Awakenings
Chapter 11 — Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon
By Lady Alchymia
Harry wouldn’t have blamed his best friends if they wanted to run a mile after hearing his prophecy, but they didn’t. Whilst the Order of the Phoenix members and guests continued feasting in his honour downstairs, Harry was cloistered with Ron and Hermione in Sirius Black’s old bedroom, a bedroom made vacant by that cursed prophecy — and Lord Voldemort’s obsession with it. Ron leaned both hands against the mantelpiece, his head bowed, his shoulder blades hunched.
"So that’s why he wants you dead," he told the hearth. "He knows you can take him."
"Yeah, well, that and he’s just really pissed at me by now," Harry said from his wingchair.
To his left, a bitter laugh escaped Hermione’s trembling lips. "How can you joke about this?"
"You gotta laugh," he apologised, jiggling his knees. "I need to laugh; I think I’d go mad otherwise."
"So, that’s what Dumbledore was going on about?" Ron said, facing him squarely. "What did he say? You’re supposed to play ..."
"… a crucial role in creating a more lasting peace for his generation," Hermione finished miserably. "You’re supposed to kill him. The prophecy says you have the power to defeat him."
"Doesn’t mean I will beat him," Harry said carefully, "just that it’s possible."
"That’s what Dumbledore said," she said, her voice tightening, "the cost will be high, but it is possible. But, Harry, Professor Dumbledore only told you about the prophecy after the battle. He could’ve warned you — he could have put you on guard. Sirius needn’t have —"
Hermione broke off, her eyes sparkling.
"He said he should’ve told me years ago," Harry confided, "but he didn’t want to burden me with knowledge of the prophecy. Said he cared about me too much."
A thick silence fell over the three friends.
"Talk about tough love," Ron said suddenly.
Harry snorted a laugh. Hermione frowned deeply at Ron, but he shook his head at her before turning back to Harry.
"I mean, seriously, the man’s barking. He’s just gonna just love you to death."
Harry chuckled appreciatively.
"You know what your problem is," Ron continued conversationally, "you really need to stop being so damn lovable."
Harry burst out laughing. Hermione finally surrendered but didn’t seem to know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, so she did both.
"Seriously, you’ve got this whole lost-puppy thing going on," Ron said, shaking his head sadly. "We really need to toughen you up a bit." Hermione was choking now. "Now seriously," Ron continued sternly over the laughter and tears, "when was the last time you hexed anyone?"
Harry loved the way Ron’s mind worked.
"Been a while," he said, a mischievous glint forming in his eye. "But they need me, don’t they? What are they really gonna do to me?"
Hermione was appalled. "Harry James Potter, you cannot be serious! You absolutely cannot do any more underage magic!"
"Easy there, Hermy," Harry said, feeling somehow lighter all of a sudden. "Who said anything about performing magic? Don’t you reckon we deserve a little payback on the powers-that-be? You two got injured that night as well." Harry kicked at Ron with his foot. "Second bottom drawer."
Grinning madly, Ron retrieved a large package. Hermione, noticing the label, regarded it with the deepest suspicion.
"That’s from Fred and George’s shop!" she squeaked.
Harry winked at Ron. "Remus always said she was the cleverest witch of her age."
Ron ripped open the packages, his eyes lighting up at the joke-shop booty spilling across the table.
"Harry, you wouldn’t!" gasped Hermione. "You couldn’t ..."
Harry really could.
The second part of their mission accomplished (the first being to convince Hermione), the threesome hurried back to the feast only to halt halfway down the stairs.
"Been helping out in the kitchen, I see," growled Mad-Eye Moody.
The giddy feelings Harry had felt just moments earlier evaporated. Mad-Eye crooked a finger to them. The teens plodded down the rest of the steps and were led well away from Mrs Black. To the boys’ dismay, Hermione immediately blurted the details of the prank. Ron gave her his filthiest look, but Hermione hissed back that there was no point pretending if the professor already knew. Mad-Eye spun a penetrating eye over each forlorn face then poked his wand towards a pocket of Harry’s green robes.
"That the antidote?" he said.
Harry nodded resignedly and handed over the bottle. Mad-Eye’s mangled face screwed up in concentration as he carefully examined the label. His crooked lips twitched.
"Don’t suppose you’ll mind too much if I hang onto this," he said, pocketing the antidote. Hermione gasped and the boys’ eyes lit up. Mad-Eye scowled at the lot of them. "Have I taught you nothing about stealth! You’ll want to wipe those smiles off before you go back in there." Mad-Eye shook his head again. "Teenagers," he grunted, limping away.
Hermione dashed after him.
"Thank you, Professor," she whispered and planted a kiss on the man’s leathery cheek.
Mad-Eye chuckled then groaned as he stumped wearily up the stairs.
"Eighty of them," he muttered under his breath. "I’m getting too old for this."
The trio conjured poker faces and slipped back into the noisy dining room. All eyes turned on Harry then just as quickly turned away again in order to avoid being caught staring. Harry offered a half-smile to Remus then headed towards Cho.
"Hey," he whispered, crouching by her seat.
"Hey, yourself," she whispered back, swivelling around in her chair, a sheet of her hair swinging. "Are you okay?"
"Course," Harry said, smiling at a tempting whiff of sandalwood.
Cho started to ask another question but was interrupted by the sharps cracks of Kingsley and Tonks Apparating into the room. They made a beeline for the powers-that-be. Lengthy whispers and a few perplexed shrugs were exchanged between Madam Bones and her Aurors then they returned to their seats. Kingsley glanced Harry’s way then diverted his gaze.
"What’s all that about?" Harry asked Cho.
"Kingsley got an owl just after you left the room," said Cho, "then he and Tonks went off together."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. Well, whatever it was, they didn’t seem too concerned about it, unlike Cho, whose brow was creased.
"Harry," she whispered worriedly, "what Dumbledore said about fate calling on you again — what did he mean? Is something going to happen?"
Harry gazed into her dark eyes ... her lips so close ...
