Chimaera of Judgement

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: The Burrow Bonfire

"There's the man of the hour!"

Harry looked first to his left, then his right. "Who d'you mean?"

"Who did you think we meant, Celestina Warbeck?" George Weasley laughed, clapping him on the back. "It's all anybody can talk about, y'know - bringing in the Carrows after all these years, a right feather in your cap, isn't it?"

The man smiled nervously. "But- give over, it was all in the name of-"

"Now, now, don't be modest," George's father said as he approached from off to Harry's left, his heavy Coke-bottle glasses glinting in the light from the bonfire. "It's not every day we round up the very last of the Death Eaters, is it?"

Albus happily scanned the scene, all of the heady discomfort from Side-Along Apparation with his mother forgotten; the Burrow Bonfire was evidently just beginning. Dearly though he loved his grandparents' house, with its teetering turrets and cozy kitchen, there was no denying its incapability to afford a party of a larger number than eleven or twelve. Therefore, it had been suggested long ago that they spark up a roaring pyre in the garden, enchant it to distribute heat more evenly over the whole affair and set the tables up outside. Albus had always enjoyed these Christmas bonfires, and it was one of his most favourite things about this time of year.

"Wotcher, Al," said Rose, eyes twinkling in the glow of the logs. "How's your Yule been?"

"Decent," he replied. "You'd never believe who showed up on our doorstep yesterday."

By the time he'd got through telling her about Dudley Dursley's unexpected visit, a few more witches and wizards had Apparated or flown in on brooms, and the party was grinding into motion; Albus idly watched his grandmother bustling about, tending to the fire and catching snippets of conversation as she popped in and out of the kitchen where her customary feast was simmering.

"What a funny bloke," Rose mused. "'Course, Grandmum and Grandpa Granger are all right, but I guess most Muggles can't accept the world of magic as easily."

"Apparently not. But enough about him - good haul this year?"

"Not bad," she said, popping a Fizzing Whizbee into her mouth and offering him one, which he took. "Loved the Pocket Sneakoscope, mate, thanks. The new broom I wanted didn't come, but I didn't expect it to, really. Did get a brand new travelling cloak, though; no more drafty hole for this Weasley!"

"Speaking of cloaks," he began in a low voice around the tingling candy, "it turns out the one I gave you was some kind of heirloom."

"What d'you mean?"

"It was Grandpapa Potter's - the map, too."

She cocked her head to one side as she floated a few inches above the grass. "Wait, so... so you're the third generation to have this stuff?"

"At least." His brow furrowed as he joined her in the air. "I wonder why Dad didn't tell me before? He said they had stories but he wouldn't spill, like I was too young or something. That was a nasty tease, too, now he's got me all curious! Oh, well."

For some reason, he noted she was gnawing at the ends of her hair. "Hmm..."

"Hey, did you get any of that fudge from Hagrid?"

"Is that what it is?" An exasperated laugh escaped her throat as she touched down again. "I thought we'd be needing sticky, brownish bricks for Care of Magical Creatures and he was hoping to get us prepared beforehand!"

It was right about then he felt his enthusiasm begin to wane; as usual, the crowd immediately gravitated toward his father, asking him for details of his duels with one criminal or another, or else milking him for advice on ousting some Dark creature that had taken up residence in their vegetable patch. It didn't take long for Rose to pull him from the clog of bodies, for which he was grateful.

"Wouldn't want to keep you from reflected fame, but... how about something to warm up your innards?"

"Dad's holding court again," Albus gusted as they made for a nearby table where the punchbowl was set up. "I hate it when people do this."

"I know, mate, I know. Here," she said, pushing a goblet into his hands. The sensual feel of the elderflower wine mingling with the zest of orange and lemon instantly flooded him with warmth, and he began to feel more at ease.

"Cheers, Rose."

"Eh." Then she looked sideways at him. "Hey, why aren't you wearing the cap?"

