Part 15: July, 1992

Monday, 31st July 1992,
The Burrow, just before noon.

“Ron! They’re here!”

Ron gave a start and almost choked on the glass of water he’d been drinking. “Bloody —” he coughed, wiping the water from his chin before turning around to glare at the source of the sudden voice. “Yellow, I’m happy you’ve learned how to Apparate, but could you give a bloke a warning before you appear behind him like that?!”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Yellow giggled, her wings fluttering as she hovered in place. “Besides, no time for that now — they’re here! Harry and the cat lady! We saw that awful iron contraption come down the road at about a thousand miles an hour, making more noise than a hundred thunderstorms, and Cyan went up to the orchard to tell everyone else, and I came here to tell you! Come on, we’ve got to go greet them!”

“Right. Okay. Coming.” Ron put the mostly-empty glass down and followed the speeding flitling out to the courtyard. He stepped out on the porch just in time to see the car — an old, weathered jalopy that made Dad’s old Ford Anglia from 1959 look sleek and modern by comparison — drive into the Weasley courtyard at a breakneck speed before coming to a dust-whirling stop just outside the old tool shed. The engine roared and then went silent.

After a few moments, a familiar elderly woman with grizzled grey hair stepped out. Ron immediately recognized her as Mrs Figg, the old woman who had come to fetch Harry at King’s Cross back at the end of the school year, and whom the flitlings without fail referred to as “the cat lady”. It wasn’t hard to see why either, when almost immediately after she’d got out of the car, no less than seven cats came jumping out as well. 

Ron hurried up towards them.  “Hi, Mrs Figg,” he said. “Er, Harry, are you okay?”

Because Harry, who was slowly stepping out of the car, looked a little shaken. “Hey, Ron,” he greeted. “Tell me… when do we learn to Apparate again?”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” said Mrs Figg. “You’d think this was the first time you’d been in my car.”

“I told you, you shouldn’t have trusted that terrible contraption,” said Yellow. She was hovering in place a few feet behind Ron, beaming at Harry, but keeping her distance from the car. “Nothing good ever comes from locking yourself in a speeding iron cage for several hours. You should just have flown over here with Hedwig, Magenta, Cyan and me. I’m pretty sure we could have carried you all the way.”

(Ron had to stifle a laugh at the thought of Harry being carried from Cornwall to Devon by three flitlings and one owl.)

“It wasn’t the car, Yellow, it was the cats.” Harry looked down at the cats, who seemed quite unconcerned about the whole thing; they were stretching themselves and sniffing curiously around the courtyard.

“I already made it clear that we weren’t going to Devon for several days without them,” said Mrs Figg. “You’re just lucky they travel well.”

“Travel well?!” Harry repeated. Then he turned back to Ron. “It was okay for the first hour, when they were all asleep. But then they woke up and decided to play tag or something in the back seat, and then they were fighting…”

“They weren’t fighting, they were just play-wrestling,” said Mrs Figg. “They had to do something to pass the time. Not like they can settle down with a good book. Not to mention, the group dynamic’s a little off ever since we got the new one.” 

“We almost crashed into that lorry because of them!”

“We barely grazed it. Besides, I don’t know what you’re complaining about; you do more dangerous stunts on that broomstick of yours.”

“Yeah, up in the sky! Where there aren’t any lorries to crash into!”

“Never mind that now,” said Ron hurriedly. “You’re here, that’s what counts! Oh, and happy birthday!!”

“Oh right… my birthday. Yeah, it’s definitely looking up now that we’ve arrived.” Harry’s expression turned into a grin. “Anyway, let me introduce you… you already met Mrs Figg, and this is Tufty, Snowy, Little Grey, Mr Paws, Mr Tibbles, Panther and —”

“Ginger,” said Yellow, pointing at the largest of the cats. “He’s the new one!”

“For the last time, his name isn’t Ginger,” said Mrs Figg. “He is ginger, but his name isn’t Ginger!”

“Well, I’m yellow and my name is Yellow!”

“That’s on Harry, he was the one who gave you that name!”

