Exile?

Chapter 6

There wasn't much of the morning left when Sirius awoke him with a breakfast tray.

“Do I get room service every time I stay here?” Harry mumbled, as he surfaced from sleep.

“Somehow, I don't think so.”

Harry hoisted himself up. “Where's the Prophet?”

“Downstairs. I thought that might help get you out of bed.”

“It'll tell me nothing I don't know already.”

“Maybe –but you might like to look at it all the same. They had almost finished the print run when the news came in about the attack on the Ministry, so they had to sit down and write another edition. That came out about eleven. Well, you can just imagine the Howlers that have been descending on the Ministry. Fudge is giving a press conference at three.”

“He's still there?”

“Not for long. Can you imagine the questions? Minister, why was Harry Potter sent to Azkaban? He'd broken the law! Which law, Minister? The use of magic underage! Oh, so does that mean that if I go home this afternoon and find my three year old had been playing with Mummy's wand, a team of Aurors will whisk her off for a trial and three months in Azkaban?”

Harry laughed despite himself. “But it's not just Fudge, you know.”

“Oh, the papers have picked that one up too. They're asking whether Fudge exerted undue pressure on members of the Wizengamot in order to get the verdict he wanted. And why the Aurors went along with it. So Scrimgeour's the next in the firing line. The business about the Dementors in Little Whinging hasn't surfaced yet, but it will do. Dumbledore will make sure of that.

“And the business in the Ministry last night has produced complete panic. You did a good job there, by the way –all the Death Eaters that escaped from Azkaban have been rounded up again, plus quite a few others –Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew amongst them.”

Harry sat up, excited by the news.

“Peter Pettigrew? Yeah, there was that message from Tonks last night. Does that mean you'll be able to clear your name now?”

“It'll take time, but yeah. And I've time enough.”

“Lucius Malfoy too. He was in the graveyard that time when ...”

He found he couldn't finish the sentence. Sirius changed the subject quickly.

“Right then - are you going to tell me what you got up to last night?”

“I'm telling Dumbledore this afternoon. You can sit in if you like.”

“Fair enough. Well, enjoy your breakfast. And the paper's downstairs.”

Harry sat in bed, looking at the tray, not really seeing it. Had he done the right thing last night? He'd had his revenge –but destroyed the prophecy. Did that matter? Well, he'd find out soon enough after his next talk with Dumbledore.

It was four o'clock when Dumbledore arrived in the kitchen. He had a grim look in his eye as he greeted Harry and Sirius, who were sitting waiting for him.

“How did Fudge's press conference go?” asked Sirius, as he pulled out a chair for the old wizard.

“How do you defend the indefensible?” Dumbledore replied, sitting down. “It was a fiasco. A meeting of the Wizengamot has been called for tomorrow afternoon. Fudge tried to avoid it, but too many people have demanded one.”

“So has Fudge resigned?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Even now, he clings to office. And, of course, with the pressure he's under, nothing's been done about the attack on the Ministry. No follow up, nothing. An invaluable opportunity simply wasted!”

“So what'll happen at the meeting?”

“Oh, Fudge will be voted out, there's no doubt about that. No, what people are talking about is who might succeed him.”

“And?”

“The consensus seems to be for Madam Bones.”

“What's she like?” Harry asked immediately.

“Solid, honest, reliable. Maybe she'll not make one of the great Ministers, but she has other points in her favour. She picks reliable subordinates, knows how to delegate properly.”

“Let's hope she choses better than Fudge.”

“Oh, there'll be a big clear out. The top of the Ministry is very tainted now. But enough of this. I believe we are here awaiting your story.”

Harry was reluctant even now to begin his tale, and even more reluctant to give all the details. But Sirius was good at spotting places where Harry was being evasive, or leaving things out, and he was prepared to pick Harry up on his sins of omission. Dumbledore, on the other hand, sat and listened in silence. Several times Harry simply stopped, unable to go on, whilst the others sat in silence, waiting patiently.

“Well, the rest you know,” said Harry, after an hour's talking.

Dumbledore regarded him gravely.