"It’s nothing, nothing," he said, giving himself a shake. "He just ... look, it’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m just going to go finish my dessert." He drew closer, kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I wouldn’t drink the tea or coffee."
Cho’s eyes widened and a slow smile grew on her face. Harry winked at her and gave her another kiss. By the time he sat back down to his dessert, twelve steaming pots were doing the rounds of the table. Butterflies began to flap about in his stomach. He looked down the long, romantically decorated room and at his guests, elegantly robed in their finest velvet and silk gowns, their faces glowing under the flickering candlelight. He’d never pranked on this scale before — and never teachers.
"Coffee?" Parvati offered Harry.
Harry smiled and held out his cup. "Why not?"
Mad-Eye Moody returned carrying his own coffee cup. Well known for his paranoia, getting his own beverage failed to arouse any curiosity whatsoever amongst the guests. Sipping at his own coffee, Harry couldn’t tell if his racing pulse and twitchy feet had more to do with the caffeine, the potion, or just sheer adrenaline. Already nervous, a tap on his shoulder nearly sent coffee spilling over his barely touched tart.
"Oh, sorry, sorry," he muttered to Susan
Susan just smiled and tipped her head towards the power players.
"Remus wants you," she whispered.
Remus was frowning deeply and nodding at something Mad-Eye was saying. The butterflies in Harry’s stomach transfigured into bats. Had Mad-Eye spilled the beans after all? Remus, coffee cup in hand, met Harry halfway around the room and led him out the door and into the library. Harry eyed Remus’s cup anxiously. It was just a prank, after all — not even a particularly mean one.
"Everything okay, Harry?" Remus asked. He took a small sip of his coffee and added, "I know the Headmaster’s speech must have thrown you."
"Er ... right," Harry said, feeling both relieved and guilty, "er ... sorry, I didn’t mean to ... erm ... sorry …"
"I know it’s hard, son," Remus said, "but I’m grateful you have such good friends in Ron and Hermione. True friends are a treasure beyond price."
Feeling even worse, Harry nodded mutely to his feet.
"Harry, I don’t want to alarm you," Remus started hesitantly, "but something odd happened over at Privet Drive. It seems Apparition activity was detected in the nearby streets."
"What?" Harry blurted. "Who? Death Eaters? Did they attack anyone? Is my aunt okay? Is Dudley?"
"Harry, hold on," said Remus. "We don’t know it was Death Eaters — and as far as we know nothing actually happened. Tonks and Kingsley checked on your family. Your aunt was none too pleased to see them — grew rather hysterical, apparently — but nothing seemed out of order. The Ministry charms monitoring your house showed nothing amiss."
Harry’s head was still spinning. "What about Snape? Shouldn’t he know if Death Eaters are on the move?"
Remus hesitated. Harry rolled his eyes.
"I know he’s spying for us," he said impatiently.
Remus conceded that Snape had been accepted back into the Dark Order, but his access to sensitive information was being carefully limited by Voldemort; he still wasn’t sure about him. Who was, thought Harry. He could feel the ground shifting beneath him.
"So that’s it?" he said. "Death Eaters just popped in then popped back out again?"
"Actually, it gets odder," Remus admitted. "It looks like there may have been a Splinching — and Tonks said something about forensic evidence."
Harry’s mind was already racing off on its own, filling in the details. White-masked cowards. He could see them now, sneaking down the drive, round the back of the house, peering in the windows …
"They saw I wasn’t there," he guessed.
"That does seem the likeliest scenario," Remus agreed. "Mad-Eye says he’s planning to install additional safety measures for you here, and Madam Bones has assigned patrols to safeguard your family — just as a precaution."
Harry nodded distractedly, his chest tightening. It was starting up again. He rubbed at his dormant scar, as if a genie lurked inside, waiting to pop out and give him three curses.
"I thought I’d know if he …" he started despondently.
Remus set down his coffee and took Harry firmly by both shoulders.
"You’re safe here, Harry," he said earnestly.
Harry felt a rush of gratitude for his new guardian. If Remus hadn’t rescued him from the dubious sanctuary of Privet Drive, he might well be dead right now. Him and everyone else. As much as Harry didn’t care for his family, he hardly wanted them dead. Remus was still firmly gripping his shoulders.
"Believe me, son," he said in his gravelly voice, "I am not going to let anything happen to you — not on my watch."
Harry’s gaze fell on the man’s spiked drink and real remorse swept over him.
"I know that ..." he said dejectedly, "I’m sorry ... I just — I just wanted tonight to be ... I dunno: fun, I guess ... normal, you know?"
Following Harry’s gaze, Remus picked up his coffee cup and took another sip.
"Well, the night’s not over yet, now is it?" he said, just a hint of a twinkle in his eye. "I must admit I’m rather curious about what I’m drinking right now." Remus chuckled at his ward’s tortured facial expressions. "Harry, Harry, I may not be very good at making them, but I can smell potion ingredients a mile off. Mad-Eye tells me it’s not debilitating and that there’s an antidote readily available in need. He seemed to think the members could use a little reminder about the importance of constant vigilance."
Harry stammered an apology, but Remus shushed him and draped an affectionate arm around his shoulders.
"Come on," he said, leading him back towards the dining room, "let’s go see just what damage you fledgling Marauders have wrought."
"What did Remus say?" Ron hissed across the table after Harry resumed his seat.
"Just Death Eater stuff," mumbled Harry.
"Oh," Ron said with relief, "that’s all right then ..."
"What?" Parvati squeaked.
Hannah’s eyes were huge. Terry Boot, at a diagonal from Harry, was all ears.
"It’s nothing," Harry said to his friends, trying to sound casual. "It’s just — it looks like Death Eaters have been sniffing around my old house."
"The Death Eaters are in Azkaban!" declared Zacharias Smith, a few seats down.
"Not all of them," Terry said, his eyes glittering with interest.
"No, not all of them," Neville agreed grimly.
"Is your family okay?" Susan asked Harry.
"Yeah, they’re fine. Look, it’s nothing for you guys to worry about. It’s nowhere near here."
