10: grimly familiar

Dinner with the Weasleys is… nice. Fred and George are great, as usual, making fun of Percy’s overly formal greeting, and if Mrs. Weasley’s pestering is a bit much, Harry figures it’s because he’s spent so much time on his own all summer. She clucks over his new glasses (“I didn’t even notice those, Harry, are you sure they weren’t expensive?” says Hermione) and how he looks much too formal in his closed robes, wouldn’t he like to wear an open robe and trousers like Ron? Harry politely tells her he likes his robe, thanks, and luckily George manages to knock a tower of books off their dinner table at that exact moment, which distracts her.

Sirius Black still hasn’t been caught, Ginny Weasley still blushes like a fire truck when she sees Harry, and Mrs. Weasley still insists Harry needs to eat more.

After dinner, Harry takes Hermione and Ron upstairs to meet Bear. Ron gives his new school trunk an annoyed look but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Blimey, Harry, this dog’s huge…”

“This isn’t allowed,” Hermione said. “You can’t just bring a dog to school.”

“He’s my familiar,” Harry argued, “and besides, Ron’s got a rat, Lee Jordan has a tarantula, it’s not like that list is ever enforced.”

“Familiar?” Ron looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor getting licked by Bear. “Bit of an old-fashioned tradition, mate.”

“It’s silly,” Hermione sniffs. “A bunch of hooey, if you ask me. Magical bonds with an animal—”

At that moment, Scabbers peeks his head out of Ron’s shirt, and Bear loses his mind.

With a furious snarl, Bear lunges. Ron screams and tips over backwards, shielding Scabbers with his body. Bear grabs Ron’s robe in his teeth and tries to drag his arm out of the way. Hermione’s shouting, and Harry just grabs Bear around the head.

Bear won’t hurt him. He knows that. He works his fingers into the corners of Bear’s mouth and talks to the dog, saying nothing at all into his ear in a soothing voice, and eases up his grip on Ron’s robes.

“That thing’s worse than her bloody cat!” Ron bellows, and storms out.

“If you bring it to school, I’m reporting him to Professor McGonagall as a safety hazard,” Hermione says primly. “It’s a menace!”

“His name is Bear,” Harry snaps.

“Hmph.” Hermione leaves, too.

Harry sits down on the floor and heaves a sigh. Bear is still twitchy and agitated. “And what’s wrong with you, then? Grabbing at Ron’s pet rat like that… Hermione’s got a point, okay? You can’t go ‘round attacking other people’s pets. It’s not on.”

Bear whines, ducking his head and looking apologetic. He’s so sad that Harry sighs and tugs the massive dog into a hug. “You’re a mess, y’know that, Bear? Bollocks… how’m I supposed to get you into the school now?”

Getting Bear down the ladder and into the trunk is a time and a half. He doesn’t fight, and seems to grasp the concept of the ladder quickly, but the whole exercise makes him unhappy and tense. Harry leaves him pacing circles in the flat with a bowl of water on the floor and makes a note to order more kitchen things. The flat only came with the bare basics.

Harry feels so bad that he decides to head down and order a hot meal just for Bear. The dog’s so big he can demolish an entire roasted pork shoulder plus the bone. One of those would probably help settle him down.

He’s halfway along the passage to the bar, which is now very dark, when he hears a pair of angry voices coming from the parlor. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He hesitates, not wanting them to know he's heard them arguing, but the sound of his own name makes him stop and move closer.

"—makes no sense not to tell him," Mr. Weasley is saying heatedly. "Harry's got a right to know. I've tried to tell Fudge, but he’s insisting on treating Harry like a child. He's thirteen years old and—"

"Arthur, the truth would terrify him!" says Mrs. Weasley shrilly. "Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that hanging over him? For heaven's sake, he's happy not knowing!"

"I don't want to make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard!" retorts Mr. Weasley. "You know what Harry and Ron are like, wandering off by themselves–they've ended up in the Forbidden Forest twice!” Yeah, Harry needs to stop doing that. Although in his defense the first time was on a school-sanctioned detention. “But Harry mustn't do that this year! When I think what could have happened to him that night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn't picked him up, I'm prepared to bet he would have been dead before the Ministry found him."

