Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

Christmas at the Weasleys was wonderful. Harry was fussed over by Mrs Weasley all day long, which left Ron slightly miffed. But Harry knew that if she’d fussed over Ron as she fussed over him, Ron would be just as irritated in a different sort of way. Even Ginny took his presence for granted now, and no longer hid, or blushed bright red when she saw him. Mr Weasley was kept busy at work, undoing the mischief caused by others.

The other wonderful thing about staying with the Weasleys was that things were so relaxed. There was no great rush to get up in the morning, and no great pressure to go to bed at night. Meals were eaten when they were ready, and Ron, Harry, and Ginny were more than happy to help round the house. Things didn’t seem like chores when there were two or three of you doing them together.

On Christmas Day, Charlie arrived. Bill couldn’t get away (‘security is worse than ever!’). Fred and George appeared, promising no jokes and no hoaxes over the festive season. Harry wasn’t sure whether to believe them or not. As for Percy – apparently he’d turned up one day when everyone was out and cleared his room completely. Harry wasn’t too upset by this, as it meant that he got Percy’s room to stay in. On Christmas morning, there was a pile of presents for him – a book (now there was a surprise!) on the Dark Arts from Hermione, a book (a different sort of surprise) on Quidditch from Ron. There was the usual jumper from Mrs Weasley, and a waistcoat from Dobby. The one problem with the waistcoat was that Dobby seemed to have sown the buttons on the inside rather than the outside. Ginny had given him a box of Weasleys’ Wizarding Firecrackers. Fred and George had sent him a rather smart cloak. How they had got his measurements, Harry wasn’t quire sure, but perhaps Ron had sneaked in and measured his school cloak. Mr and Mrs Dursley sent him a pair of jeans that were so vast that they must have been more of Dudley’s cast offs. They were also ripped in a rather delicate place.

The day itself had dawned gloomy and grey, with drizzle drifting down from the low cloud. Inside, though, things were bright and cheerful, with a roaring log fire. Whilst Fred and George had promised not to hex anyone, or to create mayhem, they did take the opportunity to do a little market research. Their latest scheme which they were developing was an enchanted set of miniature Quidditch players: all fourteen of them, complete with a miniature pitch, hoops and all, and miniature Quaffles, Bludgers and Snitch.

“It’s going to take a lot of work,” said Fred.

“It’d be a family game: you really need at least two people on each side to control all the players,” George told them.

“We’ve got the Seekers and Beaters sorted, but controlling the Snitch and Seeker’s a bit more tricky.”

“The Snitch tends to go off and hide somewhere.”

“And we have to teach the referee all the rules.”

“Coming on, though.”

“We won’t market it until next Christmas, though.”

Ron and Harry took on Fred and George: even though the game was only half completed it was still fun. Even Mrs Weasley was impressed.

They played for a half hour or so before Mr Weasley asked: “How is the business coming along?”

“Booming.”

“Off with a bang.”

“We’ve had to employ three more assistants.”

“Lee is really useful – comes up with lots of ideas and does a lot of the testing.”

“We’ve had to hire another tester, as well.”

“And you’ve making money?” Mr Weasley asked.

Both of the twins grinned. “You should see our vault in Gringotts.”

“We got the shop dead cheap.”

“It meant a lot of work doing it up.”

“But it was worth it.”

“Are we forgiven, Mum?”

Mrs Weasley looked at the two of them. “Up to a point. Mind you, you’d have struggled unless you’d had enough money to start the business off.”

Harry realised that Mrs Weasley knew about the winnings too. The twins looked slightly uncomfortable.

“It would have taken a lot longer without it,” admitted George.

“But we’d have got there,” said Fred.

Mrs Weasley sighed. “Yes, you probably would. But remember: if I was getting at you, and nagging you, it was because I was worried about you.”

“It’s all right, Mum. We know that.”

After lunch, Harry didn’t want to do anything except sit in an armchair. But he was dragged out for a walk (‘Before it gets dark.’) . The sky was so overcast that it didn’t seem to make much difference. The drizzle had turned into a more persistent rain, but Harry’s new cloak, courtesy of Fred and George, had come with a water repelling charm.

