Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal

Chapter Two: The Traitor

Harry had no time to react, or to think that he was about to die, or even to see the flash of green light as more than a pale twinkle in the tip of Ron's wand before it seared through the air several inches above Harry's head, singeing his hair. After it was over, however, he had the distinct realization that he was not dead. A blaring siren erupted in the room, spurring Harry to action. He threw off the blanket and sheet and rolled off the other side of the bed, grabbing his wand from the nightstand as he tumbled. He aimed his wand at Ron and yelled, 'Stupefy!'

The spell hit Ron square in the chest; he was blasted into the door and fell forwards across his uncles' sleeping bags. Harry stayed still for several moments, his heart pounding, barely comprehending what had happened. The siren shrilled through the air and the sounds of panicked shouts and thumps began to permeate the cloud of shock in Harry's mind. The door to the room was shoved open, pushing Ron's leaden legs aside, and Harry blinked against the light. He could make out two male figures in the doorway.

'Stupefy!' two voices shouted. Harry fell to the floor before the spells hit him.

'He's dead, he's dead!' one of them cried.

'No he's not!' Harry bellowed as the other fired off another spell, which he dodge-rolled. 'It wasn't me!'

The light was turned on and Harry got to his feet, one of Ron's uncles still pointing his wand at him while the other checked Ron's pulse. 'He's alive,' the man breathed. The other uncle lowered his wand, though he still looked at Harry with suspicion.

'What's going on up here?' Mr Weasley demanded, pushing his way into the room and nearly tripping over Ron's prone form.

'It's all right, he's just Stunned,' Harry assured Mr Weasley upon seeing the stricken look on his face. Mr Weasley's gaze whipped from his son's body to Harry. 'He attacked me. Tried to kill me.' As Harry looked down at Ron, he could hardly believe it himself.

'What?' Mr Weasley said hoarsely. Then Hermione arrived, squeezing between Mr Weasley and Ron's uncles, and gasped, her mouth falling open in horror.

'He's alive,' Mr Weasley told her. Hermione breathed deeply, tears clinging to her eyes. 'Find Molly. Tell her to contact the Ministry,' he said to his brother. Then he turned to Harry. 'What happened?' he asked him sharply as he knelt next to Ron and checked his pulse himself.

'He came in here and used the Killing Curse on me. It missed,' he replied lamely, looking back for the first time toward the bed he had been sleeping in. There was a hole with blackened edges in one of the Chudley Cannons posters on the wall, well above where Harry's head had been.

He turned back to Mr Weasley, who was now looking at Ron with as much dread as he had when he thought Ron was dead. Hermione's eyes were fixed on the damaged poster. 'Imperius,' Mr Weasley whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for his wand. 'Stupefy,' he said dully, the spell causing Ron's body to jolt. 'Petrificus Totalus,' he appended. This had no noticeable effect, but Harry knew that even if Ron happened to recover from the two Stunners, he would be unable to move.

Ron's arms, heretofore folded against his chest after the blast, were slowly trickling blood. Frowning, Mr Weasley unfolded them and took in a shaking breath. Hermione made a sudden noise of alarm, and Harry's blood ran cold as his eyes were drawn to the markings. Carved lightly into the inner forearm of Ron's right arm, running from wrist to elbow, was the word BLOOD. Running down his left arm, from elbow to wrist, continuing into his hand for lack of room, was the word TRAITOR.

'I don't understand,' said Mr Weasley, gripping Ron's shoulder hard. Then, businesslike, he growled, 'It must have happened at the party. We need to have everyone who was there quarantined.'

'Arthur, it couldn't have happened at the party,' Ernie Weasley argued. 'It was shut up tight as a drum by your Ministry friends. Even the dancing girls were strip searched, and they didn't have anywhere to conceal a wand.'

'When else could it have happened?' Mr Weasley growled, getting to his feet and glaring at his brother.

'Oh!' Hermione said softly. Everyone looked at her. 'If it wasn't the party, it must have happened at Privet Drive!'

'He's been acting funny,' Harry added. He wanted to grip something and smash it to let out his frustration. 'How could I not have known? I'm his best friend!'

'It's not your fault, Harry,' Hermione said, leaning against the wall, a tear sliding silently down her face. 'It's mine. I left him alone in Privet Drive when we Apparated! It must have happened then! But he was alone for less than a minute!' she sobbed.

'That's all it takes. Who was watching Privet Drive?'

