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One day, late in the summer…
“..will have to continue observing and discuss at the next meeting,” Dumbledore decided, bringing the latest tense Order meeting to a solemn close. “If no one has any further questions-”
“Say, does anyone else hear that?” Sirius perked up, tilting his head like his Animagus form.
“Hear what?” sneered Snape, rolling his eyes. “Hallucinations, Black? What potions are you on-”
“No, I hear that too,” said Remus, brow furrowing in confusion. “Is that - singing?”
Upstairs, a door slammed open, and those Order members who’d remained in the kitchen could all hear it now: someone was indeed singing, two floors up, loud enough to be audible through the muffling wards.
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o-”
“Is that Harry?” gasped Hermione, rising from the table.
Everyone’s heads were turning in the direction of the door to the main hall, for the source of the singing was loudly descending the staircase - and then the door flew open, and the Boy-Who-Lived in question burst in, steps swaying, singing at a volume not quite the top of his lungs (but pretty damn close). “O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
“Harry?” Ron asked-
Harry beamed at everyone, running a hand through his hair, and danced side to side in a jig that was clearly keeping rhythm.
“Oh, he’s right plastered, in’he?” Sirius snorted into his hand.
And he was right: waves of gin, of all things, emanated off of the Chosen One, billowing like the sleeves of the puffy shirt he was wearing as he leaned on the back of Sirius’ chair and continued,
“Now in this bog there was a tree, a rare tree, a rattlin’ tree / A tree in the bog and the bog down in the valley-o!”
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o,” Sirius joined in the next verse, downing the last of the firewhiskey he’d been nursing throughout the meeting. Harry clapped his hands, spinning around to grab his godfather’s hand and pull him up. “O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
“And on this tree there was a limb, a rare limb, a rattlin’ limb-” Sirius raised their joined hands, stomping along with Harry’s dance and starting the next verse. Remus, beside him, was nodding along to the song, and Hermione saw that even Ron was tapping his foot under the table. Silly as Harry’s interruption had been, the good cheer was, well, infectious. And a suspiciously-placed bottle settled beside the leg of her boyfriend’s chair hinted that there’d been some helping-along.
She wondered how Ron had gotten his hands on the stuff under his mum’s watchful eye; when she glanced up at Molly Weasley, the witch raised a brow, having obviously come to the same conclusion from where she stood by the stove.
“Limb on the tree and the tree in the bog and the bog down in the valley-o!”
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o,” Remus was rising from his chair now, “O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
“A’ight,” Ron leaned his shoulder against Hermione’s, “‘s been ages since Seamus taught me this one, but let me see if I remember it-” He stood up, raising the now-empty bottle, and belted out, “And on this branch there was a twig, a rare twig, a rattlin’ twig-”
“Oh dear Merlin,” Mrs. Weasley giggled - giggled - from where she rested an elbow on the counter, “how many verses do you think they’ve got?” Arthur Weasley was covering his smile with a hand, standing beside her; the four singing wizards were dancing in a line around the kitchen table, Harry at the lead, as they finished the verse and chorused-
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o / O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
“And on this twig there was a leaf, a rare leaf, a rattlin’ leaf-” Hermione snapped her head around, astonished, for that was Dumbledore getting up, his eyes sparkling, to join in with a shockingly rich melody compared to his speaking voice. The others cheered, and sang along, “Leaf on the twig and the twig on the branch and the branch on the limb and the limb on the tree and the tree in the bog and the bog down in the valley-o!”
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o / O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
Harry leapt in to start the next verse, with “Around that leaf there was a vine, a rare vine, a rattlin’ vine-”
Sirius faltered, blinking, and Hermione saw Snape flinch, shooting a glare at Harry’s godfather that she couldn’t decipher, as they continued the song anew: “The vine ‘round the leaf and the leaf on the twig-”
“Of course Potter picks up this version of the lyrics,” the Potions Master muttered to himself just loud enough for Hermione (sat beside him) to hear. “Consorting with Black and who knows who else-”
“He- he has been going out a lot lately,” she supplied, which had Snape turning to look sharply at her, black eyes agleam.
“-and the bog down in the valley-o! O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o / O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
“Within the vine there was a witch, a rare witch, a rattlin’ witch-” Harry continued to lead the song, the group stamping their feet and clapping along to the rhythm; Dumbledore had sat back down, seemingly tired from his own outburst, and been replaced in the line by Mr. Weasley to Molly’s giggling glee. Hermione glanced to Ron’s mum and only now spotted the emptied glasses on the counter beside the stove.
