The Dream
Ron was disappointed. He was looking out the window for Pig, his pet owl. 'Pig'll never come,' he thought. Just then, Pig almost collided into Ron's nose.
"OUCH!!" cried Ron as he picked up Pig. "Finally you've come back."
He undid the letter. It was very mischievous because it was not from Harry.
It read:
You are lucky. For I have
a big plan for you.
Don't you dare dispose the
rest of this
letter. I am Lord
Voldemort. You must bring me…
"NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" cried Ron, sitting up in his bed to fast.
"Ron!! What's the matter. It's one in the morning," said his unhappy mother.
"Oh. Just a dream," he said.
"Okay. Goodnight," his mother said, kissing him on the cheek and slamming the door.
"More like a nightmare," whispered Ron sleepily.
The next day, Pig came zooming into the room, colliding with Ron's nose.
"OUCH!!!" cried Ron as he clutched his nose instead of the letter. "You always have to come when I don't want you to. Don't you?" Ron sighed, leaving his pants unzipped, he reached for a kleenex but slipped on his too big pants.
'Sigh,' he thought. 'if only I could be a little rich.'
He grabbed a kleenex and supported his bleeding nose. With his left hand, he held the kleenex, with the right, he zipped up his pants and started to roll up the extra part of his pants that were way past his feet.
"Ron?" asked Ginny, knocking at the door.
"What is it?" replied Ron, throwing the kleenex in the trash and quickly
putting on a sweater.
"It's time for breakfast,"
"Okay," sighed Ron looking at the letter yearn fully.
At breakfast, Mrs. Weasley asked Ron what his dream was.
"Well?!" said an irritated Mrs. Weasley.
"Okay. I had a dream that Malfoy beat me in chess," he lied.
"That's nothing to be upset about!!" George laughed.
"Yah! We beat you all the time!!" Fred agreed.
"Yah?! Well, you never can beat Ginny!!" Ron snarled.
"Ron…" blushed Ginny turning really red.
"Enough about chess! That's a kids game. No need to fight about that. I for one am working on how to…" Percy started but was interrupted by Fred and George.
"Mum, can-" Fred and George asked.
"Harry and Hermione come over?" Ron finished.
"Sure. They are such dears. What did you want to say boys?" asked Mrs. Weasley, stirring the porridge
"Nothing," George and Fred said, glowering at Ron.
"Say, how's for a game of Quidditch?" Bill said.
"Two on two," Charlie said.
"But I want to play for once," Ginny pouted.
"I will make it even," said Mr. Weasley as he Apparated into the kitchen.
Ron would not stop eating his breakfast.
"Wait. Ron didn't say that he wanted to play. Now we don't need you dad!!" Charlie laughed.
"I'wll pway. Gots a wetter," Ron tried to say through a mouthful of chunky porridge.
"You went to the washroom in your pants?" asked Fred disgusted.
"NO!!!!" cried Ron going red in the ears. "I—have—a—letter!!"
George just stared at him in disbelief.
"Got to go read my LETTER," Ron said letting the letter stand out in the short sentence.
"Ron. Finish your plate," said Mrs. Weasley sternly.
'Sigh,' Ron thought. 'This could take an hour,'
Ron was disappointed. He was looking out the window for Pig, his pet owl. 'Pig'll never come,' he thought. Just then, Pig almost collided into Ron's nose.
"OUCH!!" cried Ron as he picked up Pig. "Finally you've come back."
He undid the letter. It was very mischievous because it was not from Harry.
It read:
You are lucky. For I have
a big plan for you.
Don't you dare dispose the
rest of this
letter. I am Lord
Voldemort. You must bring me…
"NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" cried Ron, sitting up in his bed to fast.
"Ron!! What's the matter. It's one in the morning," said his unhappy mother.
"Oh. Just a dream," he said.
"Okay. Goodnight," his mother said, kissing him on the cheek and slamming the door.
"More like a nightmare," whispered Ron sleepily.
The next day, Pig came zooming into the room, colliding with Ron's nose.
"OUCH!!!" cried Ron as he clutched his nose instead of the letter. "You always have to come when I don't want you to. Don't you?" Ron sighed, leaving his pants unzipped, he reached for a kleenex but slipped on his too big pants.
'Sigh,' he thought. 'if only I could be a little rich.'
He grabbed a kleenex and supported his bleeding nose. With his left hand, he held the kleenex, with the right, he zipped up his pants and started to roll up the extra part of his pants that were way past his feet.
"Ron?" asked Ginny, knocking at the door.
"What is it?" replied Ron, throwing the kleenex in the trash and quickly
putting on a sweater.
"It's time for breakfast,"
"Okay," sighed Ron looking at the letter yearn fully.
At breakfast, Mrs. Weasley asked Ron what his dream was.
"Well?!" said an irritated Mrs. Weasley.
"Okay. I had a dream that Malfoy beat me in chess," he lied.
"That's nothing to be upset about!!" George laughed.
"Yah! We beat you all the time!!" Fred agreed.
"Yah?! Well, you never can beat Ginny!!" Ron snarled.
"Ron…" blushed Ginny turning really red.
"Enough about chess! That's a kids game. No need to fight about that. I for one am working on how to…" Percy started but was interrupted by Fred and George.
"Mum, can-" Fred and George asked.
"Harry and Hermione come over?" Ron finished.
"Sure. They are such dears. What did you want to say boys?" asked Mrs. Weasley, stirring the porridge
"Nothing," George and Fred said, glowering at Ron.
"Say, how's for a game of Quidditch?" Bill said.
"Two on two," Charlie said.
"But I want to play for once," Ginny pouted.
"I will make it even," said Mr. Weasley as he Apparated into the kitchen.
Ron would not stop eating his breakfast.
"Wait. Ron didn't say that he wanted to play. Now we don't need you dad!!" Charlie laughed.
"I'wll pway. Gots a wetter," Ron tried to say through a mouthful of chunky porridge.
"You went to the washroom in your pants?" asked Fred disgusted.
"NO!!!!" cried Ron going red in the ears. "I—have—a—letter!!"
George just stared at him in disbelief.
"Got to go read my LETTER," Ron said letting the letter stand out in the short sentence.
"Ron. Finish your plate," said Mrs. Weasley sternly.
'Sigh,' Ron thought. 'This could take an hour,'