If it is at all possible, the ominous weather that had so lovingly graced her hometown of Denver, Colorado had made haste across the ocean to adorn the English sky. The faint glow of lightning could be seen through the endless streams of rain that pelted the large airport window; the drops racing frantically down the pane and disappearing beyond the cold steel ledge. The 10 hour flight had left her stiff and extremely moody and she summoned all her will to not maul the next individual that asked if she was lost. Of course she was lost! She was halfway around the world for Merlin's sake!
She listened closely to the talking about her, the random conversations drowned in accents thick as molasses. Nothing about Hogs-whatever-the-hell-it-was. Turning from the window, she allowed her eyes to scan her surroundings. Hats and toupees of every sort met her gaze. Brown, blonde, brown, brown, black, brown, dusty, black, black, flaming red.
Hold up. Irish? Pushing from the crowd that had gathered about the terminal gate, she followed the flash of flames. Once fully separated from the group, she could see the figure clearly. Now, Willow did have a healthy obsession with redheads; or perhaps the rowdy amusement that followed in their wake, so this was no new occurrence. She was surprised to see one in stuffy old England, though. With nothing better to do and following a complete stranger being one of her most cherished pastimes, she strode after him. His garb was like nothing she'd ever seen before. It was odd, to say the least. Like a sort of trench coat, robe hybrid. Whatever it was, man did that thing billow.
The phrase Birds of a Feather made complete sense to Willow now for the first time. There was, in fact, a FLOCK of redheads just up ahead, and her present specimen hurried to their ranks. Complete chaos. Five redheads? That couldn't have been a coincidence. They were a family, she could tell that now as the twiggy one whom she had been pursuing caught the others.
"I looked at the door and couldn't find her. Dumbledore said that she was noticeable, what could have happened?" he asked nervously as the mother placed her clenched fists upon her hips and scolded him.
"Ronald Weasley, you will go back there and search again." she said, lifting her finger and pointing in the gate's direction.
"But-but, what if it was the wrong door?" he asked sheepishly, yet did not continue when his mother gave him a look. The woman was downright scary like that from the top of her plaited red hair to her slightly odd green and red dress. Christmas colors, Willow mused.
"We'll go to!" piped up two rather similar boys, their eerily cheery voices made Willow cringe.
"Oh yes!" they continued simultaneously "We'll look after our dear little brother!"
"I don't think that will be necessary." added a taller, aged man with the same vibrant hair, what remained of it at least. With a smile he strode casually to Willow, hand outstretched and generally welcoming.
"Willow McKenzie?" he asked and received a mute nod. You have to admit, that was rather weird.
"Oh! Very good!" the woman stated proudly. Proud? The group gathered about the light brunette, a flood to her keen eyesight. The vibrancy of their hair would very shortly give her a headache; a regrettable "family" trait.
"Introductions!" the woman beamed. "This is Ronald, my youngest son, and these are..."
"Gred and Forge! At your service." They said with mock bows, eyes gleaming mischievously. The woman rolled her eyes and continued.
"I am Molly and this is my husband, Arthur."
The polite thing to have done would have been to introduce oneself, but Willow's mind was in overdrive and she could barely remember her own name in the onslaught of titles. The woman, Molly was it? Yes. Molly looked at her with a hint of expectancy.
"Uh, hi?" she muttered, a lame greeting as there ever was but she was too preoccupied with trying to register it all. Gred and Forge? Their names were inevitably Fred and George, but she'd play their games if they wanted it to be so. And Ron. Yes. Arthur and Molly. Got it.
"Sorry. It is nice to meet you." she smiled. Molly smiled back and clapped her hands once in excitement.
"Right! Very good!" she started again. "We must be off. To the car everyone. Come, Willow dear."
"Please, call me Will." she added.
"Very well, Willow dear." she said dismissively, trying to get Gred and Forge to cooperate long enough to vacate the building. The two were bouncing around...literally. They had a strange likeness to ferrets on Speed; a truly terrifying combination.
"Only one problem, mum-" stated one of the two discernable twins.
"There's only room for 5." the other finished.
"We could leave Ron here!" the first suggested and was promptly smacked by his mother; said boy wearing a horrible expression of fear at the prospect of being left behind in muggle territory.
"Enough, Fred!" she scolded.
"You mean Gred!" he started enthusiastically and the other caught on immediately, adding an "Or Forge!"
"Either way, we're still short a seat. Unless of course, our guest wishes to ride on the roof." They started again.
"Or someone's lap." Willow spoke before she could stop herself. Both boys were sufficiently quiet after that lapse in judgment.
"Right." Arthur chuckled. "You'll all have to squeeze in."
"What, all four of us?" Ron started.
"Oh, don't be so snobbish, Ronald." Molly reprimanded once more.
It was, in fact, a very tight fit once they all managed to get into the light blue vehicle and the old doors threatened to give way to the amount of person between them. What made it especially difficult was the twin's constant fidgeting.
"Well, I do say! It is a good thing that the whole family didn't come!" Gred asked. Willow had taken a liking to that particular name and since it had elements of both their true names, it really didn't matter to whom it was applied.
"How many more of there are you?" Willow inquired, removing Gred's elbow from her shoulder and doing to same to the twin that sat at her opposite.
"Seven." Molly interjected kindly.
Willow felt a strange mingling of pity and fear at that utterance. Seven? Her own aunt had a total of six children, but it wasn't seven. How on earth did they raise SEVEN kids!
"Yeah." Gred started. "There's Ginny."
"And Charlie."
"And Bill."
"Bill's the oldest. Then Charlie." they finished, alternating between their sibling's names.
"And Ginny?" Willow asked.
"Ginny's last; the youngest." Forge answered.
"Oh." she mouthed quietly.
"What about you?" Mr. Weasley asked, turning in his seat and taking his eyes off the sky before him.
"I'm an only child." she answered, fiddling with the large ring that hung about her neck by a golden chain.
"Tell me," he started after a slight pause, resuming the proper position behind the wheel. "What is it like living amongst American Muggles?"
The enthusiasm behind his voice made Willow chuckle as she answered.
"They're ordinary folk, just going on about their lives."
"Cattle Wranglers? Bringing in the dogs, are they?"
"Dogs?" she asked before it finally clicked in her mind.
"Doggies? Cattle?"
She honestly couldn't help herself. Throwing her head back, she laughed uproariously. Were these people really under the assumption that all Americans were cowboys? The twins looked at her expectantly and she burst into a renewed fit of laughter. The image of an American stockbroker racing along the range on a buckskin pony entered her mind and she honestly couldn't stop. Grabbing her sides, she attempted to calm herself and right the misconception, but it just wasn't happening. She started anyways, her words separated by silent racks of laughter.
"No...no, we don't...wrangle...doggies." she was thrust back in her seat as another onslaught of hysteria took her. She had no idea why it was so funny, but she was tired and passed that as her excuse; and not altogether an invalid on.
The car was filled with silence as they neared their destination. After her laughter had subsided, Willow had been racked by hiccups and yawns and Mrs. Weasley instructed her to sleep. With a nod, she leaned her head back and was out before she closed her eyes. The car had jostled at one point or another and her head had found its way to Gred's shoulder.
So it was that all the 17 year olds were out cold, leaning against each other in the confined space as the youngest Weasley present leaned against the cold window preparing to join them.
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Woot! Another chapter done! Hope you like it!