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Harry Potter and the Junior Year Abroad
Things Are Seldom What They Seem
By Ishtar
Chapter Eight
Things Are Seldom What They Seem
The following weeks were hectic ones, since there was so much for Harry to do prior to his departure for America.
One of the primary things was for Harry to learn how to do the Wizzywig Charm from Mr. Weasley, who proved to be a master of it. It was one of the most important spells he used in covering up the effects of magic in Muggle environs. "It's especially easy to use on Muggles," Mr. Weasley said, "because they're so inclined to believe what makes sense in terms of their own experience. If you give them a few details to make a plausible explanation for something, their own minds will fill in the gaps. It works on Wizards, too, but generally best if the wizard has been primed. For example, when you opened your trunk in front of the police officers, you saw what they saw, Tonks' Wizzywig. But she had already told you what to expect. What do you think would have happened had she not told you about the spell?"
"Umm… I'd have seen my real books and things, maybe. Or maybe I'd have seen the illusion and the reality both?"
"Under the circumstances, what would probably have happened would be that you saw the Wizzywig version first, then realize it could not be right — because you know what's in the trunk, you see — and then the spell would have broken, for you, anyway, and you would have been able to see what was really in the trunk. This might have made it difficult for you to react properly around the police, so it's best that you saw what they saw at the time. If you know there's a Wizzywig in place, you can try to break it intentionally.
"The really crucial element of the Wizzywig is the skill of the wizard in choosing the right images, visualizing them clearly, and then impressing them into the spell. So the power of your imagination and your breadth of knowledge is important. Tonks is extremely good at this, most likely because she has had so much experience willing her own features to take what form she wants them to. She's also good at setting the spell on an item so it will go off later. Not everybody can set triggers like that. If she'd wanted, she could even have made it permanent on your trunk. But that wasn't necessary under the circumstances. Making a spell stick permanently is rather difficult. By the way, who put that locking charm on your trunk? That's a nice piece of work."
"Umm. I did."
"Really? I didn't think they'd taught permanence or repeatability yet."
"They didn't. I wanted to fix it so Dudley or Uncle Vernon couldn't get into the trunk, and I just cast the lock spell on it. I knew how I wanted it to be, and, um … now I don't remember exactly how I did it. I didn't know it was supposed to be hard."
"And now I've jinxed you and you probably won't be able to do it again until you learn the 'right' way to do it. That's the way it happens with spontaneous magic use sometimes."
For a while, nothing was as it seemed around the Weasley home. Harry practiced on such practical things such as a bowl with a couple of raisins in it, until he could make it look like a bowl full of fruit. He knew he'd gotten it right when he put the bowl on the kitchen table and Ron grabbed for an apple. The look on his face when he got a raisin was priceless.
Now that the school letters had come, it was also time for a trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies. The first stop was Gringott's, where Mrs. Weasley withdrew the funds necessary for her family's shopping and Hermione changed her Muggle money for Galleons. Harry approached the main desk and had a talk with the goblin there. When they left the bank, he had refilled his money bag from the vault, and also had a little greeny-gold card with a picture of a dragon stamped on it, and his name in raised lettering.
Ron saw him inspecting it before tucking it into his money bag. "What's that, Harry? Some kind of dragon scale?"
"Looks kind of like it, doesn't it? No, it occurred to me I might need some money while I'm in America, and I'm pretty sure they don't use galleons and sickles over there. So I asked about changing some money. Instead, they suggested I get this. The Muggles have little machines all over the place where you can get money, and then it's withdrawn automatically from your bank account. They use cards like this so the machines know whose account to take the money from. Gringott's have started doing the same for wizards who have to travel among Muggles for a while. This way I'll be able to get American money if I need it."
"Wow. Don't tell Dad, he'll spend an hour getting you to tell him all the details."
