“Look at James!” he called to the other players. “Giving the ‘old guard’ a warning shot! Next one will be my head, eh, James? Nice shot!” And he dove back into the melee.
Ron couldn’t help jumping up and down at the edge of the pitch, shouting instructions and warnings through cupped hands.
“Dragon formation!” he bellowed furiously. “Dragon formation, George at the wing! Harry’s left is weak since that hit with Angelina! They’ve no defence against it! Ginny, you’re drifting to the right! Fix your tail! Your tail! Oh, come down here and give me your broom!”
Right next to him, Albus matched him shout for shout, sometimes shoving his uncle aside with both hands. “They’re planning a Waterloo Skidoo, Dad! Stack up and plow the center! Ted! Mum’s stopped to fix her broomtail! She’s exposed! Forget she’s a girl and Bludger her back to the Stone Age!”
Hermione had moved to the blanket to sit with Fleur. The two of them were pointedly ignoring the match, lost in their own animated conversation.
And then, just as the sun was beginning to redden, James caught a flash of gold flickering near the fifth story of the Burrow. He glanced around, opening his mouth to alert the Seeker, and then remembered he was playing Seeker. His heart trip-hammered and he lunged forward, touching his chin to his broom handle. He shot forward, banking around Angelina and a wildly spinning Bludger. The rickety walls of the Burrow swayed in front of him, its windows winking daggers of burnished sunlight at him, half blinding him. There it was again, the flash of gold, darting through a stand of birch trees at the corner. James leaned, and the Thunderstreak responded with perfect control, ticking down and to the right, homing in on the Snitch. He strained forward, nearly climbing off the end of his broom, and reached for the tarnished golden ball.
The Snitch suddenly bobbed upwards, just over James’ reaching hand. He shot under it, swore loudly, and then tucked his head as he whipped through the branches of the birch trees. They tore at him, but he barely noticed. He leaned so hard that he nearly fell off his broom, slewing to a halt and craning his head back to find the Snitch. The setting sun dazzled his eyes. James squinted and saw the tiny golden form of the Snitch. It hung in the air near the corner of the Burrow’s roof, bobbing in the air like a bumblebee. A darker shape appeared behind it, blocking the sun. It was Ginny. She saw the Snitch, and then saw James. She grinned, and hugged her broom, rocketing forward.
“Oh no you don’t!” James growled. He lunged, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the Snitch and not to check to see where his mum was. The Snitch seemed to sense the pursuit. It zigged out over the pitch, threading through the players. James hugged his broom, willing it to go even faster, and was suddenly reminded that the Thunderstreak was equipped with a rudimentary ability to read its owner’s mind. It leapt forward, faster than James had ever gone before. He dipped under Ted and his dad, who had noticed the Snitch flash past them. James heard them cheering him on raucously. A shadow fell over the end of his broom and James couldn’t help glancing up. His mum was directly over him, swooping toward the Snitch, her tunic flapping. James did the first thing that occurred to him. Suddenly, wildly, he steered to the left, away from the Snitch, still reaching forward as if to grab it. Instantly, he corrected and threw himself forward on his broom. It had worked! He sensed the movement over him as Ginny feinted left, believing James had seen the Snitch move aside. She’d been watching him rather than the Snitch itself! The Snitch didn’t dodge away from him this time. He strained forward, brushed it with his fingers as it flew, and then clamped his hand on it. The wings buzzed against his palm for a moment before going still. The game was over.
James turned on his broom exultantly, holding the Snitch over his head. Far behind him, Harry and Ted threw their hands into the air. They were shouting at him. A second later, James realized they weren’t celebrating. They were making warning signs. James hadn’t stopped his broom. He whipped around to see where he was going just as the gnarled apple tree at the back of the pitch loomed over him. The breath socked out of him as a branch swept him from his broom. There was a sickly sensation of weightlessness, and then he thumped to the ground.
“Ooh,” he moaned. Running footsteps approached and a moment later his mum was kneeling over him.
