The Lion and the Unicorn

Ginny slammed the lid of her trunk down and sat on the lid, wondering if she would have to jump up and down on it to get it to close properly. It did, however, and she glanced at it suspiciously as if it were going to explode again. She grabbed one handle and started pulling it toward the door.

She made it halfway down the hallway before giving up and calling for her brother. "Charlie! Can you come help with this, please?"

Her request did not have the desired results. Fred and George burst out of their room, saw her distress, and confiscated her trunk. "We'll take that for you, Ginny," Fred said, weaseling his way in front of her. "Don't worry; it's not a problem-"

"You're right," Ginny said, restraining her panic. She swallowed hard as she remembered the most important equation for life at The Burrow, F + G = T, where F and G were her brothers and T was trouble. "It's not going to be a problem. Because you are not going to sabotage my trunk, you miscreants! Unhand my luggage!"

"Did you say something, Gin?" George asked, grabbing the opposite end of the trunk and helping Fred carry it down the stairs.

"I didn't hear anything," Fred replied, nearly tripping over a step. As one, they stumbled down a few steps, swayed dangerously to one side, and inevitably fell over at the bottom of the stairwell, sending themselves and Ginny's trunk sprawling. It skidded to a halt, open once again, at the end of the hall. Fred, looking completely unhurt to Ginny's expert eye, bounded after it. "George, you clumsy oaf," he said. "Now we'll have to fix it."

"No," Ginny broke in, suddenly quite alarmed. "That's quite alright- I'll pack it back up by myself, thanks-"

"You hear something, Fred?"

"Just that we've got to fix this trunk before our dear sister has a fit. Lend me a hand, would you?" Together, the twins managed to stuff everything back in again. Fred gave the inside of the lid a triumphant pat before slamming it shut and, with the help of his brother, locking it that way.

"Good as new," George said brightly.

Ginny doubted it, but she hadn't seen any trickery, so miraculously held her tongue on the subject. "Well, at least you got the trunk downstairs." She surveyed the chaos with raised brow. One of the twins had accidentally knocked over a table and there was a dent in the wall where her traveling case had hit it and bounced off again. "Although I probably could have done it myself with less damage to the rest of the house."

"Always glad to help," one twin responded, giving a sharp salute before they both retreated to their bedroom.

Ginny sighed. Brothers. Can't live with them, can't kill them, not allowed to use magic outside of school. She dragged her trunk the rest of the way to the fireplace. "I'm leaving now!" she announced to the empty room, not sure what kind of reaction she would get. It was always different; sometimes Fred and George set off Filibuster Fireworks; sometimes they didn't bother to show up to say goodbye. She hoped this was one of those times.

Bill, who had been discussing something with her father, popped in for a minute. "Going so soon, Gin? It seems like I've hardly seen you since I moved back!"

Ginny made a face. "That's because you, like everyone else in our family, Ron excepted, work too much. Charlie's always with Dumbledore and Anya and their lot doing Merlin only knows what and you're always on assignment somewhere or other; Percy practically lives at the Ministry and the only time Fred and George come out of their room is to play some sort of mean trick involving Cockroach Clusters and windup mice! Dad's at the Ministry almost as much as Percy is and Mum's got so much to do around the house she can hardly spare a second to ask me what I think Harry wants for his birthday this year and-" Here she stopped, rubbed at her eyes, and sighed. "Oh… fudge it. Tell Mum I said goodbye, Bill; I need to get out of here. I'm losing what little sanity I had left." She turned and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames. "The Grangers'!" Ginny yelled and stepped forward, pulling her trunk behind her.

She didn't know how on earth Mr. Weasley had gotten the Muggle family hooked up to the Floo network after the fiasco at the Dursleys', but he had. Granted, it could have had something to do with the fact that Hermione was a superb student, or the fact that it was a young, innocent girl who was doing the traveling rather than three loud, obnoxious boys. However, it probably had more to do with preoccupied Ministry agents.

The Floo spit her out at exactly eleven o'clock on the Grangers' hearth. There was an old grandfather clock in one corner of the room, which looked nothing like any grandfather clock Ginny had ever seen, but it was intriguing just the same. The whole room was done in white, which made sense from what Ginny knew of dentists. Hermione's family was sitting, slightly shocked, on the couch. Apparently Hermione's parents, being Muggles, were not used to wizard transportation. "Hello," Ginny said, trying not to feel awkward. "You must be Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I'm Ginny Weasley. How do you do?" Making sure not to track soot on the carpet, she extended her hand. Mr. Weasley took it firmly and pumped it up and down.