"But he's not dead, he's fine, so what's the point?"

"Molly, they say Sirius Black's mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that's supposed to be impossible. It's been weeks, and no one's seen hide nor hair of him, and I don't care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we're no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black's after."

"But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts."

"We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts."

"But no one's really sure that Black's after Harry."

There’s a thud on wood, and Harry is sure Mr. Weasley banged his fist on the table.

"Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn't report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black’s been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: 'He's at Hogwarts... he's at Hogwarts.' Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he's had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that..."

This is followed by a long silence. Harry leans still closer to the door, desperate to hear more.

"Well, Arthur, you must do what you think is right. But you're forgetting Albus. I don't think anything could hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Albus is headmaster. I suppose he knows about all this?"

"Of course he knows. We had to ask him if he minds the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances to the school grounds. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed."

"I don’t blame him, those things are horrible.”

Another silence.

“What does Albus say about telling him?” Mrs. Weasley asks.

“He’s with Fudge—doesn’t want Harry to know.”

“Well, there you have it, Arthur! If Albus thinks—”

“Molly, Albus isn’t my boss, and my actual boss will never know I told Harry in the first place. It’s not as if Harry has regular teatime chats with the Minister of Magic. Come on, Molly, let’s go to bed… it’s late…”

Chairs scrape over the floor. As quietly as he can, Harry hurries down the passage to the bar and out of sight. The parlor door opens, and a few seconds later footsteps tell him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are climbing the stairs.

Harry distractedly asks Tom to send a roast pork shoulder and two servings of sauteed vegetables up to his room, and makes his way back upstairs.

Fred and George are crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with silent laughter as they listen to Percy dismantling his and Ron's room and shouting about how he wants his badge back.

"We've got it," Fred whispers to Harry. "We've been improving it."

The badge now reads Bighead Boy.

“Definitely better,” Harry assures him, heading for his room.

The pork shoulder and vegetables show up in short order. Harry takes them carefully down into his trunk, where Bear very excitedly covers his face in licks and then enthusiastically tears into his pork and veg. Harry sits at his new oak desk in the corner and picks at his own food, lost in thought.

A whine and a nudge brings him out of it. Bear’s abandoned his half-finished shoulder and come over to poke at Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry says, giving him an ear scratch, “it’s just… There’s this mass murderer on the loose, Sirius Black.” Bear’s ears prick. “Heard the name, have you? He’s a scary looking bloke. No wonder Fudge went easy on me, he was probably just relieved to find me alive… Black’s after me, Bear. I brought down Voldemort and Black was his right-hand wizard and now he wants revenge.”

Bear whines, shoving his face into Harry’s stomach. “I’ll be okay,” Harry assures him. “I’m not that scared, really… more annoyed Dumbledore doesn’t want me to know. That seems like the sort of thing I should be told, you know?”

With a bark, Bear goes back to his food.

Harry laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. Best focus on the present. You’re a clever boy, Bear.”

Getting going with the Weasleys is always a multi-part challenge. Percy’s furious with Ron for supposedly dripping tea on his picture of his girlfriend, people keep having to run upstairs and grab things they forgot in their hotel rooms, and the twins are causing chaos by jousting with ordinary non-flying broomsticks they stole from Tom, who’s watching with good cheer. Fortunately the Leaky has very few patrons this early.

Harry packed yesterday so he sits down for a full English and a good cup of coffee. Tom introduced him to the drink and he’s found he likes it a lot. Down the table, Mrs. Weasley is telling Ginny and Hermione about a love potion she brewed when she was younger; all three of them are giggling.

Wait, a love potion? Harry frowns in their direction. That sounds… a little messed up. Maybe if it’s just temporary, and for fun, it’s okay?

He doesn’t think he would like being dosed with a love potion, even a mild one, even as a prank.

The Ministry cars pull up out front and everyone piles in. Even with two magically expanded cars, it’s a stretch. Hedwig occasionally clatters her beak angrily in her cage, and the wicker basket on Hermione’s lap keeps spitting angrily.

