Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 33
The Best Laid Plans…
Harry was beginning to think he had traded one prison for another. To have heard the headmistress’ concerns about safety issues, he was lucky to have been allowed to journey to the Burrow over the holidays at all. She had embarked upon a long, convoluted explanation of how the protection that he had enjoyed -- not that he hadn’t wanted to correct her impression at that point, nothing at the Dursley’s was ever enjoyable -- at his aunt’s had been tacitly extended beyond his seventeenth birthday when they had not demanded that he leave immediately. But once he left Privet Drive to return to Hogwarts, that thread had been irreparably snapped. While the school and its grounds were probably the most heavily warded pieces of real estate in Britain, she could not extend any of that same protection to areas beyond the gates. He had listened politely and waited for her to arrive at the bottom line, i.e. that there was to be an Order member stationed outside the Weasley residence each day and that he was not to be allowed to leave their property under any circumstances, not even if the Order member agreed to accompany him.
They had arrived at the Burrow that first evening to find that Hestia Jones was already waiting for them. It was clear that the circumstances had changed drastically since the carefree days of summer when she had been such an entertaining companion. Now it was all business as she greeted them curtly and then insisted that they each produce an identifying Patronus before allowing them near the house. All except Ginny, that is, as she reminded them of the ban on underage magic.
Harry had to admit that he was envious of the girls’ upcoming shopping trip. Not that he had any desire to brave the Yuletide London crowds, but he had not had an opportunity to do any Christmas shopping at all this year. Now it looked like his tentative plan to steal away to the nearby hamlet of Ottery St. Catchpole was going to have to be abandoned as well.
Hermione was surprisingly sympathetic to Harry’s plight and offered to assist him in any way that she could. The customary upbraiding about waiting until the last minute didn’t come.
“Harry, I don’t think anyone’s going to hold this against you,” she explained. “Everyone knows that we’ve been restricted to school grounds for the past two months.”
“Still I bet you’ve done some of your shopping already, haven’t you?” Harry asked testily.
“Not as much as you’d think “ and then only because I was able to go to the cyber-café once before the lock-down,” she replied patiently.
“You didn’t use the owl-order service?” Ron inquired, clutching his chest in mock disbelief.
Hermione acknowledged his antics with a practiced, “Very funny, Ron. I was actually intending to select gifts personally this year. Harry, do you have any ideas at all?”
Harry shook his head glumly. “I was hoping to be inspired by what I actually saw for sale in the shops. I find that it makes things a lot easier if you don’t begin with any preconceived notions.”
“Well, Mr. Practicality, that’s not exactly going to work for you this year, is it?” Hermione returned.
Ginny poked her head past the door to Ron’s bedroom and asked, “You three commiserating about Christmas presents? I have no idea what to get Mum this year, any suggestions?”
“Believe it or not,” Harry volunteered with a smile, “that’s the only one to which I’ve given any thought. Remember all those fabulous photos the Creevey brothers took of the Halloween Ball? They had so many in addition to the ones that they framed that I went through the extras and found a few that might appeal to Mrs. Weasley. I was hoping to get an album to put them in, though.”
“That’s a great idea!” Hermione declared. “Getting an album should pose no problem. Who do you have photos of?”
“I was able to find Ron, Ginny and George. None of Fred, unfortunately, since that headless costume of his just made the lens go haywire.”
“I would’ve thought that my costume would have done the same,” Ron commented.
“Oh, it did. But Colin was able to dig one out that showed you, Ginny and Lupin examining one of Luna’s table decorations that was taken before either of you activated the special effects.”
“You know,” suggested Hermione with a twinkle in her eye, “I have a few photos from that event myself that I might be persuaded to donate for the album. Anyone else?”
Harry noticed that Hermione looked directly at Ginny when she said that, but it was Ron who responded with, “Count me in!”
“Me, too!” Ginny followed seconds later.
Tuesday morning was cold and grey with a colorless sky that seemed to dissolve into the snowy landscape without any discernable pause at the horizon. The golden glow of the candles and hearth from the Burrow kitchen presented a sharp contrast as happy voices from within shattered the fragile silence of a winter’s dawn.
