Harry Potter and the Warring of the Prophets

HARRY POTTER AND THE WARRING OF THE PROPHETS

A Sixth-Year Adventure

Chapter One: Hearth and Home

"Happy birthday dear Harry, happy birthday to you!"

Harry looked up at the smiling faces around him, feeling as though he should smile, too... but he didn't remember how to begin.

"Go on, Harry," urged Ron, his arm - still vaguely scarred by the brain's tentacles - around Hermione's waist, as it so often was now, "Blow out the candles!"

Harry closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that this would not be the last time the group was together, that all of them would remember Sirius, and that everything would be over soon. He opened his sullen green eyes and blew half-heartedly at the shimmering candles. They all flickered out obediently, and the inhabitants of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, applauded.

"Happy birthday, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, giving Harry a hug before taking up her wand to slice the sumptuous birthday cake she had magicked for the occasion.

Harry couldn't speak. He hadn't spoken much since term ended, except when Mr. Weasley called to check up on him, and even then, Mr. Weasley had to ask very direct questions in order to get an answer.

Sirius was gone.

"First slice for the birthday boy!" Mrs. Weasley sang, handing Harry a chipped plate of cake topped with his favorite Fortescue strawberry-peanut-butter ice cream.

Harry's gaze drifted to her face. Mrs. Weasley had grown older in the last month; her kind face sported premature wrinkles - so much like Lupin's - and her eyes sparkled with tears more often than not. But now, she was smiling, and Harry couldn't bear the knowledge that her happiness was to be short-lived. Looking around at his fellow celebrators, he saw that they were all smiling at him expectantly, so he ate a small bite of his cake.

Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and Ron cheered.

"Happy sweet sixteen," Hermione said, winking at Harry as she lifted her fork to her mouth.

Harry looked down at his plate, dragging his own fork through the cake and icing, not feeling at all hungry. He felt so apart from everyone else around him; they all seemed to have forgotten entirely about Sirius...

This was his house. That made it just that much more painful for Harry, the fact that he was living in Sirius' house - just as Sirius had promised him he could one day, but with one major change in the plan. Sirius was not there.

"Hey, Mum," Fred called suddenly, jolting Harry from his depressed reverie. "Can George and I have your cake recipe?"

"Fred, I told you," Mrs. Weasley said, impatiently, "You are not going to use my recipes to develop more of those foul sweets. If you really want to learn to cook, you're going to have to find someone else to teach you, because I refuse to be a part of that - "

"Unbelievably successful enterprise known as Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?" George interrupted, shaking his head. "Your loss, Mum."

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes certainly was successful; since moving out of Hogwarts and onto its premise in Diagon Alley, the twins' sales had expanded from just bored Gryffindors to jokesters of all ages. Their stock had expanded too, from the Ton-Tongue Toffees and Skiving Snackboxes that had started their repertoire: as Fred and George were fond of saying, "anything that could be charmed would be charmed by the charming Weasley twins!" A jaunt to their shop was an adventure in comedy, and it was impossible to just browse their shelves of trick sweets, bottled jinxes, hex powders, and other mischief-making aids. Ron had confided to Harry early upon arriving at the Headquarters that he got a "Family Discount" of two percent, and the twins had grudgingly agreed that Harry deserved one as well, so anytime that Malfoy caused trouble, they could get two percent more revenge than anyone else.

As Mrs. Weasley and the twins began to barter for permission to experiment on Mrs. Weasley's recipes, Harry's gaze shifted to his best friends. Ron had also confessed to Harry upon his arrival that he and Hermione had had a "slight change in their relationship." Ginny had cut in teasingly, exclaiming that "no one would have ever guessed it from all the snogging they'd been doing!" since school's end, and Ron had tossed a pillow at her.

Harry's eyes flicked over to Ginny, who stood with Bill, Lupin, and Tonks, laughing. She had not tried to force Harry into conversation like everyone else at Grimmauld Place, and she seemed to be keeping her distance. Something had changed in her since the Department of Mysteries.

Something had changed in all of them.

"Harry, are you going to finish your cake?" someone growled by Harry's elbow, making him jump.

Moody was standing there, quite as grizzled as ever, eyeing - with both eyes - Harry's nearly untouched slice of cake. "Because, if you're not," Moody continued, "I'd be glad to take it off your hands."

Harry nodded, handing over the chipped plate.

"Fanks," Moody mumbled, his mouth full of chocolate cake and red icing. "Molly's is the only cooking I trust."

Harry felt a little guilty about not finishing the cake Mrs. Weasley had prepared, since she had spent so much time and effort on icing the Gryffindor Lion onto it in shimmering gold, and the one bite he'd taken had been delicious, even to Harry, who thought everything tasted like cardboard these days.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over Harry constantly, forcing him to eat three square meals a day, making sure that he was drinking enough water and not spending too much time locked up alone in his room. She seemed to be taking extra care to make him feel included and informed in the actions being taken by the Order this year. After all, he was staying at Grimmauld Place longer now, and what with the invention of both Extendable Ears and the newer Extendable Eyeballs, there wasn't much point in trying to keep the kids in the dark.

