Sirius and Harry said their goodbyes to Remus and the Ministers and Sirius led the rest of the group out of the antechamber and through the stadium out into the surrounding grounds. The Tonks' decided to browse the stalls with Simeon and his wife, leaving the Grangers and Minerva with Sirius and Harry.
"So where is your Dad's tent at, Bill?" Sirius asked, his wand was in his hand, his free hand on Harry's shoulder and he was already assessing the threat of the milling populace around them.
"This way." Bill said with an easy smile. "Charlie, why don't you bring up the rear with Professor McGonagall?"
Charlie nodded easily. "I can do that."
Sirius approved that they all had their wands out and ready. Hermione's parents stayed behind Sirius and Harry but Hermione moved to walk on Harry's other side. She chattered nervously about the crowd and the colourful banners adorning some of the tents as they made their way through a veritable village of the things until they reached a purple and pink monstrosity.
Bill grinned at their faces. "Welcome to Chez Weasley."
"Colourful," commented Sirius straight-faced. "Remind me again…are purple and pink Bulgarian colours or Irish?"
"You guys go on in, Charlie and I will stay out and guard." Bill said after they'd all finished laughing.
"How are we all going to fit?" asked Miriam worriedly.
"Magic." Bill promised Hermione's Mum with a wink.
Sirius nodded and he exchanged a serious look with the Weasley Heir to convey the gravity of Bill's job guarding them. He sighed as he ushered Harry, the Grangers and Minerva through the open flap.
He couldn't help thinking he'd made a mistake; that they should have stayed home. It was a slow feeling of dread sinking into his bones and putting him on edge.
Can't wrap Harry in cotton wool, Sirius told himself sternly. It was going to be OK.
It was.
o-O-o
Hermione stood speechless in the centre of what appeared to be a living room; her father stood next to her, open-mouthed. Her mother was whirling about like a mad thing.
"Look, it's bigger on the inside than on the outside!" Her mother waggled her eyebrows at Hermione.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Mum, please!"
"Ah, you're here! Lovely to have you all!" Arthur Weasley emerged from the kitchen – the kitchen! – and waved a frying pan at them. "I don't suppose any of you know how to work one of these?"
"Don't look at me!" Sirius held up both hands in supplication. "I could burn the place down."
Harry grinned and gestured at the frying pan. "I'm a dab hand."
Arthur beamed at him and handed him the pan. "Ron's back there too." He held out his hand to Miriam Granger. "Good to see you again."
"Good to see you too, Arthur, or should that be Doctor?"
Hermione quickly followed Harry into the kitchen before her Mum could begin explaining Doctor Who to the wizards.
Ron was poking at the stove in a desultory fashion before he noticed them and smiled, cheering up slightly. "Guys!" He looked at them hopefully. "Do either of you know how to turn this on?"
"Move over, Ron." Harry pushed him out of the way of the appliance and with a few checks quickly had the grill turned on and a burner lit. Sausages went under the grill; bacon into the frying pan.
Ron looked at Hermione who shrugged.
"I'm good with desserts and as a sous chef," offered Hermione, "but I've never made breakfast before." She leaned against the small kitchen table. "Why are you having breakfast now anyway? Didn't your Mum feed you this morning?"
Ron shook his hair, the red catching the artificial light. "Dad thought it was better to come last night and beat the crowds otherwise we'd have had to set out at some horrendously early hour for a portkey. It worked out fine until all of us got up this morning and realised that we don't know how to cook in this kitchen and Mum didn't come!"
"I thought Ginny helped your Mum out usually." Harry said, handing them the loaf of bread with a muttered instruction to slice it. "Where's Ginny at anyway?"
"Celia Inglebee promised Mum to keep an eye on her. She went off first thing with her and Lydia to do something girly!" Ron sounded totally disgusted but he took the breadknife and carefully started slicing rather thick slices of the homemade bread. "And she said she wasn't cooking just because she was the girl!"
Hermione frowned at him. "She's right; she shouldn't have to cook just because she's female! My Mum and Dad share cooking duty. I would hope anyone I ended up with didn't expect me to be barefoot and pregnant, chained to kitchen sink."
Harry chuckled, handing her knife and pointing her at the mushrooms. "As if you'd ever end up with someone like that."
Ron paused in his slicing. "My Mum stayed at home and brought us all up. There's nothing wrong with it!"
"No, there's nothing wrong with it. It's a perfectly valid choice," Hermione said with a sniff, "it's just not my choice!"
"Are you insulting my mother because…" Ron said heatedly, his redheaded temper igniting because he hadn't listened to her.
"No!" declared Hermione hurriedly. "Of course I'm not insulting your mother!"
"It sounded like you were!" Ron waved the knife at her.
"Hey!" Harry intervened, tapping Ron's hand gently. "No waving sharp implements around! Hermione wasn't insulting your Mum, Ron. Keeping a home and raising kids is an important job and if your Mum wants to do that, then that's good. But can you really see Hermione making that same choice?"
Ron looked at them both slightly bewildered. "But why not?"
And this, thought Hermione with a sigh, was why Ronald Weasley would never be her boyfriend any time soon.
"Hermione wants to be a Healer, Ron, remember?" Harry flicked Ron's forehead.
"Oh! Right!" Ron said, turning back to the bread. "Why didn't you just say so?"
Hermione held her tongue and counted to ten. Ron was short-tempered because he was hungry. If she kept being irritated by everything he said, they'd have a rotten day and she didn't want that. She glanced over at Harry who gestured at the mushrooms.
"They're not going to chop themselves."
Hermione stuck her tongue out as Harry turned deftly back to the stove. A warming plate went under the grill when he took a moment to turn the sausages. He moved again and a second burner was lit and he competently made scrambled eggs.
"By the way, thanks for the shout-out in the article, mate." Ron said happily. "They even spelled my name correctly!"
"Sirius approved it all last night after dinner." Harry stopped cooking for a second to make a disgusted face. "I hated doing the interview."
"All three articles came out really well though, Harry." Hermione assured him, passing him the mushrooms.
"There were three?" inquired Ron, surprised. "We only saw Skeeter's in the Prophet."
"Skeeter took the most…sensationalist approach," she darted a look to Harry who snorted, "it was factually accurate but she led with Harry's comments about his parents and had the picture of him looking….well…"
Skeeter had used one particular photo of Harry clearly holding back tears.
"Wimpish." Ron supplied.
Harry went red and his motions as he transferred the eggs to the warming plate along with the cooked bacon before adding tomatoes and mushrooms to the empty frying pan were stiff and sharp.
"I was going to say upset." Hermione said briskly and decided to move on. "The Quibbler took the most straightforward approach – a nice picture of Harry and Sirius – and a question and answer approach. The International Wizarding Herald was the most political – it's obviously got it in for Professor Dumbledore and the British Ministry."
"So my prediction is in the international press as well?" Ron grinned. "Wicked!"
"Never mind the article," Harry said suddenly, obviously deciding a change of subject was in order which given he hated publicity Hermione wasn't surprised, "something happened last night that I have to tell you guys."
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