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Grave Days
By Northumbrian

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Category: Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB
Characters:All
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama
Warnings: Death, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 153
Summary: Front page: THE DAILY PROPHET 4 May 1998

WHERE IS HARRY POTTER?

Despite the Official Ministry Statement (published above) we are no closer to receiving an answer to the question on the lips of every witch and wizard in the country. Where is Harry Potter?

It appears that Mr Potter left Hogwarts School early yesterday morning, apparently in the company of his close associates Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. An attractive young Ministry clerk, who did not wish to be named, told The Prophet “He’s at the Ministry, having an important meeting with the Minister. My friends and I saw him. He asked us out to the pub, but we had to turn him down.” This statement is at odds with a leaked report from the Portkey Office, which claims that Mr. Potter has fled the country, travelling to Australia with his companions. When asked about rumours that Mr Potter had been seriously injured and was being treated at a secret location, Acting Minister Shacklebolt said simply, "Nonsense."



Hitcount: Story Total: 115041; Chapter Total: 7402





Author's Notes:

Thanks (in alphabetical order to Amelíe, Andrea and Becca for their comments, corrections and input. Please review. Constructive criticism is always gratefully received.

Grave Notes: Hexworthy is a real place, on the edge of Dartmoor. My description, however, is entirely imaginary. I could not resist using the name. Highgate Cemetery is real, too. People as diverse as Douglas Adams, Karl Marx and Michael Faraday are buried there. If it has a wizards corner, I haven't found it.




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13: Inhumations

Hexworthy’s Cemetery lay in a sheltered valley overlooking Dartmoor. Neat gravel paths criss-crossed their way between cropped grass and granite slabs. Standing on a hillside remote from Hexworthy village, the graveyard was surrounded by trees on three sides. The fourth, open, side presented a panorama across the moors.

The crowded cemetery contained more than a hundred people. Unlike yesterday’s Muggle funeral, today everyone wore formal robes. The mourners stood around awkwardly, waiting for the ceremony to begin. They stood in five distinct groups.

The largest group consisted mostly of redheads. They were the family, the Weasleys and Prewetts. Harry heard Aunt Muriel before he saw her. ‘So that’s Potter, is it?’ Her shrill voice carried clearly across to him. ‘He doesn’t look like much, does he?’

The Minister stood with the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, including Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore’s Army were all present. The chasers, Katie, Alicia and Angelina, were together as always. They were so distraught that they were hardly able to stand. Only Angelina was unaccompanied. Oliver Wood was holding Katie tightly. Lee held Alicia. There were many other former students; most of Fred’s year group had attended. Finally, there were a half-dozen people who Ginny identified as Fred and George’s employees.

Harry looked slowly around the cemetery. Most of the headstones surrounding the freshly dug grave bore the name Weasley. He was standing next to the graves of Bedivere Weasley and his wife Ysolde, both of whom had died over a century earlier.

He thought back to his one and only visit to his parents’ grave and wondered where his own grandparents, and their grandparents, were buried. He knew next to nothing about the Potters and, he thought ruefully, no more about the Evans despite spending the first eleven years of his life with one. He gazed morosely around the graveyard and saw nothing but tombstones and crypts. He shivered. Death was ever present, it was everywhere he looked.

A cool morning breeze gusted down from the moor, bringing with it the sweet sounds of birdsong and the muffled echoes of a herd of wild ponies. He looked up and out into the moorland. A kestrel hovered on quivering wingtips, watching the heather and waiting patiently. He returned his gaze to the graveside. A butterfly, an early cabbage white, fluttered frantically in the wind. It flew in front of the newest headstone, the stone marking what would soon become Fred’s final resting place. The butterfly’s bright white silhouette was in stark contrast to the grey granite slab. The sounds and sights reminded Harry that life, too, was ever present, ever changing, and everywhere he looked.

A tall grey-clad wizard gave a signal and the ceremony began. Harry heard tuts and hisses from several of the Weasley clan when Ginny joined her brothers to lift Fred’s coffin. The low, disapproving murmur was shushed almost as soon as it began, but not before it had affected Molly. Her head drooped and her knees buckled. Her husband whispered something in her ear and she stood straight and glared in the direction of the murmurs. Arthur and Harry glared, too.

As he watched the six surviving Weasley children carry their brother to his grave, tears coursed down Harry’s face. He did nothing to staunch their flow. He could not; he had a woman on each arm. He stood on Molly Weasley’s right, his left arm around her. His right arm was around a weeping Hermione who clung tightly to him, burying her head into his shoulder.

