Mafalda Weasly
Summery: "She was the first and only Weasly in, you know, Slytherin."—Ron Weasly
My life as an outcast during Weasly family reunions was inevitably decided when two years ago, the sorting hat decided I was to be a Slytherin. Mother didn't care (she doesn't approve of magic, but she does ride brooms), as she was an accountant, but Father wasted no time, and sent three howlers in quick succession. It was months until I finally forgave him.
My Father was a Ministry worker, an auror. He worked 65 hours a week and was constantly downing Firewhisky. Deatheaters were being rounded up after the initial defeat of You-Know-Who and eventually (if they were lucky) to be trialed. My Father hated Deatheaters, Slytherins. Trials required him to testify and spend most of his days at the courthouse. Rumor is that Father almost strangled one of the reporters from Witch Weekly trying to get his photograph, she sued, but the case was dropped. That was much to the relief of Mother and Father. The Firewhisky was downed faster.
Mother's amazing faith in Father was a bit naïve, but nonetheless good for her. If she knew what he was like when he had a bit too much to drink at the bar...well, I'll just leave it at that because Mother raised me to be a nice Catholic God fearing young lady. Father was raised a nice Presbyterian, and still is one. He occasionally attends Muggle church when he's in a particularly good mood.
The 65 hour weeks continued for two years, until he finally broke down and quit. We lived on Mothers meager accountant salary. Father stayed unemployed for the next 14 months. I was 12 and 11 months and 29 days then.
Now I'm thirteen, and Father finally found employment—63rd Division of Hit Wizards. I start laughing anytime I see him in his ridiculous purple uniform, it was just too irresistible. Mother found it funny too.
The fact that he found a job is why I'm here, at Aunt Molly's house. Molly is my mothers 2nd cousin, and I wonder why she's holding this brunch anyway. I'm perched uncomfortably on a small folding chair in a room filled with red headed twits. The house's name is "The Burrow." The large brown specks on the carpet complete the namesake. I doodle with an instant quill, hoping no one would notice the snake I scratched onto the kitchen wall. I'm still apprehensive to face a large group of Gryffindor idiots.
There must have been at least one hundred of them here to celebrate Father's employment. Mostly families with loving parents and four kids in Gryffindor, or were former Gryffindors. They were all talking, and gender clumping in various areas of the house. Most of the men gathering around the whisky, and the women were tutteirng along, sharing recipes and gossip. Mother was amongst the best of them. I refuse to associate with pigs, but I made the painful mistake of coming in the first place.
While taking a quick check at the bathrooms, I discovered, a mushroom. The bathroom tile was so soiled and dirty, a mushroom had grown over time. I suppose Auntie Weasly was just too busy to clean. Too busy making babies; I suppose Uncle Weasly act like a newly wedded couple. The other rooms weren't much better: dirty carpet, unclean porch, chickens in the front yard, garden gnomes in the backyard, the 'garden' is overridden by leaves, and the fence surrounding the chicken coop was so old and rusty that I saw chickens running head long into it, and knocking it down.
The only smart thing I've done all day was grab a large bowl of Yorkshire Pudding before the stampede of 10 year olds arrived. I finished my pudding, and set the empty bowl under my seat. A large male dog came, and licks at it, but the hostess tugged him away. Aunt Weasly came later with an extra helping of roast beef for him later. The dog dug in enthusiastically.
I sit for a few minutes, felling like an idiot until a red head approaches me. I recognize him from school. Bill Weasly, my former potions partner.
"Hello Mafalda." He's grinning, and a large strand of red hair falls in his eyes.
"Hello Bill, how's the potions essay on Alihotsy leaves? I'm sure you used a lovely analogy including your brothers. They are, looking as if they are sniffing up prescription potions every moment, but you can't be too sure with this lot." I kept my expression blank, and stood up.
"I haven't started yet, it isn't due for ages. Why spoil summer break with potions?"
"Typical Gryffindor." I glared at him, and sat back down, landing with a thump.
"There's three more weeks until breaks over! Why should I worry about holiday homework now?" Bill's looking surprised.
"There are only 3 days until break is over dear cousin," I'm smirking, and I move to brush the strand of hair out of his eyes, "see you at potions class." I leave him looking confused, what a Gryffindor.
An hour later, the guests start dispersing, and we started to say our goodbyes. I grab a roll, and stuck it in my pocket, ready for the long broom ride. Why couldn't my stupid second Aunt be less of cautious? She had it all, apparition wards, floo wards, and various other superstitious protection items. I'm looking forward to getting out of this pig infested shack—err, house.
Aunt Weasly is sharing recipes, though none of them are sounding too appetizing right now. I need to get out of here. Aunt says that she'll drop by next week to give mum the details concerning the special Weasly family pumpkin pie. Bless her.
Mother, Father, and I clamor onto out respective brooms (a Shooting Star, Nimbus 1000, and a Cleansweep 3), and we lift off into the air. The wind blew fairly hard against my face as I did a quick turn to catch up with Mother and Father, they seem to be going rather fast.
AN: Drop a review or two...I would love to hear from you.