Chapter 5: An Excess Of Phlegm


Harry and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, which

was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty

cauldrons; Harry could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming

from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Harry saw sudden

movement behind the kitchen window.



"Who's there?" said a nervous voice he recognized as Mrs. Weasley's.

"Declare yourself!"


"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry."


The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and

wearing an old green dressing gown.


"Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to

expect you before morning!"


"We were lucky," said Dumbledore, ushering Harry over the threshold.

"Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's

doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"


Harry looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite

the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and

mousy brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her

hands.

"Hello, Professor," she said. " Wotcher, Harry."


"Hi, Tonks."


Harry thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced

in her smile. Certainly her appearance was less colorful than usual without

her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.


"I'd better be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak

around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly"


"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously, "I

cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."


"No, no, I need to get going," said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes.

"'Night..."


"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are

coming... ?"


"No, really, Molly... thanks anyway... Good night, every-one.


Tonks hurried past Dumbledore and Harry into the yard; a few paces

beyond the doorstep, she turned on the spot and vanished into thin air. Harry

noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked troubled.

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Take care

of yourself. Molly, your servant."


He made Mrs. Weasley a bow and followed Tonks, vanishing at precisely

the same spot. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then

steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table

to examine his appearance.


"You're like Ron," she sighed, looking him up and down. "Both of you

look as though you've had Stretching jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown

four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?"


"Yeah, I am," said Harry, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was,


"Sit down, dear, I'll knock something up."


As Harry sat down, a furry ginger cat with a squashed face lumped onto

his knees and settled there, purring.


"So Hermione's here?" he asked happily as he tickled Crookshanks behind

the ears.


"Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday," said Mrs. Weasley,

rapping a large iron pot with her wand. It bounced onto the stove with a loud

clang and began to bubble at once. "Everyone's in bed, of course, we didn't

expect you for hours. Here you are..."

She tapped the pot again; it rose into the air, flew toward Harry, and

tipped over; Mrs. Weasley slid a bowl nearly beneath it just in lime to catch

the stream of thick, steaming onion soup.


"Bread, dear?"


"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."


She waved her wand over her shoulder; a loaf of bread and a knife soared

gracefully onto the table; as the loaf sliced itself and the soup pot dropped

back onto the stove, Mrs. Weasley sat down opposite him.


"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?"


Harry nodded, his mouth so full of hot soup that he could not speak.


"He taught Arthur and me," said Mrs. Weasley. "He was at Hog-warts for

ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like

him?"


His mouth now full of bread, Harry shrugged and gave a noncommittal

jerk of the head.


"I know what you mean," said Mrs. Weasley, nodding wisely. "Of course

he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much.

The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favorites, he was always good at

giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur... didn't seem to think

he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn

makes mistakes. I don't know whether Ron's told you in any of his letters...

it's only just happened... but Arthur's been promoted!"


It could not have been clearer that Mrs. Weasley had been bursting to say

this.


Harry swallowed a large amount of very hot soup and thought he could

feel his throat blistering. "That's great!" he gasped.


"You are sweet," beamed Mrs. Weasley, possibly taking his watering eyes

for emotion at the news. "Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new

offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office

for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and

Protective Objects. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"


"What exactly?"


"Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have

been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard

against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of

thing... so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of

bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make

your ears fall off... Well, in the main the perpetrators are just people like

Mundungus Hotelier, who've never done an honest day's work in their lives

and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and

then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box

of cursed Sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater.

So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss

dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle

rubbish." Mrs. Weasley ended her speech with a stern look, as if it had been

Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark plugs.


"Is Mr. Weasley still at work?" Harry asked.


"Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late... He said he'd be back

around midnight..."


She turned to look at a large clock that was perched awkwardly on top of

a pile of sheets in the washing basket at the end of the table. Harry

recognized it at once: It had nine hands, each inscribed with the name of a

family member, and usually hung on i he Weasleys' sitting room wall,

though its current position suggested that Mrs. Weasley had taken to

carrying it around the house with her. Every single one of its nine hands was

now pointing at "mortal peril."


