This chapter is a little lighter than previous ones. Just tying up a
few loose ends and introducing some ideas that will most likely
be important later on. But there's still much to come, so don't go
to sleep on me yet!

Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.
Rowling, Scholastic, and other international companies involved in its
creation and distribution. Will Stanton and "The Dark Is Rising" series
are both copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light
A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion
By: Gramarye

Chapter Fifteen - And Then There Were Four

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Coming together is a beginning, staying together is progress, and
working together is success.

-- Henry Ford

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Without anything more said about the unpleasant incident that had just
transpired, they settled down to business. As far as Will or anyone else
was concerned, it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened--
and Harry was happy to leave it that way.

Neville had taken his seat with the utmost casualness, as collected
and at ease as if he'd been attending every single session, but once
he was seated a bit of his old nervousness seemed to return.

He timidly raised his hand. "Professor Stanton?"

Will peered at him over the top of his glasses. "Please, put your
hand down. It makes me feel as though I've just called roll. And
it's Will...I'm not grading you on any of this."

"Sorry," Neville said with a little smile. He relaxed, and his shoulders
lost their hunched-over look as some of the tension left him. "I was
just wondering what I've missed."

"A lot," said Harry, without thinking.

"A whole lot," Ron clarified.

Hermione muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'unhelpful',
but said nothing else.

"Don't worry about it," Will reassured the frowning boy. "If you'll
stay a little later tonight, after this session ends, I can bring you up
to date on what we've done so far. But for today, I think it would
be better if you didn't participate. Feel free to ask questions, if
you wish."

Neville nodded, and settled back in his chair to watch.

Will continued. "As I mentioned in my note to Mr Potter, I had
hoped that by today I would have some answers to your questions
and a better sense of how to go about this experiment of ours. I can
give you the latter now--the former must wait until more progress has
been made.

"I have seen and studied what you are capable of doing. The powers
present in witches and wizards are not that different from my own, but
there are a few barriers that would make true coordination difficult.
Let me demonstrate."

He stood up and walked over to the fire. He gazed at it for no more
than a moment, not moving or speaking, and it went out, snuffed like
a candle.

Harry, who was sitting closest to the fire, noticed the change
immediately. It wasn't like putting out a fire with one of their basic
spells, where one could still feel residual heat emanating from the
cooling grate. Whatever Will had done was very different--he felt
no heat, no sense of warmth. It was as if the fire had never been lit
in the first place.

Will looked back at them. His face was half in shadow, illuminated
only by the soft, dim light of a few candles in wall sconces. "Would
one of you care to do the honours?"

Hermione quickly picked up her wand, pointed it at the grate, and
said, "Incendio!"

The fire sparked to life, leaping and dancing from the logs.

Will returned to his chair. "Control over basic elements...similar
powers, with minor variations. But what if we were to try something
a little different? Mr Weasley, will you please stand?"

Ron got to his feet very slowly. He may have had more trust in Will
than before, but like any student, he knew that being personally picked
for a demonstration was something to be avoided if at all possible.

"I want you to hex me," Will said.

Ron's jaw dropped. "Wh-what?"

"It doesn't really matter to me which spell you choose," the older man
said, removing his glasses and setting them on the table. He tapped
his fingers on the armrest of the chair. "A hex, a curse, anything you
wish. Something strong, of course. Preferably incapacitating. And
don't...how shall I put it...'pull your punches'. There's no point in
doing it if it's not done properly."

Ron looked at him doubtfully, fiddling with his wand. Apparently,
Will's expectant silence was enough encouragement, because after
a pause for a few deep, steadying breaths, he aimed his wand and
shouted, "STUPEFY!"

At the same moment, Will lifted his hand and said a single word.

Suddenly, Ron was sprawled on the floor, out cold.

Hermione and Harry leapt to their feet. Neville pressed a shaking hand
to his mouth. Will, however, merely looked thoughtful, detached from
the entire incident.

"A very good job," he said analytically, sounding as if he'd watched
the whole thing happen. "Had I chosen a lesser form of defence, I
would be the unconscious one."

