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It Only Takes A Drop of Blood
Chapter 7: Birthdays and Grimmauld Place
Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm down. He remembered Jon telling a patient to breathe carefully to relax and keep from hyperventilating—so he decided to try the technique, not having any other option. Harry looked at himself in the mirror, still unable to believe what was happening.
The internship was over; he had leukemia, and apparently, so did Voldemort. He sighed again. Because Harry had been sick since April, it was likely that in the process of using Harry’s blood to resurrect himself, Voldemort had gotten the cancer as well.
It was good because now there was a way to defeat the monster, but the plan wasn’t foolproof. What if the Dark Lord figured it out? They had caught the cancer early, so if Voldemort could stand working with Muggles, he would be able to survive. Of course, he would never work with them, so it would be very improbable that Voldemort could be saved. But there was always a chance.
Then there was also the fact that Harry could lose his life to the cancer. There was the possibility that chemotherapy could eradicate the problem, but he felt that it would or could not be that simple. Nothing in his life ever was. So it would be thanks to his mother and him that Voldemort would be dead, but neither of them would be able to live in the happy future they created.
Bugger.
Harry brushed his hair away from his scar. The connection he had with Voldemort had only grown stronger over the past few weeks. While he had had some clear visions, he hadn’t had any new information to pass on to Dumbledore. But the night before had given him something to send.
He had seen a large crowd of black in a half circle in front of him, all bowing with their heads to the ground. He had hissed in a serpentine voice, “Luciusss, my ssslippery friend. Ssstep forward.”
A black-clad figure crawled forward and kissed the hem of his robes. Backing up, the figure asked, “What can I do for my Lord?”
“Luciusss, I want you to organize a group of my bessst followersss. We will attack within two daysss time,” Voldemort said in morbid glee.
Harry was thrown out of the vision, his head swimming and stomach churning. He had been able to get himself under control within minutes, but the conversation weighed on his mind. He knew he had to alert Dumbledore with any information he had—Harry might be angry with the man for withholding information, but he would not spite the Headmaster with such things while peoples’ lives were at stake.
Quickly, he penned out a letter and sent it with Hedwig, telling her to fly as fast as possible. She was back within two hours, a reply scribbled on a scrap of parchment.
Thank you Harry.
That was it. ‘Thanks’. Harry grew angry, feeling the air crackle with energy. He ripped the parchment into shreds and nearly punched the wall in frustration. Just before his fist hit the wall, Harry stopped, berating himself. ‘Do you have a death wish? Because if you had hit the wall at two in the morning, that is what would have happened! Get a grip and calm down, Harry.’
He had calmed, but his anger and frustration were smoldering underneath the surface. One more time. If the adults in his life did that one more time, Harry swore he was going to go ballistic. He flopped onto his cot and pulled a sheet over his body. Glad that most of the cancer symptoms had lessened, Harry shut his eyes and tried to sleep.
When a tap at the window brought Harry back to the present, he went to answer it. Hedwig had come, and considering that notebook paper was used, Jon had probably sent her. Harry took the note from her beak and read it, his face losing color as he read the messy writing. He bolted out of the room, only grabbing his jacket on the way.
Harry dashed out of the house and ran to Jon’s home, glad he had the energy to do so. He arrived at the door promptly and opened it, not waiting for Jon to answer his knocks. Inside, he saw a nervous brown haired man, pacing up and down the sitting room.
“What’s wrong Jon? Are you alright? Your sister?” Harry asked hurriedly, concerned. The note had only said to go to Jon’s house and that it was very urgent.
“No, I’m fine and so are they. No, it’s about the position I applied for. You remember, the one in Scotland?” Jon said hurriedly, twisting his hands nervously.
“Yes, you applied for the Oncology position there,” Harry said, confused. “How is that urgent?”
“They gave me the job,” Jon said abruptly, looking intently at Harry. “But that means that I have to move there. Within three days.”
“What?” Harry asked, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Three days? I thought you didn’t have to be there until the 15th!”
Jon nodded, “Yeah, so did I! But apparently, they need someone who can start right away. Magnus practically kicked my arse to go over there and take the job.”
“So why don’t you just go?” Harry asked. He did not want to keep Jon away from his future, even if he would miss the man terribly.
“I don’t want to leave you here. With your relatives and …” Jon said, looking at Harry carefully.
Harry nodded. “I understand Jon, and I want you to stay. But I want you to go too. You have wanted this job for a long time, and I’ll be fine.”
Jon opened his mouth to interrupt, but Harry stopped him.
“No, I’ll be fine. Ginny said that Dumbledore was going to send someone to retrieve me soon. And even then, I have the Order to turn to if I need help. Sure, they are arses, but at least they will rescue me if I need it. Or Ron and his brothers will fly a car here,” Harry said with a smirk. Jon chuckled a little, remembering the story. “Don’t worry about me. We have Hedwig, so we’re still in communication. I have the chemotherapy medication, so I should be fine for another month or so. And on September 1st, I’ll be going to Scotland myself, in any case.”
Jon nodded, agreeing. “Alright, I’ll go. The hospital has set up a room for me until I can find a flat or a house there. I should be settled by the time you go to Hogwarts.”
“Right. But how are we going to meet? Ryan and Claire told me that you met with them almost every weekend before they were admitted. I can’t exactly take a train to your hospital or something every Saturday,” Harry said.
