AN: Same deal as last time. A week in real life and a week in the story. This time Mrs Miller is really put to the test when there's a large group of visitors arriving at number eleven. (Standard disclaimer applies.)

I would also like to take the opportunity to thank all of you reading this story and especially to those of you who click that heart symbol and/or leave a review. You all fuel my motivation and inspiration.


Sadly, neither Mrs Sutton nor Mrs Jones could report on anything suspicious when the next weekend arrived, having both been over to number eleven to welcome the Blacks during the week. The couple had been as cordial to her friends as they had been to her and only talked about more superficial things. It was frustrating, but Mrs Miller knew they would have to be patient in order to see this through.

With that in mind, she decided to go over and issue her invitation for tea, while Mr Miller was away with the crossword group in order to catch the young woman alone, seeing as how Mr Black would be from home as well. She silently thanked her husband for unwittingly giving her this opportunity. Of the two, Mr Black was the most likely to be a criminal and maybe she could reach out to the wife and offer her help so that she might confess what was going on.

"Where did you say you would be this Saturday" she casually asked Mr Miller while they finished breakfast and she got up to get started on cleaning up the kitchen.

"Oh, up at the Ellisons."

"That was it. Please give my greetings to dear Angela. It has been far too long since I last saw her" she said as she reached for the now cooled frying pan on the stove, intending to wash it.

"I'll try to remember it."

"And I hope she has made that strawberry and vanilla pie for you all."

"I can only concur" Mr Miller replied, a slightly dreamy expression coming over his face as he walked towards the dishwasher, his plate and cup in hand.

While the Ellisons were among the most respectable people in the neighbourhood, Mrs Miller had one major gripe with Mrs Ellison. The woman was locally famous for that pie but refused to share the recipe with anyone. Not even someone as skilled at baking as herself. And since the woman was nearly two decades older than her and had no children of her own it was only fair someone, like herself, should inherit it. She had showed numerous times, after all, with her sponge cakes, biscuits and occasional pastry that she was a worthy heir to the heavenly pie, but the old lady refused to take any hint thrown her way.

"By the way" Mr Miller said, rousing her from her thoughts, "have you seen my reading glasses anywhere? I know I had them in the sitting room last night, but now I can't find them anywhere."

"They had slipped down on the floor where I found them earlier. I put them on the side table in the entryway so you would not miss them on the way out."

"Thank you, my dear. What would I do without you?" her husband replied and then leaned over and pressed a light kiss on her cheek as he passed her on the way out into the hallway.

'Eat down at the pub every day', she thought to herself and shook her head. Mr Miller was by no means ungifted with pots and pans. No, the trouble was that he had a penchant for the kind of food served in such locales and was unlikely to make the effort of preparing something himself if he had the option of dining out. As it was, he only went to The Three Elves once a week with a few of the other men on the street. The Monday Dining Club they called it and was not harmful in the least since they never came home drunk.

Well, Mr Bristow was known to indulge a little too much sometimes, but never caused a scene while doing so. Apparently, he turned a bit maudlin and mostly talked about his dead wife. And a widower did have the right to become a little misty-eyed when dwelling on such a topic after all. Nothing strange about it. Mrs Bristow had been one of the kindest people Mrs Miller had ever met in her life and deserved to be missed. She and her husband had lived there longer than even Mrs Miller herself and welcomed her and Mr Miller with open arms when they moved in. It had been enough for Mrs Miller to forgive her friend for not helping with encouraging the Saunders to find a home more suited to them. She had simply been too kind of a woman to subscribe to Mrs Miller's philosophy of the end justifying the means, even if it was in the best interest of everyone, including the Saunders.

Taking her time to finish up in the kitchen, Mrs Miller was anxious to have her husband leave before she crossed over to number eleven. She knew he would disapprove of the plan she had come up with along with Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones until she could prove her suspicion true. If she stayed over there for too long while issuing the invitation, he would know she was up to something, so it was better to simply tell him she had done it and when to expect them when he returned home.

At long last, after she had cleaned the sink a third time, she heard Mr Miller move towards the entryway and put his shoes on. It was a warm enough day he would not need anything on top of the light blue shirt he wore, so she hurried after him to make sure he did not forget his reading glasses, least he needed to return for them. However, he already had them in his hand when she reached him, so all she needed to do was wish him good luck and kiss him goodbye.

'Yes, go and show that criminal how it is done' she thought when she spotted Mr Black emerging from number eleven before the door closed.

Walking back into the kitchen and looking out the window, she could see the two men meeting up and setting off towards number twenty-two together after a friendly greeting. It distressed her to see her husband in such company, but if she had anything to say about it, it would be of short duration.