"Is...is he all right?" Neville whispered fearfully.

"Of course, of course." Will leaned forward and opened his briefcase.
"I deflected the spell back at him--he got exactly what he gave out.
I would like one of you to bring him 'round, though. The spell was
quite strong, and I don't know how long it might take for him to regain
consciousness without help."

"Ennervate!" Harry said hastily, pointing his wand at Ron.

Ron's body twitched. He let out a long groan, twitched again, and
started to roll over onto his stomach. Harry and Hermione ran over
to help him up, but he waved them away. Clinging to the edge of the
bookshelf, he pulled himself to his feet without assistance and stood
there, swaying slightly.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Will said, putting on his glasses and taking
a sheet of paper from his briefcase. "You did very well indeed."

Ron stared at him, then mumbled a dazed "thanks" before teetering
over to the table and collapsing into his chair. Harry and Hermione
returned to their seats as well, keeping a wary eye on Will.

"What I intend to do is to teach you what you can expect from the
forces of the Dark--their powers, their methods, and above all, their
limitations." He drew out the last word, emphasising its importance.
"And you, in turn, will teach me how to best use and adapt the magic
you already possess to counter it."

"Can we do that?" Harry asked. "Combine magic like that, I mean."

"It might take a little time, but yes, I think we can do it. Everything
I've seen so far suggests that it can be done. And with any luck, it
won't involve knocking each other unconscious. My apologies for
that, Mr Weasley."

Ron made a burbling noise that might have been a 'don't mention it.'

Neville started to raise his hand, thought better of it, and put it down.
"You've probably answered this before, and this is probably a stupid
question--"

"I'll be the judge of that," Will replied, smiling faintly.

Neville's mouth twitched. "Y...yes. Well, I just wanted to know...why
are you helping us? I mean, I know I don't know anything, but I can't
see how this fits together." The old confusion had once again taken
control, and he looked like he was floundering for words. "I'll do
anything I can to help, but I don't really understand what's going
on...."

Will said nothing. The hint of a smile that had softened his normally
impassive face had vanished.

He stood, and strode over to the fireplace. He turned his back on it,
facing them, silohuetted by the firelight behind him. When he spoke,
his voice held a newer, darker tone, one that sent their hearts racing.

"The attack on St Mungo's confirmed my fears. The Dark is Rising
once again in this land, in the person of Lord Voldemort. It has taken
a form that augments its power, and at the same time greatly weakens
it. It is our task to find that weakness and use it to our advantage. The
Darks thinks that we cannot defeat it in this form, that when the time
comes we will back down from a final confrontation. But in this war,
the Light gives no quarter, and asks for none!"

It was a call to arms. It was a battle cry. It called to them in their blood
and stirred up emotion like a brisk autumn wind catching dry, fallen leaves,
whirling them into the air. Harry's hands were clenched into fists as he
gazed at the Old One, feeling the rush of power and urgency that drew
him to accept the challenge placed before them.

"Come here," Will ordered. "Join hands. Now is as good a time as any
to give you a small sample of what you are up against."

They did as he commanded. Harry took one of his hands, and Neville
took the other. Ron and Hermione joined hands and completed the small
circle.

The air around Will began to glow with a soft white light, shimmering
and rippling as it slowly spread around them. The heat of the fire was
replaced with a different tingling warmth, as soothing and comforting
as a warm blanket.

It was their only protection against the horrible onslaught of emotions
that rushed into their minds.

To Harry, it was a little like being in a Pensieve, where one could see
a memory of a particular incident. But this was different. Pensieve
memories were personal, reflecting the feelings of the person who had
placed the memory there in the first place. This was like being in a
Pensieve where you could sense the emotions of everyone in the memory
at once in a pure, undiluted form, with nothing acting as a barrier or
even a buffer.

That was the reason he knew he was reliving the attack on St Mungo's
Hospital, even though he hadn't been there to see it.

Pain was the dominant feeling. Patients and physicians alike were
being crushed and trampled in their attempts to escape. All of their
struggles only added to the pain of existing injuries. There was a
strong sense of shock and horror. Confusion and disbelief mingled
together, jangling their nerves and pulling their minds in different
directions. And mixed in with all of that was the cacophony of
screams and yells, a deafening noise that they couldn't shut out
of their minds.