“People do not realise –and they may never realise –what they owe to you, Harry. Not for what happened when you were a baby, but for what you have done these past months. You have endured what would have broken many men, even though you are not yet a man yourself. And I hope that you will come out of it stronger than before. I will admit I was worried –and still am –about some of the effects that Azkaban has had on you. But, believe me, I have seen people come out of there in much worse shape.”

“Lily and James would have been proud of you,” said Sirius softly.

That, more than anything, affected Harry. After three months of locking away any happy thought that might conceivably have brought the Dementors along, the memory of his parents was almost too much to take. He looked down at the table, embarrassed, his eyes watering.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Never be ashamed to show what you feel, Harry. I know it is something you are not good at, particularly after your time at Privet Drive, and your recent experiences will have merely increased your tendency to hide things away.”

“Why did you send me there?” Harry burst out.

Dumbledore sighed another long sigh. “To begin with, I did not know where to send you. My immediate concern was for your safety, and I knew you would be safe with your mother's family. And remember the Longbottoms, Harry. I could have taken you there –they'd have welcomed you, and with a son of exactly the same age, it might have seemed an ideal choice. Indeed, I did think of it. But let me remind you why Neville lives with his grandmother.

“Soon after Lord Voldemort's disappearance, some of his followers attacked the Longbottom house, thinking that they might know what had happened to their master. The Longbottoms were very badly injured. The details are unimportant, but suffice it to say that Neville's parents are not longer capable of looking after their son.”

“I remember now,” said Harry, thinking of that trial he had seen in Dumbledore's pensieve.

“I do not think Neville would like it to be public knowledge, so I would be grateful if you would treat it as a confidence.”

“Of course.”

“And if you had been there at the time ... well, let us say no more. So I congratulated myself that I had made the right choice, that I had taken you to a place of complete safety. What I did not know is how much your aunt and uncle would resent you, and how they would treat you. I discovered that too late. But for all of that, it is still the safest place for you even today.”

“Yeah? Well, even so, I'd like to stay here for the time being. If Sirius will have me, that is.”

“Of course he will. And of course you may. There is one other thing I'd like to ask you, though, before I return to Hogwarts, where I have been neglecting my duties for too long. That is –may Ron and Hermione visit you tomorrow after lessons?”

“I suppose.”

His tone was reluctant.

“Harry -” his godfather began, unhappy with his ungraciousness, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

“It will not be easy for Harry to take up the life he had before all this happened. He has changed too much, as you know full well. Harry must take his time, and make his own decisions.”

Harry looked up at his headmaster. “I know you want me to come back to Hogwarts –but I can't. Not yet. Give me time.”

“All the time you need,” said Dumbledore.

He was dreading the next afternoon. He knew Dumbledore had said that after facing Fudge and Voldemort, what were two fifteen year olds? Yet, as Dumbledore knew full well, that wasn't the point.

Late in the morning, he went up to his room, opened his trunk and gazed inside. Spellbooks, school robes, quills, parchment. He had thought he never need any of them again. Yet, to be realistic, he knew now he would. There was no way he could go back to that Muggle flat in Docklands and live there as a Muggle, or even go back to Privet Drive. He had to join the wizarding world again. And the only way he could do that was by going back to Hogwarts. He would enjoy playing Quidditch again. He would like to see Hagrid again. But the rest of it –could he really sleep in that dormitory again? Go to Potions lessons with Snape again? And most of all, he dreaded the reception he'd get. He'd have people clapping him on the back, cheering at his first appearance. He couldn't take that. Not just yet. Too much had happened to him.

He reached inside the trunk and pulled out a book at random - 'The Standard Book of Spells - Grade 5'. He hadn't remembered buying that. Perhaps Mrs Weasley had gone to Flourish and Blotts, buying a copy for him, even though they knew where he was. He opened the book and leafed through it. What had he missed in his absence? Apart from anything else, he'd be a term behind everyone else. He could imagine the curl of Snape's lip: 'Do you mean to tell me, Mr Potter, that you don't know the answer? Clearly, fame isn't everything ...'

He slammed the trunk shut. Never again would he take taunts from Snape. And let him try putting him in detention!