“James! Tell me you’re all right!” she commanded. Lily peered in next to her, her eyes wide.
“He’s all right, everybody,” Ted said as he landed nearby, laughing. “He only dropped eight feet. Besides, all those rotten apples broke his fall.”
James sat up and felt the sticky mush of a dozen rotten apples plastered to his back. He moaned and shook his head, flinging gobbets of apple pulp from his hair.
“Gah!” Lily cried, sputtering. “Warn me next time you do that, idiot!”
Suddenly, James remembered the Snitch. He glanced down at it in his hand, and then showed it to his mum. A huge grin broke out on his face.
Ginny smiled down at him crookedly. “Nicely done, son. Just don’t expect to beat me twice.”
“Did we win, then?” James asked as Ginny gave him her hand and pulled him to his feet.
“I hear Albus and your uncle arguing about it even as we speak, but I’d guess you did.”
In the near distance, James heard Ron and Albus heatedly arguing the final score.
“Excellent grab, James,” Harry said to his son, brushing rotten apple off the back of James’ shirt as they returned to the Burrow.
“Yeah,” Ted agreed happily, “great use of the old dodge and feint. I was sure your mum was gonna beat you to the gold, but you really took the biscuit, didn’t you?”
“I’ll say,” George said sourly, turning and walking backwards so as to glare pointedly at Ginny, his broom slung over his shoulder. “In fact, if I recall correctly, I think it was a member of this very family that invented that maneuver.”
Ginny looked innocently at her brother. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, George.”
“No? Hmm! Well, if I remember right—and I do—the Harpies’ announcers used to call it the ‘Ginevra Gambit’. Funny thing, you falling for a maneuver named after you, isn’t it? Right suspicious, in fact.”
Ginny simply shrugged and smiled. George continued to walk backwards, fuming at her. Finally, Angelina tripped him.
“James, why don’t you go gather your brother and cousins for dinner?” Harry said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Your grandfather will be home soon and we all want to be there for the big surprise.”
“Now look what you did, Dad,” James said, trying to matt his hair back down. “I look like an old picture of you.”
“That rotten apple’s even better than Hermione’s hair gel goo,” Ted commented. “You should tell her about it. Ron says she spends more money on Muggle hair potions than she does on food.”
“What?” Hermione shrilled, bumping Ron with her hip. “You did not!”
James didn’t wait for the rest. He tossed his Thunderstreak to his dad and turned toward the sound of his cousins’ voices.
“Hey, it’s almost dinner, you lot,” he called as he entered the shadow of the Weasley family’s small stone garage. As always, the doors were thrown wide open. The cool, familiar smell of the dirt floor and dusty shelves surrounded him. He sighed happily.
“Nice grab, James!” the twins, Harold and Jules, called in unison as James approached.
“Thanks!”
“Too bad you spoiled it by getting intimate with an apple tree,” Rose said from where she sat, kicking her legs idly. “What a downer.”
“Hey,” James said, ignoring Rose’s remarks. “That’s Merlin’s car! What’s it doing here?”
Rose glanced down at the bonnet of the car she was sitting on. The old Anglia had been meticulously cleaned and was half-repainted, but one headlight still hung askew from its socket. “This isn’t Merlin’s, you nitwit,” Rose chided. “It’s Grandfather’s. Don’t you remember the stories about the flying Ford? Your dad and my dad took it for a joyr
ide back when they were in school. They ended up losing it in the Forbidden Forest. All Merlin did was find it. When he discovered whose it was, he arranged to have it returned here. Grandfather’s been getting it back into shape over the summer.”
“He’s making some pretty keen modifications to it too!” Hugo announced, popping his head out the driver’s side window. “Watch this!”
He disappeared again and the car rocked a bit as he and Albus moved around in the front seat.
“That’s probably not a good idea—” James began, and then jumped back as a pair of wood and canvas wings shot out of the sides of the automobile, squeaking and ratcheting as they unfolded. They began to flap up and down violently, making the entire car bounce and rock. A moment later, they screeched to a stop.