Harry bought all the books in Flourish & Blott's that he would have done had he taken the regular course load. Hopefully he'd have time to go over them in between times while he was away. According to the course information, in America most of the books were owned by the schools and loaned to the students during the year, but if he found them useful, he could buy copies there.
He found himself wandering about aimlessly in the stationery store while Ron, Ginny and Hermione were picking up rolls of parchment, bottles of ink and spare quills. Again, most of the supplies he'd be needing in America were different. They used paper, not parchment, there, and normal Muggle pens and notebooks would suffice. Then he spotted a display of familiar pink leather-covered books. They came in pairs bound by a ribbon, and sported "Messages to My Love" written in loopy handwriting on the covers. Struck by an inspiration, Harry picked up two sets and brought them to the Specialty Orders desk, and had a whispered conversation with the clerk there.
Afterwards it was a trip to Madam Malkin's for new robes; for once Ron got an entire new set, as he had now become taller than all the other males in his family except Charlie, and Charlie's old robes had long since been shortened and worn out by Percy, Fred and George. Ron needed new things, and with advice as to styles from Hermione and Ginny, he was rather pleased with the way he looked. "Very sharp," said Harry, who was outfitting himself with all new robes as well. Ron preened. Ginny needed new robes too; when she was younger, hand-me-downs of the boys' school robes had sufficed, but two years ago she had begun to need styles more obviously cut for girls. Last year they had been second-hand. This year she got all new ones, including a new formal.
Harry sprang for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron; he knew that with Fred and George out of school, the Weasley finances would stretch farther, but he still saw that pinched look around Mrs. Weasley's eyes at Madam Malkin's, and resolved to relieve what strain he could from the family that had been so good to him. Treating everybody to lunch would be a start.
While Mrs. Weasley took Ron, Ginny and Hermione off to the apothecary for potion supplies, Harry found himself free to do a little browsing of his own. He looked longingly into the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, but he had too much to do to allow himself to go in there. The two weeks he had spent living in Diagon Alley a few years ago had given him a very thorough knowledge of the stores there. Even though he hadn't been interested in some of the shops then, he knew where they were, and he needed one of them now. Shortly he entered Rincewind's Luggage Emporium. He desperately needed a new trunk, since his old one was a Muggle trunk with non-expandible insides, and he would not have enough room in it for all his books now, much less his clothes.
Rincewind's was almost as crowded as some of the other stores in the Alley, much to his surprise. Most of the patrons seemed to be the parents of first-years, with their children in tow, picking out school trunks. Harry joined the group looking over the display. His Muggle clothes attracted some attention; his scar attracted more. He sighed; he didn't think he was ever going to get used to it. The trunks resembled the ones he had seen the fake Professor Moody use two years before. The very simplest had one keyhole, then there were more expensive ones with two, three, or five keyholes. Harry inspected the least expensive trunk more closely. It looked like an ordinary Muggle trunk, and had a display of books in it. It didn't seem to fit any more in it than Harry's own trunk. He pulled out some of the books. There was another row under them. And another row under that. He gave some of the books a shove, and they moved aside to reveal some boxes which contained clothing. Very nice, Harry thought. The thing must be about four times bigger on the inside than the outside. He stacked the books back inside the trunk.
"May I help you, sir?" A youngish clerk in sensible dark robes came up to him.
"Yes, I'm looking for a replacement school trunk. My old one is sort of … small … for my current needs."
"Well, the one you're looking at is our most popular model, a one compartment trunk with four times normal space. Cedar lining is standard, separate clothing boxes and bookracks optional. It's an excellent first trunk for school use. But perhaps you would be interested in something roomier?" The clerk, who had noticed his scar but was steadfastly refusing to look at it, showed him all the rest of the trunks. As Professor Moody's trunk had, each keyhole opened onto a separate trunk space. Apparently they could be ordered with bookshelves, chests of drawers, and wardrobes that would pop up from inside the trunk. The five-space model had an optional camp bed which would fold out in case an impromptu nap was desired. Unfortunately, the bed was sized for a child or medium-height adult, and was just a little too short for Harry. He was seriously considering the five-spacer, when the clerk made another suggestion. "The ones you've been looking at, sir, are school trunks. They are intended for children and infrequent travellers. We have a full line of adult trunks as well. They're only a little larger on the outside, stand up to the abuse of travel better, and have a variety of additional options. Would you like to see one of those?"
