Harry Potter and the Return to the Riddle House

Chapter Fourteen

Words at the Weasleys'

Harry and the others boarded the train home the next morning among the babbling crowds of students, and found a compartment near the middle where they could talk. It felt odd, at least to Harry, to be getting on the scarlet steam engine in the middle of December, but the trip was much like it was in the summer. At noon, when the plump witch with the food cart came around, and it began to snow, with lightning in the distance. Harry and Rachel sat next to each other and looked out the window together, which was nice. He had gotten somewhat used to the very weird sensation he had when he was with Rachel, terrified and edgy but at the same time enjoying himself. As usual, Ron and Hermione bickered almost the entire trip; Harry and Rachel, as usual, pretty much ignored them in their corner, jumping apart when Luna Lovegood wandered in to say hi.

They arrived at King's Cross around six that evening; by then Harry was looking forward to Mrs. Weasley's delicious dinners almost as much as seeing her and the others again. She, Percy, and the twins greeted them outside the barrier between the platforms and she hugged each of them, Hermione especially hard. Then she hurried them all to a purple car parked in the lot.

"Is this a Ministry car, Mum?" asked Ron.

"Yes, dear, isn't it nice? It belongs to your father now. He didn't want a driver, though, he loves playing with all the little knobs..." Mrs. Weasley gave a small sigh.

"Where is Mr. Weasley, is he working?" Rachel said.

"Yes, I'm afraid he has a rather tight schedule now, but it's not that bad. He gets all of Christmas Day off, if nothing, oh-- explodes or anything."

Percy, who had cleared his calendar and could spend more time with them, bored them all senseless on the way to the Burrow, but with best intentions. He told them how, partly thanks to his report year before last, cauldron thickness was now regulated in 11 countries; his mother looked proud, but the twins made retching faces behind his back.

"We've tried to get useful information out of him and Dad, since we're so junior in the Order, you know, but it's pointless," George said. "Really handy to have the Minister himself with us, though, we've stopped five attacks with Ministry help, so far. Me and Fred helped in one of them, even."

Mrs. Weasley frowned and told him to hush, it was a slightly worried face she turned back to the road. But by the time they reached the Burrow, she looked normal again.

Harry did not know what to expect, but from the outside, the house looked the same, if a little less crooked, but that could be his imagination. A piney smell from a wreath on the front door greeted them, and inside, Harry could see some new-looking curtains and that the old couches where now free of holes and overstuffed once more, and he was glad for the Weasleys. The home was nice, but still unquestionably Weasley--there was a warm, cheerful sort of feeling around him, and he couldn't help but smile. Harry liked the Burrow.

Mr. Weasley came home just in time for dinner, he looked a bit tired, but cheered up when he saw his sons and the rest.

"Hello, boys, Hermione, Rachel," he said, smiling. "Have a good trip?"

He shed his (new, much less ratty) cloak, and added,

"Oh, I stopped and picked up our other guests, Molly..." while grabbing his plate out of Sprite's reach, who looked like she was about to pounce on his chicken. They all glanced at the door behind him, and suddenly Rachel let out a happy cry and jumped from her chair. Little Ian ran inside to her from the cold and she twirled him around, both of them laughing. Chris came in behind him, dragging a trunk, and hugged Rachel too, then cried out in pain as Sprite attached herself briefly to his leg and raced off in a frenzy. Dinner that evening was a pleasantly loud, joyful affair, but afterwards, Harry felt rather flat. Rachel sat in front of the fireplace with her brothers, Ian trying relentlessly to pin her to the floor like a wrestler, and Chris trying to pull him off while maintaining a conversation with Rachel. Ron had become cool to Hermione for some reason, who was trying to figure out what his problem was. The twins were talking and joking with Mr. Weasley. Harry tried to snap himself out of it; Rachel had not seen Chris or Ian for months--and anyway, they wouldn't have been able to do much in front of everybody--and the Weasleys, naturally, wanted to be together as a family for the holidays. But that still left him alone on the couch, and with nothing else to occupy him, memories of last Christmas came, more and more frequently, drifting into his mind's eye... Sirius had been so happy.... It was a relief when, hours later, Mrs. Weasley insisted they get some sleep, as Ian had crashed right on the hearth rug, lying half out of Rachel's lap. Harry and they others helped spread blankets on the floor, as there weren't enough beds for them all. He lay down in front of the Christmas tree; it was warm, being right in front of the fire, and the fairy lights cast beautiful colors over the room. He tried to distract himself and ignore his nagging memories, but they were like an old, aching wound that wouldn't heal. He tried practicing his Occlumency, but he was tired, and it took him a few minutes to even begin to feel like he was clearing. Finally, he took a deep breath, looked at the colored lights dancing on Rachel's face and smelled the pine, and he felt a wave of drowsiness over him, washing away everything else, for now. He closed his eyes before it wore off and was soon asleep.