“It’s a good thing you know how to turn those off!” James exclaimed, his eyes wide.
“I didn’t!” Albus answered, working buttons and levers on the car’s dashboard. “They stopped on their own. Looks like they aren’t quite finished yet. I hope we didn’t break them. Hey, Hugo, climb back there and jump on them a little, why don’t you?”
“No, let us!” the twins cried, scrambling toward the wings.
“No!” James called, throwing up his hands. “Nobody jump on anything! Granddad will leather you with a hex if you break his stuff!”
Hugo scowled, ignoring James. “Too bad Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey aren’t here. Lucy’s the mechanical one. I bet she could get this thing in the air.”
“I wonder why it needs the wings anyway,” Rose commented. “I thought it flew on its own.”
“Uncle Harry smashed it into the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts, remember?” Hugo called out. “Totally crippled it. That’s why it ran off into the Forest and turned all feral.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Albus said. “Your dad was driving. If my dad had been behind the wheel, they’d have made a four-point landing.”
“Yeah,” Rose agreed, “probably right through the windows of the Great Hall.”
The twins guffawed and ran around the car, pretending to fly and crash. Harold mimicked the Whomping Willow, thrashing at his brother, who feigned death and keeled over.
“Anyway,” Hugo continued, “everybody knows about the Alma Alerons and their flying cars. I bet Granddad wanted to see if he could make this fly even better.”
James grinned. “Come on, you lot. He’ll be home soon. If we don’t get inside, we’ll miss the surprise.”
“And the cake,” Rose added.
That got their attention. Jules and Harold spun on their heels and darted past James, yelling and trying to push each other out of the way. Albus shrugged and followed Hugo out the driver’s door of the car. Rose slid off the bonnet and brushed the dust from her bottom with her hands.
“Grandfather’s quite peculiar, isn’t he?” she said, glancing around at the Anglia and the collection of mismatched Muggle objects that filled the shelves nearby. James had seen them a hundred times, but there were always a few new things. He followed Rose as she approached the collection and ran her hand lightly over some of the items, drawing lines in the dust with her fingers. Alongside the assortment of batteries and electric can openers, extension cords and nose hair trimmers, James saw the newer additions. There was an old laptop computer, a video game controller, and a digital alarm clock in the shape of a cartoon character.
“Why do you suppose he loves all this stuff so much?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know,” James said. “I think part of it is because he grew up a wizard, not like us. My dad grew up with Muggles. Your mum too. They brought a bit of the Muggle world with them, so to us, it’s no mystery. But for Granddad, the Muggle world is as foreign as aliens would be to us. He just loves figuring out how it all works, and what they use it for.”
“He could just take a Muggle Studies course, nowadays, couldn’t he?” Rose said as the two of them turned toward the door. “They didn’t have classes like that when he was a kid.”
James shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t think he wants to learn it like that though. That’s not the point for him. I don’t really know what he thinks the point is though.”
Rose tilted her head. “He just loves the mystery of it, don’t you think?”
“Well, what’s the point of a mystery if you never find out?” James frowned.
“You’re such a boy, James. The moment the mystery is solved, it’s not a mystery anymore.”
“Granddad’s a boy too, you know.”
“No, Grandfather’s a man.”
James rolled his eyes. “What’s the difference, then?”
Rose sniffed. “Well, a man can catch the Snitch and not come out smelling like a rancid cider house.”
James chased her the rest of the way to the back door.
Inside, Grandma Weasley was frantically arranging the final details as the family milled around, mostly trying to stay out of her way.
“Hugo! Dominique! You get your fingers away from that cake this moment!” she admonished as she passed by the table, her arms full of plates and cutlery. “Fleur, would you be a dear and help me with the pudding? It’s Arthur’s favorite and I want it right in the middle of the table. Oh, when did this family become so large that we can’t eat indoors without sitting on each other’s laps?”
“It’s your fault entirely, Mum,” George said reasonably. “You can’t go having seven kids and not expect the lot of us to see it as a dare to have more.”