Fred and George themselves had officially joined the order several months ago, the very day that they'd quit school, and they told Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny every detail of the meetings anyway. The Order had grown to almost a hundred in number, they informed the younger wizards, and an enormous Engorgement Charm needed to be put on the parlor for every meeting just to cram everyone in like sardines. Seventeen members of the Order had taken up residence at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Fred and George announced proudly that everyone living there was considered one of the most important people in the war against Voldemort. Eight of the nine Weasleys (Percy had denounced them and decided to live in an apartment on Diagon Alley), Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Kingsley, Fletcher, Snape, and Dumbledore were among the Order members in permanent residence, though Dumbledore was in-and-out constantly and Snape never associated with his housemates. Fred and George had also informed them that Neville Longbottom and his gran would be moving in within a few days, since they were being tailed by Death Eaters ever since Neville had braved up and fought at the Department of Mysteries.

As a result of its overpopulation, Extension Charms had been used on the house to make extra rooms until it appeared from the street as a mansion, but Harry knew that no one but the Order could even see it, due to Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm. The house no longer looked - or smelled - as decrepit as last summer, either, since Mrs. Weasley had moved the family out of the Burrow and into hiding there. It shone with a warm, homey cleanliness now, and Mrs. Weasley had bewitched it to always smell vaguely of fresh-baking bread. The portrait of Mrs. Black had been removed from the wall with the aid of Instantly Incinerating Acid Ice (courteously donated by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes) and replaced by a large painting of the housemates. The entirety of Number Twelve was decorated with chattering, friendly, framed photos of its inhabitants... and Sirius.

Harry sighed, sitting down cross-legged on the floor.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, coming over and sitting down beside him, Ron following right behind her.

Harry shrugged. He had said only a few words to his best friends this summer, and he knew that they were more worried about him than anyone, even Dumbledore, but it seemed to him that his ability to converse had died along with Sirius.

"Harry, please," Hermione said, sounding close to tears, "Harry, please talk to us. Are there too many people here? Are you overwhelmed? Do you need to see us alone?"

Harry hesitated before shaking his head. Despite the fact that he spent the majority of his time alone when he could wangle the opportunity, he felt better when everyone was around him, when he could see everyone he knew and cared about and had them within arm's reach, when he knew without doubt that they were alive. Without speaking, he suddenly flung his arms around Hermione's neck.

"Harry," she whispered, and he felt her shoulders shuddering has she cried. Ron's hands clutched Harry's shoulders consolingly, and Harry turned so as to grab Ron with one arm, Hermione still clasped in the other.

Slowly, the other filtered in around him as well: Ginny, then Fred, George, Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. Moody, Kingsley, and Dumbledore stayed off to the side, but watched Harry's heartbreak as outsiders.

Harry sat in the middle of the great mass, feeling each person's involvement distinctly.

Hermione, her head on his right shoulder, embraced him as a brother, her worried tears wetting his shirt. Dolohov's curse has permanently damaged her right lung and two of her vertebrae, forcing her to take a strong dose of Painkilling Potion every morning and night, and two puffs on a Respiratory Rehabilitator every four hour - both provided by the Ministry of Magic with her Order of Merlin, 2^nd Class. She never blamed Harry for her pain, but he felt guilty every time he saw her massage her back surreptitiously or choke on her breath.

And Ron, on his left, his bright head resting on Harry's own dark one. Ron imbibed quite a lot of Professor Ichabod's Immortilization Inhibitor lately, on the pretense of preventing the panic attacks he got whenever flashes of what he had seen or through during the brains' attack resurfaced. Unfortunately, it also made him a bit forgetful in general - Hermione and Ginny were forever reminding him where he had put his wand, or feeding him reminders of what he had been saying when he lost his train of thought halfway through speaking. Harry was somewhat concerned about how much of the potion Ron was taking, but he tried not to think about that, either - it was his fault Ron needed it at all. Of course, the one thing Ron never forgot was that he had also received an Order of Merlin, 2^nd Class, and he mentioned this to every person he met.

Little Ginny has curled up right in Harry's lap, her arms around his waist and her head resting just beneath his chin. She had not suffered any lasting injuries from their battle in the Department of Mysteries, but she seemed almost more afraid of Lord Voldemort than anyone else - and no wonder: she had already learned the extent of his powers, and had already proved herself susceptible to them. She spent much of her time now looking after Hermione and Ron, or standing mutely in Harry's doorway, watching him brood. Sometimes she would enter his room and sit beside him on the bed, smoothing back his unruly hair. She never questioned him, never spoke - she just gently comforted him. Ginny had, unnoticed by Harry (who, to be fair, had been very preoccupied last year) blossomed into a young woman of Veela-quality beauty. It seemed to Harry that having grown up in a house full of boys, Ginny had subconsciously made herself look as feminine as humanly possible. Harry felt a small twinge of... something... despite his anguish that such a beautiful girl was curled in his lap.