Soon Harry was the proud owner of a five-compartment dragon-leather trunk with enough bookshelves to hold all his books so far and then some, with a broom rack mounted to the side of the shelves, a full wardrobe with storage space for all his robes, toiletries, and linens if he wanted to bring his own sheets, blankets and pillows with him, a combination writing desk/potions table with lab cabinets and fold-down chair, and a full-size bed. The fifth space was left empty for general storage, and Harry rather thought he would use that one for showing the good folks at Customs. He would just fill it up with real textbooks, laundry and stinky socks. The best Wizzywigs, he had learned, were often the simplest. The trunk had a handle at one end and wheels at the other to make it easier to pull. He had discovered that, had he been willing to pay for it, he could have had a self-powered trunk with a bedroom suite including Jacuzzi, but it was expensive and he still hadn't gotten around to finding out exactly how much was in his vault at Gringott's. He didn't want to risk finding that he had blown a substantial portion of his inheritance on a trunk, even if one could live in it. The customizing would take a day or two, and the finished trunk would be delivered to The Burrow. While he was at it, Harry also invested in a leather belt and belt pouch in which he could keep wallet, wand, money pouch, passport, and sundry personal needs, and a leather book bag with interior pouches for supplies and a large main pouch for textbooks. Like the trunk, it was much larger on the inside than out.
Harry considered his personal list. Most of the things he needed now were going to be Muggle things; he should probably make a separate shopping trip for those with Hermione and maybe Ron, who might enjoy a trip into the Muggle side of London. He was thinking of getting some special gifts for the Weasleys, and Hermione of course, to say "thank you" before he left, but those would probably be better obtained on the separate trip, also. He made a quick dash into Quality Quidditch Supplies for refills for his broom maintenance kit, and then back to the stationers' to pick up his special order. Hedwig needed a new cage to replace the one Dudley had mangled; he couldn't take her with him, so he was going to be loaning her to Hermione this year. He thought she understood, and just hoped she wouldn't miss him too much. He stocked up on owl treats to assuage his guilty feelings about it. Then it was back to the apothecary, to find with relief that the Weasleys had only been waiting for him a few minutes.
Harry's second shopping trip was a few days later, with Ron and Hermione to help. By this time, he'd gone through his entire wardrobe and thrown away most of the things he'd worn while with the Dursleys. Most of them were Dudley's castoffs anyway. That left him with the new things Mrs. Weasley and the Grangers had gotten him, and that wouldn't be enough to see him through a year in the United States.
The documents sent to him about the trip said that he and the other students would be expected to wear their regular Hogwarts school robes during class periods and for any official school functions, since they were representing their school, but that they were permitted to wear the clothes of their choice during free times and on weekends — Muggle clothing was recommended. Harry had always preferred to wear Muggle clothing under his robes anyway, since he, like many of the Muggle-born children, did not regard robes as proper clothing, the way wizard-born children did. He'd seen Ron put his robes on directly over his underwear in the mornings and be perfectly comfortable, but Harry didn't feel fully dressed if he did that. Accordingly, his robes were sized a little larger to go over shirts and trousers.
The problem was that since Harry had never been allowed to choose his own clothing before, he had no idea what he should wear. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione spent a while counting his socks and underwear (which he found extremely embarrassing) and making a list, and then Ron, Hermione and Harry headed into the City for some shopping. By the time they returned, weary and laden down with packages, Harry had had a haircut (though he knew from experience that it would look good for about one day and then be back to normal) and been transformed into a rather preppy looking young man indeed, for during the week, with multiple pairs of nice slacks, button-up shirts, jackets and conservative ties, and he also had several pairs of new jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and some new trainers for the weekends. Combined with what he already had, that would get him through, though he would have to buy a heavier coat once he was in the United States. He was going to be in Minnesota until Halloween, in Massachusetts until Christmas, and in New York City for the Christmas break, and would need something warm for then. Afterwards it was south to New Orleans for the late winter and on to San Francisco in the spring, and he wouldn't need warm things in either of those places.