"Good to see you again, Ginny," he said, the color already returning to his cheeks.

"Hello, Mr. Granger," she replied, smiling.

"Oh, you can call me Rob."

Ginny catalogued the name (although, she thought to herself, she'd probably stick to 'Mr. Granger,' as calling someone she had met twice in her entire life by his first name seemed a bit strange, especially since he was an adult) and shook hands with Mrs. Granger.

"Madeline," she introduced herself, smiling warmly. "Hermione, why don't you help Ginny get settled in? We can get better acquainted over lunch."

Ginny's stomach growled and she took an immediate liking to Mrs. Granger. She had skipped breakfast that morning in her rush to pack everything she'd need all summer and at Hogwarts afterwards.

Hermione helped her with her things and together they plopped the trunk down at the end of the guest bed. Ginny flopped backwards onto it, stifling a yawn. "It is so good to be here," she managed to say, eyes closed. "Fred and George wear me out when they're around, and when they're not, which is most of the time, things get pretty dull. I've spent half my summer reading!" Ginny injected unfelt disgust into this last sentence, but said it with a teasing look on her face.

Hermione looked a bit put out at first, but then shook her head and laughed. "You can sound so like Ron when you want to," she said, smiling. "I rather hope that's an air you're putting on, because one of him is quite enough."

"Don't I know it," Ginny replied ruefully, sitting up again. "But on the topic of reading, I did bring along a book I think you'll rather like- it's all about old Celtic legends and magic and other Irish things and makes for interesting reading. I've got it here in my trunk." She bounded off of the bed and flung her trunk open, only to be greeted by a loud crackle of static and then-

The words came bursting out in Ginny's own voice, though Heaven knew how the twins had engineered it. I knew they were up to something, she thought, examining the sticker with the interlocking Ws on it. Fred and George don't normally listen to Muggle music and they were playing this song all week. Now, how do I get it to stop?

Then, when the music stopped for a second, the singing voice (joined by several others just like it) gave a shout: "Harry!"

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "I'll kill them," she managed, but the song played on.

And, with the same voices, shouted Harry's name again. Ginny slammed her trunk shut and, mercifully, the song stopped.

Hermione stared at her for a moment, then collapsed in a fit of giggles. "You do know how the song ends, don't you?"

Ginny nodded, feeling herself turn red. "I've got a sneaking suspicion they'll never let me live it down," she said, sighing. "Do you know how to make it stop?"

Hermione shrugged. "Closing the trunk seemed to work. I'll have a look at it when we get to Hogwarts; I'm sure something can be done, but we're not supposed to use magic on the holidays."

Ginny smiled dryly. "I get the notices too, you know. Every year."

Hermione grinned back. "You really are channeling Ron today."

"Oh, stuff it," Ginny said crossly. "I've had quite enough of brothers for one morning! Besides, Ron's off in Ireland with Harry; it can't possibly be his influence you're sensing." She sighed, her temper cooling a bit. "But I'm sure you know all about that."

Hermione looked down at her hands in what Ginny deemed a guilty fashion. "Well, yes. And you needn't be so bitter about it, because I wasn't invited, either, and the only reason I know about it at all is because Bill sent a note back from The Burrow with Pigwidgeon unanswered and told me so. At least you got the information in person."

"True," Ginny conceded, thinking that it was not the sort of 'in person' she would have liked. "Anyway, who needs them? I, for one, am determined to have a wonderful summer, because if the last three years are any indication whatsoever, I'm not going to have such a wonderful time at school…"

"This year is definitely going to be different," Hermione confirmed. "They mentioned in the Daily Prophet that Hogwarts will have an Auror guard. From what I gather, the school board members had to veto Minister Fudge's vote against it- he still doesn't want to believe that we're in hot water." She sighed and gestured vaguely towards the nightstand. "He's not going to be able to ignore it much longer."

Ginny picked up the book and gingerly began flipping through. Pasted to the pages were various newspaper clippings, arranged in order of date of print, beginning with the Chamber of Secrets incident. She swallowed hard as she realized that a third of the book had already been taken up. Some, though, seemed completely unrelated to Dark activity at all. Ginny skimmed through one article about an all-too-familiar house-fire in Ireland. "What does this have to do with You-Know-Who?"

