That’s a bit harsh, Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he attempted to prize off a bit of mold that had attached itself firmly to his finger, “you wouldn’t want to be stuck inside this house without company.”
“He’ll have company!” said Hermione. “It’s headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn’t it? He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” said Harry, wringing out his cloth. “He wouldn’t give me a straight answer when I asked him if I could.”
“He just didn’t want to get his own hopes up even more,” said Hermione wisely. “And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you’d be expelled. Then you’d both be outcasts together.”
“Come off it!” said Harry and Ron together, but Hermione merely shrugged.
“Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron’s mum’s right, and Sirius gets confused about whether you’re you or your father, Harry.”
“So you think he’s touched in the head?” said Harry heatedly.
“No, I just think he’s been very lonely for a long time,” said Hermione simply.
At this point Mrs. Weasley entered the bedroom behind them.
“Still not finished?” she said, poking her head into the cupboard.
“I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!” said Ron bitterly. “D’you know how much mold we’ve got rid of since we arrived here?”
“You were so keen to help the Order,” said Mrs. Weasley, “you can do your bit by making headquarters fit to live in.”
“I feel like a house-elf,” grumbled Ron.
“Well, now that you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you’ll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.!” said Hermione hopefully, as Mrs. Weasley left them to it again. “You know, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to show people exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time — we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds —”
“I’ll sponsor you to shut up about spew,” Ron muttered irritably, but only so Harry could hear him.
Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable patches to the Herbology greenhouses. It would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Harry was careful not to say any of this within earshot of Sirius.
The fact was that living at the headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he’d experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes’ whispered conversation, Mrs. Weasley made sure that Harry and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Harry needed to know anything more than he had heard on the night of his arrival.
On the very last day of the holidays Harry was sweeping up Hedwig’s owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered their bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.
“Booklists have arrived,” he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. “About time, I thought they’d forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this. …”
Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron’s head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. He then opened his letter: It contained two pieces of parchment, one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September, the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year.
“Only two new ones,” he said, reading the list. “The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.”
Crack.
Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn’t even fall off his chair.
“We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book,” said Fred conversationally.
“Because it means Dumbledore’s found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” said George.
“And about time too,” said Fred.
“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, jumping down beside them.
“Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,” Fred told Harry, “and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.”
“Not surprising, is it, when you look at what’s happened to the last four?” said George.
“One sacked, one dead, one’s memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months,” said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“What’s up with you, Ron?” asked Fred.
Ron did not answer. Harry looked around. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
“What’s the matter?” said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment.
Fred’s mouth fell open too.
“Prefect?” he said, staring incredulously at the letter. “Prefect?”
George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron’s other hand, and turned it upside down. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George’s palm.
“No way,” said George in a hushed voice.
“There’s been a mistake,” said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron’s grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. “No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect. …”
The twins’ heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.
“We thought you were a cert!” said Fred in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.
“We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!” said George indignantly.
“Winning the Triwizard and everything!” said Fred.
“I suppose all the mad stuff must’ve counted against him,” said George to Fred.
“Yeah,” said Fred slowly. “Yeah, you’ve caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you’s got their priorities right.”
He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.
“Prefect … ickle Ronnie the prefect …”
“Oh, Mum’s going to be revolting,” groaned George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him.
Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, and then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it. A large P was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy’s chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.
The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.
“Did you — did you get — ?”
She spotted the badge in Harry’s hand and let out a shriek.
“I knew it!” she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. “Me too, Harry, me too!”
“No,” said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron’s hand. “It’s Ron, not me.”
“It — what?”
“Ron’s prefect, not me,” Harry said.
“Ron?” said Hermione, her jaw dropping. “But … are you sure? I mean —”
She turned red as Ron looked around at her with a defiant expression on his face.
“It’s my name on the letter,” he said.
“I …” said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. “I … well … wow! Well done, Ron! That’s really —”
“Unexpected,” said George, nodding.
“No,” said Hermione, blushing harder than ever, “no, it’s not … Ron’s done loads of … he’s really …”
The door behind her opened a little wider and Mrs. Weasley backed into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes.
“Ginny said the booklists had come at last,” she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. “If you give them to me I’ll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you’re packing. Ron, I’ll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can’t believe how fast you’re growing … what color would you like?”
“Get him red and gold to match his badge,” said George, smirking.
“Match his what?” said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron’s pile.
“His badge,” said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. “His lovely shiny new prefect’s badge.”
Fred’s words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley’s preoccupation about pajamas.
“His … but … Ron, you’re not… ?”
Ron held up his badge.
Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione’s.
“I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That’s everyone in the family!”
“What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son.
“Wait until your father hears! Ron, I’m so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it’s the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I’m just thrilled, oh Ronnie —”
Fred and George were both making loud retching noises behind her back but Mrs. Weasley did not notice; arms tight around Ron’s neck, she was kissing him all over his face, which had turned a brighter scarlet than his badge.
“Mum … don’t … Mum, get a grip. …” he muttered, trying to push her away.
She let go of him and said breathlessly, “Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you’ve already got one, of course.”
“W-what do you mean?” said Ron, looking as though he did not dare believe his ears.
“You’ve got to have a reward for this!” said Mrs. Weasley fondly. “How about a nice new set of dress robes?”
“We’ve already bought him some,” said Fred sourly, who looked as though he sincerely regretted this generosity.
“Or a new cauldron, Charlie’s old one’s rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers —”
“Mum,” said Ron hopefully, “can I have a new broom?”
Mrs. Weasley’s face fell slightly; broomsticks were expensive.
“Not a really good one!” Ron hastened to add. “Just — just a new one for a change …”
Mrs. Weasley hesitated, then smiled.
“Of course you can. … Well, I’d better get going if I’ve got a broom to buy too. I’ll see you all later. … Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don’t forget to pack your trunks. … A prefect … Oh, I’m all of a dither!”
She gave Ron yet another kiss on the cheek, sniffed loudly, and bustled from the room.
Fred and George exchanged looks.
“You don’t mind if we don’t kiss you, do you, Ron?” said Fred in a falsely anxious voice.
“We could curtsy, if you like,” said George.
“Oh, shut up,” said Ron, scowling at them.
“Or what?” said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. “Going to put us in detention?”
“I’d love to see him try,” sniggered George.
“He could if you don’t watch out!” said Hermione angrily, at which Fred and George burst out laughing and Ron muttered, “Drop it, Hermione.”
“We’re going to have to watch our step, George,” said Fred, pretending to tremble, “with these two on our case. …”
“Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over,” said George, shaking his head.
And with another loud crack, the twins Disapparated.
“Those two!” said Hermione furiously, staring up at the ceiling, through which they could now hear Fred and George roaring with laughter in the room upstairs. “Don’t pay any attention to them, Ron, they’re only jealous!”
“I don’t think they are,” said Ron doubtfully, also looking up at the ceiling. “They’ve always said only prats become prefects. … Still,” he added on a happier note, “they’ve never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose. … She’ll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there’s the new Cleansweep out, that’d be great. … Yeah, I think I’ll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows. …”
He dashed from the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
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