I Have a Rendezvous with Death

"I Have a Rendezvous with Death"

by Paracelsus

Chapter VI: Dining at Chez Weasley

The convoluted corridors of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries seemed to go on forever. Sometimes, Ron wondered if they really did go on forever; it wouldn't have surprised him in the least. Added to the fact that they were all the identical shade of off-white, and seemed to twist and turn through dimensions undiscovered by Muggle science, it was easy to see why newcomers to St. Mungo's were always given a compass to guide them on their first visit. Not a magnetic compass, of course, but one charmed to point in the direction of their destination.

Ron was not a newcomer to St. Mungo's.

It was early in the morning, so the corridors weren't yet filled with visitors. With a book tucked under his arm, he strode down the halls with a sure purpose, turning left at one corner, right at the next, and so on. Medi-wizards and witches in white robes occasionally passed him, charts in hand, sometimes dictating notes into their wands. Ron paid them scant attention... he wasn't here to see them.

He eventually came to a private room in the Long-Term Care wing. Pausing at the door, he was a bit surprised to hear someone talking in the room. He wasn't the only one who visited her, he knew - far from it - but it was a rare coincidence when he met someone visiting at the same time as he. Quietly, Ron opened the door and entered the room.

Harry was seated at the bedside, reading the Daily Prophet aloud. At the moment, he was reading today's horoscope feature, which in a Muggle newspaper might take a couple of column-inches but which in the Daily Prophet took half a page. In the bed lay Lavender Brown, peacefully asleep.

She had been peacefully asleep for eighteen months, now.

"Hi, Harry," whispered Ron. He'd let Harry finish reading to Lavender before starting conversation.

Harry nodded greeting, and continued reciting the Prophet's horoscope. He'd gotten down to the predictions for those born under the sign of Leo, which of course included Harry; Ron marveled that Harry's voice showed not the slightest tinge of sarcasm or derision. (Harry wouldn't hurt Lavender's feelings for the world.) Ron leaned against the doorframe and let his mind drift, recalling Lavender's history.

Aurors had discovered Lavender in her parents' home, that night months ago when the Dark Mark shone above the house. Marius and Rosemary Brown were found lying dead in the front room, victims of Avada Kedavra. Lavender was in the spare bedroom, and at first the Aurors had thought her dead as well. They were pleased to discover she wasn't dead, only sleeping... but they weren't able to rouse her.

In due course, Lavender was brought to St. Mungo's for examination. She hadn't been drugged, or stunned into unconsciousness; she wasn't comatose; she wasn't catatonic. She had the REM activity and metabolic functions appropriate to nightly sleep - but she couldn't be awakened. None of St. Mungo's medi-wizards could discover a cause, and in time she was brought to the LTC ward. Ron didn't know how she was fed, and wasn't inclined to ask.

She responded to voices around her, as sleeping people would (and as catatonics would not). She'd sigh, or mumble a few words; she'd shift restlessly if she heard something disturbing. And so her friends - and Ron was proud that they numbered more than just her Gryffindor classmates - had taken it upon themselves to visit her, regularly and frequently, and talk to her. Simply talk to her: converse, or read aloud, as normally as possible. When Lavender woke up (so they all stressed), she'd be the better for it.

Harry finished with the predictions for Pisces, then told her softly, "I'll be back in a moment." He stood and stretched so that a shoulder popped. "Hi, Ron. Looks like two great minds with but a single thought."

"I haven't been here for a while," Ron confessed, as he looked around the room. There were fresh flowers on the table next to the bed, which told Ron that Parvati had visited within the last few days. He showed Harry the book he'd brought. "I thought she might like to hear some poetry. It should make for a nice change of pace from, uh, current events." He gestured at the newspaper.

"She needs to be kept informed of what's going on," replied Harry defensively. Ron knew perfectly well that Harry, as he read the Prophet aloud, edited its content considerably. Somehow, any rumors, slurs or innuendoes in the articles were never mentioned; cheerful news stories were embellished, gloomy stories abridged.

"And she really enjoys the horoscope," Harry continued. "She's always been fond of Divination."

Ron regarded his friend quizzically. "And how do you know she enjoys the horoscope so much?"

"She's smiling." Harry gave a nod towards Lavender's face. Ron looked carefully. It would take a generous helping of imagination to read a smile there. But then, Harry'd always appreciated any smiles he received; he'd recognize one when it was offered.

