Breaking the Spell

CHAPTER TEN

Breaking the Spell

You are not to enter our home again. I have tried for nearly ten years to treat you like a daughter, but you have never returned the least gratitude or affection. After the outrageous way you behaved at Christmas, I cannot allow you to embarrass your stepsisters any further. From now on, you can be your mother's problem, for we no longer consider you a member of our family.

My hands shook; I nearly tore the paper in the effort not to let Cressida's letter upset me. Since I hadn't ever been happy in her house, I ought to be overjoyed that I could never go back.

"It was still a cruel way to write it," said Hannah. "She could have just written that the access arrangements had changed."

"But hurting Sally-Anne's feelings was the whole point of writing it at all, isn't it?" said Megan. "This letter doesn't guarantee that Sally-Anne really won't go back to Liverpool because Mrs Perks could change her mind at any time."

"Yes, I bet she'll miss all yer 'ousework," said Sophie. "Yer stepsisters don't seem the 'ouse-elf types."

"But Mrs Perks must know that she can't keep Sally-Anne prisoner in her kitchen more than once," Susan pointed out. "She'd be in real trouble if Mrs Slater complained to the Wizengamot about what happened over Easter."

"I know I should be glad," I said. "But... it's my Dad. What if I never see him again?"

"Surely 'e'll find a way to see yer!" said Sophie.

"He might if he does even notice that Sally-Anne is missing," said Megan. "His wife does have him properly under her thumb, remember. He'll believe whatever excuse she does feed him, isn't it?"

"Be careful," said Susan suddenly. "You need to file a copy of that letter with your family solicitor – just in case it's a trap to accuse your Mum of withholding access."

"Oh, my goodness, Susan!" exclaimed Hannah. "However do you manage to think of these things so clearly?"

Terry had the profoundest comment of all. "You have a real, live enemy to forgive."

"I've never before thought about forgiving Cressida," I admitted, "because I've never dared to think of her as an enemy. Terry, do you have any enemies?"

"I've never forgotten the bullies at my primary school – and the chief bully was the headmaster. But I've never had a real enemy of the kind Harry Potter has, or even like your stepmother. Talking of which... We need to keep our eyes and ears open. The Triwizard Tournament isn't over yet, and Michael reckons that someone still has it in for Harry Potter."

Of course I promised to bear it in mind, but there wasn't really anything suspicious to see or hear. The summer term was a blur to me because I was so concerned about family problems. Dad wrote more often than usual and he wrote nearly the same thing in every letter, almost as if he had forgotten that he had already written.

Let's hope my royalties come through quickly, because money is tighter than usual! I know I'll soon have to bring you girls out in society to meet the right wizards and I'd like to do it in style. Cressida is thinking of opening a shop. Of course we'd rather she didn't have to work for a few years yet, especially as Xavier has been sick lately (nothing serious! don't be a worry-wart!), but it might be a matter of need. Luckily, her own parents are happy to help out with business advice and a little capital, so she might have her shop before summer ends.

If Cressida wanted part-time work, and her own parents were willing to help, why didn't she just work in their shop?

Mum didn't write for weeks. She and Raymond were worrying about more than money.

Raymond has been ill. Don't worry: he's fine now. I had to take him into St Mungo's (you know how much paperwork they demand to bring in a Muggle relative) and the Healers say his illness was "only" stress. They prescribed all kinds of disgusting potions, which Bobbin's mixed for us, and they seem to be working.

The Healer said we have to take it easy or we are at risk of more serious illnesses. But I don't see what we can do. First we have to sort out Christopher's custody problems, and then we have to raise the money to pay the legal costs somehow...

I asked Terry and Sophie how much it cost to go to those Muggle family courts, but they didn't know: they both came from intact families. A few weeks later Mum wrote:

The judge at the local court has ruled that Christopher can live with us. But Mrs Bufton is very upset and has decided to challenge this ruling. While I don't want to throw Christopher out, it really would be less traumatic for all of us if he would simply agree to go to his mother's house of his own accord. But the boys refuse even to go on access visits at the moment because they are so afraid of being trapped in London.

On the bright side, Jeremy says his first two G.C.S.E. exams went well. He spends all his spare time revising...

I really wanted to forget about school and run home, but both Mum and Dad told me that I should concentrate on my studies. The term ended with tragedy, when Cedric Diggory mysteriously died. I hadn't known him well, but he had been in Hufflepuff, and everyone had liked him – we had all assumed he would be the next Head Boy. So it was in a sober mood that I arrived home for the summer, the first summer holiday in my whole school career that was to be spent entirely at Mum's house.

