Despite the hectic start, the rest of Harry's time at the Burrow was much the same as it always was. Mr Weasley and Percy were barely present for the week that followed the World Cup, drowning in work and howlers and more scathing articles from Rita Skeeter. Harry felt bad for them; even Percy didn't deserve that.
Having the two eldest Weasley boys around was a nice change in the dynamic, too. They weren't always home, taking the opportunity to visit British friends they hadn't seen in a while, but when they were around they were usually fairly game for whatever shenanigans the teenagers had planned. Harry made sure to spend plenty of time talking to them, remembering what Hannah had said the year before about the two likely being the next heirs to the Weasley and Prewett seats. He never quite managed to bring up the subject with them, but he got to know them well enough to tell they were probably trustworthy.
The one thing Harry couldn't quite get used to was not using his wand. He'd gotten so used to being able to cast spells without hesitation at Seren Du, he kept finding himself with his wand in his hand before he could catch the habit. It earned him some odd looks from Ron and Hermione, but Harry suspected they just thought he was jumpy after the Cup.
Whatever time Ron and Hermione had spent together before Harry had arrived at the Burrow, they'd clearly used it to talk through the last of the issues they'd had from the previous year, when Ron had accused Hermione's cat of eating Scabbers and been awful to her for half the school year. Then again, finding out that rat was actually a Death Eater in disguise had probably gone a long way to easing that argument. Things were almost back to normal between the trio — except Harry was still keeping secrets, and Ron and Hermione didn't seem to realise that he'd grown up some in the last year while they'd been busy arguing. Ron didn't like it when Harry shot down all his disparaging remarks about Slytherins, and Hermione had nearly exploded when Harry had refused her offer to help him finish his summer homework.
"I got it all done at the Dursleys'," he insisted. "Thanks, but you guys go ahead." The offer had only come when Ron had realised he still had a stack of essays to complete, and Hermione had pestered him into getting them done before they were on the train to school.
"I can go over them for you, then," Hermione replied dismissively. Harry bristled at the insinuation that his work wasn't good enough.
"I don't need you to go over them for me, Hermione, but thank you." He tried to stay polite. Even if she didn't know he'd already had Remus go over his summer homework, who was she to just assume his work would need checking and correcting?
"Don't be silly, Harry, I really don't mind. You'll be better off for it."
"I'm happy with my work how it is," Harry replied between clenched teeth. "I'm going to go find the twins." He slipped out of the room before she could argue with him further, rolling his eyes when Ron complained about having to study when Harry wasn't.
Last year, Hermione had been too busy with her overloaded timetable and Buckbeak's appeal to care much about Harry's grades. If she was going to spend the whole next year insisting he needed her help, ignoring the fact that he was clearly capable by himself, they were going to have issues.
.-.-.
One afternoon, a couple of days before they were due to go back to school, they were all out in the garden, enjoying the last dregs of the summer sunshine. Hermione and Ginny were stretched out on a blanket by the pond, talking quietly and giggling every now and then; the two girls were thick as thieves this summer, and Harry sort-of wondered what they talked about all the time. From some of the looks they sent him before bursting into giggles, he probably didn't want to know.
Harry and the other boys were, as they often were, high in the air on their brooms. Bill had brought an old quaffle home with him, and they were tossing it between them, thinking up increasingly ridiculous forfeits for anyone who dropped it. Harry was currently having to sit sidesaddle on his broom, which made it even harder to catch future passes. He was doing alright, though; Charlie was working with one hand spelled behind his back, and it was not doing him any favours.
"This is ridiculous," the dragon tamer complained when the quaffle dropped to the ground below him. "I was never a chaser for a reason!" He swooped down to grab it, zooming back to the same level as the rest of them. "They're putting us seekers through our paces, eh?" he added to Harry with a grin. "If we had a snitch, we could show them."
Harry remembered the little wooden box tucked away in his trunk. "I've got a practice snitch," he volunteered. Charlie stared at him.
"And you're just mentioning this now? Poor show, Potter!" He shook his head exasperatedly. Then he grinned, eyes flashing in challenge. "Fancy a seeker's match?"