Arthur stood on Molly’s left. On Arthur’s left was Fleur. The black-robed, pale-skinned blonde stood sorrowful and silent, a monochrome vision of grief. She held her father-in-law’s arm tightly. Harry gripped Molly Weasley’s shoulder firmly as she determinedly watched her children. She was shaking with grief and sobbing loudly and uncontrollably. He could feel the tension in Arthur Weasley’s arm as he too supported his wife. Arthur was trying to be strong, but there was no doubting his anguish.

The coffin was lowered slowly into the ground and the Weasley siblings rejoined their parents. Harry released Molly. He and Hermione stepped to one side to allow the surviving Weasley children the opportunity to comfort their parents. They found themselves being dragged back into the family group.

‘You’re both part of this family, too,’ Arthur Weasley reminded them forcefully through his tears.

Harry barely heard the grey-clad wizard’s eulogy to Fred. He was concentrating on supporting Ginny, who was holding him in a painfully rib crushing hug and crying into his chest. He desperately tried to comfort his girlfriend. No-one should have to go through this. All killings were wrong; all killers must be stopped and brought to justice. As he looked at the grieving family, his few doubts about his chosen career vanished. He had been offered the Auror job simply because of who he was. He wasn’t certain that he deserved it, that he could do it. But he must make himself good enough. He must become an Auror.

When the wizard conducting the service finished speaking, George Weasley stepped nervously forwards.

‘I’ve heard people say that losing a brother is like losing a part of yourself,’ George began. ‘I can tell you that it’s worse.’ He moved his hand to the side of his head, where one ear was missing and grinned sorrowfully. No one laughed.

‘Fred was my twin, my friend and my business partner. I wanted to say something funny, something fitting … but I can’t. I can’t think of anything. We were always a double act, and I haven’t worked out how to perform solo yet.’ Molly gave a barking soul-wrenching sob at this admission.

‘Sorry, Fred, I miss you, mate.’ George stopped, sniffed, reached over the grave and pushed a galleon into the prepared hole in the stone. ‘All I can say is; goodbye, Fred, I’ll never forget you.’ He stepped back from the graveside and drew his wand. As one, Dumbledore’s Army followed suit and the galleon was attached to the gravestone by more than two dozen permanent sticking charms.

Ginny stepped forwards and was the first to touch the galleon. The photograph was of a headless young man in maroon robes. He doffed his hat, revealing a laughing Fred Weasley. Ginny grinned through her tears when she saw the image, and winked at Harry. Ron followed and he too left the graveside smiling.

Harry then led the rest of the DA forwards. After gently stroking the Galleon and whispering ‘Goodbye, Fred,’ he returned to Ginny’s side and watched the rest of Dumbledore’s Army file past. Lavender Brown dismissed all offers of help and determinedly levitated her wheelchair until she could reach the galleon unaided.

Once everyone had paid their last respects the grey-clad wizard who had performed the interment ceremony closed the remembrance service and replaced his pointed hat on his head. This was the signal that the funeral was over, that it was time to leave. Harry swallowed hard and looked at Dumbledore’s Army and the Weasley staff members. Most of them were as nervous as he was, but Ginny had assured them all that it would be all right. He pulled out a pointed hat, the DA followed his lead and together, they all solemnly placed headless hats on their heads.

‘Well, really,’ Aunt Muriel snapped. Arthur and Molly gasped. George looked startled for a second before bursting out into peals of almost manic laughter. Bill and Charlie, and even Percy laughed. Arthur and Molly were, unfortunately, incapable of laughter, but they smiled sadly.

‘You sods,’ George shouted as tears streamed down his face. Ginny pulled off her hat and ran to comfort her brother. The rest of the DA followed suit, removing the hats and moving forwards. Harry found himself swept up in the crowd surrounding George.

A whisper hissed its way through the throng. ‘Surround the grave, pass it on,’ Lee Jordan muttered, Harry turned to Parvati Patil and obeyed the instruction, helping the whisper on its way. There were, Harry realised, as he looked around, several non-DA members in the crowd. Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Percy had, of course joined them, as had Oliver Wood, many of the students from Fred’s year and all of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes staff. One of them, a short, skinny young woman, whom Harry vaguely recognised, was staring at him. Harry stared back.

‘Verity,’ Ginny whispered in his ear, as if she was reading his thoughts. ‘I reckon that she fancies you.’