‘Ginger’ was not only the biggest of the cats, but he was (at least in Ron’s opinion) by far the ugliest one as well.  With his bandy legs and large paws, he looked like he’d been put together in a hurry, by someone who wasn’t particularly skilled in cat-making. His scruffy ginger fur had uneven brown stripes running haphazardly across his body, his tail resembled a frayed old duster, and his squashed, flat face made him look like he’d once been hit by a Bludger and had never recovered from it.

“His name is actually Crookshanks,” said Harry. 

“Crookshanks?” Ron looked down at the huge cat, who looked back up at him with large, yellow eyes. “Honestly, you should’ve just gone with ‘Ginger’.”

“He came with the name,” Harry explained. “We found him at the Magical Menagerie while buying owl treats for Hedwig, and he just jumped up on the desk to say hello. The clerk said his name was Crookshanks and that he’d been there for ages, because nobody wanted him. But he seemed to take a liking to us, so we adopted him.” 

Ron looked a little closer at Crookshanks. “You sure that’s not a miniature lion? Biggest cat I’ve ever seen.”

“Part Kneazle,” said Mrs Figg. “All these cats are part Kneazle, but I reckon this one’s got more Kneazle than cat in him. Smart bugger too, understands everything you say. Pretty sure the reason why he was so interested in us was because he could sense we lived with Fae. Cats and Fae, you know…”

Ron knew. All cats, even perfectly normal cats who lived their entire lives in the Muggle world, had what wizards called Second Sight and Fae called True Sight; they could see the Fae clear as day, even if the Fae was trying not to be seen. And where dogs who had the Second Sight were usually nervous or even hostile towards the Fae, cats were far more likely to be friendly. Many Fae even took the shape of cats when visiting the mortal realm — there was some speculation among wizards that Kneazles were actually descendants of shapeshifting Fae, but nobody really believed that.

“Well, if you like Fae,” Ron told Crookshanks, “you’ve definitely come to the right place. We’ve got an entire delegation of Summer Fae up in the orchard. Otherwise, you’re welcome to walk around as you like… long as you stay out of my room. In fact,” he added, looking at all the cats, “no cats are allowed in my room.” 

“Mrrrrow?” said Crookshanks. Ron had the definite feeling that he was taking those words as a challenge.

“No, you don’t!” he said firmly. “I’ve got Scabbers in there!”

“Scabbers?” said Mrs Figg, who had opened the car boot and was pulling out a number of suitcases.

“Yeah, my pet rat,” said Ron. “Well, he used to belong to Percy, and now he’s mine. He’s a bit rubbish, really… barely ever wakes up… but he’s been with the family for years. Hate for him to end up as some cat’s dinner. You know, if you wait a couple of minutes, I’m pretty sure someone’s coming down to help you with that luggage.”

“Did someone mention help?” 

“Or were we just summoned by the sound of potential chaos?”

The voices came from the house. Ron didn’t even need to turn around to know that Fred and George had arrived… but he turned around anyway, to see the twins come striding up towards them. Cyan was perched on George’s head, holding onto his hair and looking like she was enjoying the ride immensely.

“Hi, Harry, great to see you again,” said Fred. “How’s our Seeker doing? Getting in any summer practice?”

“Er, not really,” said Harry. “Tinworth’s a Muggle village. The Muggles there are used to a lot of odd things, but I think they’d draw the line at flying broomsticks. I’ve tried the Invisibility Cloak, but it’s impossible to fly with… it keeps blowing off.”

“I offered to make him look like a bird so that nobody would see it was him,” said Cyan from atop George’s head. “But he said no.”

“Really? Can’t imagine why,” said Fred with a grin as he reached out to grab one of the suitcases. “A sparrow on a broomstick, chasing a Golden Snitch? Muggles probably see that sort of thing all the time! Oh!” He lifted the suitcase with an exaggerated show of effort. “Blimey, what d’you keep in here? An entire library?”

“Or a brick collection,” said George, pretending to struggle with a smaller bag.

“Er, no, just my school things,” said Harry. He had pulled his trusty Nimbus Two Thousand out of the car and flung it over his shoulder. “Since I’m staying here until school starts.”