It was the usual mayhem as Mrs. Weasley attempted to make sure that everyone had breakfast before they set out for the day while overlapping conversations rang from every side of the worn trestle table. Fred and George were conferring with Bill in hushed whispers in the corner as Arthur attempted to read the Daily Prophet and carry on a conversation with Harry and Ron. Hermione and Ginny were still upstairs getting ready for their big excursion amid the tony Muggle stores of London.
“Are you finished, Harry dear?” inquired Mrs. Weasley in a motherly tone.
“Everything was wonderful as usual.” He smiled in her direction as he tilted his head to try to read some of the headlines on the back side of the Prophet.
Ron was still shoveling cereal into his mouth despite having finished a huge plate of eggs and sausages minutes before. After consulting his pocket watch, Arthur decided he had time for another piece of toast before leaving for the Ministry and motioned for Harry to please pass him the butter and jam.
Mrs. Weasley caught Harry’s eye as she surveyed the scene from her command post next to the stove. “Are the girls still not down? Harry, would you mind checking on them again?”
He nodded indulgently and hurried out the kitchen door, then slowed his pace considerably as he worked his way across the living room and up the stairs for the third time that morning. Harry stood on the first floor landing and intoned, “Gringott’s courier service and exchange! Last call for Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger!”
Ginny poked her head out of the second door and giggled at his long suffering expression. “Do I look enough like a Muggle to you?” She grinned as she held the door open wide.
Harry was caught short momentarily, sorely tempted to survey her in the same lingering fashion that she had once scrutinized him in his formal attire. But the moment was shattered when Hermione opened the far door and cried, “Oh, Harry, please get my spending money from Bill, I can’t find my walking shoes anywhere!”
“I’ll get it, Hermione,” offered Ginny as she slipped into her hiking boots and clomped down the stairs with the long laces tucked in but still untied.
Harry followed behind at a more measured pace and watched as the last copper flash of Ginny’s hair disappeared behind the kitchen door. He was halfway across the living room when he saw a hint of silver smoke through the window that signified that Lupin and Tonks must be going through the checkpoint. He held the back door open invitingly, then hugged them each in turn as they entered.
“Merry Christmas to you both,” he offered with a wide smile as he led them into the kitchen where the rest of the remaining Weasleys were still assembled. Harry noticed that Arthur had already left for work as Molly ushered Tonks and Lupin into the seats that had recently been occupied by Fred and George.
“Molly, please, it’s not necessary to ply me with any more hot cocoa or I’m liable to explode when I try to Disapparate.” Lupin laughed as he waved the steaming mugs away, then finally relented with a sigh.
Ginny was in the corner engrossed in conversation with Bill and nodding uncertainly. Still in stocking feet, Hermione joined them and Bill handed her an envelope as well. Ginny was looking at hers skeptically.
“It’s all right, Ginny,” Ron whispered in a teasing tone, “Muggles have been using paper money for the last century, at least.”
Ginny made a face back at him as Hermione assured her, “Don’t worry if you can’t remember all the conversions that Bill gave you. It was the same for me the first time I used Galleons. Tonks and I are pros at this, we won’t leave your side until you’ve mastered it.”
Harry’s attention was redirected to Tonks who was commenting to Mrs. Weasley, “”and Remus was so concerned that Dad would take an immediate dislike to him because he was a werewolf. But Dad says, ‘I don’t care about that, just as long as he doesn’t vote Tory!’”
Hermione immediately burst out laughing as Lupin elaborated, “I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant until Tonks explained to me that the Tories would have gladly welcomed the likes of pureblood fanatics such as the Malfoys and the rest of the Blacks.”
“Zealots like Dolores Umbridge, too,” Hermione contributed.
Lupin turned to her and posed, “So you follow Muggle politics, Hermione?”
“Not really,” she admitted, “but my parents do, so some of it’s bound to rub off.”
“Help me with this one then,” Lupin entreated. “What are these striking similarities between Cornelius Fudge and this fellow, Tony Blair, that are supposedly so amusing?”