"But you know something," Terry insisted. "It’s him, isn’t it? He’s up to something, isn’t he?"
"No idea," Harry said shortly.
"And that nightmare you had?" Terry persisted. "Still got nothing to do with anything, I suppose?"
Harry winced into his coffee, regretting again how everyone knew he’d been screaming in his sleep — especially the girls.
"So, Terry," Susan said firmly, glaring at the Ravenclaw, "you were saying? You know — about that Harpies’ game next weekend?"
Terry glanced around for support but found only stony-faced Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs glaring back at him. His lips twisted in frustration, but he backed down and returned reluctantly to the subject of the Noble Sport of Warlocks. Soon, the conversation was flowing easily again, and Harry turned his attention to sneaking looks at the members. His pulse quickened when he spotted the potion taking effect.
Ears and noses were the first to alter in size and shape. Many of the members had been drinking since mid-afternoon and they didn’t seem to notice these small changes straight away. But then hair began to change in length and colour, and startled gasps and laughs erupted around the room, building to an uproar of nervous commotion as wands conjured mirrors and the guests tried to see what was happening to themselves and to their neighbours.
All along the table, faces unwrinkled, as if ironed smooth, cleavage rose and shoulders broadened then shrank again, beards disappeared in favour of pimples, robes stretched then loosened again. The most elderly witches and wizards examined their hands and poked their plump cheeks with wry bemusement. Harry and his classmates didn’t know where to look first.
"Check out Dumbledore!" Terry chortled, jumping from his seat for a better look.
The teenagers gaped gleefully as Dumbledore’s silver beard receded into his chin and his hair transformed into a lustrous auburn mane.
"Forget Dumbledore — have a gander at McGonagall!" crowed Dean.
Discarding all pretence at decorum, the DA loosed raucous cheers and wolf whistles. A surprisingly handsome Scottish-maiden blushed, transformed into a cat and disappeared under the table.
"Lost something, Minerva?" boomed the pink-cheeked, square-jawed blonde seated next to her.
"Who’s that!" breathed Parvati, yanking at Harry’s sleeve.
Harry followed her gaze towards an extremely handsome dark-haired lad trying to tempt Professor McGonagall out from under the table.
"Here, kitty, kitty," chuckled the increasingly young man in a velvety voice. Startled, he grabbed at his throat, a look of wonder and delight lighting up his dark eyes.
Harry laughed with amazement at how different he looked.
"I think that’s Elphias Doge," he said, squinting.
Parvati frowned, trying to remember. "The one with the wheezy voice?"
"Not any more!" Harry said happily.
Phineas Nigellus groaned loudly from the edge of his portrait. "Not again! I had quite enough of Dumbledore and Doge the first time around!"
"Evening, Headmaster!" young Elphias called merrily over the boisterous crowd.
"We’re all doomed!" Phineas Nigellus said before disappearing from view.
Harry tried to spot Remus through the jumble of his classmates, who were now climbing over their seats for a better view. Harry beamed with delight as his prematurely greying guardian transformed, not into a werewolf, but into something much more frightening — a teenager. The young Remus caught Harry’s eye and grinned back at him, his eyes dancing with pleasure.
Careful not to tread on his treacle tart, Harry climbed up onto the table and coughed a few times to get the room’s attention. He was very relieved to see so many faces smiling warmly at him; even Madam Bones looked amused. Professor McGonagall, however, chose to maintain her Animagus form and was padding agitatedly on her seat, trying to keep her tail out of the reach of Elphias Doge’s wandering wand.
"Good evening," Harry called out, and the room quieted in fits and starts in anticipation. "Um ... yeah ..." Harry said, scratching his head sheepishly, "... as you might guess, most of you are now sixteen years old. The potion’ll wear off eventually on its own —"
"But there is an antidote available now for anyone who wants it," cut in Hermione from the Cho end of the table.
"Anyway," Harry said, throwing her a mock glare, "we hoped you might be inclined to see this as an opportunity. Maybe it could help you remember what it’s like to be my age." Harry locked eyes with his Headmaster. "I’m told it’s difficult: remembering, that is. I thought we might work a bit on that tonight."
Laughter and applause sounded from around the table, especially from the real teens.
"Out of the mouths of babes, Albus," Elphias said, chuckling.
Dumbledore gestured courteously to his head of security. "Alastor?"
"What’s fifty more?" Mad-Eye said, shrugging. Without looking, he swatted away a chocolate profiterole that was heading for his left ear.
Dumbledore’s lips twitched as he turned to the Ministry’s Head of Law Enforcement.
"And what is your opinion, Madam Bones?" he inquired politely.
Young Amelia toyed with the monocle she no longer needed. Peering down the table towards her niece, she raised one eyebrow questioningly. Susan nodded pleadingly. Looking from one Bones girl to the other, Harry felt oddly relieved to see only a passing family resemblance.
"Well, as far as punishments go," Madam Bones boomed matter-of-factly, "I’ve certainly had worse things thrown at me!" An annoyed miaow sounded from the chair next to her. "Use your words, Minerva," urged the Ministry official encouragingly. A frustrated hiss was the Professor’s only response.
Dumbledore turned back to Harry, a much-missed twinkle in his light-blue eyes.
"I have but one request, Harry," Dumbledore ventured.
Harry nodded and held his breath. He got the feeling he wasn’t the only one in the room to be doing so.
"I shall understand if you ... well ... I won’t mind if you say no ..." said young Albus, smiling shyly, "but I wonder if there’s any chance I might borrow your Firebolt?"
Hanging over the crowded poolroom balcony, the real teens watched in amazement the spectacle before them. Mad-Eye Moody was refereeing a game that could only be described as a battle and very little consequence was being given to the rules (even by Madam Hooch). It was, quite simply, the filthiest game of Quidditch Harry had ever seen. Surely not since the infamous first World Cup in 1473 had there been so many personal fouls. Brooms were set alight, limbs were deliberately Splinched, and clouds of locusts chased the Chasers — and that was just from the referee.
