Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Marsh-Mellows

There was no place he would rather be, Harry decided the next day, than at the Burrow when all the Weasleys were home for the holidays. Even seeing Hogwarts for the first time each year could hardly hold a candle to the joy Harry felt when he stumbled down the stairs on Boxing Day, only to find just about all of his favorite people in the world gathered together around the Weasley's enormous kitchen table. As much as Ron whinged about it, Harry also looked forward to Mrs. Weasley's fawning, to having her press second and third helpings on him when she thought he hadn't eaten enough, demand all of his socks and tee shirts to be washed (though he'd only brought two pairs), and absently try to smooth his unruly hair whenever she passed behind him. He loved listening to Mr. Weasley tell stories about the Muggle objects unscrupulous people were charming these days and loved answering random and inane questions about airplanes, vacuum cleaners, and portable toilets. He listened to Charlie's stories about the dragons he'd encountered, rolled his eyes with the others when Mrs. Weasley started harping on to Bill about his hair, and laughed harder than anyone when the twins slipped rainbow colored ink pellets into Ron's tea, dying each of his teeth a different shade of the rainbow.

Just as Ron was knocking over his chair in his haste to inflict painful humiliations on his brothers for offering him a toothbrush, two large owls swooped up to the burrow and landed on the sill of the kitchen window. The first bird tapped once, politely, asking to be let in. Then the other, apparently deciding that politeness was getting them nowhere, began hammering against the window with his beak until the glass threatened to break.

"All right, all right!" Mrs. Weasley yelled as she opened the window. "For Merlin's sake, we heard you the first time!"

A rather ugly, brown-dappled owl swooped eagerly into the room and landed on the kitchen table, scrabbling its talons against the wood and flapping its wings to maintain its balance, while knocking over everything within a four foot radius.

"No owls on the table," Mrs. Weasley said firmly, putting her hands on her hips. "Make your delivery and be off! Infernal creature..."

The owl waddled unceremoniously up the table to where Harry was looking interested and Remus was looking sheepishly at Molly.

"I told the post wizard not to give me this bird," Remus sighed. The owl shot him a cheeky glance before dropping a package down beside Harry's plate. It then looked around at them expectantly. Remus shook his head.

"Don't be expecting a tip, my friend. You're a day late and a Galleon short. Off with you, now." And he waved the owl away.

The owl ruffled its feathers indignantly, gave a little hoot, and took off for the window, upending the few things on the table he'd missed before.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Remus said with a wry smile. "Sorry it's a bit late. I blame the post."

Harry grinned and was about to answer when the other owl swooped down and landed on the back of Remus' chair.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried happily. She cooed at him as she held out the package she was carrying in her beak.

"Hello gorgeous," Remus said, stroking her head. "But it's not me you want. I'm afraid I didn't bring any of those nice fat Lithuanian mice along -- or at least, not on purpose. But you're welcome to check my luggage." He nudged her gently and she squawked.

"Actually," Harry said, feeling suddenly and irrationally embarrassed. "It is for you. From me."

Remus turned to look at him curiously, and Harry felt himself blushing. He busied himself by untying the twine around the parcel the other owl had left him.

"You shouldn't have gone to any--"

"It wasn't any trouble," Harry said quickly, ripping into the brown paper covering his own box. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Remus set down his tea and deftly untied the twine around the parcel. He unfolded the paper rather than tearing it and smoothed each crease flat on the table before moving on to the next. Finally, he lifted the lid off of the box, removed the crumpled pages of the Prophet that Harry had used for packing, and extracted the note Harry had enclosed.

Quite suddenly, Harry felt a desperate need to be somewhere else -- anywhere else would do. Remus read the note quickly, snorting slightly and smiling, and Harry ducked his head sheepishly and poked at the remains of his breakfast with his fork.

"A Collection of Modern English Poetry by Muggle Masters," Remus said with a gleam in his eye as he extracted the book after setting the note aside.

"Do you have it already?" Harry asked anxiously, voicing the doubt that had been nagging him since he'd selected it -- almost at random -- from the Flourish and Blotts catalogue. Remus smiled as he turned the book over in his hands.