It was a nightmare. It was chaos.

Then, suddenly, the torrent of emotions drifted into the background,
creating an emotional backdrop for what they saw next.

There were two hospital beds, side by side, surrounded by darkness.
In one bed lay the still figure of a middle-aged woman, though she
was so heavily bandaged that it was hard to tell what she looked like.
Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing shallowly and irregularly.
A young, dark-haired mediwitch stood next to the bed. She appeared
to be anxiously watching the patient for any unexpected change.

The other bed was also occupied, but the stark white linen sheet had
been drawn up and over the still body. As they watched, the bed
wheeled itself away from the woman and the mediwitch, out of sight.

Then everything went black.

The ghastly memory faded away, leaving only the healing warmth that
radiated from Will's body. Yet not even that could completely drive
away the terrible feelings, the icy chill that had settled over them.

Harry opened his eyes as the last of the warmth left him. Ron and
Hermione looked drained, mentally and physically exhausted. Even
Will showed signs of the strain they had all been through. But Neville....

Neville was staring at the floor. His entire body was rigid.

He answered their question before they could even imagine how to put
it into words.

"Gran hinted as much," he said, not looking up. "She wouldn't say
anything to me, but I could guess. I s'ppose I should be glad that
Mum's okay...they thought she wasn't going to make it, at first. But
she pulled through. That's my Mum for you...always a fighter...."

"I'm so sorry." Hermione squeezed his hand gently.

Neville didn't return the gesture. His hand lay limp, unresponsive to
her attempt to comfort him. "But she's not even going to know that
he's gone...that's the worst of it."

A solitary tear fell onto the stone floor.

There was nothing they could say. Any words of sympathy would have
sounded hollow and forced at best.

Will placed a hand on Neville's shoulder, his long, dark cloak draping
protectively over the smaller boy's body.

"I must speak to Neville alone," he said quietly. "I will see you all on
Thursday evening."

"Yes, sir," they murmured.

They didn't talk at all on the way back to the common room.

The Fat Lady was sitting in her portrait, reading a romance novel and
eating from a large box of liqueur chocolates. She looked up at the
sound of their approach. The stress of the night must have showed
on their faces, because she frowned, her brow creasing in worry.

"Are you all right, my dears?" she asked.

"Not really, but don't worry about us," Hermione said with a little
sigh. "Tintinnabulation."

The portrait swung open, and they entered the common room. Luckily,
most everyone else had gone to bed, and their usual group of chairs by
the fireplace were unoccupied. Mechanically, they sat down, took out
their textbooks, and began to study for the next day's classes. They
were still sitting in the common room with their books in their laps
when Neville returned.

He walked up to them, and without so much as a nod or a hello
reached over and tapped Ron on the shoulder.

"Can we talk?" he said.

"Sure," Ron replied. "Pull up a chair."

"In private."

Ron stared at him for a moment, then closed his Charms textbook and
set it on the floor. "Okay."

The two of them walked to the far side of the room, away from the fire
and closest to the stairwell entrance. Harry and Hermione did their
best not to eavesdrop, concentrating fiercely on the problems in their
books, but every now and then they peeked around their chairs to see
what was going on behind them.

The conversation was short and subdued. It looked like they had come
to some sort of conclusion or agreement, because Neville nodded and
headed up the boys' staircase.

Ron returned to his chair. His face was drawn and thoughtful.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked.

Ron closed his eyes. "He wanted to know what I thought....about
Merlin."

Harry bit down on the well-nibbled end of his quill. "And what did
you say?"

"I told him I didn't know what to think."

And with that unsatisfying answer, he picked up his Charms book and
returned to his reading.

* * *

The time had come to make the final team decisions. With the first
match less than two weeks away, against the strongest Ravenclaw
team they'd faced in a long time, they couldn't put it off any longer.