He picked up a generous supply of writing supplies, notebooks, pens, pencils and the like, at a stationers', and the used books and things he would need to disguise his trunk. He added some fiction that he'd been thinking about reading: a few classics, a few J.T. Edson westerns, even a science-fiction book called Stranger in a Strange Land, just because he identified with the title. For his copious spare time. Yeah, right.
With Ron and Hermione's help, he had also picked out gifts for the Weasleys, and had actually managed to get gifts for them right under their noses. And when they got home to the Burrow, he found his new trunk had been delivered. All in all, it had been an extremely satisfying day.
It was only when he and Ron started transferring his things from his old trunk to the new one, making piles of books and clothing to go in the different compartments, that he suddenly realized that the pictures and things he had hidden were still there, and when he checked he found that they had been disturbed during the clothes-counting. This meant that either Mrs. Weasley or Hermione (or, horror of horrors, both of them) might have seen them. He slammed his trunk shut and sat on it.
"I am dead. I am so dead. Either your mother's going to kill me, or Hermione is. Maybe both of them."
"What did you do?" asked Ron as he haphazardly stuffed Harry's new t-shirts into a drawer.
"I forgot I had some stuff at the bottom of my trunk that … that I didn't particularly want anyone else to see. Particularly not girls."
"Really? Anything interesting? 'Cos I've got some cool magazines I got from Fred and George, if you want to swap."
"This isn't that kind of stuff. Well, maybe some of it is," he admitted, thinking of the broomstick picture. He told Ron about the mail he'd been receiving.
"You've been getting fan mail? Bloody hell, all I got was a letter from a girl who saw me in the background of one of your Daily Prophet pictures and wrote to recommend a freckle remover."
"At least she noticed you and thought about you as a human being. That's ten times more flattering than what I'm getting. The ones that write to me aren't interested in Harry Potter, just The-Boy-Who-Lived. It's like I'm a movie star or something. They don't know me at all, they just know the image."
Ron considered it. "Okay, I can see that. Although I wouldn't mind getting a little fan mail of my own. Just a little, to see what it's like. Can you show me some of what you've got, anyway?"
"Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. I may ask your dad what to do about this before I go. But you are not, repeat NOT to tell Fred and George about this." Harry flipped his trunk open again and pulled out his bundle of pictures.
"My lips are sealed." Ron flipped through the collection. "Hey, these are some nice looking girls! Any of 'em live around here? Maybe we could get dates … wow!" He'd reached the Genevieve picture.
"Yeah, wow. She sent it with these," said Harry, spreading out the nightie on the bed and tossing the book onto it. "She wants me to be her boyfriend or something."
"Or something," said Ron, looking pointedly at the nightie.
"I'm flattered as all hell, but what do I do? I don't want to be her boyfriend. I don't even know her. But I don't want to hurt her and I don't want to encourage her either."
"That's a Dad question, all right. What's this last? Holy …" Ron whistled at the broomstick picture, and Harry flushed. "Okay, I can see where that one is seriously embarrassing. I'm glad it's in your luggage and not mine; I'd never hear the end of it." But Harry could tell from the tone of his voice that he sort of wished it were in his luggage. He snatched it back while Ron was still trying to memorize it.
"Harry, you must be the only sixteen year old in all of Britain, Wizard or Muggle, who wouldn't want that kind of attention."