"What cap?"

"The beautiful, one-of-a-kind cap my mother knitted you," she pressed, trying to look offended. "Don't you like it at all?"

His mouth twitched. "You're a dingbat, that's what you are."

"Albus," said Tranquilius Thomas as he approached the table, Rose still laughing at Albus's reaction to her little joke. "How has your Christmas been?"

"Pretty good, thanks - yours?"

"Rather disappointing," he said with his usual unnerving honesty. "I was sure I'd get a Fleekledurng cocoon, I've been hinting at it for ages."

"A what?" Rose asked before Albus could stop her.

"A Fleekledurng cocoon. Oh, they're the most mysterious butterflies, very rare - they have rainbow-coloured legs and their wings have old adages patterened in runes, like 'Wherever You Go, There You've Apparated'. If you can hatch one and raise it to maturity, it will bring you Knuts people have left on the ground for miles around. They can be quite profitable if you keep them for a long while."

"Er, they sound great," lied Albus, privately thinking there was a sturdier chance of him scraping a date with Madam Chang than this Fleekledurng existing. "Too bad you didn't get it."

"Yes, it is - I suppose Mum couldn't find any. Oh look, there's Ouida - I told her to come if she could make it."

"You go make nice," Albus muttered, and Tranky worked on composing his features as he approached the woman of his dreams.

"Hope she knows what she's getting herself into," Rose laughed. Albus shook his head.

"For Tranky's sake, I hope she doesn't."

Eventually, the fervour over the great Harry Potter's arrival died away, and the celebration began in earnest, especially as more and more guests were arriving. In that time, Albus had seen Uncle Percy and Aunt Penelope show up with Barty in tow, in addition to the Thomases, Uncle Charlie Weasley from way down in Romania, Hagrid, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, the Delacours (Aunt Fleur's parents from France), Aunt Fleur's sister Gabrielle and her husband Lamont, Andromeda Tonks, Professor Longbottom (dressed in rather a snappier set of robes than usual), and Cousin Teddy and Cousin Victoire, whom had an announcement to make.

"Take a gander at zis!" Victoire called out, holding her elegant right hand up in the firelight, where a diamond of alarming size shone like a beacon.

"You've finally done it!" Grandmum Weasley squealed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around both her and Teddy. "You popped the bleeding question at last, oh good heavens, great-grandchildren, I thought I'd reach one hundred before it happened!"

"Oi, no pressure, eh?!" Teddy gagged nervously from just over her shoulder.

"Please, take your time!" Uncle Bill called over everyone's heads. "I'm in no hurry to feel that old!"

"My dear, sweet boy," Andromeda sighed, her dark, heavy-lidded eyes brimming with tears as she stroked his hair, which was turning from brown to pink. "You can't know what it means to me to see you happy."

"Thanks, Gran," he whispered, grinning up at her.

"It's utterly mad," James was saying to Barty in an undertone as they watched Harry wring Teddy's hand emphatically. "They're cousins!"

"Not truly," Barty whispered back. "The only reason we call him 'Cousin' Teddy is because your father is his godfather - but really, he and Aunt Andromeda are only very distantly related to us, separated by something like five generations, so you see-"

"All right, all right, I get it," he muttered, looking over. "Still weird. Al, if you and Rose are next-"

"Oh, for the last time, will you kindly let it go, you spaz?!" Albus growled.

By the time nearly everyone had congratulated one or both of the newly-engaged couple, the general consensus stated that they were all starving, so Grandmum Weasley magically brought out the turkey, pheasant, suckling pig and dish after dish of things that made Albus's mouth water. As they all sat around the fire in wooden chairs that somehow felt like overstuffed poufs, plates piled high with tantallising morsels, Albus found he was seated between Rose and Professor Longbottom.

"I've heard the raids are becoming fewer and farther between, Arthur, is that right?"

