Chapter Seventeen: Life Without the Weasleys
Albus Dumbledore had been dozing at his desk, having fallen asleep in the middle of writing a letter to the Minister. Moonlight spilled in through the balcony at the back of the circular office. Otherwise, the room was dark as the candles had burned out earlier that hour.
Suddenly, the old man was jerked awake by a voice, calling, "Albus! Albus!"
Dumbledore lifted his head off of his desk and looked around. One of the portraits was calling him.
"What is it?" the professor asked, somehow sensing that this was not good.
He lit the candles on his desk and picked up the candelabra, swinging it around to find the portrait that had spoken.
"It was one of your men," the portrait replied. Dumbledore identified it as Everard, a sallow faced man with short, black bangs. "He's been attacked. It looks rather bad."
"Who was it?"
"Arthur Weasley."
"Dilys?" Dumbledore asked. An elderly witch opened her eyes from where she had been pretending to slumber. "You were listening?"
"Naturally," she replied.
"Everard, you will need to raise the alarm. Make sure he is found by the right people—"
Both nodded and walked out of their frames.
Not wasting any time, Dumbledore sent a patronus to Professors Snape and McGonagall. Then, he turned to Fawkes and said, "We will need a warning." The bird disappeared with a flash. The old man swooped upon one of the delicate instruments in his office, carried it to his desk, sat down again, and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.
The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed, and after a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air….A serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide.
"Naturally, naturally," Dumbledore muttered to himself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. "But in essence divided?"
The smoke serpent split itself into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction, Dumbledore gave the instrument another tap with his wand: the clinking noise slowed and died, and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze, and vanished. The door to his office opened just as Dumbledore replaced the object on its spindly little table. McGonagall and Snape rushed in. Before either of them could ask what was going on, Everard reappeared in his portrait, panting slightly.
"Dumbledore!"
"What news?" Dumbledore asked immediately.
"I yelled until someone came running," the wizard informed him as he mopped his brow on the curtain behind him, "They carried him up and I went to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to make sure they left for St. Mungo's—"
"Good," Dumbledore said, "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then—"
And moments later, the silver-ringletted witch had reappeared in her picture too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, "Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore…they carried him past under my portrait…He looks bad…"
"Thank you," Dumbledore said.
He looked around at McGonagall and Snape.
"Minerva, Severus, I need you to wake the Weasley children and bring them here."
"Of course…"
"Yes, Albus…"
Snape paused at the door and asked, "What has happened?"
"Arthur Weasley has been attacked," Dumbledore replied.
McGonagall's hands leapt to her mouth.
"What about Molly?" she asked.
"Fawkes will alert her when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching," Dumbledore replied. "But she may already know…that excellent clock of hers…"
With a nod, the two left.
LINE-BREAK
"Weasley!" barked a stern voice.
Fred opened his eyes groggily.
"Wha'…?" he asked, squinting at the dark form of their Head of House standing in between his and his brother's beds.
"Get up, both of you!" the man barked quietly.
Fred and George both climbed shakily to their feet and stared at the man. Harish pushed himself into a sitting position in his own bed, blinked at the light flooding in from the common room, observed Snape for a second, and then asked, "What's going on?"
Ignoring him, Snape looked between the two red-heads and ordered, "Come with me."
With that, he strode out of the dormitory with a flourish of his robes. The twins shared a look and then followed stiffly, with a few yawns. Worried, Harish pulled on his bed robe and followed them. Once into the common room, they found Ginny wrapped in her own bed robe and waiting on them.
"I need the three of you to come with me," Snape said.
"Where are we going?" George questioned as they were led to the entrance to the common room.
"The Headmaster's office," Snape replied curtly. Harish made his way to follow them, but Snape stopped him. With that, Harish turned back and sat on one of the couches while the three Weasleys and Professor Snape left.
They walked in silence out of the dungeons. Once they had gotten up into the entrance hall, the Slytherins were joined by Professor McGonagall and Ron, who was looking disheveled and shocked. He was in his night things as well.
"What's going on?" Ron asked, sidling closer to his siblings. "Professor McGonagall mentioned something about Dad being hurt—"
"What?" the other three red-heads squawked.
"I am sure the headmaster will inform the four of you properly before you are sent home," Snape drawled.