Mum was not exactly "at home". She spent all day in a shop in the Muggle High Street that she had just leased.

"I know it's terrible timing," she said. "But I've had to resign my job because of taking too many days off this year, so I need to start a business just to pay the bills. Then this shop became available, so I had to take it – it might be months before there's another opportunity this good. But I don't know how I'll find the time to make it happen."

"Mum, it's good timing," I told her. "I can be here every day through the summer, even if you have to be in court. In September Molly-Rose will be starting at Hogwarts, so you'll have spare hours in the evenings."

Mum sighed. "I hope so, Sally-Anne. But most small businesses flop. What if we run at a loss and end up making more debts for ourselves?"

"It's a chance we have to take," I said. "Don't Grandma and Grandpa Flourish know enough about bookselling to give the right advice?"

"They've certainly given me a head start. But do they really know Muggle books and the Muggle tax laws? My mother is a Muggle, but she's already admitted that she's forgotten most of how Muggles do things."

"It's more likely to be a success if I help you tidy up," I said.

Jeremy and I spent nearly every day of our summer working in the shop, dusting bookcases, shelving crate-loads of books, reconciling accounts. Most days Jeremy managed to force Christopher into helping us.

"This is just a load of little kids' books," Christopher grumbled. "Isn't Julia going to sell anything exciting?"

"No, she's going to sell children's picture books. If you're serious about living in Dad's house, you need to support Julia's business so that we have some money to live off."

Jeremy greeted the picture books like old friends. The Muggle wholesalers had sent in crates full of Spot and Mog and Hairy Maclary and The Baby's Catalogue.

"The Railway Series was my favourite ever," said Jeremy. "I was terrified of the Fat Controller and I cried when he was angry with Thomas. Oh look, they've sent us The Butterfly Ball. I would have expected that to be out of print by now. Didn't you ever read any of these?"

"A few, but wizard children have their own stories – Beadle the Bard, Nigel the Knight Bus, Seven Fat Puffskeins and so on."

Just as Mum was ready for the grand opening, she heard that she was required in the Family Court!

"We'll look after the shop," said Jeremy at once. "How hard can it be to sell picture books?"

Mum wanted to protest, but she didn't really have a choice. She never saw the first day of her own shop. Jeremy unlocked the glass doors at eight o' clock, and I spent the next eleven hours making cappuccinos for the customers.

At nine o' clock, Terry and Susan arrived to help us. Susan immediately installed herself in an enticing corner where a stuffed lion guarded a rainbow rug and began reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar out loud. When I brought out the next tray of coffee, I saw that she was surrounded by an eager crowd of Muggle children. Terry was standing behind the counter, waiting to ring up prices, and Jeremy was near the door, persuading pedestrians to walk in.

For parts of the day, the shop was packed. The local children loved Susan's reading, and we soon had a crowd of shoppers queuing for free coffee whether they wanted books or not. We did make sales. There were times when young parents were crowding around us for advice – it was lucky that Terry and Jeremy knew their Muggle literature.

"Your Miss Bones is a wonderful storyteller!" enthused one grandmother as she paid for an armload of board books. "If she's going to be here every day, I'll tell all my friends."

"Certainly someone will be reading every day this summer," said Jeremy. But as the shop-bell clanged behind that family, he hissed, "Sally-Anne! Are you a good narrator? I'm not, so I don't know how we'll manage to continue this!"

I looked around in alarm, but there were no customers in sight. For frightening stretches of the day, the shop was empty.

"This is going to be a slow-paced business," I said.

"You certainly need to think about your marketing campaign," said Terry. "The customers have loved this shop once they were inside it, but people don't buy books every day. You can't rely on random patrons wandering in off the street if you hope to make a profit."

"Mum advertised in the local paper," I said. "But that won't be enough, will it? What should we do?"

The Family Court decreed that Christopher could live with Mum and Raymond but he would have to spend alternate weekends with the Buftons. He would have no choice about going to London on Friday evenings, and they would have no choice about sending him back to Hereford in time for Monday morning school.

"You'd think sensible people could have sorted out that much without resorting to the expense of the law courts," I complained to Terry.

"Since when have people ever been sensible?"

Terry made several trips to Hereford through the summer, despite the fact that all we ever really did together was work in the bookshop.

"I don't want to go back to Hogwarts," I said. "Mum, don't you think it would be more useful for me to help you here?"

"Of course it would, but we can't argue with the law." Mum looked around the shop furtively, established that there were no Muggles inside, and threw a Sweeping Charm at the floor. "You have to be in some kind of education for at least one more year."

"Couldn't I go to the Muggle school?"