"Say, Harry, can I run something by you?" Harry nodded, and Ron continued, "When I was picking up this poetry book at the shop, there were some books on the next shelf. I looked them over a little. One of 'em told about a girl who was... well, under an enchanted sleep, like Lavender, and she was awakened by... by a kiss..."

Harry was staring at him as though he'd grown a second head - presumably a troll's head. Ron pressed on.

"And I was just wondering if you, or anybody really, had, y'know, tried..." His voice faltered. Harry's look said plainly that Ron had gone nutters, utterly bananas, totally fruit loop, and several other metaphors based on food.

Harry gave it several more seconds, just to insure his friend understood how idiotically he'd been talking, then replied quietly, "First of all, those were children's fantasy stories. Muggles call them 'fairy tales,' because you'd have to have the intelligence of a fairy to believe them. Second, I think the heroine has to be kissed by a handsome prince, which lets us out: I'm not a prince, and you're not handsome. And finally, even if it were true, the kisser has to be the heroine's True Love, so unless there's something you'd like to confess..."

Oh, there was more than a tinge of sarcasm and derision now. Ron smiled sheepishly and held up his hands in surrender.

"Listen, I have to go soon... they're sending me out of town for a couple of days," said Harry. "S'why I thought I'd come read to Lavender this morning... but anyway, I promised Fred I'd ask you why you've been acting so strange recently." The last line was delivered deadpan.

Ron pretended to consider the question seriously. "How would he know the difference?" he asked.

"Good point." Harry smiled slightly. "Jeremy Fenchurch, hmm? Have you been talking to our esteemed protégé about anything... anything you'd care to share?"

Ron grinned. "Jeremy and I've arranged a sort of deal to our mutual benefit. I go to Gryffindor's daily Quidditch practices and play Keeper for a while. The Chasers get practice trying to get past me - I get practice in Keeping the goals." He regarded his fingernails in an un-Ron-like show of modesty. "I don't seem to've lost my touch, mate."

"Then you should do fine this weekend," Harry nodded. "You were planning on telling your family at some point, weren't you?"

"Saturday night, at dinner. I only hope I have good news to tell them."

"I'm sure of it," Harry told him firmly. "Okay, I have to go. I'll see you Saturday." He turned to the bed. "Take care, Lavender."

Once Harry had left, Ron took his seat next to the bed. "Listen, Lav," he started conversationally, "that bit about my practicing with Gryffindor... that was supposed to be a secret between Harry and me. All right?" He wasn't expecting a response, naturally.

So when he heard Lavender give an "mmm" sound in her sleep, Ron was startled enough to jump almost out of his skin. He peered closely at her face. Yes, that definitely was a smile playing on her lips...

"Right," he said in embarrassment. "Well. Right. I thought you'd like some poetry today. Let's see what we have..." Ron opened the book at random and began to read aloud, "The owl and the pussycat went to sea / In a beautiful pea-green boat..." He stopped, confused, and checked the book's title page. Yes, this was a book of Muggle poetry...

*

It was, perhaps, too much to hope that the fair weather they'd enjoyed in May would continue through June. A light drizzle fell on Hogsmeade that Saturday, and Hermione was glad to take shelter inside W-cubed while waiting for everyone to arrive. In her purse were pages of parchment, courtesy of the Pinxio charm, which she intended to show Harry at the Burrow later in the evening.

She stood at the door, looking out on the depressingly grey day. There were a few brave pedestrians with umbrellas, but for the most part the street was empty. Hermione chose to attribute this to the rain, and not to the sinking popular morale Harry had related to them last week.

Ron was in the back of the shop, talking with Fred and George. From their voices, it was clear that Ron was in high spirits, and the Twins not far behind. I suppose he's already told them his big secret, she thought in amusement, the whatever-it-is he's telling us tonight. She knew Ron was bursting with the secret, and was dying to be asked about it; she took a perverse delight in not asking.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Fred walking up. "Hey, Fred," she greeted him.

"Hey," he returned. He was still smiling, but his eyes had a more serious look, unusual for one of the Twins. "Hermione, can I ask you a question?"

"I warn you, if this is about Muggle jokes and pranks again, I'm not giving you any more ideas. I'm sorry now I ever told you about joy-buzzers."