None of the members wanted to miss out, and there were rapid player-substitutions from the balcony, mostly for injuries. Madam Pomfrey had elected to go home, so Cho and Angelina were kept busy providing magical first-aid. Lee made a token attempt at commentary, but the action was too fast, too furious, and he wasn’t sure who was who anyway. Instead, he simply set the music box blasting out Weird Sisters’ hits over the dark pitch, lit only by the occasional exploding firework. Or that was what he tried to do. The classical musicians refused to get back in the box and a savage battle ensued between them and the grungy Weird Sisters.
Whilst Hestia dealt with the musicians, Harry and his mates were laying bets on the next player to be hexed. Just in time, too, as they spotted Dedalus Diggle trying to enlarge McGonagall’s goal rings to give himself a better chance at scoring. The boys roared their approval when Diggle found himself transfigured by Elphias Doge into a giant purple Snidget. Harry took a swig of the Butterbeer Seamus handed him and almost snorted it up his nose. An impish chuckle sounded. The boys crowded down one end of the balcony around Seamus, who revealed a bottle of Vratsa Vodka hidden in his robes.
"What, no Firewhiskey left?" snickered Dean.
"Fred and George nicked it!" Seamus hissed indignantly.
"Remus’ll smell it," Harry said ruefully.
"Nah, no chance; it’s odourless, init," Seamus said happily.
Furtive and giggling, the schoolboys sneaked down to the dark grass far below and sipped curiously at their spiked drinks. Harry didn’t think he felt any different as he and the boys cheerfully belted out their favourite Weird Sisters’ hits.
"She’s got a tic in her eye … She’s got a tic in her eye-eye-eye … She’s got a tic in her eye, and she don’t care!"
Perhaps emboldened by Viktor’s stolen vodka, it didn’t take long for the Ravenclaws to jump on Harry about Dumbledore’s speech. Ron was just as quick to shut them down.
"Yeah, he’s the Chosen One, haven’t you heard? It’s his destiny to lead a midget army to world domination from the knees down. He’s already started freeing house-elves. Next, it’s goblins, then the Leprechauns, then —"
"Actually," Harry cut in, accepting his second bottle from Seamus, "— cheers — gnomes before goblins. I do like keeping things alphabetical."
Harry and Ron, ably aided by Dean, Neville, and a burping Seamus, started vigorously debating the merits of Cornish Pixies over Doxys for Harry’s ‘Ankle-Biting Battalions’. The Ravenclaws rolled their eyes in surrender. The Hufflepuffs had more important things on their minds.
"What are the girls up to?" Zacharias drawled, flat on his back on the cool grass. Ernie was busy throwing up behind a grandstand.
"Hang on," offered Terry, adjusting something in his ear whilst Justin handed out pretzels and nuts. "Ah ... singing with the band ... sound breathless, like they’re dancing, maybe ..."
"How do you —"
"Extendible Ears!" Terry said happily. "Got ’em from Fred and George’s shop. They’re wicked! Oh, wait ... sounds like Cho’s laying into Diggle for trying to cheat ..."
The boys squinted towards the balcony, where they could just make out Cho imperiously ordering the giant Snidget back to the game.
"You don’t want to be messin’ with Cho," Michael remarked with just a trace of bitterness.
Harry, on his third drink, shot a hard look across the darkness. Ron caught the look.
"Sour grapes, Corner?" snapped the redhead. He’d never been too fond of Michael. Not since he’d dated his sister, anyway.
A distinct chill settled over the group. Harry took a lengthy swig from his drink.
"Not sour, no," Michael said coolly. "It was all going fine — for a while. Just got a bit too possessive for my liking. That and always going on about old boyfriends."
Harry was annoyed but also relieved it wasn’t just him getting that kind of rubbish from the girl.
"She’s used to getting her own way, that’s for sure," Terry said.
"Can we not discuss Cho!" Harry snapped testily.
"So, Potter ... have you and Cho ever ..." Zacharias said leeringly.
"Mind out of the gutter, Smith," Harry said icily. "Really none of your business."
The group ducked as one when a red dragon roared past them. A glittering trail of sparkles illuminated the boys’ faces for a few moments. Harry glared broodingly at Michael. Michael returned his gaze evenly.
"I get Cedric," Harry muttered finally. "Who did you get?" he asked, thinking Michael would say the same.
Michael reached for a handful of Justin’s nuts.
"You," he said coolly.
"Me?" Harry snorted incredulously. "As if I’d ever make anyone jealous."
"Oh, let’s see," Michael began, counting off on his fingers, "Tri-Wizard Champion, DA leader, star Seeker, need I go on?"
Harry regarded Michael darkly. "Yeah? Try competing with the dead."
"Well, if You-Know-Who has his way," countered Michael smoothly, "that may still happen."
Shocked gasps erupted around the small group. Ron choked on his drink. Neville thumped him hard on the back. Michael tensed, and seemed to be holding his breath, but did not flinch from Harry’s gaze. Terry looked nervously between the pair, not noticing his earpiece had fallen out. In a weird way, Harry found Michael’s pragmatism refreshing after all the pussyfooting around the subject he usually got from his friends. He drained his drink then tossed aside the empty bottle. His fists free, he idly considered hurling one of them at Corner, but grabbed a fistful of nuts instead. Michael ducked the nuts and chucked as many back at him. Soon, the whole group was rolling around, wrestling and laughing and dumping anything they could find on each other, oblivious to the mad war being waged far above them. The standard of conversation rapidly degenerated, but Harry felt exhilarated, trading juvenile insults with his mates. It was well after midnight before they realised the Quidditch was over and they’d run out of vodka. Leaving Ernie on the grass to sleep it off, the rest of the boys clambered back up to the poolroom to see Minerva McGonagall glaring in tight-lipped fury at her name on the Wheel of Destruction.
"Come now, Minerva," Fred said encouragingly, swinging his arms wide to include the newcomers worming their way into better vantage spots, "plenty of choices here ..."
The schoolboys dissolved into hysterical giggles at the idea of kissing Professor McGonagall. Elphias Doge was a good deal less impressed.