"It is," Granddad Weasley nodded to a man with a bristling grey moustache Albus did not know. "You know, I think the wizarding community is finally starting to regard our department with a modicum of respect. Why, last week the worst I had was a shrinking car key, and even that was pretty feeble - only reduced its size by ten per cent."

"So," Albus whispered to his professor, "any news?"

"What? Oh!" Neville smiled with sudden realisation. "Not really. Working on it, of course - but I couldn't miss this, not with the astounding food Molly cooks up."

"Can't blame you, there," said Uncle George from his left, a fork covered in cranberry sauce halfway to his mouth. "Might head into a pub instead if not for the spread at the homestead."

"George!" his mother admonished him, tossing a brussels sprout at him from several seats along.

"Only joking, Mum, no need to attack with greens!"

"The Bluebottle broommakers are under scrutiny now, of course," Uncle Percy was telling Uncle Charlie, though the latter looked as if he'd prefer to be standing in the bonfire. "After a dozen recalls, who should think there'd be any other option? We can't allow our women and children to ride something that falls apart inches from the ground!"

"Our attention falls apart inches into his droning," Uncle Ron confided in Uncle Bill, just loud enough so everyone except Percy could hear him. Rose snickered.

Albus was halfway through his second helping when Minister for Magic Shacklebolt, a tall, bald man with deep brown skin and a golden hoop in his ear dropped in for a brief visit. Many of the other witches and wizards expressed surprise or anxiety, but most of the Weasley clan took it in stride, having met him several times before. In fact, Uncle George was keen to tell him that the Minister had once stood in this very spot with his father, scant moments after they had flown through a dozen Death Eaters, curses flashing back and forth.

"Of course, not all of us were lucky enough to escape unharmed," he said, thumbing at the scarred hole on the side of his head. "Even so, at least I'm 'ear', aren't I?"

Albus, Rose and Professor Longbottom groaned. In fact, Longbottom began to groan louder, then said, "Ooh, I'm not sure these beetroots are agreeing with me - have a bit of a sensitive stomach for them, you know, should've known better than- oogh! Excuse me, I-" And with that he clapped a hand to his mouth, shot an apologetic look at Albus's grandmother, and bolted from the circle.

"George, lad," Granddad spoke up, perhaps hoping to draw attention away from the possibility that his wife's cooking had made someone sick. "When are you going to let me get you a, er, 'prostetric'? The Muggles use them all the time to replace missing parts. Maybe we can't grow your ear back, but perhaps I could even bewitch it to move like the real thing, could be-"

"I told you, Dad, I'm already accustomed," he said flatly. "Seriously, I'm so used to not having two ears now that if you went and stuck a fake one on, I'd probably lean to one side like this."

Everyone was so busy laughing at his over-animated portrayal of himself with a two-tonne prosthetic ear that they were unaware of the arrival of yet another guest. It was Albus who first noticed, and hissed, "I don't believe it."

"What, not leaning far enough?" George chortled.

"What's he doing here?!"

James was the first to follow his line of sight, and when he saw what Albus saw, he gusted, "Criminy."

"Eve, Potter," said Draco Malfoy evenly, cold grey eyes untouched by the bemused smile he presented to the others gaping at him. "Coming to pay our repsects to the greatest wizard of our time, and his, er... family."

"Malfoy," said Harry woodenly. "And dear Pansy, too, how have you both been keeping?"

"Well enough," Draco's wife tittered, a saccharine, false joy in her words. "It's been a goodly year for us all, hasn't it?"

"Yes, the word on the street is that you've brought in Amycus and Alecto." As the man sat in one of four rigid chairs he'd magically drawn up next to Harry and his spouse sat beside him, Albus had an even better view of their two children. Scorpius, he knew well enough to wish he didn't, but the small girl with light-brown pigtails was unfamiliar to him; she didn't seem to be of Hogwarts age, yet. "Unassisted, is that right?"