'I don't know!' Hermione replied.

'It's not your fault. We thought the Order was around,' Harry insisted.

'There's no use in arguing over who's to blame,' Mr Weasley scolded. 'We need to get Ron to St Mungo's. I'll take him. Harry, you'll need to stay here to be questioned.'

'Right,' Harry said, not much liking the idea, but understanding the necessity of it.

'Can I go with you?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'No, you should be here to support Harry's story.'

'Arthur!' Mrs Weasley cried from outside the door, unable to enter the crowded room. 'Arthur, what's -'

'Everyone's alive, Molly,' Mr Weasley reassured her, turning her away from the room before she could see Ron. 'Ron needs to go to St Mungo's. He tried to kill Harry; I think he was under Imperius.'

'Think?' Hermione burst out. 'It's not like he would do it if he wasn't!'

'Oh goodness, Arthur!' Mrs Weasley cried. 'This is a nightmare! Is he hurt? Is Harry hurt?'

'Harry is fine, and Ron will recover,' Mr Weasley told her soothingly. 'I need to help Ron now. Could you keep everyone calm downstairs and direct the Ministry people up here when they arrive? I need to leave.'

Mrs Weasley nodded, her brow set in a firm line of determination. Mr Weasley refolded Ron's arms carefully and levitated his body. Hermione and Mr Weasley's brother exited the room to make way as he maneuvered Ron's body through the narrow doorway and around into the hall. Hermione came back in afterward; Ernie Weasley followed his brother and nephew.

'Harry,' Hermione said soberly, 'Harry, you could've died! And what if the Death Eater who cast the curse on Ron had decided to kill him instead?' She sat down on the bed, her face ghostly pale.

'I'm okay, Hermione,' Harry said, taking her hands in his, 'and Ron will be, too. No harm done.' He smiled half-heartedly, trying to reassure her.

Hermione looked into his eyes, her expression now more angry than afraid. 'We have to stop them. I'm so tired of it. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore... almost Ron...' she choked.

Harry gave her a grim look. 'I know. We will. That's the entire point, right?'

Hermione swallowed, some of the anger leaving her face, and nodded. They stayed like that for a short while until they were interrupted by a demanding knock on the door. 'Come in,' Harry said, moving to sit on the bed beside Hermione.

Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic, stood in the doorway, flanked by a pair of Aurors. One was Dawlish; the other was one of the largest men Harry had ever seen. Harry wasn't at all happy about having to talk to Scrimgeour again, and he had thought that at least one of the Order's Aurors would be there.

'Harry, good to see you again,' Scrimgeour said pleasantly, walking into the room with the comfortable gait of someone visiting an old friend, the image marred only slightly by his limp. Harry nearly rolled his eyes. He wondered if this meeting would fit the theme of his other encounters with Scrimgeour: pleasantries leading to an attempt to coerce him into helping the Ministry, followed by anger when Harry didn't play along.

'Minister,' Harry said mildly, deciding to be neither friendly nor offensive, at least for the moment. 'I'm surprised to see you here.'

Scrimgeour glared briefly at Hermione, clearly annoyed that Harry wasn't alone, but he swiftly returned to a deceptive smile. 'How could you be surprised, Harry?' he said, the shock in his voice sounding not the least bit genuine. 'I've taken a great interest in all your affairs ever since becoming Minister - and even before that, I daresay.'

Harry deliberately turned his attention to the larger of the two Aurors, already tired of Scrimgeour's game, whatever it was this time. 'I suppose you're here to question me?'

In contrast to Scrimgeour's false sincerity, the Auror's face broke into a full-fledged smile, one that looked bizarre on the face of such a hulking figure, and nodded his head up and down quickly like an over-excited child. Harry realized that the Auror's gaze was focused on Harry's scar and felt an irrational annoyance. He turned back to Scrimgeour. 'Well?'

Scrimgeour harrumphed and conjured himself a chair; the Aurors both did likewise, the large Auror creating a purple beanbag chair that reminded Harry of Dumbledore, which did nothing to improve his mood. The room was so narrow that Scrimgeour's knees brushed against Harry's own when Scrimgeour sat down.

'I hear your friend tried to kill you,' Scrimgeour said, with the same pleasant tone in which he had greeted Harry.

'Yes, well, the Imperius Curse does that to a person, doesn't it?' Harry replied coldly.

