Chapter 4

Preparation

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A relatively uneventful week had passed at 12 Grimmauld Place. Much to Harry's surprise, and equally to his concern, there were few order members spending time at the small house. Not unlike the summer before, he had pictured a bustling house full of interesting events; and, not unlike the summer before, he had envisioned Ron and Hermione being party to them while he was kept in the dark. However, now that he was here, he could see that this couldn't be further from the truth.

There was one upside to the relative lack of acitivity, however: Snape hadn't shown his greasy face once since Harry's last encounter with him. And after that encounter, Harry was in no hurry to meet him again. Every time he heard the door slam, he retreated further into the house, avoiding the new visitor until he was certain it wasn't the Potions Master. When Dumbledore visited, he avoided him as well, burning with embarrassment at the thought of their last encounter and yet feeling slightly defiant towards the feeling.

Normally, Harry would have been hoping for some word from the Headmaster. The man had spent the whole past year avoiding him, and Harry had wanted answers. Now, however, the last person he wanted wandering the halls of his current residence was someone who could, as the phrase goes, read him like a book. It wasn't that Harry was hiding anything, per se, but it was bad enough trying to convince his friends that he was fine. When it came to the Headmaster, Harry seriously doubted his ability to stare into those damned twinkling, understanding blue eyes and insist that he wasn't suffering.

And if there was one thing that Harry was, it was certainly suffering.

If Harry had felt Sirius' absence before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. This place was a harsh reminder; the halls which Harry had once walked with his Godfather were now often empty, and what little joy Sirius had brought to the house was now gone. As much as he appreciated being away from the Dursleys, the memories that lingered in this dark and dingy building were almost worse than anything he would have endured there.

To add insult to injury, Kreacher, whom Harry very much regarded as responsible for Sirius' death, was still lurking around the halls, muttering gleefully that "nasty mistress's son is gone". The house, having been left to Dumbledore for the Order's purposes, had come with the house elf included in the title, and the Headmaster had expressly forbidden that anyone should dismiss or harm him. Harry scowled at the thought and kicked a nearby pillow, imagining darkly that it was Kreacher.

There was a part of Harry that had to scoff at his own weakness. It wasn't as though he was a stranger to grief; truthfully, he felt that by now, he should have been strong enough to accept the loss of his Godfather with grace. After all, he had endured many losses throughout his life. He had lived his entire life without the comfort of a parent to guide him. He had watched a fellow classmate drop dead on his account. He had been scorned by teachers and the public alike, falsely accused and punished on various occasions. No, Harry's life had been one long series of iniquities, so why was he so strongly affected by what seemed to be just another event to add to the list?

Despite all that had transpired in what felt like an extremely long sixteen years, Harry still could not suppress the loss that haunted his thoughts. The promise of something that resembled a true family had been extinguished in a mere moment. Sirius had been the closest thing to a father Harry had ever really experienced… and now he was gone.

Harry did his best to keep himself busy, trying to distract himself from his melancholy thoughts. He had no interest in sharing his feelings with others, and the best way to keep them from asking questions was to behave as though nothing was wrong. For this reason, he had been extremely grateful for the Weasleys' company this week. Though they were not at the headquarters every day, Harry spent much of his time visiting at the Burrow when they were unable to be with him at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had specified that he stay at the house for protection, but Mrs. Weasley had insisted it was "unhealthy to spend too much time in that house, all things considered".

The Weasley house was very much the same as usual, and for this, Harry was grateful. Mrs. Weasley fussed over Harry as much as one of her own children, and Mr. Weasley persisted in asking Harry the oddest questions about muggle inventions; this normality was exactly what Harry needed.

Harry did miss the key element, however, of Fred and George; true to their word, they had started a joke shop in Diagon Alley with Harry's Triwizard winnings and now resided in the flat above it. Harry and Ron hoped they would soon be able to visit, but dared not mention it; Mrs. Weasley seemed torn between pride and disapproval, for they were successful, but in the very way that she had discouraged from the beginning.

