JohnnyZ
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[Castling] Chapter 42
🕑 Added 2025-01-18 01:38:15 +0000 UTCThe next morning, I woke up early but stayed in bed for a long while, thinking things over.
Of course, Harry hadn’t actually invited me to stay—he barely had a place at the Dursleys’ himself. Two wizards in one house might be pushing things for them. But I decided to take the risk anyway. I had something to offer him, after all.
Right after breakfast, I sent Harry a note in our notebook, asking him to get his uncle’s work phone number. He swiped a business card from Vernon’s office, and within an hour, I was at the village post office making the call.
The conversation with Vernon didn’t go smoothly, at least at first. When he answered, he thought I was a potential customer and sounded almost pleasant. The moment I introduced myself, though, he started yelling and was about to hang up. But I managed to squeeze in, “I’ve had another dream. Take it or leave it.”
“Come over,” he grunted, cutting the call short.
I summoned the Knight Bus, and less than thirty minutes later, I was walking down the corridor to his office on the second floor.
I didn’t expect Dursley to have such a serious-looking company. Say what you want about the man, but he clearly knows his trade. The place was all polished and professional, like a posh lawyer’s office. Even his secretary—a sharp-looking woman in her forties—seemed chosen to avoid distractions.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Vernon hissed as he shoved me into his office, glanced around suspiciously, and slammed the door shut.
“In early August, a prisoner will escape from one of our wizarding jails,” I began. “He’s Harry’s godfather, and you’ll see him on your Muggle news. He’ll want to see Harry. Based on what I’ve seen, he won’t cause trouble or harm you, but I doubt you’d enjoy dealing with him. My parents are going on holiday, and I can’t leave Harry alone at a time like this.”
“So, what do you want?” Vernon growled. His face had gone through about ten different expressions while I talked, and now he was gripping the arms of his expensive chair like he wanted to strangle something.
“I want you to invite me to stay at your house,” I said simply. “It’s just for appearances—so my parents think I’ll be there all summer. But in mid-August, Harry and I will leave, and Black won’t show up at all. It won’t be for free—I’ll pay you £100, and we won’t be underfoot. Also,” I added, rummaging in my bag and sliding a small vial across his desk, “this.”
“What’s that?” he asked, recoiling as if I’d handed him a snake.
“A very effective potion that could help your business.”
“Elaborate,” he said warily, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s perfectly legal,” I said smoothly. “Our medics use it to help children trust them during appointments, to get them to open up. It’s like a mix of trust serum, confidence tonic, and truth potion. I was going to give it to Harry to help him work up the nerve to ask a girl to Hogsmeade. If your feelings are genuine, the person you’re talking to will trust you, feel positively toward you, and overlook small mistakes in conversation.”
“And how would I use it?” Vernon said gruffly, but I could see he was intrigued.
“If you’re honest about wanting to sell your product, it’ll help you make a better impression, so potential clients are more likely to choose you over competitors. But it won’t make someone buy drills if they don’t need them, nor will it work if you lie about price or quality. Just use it like cologne—spray it on, and off you go to close deals. What do you think?”
“And it won’t cause any harm? What if it doesn’t work?” he asked, suspicion still etched on his face.
“Oh, it works,” I said with a smirk, leaning back in the chair. “It’s working now, isn’t it? You’re still listening to me and haven’t tossed me out.”
“You… you’re trying to influence me!” Vernon bellowed, leaping to his feet.
“Well, I had to show you how it works,” I replied coolly, shrugging. “You wanted to understand it, didn’t you? Or did I misunderstand?”
Vernon sank back into his chair, staring at me in shock. Then, after a moment, he pulled out a pen and a blank sheet of paper and began writing quickly.
“When should we expect you… Ron?” he asked, glancing up.
“In two days, sir,” I said with a polite smile. I had no doubt he’d take the bait.
“Here,” he said, handing me the note he’d scribbled, complete with a date.
“Don’t worry—I’ll arrive on my own, around four. I’ll bring an inflatable mattress and share Harry’s room if you don’t mind. See you Friday, sir.” Vernon glared at me but said nothing as I got up, note in hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him swipe the vial into his desk drawer.
My parents weren’t too upset when I told them I wasn’t joining them on the trip. Percy, though, was less than thrilled when I handed him responsibility for Scabbers.
“What am I supposed to do with a rat in someone else’s house?” I argued. “Harry’s aunt hates animals, and anyway, Scabbers was yours first.”
Reluctantly, Percy agreed. He was too busy basking in the glow of his prefect badge and top marks to argue much. Mum was practically beaming with pride, while Fred and George teased him twice as much. The house was a circus.
As for my own results, I was satisfied: all “Outstanding” except for three “Exceeds Expectations” in Transfiguration, Potions, and History of Magic. I wasn’t disappointed—I’d seen it coming. I’d already chosen my electives: Runes, Muggle Studies, and Care of Magical Creatures—all useful for my future career, hopefully.