Safely surrounded by his friends, George stepped forwards and tapped Fred’s galleon with his wand. Everyone looked at George expectantly. He looked around. ‘Who’s going to touch it now?’ he asked.

Ginny walked back to the graveside and touched the galleon again. With a pop, she transformed into a giant bright yellow chicken, everyone laughed. Harry imagined Fred watching the scene and laughing, then realised that, thanks to the galleon, he was.

Ginny returned to her normal appearance after a minute, the second that Fred’s laughing image vanished. She walked back to the group and hugged George tightly.

‘I’m a coward,’ George announced to his friends. ‘Fred would have activated the charm before the service, but I know Mum wanted some dignity.’

‘You’re not a coward,’ Ginny told her brother, ‘you care about Mum’s feelings; that’s not cowardice, it’s compassion.’

‘We need to go,’ Bill reminded everyone quietly. They turned away from the grave. It was time to leave for the next funerals.

‘I’d like to invite you all back to The Burrow,’ Arthur said quietly to all of the mourners as everyone gathered at the cemetery gates preparing to leave. ‘We’re holding a wake for Fred at noon. We, like many of you, have another funeral to attend now, and some of us,’ he glanced at Harry, ‘have a third at noon. My sons and daughter-in-law will be at the Burrow to greet you. My wife and I will join you as soon as we can.’

The arrangements for the final funeral of the day, Harry knew, had caused some problems for the Weasleys. They, like many others were attending the noon funeral from a sense of duty alone.

oooOOOooo


Ginny removed her arms from around Harry’s waist, looked around the rapidly filling cemetery and hissed disdainfully. Alongside her, Ron growled and Hermione snarled. Harry followed their eyes and stared at the subject of their contempt. Pale faced and emaciated, Draco Malfoy looked terrified. He was holding something. Under their fierce gaze, he shivered in fear, almost dropping his burden, Teddy Lupin.

‘He’s Tonks’s cousin,’ Harry reminded his friends as he, too, stared at Draco. ‘Stay here, there’s something I want to do.’

Draco Malfoy looked ill. His blond hair was lank and greasy, his cheeks sunken; his always pale skin was the colour of sun-bleached bone. Harry marched determinedly towards him, taking malicious pleasure from the fear obvious in Draco’s bloodshot and dark shadowed grey eyes. Malfoy stood next to his mother. Narcissa, however, was ignoring her son. She was too busy supporting her sister, Andromeda Tonks, who was desperately trying not to cry.

Revelling in Malfoy’s discomfort until the last possible moment, Harry stopped in front of Tonks’s mother. ‘Andromeda,’ he told her, ‘I am so sorry.’

She nodded stoically. Andromeda was reserved and proper. She was determined to suffer in silence. Harry wondered what to do. She was certainly not so tactile a person as Molly. Hugging her was out of the question, he shook her hand.

‘Thank you,’ she mumbled.

Harry turned to Narcissa Malfoy. ‘And thank you,’ he told her. Draco’s mother’s forehead wrinkled in surprise.

‘For what?’ she asked, worriedly.

‘For saving my life in the forest, and for helping Andromeda,’ he told her. Finally, he turned to face Draco, who stepped hastily backwards and stumbled. Harry caught his elbow, steadied the young Death-Eater and suggested, ‘Perhaps it would be best if I carried my godson.’

Draco looked positively relieved. ‘Take him,’ he panicked, almost throwing the sleeping Teddy at Harry. Harry carefully cradled the baby in his arms and looked questioningly to Andromeda Tonks, who nodded her approval. Smiling, Harry carefully walked back to rejoin his friends and family. Molly, Fleur, Ginny and Hermione stepped forwards to meet him.

‘This is my godson,’ Harry told them proudly. ‘Teddy Lupin.’ The women gazed at the tiny bundle in Harry’s arms.

‘May I?’ Fleur asked, holding out her arms.

‘I’d like to hold him myself, for a minute,’ Harry told her.

‘I’m surprised that Malfoy let you take him away,’ Ron muttered. ‘Now there’s nothing to stop us from hexing the slimy git.’

‘Not at the funeral,’ said Hermione softly, in a tone which implied that it would be acceptable to her at any other time.

‘Harry,’ Arthur Weasley murmured, ‘it’s time.’ He nodded to the edge of the cemetery, where the pall-bearers were gathering. Harry looked down at Teddy then looked up hopefully. Fleur was quickest. She took Teddy from him a moment before Ginny and Molly offered. Much to the young Frenchwoman’s amusement, Harry made sure that she was holding him correctly before going to join the other pall-bearers.

