The Lark, the Wren, and the Hippogriff
Chapter One
Green Eggs and Politics
Sorry bout the political blurb at the beginning...kind of a background for everything else that is going on, but oh well. Within a couple chapters I hope to be back at hogwarts, but for now...well, you'll just have to read and find out, won't you?
Nine men, or rather, seven men and two women, sat in a small, cramped room. Not that the room wasn't elegant, but it didn't seem quite big enough to hold the magnitude of the issue discussed within it.
The issue being the fate of the wizard world.
"Fudge has withdrawn his support, Albus." A tall, red haired man leaned heavily on the table. "Without it, we've got no official connections with Austria."
"There's always the unofficial." Another man spoke up, tiredness etched on his face. They had been working for days.
"We know what the 'unofficial' would be, Black," a tall, greasy haired wizard snarled. "If you want to go down that path, maybe you could be our ambassador to the dementors, with your infamous 'connections' and all."
Sirius raised his wand threateningly, but one look from Dumbledore and he lowered again.
It was not, however, Dumbledore who spoke, but instead a raspy old women. "If you two want to sit there fighting like you were back in second year you'll be doing half of Voldemort's work for him." She aimed a beady eye at Sirius. "No 'pranks'."
"Yes, Mrs Figg." Sirius did indeed sound like a rebuked second year.
Arabella flashed a hard glare at Snape before turning to Dumbledore. "I think Sirius may have a point, though." She softened a bit. "My son..."
The woman to her left patted her arm gently. Arabella brushed away the tear that was forming.
Mundugus Fletcher, looking eccentricly awake and bouyant to the other eight occupants, leaped out of his chair. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "Lady Theresa! We could send someone to her..."
Arabella's scowl hardened as Minerva, taking a firmer grip on the lady's hand, glared at Mundugus.
"If there's trouble in Austria, she's at the heart of it," A new voice growled. It's speaker became suddenly twitchy, and his glass eye roved around the room as though someone would murder him then and there for making that statement.
"Well then it seems to me to be the precise thing to do." Minerva spoke up for the first time. "If she's at the root of it, we can use her to find the weeds."
"Minerva, dear, aren't you Transfiguration?" Across the table, a man, shabbier than the rest, raised an eyebrow. "No matter. I agree with you, despite you analogies." He smiled benevolently at her.
"I appriciat you support, Remus," Minerva muttered. But she smiled nonetheless.
"So are we agreed?" The red haired man spoke up again. "We'll send someone to find out about the dark magic brewing in Austria?"
Gradually, heads around the table consented. Dumbledore smiled. "I think, Arthur, we may have finally reached an agreement." His blue eyes twinkled.
"Thank Gordic," Arthur Weasly muttered. "Now..."
The nine wearied diplomats were not the only ones discussing the fate of the world. How could they be, when there were those who would oppose them?
Lucius Malfoy sat on the edge of his desk, wearily listening to Macnair and Crabbe endlessly argueing.
"Stop!" He yelled, when he could listen no longer. "Why can't we just give him what he wants?" Macnair smiled as Crabbe began to toe his shoe, eyes becoming fixated on the carpet.
"We don't have anyway of getting to Potter," he muttered. "Not when he's at home, not when he's at school, either."
"You blunderhead!" Lucius was clearly at the end of his patience. "Does my son not go there? Does YOUR son not go there? Really..."
"Potter's not going to tell them anything," Crabbe told him, his eyes slowly creeping upwards. "The only people he tells anything to is Hermione and those damn Weasly's..." He muttered several other nasty curse words.
But Lucius ignored him, stoking his goatee thoughtfully. "I have an idea...
But he wouldn't say anymore on the subject, but instead wrote a long, detailed letter to one of his cousins, asking about the visit her daughter Wren was making this summer.
Not everyone was unhappy. Ginny, in fact, with red hair that proclaimed her her father's daughter and a beauty that claimed she was her mother's, couldn't have been more so.
It had all started a week into the summer.
"Hey Gin, guess what?" Ron ambled, or rather stumbled, down the stairs to breakfast. "The love of your life is coming to visit."
Ginny glared at him, while Mrs. Weasly rebuked her son. "Now Ron, don't tease Ginny." She placed two plates full of green eggs, sadly without ham, in front of her children. "So Harry's coming to visit, is he?"
