The Twilight Year

Harry Potter squeezed himself into the small, cramped kitchen at the Burrow, scowling at his friends for being so occupied while he was so deadly bored. Hermione had her nose stuck in a book; nothing new about that. Ron was sitting a few chairs away from Hermione, absorbed in the freshly delivered Daily Prophet. Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley had popped off to do a bit of morning shopping, Ginny was still in bed, and the Weasley men were at their respective jobs. Harry was desperately glad to have the normally full and noisy house relatively empty.

"Mornin', Harry. Toast's on the stove," Ron said vaguely from behind his newspaper.

Harry grunted a reply and snatched up a few pieces of crispy buttered bread. Flopping onto a seat across from Ron, he began to pick at his meager breakfast, suddenly missing Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

"Death Eaters are rioting again," Ron commented, taking a sip of his coffee. "Gotta wonder what those blokes are up to...."

"What?" Harry said, suddenly jumping to attention. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and leaned forward eagerly. "Rioting? Where?"

"Ron, dear, could you pass the sugar?" Hermione asked, not looking up from her book. Without a word, Ron reached around his paper and slid the sugar bowl down the table. "Thanks, love," Hermione replied, absently heaping sugar onto her toast.

"Paper," Ron grunted, gently shaking the newsprint.

"Right, sorry," Hermione mumbled, already back in her own little world of books.

Harry watched the exchange, his face screwed up in confused revulsion. "Alright, that was odd," he murmured to himself. Shaking it off, he reached out and thumped Ron's hand, gaining his attention. "What were you saying before? Something about Death Eaters?"

"Son, please, I'm trying to read the paper. Ask your mother."

Harry leaned back in his seat, his toast forgotten. What the hell was going on? Not two minutes ago, Ron had said Death Eaters where rioting ... or Harry was hallucinating. And what was up with --

"Oh, damn it all!" Ron burst, slamming the paper down on the table.

"What? What! The Death Eaters?" Harry prompted, choosing to overlook his friends' behaviour, putting it down to stress, an early morning and an inadequate breakfast.

"Might as well be," Ron growled, rummaging around in his shirt and jeans pockets.

"What? Who? The Ministry? Was it Fudge?" Harry bombarded him, his voice growing more frantic with each word.

"Stupid paper. You think they could make the print just a bit bigger...." Ron muttered to himself, still searching his person.

"Looking for your glasses?" Hermione asked, heaving a long-suffering sigh.

"Indeed I am," Ron answered irritably. "And I wouldn't exactly mind a refill of my coffee before the brew gets heavy."

"Glasses?" Harry echoed, puzzled. "When did you start wearing glasses? And since when do you drink coffee, Ron?"

"Harry, eat your breakfast," Hermione said, sighing again. "And dear, your glasses are on the sideboard, in their case, where, by the way, you should keep them." Hermione glanced over at Ron, who stared back blankly. Groaning, she lifted herself out of her chair, took the few steps necessary to reach the wooden sideboard against the back wall, and retrieved a glasses case.

"Here," she said, smacking the black leather case into Ron's outstretched hand. Huffing, she resumed her seat and buried herself in her book once more.

Ron mumbled a few half-hearted words of gratitude and set a pair of thick, horn-rimmed glasses upon his nose. Harry had the strong impression of a much younger Mr. Weasley sitting before him.

"You two are acting like you've been bloody married for the past thirty years!" Harry exclaimed, eyeing them in mild horror. "What's going on? And what was that about Death Eaters?"

"Well, Harry," Ron sighed, "there comes a time in every man's life when he thinks it best to settle down. I suppose now is as good at time as any...."

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, at a temporary loss for words. Finally, his heavy breath and sounds of mild disgust got Ron's attention. He sighed deeply, lay the Prophet down on the table and folded his hands on top of it.

"Harry, is there something bothering you? Something you want to talk about?" Ron asked in a fatherly manner.

Harry stared at Ron, wondering if this was all some elaborate joke. He and Hermione had been perfectly normal the night before, sniping at each other when they were looking, casting longing looks at the other when their backs were turned. Had they crept downstairs together while the rest of the house slept and finally resolved the tension between them?

"Bothering me?" Harry repeated, his head beginning to hurt. "Did -- did I miss something? I mean, are you guys a couple now or what?"