'Funny thing about the Imperius Curse,' Scrimgeour continued, his eyes now boring into Harry's, 'it's hard to tell whether an action was made under its influence or not. Very difficult. In times like these, it's not generally recommended to take chances. Dawlish, Harkiss,' he said, turning to address the Aurors on either side of him, 'perhaps we could make faster work of this if you were to take the young lady into another room to interrogate her?'

'Separate interrogation of witnesses is policy, sir,' Dawlish replied seriously.

'Or perhaps you could skip to the part where you threaten to throw Ron into Azkaban unless I do something for you?' Harry glared. 'Unless I'm mistaken, that is where we're headed.'

Scrimgeour sneered, finally showing his true colours. 'Take the girl outside,' he demanded. The two Aurors stood up; Harkiss, for his part, looked nearly as alarmed as Hermione at this turn of events, and Harry wryly wondered whether Scrimgeour had made the best selection of Aurors to bring along for such dirty business.

'Harry -'

'Hermione, don't. Just go.'

'But -'

'Come along, miss,' Dawlish said stonily, grabbing Hermione by the elbow. Hermione wrenched her arm out of his grip, glared, and walked proudly out of the room. The Aurors followed, Harkiss looking back at Harry with wide eyes before shutting the door behind him.

'Let's get to business then, Potter,' Scrimgeour said evenly. 'I don't like you, you don't like me.'

'You wound me,' Harry said, grabbing his chest in mock pain.

Scrimgeour clenched his teeth. 'You know what I want from you: cooperation.'

'The official Harry Potter seal of approval.'

'Indeed.'

Harry paused. His own words, seal of approval, sparked a realization. He had been ready to accede to Scrimgeour's demands in exchange for Ron's freedom, but now he felt, for the first time, that he had found a bargaining chip in his pocket that had been since the moment Dumbledore died. 'I think you need me more than you needed me before,' Harry said, an eyebrow raised.

The look of alarm on Scrimgeour's face at Harry's comment told Harry he was right. 'The world needs you, Harry. The Ministry needs you.'

'No.' Harry shook his head, a small smile creeping onto his face. 'You need me, Minister. You need me for the same reason you needed Dumbledore. You were awfully careful about not upsetting him, weren't you, Minister? You only approached me that one time before he died because you knew he might become hostile to you if you bothered me too much.'

Scrimgeour pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles back up his nose; they were sliding down on a thin layer of sweat. 'My past relationship with the departed Albus Dumbledore is none of your concern!'

'That's not the point,' Harry argued. 'You needed Dumbledore to stay in power; everyone knows he could have been Minister in a second if he'd wanted the job. The wizarding world only tolerated you because Dumbledore didn't tell it to do otherwise.' Then, the epiphany continuing faster than the words could tumble from his lips, he said, 'With Dumbledore gone, people are scared. They need someone they can rally behind, and try as you might, you can't get them to rally behind you.'

Scrimgeour turned purple. He stood up, his hands balled into fists, towering directly over Harry. 'And who else ought to be Minister, Potter?!' he yelled down at him. 'I've fought Dark wizards for longer than you've been alive! I was Head of the Auror Office for over a decade! I'm the most qualified man for the position now, surely even you see that!'

'But the rest of the world doesn't see it that way,' Harry said softly, in contrast to Scrimgeour's bellowing; his eyes, however, were sharp and challenging as he looked up at the Minister. 'I think that the moment I turn seventeen, they're going to be begging me to take over. I think they're already whispering about you stepping down in favour of the Chosen One. I think that's why you're desperate enough to barge in here at one in the morning threatening to send my best friend to Azkaban unless I pretend that we're pals.'

Scrimgeour let out a humourless laugh. 'And what sort of Minister do you suppose you would make, boy? You have no Ministerial experience at all! You haven't even finished Hogwarts!'

'I'm not saying I want to be Minister,' Harry said. 'I don't want the job any more than Dumbledore did. So I'll tell you what...' Then Harry stood up, tall and fiery, his body so close to Scrimgeour's that he could smell his sweat, 'If you stay away from me and my friends, and keep your Ministry people away from us too, I'll stay away from the Ministry, and you'll get to keep your job ... if you're lucky.'

'You would have the world turn to chaos for the sake of your own pride!' Scrimgeour snarled, specks of his spit landing on Harry's glasses.

'I intend to save the world,' Harry replied mildly, 'but saving your job isn't on my agenda. Arrest Ron, and I'll make sure the wizarding world knows exactly what I think of you.'