"Well, I don't. It's not like it's because of anything I did to earn it, because I could do anything really well or anything. It's because of this," he said, poking himself in the scar with two fingers. "It's all because of this. I have to stay with the Dursleys and get starved to death, my godfather is dead, I get beaten to a pulp, I keep almost getting killed on a regular basis and my friends do, too, oh yeah, and I get to try to be a murderer in the next few years, all because of this." By now, Harry was angrily pacing the small room. "Don't envy me, Ron. Don't ever envy me."
Ron's eyes were huge. "You get to what?"
"Sorry, forgot you didn't know that last. That's what that stupid Prophecy was all about last June. Either I kill Voldemort or he kills me. Murderer or victim, one hell of a choice. He's fifty years older than me and more powerful to boot. What do you think the outcome is likely to be?" He sat down wearily on his old trunk and put his face in his hands. "I don't know when it will be or if there's any time limit on it. It could be this year, it could be when I'm forty. But if I was him, I'd want to take me on as soon as possible, before I knew enough to stop him. I never know when I wake up if I'm going to be alive to go to sleep that night."
"He can't kill you. We won't let him."
"That's a nice thought. But I see it every night in my dreams, the killing field and the bodies sprawled across it … the blood pooled black in the moonlight … and the voice whispering, telling me it's all my fault, that I didn't know enough to stop it … and then the green light coming out of the dark and I stand and take it because everybody I love is already dead …"
Ron sat next to him and put an arm around him. "Do my parents know about this?" he asked.
"About the dreams, no, and I don't want them to," he said fiercely, remembering what Mrs. Weasley had said the previous summer after the boggart incident at Grimmauld Place. "Promise me you won't tell them about that. There's nothing they can do about it and it would only worry them. Promise!"
Stammering before Harry's intensity, Ron promised.
"About the other, they may know. Dumbledore would have told them before they took me in … or … wait, he doesn't have such a good track record on telling people things, does he? Your Dad said they knew the odds, but …" The boys stared at each other, then charged down the stairs, jostling each other madly.
Mr. Weasley was working on papers on the kitchen table, but took the time to listen seriously to what Harry and Ron had to say. "So that's what the Prophecy was, eh? No, Dumbledore never told us what it was; said it was up to you since it was about you, and you'd come to us when you were ready. We've always known you were target number one though, just not why. Damned cryptic things, Prophecies."
"I thought it was clear enough," said Harry.
"On the surface, yes, but think it through. Here," he put his finger on the scroll where he'd written down the Prophecy as Harry recited it. "'For neither can live while the other survives.'" It would seem to be fairly direct, but it's also obvious that both of you are, in fact, living and surviving at this very moment. Therefore it cannot be true on the face of it, and we must find another way to interpret it. Also, the first line … 'The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…' It doesn't say 'kill.' Not there, anyway. So the possibility is there that you might overcome him, defeat him in some way, and that the both of you live on for years until a final confrontation."
"Or not."
"Or not, and that's why we don't rely on Prophecy to tell us what to do. Prophecy is notorious for being totally unclear except in retrospect. Do you know the famous Prophecy about the Persian Empire? No?" Mr. Weasley went out into the living room and returned with a dusty book, thumbing through its pages and muttering to himself. "… don't know what's being taught in Divination these days … Ah. Here we are. Way back when, Muggles believed in Prophecy fully as much as Wizards now do. Maybe more so. Many examples of them are recorded in Muggle history books. There used to be a temple of the god Apollo at a place called Delphi, and the priestesses there were often consulted for Oracles. As you can imagine, they were probably right about as often as Sybil Trelawney is. But when you add up those occurrences over the centuries, a reputation develops. Anyway, the Lydian King, Croesus — yes, as in 'richer than' — that Croesus — was making a great alliance to go to war against the Persians, and he consulted with the Oracle to try to find out in advance whether he would be successful. The Oracle said, 'You shall destroy a powerful empire.' Croesus understood that to mean he would be successful in destroying the Persian Empire, so off he went to war. And Cyrus the Great of Persia led his armies out and soundly defeated the Lydians, and it was Croesus' own empire which was destroyed." Mr. Weasley paged through the book to a later point. "Then there were the several Prophecies Shakespeare recorded in MacBeth. Oh, yes, that was true. Nowadays we think of the Scottish Play as just a piece of theatre, but back then it was political propaganda, and although Shakespeare was a Muggle, he obviously knew of a set of much older Prophecies which were actually made by Scots Seeresses. The Secrecy statutes were enforced less stringently back then, you know. Shakespeare's patron, King James I, traced his ancestry back to Banquo, who was the predicted father of kings. The actual slayer of MacBeth met some very specific Prophecied requirements as well. The play established the divine right of the Jacobite kings to rule, for both Muggles and Wizards. There are many further examples. I'm not even going to get into the Prophecies which have made their way into Muggle religions over the centuries."