Harry slept alright, but stirred about an hour later, very thirsty and wondering what caused his sudden awakening. Presently he heard a hissing sort of voice by the fire; he rolled over and saw Ron, who had said he would sleep downstairs with his friends, and Hermione. Both of their profiles looked angry.

"Oh, come on," Ron was saying. "Don't pretend you don't want Vicky to write you again! And you were gawking at Chris Connor all through dinner, I saw you!"

Harry instantly pretended to be asleep again, he knew they would hate for him to see this. Hermione looked astonished, and livid.

"What? Oh, for heaven's sake, you're pulling things out of thin air! And of... of course I want Viktor to write, I like him, but I don't want to take up with him or anything, I just--I just like to talk to him, Ron!" Hermione's voice faltered very slightly, but she regained herself.

"Well, he's in Bulgaria, and I'm right here, why can't you talk to me?" Ron demanded heatedly.

"Ron, I do talk to you, and you argue with me; it seems like we're always fighting. Viktor--" Hermione paused, then went on recklessly. "Viktor listens to me, and thinks about somebody besides himself once in a while!" She looked at Ron, biting her lip but meeting him straight in the eyes.

"Wha--I--Hermione, I... I think about you, I try really hard for you, and you attack me all the time!" Ron had sounded stunned at first, and even seemed to be about to apologize, but his voice grew stronger and angrier.

"Ron, you'll wake everybody up," Hermione said softly, her face expressionless. He started to say something, but she cut him off.

"Come on, Ron, I'm going to bed, I don't want to yell and get everyone up," she said in the same flat, sort of somber voice, and walked over to her blankets. She stepped over Harry, who hoped he looked asleep enough. Ron started to speak again and said her name wearily, rubbing his forehead, but she whirled around and almost yelled at him,

"Ron, I can't talk to you when you're like this, I'm not looking at anyone else, I do like being with you, but you're driving me mad! You're jealous and overprotective and you can't trust me like when we were friends; that's why Ginny won't tell you who she's dating anymore and I don't ever want to go anywhere with you; you'll spend the whole time glaring at other boys! What about that time we went out with Harry and Rachel, that was nice, you were relaxed and you--you weren't acting like I was going to bite you, or... going to run off with somebody else if you went to the bathroom or something! Just... just be Ron again, for heaven's sake, please! I want this to work out, I really do, but..." she looked at Ron sort of hopelessly, he stared back at her blankly, mouth slightly open in shock. She was almost crying. "Just... just go to your room, let's go to bed and we can... I don't know, t-talk in the morning or something..."