"No, no," he assured Harry, opening the cover and flipping through the table of contents. "Some of my favorites are in here. Thank you, Harry."

"Didn't fancy you for a poet, Harry," George said thoughtfully munching on a cold piece of toast. Harry shrugged, more embarrassed by the minute.

"I'm a poet," Fred announced. "There once was a lass from Nantucket--"

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, her eyes as cold as steel. Fred pulled a horrified face.

"Mum!" he cried. "You don't mean to say you've heard that one before?"

Harry chanced a sidelong glance at Remus who had set the box on his lap as he watched Fred and Mrs. Weasley bicker. Harry's mouth felt suddenly dry. He hadn't counted on Remus opening his gift in front of all the Weasleys; as a matter of fact, he hadn't thought he would even be in the same country when Remus opened it. Nervously, he fiddled with the end of a piece of the twine.

Remus was digging around in the box again and soon pulled out the socks, one pair in each hand. Harry's face felt hotter by the second and he wondered if there wasn't a chance it was about to spontaneously combust. He decided that exploding in a shower of sparks might even be preferable. At least it would distract the others from his incredibly stupid gift. He glanced up and saw Hermione watching him from across the table.

"Ron," she said suddenly and very loudly, "I think I'm ready for that flying lesson now." Everyone at the table turned to stare at her.

"You are?" Ron asked. "Brilliant!" He leapt out of his chair, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her along with him. "That's great! We'll go up to that paddock where we practice Quidditch. Fred! George! Don't suppose you brought your -- well pop off home and get them! You coming, Harry?"

"I'll be along in a bit," Harry replied. With a noisy double crack, the twins Disapparated to fetch their brooms, and Ginny rushed out of the kitchen following Ron.

"What else did you get, Remus?" Mrs. Weasley asked kindly.

"Some excellent socks," Remus replied steadily. His voice was unusually cheery, but he wasn't looking at Harry, and Harry was most definitely not looking at him.

"Look at that!" Mrs. Weasley said, fingering the cuff of one of the socks. "You have good taste, Harry. And everyone needs socks."

"What's in yours?" Mr. Weasley prompted. Harry looked down. He had completely forgotten the parcel he had been in the process of unwrapping. Quickly, he tore the remaining paper off. Inside was a small box of assorted Belgian chocolates.

"Best chocolate in Europe," Remus said with a grin. "After Lithuania, the Sect moved to Brussels--"

Mrs. Weasley made a hissing noise as she stood to refill the teapot. Remus blinked at her.

"Are you alright, Molly?"

"Watch what you say, Remus."

"About the Sect?" He shrugged. "Harry got that out of me a long time ago."

"I thought everyone was going to tell me what's going on from now on," Harry said pointedly.

"Indeed we are," Remus replied casually as he placed the lid back on his box. "You have a right to know. Unfortunately, there isn't all that much to tell at the moment," he said lightly. "Even though they've made me a member, they're not willing to share all their secrets until I provide them with a little incentive." Mrs. Weasley clucked disapprovingly from the corner. "What I have learned is that they definitely have a connection, somehow, to Voldemort."

"Have you found out if they're the ones attacking me?" Harry asked.

Remus shook his head. "No one has said anything about that yet, and I have to be careful..."

Mrs. Weasley was frowning at them both disapprovingly, arms crossed as the kettle whistled, forgotten, behind her. She glanced over at Mr. Weasley, who had been listening; he shook out his paper and cleared his throat. Remus sipped his tea calmly. Harry felt uncomfortable and so he did the only thing he could think of; he ate one of the chocolates.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley scolded, "for breakfast?"

"Oh. M-y. 'od," he mumbled around the intoxicating chocolate melting on his tongue and seeping into his brain. He swallowed reverently. "This can't be legal."

Remus grinned.

Ron burst into the room, bundled from head to foot, wearing his new Quidditch gloves, and carrying Hermione's broom. Hermione was following reluctantly behind. She shot Harry a glance that said quite plainly this was entirely his fault and he had better be grateful for it.