Scrimgeour sputtered, reminding Harry vividly of Snape when the Order of Merlin slipped through his fingers. The thought made him smile, which infuriated Scrimgeour even more.

'Fine,' Scrimgeour growled deeply, 'I'll be taking my leave.'

'You do that.'

His face twisted in rage, Scrimgeour hastened to the door, his anger eliminating his limp, and slammed it shut behind him. He could hear Scrimgeour barking out orders to the two Aurors he had brought, and soon their footsteps led them out of Harry's hearing.

Hermione returned shortly after. 'Goodness, Harry, what did you say to the man? He looked murderous.' She glanced back toward the door, cringing.

'Doesn't matter,' Harry, said, shrugging. 'He won't be bothering us again.'

'And Ron ...?'

'Ron will be fine,' Harry assured her. A breath of relief escaped Hermione's lips, which curled into a calm smile. 'How did your 'interrogation' go?' he asked her.

Hermione shook her head, grinning ruefully. 'It wasn't much of one. Lenny mostly asked about you. He's a big fan.'

'Lenny?'

'The big Auror. He likes to be called Lenny. Someone ought to invite him into the Order; he's so sweet.' Harry chuckled at this. 'Do you suppose we could go to St Mungo's to see Ron now? Mrs Weasley left with Ginny while you were talking with the Minister.'

'Yes, let's,' Harry said fervently.

***

'I'm so, so sorry, Harry,' Ron mumbled for the eighth time in half an hour, looking at Harry with sad eyes.

'It's not your fault, Ron,' Harry sighed, also for the eighth time in half an hour.

'You could have fought it off,' Ron said hoarsely, looking down at his bandaged arms. The cuts, thankfully, were minor; the Healer had applied some ointments and told Mr Weasley that they would be gone within the hour.

'The important thing is that everyone is okay,' Hermione declared.

'I could have killed you,' Ron continued dolefully.

Harry, who had been thinking on it a great deal since Scrimgeour departed, said, 'No, I don't think you could have.'

Hermione and Ron stared. 'Do you remember seeing the burn mark in the poster, Hermione? From the curse?' She nodded; Ron looked away in shame. 'Well, it's just ... it seems to me that a real Killing Curse would have blown a chunk out of the wall.'

Hermione blinked. 'He's right,' she said, looking over at Ron, a more cheerful expression on her face. 'Come to think of it, he's right! I mean, even a misfired Stunner could do more than what you did to that poster, Ron!'

'It's the thought that counts,' Ron muttered.

'Exactly,' Harry exclaimed, grinning at him. 'I'm no expert, but ... I think that you really have to want to kill someone for the Killing Curse to work. If it's anything like Cruciatus, that is,' he added, recalling his experience trying to cast that Unforgivable on Bellatrix Lestrange in the battle at the Ministry.

'But it wasn't me in there!' Ron protested. 'I hardly remember anything about the past few days. I was in control sometimes, a little, and there are flashes ... but Harry, I don't remember cursing you at all. That was the Death Eater.'

'And you still don't remember who cast the spell?' Hermione asked disappointedly.

Ron shook his head. 'But it wasn't me.'

'That means ...'

'That means the Death Eater wasn't out for blood,' Harry concluded, his brow furrowed. 'Of course he wouldn't be,' he realized, feeling foolish. 'They were told to leave me alone when they attacked Hogwarts, weren't they? Voldemort wants me for himself.'

'So what was the point of attacking you tonight?' Hermione wondered.

'Whoever it was who used the Imperius Curse on Ron intentionally cast a poor Killing Curse, and purposefully missed me at point-blank range,' Harry said. Frowning, he wondered, 'D'you suppose it might have been a prank?'

'A prank?' Ron deadpanned. 'A prank?'

'A really bad one,' Harry affixed hastily, 'but who ever said that Death Eaters - or Voldemort - have a normal sense of humour?'

'I'm certainly not laughing!' Ron growled. 'They have to keep me here for ruddy observation until they're sure the curse has been lifted! I'm going to miss Bill's wedding!'

Hermione cringed. 'Poor Ron.'

'Poor Ron,' Ron grumbled bitterly, looking at Harry sadly again. 'Poor Harry, more like. I really am really sorry, Harry.'

'It's okay, Ron,' Harry sighed again.