Jon thought for a moment. “Actually, I don’t know. I can always send Hedwig with the medicines you need, but you can’t actually go to get them or me. It’s not as if you can transport instantaneously without actually using magic out of school.”
Harry paused; something Jon had said had triggered his memory. “There is! A portkey.”
“A what?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry elaborated, “A portkey. Wizards take inconspicuous garbage and charm it to transport anyone touching it to a specified location. I used one to get to the Quidditch World Cup last year.”
“Can you make one?” Jon asked.
“No,” Harry admitted. “But I can learn. The library at Hogwarts is enormous—I should be able to find a book on them.”
Jon nodded. “But the question still remains… where should we meet?”
Get packed. I heard my mum and dad talking with Dumbledore—something big is going on.
Ginny
Harry stared at the scrap of parchment in disbelief. Everything was happening so fast. He knew from Ginny that he would be leaving within the next few weeks, but he didn’t realize that he would leave before Jon would. Not even doubting Ginny’s instincts, Harry made sure that everything was packed and locked in his Dursley-proof trunk. He took extra time to be certain that Ron or another of his friends would not find the things from his parents if they decided to go digging around.
His second act was to dash over to Jon’s to tell him the news. If his minders arrived, they would have to wait at the Dursleys’ for him, he thought with a shrug.
Jon promptly let him in, at Harry’s insistent knock, and immediately asked, “What is the matter?”
“Ginny sent a note,” Harry said. “Dumbledore might send someone to pick me up today.”
Jon looked worried and put out at the same time. “Why? Did something happen?”
“Not that we know of,” Harry said with a shrug. “But I have been getting some weird feelings from Voldemort’s end, so he might be planning something for me.”
Jon nodded and paced the room for a moment. Finally, he turned to Harry and gave the teen a warm hug. Startled, he jumped at the touch before accepting the hug with a pat to Jon’s back. The man pulled away, blushing. “Sorry, but I am going to miss you.”
Harry nodded, missing Jon already. “Me too. But we’ll see each other soon, I hope,” he said with an encouraging smile. Jon nodded. “Remember, look for Hedwig.”
Jon nodded again. Just as Harry was about to leave, the doctor remembered something. He dashed into the piano room and came back with a present.
“Here, this is for you. Happy birthday, Harry!” Jon said with a triumphant smile at Harry’s shocked face.
The teenager smiled broadly and took the gift, quickly ripping into the wrapping paper. He gasped when he pulled out several piano scores, bound professionally. “Merlin, Jon! These are amazing,” he said, thumbing through the music. “Tchaikovsky! Bartok! And Puccini! How did you know I wanted to play these?”
“You only said that about three times a day in the past two weeks, Harry,” Jon said wryly, rolling his eyes. “But there is something else, so take a look.”
The teen looked under the tissue paper and found a small album. Opening it, he saw that it was full of pictures, all taken over the summer. He turned the pages, treasuring the memories that they would bring. He looked up at Jon with a smile.
“Thank you,” he said, his happiness drenching the words.
“I’m glad you like it,” Jon said, patting Harry on the shoulder. “I don’t want to take anyone’s place, Harry, but don’t forget about me, alright?”
Harry grinned and teased him, “Like that’s possible,” before he could continue, Jon’s puppy, Max, ran into the room and onto Harry’s lap. The teen laughed at the puppy’s slobbery kisses. “See, even Max knows it!”
The puppy jumped into Jon’s open arms and licked him as well. The doctor had to laugh. “Well, I can’t argue with that logic.”
Harry set the gifts aside and looked at the clock. He jumped up when he realized how late it was. Jon noticed his movements and understood. It was time for Harry to go.
“Thank you Jon, for everything,” Harry said sincerely, shaking the doctor’s hand.
Jon pumped the teen’s arm for a moment before pulling him into a hug. They embraced, in a manly way, before parting and nodding in the way only a male can understand. Harry gathered his presents and went to the door, quietly shutting it for the last time. Jon smiled at Max, whose tail had drooped at the loss of his favorite playmate.
“Don’t worry, Max,” the older man said, picking up the dog. “We’ll see him again soon. I hope.”
He looked to Hedwig, who was dozing on her perch, and roused her. “Hey girl,” Harry said softly. The owl opened her eyes and cooed, ruffling her feathers. Harry stroked her as he talked. “Ginny said that Dumbledore is going to send for me sometime today. I’ll leave the window open, so if they come to pick me up, just fly straight to me.”
Hedwig blinked at Harry before flying out the window and into the tree beside it. She then settled down again for sleep. Harry shook his head with a smile and packed up her things, storing them in his trunk as well.
Just as he was about to lay down on the bed for a short nap—all the running he had been doing was tiring him out and he was still feeling sick, meaning he had to rest—he heard his uncle yell for him like a madman.
Groaning, Harry got up and went downstairs, where he was immediately given a list of chores. He quietly took it and did them, feeling more tired and sluggish as the day wore on.
At seven o’clock, when he had finally finished the work, his back ached from crouching in the flower beds all afternoon, weeding, and his arms hurt from the fence painting he had been forced to do. And of course, most of the painting needed to be done in a space above his chest level without a stool to stand on.
Trudging into the house, Harry held his muddy shoes in one hand as he went up the stairs, barely seeing straight. He thanked Merlin that Dudley wasn’t there to push him down them, as he normally would have. Miserably, Harry went into the shower and washed off the sweat and grime five hours of yard work had given him.
