling?” gasped Hermione. “This year is our N.E.W.T. year. That’s extremely important! It could affect our entire futures!”
“Honestly, Hermione, you’re way too obsessed with academics,” said Ron lazily. “Anyway, I suppose if my parents give permission, we’ll go without you, Harry?”
“Why do you say that?” said Harry sharply.
“Well,” said Hermione tentatively, “you did say something at Dumbledore’s funeral about not coming back next year, didn’t you?”
Harry sighed and gave a small smile. “Oh, you know I never really mean things like that. I just have trouble controlling my emotions sometimes, and I say stuff. Of course I’m coming back. How am I supposed to be able to keep my mind on destroying the Horcruxes and Voldemort himself “ oh, stop spasming uncontrollably like that, Ron, it really disturbs me “ if I’m weighed down with homesickness for Hogwarts?”
“We hoped you’d see that logic properly, Harry,” said Hermione in relief. “It really is quite obvious, you know.”
“Right now we should put our efforts into living with Bill and Fleur until their wedding,” said Ron. “And it would help if we don’t get any Death Eater attacks during that time, either.”
“He’s worked out a way of making himself immune to Phlegm’s presence,” said Hermione, smiling wryly and jerking her thumb towards Ron. “It’s one of those mind control things…”
“Have you made any progress on R.A.B.?” Harry asked Hermione now.
“No,” she said sadly. “I decided to stop thinking about it for a while and let the answer come to me. Wait a minute…” She suddenly looked transported. “I think I just figured it out!”
“Tell us!” said Harry and Ron together.
Hermione seemed far away. “I… no, but… no, that would make sense… except that… but maybe…”
“Have I told you how much I hate it when you do this?” said Ron grumpily.
“I’ve got to go to the library,” said Hermione abruptly.
“There is no library here,” Harry reminded her.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” said Hermione. “All right then… how about Regulus Black?”
There was a thirty-second silence while Harry and Ron thought this out. Then…
“It never occurred to me,” said Ron dully.
“How could it not have?” said Hermione to Ron in a superior voice. “He was your own best friend’s father’s best friend’s brother, after all.”
“I bet you think we’re really stupid, do you?” snarled Ron.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “How could we have been expected to remember about Sirius’ Death Eater brother out of the blue like that?”
“Harry should have been taking notes while Sirius lectured him on his family tree the summer before last and then studied them with Ron,” said Hermione severely, and she left the room to let Harry and Ron stew in their own indignation.
The wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour was by and large a successful event, although not without its glitches. During the whole ceremony, while staring at Fleur, Ron’s face appeared to be screwed up in concentration, and when Bill and Fleur were pronounced man and wife, he tried to clumsily hide from Hermione the fact that he was woefully wiping his eyes on his father’s handkerchief. Meanwhile, Bill, Charlie, the twins, Ginny (who was looking anywhere but at Harry), and Hermione were all struggling to stifle involuntary gagging noises. Nymphadora Tonks distracted and offended everybody with her bright, blue hair in the Mohawk style, and Mundungus Fletcher was busy the entire time examining the jewelry that had been given as wedding presents. After the ceremony, the party found that the cake was virtually inedible after Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody had checked it for 138 different kinds of poisons and jinxes. The festivities went on late into the night. When Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher got into a verbal cut-down argument about what kind of incompetently concocted potion the other had been dropped into as a baby, it was unanimously decided that it was time for everybody to go to bed.
Two days later, four owls arrived, one each for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They were each letters from Professor McGonogall which included the school lists for Hogwarts.
“Still no mention of who the next headmaster or headmistress will be,” remarked Harry, who was sitting on Ron’s bed with Ron and Hermione.
“It says something about something called ‘Deathly Hallows’ though,” said Ron. “What d’you reckon those are?”
“No idea,” said Harry. “Your dad mentioned something about them the other day.”
“You know, maybe we’ll be better off without Dumbledore this year,” said Ron thoughtfully. “I used to think of him as a genius who was also insane, and now I just think of him as insane. I mean, honestly.” He put on a croaky, sing-song voice. “‘I trust Severus Snape! I trust Severus Snape! I trust Severus Snape!’”
Just then, all three froze, staring at the foot of the bed. A shriveled, blackened hand was reaching out from under it. Hermione clutched Ron’s arm in horror and then seemed to decide to clutch Harry’s as well, just to be fair. And then a deep voice said, “Not a bad impression, although you might want to work on the syllabic intonation a little.”
And as the long, thin, wizened form of Albus Dumbledore began to drag itself out from underneath the bed, Hermione gave Harry and Ron a significant look which clearly said, “Told you so.”