"Oh, come on. A little adaptation, and they've become one of our biggest sellers. It's not as though they do permanent damage..." His smile faded a bit. "No, this is about something else. Um... Hermione, when was the last time you saw Harry laugh?" It would have been an odd question from anyone; from Fred Weasley, it was outright anomalous.

"I asked Ron," Fred continued, "but he just shrugged it off, said that Harry jokes all the time. So I thought I'd ask you."

"Harry does joke all the time," replied Hermione. "Whenever we're out dining, he's smiling and..." She paused. She'd been about to say "...and laughing," but was that strictly true?

"Reason I ask, he was here in the shop a couple of weeks ago," explained Fred. "We were joking, yeah, and we did a prank on some local hellions - and I was laughing to bust a gut, and he only smiled." He paused and regarded Hermione with an earnest gaze, not at all like the wide-eyed-innocent look he'd use if he were having her on. "Look, if there's anything I know about, it's laughter. You might say it's what we sell here." He gestured around the shop. "There might be any of a hundred reasons why someone might not feel like laughing on any given day - but if a person never laughed, I'd be worried about him."

"Harry does have a sense of humor - " Hermione began.

"Well do I know it. You should've seen him with the Rivers kids. But Hermione, that's not the same. I mean, it's easy to smile. It's easy to tell jokes. You can even have a functioning sense of humor. But laughter - the real thing, deep belly laughter - that's impossible to fake."

"All right, Fred," Hermione said slowly. "I'll keep my eyes open." She shot him a curious glance. "Is it so important?"

Fred gave a small shrug. "Can you think of a reason why someone would never laugh?"

Unfortunately, Hermione could. "Depression... worry, stress... feeling as though all the cares of the world were on your shoulders..." She felt quite sure the description would fit Harry. Reviewing her memories, she was appalled to realize she couldn't remember the last time Harry had laughed. She felt a stab of guilt that she hadn't noticed this - that she'd had to hear about it from Fred Weasley, of all people.

A soft popping noise heralded Harry's Apparition in the middle aisle, where he waved and called out to everyone. Moments later, Ginny arrived outside the shop via Portkey, looking flustered and windblown. She scampered through the door in a vain attempt to stay dry. "Hi," she greeted Hermione and Fred, then called out to the shop, "Is everyone here? Everyone ready? Fred, George, you sure you can't come?"

"Not this time, Gin," George called from the back of the shop. "Have fun, everyone!"

Ron and Harry were converging on Ginny; it was time for them to leave. "Thank you, Fred," Hermione said softly. "I owe you." She gave him a sudden, impish smile. "Remind me sometime to tell you about x-ray spectacles."

*

"Merlin, I hate Portkeys," declared Ginny as they picked themselves up from the ground by the Burrow's porch.

Privately, Hermione agreed. She pictured a salmon, hooked on a fishing line, yanked from the water into a world of painfully bright light, and dropped unceremoniously on the grass to flop about a bit. That was her best analogy to Portkey travel, and she imagined the salmon would have a better time of it.

All she said, though, was, "Let's just get in out of the rain, shall we?"

"At least one of us has sense enough to..." Harry murmured.

Together, the four dashed through the door into the Burrow. Inside, it was warm and inviting, with wonderful smells wafting from the kitchen, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waiting to greet them with (literally) open arms. On so many levels, the Burrow said, "You're home."

Harry had barely managed to shed his cloak when he was caught up in Mrs. Weasley's embrace. "Oh, Harry, look at you. Nothing but skin and bones, you are... I swear, you're thinner now than when you were living with those Muggles!" She kissed him soundly on the cheek, and released him. "We'll have to do something about that, won't we, Ginny?"

Ginny rolled her eyes while Harry pretended not to notice. "One meal won't do a lot of good, Mum," she replied, then broke into a face-splitting grin as Mrs. Weasley embraced Ron and Hermione simultaneously, planting kisses on their cheeks. Ron's mumbled "Geroff, Mum," wasn't taken seriously by anyone, least of all his mother.

Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley had cornered Harry. "How are you, Harry?" he asked, shaking Harry's hand delightedly. "I heard you've been out of town?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "Nothing serious, just some mopping-up in Belfast."