Harry, meanwhile, had been scribbling furiously in our notebook, barely able to believe I was coming. He couldn’t wait. I’d almost forgotten how much more emotional he’d been since the ritual.
Finally, I packed my bag, said my goodbyes, and called the Knight Bus. My family was leaving for Egypt the next day.
Those three weeks had gone pretty well, all things considered. We couldn’t use magic, of course, but we had a lot of fun anyway. Harry was thrilled, saying it had been the best birthday he’d ever had.
The Dursleys greeted me with their usual suspicion, but Harry and I gave them no reason to worry—not that we saw much of them. After breakfast, we’d leave for London on a regular bus and return just in time for dinner. The day after Harry’s birthday, when Sirius Black’s picture appeared on the news, you should’ve seen Vernon’s face. The very next morning, he unexpectedly offered to drive us to London on his way to work. We still had to find our own way back, but I suspect he was trying to avoid any chance encounters with Harry’s "dangerous" godfather. As for Petunia, she seemed blissfully unaware of the whole thing.
Dudley didn’t bother us, which was a nice surprise—either he was scared, or his father had a word with him. We mostly crossed paths with the family during meals, and even then, it was quiet. Once, I casually complimented Vernon’s new car, and we ended up chatting about different makes and models. Well, Vernon talked, and I nodded or added a word here and there. We even touched on boxing when he bragged about Dudley’s progress, which put Petunia in a good mood. It made things a bit less tense, though honestly, I didn’t care much about their comfort—I’d paid my share for staying there.
When Hermione found out I was staying with Harry, she joined us on our outings. Her family had planned a trip to France, but after our Romania visit, they stayed home, and she was happy to spend time with us.
The Grangers lived much closer to London than the Dursleys, so Hermione often met us in the city and played tour guide. She showed us all the sights—palaces, cathedrals, galleries. By the second day, I was a bit tired of it all, to be honest. It was beautiful and educational, sure, but it wasn’t exactly my scene. Most of our time was spent at Chessington World of Adventures, grabbing snacks at a nearby cafe. I dipped into Dad’s emergency stash of Muggle money to cover my share—he wouldn’t miss a few £50 notes. By five, we’d walk Hermione home before heading back, and in the evenings, we tackled our summer homework.
On Harry’s birthday night, owls arrived with presents, and one brought a letter for me from Charlie. He said he regretted not seeing me but understood my decision and praised me for being a good friend to Harry. He obviously assumed I’d stayed because of Harry. Honestly, I hadn’t realized Charlie would be in Egypt; not that it mattered—I wouldn’t have gone anyway even if Harry was absolutely alright.
I know what a "family holiday" with Mum is like. It’s one big guided tour under her watchful eye, with all of us trudging through the heat and sand. I’ve seen enough pyramids in my previous life to last me a lifetime. And no way would Mum let me go scuba diving with Muggles. Shopping at noisy markets with pushy sellers is not my idea of fun, and I wouldn’t have been allowed to buy anything interesting anyway. The whole thing would’ve been topped off by endless bragging from Bill about his glamorous job. No thanks. Maybe I’ll visit Egypt someday, but definitely not with my family.
Hagrid sent Harry a copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which we managed to calm down by stroking its spine. It was filled with terrifying creatures, one more gruesome than the next. It got me wondering how Hogwarts professors plan their lessons—do they have an official curriculum, or do they just wing it? How do exams work? Care of Magical Creatures is an important subject for me, so I decided to ask about it next time I was at the bookstore.
Mum sent Harry a huge box of sweets for his birthday. Hermione and I chipped in for a broomstick servicing kit, and Harry was over the moon.
I don’t know how Harry survives with the Dursleys as long as he does. I found the lack of a magical atmosphere unsettling, and my fingers itched to cast spells. By August 12th, we’d had enough. After breakfast, we thanked the Dursleys for their "hospitality," summoned the Knight Bus, and left. Harry made sure to grab the signed Hogsmeade permission slip from his uncle before we left—just in time to dodge Vernon’s sister, who was due to visit.
Hermione begged her parents to let her join us when she heard we’d left, but they said no. She openly admitted she was jealous that we could use magic while she couldn’t. Knowing her, she’ll probably find a way to join us soon anyway.
Harry and I checked into the Leaky Cauldron, where we rented room on the second floor for the rest of the summer. The next morning, while we were having breakfast, we had an unexpected visitor.
The door burst open without so much as a knock, and in walked a stout man with a self-important air, followed by a tall, thin man in a suit who quickly shut the door behind him.
The visitor removed his bowler hat, glanced around the room, and focused on Harry, who froze mid-bite, a slice of toast in one hand and a teacup in the other.
"Ah, Harry, at last I’ve found you!" the man exclaimed, striding over to the table and seating himself across from us without invitation. He placed his hat on the chair beside him. "I’m Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic. I must say, Harry, leaving your relatives’ house without informing anyone was quite reckless. Not a wise decision, given the current situation."
