The leaky cauldron

"Hello, Roxy." Dumbledore said from inside his picture frame.

"Uh…hi? I didn't know your portrait worked at the ministry now." I told him, looking awkwardly at the moving painting.

"No, I don't, this is actually Mr Bowshot's office. I'm Just in here for today as Harry wanted me to meet you."

"Not to be rude but, Why? I'm nothing special." I still found it weird that I was talking to a dead mans photo, But I tried to ignore that.

"I see lots of potential in you Roxy, but the reason for why, is a secret that you will uncover soon enough.

I don't like secrets, I never have. They're just things I don't know, and for me that's hard to take in since my goal is to know everything, and secrets don't help me achieve that.

"As for the fact you are nothing special," He continued, "That is not true. I understand you where the clever 9 year-old who Figured out the cure to dragon pox. I believe that also included another use for dragons blood, one I myself missed."

This was true, but anyone could do that, well, any one like me.

I said nothing, and just stared silently at the previous headmaster.

"Sir, so what do you reckon…is it true or not?" Harry asked eagerly, tapping his fingers on the desk in frustration.

"I can't be sure, but I think that your suspicions are correct. If they are, this could change the life of every witch and wizard. Possible save our world." I really wish they would tell me what's going on. I hate not knowing.

"I have a friend who could tell you the truth, but he is busy right now." Dumbledore said calmly. They must have forgotten I was here.

"We'll come see you again soon, and when your friend is not occupied, please send me your owl." Harry got up and indicated for me to do the same.

I said goodbye to Dumbledore, and expected to see the same corridor as I left the room, but was surprised to see an empty street.

"What the?" I gawped. We were right outside the leaky cauldron.

"What are you waiting for Rox? Head inside." Harry nudged me on the back, making it clear he didn't want to stand around in the open street much longer.

The Pub was small, just as how it had always been, with that musty smell of alcohol. Tom, the landlord stood behind his bar, cleaning glasses.

"2 rooms please Tom." Harry told him.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, long time, no see. Right this way." He led us up the rickety staircase, and down a long twisting corridor, to a small room at the end.

"This will be your room Rox." Harry opened the door, and as soon as I stepped inside, the door closed behind me.

"Hang on-" I started to say, before realising I was alone again.

The room was tiny, compared to the one I had at home, but which also doesn't compare to the one I now possess at the potters. The Bed, had blue sheets, and a rotting pillow, dampened by age. A small desk and stool sat in a corner. I think I know why my uncle resides in a different room.

I placed my backpack onto the floor by the door, and stripped the musty bed sheets. I wasn't going to sleep on that lump of cotton.

I pulled a sleeping bag out of my rucksack, and spread it out onto the floor; I had this because I already knew of the Pubs, somewhat bad reputation of house keeping. The window, had a view over Diagon ally, and in the distance, my home. So obviously that couldn't stay, or I'd get overly homesick, so I pulled one of the bed sheets and hung it over the empty curtain rack, the curtains belonging to it, where ripped and dumped in the corner.

"I miss you dad." I whispered, Then I thought about my brother, Fred the 2nd, or as I call him, cry-baby. He cried about the smallest of things, it's hard to see that he is indeed my blood brother.

Knock, Knock

"Whose there?" I shouted

"UNCLE RON!" The person shouted back, before opening the door, to revile My Favourite uncle, Ron.

"Ron? What are you doing here?" I asked, moving away from the window.

"Change of plan, Ginny's downstairs with the kids and Hermione's with them, they came up to meet you and Harry so we can go to diagon ally." Ron explained, indicating me out of the door.

"That's brilliant!" I smiled, but there was a sense of seriousness in his eyes, "what is it?" I asked carelessly.

"Look, it's not because we don't want to, but we cant see your parents." Avoiding my gaze, he turned and started down the corridor.

"What? Hang on, Why?" I Ran after him.

"Dangerous." He snapped, then Snap He disaperated.

I stormed down the stairs and into the stale smell of the pub. Not stopping to look at Ron, Ginny, Hermione or my many cousins, I Marched strait up to Harry Potter.

"Harry! Why? Why is it that, I must now be a potter Why is it that I cant see my own parents! Why is it only dangerous for me! Why not them!" I said pointing a finger at the gaggle of my relatives who stared at me intently.

Harry didn't answer; he just turned to the crowed and said.

"Okay, so Hermione, Ron, Rose and Hugo, You guys can start at ollivanders-"

"Harry! Answer me!"

"Albus, James I trust you to get your books at flourish and blotts without the need of Special attention from an adult at all times-"

I felt the anger flood through me.

"FINE!" I ran across the room, swung open a door leading to the courtyard, Tapped the bricks and headed into diagon alley.

No one followed me, and I headed down the cobbled street until I stood outside the weasleys wizard wheezes. My eyes widened. Tears flooded my cheeks. My eyes slowly began to go bloodshot.

The windows where smashed, and the content of the shelves sprawled all over the shop. The counter was messed up. There was clear evidence of blood on the carpet. And the doors where off their hinges.

Footsteps droned out around me, muffling my thoughts with sadness, I walked through the ruins.

The floorboards where burned as if it had been hit by lightning.

A note was left on the counter, covered in soot and marked with blood.

One word: HELP

My brother, my mother, my Dad. All gone in the blink of an eye. Dead? No. Worse, captured by the most powerful dark wizard alive.

A ghostly voice echoed in my head.

Roxanne Weasley, you must learn to forget, my child. This was my doing, and I'm sorry. They know, they know your true identity. Both sides know. My advice is to run.

The voice was powerful, making me want to run like it said, but I couldn't. A hand laced itself into mine; it was warm and soft, like my mothers. I didn't resist when I disaperated, I felt like my legs didn't work any more anyway.