Seo Gerecednis

The sun was just beginning to set when Bill angled the motorcycle downwards out of the cloud bank they'd been using to conceal themselves from prying Muggle eyes. As usual, Harry had neglected to put on a jumper before leaving Little Whinging, but at least this time he was able to scrunch down into the well of the sidecar and wrap his arms around his legs for warmth. His cheeks, though, were raw and tender, and his hair hung damply in his eyes. He was relieved to see the many-gabled roof of the Burrow not far in the distance. A bowl of Mrs. Weasley's chicken broth would go a long way towards thawing him out right about now. His stomach growled noisily, as if in agreement.

Soon they were skimming the tops of the trees in the woods bordering the Weasleys' land, disturbing a flock of crows roosting in the uppermost branches. One of them cawed at Harry, flapping its wings in his face and trying to peck at him, but Ginny shooed it away. Then, with another steep descent, Bill brought the motorcycle back to earth with a gentle bump and coasted it into a nearby shed. He turned off the motor and removed his helmet, then turned to Harry and handed him the keys.

Harry looked at Bill's outstretched hand. "What are you giving me those for?" he asked.

"They're yours. The motorcycle belongs to you now."

"What?" Confused, Harry looked to Ginny, but she either wasn't paying attention or she was ignoring him. He suspected the latter. Not getting any support or answers from that direction, he turned back to Bill. "Me? Why?"

"It belonged to Sirius." Harry's throat tightened. "He'd let me borrow it just before he...you know. I never had a chance to return it. I figured he'd want you to have it."

Overwhelmed, Harry stared at the motorcycle, turning the keys over and over in his hand. He'd heard that Sirius had a flying motorcycle, but he'd never seen it until today; when he'd had occasion to think about it, which truthfully hadn't been very often, he'd pictured it as one of those sleek, shiny bikes like Dudley was always slobbering over. He'd never thought Sirius would own such a piece of...magnificent machinery. The freedom he'd have....It was almost too much to believe in.

Then, as he imagined himself flying far away from all his worries, far from Little Whinging, Voldemort, the prophecy, and the whole sorry lot that had become his life, his heart sank. He looked up at Bill. "But I don't know how to drive a motorcycle."

Bill grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing to it, mate. Even Ginny can do it." He leaned close and whispered with a conspiratorial grin, "Just don't tell Mum. She'll have kittens if she hears I've been letting Ginny drive. She still hasn't got used to the idea of Ginny playing Quidditch."

Harry pocketed the keys and followed Bill out of the shed; Ginny had gone ahead into the house soon after they arrived. Bill closed and locked the shed door. "One thing, though," he said. "I borrowed the sidecar from Cecil Lovegood to bring you here. He'll be back to retrieve it when he comes to fetch Luna next week."

Harry froze in his tracks. Bill continued on, still talking, until he realized he'd lost his audience and looked back with raised eyebrows. "Harry?"

"Luna Lovegood is here?"

"Yeah. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Hermione mentioned she was visiting when she wrote to tell me about India, but I thought --"

"She's been here all summer. After he heard about her involvement in the attack on the Ministry, Cecil contacted Mum and Dad to see if she could stay here while he went on one of his research expeditions."

Harry wondered briefly if Mr. Lovegood had succeeded in finding the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. "Does he know about the Order?" he asked.

"Possibly, but I doubt it. Even if he did, that's not something he'd publish. Too plausible for *The Quibbler*. Anyway," Bill continued, "the Lovegoods live nearby, and Ginny and Luna have known each other since they were in nappies, so of course Mum said yes."

"I bet Ron loved that." He seemed to recall Luna being rather fascinated with Ron last year.

Bill snorted. "Not half as much as Hermione did." They shared a chuckle. "She's not our only houseguest, either," Bill said after a moment.

"You mean besides me?"

Bill frowned at him. "Harry, how long will it take you to realize that, to us, you're family?"

His cheeks grew warm, both in gratitude and in shame at the hint of reproach in Bill's tone. "Sorry. Who else is staying here?"

They had reached the back porch. Harry could see Ginny standing at the sink and her mother bustling about the kitchen. Bill opened the door and ushered Harry inside. "I'll let Mum tell you," he said.