"It's been like that for a while now," said Mrs. Weasley, in an un-

convincingly casual voice, "ever since You-Know-Who came back into the

open. I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now... I don't think it can be

just our family... but I don't know anyone else who's got a clock like this, so

I can't check. Oh!"


With a sudden exclamation she pointed at the clock's face. Mr. Weasley's

hand had switched to "traveling."

"He's coming!"


And sure enough, a moment later there was a knock on the back door.

Mrs. Weasley jumped up and hurried to it; with one hand on the doorknob

and her face pressed against the wood she called softly, "Arthur, is that

you?"


"Yes," came Mr. Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I

were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"


"Oh, honestly..."


"Molly!"


"All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"


"To find out how airplanes stay up."


Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned the doorknob, but apparently Mr.

Weasley was holding tight to it on the other side, because the door remained

firmly shut.


"Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!"


"Arthur, really, this is just silly..."

"What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?"


Even by the dim light of the lantern Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley

had turned bright red; he himself felt suddenly warm around the ears and

neck, and hastily gulped soup, clattering his spoon as loudly as he could

against the bowl.


"Mollywobbles," whispered a mortified Mrs. Weasley into the crack at the

edge of the door.


"Correct," said Mr. Weasley. "Now you can let me in."


Mrs. Weasley opened the door to reveal her husband, a thin, balding, red-

haired wizard wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a long and dusty

traveling cloak.


"I still don't see why we have to go through that every time you come

home," said Mrs. Weasley, still pink in the face as she helped her husband

out of his cloak. "I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of

you before impersonating you!"


"I know, dear, but it's Ministry procedure, and I have to set an example.

Something smells good... onion soup?"


Mr. Weasley turned hopefully in the direction of the table.


"Harry! We didn't expect you until morning!"

They shook hands, and Mr. Weasley dropped into the chair beside Harry

as Mrs. Weasley set a bowl of soup in front of him too.


"Thanks, Molly. It's been a tough night. Some idiot's started selling

Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you'll be able to

change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten

Galleons!"


"And what really happens when you put them on?"


"Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange color, but a couple of

people have also sprouted tentacle like warts all over their bodies. As if St.

Mungo's didn't have enough to do already!"


"It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny," said

Mrs. Weasley hesitantly. "Are you sure... ?"


"Of course I am!" said Mr. Weasley. "The boys wouldn't do anything like

that now, not when people are desperate for protection!"


"So is that why you're late, Metamorph-Medals?"


"No, we got wind of a nasty backfiring jinx down in Elephant and Castle,

but luckily the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had sorted it out by the

time we got there..."

Harry stifled a yawn behind his hand.


"Bed," said an undeceived Mrs. Weasley at once. "I've got Fred and

George's room all ready for you, you'll have it to yourself."


"Why, where are they?"


"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop

as they're so busy," said Mrs. Weasley. "I must say, I didn't approve at first,

but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business! Come on, dear, your

trunks already up there."


"'Night, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, pushing back his chair. Crookshanks

leapt lightly from his lap and slunk out of the room.


"G'night, Harry," said Mr. Weasley.


Harry saw Mrs. Weasley glance at the clock in the washing basket as they

left the kitchen. All the hands were once again at "mortal peril."


Fred and George's bedroom was on the second floor. Mrs. Weasley

pointed her wand at a lamp on the bedside table and it ignited at once,

bathing the room in a pleasant golden glow. Though a large vase of flowers

had been placed on a desk in front of the small window, their perfume could

not disguise the lingering smell of what Harry thought was gunpowder. A

considerable amount of floor space was devoted to a vast number of

unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes, amongst which stood Harry's school

trunk. The room looked as though it was being used as a temporary

warehouse.


Hedwig hooted happily at Harry from her perch on top of a large

wardrobe, then took off through the window; Harry knew she had been

waiting to see him before going hunting. Harry bade Mrs. Weasley good

night, put on pajamas, and got into one of the beds. There was something

hard inside the pillowcase. He groped inside it and pulled out a sticky

purple-and-orange sweet, which he recognized as a Puking Pastille. Smiling

to himself, he rolled over and was instantly asleep.