'It wasn't very bright, though,' Hermione said pensively. 'I mean, they could have used Ron as a spy for ages instead of toying with him for a few days.'

'Thanks, Hermione,' Ron said sarcastically. 'I feel much better now.'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed. 'Whoever thought this one up wasn't thinking it through too far.' And after saying that, and remembering the previous year, Harry had a funny feeling that he knew who was behind it. He wasn't sure, though, and he didn't think it would help anyone if he mentioned Malfoy, so he kept his suspicions to himself.

'I want to know why the Order wasn't there,' Hermione continued, pacing the room. 'I wouldn't have left Ron alone at all if I thought we were ... well, alone.'

'Dad's been asking around about that,' Ron replied, crossing his arms. 'He says Kingsley and Tonks Apparated away at the same time you two did to keep track of Harry. They didn't expect anyone to come after me at Privet Drive.'

'Maybe no one did,' Harry said ominously. 'Maybe someone was there waiting for me.'

'And the Aurors didn't notice? If he was lying in wait, he must have been there while Tonks and Kingsley were,' Hermione realized, her eyebrows raised. 'It wasn't as amateurish as we thought, then.'

Harry decided he was right not to have announced his suspicions. After all, Draco Malfoy could never sneak by two Aurors. 'It doesn't matter now,' he decided, stretching and yawning. 'Let's get some rest. I'm exhausted.'

***

Harry and Hermione went back to the Burrow to get a few hours sleep before going back to the hospital, only to walk in on Mr Weasley and Ron arguing. 'Dad, you don't have to stay with me,' Ron protested, tentatively poking the questionable food on the tray levitating over his lap. 'I'm completely fine. I don't want you to miss the wedding.'

'I won't hear another word about it,' Mr Weasley declared, glaring at Ron over his morning paper from the chair next to him. 'Your mother won't go unless there's someone here with you, and I don't want her missing the wedding, so I'll have to stay.'

Ron looked down at his hospital food with tearful eyes. 'I'm sorry, Dad,' he choked out. 'Merlin, I'm so sorry.'

'Would you quit it already?' Harry interrupted insistently. 'It wasn't your fault!'

Ron didn't look convinced. Harry turned to Mr Weasley. 'Are you sure there's no one else who could stay with him, Mr Weasley?' he asked. 'I mean, Hermione and I could stay...'

'No, Harry,' Mr Weasley sighed. 'I appreciate the thought, but I would like to remain here with my son.'

Harry flushed and looked at Ron guiltily, feeling as though he had crossed a personal family line. He looked down and shuffled his feet.

Ron picked up on Harry's discomfort. 'Don't be an idiot, Harry.' Ron rolled his eyes. 'They've got something planned for you in France, is all...'

'Ron!' Mr Weasley said sharply. 'I trusted you not to say anything about that!'

'About what?' Harry asked suspiciously.

'Honestly, Dad, Harry doesn't need any more surprises in his life,' Ron continued. 'Mum felt bad about taking you to France without showing you anything, seeing as it's your first time abroad and all, and what with ...' he swallowed, then breathed out, '... with all that's happened lately, she felt like you could use a treat, so she and Dad talked it over and they decided that we should spend a week in France. Of course, I told them you wouldn't want to ...'

'We could all use the break,' Mr Weasley said. 'Especially you, Harry. Ron and I can always catch up in a few days.'

'I don't know if now's the best time for a holiday, Mr Weasley,' Harry mumbled, his gaze fixed on his shoes. 'We've got a lot to do, and ...'

'If you're talking about Voldemort,' Mr Weasley said loudly, shocking them all into paying attention, 'he can bloody well wait a week! I'm tired of seeing you children, particularly Harry, acting as though the entire battle is on your shoulders! Chosen One or not, you've been through a great deal lately, and you ought to take some time off. You're not even seventeen yet, you've got a whole other year at Hogwarts ahead of you -'

'No, I don't,' Harry interrupted, feeling as though he were making the decision all over again. It was one thing to tell Ron and Hermione he wasn't going back to Hogwarts, but it felt like quite another telling Mr Weasley. It seemed more official. 'I'm not going back to Hogwarts next year, sir,' he said plainly.

'I'm not either, Dad.'

'Me neither,' Hermione added forcefully.

'You most certainly are,' Mr Weasley said coldly, glaring daggers at Harry. Harry felt a chill run up his spine; he had never been on the receiving end of a talking-to by Mr Weasley before. 'It isn't up for discussion.'