Harry, who — other than the one glorious day when Draco visited — had been chasing the snitch all summer without any real competition for it, smirked. "You're on." He landed and raced up to Ron's bedroom, squeezing through the extra beds and piles of clothing to get to his trunk, digging through until he found the box containing his practice snitch. When he got back out into the garden, all the boys had landed, and even Ginny and Hermione had abandoned their blanket, interested in the proceedings.
Bill held a hand out, and Harry passed him the box. "Alright, seekers," he announced, taking the whole thing incredibly seriously, though there was a curve to his lips he couldn't quite hide. "Here's the rules. Snitch gets a ten second head start, with your eyes closed. If it goes over the property line, we'll have to summon it back; don't want the muggles seeing anything they shouldn't. And I want a good, clean match, alright?" He was channelling Madam Hooch, and it made both seekers snicker.
Harry and Charlie shook hands, then mounted their brooms but kept their feet on the ground. Bill flicked the lid of the box open, and Harry's eyes were on the little golden ball as it unfurled its wings and shot off into the air. Bill cleared his throat, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. The other Weasley siblings started up a loud countdown, and even Hermione got involved halfway through. "Three… two… one… GO!"
Both seekers were off like a rocket, Harry much faster than Charlie. The older seeker was on one of the newer model Cleansweeps; an excellent broom, but no match for the Firebolt. He did a wide loop around the back yard, keeping his eyes peeled for a flash of gold. Unable to help himself, Harry threw in a few of the tricks and rolls he'd been working on over the summer, earning whoops and cheers from their small audience. Charlie laughed as he tailed Harry through a particularly sharp Wollongong Shimmy. "You'll have to try better than that to lose me, Potter!"
Grinning at the challenge, Harry shot up high, and Charlie followed. All of a sudden, Harry caught a glimpse of the snitch down below, and his smirk widened. Time to really show off a bit. Turning the nose of his broom to the ground, he dived full speed downwards, Charlie following him with a shouted curse. Harry kept going, picking up speed, growing closer and closer to the grass. The rest of the world faded away, his focus narrowed entirely to his broom and the snitch hovering above the ground. He was vaguely aware when Charlie pulled out of the dive, not willing to risk his neck, but Harry waited until the last second, veering off course and reaching out as his toes skimmed the grass, grabbing the snitch on his way past.
Slowing to a halt, he held the gold ball up to a gobsmacked Charlie, winking. "Found it," he said. The redhead gaped.
"You certainly did, didn't you," he agreed faintly, drifting closer. "Blimey, Harry. I think Oliver might've actually been underplaying you a bit in his letters. That was some serious flying!" He ruffled Harry's hair, and Harry grinned at him. They returned to the ground, where the audience was cheering, and he even saw money exchange hands between Fred and Ron, the latter looking put-out.
"You bet against me?" Harry asked in mock-offence, watching Ron's ears redden.
"Well, no offence mate, but Charlie was really good, and—" He stuttered out some half-hearted excuses, and Harry laughed.
"You could've just said you were showing family solidarity." He was still a little breathless, exhilarated from the tense flying. He turned back to the dragon tamer. "Want to go again? Swap brooms this time?" He wanted to make sure he wasn't relying too much on his fancy broom to get ahead. Charlie's eyes lit up.
"You'll let me ride your Firebolt?" he gasped. Harry nodded. "You're on! Best three out of five?"
"What do I get for winning?" Harry asked cheekily, making Charlie bark out a laugh.
"Cocky little sod. If you win, I'll owe you a favour. To be called in at any time you like, no questions asked, even if it's to hex one of my siblings. Also I'll let you take the rest of that bottle of firewhisky to school," he added as an afterthought. "If I win, you'll owe me a favour, no questions asked. And I get to use your Firebolt as much as I like before you go back to school."
Harry would've let Charlie borrow his Firebolt anyway, so he agreed to the terms. Though he did wonder what kind of favour the dragon tamer might ask of him. He didn't plan on losing, so it was a moot point.
"So we're at one to Harry. Firebolt trades hands every round, and if it looks like whoever's riding it is winning because of that, Harry can take my broom," Bill declared, still in referee-mode. "Ready?"
