Loose Screws

Chapter Two Under the Burrow

The next few days went by slower than Harry expected them to. On top of his occasional grief, Aunt Petunia had him do more chores, Uncle Vernon had screamed his lungs out (Harry accidentally spoke the forbidden word, "magic"), and Dudley had made a few more attempts at the cake. All the while, Harry did a little packing each day and returned to his still state of nothingness as he watched the minutes slowly pass by, sometimes mildly regarding two light blue, fragile hair clips that he'd found under his floorboards.

Left by previous owners, he thought idly. Probably porcelain. Could be worth something.

It was as though it had been forever when Arthur Weasley, Ron’s dad, finally showed up on Friday afternoon. Before the Dursleys could, he spotted them, their flaming red hair visible through the tinted windows, driving up to the house. Pocketing the clips, he hurriedly rushed out the door, stood on the porch, and watched them pull into the driveway in a new car (well, new to him). Their old car, a bewitched Ford Anglia, was somewhere in the Forbidden Forest at the moment fending for itself. Ron and Harry had had to use it to get to Hogwarts in their second year due to their inability to reach the Hogwarts Express.

Their new car, its red surface holding a dull shine in the noonday sun, came to a stop. He almost immediately felt better as the three Weasleys inside exited the car one by one: First Arthur, then Ron, then the youngest Weasley, Ginny, who smiled brightly as she waved at Harry. He waved back. Behind him, he heard the door open once again and turned to see Aunt Petunia eyeing the Weasleys suspiciously, nostrils flared in anger.

"What are they doing here?" she snapped at Harry. "And in broad daylight!" His smile faded.

"They came to get me," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in world.

"No one said you could go anywhere."

Harry gave her a look of false hurt. "If you wanted me to stay, you should’ve just said so."

Petunia stared at him for a moment (I see where Dudley gets it, he thought) and began to chew on her tongue, as if trying not to hit him. Finally she gave in. "Fine, then. Go get your things before I change my mind."

Harry bowed in the Weasley family, who helped him carry his trunk and other belongings to the car. Ginny helped him carry down Hedwig’s cage, careful not to disturb her sleep. Ron was already outside, putting Harry’s broom and birthday gifts with the rest of their things in the car's trunk. Mr. Weasley was in the kitchen, trying to start friendly conversation like last year. He'd failed, however, after bursting through the Dursleys’ boarded-up fireplace to pick up Harry. He was looking around at all the "Muggle (non-magic person)" objects; he had always had a keen interest in studying Muggles and how they lived.

"So," he was saying to an annoyed-looking Aunt Petunia, "…er…that’s a refiderator -"

"Refrigerator," Harry corrected as he passed by with Ginny and Hedwig.

"Right, a refriderator…" he trailed off. "Well, I must be going now. Nice talking to you."

Aunt Petunia, still chewing her tongue, didn’t respond.

They all loaded themselves back into the car. Ron and Harry sat in the back seat while Ginny took the passenger seat.

"Okay, kids, bad news," Mr. Weasley announced, checking his pockets. "Arthur has left his wallet of Muggle money at home, so we’re going to have to make a pit stop at the Burrow." The Weasleys groaned in disappointment.

"But Dad," whined Ginny. "That’s over an hour away!"

"Yeah, can’t you just drop us off at Hermione’s?" suggested Ron.

"We need money for petrol, son," lectured Mr. Weasley. "I don’t believe we've enough of it to make it to Hermione’s."

"Can’t we just magic our way there like we usually do?"

"No, no…you know what your mother said…"

"Never stopped you before," muttered Ron.

"What was that, Ron?"

"Nothing, Dad." He then turned to Harry.

"So...how are things?" he asked carefully.

Harry sighed. "So far, so good."

"Really? No odd stuff with your scar? No bad dreams?"

"No, actually." Before Ron could ask any more questions, Harry changed the subject. "How’s your summer been? Anything new?"

Ron’s expression quickly changed. "Er, sort of..." Ron’s eyes darted from his father to Ginny, from her to Harry, and then down to the floor. He looked as though he was about to say something but shook his head. "You know what? Never mind, I’ll tell you later."

"What?" prompted Harry. Ginny, who saw Ron fidgeting in the rearview mirror, spoke up. "The ministry’s trying to make us move."

Harry looked at her through the mirror, surprised. "Really?" She nodded. "Why are they trying to make you move?"

She shrugged. "I think the Burrow could’ve been condemned, but I don’t see why. Despite how it looks as though it’s going to topple over, it’s still pretty fit to live in."

"No, it hasn’t been condemned," explained Mr. Weasley. "And they’re not moving us out. They’re temporarily relocating us. We’ll be back at home in due time."

Ron then decided to talk. "But why, Dad?"

"Well, apparently, this woman came by the ministry one day, complaining that her secret hideout was blocked. She says she needs it for protection from You-Know-Who. According to her, it’s under our house." Everyone else in the car gave him looks that could only be translated into, "Are you insane?"