Both boys looked over at Hermione as she snorted in amusement, blowing a dusting of sugar off the piece of toast she had started to take a bite of. "Please, Harry, whatever gave you that idea? Like I'd ever date such a temperamental weasel."

"Of course," Ron growled, ripping his glasses off and appearing to turn into his normal self again. "Why would you want a temperamental weasel when you have a Bulgarian vulture?"

"Don't call him that," Hermione hissed, eyes blazing over the top of her book. "Viktor is a wonderful person. He's interesting to talk to, and very intelligent. Which is more than I can say for some people!"

"Right! Am I supposed to believe that all you do is talk? You two have been dating since the middle of fourth year --"

"We are not dating! We're just friends, you jealous little --"

"Please! Just friends? That's international code for 'shagging like rabid bunnies, but not about to tell you!' Why don't you just admit --"

"I beg your pardon! We've done no such thing! Shagging like rabid bunnies indeed. How --"

"Alright, so maybe the bunnies aren't rabid. But you can't expect me to believe --"

Harry's eyes snapped back and forth between his two friends, like watching an extremely fast and violent tennis match. He resisted the child-like urge to clap his hands over his ears as each volley of defensiveness and insults got louder and louder.

"Guys?" He ventured tentatively, hoping to snap them out of it.

"I shouldn't have to expect you to believe anything! If you were really my friend --"

"I am your friend, Hermione. That's why I don't want that Quidditch creep buggering you --"

"Guys?" Harry tried again, concern leaking into his voice.

"Buggering me? Buggering me? Ron, you sick son of a --"

"What? Like he's not into that? Just look at him! That guy's a total pervert --"

"Hey! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Harry yelled, standing up abruptly and sending his chair crashing to the floor. "That is enough!" he added, slamming his hands down on the table and glaring at them. "What happened to 'pass me the sugar, dear' and 'a man needs to settle down'?"

"Harry, what on Earth are you talking about?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes wide in innocent confusion. "Oh, forget it," she said, shaking her head. "I don't have time for this. I have to finish reading this book for an extra credit essay."

"Gods, Hermione, we've another month before term starts. Why don't you just lay off --"

"Unlike some people, I don't like to leave everything until the last minute --"

"Don't you two start again!" Harry warned, scowling at his friends. "And you -- give me that!" he said, snatching the offending book out of Hermione's hands, ignoring her outraged protests. He was about to toss it aside when the bright yellow cover, with the title The White Goddess emblazoned across the front caught his attention.

"The White Goddess?" he mumbled, turning the book over and scanning the back. "Hermione, would you mind telling me why you're reading a book about Wicca?"

"Wicca?" Ron snorted through his laughter. "Hermione, you're a real witch! Why are you reading about Wicca?"

"I told you," Hermione seethed, "it's for an extra credit essay."

"An extra credit essay about Wicca?" Ron asked incredulously. "I thought you dropped Muggle Studies at the end of third year?"

Despite his current irritation, Harry had to chuckle a bit at that. Even Ron could sometimes make a killer come-back.

"Urgh! I can't talk to you two! I'm going to my room. Give me my book back!" Hermione snapped, lunging down the table and grabbing it. Clutching the book with a death grip, she stalked out of the kitchen towards the stairs in the living room, muttering under her breath, "What I wouldn't give to have a friend that would atleast try to understand me!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, frowning at Hermione's retreating back. "I understand her! I understand her just fine." He turned to face Harry, his expression desperate. "Don't I?"

Harry quickly jammed a whole piece of toast into his mouth and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

The boys sat in silence for several minutes, Harry using his breakfast as an excuse not to talk, Ron staring blankly at the table.

"Right ... well," Ron said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It's a nice day. I think I'll go for a walk." Slowly, he got up from the table and exited through the kitchen door into the back garden.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. As he turned with a steaming mug in his hand, he spotted the paper still lying in front of Ron's vacated seat. Suddenly, he remembered the too-off-handed comment Ron had made before the fight had began. Something about Death Eaters rioting.

Harry eyed the Daily Prophet warily, not sure if he wanted to read it, or if Ron had even been serious. It had appeared that his friend wasn't exactly in a proper state of mind at the time. Slowly, he inched forward, anticipating a harsh revelation or a confusing let-down.