It was very late on Sunday night before they all were free and could
get together in one place to hold the necessary conference. Fred and
George had kicked everyone out of the seventh-year boys' dormitory
so the team could convene in private. The twins had also cast numerous
silencing charms, locking charms, and a few special spells of their own
design to keep anyone--in particular, a certain younger brother--from
eavesdropping. There was so much magic in and around the room that
Harry felt like he was swimming against a strong current if he moved
too quickly.

Once they were assembled, stretched out on the freshly made beds,
George started things off.

"Now, we've all agreed that Harry's decision is final. But I think we
should each get a chance to prove our point for whoever we think would
be the best Keeper. That sound fair?"

They nodded.

"Angelina, what do you think?" Harry said, trying to sound official.

The older girl rubbed the back of her neck. "You're going to think I'm
mad to be saying this, but my first choice is Colin."

Alicia looked startled. "Weren't you the one who said we shouldn't
call him back in the first place?"

"I know, I know," she said.

"Did you pick him because you feel guilty about what happened?" Fred
asked, with his usual bluntness. "It wasn't your fault."

Angelina propped her chin in her hands. "I know that, too. It was
an accident. But what happened on the pitch proves that he's about
as determined as they come. I know I certainly wouldn't have tried to
catch that shot. We need someone like that, someone who's not afraid
to take risks. That's the kind of thing that could have happened during
a real game--and I bet anything he'd do the same thing if it happened
again."

George grinned. "Win or die trying? Sounds a little too much like
Oliver Wood to me--and one was bad enough."

"We'd be bloody lucky if we could get another Keeper like Oliver,"
Angelina retorted. "And I think the other teams would probably
underestimate Colin--that's another point in his favour."

"Well, since we're talking about underestimating people, I really
underestimated Tommy," Katie Bell spoke up. "I was certain he
wouldn't stop that shot I made on him during the first round--that
was one of my best shots. I've been working on it all summer. And
that little third-year just sent the Quaffle flying like I'd practically
handed it to him. He could take pretty much anything the other
teams' Chasers could dish out. My vote's for Tommy."

"One for Colin, one for Tommy," Harry said. "Alicia?"

"I know we have problems playing games in nasty weather," Alicia
said. "That's where we're weakest, where we've always been weakest.
Give us a good day, and we can take any of the teams, but a little rain
and we're sunk. We need someone who can make up for that...someone
like Beatrice. She's a good all-around player, but that little extra advantage
might be the thing we need to trump Slytherin this year. If nothing else,
she's a flexible player."

"Colin, Tommy, Beatrice." Harry winced. He had an idea as to where
this was heading, and he turned to Fred and George with a distinctly
sinking feeling in his stomach. "What about you two?"

"Ron," they said simultaneously.

Harry groaned.

Angelina snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

Fred's eyes narrowed, and George looked offended.

"D'you think we'd pick him if he wasn't the best one for the job?" Fred
said angrily. "I care too much about this team for that."

"Besides," George added, "he's been eating, sleeping, and breathing
Quidditch all his life--there's not much he doesn't know about the game.
He had the best score on Tuesday...only two shots got past him. He's
played with us before, and he knows what we're capable of doing. He
gets on well with all of usl. Do you want me to keep going?"

"That's okay," Harry said hastily, before Fred could pick up the
subject and drag out the uncomfortableness even longer. He ticked
the results off on his fingers. "So we have one vote for Beatrice,
one for Tommy, one for Colin, and two for Ron."

He grimaced. It would have turned out this way.

"Did you do this deliberately?" he quipped, trying to lighten the
mood.

His attempt at humour was met with a flat silence and five equally
flat stares.

"So what's your decision, Harry?" Katie asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah, what's your pick?" said Angelina, leaning forward as well.

Harry pulled away from them, propping himself up on the pillows of
George's bed.

"I've got to think this out," he said. "I don't want anyone to say
anything--just let me think."

He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and began to turn over the
possibilities in his mind.

