Purple Rain.

Chapter Seventeen.

"I knew it!" yelled Ron, punching the air. "You always get away with stuff!"

"They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes. "There was no case against you, none at all..."

"Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I'd get off," said Harry, smiling.

Molly was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George, and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went "He got off, he got off, he got off—"

"That's enough, settle down!" shouted Arthur, though he too was smiling. "Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry—"

"What?" said Sirius sharply.

"He got off, he got off, he got off—"

"Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."

"Absolutely," said Sirius. "We'll tell him, don't worry."

"Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green waiting for me. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner—"

"He got off, he got off, he got off—"

"That's enough— Fred— George— Ginny!" said Molly as Arthur left the kitchen. "Harry dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast... (Y/n), you too. We can talk about how the trials went."

Ron and Hermione sat themselves down opposite Harry, looking happier than they had done since he had first arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Harry's feeling of giddy relief, which had been somewhat dented by his encounter with Lucius Malfoy, swelled again. The gloomy house seemed warmer and more welcoming all of a sudden; even Kreacher looked less ugly as he poked his snoutlike nose into the kitchen to investigate the source of all the noise.

"'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," said Ron happily, now dishing great mounds of mashed potatoes onto everyone's plates.

"Yeah, he swung it for me," said Harry. He felt it would sound highly ungrateful, not the mention childish, to say, "I wish he'd talked to me, though. Or even looked at me."
And at this thought, the scar on his forehead burned so badly that he clapped his hand to it.

"What's up?" said Hermione, looking alarmed.

"Scare," Harry mumbled. "But it's nothing... It happens all the time now..."

None of the others had noticed a thing; all of them were now helping themselves to food while gloating over Harry's narrow escape; Fred, George, and Ginny were still singing. Hermione looked rather anxious, but before she could say anything, Ron said happily, "I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening to celebrate with us, you know."

"I don't think he'll be able to, Ron," said Molly, setting a huge plate of roast chicken down in front of Harry. "He's really bust at the moment."

"HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF—"

"SHUT UP!" roared Molly. Clearing her throat, she turned to (Y/n) with a rather strained smile, not exactly sure how to begin addressing the girl. There was still a lot of tension between (Y/n) and the adults, but that didn't stop them from being worried over (Y/n) potentially being banished from the magic world.
In addition to that, (Y/n) looked on the brink of a breakdown. Her arms were folded and she rested her head in them, occasionally saying her thank yous to whoever served her something. She lifted her head enough to peer around the room.
"And how did Sirius's trial go?" Molly asked anxiously.