"Mum!" Ginny shreiked indignantly, lopping some eggs onto her plate. Her fork dropped and was soon buried within the enormous mounds of egg.
"Sorry sweetie." She handed George some salt to take over to the table as he walked by. "When's he coming?"
"As soon as we can get him here," Ron said vehemently. "I was thinking of, I dunno, maybe driving in...
"RON WEASLY YOU WILL NOT GO NEAR YOUR FATHER'S CAR!" Mrs Weasly spun around, spatchula in hand. "Which," she added, with an icy glare to her husband, "Has had all of the magic taken off of it, I presume."
Arthur Weasly, who had been slumped forward in his green eggs, looked up, saw his wife's glare, quickly nodded, and fell once again into the heaps of green on his plate.
"Awww, I was just joking, mum," Ron said, rubbing his nose slightly. It was pink. "He sent me a letter begging to come over, so I told him we'd drop by."
At this, Mr. Weasly perked up slighty, bits of eggs still stuck in his hair. "But they used some sort of hard, muggle goo, to close up their fireplace. I don't suppose we could create a gateway in their stove." He frowned, scrunching his nose up. "You know, Molly..."
"Arthur, I said NO," Mrs Weasly looked quite forceful.
"He could take the Knight Bus!" Fred said brightly, coming into the kitchen. "You know, Ernie's seen some pretty weird magical pr-" At his mother's stern glare, he changed his word choice. "-practicioners?" His twin gave him a look that clearly suggested Fred should have been able to come up with something better. Mrs. Weasly looked suspicious, but didn't press the matter.
"I will not have Harry traveling all the way out here by himself!" She exclaimed, remembering the cause of the conversation. "They're must be a port key somewhere around there..."
"I could set one up!" Mr. Weasly exclaimed, suddenly looking brighter though he still wasn't allowed to use the car. "It wouldn't be hard..." And he rambled on, musing to himself about the various things he would need.
All this time, Ginny had been pretending to become engrossed in the greeness of her eggs, but her mind was racing from the moment she heard the word 'Harry'. Well, actually she couldn't think because her heart was beating too loudly.
"Ginny's in love," George sang, only to find peices of green egg stuck in his hair and Ginny's fork waving menacingly. Then Ginny changed her mind. "Maybe I am." She sat down, sweeping her nightgown under her. George and Fred looked faintly dissapointed.
"Well now she's not going to be as much fun to tease," Fred muttered, pouting.
Three days later, after many enchantments, curses, blunders, and a note from the Ministry reminding Arthur that degradable food objects cannot be used as Port Key's, and Harry was there, trunk, owl, scar, and all. Looking slightly bewildered at having touched (or rather, been punched by) Dudley, only to find himself seconds later in the Burrow. Authur Weasly recieved another notice from the ministry that humans were not supposed to be port key's, either, but everyone was so glad to have Harry there that not even Mrs. Weasly repriminded him.
"Harry you've gotton so thin!" Mrs. Weasly exclaimed, promptly preparing a dish of all the foods she could muster up in a moments notice, and setting them before Harry.
"Oh, c'mon, mum, Harry wants to go play Quidditch!" Fred exclaimed, pulling Harry towards the door.
"No he doesn't!" George told his brother. "We want's to see our-" with a swift glance at Mrs. Weasly, he dropped his voice "you-know..."
"Hey, he's my friend!" Ron interjected, shoving himself between Fred and George. Harry still wore a slightly bewildered look. Ginny, sitting at the table, caught his eye and smiled; she was thoroughly amused.
"Umm..." Harry looked at the fighting brothers, who stopped abruptly. Harry frowned, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I guess that was all I had to say. You can continue fighting, if you want." Fred and George looked ready to do just that, but Mr Weasly, once again displaying his common sense, said
"Why don't you ask Harry what he wants to do?" He asked, looking over the Daily Prophet.
Now Harry definitely looked uncomfortable. "Well...I did bring my broom...-"
He would have said more, but Fred was already dragging Harry out the door. Sulking, Ron and George followed. Ginny smiled again, dusted off the toast crumbs from her lap, and walked out, taking her time.
"You don't play Quidditch!" Ron exclaimed as she walked on the porch.
"Yes I do," Ginny told him simply. "Did you not notice that you haven't had a broom for two years?" Ron thought for a moment, blushing.
"Hey!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Who told you you could take my broom?"
"Mum." She smiled at her older brother with superiority Ron could have killed her for.