"Good, good. Ginny's been gone too, you know - went back to Beauxbatons for a couple of days." Mr. Weasley smiled at his daughter. "I reckon she was getting bored sitting around here, with no brothers to torment her."

"A couple of days?" inquired Hermione.

"Well, while I was there I dropped in on some friends," said Ginny. "Fleur says hello to everyone. And Harry, the younger Mlle. Delacour wants to know when you're going to keep your promise and come visit."

"I doubt I can be there before the end of school," Harry answered. "Gabrielle will just have to learn patience."

"Yeah, right, like any fifteen-year-old is good at that," joked Ron. "Boy, Harry, you do have a gift for attracting fifteen-year-olds. First Gabby, then Laurel..."

"And where was this gift when I was fifteen?"

Ginny went on, "Oh, and Madame Dauxerre sends her regards..."

Hermione saw Harry freeze ever so slightly. She might have missed it any other time, but her conversation with Fred had sensitized her: she was keenly aware of his tiniest actions tonight. Hermione was sure that Harry was feeling surprise, even panic, as he turned quite casually to face Ginny as she continued, "...and wanted me to ask if you received her package."

At this point, Harry succeeded in catching Ginny's eye. He gave her a quick imploring look, and pinched his lips together for an instant. Ginny had no trouble reading his expression: Please, please, I really don't want this talked about right now.

Without skipping a beat, she changed topics. "And I brought back some genuine French pastries for dessert this evening. Sorry Mum, but I couldn't resist."

"Not to worry, dear, they look scrumptious," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Harry? What was this about a package?"

Possibly only Ginny and Hermione noticed Harry's tiny sigh of defeat. "Madame Dauxerre teaches Charms and Glamours at Beauxbatons," he explained to Mrs. Weasley. "She sent me a new charm she's developed, a Similarity Spell. The Aurors will be field-testing it for her." He left the explanation there: Ginny, Ron and Hermione - and of course Mr. Weasley, as a Ministry official - all knew there were details about his work he wouldn't discuss.

"That's nice, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "What does it do?"

"Er," said Harry. Hermione couldn't help but be amused. He so obviously didn't want to talk about his work; but there was no way Harry would be rude to Mrs. Weasley.

Harry's eyes flicked towards Ginny, and Hermione's heightened sensitivity brought her sudden insight: Harry was wondering how much this Madame Dauxerre had told Ginny, and whether he'd be caught out if he shaded the truth. My, my, she told herself, it's amazing what you can learn by watching...

"With luck," Harry said after the briefest of pauses, "it'll let us cast Muggle Repelling Charms a lot faster and easier. You know how often we need to keep Muggles away from a crime scene. Sometimes we can't afford the time to set up a proper Repellant. This new charm could be a big help." He looked around to the dining table, which had been moved from the kitchen for the evening. "Speaking of helping, is there anything I can do? I could set the table..."

"That's very sweet," smiled Mrs. Weasley, "but there's no need." The table was already laid out, and Hermione noticed that the plates weren't the Weasley's usual flatware: they were fine china with a delicate floral pattern, rather like the china Hermione's mother brought out for fancy parties and special occasions. Behind her, Ron gave a low whistle.

"We didn't bring this set out much, while you were all still growing," Mrs. Weasley explained. "They're rather fragile."

Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said for all of them, "you honor us."

They took their seats around the table - Harry holding Mrs. Weasley's chair for her, which prompted Mr. Weasley to hold Hermione's and Ron to hold Ginny's - and Mrs. Weasley, with a wave of her wand, summoned platters and bowls of food from the kitchen. For the next few minutes, conversation faltered as everyone helped themselves to the fare.

Eventually, Ron looked around the table and announced, "Well, since this seems to be a special occasion, I do have something to tell you." He cleared his throat as everyone gave him their attention. "I don't think any of you know except Harry, but the Chudley Cannons held trials this morning for two positions: Keeper and Beater. And they invited me to try out." He smiled benignly, as though the announcement were over, and took a large bite of chicken.

"You're going to make us ask, aren't you?" sighed Harry.

Ron's grin lit the room. "Twenty attempted goals, twenty successful blocks. I've been invited to the final trials on August first."

"Ron, that's wonderful!" exclaimed Ginny. Hermione, who sat next to Ron, leaned over and hugged him enthusiastically. Harry gave Ron a warm smile and clapped his hands in applause.