A few minutes later saw Mrs Miller crossing the street and ringing the doorbell of number eleven. A rudely long while later the door was opened by a slightly flushed Mrs Black, whose wide grin quickly disappeared when she saw who stood before her.

"Mrs Miller" she said, "I didn't expect to see you."

"No, I can see you were expecting someone else" she replied while she wondered who would be calling on the young woman when her husband was away. Was there perhaps an extramarital affair going on?

"Yes, some family friends are coming over for the day and should be arriving any minute now."

Just as Mrs Black said that, a car pulled up in front of the house, shortly followed by no less than four more. They were in such a range of variety Mrs Miller at first thought she must either have some strange sort of dream or had somehow been transported to the world's most ludicrous car show. Not one was in the same colour as another. There was one blue, one red, one black, one silver and most hideous of them all, an orange minibus with a few hand painted black stars dotting the lacklustre surface. The silver and black ones seemed new, the red was clearly a family car, the blue one was at least clean and in good condition, but once more the orange monstrosity stood out for all the wrong reasons as it looked barely fit for driving.

However, the cars were nothing in comparison to the people coming out of them and she could only stand frozen and gape as a sea of red emerged and moved towards her like some kind of nightmarish noisy slow-motion tsunami. Never before in her life had she seen so many redheads in one place and it made her a little dizzy.

Mrs Black not only remained unfazed, though, but grinned once more and moved to welcome the invasion. She started with the young couple who had emerged from the silver car, which had arrived first, and hugged them both. The man had unruly black hair and wore glasses, and the woman had the same red hair as almost everyone else present. Mrs Miller vaguely thought that it must be the visitors Mrs Sutton had told her about last week and suddenly had the dreadful idea that her friend might very well, at this precise moment, stand in one of the windows in number ten and watch the spectacle unfold, with herself right in the middle of it. Still, there was not much she could do about it seeing as the space between her and her own home was rapidly filled with more and more redheads of varying ages, blocking her only means of retreat.

A couple, who seemed to be a generation above the rest, had emerged from the blue car, the man balding with as much grey as red in his hair, meanwhile the plump woman was still mostly red. They were a bit strangely dressed, wearing clothes that seemed an inexplicable combination of homemade, cheap and old-fashioned with pieces that did not fit together in order to make a passable ensemble. A younger couple emerged out of the same vehicle, looking to be around the same age as Mrs Black while four young men with the same kind of red hair, though in different styles, were the first out of the other cars. Judging by hair colour, they were brothers. All five of them. And it seemed likely the first woman was their sister. Families should be forbidden from growing so large.

They all seemed to be married as the same number of females - all thankfully without red locks - had appeared as well. That generation was at least a bit better at dressing themselves, but two of the men, who she realised must be twins, wore even more mismatched clothes than the couple she guessed were their parents. The closest she could come to describe them was a casual Victorian kind of style, which had been in an altercation with half a rainbow.

Then there were the children. First, there should never be so many of them at the same time outside a nursery school, school or orphanage, and second, they ought to be much better behaved. As it was, they ran around and started playing with each other the moment they were helped out of their respective car by their parents, shouting and shrieking as they went, and it was such a chaotic thing she simply had to look away from it. Or, some of them rather toddled their way onto the patch of garden as many of them were at such a young age. She could even spot two babies in the arms of what must be their mothers, one of them on the verge of crying it seemed.

Oliver and Eleanor had certainly never been as ill-behaved as these little goblins and even if they had, she would never have been a bad enough parent to let them get away with it. But here, even if there were countless adults present, not one of them seemed to care. Or, if they noticed, simply gave a condoning, or even encouraging, smile before they slowly started to move towards Mrs Black in order to be welcomed. They could not even form a proper line to wait in and there seemed no end to the hugs distributed by her young neighbour. It was all so unseemly.

While she stood there, still unable to get away, she at least managed to gather herself enough to start listening in. Surely, she would be able to get something out of this nightmare she could share with her friends, other than the colour red.

As sounds slowly turned into words, which turned into sentences, she began to regret her decision as a cacophony of voices assaulted her. Names were being shouted, though she had trouble distinguishing one from the other, almost drowning out the multiple conversations that were going on. Mrs Black had just finished welcoming the older couple and the only redheaded male who seemed to not have a child along, along with the young woman who stood next to him. She was pretty enough but wore a bit too much pink for Mrs Miller's taste and appeared to risk breaking out in giggles at any moment while she whispered something to the young man she had now linked arms with. It was not an encouraging sign regarding their propriety that he blushed more and more as it went on.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, the twins appeared on either side of Mrs Black and squeezed her between them in a hug.

