It was nearly the end of the holidays, and I was facing three things:

1) Missing the Hogwarts Express (I swear that train has got it in for me).

2) Arriving to school late, therefore after all the sticky date pudding is gone.

3) Getting locked out of the Gryffindor Common Room. Again. Do they change the password at the beginning of term just to annoy me?

 

I loved the Burrow. I loved the slight rickety look it had, the old rooms no one went into, filled with family secrets. I loved the apple orchard, the messy garden, and even the old ghoul in the attic. It felt like a home.

 

I want to bear your furture children. "Nothing," I answered lightly. "Nothing at all."

 

“Who’s a genius?” he asked smugly when he reached us.

“Not you,” I told him, closing my book. Potter smirked and sat down next to me. I stiffened, but otherwise controlled my murderous feelings.

“I’m not talking to you, you spilled tea on me,”

 

Various feelings of disgust and panic rose to my throat, and I scooted to the very edge of the bed, feeling my legs, waist and chest:

Knickers: check

Bra: check

All items of clothing: intact.