He went to the window and gazed out, breathing hard. He'd get sympathy all right, but none of them would know, would really know, what Azkaban was like. He made a vow to himself. All right, he had to fight Voldemort and win. Well, he'd cope with that when it came. But after that ... after that, he'd fight another battle –to make sure that this sort of thing could never happen again to anyone else, and to make sure that Azkaban was closed for good. How he'd fight that battle, he didn't know. But fight it he would.

And as he stood there, gazing out, he heard the door open. Sirius again, probably, calling him down to tea, trying to feed him up. Or with news, perhaps ... he turned round. But it wasn't Sirius. Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway.

They stared at each other, soundless. No one spoke a word. But Harry could see the shock on their faces at the sight of him. He said nothing, stood there a touch defiantly. Let them say what they would.

“New hairstyle suits you, mate,” said Ron in a falsely cheerful voice.

It was so far from anything Harry had expected him to say that his jaw dropped open. Suddenly, Hermione gave what could only be called a squeak, and rushed forward. He was enveloped in a very tight clutch. His eyes met Ron's over the bush of hair, and Ron gave a slight rolling of the eyes. Harry almost grinned.

Hermione pulled back, and stared at him again, tears brimming in her eyes.

“What have they done to you?” Harry shrugged. “We've missed you so.” There was a break in her voice.

“Yeah, well - I mean ... well, I've missed you too.”

It wasn't really true. Once in Azkaban, he'd had to shut off all thoughts of his former life –and that's still how he thought of it ... his former life.

Ron stepped a little further into the room, saw the trunk, opened it, picked out The Standard Book of Spells - Grade 5, looked at the title, grimaced, and dropped it back.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

“What?”

But Harry had grabbed hold of his arm in a tight grip. Ron looked momentarily alarmed.

“It's all right,” said Harry quickly. “It's just that –well, it's good to see you.”

“Oh. Yeah. And you, mate.” Harry didn't let go. Ron said, “It's okay. It really is.”

“Dumbledore was right,” said Hermione. “He said you've changed. You have.”

“Oh?”

“You do look a bit fierce,” said Ron.

“He said you'd be in a funny mood,” Hermione added.

He looked down at her. He must have grown. How he'd done that, given his recent diet, he'd no idea. But he was definitely taller than he had been in the summer.

“Yeah. I suppose I am in a bit of a funny mood.”

“Dad was telling us something about what happened last night.”

“Stupid thing to have done, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Bloody stupid, if you ask me.” But there was a slight grin on his face. “Did you really break into the Ministry?”

“Yeah.”

“And meet –You Know Who?”

“Yeah.”

Harry's reply was curt and reluctant. Ron could see that Harry didn't really want to talk about it, and even though he was dying to know what had happened, changed the subject.

They didn't ask what had happened to him during the past three months, and he didn't tell them. He didn't ask them about Hogwarts, and they didn't talk about that either. There was a lot they didn't talk about. A lot of the time they didn't talk at all. Being there was sufficient in itself. Finally, they could tell he'd had enough.

“We'll let you get on with things, then, shall we?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, grateful for Ron's rare tact.

“And we can come and see you again?” Hermione asked.

“Of course.”

“It's the weekend tomorrow.” Was it? “All right if we come tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yeah, sure.”

It wasn't until Sunday that Harry dared raise the subject.

“So, er, what's been happening at Hogwarts, then?”

“Well, a lot of people are grateful to you for reasons you'll never understand.”

“What's she talking about, Ron?”

“Umbridge,” he said succinctly.

“Who's she?”

“The new, so called, Defence Against the Dark Arts, so called, teacher,” snapped Hermione.

“You've started her off now,” said Ron.

“She's foul and she's vicious and she's a useless teacher.”

Harry wasn't sure which stood where in Hermione's order of priorities. “Go on.”

“She was sent in by the Ministry -”

“By Fudge,” interrupted Ron.

“By Fudge, if you like –sent in to spy on Dumbledore. And more.”

“More?”

“Her lessons were crap,” said Ron. “She had this book all about how you shouldn't use magic to defend yourself, or whatever, and we never did any practice at all. Ever.”

“Why?”

“Sirius told us that Fudge was afraid that Dumbledore was training us all up to be some sort of army to take over the Ministry.”

“What?”

“Yeah –it's true, I swear.”

“Ron found a way of really getting under her skin. Tell him, Ron.”

“No, you tell him.” Harry could see he was embarrassed.

