In Daylight's Shadow

Chapter Two

Ronald Bilius Weasley was hungry. This in and of itself was not unusual. Varying degrees of implied starvation where as much a part of Ron as his red hair and freckles. He was lying in his bed on the fifth floor of the Burrow, home of the Weasley clan, cursing whatever fates conspired to put food and beds at such a distance from each other.

Rubbing his hands in his eyes, trying to bat out the sleep, and yawning loudly, he slowly flipped his legs onto the floor, and stood up. He immediately regretted it. As soon as his knees locked he felt his head brush something soft and wet, and, inwardly, he groaned. The balloon above his head, or at least he assumed it was a balloon, whatever it was appeared to be invisible, burst with wet pop, and he felt a thick liquid pour over his body. He wiped the gunk angrily out of his eyes, and noticed with disdain the new color of his hand. "Bright green," he muttered to himself as he quickly grabbed a robe and threw it over his pajamas, "perfect." He moved quickly out of his room, and headed down the stairs.

"Those two are going to pay," he muttered to himself as he reached the intermediate landing. "Pay bloody dearly."

As Ron reached the base of the stairs, and was about to step into the corridor that lead to the kitchen, two shadows loomed across his sight. For the second time that morning, he groaned.

"Oh little Ronniekins," Fred said with a slathering of mock concern.

"A little seasick this morning?" George ventured. Ron's twin brothers Fred and George, who had just opened their own shop in Diagon Alley, seemed to speak in one constant monologue, each venturing a single line at a time.

"Yes indeed George. Seasickness it looks like."

"Of course he might just be jealous of our good looks," George noted as he ran his hand threw his own shock of red hair.

"And with good reason."

"But do tell us, a little brother of ours, why are you in such a sore mood this morning?"

"Oh, no reason at all," Ron muttered. "No bloody reason at all."

"Oh, good," Fred said. He slapped his twin on the shoulder and grabbed Ron with his free hand.

"Shall we get some breakfast then?" George asked as he set off towards the kitchen.

Ron, whose sleeve was held firmly in Fred's grip, had little choice, as Fred was already moving towards the kitchen with George. George reached the door first, and pushed it open. He waited for his twin, then the two stepped in together, dragging Ron behind them. Ron saw Ginny sitting at the table, and immediately watched her bury her face in her hands, stifling a laugh.

"Well it's about time you lot came bouncing out of bed," Mrs. Weasley began; her attention focused on the pots and pans that where stirring themselves as their contents slowly bubbled. "I thought you would be asleep until..." She stopped as she looked up, and saw Ron, a brilliant green from head to toe. Even the prefect pin that seemed to accompany each outfit he wore was glowing a soft green. Ron was flanked by her twin sons, each with a face of sheepish innocence she had seen at least once a day for the past eighteen years. "Fred! George! Fix your brother this very instant!"

"Mum, we would if we could of course," Fred started.

"But you know as well as we do that once you're named a prefect you can only get yourself kicked out of the job," George finished.

"You know very well I am not talking about that. Honestly, you two should be ashamed. Being named prefect is a great honor. Why, I remember my own years at Hogwarts..."

Ron, for the third time, groaned, and moved slowly to the table, where he sank into the empty chair next to Ginny. All four of them had heard this lecture at least five times, and that was only this summer. Ron turned his head to Ginny and gave a small wink, and shrugged his shoulders. Ginny smiled back, and slipped him a small white pill. Ron murmured a thanks, and swallowed it. After a few moments, his skin slowly turned back to its natural color. He could even see his freckles again.

"And that," Mrs. Weasley was saying, "is exactly how she left it!" She turned her attention to Ron as she drew her wand. "Now Ron. Oh. I see you're alright."

"Yes mum," he muttered, "what's for breakfast?"

Breakfast had been hectic at the Burrow for the last three weeks, mainly because Fred and George had taken up residence with the rest of their family as they waited for the completion of their addition to the building they had purchased in Diagon Alley. Once completed, there would be enough room for the two of them to live above the shop. That though, Ron reflected sadly as he shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, was not for another two weeks.