"Hang on a sec," Harry said, getting up from the table. "Lemme grab my cloak." He paused in the doorway, turning to Remus. "Thanks for the chocolates," he said, feeling the flushed embarrassment creeping back up into his cheeks.

Remus nodded at him and smiled. "Thanks for the socks."

The flying lesson did not go well. Harry groaned in the biting December wind atop Stoatshead Hill, blowing into his hands and rubbing them to keep warm. Hermione was determined to keep as close to the ground as possible; she would rise barely high enough for her toes to leave the ground and then lean forward in terror, dropping quickly back to the earth.

Ron at first encouraged and cajoled her, but after a few failed attempts, his patience -- hardly that of a saint on the warmest days -- wore thin, and he resorted to prodding and bullying.

"Hermione, the definition of flying is that you have to actually leave the ground at some point, you know."

"I think I'm doing just fine, thanks."

"You've barely risen two inches!"

"Well, I want to make sure I can get back down again, don't I? What if I just started flying all willy-nilly and then couldn't get back down?"

Harry and Ginny watched for a while from the sidelines, occasionally offering pointers or words of encouragement, but eventually they left Ron to his reluctant pupil. The twins arrived not long after and began flying circles around Hermione, showing her how easy and fun it was to be airborne. Unfortunately, after George mistimed a loop-de-loop and fell into a compost heap, Hermione refused to so much as sit on her broom for a good ten minutes.

"So," Harry said, half-watching Ron trying to coax Hermione back onto the broom, "what did you want to talk to me about the other day? You know, when Ron and I were busy fighting."

"Oh that..." Ginny said into her muffler, sounding uncomfortable. She began playing with a loose thread from one of the buttons on her cardigan, clearly unwilling to look at Harry. "You know what? It turned out to be nothing at all."

Harry frowned at her. "Are you sure? You've got my full attention now. No stupid overreacting or anything, I promise."

Ginny shook her head, her hair, done in pigtails, slapping at her wind-flushed cheeks, and she flashed him a brilliant smile, if perhaps a bit forced. "Nope. It was a false alarm. All is well. What do you say we make Fred and George give us a go on their brooms?"

Harry now wanted to know more than ever what it was Ginny wasn't telling him, but he shrugged and followed her over towards the compost heap.

Eventually, they did manage to get Hermione flying, but only just. It took Harry and Ginny flying on either side of her, ready to catch her if she fell, plus Ron running along behind, holding onto the end of the broom to help her steer, and they never did get more than a few feet off the ground. The sky, which had remained oppressive but obstinately dry, finally let loose with a flurry of snowflakes by the time they decided to return to The Burrow for some well needed hot chocolate and chairs in front of the fire.

"Did you see?" Hermione gushed, breathless and red faced as they trooped back into the Weaselys' kitchen. "Did you see me? I was flying!"

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her indulgently and shut the door against the wayward flakes with a flick of her wand.

Once the snow started, it didn't seem inclined to stop. All through the rest of that day and into the night, the snow fell steadily, collecting in thick drifts on the frozen ground. Harry and Hermione were both relieved to be at the warm, bustling Burrow rather than the empty, drafty Gryffindor tower, and as the Weasleys didn't see any reason to send them back to school, they extended their visit indefinitely. Remus too was persuaded to stay, though he had originally been adamant about leaving, and Harry couldn't quite imagine what Mr. Weasley had said to change his mind. But he was glad he had.

Later that night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were happily settled in Ron's room, tired from the day's activity. "It's just as well," Hermione said from the foot of Ron's bed, looking up from her knitting. "I didn't fancy spending another night worrying that those dementors were still about." She shivered into Ron's thick quilt wrapped around her shoulders.

"Dementors?" Ron repeated looking up from the chess game he and Harry were playing on the floor.

"In Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve," Harry replied solemnly. "They Kissed some Muggle-born witch. It was all over the papers. Hermione got a bit freaked out by the idea of them so close."

Hermione raised an indignant eyebrow at him. "Right. And you weren't worried at all."

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes clandestinely at Ron.