Harry passed the time over the next week practicing Quidditch moves with Ron and sometimes Ginny, in between homework sessions with Hermione, who'd been shocked to find all that he had left for the end of the summer. He didn't much relish the idea of explaining that he'd been much too miserable to bother with learning the misuses of memory charms in the 19th century, so he endured her chiding silently and gratefully accepted her help. By the time the last week before the start of term arrived, Harry was feeling much more ready to face the year.

It was early in the morning on a Monday when Harry was shaken from a peaceful sleep by the sound of Ron shouting his name. He opened his eyes with a start, and looked up at his tall, red-headed friend, who was still shaking him.

"I'm up- I'm up, Ron."

"Oh," said Ron, backing off. "I was beginning to think something was wrong with you."

Harry shrugged and decided against mentioning the dreamless sleep potion he'd bought from Mundungus; he didn't want Ron to know he'd been having nightmares. He squinted hard at his friend and observed, "Mate, I think your shirt's on backwards."

"Oh, right," Ron said sheepishly, turning his sweater around. Clearing his throat as he did so, he told Harry, "Anyway, sorry to wake you so early; Mum reckons we better get a move on. The earlier we get there, the emptier Diagon Alley will be, and considering all the papers..."

"Right," Harry remarked. Since the end of last summer, he'd been frequently featured in the Daily Prophet- now lauded a hero, despite the very different message they'd been spreading the year prior. He was glad not to be called a liar but annoyed at the sudden attention from those who had previously seen him as such. He fumbled around on the night stand before coming across his spectacles and placing them atop the bridge of his nose. "Right," he said again, voice raspy. "Let me get dressed, I'll meet you downstairs."

"Sure," replied Ron, already heading for the door. "Just hurry up- Mum's in a right state getting everyone up and about."

"Yeah, fine," Harry muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and dressing quickly.

The inviting aroma of eggs and bacon instantly greeted Harry as he entered the kitchen and he was reminded of how deeply he loved Mrs. Weasley's cooking. A grin spreading across his cheeks as he approached the table, he noticed that Ron and Hermione had the post before them. Stepping a little closer, he could see that Hermione was pouring over their class schedules.

"Morning, Harry," Hermione said absently, sliding his Hogwarts letter across the table to him.

Harry thanked her and sat down across from the her and Ron. He was struck by the difference in their expressions; in moments like these, it could not be more obvious how different his friends were. While Hermione seemed delighted at the prospect of the beginning of another year, Ron's face had drooped into an unattractive frown, his hair tousled—a sure sign that he had been, out of pure frustration, burying his fists in it moments before.

Harry looked from his friends back down the parchment in his hands. Brow wrinkling just slightly, he unfolded it and looked it over. He, like Ron and Hermione, had dropped Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. He was still worried about how Hagrid would take this, but then, he didn't know when he would see Hagrid again. He was awfully busy; he'd only sent one letter to Harry over the summer, and it had been very short (not unlike Harry's other mail).

There were several new classes being offered, and their schedules were much more conflicting than in previous years. Within no time, however, Hermione had worked out which free hours they would share and was wondering whether or not Ron and Harry would have time for Quidditch.

According to Ron, Harry found out a short explosion later, there was always time for Quidditch.

Shortly after they'd finished breakfast, Mrs. Weasley was piloting them to the fireplace; they were to use the Floo Network to get to Diagon Alley. Mrs. Weasley sent each of them in turn before following herself.

"Now, we've got a lot to accomplish today, so I expect it's best if we split up," Mrs. Weasley announced briskly she stepped out of the grate. She stared hard at their school lists for a brief moment, then handed them out accordingly. "Perhaps you three had better stay together," she said after what seemed to be some deliberation, "And Ginny and I will go together." Behind her, Ginny's jaw dropped in objection and she turned her wide eyes to them in an appeal for help. Mrs. Weasley glanced at Ginny and caught sight of her expression. "You're only fifteen," she reminded her daughter.

"Thanks, I'd forgotten that," Ginny mumbled, crossing her arms. "Listen- can't I just go along with them? We'll be fine, I swear-"

"I'm sure you will be, but I've enough to be getting on with at the moment without worrying about my youngest getting hurt."