Seconds later, or so it seemed to Harry, he was awakened by what

sounded like cannon fire as the door burst open. Sitting bolt upright, he

heard the rasp of the curtains being pulled back: The dazzling sunlight

seemed to poke him hard in both eyes. Shielding them with one hand, he

groped hopelessly for his glasses with the other.


"Wuzzgoinon?"


"We didn't know you were here already!" said a loud and excited voice,

and he received a sharp blow to the top of the head.


"Ron, don't hit him!" said a girl's voice reproachfully.


Harry's hand found his glasses and he shoved them on, though I he light

was so bright he could hardly see anyway. A long, looming shadow quivered

in front of him for a moment; he blinked and Ron Weasley came into focus,

grinning down at him.


"All right?"


"Never been better," said Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping

back onto his pillows. "You?"


"Not bad," said Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it.

"When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!"


"About one o'clock this morning."


"Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you okay?"


"Same as usual," said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of

his bed, "they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're

you, Hermione?"


"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione, who was scrutinizing Harry as though he

was sickening for something. He thought he knew what was behind this, and

as he had no wish to discuss Sirius's death or any other miserable subject at

the moment, he said, "What's the time? Have I missed breakfast?"


"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you

look underfed," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"


"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been off with Dumbledore!"


"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted me to help him persuade this old

teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."


"Oh," said Ron, looking disappointed. "We thought..."


Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron, and Ron changed tack at top

speed.


"...we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" said Harry, amused.


"Yeah... yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense

Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"


"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," said

Harry. "Something wrong, Hermione?"


She was watching him as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest

themselves at any moment. She rearranged her features hastily in an

unconvincing smile.


"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good

teacher?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"


"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," said a voice from the

doorway. Ron's younger sister slouched into the room, looking irritable. "Hi,

Harry."


"What's up with you?" Ron asked.


"It's her," said Ginny, plonking herself down on Harry's bed. "She's

driving me mad."


"What's she done now?" asked Hermione sympathetically.


"It's the way she talks to me... you'd think I was about three!"


"I know," said Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself."


Harry was astonished to hear Hermione talking about Mrs. Weasley like

this and could not blame Ron for saying angrily, "Can't you two lay off her

for five seconds?"


"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get

enough of her."


This seemed an odd comment to make about Ron's mother. Starting to

feel that he was missing something, Harry said, "Who are you... ?"

But his question was answered before he could finish it. The bedroom

door flew open again, and Harry instinctively yanked the bedcovers up to his

chin so hard that Hermione and Ginny slid off the bed onto the floor.


A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such

breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless.

She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a

faint, silvery glow. To complete this vision of perfection, she was carrying a

heavily laden breakfast tray.


"'Arry," she said in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long!"


As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed,

bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross.


"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was just about to do it myself!"


"Eet was no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, setting the tray across Harry's

knees and then swooping to kiss him on each cheek: He felt the places where

her mouth had touched him burn. "I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You

remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter.

She will be delighted to see you again."


"Oh... is she here too?" Harry croaked.

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, "I mean next

summer, when we... but do you not know?"


Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs.

Weasley, who said, "We hadn't got around to telling him yet."


Fleur turned back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it

whipped Mrs. Weasley across the face.


"Bill and I are going to be married!"


"Oh," said Harry blankly. He could not help noticing how Mrs. Weasley,

Hermione, and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze.

"Wow. Er... congratulations!"


She swooped down upon him and kissed him again.


"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-

time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to

get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be

coming... zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens!

Well... enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry!"


With these words she turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the

room, closing the door quietly behind her.


Mrs. Weasley made a noise that sounded like, "tchah!"

"Mum hates her," said Ginny quietly.


"I do not hate her!" said Mrs. Weasley in a cross whisper. "I just think

they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"


"They've known each other a year," said Ron, who looked oddly groggy

and was staring at the closed door.


"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. Its all

this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might

be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally

take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping

left, right, and center..."


"Including you and Dad," said Ginny slyly.