Hermione’s hand flew immediately to her mouth to stifle the laughter. “You really should talk to my dad about that, Professor,” she commented through her giggles. “He’s the one who could really do that explanation justice.”
“Hermione, dear,” Mrs. Weasley interjected, “your walking shoes are by the back door where you left them to thaw out, remember?”
Hermione raced out of the room while Ginny propped one foot on the nearest stool to begin lacing her hiking boots.
Catching Molly’s disapproving look, Lupin offered, “Why don’t I help you lace your boots, Ginny? They’re much more comfortable when you can get someone else to lace them up nice and tight for you.” He wiggled his own toes appreciatively, then settled Ginny’s foot on his knee so that he could get the proper leverage. “Isn’t that so, Tonks?” he added mischievously.
Tonks flashed him the merest glance before intoning dramatically, “I don’t know what you mean, Remus. I simply don’t do ‘supplicant’.”
Even without the Russian accent, her entire demeanor was suddenly so much like the Czarina that Harry couldn’t help breaking out in laughter.
“Tell me, Remus,” Bill remarked on his way out the door, “don’t you ever feel like you’ve been assigned to the position of straight man?”
Lupin issued a sharp laugh and returned, “Just you want until you get married!”
Mrs. Weasley finally surrendered her post at the stove and settled down for some cocoa once she realized that she was not going to convince the girls to have anything more than pumpkin juice.
“I’ll make them stop for something later,” Lupin assured her.
Finally everyone had their coats, scarves, gloves, hats and rucksacks ready to go. Tonks assembled the troops in the living room to make sure that everyone passed muster. Today, she was not dressed in her usual cutting-edge Muggle attire and wildly colored hair. Like Lupin, she was wearing a very upscale alpine jumper, simple jeans, and boots “ a studied casualness perfectly suited to city dwellers. To complete the picture, she had changed her hair into a wavy ginger mane reminiscent of both Ginny and Hermione at the same time. She complimented the girls on the fluffy scarves that Hermione had knitted as their brightness would draw everyone’s eyes to their faces instead of other details.
Clothing inspection completed, Lupin took over the briefing. “For today, it’s first names only. We’re just Remus and Tonks. First person who says ‘professor’ gets docked 50 house points “ and don’t think I won’t remember to do it once we get back to school. Speaking of which, the word ‘Hogwarts’ is also out; just refer to it as ‘school’ if you need to. Better yet, avoid those subjects entirely. And lastly, don’t forget that Muggles don’t know they’re Muggles, so don’t use the word under any circumstances.”
“Just one thing, Remus.” Harry couldn’t resist interrupting, then at Mrs. Weasley’s disapproving look and Ron’s snigger, he added innocently. “What, the guidelines don’t apply to me?”
Harry saw Ron’s smile widen and didn’t dare look in the direction of Mrs. Weasley who had probably donned her basilisk-type glare.
Lupin tried to hide his smirk as he shook his head indulgently. “Yes, Harry?”
“Why all the secrecy? I mean it’s a great training exercise and all, but why go to all the trouble?”
“It never hurts to be extra cautious, dear,” asserted Mrs. Weasley. “These are all standard practices for members of the Order. Not that it means that any of you are being inducted, mind you.”
“We’ll have them back in time for supper, Molly,” Lupin promised as Mrs. Weasley herded them like a mother hen into the backyard.
Harry and Ron watched from the back window as the four assembled themselves into a tightly packed group. With Lupin’s hands on Hermione’s shoulders and Tonks’ hands on Ginny’s, they Disapparated simultaneously with a barely discernable popping noise.
“Blimey, I bet they’re having fun already,” Ron bemoaned.
“But, Ron,” Harry reminded him, “you hate shopping, you hate London and you hate crowds.”
“Well, if you put it that way,” Ron attested with a grin, “let’s see if Hestia will give us approval for a game of Quidditch down at the far end of the lawn.”
They turned to see that Mrs. Weasley was pursing her lips in a very disapproving manner and shaking her head slightly.