They traded brooms, and the match began anew. Charlie was having a whale of a time on the Firebolt, zooming around and whooping in joy. Harry kept up with him fairly well on the Cleansweep, getting used to its speed and turning radius. Within the first few minutes, he had eyes on the snitch, and was off. Charlie was hot on his tail, overtaking him quickly, but Harry pulled out a tricky little manoeuvre that had him pulling in front again, hand closing around the snitch. They slowed to a halt, and Charlie stared at him. "Aw, fuck," he muttered. Harry snorted.
But it wasn't over that easily. Charlie won the third round, the snitch drifting by him while he and Harry were at opposite ends of the garden. The fourth round was extremely close, but Harry managed to just edge out in front.
"And that's 3-1 to Mr Harry Potter!" Bill announced over the cheering of their spectators. Charlie cursed, but he was smiling as he landed.
"Bloody hell, Harry. That's seriously impressive." They shook hands.
"You made it hard for me, though!" Harry insisted. "Considering you've not played a proper match since you graduated, wow."
Charlie chuckled. "You flatter me, but thank you. I suppose I'll just wait for you to call in your favour then, hmm?"
Harry had no idea what he might need the Weasley brother for, but it was always good to have options to call on. He put the snitch carefully back in its box, taking his Firebolt back from Charlie.
They were called in for dinner shortly after, and Harry left his broom in the hallway with the others, heading for the delicious scent of food coming from the kitchen.
"Oh, I hope they're home soon," Mrs Weasley fretted, looking from the two empty spots at the table to the clock in the corner that declared them to be at work. "Arthur hasn't had to work this much since the war."
All the kids shared uneasy glances. "I'm sure they'll be home in a bit, Mum," Bill soothed. "Probably just got held up chatting, you know what Dad's like."
Luckily at that minute, the hands moved from 'work' to 'travelling', and a pair of quiet pops heralded the arrival of the last two members of the family. Mr Weasley looked worn-out, greeting his wife with a kiss on the cheek and sinking wearily into his chair. "Merlin, what a week," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'll be glad when this all blows over. It would've done ages ago if Skeeter didn't keep pushing those awful articles."
"At least it's getting people to take the search for Bertha Jorkins seriously," Percy pointed out. "Mr Crouch has been saying for weeks that someone needed to look for her." Behind his back, the twins fluttered their eyelashes and mock-swooned, mouthing 'Mr Crouch' over-dramatically. Harry sniggered into his stew.
"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," Mr Weasley retorted irritably. "And is probably just hoping it stays that way."
That set Hermione off about house elves, and Harry winced. He appreciated the sentiment, but she really needed to learn to research something properly before forming an opinion and mouthing off to anyone who would listen.
"Why don't you all go up and finish packing," Mrs Weasley cut in before Hermione could really get on her soapbox. "I put all your new school things in your rooms. Hermione, dear, I got that book you asked for. And I finished the laundry."
"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said automatically, diverted from her tirade. For now.
Everyone of Hogwarts age trudged upstairs, and Harry heard rain thundering against the windows. "Sounds like we finished flying just in time," he mused, heading up to Ron's room. All the twins' things were still in their room, which was housing Bill and Charlie for now. Except, of course, the bag full of Weasley's Wizards Wheezes stashed in Harry's trunk, just in case Mrs Weasley decided to do one last search.
Harry hadn't really unpacked since arriving, so repacking his things didn't take long once he'd ducked downstairs to go get his broom, trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation the adults were having in the kitchen. Sirius had told him to stay out of it and let the adults handle things, and he was going to try his best to follow that.
When he returned to Ron's room, the redheaded boy was holding up what looked like a long maroon velvet dress, with mouldy-looking lace at the cuffs and collar. His face was a clear mask of disgust. "What the hell is this?"
Harry had a strong sense of foreboding as the answer popped into his mind. They all had dress robes on their school requirement list this year; Snape had said there was always some sort of formal event involved in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had, with Remus' help, chosen a set of dark green robes with gold accents. He actually thought he looked quite dashing in them.
Surely Mrs Weasley wasn't expecting Ron to wear that?
The woman in question knocked on the door, entering with a pile of freshly laundered school robes draped over her arm. "Here you are, Ron, dear. Harry, are you absolutely sure you don't want me to do yours as well? I can get them done tonight."
"It's fine, thanks, Mrs Weasley," Harry assured. Ceri had taken care of all his clothes before he'd left, including his robes and his new cloak.
"Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress," Ron said, holding out the offending garment.