Ron looked at her silently, he opened his mouth but thought better of it, and began climbing the stairs to his bedroom. He looked pale and anxious. Hermione lay down on her blankets, Harry thought he heard a sob but stayed where he was, he did not think she would appreciate any reassuring just now, even if he did have a clue what to say. He remained uneasily in his bed, sad and worried for them. In the back of his mind, he was nervous about himself and Rachel as well; he realized they were bound to fight sometime, and suddenly maintaining a relationship of any kind seemed like an impossible task. One single bad fight and it could all be over; they would never speak again, and, judging by himself and Cho, avoiding a bad row seemed unattainable, too. One wrong word, even, could spark something, insult or upset her, and that would be it. Harry fought to stay calm. He and Rachel were happy together, they could get over a little fight, right? Then he reminded himself that they had never argued; it was ridiculous to worry so much... but how much longer could they avoid it? He had never really thought about this before.... Harry fretted and turned until, finally, he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, Harry wanted to talk with Ron, or Hermione, or both, but he had no idea how to bring it up. They were both rather quiet at breakfast. Rachel apparently noticed something and caught Hermione afterwards. Harry saw them talking quietly in a corner. He tried to approach Ron, but he was deflecting all his attempts at conversation, changing the subject and all, so Harry decided to follow his lead. Ron went out with Fred and George and tossed snowballs with them in the newfallen snow, while Rachel and Hermione took Ian sledding. Harry went back and forth, neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to be really enjoying themselves.

Harry stood at the top of the hill and watched Ian go down alone for the first time; he promptly fall off about four feet from the top. Rachel winced, but the little boy just laughed and scrambled back up. She let out a small, relieved sigh, assured him she was watching, and turned to Harry.

"Harry, did you hear about, um... Ron and Hermione?" she asked him quietly.

"Yeah," he muttered. "How are they?"

Rachel sighed again.

"Hermione said she won't talk to him until he comes to her--"

"Of course," Harry said under his breath.

"--but I doubt Ron will, either," she finished. "Have you talked to him about it?"

"He won't let me," Harry said, shrugging hopelessly. "I tried to, I guess he just doesn't want to talk about it."

"Do you think you could--corner him or something, just catch him sometime? I mean, they just had one fight, and they have this great big history and friendship and they're letting all go for that, we have to... help them, or something," Rachel said. She looked quite worried.

"Yeah, I'll... I'll try," Harry said. It wasn't that he didn't want to help his friends, he very much wanted them to be happy, he was just nervous about interfering. But he had to do something, these were his two best friends... he was beginning to see why Rachel looked so anxious.

"Yeah," he said, more firmly. Rachel smiled at him, and he grinned back. They were fine, he had been silly to get so worried when they had never even had harsh words. He decided firmly to cross that bridge when he came to it.

Harry got his chance to talk to Ron later that day; they had changed out of their wet clothes and were getting fresh socks from their trunks in Ron's bedroom. Harry took a deep breath and said carefully,

"Ron... what's going on with you and Hermione?"

Ron started.

"What?" he said stupidly. "I mean, how do you... did she talk to you?"

"Well--it's, um... kind of obvious, Ron..."

"Oh..."

Harry waited.

"So..."

Ron sighed.

"Nothing, we just... had a row, that's all..."

Harry wondered how to get him to say more, but before he opened his mouth, Ron exploded into angry rant.

"I mean, she just can't let anything go, she can't! And I'm not being 'overly jealous'; what would you do if Rachel kept writing novels to some other bloke?"

"Ron, shh, don't mention that here..."

"Right, sorry... if she doesn't want to do anything with him, why does she send him those long letters, what is she even writing about? And she says I fight with her, she pounces on me whenever she can, who's she to talk..."

Harry listened for a while until Ron had talked himself out and was sitting on his bed, looking moodily out of his window.

"Ron--why don't you... just talk to her?" Harry said.

"No," Ron said flatly.

"C'mon, you had one fight!" Harry insisted. "Just--just tell her what you told me! Are you going to throw everything away like this, it's--it's Hermione!" Harry stopped himself, wondering if he had said too much. Ron was still staring out his window.

"Fine," he finally said. "If she'll admit she's wrong for once."

"Okay," Harry said.

"And she won't attack me."

"Right."

"And she'll let me have my say."

"Yeah."

"And she's won't act... so... Hermione-y."

"Er--sure, Ron."