"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point

in waiting?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Whereas Bill and Fleur... well... what have

they really got in common? He's a hardworking, down-to-earth sort of

person, whereas she's..."


"A cow," said Ginny, nodding. "But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a

Curse-Breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour... I

expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm."

"Stop calling her that, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Harry and

Hermione laughed. "Well, I'd better get on... Eat your eggs while they're

warm, Harry."


Looking careworn, she left the room. Ron still seemed slightly punch-

drunk; he was shaking his head experimentally like a dog trying to rid its

ears of water.


"Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?" Harry

asked.


"Well, you do," said Ron, "but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like

then..."


"It's pathetic," said Hermione furiously, striding away from Ron as far as

she could go and turning to face him with her arms folded once she had

reached the wall.


"You don't really want her around forever?" Ginny asked Ron

incredulously. When he merely shrugged, she said, "Well, Mum's going to

put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything."


"How's she going to manage that?" asked Harry.


"She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill

will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the

family."

"Yeah, that'll work," said Ron sarcastically. "Listen, no bloke in his right

mind's going to fancy Tonks when Fleur's around. I mean, Tonks is okay-

looking when she isn't doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but..."


"She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm? said Ginny.


"And she's more intelligent, she's an Auror!" said Hermione from the

corner.


"Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard

Tournament," said Harry.


"Not you as well!" said Hermione bitterly.


"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ' 'Any,' do you?" asked Ginny

scornfully.


"No," said Harry, wishing he hadn't spoken, "I was just saying, Phlegm... I

mean, Fleur..."


"I'd much rather have Tonks in the family," said Ginny. "At least she's a

laugh."


"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately," said Ron. "Every time I've seen

her she's looked more like Moaning Myrtle."

"That's not fair," snapped Hermione. "She still hasn't got over what

happened... you know... I mean, he was her cousin!"


Harry's heart sank. They had arrived at Sirius. He picked up a fork and

began shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, hoping to deflect any

invitation to join in this part of the conversation.


"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" said Ron. "Sirius was in

Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met..."


"That's not the point," said Hermione. "She thinks it was her limit he

died!"


"How does she work that one out?" asked Harry, in spite of himself.


"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn't she? I think she feels

that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn't have killed Sirius."


"That's stupid," said Ron.


"It's survivor's guilt," said Hermione. "I know Lupin's tried to talk her

round, but she's still really down. She's actually having trouble with her

Metamorphosing!"


"With her...?"

"She can't change her appearance like she used to," explained Hermione.

"I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something."


"I didn't know that could happen," said Harry.


"Nor did I," said Hermione, "but I suppose if you're really depressed..."


The door opened again and Mrs. Weasley popped her head in. "Ginny,"

she whispered, "come downstairs and help me with the lunch."


"I'm talking to this lot!" said Ginny, outraged.


"Now!" said Mrs. Weasley, and withdrew.


"She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!"

said Ginny crossly. She swung her long red hair around in a very good

imitation of Fleur and pranced across the room with her arms held aloft like

a ballerina.


"You lot had better come down quickly too," she said as she left.


Harry took advantage of the temporary silence to eat more breakfast.

Hermione was peering into Fred and George's boxes, though every now and

then she cast sideways looks at Harry. Ron, who was now helping himself to

Harry...s toast, was still gazing dreamily at the door.

"What's this?" Hermione asked eventually, holding up what looked like a

small telescope.


"Dunno," said Ron, "but if Fred and George left it here, it's probably not

ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful"


"Your mum said the shop's going well," said Harry. "Said Fred and

George have got a real flair for business."


"That's an understatement," said Ron. "They're raking in the Galleons! I

can't wait to see the place, we haven't been to Diagon Alley yet, because

Mum says Dad's got to be there for extra security and he's been really busy

at work, but it sounds excellent."


"And what about Percy?" asked Harry; the third-eldest Weasley brother

had fallen out with the rest of the family. "Is he talking to your mum and dad

again?"


"Nope," said Ron.


"But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being

back..."


"Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being

wrong than being right," said Hermione. "I heard him telling your mum,

Ron."

"Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say," said Ron.


"He's going to be giving me private lessons this year," said Harry

conversationally.


Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.


"You kept that quiet!" said Ron.


"I only just remembered," said Harry honestly. "He told me last night in

your broom shed."


"Blimey... private lessons with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking

impressed. "I wonder why he's... ?"


His voice tailed away. Harry saw him and Hermione exchange looks.

Harry laid down his knife and fork, his heart beating rather fast considering

that all he was doing was sitting in bed. Dumbledore had said to do it... Why

not now? He fixed his eyes on his fork, which was gleaming in the sunlight

streaming into his lap, and said, "I don't know exactly why he's going to be

giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy."


Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke. Harry had the impression that both had

frozen. He continued, still speaking to his fork, "You know, the one they

were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly. "It got

smashed."


"Although the Prophet says..." began Ron, but Hermione said, "Shh!"


"The Prophet's got it right," said Harry, looking up at them both with a

great effort: Hermione seemed frightened and Ron amazed. "That glass ball

that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing

in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he

could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like I'm

the one who's got to finish off Voldemort... At least, it said neither of us

could live while the other survives."


The three of them gazed at one another in silence for a moment. Then

there was a loud bang and Hermione vanished behind a puff of black smoke.


"Hermione!" shouted Harry and Ron; the breakfast tray slid to the floor

with a crash.


Hermione emerged, coughing, out of the smoke, clutching the telescope

and sporting a brilliantly purple black eye.


"I squeezed it and it... it punched me!" she gasped.


And sure enough, they now saw a tiny fist on a long spring protruding

from the end of the telescope.

"Don't worry," said Ron, who was plainly trying not to laugh, "Mum'll fix

that, she's good at healing minor injuries..."


"Oh well, never mind that now!" said Hermione hastily. "Harry, oh,

Harry..."


She sat down on the edge of his bed again.


"We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry... Obviously, we

didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about

the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it

might be something like this... Oh, Harry..." She stared at him, then

whispered, "Are you scared?"


"Not as much as I was," said Harry. "When I first heard it, I was... but

now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..."


"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he

might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the

prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He

wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't

waste his time... he must think you've got a chance!"


"That's true," said Hermione. "I wonder what he'll teach you, Harry?

Really advanced defensive magic, probably... powerful countercurses... anti-

jinxes..."

Harry did not really listen. A warmth was spreading through him that had

nothing to do with the sunlight; a tight obstruction in his chest seemed to be

dissolving. He knew that Ron and Hermione were more shocked than they

were letting on, but the mere fact that they were still there on either side of

him, speaking bracing words of comfort, not shrinking from him as though

he were contaminated or dangerous, was worth more than he could ever tell

them.


"...and evasive enchantments generally," concluded Hermione. "Well, at

least you know one lesson you'll be having this year, that's one more than

Ron and me. I wonder when our OWL results will come?"


"Cant be long now, it's been a month," said Ron.


"Hang on," said Harry, as another part of last night's conversation came

back to him. "I think Dumbledore said our OWL results would be arriving

today!"


"Today?" shrieked Hermione. "Today? But why didn't you... oh my God...

you should have said..."


She leapt to her feet.


"I'm going to see whether any owls have come..."


But when Harry arrived downstairs ten minutes later, fully dressed and

carrying his empty breakfast tray, it was to find Hermione sitting at the

kitchen table in great agitation, while Mrs. Weasley tried to lessen her

resemblance to half a panda.


"It just won't budge," Mrs. Weasley was saying anxiously, standing over

Hermione with her wand in her hand and a copy of The Healer's Helpmate

open at "Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions." "This has always worked before, I

just can't understand it."


"It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke, making sure it can't come

off," said Ginny.


"But it's got to come off!" squeaked Hermione. "I can't go around looking

like this forever!"


"You won't, dear, we'll find an antidote, don't worry," said Mrs. Weasley

soothingly.


"Bill told me W Fred and George are very amusing!" said Fleur, smiling

serenely.


"Yes, I can hardly breathe for laughing," snapped Hermione.


She jumped up and started walking round and round the kitchen, twisting

her fingers together.


"Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this

morning?"

"Yes, dear, I'd have noticed," said Mrs. Weasley patiently. "But it's barely

nine, there's still plenty of time..."


"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," muttered Hermione feverishly, "I

definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against

the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all

right at the time, but looking back..."


"Hermione, will you shut up, you're not the only one who's nervous!"

barked Ron. "And when you've got your eleven 'Outstanding OWLs...'"


"Don't, don't, don't!" said Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. "I

know I've failed everything!"


"What happens if we fail?" Harry asked the room at large, but it was again

Hermione who answered.


"We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor

McGonagall at the end of last term."


Harry's stomach squirmed. He wished he had eaten less breakfast.


"At Beauxbatons," said Fleur complacently, "we 'ad a different way of

doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years

of study, not five, and then..."

Fleur's words were drowned in a scream. Hermione was pointing through

the kitchen window. Three black specks were clearly visible in the sky,

growing larger all the time.


"They're definitely owls," said Ron hoarsely, jumping up to join

Hermione at the window.


"And there are three of them," said Harry, hastening to her other side.


"One for each of us," said Hermione in a terrified whisper. "Oh no... oh

no... oh no..."


She gripped both Harry and Ron tightly around the elbows.


The owls were flying directly at the Burrow, three handsome tawnies,

each of which, it became clear as they flew lower over the path leading up to

the house, was carrying a large square envelope.


"Oh no!" squealed Hermione.


Mrs. Weasley squeezed past them and opened the kitchen window. One,

two, three, the owls soared through it and landed on the table in a neat line.

All three of them lifted their right legs.


Harry moved forward. The letter addressed to him was tied to the leg of

the owl in the middle. He untied it with fumbling fingers. To his left, Ron

was trying to detach his own results; to his right, Hermione's hands were

shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble.


Nobody in the kitchen spoke. At last, Harry managed to detach the

envelope. He slit it open quickly and unfolded the parchment inside.


Ordinary Wizarding Level Results
Pass Grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:
Astronomy A
Care of Magical Creatures E
Charms E
Defense Against the Dark Arts O
Divination P
Herbology E
History of Magic D
Potions E
Transfiguration E


Harry read the parchment through several times, his breathing becoming

easier with each reading. It was all right: He had always known that he

would fail Divination, and he had had no chance of passing History of

Magic, given that he had collapsed halfway through the examination, but he

had passed everything else! He ran his finger down the grades... he had

passed well in Transfiguration and Herbology, he had even exceeded

expectations at Potions! And best of all, he had achieved "Outstanding" at

Defense Against the Dark Arts!


He looked around. Hermione had her back to him and her head bent, but

Ron was looking delighted.


"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about

them?" he said happily to Harry. "Here... swap..."


Harry glanced down Ron's grades: There were no "Outstandings" there...


"Knew you'd be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Ron,

punching Harry on the shoulder. "We've done all right, haven't we?"


"Well done!" said Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven

OWLs, that's more than Fred and George got together!"


"Hermione?" said Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn't turned

around. "How did you do?"


"I--not bad," said Hermione in a small voice.


"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results

out of her hand. "Yep... ten 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at

Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-

exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.


"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now!" grinned Ron. "Mum, are there any

more sausages?"


Harry looked back down at his results. They were as good as he could

have hoped for. He felt just one tiny twinge of regret... This was the end of

his ambition to become an Auror. He had not secured the required Potions

grade. He had known all along that he wouldn't, but he still felt a sinking in

his stomach as he looked again at that small black E.


It was odd, really, seeing that it had been a Death Eater in disguise who

had first told Harry he would make a good Auror, but somehow the idea had

taken hold of him, and he couldn't really think of anything else he would like

to be. Moreover, it had seemed the right destiny for him since he had heard

the prophecy a few weeks ago... Neither can live while the other

survives...Wouldn't he be living up to the prophecy, and giving himself the

best chance of survival, if he joined those highly trained wizards whose job

it was to find and kill Voldemort?