‘Where are we, Mr Weasley?’ Harry asked as he looked around the beautiful, heavily wooded cemetery. ‘I thought that we were going to London.’

‘We are in London, Harry,’ Arthur Weasley told him. ‘This is Highgate Cemetery, at least, the wizards’ corner of Highgate. It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Harry agreed, ‘but so is Hexworthy.’

‘It is,’ Arthur admitted, ‘and my bones, and those of my other sons, will lie in Hexworthy some day, I’m sure.’

‘Not for a very long time, I hope,’ wished Harry fervently. Arthur Weasley smiled and patted his shoulder. Harry looked around at his fellow pall-bearers. The signal was given. It was time to begin.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, along with other members of the Order of the Phoenix … and Draco Malfoy … stepped forwards and lifted Tonks’s coffin. Harry watched Malfoy move forward; He’s her cousin, her only male relative, he reminded himself. Then, with Arthur Weasley and more members of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry lifted the second coffin, Remus Lupin’s, and followed.

When Harry and his fellow pall-bearers reached the large grave, they carefully lowered Lupin’s coffin to rest alongside his wife’s. Harry looked into the open pit, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the two phoenix feathers he’d bought especially for the occasion. He stretched out his arm, released them and watched them float down onto the coffins.

Turning away, he noticed the adjoining, recent, grave. He paused in silent contemplation when he read the name, “Edward ‘Ted’ Tonks,” unconsciously pushing his tongue against the back of a re-grown tooth. Realising that he was dawdling, Harry pulled himself from his contemplation and walked across to rejoin the other mourners.

Andromeda Tonks was still being comforted by her sister. Draco had hurried away from the graveside the moment his duty was done. He stood behind his mother, obviously trying to hide. He had good reason; the hostility towards Draco emanating from Dumbledore’s Army was almost tangible. Everyone knew that Draco’s father, Lucius, was still being held in the Auror cells at the Ministry. He was “assisting the Aurors with their enquiries”, according to Kingsley. Harry was extremely grateful for the man’s absence.

Andromeda and Narcissa held each other. As he watched the peculiar family scene, Harry wondered how three sisters could be so different. Bellatrix, he knew, had been buried in an unmarked grave at Azkaban along with her husband and the other dead Death Eaters.

Harry felt a tiny amount of sympathy for Malfoy. Draco had, he realised, been asked to be pall-bearer by Andromeda. It was tradition, as Molly had said, to use male blood relatives. Draco was the only one. He wondered whether Draco had made the decision himself, or whether he was here only at his mother’s insistence.

Harry again murmured his condolences to Mrs Tonks. He tentatively patted the witch on her shoulder. She grasped the front of his robes and buried her face in his chest.

‘Teddy’s in good hands,’ he assured Mrs Tonks when she released him. ‘I’ll keep him until the end of the service, if that’s all right.’

‘Thank you,’ Andromeda Tonks sniffled as she squeezed his upper arm. ‘Thank you for everything. Dora and Remus chose well.’

Harry returned to his family. After yesterday he had hoped that the funerals might get easier. It had proved to be a vain hope. He wiped his face with his handkerchief, astonished that he still had tears left to cry. Ginny was cradling Teddy. She seemed reluctant to release him.

‘Cute little thing, isn’t he?’ she whispered as Harry lifted his godson from her arms.

‘When he’s sleeping, yes,’ he smiled, remembering his first encounter with his godson. ‘He can make a lot of noise, though.’

Harry had initially been nervous about handling the baby, but he had been determined to remove him from Malfoy. Now, as he took Teddy from Ginny, he found a strange sense of comfort in holding and watching the fragile new life created by Lupin and Tonks. He cradled Teddy carefully in one arm. The baby’s back rested on his arm and chest. Teddy’s furry fragile head was cupped gently in Harry’s hand. Harry slipped his free arm around Ginny’s waist. As they listened to the service, he smiled sadly at Molly Weasley. She seemed to have forgotten the service for some reason. She was staring at Ginny, Teddy, and himself.

Teddy Lupin burped softly and began to stir. Harry lifted the six week old baby higher, leaned forwards and kissed his forehead.

‘Cry if you want to, Teddy,’ he whispered. ‘Everyone else is.’