"So it's alright if I'm hurt then, eh Mum? Since I'm not the youngest-" Ron was cut off sharply by a hard blow to the ribs from Hermione's elbow.

"Oh, I worry about you Ron, but I've long since accepted there's no separating you three- and with Hermione with you and all..."

Hermione beamed with pride while Ron glared at her sideways.

"Mum, I'm almost just as old as them-" Ginny resumed her argument.

"Almost being the key word, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, come along and keep your poor Mother company."

Ginny's lips pressed into a fine line reminiscent of her Mother's own expressions, but she begrudgingly replied, "Fine, fine..."

"Good, that's settled then," Mrs. Weasley said, looking pleased. "Now, we ought to meet back here in two hours time. Remember to stay on the main street, don't go wandering off anywhere you shouldn't be. No Knockturn Alley, no dark corner venues; I don't care what the reason is, if I find you've been anywhere unseemly, you've all had it. Am I quite clear?" And though her tone was stern, her expression held both affection and worry.

"Yes Mum," Ron said dutifully, if not a bit wearily, while Harry and Hermione nodded beside him.

"Alright then; be safe, I'll see you soon," said Mrs. Weasley, and she and Ginny (still looking quite petulant) set off down the lane.

"Well, we haven't got much time," Hermione commented looking over their lists, "so we best get going. Bookshop first, I think."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks; wandering into Flourish and Blotts with Hermione was almost certain to result in a very long, and very dull, trip. Still, they trailed behind her, happy to let her do the work of ferreting out the required texts for this year.

"Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6," Hermione muttered, handing off three copies to Ron, who jolted with their unexpected weight. "A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, yes, we'll need three of those... Advanced Potion Making, one of those..."

"Erm- two," said Harry, only just realizing that he hadn't told Ron and Hermione about his O.W.L.

"Sorry?" said Hermione offhandedly, turning and looking at him as she rubbed her ear, apparently thinking she hadn't heard correctly.

"Two copies of Advanced Potion Making... I need one too."

"But Harry, you need an O for Professor Snape's... you didn't... I mean, did you?"

"Yeah, I did." Harry almost felt insulted by her incredulity, but he reminded himself that he had felt similar feelings of doubt upon receiving his results.

"But, how?" asked Ron, similarly dumbstruck by this information.

"There's got to be a mistake," Hermione said suddenly, and Harry scowled.

"What does that mean, Hermione?"

"Well, I'm sorry Harry-" she said, and she truly looked it, "But there's just no way you could have earned that grade!"

"Well, I didn't cheat, if that's what you're saying!" Harry exclaimed, a bit louder than he should have- several people nearby glanced nervously at him, then his scar, and scattered away.

"No, no, Harry- I would never accuse you of- you just, you have to admit, it's a bit suspicious..."

"I think you should just accept it for what it is, mate- it's the only way you're going to be an Auror, after all," Ron interjected, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wait- wait a minute. Harry, your meeting with Professor McGonagall- did you... tell her that you wanted to be an Auror?"

"Well, of course, seeing as that's the truth," Harry responded. Now that he thought of it, McGonagall had said she would do whatever it took to personally ensure that he became an Auror... but that had been because of-

"And wasn't Umbridge sitting in on that meeting?"

"Yes..." said Harry slowly, now wondering why Hermione was bringing up that woman.

"So don't you think that it's quite convenient that now, when the Ministry most needs your forgiveness and support... you just so happen to make the grade you need for the thing they know you want?"

Harry did not immediately reply. Little though he wanted to admit it, Hermione had proposed wilder theories before which had turned out to be true. Reluctantly, he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I suppose that could be true, but..."

"I think you ought to request a copy of your test results," Hermione responded at once, her tone businesslike.

"Why would he do that?" Ron asked with his eyes narrowed, as though he suspected where this was going.

"Well, Harry's not going to turn a blind eye to this kind of blatant academic dishonesty, is he?" She asked incredulously, looking from Ron to Harry. Then, with a look of comprehension at Harry's reluctant expression, she asked accusatorily, "Are you?"