"Let me tell who what?" Mrs. Weasley asked, turning around. When she saw Harry, she clapped her hands to her chest and let out an involuntary cry of delight. "Oh, Harry," she said, hurrying forward to enfold him in her motherly embrace. His face muffled in her ample bosom, he heard her voice as though it came from far away. "I'm so glad you made it here safely. I'd have sent Arthur to fetch you, but he's been just so busy lately, what with all these inquiries and rumors about You-Know-Who and well...well, I'm just glad to see you safe and sound." She pulled back to study him. "I trust there wasn't any trouble?"

"I told you, it went just as we'd planned," Ginny said, looking and sounding very much as though she'd rehearsed her lines before entering the house.

"Bill?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her eyes narrowing in doubt and suspicion.

Harry saw the look Bill gave Ginny before answering, "Not a hitch."

"Well, good. It's nice to know that some things, at least, can go the way you want them to." She looked appraisingly at Harry. "And those Muggles of yours? I hope they didn't mistreat you in any way?"

"They pretty much ignored me all summer, but otherwise they were decent enough." He didn't see much point in giving the Dursleys too much credit; he knew they'd only gone as far as they had out of fear of Mad-Eye Moody's threat at King's Cross in June.

She didn't seem satisfied. "You look terribly thin to me, and that shirt looks like it hasn't been washed in months. And look at those trainers!" She clucked her tongue. "I'll bet you outgrew them last year!" She sighed. "Well, we'll get you fixed up in no time. Why don't you help Ginny set the table? Supper's almost ready."

Even though he was desperately curious to know what it was Bill wanted Mrs. Weasley to tell him, Harry obediently followed Ginny into the pantry to fetch the plates and silverware. "How many of your brothers are at home these days?" he asked as she piled table linens into his waiting arms.

"Just two, Ron and Bill," she said, standing on tiptoe to reach the stack of plates on the top shelf. "Charlie's still in Romania, but he's been dropping ten-stone hints about a visit all summer. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Dumbledore recruited him for the exchange this year."

"Teaching Care of Magical Creatures?"

"That, or refereeing Quidditch."

"It'd be excellent if he could come, though I'll miss Hagrid. I've only ever met Charlie once, during the Triwizard Tournament."

Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, I'd love to see him again, and for more than a few days at a time, but I was kind of looking forward to having only one brother at Hogwarts this year." She laid the plates across the tablecloth Harry held. "Truth is, Ron and I haven't been able to spend much time just to ourselves since he went off to school. I've missed that. And with Hermione gone...." She shrugged again. "This year may be our last chance to just be Ron and Ginny again." The melancholy in her voice was unmistakable.

"What about Fred and George?" Harry asked, trying to cheer her up. "I got one of their T-shirts for my birthday. How's the shop going?"

Her arms laden with silverware and ceramic goblets, Ginny led the way back to the table. "Don't breathe a word to anyone, but business hasn't been going well," she said in a low voice, directing Harry to set his load down on a nearby sideboard.

He helped her unfold the tablecloth and spread it out, then she smoothed out the creases with a wave of her wand. "What happened?" he asked. "I'd reckon their shop would be a smash."

"So would I," she said, setting the plates at even intervals around the table. Harry followed her with napkins and silverware. "But the very thing they thought they could count on has backfired against them." She gave Harry a meaningful look. "Now that You-Know-Who's return has been made public, people are too afraid to spend their money on jokes and gags. They're investing in whatever means of self-protection they can find. Fred and George were a bit off the mark for a while, but once they saw the way things were going, they starting expanding their range of merchandise. They've been working day and night just to break even."

"At least they haven't gone out of business yet. That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"I suppose. It's just not what they'd really hoped to be doing, helping people arm themselves against dark magic."

"They aren't alone," Harry muttered to himself. If Ginny had heard and understood, she gave no indication. He studied the table, thinking that something wasn't right. "So if it's just you, Ron and Bill, then who else is eating here tonight?" he asked, counting place settings. "There's your mum and dad, the three of you, me..."

"Don't forget Luna."

"Right, and Luna...but there are eight places set. Who's the extra person?"

Ginny gave him an mischievous grin that reminded him very much of Fred and George. "That would be Peter."

"Peter? Peter who?" He couldn't recall having heard any of the Weasleys mentioning a Peter before. It couldn't be Luna's father, because, according to Bill, his name was Cecil. "Who's Peter?" Harry asked again. Ginny's smile just widened.

"I am Peter," came a deep, heavily accented voice from behind Harry.