"She doesn’t have to do it, Mr Weasley," he said, a hint of menace in his voice.
Roars of ‘No fair!’ and ‘Suck it up, Professor!’ resounded around the room.
"Now that’s hardly the spirit, Elphias," Fred tutted airily. "Let’s see, Minnie, if you really can’t decide I suppose we’ll just have to ask the Wheel to choose."
Harry and his mates roared their approval and started chanting Dumbledore’s name. Young Albus winced apologetically at Minerva, who paled. Fred nodded to his twin, and George drew his wand, but before he could raise it to the Wheel a blur with dark hair crash-tackled him to the ground. Harry was obliged to bury his face in his elbow to stop hiccuping and giggling. George, facedown on the poolroom floor, his arms pinned tightly behind his back, really wasn’t having a good weekend.
"Now, Mr Weasley," Elphias said pleasantly, "as I see it, you have three options: I can break your wand, I can break your arm, or ..." Elphias tightened his grip, "… or you can say, next victim."
"Wait!" sounded a new voice.
Startled, George and Elphias looked up to see young Minerva in the centre of the room.
"If Mr Doge would be so kind as to oblige?" she invited in a lilting Scottish brogue.
Stunned, Elphias’s handsome young face blushed and the room exploded in raucous applause. George took the opportunity to wriggle free, but Elphias had already forgotten all about him. Straightening up, he bowed to Minerva and formally offered her his hand. His lady-fair accepted it and Elphias bowed yet more deeply. His eyes never left her face as he tenderly kissed her fingers. When he arose, he beamed at Minerva then looked around curiously at the still-expectant faces.
"What?" he asked, bewildered. "That was a snog in my day."
The boys booed, the girls giggled. Chuckling, Remus raised his wand to the Wheel and declared, "Mischief managed!"
Most of the members decided to call it a night, and Madam Bones hobbled towards the birthday boy to do the same. On the way, she stopped to pat Susan’s cheek and give her an oddly gentle kiss on the forehead.
"Be a good girl now," young Amelia said fondly.
When she turned back to Harry, her more familiar no-nonsense persona was in full evidence.
"Goodnight, young man!" she boomed genially. "Ah, Mr Lupin, good, I wanted to thank you both for a most memorable day."
Remus and Harry exchanged sheepish glances. Madam Bones’s leg was in a splint and her youthful face was battered and bruised.
"I’m so sorry you had trouble with that spare broomstick," Remus apologised, casting a suspicious glance towards Harry. "I just can’t imagine what happened to it."
"Not at all, not at all," Madam Bones said dismissively. "Rowena managed to un-jinx it eventually. Ah, Rowena, there you are. Ready to go?"
Madam Hooch added her farewells, and Madam Bones prepared her Portkey.
"Minerva?" she called out to her friend.
"Oh," Minerva said, breaking away from Elphias, "you go on," she uttered in a stage whisper. "I’ll Floo you tomorrow."
"You’d better!" Madam Bones countered with a salute to Elphias.
Stifling a yawn, Harry limply waved off Madams Bones and Hooch then several other guests.
"You must be exhausted," said Remus, smiling indulgently at his ward. "Why don’t you head up to bed?"
"Yeah, soon," yawned Harry.
The teen werewolf leaned closer. "Do I smell something I’d rather not?"
Harry was suddenly wide-awake. So much for vodka being odourless! Stammering an apology, he assured Remus he’d only had the smallest taste — just to see what it was like. Sixteen-year-old Remus Lupin cocked an eyebrow and looked him up and down.
"Well ... if it was just a taste," he said slowly — perhaps disbelievingly, "but no more, okay?"
Harry very quickly agreed. In fact he positively beamed at his guardian. At sixteen, they were about the same height and weight, which heartened Harry enormously.
"I love seeing you short," he declared blissfully.
Remus chuckled and left to join the remaining adults in the drawing room for port. Harry didn’t bother asking; he knew he wouldn’t be getting any. As the crowd thinned, Harry spotted Cho fast asleep on one of the poolroom couches, completely oblivious to the noise around her.
"How can she do that?" Harry asked Padma, scratching his head in wonder. "Should I wake her?"
"Not if you know what’s good for you!" Padma said, laughing.
Harry smiled down at Cho; she was so beautiful asleep. Lying there in her elegant red robes, with her perfect skin and ruby lips, she looked for all the world like Sleeping Beauty. Feeling romantic, and just a wee bit tipsy, Harry bent low to kiss her lovely lips.
Whack!
Muffled voices floated above Harry. Something cold and wet slapped against his face.
"He’s coming ’round."
"Give him some air."
"What happened?"
"Cho belted him!" snapped Ron’s angry voice.
"I didn’t mean to, honestly! It’s a reflex thing —" cried Cho.
"I tried to tell him not to wake you!"
Someone was slapping at Harry's face and calling his name. Harry reluctantly opened his eyes to see a blurry black face framed with bouncing coils of hair.
"Megaera?" he said woozily.
"Harry?" The demon was frowning. "It’s Angelina!"
Harry gazed dazedly at the fuzzy faces surrounding him, trying to remember how he got on the floor. Then he saw Cho.
"What d’you go and hit me for?" he moaned.
Apologising profusely, Cho helped him to his feet. Accepting an ice pack from someone, Harry touched it gingerly to his right eye.
"I’m going to bed," he muttered crossly.
Cho found his glasses and repaired the cracked right lens.
"Harry, I’m so sorry," she said again as they climbed the stairs. "I didn’t mean to hit you, honestly, I didn’t!"
Harry just glared at her. He let her kiss his cheek goodnight then fumbled further down the hall only to find the lion-headed door handle to his own bedroom locked. Music and laughter could be heard inside. Well, at least he knew where The Weird Sisters had gone. Disgruntled, he pounded tiredly on the door. There was no response — just a lot of splashing and high-pitched giggling. Leaning his forehead against the door, Harry whimpered for the loss of his wonderful bed. Still holding the ice pack to his eye, he stumbled back downstairs to the drawing room — it had the most comfortable couches — and slipped inside, surprised to find an impromptu musical recital in progress: Elphias Doge singing dopey old ballads to a group of enraptured admirers, including Hermione, Susan, and Hannah, who were all already hogging the sofas. Candlelight illuminated each sofa-thief’s face. Elphias had eyes for only one lass, a certain young Transfiguration Mistress, as he sweetly sang, Do You Not Hear My Lady. Remus, sitting on the floor against the grandfather clock with his legs outstretched, spotted Harry and beckoned him over.
