Chapter Eleven

Surprise, surprise.

They get away. Somehow. And Dahlia hadn't even needed to use magic.

After they had gotten their breath back and finished panicking, they go to the police. There, they spun a story of lies and half-truths, saying there was a madman on the loose with an experimental weapon.

They learn the snake had massacred the entire restaurant. The corpse of the man who had been possessed before Chelsea was found on scene and turned out to be a criminal on the run from law enforcement for a very long list of charges, including multiple murders. After looking over the restaurant's surviving security tapes, the police's theory was that he'd been brainwashing Chelsea and she had turned on him for one reason or another. Dahlia's theory was that the snake had been planning on switching hosts to get away from the police on its tail and hadn't been intending on actually murdering anyone until they gatecrashed the party.

The glowing eyes that had shown up on the indoor tape had been easily explained as a trick of light and thank goodness, the camera into the alley hadn't been working. Dahlia didn't know where to even begin explaining the parasite snake.

Their parents – and legal guardians in her case – were called in. After subtly informing her uncle and aunt this had nothing to do with 'her lot', they were much more pleasant to deal with and quickly forgot about her. Uncle Vernon happily spent a good long while yelling at the poor police offices about how his tax money was going to waste paying for such incompetence and why hasn't that nutter been caught yet?!

As she left the police station with the Dursleys hours later, Dahlia catches a glimpse of a richly dressed couple sitting in the corner, both crying. By their feet, a heavily bandaged dog had laid its head on their knees.

Chelsea's parents. And Beckham.

The girl hadn't been found yet. She disappeared after the restaurant and Dahlia would bet a hundred bucks she wouldn't be alive when – if – they do. Had Dahlia been the snake, she would have found herself another host, ASAP, and staged the last's death as a suicide.

Tom gives a friendly wave when she passes by. He was arguing with an officer about the skateboard he had dropped in the alley in all the chaos and the fear for his life. The rest had also forgotten their own and Morgan had already tried her luck getting hers back with no success. According to the frustrated police in face of the indignant teens, the boards were evidence and would be withheld until the conclusion of the case. Which could take years.

Tom's guardian – a man too young to be his father, but whose remarkably similar features marked him as a relation of sorts – also gives her a charming grin. She smiles back weakly and steps out of the police station.

The entire following week was devoted to panickily wondering what other fandoms were wandering around the universe.

Firstly, she rules out most of those she knew had anything to do with space, except any that happened in a galaxy far, far away. Pity Avatar wasn't real. She'd have loved to try out the body-switching technology and get to know the Na'vi culture. She even knew the language already.

Actually, no wait. Pandora was in the Alpha Centauri System which as far as Dahlia knows didn't appear in any of the Stargate shows. It totally could exist.

…She's putting studying up on space beyond the extremely basic astronomy stuff they're doing at Hogwarts on her to-do list. Because believe her, if there's even the slightest chance she might one day get to go to space, to walk on another planet, she's gonna take it.

Oh, but… Fuck. Didn't the movie happen somewhere in the late twenty-first, early twenty-second century? She'd be a really old lady by then, no one would take her no matter how many compulsion charms she cast.

Awww, that's not fair. Forget magic, she wanted to meet giant blue aliens.

Cosmetic charms to look younger? What exact year did humans first step unto Pandora? Wizards have a life expectancy of almost 138 years, that's means I could live up to the early 2100s… Would that be enough? Or should I go beg the Flamels for a couple extra decades?

Dahlia also immediately rules out most of the Marvel and DC universes after a quick history check. No World War 2 records spoke of either Captain America or Wonder Woman, who to her limited knowledge on the subject were two of the earliest heroes to have existed timeline-wise and who should have been pretty big deals. That had been enough to convince her. Alien invasions every other week and supervillain attacks every day didn't sound fun. She had enough trouble with her one supervillain, she didn't need more of them to worry about.

The DC universe she wasn't sure about had to do with Marvel's mutants. In the comics, Captain America and Wolverine met, but neither movie series had given signs of the other's existence. Magneto and his Brotherhood? It was brotherhood, right? could be real and she didn't know enough to check if they were. When did they start assembling? They were terrorists; who did they kill and what have they destroyed? What is the name of Professor X's school and when was it established?

And then there was Ryan Reynolds with his two different Deadpools. Green Lantern too, but she had already ruled out DC, thank fuck. This was already confusing enough.

So many questions, so little information.

There is a lot that is shrouded in thousands-of-years-old mysteries and government conspiracies. With the internet almost non-existent, collecting data proved to be very difficult. A fandom like Teen Wolf could only be confirmed by spending an inordinate amount of time in the library flicking through falling apart newspapers from decades past searching for clues in stories that could be fake. Or by actively going to look for, say, a werewolf pack or a group of Hunters. Which she wasn't going to do, are you crazy? She's stocking up on aconite aka wolfsbane, though. Thankfully, it was a commonish ingredient in potions and easy to get. She could even plant a few varieties in Aunt Petunia's garden.