Hermione huffed. "As I recall, it was your idea for me to--" Hermione broke off, glancing quickly at Ron.

"To what?" Ron asked, sending one of his knights to decapitate Harry's bishop.

"Oh," Hermione said, suddenly very involved in her knitting. "Er..."

Ron glanced up at Harry.

"Nothing," Harry said as lightly as he could. "It was nothing really."

Ron frowned at him. "What's going on? I thought we weren't going to keep any more secrets from each other..."

Harry swallowed uncomfortably.

"We're not," Hermione said promptly. She took a deep breath. "It's really nothing. I just spent the night in your dormitory on Christmas Eve."

"Oh," Ron said reasonably, looking back down at the chessboard. Suddenly, his head snapped up. "You WHAT?? But that's-- You're a... You can't-- Whu?"

Hermione sniffed and seemed to be determined not to acknowledge the fact that she was blushing deeply. "It's not a big deal, Ron. It was only because of the dementors..."

Ron continued to sputter unintelligibly for a few moments, his ears turning a fiery shade of red. "Besides," Hermione added, getting into her stride, "it's not as though there's really anything wrong with that. Harry and I are both adults, aren't we Harry? Really, it was no different than the two of you staying in the same room."

"Yeah, right," Ron replied sarcastically, "no difference at all. Except that you're a GIRL!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Ron. I'm glad you finally noticed."

"Well!" Ron exclaimed. He turned to Harry. "And I suppose the two of you just cuddled up in the bed together and--"

"Ron!" Hermione cried. "Don't be a toad! Harry slept in his bed and I slept in yours!"

Ron snapped his mouth shut rather suddenly and blinked several times, digesting this pronouncement. Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the bed. They were all quiet for a few tense moments.

"I think I'll see if Mrs. Weasley needs any help in the kitchen," Hermione said at last, slipping off the bed and hurrying out of the room.

For a while, Harry and Ron continued their chess game in silence. Harry's stomach was squirming uncomfortably. Girls sleeping in boy's dorms aside, it occurred to Harry that if he wanted to keep Ron and Hermione as friends, they would expect him to tell them his secrets. All of them. Including the one he had been putting off all term.

The longer you put it off, the harder it will be, he told himself.

After he first heard, he hadn't wanted to tell them at all. Then it had been a matter of waiting for the right time to tell them. Now he was beginning to understand that the right time would never come. Ron moved his queen to take one of Harry's pawns, and Harry realized that he'd left his king unprotected. He moved his own queen. "Checkmate," he said suddenly, surprised.

"What? Oh. Right," Ron replied distractedly.

Harry frowned. "You OK?"

"Yeah," Ron replied lightly. "Why?"

"Well, it's just you've hardly ever lost a game of chess to me before."

Ron looked up, studying him hard. "Did anything happen, then? With Hermione?"

Harry gaped at him. "What?? No! You know it didn't."

"But you'd tell me if it had?"

"Of course I would, Ron, don't be--"

"Because I don't want to go on making a fool of myself if there's something between you two."

Harry shook his head emphatically. "There's not, and you know it. I wouldn't do that to you. Not after you've told me that you -- you know... I'll tease you about it mercilessly, but that's the extent of my cruelty, I swear."

Ron nodded, looking rather relieved. They heard Mrs. Weasley calling them to dinner, and both got up to go.

"She slept in my bed, huh?"

"Yeah. So just promise me you'll cast a silencing charm before you go visualizing it when we get back, right?

"Perv."

"Tosser."

"So, did you see anything then?"

"Euargh! I'm going to pretend you didn't just ask me that."

"You'd tell me though?"

"Shut up, Ron."

"Who wants dessert?" George stood and asked, grinning wildly.

"Couldn't eat another thing if I tried," Ron moaned patting his stomach lovingly. "Why? Did you bring some more of the Entertain-Mints?"

"Something better," George replied, "and entirely new."

"Oh no," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. Ginny grinned.

"No, no! These are brilliant!" Fred said, retrieving a large tin from the rucksack he'd dumped by the back door. "All new confection from the Brothers Weasley." He whipped the lid off to George's trumpeted fanfare. "I give you... Marsh-Mellows!"