“No wonder it’s so heavy, then!” George quipped. “Knowledge is a burden.”

“I thought knowledge was power?” said Fred.

“Haul this luggage around for an hour and then tell me it’s not a burden.”

“Lazy,” said Yellow. She fluttered down towards the third suitcase — probably Mrs Figg’s — and lifted it with no effort at all, just as if it hadn’t been many times her size. “Where’s Hedwig’s travel cage?”

“I’ve got it,” said Ron. He’d ducked into the car and found the cage in the back seat. (He knew it was a bit dodgy of him to only carry the birdcage while he left the much heavier suitcases to Fred and George — but what were older brothers for if you couldn’t occasionally take advantage of them?) “Hedwig’s up at the orchard, Harry. Last I saw her she was perched in Dad’s cherry tree.”

“Just wait until you see the orchard,” said Fred. “After the Summer delegation moved in, it looks like a little bit of Faerie! Or at least like what I imagine a little bit of Faerie would look like,” he added with a shrug. “Haven’t actually been to Faerie. You’ll have to tell me how off I am, Harry.”

“I was only in Faerie for a few hours,” said Harry. “And I was asleep for most of it, so I didn’t really see much. It was…” he frowned in concentration. “Very green.”

Fred punched the air. “I knew it!”

“All right,” said George, trying to put on an air of authority that really didn’t suit him.  “All guests to the Burrow, please follow me! Mrs Figg, Mum’s got the downstairs guest room ready for you and the cats, and Harry —”

“You’ll be with me in my room,” Ron shot in. “Er… hope you don’t mind orange.”

“Orange?” said Harry.

“Ron’s been obsessed with the colour ever since Dad took him to see a Chudley Cannons match,” said Fred. “Orange walls, orange carpet, orange bedclothes. If you stay in his room, you learn to like orange or you suffer.”

“And after the luggage has been put away,” George continued, “we’re off to the orchard and the party!” He beamed at Harry. “Ever been to a Fae party before?”

“Er, no,” said Harry. For some reason he looked a little concerned. “They’re not, like, those orgies Hagrid mentioned, are they? Like the one the flitlings went to after the unicorn funeral?”

Yellow and Cyan giggled and blinked coquettishly at one another.

“What? No! No, nothing like that!” said George. “Just a normal, fun party, you know? The Summer Fae are the best at parties! And they had a lot of fun planning one for you!”

Harry looked just slightly overwhelmed. “They planned a party for me?”

Ron, Fred and George all paused, looking at each other.

“Yeah… your birthday party?” Ron finally said, in case Harry had somehow forgotten what day it was. “‘Cos it’s your birthday and all?”

“Oh. Yeah,” said Harry sheepishly. “Sorr — I mean, my apologies. I know it’s my birthday, I just didn’t think…” 

“He never had a birthday party before,” said Yellow with a frown. “Those stupid Dursleys never bothered to throw him one. But you’re going to get one now , Harry! But…” and here she raised a warning finger. “I heard that you almost said a bad word! You know better than that!” 

“Yeah, sor — I won’t do it again!” said Harry.

“You’d better not,” said Yellow seriously. “That word can be dangerous. You really need to watch your mouth around the Princess!”

“I didn’t mean — wait, Princess? What Princess?” Harry blinked again, this time in confusion.

“Oh yeah… I was getting to that,” said Ron sheepishly. 

Monday, 31st July 1992,
The orchard behind the Burrow, noon.

Three times in his life, Harry had felt like he’d stepped into an entirely different world.

The first time had been his first visit to Diagon Alley. None of Hagrid’s stories could have prepared him for the experience… the amazing shops, the colourful people, the broomsticks at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and the rollercoasters at Gringotts.

The second time had been when he sat in a boat with Ron, Hermione and Neville and got his first ever glimpse of Hogwarts. The castle had loomed against the night sky, illuminated by thousands of lights… some warm and friendly, some teasingly mysterious, all of them signalling a whole new life for him.

The third time, he actually had stepped into a different world; that was when Lady Vidia had taken him and Hermione to Faerie and they had spent the night in Dewberry Grove. For most of the visit he’d been too sleepy to really appreciate it, but he remembered the lush greens and the magnificent marble palace with open walls.