"What happened to you?" he whispered as Harry crumpled to the floor beside him.
"Don’t ask."
"Did you get into a fight?"
"Not exactly."
"Who did this?" Remus insisted, trying to inspect Harry’s eye in the dim room. "Who was he?"
Harry’s face grew hot. "It wasn’t a he."
That shut Remus up.
Another song started — something about blackbirds and thrushes. Stretching out, Harry squirmed around, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard wooden floor.
"I thought you were heading for bed?" Remus whispered.
Harry slapped the now floppy icepack onto his face. "The Weird Sisters are in my bathtub."
Remus burst out laughing then grimaced under the disapproving glares of Elphias’s fan club.
"Sorry," he mouthed to them. "That," he whispered to Harry, "has got to be the best excuse I’ve ever heard of for not going to bed."
Remus reached for the icepack and freshened it with a Freezing Charm. The cold felt wonderful on Harry’s swollen face.
"Why don’t you go up to my room?" Remus whispered. "You can sleep there."
Harry couldn’t face climbing the stairs again.
"Nah, I’m good," he said, giving his bruised shoulder a rub.
Remus just smiled. He beckoned a cushion and slapped it against his legs.
"Here you go," he whispered, patting the pillow, which purred.
Harry didn’t need a second invitation. Lying there against Remus’s legs, listening to Elphias’s dulcet tones, Harry fought to keep his eyes open, but it was a battle he had no chance of winning. He curled onto his good side and felt himself drifting off. Some while later, voices floated through his sleepy daze ... and the sound of a single violin. Harry slowly remembered where he was. The floor creaked as someone sat down beside him.
"How’s our young man doing, Remus?" whispered a boy’s voice.
Remus chuckled softly. "I think a long day has finally caught up with him, Albus."
Harry felt fingers brush his hair, Remus’s fingers. Harry knew he was far too old to like such things — he was practically of age — but lying there on the cold, hard floorboards, his head throbbing and his stomach queasy, he found it difficult to think of any place he’d rather be.
"Molly told me he had a nightmare last night ..." Dumbledore ventured leadingly.
Harry lay still, feigning sleep and listening curiously. Remus said nothing.
"Remus?"
"It wasn’t Voldemort," Remus said dismissively.
"What was it about?"
"No idea," Remus said shortly. The pair fell silent for another long moment. "Bill already talked to him," Remus conceded.
"What did he say?"
"I didn’t ask."
Silence fell once more. Harry was sorely tempted to peek at the pair, but he was glad he didn’t because Dumbledore started up again.
"Remus, I should like to ask Harry if —"
"No," said Remus firmly. "I’ll not have him upset over —" Remus broke off and exhaled audibly. "Look, I’m sure he’d tell us if there was anything to tell."
The pair fell silent again. Harry heard doors opening and closing and the sounds of whispered goodbyes.
Dumbledore tried again. "Remus, you must —"
"Must what?" Remus whispered aggressively, his hand now resting in a proprietary way on Harry’s shoulder. "The boy deserves some privacy. He’s not some lab rat to be poked and probed."
Go Remus, thought Harry in surprise. The violin music stopped, and he grew more conscious of the ticking of the grandfather clock.
"I’m sorry, Albus," Remus said quietly, "I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. Harry — he’s seen such horrors — he doesn’t need to be reliving them in his waking hours as well. He needs time to heal."
"True," Dumbledore said slowly. The floor creaked again. "Oh, hello, Alastor," said Dumbledore. "I’d thought you’d already retired?"
"Job’s not over till all the little buggers are tucked in nice and tight," growled Mad-Eye.
"Security has been increased?" Dumbledore checked, sounding business-like.
Moody grunted an acknowledgment and provided a quick security report, which included tightening Apparition controls. Harry smiled into his pillow at the way the elderly Auror was reporting dutifully to a pair of teenagers.
"Well, if worst comes to worst," Moody added gruffly, "we can always pack him back off to the Muggles."
Harry stiffened in alarm. They wouldn’t!
"Over my dead body!" Remus snapped.
A thick silence fell between the Order members. The tick-tocking of the grandfather clock seemed even louder now to Harry, like a bomb that might go off any minute.
"From what you’ve told us, Alastor," said Dumbledore, "the house is tight as a drum."
"Near as, but I’d wager this old house still has a few back doors we haven't found yet," Moody warned them ominously.
"True," Dumbledore agreed with a sigh. "Pre-existing Portkeys and portals are always a risk, but I have every faith in your security measures."
"Alastor, you said something at dinner," Remus prompted him, "something about extra security for Harry?"
"Right," said Moody, "thanks for reminding me."
Harry yelped as several hairs were yanked from his head.
"Mad-Eye!" admonished Remus. "Was that really necessary?"
"Oh, good, you’re awake," said Moody. Harry looked up with one bleary eye and rubbed at his scalp. Moody grasped Harry’s wrist. "You wear this often?" Not waiting for an answer, Mad-Eye removed and pocketed Harry’s moodstone wristband.
"Why don’t you let Severus take care of that?" suggested Dumbledore.
Moody snorted derisively. Harry silently agreed; he didn’t fancy Snape having anything to do with his security!
"Take care of what?" he moaned, rising to his elbows and feeling for his glasses.
"Bed!" Mad-Eye growled at Harry. He stumped away and kicked at a bundle of rags under the piano. "Up!" he ordered. "I’ve got a job for you."
Moody turned his attention to Susan, Hermione, and Hannah, who were now fast asleep beneath tartan blankets. He looked like he was going to shake the girls awake, but Minerva McGonagall intervened.