When they got back, all they wanted to do was to sit round the fire. They had eaten too much earlier to want any more just yet. Harry, Ron and Ginny sprawled on the floor, while their elders lounged in chairs. Even Fred and George seemed to have run out of energy. The firelight flickered on the walls, the candlelight gave the room a soft glow.

It was Charlie who broke the silence.

“So, Dad, what’s been happening?”

“What do you mean?” asked Mr Weasley mildly.

“With You Know Who and his gang.”

Mrs Weasley stirred uneasily in her chair at the mention of the topic.

“Very little,” said Mr Weasley. “There have been two odd incidents, but other than that, nothing at all.”

“I don’t get much of the news in Romania. What were they?”

“Harry can tell you more about the first than I can,” said Mr Weasley.

Harry stirred. Yet again he had to be the one relating events. Briefly he ran through the events with Neville and the Dementors.

“But it was all very odd. Nothing seemed to have happened to Dean. And according to Grawp, there’re no more Dementors in the Forest.”

Charlie was intrigued by Grawp. Harry let Hermione fill him in on the details of that one.

“And the attack on the ship – well, hasn’t Bill told you anything about that?”

“Not really.”

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. Ron had sent Pig off straightaway with a warning to Bill not to let anything else out. Pig had needed three days to recover after his journey through the gales.

“Again, it’s odd,” said Mr Weasley thoughtfully. “All they gained was a postponement of the trial. And in one way it was useful to us – it pointed up a hole in our security. We’ve got to rethink our prison policy – and there’s increased pressure to bring in the death sentence for convicted Death Eaters.”

A long silence followed this remark. Finally Ron asked: “They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

Mr Weasley shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Do we have to talk about this?” burst out Mrs Weasley.

“Molly – we can’t ignore things – pretend they aren’t happening.”

“I know,” she said miserably, “but do we have to talk about it at Christmas?”

“It’s one of the few times we’re together.”

“And that’s how I’d like to keep it.”

“So would I – and the best way to keep us all happy for Christmases to come is to wrap this business up once and for all.”

The Weasley children were looking at their parents anxiously. Charlie was obviously sorry he’d brought the topic up in the first place.

“Mrs Weasley?” Harry asked quietly.

“Yes, Harry?”

“None of us like talking about it. But sometimes we have to.”

“I know.” But Harry could see she was twisting a handkerchief between her fingers.

“Well, at the moment we don’t know anything really, except he’s out there with one or two supporters. We’re going to have to await events,” said Mr Weasley.

“I know that too. It’s the waiting,” said Mrs Weasley.

“Only one thing for it,” said Fred. “Butterbeers all round!”

But the tranquillity of Christmas Day had been broken. The gloom lasted until bedtime, and it was a somewhat subdued family that went upstairs that night.

Ron came into Harry’s room at around ten the next morning. “Hermione’ll be here soon,” he said. “Mum, Dad and Ginny have gone off aunt visiting; Fred and George have gone back to London, and Charlie’s gone off somewhere mysterious. So it’s just us in the house today.”

Harry fumbled for his spectacles. “Righto. I’ll have three pieces of toast for breakfast.”

Ron said something unprintable, and Harry grinned. “If you’re going to get up this early, you might as well do something useful.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

But when Harry came down, the toast was waiting for him, together with a pot of tea. Ron was standing by the window, looking out, mug of tea in hand. The foul weather of the day before has passed through, and the sky was bright and sunny, even if the brisk breeze did threaten showers from time to time.

They’d washed the breakfast things and put them away by the time Hermione arrived. This time there was only the faintest ‘pop’ as she appeared.

“You’ve been working on that, haven’t you?” Ron accused her.

Hermione smiled. “So what? You could too, if you tried.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Oi, you two,” said Harry, “don’t start.”

“I promise to be all sweetness and light today,” said Hermione primly.

“Yeah,” said Ron darkly.