Mr. Weasley closed the book and picked up the copy of the Prophecy again. "Part of the problem here is that this Prophecy has been locked away and was never properly analyzed. It seems straightforward, but it isn't really. We don't even know, for sure, if it even relates to this conflict — we assume that because it was spoken in the reign of a Dark Lord, that Dark Lord must be the one spoken of — but maybe it isn't. That's a common logical fallacy. Maybe it refers some other Dark Lord a century from now. Neither your name, Harry, nor You-Know-Who's, are mentioned specifically. Your birthdate is mentioned, but that's not a direct connection to you, and he's totally unconnected. Every Evil Magician since Mordred has fancied himself a Dark Lord — the title is practically generic now. I admit, that's a long shot — everything that's been happening indicates that it does mean this conflict, but it's still a possible consideration."
"So the Prophecy doesn't mean I have to kill him or else he'll kill me?"
"Maybe, maybe not. I think a lot of it depends on how he would interpret it if he knew what it said. He certainly went to great lengths to get it last year, and failed, so he's still in the dark. Unfortunately, he would probably interpret it in the simplest way, as you did: the kill or be killed scenario, which does mean he would be even more intent on coming after you than he is now. So it's best that he not know what exactly the Prophecy says. But, you know, since the Prophecy also implies that the only way either of you can die is at the hand of the other — if he really wants to be immortal, all he has to do is keep you far away from himself and not provoke you. And conversely, there's nothing else that can kill you except him. Until the Prophecy is fulfilled, anyway. We don't know what happens beyond that point. Theoretically, if you do kill him, you might be immortal. Although I certainly hope not."
"Why wouldn't being immortal be a good thing?" asked Ron.
"Think about it, Ron. Would you want to live on forever after your family and friends died of old age? Possibly outlive the human race?" asked Harry.
"Oh. I guess not."
"And that shows that you're smarter right now than You-Know-Who is. Not only does he want to rule over the Wizards of Britain, he also is seeking immortality. And if he thinks he can get it by killing Harry …" Mr. Weasley shook his head sadly.
Harry took his glasses off and rubbed his forehead. "This is making my head hurt."
"But you see why the Prophecy is not dependable. A full semantic and logical analysis would take months, should have been done years ago, and probably wouldn't leave us much better off than we are right now, unfortunately. Given that it should remain known to as few people as possible, I don't dare run it past the very people who would be most qualified to analyze it. Molly and I can go over it, of course. Ron knows about it now and I think you should probably also tell Hermione. But it shouldn't go beyond that. The more ways a secret is shared, the more ways there are for it to be exposed."
0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry did not sleep well that night. It was almost as if mentioning the dreams to Ron gave them free rein in his head.