"I’ll take care of the girls, Alastor," she whispered.
Minerva drew her wand and started levitating the sleeping beauties off the sofas. Elphias Doge was swift to offer his assistance. Young Minerva blushed and nearly dropped Hermione, causing Dumbledore to snort a laugh. Minerva shot him a dark look. Far too late, he tried to cover up with a cough.
"Why don’t you take them up, Albus?" she suggested archly. "Third floor — large room — you can’t miss it."
"It would be my pleasure!" Dumbledore said genially, and he leapt energetically to his feet. Smiling fondly at the three floating witches, he carefully tucked in their tartan blankets, making them look like three misshapen tins of Scottish shortbread-biscuits, then gently floated them out of the drawing room.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall?" said Harry. "I’m not sure if the Headmaster knows there’s a gender line across the girls’ room."
Young Minerva merely raised one shapely eyebrow. "I’m counting on it."
"Right," Remus ordered sternly, standing in the doorway of Harry’s bathroom and looking every inch a sixth-year prefect, "everybody out of the pool!"
A great deal of splashing and giggling sounded, and voices pleading, "Just a bit longer!"
Harry tried to see past Remus’s shoulder, but Remus kept blocking his view.
"George, put Gwenog down. ... I’m sorry, Tonks, no, you can’t Disapparate right now. ... Who gave Viktor the Weepies Potion? Listen, it’s past four in the morning! ... Yes, I know, Viktor. ... Well, I’m sure it won’t seem so bad in the morning. ... Hestia put that fish back. No, I don’t want to get in. ... Yes, I’m sure the water’s wonderful, but it’s time for bed. ... No, Oliver, your own bed! Lee, would you please get rid of that drummer. ... Charlie Weasley, stop that this minute!"
One by one, bikini-clad witches slipped from the bathroom, dripping and shivering as they dashed past the birthday boy, clutching at Remus’s conjured towels and offering hasty apologies.
"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks giggled breathlessly. "Where d’you get to, anyway?" she threw over her shoulder. "We were waiting for you!"
"Oh, don’t leave on my account," Harry said weakly, eyeing the girls longingly. Amongst them were the Patil twins and also Lavender, Alicia, and Katie. Apparently, the girls hadn’t had any problems convincing Fred and George to let them into Harry’s bedroom. Harry’s camera swept along in the girls’ wake, its green eye blinking serenely.
"Out!" Remus demanded, shepherding the last stragglers from the room.
"Seriously cool Giggling Potion, Fred!" chortled Lee, slapping a wet hand on Fred’s shoulder. "Come on guys," he giggled, beckoning The Weird Sisters to follow him.
Charlie, Hestia, and Gwenog were last to stumble from the bathroom, also giggling helplessly. The Jones’ sisters apologised profusely and planted fat kisses on Harry’s cheeks in farewell before fleeing. Then a great burst of squealing giggles erupted from the hallway. Harry and Remus bolted outside.
Surrounded by a gleeful gaggle of scantily clad witches, stood one very red-faced, pink-snouted, and decidedly nervous-looking Hogwarts Headmaster.
No one made it to breakfast. Lunchtime found the kitchen overflowing with pyjama-clad guests, nibbling leftovers and spreading gossip. There was a good deal of sniggering over the antics of the olds, but the birthday-boy, sporting a bulging black-eye, copped his share of ribbing as well. If he heard one more sleeping-dragon joke ...
Lee suddenly burst into the kitchen, calling out, "Has anyone seen Donaghan Tremlett?"
"Who?" said Harry.
"Bass player for The Weird Sisters," Lee muttered, looking under the table. "Come on, we won’t get our bond back if we can’t find him."
Harry checked the drawing room, found Susan playing the piano, and promptly forgot all about bass players.
"What’s all this?" he asked curiously, nodding to a mess of hand-written music spread across the piano. "Do you write your own stuff?"
"Trying to," Susan said wryly. "I never seem to get too far before it starts sounding like someone else. Drives me nuts."
Smiling, she tipped her head to other half of the piano seat and they chatted happily awhile about the ancient teens. As they talked, she played random strings of notes to emphasise her words. Harry grinned when he twigged she didn’t even seem to fully realise she was doing it.
"It was just amazing seeing my auntie like that," Susan gushed. "She’s usually so ..." She played a few notes of a funeral dirge, and Harry chuckled. "I mean, not all the time," Susan said, playing a couple of happier notes, "but I like it when she jokes around. Kind of like Professor McGonagall, you know? Oh, and what about the Wheel!" Susan played a da-da-da-dumb for effect. "That was so romantic, what Mr Doge did when her name came up. The way he fought for her so she didn’t have to do it — and then she picks him, and he just kisses her fingers." Susan sighed happily. "Sooo romantic …"
"Yeah?" Harry said with a laugh. "Maybe that’s what I should’ve done."
"What — with Parvati?" Susan said teasingly. "Oh, I don’t know; you looked pretty pleased with yourself."
"Well, the Truth thing was still scary," said Harry.
"Tell me about it!" laughed Susan. "Thank you for saving me, by the way," she said, playing a few trembling high notes. She stopped and winced a little. "And I’m sorry for putting you on the spot with my question ..."
"It’s okay; it was a good question," Harry said truthfully. Feeling game, he nudged Susan’s shoulder with his own and said, "So tell me, who do you fancy?"
Susan played some suspenseful notes. "You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?"
Harry smiled but said nothing; he was pretty sure it was Justin. Curiosity finally got the better of Susan, and she nodded to Harry’s eye.
"I heard you had a little accident. Is everything okay? With you and Cho, I mean? She was really sorry about it upstairs …"
When Harry hesitated, Susan bit her lip and waved the question away.
"Sorry," she said. "It’s none of my business. Forget I said anything."
"No, it’s okay," Harry said, surprised to find that he meant it. "I dunno," he confided, "I guess I’m wondering if me and Cho is such a great idea."
Susan’s smooth brow creased. Then she stopped playing the piano entirely.
"Because of last night?" she asked sceptically.