"We're proud of you, son," said Mr. Weasley, and Mrs. Weasley joined in, "Well, this is double cause for celebration! First Percy, then you! Oh, I do hope you'll be accepted!"

"Me too, Mum," said Ron. "It hasn't quite sunk in, truth to tell."

As the hubbub of general approval subsided, Hermione turned to Mr. Weasley. "What's this about Percy?"

"Percy received a promotion this week," explained Mr. Weasley. "He's now Deputy Minister for Arts and Culture. Not exactly a vital position, I suppose, but he ranks just below Minister Fudge and acts as his assistant. It's quite a step for a young man his age."

"Well, Percy'd always intended to be the youngest Minister of Magic ever," said Ron, still grinning. "Sometimes I wonder whether the Sorting Hat made a mistake, putting him in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin!"

Harry stiffened slightly. He hesitated, then said, "Well, the Sorting Hat looks at a lot of things, Ron. Did it talk to you when you put it on?" Ron shrugged; it had been a decade since he'd worn the Sorting Hat.

"It takes your wishes into account," Harry continued. "F'r instance, I've always thought Hermione would've done well in Ravenclaw, but you remember what she said that first year on the train? She had her heart set on Gryffindor, and that's where the Hat put her. Dumbledore once told me it was our choices that make us who we are - not a magic hat."

Ron looked at him curiously. "Why? Did the Hat offer to Sort you into Ravenclaw or something?"

Harry was taking a breath to answer when Ginny interrupted. "Dumbledore said something like that to the school, just before the Sorting ceremony, my seventh year. You just reminded me of it, Harry. Did he ever mention it to you?"

Harry quickly shook his head, and Ginny continued, "He told us that the Founders had instructed the Hat to look for qualities they deemed important... the qualities that the four Houses came to exemplify. You know the litany: Gryffindor courage..."

"Ravenclaw scholarship," said Hermione.

"Hufflepuff steadfastness," said Ron.

"And Slytherin... ambition," concluded Harry.

"Exactly. And then Dumbledore told us that all of these qualities are important, and valuable - even necessary. You won't get very far without brains, no matter how ambitious you are, and vice versa. An ideal Hogwarts student would have all four qualities in equal measure."

Harry considered this for a moment. "So if the Sorting Hat had a hard time choosing a House for you..." he said slowly.

"It's a compliment," Ginny finished.

Harry relaxed slightly, and gave Ginny a grateful smile. Hermione wondered at it. Apparently, his Sorting had been bothering him for all these years, but she couldn't imagine why - he'd ended up in Gryffindor, after all, which was where he obviously belonged.

*

Hermione wasn't aware when the conversation returned to Ginny's visit to Beauxbatons, but it became clear to her that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley needed to be informed of Harry's plan. Harry, Ron and Ginny were trying to talk in circumlocutions, which were getting more and more awkward. If they think they're fooling Molly Weasley, mother of the terrible Gred and Forge, Hermione thought, they're only fooling themselves.

Just as Hermione was prepared to scold them and tell the Weasleys everything, Harry held up his hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, we owe you an apology," he said diffidently. "Ginny didn't just go to Beauxbatons to visit some friends. She went to consult Madame Maxime about a ritual I found." Briefly, Harry described the Exorcism of Power, and the need to find the ritual's wand. As he spoke, Mr. Weasley grew more thoughtful, and Mrs. Weasley more worried.

"It sounds like a dreadfully dangerous spell," she commented when Harry had concluded. "And you say you don't know all the details of how to do it yet?"

"That's why I went to Beauxbatons, Mum," Ginny reminded her. "But I didn't have a lot of luck, I'm afraid. Madame Maxime remembers the book you found, Harry - Rituels Magyques - and she confirms our theory about the ritual, but she doesn't own a copy any more. The Beauxbatons library has a fair collection of works on the ancient Druids, but they're nearly all about Gaulish Druids, not British or Irish."

"Does it make such a difference?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"They had different areas of expertise," explained Ginny. "British Druids were better at charms. The Gaulish Druids concentrated on potions: they had one for superhuman strength, for instance..."

"I did some researching too," said Hermione. "I haven't found anything specific to the ritual or the wand, but I did find some descriptions of what the High Druids considered 'pure'." She smiled smugly. "Don't look so surprised, Harry. This is what you asked me to do."