He spun around. Standing in the doorway next to Mrs. Weasley was a tall, extremely thin boy with the blackest skin Harry had ever seen. He swore he could even see his own reflection, it was so dark.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, "I'd like you to meet Peter Madawetuma. Peter, this is Harry Potter. Peter's an exchange student from Kenya. He'll be staying with us until the start of term, then he'll join you, Ron and Ginny on the train to Hogwarts."

It wasn't until the boy stepped forward, his hand extended, that Harry realized his mouth was still hanging open. Flustered and ashamed, he quickly closed it and shook the boy's hand, marvelling at the raw strength in his grip.

"Harry Potter," Peter said in a voice Harry thought was almost unnaturally deep, "it is a great honor to meet you. The elders in my tribe speak much of your struggle to defeat the Evil One."

"Tribe?" Harry asked. He didn't know that wizards came in tribes.

"Peter's a Masai," Ginny said. "His tribe is sponsoring his wizarding education. When he's finished, he'll return to his village to start his apprenticeship as a shaman."

"A witch doctor?" Harry tried to reconcile the images he had from watching television at the Dursleys of primitive medicine men with the neatly dressed, poised young man in front of him. He wasn't having much success.

Peter's grin revealed two even rows of teeth as white as his skin was dark. "You think I should pierce my nose with a dragon's tooth and wear a loincloth?" he asked, laughing.

Harry relaxed and laughed with him, relieved he hadn't caused offense with his ignorance. "Sorry," he said. "You're just the first shaman I've ever met."

Peter inclined his head, and Harry was struck with the impression that he was being addressed by someone who, in his homeland, was royalty. "My people may prefer to live in simple villages and herd cattle, but our experience and knowledge of magic is far more ancient than you can imagine," he said. "I think we will have much to learn from each other this year."

Harry simply nodded, unsure of what to say in response to that. He had a feeling Peter's participation in this exchange was not merely circumstantial.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, "why don't you go upstairs and fetch Ron to supper? Ginny dear, would you do the same for Luna? Your father should be home any minute now."

"Yes, Mum."

Harry followed Ginny up the rickety stairs. She paused at the first landing, just outside her bedroom. "Let me warn you about Ron," she said quietly. "I wasn't joking earlier about his moping. He's been a right prat to all of us ever since we found out Hermione was leaving. He won't even bother to meet Peter. I suggest you arm yourself."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, pulling out his wand.

She smiled. "You may want to transfigure your T-shirt into a suit of armor while you're at it."

Harry whistled. "That bad?"

She rolled her eyes and pointed upstairs. "Go find out for yourself. I'll send the cavalry after you if you're not back in fifteen minutes."

His wand before him, Harry took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and trudged upstairs, to the room directly beneath the attic. The further he ascended, the quieter things became. Not even the ghoul in the attic was making its usual noise, banging on the pipes and moaning dolefully. It was almost as though all life had come to a standstill, in awe of one teenage boy's broken heart.

He came to a stop before the door to Ron's room. Chin thrust out, wand at the ready, he knocked on the door.

Nothing.

Resolute, he knocked again. He heard an indeterminate rustling from within, then Ron's muffled voice: "Bugger off!"

Harry stifled the urge to laugh. An angry, frustrated Ron Weasley was no laughing matter. He knocked a third time, then called, "Ron, it's Harry! Open up!"

"I said, BUGGER OFF!"

"Don't make me unlock this door!"

"Go ahead and try!"

"Stop being a git and let me in!"

"How do I know you're not really Bill just pretending to be Harry?"

Harry knew Ron was clutching at straws now, too stubborn to give in. "If you don't let me in, I'll tell Fred and George what you talk about in your sleep."

He was prepared for the violence with which Ron flung open the door, but not for the shock of seeing his friend in such bad shape. He could honestly say that his own hair, rumpled as it was, had never been quite that messy, and he strongly suspected that Ron had been crying, or very nearly so, only a few minutes ago. He felt a pang of sympathy mingled with pity; even in his most besotted moments, his feelings for Cho had never run quite as deep as Ron's feelings for Hermione so clearly did. He wondered if Hermione had any inkling of the effect she had on Ron.

"I do not talk in my sleep!" Ron barked, his voice hoarse.

"I have Neville, Seamus and Dean to back me up."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Dean's gone to Japan. Didn't Ginny tell you?"

Harry sighed. "No, she didn't. Now stop being such a wanker and let me in."