“What, Mum?” he issued with an apologetic shrug. “Don’t tell me she wasn’t included in the guidelines, either!”
Hestia Jones pronounced that Quidditch was out due to the high-flying antics, but they were welcome to do a bit of practice dueling in the far field if they promised to stay within her line of sight. Harry and Ron returned with their jackets zipped tight and wands resolutely clutched in their moisture-proof gloves. As Hestia accompanied them down to the dueling site, she confirmed a few details concerning the Weasley homestead.
“I’m not sure about the exact boundaries,” Ron confessed. “You should probably ask my dad about that, but the field to the west and a bit of the wooded area to the east are definitely ours. We’ve been playing there since we were old enough to outrun Mum.”
“And both of you are of age?” Hestia inquired pointedly. “Can’t have any underage wizards doing magic on my watch.”
They both nodded in reply. With that single reminder, however, Harry’s illusions of enjoying any extra practice sessions with Ginny evaporated once and for all.
Hestia positioned herself so that she had a clear view of the boys as well as the house in the background. Dueling seemed a poor substitute for flying, but they persevered half-heartedly until Harry remembered the visualization technique he’d used in Lupin’s class. Ron went for it with the same gusto he usually reserved for dessert. Before long, they were involved in such an outrageous battle that it was hard to tell which volleys were the result of spells, which were the result of a good throwing arm, and which results were totally unexpected. They even managed to get Hestia laughing at their antics and admitting that she wished circumstances allowed her to join in.
By the time they broke for lunch, the boys had snow down their collars and ice caked in their hair. Looking forward to thawing themselves out with some warm food, Hestia accompanied them as they trudged up the slight incline to the house. A flash of whitish smoke contrasting against a dark hedge caught Harry’s eye. Hestia immediately noticed his shift in focus and motioned the boys inside the house as she went to take a closer look. Peering out through the front window, they could see that it was a silvery dolphin Patronus.
“Blimey, that’s from Bill!” Ron exclaimed.
Mrs. Weasley herded them into the kitchen and unwound the wet outer clothing from them as they settled down to some piping hot stew. She looked up from her plate as Hestia walked in through the kitchen door.
“Are you ready from some stew, Hestia?’ she offered solicitously.
“In a moment, Molly. I have some news that I need to relate first. I just received an urgent message from Bill. He has word that there have been a series of bombings in London, the entire city is in an uproar. Even Diagon Alley is feeling the repercussions. He has already notified Arthur and one of them will be home within the hour with more details.”
The only sound in the kitchen was the clatter of spoons that had been hastily returned to the tabletop. The shocked silence was broken by Mrs. Weasley suggesting that they turn on the Wizard Wireless Network to see if any reports of the incident were forthcoming. They waited impatiently for some insipid program that provided household hints for the modern witch to conclude before the next scheduled news update. But it was soon clear from the news segment that the minds at the WWN did not consider any events in that occurred within the context of the Muggle world to be worthy of notice.
Harry turned away in disgust. He should have immediately understood that they were taking such a myopic view when the regularly scheduled programming had not been interrupted, he concluded grimly.
“Is there anything wrong with the stew, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked in a worried tone.
“It’s fine, Mrs. Weasley, I just seem to have lost my appetite,” Harry admitted with a sigh.
“I understand. Just finish up your tea then so you’ll have something warm in your stomach.” Then turning her attention towards Ron, she added, “I see Ron has lost his appetite as well.”
As she took both plates away, Harry noted that Ron’s bowl showed that he had been able to stomach considerably more than a few mouthfuls. Harry promised that he would return for his tea momentarily, but right now he was going upstairs to change out of the remainder of his damp clothing before the chill set in.
He felt an indescribable sense of surrealism as he climbed the stairs to the room he was sharing with Ron. This had to be a coincidence, he kept telling himself. No one could have known the girls were planning to go to London today. But in his heart, he knew that such reasoning was false. The existence of vipers like Peter Pettigrew was all the evidence he needed.