At least the Ministry drivers make everything go smoothly when they get there. The two wizards unload the trunks, tip their bowler hats, and disappear back into traffic all in a matter of minutes.

With twenty minutes to spare, they get their things on trolleys and line up at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. “I’ll go first with Harry,” says Mr. Weasley, who has not yet let go of Harry’s elbow, and the two of them lean up against the barrier casually—

In a second, they’ve slid through into Platform 9¾.

Percy and Ginny appear behind them almost immediately. Percy takes off in short order to see his girlfriend, a pretty older girl with blond curls. The twins follow next, and then Ron and Hermione with Mrs. Weasley hot on their heels.

As Mrs. Weasley is passing out sandwiches and last-minute remonstrations to behave, Fred and George, Mr. Weasley tugs Harry aside.

"There's something I've got to tell you before you leave - " says Mr. Weasley in a tense voice.

"It's all right Mr. Weasley," says Harry, "I already know. I, uh, I heard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night–sorry–"

"That's not the way I'd have chosen for you to find out," says Mr. Weasley anxiously.

"No - honestly, it's okay. This way you haven't broken your word to Fudge and I know what's going on. I’m not really scared—I’ll be at Hogwarts, and Headmaster Dumbledore’s there." Harry might not be Dumbledore’s biggest fan at the moment but he was the only one Voldemort ever feared, so really, Voldemort’s number two shouldn’t come near him.

"Harry, I knew you were, well, made of stronger stuff than Fudge and… some others seem to think, and I'm obviously pleased that you're not scared but—"

"Arthur!" calls Mrs. Weasley, who’s shepherding the rest onto the train. "Arthur, what are you doing? It's about to go!"

"He's coming, Molly!" says Mr. Weasley, but he turns back to Harry and speaks urgently. "Listen, I want you to give me your word—"

"—that I'll be a good boy and stay in the castle?" says Harry gloomily.

"Not entirely," says Mr. Weasley, looking more serious than Harry has ever seen him. "Harry, swear to me that you won't go looking for Black."

Harry stares. "What? Why would I go looking for someone I know wants to kill me? That’s just dumb."

A loud whistle sounds. Witches and wizards in official-looking dark red robes are walking along the train, slamming all the doors shut.

"Promise me, Harry," says Mr. Weasley, talking more quickly still, "that whatever happens—”

"Arthur, quickly!" cried Mrs. Weasley.

“Yes, okay, sure, I’ve got to go! Bye Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley!” Harry doesn’t have time for more than a wave as he tugs his trunk and owl cage along. Honestly, thank Merlin for the weight reducing charm on his trunk. He thought about shrinking it, but he’s worried Ron might pitch a fit about Harry’s expensive stuff if he does.

Steam billows from the train; it’s about to move. Harry runs to the door where Ron’s waiting. Ron reaches a hand out and takes the cage. Hedwig lets out an angry bark as it’s roughly set aside, and then Harry’s clambering up and dragging his trunk behind him just as the train releases its brakes with a great puff.

“Let’s go find an empty compartment,” Hermione says. “I think I saw one down this way—”

But all the compartments seem to be full already. Harry thinks he spots Neville and Pansy in one of them, but Ron pushes him along before he can be sure.

The only compartment that isn’t full has one occupant: a shabbily dressed adult wizard. Harry pauses outside the compartment to shrink his trunk and tuck it in his backpack; Ron and Hermione are too busy goggling at the wizard to notice.

His face is young but his hair is flecked with gray, and he seems to be soundly asleep curled around a suitcase with Professor R. J. Lupin stamped on it. The letters are shiny and new, which is at odds with the extremely battered rest of the suitcase.

“New DADA professor?” Harry whispers.

Hermione casts him a doubtful look. “Must be…”

“Looks like one good hex’d finish him off,” Ron sniggers.

Harry puts the professor out of his mind. “Listen, I’ve got to tell you something…”

He shares what Mr. Weasley told him about Black.

Hermione at once says, “Oh, Harry, you’ll have to be really, really careful, don’t go looking for trouble like you do—”

“I do not,” Harry says, annoyed, “it just finds me!”