Chapter Fifteen

A Mislead Warning

Ron and Hermione met outside Ron's bedroom the next day. Rachel acted as a sort of mediator, first to get them to talk, and then to get them to talk civilly. She was good; neither of them yelled at each other, or at least, Harry didn't hear them from across the hall. He figured this was a good sign. Rachel sort of started them off and then left quietly; they spoke for nearly a full hour and a half. When they finally emerged from Ron's room, they were even smiling at each other. A bit timidly, yes, but at least they were smiling. They didn't have to say anything; Harry and Rachel smiled back at them wordlessly for a few moments and let them down the stairs to get some space. Harry sat, relieved, on the top stair.

"Nice work," he said to Rachel with a grin.

"I know," she said. She sat next to him and said, more quietly but still smiling, "I'm sorry we haven't been alone more this vacation."

"It's only the second day," Harry pointed out.

"That can be a lot!" Rachel pretended to be insulted, but laughed. "I can still miss you..."

Harry didn't know quite what to do; should he hold her hand? Would that be too much? Was she just being sweet, or did she want him to do something with her? Was she trying to tell him anything? Harry decided to go with smiling some more and laughing with her a little, which worked. This was actually rather pleasant. She leaned slightly against his shoulder and said,

"So what do you do at the Weasleys', once you've thwarted a crisis?"

Without thinking, Harry replied, "There's a paddock that the Muggle villagers can't spot; it's a great place to play Quidditch."

Stupid! he thought. She doesn't want to play Quidditch; she's being flirty!

"... of course, the Weasley's can't see through trees, either," he added, surprised at his own save, but acting as though he meant to all say that along. Rachel laughed again. It came out rather cheekier than he had meant it, but she didn't seem offended; she knew he didn't mean anything... impertinent. She began to say something else when they heard footsteps clomping up the stairs. Harry got quickly to his feet and Rachel looked out the window. Fred and George appeared on the landing.

"Hey, Rachel, Ian wants to show you something," said Fred. "I think he's in the kitchen."

"Okay," Rachel said, straight-faced. Harry started to follow her casually, expecting the twins to follow, but George grasped his upper arm.

"Um... can we see you for a sec, Harry?"

Harry allowed himself to be steered into Ron's vibrantly orange room; Fred closed the door and glanced at his brother, then back to Harry.

"Er... Harry, we, um... couldn't help but hear you guys..."

Harry's mouth went suddenly dry. Oh, no...

"Well, of course we couldn't, we had the Ears," George put in, holding an Extendable Ear between his thumb and forefinger. "Our baby brother's first fight with his ickle girlfriend, we wanted to make sure they would be alright, of course."

"Well, yes, that's true, but not the point. Harry, is there--what--is there anything, ah... between you and Rachel Connor?"

His worries confirmed, Harry's mind raced for a plan. Should he admit what he knew about Snape? Mostly to give himself time to think, he tentatively decided to play it innocent.

"Well, we've... we've been out a few times, but she's kind of, um... shy... we haven't told anybody yet, we kind of wanted to keep it, er--private, for a while..." Harry said, choosing his words carefully. George cleared his throat.

"Um... Harry, there's... um... a lot you don't know about Rachel," he told him with an uncharacteristically serious look. He seemed to be speaking just as gingerly as Harry, who was still thinking furiously. What if they went to the Order, Lupin or their parents or somebody... and how could he stop them? Again, he could admit he knew about Snape; that would probably convince them he knew to be careful, and they wouldn't let it leak out... and he was sure he could trust Fred and George with their secret, but it felt like he should ask Rachel first...

"Look--" Fred said, more urgently. "Just... just give her some time; her parents have just died, she's all, you know... mixed up and sad, that would be kind of... kind of, uh-- taking advantage of her. Yeah."

Harry realized with a start that there could actually be some truth in that, but Rachel seemed fine.... Anyway, he would think about that later, here was a perfect excuse.