After the fifth attempt to untie the wet lumps of laces, he just wedged off his trainers and left them for later. With unsteady fingers, he unbuttoned the top half of his shirt, then just pulled it off his head impatiently. Shrugging into a thick, warm sweatshirt seemed to soothe him enough that he was able to exchange his socks and clammy jeans for dry ones without further incident. As he ran his hands through his unruly hair, he could tell that most of the trembling had subsided. Perhaps all he had needed was some dry clothing, he told himself as he climbed down the stairs.
He found Mrs. Weasley and Ron sitting alone at the kitchen table, each staring listlessly into the distance. With the radio turned off, the silence felt oppressive in the usually cheerful kitchen. Harry poured himself a mug of tea and added a bit of lemon as a soothing agent. His throat felt so tight he doubted he would be able to swallow anything at all.
“Feeling better now, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley inquired gently.
Harry nodded in return and sat down in the chair that Ron was just vacating. He cupped his hands around the warm mug and inhaled deeply. The sharpness of the lemon scent contrasting with the aromatic tea felt oddly comforting. Staring out the window at the bleak landscape, he noted that Hestia had resumed her post in the back yard.
Ron had just returned from upstairs when a bit of movement outside alerted them that someone had arrived at Hestia’s checkpoint. Like a trio of voyeurs, they crowded soundlessly at the window, watching as Arthur Weasley produced a glistening weasel from the tip of his wand. He was at the back door moments later.
“No word from the girls yet?” he asked apprehensively as he hung up his coat and hat automatically.
“Nothing,” replied Molly, solemnly handing him a mug of tea.
“I find that worrisome,” Arthur admitted candidly. “Surely Remus or Tonks would have had the good sense to fire off a Patronus message to either of us at the first sign of trouble. I wonder what may have prevented them from doing so?”
“Any update on the situation in London, Dad?” Ron inquired impatiently. “Wizard Wireless was completely ignoring it.”
“Typical,” commiserated Arthur. “Last report I had was that all public transport throughout the city had been discontinued until further notice. Authorities are saying that they’ve been inundated with bomb threats within the past few hours and are having difficulty marshalling enough manpower to follow up on each one. It’s clear that some of the bombs have actually gone off, but the details vary depending upon the source.”
“Why would anyone do such a thing right at Christmas time?” Molly fretted with her apron unconsciously.
“They were looking for crowds…” Arthur left his thought unfinished as the others at the table filled in the details for themselves.
Yuletide crowds, shoppers, commuters. Each possibility sent an extra jolt of apprehension through the knot in Harry’s stomach.
“Don’t look so glum, boys,” Arthur offered with hollow cheer. “The girls couldn’t be in better hands. Tonks is the absolute best when it comes to disappearing in crowds. They’re probably all having a laugh at the expense of the chaos around them.”
Harry noticed that Arthur carefully avoided catching Molly’s eye as he spoke. That, and the fact that he had just attributed a Death Eater’s sense of frivolity to Lupin and Tonks, convinced Harry that there was probably more alarming news than what Arthur was willing to relay to them at the moment. He felt the knot in his stomach redouble its efforts to strangle him.
After further attempts at pointless conversation were either ignored or rebuffed by Ron’s noncommittal grunts, Arthur settled for providing the quiet strength they seemed to gather from his mere presence. Even Molly recognized the futility of trying to pacify anyone’s dread with endless cups of tea or cocoa. Each acutely aware of the proximity of the others, the four of them were each lost in their own thoughts, as if direct eye contact would only allow their worst fears to manifest. Harry could not say how long they remained frozen in this tableau; time had lost all relevance.
Bill arrived home unexpectedly from Gringott’s as the bank had prudently decided to close early for the day. His entrance seemed to immediately hearten everyone with hopes of an update on the situation in London.
“I take it that you haven’t heard directly from either Remus or Tonks?” Bill inquired immediately.
“Total silence,” confirmed Arthur gravely.