"Suit yourself." Ron turned and walked back toward his bed without bothering to open his door any further.

When Harry tried to enter, he quickly realized why: the pile of objects Ron had apparently hurled across the room in an effort to ease his frustration was so deep Harry could barely open the door wide enough to squeeze his slender frame through. "Bloody hell," he muttered, staring at the chaos surrounding him. "Did you do all this?"

"Piss off," Ron snapped, his arm thrown across his eyes.

"Piss off yourself," Harry said back. "Your mum sent me up here to fetch you to supper."

"Not hungry."

"I'll believe that when I see a flobberworm fly." Ron's appetite was the stuff of legend at Hogwarts. "I don't want your empty stomach keeping me awake all night."

Ron shifted his arm just enough to glare at Harry with one bloodshot eye. "Who says you're sleeping here?"

"I'm not about to sleep with Ginny and Luna."

Amazingly, Ron chuckled, although it came out as more of a snort. Then he started to cough in earnest. His face purple, he doubled over, choking and gagging and fighting for breath. Alarmed, Harry leaped over mounds of clothes and who knew what else to get to him. "You all right?" he asked, giving Ron several sharp blows across his upper back with the flat of his hand.

The spasm soon subsided, but Harry remained nearby just in case it flared up again. Ron fell back against his pillow, wheezing and clutching his chest. "Bloody hell," he gasped.

"What happened?"

Ron shook his head. "Dunno. I was laughing at the idea of you shacked up with Ginny and Luna, then next thing I know I couldn't breathe." He gave Harry a crooked grin. "I gotta say, mate, that was one helluva image."

Harry grinned back, glad to see a glimmer of the old Ron shining through the gloom. "Sounds rather pervy to me."

Ron attempted another laugh. "Be careful what you say about my sister."

"You started it."

"Heh, guess I did. Well, be careful anyway. She may be snogging her way through all the boys in our year, but she's still my sister."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, although he found Ron's assessment of Ginny's romantic life unfair and not a little disturbing. "So, now that you're talking, d'you plan on coming down for supper?"

"I suppose so," Ron said. "Between you and Mum, I'll never get a moment's peace if I don't." He sat up and began digging through the piles of clothing surrounding his bed, looking for something to wear that couldn't stand up and walk out the door on its own.

"Say Ron?" Harry asked, sitting down at the foot of his bed.

He looked up from sniffing a pair of trousers. "Yeah?"

"Last year...when Voldemort was messing with my head and stuff...was I this bad?"

Ron eyed him soberly. "Mate, you were ten times worse."

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were," Ginny said.

Harry turned to see her and Luna at the door. "Oh, hello, Luna."

"Hello, Harry."

"Ginny!" Ron yelped, grabbing his pillow and covering himself with it. "Can't a bloke have some privacy while he's dressing without you parading your girlfriends past?"

"Oh, please," Ginny scoffed. "As though your shortcomings are anything worth looking at."

If Luna had registered any of Ginny and Ron's bickering, she took no notice. "It's good to see you," she said, her voice and gaze just as vacant as he remembered. He noticed she was wearing her radish earrings again, and her dress looked like it might have been rescued from a rubbish pile. Not that he was much of a fashion plate either, he reminded himself with a twinge of guilt and self-recrimination. After all, Luna had gone to the Ministry when she didn't even know who Sirius was, and she'd seemed to understand Harry's grief over Sirius' death when no one else could. She was true to her nickname, but in the end Harry genuinely liked her, despite her eccentric personality. "How was your summer?" she asked.

"Not bad," Harry said, coming out of Ron's room into the corridor and closing the door behind him. He could still hear Ginny and Ron sniping at each other on the other side. "How was yours?"

"Okay, I suppose," she said. "I was sorry Dad couldn't take me with him to look for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but I like staying with the Weasleys just fine. Although I don't reckon Hermione Granger likes me very much."

Harry smiled. "I wouldn't worry about Hermione too much if I were you. She just takes some getting used to. Ron and I had to face down a troll before we became friends with her."

Her weirdly pale eyes widened. "Really? Ginny didn't tell me that."

Harry thoroughly enjoyed telling Luna the story of the troll in the girls' lavatory during his first year as they went downstairs. It brought back memories of a happier, more carefree time, when Voldemort was still nothing more than an ephemeral bogeyman, and Harry was still just a mostly ordinary student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.