"So what am I supposed to use?"
"There's a mop in the closet."
"Gin-ny!"
"Well, there is."
"Someone can use my broom," Harry said shyly, listening while Fred and George flew twenty feet above them, trying to knock eachother off of their brooms in some bizzarre form of muggle chicken-fighting.
"DIBS!" Ron exclaimed, almost before the words were out of Harry's mouth. He grabbed the broom and lifted into the air to join his brothers.
"Where's your broom?" Harry asked Ginny, noticing that she didn't follow her brother.
"Oh, I broke it last year." Ginny frowned. "Actually, the old thing died on me." Under Harry's gaze, she blushed. "I did play Quidditch...just not in awhile. And Ron hasn't seen his broom in two years." Her chin stuck out every so slightly.
Harry sat down on the edge of the porch, chuckling slightly. The wind was growing heavier, and it was beginning to drizzle just the slightest bit. Ginny sat down next to him. And there was silence between them for a few moments as they listened to the three brothers yell less than endearing terms at one another.
"Are the Dursley's really so bad you would want to come here?" Ginny asked him, disbelieving as she watched her brothers.
Harry had a slow, smothering smile that made Ginny feel glad she was sitting down because her knees would have melted. "Trust me, this is like heaven." He tipped his head over to turn his smile to her. Ginny willed herself not to blush.
Suprisingly, she didn't. "Do you know whether Hermione's coming?" She immediatly regreted the question the moment it was out of her mouth. The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk about another girl, even if it was Hermione.
"I think she's staying with Viktor right now, but Ron mentioned her stopping by for a couple weeks on her way back from Bulgaria." Harry smiled, recalling Ron's exact words, which had been something along the lines of ...well, I made her promise she'd stop by, though I don't why I did, she'll probably stink from coming in close contant with that nasty, vile... it had gone on, using several more terms that Harry didn't care to remember.
Ginny watched him smile, and couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of Hermione. He had that glassy look in his eye, which led her to believe he was star struck. Wonderful, she thought. But she didn't move.
Harry realized he had drifted off, and snapped back to the present. Actually, hearing Ron kamikazi to the ground clued him in. Harry lifted an eyebrow.
"Is my broom okay?" He teased.
"Nice of you to ask how I am," Ron said huffily, but he knew Harry was joking. "Yes, your brooms fine. Do you want it?" He offered, ableit reluctantly.
Harry shook his head, without looking at Ginny. "No, thanks. I haven't touched a broom in quite awhile now; I believe if I went anywhere near your brothers I'd end up like you in half the time."
Ron looked down at his now mud covered robes.
"Yeah, well..." But Ron was to happy at not having to give away his broom that he didn't care to notice anything else. "Your loss, then." And he zoomed back up, probably to get beaten back down again.
The rate of Ginny's heart had increased slightly when Harry had turned down Ron's offer of the broom, but she stubbornly refused to show it. She'd taken out her memories of the past three years the other day, and gone over them with steadfast embarrassment as she realized how her brothers had no trouble detecting her crush on Harry.
They sat in silence a few moments longer. Ginny grew slightly impatient.
"I should probably go in." She stood up.
Harry looked faintly suprised, lines etching his face in the dim twilight. "Okay. Good night."
Ginny walked across the porch footsteps echoing across the symphony of night. "Night," she said, closing the screen door behind her.
Ginny could have laughed, or broken down into tears. Of all her dreams and fantasy's about the famous Harry Potter, she had never thought she would be the one leaving him. But, there was that stubborn Weasly pride...
"They were looking mighty cozy," George commented from above, glancing down at where Harry now sat, alone. The brothers were under temporary truce.
"Much like you and :cough:Alicia :couch:, if I recall correctly," Fred said, his eyes gleaming.
"What's so bad about that?" George asked. "She's prettier than Angelina."
Fred scowled in mock outrage. "How dare you say so!" He glanced at Ron, who was still looking down at the spot left by Ginny. In sudden acceleration, Fred pelted into Ron, knocking him into George.
"Hey!" George yelped.
The fight continued.
Well, that was my first fic. Not really, but my first fic under this name. And no, I'm not telling you who i used to be, because my other self is still writing. So, r/r, tell me if you like it, it will be fairly long, and not nessicarily g/h...and other romances will develope, in case you hadn't noticed, there's been absolutely nothing so far about the lark of the hippogriff, and only a short blurb about the 'wren.'