"Marshmallows?" Hermione repeated. "Those are Muggle sweets."

George looked scandalized.

"Muggles don't make them like this!" Fred retorted, grabbing one of the fluffy sweets out of the tin. It was pale yellow and shaped like a very intricately carved sunburst. "Theirs are all just cylinders or cubes..."

"Boring!" George interjected.

"Ours are art!" Fred presented one of them to Ginny with a flourish. She regarded it warily.

"What's wrong with them?" she asked.

"Wrong with them?" George repeated, sounding appalled. "There's nothing wrong with them! They're perfect in every conceivable way."

"Better," Fred insisted.

Ginny looked doubtful but didn't bother to argue.

"I think what she means is, what will they do to us?" Hermione asked, cautiously accepting a pale green one shaped like a perfect, miniature tree.

Fred and George cast her perfectly matched looks of innocence.

"Not a thing," they assured her.

From the head of the table, Remus laughed. "You boys could sell sour milk to cows."

"Care to sample the merchandise?" Fred asked, offering Remus the tin.

"I forbid you to try your experimental concoctions on our guests!" Mrs. Weasley announced. "Remus, you don't have to take one."

Remus shrugged. "As there's very little that can actually kill me..." He took one shaped like a little blue bird and popped it into his mouth. He chewed experimentally a few times, while everyone around the table waited for him to explode or turn purple or start whistling like a bird.

Nothing happened.

"Tastes like a marshmallow," he announced.

"You see?" said George pressing the tin on Harry. Harry shook his head, too full even to contemplate more food.

"Bill? Charlie?"

"Oh, what the hell," Bill said, accepting the proffered sweets. "But what's the fun if they don't do anything?"

Fred grinned at him.

"None for me, thanks," Mr. Weasley said, standing and putting on his coat. "I'm going out to the shed for a bit, Molly."

"These are pretty good," Ron said, taking a handful from the tin and popping one in his mouth.

"I'll be in the living room if you want any help, Molly," Remus said.

Harry glanced up as he left the room. He'd been looking for a chance to talk to Remus alone all evening, and it seemed now was his chance. Quietly, he slipped out of the kitchen and dashed up the stairs to Ron's room, retrieving the little memory box from under his bed before hurtling back down the stairs again.

Remus had settled on the sofa nearest the fire and was reading when Harry came in the room.

"Remus, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Remus looked up and nodded, marking his place and setting the book aside. Harry realized that it was the poetry book and felt his face go hot again.

"What's up?" Remus asked. He was looking much healthier today: a more normal color in his cheeks and fewer shadows around his eyes. Mrs. Weasley hadn't stopped trying to feed him since he'd arrived, and if he sat still for more than two minutes at a time, she had a plate of something for him whether he wanted it or not. Harry plopped down onto the sofa across from him and held out the little wooden memory box.

"Professor Lindell gave it to me," he explained. "I... She -- well, it's a memory of my Mum." Remus took the box from him curiously.

"She knew Lily?" he asked, turning the box over in his hands.

"Well, sort of. Her sister, Penny, knew Mum I suppose."

Remus looked up sharply. "Penny -- of course! I'd forgotten she had a sister. Stupid of me." He laughed suddenly as he handed the box back to Harry. "She rather fancied Sirius if I remember correctly. Penny, that is."

"I thought," Harry began uncertainly. "I thought you might like to see it."

Remus shook his head. "Only works once for each memory, Harry. These boxes are a bit like miniature Pensieves, but the charms aren't as complex. Once they show the memory it's gone."

"Oh," Harry said, crestfallen. Gone.

"That's a very personal gift, a memory," Remus said, watching Harry thoughtfully. "You and Professor Lindell must be getting along well..."

Harry shrugged. He had intended to use the memory box to try to coax Remus into talking about what had happened to Penny Lindell, but now it didn't seem that important. It was stupid, really. The memory had been just that, but knowing that he couldn't see it again, he felt a bit like he'd lost something very important to him, a photo album left on a train and just... gone.