Every morning the twins had been at the Burrow someone, usually Ron, had come to the table with some mild malady impeding their general happiness. Ron usually loved his brother's antics, but lately, their continued use of him as their primary target had started to agitate him. He had his mind on more important matters. His musing was halted when a small owl abruptly landed on the table.

"Pig," he exclaimed, "Back already little chum?" He excitedly patted the little bird as he removed the letter strapped to her leg. He clutched in his hands and pushed his plate towards the middle of the table, the Weasley symbol for the completion of a meal. George and Fred leaned in towards him.

"What's that then Ron?" Fred asked.

"Looks important."

"But they've already had their O.W.L. reports haven't they?"

"They have indeed Fred. What other letter could be so important?"

"A call up to Auror training perhaps."

"Or a renewal subscription to Playwizard."

"Fred, George!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "Give your younger brother some privacy. If it's important he will certainly tell us what it is." She paused. "Who is the letter from Ron?"

"It's private," Ron said very officially as he rose from the table. "Thanks for breakfast Mum!' he grinned as he kissed her on the cheek, then hurried out back to his room, clutching the letter. On his way up he passed his a very tired Arthur Weasley coming down the stairs. His Dad had had his hands full all summer at the ministry, especially after Minister Fudge had finally admitted to the return of the Dark Lord. Arthur's expertise, and time, was suddenly in a great deal of a demand. Ron wondered, as he gave his dad a smile and "Good Morning", how he would be faring when the new semester at Hogwarts began. Not well he mused to himself as he slid into his door, closing it behind him. Unless he learns a way to sleep and work at the same time.

Finally making his way across the landing on the fifth floor and into his room, Ron settled on his bed and stared intently at the letter in his hands. It was the nineteenth such letter he had received. Each time he got a new one he repeated the same process. First, he let his fingers run along the crisp edges of the parchment, then he lifted the paper slowly to his nose, and smelled it. He wasn't sure if the perfume was added for effect, or if it just brushed of the girl as she wrote the letters to him, but that smell, of lavender and honey and springtime, always made him grin. He moved the letter back to his chest. With a deep breath, he started to read.

Dear Ron,

I am still in Prague with my mum and dad. We went out for a picnic in the countryside yesterday, and it was absolutely gorgeous. There were green trees and grass, without a person as far as the eye could see. I'm sure you could have ruined the ambience by suggestion what a perfect place it would be to play a little Quiddich. I can not wait to see you at Harry's party. Only six more days now!

Love,

Hermione

Ron read the letter again four or five times, and then let it drift down onto his chest. He interlocked his fingers and rested his head on them, lying back as the suns beams drifted in through the window. He was still lying there contentedly five minutes later when he heard a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," he said as he sat up. The door opened quickly and Ginny slipped in. She gave him a kind nod, and he motioned for the chair next to his desk. Ever since the ministry, he had started to see his sister as as much a friend as a child he needed to protect. He still vowed he would kill Dean Thomas the next time he saw him, but he was certainly enjoying her company more these days.

"Thanks again for the help at breakfast. Can't believe I was stupid enough to fall for that old trick."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure those two will catch me with it before they leave," Ginny said as she smiled at him. "So, who was the letter from?"

"Take a guess"

He laughed as he threw the nearest pillow at his sister.

She dodged the pillow easily. "Good," she began, motioning at the letter. "What does that make? Seventeen?"

"Nineteen," Ron said serenely. "Nineteen letters."

"Well not too bad at all. That lump Dean has only sent me two, and one was just the upcoming schedule for West Ham United!"

"Well," Ron began, looking coyly at Ginny, "that's what you get for dating a slouch."

"You git!" Ginny laughed, stood and gave Ron a solid jab in the arm. "Bill just got back from his appointment and was going to go out to the paddock and pass the quaffle around. Fancy coming along?"

"Well..." Ron paused, "I was going to finish a little work..."