“We'd keep this seat empty every lesson, you see. The Gryffindors, that is. And if a teacher asked why, we'd say we were keeping a seat for you.”

“And Umbridge hated this,” said Ron. “Said you wouldn't ever be coming back.”

“So Ron asked: how did she know that? And she went berserk. Said you'd 'disappeared'. That no one knew where you were. Then Ron asked about the trial, and she said: 'What trial?' and gave Ron a week of her special detentions.”

“Special detentions?” asked Harry.

Ron muttered something.

“Show Harry your hand,” Hermione demanded. Ron stuck it in a pocket. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, Ron pulled it out, and Hermione seized it. “Look!” Harry could see the scars: 'I must not tell lies'. “Tell him about the quill,” Hermione went on.

“It's nothing,” Ron protested.

“Tell him,” said Hermione grimly, “or I will.”

And Ron told Harry of the blood quill.

“What? You did that for me?” Harry asked, startled.

“It was worth it,” said Ron defiantly.

Harry gazed at him. For the first time, he realised that he hadn't been forgotten.

“Ron ...”

“Yeah, well, there's another reason why we're grateful for the other night,” Ron went on, quickly changing the subject. “Malfoy used to go on about your seat. 'Keeping it for the loser?', he'd say every time. Then when his dad was caught in the Ministry the other night, he came in and said the same thing, and Seamus said: “Yeah, the loser. The one whose dad's in Azkaban. Here you are, Malfoy'.”

Seamus too. Harry blinked.

“We did what we could,” said Hermione quietly.

“Yeah. I'm sorry. You know, the thing about being in Azkaban -” it was the first time he'd mentioned the word “- is that you mustn't think about happy things, or try and remember them, because if you do, the Dementors start swarming around your cell. So I had to forget about you two and Hogwarts and everything else. Otherwise ...”

Harry could see Ron was dying to ask about Azkaban, but daren't.

“I won't say I understand,” said Hermione, “because I don't. I don't suppose anyone who hasn't been in there could understand. But I think I know what you're saying.”

“It wasn't just Seamus or the Gryffindors or the fifth years either,” Ron told him. “Fred and George started the empty seat business too. They ended up with one of Umbridge's 'special detentions' too.”

“Anyway, now Fudge has gone, and we've got Madam Bones,” said Hermione, “I'm starting a petition. All the Gryffindors have signed, and almost everyone else from the other houses too. Ravenclaw have told me they'll all sign –they hated Umbridge because she was so useless.”

“Don't tell me,” said Harry, “you couldn't get the Slytherins to sign.”

“Some of them,” said Hermione.

But Harry noticed that Ron was giving him an alarmed look again; the one that told him he was acting too fierce again.

“Tell me about the Quidditch matches,” he said, to change the subject. And Ron was off.

When the time came to leave, Hermione asked: “Can we bring someone else next time? They all want to see you again.”

Harry had a sudden moment of panic –he seriously did think Azkaban had given him a case of agoraphobia –but then nodded. “Sure.”

“Who'd you like?”

Harry thought about this, then said: “Neville.” He could see the surprise on Ron's face. “Sorry,” he said, “I just couldn't cope with the likes of Fred or George at the moment.”

Inevitably, it was Neville who asked the question everyone else had been studiously avoiding.

“When are you coming back to Hogwarts, Harry, cos everyone really misses you?”

“Er –not sure yet,” Harry equivocated.

“I mean –now you're out, and everything ...”

“There's not much of this term left, is there?”

“Three weeks,” said Hermione quietly.

“Well, then. Hardly worth coming back just for three weeks, is it?”

He knew he hadn't fooled Ron and Hermione for a moment.

“Well, you didn't miss much with our Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. And now we haven't even got a teacher.”

“Oh?”

“Hermione took that petition along to a lesson.”

“What happened?” Harry asked, his curiosity aroused.

“She just said she didn't care about any petition.”

“And?”

“And then,” said Hermione, “I said that we'd be informing Madam Bones about her 'special detentions'.”

“What did she say to that?”

“ 'Prove it!' “

“And I held my hand up,” said Ron quietly.

“She just got up and walked out,” said Neville. “And she's never been back.”