And with that they fell silent again.
Finally they reached Dumbledore's office. With a mutter of "Fizzing Whizbee" from Snape that earned five odd looks, the gargoyle standing guard in front of the old man's office leapt to the side and allowed them to pass. The wall behind it split in two to reveal a spiraling staircase that was steadily moving upward. The five children and two adults stepped onto it one by one and found themselves in front of a polished oak door.
The twins shot each other a look before Fred stepped forward and knocked the brass knocker that was in the shape of a griffin. The door opened of its own accord and the group walked inside the cluttered, circular office.
"What's going on?" Ginny asked with wide eyes.
"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore replied. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical maladies and Injuries. I am sending you home. Your mother already knows."
"How're we going?" Fred asked. "Floo powder?"
"No," Dumbledore said firmly. "Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." He indicated to an old kettle lying on his desk. "We are just waiting for—"
There was a flash of light in the center of his office, causing him to break off mid-sentence. Behind the flash, a single golden feather floated gently to the floor.
"It is Fawkes's warning," Dumbledore informed them, catching the feather as it fell. "She must know you're out of your beds…Minerva, go and head her off—tell any story—"
McGonagall was gone with a swish of tartan.
"Come here," Dumbledore then said to the Weasleys. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us…"
The twins and their two siblings gathered around Dumbledore's desk.
"You have all used a Portkey before?" Dumbledore asked, and they nodded each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. "Good. On the count of three, then…one…two…"
On the second of three, they each felt the familiar jerk behind the navel and suddenly they were speeding backwards. Then, suddenly they were standing in their living room in the Burrow—or rather, the twins were standing and Ron and Ginny were struggling to get to their feet.
LINE-BREAK
Harish had no idea how long he sat there in his armchair in the common room, staring at the fire. He was no longer tired, nor was he properly awake. He had tried doze off in his armchair, but all he had resulted in was a weird crick in the neck. Then, he began wondering why the twins had been summoned to the headmaster's office. Were they somehow in trouble for selling joke products? Harish ruled this one out when he realized that he would have been summoned as well, not to mention the fact that Ginny went with them. Did Ginny help the twins in some sort of idiotic prank? No, Harish would have heard about it by then. Finally, Harish's questions died down and he resorted to staring at the fire in silence.
Then, the flames turned green and a head appeared in them.
"George!" Harish exclaimed, hopping off the chair and sliding down in front of the fire on his knees. "What happened? Where are you?"
"We're at the Burrow," George replied. "Ron's here too."
"Why?"
"Dumbledore says that Dad was attacked."
"How?"
"I don't know," George replied uneasily. "Mum is really upset. She pounced on us and tried to hug us all at once…Fred and I only just managed to escape and sneak up to our rooms."
"So," Harish ventured. "Your father was attacked? By whom?"
George shook his head.
"All we know is that he was doing something for the Order."
"You don't—" Harish said, pausing as he tried to put his thoughts together. "You don't think this has something to do with Sirius's undercover work?"
Again, George shook his head and muttered, "I dunno…"
There was a pause of silence, and Harish asked, "When are you coming back?"
"Not until after the holidays," George replied. "We had, of course, wanted to see Dad right away, but we aren't allowed to yet. Dumbledore thinks it'd be suspicious if we appeared to see him before the hospital called Mum. She says that it will be at least a day before the hospital fire-calls, and it may be even longer before Dad is well enough to visit. Either way, we're stuck here 'till he's fine."
"What're we gonna do for the holidays now?" Harish wondered aloud. "We were planning on you two coming to my house…"
"Perhaps Mum might let us go," George mused, looking down. His eyes snapped up to Harish and said, "I'll go ask."
And with a pop, his head disappeared and the flames died down to glowing embers.
Harish must have dozed off leaning against his chair, for he woke late the next morning and had to scramble to get ready for class. For a whole, Harish did not enjoy that last week of school before the holidays at all. Without the twins, he seemed small and vulnerable. Everyone in his year kept asking awkward questions and stared at him. Even though his bookends did not eat at those last meals, the space where they should have sat remained empty (mostly because no one dared sitting directly beside the son of the Dark Lord.)
So it was a very relieved and happy Harish that boarded the Hogwarts Express that Saturday: Christmas had officially begun.