Harry wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know what it was about Susan, but he always seemed to find himself telling her more than he meant to.
"Kind of," he said. "I mean, no, not really. I mean, there’s other stuff ..."
Harry’s voice trailed off lamely. The silence thickened and Susan started shuffling music sheets that didn’t look like they particularly needed shuffling. Harry felt the oddest urge to pick up the girl’s fingers and put them back onto the keys — to go back a few notes in the conversation. But then she started to play again all on her own.
"This is Reverie," she said, "one of my standard ‘party pieces’."
Harry knew she was changing the subject to let him off the hook, but for some unfathomable reason, her doing exactly what he wanted her to only made him feel worse. Hermione was always bossing him around, making him feel guilty about things. It didn’t help, of course, that she was usually right, but she was always pushing. Sometimes, even though he might actually agree with her, Harry would shut down because she pushed so hard. With Susan, though, he felt as if he wanted to talk because she didn’t push. Maybe it’s a Hufflepuff thing, he mused. All the Gryffindor girls were a bit bossy, really.
Whatever the reason, as Harry sat and listened to Susan playing her delicate, contemplative piece, one thought kept turning over uncomfortably in his mind: he hated the thought of her thinking ill of him.
"It’s not what you think," he said finally.
"Oh? What is it that I think?" Susan said serenely, advancing to a stronger passage within Reverie.
"Well," Harry started, "you know, that I …" His voice trailed off ineffectually again.
"That you seemed to like her well-enough yesterday?" Susan offered bluntly, picking her way through a difficult passage. "That when she accidentally decked you, you suddenly decided that maybe she wasn’t the love of your life after all?"
"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing at his forehead. "I mean, no, I mean, that that’s what I think you thought ... I think."
Harry’s head was really too fragile today to deal with such complexity.
"What I really think, Harry," she said mildly, "is that it doesn’t matter what I think and that you need to be talking to Cho not me."
Harry opened his mouth, ready to voice an objection but then struggled to find one.
"Fine," he said shortly, rising from their seat.
Susan made no effort to stop him. Harry really didn’t know what was wrong with the girl.
"I just thought you might be able to help me," he muttered, loitering at the edge of the piano, "but if it’s too much trouble …"
Susan stopped playing and stared at him for a long moment.
"Sit," she said.
Harry tried not to sit too fast.
"Right," Susan said with a small resigned sigh, "you said you already had doubts about you and Cho; you already broke up once before, didn’t you?"
"Twice," he admitted, remembering their woeful Valentine’s date, "but, yeah, after that whole Marietta fiasco."
"Why did you break up?" asked Susan.
"Marietta betrayed us!" he said indignantly.
Susan nodded. "And how is that Cho’s fault?"
"She tried to make excuses for her — tried to say she was a ‘lovely person really’," he said sarcastically, "said she just ‘made a mistake’ going to Umbridge!"
Susan nodded assessingly, as if weighing evidence. "So she was loyal to her friend."
Annoyed to find himself tangled up in such unreasonable logic, Harry said, with some asperity, "Well, yeah — I mean, I guess so."
"Tough position for Cho to be in," Susan observed. "Don’t know what I would’ve done in her place ... if it were Ernie, say."
"Ernie would never have done what Marietta did," Harry declared heatedly.
Susan let this go unchallenged and resumed playing random notes. The music seemed to ease the tension. Harry began to wonder if she did it deliberately.
"So … why did you and Cho get back together then?" Susan asked delicately.
Harry was stumped. Good question, he thought jadedly.
"Well," he said slowly, "we kind of made up about the Marietta thing, and I guess there was still something there ..."
Susan waited patiently, filling the silence with more notes, but Harry couldn’t think of what more to say.
"You two always seem to be either really happy or really miserable," Susan observed cautiously, "there never seems to be too much in between."
Harry nodded glumly.
"Look, Harry, talk to Cho," Susan urged him, "but don’t expect things to get sorted out overnight. Both of you are really passionate people. You both need to be willing to change if you want to make it work."
Harry nodded politely, but privately thought Susan’s advice was just rubbish. She’d completely missed the point. What he really needed to know was how to break up with the girl! He dearly hoped Bill Weasley would drop by, but he didn’t, and by mid-afternoon Cho and the other guests were assembled in the drawing room with bags and broomsticks, ready for Professor Dumbledore to transport them away. Cho had wrangled a promise from Gwenog Jones for a large number of tickets for the next Holyhead Harpies game and was busily checking off who needed what. Colin had been just as busy. Practically bursting with glee, he slipped Harry a packet of photos fresh from the potions lab.
"Anything embarrassing?" Harry checked from the corner of his mouth.
"Not for us," Colin giggled mischievously.
Harry quickly scanned the photos, removed three and let Colin pass the rest around. Colin was in his element, racing around and taking last minute orders for copies, the hottest request being for a certain truffle-hunting Headmaster.
"You’re going to need a lot more duplication potion," Colin advised Harry happily before bolting back down to the potions lab.
Remus had offered to lift his gender hex, but Dumbledore insisted he wanted to ‘give it a shot’ himself, though, like with the twins’ spells, any attempt to lift it only made things worse. The last time Harry had seen his Headmaster, his nose had grown a foot.
Farewelling his guests one by one, Harry’s arm grew sore from being heartily pumped by the boys but farewell kisses and hugs from the girls more than made up for that. Harry caught a whiff of jealousy from Cho, but she generally showed remarkable restraint (helped, perhaps, by her guilt over his black-eye). Then it was time to say goodbye to her, too, and Harry’s niggling doubts and frustrations fell away, just as they always seemed to do whenever he had her snuggled safe inside his arms.
"Enough of that!" Ginny called, interrupting their kiss with an oddly strained laugh. She and Ron were also leaving with the rest of the party guests.
"Mum wants us home for a bit," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Says she misses us, but that just means she’s got a mile of chores lined up."
Potterfest16! was officially over when Dumbledore arrived to huge cheers. The adults had resumed their regular age by now, but Dumbledore still had one party souvenir — and it was currently whistling Jingle Bells.
Author Notes: