12 Grimmauld Place.
Harry felt miserable—he had no idea what had happened. It seemed everyone had started giving him the cold shoulder overnight.
"Harry," Mrs. Weasley came up and affectionately ruffled his messy hair. "Honestly, I'm so glad to see you safe and sound.
"Look at you, dear, you look exhausted. You're much thinner than you were during the Triwizard Tournament. You need to eat more. Why don't you go upstairs for now and come down when dinner's ready?"
Harry wanted to ask something, but Hermione took his arm. "We'll show you where you're sleeping."
"Come on, mate. It took us ages to clean this place up," Ron added, patting Harry on the shoulder.
Between them, they practically dragged Harry out of the entrance hall.
Harry thought the two of them were acting strangely.
In fact, his instincts were spot-on—Ron and Hermione were both acting on Dumbledore's instructions.
The three of them went down the corridor, where a row of ugly, shriveled house-elf heads hung on the wall. Their empty eye sockets looked particularly creepy in the dim yellow light.
As Harry passed the umbrella stand made from a troll's leg, he tripped over it and nearly fell flat on his face.
"Careful." Ron steadied him. "Ugly thing, isn't it?"
Harry agreed—trolls were disgusting.
Once they were in the room, Ron rambled on about how his mother had ordered them all around while they worked—Bill had cleared the bugs out of the study, while Fred and George kept using Apparition. The twins had passed their tests that year.
Hermione, meanwhile, kept asking how his summer holiday had been.
Only then did Harry learn that Hermione had only just been brought here herself.
"I wrote to you," Harry said, barely suppressing his resentment. "Several times. Neither of you replied once."
Ron