"What do you think of her?" Remus asked, interrupting Harry's disappointed musings.

"Oh, she's all right I suppose. She's really smart."

Remus nodded. "But, well, what I'm trying to ask is, where do you think her loyalties lie?"

Harry looked up, surprised.

Remus pressed on quickly. "I need her help, you see." He paused. "You remember I told you that the Sect is interested in Eternal Youth? Well, they were very keen on letting me in because I am a werewolf. They have a particular interest in particular attributes, especially with regard to the ability to heal." His hand drifted unconsciously up to his collar where, the night before, Harry had seen several angry red welts.

Harry frowned. "They want to be werewolves?"

Remus smiled wryly. "No. They want the werewolf's magic without the negative side effects."

"And they expect you to give it to them?" Harry surmised.

"Something like that." Remus cadged. "I have a few ideas, but it would take me months -- if not years -- to do all the research I would need. I was hoping your professor might be able to help me, especially if she's as good a Scriptionist as everyone says she is." He sighed. "But she could be more a liability than an asset if her sympathies don't lie with us."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Something didn't make sense. "Why don't you ask Dumbledore? I mean, wouldn't he know -- better than me, at any rate?"

Remus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one weary hand. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. "Dumbledore is being... elusive. As usual, I suppose. When I asked him, all he would say was that it was my decision whether or not to trust her. I don't even know her, so I'm asking you."

Harry was flattered; it was a little silly, he realized, but he couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride that Remus was asking for his opinion.

"I think she's all right," he said at last. "I mean, I certainly don't think she's a Death Eater, if that's what you're asking."

"The Lindells are a very old family," Remus replied. "Several of Penny's cousins were in Slytherin and openly supported the Death Eaters. Penny herself..."

"What?" Harry asked eagerly, his curiosity overcoming him.

Remus sighed. "We suspected that Penny's husband, Uli, was a Death Eater," he said slowly, a sad expression creeping across his face. "But she was a good friend of Lily's, and Lily told her what James and the rest had found. Penny denied it at first, but even she couldn't make all the pieces add up. She told Lily she was going to confront him about it. She planned to leave him if he couldn't give her an explanation, and then..." Remus glanced up at Harry. "And then she died."

"You were at her funeral," Harry said.

Remus frowned. "How did you--"

"I saw it," he replied. "In Professor Lindell's memory, the first time I did Legilimency. You went with my Mum."

"She asked me to go," Remus replied with a shrug. "She was afraid that James would make a scene."

"Because Snape would be there," Harry concluded.

"And Malfoy," Remus added. Harry must have looked surprised. "Uli Malfoy," Remus explained, "Penny's husband."

Suddenly, there was a loud clatter of falling chairs. Remus and Harry jumped as Ron poked his head into the room. "Where's Harry? My mate Harry! My best mate Harry -- come and have some sweets!"

Remus raised an eyebrow and reached for his book. With a shrug, Harry followed Ron back into the kitchen.

Harry wandered into the kitchen to a very strange scene. Bill and Charlie were sitting near the fire arm wrestling; Ginny was lying on the floor under the table, singing to herself; Hermione was sitting on the end of the table where Ron plunked down into a chair and leaned back dangerously in his chair; and -- perhaps most disturbingly of all -- Fred and George were at the sink washing up.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, dropping down into a chair next to Ron and setting his memory box on the table.

"Nothin'," Ron said, grinning. "Have a marshmallow! They're brilliant."

"I wonder where that came from, brilliant," Hermione said thoughtfully, kicking her feet back and forth off the edge of the table wildly. "Do you think it was originally supposed to be brilliant, like intelligent, or brilliant like shiny?"

Harry took a Marsh-Mellow from the nearly empty tin and popped it into his mouth. It wasn't all that special. Just tasted like a regular old marshmallow to him.

"Er... Why is Ginny under the table?" he asked Hermione.

"I think the eta-- enta-- roots of slang words are so much more interesting than the roots of regular words, don't you Ron?"

"Ha! ROOTS!"