“We're well rid of her,” said Ron.

But Neville's question lingered in his mind. When was he going to go back to school? As if he felt like school, with all its petty rules and restrictions, after what had happened to him over these past months! And all he'd managed to do. Only three weeks remaining –that had just been an excuse. He didn't want to go back. And he knew there was another reason apart from the rules and restrictions –he felt ... ashamed? Ashamed of what, he didn't know. He knew if he said this to Sirius he'd just laugh. 'After all you've been through, Harry? You should be proud.' That's what Sirius would say. And he knew he wouldn't be able to explain it. Some feelings you can't explain.

He suspected Dumbledore understood –which was why he wasn't pressuring him. And it wasn't just shame either –he didn't want to talk to people, to have to deal with them, all their queries, all their questions. 'What happened to you?' 'Are you alright now?' and all the rest of it. He just couldn't face it.

But equally, he couldn't sit in Grimmauld Place all day long –which is what he had been doing for the past week. Just sitting, not doing very much at all. Sirius didn't bother him, but just left him to his own devices. Whether that was on Dumbledore's advice or not, Harry didn't know, but he was just grateful to be left alone.

One afternoon, on impulse, he decided he would go out for a walk. November was not the best month for walking the streets, and he knew he hadn't dressed adequately. Being outside felt strange, odd, for some reason. He forced himself on –he wasn't going to go back, he hadn't got as far as this just to turn round and go back in again. That was a laugh. As far as this. A hundred yards from the front door.

The area around Grimmauld Place was not particularly salubrious either –he felt grateful for the wand in his pocket, even if he knew he couldn't use it on Muggle muggers. On the other hand, it was perhaps just as well he couldn't see himself as others saw him. The way he looked now, he was more likely to be taken for the mugger rather than the victim. If he'd been back in Little Whinging, his reputation as 'that boy from St Brutus' would have been considerably enhanced.

He walked blindly through the streets, taking no notice of his surroundings –which was unfortunate, since when he stopped to gather breath, he realised he was completely lost. He asked a passer-by for instructions to the Tube –he knew his way back from there –and was startled by their reaction ... it was obvious that they thought he was up to no good. And the look he got –it was almost as though the man was frightened of him. Perhaps he was. Had he changed that much?

He knew then that he had to do something –anything –to sort himself out. He was frightening people in the street. He knew he frightened Ron and Hermione from time to time. He was becoming more introverted –he knew that –and unless he snapped out of his present mood fairly soon he'd find himself in St Mungo's with all the other head cases.

Back in Grimmauld Place he sought out Sirius.

“I've been wondering when you'd ask for help. I've watched you these past days getting deeper and deeper into your gloom.”

“I need –I need somewhere out of here.”

“The Burrow?”

Harry thought about that. Could he face Mrs Weasley? He would be smothered if he wasn't careful. And he knew Mrs Weasley and Sirius didn't always see eye to eye.

“Okay. Well, maybe. Look, I know you and she don't get on very well –but could you just go and see Mrs Weasley? Explain to her? I can't take being fussed over at the moment, and you know what she's like.”

“I can do that. There are times I can be tactful, you know.”

Harry smiled ruefully. “Sorry.”

“Don't be. Go and pack your Firebolt -” now there was an idea! “- some school books, some warm clothing. While you're doing that, I'll go and talk to Molly. Floo through when you're ready.”

“Yeah. I'd be grateful if you were there when I arrived –a sort of buffer, if you see what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean. Go on, upstairs with you!”

It took Harry perhaps half an hour to sort out his stuff and make his way down to the kitchen fireplace. He hesitated –even now he had a deep irrational fear of what he would find the other end –then took a deep breath, threw down the Floo powder, and shouted, 'The Burrow!'.

He'd forgotten how nasty travelling by Floo was.

He stumbled out into the kitchen at the Burrow. Sirius was sitting at the table talking to Mrs Weasley. Harry attempted a smile as he brushed himself down.

Mrs Weasley looked over to him. “Come and sit down with us, Harry. Tea? Cake?”

At least that would give him chance to stuff his face and keep quiet. Mrs Weasley and Sirius carried on their conversation –like everyone at the moment, they were talking about the latest changes at the Ministry. Harry listened with half an ear.