“Miss Granger,” Snape rumbled, “since when has Potter been ‘going out’, as you say?”
“-witch in the vine and the vine ‘round the leaf and-”
“At least a month?” she guessed, trying to remember just when Harry had begun his new routine. “He doesn’t usually come home drunk - or before dawn, for that matter. Sometimes he smells like liquor, but not this much.” Harry was surprisingly responsible, at least compared to Ron, who’d more than once this summer drunk himself into a stupor with his siblings and stumbled into the room Hermione shared with him late at night.
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o / O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
Snape’s expression went contemplative as Sirius attempted the next verse - “And on this witch there was a mole-” and then his eyes widened as Harry sang louder over him, changing ‘mole’ to ‘wand’, which confused the two Marauders before they followed along with the next part. Ron, too, had faltered, but joined right back in when they got to a part he knew. Harry was cheerfully oblivious to the others, swaying from side to side as he sang on.
“A month,” the Potions Master repeated, hands clenching into fists on the table. The look he turned on Hermione was piercing, as though he hoped to read her mind with a glare. “You are certain?”
“-Wand on the witch and the witch in the vine and the vine ‘round the leaf-”
“The week after Umbridge was executed on Dark Livestream,” Hermione remembered suddenly, which caused a more dramatic change in Snape’s expression than she’d ever seen - he paled rapidly, eyes widening, and made to stand up, but the line of singing wizards (bookended by Harry and Mr. Weasley) was passing behind them, preventing him from pushing his chair back.
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o / O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
“Albus!” Snape hissed, but the word was lost in the racket Harry’s group was creating as they passed-
“And from the wand there came a spell, a rare spell, a rattlin’ spell-”
Several bottles of what appeared at first glance to be butterbeer appeared in the middle of the table, and Harry wandlessly snatched one up, floating it to himself while he carried on-
“And in that spell there was a light, a rare light, a rattlin’ light / Light in the spell and the spell from the wand and-”
The others reached for the bottles by hand when they made their pass around the other side of the table where their now-vacated seats had been - they were dancing a circuit around the perimeter of the kitchen - and Hermione plucked the last dusty bottle off the tray with her fingertips, peering at the label, to discover that these had indeed been bottles of butterbeer once, only repurposed: the original label (and was that dated to 1712 when she held it up to the light?) had been blotted out with ink and rewritten as something called ‘Gamp’s Old Gregarious’. Snape laid his hand over the top to prevent her from uncorking it, with a sharp warning shake of his head.
“-And then that light it struck a stone, a rare stone, a rattlin’ stone-”
Hermione realized she was hearing a stringed instrument now, and had been for some time, and looked away from the mysterious bottle to see Dumbledore playing a banjo. A banjo. And was Mrs. Weasley tuning a fiddle? Where in the world were the instruments coming from-
“Stone by the light and the light in the spell-”
“Miss Granger,” Snape spoke sternly over the brewing chaos, “I implore you to rein in any urge that forms to join in this song; we may be the only sober people left in this house-”
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o / O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o!”
She nodded; moments later there came the sound of breaking glass as Harry flung an empty bottle of Gamp’s Old Gregarious into the air and struck it with a vivid red spell. Had he just done that wandlessly? “AND FROM THAT STONE THERE CAME A BIRD,” he bellowed, jumping up and down, everyone bouncing on their heels in time, Mrs. Weasley’s fiddle picking up the tune at the same time, “A RARE BIRD, A RATTLIN’ BIRD-”
Harry, Sirius, Remus, Ron, Mr. Weasley, Dumbledore (again), and Mrs. Weasley chorused, “Bird from the stone and the stone by the light and the light in the spell and the spell from the wand and the wand on the witch and the witch in the vine and the vine ‘round the leaf and the leaf on the twig and the twig on the branch-” the tempo was picking up now, “and the branch on the limb and the limb on the tree and the tree in the bog and the bog down in that valley-o!”
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o,” Hermione mouthed along, then clapped her hand over the lower half of her face in horror, exchanging a look with Snape - she hadn’t meant to join in-
Snape glanced about the room and set his jaw, having evidently made up his mind about something. He drew his wand from his sleeve as they finished the second line of the refrain, pushing back his chair, in time for Harry to leap up on the table with a maniacal cackle that did not at all suit him but apparently to the Potions Master was shudderingly familiar-
“AND FROM THAT BIRD THERE CAME A SONG, A RARE SONG, A RATTLIN’ SONG, ABOUT A BOG DOWN IN THAT VALLEY-O-”
“O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o / O-ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o-” Hermione had no idea when she’d stood up to join in, this was chaos -
But with an almighty thunderclap, Snape interrupted the song, bellowing so loudly he must have used a Sonorus - “STOP IT! ALL OF YOU!”