Hermione shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Maybe nothing. I've put all of the bad news in there, though. You never know what could be important."

Ginny nodded to herself and closed the scrapbook, suppressing the urge to shiver. Instead, she turned to Hermione and asked, "So what do we do before lunch?"

The older girl smiled. "Want to go swimming?"

*

"Hermione, I can't wear this!"

Because she didn't have a bathing suit of her own, Hermione had sent Ginny into the bathroom to try on one of her old ones. One had turned to two, and two to three, and Ginny was now trying on the final bathing suit that had any hope of fitting her. "Why not?" Hermione asked impatiently, flopping back onto the bed.

"I feel like a scarlet woman," Ginny answered back, sounding absolutely miserable. "It's too revealing. It's like I'm wearing some sort of primitive loincloth!"

Hermione shook her head. "If we're going to the pool, you have to look like a Muggle, Ginny. You can't go swimming in your school robes."

"Especially not as they don't fit anymore," came the response from behind the door. "Okay, Hermione. I'm coming out- just promise me one thing."

Expecting something about not laughing too hard, Hermione looked up from her spot on the bed. "Of course. What is it that you want?"

Ginny sighed heavily from behind the door. "Don't jump to conclusions," she begged, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Hermione had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop the strangled gasp from escaping. All of the color drained from her face, and her eyes grew so wide that she felt they were going to fall out. Drawing a deep breath, Hermione could only manage, "What happened?"

*

Anya stumbled out of the fireplace so fast that Charlie had the impression she'd been pushed. Coughing desperately, she looked at him with wide and watering eyes. "You will never believe what I found out this morning."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. Anya's life had gotten considerably more chaotic since she had taken a position in the Ministry's Department of Public Relations; he was about as likely to guess correctly as he was to find a Remembrall in a forest. "Probably not, but you'd better tell me anyway, since it seems to be so important."

Anya flopped down into a chair with a dramatic sigh. "Where's Sirius?"

"Playing the piano with Leon," Charlie answered. "It's getting increasingly difficult to tear either of them away from it, or from each other. Although, to be fair, Harry and Ron did get Sirius involved in a number of interesting schemes this morning. But I digress, and so do you. What's up?"

"Get Harry and Sirius," Anya replied. "They deserve to be the first to know."

So it happened that, five minutes later, Sirius, Harry, Ron and Leon gathered in the sitting room with Anya and Charlie to hear this interesting piece of news. "Well?" Charlie asked curiously. "What's so urgent that you're wasting your coffee break to get back here and tell us?"

Anya stood up again and let out a long sigh. "Well. As you know-" she threw a meaningful glance in Sirius' direction but he looked away- "Peter Pettigrew was responsible for the Potters' deaths, and not Sirius as everyone thinks. No one outside of the Order of the Phoenix is even aware that Pettigrew lives. At least, they weren't, until yesterday evening." Anya paused, exhaled deeply, and produced a newspaper from behind her back. "This is tomorrow's issue of the Daily Prophet." She shook it out, then folded it so that the front-page headline read clearly to all in the room. "It appears that Amos Diggory has spotted him in Hogsmeade."

*

Sirius was struck completely dumb for the first time he could remember. It seemed as if a hole had opened up in his skull and his mind had fallen through it, splattering the upholstery of the armchair he was sitting in with cerebral fluid. Could it be that after all these years, he might finally be free…?

A few long seconds ticked past and Sirius realized that everyone in the room was looking at him. Anya and Charlie were staring with apprehension, Harry and Ron with curiosity. Leon was playing with his goatee, but Sirius didn't notice. Finally he stood. Without a word, he transferred Leon to Harry's arms and retreated to the back room to think.

As had become his custom, Sirius took a seat at the old piano, running his hand over the smooth wood. After calming himself enough to remember what he was doing, he stretched his long fingers over the keys. The notes came slowly at first, and then more easily as the first ones began to bring back memories of the others. Soon the melody flowed complete from his fingers, and Sirius lost himself for the next few moments in the midst of a song he couldn't remember.

A voice from the doorway startled him out of his trance. "I didn't know you were a Paul McCartney fan, Sirius."

He looked up, reluctant to expose the pain he knew his eyes would give away. "Is that who wrote it." He turned his gaze down to his hands again.