Hermione huffs.

“You’d have to be thick to go after that nutter,” Ron says uncomfortably. “Really mad, he is, and no one knows how he got out…”

“Let’s talk about something else,” says Harry, who wishes they wouldn’t look so upset.

“Yeah, okay—oh, Hogsmeade!” Ron lights up. “There’s this sweet shop there, Honeydukes, I can’t wait to go—”

“I’m excited because it’s the only all-magical settlement in Britain,” Hermione says.

“No it’s not,” Harry says without thinking.

Ron and Hermione frown at him. “Yes, it is, I read it in The Magical Landscape of the United Kingdom,” Hermione snaps.

Harry remembers that book. Silas Pumperknell had pointed out the author, Marilyn Hopkirk, is a historian employed by the Ministry and the book was published by the Ministry itself. “Hogsmeade is the only one that the Ministry recognizes, but there’s others. They maintain their own wards and stuff so the Ministry pretends they don’t exist.”

“What book did you read that in?” Hermione says skeptically.

“Daily Life of the British Wix.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Well, you probably haven’t heard of every book in existence, Hermione.”

“Since when d’you like reading, anyway?” Ron grumbles. “Turning into a bloody swot, you are.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being academically engaged!” Hermione says shrilly, fumbling with the buckles on Crookshanks’ cage.

“NO DON’T LET IT OUT—” Ron says, but he’s too late; the monstrous cat is already springing free from his wicker prison. He leaps up onto Ron’s lap and the lump in Ron’s pocket trembles.

“Get away,” Ron snaps, shoving Crookshanks.

“Shh!” Hermione hisses. The Professor shifts a little, and they all freeze, but he just turns his head the other way and starts snoring lightly.

Harry sighs and opens his backpack. He was halfway through Cauldrons and You: Why Cauldron Material Matters last night, and it was really interesting, enough to make him debate getting bronze and copper cauldrons to go with his pewter one. Solid gold or silver cauldrons have their uses too but only for really advanced potions, so that’s probably a bit beyond him.

“What’s that?” Hermione says.

“Er, a book?”

“Harry, want to play chess?”

Harry sighs. “No, thanks, Ron. Maybe tonight?”

Ron turns an ugly shade of red, but Hermione cuts him off. “Obviously it’s a book, Harry, I mean what book? That isn’t on our lists.”

“Like you’ve never gotten books that weren’t on the booklist?” Harry says incredulously. “Come off it, Hermione.”

“I suppose.” She peers at the book and at Harry confusedly.

Ron fumes, and Hermione retreats into a book of her own, a really massive one that appears to be explaining Muggle kitchen appliances of all things. Why Hermione’s reading it when she grew up with those things, Harry doesn’t know.

After an hour and a half, the atmosphere in the compartment gets a bit stifling. “I’m going to go for a walk,” he announces, stuffing his book back in his backpack and getting up.

“What?” Ron looks up from his sandwich, mouth half full. “Why?”

“Are you sure it’s safe, Harry?” says Hermione.

“I seriously doubt Black’s on the train,” Harry snaps, “and because I want to, Ron, my legs are falling asleep!”

Hermione gives Ron an extremely unsubtle look that screams “back off before he goes nuts,” and Ron subsides. Harry’s a little insulted but he decides to take the opportunity and make his escape.

Neville, Faye, Pansy, and Terry are in a compartment towards the middle of the train, along with Susan Bones and Zacharias Smith. Harry knocks tentatively.

Faye looks up and breaks out into a broad grin. “Harry! Good to see you, c’mon in!”

“Thanks,” Harry says, shutting the door behind him. He heaves his trunk up into the luggage rack and takes the empty seat next to the door. Smith looks down his nose at Harry from across the aisle.

“We were just about to play exploding snap, want in?” Terry says, waving a pack of cards enthusiastically. One slips out, falls on his shoulder, and lets out a bang and a puff of smoke that coats his cheek in soot.

Everyone breaks out laughing. “Sure,” Harry says, and he’s folded easily into the group.

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