Mrs Weasley confirmed that they were indeed Ron's dress robes, and Harry was torn between laughter and sympathy at the look on the redhead's face. "I had to get them second-hand, there wasn't a lot of choice," she snapped, flushing. "I'm not wearing them!" Ron insisted hotly. "I'd rather go starkers."
"Fine. Harry, make sure you get a picture; I could do with a good laugh." Mrs Weasley stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Ron threw the dress robes at his open trunk, making an angry noise.
Harry left him to sulk, slipping out of the room and heading downstairs to see what the twins were up to. "What's going on upstairs, then?" Fred asked as Harry shut the door behind him. Harry grimaced.
"Ron just found his new dress robes. They're… not pretty." He glanced over at the wardrobe, where two sets of dress robes that had to belong to the twins were hanging, ready to be packed. They were clearly second-hand, but still nicer than Ron's. Both in similar shades of dark purple, one with silver embroidery around the cuffs and hem, the other with bronze piping around the edge. Not a scrap of lace in sight.
"Poor Ronnikins," George mock-sighed, shaking his head. "So hard done by. He should've sucked up his pride and agreed to borrow Bill's old dress robes, like Mum offered before you got here. He said they were too girly."
"They had a little bit of pink on them," Fred elaborated, rolling his eyes. "Pretty snazzy otherwise, if you ask me. I'd have worn them if Bill wasn't so bloody tall."
Harry snickered; maybe Mrs Weasley had bought the frilly robes on purpose, after all.
.-.-.-.
It was pouring down with rain the morning they had to catch the Hogwarts Express. As they waited in the hallway for the taxis Mrs Weasley had arranged, Harry glanced at the fleet of enormous Hogwarts trunks stacked by the door. "Mrs Weasley," he piped up tentatively. "Should we maybe use shrinking charms on the trunks? Muggle taxis might not have enough space for all this." It would be bad enough travelling with Pig and Crookshanks — Hedwig was off delivering a letter to Gorrak, under the guise of Harry writing to Sirius. Mrs Weasley, already flustered from her husband's unexpected disappearance to deal with Mad-Eye Moody, looked up with a worried expression on her face.
"Harry's probably right," Bill agreed, pulling his wand from his jacket pocket. In short order, he and Charlie had the trunks shrunk, and they ended up in Mrs Weasley's enormous handbag. As Harry suspected, the three taxi drivers seemed utterly bewildered at the owl in the cage; Pig wasn't helping, making quite the racket as he was wedged into the back seat on Ron's lap. Crookshanks wasn't thrilled either, and by the time they all reached King's Cross, Harry, Ron and Hermione were covered in scratches.
"I'm really sorry," Hermione said for the hundredth time as they stepped through the barrier onto platform 9 & 3/4, her cat tucked securely under her arm. They stepped to the side, and Charlie started resizing everybody's trunks.
After they'd found a compartment and stowed their luggage away, they all returned to the platform to say goodbye to Mrs Weasley, Bill and Charlie. "Keep in touch," Bill urged with a grin, pulling Ron into a hug once he was done with the twins. "You lot are in for one hell of a year, I want to hear about all of it. You too, Harry," he added, hugging the dark-haired teen tightly.
"I might see you all sooner than you think," Charlie confessed, releasing Ginny with a kiss on the forehead.
"Why's that?" Fred asked quickly. Charlie tapped his nose conspiratorially, winking.
"Secret," he insisted. "Don't tell Percy I mentioned it. It's 'classified information until the Ministry sees fit to release it'," he droned with a roll of his eyes. Harry's gaze narrowed thoughtfully; did that mean Charlie was involved in the Tournament somehow?
The two eldest Weasley boys delighted in taunting their siblings with veiled references to the secret surprise right up until the whistle blew, and they had to hurry to catch the train. Harry spotted Neville wandering with his trunk as they headed for their compartment. "Oi, Neville!" he called, waving an arm. The round-faced boy looked up. "Wanna sit with us?"
Neville grinned, nodding, and the four of them took their seats, shoving Neville's trunk into the luggage rack with their own and shutting the compartment door. "Why wouldn't they just tell us what's going on this year?" Ron groused. "We wouldn't tell anyone."