“Ron!” warned Harry.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron sighed. “I’ll be on my best behaviour. OK?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Right then,” said Hermione, “let’s head out for a walk.”

Harry could see Ron getting ready to moan again, so quickly he said: “Good idea. It’ll give us an appetite for lunch.”

He and Ron went to get something warm to wear. Hermione noticed what he was wearing as he came downstairs: “Nice cloak, Harry.”

“Present from Gred and Forge.”

“Oh, right. Business doing well?”

“Booming, by the sound of things.”

Even Ron cheered up when they got outside. The rain had cleared in the night, and it was a wonderful day for late December. He took them along the paths by the wood and up to the top of a small hill, where they could look out across the countryside.

“No sheep, Ron,” said Hermione.

“Hermione!”

She was suddenly contrite. “Sorry, Ron. I’ve been much too niggly today. Comes of being cooped up at home. That, and teenage angst.”

That made them all think. “Who’d want to be a teenager?” asked Ron, eventually, kicking at a convenient molehill.

“What brought that on?” asked Harry.

“Oh, you know,” said Ron, staring across the fields, “you’re old enough to want to get on with life, and you can’t yet.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. “What do you mean?” Harry pressed.

“There’s You Know Who out there, and people who are out to get us, and we’re stuck in school, having lessons with people like Snape.”

“Don’t think that work would be all that better. Look at your dad, and how he complains about things at the Ministry.”

“Yeah. I suppose you have to be your own boss – like Fred and George.”

“They’ve got talents we haven’t,” admitted Harry. “I’d be useless at running a business.”

“I suppose,” said Ron. He paused again, then: “If we going to be Aurors, it’s going to take years and years.”

“If they’ll have us,” said Harry quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Fudge believes us now. But that doesn’t mean he has to like us. And there’re a lot of people in the Ministry who think like he does. Ask your father about the Umbridge rehabilitation campaign.”

“What?” cried Ron, turning to him, aghast.

“You heard me right the first time. According to your Dad, there are people in the Ministry who think she’s had a raw deal. ‘Well intentioned, but a touch over zealous, perhaps’.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this!”

Quietly, Hermione said: “We should have told the people from the Ministry at the time what she was really like.”

Harry nodded. “It’s too late now. People would just think we’re being vindictive.”

“What about you, Harry?” asked Hermione.

“What about me?” he asked, with a rather twisted smile.

“Have you had enough of Hogwarts?”

It was Harry’s turn to stare unseeingly across the fields. He knew something the others didn’t; a secret, known only to him and Dumbledore.

“You know,” he said finally, “until I was eleven, I was just this orphan, pushed around by his aunt and uncle, and bullied by his cousin. Then one day, Hagrid turns up, and says: Harry – you’re a wizard. And you don’t argue with Hagrid.

“Then I discover I’m a famous wizard – famous for something I didn’t even remember. Then, after that, I discover there’s one of the most evil wizards of all time trying to hunt me down.”

He gave another attempt at a smile. “And where am I safest? Hogwarts. All those charms and enchantments in place to protect the school. Dumbledore there.

“And career? I don’t even know if I’ll be alive at the end of the seventh year.”

“Harry!” cried Hermione. “You can’t think like that.”

“Sometimes you have to. Or just live from day to day. That’s what I hate. Knowing he’s out there. But having no clue about what he’s doing.” He turned to Ron. “That’s what makes your mother so worried. Not knowing. You need to be nicer to her.”

“Yeah,” muttered Ron, staring at his feet.

“Does that answer your question, Hermione?”

She was silent.

“Come on,” he said eventually, “let’s walk back.”

It was a silent return to the Burrow.

Lunch was cold Christmas leftovers, but they had little appetite. At around four o’clock Hermione looked at her watch.

“Sorry,” said Harry.

“For what?”

“Putting such a damper on the day.”

She sighed. “Not your fault.”

“Still.” He shrugged.

“Do you mind if I head back? Gran and Grandpa are coming round. And I like my relatives,” she said to Ron.

