PRIORI INCANTATEM by Arianna Waters (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

When he, Ron, and Hermione entered the Hall, they saw that the Great Hall was decorated in red and gold for the Leaving Feast. Harry felt a lighter and brighter to see Gryffindor winning the House Cup for fourth year in row. Given this, the Gryffindor table was the loudest and the cheeriest of all. Harry could see Draco Malfoy sulking at the Slytherin table.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now, his wooden leg and his magical eye back in place. He was extremely twitchy, jumping every time someone spoke to him. Harry couldn’t blame him; Moody’s fear of attack was bound to have been increased by his ten-month imprisonment in his own trunk.

The weather could not have been more different on the journey back to King’s Cross than it had been on their way to Hogwarts the previous September — when it had been raining heavily — to put it lightly. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky today. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had managed to get a compartment to themselves.

Pigwidgeon was once again hidden under Ron’s dress robes to stop him from hooting continually; Hedwig was dozing, her head under her wing, and Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion. Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked more fully and freely than they had all week as the train sped them southward, and played a number of rounds of Exploding Snap till the lunch trolley arrived.

When Hermione returned from the trolley and put her money back into her schoolbag, she began telling them about Rita Skeeter being an unregistered Animagus. She was still going on when the compartment door opened.

“Very clever, Granger,” said Draco Malfoy.

Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him. All three of them looked more pleased with themselves, more arrogant and more menacing, than Harry had ever seen them.

“So,” said Malfoy slowly, advancing slightly into the compartment and looking slowly around at them, a smirk quivering on his lips. “You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter’s Dumbledore’s favorite boy again. Big deal.”

His smirk widened. Crabbe and Goyle leered.

“Get out,” said Harry, as he gripped his wand under his robes.

“You’ve picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you, you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!” He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. “Too late now, Potter! They’ll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord’s ba—”

It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, Harry blinked and looked down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway. He, Ron, and Hermione were on their feet, all three of them having used a different hex. Nor were they the only ones to have done so.

“Thought we’d see what those three were up to,” said Fred matter-of-factly, stepping onto Goyle and into the compartment. He had his wand out, and so did George, who was careful to tread on Malfoy as he followed Fred inside.

“Interesting effect,” said George, looking down at Crabbe. “Who used the Furnunculus Curse?”

“Me,” said Harry.

“Odd,” said George lightly. “I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn’t be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let’s not leave them here, they don’t add much to the decor.”

Ron, Harry, and George kicked, rolled, and pushed the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle — each of whom looked distinctly the worse for the jumble of jinxes with which they had been hit — out into the corridor, then came back into the compartment and rolled the door shut.

“Exploding Snap, anyone?” said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards.

The rest of the journey passed pleasantly enough. Soon, the Hogwarts Express was pulling in at platform nine and three-quarters. The usual confusion and noise filled the corridors as the students began to disembark. Ron and Hermione struggled out past Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, carrying their trunks. Harry, however, stayed put.

“Fred — George — wait a moment.”

The twins turned. Harry pulled open his trunk and drew out his and Cedric’s Triwizard winnings.

“Take it,” he said, and he thrust the sack into George’s hands.

“What?” said Fred, looking flabbergasted.

“Take it,” Harry repeated firmly. “I don’t want it, neither does Cedric.”

“You’re mental,” said George, trying to push it back at Harry.

“No, I’m not,” said Harry. “You take it, and get inventing. It’s for the joke shop.”

“He is mental,” Fred said in an almost awed voice.

“Listen,” said Harry firmly. “If you don’t take it, I’m throwing it down the drain. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need them more than usual before long.”

“Harry,” said George weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, “there’s got to be a thousand Galleons in here.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, grinning. “Think how many Canary Creams that is.”

The twins stared at him.

“Just don’t tell your mum where you got it . . . although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it. . . .”

“Harry,” Fred began, but Harry pulled out his wand.

“Look,” he said flatly, “take it, or I’ll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me one favor, okay? Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they’re from you.”

He left the compartment before they could say another word, stepping over Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were still lying on the floor, covered in hex marks.

As Harry got on the platform, he was surprised to see Remus Lupin waving over to him, waiting for him.

“Over here, Harry,” he said.

“See you, Harry,” said Ron, clapping him on the back.