"From the sounds of things, we'll find out tonight anyway," Harry placated, as if he didn't already know the secret. "How was your summer, Neville?" He acted as if he hadn't been writing to the other boy regularly, and Neville grinned at him. "It was great! Gran let me put a whole section for aquatic plants in the greenhouse." As he enthused about all the new specimens he had, Harry's mind turned to the dilapidated greenhouse at Seren Du. He'd intended to start clearing it out over the summer, maybe grow some potions ingredients — he actually enjoyed gardening at the Dursleys — but it had turned out to be a much bigger project than any of them had anticipated. Remus and Sirius had promised to get it emptied out ready for the next summer. Maybe by then Harry would be able to tell Neville about it and get some advice. Neville didn't even know the truth about Sirius, yet.
Several familiar faces stopped in on them throughout the journey, and with each one Ron's retelling of the events of the Quidditch World Cup got more and more elaborate. While he gave Neville a fairly accurate recount, by the time Seamus and Dean reached them he was describing their narrow escape from a pack of Death Eaters, who apparently almost hexed him several times. Harry and Hermione merely shared an exasperated glance.
At one point, they managed to turn the conversation to the match itself rather than the chaos after it, Neville listening enviously as Harry and Ron described it all.
"Gran didn't want to go," Neville said miserably. "She's not into quidditch. It sounds amazing, though."
Ron jumped up to rifle through his trunk, pulling out his little figure of Viktor Krum. "Look at this! We saw him right up close, too. We were up in the top box—"
"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley." The familiar drawl made Harry's head snap up, and he was glad for his darker skin when he felt his cheeks heat ever so slightly. Draco's hair was a little longer than it had been at the Cup, falling into his silver-grey eyes. He looked good. Behind him were Crabbe and Goyle, looking appropriately menacing.
"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," Harry said coolly, hoping to head off any truly explosive argument before Ron could get a word in. They all had their roles to play, of course, but he didn't want to get into a fight before the term even began. Sadly, it was not to be. As much as Draco and Harry were friends now, the same couldn't be said for him and Ron, and Draco took any chance to taunt the redhead. "Weasley, what is that?"
A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was sticking out of his trunk, obviously dislodged when Ron had grabbed the Krum figurine. It was swaying with the motion of the train, the lace cuff very obvious. Ron made to shove it out of sight, but Draco was too quick, and soon he was holding the robes out in front of him.
"Good Merlin!" he exclaimed. "Weasley, you weren't thinking about wearing these, were you?" He looked them over in consideration. "I'm sure they were the height of fashion in, oh, about 1890…" he trailed off with a laugh, Crabbe and Goyle laughing right along with him. Ron's face was burning bright red. Harry tried to bring himself to be offended on his friend's behalf, but he just couldn't do it; the robes were awful. Ron should've just taken Bill's old ones, pink or no pink.
"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron scowled, snatching the robes back and tossing them into the corner of the compartment. Even Neville was eyeing them with a grimace.
"Maybe you should think about entering. There's money involved, you know; you'd be able to buy some decent robes then." Harry knew that Draco knew underage wizards wouldn't be able to enter; he was just trying to get a rise out of the redhead. The Slytherin laughed at Ron's confusion. "You mean you don't know?" He chanced a look at Harry, who shook his head slightly. Draco's smirk widened. "Oh, that's just precious! My father told me ages ago. I suppose yours just isn't senior enough to have been told about it."
"Or Ron's father just respects when things are supposed to stay secret," Hermione said icily. Draco laughed.
"As if everyone else's parents didn't tell them immediately. They probably just don't talk about the important things in front of him." Happy with his annual pre-sorting mocking of Ron Weasley, Draco let it go, his eyes turning to Harry once more. Harry wished he could somehow arrange a way to talk to the blond in private, but that would have to wait until they got to school. The train was far too crowded to risk it. Instead he merely quirked his lips in the briefest smile, which turned into a glare when he caught Ron looking at him. When Draco left, Ron slammed the compartment door shut so hard the window cracked. "Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione muttered, whipping out her wand to fix it. "You shouldn't let him get to you like that."
Ron, who had been sulking on and off for various reasons since he'd been given the dress robes, merely scowled and squashed the last remaining cauldron cake between his hands. Harry shared an uneasy look with Neville. Rooming with Ron in such a mood was going to be interesting; hopefully he would perk up once the Tournament was announced.