Chapter One
Green Eggs and Politics
Sorry bout the political blurb at the beginning...kind of a background for everything else that is going on, but oh well. Within a couple chapters I hope to be back at hogwarts, but for now...well, you'll just have to read and find out, won't you?
Nine men, or rather, seven men and two women, sat in a small, cramped room. Not that the room wasn't elegant, but it didn't seem quite big enough to hold the magnitude of the issue discussed within it.
The issue being the fate of the wizard world.
"Fudge has withdrawn his support, Albus." A tall, red haired man leaned heavily on the table. "Without it, we've got no official connections with Austria."
"There's always the unofficial." Another man spoke up, tiredness etched on his face. They had been working for days.
"We know what the 'unofficial' would be, Black," a tall, greasy haired wizard snarled. "If you want to go down that path, maybe you could be our ambassador to the dementors, with your infamous 'connections' and all."
Sirius raised his wand threateningly, but one look from Dumbledore and he lowered again.
It was not, however, Dumbledore who spoke, but instead a raspy old women. "If you two want to sit there fighting like you were back in second year you'll be doing half of Voldemort's work for him." She aimed a beady eye at Sirius. "No 'pranks'."
"Yes, Mrs Figg." Sirius did indeed sound like a rebuked second year.
Arabella flashed a hard glare at Snape before turning to Dumbledore. "I think Sirius may have a point, though." She softened a bit. "My son..."
The woman to her left patted her arm gently. Arabella brushed away the tear that was forming.
Mundugus Fletcher, looking eccentricly awake and bouyant to the other eight occupants, leaped out of his chair. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "Lady Theresa! We could send someone to her..."
Arabella's scowl hardened as Minerva, taking a firmer grip on the lady's hand, glared at Mundugus.
"If there's trouble in Austria, she's at the heart of it," A new voice growled. It's speaker became suddenly twitchy, and his glass eye roved around the room as though someone would murder him then and there for making that statement.
"Well then it seems to me to be the precise thing to do." Minerva spoke up for the first time. "If she's at the root of it, we can use her to find the weeds."
"Minerva, dear, aren't you Transfiguration?" Across the table, a man, shabbier than the rest, raised an eyebrow. "No matter. I agree with you, despite you analogies." He smiled benevolently at her.
"I appriciat you support, Remus," Minerva muttered. But she smiled nonetheless.
"So are we agreed?" The red haired man spoke up again. "We'll send someone to find out about the dark magic brewing in Austria?"
Gradually, heads around the table consented. Dumbledore smiled. "I think, Arthur, we may have finally reached an agreement." His blue eyes twinkled.
"Thank Gordic," Arthur Weasly muttered. "Now..."
The nine wearied diplomats were not the only ones discussing the fate of the world. How could they be, when there were those who would oppose them?
Lucius Malfoy sat on the edge of his desk, wearily listening to Macnair and Crabbe endlessly argueing.
"Stop!" He yelled, when he could listen no longer. "Why can't we just give him what he wants?" Macnair smiled as Crabbe began to toe his shoe, eyes becoming fixated on the carpet.
"We don't have anyway of getting to Potter," he muttered. "Not when he's at home, not when he's at school, either."
"You blunderhead!" Lucius was clearly at the end of his patience. "Does my son not go there? Does YOUR son not go there? Really..."
"Potter's not going to tell them anything," Crabbe told him, his eyes slowly creeping upwards. "The only people he tells anything to is Hermione and those damn Weasly's..." He muttered several other nasty curse words.
But Lucius ignored him, stoking his goatee thoughtfully. "I have an idea...
But he wouldn't say anymore on the subject, but instead wrote a long, detailed letter to one of his cousins, asking about the visit her daughter Wren was making this summer.
Not everyone was unhappy. Ginny, in fact, with red hair that proclaimed her her father's daughter and a beauty that claimed she was her mother's, couldn't have been more so.
It had all started a week into the summer.
"Hey Gin, guess what?" Ron ambled, or rather stumbled, down the stairs to breakfast. "The love of your life is coming to visit."
Ginny glared at him, while Mrs. Weasly rebuked her son. "Now Ron, don't tease Ginny." She placed two plates full of green eggs, sadly without ham, in front of her children. "So Harry's coming to visit, is he?"
"Mum!" Ginny shreiked indignantly, lopping some eggs onto her plate. Her fork dropped and was soon buried within the enormous mounds of egg.
