‘I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!’ said Ron bitterly. ‘D'you know how much mould we've got rid of since we arrived here?’
‘You were so keen to help the Order,’ said Mrs. Weasley, ‘you can do your bit by making Headquarters fit to live in.’
‘I feel like a house-elf,’ grumbled Ron.
‘Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.!’ said Hermione hopefully, as Mrs. Weasley left them to it. ‘You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people
exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time—we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds—’
‘I'll sponsor you to shut up about spew,’ Ron muttered irritably, but only so Harry could hear him.
Harry found himself daydreaming about Hogwarts more and more as the end of the holidays approached; he could not wait to see Hagrid again, to play Quidditch, even to stroll across the vegetable patches to the Herbology
greenhouses; it would be a treat just to leave this dusty, musty house, where half of the cupboards were still bolted shut and Kreacher wheezed insults out of the shadows as you passed, though Harry was careful not to say
any of this within earshot of Sirius.
The fact was that living at the Headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement was not nearly as interesting or exciting as Harry would have expected before he'd experienced it. Though members of the Order of the Phoenix
came and went regularly, sometimes staying for meals, sometimes only for a few minutes of whispered conversation, Mrs. Weasley made sure that Harry and the others were kept well out of earshot (whether Extendable or
normal) and nobody, not even Sirius, seemed to feel that Harry needed to know anything more than he had heard on the night of his arrival.
On the very last day of the holidays Harry was sweeping up Hedwig's owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered their bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.
‘Booklists have arrived,’ he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. ‘About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this....’
Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron's head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. He then opened his letter. It contained two pieces
of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year.
‘Only two new ones,’ he said, reading the list, ‘The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.’
Crack.
Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn't even fall off his chair.
‘We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book,’ said Fred conversationally.
‘Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,’ said George.
‘And about time too,’ said Fred.
‘What d'you mean?’ Harry asked, jumping down beside them.
Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,’ Fred told Harry, ‘and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.’
‘Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?’ said George.
‘One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months,’ said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’
‘What's up with you, Ron?’ asked Fred.
Ron did not answer. Harry looked round. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
‘What's the matter?’ said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment.
Fred's mouth fell open, too.
‘Prefect?’ he said, staring incredulously at the letter. ‘Prefect?’
George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand and turned it upside-down. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.
‘No way,’ said George in a hushed voice.
‘There's been a mistake,’ said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. ‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect.’
The twins’ heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.
‘We thought you were a cert!’ said Fred, in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.
‘We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!’ said George indignantly.
‘Winning the Triwizard and everything!’ said Fred.
‘I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him,’ said George to Fred.
‘Yeah,’ said Fred slowly. ‘Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right.’
He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.
‘Prefect ... ickle Ronnie the prefect...’
‘Oh, Mum's going to be revolting,’ groaned George, thrusting the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him.
Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it. A large ‘P’ was superimposed on the Gryffindor
lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.
The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.
‘Did you—did you get—?’
She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek.
‘I knew it!’ she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. ‘Me too, Harry, me too!’
‘No,’ said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. ‘It's Ron, not me.’
‘It—what?’
‘Ron's prefect, not me,’ Harry said.
‘Ron?’ said Hermione, her jaw dropping. ‘But ... are you sure? I mean—’
She turned red as Ron looked round at her with a defiant expression on his lace.
‘It's my name on the letter,’ he said.
‘I....’ said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. ‘I ... well ... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really—’
‘Unexpected,’ said George, nodding.
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