"I wasn't surprised," protested Harry. "I just, um... well, don't stop researching."

"Oh, come on," said Ron. "We must be pure, we're trying to defeat an evil Dark Lord. Purity of motive wasn't considered good enough for the High Druids?"

"On the contrary, it was essential," replied Hermione. "But it was only a start. We'll need to wear white woolen robes when performing the magic - both the ritual itself, and when scrying for the wand."

"I can help with that," offered Mrs. Weasley.

"I was hoping you could," said Hermione with a grin. "And let's see... I brought copies of my source for anyone who wants to read them, but in essence, we're going to have to fast. A total fast, water only."

"Fast?" Ron asked in dismay. He looked at his nearly empty plate. "Starting when? For how long?"

"Starting at the death of the moon, according to my source, and continuing until the wand is recovered." She looked down the table, resolved not to stare at Harry's thin form. "'The death of the moon' was an ancient way of saying..."

"The new moon," said Mr. Weasley unexpectedly. He appeared to be calculating in his head. "That will be... Sunday next. The ninth."

"And we fast for how long?" asked Ginny. "Until, what, the twentieth or twenty-first?"

Hermione nodded. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a quick look. Then, as smoothly as if they'd choreographed it, Ginny picked up Harry's plate and passed it to her mother. Mrs. Weasley piled more potatoes, chicken and gravy onto the plate and returned it to her daughter, who firmly set it back down in front of Harry before he could object.

"So eat," Mrs. Weasley ordered Harry. Her manner made clear that she'd force-feed him if he argued with her. Accepting the inevitable, Harry closed his mouth, slouched down in his chair and meekly took a bite of potatoes.

"And to think," remarked Hermione dryly, breaking the silence, "all these years, I've been trying to reason with him."

*

Dinner was done, and everyone was leaning back from the table, stuffed with good food and pumpkin juice. "Dessert?" asked Mrs. Weasley brightly.

"Bring it on," said Ron ebulliently. Harry and Mr. Weasley nodded agreement.

"I'll get the pastries," said Ginny. "They're boxed up, I need to get them out... Mum, will you help?" The two went into the kitchen. Mr. Weasley turned to Harry.

"So what's left to do about this... scrying for the wand? You know what you have to do to be ready, you know when..."

"I still need to know where to scry for it, and I need to know how," replied Harry. He grinned. "Why is self-evident."

Hermione frowned. That made sense, but there was something amiss... ah. Harry's choice of pronouns...

Ron said, "The fasting will be the hard part. We're gonna have to watch ourselves for the next few weeks."

"I will," replied Harry quietly.

"Ohhhh no!" Hermione suddenly erupted. She stormed around the table to stand before Harry, hands on hips, a bushy-haired fury. "Oh no you don't, Harry Potter! I can tell, you were planning to go alone to do this, weren't you? Weren't you?" She reached out and took his head between her hands. She leaned forward and butted her forehead against his, forcing him to look her in the eyes. Foreheads still touching, she continued angrily, "Well, you're not getting rid of us that easily! We do this together, just as we always have!"

"I wasn't... really I wasn't," protested Harry. He paused, as Hermione released his head and stood straight again. She was still glaring down at him as he hesitantly continued, "But scrying for the wand won't be nearly as dangerous as performing the Exorcism itself. And using one person makes sense: the fewer people involved, the less attention they'll draw..."

"No, Harry," said Ron. "I agree with Hermione. Friends Don't Let Friends Fight Alone. You told us you'd learned that lesson, dammit."

Harry cleared his throat. "Look, mates, I didn't want to bring this up, but there's a good reason you can't help me scry for the wand." He cleared his throat again, as though nervous, and quickly glanced at Mr. Weasley. "It comes back to the High Druid definition of purity."

"You think we can't fast as well as you, Mr. Skin-and-Bones?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"Ron," said Harry, and there was a sudden touch of humor in his voice, "the High Druids were totally celibate. Their entire lives."

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but stopped abruptly. He looked at Hermione and turned a deep crimson. Hermione felt herself blushing as well. She took a step back from Harry's chair and looked at her shoes.

"I haven't ever asked you two about, um, you two," said Harry delicately. "I've never asked. And I'm not asking now." He looked from Hermione to Ron and back. "But for the success of this plan, mightn't it be better if you sat out this part of it? You tell me."

