Chapter Seven: The Anger of a Dark Lord
Sirius woke them after only a few hours of sleep. He used magic to pack up their tent and they left the campsite as quickly as possible, meeting up with the rest of the Weasleys at the entrance. They passed Mr. Roberts, the Muggle, at the door of his cottage. He had a dazed look about him and he waved them off with a vague "Merry Christmas".
When they reached the Portkeys, they found that there was already a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; they joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen.
The walk back to the Burrow was a lot easier than the walk through Ottery St. Catchpole had been, as they were now walking downhill. They talked little, as they were exhausted, and thought wistfully of breakfast. Those sausages had been ages ago.
As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed down the lane.
"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"
Mrs. Weasley, who had apparently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them. She still wore her bedroom slippers, and her face was pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.
"Arthur—I've been so worried—so worried—"
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Harish saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling, black and white picture of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with wet eyes, "you're alive…Oh boys…"
And to everyone's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into a hug that was so tight, their heads knocked against each other.
Harish bit back a laugh as they bit out, "Ouch! Mum—you're strangling us—"
"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley sobbed. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OWL's? Oh Fred…George…"
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," Mr. Weasley said soothingly, prying her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says…"
They all crammed into the Weasleys' tiny kitchen and Ginny made her mother a cup of tea, which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Then, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.
"I knew it," Mr. Weasley said heavily. "Ministry blunders…culprits not apprehended…lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked….national disgrace…Who wrote this? Ah…of course…Rita Skeeter."
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry!" Percy said furiously. "Last week she was saying that we were wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans—"
"Do us a favor, Perce," Bill said, yawning. "And shut up."
"I'm mentioned," Mr. Weasley said finally. Sirius was now reading the article over his shoulder as well with curiousity.
"Where?" Mrs. Weasley sputtered, choking on her tea. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"
"Not by name," he replied. "Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance, the were sorely disappointed. A Ministry official emerged sometime after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that no one had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to squash rumors of a body that was removed from the woods…well, there certainly will be rumors, how that she's printed that."
"Maybe whoever it was thought I was a dead body," Harish said. "Does no one know how I passed out, still?"
Mr. Weasley let out a sigh.
"I don't know, and frankly I don't have time…Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."
"I'll come with you, Father," Percy said importantly, and he bustled out of the kitchen, followed more slowly by his father.
Sirius turned to Harish.
"Sorry, Harry," he said, standing up and clapping his godson on the shoulder. "Try and get some rest."
That afternoon, after everyone had gotten some more sleep, Draco flooed home. Later a letter arrived from Harish's father telling him to stay at the Burrow, but ordering Sirius to come. Harish guessed that he most likely wanted to hear about what happened, but was angry enough that he didn't want his son around.
And he had guessed right.
To say that Voldemort was angry was an understatement. The Dark Lord was beyond livid. He had been spending the past fourteen years creating himself a new identity, hiding in his home, and raising a child just so that he could lull the public into a false sense of security. And now it was all for naught.
His Death Eaters, the ones that knew he was still alive, just happened to get drunk at one of the biggest events in all of Wizarding Britain. Then they had terrorized a camp full of Ministry officials. After he had seen the newspaper, he had instantly sent a letter to Sirius Black, for he wanted to know what had happened.
Sirius had told him what happened and he was even more angry. Now on top of his trouble with his Death Eaters, now he knew that someone had knocked his son out. Whether it was an attempt to kill him, or it was a message to Voldemort, it was not the best of news.
And now he was going to have to fast forward all of his plans.
Mr. Weasley and Percy stayed at the Ministry all the next day and the day after that, only coming home at very late hours. The boys spent the next few days entertaining themselves by playing Quidditch. With Bill and Charlie forcing Ron to play as well, they actually had as close to a real game as they could get. Harish had fun practicing the Wronski Feint, though Mrs. Weasley wasn't happy when she had to correct Charlie's broken nose.
Finally, the Sunday evening before they were due to leave for Hogwarts, Percy returned home.
"It's been an absolute uproar," he said. For once, everyone was listening with interest. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open it right away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."
"Why are they all sending Howlers?" Ginny asked, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi on the living room rug.
"Complaining about the security at the World Cup," Percy replied. "They want compensation for damaged property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under an old cloak propped on sticks."
Mrs. Weasley sighed.
"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she said. "They're working him too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."
"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he? If truth be told, it was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first—"
"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, flaring up at once.
"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that no one from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed the Gringotts curse-breakers once, and called me 'a long haired pillock'?"
"Well, it is a bit long, dear," Mrs. Weasley said gently. "If you'd just let me—"
"No, Mum."
"And remember what she said a couple years ago after the Ministry break-in?" Charlie asked, moving a knight. "About how they didn't have enough security then? And no one even made any statements or anything."
"What are you two up to?" Mrs. Weasley asked suddenly, an eye on the twins.
Harish looked up from counting the money they had raised so far.
"Homework," Fred said vaguely.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," Mrs. Weasley replied.
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," George said.
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form are you?" she asked shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasley and Co. by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," Fred said looking up at her. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
Everyone laughed, including Mrs. Weasley.
"Oh, your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at her clock. It told not the time, but where each person in the Weasley family was.
Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from "work" to "traveling". A second later, it shuddered to a halt on "home" with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.
"Coming Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, bustling out of the room.
A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. Mrs. Weasley followed him.
"Children, I think you'd best get upstairs and pack," she said. "Come on, now, we'll have to leave at a reasonable time…"
So Harish walked up to the twins room. His trunk had been sent over by his father earlier in the week. He repacked the jar of coins and then checked around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Then George heaved a pile of packages onto his bed.
"This is all the stuff Mum—"
"Bought you during the World Cup."
Harish started unwrapping the parcels. Apart from his Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6, he had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for his potion-making kit. The rest of his books were all the advanced courses. He had stopped taking Care of Magical Creatures, and had taken up Arithmancy.
There was a shout above them just as Harish was packing the rest of his clothes into his cauldron.
"That's Ron," the twins both muttered.
"What's wrong with him?" Harish asked distractedly.
"His dress robes are a bit old…" Fred replied.
"Lucky we bought ours using our—"
"Joke shop funds before Mum could get them."
Harish turned around.
"You used the joke shop funds to buy new dress robes?" he asked, concerned.
"What?" they both said indignantly.
"You have enough money—"
"In your account to buy three joke shops!"
Harish paused for a moment. Then he shrugged.
"Fair enough," he replied. He pulled out his own dress robes. They were a deep green with lighter green highlights.
He packed the last of it all into his trunk, sat on it to get it to close, and then climbed into bed and went to sleep.