"Course he is," Ron said on Harry's behalf when he failed to respond for himself. "You don't look that kind of gift in the horse's mouth, do you?"

"That's not the expression-" Hermione started to say impatiently; then, refusing to be sidetracked, shook her head and looked back to Harry. "Harry, promise me you'll at least ask for a copy of your score report. It's the right thing to do. If you did become an Auror, down the road, you could be subject to all sorts of accusations if anyone ever does come to find that someone did you an unfair favor in order to get you there. And maybe you'll find that's not the case... but don't you want to be sure that you earned this?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry admitted, somewhat resentfully. Hermione didn't look entirely convinced that he had taken her point to heart, but seeming to choose to end the argument for now, she consulted their book list again and moved on to the next title. "Alright, three copies of Striking the Enemy and The Legal Guide to Offensive Magic..." She began muttering to herself again as she turned down the next aisle of books and disappeared from sight.

"Come off it, I say... I'd love the chance to be an Auror," Ron said, almost to himself, shaking his head as they followed Hermione at a distance. "Though, I'm not exactly in line to spend another year with Snape... that in itself might be a reason to get your score report, Harry. Another year with Snape, when you have a choice? Blimey."

Privately, Harry thought he had a valid point.

The last stop of the day was Madame Malkin's; their list for this year stated that they needed "dueling robes" for their new class, Offensive Magic. Mounted on display in the very back of the store were lightweight, form-fitted black robes with silver embroidery lining the edges. Hermione was the first to spot them, and alerted the boys with a gasp.

"Oh, they're beautiful," she said in awe, instantly moving towards them to assail the edges with her fingertips. Hermione was not a vain girl; her excitement was explicable—these were much nicer than their standard Hogwarts robes. Ron, however, gazed at the display apprehensively, hand unconsciously moving towards his pocket, which Harry knew held the little money he had. "How much are they?" Ron asked in a would-be casual way, if not for the clear doubt written in his face.

Harry walked over to them and lifted the tag. He instantly winced; the robes cost twenty-five galleons per set, a price he knew was much higher than Ron was prepared to pay. "They're erm- ten galleons," he lied, privately hoping he had guessed the right number.

"Oy, that's steep," Ron remarked, counting the coins in the small sack his Mother had given him to shop with. "Looks like I've got just enough, though- lucky I don't need potions supplies this year."

"Right," Harry remarked, grabbing two sets of robes for he and Ron. "Listen, why don't you just give me your money and I'll take them up? You can keep Hermione company while she selects a color." He nodded in her direction as she fingered some deep maroon robes across the aisle.

Ron looked less than pleased at the prospect of shopping, but shrugged his shoulders and handed his money to Harry, who hurried away before he could change his mind.

Two hours had passed rather more quickly than Harry had expected, he reflected as they stepped out of the shop and he checked his watch. "We've got to be back in ten minutes- too bad, I was hoping to see Fred and George's shop..." Harry commented as they set off to meet Mrs. Weasley.

"I was just getting worried," Mrs. Weasley said as they approached, stepping forward to wave them off the street, which was becoming busier as the day went on.

"They're fifteen minutes early, Mum," Ginny reminded her flatly. Her expression was tired and filled with annoyance.

"Yes, well, even so," Mrs. Weasley said distractedly, ushering them back to the public fireplace. "There's been a slight change of plans, actually.""Of course, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, her expression instantly softening as she turned her attention on him. "But… there has been a slight change of plans."

"A… good change of plans?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer from her tone.

"I'm afraid not," Mrs. Weasley replied, shaking her head. "I've received a message from Dumbledore- he wishes you to return to Hogwarts this evening."

"What? Why?" Harry questioned sharply.

"I'm really not sure, dear," she answered apologetically. Lowering her "Dawlish turned up at Dervish and Banges looking for you, but I told him I would escort you when we'd finished. You know I'd have you stay the entire holiday if you could, but Dumbledore-"

"Yeah, Dumbledore..." Harry muttered. As usual, that was all he needed to know.

xxx end chapter 4 xxx