And now he could add the Weasley orchard, as currently inhabited by a Royal entourage from the Summer Court, to the list of places that felt like another world.

As Ron and the twins led him and Mrs Figg in through the trees, with cats and flitlings following close behind, everything around them shifted. Cheery music filled the air (and with no musicians or even a radio in sight!), and the cloudy English summer sky above was replaced with a deep, star-filled blue. The trees around them grew tall and green, their branches heavy with strange glowing fruits that cast a soft, warm and inviting glow over the entire place.  Small tree houses — just the right size for flitlings — nestled in the branches, connected by swaying vine bridges woven with flowers. And in between the trees were elegant and colourful tents and gazebos that shone with a pearlescent glow, as if spun from moonlight and stardust… and between the tents and gazebos, huge tables laden with all sorts of food.

“IT’S THE BIRTHDAY BOY!” A myriad of melodious voices rose up all around the orchard, and Harry found himself surrounded by Fae of all kinds. Magenta came flying over to him followed by a small flock of flitlings and pixies, all of them multicoloured and unashamedly naked. Goblins and hobgoblins were jumping around together with a few house-elves; a few satyrs were dancing around him (several of them with large mugs in their hand), and a few more dignified-looking High Elves were looking upon them from a distance. And then there were Fae types he’d never seen before; women with hair like flower petals, women who had skin like tree bars, women who were flying around without wings, and a rather large group of people with various animal traits — Harry could see cat ears, rabbit ears, fox tails, feather-like hair, horse hooves, and a couple of people who looked like half-dogs, or possibly half-wolves. 

The only time Harry had seen this many Fae in one place at once was during the unicorn funeral in the Forbidden Forest, and that had been a sad and sombre affair where everyone had been busy grieving for the lost unicorn. Here, the atmosphere was lively and cheerful, and everyone was flocking around Harry to greet him. Harry found himself grabbed and shook hands with by at least thirty Fae in rapid succession, all singing:

Today is a day full of wonder,
The stars they all twinkle for you!
The sun tips its hat in a greeting,
The wind sings a song so true!

Today you’re the most splendid,
A marvel, a trick, a delight!
A hero and a legend,
A candle burning bright!

The cakes are filled with magic,
The gifts may vanish or glow…
But never fear —  it’s just for fun!
(…Or is it? You’ll never know!)

“Hello, er — good to see you, nice to meet you — yes, I’m Harry — wow, what a warm welcome,” Harry managed to say as he was spun around among laughing, singing Fae.

“We’re Summers! We’re not just warm, we’re hot!” one of the women with cat ears and a tail cheered. 

“All right, all right, let him breathe!” George laughed. “Harry, meet the Summer entourage. We’ve got High Elves, we’ve got meadow elves and house-elves. We’ve got goblins and hobgoblins, flitlings and pixies, dryads and sylphs, flower nymphs and pookas —”

“Pookas?” said Harry. He could vaguely remember having heard the word before, but hadn’t found out what exactly it meant.

“I’m a pooka!” said the cat-eared woman. “Never heard of pookas before? We’re the merry shapeshifters of Faerie!” And to illustrate her point, she immediately turned into a white cat and pounced on a man with scruffy brown hair. The man responded by immediately turning into a dog and starting to chase her around the orchard.

“Lively bunch, aren’t you?” said Mrs Figg. “I’m warning you, though — nobody had better start chasing my cats!”

“Don’t worry,” said Ron. “You’re all invited guests. The Fae take hospitality very seriously. What d’you think of the party, Harry? It’s not bad, is it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it!” said Harry truthfully. “Is your orchard always like this?”

“Huh? Of course not, don’t be daft,” said Ron. “How’d we afford anything like this? Nah, it’s like Fred said, the Summer Court fixed it up. Royal entourage needs their comforts, after all. Oh, hi, Hedwig.”

Hedwig, who had been perched in a cherry tree, came flying down to land on Harry’s outstretched arm. She looked perfectly at home among the Fae, but of course after having spent so much time with Yellow, Magenta and Cyan she was probably used to Fae magic by now.