Plopping down onto his bed, the teen closed his eyes, ready to sleep for ages, when the doorbell rang. He ignored it, preferring to let his relatives take care of the door, but his uncle’s cry kept him from doing so.
“BOY! Get the door!” Vernon shouted harshly.
Groaning, cursing, and wanting to hex his uncle to the seventh level of hell, Harry unsteadily got up from the bed and walked downstairs. The doorbell rang again just before he unbarred the aperture.
“Special delivery for Vernon Dursley,” a messenger droned in a bored voice, holding out a letter.
Harry took the post and signed the clipboard the other person held out. The messenger thanked him and left. The wizard let the door slam shut and lethargically walked into the living room, where his relatives were lounging in front of the television. He yawned widely before giving his uncle the letter.
Vernon snatched the post without a word and ripped into it, grunting as he read. Harry’s eyes closed and his head nodded forward, wanting nothing more than to sleep. He dozed off so much that Vernon’s shout startled him so much that his eyes shot open and he drew his wand. When he realized that the threat was nonexistent, Harry put it away; he was glad that his relatives hadn’t seen it.
“We’ve won the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition!” his uncle exclaimed, rising to his feet.
Petunia beamed and ran to stand next to her husband, clutching his arm. Dudley grunted, still gazing at the television with rapt attention.
“The awards ceremony is tonight, at nine, in London,” Vernon read out loud.
Petunia looked at the clock and shrieked. “Vernon, we must hurry then! It is already half past seven!”
Before Harry could venture a question, Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley—after much coaxing on behalf of his parents—were dashing around madly. And at the end of it all, he was left alone in the house, on orders to not touch anything.
Yawning, Harry shrugged and went upstairs, hoping to get some sleep. His brain did not even register the oddness of a Best-Kept Lawn Competition during the worst drought in Britain since 1975, before he drifted off into dreamland.
Harry groaned and turned over in bed, burying his head under the blanket, hoping that the intruder would go away. Unfortunately, it was not to be. The annoying voice came back, urging him awake, a prodding finger joining it. Finally, Harry gave up and blearily opened his eyes.
“What?” he asked thickly.
“Harry, wake up!” the voice said.
Harry noticed that it was a very familiar tone. He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes, blinking at the blurry stranger in front of him. The voice chuckled and a hand pressed his glasses into a hand. Harry put on his spectacles and saw that person in front of him was none other than Remus Lupin.
“Professor Lupin!” Harry exclaimed as he drowsily recognized the man. “What are you doing here?”
“Call me Remus, Harry. I’m not your Professor anymore. But tonight, I am part of your Advance Guard,” Remus said. At Harry’s puzzled look, he chuckled. “I’ll explain downstairs. For now, I’ll take your trunk down while you freshen up.”
Harry nodded dazedly as his ex-Professor left the room, easily carrying his heavy trunk. When his brain caught up with everything Remus had said, the teen stumbled out of bed and went into the bathroom, quickly tidying up. He then went downstairs, his wand in hand.
A crowd of people were in the living room, talking quietly. When the stairs creaked, everyone looked up and stared at him, making Harry blush lightly. Upon reaching the group, Remus stood in front to make the introductions.
“Harry, these are all of my fellow Advance Guard members,” he explained, gesturing to the other four behind him. “You remember Alastor Moody, of course.”
The grizzly Auror nodded to Harry, his prosthetic eye spinning in its socket. Remus pointed to a witch with bright purple hair and a heart-shaped face.
“This, Harry, is Nymphadora …”
“It’s Tonks, Remus,” the witch said with a glare to the werewolf.
“Who prefers to be referred to by her surname only,” Remus said with a smile, amending his statement.
“You would too if your fool of a mother had named you ‘Nymphadora’,” Tonks muttered under her breath.
Harry snorted, but kept silent as Remus continued, ignoring Tonks’ words. “This is Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he pointed to a bald, African man who stood in the back, “… and Emmeline Vance.” She was a stately woman dressed in a green shawl.
Harry nodded to the group but glanced warily at Remus. “And how do I know that you are who you say you are?” he asked, raising his wand defensively.
Remus said, “I first told you that I was friends with your father at our first anti-Dementor meeting.”
Harry nodded and smiled, lowering his wand. Moody grunted in approval and spoke gruffly.
“Right. Potter, you’ll need your broom. And get over here so I can Disillusion you.”
“You’re going to what?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Disillusionment Charm,” Moody said. “Can’t have Death Eaters or Muggles spot you flying in the air, now can we?”
Harry complied, pulling out his Firebolt—causing Tonks to emit a gasp of jealousy—and went over to the grizzled Auror. The latter hit Harry sharply on the head with his wand, and the teen felt like Moody had cracked an egg on top of his head. A strange, cold, trickling feeling crept down his spine. He shivered. When the sensation stopped, Harry looked down and saw that he had been turned into a human chameleon.
Tonks whistled loudly, looking at Moody’s charm work and complimented him. She got a grunt for her troubles. Harry looked on in bemusement as she abruptly changed wavelengths and moved to gush over his Firebolt.
Remus shrunk Harry’s trunk and gave it to him as the whole group ushered outside. He whispered to Harry as they all mounted their brooms, “I’ve left a letter so your aunt and uncle won’t worry.”
Harry was tempted to snort or inform Remus of his relatives’ opinions on Harry Potter, but refrained from doing so. The group waited a moment before red sparks, as if from a wand, flew into the sky. Moody held up a hand for silence, even though the group had remained quiet since they left the house. When green sparks went up, everyone kicked off at once.
Harry shot up with them, just going with the flow. He followed Tonks, who flew directly in front of him, while Moody flew behind him. Remus was underneath, Auror Shacklebolt was on his left, and Madam Jones was on his right.
Harry shivered in the night air. It was freezing at their altitude, not to mention the Disillusionment Charm still felt cold. And, he was feeling so sleepy on top of it all. Harry yawned, covering his mouth with a frozen hand. He just hoped that he wouldn’t become ill. Normally, he’d be fine after this flight, but his body was already weak from the cancer, meaning it was easier for him to catch cold.
Shivering once more, he groaned as Moody mentioned flying through clouds. He felt like kissing Tonks when she refused to go into the mist. They flew as Moody gave directions, going south, and then southwest. They avoided the Muggle towns and the large motorways, always keeping out of sight.
Harry shivered again, his hands frozen to his broomstick, blocking out the sounds of the adults around him arguing about detouring and doubling back. Usually he would pay attention, but he was too tired, sore, and cold to worry about listening to a conversation at the moment.
He, however, perked up when he heard Tonks say, “We’re nearly there now!”
“Time to start the descent!” came Remus’ voice. “Follow Tonks, Harry!”
Harry followed Tonks as they dove, heading for a large collection of lights, everything growing larger as they approached. He shivered as he felt the air warm, but not by much, his hands still stuck to his broom. Harry landed behind Tonks as they arrived on a small patch of grass in front of a circle of houses. They were very torn down, windows broken and trash on the streets.
Any attempts to ask questions were hushed and Moody stuffed a scrap of parchment into his hands. “Read this Potter and memorize it fast,” he said.
Harry read the scrap: The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, when Moody snatched the parchment from his hand and set it alight.
Moody then instructed, “Now Potter, think carefully about what you just read.”
Harry recited the sentence in his mind and, to his shock, a house started squeezing itself out between numbers 11 and 13. Before long, a building was standing in front of the small group of witches and wizards.
Moody pushed everyone into the house before a word could be murmured. It was quiet and dark when they entered, but as the ex-Auror shut the door, Tonks tripped on a trunk-like umbrella stand. And all of a sudden, the lights went on and the screaming began.
Smiling after a refreshing night’s sleep, the black haired teenager showered and dressed. He tried brushing his hair, but gave up after ten minutes with no change. Shrugging, Harry left the bedroom and tiptoed downstairs, past the sleeping portrait of Mrs. Black.
The night before had been interesting to say the least. When Tonks had gone through the foyer and tripped over the umbrella stand, she had woken Mrs. Black’s portrait. The vile woman started screaming curses at everyone. Sirius was the one who saved them from the painting by slamming the curtains shut, yelling back at his mother.
Sirius then introduced the portrait, something that still brought amusement to the Muggle-raised Harry. Unfortunately, their reunion did not last very long. Numerous adults—Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore to name a few—had ushered the wayward Sirius and Harry’s guard into the basement. Mrs. Weasley pushed him up the stairs, telling him to go to the bedroom on his left.
Lost as the adults swarmed out, Harry trudged upstairs with his enlarged trunk. Yawning, he opened the door to the bedroom. And was immediately suffocated by brown hair.
“Hello Hermione,” Harry tried to say through the tangles of bushy brown hair in his face, but it came out more like, ‘Hmmo Hmiome.’
“Hermione, get off of him! He can’t breathe,” Ron laughed as he and Ginny removed the older girl.
She blushed, “Sorry Harry.”
“’S fine Hermione,” Harry said, shrugging.
Ginny took the chance to lightly embrace Harry and Ron shook his hand. The teenagers sat down on the two beds, Harry’s damp cloak drying on his trunk. An uncomfortable silence spread over the group before Harry broke it.
“So, what’s the Order of the Phoenix?” he asked, a frown marring his face.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. “It’s a secret organization Dumbledore started during Voldemort’s first rise,” Hermione explained.
“And now that he’s back,” Ron continued. “Dumbledore’s starting it up again.”
“We’re trying to find out what’s going on, but they won’t tell us anything. Fred and George aren’t even allowed and they’re of age!” Ginny growled.
“But what do you know?” asked Harry, trying to grab for information.
If he was to prevent Voldemort from figuring out about the cancer, then he had better know what was happening. His anger had started to grow, overriding his weariness, when his friends stayed silent.
It eased when Ginny spoke up. “Whenever a meeting starts, all the adults rush into the basement. When we try to listen in on the really important ones, Mad-Eye wards the room. All we know is that Snape is the spy and Voldemort is after something really important. The Order members are guarding whatever it is.”
Harry thought for a moment. While he could use Snape to plant information in Voldemort’s ears, he didn’t know how the mysterious ‘something’ fit into it all. He just hoped that it would not jeopardize his plan.
Nodding to himself, Harry was about to ask another question, when twin pops rung throughout the room.
“Harrykins! Lovely to see you it is,” said the twins in conjunction.
“Nice to see you too!” Harry greeted Fred and George.
“We have wonderful news, young comrades in mischief,” said Fred, holding up a flesh-colored string.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny scrambled to join the twins.
“It’s not warded?” Ginny asked excitedly.
“Not at all, dear sister,” said George.
“Great!” Ron exclaimed.
The group dashed down the stairs as quietly as possible, Harry vaguely guessing the reason for their excitement as he followed. He felt his sleepiness ebb in the rush of the moment.
“Fred and George invented them,” Ginny whispered when she noticed his looks. “They’re called Extendable Ears.”
When the group of teenagers were at the door, Fred and George tentatively sent the string under the door. Holding the other ends up to their ears, they quietly eavesdropped on the unsuspecting adults.
“…Is happening Severus?” Dumbledore’s voice asked.
The silky voice of their potions professor answered back, “I’m not quite sure actually. The Dark Lord has been acting very strange. Besides attempting to go after Potter, he hasn’t ordered other attacks and his meetings are few and far between. And in the last meeting, two days ago, he seemed tired and paler than normal.”
“You think he’s ill?” a male voice asked hopefully.
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. No! They were not supposed to catch on this quickly!
“No you fool,” Snape answered sharply. “The Dark Lord is immortal if you haven’t noticed. It is possible that there was an error in the rebirthing ceremony. Pettigrew was always pathetic when it came to potions.”
Harry nearly let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully that would push them off of his trail.
“Is there anything else Severus?” Dumbledore asked again, cutting off the argument.
“No, Headmaster,” Snape replied.
“Very well. Arthur, how are the watch schedules going?”
“Decently,” the Weasley patriarch replied. “No one has reported seeing anything suspicious yet, so I think we can remain optimistic. I don’t think that Voldemort will ignore the Hall for very long, though.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right Arthur. Thank you,” Dumbledore grudgingly agreed. “Alastor how was the flight over from Surrey?”
Moody grunted and the teens shared an amused look. “Better than it could have been. Potter followed orders like he was supposed to which made everything easier. Was vigilant too.”
Everyone could hear the amusement in Dumbledore’s voice as he asked the next question, “And how did Harry seem to you, Remus?”
There was silence for a moment before the soft voice spoke up, “Tired, but it looked like he had had a long day from the fresh paint covering the fence in the front and the trimmings in the yard waste bin. I suppose he looked quite normal and peaceful—why?”
“No reason Remus,” Harry could hear the lie in Dumbledore’s voice. “Thank you. Does anyone have anything else to report?”
There was silence. “No? Alright then. This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix is dismissed,” Dumbledore announced.
As the scraping chairs against stone indicated the rising adults, the teenagers pulled the Extendable Ears as fast as possible to their hands. Dashing up the stairs, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny ran into the boys’ room without disturbing Mrs. Black. Fred and George used the noise to cover their hasty Apparation.
The four Gryffindors plopped onto the beds gasping in excitement. They giggled with the slight hysteria over getting caught until they could calm down enough to discuss the meeting in whispers.
The group paused, though, when they heard a creak of the stairs. Immediately, Hermione launched into a description of her summer holidays, rattling on and on while Ron and Ginny pretended to be suitably bored. Harry was confused but tried to mask it by looking partially interested in Hermione’s travels.
Harry figured out the reason for the abrupt change in topic when Mrs. Weasley opened the door and announced that the group could come down for a small supper if they wished. Famished, Harry followed the Weasleys and Hermione downstairs to the very kitchen he had crouched in only moments before.
Sitting on the long table near the hearth were Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Mr. Weasley, and Tonks. Harry sat down next to Ron and Ginny, while Hermione sat across from them, next to Remus and Tonks. Dumbledore was sitting at the head of the table, staring down at Harry. Mrs. Weasley set out the plates of steak and kidney pie in front of everyone.
After Harry had eaten nearly half of his meal, he started to feel sleepy again. It was like a wave of exhaustion that had been held off since entering Grimmauld Place had been released to wash over him. But before he could make his excuses and head off to bed, Dumbledore spoke up.
“Well Harry, it is wonderful to see you again,” he said. “I suppose you have many questions?”
“Yes sir,” Harry replied, eager to question his headmaster. “What’s going on? What is Voldemort after? Why…”
Dumbledore chuckled, interrupting Harry with a hand. “Calm down Harry; one question at a time. But as far as answering, alas, I can only say that Voldemort is laying low for now. The Order members are keeping him from doing too much damage while we try to convince Fudge that Voldemort is back,” the older man said. “Not to worry Harry, we will handle Voldemort.”
Harry half expected Dumbledore to look into his eyes. But strangely enough, he did not. Rather, the headmaster gazed at Harry’s forehead. Had he done something wrong, the teen wondered. Harry didn’t say anything and pursed his lips in agitation.
He thought back to Dumbledore’s words and mentally scoffed. Since when had adults ever done the right thing at the right time? In his experience, the only trustworthy adult was Jon, and maybe Sirius. Even then, those two weren’t right all the time. Harry kept from spilling a diatribe to Dumbledore by giving a curt nod to the man and excusing himself from the table. He made sure to thank Mrs. Weasley for the pie before going to bed.
It turned out, Harry thought as he entered the kitchen, that the sleep had done him good. Finally he was thinking clearly and could actually do something other than think of closing his eyes. He looked around, but not even Mrs. Weasley was up—it must have been a late night for them all.
Shrugging, Harry started making breakfast, pulling out the pans, eggs, bacon, and bread. He whistled cheerfully as he prepared the scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and toast. When he had a full spread laid out, including fruit on the side, Harry helped himself and started eating.
As he stretched out for the jam to spread on his toast, he winced when his arm hit the end of the table, creating a nasty bruise. Harry frowned and rubbed at it, but focused on breakfast once more. Although he had nearly stopped waking up with unexplainable bruises everywhere, he still bruised very easily. And, as a result, he noted that he would have to be more careful to prevent more strange bruises, so no one would suspect anything.
That stream of thought led to his next dilemma: how to create a portkey from Jon’s hospital or home to Hogsmeade. They had decided that Harry would sneak out the tunnel in Hogwarts and go to the edge of Hogsmeade, to one of the little inns. He would rent a room and Jon would meet him there.
It was a good plan, they both thought, and with magic, Harry could disguise himself. The only glitch was that people would notice Harry sneaking out every weekend. He figured that he could start a study schedule in the summer, to prepare against Voldemort. That way everyone, especially his friends, would become accustomed to his reclusive-ness on the weekends.
Harry got up and took his dishes to the sink. While he washed them, he thought about telling his friends and family about the cancer. Problem was, he just didn’t know how. Should he tell them individually or together? Who should he tell and when should he tell them? And should he just blurt it out or take it slow?
Harry sighed. He figured that he could tell them individually for the most part—like with Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, and Hagrid. A few others too, like his friends. He owed them that much. Harry thought about telling them after Christmas: he would know what was definitely happening with Voldemort by then and he would have nearly six months left. Plus, it was the right thing to do.
But he just didn’t know how to say it. Hell, it was hard accepting it himself! Cancer wasn’t like catching a cold or falling off a broom. It was difficult, not only for him, but also for the people that loved him. And Harry knew that they loved him.
He remembered how parents of the oncology patients reacted at the hospital when the diagnosis was revealed. They had cried and hugged their children tightly. It was hard for everyone. Harry had seen families stay up all night after a patient’s surgery just to be next to their loved ones. He had seen people cry when they lost someone.
And Harry knew that he had to tell them as soon as he could, and as gently as possible. Christmas, he decided, I’ll tell them at Christmas. Harry just hoped he could cope with his leukemia by then so he could focus on helping his loved ones rather than himself. Sighing again, Harry put the scrubbed dishes to the side and covered the breakfast he made.
He yawned and thought about going back to bed. It sounded like a splendid idea to regain his strength and energy. So Harry trudged up the stairs and plopped back into his bed; Ron snored on, undisturbed by Harry’s exit and reentry. The younger teenager pulled the covers back up to his chin and curled on his side, his breath evening out as sleep took hold.
But the voice came back, scolding this time. “Harry James Potter! Ronald Bilius Weasley! It is past noon. Now, get up!”
Harry groaned and stirred from his bed, blinking blearily at the woman yelling. He yawned and pulled on his glasses to see an irate Mrs. Weasley standing over them. She gave an approving look to Harry as he got out of bed, but Molly frowned as her son lay snoring in his bed. After shaking and prodding him profusely, the Weasley matriarch conjured water and threw it over him.
Ron shot up, gasping and soaking wet. “Whaa?” he mumbled intelligibly.
“It’s time to wake up boys. I’ve made lunch since you skipped breakfast. Now I want you up, or you won’t sleep tonight!” Molly said before she left the room.
Harry washed up in the sink, seeing as how he had already had a shower that morning. Then he went downstairs—he was hungry again—for lunch while Ron used the bathroom. Before Harry could enter the kitchen, though, he remembered the medicine that he was supposed to take before his midday meal. Cursing, he scooted up the stairs again and stole into the bedroom.
Quickly and as quietly as he could, Harry pawed through his trunk and grabbed the prescription bottles. He doled out the one blue pill, half a white, and the round pink capsule. He held them in his fist and put the bottles away. Before he could swallow them, Ron got out of the shower in the bathroom. Harry cursed mentally and left the room, rushing down the stairs.
Taking a chance, Harry put the pills in his mouth and walked in casually. He smiled to Mrs. Weasley without opening his mouth and grabbed a glass of water. Harry gave a mental sigh of relief as he successfully swallowed the pills with water, stepping past his first hide-the-cancer road block. He was a little daunted by the thought of doing this every day until Christmas.
Harry sat down next to Hermione and Ginny, pulling two sandwiches from the platter and a handful of vegetables from another. He refilled his water and started shoveling his food. Hermione and Ginny looked especially shocked—Harry had never before eaten like a typical teenage boy. He always had consumed meager helpings at most meals. But all of a sudden, he had turned into another Ron: a.k.a. an Eating Machine.
On Harry’s part, he knew that his sudden appetite was thanks to the cancer. Leukemia and tumors were caused by incessantly multiplying cells. When cells multiply, energy is needed. And food is a major source of energy. So in the last few weeks, Harry’s appetite had increased exponentially. At least he had the ‘teenage boy’ excuse to use for that side affect.
Ron walked into the kitchen as Harry finished his third sandwich. He grunted a greeting and started shoveling his own food. The girls rolled their eyes when Ron started talking with his mouth full—Mrs. Weasley smacked the back of his head with her towel for that.
“Mum!” Ron cried indignantly once he had swallowed or choked down the mush in his mouth.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full Ronald. I thought I taught you better manners than that!” Mrs. Weasley said unrepentantly.
Ginny smirked at him and proceeded to chat with Hermione. Harry swallowed the large bite he had taken and smiled at his friend.
“Now kids,” Mrs. Weasley said once the teenagers finished their lunch. “I want you to clean the library before dinner. So be sure to start that soon.”
A choir of ‘Yes mum / Mrs. Weasley’ was heard as the four youths barreled up the stairs. Molly shook her head in bemusement and began picking up dishes from their meal.
Upstairs, Harry was trying his best not to be sick while the group started on the library.
“Imagine all that we could learn by reading these books!” Hermione gushed, pouring over the various tomes. “There must be centuries of knowledge here alone.”
“No such luck Hermione,” Ron said glumly. “Mum had Sirius remove all the interesting stuff weeks ago. All we got are travel guides and stupid books you can find at school.”
The older girl looked outraged at the thought of any sort of book being ‘boring’ or mediocre. Harry and Ginny exchanged a look and sighed; they started on cleaning while Ron and Hermione argued.
The two worked as a team—Harry pulling the books from a shelf and Ginny wiping it down. They’d have Hermione alphabetize them when she was done scolding Ron. Harry took steady breaths, absentmindedly holding the books. He was more concerned about not vomiting in front of his friends. The medications he had taken were doing their job, but also had a tendency to make the person ill.
When he felt himself lose the battle to keep his lunch, Harry asked, “Hey Ginny, I’ll be right back, yeah?”
She nodded and continued with her job. Harry casually strolled out of the room until he could run through the empty hall for the bathroom. There, he proceeded to be sick until his stomach was empty. Harry groaned aloud when he realized that after vomiting everything, he was hungry again.
Harry rinsed out his mouth and flushed the toilet again, thanking magic for permanent air freshening spells. He reentered the library and joined Ginny again, hoping that she would not see his sudden pallor. Luckily, she was too preoccupied with her task and listening to Hermione and Ron’s argument, which had moved from books to ‘Vicky.’
“Uh oh,” Harry said, noticing as tears appeared in Hermione’s eyes.
Ginny winced as she saw Hermione’s hormones take control. She started counting under her breath for Ron to say one of his characteristically stupid comments that would lead to a slap from Hermione. “Three… two… one,” she muttered.
“Well, if you like him so much, why don’t you just go snog Krum already?” Ron yelled.
“Because I love you Ronald Weasley!” Hermione screamed, tears pouring down his face.
Both Ron and Hermione tensed, the latter in disbelief over her own words, the former in shock. In embarrassment, Hermione fled, leaving a struck-dumb Ron, staring.
Ginny and Harry exchanged smirks before Ginny said, “I’ll talk to Hermione, you go to Ron. Maybe we can get them together without using a cupboard, yeah?”
Harry nodded and gave her a pat on the back as they separated, the library forgotten.
“Ron! Ron!” Harry called. When Ron did not stir, he took more drastic actions. “Ron, the Chudley Cannons are here to give you their autographs.”
Harry was shocked when that did not do anything to faze his friend. He had no choice. He went to the bathroom and filled a bucket with water. Making his way back to the library, Harry called his friend’s name one more time. After no reaction, he threw the water at Ron.
“What?” Ron asked, spluttering as water sloshed into his open mouth.
“About time mate,” Harry said, leaving the bucket by his chair. “You’ve been in shock for like, ten minutes!”
“What happened?” Ron asked, still very dazed although less waterlogged.
“You had an argument with Hermione and she told you that she loved you,” Harry said simply, hoping that that wouldn’t toss Ron back again.
“Oh,” Ron said. He paused and then swore loudly.
Harry rolled his eyes and said, “Just hope that your Mum didn’t hear you say that.”
“Yeah, she’d wash my mouth out with soap,” Ron said absently. “Hermione really said that she loved me?”
“Yes mate,” Harry said. “And you stood there like a sack of potatoes.”
“Well what was I supposed to say?” Ron asked with a sarcastic look. “It’s about time. I’ve wanted to get in your knickers for ages!”
“No,” Harry said with a grimace. “And don’t ever say that again—especially in front of me. You were supposed to say ‘I love you too Hermione.’”
“In that case,” Ron said. “I’m doomed.”
“Er, why?”
“Because I’m hopeless with mushy stuff. You know that Harry!” Ron cried. “Even Hermione said I have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Ron, you can do this. If you don’t, some other bloke is going to come and sweep her off her feet; away from you. Do you want another Krum in her life?”
“Krum,” Ron muttered; his eyes narrowed and his big hands curled into fists.
“I thought not,” Harry said with a smirk, knowing that he had gotten a rise out of Ron. “Then go and tell her you love her before dinner. You can snog and make up later.”
“Harry!” Ron cried, a blush tingeing his cheeks and ears.
“Oh, go do it already!” Harry replied, leaving the library. He could tell that Ron had gotten up after him.
But when Harry turned to go downstairs, his friend turned to the girls’ room—to where Hermione was. Just as Ron approached the door, Ginny bounced out. Ron turned green, but stirred up enough Gryffindor courage to enter.
Harry and Ginny met at the top of the stairs and exchanged a smirk and giggles. Heading downstairs, they chatted over their success.
“Hermione was so embarrassed!” Ginny crowed. “I couldn’t believe that anyone could be redder than a Weasley.”
“Well, Ron was in shock for ten minutes. Wouldn’t even bat an eye when I said that the Chudley Cannons were waiting downstairs for autographs!” Harry laughed.
“You’re joking,” Ginny deadpanned, staring at Harry. When he shook his head, still laughing, she joined him. “I never thought the day would come.”
“Neither did I,” Harry agreed. “If all goes well, our ears will be saved loads of pain!”
“Thank Merlin for that,” Ginny said in relief.
The two sat down at the dining table, where Sirius and Remus sat with raised eyebrows.
“What’s going on?” Remus asked slowly, sipping a cup of tea.
“Hermione confessed her undying love to Ron,” Ginny said, smirking.
“And Ron’s just gone in to do the same to Hermione,” Harry added.
Together, the teens concluded, “They’re probably snogging right about now.”
Sirius threw his head back and laughed, while Remus hid his amusement under a hand. Molly chose just then to enter, her cheek smeared with flour, a dishtowel in hand.
“What is so funny,” she asked, raising her eyebrow. “It’s not Fred and George again, is it?”
“No Mum,” Ginny said. “Ron and Hermione are finally getting together.”
“Oh that’s wonderful!” Molly exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “I’m so happy for them.”
“And we’re so happy for our ears,” Harry muttered under his breath. The three at the table, who heard, snorted behind their hands.
“Well, the food is ready, so Harry dear, why don’t you call them down,” Molly asked. “Ginny, come help me with the plates.”
The older lady bustled into the kitchen again. Ginny gave her an incredulous look.
“What does she need my help for?” the witch asked. “She levitates the dishes!”
“Ginny!” Molly shouted. With a shake of her head, Ginny went to help.
“Be right back,” Harry said to Sirius and Remus. Both nodded and waved him off.
He climbed the stairs and entered the girls’ room. Inside he saw a sight that he never wanted to see ever again. Ron and Hermione’s limbs were tangled together as they snogged heavily on one of the beds. It looked like they were trying to swallow each other’s heads.
Harry squealed and shut the door again with a slam. “Dinner’s ready!” he yelled at the door before bolting off to the kitchen. He sat in his seat and tried desperately to get images of Ron and Hermione out of his head.
“You walked in on them didn’t you,” Ginny deadpanned when she saw his face. Harry threw her a confused look. “I had the same expression on my face when I walked in to see Bill swapping spit with his girlfriend when I was six. Trust me Harry, it’s something you’ll never forget.”
Hermione and Ron chose that moment to enter, looking decidedly ruffled and red. Mrs. Weasley also entered and looked around.
“Sirius, Remus, and Ginny, I need your help in the basement for a moment,” she asked.
The adults nodded and Ginny followed them out, shooting looks at the embarrassed trio. They were gone for a few moments before Mrs. Weasley’s head popped out again.
“Sorry Harry; but Ron, Hermione, I need a couple extra pairs of hands,” she said with a sheepish look on her face.
Ron and Hermione exchanged dubious looks but followed the matriarch into the basement as well. Harry sat alone at the table, twiddling his thumbs in the silence. His stomach rumbled and he wondered when his friends and the adults would come back. He was starving! After about three minutes or so which seemed like forever, Mrs. Weasley came back. Alone.
“Harry, dear, so sorry, but can you give me a hand? It seems we need one more person,” she asked politely.
Harry, relieved to be doing something else besides sitting at a table, jumped up readily to help. He followed her into the basement, wondering why the house had to be so dark. All of a sudden, though, it seemed like all of the lights, even those from the kitchen had gone out. Harry couldn’t see Mrs. Weasley’s back in front of him, and he felt around for her.
“Mrs. Weasley?” he called out cautiously, wondering what was going on.
And in an instant, the lights popped back on and Harry saw a crowd of people in front of him.
“Surprise!” they yelled with exuberance.
Harry’s jaw dropped. He was such an idiot—they had thrown him a surprise birthday party. A smile bloomed on his thin and pale face, and the crowd cheered. The whole Weasley clan was there, along with Professor McGonagall and some of the people that had picked him up from the Dursleys, like Tonks and Shacklebolt.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny moved forward, clapping him on the back and wishing him happy birthday. The adults then swarmed him, wishing him well and shaking his hand. Colorfully wrapped presents had their own corner of the room, while a large table was on the opposite wall, groaning with the many dishes placed on it.
After the initial wave of birthday wishes, everyone settled down to enjoy Mrs. Weasley’s cooking. Harry sat and chatted with his friends, helping himself to grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, and loads of treacle tart.
When the party was in full swing, Mrs. Weasley brought out the cake. It was a huge chocolate cake with chocolate icing around the sides. It was shaped like a snitch, and even colored like one! ‘Happy Birthday Harry!’ was scrawled on the top, with fifteen candles all arranged in a row.
Molly put the cake in front of Harry and everyone gathered around. They sung the birthday song and he beamed in joy.
Finally, Ron called out, “Make a wish, Harry!”
Harry thought, wished silently, and blew out all of the candles in one breath. The crowd cheered and Mrs. Weasley served the cake.
It was at that moment, when everyone was eating cake, and having a merry time, that Harry knew. His fifteenth, and possibly last birthday, was the best one he ever had. He took another bite of chocolate cake and rejoined the conversation with his friends.
Oh, by the way, in the last chapter, Dumbledore sent that message to Aunt Petunia/Harry to throw the Death Eaters/Ministry into thinking that Harry was staying at Privet Drive for almost the whole summer in case it was intercepted. That is why Voldemort planned to attack/kidnap Harry and Dumbledore had the latter picked up right away.
Thank you again and I hope you liked the chapter!