was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys’ … but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius.
He felt as though a brick had dropped into his stomach when Mrs. Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, “I’ve ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight too. A good first impression can work wonders.”
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at him. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chops, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew.
“How am I getting there?” he asked Mrs. Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned.
“Arthur’s taking you to work with him,” said Mrs. Weasley gently.
Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.
“You can wait in my office until it’s time for the hearing,” he said.
Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs. Weasley had answered it.
“Professor Dumbledore doesn’t think it’s a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I —”
“— think he’s quite right,” said Sirius through clenched teeth.
Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.
“When did Dumbledore tell you that?” Harry said, staring at Sirius.
“He came last night, when you were in bed,” said Mr. Weasley.
Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry dropped his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if that were possible, even worse
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