Fred and George had both crouched behind him, hands on his shoulders to the sides of Ron's- and Hermione's heads. They both thanked Harry copiously every day for the starter to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which had been named the "Top New Wizarding Company of 1995" by the Daily Prophet's business magazine, Galleons and Knuts. They had also recently informed Harry that he was their favorite brother, which both flattered and highly embarrassed him.

The adults. They all had gotten to their knees around the knot of children and placed a hand on the head, shoulder, or back of the nearest. They were all constantly trying to coerce Harry into speaking, which - although it annoyed him - he appreciated. He knew they were all just trying to help him fill the void that Sirius had left.

And Dumbledore, standing over by the table, his plate of cake and ice cream still in hand. He had taken to coming into Harry's room for fifteen minutes every evening to tell him exactly what was happening and to give him news on Hagrid's mission. His light blue eyes now looked on with something like melancholy yearning.

It was for this reason, perhaps, that after a long while, he clapped his spidery hands together, cleared his throat, and announced, "Well... if Harry has no objections, I know I for one would like to give him his gift."

"Yes," said Lupin, groaning a little as his knees cracked when he stood. "That's an excellent idea."

With that, everyone stood one by one, Ginny last before Harry. Kingsley pointed his wand towards the staircase to the living quarters and said, "Accio presents!"

Fourteen brightly-wrapped packages soared towards them and came to rest in a jumble on the kitchen table. Dumbledore fished through it and extracted a pale blue cube, just the same color has his eyes. He smiled grandfatherly at Harry and handed him the present graciously.

Harry gave Dumbledore a very slight smile - just an upturn of a lip - and began to tear open the paper. Once he'd opened the plain, wooden chest, he removed -

"Oh, just like the ones of Krum at the World Cup!" Ginny gushed, "It's so cute! How did you ever get it?"

"I made it," Dumbledore said modestly, surveying the miniature figure of Harry in red Quidditch robes, skimming the air just above the chest in pursuit of a minute Golden Snitch with pride.

Harry looked up in surprise. "You made it?" he asked, impressed.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath for a moment - Harry had spoken! Then Dumbledore nodded and said, "Yes, I did. I was a bit of an amateur toymaker in my youth, I confess. I hope you like it."

Harry nodded, watching his miniature self make a spectacular catch. He looked up into Dumbledore's face. "Thank you, Professor."

"Us next!" Fred and George chimed together, pulling a long, thin, green envelope from the pile.

Harry opened it and - in spite of everything - a mild grin spread over his face. "One hundred galleons at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Excellent."

"I'll say!" said Ron, "I didn't even think you guys... um... oh, damn - sorry Mum - I... "

"You're surprised at Harry's gift from Fred and George," prompted Hermione gently.

"Oh, right. I didn't even think you guys offered Gift Parchments!"

Fred shrugged. "For valued customers - "

"Like Harry - " George augmented.

"- We do."

Everyone seemed deeply heartened by Harry's good mood as he opened the remaining gifts: A pensieve from Lupin, a pound of Honeyduke's Best Dark Fudge from Tonks, a Weird Sisters recording from Ron, an illustrated book called "The 422^nd Quidditch World Cup: Play By Play" from Hermione, a Pocket Foe Glass from Moody, a gift parchment to the Diagon Alley Owlery from Bill, a dragonhide jacket (black Hungarian Horntail) from Charlie, a book about Auror training from Kingsley, and a copy of a new unauthorized biography of himself from Ginny, who had seen it in a shop and declared that it was the funniest thing she had ever read.

"And now, our gift," Mrs. Weasley said happily as Mr. Weasley pulled from his pocket a thin box, about the size and shape of a wristwatch.

Harry peeled away the snitch-patterned paper and opened the box.

"Oh - Mr. Weasley... Mrs. Weasley... you shouldn't have - I mean, I - "

"Nonsense, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, reaching over and kneading his shoulder lovingly. "If anyone deserves a hand on the Weasley clock, it's you."

Harry grinned widely as he hugged Mrs. Weasley hard. "Thank you," he said softly into her cheek.

"Let's go put it in place, shall we?" said Mr. Weasley, also smiling, taking the engraved gold clock hand from Harry.

They all walked as one into the living room, where Mr. Weasley ceremoniously opened the glass clock covering and wound Harry's hand onto the face of the clock. As soon as it was in place, it swung around to point to "Home."

"Hurrah!" Mrs. Weasley cheered, and everyone applauded. Ron replaced his arm around Hermione's waist and kissed her forehead happily as Fred and George ruffled Harry's hair.

Just then, the door burst open.

"Sorry to spoil the party," Professor Snape droned, "But I think you should turn on the Muggle wireless. Now."