“Yeah,” he said with a shamefaced grin.

“Sorry for not having been more cheerful.”

“It’s OK. Charlie did the same with Mum yesterday.”

“What? Oh, I am so sorry.”

“Not your fault. We’ll make it up to her tonight, won’t we, Harry?”

“What? Oh, yeah.”

Hermione hovered for a moment, unsure. Then, “Well, I’d better be off. They’re due about now.”

“Sure. Give our regards to your parents.”

“I’ll do that,” and with a faint ‘pop’ she disappeared.

“I think I’ll have to learn to do that,” said Ron.

“Takes a lot of practice,” said Harry. “She’s probably been Apparating from one end of her bedroom to the other for hours.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how she has the patience.” Then he leapt to his feet. “Come on. Let’s sort the place out before Mum comes back.”

It was completely dark when Mr and Mrs Weasley and Ginny returned. They climbed out of the fireplace and brushed themselves off, then Mrs Weasley sniffed suspiciously.

“What’s that smell?”

“Supper,” said Ron

“What?” She looked at him in utter amazement, as did Ginny.

“Supper,” said Ron again.

“You’ve made supper?” asked Mrs Weasley disbelievingly.

Ron nodded. “If you want to take your things off, and go upstairs for a wash, supper will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Right,” said Mrs Weasley faintly.

And ten minutes later, they were all sitting round the table. Harry had to admit that whilst the meal wasn’t brilliant, it wasn’t bad at all. Between them, they’d used up the last of the turkey and used some sausages to make quite a respectable casserole.

When they’d all cleared their plates, Mr Weasley turned to Ron, and said: “That was good.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, going pink, and staring at his empty plate.

“Are you going to tell us?”

“Tell you what?”

“Why you laid this spread on for us?”

“I did it for Mum,” said Ron, going redder still. Ginny stared at him, her mouth open. Then she saw Harry looking at her and closed it quickly. Harry grinned.

Mrs Weasley leant over and enveloped Ron in an enormous hug. “Mum,” came a protest from deep within.

She let him go. “Thank you, Ron. Now Ginny and I will clear away.”

Afterwards, they settled round the fire. Not much was said, but Harry felt that things had become more relaxed. The tension had eased, and the Weasley family seemed happier. Nevertheless, Harry sometimes felt like an intruder at times like this, and came to a decision. He sent Hedwig off with a note to 12 Grimmauld Place.

A day or so later, Harry announced he was going to visit Remus for New Year.

“You can’t do that,” said Mrs Weasley immediately. “We’ve a party planned!”

Harry smiled. “I’m sure it’ll go just as well without me. And I know Remus hasn’t anywhere to go. I don’t know what he did for Christmas, so I might as well cheer him up for New Year.”

Mrs Weasley’s eyes softened. “Of course, Harry. You go and see him.”

Harry felt rather guilty. Mrs Weasley had obviously thought he was being noble, going to give Remus some company, when actually he wanted a day or two away from the Weasley family. He managed a smile, however, and muttered something in return.

Ron spoke to him about it too, later. “Are you sure you want to go to that place?”

“Ron, my friend, you are talking about my future home.”

“What?” Ron blinked. “Oh, well, yeah, I suppose it is.”

“And as you remember, Remus has done a lot to it. He’s prepared a bedroom for me. Apart from anything else, it might be a useful hiding place if … anything happens.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “You mean … ?”

“No, Ron. It’s just – knowing that it’s there is a comfort.”

“Oh, right.”

“And I would like to see Remus again this holidays.”

“Sure.”

So on the morning of the last day of the year, Harry got some things together and went downstairs. “I’m just off,” he told Mrs Weasley. “I’ll be back tomorrow or the day after, but thanks for looking after me over Christmas.”

Not entirely to his surprise, Mrs Weasley seized him in a great hug. Over her shoulder he saw Ron rolling his eyes. But he let her hold on until he felt he’d given her long enough. He eased away and held her elbows. “Thanks again.” He nodded at Ron. “See you in a day or two.” Then he disappeared.