"What situation, sir?" Harry asked, placing his toast back on the plate and setting down his cup. "And who should I have informed? I told my uncle, and he didn’t mind—he even offered to drive us. His sister’s arriving tomorrow, and we don’t get along."
"And what, exactly, is the issue, Minister?" I asked, setting down my own cup. "Has something happened?"
"Ah, and you must be Ron Weasley," the Minister turned his benevolent gaze on me. "No, no, nothing’s happened, my boy. But given the situation—two teenagers living on their own..."
"What happened?" Harry shot up, his voice tense. "Are you hiding something? Did something happen to the Dursleys?"
"Merlin, Harry, calm down," Fudge said, startled. "Your relatives are fine. It’s just... have you read yesterday’s Prophet?" He pulled a folded newspaper from his robes and handed it to Harry. I leaned in as well, and we both stared at the page. Sirius Black’s face grinned menacingly from the front.
"Oh, that bloke was on the telly," Harry said, his curiosity piqued as he glanced up at Fudge.
"You see, Harry," Fudge began, his hands fiddling nervously with the silver clasps on his robes, "Black was a Death Eater and a convicted murderer, sentenced to life in Azkaban. And given your history... well, he was spotted last night in Little Whinging. Several Muggles called the hotline about it. It was decided that you should be moved somewhere safe where Black can’t find you. I intended to escort you personally, but you were already gone. Although, staying here is actually better. So, remain in Diagon Alley, but do not wander into Muggle areas—it's too dangerous. Stick to the Alley, and as soon as it starts getting dark, head straight back here. Tom will keep an eye on you."
Fudge forced a crooked smile as he stood abruptly. "Now, if everything’s sorted, I must be off—duty calls, you understand."
"Wait, Minister!" I jumped up. "Can I ask a favor?"
"Go on, then," he chuckled, clearly relieved the difficult conversation was over.
"Harry grew up with Muggles and never had the chance to visit the Ministry of Magic, but he’s always wanted to see how it works. His birthday was just recently, and, well, my dad doesn’t have the clearance to take us..."
"Is that true, Harry?" Fudge asked, his attention shifting to Harry, who looked utterly baffled.
"Er... yes! It’s been my dream ever since I learned about the Ministry of Magic," Harry said, throwing me a quick glance before nodding emphatically.
"Oh, splendid! In that case, I’ll arrange a pass for you and assign a guide," Fudge said, his smile widening. "After all, we are wizards—miracles are our business. The pass will be waiting for you tomorrow at three, with the gatekeeper. I’ll let Tom know about the Floo connection."
"Wait, sir," Harry piped up, rising to his feet. "Could you make it a pass for three? Our friend Hermione wants to come too."
"A girl, eh?" Fudge laughed, giving Harry a sly wink. "Of course, can’t disappoint a young lady."
With that, he nodded, adjusted his bowler hat, and made for the door. Harry opened his mouth—probably to explain Hermione wasn’t his girlfriend—but I tugged on his sleeve, and he wisely stayed quiet. Fudge’s assistant silently closed the door behind them as they left.
Harry and I exchanged looks, then sat back down at the table.
"What was that about?" Harry asked, still puzzled. "Since when have I been dreaming of visiting the Ministry?"
"Look, Harry," I began, choosing my words carefully, "I really need us to get into the Ministry—specifically the Department of Mysteries. But we need a pass to get in."
"Why?" Harry asked, his curiosity fully piqued.
"I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else," I said seriously.
"I swear," Harry said earnestly, practically bouncing in his chair with anticipation. "You know you can trust me."
"I’ve found out why the Dark Lord came after your family that night," I said quietly.
"Really?" Harry froze, then sank back into his seat, his hands clenching nervously. "Why? He said Mum didn’t need to die, that he was there for me."
"He wasn’t lying," I said. "There was a prophecy. During the war, he was close to winning, but then this prophecy surfaced. It said someone born at the end of July would have the power to defeat him. So, he came to kill you."
"So... I’m supposed to fight him when he comes back?" Harry’s face went pale, his eyes wide with fear.
"Don’t be ridiculous," I shot back. "You’ve already beaten him—when you got rid of that piece of him inside you. That’s what the prophecy meant, not that you’d go at him with a sword or something. He just misunderstood it."
"Then why the Ministry?" Harry asked, still uneasy but a little calmer now.
"The Dark Lord only heard part of the prophecy. That’s why he came for you. When he comes back, he’ll want to hear the rest to figure out why he couldn’t kill you. The prophecy is kept in the Department of Mysteries, but only the people it’s about can take it. We need to get there first and destroy it."
"You think we can do it?" Harry asked, not doubting me for a second.
"We have to," I said firmly. "We can’t let him get his hands on it. While Hermione and I distract the guide, you’ll find the prophecy and smash it. We’ll go over the plan later, but for now, let’s send Hermione a letter."
"Start writing," Harry said, springing to his feet. "I’ll wake Hedwig."