Everyone froze, even Dumbledore, who dropped his banjo to the ground - it vanished in a cloud of dust - all of them blinking, dazed, as whatever had come over them was cut off. “HERE,” Snape demanded of Harry, tossing him a tiny phial that Hermione was surprised he didn’t hesitate to uncap and down in one gulp.
It must have been a Sobering Draught, Hermione guessed, because the manic grin that had been on Harry’s face all this time went instantly blank, neutral, and he hopped down off the table, brushing invisible dust off his shirt - which had come unbuttoned during the dancing to show off considerably more of his bare chest than Hermione had any interest in seeing. He glanced up and to his left with a smile, but faltered, as whoever he’d expected to see was not present-
And it appeared that that was when the gravity of the situation hit him. “..Oh,” Harry said in a small voice in the pin-drop silence of the room. “Oh, dear.”
“Indeed, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled, but there was obvious anger in his stance. “Or should I say-”
“Don’t, Severus,” Harry interrupted him with a glare and an imperious tilt of his head, before he blinked and corrected himself, “I mean, sir-”
Snape grimaced. “I never want to hear you call me that again.”
Harry’s face reddened, and he took a flustered step back, which put him by the doorway to the kitchen. “Thenyouwon’t,” he blurted out in a rush, and had turned and dashed off upstairs before anyone could stop him.
Snape leapt over the table to chase after him, shouting, “COME BACK HERE, ASSISTANT!”
Wait, what?!
Sirius and Remus gasped, spinning around to face the doorway; Dumbledore’s eyes bugged out behind his glasses, and he moved with surprising agility to follow Snape up the stairs, shouting at Sirius to “lock down the wards, quickly, Sirius-”
Upstairs, they could hear Harry swear, a door slamming shut - it was the door to the dining room that nobody ever used, the same one they’d confronted Harry about his boyfriend in earlier in the summer. A glowing magic circle was spinning slowly on the door, indicating it was Very Much Locked; by the time Hermione got there, catching her breath, Dumbledore had his wand out and was attempting a counterspell. Everyone was quiet again, quiet enough to hear, from the other side of the door, the unmistakable sound of a phone on speaker, ringing.
“Assistant?” came a terrible, familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Sirius cried, pounding on the door.
“Sir,” said Harry urgently - Hermione had never heard him say the word with such deliberate emphasis - “They’ve found me out, wards are up-”
“Say no more, my dear,” the voice purred. “I am more than happy to help.”
Dumbledore was sweating, the magic circle only half unravelled; the call hung up, and everyone heard Harry call for Kreacher next. “Kreacher - my things, quickly, I am moving out-”
“Kreacher bids the master farewell on his escape-”
Then there echoed a groan, as of wood or metal bending under supreme force. “The wards,” gasped Sirius, clasping a hand over his face, “oh, no-”
Ward alarms began ringing, a cacophony whose like Hermione had never imagined, the utter opposite of the gleeful chaos they had all produced only minutes earlier, until with a resounding crack from beyond the door, they all went silent. No one dared draw breath. Hermione could hear her heartbeat. And then-
“Oh, thank Merlin,” Harry sighed, his voice a bit different, distorted somehow, “I don’t know how much longer the spell on the door will hold.”
“Long enough, Assistant,” chuckled Voldemort, and Hermione almost wished she could see through the door because that sounded like Harry was giggling and he never giggled-
“What the hell,” Ron mouthed to her, “is that-?”
The magic circle fell apart in a burst of sparks, and Dumbledore threw the door open with a concentrated bolt of light, so that everyone close enough to the door (Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Snape, and Dumbledore) could see inside the dining room - could see Voldemort pulling Harry-in-a-hood flush against his chest, and Harry wrapping his arms tightly around the Dark Lord’s waist, the both of them looking toward the doorway, just as black fog rose from the floor and swirled around them both, whisking the figures away before a Stunner launched from someone’s wand could reach them.
Hermione would swear, if asked, that she’d seen Harry’s eyes flash green in the shadows of the hood; and that Voldemort had shot Dumbledore a triumphant smirk just as he’d gone out of sight.
“Sweet-and-sour Salazar,” Snape whispered, slumping back against the opposite wall.