Chapter Eighteen: Christmas Surprises
Harish apparated straight from the platform to Slytherin Manor. There, he found his father waiting for him to arrive.
"How was the term?" Voldemort asked.
"Is there a reason Nagini attacked Mr. Weasley?" Harish asked, setting his trunk down and leaning against the wall.
"What?" Voldemort asked.
"Arthur Weasley," Harish replied, "was found at the Ministry wounded by a snake. We both know what snake it was. So why did you do it?"
Voldemort grimaced.
"He wasn't supposed to be there," the Dark Lord said. Harish crossed his arms. "I know he is your friends' father, but he is still on the wrong side of the war. I could not let him see me there."
"What were you doing at the Ministry?"
Voldemort crossed his legs and leaned back into his chair as if saying, "You tell me."
"You were after clues?"
Harish's father still did not reply, but a corner of his mouth quirked up.
"You know you shouldn't be out there trying to find Jugson. He attacked me. Let me find him."
The man then sat up at that and said, "Do you realize that if I let you do so, you will be put into danger?"
"When am I not?"
There was a long tense moment where Voldemort stared into Harish's eyes, as if reading him, and Harish stared defiantly back. Then, the Dark Lord said, "I will hand over the mission to you, but I expect results."
"Don't worry, Father!" Harish exclaimed happily. "You will get them!"
And with that he levitated his trunk and dashed up to his room. The first thing he did was compose a letter to Daphne about his mission. Once finished, the young man spent the next few minutes unpacking and making sure nothing in his room had moved while he was gone. Then, he walked down to the sitting room and threw floo powder into the fire.
He got on his knees and stuck his head into the fire with a shout of, "The Burrow!"
His head spun and the green flames swirled in his eyes as grate after grate went past. Then, he found himself looking at the twins' room.
"Harish!" the both exclaimed, turning from where they had been adding the finishing touches to their latest joke product, punching telescopes.
"Did you find out whether you are staying at the Burrow or not?" Harish asked them.
The twins nodded.
"We'll stay until we get to see Dad," George replied.
"Then we'll come over for the rest of the holidays," Fred finished.
"And when will you see if your father is doing better?" Harish queried.
"Tomorrow actually," both redheads replied.
"So I'll see you in two days?" Harish asked.
The twins nodded.
"That is very well, then," Harish replied. "Hermione and Draco are coming over after Christmas Day and spending the rest of the holidays at my manor."
And the twins went back to making joke products as Harish ended the fire-call.
The next morning all of the Weasleys plus Moody and Tonks bundled up and flooed from the Burrow to St. Mungo's, where they arrived in the lobby full of people.
Mrs. Weasley led them to the front desk.
"Hello," she said. "My husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us—?"
"Arthur Weasley?" the witch at th desk asked, running her finger down a long list in front of her. "Yes, first floor, second door on the right. Dai Llewellyn ward."
"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley said. "Come on, you lot."
They followed through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with portraits of famous healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. Witches and wizards in lime green robes walked in and out of the door they passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as they passed one door, and every now and then they heard distant wailing. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the "Creature-Induced Injuries" corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words "DANGEROUS" DAI LLEWELLYN WARD: SERIOUS BITES. Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been written Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrater Smethwyck, Trainee Healer: Augustus Pye.
"We'll wait outside, Molly," Tonks said. "Arthur won't want too many visitors at once…It ought to be just the family first."
Mad-Eye growled his approval of this idea and set himself with his back against the corridor wall, his magical eye spinning in all directions. The twins followed their siblings inside.
The ward was small and rather dingy as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of paneled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned URQUHART RACKHARROW, 1612-1697, INVENTOR OF THE ENTRAIL-EXPELLING CURSE.
There were only three patients. Mr. Weasley was occupying the bed at the far end of the ward beside the tiny window. The twins were relieved to see that he was propped up on several pillows and reading theDaily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling onto his bed. He looked around as they walked toward him and, seeing whom it was, beamed.
"Hello!" he called, throwing the Prophet aside. "Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later…"
"How are you, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked, bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. "You're still looking a bit peaky…"
"I feel absolutely fine," Mr. Weasley returned brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. "If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home."
"Why can't they take them off, Dad?" Fred asked.
"Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try," his father replied cheerfully, reaching across for his wand, which was lying on his beside cabinet, and waving it so that five extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat them all. "It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps wounds open…" The twins shared a worried glance, knowing exactly whose snake it was. "They're sure they'll find an antidote, though, they say they're had much worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour, But that fellow over there," he said, dropping his voice and nodding toward the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. "Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all."