"That’s why they’re relocating us?!" exclaimed Ron. "Because some crazy old hag says we’re blocking her ‘hideout’?"

"Lucius Malfoy was pretty sure she was crazy, too. That is, until she named the location." The confusion on their faces seemed to disappear. Lucius Malfoy was another employee at the Ministry of Magic. He and the rest of the filthy-rich Malfoy family had a particular grudge against the poor Weasley family, not to mention Harry for being a friend of them.

"Hold on a second..." said Harry suddenly. "Malfoy still works for the Ministry?" Lucius Malfoy was a follower of Voldemort called a Death Eater. Harry had figured that any Death Eaters in the Ministry were unwanted guests and, naturally, would've been fired.

"Actually, he disappeared some weeks ago," said Mr. Weasley, "but this claim was made in May, and Cornelius Fudge is still in denial, so technically he's still an employee. " Harry remembered now. Fudge had flipped out when Voldemort returned to power, refusing to believe it. From the sound of it, Malfoy hadn't been fired.

When they finally arrived at the Burrow, they all exited the car and stretched. Mr. Weasley went inside and began to look for his wallet; the other followed him. Ron and Ginny went upstairs to check one final time and make sure they had everything. Harry followed them, running into their older twin brothers Fred and George, who were identical down to the last freckle.

"Hey Fred, hey George," said Harry in greeting.

"How’s it going, Harry?" said Fred.

"I’m fine," he said simply.

"What are you lot doing here?" asked George. "I thought you were going to Hermione’s house."

"Your dad forgot his wallet."

"Well, that was good timing," said Fred. "We’ve been meaning to talk to you."

"We were going to write you, but since you’re here…" added George.

"Talk about what?"

"Well, first of all, we’d like to thank you again for the money for our joke shop," said George. Harry had given them his winnings of a thousand galleons from last year’s Triwizard Tournament, thinking that they needed it more than him. Known to most for their unique, peculiar creations, they planned to start a joke shop after they graduated from Hogwarts that year.

"Again, don’t mention it. What else?"

"Well," began Fred, "we’ve been looking at good lots to put our first shop, and the prices…well they’re pretty good too, actually. A lot of paranoid occupants eager to leave because - well, you know...rumours?" He finished this statement somewhat quietly, obviously referring to the spreading rumours about Voldemort.

"Yeah?"

"We found that, with the money me and Fred have already made from selling some of our inventions this summer, we have more than enough money, and we’d feel guilty if -"

"Keep the extra money," Harry said shortly, seeing where this was going.

"Seriously? You don’t want any of it?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely sure?"

Harry sighed. "If it bothers you that much, give it to someone who needs it, like Ron. Remember when I told you to buy him some new dress robes?" Fred and George looked at each other and chuckled darkly. "Oh, yeah," they said simultaneously. Ron had complained about the dress robes he’d worn, red ones lined with lace, to the Yule Ball last year.

After Fred and George had returned to their rooms, Harry sat on the stairs to wait on Ginny and Ron. There was a silence for a moment, and then he heard the murmur of Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys’ voices from the kitchen.

"You’re not packing?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Why would I be? I’m not leaving, Arthur," she said defiantly.

"Molly, we’ve been over this - I know you don’t want to go --"

"No one - not even the damn Ministry -" Harry was shocked; he'd never known Mrs. Weasley to be angry enough to curse with even the mildest word, "- is going to tell me where I’m supposed to bide my time and care for my children."

"They’re just digging under it to find something."

"Well, I’m not leaving so someone can just come in and destroy my house for a stupid reason --"

"They’re not destroying it. This isn't like the last time - they’ll put everything they mess up back together, and we’ll come back."

There was a short pause. "Not if Lucius Malfoy can help it. And you know we haven't enough for a new house, Arthur."

Before any more could be said, Ron and Ginny came bounding down the stairs. Harry reluctantly followed, passing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting at the kitchen table. Mr. Weasley rose from his seat. Harry glanced briefly at Mrs. Weasley, who returned a tight smile from where she sat. "Be careful, Harry dear."

Harry and the three others returned to the car. Ron was empty-handed, confident he had everything. Ginny, back in the front seat, was holding a small, black journal ("And this one doesn’t talk back," she remarked). She used to have a diary during her first year at school, but it had been previously owned by Tom Riddle, or Voldemort, if you will. As you can imagine, that didn’t lead to a lot of good. Her statement was among the last on the way to the Granger residence, and they rode in silence, listening to the radio. In Harry's head, one comment repeated itself again and again: "This isn't like the last time."

They arrived at her house about an hour and a half later. The scenery was definitely different than that of the Burrow or number four, Privet Drive. 8428 Alcedonia Grove was a soft blue, two-story house covered in vines and surrounded by forestry. Very pretty, to say the least. The three of them got out the car, walking past a few towering trees and onto the vast porch. When Harry rang the doorbell, they almost immediately heard footsteps inside the house, which was soon accompanied by a voice.

"Who is it?" Hermione called from inside. Before they could answer, the door swung open (Harry guessed Hermione looked through the peephole). A look of relief came over her. There wasn't much chance to comment on the new glasses she was wearing.