"Oh Ron," Ginny snorted, crossing her arms over her chest in a remarkable imitation of their mother. "You will have plenty of time to finish reading before Hermione gets back."

Ron nodded to her, and agreed to meet her downstairs in five minutes. After she left, he walked over to his desk and, after sliding over a few worn books, he set the letter on top of the pile of its predecessors. The books that littered the table would not be the ones one would expect to find in Ron's bedroom. Rather than an assortment of Quiddich strategy books, the array of pages was dedicated to wizarding history and culture. Ginny had suggested, at the beginning of the summer, that it might do Ron a bit of good to do a little research on his own people, for, as she put it "conversation starters". Ron had already read Hogwarts: A History, three books on wizard-muggle relations, and a series of essays on the historical importance of the Goblin Revolutions of the middle ages. He wanted to finish his latest acquisition The Reign of Dark: A History of Dark Lords before Harry's birthday party. Not for any particular reason he told himself, he just liked the book.

Five minutes later, Ron, Ginny, Bill, Fred and George were heading out the back door of the Burrow, broomsticks in hand, off towards the paddock the Weasleys kept for the children to play in. Straddling his broom and setting off into the sky, Ron could only think of one thing. "Only five more days till Harry's party, only five more days till Harry's party."

---

Harry Potter had not slept the night after he had been so rudely awakened by one of the strangest incidents in his already unusual life. Nor had he slept the next. It had, in fact, been nearly fifty six hours since he had shot out of bed so abruptly that he finally managed to fall asleep. Unfortunately, he had accidentally drifted off sitting in Uncle Vernon's favorite chair in the family room. After a great deal of yelling upon Vernon's discovery of the faux pas, Harry was clambering up the stairs towards his room, his eyes feeling as though they were coated in cotton.

He had given up trying to decipher the meaning of the letters and blood a mere half day after the unfortunate incident occurred. He doubted even Hermione's often shocking knowledge of the wizarding world would be able to conjure a reasonable explanation. If being able to speak to snakes was an odd ability for a wizard, bleeding from the eyes and shattering and melting glass would certainly earn him a place in a freak show.

As he finally made his way into his room, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the window. There, not one, but two owls sat patiently on the sill outside the glass, their large, yellow eyes staring at him intently. He quickly made his way across the littered carpet and opened the window, letting the two birds in. The larger of the two, he noted quickly as the birds settled onto his desk, was Neville's owl Sheen. The second, a mossy brown color, he had never seen before. He removed the two letters from the owl's legs. He was about to pass them each a small treat when the strange owl flapped its wings and flew back out the window without a sound. Harry stared blankly out at the sky, then took the two letters, flipped on the lamp above his desk, and sat down to read.

The first, from Neville, was fairly ordinary; a simple hello and an affirmative from his Grandmother for Neville to attend Harry's birthday party. Harry was glad Neville would be able to celebrate a birthday with him, but his attention was focused on the letter in his hand whose author he could only guess at. Slowly unraveling the yellow parchment, Harry immediately recognized the sweeping arches as the handwriting of his headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Dear Harry,

I will speak with you privately at your birthday party. Do not worry yourself unduly until then.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry scrunched the letter into a ball within his fist, and swore to himself. "No need to worry himself unduly?" Harry thought to himself. "Unduly?". He didn't know many near sixteen year olds who would be awoken from the peaceful slumber by an acute hemorrhaging and not be significantly worried.

Sighing heavily to himself, he released the balled up paper and let it fall to the floor. Reaching into his desk, he drew out some fresh parchment and slowly wrote out the two replies he had formulated in his mind. The first was to Mrs. Weasley (with a small salutation to Ron) asking her if it would be acceptable to include Neville in his festivity. He was confident she wouldn't object. The second, shorter note, addressed to Neville, simply said "Great. See you on Saturday then!".

Having carefully affixed the letters to Sheen and Hedwig's legs, Harry watched as the birds floated off into the sunset, each turning a different direction only a few hundreds yards from his bedroom.

"This," Harry said to no one in particular, "is going to be some kind of party".