Mr. Weasley had a bemused look on his face, as though he'd always known that Ron would notice girls someday - but would've preferred not to learn about it at the dinner table.

Finally, Ron nodded in resignation. "All right, I see your point." Hermione started to protest, and Ron shushed her. "Is he right about the High Druids?"

"Welllll..."

"I take that to mean yes." He looked back at Harry. "And I assume that you do meet the requirements for... uh, purity?"

"That one, at least," replied Harry regretfully. "Not that I'd planned it that way, mind you."

Ron nodded again. Suddenly he seemed struck by a new thought. "Well, even if we can't come along, you'll still have Ginny there to help..."

Harry choked. He turned and regarded Ron as though Ron had turned into a green tree sloth. "Ron, how did a git like you survive this long? I'd really prefer to not bring Ginny into this, thanks."

"Why not?" Ron asked indignantly. "She's as, uh, qualified as you are..."

"Oh? How do you propose to guarantee that? Were you seriously considering asking her? I'd love to hear that conversation. 'Hello, Virginia, we were wondering if your name was still appropriate.'"

"Harry!" said Mr. Weasley dangerously. His temper didn't usually flare as quickly as Ron's, but a slur on his only daughter was certain to arouse it. Before he could say more, Harry quickly turned to him and spoke placatingly.

"Arthur, please understand. It's just that this is critical to our success, or I'd never have mentioned it. I mean no disrespect to your family, or to Ginny."

"But?" growled Mr. Weasley, as Ron fumed in his seat.

Harry sighed. "But she's a beautiful young woman who's spent the last three years in France," he said simply.

Mr. Weasley had patently never considered his daughter in that light before. It took a moment before he could splutter, "Are you... are you saying...?"

"All I'm saying, Arthur," interrupted Harry, "is that I'd rather not have to find out. If Ginny doesn't come with me to scry for the wand, the subject need never come up." He spread his hands, the very epitome of calm reason, and waited for Ron and Mr. Weasley to reach the obvious conclusion.

Hermione stood completely dumbfounded. Harry had calmly, quietly, politely, taken total control of the discussion. No: he'd dominated the discussion, moved it exactly where he'd wanted. By using Mr. Weasley's first name, he'd established his equal status. And he'd given Mr. Weasley and Ron an unspoken choice: either Harry could go alone to scry for the wand, or they could ask Ginny about her sex life!

Which, of course, made it certain that Harry would go alone. She had to admire such deviousness. It was positively...

Suddenly, Hermione recalled Harry's earlier reactions to Ron's comments: "... Gryffindor instead of Slytherin... Did the Hat offer to Sort you into Ravenclaw or something?" They all made sense now.

Positively Slytherin, she finished her thought. You nearly got Sorted into Slytherin, didn't you? And you talked the Hat out of it... My, Harry, you're full of surprises tonight. And now I know you're up to something.

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny came out of the kitchen, each bearing a platter loaded with assorted desserts: ganache gateaux, small custard tarts, and chocolate éclairs. They set the platters down, then looked at the faces arrayed around the table. Ron and Mr. Weasley looked uncomfortable; Hermione was sure she was still blushing; and Harry's expression reminded her of Professor Dumbledore, right after she and Harry had rescued Sirius and Buckbeak.

"Is everything all right?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, yes, everything's fine," replied Mr. Weasley. He gave Ron a quick glance, then continued, "We were just discussing this scrying spell that finds the wand. It looks as though Harry will have to do that bit alone... draw less attention that way, you see..."

*

As the meal finally ended, the party began to rise from the table and head to the living room. Mrs. Weasley started to circle the table collecting dirty dishes. She was surprised when Harry volunteered to help. "You don't need to do that, dear," she demurred, "I have it in hand..."

"I'll be careful," promised Harry, as he continued to gather plates.

"It's just... I don't dare wash these dishes with magic. They're too fragile. I should really wash them by hand..."

"Mrs. Weasley, I spent years washing dishes by hand. I think you can trust me." Harry smiled reassuringly. "Why don't you go join the others? I can take care of this." He tried to pout, which given his smile was unconvincing. "You wouldn't let me set the table, after all..."

Mrs. Weasley laughed. "What say we do them together," she offered, "and get it done in half the time?"