So. My first choice would be Ron, just because I think he'd do the
best job. I know how he plays, and I trust his judgement. He's got
what it takes to be Keeper. But picking Ron sets all of us up to be
accused of favouritism and nepo..neo..nepero..oh, I don't remember
the word, but it's bad. And now matter how we'd try to explain it,
I don't think we'd get everyone to believe that the tryouts were fair.
Then again, they won't care about "fair" if Gryffindor wins the Cup
this year. Colin and Tommy and Beatrice are all good, but Ron's
the best choice by far. We'll be missing five people next year--if the
three of them try out then, they'll make it for sure. And I'll have
someone with me that I can trust, someone who'll help me build
another great team.

He opened his eyes, and looked at the expectant, apprehensive faces.

"Ron Weasley," he said firmly, his eyes daring them to challenge him.
"The other three will be our reserve players."

There was a brief silence.

After a moment, Fred yawned, stretched his arms, and rolled off the bed.
"I'll write up a list and post it before class tomorrow."

"I'll let Madam Hooch know," Katie said, standing up as well. "She was
asking me a couple days ago if we'd decided yet."

"I'll check and see if we've got clean uniforms in their sizes," said Alicia.

As Harry sat, astonished, the seventh-years began to make plans and
discuss the routine matters that would have to be settled before the
Ravenclaw game. He hadn't expected that his decision would go over
so smoothly. In fact, he'd expected that once they'd heard his choice,
they would laugh, kick him out of the room, and pick the new Keeper
themselves.

Maybe, just maybe, he was the Gryffindor Quidditch team captain after
all.

* * *

The next day was Monday, time for classes to resume. True to his
word, Fred had posted the team roster in the common room earlier that
morning, and Harry heard Ron's triumphant "YES!" echo up the stairwell
as he headed down for breakfast. But apart from that singular outburst
of joy, Ron did his best to keep his emotions to himself...most likely
to avoid appearing full of himself.

He accepted the congratulations of other Gryffindors with almost
comical dignity, brushing their words of praise aside with benign,
sportsman-like statements such as, "Everyone who tried out was really
great...I'm lucky I made it" and "All I want is to do my best for the
team". But Harry, who sat next to him in Defence Against the Dark
Arts that morning, noticed that Ron's notes from that day and from
several days before were covered with little doodles of stick figures
on stick brooms, defending stick goals from other stick figures who
were pelting them with hundreds of circles that could only be Quaffles.

Ron was taking a big risk by not paying attention, though. Professor
Figg's class had moved away from a recounting of personal stories and
anecdotes of Aurors and various Dark Arts practitioners. She was now
teaching them the basic theories of Dark Arts lore, and attention to
detail was essential.

"So to review, we've covered some of the reasons for the appeal of
the Dark Arts to ordinary wizards. Would someone like to recap?"
She scanned the classroom in the practised way that all teachers have,
searching for the student who appeared to be the least on-topic. "Mr
Weasley?"

Ron jumped, and dropped his quill. He hurriedly fumbled through his
notes, but since he hadn't taken many of them, the answers she was
looking for weren't there.

"Umm...." Abruptly, he launched into a loud coughing fit, falling
back on the age-old method used by students to buy time to think.

Harry reached over and patted Ron on the back, but at the same time
pushed his notes toward the centre of their shared desk. He rested his
free hand on the desk in such a way that his index finger was pointing
to the answer that Figg was looking for. To conceal his duplicity, he
put on his best innocent expression.

Ron got the message, and recovered with remarkable speed. "Umm...the
Dark Arts appeal to many wizards because the results of certain spells
can be seen in a much shorter time?"

"Why is that?" Professor Figg pressed.

Ron's eyes flickered down to the notes. "Because...because...because
the potential for power gain is...is much greater when combined with
Dark Arts practices?"

"Are you asking me or telling me, Mr Weasley?" she said sharply.

"Telling, ma'am," Ron said meekly.

"Very good," Professor Figg said sweetly, smiling at him. "Exactly
the answer I was looking for."

Ron exhaled loudly, and grinned back.

Her smile widened, and she added in the same sweet voice. "It's
really most unfortunate that it came from Mr Potter's notes. Five
points from Gryffindor."

Harry flushed, ears burning. Ron squirmed and slumped forward in
his chair as the class tittered quietly. Hermione shot them a dirty
look.