"Mione! Did you miss us?!"

Mrs Black simply laughed and pressed a kiss to a cheek each before gently pushing them away from her, swatting at their hands as they tried to tug at her hair. Two of the non-redheaded women approached then, hooking arms with the twins, greeted Mrs Black quickly and then pulled them away, only to be replaced by yet another couple.

This one consisted of the best dressed people there, however, the scarring on the man's face was rather off-putting Mrs Miller thought. The woman, however, was a true beauty. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back and deep blue eyes sparkled in her smiling face. And even though she was carrying a baby in her arms she moved with such grace it seemed she was floating through the air. What could such a lovely young lady be doing in such company?

While she contemplated this, two little girls, one with red hair and one with blonde, though with identical blue eyes which gave away the identity of their parents, ran up to Mrs Black and threw their arms around her legs, shouting for their 'aunt My'knee'. Mrs Miller watched as her neighbour displayed a disappointing, though not really surprising at this point, absence of annoyance and simply bent down and picked up a girl on each arm, letting them cuddle her at the same time while she spoke to their mother and father and cooed over the youngest sibling.

At the same time, the twins had once more started some mayhem by setting off some sparkly firecrackers right next to the brother who had yet to get to their hostess, which set off the baby in the arms of the woman next to him, who had already threatened to do just that with its waving arms even since she had brought it out of the black car. Both the man and the woman turned around to shout at the identical terrors. From what Mrs Miller could hear the woman was berating them for frightening the child while the man seemed more upset that his clothes might have been singed.

Only laughing gleefully in reply, the twins scuttled away and, to Mrs Miller's mounting horror, caught sight of her where she stood by the door, the pandemonium of everyone's arrival having concealed her presence until that point. Standing still as a look of confusion came over their faces, she then took an involuntary step backwards, nearly tumbling head-over-heels backwards over the threshold of the still open front door when their faces turned sly. With an equally involuntary squawk she waved her arms about until she managed to grab hold of the doorframe and right herself.

"Alright there, lady?" one of the twins asked as they both stood in front of her now, having moved closer while she was busy battling gravity.

"Seems to have some trouble with balance."

"Want a hand?"

"Or two?"

"Or three?"

"Or four?"

"Or five? I'm sure we could manage it somehow. Don't you think Gred?"

"Oh, I'd say we could manage at least six beautifully, Forge. Maybe even seven?"

For each new number mentioned they took a step closer to her and she was dangerously close to take another step back, which would place her inside of number eleven. And even if she burned with curiosity to explore the place, since she felt certain there were evidence of illegal activities somewhere in there, it would be the worst kind of breech of propriety to enter uninvited.

Failing to stop the advance, Mrs Miller desperately looked around the gathered people, hoping to find someone decent enough to save her from her predicament. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Mrs Black look at her, but when she focused on her, the young woman was engrossed in a conversation with the brother with the possibly singed clothes and his wife.

Instead, it was another set of eyes that had caught sight of her and she hoped, somewhat against her own better judgement, that one older lady to another, she was about to be rescued. However, while the oldest redheaded woman did shoo the twins away, she started talking to her instead of just allowing her to seize the opportunity to retreat. The children had congregated tightly on one side, apparently having found something interesting to play with, and the adults on the other of the small front garden, giving her the space needed to manage it.

"Sorry about my boys. They can be a bit rambunctious at times. No lasting harm in it, though."

'Lasting' Mrs Miller faintly repeated in her mind. What kind of mother was this?!

"I'm Molly Weasley by the way, but please call me Molly."

'She expects me to call her by her given name right after introducing herself the first time? Are they all completely mad?! Enid, you need to get yourself away from here or they will pull you into it even more' Mrs Miller thought frantically as she glanced longingly at that still open short garden path that led to her freedom and continued sanity.

"I guess you live somewhere around here. Hermione's not talked much about her neighbours, but I guess she's not lived here long enough to get to know all of you well enough to do that yet. Which house is yours then?"

Judging by the way the woman omitted to mention Mr Black it seemed she too disapproved of the marriage. However, while Mrs Miller would normally appreciate the shared sentiment, everything else about Mrs Weasley, from her red hair, far too cheerful expression, knitted burgundy cardigan, which clashed with both her hair and the spring green dress she wore underneath, to her nosiness, kept her from doing so.

