Unexpected Visitors

VIII

HARRY

Harry held his pounding head in his hands, groaning in pain.

Ron looked up, smirking. "Brainfreeze?"

The boys and Hermione had decided to pay a visit to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, splurging on the delightful treats offered, ranging from vanilla ice cream to turtle pineapple surprises.

The founder and previous shopkeeper, Mr. Florean Fortescue, a kind-hearted middle-aged man had helped Harry with his school work and let him sit at one of his outside tables, providing him with an ice cream sundae every once and a while, on the house. 

Unfortunately, he had been one of the many casualties of Voldemort and his cronies, dragged away and assumed dead, as not many see Voldemort's ugly mug and live to tell the story.

The shop had closed down, in complete disarray and with no one to care for it, until a few months after the war where it had been taken over by a timid young blond named Hugh Wolfe.

  Without a word, he nodded miserably, internally begging for it to stop. 

"Did you know," Hermione suggested, "that if you press your tongue against the top of your mouth, it's supposed to help with those?"

He didn't understand what the position of his tongue had to do with it but heeded her advice.  He would be an idiot not to.  

After a few moments of shaking his head, and Ron questioning Hermione's random encyclopedia-like knowledge, the pain subsided.

The three aimlessly chatted about little random subjects, never really focusing on one thing. Until a thought struck Harry.

"Hey, 'Mione?"

"Hmm?" She glanced up from the small sketchbook that her parents had gotten her a couple years ago, only to lay forgotten. Recently, however, Harry had never seen her without it. 

"Who do you think the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be this year?" And this year only, he thought to himself as no one had yet to stay for more than a small amount of time since Voldemort "cursed" the position.

She closed her pad. "I've only heard rumors, which you know are completely unreliable. Though. . ."

She shook her head. "Nevermind, not worth mentioning." The witch began to pack away her various books, quills, and homework that had laid strewn around the table.

"But," she spits out quickly, "if I was Headmistress Sprout, stressed out and not fully adjusted to the job - well, don't expect the most thorough background search, is what I'm saying."

Ron snorted. "How did she even become Headmistress? Did Professor McGonagall grow horns and become the devil?"

"Ronald!" Hermione smacked his arm. "Headmistress Sprout is a wonderful teacher who deserves respect. I'm sure everything is going as well as we can expect for a new Head."

Scoffing, he snatched up his ice cream and followed Hermione, complaining about how she was crazy if she thought this year would end well.

Harry sighed, throwing away his empty cup and trailing behind his arguing friends.

  《▪▪▪》 

The next day, the Burrow buzzed with equal parts excitement and chaos.

Trunks, clothes, and the rare book flew around the magical house, planned to be tucked away in a beat-up old car. The ugly mustard-yellow chevy, covered with deep scratches spanning its entirety, replaced the Flying Ford Anglia Ron and Harry had run into the Whomping Willow. 

Mrs. Weasley was the only one with access to it, and the only enchantment was to let all of their belongings fit, put there by herself. 

Harry reminisced about one evening when Mr. Weasley had attempted to sneak in, only to be covered in bright pink paint that didn't fade until a week after a meeting with his boss.

No one touched that car.

Harry scrambled down the stairs, lugging the last of Ron's luggage, having already done away with his own. He didn't want to make Ron and Ginny miss the train.

One magical flying car ride was enough for him.

On the last step, he tripped, falling flat on his face while the suitcase flew forward, hitting to the right of the front door. The front door that had just started to open.

Ron let out a large yelp, retreating from the area in between the door and its frame.

Harry groaned, standing up. "Sorry, Ron. It's just me."

He grabbed the case and pulled the door open. 

He would have received a face-full of fist if he didn't duck on instinct, jumping around his attacker and dug his wand into his neck, pulling him into a headlock - something he learned how to do the hard way.

"Ack, Harry. Harry. It's me, Ron." Ron chuckled nervously. "Uh, sorry about that. Now, can you let me go?"

Apologizing, Harry released him and shifted from foot to foot uneasily. 

A long, incredibly awkward pause ensued. 

"Shouldn't we - Shouldn't we get going?" Harry finally broke the silence. Not waiting for an answer, he ambled up to the trunk of the occupied car and shoved Ron's luggage inside, closing it with a loud slam! that rang throughout the quiet. 

  《▪▪▪》   

After a perpetually tense ride, the foursome spilled out into the car lot of King's Cross Station, wheeling their belongings on one luggage trolley each. Ron's was overflowing while Harry had the least of the bunch, Ginny almost as little as him.

"Well, hop to it dears," Mrs. Weasley hurried them along, "We haven't got all day."

Once they rushed to the area between platforms nine and ten, Ginny turned to face the brick wall. "Am I good, Mum?"

"Give it a second." Mrs. Weasley gave a cursory glance at the surrounding crowd, waiting until they were completely ignored. After a few moments, she burst out lowly, "Now."

Ginny sprinted towards the wall, disappearing when she should have impacted and become a red-headed pancake.

Her mother ushered Ron to go next, repeating the process.

As Harry got ready to do the same, she clutched his arm. 

"Harry, please be careful this year. Look after Ron. And Ginny." Tears filled her sparkling brown eyes. "And yourself. I can't lose anyone else."

He nodded. "Okay."

"Promise me," her voice became shaky with emotion. "Look me in the eyes and promise me."

"I promise," he breathed out, upset to see her this concerned.

She placed a hand on his cheek in a motherly gesture. "Thank you."

When Mrs. Weasley removed it, he turned his head and ran.

He dashed straight through the shadows to the bright red of the Hogwarts Express.

Happy 4th Day of Hanukkah!

Published: 12/15/17