Professor Figg, still smiling, called on someone else to answer her
next question. Ron, his face a shade lighter than his hair, shoved
his doodles and scribbles aside, pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment
and started to copy Harry's notes. He paid close attention to classes
for the rest of the day.

Back in the common room that evening, they discovered that Fred and
George had decided to hold an impromptu party for Colin to celebrate
his return from the hospital wing. He'd been laid up since the day of
tryouts, recovering from a fractured collar bone and several cracked
ribs. But considering he'd fallen off his broom almost a hundred feet
in the air, he was very lucky.

Harry hadn't visited Colin during his recovery, and felt bad about it.
He wanted to stick around and hang out with him, talk to him about
his duties as a reserve player. But he couldn't stay; he had to collect
Neville, drag Ron away from the crowd of adoring first-year girls that
had surrounded him the moment he had entered the common room,
and take them to meet up with Hermione in the library in twenty minutes.
She was attending a prefect's meeting, and had told him to be in front of
Madam Pince's desk no later than six-thirty.

He found Neville easily, and together they somehow managed to pry Ron
away from the clutching arms of his newly formed fan club. But just as
he was turning to leave, he felt a tug at his sleeve.

"Are you going already, Harry?"

It was Colin, gazing up at him with troubled eyes. His hospital stay
may have allowed him to partially recover, but he still looked terribly
fragile. His right arm was tightly bandaged and in a sling, and Harry
caught a glimpse of a mass of bruises on his back as his over-large
robe slipped off his shoulder.

"Yeah," Harry said, forcing the words out. "I have to study. O.W.L.s,
you know."

"Oh." The younger boy smiled bravely, hiding his disappointment.
"Well, I'll let you go. I wish you could stay, though."

"I wish I could, too." This was awful. He couldn't just leave like this.
Then, looking at Colin's pale, peaked face, he hit upon an idea. "Tell
you what," he said. "When I get back, I'll get out my copy of Secrets
of the Seekers and let you borrow it."

Colin's eyes lit up like a bonfire on Hallowe'en night. "Really?"

Harry nodded. "You never know who you'll end up substituting for,
so it's a good idea to learn as much as you can. So don't go to bed
too early, okay? I might not be back until late."

"All right." Colin grinned, and then reached out with his left arm and
gave him an awkward, one-armed hug.

Harry patted him gently on the shoulder. "I'll see you in a little bit, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Harry!" he called out as he hurried back to join his
friends near the fireplace, where Seamus Finnigan was trying to see
how many Chocolate Frogs he could stuff into his mouth at one time.

Watching him leave, Harry felt oddly choked up. It was the happiest
he'd seen Colin since last year...since before King's Cross. It was
sad that the prospect of being able to borrow one of Harry's books
would be so important to him. Did he really have so little left?

He swallowed to dispel the lump in his throat, and checked his watch.
"Six twenty-two! Oh, Hermione'll kill me--"

Grabbing his book bag, he ran out of the room.

Even though he didn't stop running until he reached the library, he
was still late. Hermione looked like thunder as he jogged up to her,
and Neville and Ron stood behind her, their faces carefully turned
away. Madam Pince looked on disapprovingly, as she always did.

"Glad you could make it," Hermione sniped, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Let's just get going," he said. He wasn't in the mood to argue.

* * *

The next week was the Hallowe'en Feast. Harry was very worried about
it, because something always seemed to happen at the feast. And there
weren't many ways he could take his mind off his worries--in the interests
of security, McGonagall had announced that all Hogsmeade visits had
been cancelled until further notice. This announcement was met with
varying degrees of disappointment: the seventh-years were livid, as
were the third-years who had heard tales of the wonders of Britain's
only all-wizarding village and had been looking forward to their own
turn. The fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-years were more irritated than anything
else.

Harry didn't really care. He knew about the secret passage that led
to Hogsmeade, but he also knew that he wouldn't use it this year. It
would be stupid to pull such a big risk for such a little lark...he'd
learned that the hard way in years past. Hermione would never agree
to any suggestion that involved sneaking out of the castle--a prefect
had a reputation to maintain. Ron might be up for it, but if Hermione
got wind of it she'd talk him out of it in a heartbeat. And if Ron and
Hermione couldn't, or wouldn't, go, what would be the point?