Teddy squirmed and screwed up his face. Harry was convinced that his godson was about to burst into tears. Instead, with a sense of timing that would have made Fred Weasley proud, Teddy waited for a solemn silence, noisily voided his bowels and settled back to sleep with a satisfied sigh. For the second time that day, Harry found himself laughing at a funeral. Then the smell hit him.

oooOOOooo


It was a few minutes after noon. Unlike the earlier funerals there were very few mourners at this bleak, grey Lancashire graveside. A couple of dozen, not several score. The skies were grey. The windless air hung heavy with the threat of a thunderstorm. Harry waited to help the Order of the Phoenix carry out their final duty for the day.

Ginny, Ron and Hermione had all insisted on accompanying him. He had not asked them to attend. In fact, he’d suggested that they stay away, but his friends had refused to let him go alone. Not even all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were attending. All of the Weasley sons, apart from Ron, had gone to The Burrow to receive their guests. Only Arthur and Molly had joined the Order to salute another of their fallen comrades. The only others standing around the grave were Hogwarts’s staff.

He looked around yet another cemetery and shivered. This chill, still graveyard reminded him unpleasantly of Little Hangleton. The signal was given. Harry stepped forward and helped carry another coffin to another grave. He, Kingsley, Arthur and Aberforth were the pall-bearers. He had volunteered for this duty to honour the memory of his mother. He wondered what had motivated the others.

Harry stepped back and watched the other attendees, a much easier task than at the other funerals. Not a tear was being shed. Most people’s faces were a neutral, impassive mask. Some, like Kingsley and Professor McGonagall, managed a look of respect. Others, like Ron and Hagrid, could barely mask their contempt. One, Horace Slughorn, was making no pretence of interest in the service. Slughorn was carefully observing everyone. He had noticed Ginny and Harry’s arrival and was calmly and carefully weighing up the new politics and new relationships. Being seen on his arm, thought Harry cynically, would be good for Ginny if she returned to school.

Harry looked down at the grave once again and wondered. If Dumbledore was right, if death was just the next step, where had Professor Severus Snape gone? Would he meet James and Lily Potter? Could they forgive each other? Harry tried to remember Dumbledore’s words to Sirius and Severus, “I’ll settle for a lack of hostilities,” or something like that. He smiled as he tried to imagine a reunion between his parents and his potions master.

He looked at Ginny thoughtfully. Do I love her that much? he wondered.

Would I be prepared to live a lonely life and protect the son of Ginny and … he sought for someone he hated … Draco?’ He stopped; Ginny and Draco? The very idea of them as a couple was preposterous. What did he feel about Draco? Not hatred, not any more. He wasn’t worth hating, he was pathetic, a beaten bully. He wasn’t and, Harry was convinced, could never be a killer; he would not have killed Dumbledore. But he was a coward who would lie to save his own skin regardless of the consequences. His mother loved him, loved him enough to risk everything to protect him. Would Draco have done the same? He didn’t know. Best forget him.

‘What on earth are you thinking about?’ Ginny whispered, interrupting his thoughts.

‘That I’m not like Snape,’ Harry told her.

‘Why is that funny?’ she asked. ‘First you were grinning, then you frowned.’

‘You’re not thinking of leaving me for Draco, are you?’ Harry whispered, teasing. Ginny looked at him as if he were mad. He had rediscovered in their past few days together how good she usually was at guessing what was on his mind. He stopped paying attention to the service and watched her puzzle out his comment for a few minutes. Finally, he saw enlightenment on her face.

‘Your Mum, Dad, and Snape,’ she whispered. He nodded.

‘Not bloody likely,’ she assured him. ‘Draco Malfoy was not a nice boy, and he is not a nice man. He betrayed his friends to save himself. And he did it more than once. I don’t see how anyone with a brain could trust him. Besides, I’m certain that the only person he has ever loved is called Draco Malfoy, and I get the impression he’s not even very keen on him now.’

Harry snorted with laughter. That’s every funeral today, he thought, but Snape is the only one who wouldn’t have approved.

When Professor Snape’s funeral ended, there was no one to offer polite condolences to. The man had neither family nor friends. Poor, pitiful Severus Snape; everyone simply left his graveside. Most of the attendees (Harry could not even think of them as mourners) were, like Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione, returning to The Burrow to drink to the memory of Fred and Lupin and Tonks. It was unlikely, Harry realised as he watched them all leave, that any of these people would ever return to this bleak, grey graveside.

Harry waited until everyone else had Apparated away before walking up to the grave. His two best friends and his girlfriend were the only others who remained.