"A werewolf?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking alarmed. "Is he safe? Shouldn't he be in a private ward?"
"We still have two weeks before the full moon," her husband reminded her quietly. "They've been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he'll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him—didn't mention names, of course—but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition very easy to manage…"
"What did he say?" George asked.
"Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up," the man replied sadly. "And that woman over there," he indicated to the only other occupied bed, "won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think she was handling something illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings."
"So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?" Fred asked, pulling his chair closer to the bed.
"Well, there's not much to tell, is there?" Mr. Weasley replied. "I'd had a long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on, and bitten."
"Is it in the Prophet?" Fred continued to ask.
"You being bitten?" George finished.
"No, of course not," their father told them with a slight bitter smile. "the Ministry wouldn't want everyone to know a great, dirty serpent got me!"
"So, where were you when it happened, Dad?" George asked.
"Outside my office, of course," Mr. Weasley replied. "I had just woken up and realized I should've been home hours earlier and was leaving my office when I heard something behind me. Next thing I knew, I was face to face with a great snake's fangs!"
"That's enough questions for now," Mrs. Weasley said finally. "Arthur, Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside. They want to come see you. And you lot wait outside," she added to their children. "You can come and say good-bye afterward. Go on…"
They trooped back into the corridor. Moody and Tonks went into the ward and shut the door behind them.
"Well, does anyone else fancy tea?" Ginny said. Judging by the oddly cheerfulness of her voice, she was trying to distract her brothers from the fact that they had just been kicked out. It didn't work. The twins simply raised their eyebrows in an identical expression of ridicule.
But Ron was distracted.
"Where is the tea room?" he asked.
"Fifth floor," George replied, remembering the sign on the first floor that had where everything was.
They walked along the corridor through a set of doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking healers. The twins couldn't help but imagine what Harish would say about the state of the hospital—probably something about how they should really fix the hospital after three centuries of it being the only magical hospital in Magical Britain. Not to mention the fact that as they climbed the staircase, the Healers diagnosing odd complaints, and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when one of them told him that he had a bad case of spattergroit.
"What is that supposed to be?" Ron asked rudely and the Healer pursued him through six portraits, shoving others out of his way.
"'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and even more gruesome than you are now!"
The twins sniggered as Ron's ears turned red, and he shouted, "Watch who you're calling gruesome!"
"The only remedy is to take the liver of toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes—"
"I have not got spattergroit!"
"But the unsightly blemishes on your visage, young master!"
"They're freckles!" Ron shouted. "Now get back in your own picture!"
The twins were now laughing so hard that they were red-faced and having trouble taking long breaths. They stood stock still and upright as Ron turned to them, trying not to laugh.
"What floor is this?" Ron asked.
"I think it's the fifth," Ginny replied.
"Nah, it's the fourth," George said.
"One more—"
But as they stepped onto the next landing, the twins came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a man with his faced pressed against the window. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a dazed sort of smile that revealed dazzling white teeth.
"What's wrong with you?" Ron asked, shoving his way onto the landing. "Why are you—?"
"Professor Lockhart!" Ginny exclaimed.
Their ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved toward them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown.
"Why, hello there!' he said. "I expect you'll be wanting my autograph, will you?"
"Hasn't changed much, has he?" Ron muttered, causing Ginny to smile.
Meanwhile, Fred was asking his twin, "Do you think he remembers that we're the reason he ended up here?"
George shrugged.
"Uh, how are you, Professor?" Ginny asked.
"I'm very well, thank you!" Lockhart said exuberantly, pulling a rather battered peacock-feathered quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"
"Er—we don't want any at the moment, thanks," Ron said.
But just then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice said, "Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?"
A motherly looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling widely at the Weasleys.
"Oh, Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and around Christmas too! Do you know, he never gets visitors—"
"Gee I wonder why," George muttered and the twins sniggered.
"—poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?"
"We're doing autographs!" Lockhart exclaimed to the Healer with a glittery smile. "They want loads of them! Won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"
"Listen to him," the Healer said fondly, as if he were a precious two-year-old. "He was rather well known a few years ago; we hope very much that this linking for giving out autographs is a sign that his memory might be coming back a bit. Will you step this way? He's on a closed ward, you know, he must've slipped out when I was bringing in lunch, the door's usually kept locked…not that he's dangerous! But—" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "bit of a danger to himself, bless him…Doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back…It is nice of you to come and see him—"
"Well…" Fred said, but Ginny elbowed him in the side and he trailed off, rubbing his side furiously.