Jeremy laughed. "Sorry, didn't mean to mock your ignorance, Sally-Anne. But can't you see that it's too late to make the change? You'd never catch up on all the maths and science that you've missed. And you wouldn't help Julia by going to the Muggle school; it's during the day that she'd need help in the shop."

"Mum... does that mean you'll have to pay an assistant?"

"Perhaps it does, or perhaps I'll manage by myself. But don't worry about it, Sally-Anne. I need you to concentrate on your O.W.L.s and take care of your sisters. That way, at least I don't need to worry about you."

So on the first of September, I was back at Hogwarts to watch Molly-Rose being sorted into Ravenclaw. On the second of September, Ella-Jane earned a triple detention from Snape. On the third of September, Cecilia fell off a broomstick and suffered a moderately severe concussion. When I went up to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey sat me beside her bed to hold cool compresses against her forehead. I was there all evening, but none of Cecilia's Slytherin friends came to visit. After one week, I heard from Dad.

Sorry we didn't manage to see each other over summer. But life's like that sometimes, isn't it? Perhaps you could manage to come home for a few weekends during term. We'd really appreciate the help around the house now that Cressida is so busy setting up her shop. Poor Xavier has been having one illness after another and he could use some nursing...

I couldn't tell from Dad's letter whether Cressida was trying to trap me into entering her house or to trick me into staying away – or even whether Dad knew that she had tried to banish me. I couldn't think about that now; I wouldn't have time to go to Liverpool during term. I wondered what Cressida sold in her shop.

After two weeks, I was back in Hereford, ready to help a very disgruntled Christopher pack his suitcase for a weekend with his mother. After Raymond had settled Christopher on the train, I gave my attention to the kitchen. On Friday I prepared a week's supply of casseroles so that Mum wouldn't have to worry about cooking when she was busy with her shop. On Saturday, always the busiest day for a shopkeeper, I worked in the shop. On Sunday Mum and I cleaned the house (using magic, because no one would know that it was my wand that had been busy) and balanced the books (in the ordinary Muggle way, because there is no magical short-cut for arithmetic). Christopher arrived home late in the evening, complaining loudly about how much his mother resented the new residence arrangement, how she had nagged him all weekend, and how surprised he was that she had even let him "escape" to catch his train.

"Let me start your laundry," I said as soon as I could put a word in edgeways.

"You'll have a job," he said darkly. "Mum's sent back all the clothes that are normally at her house, and most of them haven't been washed for about a year."

"All the more reason to start now," I said, biting back all my thoughts about how much Christopher's attitude was contributing to his conflict with the Buftons. Just do whatever will make this easier for Mum!

I looked up from the deadly-dull DADA textbook that had been allocated for our fifth year. All it really seemed to say so far was that decent wizards shouldn't defend themselves against the Dark Arts. A heavy, sullen silence seemed to be hanging over the library, but my day had brightened because Terry had taken the seat next to me.

"Deadly dull, isn't it?" he said. "All Slinkhard really seems to say is that it's wrong to stand up to evil. Is Professor Umbridge growing on you yet?"

"Not at all," I told him. "We Hufflepuffs all dislike her completely. Not even you could find anything good to say about her."

"I don't have to say anything at all about her," he said. "Rather than complaining about quality of teaching at this school, some of us have decided to do something about it."

"What?" I closed Slinkhard's boring book. "Are you petitioning Dumbledore to get rid of Umbridge? Good. See if he'll get rid of Snape and Binns while you're at it."

"What we actually had in mind was an alternative way of studying Defence. Ron Weasley's trying to form a – a kind of homework club that will help us pass our O.W.L. and deal with real-life Dark Magic. I don't know a lot more than that, but Ron's pretty keen to get a group of us together."

"Much needed," I agreed, although I hoped it wouldn't turn out to be the kind of club that took up hours and hours. I had nine O.W.L.s to fit around my family problems!

"So, will you come to Ron's meeting? It'll be in Hogsmeade next Saturday."

"Next Saturday? Oh, Terry, I can't! I promised Mum I'd be home this weekend – she really needs me there. She's overworked, and my stepfather is making himself sick with worry about his sons."

"All right." Terry didn't look happy, but he didn't comment further.

"Terry!" I protested. "I'm sure Ron's had a great idea. Almost any homework club would teach us more than we learn from Umbridge. But surely you understand that I have to put my family first. Listen, if this club turns out to be worth joining, I can go later, can't I? Tell me all about it, and perhaps the next meeting will be at a more convenient time."

Spending a weekend at home doing household chores and selling in the shop was much harder work than doing homework at Hogwarts, but I was always glad I'd gone. By Sunday afternoon, Mum was relaxed, and Raymond was saying that he didn't feel sick after all. I was continually counting down the days: it was two hundred and ninety, two hundred and eighty, two hundred and seventy days until I could leave school and be home permanently.