“Got here okay, did you?” said Harry, stroking her feathers lightly with one finger.

She hooted softly and gave his finger an affectionate nip before taking to her wings again, flying over to a group gathered near one of the tables. Harry instantly recognized Percy, standing stiffly to one side. Beside him were a woman with bright red hair and a plump, friendly face, and a little girl who could only be Ron’s sister — Harry remembered seeing them both at King’s Cross. Next to them stood a tall man with glasses and thinning red hair, whom Harry guessed must be Ron’s father.

But it was the pair beside the Weasleys that really caught Harry’s eye: a man with long, almost silvery hair and elegant clothes unlike anything Harry had ever seen, and a young girl who seemed to be dressed exclusively in flowers. Even her white-blonde hair was decorated with colourful flowers.

The Fae crowd parted so Harry could approach the table. Ron, Mrs Figg, Fred, George and all the cats followed.

“Ah, Harry!” said Percy with his characteristic pompousness. “Happy birthday and welcome to the party! And this must be Mrs Figg — pleased to meet you. Do let me introduce you… My parents, Arthur and Molly, my little sister Ginevra…” 

Little sister Ginevra raised her hand and gave Harry a shy wave.

Percy cleared his throat. “…and my, ahem, uncle — Sir Xenophilius Lovegood of the Summer Court, Consort to Princess Solis Pandora, Herald of the Twilight Song, and Champion of the Summer Radiance. And his daughter — Her Royal Highness, Princess Aurora Maluna of the Summer Court, Duchess of Sunhaven, Countess of the Glens of Eternal Light, Mistress of Midsummer’s Splendour, and Enchantress of the Luminous Skies. You’re supposed to bow,” he hissed.

“Oh, let’s not stand on formalities, Percy,” said Sir Xenophilius before Harry could bow. “This is a birthday party, not a Royal gala. The guests of honour bow to no one!”

“Be honest, Percy,” said Fred. “You practiced that, didn’t you? You spent hours in front of the mirror, repeating that speech over and over just to make sure it sounded stuffy enough.”

“Shut up,” said Percy. A little more subdued, he went on: “Everyone, this is Harry Potter and Mrs Figg.”

Princess Aurora Maluna of the Summer Court, whose further titles Harry was already uncertain if he remembered, curtsied elegantly. She had delicate, leaf-shaped ears and large grey eyes that gave her an almost kitten-like expression of semi-permanent mad astonishment.

“You’ve got a mark on your forehead,” she said, looking at him like he was the most mind-bogglingly amazing thing she had ever seen.

“Er… you mean my scar?” said Harry, almost reflexively touching said scar. “Yes, I know.”

The Princess shook her head. “That’s not a scar, it’s a mark. It just looks like a scar because the skin was injured and when the injury was healed it left a mark.”

“Yes,” said Harry, starting to wonder if this Princess was all there. “A scar.”

“No…” the Princess began.

“A pleasure to meet you!” Ron’s father said with forced cheerfulness as he shook both Harry and Mrs Figg by the hand. “Happy birthday, Harry! Ron’s told us so much about you! And Mrs Figg — friend of Dumbledore’s, right? And these are your cats? You all live in the Muggle world, right? That must be so fascinating! I’ve always wanted to get to know more Muggles, but that blasted Statute of Secrecy always made it so difficult.”

“It’s really not that difficult if you pay a bit of attention,” said Mrs Figg dryly. “So — Princess of the Summer Court, was it? I had gathered you Weasleys were involved with the Fae, but I didn’t know you were hobnobbing with royalty.” She didn’t seem too impressed with all the titles.

“Oh, that’s actually a very interesting story,” said Mr Weasley. “But Uncle Xeno tells it better than I do. He was there when it happened, after all!”

Sir Xenophilius — or ‘Uncle Xeno’, as the Weasleys seemed to call him — clapped his hands together. “Ah yes, but stories can wait. It’s terribly bad luck to tell stories at a birthday party before the birthday boy has even had a slice of birthday cake!” He motioned to an enormous chocolate cake that stood on the table, sporting the text “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY” in red and golden icing. It looked absolutely delicious.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a Fae cake,” Ron whispered to Harry, as Mrs Weasley hurried to cut a large slice of the cake. “Mum baked it herself. Chocolate cake’s her specialty… one slice of that, and you could probably walk among Dementors and never feel a thing.”