Speaking of the werewolves. It makes you think of vampires too, doesn't it? Which in turn makes you think of Twilight.

Twilight with its sparkly and creepy pedophilic stalkers. Twilight with its lovesick, idiotic, and occasionally suicidal teenage girls.

If Twilight is real, I will Avada Kedavra myself.

Or Fifty Shades of Grey, which from what I know, and I didn't torture myself by reading it, was even worse.

Seriously, I don't care if it is supposed to be impossible to use the Killing Curse on oneself. I'll find a way.

Yeah, okay, I won't go that far. I like being alive too much and there is always the chance of me reincarnating again somewhere even worse.

I'd prefer avoiding finding out if this is a one-time thing for as long as possible, thanks.

But I'm certainly never, ever, going to Forks, Washington. Nuh-uh.

And if Christian Gray is real, I'm slipping him some poison in his drink. For the good of all women everywhere. I'll nick Harry's Invisibility Cloak and they'll never trace it back to me.

Future me, remember, I'm working off the idea that the creatures described in Twilight and Teen Wolf are actually subspecies of the Harry Potter werewolves and vampires who somehow managed to evade the Wizarding world all this time. What? It could happen.

Also, the La Push pack aren't werewolves. They're skin-walkers or something similar.

What else? I know I'm forgetting something… Oh, right.

Yuri! on Ice is real, so not everything is bad. Imagine my surprise when a sports news anchor referred to figure skating coach Yakov Feltsman and his wife, Lilia Baranovskaya, the Prima Ballerina of the Bolshoi Ballet before Dudley changed the channel to one of his usual stupid cartoon programs.

Viktor isn't even born yet – I think – and he already has a fan.

There must have been a lot of similar instances I have simply subconsciously dismissed as coincidences. But now I am paying attention and I notice them.

Note: get an anti-possession tattoo. Doesn't have to be big and screw Aunt Petunia if she finds out. I'm not risking being possessed by a demon.

Additional note: do a background check on local suspicious deaths and weird incidents. Also, stock up on salt. And plan for zombie apocalypse of all types just in case. The Walking Dead, Zombieland, World War Z, Z Nation, 28 Days/Months Later – it could be any of them. Magic is a decent weapon, but won't replace a good, old-fashioned baseball bat.

God, and I thought I was paranoid before.

More notes: There was something crazy going on in Egypt in the '20s. I'm also finding a lot of legends about a Hamunaptra which I'm pretty fucking certain didn't exist in my old life. Do I have to worry about armies of mummies now too? Ugh.

Last note: Rick and Evelyn O'Connell were real people. I found a book Evy wrote on archeology at the local library. Fuuuck.

From the corner of her eye, Dahlia notices the door opening and she lifts her head from her journal, pen pausing on the page she'd been filling out with her research on other potential fandoms and the chances of their existence. To her frustration, there was a lot of inconclusive.

Harry comes into the room, closes the door quietly, and only barely manages to stifle a shout of surprise when he turns around.

Dropping the pen and setting aside the board of wood serving her as a flat surface to write on, Dahlia lowers her headphones around her neck. "What's wrong?"

Dudley's voice echoes from downstairs. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

Ah, yes. Uncle Vernon's dinner guests have arrived. Her music must have drowned out the sound of the doorbell.

Harry ignores her. "Er… hello." He says nervously, staring upwards.

"Harry Potter!" A high-pitched voice exclaims from his bed and Dahlia flinches badly. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… Such an honor it is…"

Oh god, how long has Dobby been there?!

Uncrossing her legs, she scrambles up from the bed to stand near her brother, peering up at the house-elf in all his big-eyed, floppy-eared glory. She'd been waiting for him, and she didn't even notice his arrival.

That's what happens when you blast your music at full volume, she mentally scolds herself.

"What exactly is a house-elf doing in my room?" Dahlia asks. "Without permission? Whose family do you belong to?"

"Dobby has come to see Harry Potter, miss," Dobby answers earnestly.

"Oh… really?" Harry shifts on his feet nervously. "Er, I don't want to be rude or anything, but… this isn't a great time for me." The elf hangs his head sadly and he hurries to reassure him. "Not that I'm not pleased to meet you, I really am. It's nice to meet you, Dobby."

Dahlia rolls her eyes as Dobby predictably bursts into tears. House-elves. Even the ones at Hogwarts had their moments.

"Never… never has anyone been pleased to meet Dobby!"

The voices coming from the dining room falter.

"Alright, that's enough blubbering, please do shut up," Dahlia says. Harry sends her an appalled glance. "Aunt Petunia hates magic. If she finds you here, she will be very cross with Harry. Do you want that, Dobby? Do you want Harry punished?"

Dobby shuts up, looking horrified. "No! No, no, Dobby does not want Harry Potter punished."

She softens her tone. "That's good. You'll be quiet now, won't you?"

