She sat down next to Ginny, and the two girls and Ron all looked up at Harry.

She sat down next to Ginny, and the two girls and Ron all looked up at Harry.

‘How're you feeling?’ asked Hermione.

‘Fine,’ said Harry stiffly.

‘Oh, don't lie, Harry,’ she said impatiently. ‘Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's.’

‘They do, do they?’ said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.

‘Well, you have!’ she said. ‘And you won't look at any of us!’

‘It's you lot who won't look at me!’ said Harry angrily.

‘Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other,’ suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.

‘Very funny,’ snapped Harry, turning away.

‘Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,’ said Hermione sharply. ‘Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears—’

‘Yeah?’ growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. ‘All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it.’

‘We wanted to talk toyou, Harry,’ said Ginny, ‘but as you've been hiding ever since we got back—’

‘I didn't want anyone to talk to me,’ said Harry, who was feeling more and more nettled.

‘Well, that was a bit stupid of you,’ said Ginny angrily, ‘seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.’

Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled round.

‘I forgot,’ he said.

‘Lucky you,’ said Ginny coolly.

‘I'm sorry,’ Harry said, and he meant it. ‘So ... so, do you think I'm being possessed, then?’

‘Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?’ Ginny asked. ‘Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?’

Harry racked his brains.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you,’ said Ginny simply. ‘When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there.’

Harry hardly dared believe her, yet his heart was lightening almost in spite of himself.

‘That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though—’

‘Harry, you've had these dreams before,’ Hermione said. ‘You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year.’

‘This was different,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake ... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London—?’

‘One day,’ said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, ‘you'll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps it will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparaie inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly

out of your dormitory, Harry.’

‘You didn't leave your bed, mate,’ said Ron. ‘I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up.’

Harry started pacing up and down the room again, thinking. What they were all saying was not only comforting, it made sense ... without really thinking, he took a sandwich from the plate on the bed and crammed it hungrily

into his mouth.

I'm not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs’

at the top of his voice.

How could he have dreamed of returning to Privet Drive for Christmas? Sirius's delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now

he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so

that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognisable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow

glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father

Christmas hats and beards.

Harry awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of his bed and Ron already halfway through opening his own, rather larger, pile.

‘Good haul this year,’ he informed Harry through a cloud of paper. ‘Thanks for the Broom Compass, it's excellent; beats Hermione's—she got me a homework planner—’

Harry sorted through his presents and found one with Hermione's handwriting on it. She had given him, too, a book that resembled a diary except that every time he opened a page it said aloud things like: ‘Do it today or later

you'll pay!’

Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described.

Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the DA. Hagrid had sent a furry brown wallet that had fangs, which were presumably supposed to be an anti-theft

device, but unfortunately prevented Harry putting any money in without getting his fingers ripped off. Tonks's present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around the room, wishing he still had his

full-size version; Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies, and Dobby a truly dreadful painting that Harry suspected had been

done by the elf himself. He had just turned it upside-down to see whether it looked better that way when, with a loud crack, Fred and George Apparated at the foot of his bed.

‘Merry Christmas,’ said George. ‘Don't go downstairs for a bit.’

‘Why not?’ said Ron.

‘Mum's crying again,’ said Fred heavily. ‘Percy sent back his Christmas jumper.’

‘Without a note,’ added George. ‘Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything.’

‘We tried to comfort her,’ said Fred, moving around the bed to look at Harry's portrait. ‘Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings.’

‘Didn't work,’ said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. ‘So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon.’

‘What's that supposed to be, anyway?’ asked Fred, squinting at Dobbys painting. ‘Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.’

‘It's Harry!’ said George, pointing at the back of the picture, ‘says so on the back!’
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