"Well, old Matthias was backing me up," said Albus's father conversationally, evidently having decided he wanted nothing more than for the Malfoys to intrude on their celebration. "Doesn't hurt to have a seasoned veteran like him at your side, does it?"

"Hmm, indeed - though I think we can safely guess the daring capture was more Saint Potter's doing."

"And how's old Lucius?" Granddad asked, smiling frostily. "Nearly ten years a free man, that has to weigh rather light on a man's spirit."

"Alas, poor Father has taken ill," Draco sighed, frowning and adjusting one of the gold buttons on his travelling cloak. "Nasty bout of Vanishing Sickness - he said he'd like to come along for our visit, but I daresay there wouldn't be much point if you couldn't see him, now, would there?"

Everyone ventured a hesitant giggle, unsure whether or not this was meant to be a joke, but the Malfoys laughed sardonically as well, and though the tension never truly broke it lessened considerably.

"Hefty brass Bludgers tha' idiot's got," Hagrid muttered down to Lily, a tankard of mulled mead hiding his mouth from the gatecrashers. "Comin' here ter a crowd full o' people who'd as soon hang 'im as shake 'is hand."

"Dad saved his life," she whispered back, rubbing at her earlobe. "He feels obligated."

"But why are we obligated to oblige his obligation?" George said nastily.

"Er... we'll get back to you when we've worked out whatever you just said," said Rose, and they all laughed.

A certain amount of high-speed gibberish reached their ears, and Albus noticed Ouida Rousselot, Tranky's potential steady, had stumbled upon the Delacours, who all quickly fell to speaking rapid French and isolating all nearby from their conversation. After a moment, Aunt Fleur, Lamont and Gabrielle also joined in, and their tongues flew faster than ever. Tranky looked distinctly put out about this development.

"Of course, Aunt Andromeda," Draco was saying stiffly. "And we have been meaning to have you around to see your grandniece and nephew, but things are always so-"

"Yes, yes, I understand plainly," she said, absolutely the thinnest smile on her lips. "An estranged relation requires a special welcome mat, and you've misplaced yours, have you?"

"Don't be silly!" said Pansy shrilly, glancing at Draco warily before adding, "You're invited any time you wish - a Boxing Day brunch, perhaps?"

Then Albus noticed Scorpius frowning around at the scene, apparently surly at having been forced to come here and abandon a quiet Nöel at Malfoy Manor. Sneering, he whispered something to his mother, whom nodded impatiently before returning to smiling poisonously at whatever Albus's mother was now telling her. Scorpius immediately rose and slipped away from the bonfire, heading toward the old shed Granddad liked to tinker around in. His sense of foreboding immediately began nibbling at the nape of his neck, and after a few seconds, he tapped Rose on the shoulder.

"Where d'you suppose old Pugface is off to?"

"How should I know?" she whispered. "Maybe he wants to lock himself in and never come out - that'd be the perfect Christmas gift to all of us."

"I'm gonna go check up on him," he hissed, placing his plate securely under his chair and pacing silently around the backs of his friends and family, arriving at last at the doors to the shed. With one quick glance over at the flickering party, he eased the door open and walked inside.

The walls were covered in shelves, and the shelves were covered in every odd knicknack imaginable; plugs, batteries, an electric torch, a rubber duck, a television remote, a stack of Muggle coins, an instant coffee maker that rattled ominously, boxes of matches, and even a personal compact disc player, into which his grandfather had innocently forced a beermat. It took his eyes a moment to navigate this junk and find Scorpius hunched over a table, sections of his white-blonde head illuminated in the moonlight coming through the mismatched boards that formed the shed's walls.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Scorpius spun around, clutching an automobile's oil filter in one hand as if ready to chuck it at him. His other hand was withdrawing from his pocket.

"What have you taken?"

"Nothing, you git," he spat at him, lowering the filter. "Like there's anything in here worth taking - it's all a bunch of Muggle rubbish. Most of it doesn't even do anything - like this thing here, it only gets your hands filthy. What use is that?"