"It’s about time you got here!" was the first thing that came out of her mouth. "I was getting worried you weren’t coming or that something happened..."

"No, Dad just forgot his wallet at home -" Ron was cut off when Hermione caught him in a hug. "Er…It’s good to see you, too, Herm…" he said awkwardly before she moved on to the others.

"You look different," commented Ron with narrowed eyes, as Harry struggled for air in her grasp.

"You mean the glasses?" she answered.

"Maybe…no, that's not it..."

"I got a hair cut," she said simply. Her hair now hung just above her shoulders and was noticeably more straight, less bushy. It was curled out in a way that, with her glasses, made her look like Wendy from some of Dudley's Where's Waldo? books.

"Since when have you had glasses, Hermione?" said Harry.

"Actually, I just got them a few days ago. Still itching my nose a bit."

She then helped them bring in their belongings from the car ("Shoes on the porch," she instructed. "My parents don’t want them on the carpet."). Ginny gasped as she entered the foyer and looked around her. "I love your house, Hermione," she complimented. "It’s huge!"

"It’s too big, if you ask me," she stated as she helped Ron set down his trunk. "I mean, it’s only my parents and I. We really don’t need all of this room."

Ginny ran up to the window that overlooked the terrain behind the house. "But just look at this view!" she continued. "A forest, a lake and a pool -"

"You can use it if you know how to swim," she offered. "Mum and Dad know how, but I don’t. I was always afraid of drowning." Harry nodded in agreement. Not that he was afraid of drowning - he probably would’ve known how if someone had taught him, but the Dursleys teach him to swim? Ha!

After they had finished unpacking their things, they waved goodbye to Mr. Weasley and Hermione was kind enough to give them a tour of the house.

"Okay, here," she said, referring to the impeccably clean room at the left of the foyer, "is the formal living room. Don't sit on the couches, don't touch anything. Don't even step on the carpet."

They walked into the area directly in front of the entrance. "This is the living room we're allowed to be in." Harry saw a small entertainment center with a TV and a stereo, a few couches, and a coffee table littered with several Muggle magazines and a recent issue of the Daily Prophet. She led them through the living room, past a half bathroom, and into a small room, decorated with several maps, a globe, and paintings from the likes of da Vinci, that adjoined the kitchen.

"And this," Hermione said, "is my favorite area of the house --"

"The study," finished Ron sarcastically. Hermione glared. "Very good, Ron," she replied stonily. "Anyway, this is our library, my desk..." Harry looked at her desk, which was also littered but with scrolls of parchment, a quill, and some empty bottles of ink. "And that's my favorite chair," she continued, walking up to a comfortable-looking armchair by the tall window and briefly sitting down. "This is where I do my reading."

Next, she showed them another small room behind the kitchen. She stood in the entrance, blocking the others out ("We can't go in there, either. Mum won't even let me in here."). And they could see why: the room was practically made of glass with all the candelabrums, crystals, and the chandelier.

They then backed out of that room into the kitchen, which contained an island, a gas-powered stove, and decorative herb and spice containers. Beside it was the informal dining room, where they could eat.

"Okay, moving on..." said Hermione, leading them out of the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs into a somewhat narrow hallway. Pictures of Hermione, her friends, and family lined the walls. Harry observed a much younger Hermione in a sailor suit and tried not to laugh. He saw a picture, from what Harry could tell, of her parents’ wedding day. In another, she was on the couch with a girl who somehow closely resembled Ginny, though in this picture, they didn't look any older than ten. Ron and Ginny eyed the photograph, as well as the others, suspiciously, the photographs not being animated like the ones they were used to in the wizarding world.

They first encountered a door on their left. "This is one of our extra bedrooms, which we use for a guest room sometimes." They then came to another room, this one on their right. "This is something like a billiard room, but we also use this as a guest bedroom sometimes because the couches fold out."

The door opposite of the billiard was open. "And this is my room," she explained as she reached out to close the door. "It's a bit of a mess at the moment. I was working on my Arithmancy homework: parchment everywhere."

She quickly concluded the tour with pointing out the last bits. There was one more room on the right, which was the toilet. The end of the hallway curved to the right, leading to the master bedroom. Done looking around the house, they all had lunch. Afterward, Hermione and Ginny settled in front of the TV, and Harry futilely played Ron at a game of Muggle chess in the billiard.

"I don't like this version of it," said Ron, who usually played with wizard chess sets. "They don't move on their own at all, and you can so easily cheat with this one."

"I could cheat all I wanted, but I'd still lose," remarked Harry. "Maybe not as fast, though. Check."

"You just need more practice, Harry. Check."

"I've been playing you for five years. How much practice do I need? Check."

"Well, you need to know not only what you're doing, but what they're doing."

"I do. I'm losing, you're winning."

"And that's another thing. You're so negative when you play, no energy whatsoever..." Harry stared flatly at Ron, who had not yet moved. "Your move, Ron."

Ron rolled his eyes and moved. "Checkmate."