As his hand hovered over the paper, the fireplace in the kitchen erupted in green flames, making Harry flinch and spill coffee over his other hand. Cursing and shaking his arm to cool the scalding, he turned to glare at the fire.

The highly irritable looking head of Professor Snape scowled out from the green flames. "Potter!" he barked. "Where is Arthur?"

"Mr. Weasley? He's not here. Went to the office already," Harry answered, eyes narrowed. Before he could ask why, Snape snapped at him again.

"Well, then, could you kindly tell Molly that I need a word with her, and remove yourself from the kitchen -- and my sight?"

"Mrs. Weasley's not here either. She went out shopping."

"Dammit! Fine, thank you for your lack of help, Potter."

Harry felt his jaw clench, desperate to not say something he might regret. He turned away from the fire, fully intent on ignoring his Potions Master. Then a sudden thought struck him. "Professor, wait! Is this about the Death --" He spun around to find the fireplace as empty as it had been before Snape's appearance, "-- Eaters," he finished to himself, disappointed.

Harry sighed and went to replenish his coffee. "Fine," he muttered to himself. "Everyone ignores me, you all know how I feel about the Prophet, but I guess I'll just read the damned thing myself...."

He turned to confront the paper once again, staring at it where it lay on the table....

"Morning Harry!" Ginny Weasley said brightly from the doorway. "What's wrong? Did a garden gnome get in the house again?" she fretted, bending down to peek under the table.

Harry's eyes went wide and he gulped, realizing that Ron's baby sister was still in her pajamas, which consisted of a soft pink camisole and powder blue boy shorts. And from her current position, Harry had a perfect view of just how short her flirty knickers were.

"Er ... uh, no," he said, his voice breaking as he continued to stare. "I was just ... uh, thinking."

"Thinking?" Ginny repeated, unbending herself to look at him. "Are you alright? You look a bit nauseous."

Suddenly, she smiled sympathetically. "Oh, I know. Ron and Hermione going at it again? Yeah, they woke me up. I imagine you're upset."

"Uh huh...." Harry stared as she moved towards him, to the coffee pot on the stove behind him. He turned to the side to let her pass, his stomach fluttering as her arm brushed against it.

"I really wish those two would get together," she said, reaching up to take a mug down from the cupboard. This action caused her camisole to ride up a bit, exposing a few inches of pale, flat stomach. Harry gulped again. "Everyone knows it's the only answer -- everyone except them, that is."

Ginny poured her coffee and walked by Harry again and sat down. "Are you done with the paper, Harry?" she asked, taking Ron's previous seat.

"Er, yeah, sure, it's all yours, Gin ... Ginny."

Ginny looked up at him and patted the chair beside her, an invitation for him to come sit. "I know you're worried about your friends," she said, "but really, they'll be fine. There's no reason to look so ... obscure."

Harry grinned back and breathed a sigh of relief. Same old Ginny. "How can a person look obscure?" he teased, sitting down beside her.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, rifling through the paper, trying to find an interesting read. "It was the only word I could think of."

Harry continued to smile and shook his head, deciding to drink his coffee before it got cold. As he raised the warm mug to his lips, Ginny let out a startled gasp that made Harry spill his coffee yet again. She splayed the paper out in front of her, dark eyes wide in shock.

"What? What is it," Harry asked, holding his shirt out where the hot beverage had splashed down his front.

"You didn't see this?" she asked breathlessly, eyes still glued to the article.

"I didn't have a chance," he replied, a touch defensive. "Ron and Hermione --"

"Oh, no! Harry, listen! 'A large group of known Death Eaters gathered in a field just outside of London late last night to deliver a public address to the British Wizarding community. They have confirmed, as speculated earlier this week after a tip from certain inside sources, that they have indeed revolted against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Death Eater spokeswoman, Bellatrix Lestrange, commented on the situation briefly, saying that You-Know-Who's followers refuse to convert to Buddhism and consider their former master completely insane, but they are still willing to carry out his previously planned works.'"

"Buddhism?" Harry asked, his voice several octaves higher than normal. "What the --"

"Wait, there's more! 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is currently believed to be in hiding, aided by none other than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore!'"

"¿Qué?"