'I'm seventeen, Dad. You can't boss me about anymore,' Ron countered, 'and you can't boss around Harry or Hermione, either.'

'Harry, you and Hermione are going to miss the Portkey if you don't get going,' he said calmly, though Harry could see a vein in his temple popping out the way Uncle Vernon's always did when he was furious. Harry didn't like the idea of upsetting Mr Weasley at all. Almost as soon as his anger appeared, however, Mr Weasley settled back into his skin again. 'You two have a good time. Ron and I will catch up in Paris,' he smiled.

With that, he snapped his newspaper open again, and the conversation was clearly at an end. Ron gave Harry an 'I'll talk to him' look and tilted his head toward the door. Harry licked his dry lips and, he and Hermione both shooting Ron tense smiles of encouragement, they departed.

***

The garden of the Burrow was packed with chatting Weasleys gathered in a circle around an old, water-damaged paperback book. Harry figured it was supposed to be an object that a Muggle wouldn't suspect, even if it wasn't going anywhere but the Weasley's backyard, but he thought that if any Muggle did see it, his attention would surely be caught by the moving illustration on the cover.

'All right, everyone!' Mrs Weasley bellowed, calling them all to order. 'Touch the book!'

Harry and Hermione pressed into the crowd and were squeezed and crunched on all sides; it didn't help that everyone was carrying a bag or wearing a rucksack filled with good robes and toiletries. Harry didn't see how it was possible for so many people to touch such a small object at once, but eventually it was managed. He and Hermione ended up stretching their arms as far as they could to place the tips of their index fingers on a corner of the book. They stayed like that for a handful of seconds before Harry felt the all-too-familiar yank at his belly from the Portkey activating. The wind whipped through his hair as he, Hermione and the bundle of Weasleys were swept through a kaleidoscopic vortex.

They landed upon soft, damp grass. Harry couldn't see at first, as a couple of Weasleys had fallen on him, but soon enough they jumped up and Harry managed to straighten his glasses. He heard gasps and whispers, but even so he was taken aback at the sight that surrounded him. On all visible sides there were hills covered in lush green trees rising up in soft slopes across the landscape, set against a blue sky with wispy clouds. It was like a frozen image from one of the nature channels that Dudley would flip right past on the television, only with the sound of chirping birds and the fresh smells of nature included.

'Isn't it lovely?' Hermione gushed, her hands covering her heart.

'Sure is,' Harry agreed. 'But where's the house?'

Someone laughed, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and spun him around. 'Oh,' he said, embarrassed upon realizing that it was right behind him.

It was no mere house. To Harry, it looked like a palace. It was fronted by a long garden lined by lime trees, with patterns of pink, yellow and white flowers creating a design of artful lines and swirls. The mansion itself was made of light sandstone with dozens of full-length windows.

'Come on, enough gawking,' a voice behind Harry called, grabbing him again and leading him forward. He dazedly looked up into the face of one of the Weasley twins, mirthful as usual.

'You think she's well off?' Fred joked.

'This is probably just her summer mansion,' George sniffed by Fred's side, reaching up to adjust an imaginary monocle.

'It looks to be around seventeenth century vintage,' Hermione remarked. 'And the flower arrangement -'

'No more about flowers!' Fred scowled.

'Yes, please spare us!' George added, clutching his chest dramatically.

Hermione smiled and grabbed Harry's other arm. 'What do you think it will be like inside?'

'Why guess?' Fred said, smirking. He looked at George and, without warning, the twins sprinted forward, jerking Harry and Hermione along with them. Hermione squeaked in surprise as her feet tumbled over the path.

'Boys!' Harry heard Mrs Weasley yell from behind them. 'Stop!'

'When we get to the door!' George shouted in reply.

In reality, they stopped when they reached the split in the path that led to the staircase. Hermione let go of Harry's arm and panted, clutching her sides.

'Weddings are so boring,' Fred remarked idly, leaning against the bricks.

'Such is the tragic price of stag night!' George observed.

'You two!' Mrs Weasley shouted, so far behind them that it was no louder than a whisper.

'I suggest that we press on, Fred,' George said, cringing. Fred nodded fervently as he observed his mother quicken her pace.

'Pip pip!' The twins bowed ludicrously to Harry and Hermione and then rushed away in the direction of the stairs on the left.

'They'll never grow up!' Hermione lamented. Harry agreed, though he was quite glad of it.