“Arthur will be back soon,” he heard. “Do you want to stay to supper?” Harry realised Mrs Weasley was talking to Sirius.

“Your cooking is always welcome, you know that, Molly. And I want the latest gossip from Arthur.”

Harry had never heard Sirius and Mrs Weasley getting on so well together.

“Right. Now, Harry, go and take your things upstairs and unpack. You can have Ron's room –the bed's been stripped, of course, but it won't take a minute to make it up again.”

“Yes, Mrs Weasley.”

Harry caught Sirius' eye, and saw a ghost of a wink.

He spent far longer unpacking than he need have done, but he was in no hurry to go back downstairs. When eventually he did, it was to find Mr Weasley relaxing by the fire, talking animatedly to Sirius. He got a smile and a nod.

Soon supper was ready, and they sat down to eat. Mrs Weasley's cooking was as good as ever, and Harry suddenly realised that this was something else he had missed over the past few months. The bread, gruel and water in Azkaban had hardly been appetising, but they had made Sirius' cooking look good by comparison. But, truth to tell, Sirius was not that good a cook. Mrs Weasley was.

As they were finishing, Mr Weasley yawned. “Ah, well, at least no more guard duty at the Ministry.” Harry saw Mrs Weasley shoot Mr Weasley a look, and was suddenly struck by a thought.

“Mr Weasley?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Were you in the Ministry that night –by the Department of Mysteries, in an Invisibility Cloak?”

Mr Weasley looked thunderstruck. “Merlin's beard! How did you know that?”

Harry gave a sudden, rare grin. “You need to get some quieter shoes. Why do you think I put trainers on?”

“So that was when you went in and stole that prophecy!”

Harry was slightly offended by that word 'stole'. “Well, it was about me, wasn't it?”

“Hm. Well, you should be grateful that I was there. I knew something was up, and went and alerted Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt. That's how they got there so quickly.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.”

Sirius get up and stretched. “Time I was heading home. By the way, Harry, if you want to see Buckbeak, you'll have to go and visit Hagrid. I took him over there a few weeks ago.”

Buckbeak! Something else that had disappeared into that folder deep in the recesses of his mind, never to be seen again.

“Oh, yeah, I'll do that. Sounds a great idea.”

“He was getting too cooped up in Grimmauld Place.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. I was getting a little bit the same way.”

Sirius flashed him a smile, then turned to Mrs Weasley. “Thanks for the supper, Molly, and the gossip. Be seeing you, Harry, Arthur. Good night.”

And with that he was gone.

Harry rose late as usual the next morning. Mrs Weasley was outside, but came in to give him some breakfast. When he'd finished, he asked tentatively, “Can I go out and fly my Firebolt for a while?”

He knew that if things had been different, he'd have got a very firm no. As it was, Mrs Weasley just looked at him and nodded. “It's cold out there, and it's going to rain soon, so you might as well make the most of it while you can.”

Mrs Weasley was right: it was cold out there. Harry stood in the garden, under a grey, bleak sky, holding his Firebolt. He had not as much as spared it a glance until now. And standing there, he realised why. He remembered that day in Azkaban, when the sun shone into his cell. He'd remembered sunshine, flying, Quidditch. But his pleasure had acted as a magnet for the Dementors, and because of that he'd come to associate all the things that had given him pleasure with pain. Perhaps the real punishment of Azkaban was not what you suffered when you were there, but the things you could not enjoy again afterwards. Perhaps that was why he didn't want to go back to Hogwarts ...

He shook his head firmly to rid himself of such morbid thoughts, and climbed onto the Firebolt. He zoomed off into the sky –yes, it was as good as he remembered. The low cloud meant he couldn't fly very high; instead, he contented himself with mad circuits of the Burrow, recklessly skimming along the ground, between trees, even between chimney pots.

After an hour of this, he was exhausted. Panting, he sank to the ground, stepped off the Firebolt, and looked at it. It was as good as ever. And so was his flying. The rain Mrs Weasley had forecast had set in now, a damp drizzle that had left him soaked.

Mrs Weasley tutted at the sight of him as he came back into the kitchen: with a flick of her wand she performed a Drying and Warming charm, so that Harry momentarily disappeared in a cloud of steam.