"Okay," Harry said. "I'll, um... give it some time. Just don't tell anybody; er... it's just sort of embarrassing, I guess..." Harry thought that sounded odd, but Fred and George wouldn't tell anyone and risk Snape hearing anything, would they? Weren't they here, in the first place, to keep him from doing something that would make Snape pretty much want to murder him? No, he was safe as long as they were sure nothing was going on anymore. It would feel a lot better to hear it from them, though...

"We won't," George said as though reading his mind. "Just... really, a friend would be more, um... helpful, ah, for her to have... um..." Fred elbowed him before he made things, in their minds, worse. They glanced at each other, still nervously, but then gave Harry matching grins and started talking about a new prank textbook they were developing, sounding like themselves again. As soon as they parted at the foot of the stairs and the twins were out of sight, Harry ran to tell Rachel what had happened.

***

On the second week of the break, Ginny came home from the Longbottoms', snowy and cheerful, and holding a small package from Neville. Her mother nearly smothered her with her hug, until Ginny managed to break away, quiet embarrassed.

That night after dinner, they gathered around the fireplace as usual. Mr. Weasley sighed tiredly.

"Well, this was one day I was glad I wasn't in a regular post at the Ministry."

"What happened, Dad?" asked Ginny.

"Justinian had to pull nearly everybody off their regular jobs; a dementor got loose in a Muggle town," Mr. Weasley responded, taking a sip of tea. "Absolutely disastrous."

"Did it--get anyone?" Rachel asked in a horrified voice.

"No, but it scared the living hell out of some schoolgirls. There was a wizard who lived nearby, though, and he managed to fight it off. He was a hero, really; he's going to be awarded an Order of Merlin.... But we were lucky there was only one."

"What was it doing?" Harry said, frowning. "Was it sent by--"

"No, no, this one was just... roaming around, I guess, now that the Ministry can't control them. But," Mr. Weasley said in a darker tone, "If he's letting them wander... I don't want to think about it."

There was a silent moment while everybody mulled over this, until Hermione said,

"What exactly does a Muggle feel if there's a dementor around?"

"Their worst fears, like everyone else, but they can't see the dementor itself. They don't normally go to Muggles; the Ministry can keep them away pretty well. But they make it past them occasionally... actually, Harry," --Mr. Weasley nodded at him-- "Last summer wasn't the first time one was in your, er... general neighborhood."

"It wasn't?" said Harry in astonishment. How is it possible he didn't know about this?

"No, there was one episode, a small one, before you even lived there. You-Know-Who's um... first time around, you see, he didn't have many dementors. That's why Fudge tended to gloss over the occasional confrontation; this one didn't even go to press. Anyway... fairly soon after you were born, he sent one of his dementors to your aunt's house; I believe he just found out your mother even had a sister. He didn't think she was of any consequence, but just in case, he sent it, probably to see if she or your cousin had any magic in them. They didn't, so they couldn't see the dementor, but they were terrified, of course. Anyway, some of us from the original Order came around to get rid of it and explain a bit to them. Nothing really came of it, but they had to modify your cousin's memory. But, come to think of it, that's probably what he saw last year.... Dementors can bring back suppressed memories sometimes..."

Something dawned on Harry.

"Is that how she--my aunt, I mean, not my cousin--knew what dementors were, last year?"

"Probably."

"Then why didn't my uncle...?"

"Well, he wasn't around at the time, I don't think. He was probably at work or something..." said Mr. Weasley thoughtfully. "And I don't suppose she would be overly eager to share it, would she?"

"Come on, now," Mrs. Weasley cut in. "It's nearly Christmas, let's talk about something else... Ginny, did you and Neville do anything fun?"

Ginny told them all about meeting Neville's quirky family; she seemed to like his great-uncle. Harry sat in front of the fire, reminiscing about the summer before last. He felt strange; it wasn't a particularly painful incident to think about, but still... odd. When he fell asleep that night, he had a strange dream involving his old neighbor, Mrs. Figg, beating a dementor about the head with her crocheted cat food bag and yelling at an empty, rusted-through cauldron.