“Don’t you start,” Angelina said, grimacing and throwing an arm around his neck.
“You knew what you were getting into when you got engaged to me,” George replied airily. “The thing I love best about you is your childbearing hips.”
Angelina tightened her grip around his neck, dragging him into the parlor where everyone was gathering.
“How’d the match go, James?” Bill asked from his seat next to his son Louis.
James shrugged and grinned. “Pretty good. Nobody got killed. I caught the Snitch.”
Louis smiled crookedly. “Rose told us all about it already.”
James rolled his eyes as Bill laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Oh! Arthur will be here any moment!” Molly fretted, wringing her hands on her apron and glancing around at her gathered family. “I just know I’m forgetting something. He’s so dreadfully hard to surprise. James! You didn’t change your shirt! You’re covered with rotten apple! No! Don’t sit on the sofa! It’s too late now to do anything about it, I suppose…”
“Mum,” Charlie soothed, “calm down. It’s a birthday party, not a military campaign.”
She heaved a quick sigh, letting Charlie massage her shoulders for a moment. “All I can say is it’s a good thing he agreed to that consultant position at the Ministry. At least it gets him away from the Burrow a few times a week. Otherwise, I’d never have got him out of the place long enough to arrange such a thing. Especially since that Merlin character returned that awful car… Oh! That’s what I forgot! Ronald! Do you have the—”
“Socket wrench set,” Ron nodded wearily. “Fresh from the Muggle hardware store. All wrapped and on the table along with everyone else’s gifts. He’ll love it, Mum. Calm down or George and I will have to break out the Firewhisky.”
“Shh!” James’ mum hissed, looking hard at the fireplace. “Here he comes!”
She leaned in, gripping Harry’s arm and pulling him with her. The room fell silent as everyone drew their breath, preparing to shout.
The ash in the fieldstone fireplace swirled, and then suddenly erupted into flame. It flared, and a figure materialized out of it, plopping onto the floor in front of the grate with a practiced hop.
“Surprise—” everyone shouted, but the strength of the shout faded on the second syllable. The new arrival wasn’t Arthur Weasley. There was a sudden, awkward silence as everyone stared at the unexpected form of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Kingsley’s face was grave. He looked ove
r the room, scanning faces, until he saw Molly.
“Oh no,” Molly said simply.
Kingsley’s face didn’t change. Together, both he and Molly looked aside, toward the Weasley family clock.
“Oh no!” Molly said again. She slowly raised her right hand to her mouth, her eyes wide, shining.
Everyone in the room looked toward the magical clock, the clock that showed every Weasley family member’s whereabouts and well-being. Most of the family members’ hands were pointed toward The Burrow: Parlor. Arthur Weasley’s hand of the clock was pointed straight down, toward two small red words.
No More.
“Arthur Weasley was among the rarest and most honorable of men,” Kingsley said in his calm, measured voice. “With those whom he loved, he was faultlessly gentle, loyal, and wise. With those who deserved his ire, he was fair, unflagging, and when necessary, fierce. Few who grew up with him would ever have guessed that this soft-spoken, even comical man would someday face the greatest enemies of his time. And yet he did, firmly, and with the kind of quiet courage that comes only from loving well, and being wellloved.”
James sat in the second row, between Albus and Lily. He stared furiously at Kingsley’s face as he spoke, concentrating on the words, trying very hard not to look at the shiny wooden box behind the big man. The lid was open, showing a snowy white, cushioned interior. Next to James, Lily sniffed quietly and leaned against her mother’s shoulder. Albus sat ramrod straight, his face blank and pale. The tiny church at Ottery St. Catchpole was packed and hot.
“During Arthur’s lifetime,” Kingsley went on, “he saw both great and horrible things. In his family, he witnessed the purest of delights, and more importantly, was the sort of man who knew how to enjoy them. He also faced the most terrible of trials and endured the greatest sacrifices. And yet his heart was pure enough to not become embittered by them. Hatred had no foothold in this man. Viciousness knew him not. Corruption could not bend him.”
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