“Had a good time, dear?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I've some lunch ready. It's not much, but then when I'm by myself I never have that much.”

Mrs Weasley's idea of a frugal lunch was distinctly filling, particularly after the third helping. He helped her clear up and wash the pots.

Then she turned to him: “I noticed you had one of your school books with you last night. I think you should go and fetch it.”

Harry nodded, and went up to his room to get it.

Mrs Weasley picked it up and inspected it. “Standard Book of Spells –Goshawk. Hm, I remember this from my days. I suppose they've updated it, though. I'm a little old fashioned by today's standards –but I find my methods work as well as any. Now then, since you've missed all this term's work, I suggest we sit down and start at the beginning.”

Mrs Weasley turned out to be a surprisingly hard taskmaster. Very little slipped past her. “No, Harry dear, I don't think that looks quite like a darning needle. More of a knitting needle if you ask me. Now, let's try again, shall we?”

It was like being treated like a small boy again. Harry now realised why the Weasley children had all turned out so well (he made a mental exception for Percy). After two hours of this, he was quite exhausted. Mrs Weasley was as exacting as Professor McGonagall –and that was saying quite a lot.

“You know, dear, I've quite missed doing this sort of thing. If it weren't for the latest troubles, I think I'd register with the Ministry to set up a nursery. I've had time on my hands, now Ginny's away at Hogwarts.”

“You'd be very good at it,” said Harry.

“Do you think so?”

“I do,” he said firmly.

“Well, I'll give it some thought. Now, then, you'll have missed out on all your Potions lessons this term too, and you know what Professor Snape is like.” Harry did indeed. “Have a read through your book this evening, and we'll start on some of that tomorrow. Mind you, the nearest I've come to potions in the last few years has been in the kitchen, but I dare say it'll all come back to me.”

Later that evening, Harry pondered over what Sirius had said about going to visit Hagrid. He would be able to see Buckbeak at the same time. It would mean going back to Hogwarts for the first time since his release –but this way, he wouldn't have to go into the castle. He could Floo into Hagrid's fireplace directly. He'd like to see Buckbeak again. And he thought he could cope with Hagrid. In the morning, he sent a note off with Hedwig, and got his reply a day or so later.

'Buckbeak's doing fine. If you want to see him, how about tomorrow afternoon? About two? Hagrid.'

Harry read the note over and over. There didn't seem to be any hidden agenda. All he wanted to do was to see Hagrid, and to see Buckbeak. He didn't want any sort of reception committee, but it seemed too paranoid to write back and say that.

So, after lunch the next day, Harry hovered by the fireplace. Mrs Weasley was outside. Part of him wanted to go and see Buckbeak, but another part of him wanted to turn round and just go upstairs to his room. But he knew that this was something he had to do. It was, in a way, some sort of a test. Since coming back from the Ministry, he'd stayed with Sirius and then with the Weasleys. Now he needed to step outside the cocoon he'd created for himself. He took a deep breath, and reached for the pot of Floo powder.

When Harry climbed coughing from the fireplace - he hated the Floo! - he saw Hagrid sitting in an armchair, darning his waistcoat (with a needle that looked more like a knitting needle). Hagrid glanced up as he appeared, then returned to his darning.

“A' right there, Harry?”

“Yeah.”

Then Harry noticed Hagrid's face. “What have you been doing?” he asked, horrified.

“What do you mean?”

“Your face!”

“Oh, that. Nothin' really. Just a few bumps and grazes. You get that in my job, you know.”

It didn't look like just bumps and grazes to Harry - not when Hagrid was sporting a swollen black eye.

“So, what have you been up to?” Harry asked.

“Been busy. Been away, as a matter of fact.”

“After the giants?”

Hagrid gave Harry a stern look. “Why d'you think that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Well, I hear you've been getting into some bother too.”

“Don't change the subject!”

“Well, talking of changing the subject, I thought you'd come to see Buckbeak?”

“I have.”

“Right then. We'd better get out there in that case. Gets dark early enough this time of year - you know that.”

Once outside, Harry could see the silhouette of the castle on the skyline, but turned away from it and followed Hagrid. The hippogriffs were in a small paddock not far from the cabin.