"Sorry sweetie." She handed George some salt to take over to the table as he walked by. "When's he coming?"
"As soon as we can get him here," Ron said vehemently. "I was thinking of, I dunno, maybe driving in...
"RON WEASLY YOU WILL NOT GO NEAR YOUR FATHER'S CAR!" Mrs Weasly spun around, spatchula in hand. "Which," she added, with an icy glare to her husband, "Has had all of the magic taken off of it, I presume."
Arthur Weasly, who had been slumped forward in his green eggs, looked up, saw his wife's glare, quickly nodded, and fell once again into the heaps of green on his plate.
"Awww, I was just joking, mum," Ron said, rubbing his nose slightly. It was pink. "He sent me a letter begging to come over, so I told him we'd drop by."
At this, Mr. Weasly perked up slighty, bits of eggs still stuck in his hair. "But they used some sort of hard, muggle goo, to close up their fireplace. I don't suppose we could create a gateway in their stove." He frowned, scrunching his nose up. "You know, Molly..."
"Arthur, I said NO," Mrs Weasly looked quite forceful.
"He could take the Knight Bus!" Fred said brightly, coming into the kitchen. "You know, Ernie's seen some pretty weird magical pr-" At his mother's stern glare, he changed his word choice. "-practicioners?" His twin gave him a look that clearly suggested Fred should have been able to come up with something better. Mrs. Weasly looked suspicious, but didn't press the matter.
"I will not have Harry traveling all the way out here by himself!" She exclaimed, remembering the cause of the conversation. "They're must be a port key somewhere around there..."
"I could set one up!" Mr. Weasly exclaimed, suddenly looking brighter though he still wasn't allowed to use the car. "It wouldn't be hard..." And he rambled on, musing to himself about the various things he would need.
All this time, Ginny had been pretending to become engrossed in the greeness of her eggs, but her mind was racing from the moment she heard the word 'Harry'. Well, actually she couldn't think because her heart was beating too loudly.
"Ginny's in love," George sang, only to find peices of green egg stuck in his hair and Ginny's fork waving menacingly. Then Ginny changed her mind. "Maybe I am." She sat down, sweeping her nightgown under her. George and Fred looked faintly dissapointed.
"Well now she's not going to be as much fun to tease," Fred muttered, pouting.
Three days later, after many enchantments, curses, blunders, and a note from the Ministry reminding Arthur that degradable food objects cannot be used as Port Key's, and Harry was there, trunk, owl, scar, and all. Looking slightly bewildered at having touched (or rather, been punched by) Dudley, only to find himself seconds later in the Burrow. Authur Weasly recieved another notice from the ministry that humans were not supposed to be port key's, either, but everyone was so glad to have Harry there that not even Mrs. Weasly repriminded him.
"Harry you've gotton so thin!" Mrs. Weasly exclaimed, promptly preparing a dish of all the foods she could muster up in a moments notice, and setting them before Harry.
"Oh, c'mon, mum, Harry wants to go play Quidditch!" Fred exclaimed, pulling Harry towards the door.
"No he doesn't!" George told his brother. "We want's to see our-" with a swift glance at Mrs. Weasly, he dropped his voice "you-know..."
"Hey, he's my friend!" Ron interjected, shoving himself between Fred and George. Harry still wore a slightly bewildered look. Ginny, sitting at the table, caught his eye and smiled; she was thoroughly amused.
"Umm..." Harry looked at the fighting brothers, who stopped abruptly. Harry frowned, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I guess that was all I had to say. You can continue fighting, if you want." Fred and George looked ready to do just that, but Mr Weasly, once again displaying his common sense, said
"Why don't you ask Harry what he wants to do?" He asked, looking over the Daily Prophet.
Now Harry definitely looked uncomfortable. "Well...I did bring my broom...-"
He would have said more, but Fred was already dragging Harry out the door. Sulking, Ron and George followed. Ginny smiled again, dusted off the toast crumbs from her lap, and walked out, taking her time.
"You don't play Quidditch!" Ron exclaimed as she walked on the porch.
"Yes I do," Ginny told him simply. "Did you not notice that you haven't had a broom for two years?" Ron thought for a moment, blushing.
"Hey!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Who told you you could take my broom?"
"Mum." She smiled at her older brother with superiority Ron could have killed her for.
"So what am I supposed to use?"