"Do you sing, too?" He wondered if she was joking, but she sounded just a little too somber for that.

Sirius shook his head. "I can't remember the lyrics."

"Oh." Anya sat gingerly beside him on the bench. She shifted a bit, seeming uncomfortable. "You can't control what's happening, you know," she said at length. "You have to take things as they come. This is the first step in the right direction- eventually there will be another trial to clear your name…"

Sirius pulled the cover down over the keys. "There won't be another trial," he said. "If Voldemort is allowing Wormtail to show his face in Hogsmeade, they're either after me in particular or ready to start making some serious moves. The Ministry will be too goddamn busy to bother with someone who's been on the lamb for two years. Besides, the odds of both Pettigrew and I living through this are not so good."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Anya muttered under her breath. Sirius had the sudden, irrational urge to smile. "But it's still only beginning- there's time… for your name to be cleared…" She looked down at the piano. "At any rate, now that someone else in the house can play this, we should move it back to the sitting room. Maybe it'll keep you from being antisocial."

Sirius threw up his hands in mock-exasperation. "First I'm depressed and heavy and now I'm antisocial. I just can't win."

Anya smiled a bit. "Well, you know. Nobody's perfect. Anyway, are you going to help me move this thing or not?"

They stood up, and Anya directed her wand at the piano. It rose into the air and floated through the doorway, bending out of shape as if it were one giant piece of rubber. "And you needed my help for what?"

"You can carry the bench," Anya called back. "Charlie, could you try to find someplace to put this? I've got to get back to work or I'm going to be late..." She kissed Charlie's cheek as she rushed back to the fireplace, tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames, and was gone less than a second later.

Jelly pianos, Sirius thought incredulously. When I moved in here, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

*

Ginny sat up with a start, breathing hard, before flopping back against the pillows. This nightmare was different from the others. They began and ended with Voldemort and his lot. This nightmare had little or nothing to do with them at all, and rather reminded her of one of the stories she'd read in Anya's book before falling asleep.

She flicked on the lamp in the darkness, careful not to knock it over as per Hermione's directions. She grabbed the book from the bedside table and opened it to the pages before the bookmark.

Sure enough, the dream matched exactly to that particular legend, which had to do with one of the Knights of the Round Table, Sir Galahad, and his tragic love affair with Aine, at that time the ruler of Avalon. Aine, more magic than mortal by nature simply from living on the isle and almost a hundred years Galahad's senior, had been rather fond keeping Galahad on his guard, insisting that a woman could fight as well as any man if she had the proper training. Despite her skill with her dagger, however, Aine was captured by the Dark Wizard of the Anglo-Saxons and held for ransom.

Galahad was devastated. Having no idea that she had escaped from their enemies' clutches, he set out to rescue her, praying that he was not too late. His gallantry went afoul, however, and he met his love for the last time on the Salisbury Plain where Stonehenge was later moved.

Unable to bear the thought of sending Queen Aine's body back to the people who had so loved her, Galahad brought her instead to the temple at Newgrange, and laid her body and blade to rest in a chamber deep beneath the surface. Then, stricken with grief and guilt over what he had done, he journeyed to Stonehenge, which had been in Ireland at the time, and impaled himself upon his own sword on the Slaughter Stone. Both body and sword disappeared from the world of the living and were never seen again.

Ginny closed the book and leaned back with a sigh. She didn't see anything so unusual about the dream at all, which was wonderful. It was a perfectly unremarkable nightmare. Of course, there were other interpretations of when and why Galahad had vanished. In one, he drank from the Holy Grail after healing King Pelles with a spear and simply disappeared, along with the Grail itself. In the version Anya's book of legends supported, Galahad drank from the cup and it granted him a certain degree of immortality. Galahad later decided that his life was worthless without love and slayed himself with his own blade, the only one with the power to do so. Ginny thought that that was going a bit far, but they were only legends, after all. She turned off the lamp, closed her eyes, and let sleep take her once more.

*

Hermione woke Ginny up the next morning looking like she was going to explode. She was shifting from foot to foot anxiously, holding an already crinkled newspaper in her hands and calling, "Ginny! Ginny, wake up!" when the younger girl finally opened her eyes, shielding her face from the sunlight that shone in through the window.

"Hermione… Are you always up this early?" she asked, sitting up in bed.