Harry stared from Ron to Hermione and back again as he popped another Marsh-Mellow into his mouth. "No, seriously," he said, "what's going on?"

"Need a refill lads?" George asked, offering Bill and Charlie some cocoa from a saucepan. Both of the older Weasley boys held out their mugs to be refilled and Fred surreptitiously dropped a small handful of Marsh-Mellows in.

"We three kings of orient are," Ginny sang in a very high voice. "Tried to smoke a rubber cigar!"

"There's a thought," Fred said, coming to sit down next to Harry. "Rubber cigars. What do you reckon, George?"

"Nah," said George, carefully pulling out his chair so as not to step on his little sister. "Been done to death."

"Yeah, well I once got charged by two Romanian Longhorns at once. Nearly took my head off in one bite those buggers did." Charlie was banging on the little end table between him and Bill for emphasis.

"Dragons've got nothing on mummies," Bill scoffed. "Those ancient sots'll curse you as soon as look at you! Had one once that was so protective of her treasure she'd burn yer eyes right outta yer head." He took a large swig of his cocoa dramatically. "Took that bint down with one spell I did."

"Aren't you having any?" Harry asked George as he accepted a mug of cocoa filled to the brim with Marsh-Mellows. "These thingies are pretty good, you know?"

"Oh we know," George grinned. "Our Marsh-Mellows are going to be a big hit. Especially with your demographic."

"Now there's an interesting word," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Demographic. DEMO-graphic. Demographic. Demo. Graphic."

"I love you, mate," Ron said suddenly, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders.

"What's that?" Harry asked. He found he was having rather a hard time following the conversations going on around him.

"And you!" Ron said, pointing at his brothers. "I love you too! Gred and Forge!" The twins dissolved into fits of giggles.

"Siiiiiilent night. Hoooooooly night!" Ginny sang shrilly.

"Ron," Fred said through his laughter, "Ron, tell Harry your brilliant idea."

"Right!" Ron shouted pointing first at Fred and then at Harry. "Right! Brilliant it is! My idea!" He grinned wildly for a second and then turned to frown at Fred. "What was it again?"

"About Hermione going for Prime Minister."

"Oh right." He turned to look back at Harry. "I think Hermione should go for Prime Minister."

Harry took a swallow of his cocoa, swirling it around to get the last of the melted marshmallows off of the sides. "Why?" he asked, frowning into his almost empty cup.

"Well, she's bright, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

"And right pretty too."

Harry looked up as Fred and George doubled over laughing. "What?"

"Well yeah!" Ron exclaimed. "Anybody who's going to be on fellytishion has to be smart looking, don't they?"

"I wouldn't want to do it just to look smart," Hermione said airily, looking at the ceiling. "I'd want to make a difference. The first witch in parliament." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Although, if they wanted to put me on television, I suppose that would be okay too..."

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" Bill said, standing up. He charged, somewhat unsteadily into the next room with Charlie hot on his heels. "MUM! Where's your tape measure??"

"What do they want a tape measure for?" Hermione asked. Harry noticed that she was starting to look a little ill.

Ron started to snigger. "I think they're measuring their wands..."

"God rest ye merry hippogriffs, let nothing you dismay!"

Harry bent over and looked under the table. Ginny was lying on her back under the table, one leg crossed over the other, singing quietly to herself.

"Oy," he said. She looked over at him. "Don't sing that one, right?"

"I'll sing what I want to, Harry Potter!" she said and stuck her tongue out at him. Harry frowned, his chest painfully tight as he pulled his head back out from under the table. Why couldn't she just stop singing that song?

"Where are my elbows?" Ron demanded suddenly. He was twisting around so far in his seat that he was in danger of falling out of it. "I can't feel my elbows!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Hermione announced, jumping down off the table, taking a moment to steady herself, then bolting for the door.

"Take it easy, Ron," Fred said, putting a hand out to steady him. "I'm sure your elbows will be back in the morning." He glanced over at George. "Think he might have had a few too many," he hissed.

George nodded. He stood up and grabbed Ron by one of his wayward elbows. "Come on Ronnie. Let's get you to bed." Ron stood and stumbled slightly, causing Fred to grab his other elbow.

