The darkness and the confusion of the battle.

“The Daily Prophet hasn’t said a word about him dying or about finding the

body,” Bill went on. “But that doesn’t mean much. It’s keeping a lot quiet these days.”

“And they still haven’t called a hearing about all the underage magic I used

escaping the Death Eaters?” Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his

Head.

“Because they know I had no choice or because they don’t want me to tell the

world Voldemort attacked me?”

“The latter, I think. Scrimgeour doesn’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is as

powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban’s seen a mass breakout.”

“Yeah, why tell the public the truth?” said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly

that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must

Not tell lies.

“Isn’t anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?” asked Ron angrily.

“Of course, Ron, but people are terrified,” Mr. Weasley replied, “terrified that

they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty

rumors going around; I for one don’t believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts

resigned. She hasn’t been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in

his office all day; I just hope he’s working on a plan.”

There was a pause in which Mrs. Weasley magicked the empty plates onto the

Work surface and served apple tart.

“We must decide ‘ow you will be disguised, ‘Arry,” said Fleur, once everyone

had pudding. “For ze wedding,” she added, when he looked confused. “Of course, none

Of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something

slip after zey ‘ave ‘ad champagne.”

From this, Harry gathered that she still suspected Hagrid.

“Yes, good point,” said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat,

Spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had

scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. “Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your

room yet?”

“Why?” exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother.

“Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!”

“We are holding your brother’s wedding here in a few days’ time, young man –“

“And are they getting married in my bedroom?” asked Ron furiously. “No! So

why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left –“

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” said Mr. Weasley firmly. “And do as you’re

told.”

Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last

Few mouthfuls of his apple tart.

“I can help, some of it’s my mess.” Harry told Ron, but Mrs. Weasley cut across

Him.

“No, Harry, dear, I’d much rather you helped Arthur much out the chickens, and

Hermione, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame

Delacour; you know they’re arriving at eleven tomorrow morning.”

But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the chickens. “There’s no need

to, er, mention it to Molly,” Mr. Weasley told Harry, blocking his access to the coop, “but,

er, Ted Tonks sent me most of what was left of Sirius’s bike and, er, I’m hiding – that’s

to say, keeping – it in here. Fantastic stuff: There’s an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it’s

called, the most magnificent battery, and it’ll be a great opportunity to find out how

brakes work. I’m going to try and put it all back together again when Molly’s not – I

mean, when I’ve got time.”

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 550