Harry decided he’d wait until later to ask what Dementors were and what chocolate cake had to do with them. He accepted the slice of cake, and found that it tasted even better than it looked — soft and creamy with a rich chocolate taste. 

The delight must have shown on his face, because Mrs Weasley looked rather pleased. “Oh, Ron, do stop exaggerating,” she said. “It’s really just a simple chocolate cake, old family recipe, you know. Please, Mrs Figg, was it? Have a slice…” 

Harry ended up having three slices, and after that he felt pretty full. Hedwig had perched on the table next to a plate of sausage rolls and gave dirty looks to anyone who tried to take one, and the cats had all gathered around Princess Aurora Maluna, who was feeding them bits of pie. 

“You’re spoiling them, you know,” said Mrs Figg, still completely unconcerned about talking to a Princess. “They’re not supposed to beg at tables.”

“Cats don’t spoil,” the Princess said airily as she fed another piece of pie to Little Grey and stroked Crookshanks’s fur. “You must be thinking of fresh cream. That spoils very easily.”

Once again, Harry had to wonder about the mental state of this Princess… but as he looked around the orchard at all the laughing and dancing Fae, something else struck him about her: She was the only Fae present who was anywhere close to his age. There were Fae of all colours, shapes and sizes here, from the energetic flitlings to the cheerful pookas to a number of Fae types Harry didn’t know anything about, but all of them were adults. There weren’t any children or younger Fae. This struck him as a little weird — not that he knew much about how Royal Courts worked, much less Fae ones, but you’d think a Princess’s entourage would have at least a few nobles her age, for her to play and socialize with?

He might have asked Yellow, Magenta or Cyan, but they seemed busy dancing with the other flitlings. And it seemed inappropriate somehow to ask anyone else. 

Before he could dwell on it any longer, one of the flower-haired women — this one with hair like pink flower petals — swept over to him, seizing his hand with a grin. “Come dance with us, birthday boy!” she declared, tugging him into the whirling mass of Fae before he could protest. “This is your party, after all!”

She was either impossibly strong or had somehow made him weightless, because Harry barely felt his feet touch the ground as she pulled him along. The air buzzed with laughter and music as the dancers spun and twirled with effortless grace, weaving around him in a mesmerizing blur.

“I — I can’t dance!” Harry stammered, trying to find his footing.

“Of course you can! Everyone can dance with a flower nymph as their partner!” With a quick motion, she caught him by the waist and spun him around… and to his astonishment, his movements became as light and effortless as those of the Fae around him. The music that had been playing in the background seemed to get louder and pick up the pace as he whirled around, as graceful and skilled as if he’d done nothing but dance all his life.

Time stopped mattering and everything around Harry became a pleasant blur as he twirled and leapt around, the flower woman’s melodious laugh blending in with the music and spurring him on. Why had he ever thought he couldn’t dance? It was so easy! He felt light as a feather and free as the wind — not unlike the rush he’d felt the first time he’d flown on a broomstick — as the song started up again all around him:

The music is calling your footsteps,
The Faerie lights shimmer and spin!
The world turns a little more golden,
Whenever you join in!

So dance in light and shadow.
And let your heart soar high!
Tonight is alive with enchantment,
Tonight you can fly!

And then, quite unexpectedly, he really was flying. The world came back into sharp focus as he realized that Yellow, Magenta and Cyan had grabbed hold of him and were lifting him up towards the treetops and away from the dance.

“Hey! I was dancing with him!” came the disappointed voice of the flower woman below them.

“You had him for long enough!” Magenta called down to her. “He’s human, he needs rest!”

“What? Oh, come on — I was just —  getting the hang of it!” Harry protested, wondering why he suddenly felt so out of breath. “Can’t have been — more than a minute — maybe two minutes —”

“Two minutes? Try twenty minutes!” said Magenta. “Dance magic is all well and good, but let’s not have you collapse from exhaustion on your birthday!”