Helplessly, he rocketed from scenario to scenario, seeing his friends dead or tortured, seeing the survivors turn away from him in disgust because he had failed. Some of the dreams were just flickers of images, like one of Luna fallen, with ravens pecking at her eyes. Others lasted longer, as he ran helplessly through a dark forest pursued by Death Eaters. Finally, he found himself standing at the peak of a hill beneath the sliver of a New Moon. Ron lay still and lifeless to Harry's right, eyes turned sightlessly up to sky, and Hermione sprawled face down just beyond him. Ginny Weasley and part of one of the twins lay motionless to his left. The stars gleamed cold above him, and a fire burned before him. On the other side of the fire stood Voldemort, the red flame illuminating the pale face but not touching the black pits of his eyes. One skeletal hand lifted up, and Harry saw that it held a huge serpent skin — the shed skin of Nagini, Voldemort's familiar. "The Serpent always renews itself," his voice hissed. "You thought you could defeat me? The Serpent is immortal!" Voldemort flung the dry skin down into the fire, and the flames turned black and roared up. The Dark Lord leapt into the fire and was consumed, but his laughter still rang out across the hill, and after a moment a huge serpent shot up out of the flames, arching across the midnight sky like an evil rainbow. The laughter rang ever louder, and Harry spun. The serpent was heading right for him, its mouth open, huge fangs gleaming white and dripping venom, and he cowered before it. It swept down on him, wrapped its coils around him, and the fangs pierced him with unearthly cold, and he screamed …
He was on the floor beside his bed, tangled in a twist of constricting sheets. Ginny Weasley and Hermione both stood at his door, their eyes wide, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley just behind them. He could hear multiple pairs of feet on the stairs as Ron and possibly the twins pounded down. His heart thudded so loud it threatened to drown everything else out, and he swore he could still feel the cold tearing through his chest. Finally the tableau broke as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley pushed past the girls and pulled him up off the wooden floor, untwisting the sheets so he could move again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harry whispered, his eyes still unfocused, still seeing the bodies on the hilltop as well as the real world. "Ginny, Ron … I didn't mean to let him kill you …" The older Weasleys helped him into the bed as Ron pushed into the room.
"Is it usually this bad, son?" Mr. Weasley asked Ron quietly while Mrs. Weasley tucked Harry back in.
"No. He gets these a couple of times a week when we're at school, but this is the worst I've seen. He usually snaps right out of them." Ron grasped Harry's hands. "He's ice cold!"
Mrs. Weasley patted Harry's cheeks lightly until he started to come out of it. "Ginny, Hermione … go down to the kitchen and put up a pot of chamomile tea. Put a little lemon verbena in it, and some honey. He needs warmth. Go. Fred, go with them, you can magic the pot warm faster than the stove can do it."
Harry was now shivering, his teeth chattering as if it was January instead of August. Ron looked up at his mother, then slid into bed with Harry, holding him in his arms to share warmth. Mr. Weasley padded out to the linen closet and got an extra comforter, tucking it around both boys.
By the time Hermione and Ginny were back up with the tea, Harry was sitting up, rather shamefaced about rousing the whole household. "It was just a dream, really. I'm sorry I woke everybody up. Just a stupid dream."
"Sometimes it's just a dream, and sometimes it isn't. Can you remember what it was?"
"N-no. Something about a fire, and a snake. A snake skin. And him, him laughing. I can always hear that, ever since Cedric. He laughs at me all the time."
"Drink your tea, Harry," said Hermione, pouring him a cup. "It'll help keep the nightmares away."
"I'll be okay, really. No need to …"
"Drink. Your. Tea. Or I will be forced to read to you from Hogwarts: A History until you go to sleep."
"And if that doesn't work, I can always wallop you with a Quidditch bat," put in Ginny helpfully.
" 'The female of the species is more deadly than the male,' " Harry quoted. "Tea it is. Ron, pass me that cup."
Soon the soothing tea had Harry nodding again, and Mrs. Weasley removed the extra comforter and made him lie down again. Ron climbed out of the bed and ensconced himself in a chair in the corner. "You go ahead to sleep. I'll watch for a while and wake you if you start to thrash again." The members of the Weasley family and Hermione drifted off to bed again. Ron sat in his chair and watched Harry sleep, and didn't sleep himself until the moon had long since set.