When they reached Hogsmeade station, they hurried to the carriages, not wanting to be out in the deluge of rain any longer than they had to be. "Has the weather ever been so bad they can't take the first years across in boats?" Harry wondered aloud, watching Hagrid lead the group of tiny, bedraggled eleven year-olds towards the lake.
"I don't think so," Hermione replied. "I've certainly never read about it. They always find a way."
Harry cast a quick Drying charm over himself, even though he knew he'd just end up getting soaked again when he reached the castle. It beat having to sit in the carriage in sodden robes.
Thankfully, he was eventually at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, spelled dry for the third time — thanks to Peeves and his water balloons — and eagerly awaiting the start of the feast. As the sopping first years were led in, leaving a veritable stream of water in their wake, Harry realised it was the first sorting he'd actually been present for since his own. He was surprised when the Sorting Hat's song was completely different, impressing upon them the virtues of each house individually. Harry's mind cast back to Sirius' words the night before he'd left Seren Du; his insistence that the war would only be won by the houses working together. Perhaps the hat was trying to tell them something.
There seemed to be a thousand first years to sort as Harry's stomach rumbled expectantly, the golden plates in front of him staying frustratingly empty. He tried to pay attention, to keep an eye out for any names that sounded familiar from all his books about the Wizengamot, but other than the Carrow twins — both of whom went to Slytherin — there weren't any he recognised. At last it was time to eat, and Harry ravenously filled his plate, tuning out most of the conversation around him. He grimaced when Nearly-Headless Nick let slip that Hogwarts was staffed by house elves, immediately setting Hermione off again. That was going to be a problem this year, wasn't it?
At the end of the feast, Dumbledore stood to make his start-of-term speech. Harry hadn't realised the Triwizard Tournament would mean cancelling quidditch, and his outrage was echoed by several others from every house. He caught Cedric Diggory's eye across the room, the boy looking upset at the news. So much for that rematch.
The interruption of Mad-Eye Moody was an unexpected one. Harry felt uneasy when the man's magical eye landed on him, unnaturally bright blue. It felt like it was piercing his soul — he made a mental note to ask Sirius exactly what that eye was capable of.
He didn't know much about the man, just what Mr Weasley had told them that morning, but it was clear he was at least friends with Dumbledore. That didn't exactly inspire confidence in Harry. He'd have to be careful around Moody until he'd got the measure of him.
Harry pretended to be just as startled by the announcement of the Tournament as everyone else. The twins, unsurprisingly, were among those not pleased with the news that only wizards who were of-age by the end of October would be able to enter. "We're so close, we're practically seventeen!" Fred insisted as they walked up to Gryffindor Tower.
"There's got to be a way to get around it," George agreed. "Once our names are in the running, they won't be able to turn us down."
Harry doubted it would be that simple, but stayed quiet as the pair plotted ways to hoodwink the impartial judge. When they extended the offer to Ron and Harry, Harry snorted. "I think I get into enough trouble in the average school year without seeking it out, don't you?" he pointed out dryly. Fred shrugged.
"Yeah, mate, you're probably right. Ah well, more glory for us!"
They went off to their respective dormitories after bidding everyone goodnight, and Harry grinned at Dean's new poster of Viktor Krum. Maybe he should've brought his Holyhead Harpies poster with him instead of leaving it in his room. He could explain it away as a birthday present, or something. Though he'd have to figure out a reasonable explanation for why it was the Harpies. Maybe he could buy a Puddlemere poster in support of Oliver instead.
Changing into his pyjamas, he put all thoughts of quidditch and posters out of his head, drawing his curtains around his bed and setting the usual privacy charms. Now he was back at school, all his plans for the year came rushing back to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to get the heirs closer together, even the Slytherin ones — if he could get them all working together before either Dumbledore or Voldemort managed to get to them, they might have a chance at sorting out the shambles of the wizarding world after the war was over. It was all well and good planning for battle, but someone needed to have a good idea of what came next, or they'd end up doing exactly what they'd done after the last two wars; sticking their heads in the sand and letting Albus Dumbledore take care of everything.
As well as that, he had to keep his head down and out of Dumbledore's way, and figure out just who he could trust within the castle. Right now, it was a pretty short list.