[ Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters mentioned within this work of fanfiction, nor any of the locations mentioned. All are created (or fantasised) by J.K. Rowling and are under copyright. No infringement is intended. Also, the title for this fanfiction comes from 'Cowboy Bebop,' which I do not own and is also copyrighted. No further infringement intended. ]

 [ Really, this came of my own inspiration at about 1 AM last night, but I'd like to thank my favorite author -- Finding Beauty -- for sharing her plot bunnies, which were on caffeine overload this morning and apparently mating at the speed of light. It was quite helpful in turning this would be vignette into the lengthy chapter story I was hoping for to get me started in seriously writing fanfiction. ]




Never Seen a Bluer Sky


It was a pleasantly warm and breezy day in Ottery St. Catchpole; it seemed that the storm clouds which had threatened the previous day and all through the night were driven back by the first, brilliant light of the sun and replaced with less foreboding clouds of white. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, holding a depth of clarity that was rarely seen in the typically dismal gray of the England sky.

The Burrow, one of the largest and most strange houses within range of the small village, was already a bustle of unaccustomed excitement, though the sun had barely risen over the eastern horizon. It was the thirty-first day of August, which perhaps did make the excitement customary, though the hustle of the large house was not due to the typical rush of packing that came with the day before the beginning of the first term of school. This thirty-first of August, the Weasleys were having a special sort of guests: Muggles. Not just any sort of Muggles, mind, but the Grangers.

Molly Weasley, a short and rather plump woman, had gone promptly to the post office in Ottery St. Catchpole several days before and repeated a process she had done nearly a year earlier -- the perfectly penned and polite letter was inserted into an envelope and an assorted many (what the Muggles liked to call) postage stamps were placed upon the cover, leaving just enough space for the Grangers' address. The postal worker at the office had given her little assistance the year before when she asked about postage to Little Whinging, Surrey, so she doubted he would give her much assistance this year. Thus, Mrs. Weasley -- who felt it was quite better to go overboard than not have her invitation delivered at all -- proceeded to cover the envelope with these so-called stamps of postage, leaving it with the laughing postal worker to be delivered.

Apparently, as Molly discovered through trial and error, the more 'postage stamps' placed upon an envelope, the faster it was delivered to the given address -- or, the Muggle Post was almost (though not quite) as efficient as the normal way -- as a reply from the Grangers arrived at the Burrow merely two days later, delivered by a very reliable, but haughty, brown owl. As the letter explained, much to Molly's own delight, the Grangers had been talked into buying an owl by their daughter to make communication between them easier while she was away at Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley, of course, found this course of action very commendable for Muggles.

The thirty-first day of August was set in the invitation as a day in which the two families would finally have a chance to meet one another, though it also explained (if the Granger family was interested) that Harry would be unable to join them as well, let alone his family, due to orders from Dumbledore. Though the letter declined to mention, Privet Drive was apparently as safe as Hogwarts itself when it came to Harry and You-Know-Who.


"I was thinking of asking them how to work that felly-tone invention of theirs," Arthur, the balding head of the Weasley household, announced over breakfast. "I reckon it doesn't matter as they've gotten themselves an owl, but it's a marvelous invention nonetheless. Amazing things Muggles come up with to get along without magic." It was his usual babbling, to which the family had declined to listen much to.

"That lovely dear offered to help me with the cooking, Arthur, wasn't that nice?" Molly interrupted his babbling of Muggle things (which she didn't rightly enjoy to hear after that incident with the Ford Anglia) with a question, as she seated herself at the breakfast table. However, this only served to throw Arthur into a babbling tangent over Muggle cooking devices -- they have mikerwavs and benders, he announced to the five redheaded children seated around the table.

Ron, who was neither paying attention to his father's excitement over having real, live Muggles in the house (as if he were a child going to a zoo to see a Hippogriff) nor paying much more attention to his breakfast, stared at the arrangement of food on his plate and began to wonder how on earth he was ever going to survive a day like today. It was difficult enough to survive nearly two weeks of having Hermione in his house the year before, but how in the world was he supposed to survive meeting her parents? He was probably known to them at the little red-haired boy who had made their daughter's life at Hogwarts absolute hell through constant arguments and trouble-making. Not to mention, he had never quite forgiven her for being a traitor.

"Staring at your food won't make it Apparate into your stomach," Ginny whispered at his elbow, barely audible over her father's excited jabber about some device that Muggles used to keep their food cold (all the talk of Muggles and cooking had caused her mother to turn rather pale, obviously wondering of Mrs. Granger's assistance in her kitchen would be a help or hindrance).

Ron gave his sister a withered look, suddenly too sick at his stomach by the lead weight dropped into it to even feign annoyance at her. "I wasn't trying to, I was just thinking."

"About Hermione?" her big brown eyes were vivid with an excitement Ron wasn't quite able to place, though he was sure he had seen it before.

"No," he answered all too abruptly, causing her to stifle a giggle at the obvious lie which slipped defensively from his lips. "I . . . well, er, I was just thinking that you two better keep busy today. She annoys me."

The youngest Weasley, however, simply shook her head and went back to her breakfast, not even bothering to hide the grin which formed upon her face. After a moment, she spoke up again, though still not over the chatter of the crowded table (as Percy had since changed the topic to his new assignment at work -- crooked broomsticks), "Because of Krum?" Ginny inquired, not even attempting to tiptoe around the sensitive subject. Ron had been unsettled by Viktor Krum since the Yule Ball and, though he might not have realized the cause himself, Ginny would readily admit that she was far better on the uptake than her thickskulled brother.

Freckled face and ears slowly turned a shade of the color he most hated, suiting him not at all, as he struggled to find an answer to the question which annoyingly hit home. It was useless, he finally accepted, to attempt to hide anything from Miss Virginia Weasley. After chewing at his bottom lip for several minutes, he finally let out a sigh and slumped back in his chair -- she had won, of course, as he could think of no rational reply. Although it sounded well and good in his head, admitting aloud that he was steamed over Hermione betraying Hogwarts by fraternizing with the enemy was something absurd. Besides, Ginny would only bring up how he asked Fleur to the Yule Ball.

"Maybe you should just ask her about him, if you're so concerned." Pursing her lips at one corner, she offered him a questioning sort of look, before rising from the table and lifting her empty plate. "If I were Hermione, I don't think I'd much care for a boy who couldn't pronounce my name," she mumbled, before heading off towards the kitchen.

Without noticing, his plate went up for grabs between his twin brothers after it was pushed further onto the table. The concerned look from his mother was completely missed as Ron sulkingly mulled over Ginny's advice. It was thoroughly uncanny how a girl of her age could figure out his problems, find a solution to them, then throw him off by giving him the option of going for it or doing absolutely nothing. Honestly, if Ginny had just taken a moment to be like their mother, yell at him until she was blue in the face, and order him to talk to Hermione . . . he would have done it, out of fear and lack of any other option, without a second thought. Yet, she had more or less given him the option of talking to Hermione or letting the sheer idea of Viktor Krum haunt him for the rest of his life.

Pushing his chair fully away from the table, Ron stood and made his way out of the dining area and towards the staircase to climb the many flights of steps to his attic room. Almost completely to the top, he heard (over the moaning of the ghoul which haunted the uppermost portion of the house) Ginny announce, "Mum, the Grangers are here!"