READ NOVEL ONLINE Chapter 21: Aftermath
Mr. Weasley woke us up a short while later. He used magic to pack up the tents, and we all left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved us off with a vague "Merry Christmas. "
"He'll be all right," muttered Mr. Weasley quietly, almost reassuring himself. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while. . . and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."
After touching the old leather shoe that is a Portkey, the Burrow appeared in front of our eyes. Its uneven protrusions felt familiar and lived-in, though they would make a physics teacher question reality. No sooner had we reached our destination, Mrs Weasley has ran out of the house with a loud, hysterical cry:
"Arthur - I've been so worried! You said you'd be back an hour ago, I thought..."
She stuttered, stopping before uttering the last few words, flinging her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck.The Prophet fell out of her occupied hand onto the ground. The headline read: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, adorned with a twinkling black-and-white moving photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
After doing the same and fussing over the rest of us, we were allowed into the house. Crammed into the tiny kitchen, Hermione and I went to make everyone tea as Mrs Weasley's hands were shaking non-stop. Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey.
Bill handed his father the newspaper and scanned the front page along with Percy.
"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders. . . culprits not apprehended. . . lax security. . . Dark wizards running unchecked. . . national disgrace. . . . Who wrote this? Ah. . . of course. . . Rita Skeeter. "
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she accused us of wasting time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -"
"Do us a favor, Perce," said both Fred and George, yawning, "and shut up. "
"I'm mentioned," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article. "Not directly in name, though."
He read out the article: "If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen."
Mr. Weasley sighed in exasperation, dropping the paper disinterestedly. "Well, no wizard were hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods... I suppose they should be the unconscious Muggles, somebody had to send them back. Well, there's definitely chaos for the next few days now she's printed that. " He laughed drily.
Arthur Weasley only sat for a few moments then excused himself, leaving for the Ministry of Magic with his son Percy to sort out the diplomatic mess. It seems the Ministry had to call in even unrelated Departments with shortage of manpower.
Over the rest of the holidays, the two were too swamped with work, sometimes only showing up late at night for dinner and sleep. The fear from the incident at the World Cup seemed to fade, though their workload had not subsided.
"It's an absolute uproar," Percy told us on the Sunday evening before returning to Hogwarts, relishing in self-importance. "I've been placating people all week. They keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open one straight away, it explodes. Mr Crouch saw the scorch marks and taught me a spell for containing Howlers."
"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was trying new spells to fix up her 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi', courtesy of Hermione, in front of the living room fire.
"Blaming the security at the World Cup, then demand compensation for 'ruined property'. Mundungus claimed a twelve-bedroomed tent but it's obviously a bluff," said Percy.
Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. The "Arthur Weasley" hand has almost permanently settled in "at work", with no sign of moving to "traveling".
"Your father hasn't gone to the office on weekends since You-Know-Who's at large," she said. "They're working him way too hard."
"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" commented Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad reckless to make a public statement without confirming with his Head of Department -"
"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" Mrs. Weasley flared up, glaring furiously at Percy.
"If Dad had stayed silent, old Rita would've just said it was disgraceful and suspicious that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was bankrupting Ron in Monopoly. "She never makes anyone look good. Remember, Rita Skeeter interviewed all of Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"
"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently, her wand hand stretching dangerously towards Bill's ponytail. "If you'd just let me -"
"No, Mum."
While the Weasley family immersed itself in the slow, quiet life in rural England, me and Hermione had asked for a few days off to enjoy London before returning to Hogwarts. As for why Ron isn't here, it's the work of Ginny, who successfully diverted Ron's attention to taking care of and trying to ride my Firebolt, a worthy sacrifice if it meant I get some time with Hermione.
London's streets, the ones we are awkwardly on now, were veiled in mist, shrouded in muted tones. Amidst the pouring rain, the air smelled of wet asphalt and foliage, with a hint of smoke. Crowds of people cloaked in hooded jackets moved with purpose beneath their umbrellas, sparing us no extra glances.
"So... Harry?", Hermione spoke up, her face turned away, staring at the distant Gothic structures hidden under the smog. "Are you going to tell me why you insist on this?"
"I thought it'd be the last chance to go on a short trip like this, just the two of us. I've always wanted to go sightseeing, although I've lived here for as long as I remembered. You know, the Dursleys never let me travel, and Ron wouldn't appreciate Muggle culture, coming from a wizarding family and all."
'Of course, also because he won't get the hint and give us some space. The poor guy's so susceptible to bribes.', I thought.
After a decent period of silence, Hermione interjected, seemingly overlooking my flimsy excuse.
"Harry, I know you're not oblivious. Never once, for three years, have you shown any interest in Muggle culture. Don't even try to insult my intelligence. Why me? I thought you had a thing for that Cho Chang girl from Ravenclaw?"
I reached out for the railings on the bridge, looking down to the water crashing randomly, endlessly. With a moment's hesitation, I answered honestly:
"Summer got me thinking, you know? It's not about Cho's looks or how well she can fly. We've been hanging out for years now, and I think I know you better than any other guy. You're smart, brave, and really understanding, not to mention incredibly beautiful," I said, looking into young Emma Watson's eyes. "Honestly, I wouldn't have made it through half the stuff without you. So, what do you say? I like you, Hermione - would you be my girlfriend?"
The bushy-haired brunette shifted uncomfortably, caught off guard at my confession. "I appreciate your honesty and, um, your feelings," she stammered, glancing away for a moment. "We've been through a lot together, and you mean a great deal to me as a friend. I just need some time to process this, okay?"
"Yeah, that's alright, Hermione," I replied, scratching my head awkwardly. "No rush, I get it. Just take it slow and uh... thank you for your honesty."
The two of us stood there comfortably, a weight from both our shoulders as the sky slowly descends into darkness and street lights lit up a warm glow. On our way back, she avoided my eyes and promised: "Harry, I'll give you an answer the night after we arrive at Hogwarts. Just meet me in the common room after midnight."