I returned to Hogwarts on Monday morning via the Hogsmeade Floo, reaching the History of Magic classroom with only five minutes to spare.

"I can't believe she did this!" Megan was complaining.

"Is she really wanting no more Gobstones?" asked Stephen.

"Orr school music – perrhaps the old hag does have something against that," said Wayne.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Everyone began to talk at once. "It's Umbridge," said Sophie. "She's decided to break up all student clubs. Everything from Quidditch teams to 'omework groups!"

"She has destroyed this school's musical life," said Megan. "There's no choir and no orchestra. We can't even hold informal practices in groups of three."

"No homework groups?" I asked, incredulous. "Is Umbridge opposed to students having friendships?"

"I should imagine that's exactly what she does oppose," said Justin. "Tyrants always fear alliances among their subjects."

"She did say that groups could apply for permission to re-form," said Ernie. "The point is that she'll be personally controlling every club in the school."

It was Thursday before I remembered to ask Terry about his meeting. "I suppose your Defence club won't be allowed," I said. "Umbridge isn't very likely to allow a group that only exists because she isn't doing her job properly. That's a pity... Did the meeting last Saturday go well?"

Terry glanced around the courtyard. Ursula's cronies were standing only just out of earshot, and she glared at us pointedly when she saw us looking.

"Let's go somewhere else," I said. "Shall we walk around the lake?"

The path around the lake was muddy and covered with dead leaves, but it left us more or less private.

"The meeting went very well," said Terry. "In fact, we... Put it this way: have you been reading the newspapers lately? You must have heard the rumours that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back."

"No. I haven't had a minute to think about current affairs. I mean, I know Harry Potter is supposed to have seen You-Know-Who alive again, but people are always saying weird things about Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter has seen You-Know-Who."

I stopped and stared at Terry's face. "Seriously? Is Harry himself really saying that?"

"Yes."

"He actually believes that the most evil wizard of all time is back among us?"

"Yes."

"Then... Why isn't everyone talking about it? Why haven't we heard about more murders?"

Terry shrugged. "I've no idea why a Dark wizard would want to hide himself away. I only know that he's back, and it's a bad thing."

"Could Harry have made a mistake?"

Terry shook his head emphatically. "We are on what Christians call 'the horns of a trilemma'. Either You-Know-Who is back – or he isn't. If he isn't, then either Harry knows he isn't – that is, he's deliberately lying; or he doesn't know – that is, Harry has made an absurd and dramatic mistake. But if You-Know-Who is back, then we need to do something about it."

A chill wind whistled around our ears. "Isn't that a little simplistic?" I suggested. "I'm not close friends or anything with Harry Potter, but I do know that he's perfectly normal. He doesn't tell tales to show off; he isn't stupid; he isn't mad. So there must be some other explanation..."

Terry relaxed and smiled. "My point exactly! No lies, no mistake... so Harry must be right. You-Know-Who is back, and I want to be ready for him."

I stared at a leaf in the mud so that Terry wouldn't see my confusion. He couldn't, couldn't believe such a fantastic story! "Even if the worst is true," I said at last, "I don't see what we can do about it."

"Come and find out. Er..." His expression became cagey. "I can't tell you exactly right now. But if you'll trust me for a bit... You don't do homework every evening, do you?"

"Actually, I do. We have so many family problems at the moment that leaving my homework to the weekend isn't an option. I'll be going home a lot this year."

"On weekends, silly. I know your Mum needs you, but surely that wouldn't make any difference to what you might be doing... say... one school evening each week?"

"Silly? Terry, I'm putting my family first! Don't they tell you to do that in church?"

"No, they tell us to put God first. Or you might like to think of it as finding a balance among your responsibilities. Whatever. My point is – you can both help your family and confront the political situation."

We stared at each other in wide-eyed annoyance. There was supposed to be a "political situation", but where was the evidence? Terry wanted me to "confront" it, but he wasn't willing to tell me exactly how. But he had hinted that it would take up quite a lot of time, just when Mum needed my time. It also sounded like the kind of thing that would infuriate Professor Umbridge; and if Dad heard that I was in trouble at school, I dreaded to think how Cressida would use the situation against me.

"Terry," I said, "I don't know how you would find a balance if you were in my situation. I only know that right now, I don't have time."

His face stiffened, and the breeze seemed even colder. After a moment, he opened his mouth. "Fine. It's up to you. I just thought you might be interested. But only you can decide."

He turned around and walked back to the castle.

It began to rain.