"Harry," Fred said, shooting a glance over his shoulder as they led Ron towards the door. "Think you can find your way upstairs by yourself?"

Harry grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't particularly want to talk, or think, or anything. He had too many thoughts bouncing around his head. Father Christmas hats on dead house elves. God rest ye Merry Hippogriffs... sang a husky voice across his memory. "Who was that man with the abysmal singing voice?" Harry's scar began to burn. All his fault... All his fault...

He shook his head angrily. Thinking like that wouldn't get him anywhere, even if it were true. And it wasn't exactly his fault. It was Dumbledore's fault for not telling him about the prophecy. If he'd known what was in the Department of Mysteries...

"Ow," he said aloud, rubbing his forehead.

The prophecy. He had to tell the others, and soon. If he didn't, and they found out some other way... Ginny was still humming that stupid song under the table. Glaring, Harry kicked the chair nearest to him and it bumped into the table, sending the memory box skidding a few inches across the scarred wooden surface. Harry stared at it.

Remus had said it worked like a Pensieve. Grabbing the box, Harry twisted the end until the other side slid obligingly open. He had seen Dumbledore and Snape both use the Pensieve; it had seemed easy enough. Drawing his wand out of his back pocket, Harry put it to his temple, thinking hard about that horrible hour he'd spent in Dumbledore's office last May. Drawing the wand away from his head, he saw a thin strand of silvery stuff clinging to the end of it, and his eyes widened. That was his memory, his thoughts... Suddenly, the silvery stuff was sucked off the end of the wand down into the box which slid quickly shut with a loud click.

Harry blinked at it. That was all there was? He'd expected something a little more grand. Still, it was done. Grabbing the box, Harry got up and headed, for the door, only stumbling once when he caught his foot on the edge of a chair.

"G'night, Harry," someone called. Harry turned to see who was talking to him, but no one was there. Then he remembered that Ginny was under the table.

"Oh. Night -- HEY!" Harry tried to turn to leave the room, but he found that his head seemed to be frozen in place. He couldn't turn it to look from side to side, and though he could move the rest of his body, he was effectively glued in place. He tried not to panic.

Ginny crawled out from under the table and slowly got to her feet, giggling.

"Didn't Ron warn you about the mistletoe?" she asked, walking towards him.

"I'm stuck!" Harry said, rather unnecessarily.

"I can see that," Ginny replied. She stopped a few feet in front of him and stood there, watching with her hands on her hips, and her mother's expression on her face.

"How do I get un-stuck?" Harry demanded.

"It's mistletoe. How do you think?"

Harry frowned. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

Ginny grinned. "What's in it for me?" she asked.

Harry thought about this for a moment. "My undying gratitude?" he suggested. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's a start," she said with a sigh. She took another step forward so that they were face to face. Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Rolling her eyes, Ginny leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank--huh!" Harry tried to take a step, but his head remained firmly held in place. "It didn't work!"

"Well I can see that," Ginny retorted. "Those stupid twits."

"What?" Harry demanded.

"They've obviously charmed it so that it has to be a -- a real kiss," Ginny replied. She started to blush, right up to her ears.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling his own face reddening. "Well, it won't be that bad."

Ginny made a face at him. "Thanks a lot!"

"You know what I mean..."

"Well, close your eyes."

"Why?"

"I can't kiss you with you staring at me like a dead fish!"

"Oh."

"Stop fidgeting."

"I can't help it! You don't know how weird it is to have your head stuck like this."

"Well, just hold still for a minute!"

Suddenly, Harry felt her hands on either side of his face, and before he could react, he was kissing Ginny. He was kissing Ginny. Ginny.

He pulled back suddenly and, realizing that his head was free, took several large steps back out of the doorway. He and Ginny stared at each other for a long moment from either side of the doorway, and Harry found that he suddenly felt very lightheaded and awkward.

"Er..." he said. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."

"I don't think I will."

"Good! I mean, good."

"Well."

"Yeah."

"G'night then."

"Goodnight, Harry."