Once more she found herself rescued by someone she would rather avoid as she was saved from the verbal onslaught of inappropriate questions by a tugging on her impeccably ironed black skirt. Looking down, she was faced with one of the numerous redheaded children, whose hand was still clutched in the now wrinkled fabric. A slight stain told her the hand was not clean and judging by the way the sun reflected a little on something with a faint yellowish tint she could only conclude it must be snot.

"Who you?" the boy asked, sticking a finger on his other hand up his nose.

That was it! There was no humanly way possible she could endure this a single moment longer. Taking hold of her skirt she yanked it away from the grubby little hand, unbalancing the child in the process, sending him to land on his behind on the ground with a dull thud. Watery eyes and quivering lip appeared in an instant and was just as quickly followed by tears and wailings, which drew everyone's attention. Suddenly, everything, except the child, was silent and all eyes were on her. But she would not let them blame her for this. She had done nothing wrong. No, they had all come there, to her neighbourhood, being loud, rowdy and obnoxious and expecting her to put up with it. Well, she would not.

"Mrs Black, I am leaving now. Good day."

The young woman looked at her disapprovingly, but said nothing but a short 'goodbye', allowing her to walk away from there, her head held high. Before she reached the safety of her own home, Mrs Miller caught the sound of mumblings and grumblings coming from behind her, only making out a few pieces here and there.

"…who was…"

"I never…."

"…just pushed him…"

"…do such a thing?"

The moment she had closed the door behind her, Mrs Miller slumped against it, trying to calm down her rapidly beating heart and spinning mind. In an effort to alleviate the oncoming headache, she closed her eyes, only to snap them back open a moment later as the colour red swam on the inside of her eyelids in a show of cruel mockery.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed when she felt strong enough to push herself off the door, absentmindedly pull of her shoes and then slowly walk into the living room for a lie-down on the sofa. The trouble was that the two cushions that decorated either end of it had a pattern with red roses on them. Standing perfectly still, Mrs Miller simply looked at them, her inner turmoil once more gaining speed until she wanted to scream in frustration.

While she was accustomed to experiencing mild annoyance from time to time when she came into contact with people who did not know how to behave, especially if they lived in the neighbourhood, Mrs Miller could not name the last time she had come this close to rage. To snapping and losing her mind. She had always prided herself on her calmness and rationality, but at that very moment, every last bit of those two traits were gone, swept away in a red tsunami, and she made a decision she would never have even dreamt of making when she walked out the door, in what now felt like an eternity ago. But feeling certain that no amount of tea in the world would be able to return her to normal, drastic measures needed to be taken.

Going straight to the cupboard under the stairs she collected a large black plastic bag before returning to the living room, where she picked up the cushions and threw them inside. Next to head the same way was the small red tablecloth on the coffee table, followed by the two potted scarlet geraniums in the middle window before she continued with a full sweep of the house.

Collecting everything in that awful colour, she either pushed it into the bag or put it into a box destined for the attic if it was valuable enough, such as the ruby necklace Mr Miller had gifted her on their twenty-fifth anniversary or the beaded bracelet her daughter had made her on one of her first days in school, which had been stored in her jewellery box ever since. She did hesitate for a moment on that last item, the small plastic hearts strung together glinting dully in the sunlight that streamed in through the window, but the sight of all that red was more than she could stand right then and away it went.

A quick change of clothes later and her skirt found its way into the bag as well before the search continued. There could not be anything left in the house to remind her of those horrible people if she ever were to find peace of mind again.

The last thing to go were the tomatoes since the hunt ended in the kitchen, and when Mr Miller asked why there were no fried ones on his breakfast plate the next morning she simply said they had gone bad and that the store was out and likely would be for a while due to some trouble with the supplier. She felt no compunction about lying to her own husband since she had not yet forgiven him for singing Mr Black's praises when he returned home after the crossword group yesterday. Apparently, the young man was a wizard with words, as Mr Miller described it, and were able to challenge even old Mr Donovan when it came to solving that week's joint puzzle first.

And when Mrs Jones asked about her beautiful geraniums the next time her two friends came over for tea, she simply shrugged and replied that she had suddenly found herself tired of their strong scent. At first it was a comfort when Mrs Sutton did not comment on her strange behaviour and only gave her an understanding and sympathetic look, until she realised it could only mean her friend had indeed seen the whole catastrophe that had play out in the Black's front garden.

It was not the first, nor would it be the last, time Mrs Miller silently cursed her new neighbours. And she had cause to do it again right away as it only occurred to her in that moment, she had never got the opportunity to invite them over for tea yesterday. There was nothing to it, she would have to return.


Next chapter: It's housewarming time and Mrs Miller finally gets the opportunity to explore number eleven a bit more. However, not all guests are muggles.