"There's a mop in the closet."
"Gin-ny!"
"Well, there is."
"Someone can use my broom," Harry said shyly, listening while Fred and George flew twenty feet above them, trying to knock eachother off of their brooms in some bizzarre form of muggle chicken-fighting.
"DIBS!" Ron exclaimed, almost before the words were out of Harry's mouth. He grabbed the broom and lifted into the air to join his brothers.
"Where's your broom?" Harry asked Ginny, noticing that she didn't follow her brother.
"Oh, I broke it last year." Ginny frowned. "Actually, the old thing died on me." Under Harry's gaze, she blushed. "I did play Quidditch...just not in awhile. And Ron hasn't seen his broom in two years." Her chin stuck out every so slightly.
Harry sat down on the edge of the porch, chuckling slightly. The wind was growing heavier, and it was beginning to drizzle just the slightest bit. Ginny sat down next to him. And there was silence between them for a few moments as they listened to the three brothers yell less than endearing terms at one another.
"Are the Dursley's really so bad you would want to come here?" Ginny asked him, disbelieving as she watched her brothers.
Harry had a slow, smothering smile that made Ginny feel glad she was sitting down because her knees would have melted. "Trust me, this is like heaven." He tipped his head over to turn his smile to her. Ginny willed herself not to blush.
Suprisingly, she didn't. "Do you know whether Hermione's coming?" She immediatly regreted the question the moment it was out of her mouth. The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk about another girl, even if it was Hermione.
"I think she's staying with Viktor right now, but Ron mentioned her stopping by for a couple weeks on her way back from Bulgaria." Harry smiled, recalling Ron's exact words, which had been something along the lines of ...well, I made her promise she'd stop by, though I don't why I did, she'll probably stink from coming in close contant with that nasty, vile... it had gone on, using several more terms that Harry didn't care to remember.
Ginny watched him smile, and couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of Hermione. He had that glassy look in his eye, which led her to believe he was star struck. Wonderful, she thought. But she didn't move.
Harry realized he had drifted off, and snapped back to the present. Actually, hearing Ron kamikazi to the ground clued him in. Harry lifted an eyebrow.
"Is my broom okay?" He teased.
"Nice of you to ask how I am," Ron said huffily, but he knew Harry was joking. "Yes, your brooms fine. Do you want it?" He offered, ableit reluctantly.
Harry shook his head, without looking at Ginny. "No, thanks. I haven't touched a broom in quite awhile now; I believe if I went anywhere near your brothers I'd end up like you in half the time."
Ron looked down at his now mud covered robes.
"Yeah, well..." But Ron was to happy at not having to give away his broom that he didn't care to notice anything else. "Your loss, then." And he zoomed back up, probably to get beaten back down again.
The rate of Ginny's heart had increased slightly when Harry had turned down Ron's offer of the broom, but she stubbornly refused to show it. She'd taken out her memories of the past three years the other day, and gone over them with steadfast embarrassment as she realized how her brothers had no trouble detecting her crush on Harry.
They sat in silence a few moments longer. Ginny grew slightly impatient.
"I should probably go in." She stood up.
Harry looked faintly suprised, lines etching his face in the dim twilight. "Okay. Good night."
Ginny walked across the porch footsteps echoing across the symphony of night. "Night," she said, closing the screen door behind her.
Ginny could have laughed, or broken down into tears. Of all her dreams and fantasy's about the famous Harry Potter, she had never thought she would be the one leaving him. But, there was that stubborn Weasly pride...
"They were looking mighty cozy," George commented from above, glancing down at where Harry now sat, alone. The brothers were under temporary truce.
"Much like you and :cough:Alicia :couch:, if I recall correctly," Fred said, his eyes gleaming.
"What's so bad about that?" George asked. "She's prettier than Angelina."
Fred scowled in mock outrage. "How dare you say so!" He glanced at Ron, who was still looking down at the spot left by Ginny. In sudden acceleration, Fred pelted into Ron, knocking him into George.
"Hey!" George yelped.
The fight continued.
Well, that was my first fic. Not really, but my first fic under this name. And no, I'm not telling you who i used to be, because my other self is still writing. So, r/r, tell me if you like it, it will be fairly long, and not nessicarily g/h...and other romances will develope, in case you hadn't noticed, there's been absolutely nothing so far about the lark of the hippogriff, and only a short blurb about the 'wren.'