“ ’Bye, Harry!” said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Harry — thanks,” George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.

Harry walked with Remus Lupin to a grim neighborhood, where they abruptly came to halt in front of the wall joining number eleven and number . . . thirteen?

“Here,” Remus whispered, giving a piece of parchment to Harry. “Read quickly and memorize.”

Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

“But where’s —?” Harry began to ask, clearly confused as he looked at number eleven, then at thirteen, and then back at eleven.

“Think about what you’ve just memorized,” said Lupin quietly.

Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn’t even felt anything.

Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver door knocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.

Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

“Get in quick, Harry,” Lupin whispered. “But don’t go far inside and don’t touch anything.”

As soon as Harry entered the hallway, he found himself enveloped in a warm hug, as Lily Potter fiercely hugged him.

“Hi mum,” he wearily muttered.

“Tired?” his mother asked, concerned, as she relieved him of his luggage when he nodded and led him to a door on his left.

He was sandwiched between two adults as soon as he stepped inside.

“Padfoot . . . dad . . . can’t breathe!” he cried, grinning.

“How’s my favourite godson?” Sirius asked, settling back on a sofa.

“I’m your only godson,” Harry said.

“Still the favourite,” replied Sirius, grinning widely.

“As if you’ve got a choice!” James smirked.

“Padfoot, show Harry his room, will you?” Lily asked, without looking up from the dinner she was cooking.

“Of course, Lils!” he replied, standing up. “Come on, Harry!”

“You don’t get to call her Lils,” James shouted over their backs.

“Sure Prongsie!” Sirius yelled back.

“Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, bygone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —” Harry heard a voice screeching, and found the source to be a painting of an ugly old woman, which had previously been hidden behind curtains.

“Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!” Sirius roared, seizing the curtain which had previously covered the painting.

The old woman’s face blanched.

“Yoooou!” she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. “Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!”

“I said — shut — UP!” roared Sirius, and with a stupendous effort he and James, who had joined them, managed to force the curtains closed again.

“So, you’ve finally met my dear old mum, Harry,” said Sirius. “We’ve been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas.”

“But what’s a portrait of your mother doing here?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“This was my parents’ house,” said Sirius. “But I’m the last Black left, so it’s mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters.”

James grinned. “Come to think of what your mother would have said had she known you’re putting this house for a movement against Voldemort.”

“Clearly unimaginable,” said Sirius, sarcastically.

Harry followed Sirius upstairs. As they reached the second landing, he said, “The door on the right is you. I’ve got something — er — important to do, I’ll see you downstairs in a while. Cedric’s staying here. He’s the room on the left.”

Before Harry could respond, he dashed down the stairs and vanished behind the wall. Sighing, Harry made his way to the room.

“Hi Harry,” Cedric Diggory greeted him, poking his head from the door of his room. “I thought you must have come, when I heard the uncharacteristically pleasant sound of Mrs. Black.” He smirked.

“Hey Cedric,” Harry said, amused. He had never thought of Cedric as a humorous type. “What exactly this place is, besides being Sirius’ family’s home?” he asked, as the two went inside Harry’s room.

“House of one of the Darkest Wizarding Families —” Cedric grinned, “— apart from being Headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix.”

“So, what are your current leads?”

“Sorry mate, can’t tell you about that. Ask your parents or your godfather instead,” Cedric replied. “Come to think of it, I don’t actually even know half of the stuff. Apparently, I’m yet not old enough to know all of that.”

“Alright,” Harry muttered in defeat. “So, what’re you doing right now, being officially out of the school, apart from working for the Order?”

“Nothing at the moment. I’m supposed to be at St. Mungo’s, remember?” Cedric replied. “Though I’ll be joining Auror training a month or two later. Apparently, Dumbledore’s covering for me, saying I’m under healer supervision at my house.”

Harry nodded, not understanding whether he was serious or was just playing around. He suddenly spoke up, “Cedric . . . I gave the Triwizard winnings to Fred and George for their joke shop . . . mine, as well as yours . . . do you mind?”

To his surprise, Cedric’s face broke out into a huge grin. “Couldn’t have thought of a better thing to do with the money. I’ve always been fond of the Weasley twins. Can’t imagine a Hogwarts without those two troublemakers.”

Harry grinned in return. He was slowly getting over