Much to his surprise, Hallowe'en came and went without incident. He
didn't have much time to ponder it, though, because the fifth-year
classes were growing more and more difficult, and reviewing for the
O.W.L.s occupied more and more of their in-class time.

But out of class, there was Quidditch.

The entire team was happy with the way that the tryouts had worked.
Fred and George were happy, knowing that the Weasley legacy would
continue for another few years at least. The Chasers as a whole were
happy, because Ron had come up with a few secret strategies that
would help them regain control of the Quaffle if the other team failed
to score on him. And Harry was happy, for the obvious reasons.

Ginny and Colin always came to watch their practices. Colin would
bring his camera to their practices to take photographs of them in
action, and would later give them the photos to show what they were
doing right and where they could improve. Ever since he'd finished
Harry's copy of Secrets of the Seekers--which had taken him less
than two days--he'd checked out dozens of books on Quidditch from
the school library and was doing his best to become an expert on the
theory and practice of the game.

If she wasn't too busy with studying or her duties as a prefect,
Hermione would stop by to watch their practices as well. Natalie
McDonald nearly always came with her, prompting Ron to make
more than a few unflattering remarks about the 'adoring little shadow'.

It was at the end of a very long, tiring practice that Ron brought up
the subject of holiday plans. Ginny and Hermione were the only ones
left on the pitch; Colin had gone inside to develop the day's film, and
Natalie was busy in the library, rewriting an essay for Charms class.
The girls were helping them brush the grass and dirt off their robes--
they'd had a mid-air collision near the end of practice and were
consequently covered in Quidditch pitch grime.

"Got a letter from Mum today," Ron said as he massaged his aching arms.

"What'd she say?" Harry asked.

"Well, I don't know how she did it, but she got Bill and Charlie to
come home for Christmas."

Ginny gasped. "Bill and Charlie? Really?"

"Really," Ron said.

"Mum's never been able to get them before," Ginny explained to Harry
and Hermione. "They usually have to work over the holidays. What else
did she say, Ron, what else?"

"Well, obviously, she wants all of us to come home for Christmas, too.
And she says we can invite Harry and Hermione for the holiday break."

Ginny squealed in delight, and clapped her hands.

Hermione wasn't convinced. "Ron...wouldn't you rather be alone with
family? I mean, you said that your brothers don't usually show up for
Christmas...."

"All the more reason to invite you!" Ginny said firmly. "You're coming,
even if we have to kidnap you!"

"I wouldn't go that far," Hermione said, laughing.

"You're coming with us, and that's that," Ginny declared. "It's about
time you saw what a Weasley Christmas dinner is like."

"Goose and turkey," said Ron, his eyes glittering at the thought of
home cooking.

Ginny's eyes sparkled as she caught Ron's contagious excitement. "Spicy
mincemeat."

"Homemade pumpkin bread...."

"Treacle tarts...."

"Candied fruit...."

"And best of all--"

"Mum's plum pudding!" they chorused.

"A little slice of heaven on your plate," Ron said dreamily.

Harry couldn't help grinning. "Sounds great."

"And you're sure she won't mind?" Hermione asked, still doubtful.

"Mind?" Ron looked shocked. "As far as she's concerned, you two're
family already. And what better way to spend true quality time with
your family than by stuffing your faces together on Christmas Day?"

"Well, since you put it that way," Harry said teasingly, "I guess I'll
have to accept."

Ron whooped, punching the air with his fist. "Great!"

Hermione hemmed and hawed for a minute. "I'll write my parents tonight
and find out if it's all right," she said at last. "If they say yes, I wouldn't
miss it for the world."

Ginny squealed again, and gave her a huge hug.

Together, the four of them headed off the pitch, talking about holiday
plans and listening with watering mouths as Ginny and Ron recounted
tantalizing stories of Christmas dinners past.

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April 7th, 2002