"I couldn't sleep," Hermione replied, flopping down at Ginny's feet. "Anyway, you need to read this before something drastic happens, like I pass out."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, but took the newspaper from Hermione's outstretched hand.

Ginny snorted. It was probably just a ghost- murdered people often ended up sticking around to haunt those who had wronged them. Still, if Hermione was this worked up about it, she had better read the entire article, just in case.

By the time Ginny was finished reading the article, she was as white as Hermione was excited and bouncy. "Okay," she managed, "so what do you know that the rest of us don't? Textbook information aside, of course."

"Well, think about it," Hermione answered. "If Peter Pettigrew is alive, that means that Sirius Black didn't kill him. And if Sirius- er, if Black didn't kill him, he might not have killed the other people in the alley. If he didn't do that, he might not have betrayed the Potters. And then there's the object of why Pettigrew hasn't come forward before now, if he's still alive. Why did he just let everyone believe that Sirius had killed him? And how did he hide so well?"

Ginny knew Hermione well enough to know that she knew the answers to at least some of the questions she had just asked. "What are you saying? Are you saying that Black is innocent? Because that's a lot of ifs, Hermione."

"Oh, I'm just saying," Hermione answered, looking nervous, "that it's, you know, possible that we've got everything wrong. And it would be kind of nice, because Sirius Black is Harry's legal guardian and then he wouldn't have to live with those awful Dursleys anymore-"She must have seen the look on Ginny's face, because she stopped there.

"Harry's legal guardian?" Ginny said, eyes wide. I'm not even sure if that's good news or bad. Oh, I wish I'd never read that article… "I think you'd better explain."

Hermione sighed heavily. "All right, but I'm warning you now, it's a long story…"

*

He tied the parchment securely to the owl's leg, shaking his head at what he had just written. To Hagrid, it made little sense whatsoever, but he had confidence that Dumbledore could gain something useful from it. He had no idea what that something could be, but every little bit helped.

Without further delay (and with a rather curious glance at Hedwig, who had flown all the way from England to deliver Harry's letter), Hagrid pulled out another piece of parchment.

*

The emergency Ministry meeting was in a state of total chaos. Fairly evenly divided, each side had valid arguments and counter-arguments for the issue, and every person there had lost his or her temper more than once. Cornelius Fudge had a headache of the kind he had never had before. "Order!" he finally shouted, banging his fist on the table. Gradually, the noise level dropped to a dull roar. "Now," Fudge said, still completely furious, "Mr. Malfoy. Would you kindly state your case again."

Lucius Malfoy stood, bowed to the Minister with a look of controlled contempt on his face, and faced the rest of the assembled. "As everyone here is perfectly aware, there have been several unfortunate deaths in the past few months. They are all explainable and perfectly natural, however, considering the circumstances." He began to pace and tick off things on his fingers. "Bertha Jorkins, died on assignment in Albania. Understandable- there are many unscrupulous characters thereabouts."

Fudge noted mentally and with a somewhat fearful glance at Malfoy that there were plenty of unscrupulous characters in Britain, as well.

"Cedric Diggory at the Triwizard Tournament. There have been many deaths at this particular event throughout history- there is no reason for them to stop just because of an age restriction!" Malfoy didn't even bother to send a precursory glance in the boy's father's direction, just went on with his tirade. "Aside from that, one of his fellow champions, Harry Potter, who somehow got around the age restriction-" Lucius cast an angry eye about the room, as if he suspected one of those present had aided that-

"Everyone present knows how Harry got around the age restriction," Albus Dumbledore injected from the small assembled audience. "Bartemius Crouch, Jr., admitted to it under Veritaserum. You would do well to remember that, Lucius."

Lucius directed his venomous glare at Albus, then continued, "Bad luck seems to follow Potter, at any rate. And then James Dickinson, in a house fire, which is self-explanatory- he got burned to a crisp-"

The new Public Relations deputy just about exploded, Fudge noted, but thankfully restrained herself. Getting her angry was not a good idea. "Shee do not simply burn, Mr. Malfoy," she stated through gritted teeth.

Fully aware of Lucius' potent wrath, Fudge gave her a stern look. "I asked Mr. Malfoy to state his views, Miss Dickinson, not you."

She scowled, but didn't shrink or back down. Cornelius almost smiled to himself- she was definitely an asset to whatever side she was on, at any rate.