***

On Christmas Eve, the house was full of pine needles, packages, and people, and smelled like eggnog. Many Order members came to celebrate with the Weasleys, Mundungus Fletcher was there, so was Tonks, Shacklebolt, Mrs. Figg herself with a splotchy cat whom Sprite and Crookshanks were very cool towards, Professor McGonagall popped by, apparently by Lupin's persuasion, and Minister Thedon himself made an appearance, and turned out to be very entertaining. Harry had, as the holiday grew nearer, been caught up with gloom from last Christmas, but found it hard not to enjoy himself. The atmosphere was happy, festive, and loud, people laughed boomingly and talked with smiles. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest; it was easy to lose himself just then. He saw Rachel slip, with a glass of eggnog, out the back door, and he followed her curiously.

"Hi," she said, leaning against the wall.

"Hi," he said back. "What are you doing out here?"

"Just admiring the view." The night was freezing, but indeed very clear. The stars were bright, as was the icy snow on the ground, and the air was sharp. Rachel suddenly smiled.

"Hey, did you know Hermione caught Ron under the mistletoe earlier?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, isn't that sweet? I'm glad they're okay."

"Yeah... me too..."

They gazed at the sky in silence for a while. Rachel's smile had faded.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Oh... nothing new, just... you know, the first holiday without... well..." She glanced away.

"It can be--hard."

"Oh. Yeah, that--that I know."

She took a sip of her eggnog and shuddered.

"Ooh, wrong pitcher," she said. "Wow, no wonder Mundungus likes this, it's almost pure brandy..." Harry had to laugh at the look on her face. She smiled at him.

"Come on, let's just--forget about it and have fun. I think I should warn Mrs. Weasley not to let Dung near the eggnog; it looks like he's been improving her recipe..."

Harry thought this good advice, and they went inside. He noticed Lupin glance at him a little suspiciously. Wanting to avoid another Fred- and- George-like 'warning', he joined Tonks by the tree, who was giggling with Chris and little Ian. He told Harry excitedly about how he was going to stay up all night to see Santa Claus, and laughed when Tonks told him he went by Father Christmas 'over here'. He didn't believe her.

When Mundungus had finally staggered out the front door and the candles were burned almost completely down, Harry and the others offered to help clean up, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley insisted they go to bed (Harry felt a little guilty at first, but not so much when they cleaned the whole room with one sweep of their wands). He lay down in his usual spot under the tree, and drifted in and out of the strangest assortment of feelings--grief and guilt over Sirius, and, mere minutes later, holiday warmth and affection towards Rachel and his friends. He thought he only had been lying there for maybe a half hour, but when he glanced up at the small clock on the mantelpiece, discovered it had been nearly two hours. He suddenly heard a rustle behind him and turned over.

"Sprite! No!" It was Rachel. Harry crept around the tree.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Oh! Sorry, Harry, did we wake you up?" she said apologetically.

"No, no, I was awake. Playing Father Christmas?"

She smiled, a package in her hand.

"Yeah, it's hard to lay out presents when everyone sleeps right by the tree; I had to do it last-minute." Rachel finished arranging some parcels and sat back on her heels to admire them. Sprite swatted at a fairy light.

"Wow, it's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, almost to herself. Harry nodded. "We couldn't have fairy lights back home, because we lived in a mostly Muggle neighborhood." She smiled. "Chris and I called it Muggle-infested." Harry smiled. Rachel leaned on his side again and they listened to the crackling fire. Her head was resting on his shoulder. He wouldn't have minded some mistletoe just then.

When the upstairs clock faintly chimed another half hour, Rachel said she should go to bed. Harry yawned and agreed. They both got up and he started to go around the tree to his blankets, but she touched his arm.

"Wait, Harry-- Merry Christmas."

Before he quite knew what happened, Rachel gently kissed him again. She held him for a few seconds and broke away softly, her hand on his cheek. "Merry Christmas," Harry breathed. Rachel smiled shyly and they both stood with each other for a moment before returning to their beds. Safely hidden from view, Harry felt himself beaming. Who needed mistletoe?