"Fair enough." They carried the dishes into the kitchen. Hot water, at least, could be done magically: Mrs. Weasley filled the two sinks with water from the tap, and gave each a quick turn with her wand until steam started to rise. Harry rolled up his sleeves, added soap to his sink, and immersed the glasses and cups. He washed each one carefully, placing it in the rinse water in the other sink; Mrs. Weasley in turn removed each one, dried it, and stowed it in its proper place in the cupboard.

For a few minutes, they washed and dried in companionable silence. Harry had finished with the glasses and cups, and started on the cutlery, when Mrs. Weasley spoke again.

"I am so pleased about Ron. He'll finally have the chance to play for the Cannons - you know that was one of his daydreams when he was a youngster."

"I'm happy, too. He would've tried out right after graduation, if he hadn't been so badly injured. At the Battle, and all."

"He said at dinner you already knew about it?" There was a hint of motherly inquiry in her tone.

"I happened to be near the Cannons' corporate offices when they were getting ready to owl him the invitation. I wanted to see his face when he got it, so I volunteered to deliver it myself." Harry smiled. "I was simply in the right place at the right time."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, then asked, "Do you know Les Baumgarten?"

"The Cannons' managing coach? I wouldn't say I know him. He's the one who gave me Ron's invitation. Seems nice enough."

"He married Martha Eldritch. She was a close friend of mine at Hogwarts."

"Ah?" Harry's face froze into immobility for a few seconds, then he gave a rueful half-smile. "I suppose you've kept in regular correspondence with her."

"Oh my, yes. She and Les were ever so excited by your visit." Nothing in Mrs. Weasley's voice or manner would have suggested the I'm-a-mother-you-can't-fool-me satisfaction that gleamed in her eyes. "Martha said you talked with Les for over an hour," she added innocently.

Harry said nothing as he finished washing the silverware, then started on the dinner plates. "Ron's Quidditch résumé is impressive, Mrs. Weasley," he commented finally. "And if he hadn't done well in today's trials, that would have been the end of it. He's earned every bit of his triumph today - if and when he makes the team, it will be entirely on his own merits."

"Oh, I know that, dear. No one's more aware of a son's accomplishments than his mother. I just despaired of anyone else recognizing them."

"Sometimes we all need a spot of good luck."

"Or a word in the right place at the right time."

"Exactly."

The dinner plates were nearly done, and Harry was preparing to scrub the cooking pots, when Mrs. Weasley spoke again. "It's just like when Ginny was asked to lecture at Beauxbatons. Goodness knows, we were worried about what she'd do once she graduated from Hogwarts. After all, You-Know-Who was still out there... and he had good reason to go after Ginny, she helped thwart him at Hogsmeade. A job offer far away on the Continent, at just the right moment, in a school almost as well protected as Hogwarts - it was heaven-sent." She gave Harry a sidelong look. He sighed.

"Once again, she wouldn't have gotten - or kept - that lecturer's post unless she were qualified. And Ginny is amply qualified to lecture in the Dark Arts. Don't sell her short."

"I'd never do that, Harry. But I do try to be aware of what's going on under my nose."

Harry was scrubbing the pot with excessive vigor. "Either of them would have happily accepted help from one of their brothers," he said finally. "From any of their other family members."

"Here." Mrs. Weasley took the scrubber from his hands and laid it in the pot. "The pots don't need to be hand-washed." A flick of her wand, and the scrubber attacked the pot enthusiastically. With Harry's hands free, she clasped him in a long fierce hug. After a moment, Harry gently wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"You are a family member, Harry," Mrs. Weasley whispered at last. "Don't you ever think otherwise."

"So may I be permitted to help occasionally?" asked Harry softly.

"Of course, dear." She looked up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Feel free to wash dishes any time you like."

"Oh, thank you so much." He loosened his embrace, but didn't let her go. "And, er, about Ron and Ginny's good luck..."

"I agree. They're fortunate indeed." She gave him a last squeeze, lending another level of meaning to her words, then released him. "I don't see any need to share the details of that luck with them, do you, dear? I just wanted you to know... that someone knew."

Harry relaxed. "Thank you, Molly." On impulse, he kissed the top of her head. "For keeping all my secrets." He rolled down his sleeves and added, "Shall we join the rest of the party?