"I was finished," Lucius stated coldly, and resumed his seat, "except for my closing statement- that there is no unusual activity going on that we need be wary of."

Not unusual for you, perhaps, Mr. Malfoy. Fudge nodded. "Very well. Arthur, would you care to address your side of the issue?"

Arthur Weasley stood slowly, clasped his hands behind his back, and stated quite calmly, "By all evidence, Minister, the reason for all of these things is that the Dark Lord has returned."

This naturally caused quite a stir on both sides, but Arthur held his ground. Fudge, tired of denying what had happened any further, let him continue for the first time since Arthur had become concerned with the issue.

Casting an uncertain glance at Amos Diggory, who seemed to be somewhat bothered by the whole business, Arthur elaborated. "He first resurfaced a few years ago in a host body, when Harry Potter managed to send him into hiding for another two years. Last year he returned again, this time much stronger. He killed several Muggles and a few others, Bertha Jorkins possibly among them. His agent, Bartemius Crouch, Jr., entered Harry Potter in the Triwizard Tournament in an attempt to get him killed. When that failed, the Cup was turned into a Portkey. By Potter's account, he and Cedric Diggory tied the third task and took the Cup together, then were transported to a Muggle graveyard where Diggory was killed. Potter escaped, aided by the luck he's had since he was only a year old, and brought Diggory's body back with him." Arthur shrugged slightly. "I have no explanation for James Dickinson's death. Perhaps it was a house fire that killed him, but I personally believe he was dead! before that."

The Public Relations deputy looked as if she were about to say something, but thought better of it. Fudge nodded slightly- junior employees should know their places.

He banged the gavel on the table. "The topic is now closed. What of the question of the Peter Pettigrew sighting?"

Amos Diggory stood. "It couldn't have been anyone else, Minister. I knew Pettigrew at school- he was two years below me- but I also knew him afterward. We worked together at the Ministry for a while. He was solid when I bumped into him- or should I say when he bumped into me- and muttering under his breath about some potion or another and the immediate need for it. He just said, 'Good evening, Amos,' and kept walking. I was stunned." He fidgeted and sat down again.

"Have you any arguments to that, Mr. Malfoy?" Fudge challenged, feeling especially brave. Lucius shook his head no. "Very well." He glanced at his watch, wondering how much longer the meeting would have to last. "How do we address the issue?"

*

The dawn of July thirty-first sneaked up on the house quite late, when its occupants (most of them, at least) were already in action. Anya Dickinson was busily shooting streamers from the end of her wand, while Sirius was futilely attempting to teach Remus how to bake a birthday cake. Leon was still asleep (for once), Charlie was at The Burrow gathering party guests, and Arabella and Mundungus were on call, out somewhere spying at Dumbledore's request. Ron Weasley stumbled down the stairs as quietly as he could manage and into the kitchen to survey the mess.

"Astounding," he said, grinning wildly at the mess Remus was making. "You must be a worse cook than Charlie!"

Remus looked like he was trying his best to scowl at him, but the sight of Sirius completely covered in flour (Remus' fault, undoubtedly, Ron thought) must have betrayed him. "That cannot be possible," he said instead, flinging a piece of chocolate at his friend. "Do you believe me that I'm hopeless yet, Padfoot?"

"Oh, I knew that a long time ago. Still, frustrating you is fun." Sirius grinned. "I already finished the cake. You, my dear Moony, have been had."

Ron chuckled at Remus' look of ire and set about making some breakfast. "You haven't used all the eggs, have you, Sirius? We're out of bread for toast."

"Actually, Remus did," Sirius replied. "No matter. Go wake Harry up; you can have cake for breakfast."

"Sound!" Ron exclaimed. His mother would never let him have cake for breakfast.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Sirius?" Remus asked, using his wand to clean up the spilled flour. "They're going to get quite enough sugar as it is. And shouldn't we wait until Hermione and the Weasleys are here to-"

Weasleys? thought Ron. Dad must have told Ginny, Fred, and George about Sirius. The thought was interrupted by a somewhat loud crash from the living room. "Never mind."

They all hurried into the living room just as Harry was descending the stairs. He looked totally bewildered at the decorations and the guests until the piano began to play Happy Birthday all by itself and everyone began to sing. So it came to pass that Harry Potter had the first birthday party that he would ever remember.