Ginny must have felt pity for their old professor, for she led her three older brothers down the corridor, following the Healer. On the way, Ron muttered to the twins, "Let's not stay long."
The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey ward and muttered, "Alohamora!" The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Lockhart's arm until she had settled him into an armchair beside his bed.
"This is our long-term resident ward," she told the Weasley children in a low voice. "For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce a bit of an improvement…Gilderoy does seem to be getting back to some sense of himself, and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Rowle—" at this, the twins shot each other a look as the Healer continued in saying, "he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though we haven't recognized any language yet…Well, I must finish handing out lunch, I'll leave you to chat."
The twins looked around. It was certainly easy to tell that they were in a permanent ward; the wall around Lockhart's bed was plastered in pictures of himself. He had autographed many of them in childish, disjointed writing. The moment he been deposited in his chair by the Healer, he had pulled a fresh stack towards himself, seized a quill, and started signing feverishly.
"You can put them in envelopes," he said to Ginny, throwing the pictures into her lap one by one as he signed them. "I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fanmail…Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly…I just wish I knew why…" He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to signing with renewed vigor. "I suspect it is simply my good looks…"
Rowle lay in the bed opposite, facing the ceiling. He had a big build, but his skin was shrunken and his cheeks were sunken and sallow. His blonde hair had gotten long and was turning white. The twins remembered that it was Voldemort's obtaining the prophecy that had sent the man here; he had been there for nearly five years and was only regaining the ability to speak. Two beds along from him was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur. At the end of the ward, flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds to give the patients and their visitors a little privacy.
The twins turned back to where Ginny was still stuffing pictures into envelopes while Lockhart was happily telling her about how there was a possibility there might be a fake window installed in their ward with weather and everything.
"Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"
All of the Weasleys' heads turned at the name "Longbottom". The curtains had been drawn back to reveal two people walking back down the aisle between the beds; a formidable old witch wearing a long, green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat with what was unmistakably a stuffed vulture, and trailing along behind her looking thoroughly depressed was Neville.
"Neville!" Ron exclaimed.
Neville stopped, with his feet planted in the ground, and turned his head slowly to face Ron. There was a rather disagreeable look on his face and he wouldn't look at any of them.
"Friends of yours, Neville dear?" Mrs. Longbottom asked graciously, bearing down on them all. Neville mumbled something inaudible, but she paid him no mind. "You are Weasleys, are you not?"
The twins nodded.
"He's told me a lot about you…He's a good boy, though nowhere near as good as his father."
She jerked her head towards the curtains.
"What?" Ron asked, wide-eyed and annoyingly. "That's your dad back there?"
A dull purple blush crept up Neville's face and his glare hardened at the floor. It was obvious he would have punched Ron in that instant, had his grandmother not been there.
"What's this, Neville?" Mrs. Longbottom asked. "You haven't told them?"
Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling, and shook his head.
"Well it's nothing to be ashamed of!" Mrs. Longbottom continued harshly. "You should be proud, Neville proud! Your parents didn't give their health and their sanity so that their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"
"I'm not ashamed," Neville said faintly, now watching every picture of Lockhart wink and smile.
"Well, you have a very funny way of showing it!" his grandmother exclaimed angrily. "My son and his wife," she said haughtily, turning towards the Weasleys, "were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."
Ron suddenly stopped craning his neck to get a good look at Neville's parents, mortified.
"They were aurors, you know, and well respected within the community," Mrs. Longbottom went on. "Highly gifted the pair of them. I—yes, Alice dear, what is it this time?"
Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she couldn't anyway, but she gestured toward Neville, beckoning him towards her and holding something in her outstretched hand.
"Again?" Mrs. Longbottom asked wearily. "Very well, Alice dear, very well—Neville take it, whatever it is…"
But Neville had already outstretched his hand into which his mother dropped an empty candy wrapper.
"Very nice, dear," Mrs. Longbottom said in a falsely cheery voice, but Neville said quietly, "Thanks, Mum."
His mother tottered away, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, though none of them did.
"Well, we better get back," Mrs. Longbottom sighed, pulling on green gloves. "Very nice to meet you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must've given you enough to paper your whole bedroom by now…"
But as they left, the others were sure they saw the boy slip it into his pocket instead.