‘Goodbye, Professor,’ he said. ‘You didn’t like me, and I didn’t like you, but you saved my life anyway. Thank you. Somewhere, I hope, my Mum and Dad will thank you too.’ He turned to Ginny. She smiled sadly, opened her handbag, and carefully pulled out the flower he’d asked her to conceal. Taking it from her, he silently placed the single red lily on Snape’s grave.

Everyone else, he had publicly remembered. Snape had made it so difficult for anyone to like him that, despite his sacrifice, Harry could not bring himself to publicly thank the man, even when he was dead. Perhaps later.

When he stood, Hermione softly kissed his cheek. Ginny hugged him tightly before doing the same.

‘Well,’ observed Ron, gently placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezing it softly, ‘that was the last of them. Let’s hope that we don’t have to attend any more for a long time.’

‘We won’t,’ Ginny told her brother. ‘You three have put a stop to the killings.’

‘Not soon enough,’ Harry said sadly.

‘You did your best, Harry,’ Ginny said fiercely. Her bright brown eyes flickered from her boyfriend to her brother to his girlfriend. ‘You all did your best.

Harry shook his head.

‘Harry,’ said Ginny carefully, ‘who killed Thorfinn Rowle yesterday? Was it me?’

‘No,’ he protested vehemently, horrified at the suggestion. ‘That was an accident. He fell on his own cursed dagger. You mustn’t feel responsible.’

‘I don’t,’ Ginny told him matter-of-factly. ‘You didn’t kill Snape. You didn’t even kill Riddle, though Merlin knows that you’d have been justified if you had. You mustn’t feel responsible for the deaths Riddle caused. If you do, he’s beaten you. Now, take me home.’

She once again threw her arms around his neck in preparation for Side-Along Apparition. Harry took a last look at the cemetery, grabbed his girlfriend around the waist and left.

oooOOOooo


‘ I’ll be glad when you learn to Apparate, Ginny,’ Ron grumbled at his sister as she again disentangled herself from her boyfriend upon their arrival in the orchard.

‘I won’t,’ Harry grinned as Ginny took his hand.

‘I suppose not,’ chuckled Ron while slipping his arm around Hermione’s waist.

The four young people looked down towards the Weasleys’ home. Arthur and Molly were well ahead of them, ambling slowly down towards their crowded yard.

‘Mum and Dad are holding hands,’ noticed Ron.

‘They often do,’ Ginny told him. ‘I hope that Harry and I are still holding hands with each other when we’re as old as them.’

‘Twice as old as them,’ Harry suggested. Ginny laughed and hugged him.

The weather was much better in Devon than it had been in Lancashire. It was a bright afternoon. Shimmering clouds of mayflies were visible under the apple trees. The yard in front of The Burrow was filled with people. Tables and marquees had been set up. The tables were laden with a cold buffet. The almost musical sound of dozens of muted conversations drifted towards them. Several people were staring up at them.

‘Well,’ said Ron, ‘now you get to meet the family.’

‘We’ve met them before, Ron,’ Hermione reminded him, ‘at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.’

‘No, you haven’t, not really,’ Ginny warned them. ‘At the wedding the family met Barney Weasley and some Muggleborn with skinny ankles.’

‘I think that you’ve got very nice ankles, Hermione,’ Ron observed. ‘Shapely.’

Behind Ron, Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry and pretended to gag. Harry sniggered.

‘She has,’ Ron protested, unaware of what Ginny was doing behind him.

‘What about my posture?’ Hermione asked, smiling at Ron’s compliment. Ron growled.

‘Muriel’s horrible to everyone,’ Ron told her. ‘But it’s not just Muriel you’ll need to watch out for.’

‘Today, it’s everyone,’ Ginny explained with a grim smile. ‘The family aren’t meeting Barney and “the Muggleborn,” they are meeting Ron’s girlfriend and Ginny’s boyfriend. That’s definitely not who they met last time. We’d best all stick together for our own protection.’

‘Shall we go?’ asked Ron.

Hermione grimaced, nodded and pulled Ron towards Harry and Ginny. She took Harry’s free hand in her own.

‘Ready?’ Hermione asked.

‘I suppose so,’ Harry replied. Ginny squeezed his hand; he returned the favour and squeezed Hermione’s too.

‘They’re not all like Muriel,’ asserted Ginny.

‘That’s true,’ said Ron gloomily. ‘Some of them are a lot worse.’

As they strolled slowly down the hill in a ragged line, they were being closely watched by most of the redheads in the yard.
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