"It goes to a car," said Albus impatiently. "I saw it in the one in the Forest. Anyway, I don't think Granddad would appreciate you poking around his workshop."

"A workshop, is it? This collection of refuse?" Scorpius tossed the filter carelessly over his shoulder, where it banged into something else on the table. "There, I put it back."

"You stupid, callous little worm," Albus spat. "And you've got some nerve, by the way, showing up here after what you did to Jezabel - you ought to be in Azkaban!"

"What I did to- wait, wait." To Albus's supreme annoyance, he was almost laughing now. "How's this got anything to do with the Mistake?"

Albus smiled cheerlessly. "Oh, that wasn't you, then? That stuck her out in the snow? Don't give me that bilge, I saw you having a great laugh with Genevieve, you twerp!"

"Why do you care, Prying Potter? Is she-" His eyes widened with glee. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Had he been any less furious, that comment may have made him blush. "She's not my doormat, how's that? You pranked her before, when you told her to go to Madame Puddifoot's - that note she got had your handwriting on!"

"Been playing the detective, have we, Albiekins?" the boy laughed, leaning back against the table and folding his arms. "Rescuing your filthy Mudblood damsel in distress? Well, you can save your breath - obviously, we both know I did that to her in Hogsmeade, but you're wrong about my turning her into an ice lolly. The honour there belongs to Zach, and it was brilliant, too."

"Zach," Albus said blankly. "Hang on - Zacharias Travers? But- but why?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. He says she was annoying him somehow, I don't remember. Who cares? It was a riot - probably have done it myself if I thought of it."

"You- this- just a- I can't-"

A single pale eyebrow inched upward. "What was that your beloved cousin said to me about teaching English to trolls? Looks like your charm is wearing off, Dimbus."

"I ought to snap your splinching-"

"Temper, temper, boys."

They spun to see Professor Longbottom in the doorway to the shed, his lit wandtip shining on them and a handkerchief pressed to his mouth.

"Professor!" Scorpius squeaked, standing at attention as if the Queen had just walked in. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Well, I was retching the contents of my stomach behind this shed," he said, eyes narrowing at him. "You might have noticed there are gaps in these boards, yes? I could hear every word you two were saying."

Sensing imminent doom, Scorpius acted quickly. "Then you heard Potter here threaten me with bodily harm, didn't you, sir?"

"I heard him say he 'ought' to harm you - not that he was going to. I also heard you name your fellow Slytherin as the perpetrator of that most unfortunate prank on Miss Skirrow, and I can assure you he will be punished when he gets back to Hogwarts. Incidentally, I'm inclined to agree with Albus - in light of such mistreatment of your classmates, I really should let him snap whatever he was going to snap. Lucky for you, I'm of a peaceful sort."

Albus couldn't stop grinning. Professor Longbottom looked grimly triumphant, while Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed as if he wanted to take over vomiting behind the shed. It was as if they'd suddenly achieved an unprecedented checkmate.

"But- that isn't- this is entrapment! You can't come in here and-"

"Save it, Malfoy - and you ought to crack a dictionary now and again. In the meantime, you'd better rejoin your parents before I do something you'll regret."

Seething, the young Slytherin shoved his way past Albus and the professor, glancing back at them as he slipped through the door.

"P-Professor," Albus spluttered, laughing almost more as a release than with sheer delight, "you- you came in, and- and- that was bloody brilliant!"

"Had to be done, didn't it?" But Albus noticed him wink at him. "But you really should try harder to master that short fuse, son, could get you in a lot of trouble."

"I will, sir."

"Now, let's you and I get back to the festivities," he said, placing his hand on Albus's shoulder and leading him after Scorpius. "My stomach's feeling much better, and perhaps there'll be a few wizarding crackers left...?"

END Chapter Eighteen