“I can’t say I have that much new information to report,” Bill replied. “Most of what we heard early in the day was just too riddled with rumor and hearsay to be reliable. Quite by chance, Dedalus Diggle happened by the bank and confirmed that he’d been able to tap into Muggle radio news. Seems the Muggle authorities have declared a ‘Code Amber Alert’ throughout London and advised everyone to remain at home if at all possible. Unexploded car bombs were disarmed in the area of Piccadilly Circus, but too many threats have been directed at the Underground system for authorities to just ignore. All public transport services have been suspended indefinitely which has created pandemonium as city workers have been unable to return to their families. All non-essential government offices were closed at two so that has just added to the aimless crowds. But in such a crush of Muggles, it might be imprudent for someone to send off a Patronus message.”
“Any reports of actual explosions or injuries at this time?” Arthur asked point-blank.
“Everything is just too chaotic. There’s too much conflicting evidence for the broadcasters to report anything with certainty, so they have decided to withhold any such announcements for the time being,” Bill responded. “Sorry, Dad. I wish I could tell you more. What about reports through the Wizard Wireless?”
“Nothing,” reported Molly fiercely. “It’s as if the situation didn’t exist.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Bill returned, “I’m beginning to think that the WWN’s total divorce from reality has more sinister overtones. It’s as if we’re being purposely kept in the dark and only fed news about those incidents that have been approved by the Ministry of Magic!”
A condemnation to be sure, Harry noted, but hadn’t the Daily Prophet been following similar guidelines since the Triwizard Tournament three years ago?
“By the way, Harry, I found this book in my office that might assist you with your research,” Bill volunteered unexpectedly. “I’ve found it very useful in the past.”
Harry looked at the title of the well-worn book that Bill slid across the table to him. Long Lost Secrets of the Valley of the Kings, a wizard’s perspective it read in faded gold script. “Thanks,” he replied, attempting a weak smile in Bill’s direction. He listlessly began to leaf through the table of contents, not really seeing the words before him.
“You’ll really enjoy this one,” Bill continued. “It’s written more like an adventure tale than as a stuffy academic narrative, even though it was penned as a first hand account by one of the expedition’s researchers. He must have had some unfulfilled literary aspirations… By the way, you’re welcome to take this and any of the other books from my room with you to Hogwarts. I can get them back from you at a later time.”
“Are you sure you won’t need them for your work?” Harry asked.
“I rarely need them now that I’m working at a desk in the main branch,” Bill replied, a note of sadness in his voice.
Harry was suddenly eager for some lifeline to the familiar world of academic subjects and excused himself from the table to take the book upstairs. The cold stiffness in his limbs served as a measure of just how long they had been sitting like statues. He settled himself face down on the bed and propped the book in front of him on the headboard. But his insecurities about the safety and whereabouts of Lupin, Tonks and the girls were not so easily forgotten. Once again, he found himself unable to concentrate.
More than anything, Harry was troubled that much of the wizarding world viewed Muggle events directly in their midst with such a blind-eye. He was reminded of the headmistress’ inspirational words: “It is my sincere belief that our destinies lie in re-establishing ties with the Muggle world around us. We should be embracing our similarities instead of guarding our differences so zealously.” What he had dubbed a meaningless platitude in her speech at the welcoming feast now seemed more like the courageous words of a visionary.
Harry managed to get halfway through the book’s first chapter, and while Bill was right about the writing style, he couldn’t keep his mind on the sentences and kept having to go back and reread. Noting that the comforting murmur of conversation from downstairs had died, he set the book on the nightstand and glanced idly out the window into the backyard. From his vantage point, he had a commanding view of the lane and empty fields beyond Hestia’s checkpoint.
Through the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, he thought he saw a bit of movement at the far end of the lane. He peered intently at the indistinct shape as it slowly drew closer. As it lurched into view from between two barren trees trunks, he noted that it was actually two people; then in another second, the realization hit him that it was Hermione and Lupin.
Without another thought Harry raced down the stairs, skipping a number of steps with each bounding leap. He barely managed to keep from colliding with the living room wall as he rounded the corner and shouted through the kitchen door, “Lupin and Hermione! They’re back!”
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: Harry chafes at the Order’s safety restrictions; Lupin and Tonks arrive to take Hermione and Ginny Christmas shopping in London.