One evening, a few days after Christmas, Harry Potter and the two Weasley children were huddled in the kitchen of the Burrow.
The kitchen was small and cramped. Near the back stood a dust-covered fireplace... Beside it was a scrubbed wooden table and several chairs, where the three of them were sitting.
All of them wore matching hand-knitted sweaters. Harry's had a glittering golden Snitch embroidered on the front—Mrs. Weasley's handiwork. Despite everything that had happened in the past few days, she hadn't forgotten about her Christmas presents.
"I really miss living at Grimmauld Place. At least it was spacious..." Ron muttered gloomily. "Now the house is packed like a tin of sardines..."
Harry and Ginny Weasley exchanged a helpless smile.
Because it was undeniably true.
Ever since the terrible attack at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place a few days earlier, the Burrow had become the temporary headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix...
This "ramshackle little house" was probably hosting more guests than ever before in its history. Just as Ron said, it was crammed like a sardine tin.
From the dining room beyond the kitchen came the faint sound of Alastor Moody roaring.
Ever since the attack at Grimmauld Place, Mad-Eye's temper had grown even more explosive. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black seemed to be trying to calm him down.
Above them, in addition to the ghoul's usual grumbling and pipe-banging, there were faint groans—the wounded from the attack had also been moved here to avoid attracting outside suspicion.
Ron's original bedroom had been "requisitioned," leaving him to sleep in the dark cupboard under the stairs.
Potter's situation wasn't much better. Although Mrs. Weasley had specially cleared out a room for him... it was the innermost room in the basement, piled high with all sorts of clutter and filled with a musty smell.
Harry had even found Mrs. Weasley's old school textbooks, the suit Mr. Weasley had worn at his wedding, and keepsakes left behind by Mrs. Weasley's two late brothers.
"Why did we have to come back here?" Ron sighed heavily.
"Because Mum's worried about us," Ginny replied. "Hogwarts was nearly attacked. She doesn't think the school is safe anymore..."
"And with at least ten members of the Order of the Phoenix here all the time, this feels safer? If someone really wanted to attack us, this place would be their first target!"
Ron's voice wavered, and he looked as though he might burst into tears.
"You've got it easy—you only have to share a room with Tonks... Me? That stupid cupboard... I found a massive spider in there last night..."
At that moment, a small, unusually excitable owl burst out of the fireplace, covered in soot.
It let out a sharp, piercing screech.
"Pig!" Ginny hurried over, scooping up the tiny owl and brushing the soot from its feathers. "Looks like he's brought some letters from school... This one's yours, Ron. Harry, you've got two..."
"Oh?" Ron and Harry immediately leaned in.
...
The first letters they received were identical. The contents were simple:
"Apparition Course
If you are already seventeen years old, or will turn seventeen by August 31, you may enroll in the twelve-week Apparition course instructed by Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor Wilkie Twycross.
Those who wish to participate should sign below and return this letter to their Head of House before January 10.
Fee: Twelve Galleons."
"Apparition!" Ron's voice brimmed with excitement. "That sounds brilliant!"
"I don't know," Harry said, shaking his head. "Professor Dumbledore took me along once before. It felt absolutely awful..."
"I forgot you've already done it, Harry... I'd better pass on the first try!" Ron lowered his voice, sounding uneasy. "Fred and George both passed first time. If I don't, they'll laugh at me all summer..."
"It's just an Apparition class," Ginny said dismissively, leaning closer to read the letter in Harry's hand. "Who's this Wilkie Twycross?"
"Probably someone from the Ministry of Magic," Harry guessed. "Looks like we're getting another instructor at school."
"Speaking of instructors..." Ginny seemed to recall something. "I heard from Tonks yesterday—Professor Slughorn has been sent to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."
That didn't surprise Harry or Ron much. After all, they had seen the Potions professor knocked flat by that Dark wizard from Durmstrang with their own eyes.
"Don't you realize what that means?" Ginny said, sounding both amused and exasperated. "Professor Slughorn will need time to recover at St. Mungo's... which means the Potions position at Hogwarts will be vacant for a while!"
At her words, Harry and Ron both stiffened.
Especially Harry. His eyes immediately dropped to the Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook, which he carried with him at all times.
If the Potions post became vacant in the middle of term, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have time to find a new teacher. He would have to ask another professor to cover the class temporarily... just like in third year, when Professor Lupin was ill—well, when he turned into a werewolf at the full moon—and Professor Snape substituted for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
So this time, the substitute for Potions couldn't possibly be...
Harry shuddered. If Snape taught him even one more Potions lesson, he would certainly uncover his secret...
...
"Harry, there's another letter!" Ginny prompted softly, jolting him back to his senses.
Harry quickly opened the second "letter" Pig had brought him—more precisely, a note.
"Dear Harry:
I intend to begin giving you private lessons next term. Please come to my office next Sunday at eight o'clock in the evening.
Also, I hope you are enjoying your Christmas holiday.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. I enjoy sherbet."