“There he is,” said Hagrid, waving a huge hand. “He was a bit out of condition like, after all these months cooped up. But now he's enjoying the fresh air. Come over and say hello to him.”

They walked through the paddock and stopped in front of the hippogriff, both bowing low. Buckbeak fixed them with a steely eye, then bowed back. Hagrid walked up to stroke the feathers, and Harry followed.

“See? He's in much better condition now.” And Harry could see that the hippogriff looked much healthier than the rather seedy beast he remembered from Grimmauld Place. “Right then.”

Hagrid swooped down, lifting Harry from his feet and swinging him onto Buckbeak's back, despite the yelps of protestation. “Off with you,” slapping the beast's hindquarters.

Harry felt the familiar lurching feeling as the great wings unfurled, and Buckbeak took to the air. He clung to the hippogriff's neck, then, as he grow accustomed to the motion, he leaned back and looked around.

He was over the castle. There was no one around, but he could see Gryffindor Tower and the greenhouses. The great wings took him down over the lake, but he turned his steed round again to circle the castle once more. Ron and Hermione would be in there, as well as Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. And Snape. He went round the building two or three times more, before steering the giant beast back over the lake.

Buckbeak seemed to be enjoying himself, and Harry relaxed –as far as he was able to –and allowed the hippogriff to fly in huge swooping circles, before guiding him back to the paddock for a bumpy landing.

He climbed off the hippogriff. “You shouldn't have done that!”

“Dare say not, but you enjoyed it, didn't you?”

“Maybe,” admitted Harry.

“Maybe nothing.”

“Still shouldn't have done it,” said Harry mulishly.

He found a very large finger being wagged under his nose.

“Maybe not, but you don't speak to me like that!”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“That's a'right.” Hagrid slapped the hippogriff on its hindquarters and watched it canter across the paddock. “Don't want to tire him out,” grunted Hagrid. “He's not fully fit yet.”

But, despite his ungracious words, Harry was exhilarated by his ride. He wished he could try again, but Buckbeak was indeed looking tired after his flight. And after Buckbeak, no other hippogriff counted.

“Right then. I've some jobs to be doing, so you can come and give me a hand. You are up to that, ain't you?”

“Course I am,” protested Harry.

The work in the outside air was good for him. They kept going until long after it was dark, when Hagrid took him back to his cabin. He lit a lamp and inspected Harry.

“Takes it out of you, that place, doesn't it?”

Harry didn't need to ask what place Hagrid was talking about. “Yeah.” And he remembered Hagrid had been in Azkaban once before.

“Me, I was lucky.” Hagrid gave a grunt. “If you can call it lucky, being sent there. No, with me not being top security like, and being half giant –well, they have less effect on us, those Dementors. Might have made it easier –but it was still nasty enough. Much nastier for the likes of you. Found out who set you up yet?”

“No –Kingsley's working on it.”

“No one deserves Azkaban –not even the likes of Lucius Malfoy.”

“That's what I think too. I promise –one day, I'll get that place shut down.”

“You will, will you? Thinking of running for Minister of Magic then?”

“With my record?”

“You don't think that'll stand for long, do you? When the truth comes out, it'll be a free pardon and more, mark my words.”

“Will the truth come out?” Harry asked.

Hagrid stared at him. “What d'you mean? Fudge has gone, hasn't he?”

“Yeah. But it's not only Fudge.” And he told Hagrid the story of Percy Weasley standing in front of him, sending him off to Azkaban for 'an indefinite period'. It was something he hadn't yet told Mr and Mrs Weasley, and was dreading doing so.

Hagrid's jaw dropped. “What? It was him who sent you off?” Harry nodded. “Yer must have been mistaken.”

Harry's expression hardened. “It was Percy Weasley. Do you think I could mistake that?”

“All right, all right.” Hagrid sighed. “I don't know. Lovely family, the Weasleys. Mebbe he thought he was doing the right thing. Didn't know what was going on, like.”

“Oh yeah? When he was in the courtroom all the time, acting as recorder?”

“Keep your hair on,” muttered Hagrid. He sighed. “Always was ambitious, Percy.”

Harry was sorry he'd raised the subject now. It made for a slightly awkward leave taking, as Harry headed off back to the Burrow.