The door closed behind them.
"I never knew," Ron muttered, sounding regretful.
"Nor I," Ginny mumbled.
"Nor did we," the twins added.
"She keeps me up at night, mumbling to herself," Lockhart complained with annoyance. "Now. Are you going to take these or not? I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!"
The next morning the twins flooed to Harish's house as promised.
"My father is in a meeting right now," Harish said. "And he would prefer that we aren't in the house. It's his last meeting before the end of the holidays you know. So, I thought we could go to Diagon Alley and look for premises for a joke shop."
"All right," Fred said.
"Do you have the money for it with you?" George asked.
Harish pulled a large sack of gold coins out of his enlarged money bag. It was his winnings from the Tri-Wizard Tournament.
"Are we Apparating or going by floo?" Fred queried.
"Floo," Harish replied. "That way's quieter."
And the twins nodded and turned back to the fire where Harish threw in flew powder. One by one the three of them stepped into the green flames and called out, "Diagon Alley!"
Harish, the first through, leaned against a wall of the Leaky Cauldron until both twins were standing beside him. Then, the three of them went through the gateway and into the alley itself.
"I've heard there's an empty building this way," Harish said, pointing towards Eyelop's Owl Emporium. "It's two story—an apartment over the shop area…"
They walked there and looked at a for sale sign that hung on the door. Harish walked forward and knocked on the door. A faint alarm sounded and a wizard apparated just inside the building and opened the door for them.
"Hello, boys," he said. "Looking at buying a shop?"
Harish nodded.
"This is our last year at Hogwarts," Fred explained.
"And we're looking into starting a business," George said.
"Well, I'll be happy to show you around," the man said. He seemed old, and stooped slightly. As he led them further into the shop area, he wiped his brow with an old handkerchief.
Harish looked around and saw shelfs to the right and lining the back wall. Along the left wall was the counter to pay. The man led them through three backrooms and then into a fourth where there was a set of stairs up to the apartment area. Up there was a bedroom, an extra room )probably used for a study or something), and a bathroom.
"This looks to be in good shape," Harish said finally. "How long could it be before it's ready?"
"Well," the man said. "I still have to move out, and we have the purchase of the building to consider. Plus I imagine the papers may take a few weeks to get through the Ministry."
"I've got the money right here," Harish said, pulling out his prize money.
Out of the large sack, he pulled a smaller sack and said, "This is the amount you want, right?"
The man nodded with a dazed look.
Harish handed the money to him.
"Be sure to send us any papers we need to sign," George said.
"And let us know when we can move in!" Fred said happily as the three left the empty shop.
And with that, the three of them left and returned to Slytherin Manor, where they went quietly up to Harish's bedroom and stayed until the Death Eaters were gone. The next day, Christmas Eve, was spent playing Quidditch, discussing Jugson and who he might be working for, and eating a large dinner with Harish's father. The next morning they woke to three large piles of presents.
"Not a bad turn out," Fred muttered, going through his parcels.
"This note from Ginny says that Percy sent back his sweater," George said, his eyebrows lowered in a dark expression. "Didn't even send a note."
Fred looked at the note over his brother's shoulder.
"'And mum's been crying her eyes out for the past two days'," he read. He shook his head and set his half-unwrapped sweater on the bed. "And suddenly I'm not in the mood for presents."
"C'mon guys," Harish said. "We already knew Percy was a prat. Let's just go downstairs and eat a nice big breakfast."
"You're right," George said with a sigh, throwing the note onto his bed. "C'mon, Fred."
After breakfast they finally got around to opening the rest of their presents. Harish's comprised of a planner from Hermione, joke products from the twins, chocolate frogs from Neville, a practice Snitch from Dean, and Daphne gave him Honeydukes hot fudge (plus both of the twins got pointy hats with gaudy feathers and there was no card that said who it was from).
The next day, Draco and Hermione arrived and the five of them hung out, lounging around not doing much other than listen to Hermione's stories about the skiing trip she had just gotten back from. Harish found it mildly interesting, but soon discovered that Hermione did not actually enjoy it.
"But don't tell Fred that," she told him. "Because I don't want to ruin his fun."
For indeed Fred found it rather hilarious that Muggles strapped strips of wood to their feet and slid down mountainsides. Finally, they all boarded the Hogwarts Express and returned to Hogwarts three days after New Year's.