“Wait — magic?” Harry panted. “That was — that was magic?”

“You were dancing with a nymph, of course it was magic!” said Magenta.

“Good workout, though,” said Yellow. “Much better exercise than Quidditch.”

They set him down by one of the tables and pulled out a chair for him. The moment his feet touched the ground, the exhaustion hit, and Harry flopped down onto the chair. Suddenly he felt just how tired his legs were.

Almost immediately, Ron appeared, grabbing an empty chair and dropping into it. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Saw you dancing with Amaryllis.”

“Oh… is that her name?” said Harry, still catching his breath. “The one with the pink flower hair, and — oh, for goodness’ sake!” he added as the world around him turned bright pink. Everything around him was pink to some degree — the chair and table were pink, the ground and trees were pink, Ron was pink, and all three flitlings were pinker than anything he’d seen before. The people around him were also pink… but wait. 

He looked again. Mrs Figg was standing by one of the other tables and seemed to be having a lively discussion with Sir Xenophilius. She had a pink tint to her as well, but only a very faint one. And now that he was paying attention, there were other things that were less pink… the chocolate cake, for example. It was hardly pink at all: it looked just as chocolatey-brown as ever.

“Pink,” he said, and watched everything turn its normal colour again. “That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” said Ron. “Oh, are your glasses still doing that, er, pink thing?”

Harry nodded. “I’d almost forgotten. It’s not that often I say… that word. I don’t think I’ve said it a single time while I sayed in Tinworth… at least I can’t remember anything changing colour while — what’s so funny?!” he interrupted himself, because Yellow had burst out laughing.

“You haven’t figured it out yet!” she giggled.

“Figured what out?” Harry demanded, but when she just shook her head and laughed even harder, he gave up and turned back towards Ron.  “Right. Amaryllis, you said. That was the name of the, er, nymph who danced with me?”

“Er, yeah, well… her nickname, actually,” said Ron, who seemed eager to change the subject. “Remember? Fae don’t really share their real names. Flower nymphs tend to take flower nicknames — Amaryllis, Anemone, Celandine, Peony… but they don’t tell their real names to anyone who isn’t a nymph.” He shrugged. “Just as well, really. I learned a dryad’s real name once, and I can’t even begin to pronounce it.”

“How do you spell it?”

“You don’t. It’s supposed to be like the sound of rustling oak leaves. I don’t think there’s a correct spelling for that.”

“Oh.” Harry shook his head. The more he learned about the Fae, the more he was starting to realize just how little he really knew about them. “Is that just for nymphs, or do other Fae have names like… oh, wait,” he said, as he suddenly remembered. “Now that I have all of you here, there was something I wanted to ask. D’you happen to know why there aren’t any —”

“Ron! Harry!” A sudden voice from across the orchard interrupted him. 

Harry turned to see Mr and Mrs Weasley come walking up towards them together with a scruffy-looking man Harry didn’t know. Probably a wizard; he couldn’t imagine a Fae dressing in such shabby-looking robes. 

“Boys,” said Mr Weasley as they approached. “This is an acquaintance of mine, Remus Lupin. He was a good friend of your parents, Harry.”

Harry suddenly felt a lot less tired, all questions of pink colours and lack of young Fae immediately exiting his mind as he looked as this new wizard —  yes, he looked scruffy and shabby, but there was a warmth and kindness in his eyes that for some reason reminded Harry of Hagrid. “You knew my parents?” he said.

“They were two of the best friends I ever had.” Lupin’s voice fit his appearance; it was soft and slightly hoarse, but warm. “I wish I were here under happier circumstances, Harry — especially since it’s your birthday and all — but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Harry’s stomach twisted. “What’s wrong?” he said carefully.

Lupin exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.”

There was a beat of silence. Somewhere behind them, the music was still playing, Fae still laughing, but it all suddenly felt very far away. Mr. Weasley glanced at his wife, his jaw tight.

 And then, Harry frowned. “Wait… who’s Sirius Black? And what’s Azkaban?”