"Dobby will be quiet." Dobby practically whispers. The threat of Harry being punished must have been particularly effective.

"Why are you here? Again, without permission?" Dahlia purses her lips, acting displeased. "It is the height of rudeness for a house-elf, Dobby. You must know that."

Dobby dabs at his large eyes with his grubby pillowcase toga. "Dobby is truly sorry, miss. Dobby knows how rude he is and will press his ears in the oven for it, but Dobby had no choice. Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter. He came to warn him. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

There is a pause as Harry attempts to find another meaning in the elf's words.

"W-what?" He eventually stammered out. "But I've got to go back. I don't belong here. I belong in your world. At Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," Dobby squeaked loudly, before regulating the volume again. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" Dahlia asks all while remembering the skeleton of a Titanoboa she had once seen in a museum. Was the Basilisk even bigger? How did it even fit in the pipes? The walls of Hogwarts must be very thick indeed for it to slither about in them.

"There is a plot, miss. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year." Dobby confides, trembling. "Dobby has known it for months. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important!"

"What terrible things?" Harry asked at once which sensible, but useless if one knew anything about house-elves. Dobby was already saying everything he could. "Who's plotting them?"

"He can't tell you." Dahlia interrupts before Dobby began punishing himself again. She turns back to the elf. "Thank you, Dobby, for the warning. We'll take it into consideration."

But he doesn't look convinced. "Harry Potter must not. Never, ever."

"You don't know what it's like here! It's bloody horrible!" Harry explodes and Dahlia shushes him. "Hogwarts the only place I've got! All my friends are there!"

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" Dobby said slyly.

Harry frowns. "Hang on, how do you know that?"

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby." Harry's eyes narrow further in suspicion. "Dobby did it for Harry Potter, sir."

"Were you the one who's been stopping my letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir." The elf said and pulled out a wad of envelopes from the inside of his pillowcase toga. Dahlia could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and a scribble that looked as though it was from Hagrid. How did she know what they looked like? Simple, she's seen some of their other letters.

When Harry started visiting Hermione, she asked him why he wasn't answering her letters. They quickly figured out somebody had been intercepting it and conducted a little experiment – Harry would write his letters at Hermione's house and she would be the one sending them. In turn, Harry's letters will be sent to her and she would pass them on to Harry the next time he visited. It worked splendidly and Dobby never realized Harry was communicating with his friends again.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry," Dobby repeated. "Dobby hoped if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir. Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts."

"Promise him," Dahlia whispers to her brother behind a raised hand. "He won't leave you alone if you don't."

"I'm not going to!" Harry declares angrily. "I'm going back to Hogwarts."

She rolls her eyes again. "I'm not telling you to follow through with the promise. I'm telling you to lie to him. He'll believe the great Harry Potter."

"If Harry Potter does not promise, he leaves Dobby no choice," Dobby says sadly.

Before they could move, Dobby had jumped off the bunk bed, darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs. Harry follows after him with no hesitation, but Dahlia merely pinches the bridge of her nose. "I was trying to avoid this." She informs no one and goes back to sit on her bed. Maybe if she pretended to have nothing to do with the events happening in the dining room, Uncle Vernon will go easy on her.

There is a crash as the pudding – a masterpiece of cream and sugared violets – Aunt Petunia had worked so hard on falls and the dish shatters on the floor. The distinctive pop of Apparition follows as Dobby escapes his scene of crime.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Mason screams and runs from the house screaming about lunatics and birds. Another few minutes later, Uncle Vernon comes thundering upstairs, laughing maniacally and dragging Harry after him.

"Did something happen, Uncle Vernon?" She asks, innocent as a lamb. "There was a lot of noise downstairs. How was your dinner? Did you get the order you were hoping for?"

"You are never going back to that freaky school of yours!" He snarls at her, pushing Harry into the room and leaves, slamming the door after him.

She lowers the book she'd been pretending to read and gives Harry a reproachful look. "Happy?"

He was not.

"What are house-elves?" He growls.

"Magical beings." She tells him. "They serve witches and wizards. They are usually owned by old and rich families. They are magically bound to obey any command their master gives them and to be loyal to them. It is why Dobby couldn't tell you who was planning on causing trouble for you. If they are given clothes by their master they are set free, but they consider it the greatest dishonor. They enjoy being servants. Hogwarts has a number of them, I can introduce you if you want."

Harry doesn't want to meet other elves. He wants something to scream at. He collapses into his bed and stifles his angry shout with his mattress.

"Suit yourself." Dahlia shrugs and returns to her book. Way she saw it, this was entirely his own fault. Harry could have avoided being punished by Uncle Vernon by lying to the elf. Now, she had to bail him out of trouble. Again.

The very next day after the disastrous dinner party, Uncle Vernon hires a man to put bars on their window and personally fits a lock on the bedroom door. Dahlia was recruited into bringing her brother food thrice a day and other than being let out in the morning and the evening to use the bathroom, he was imprisoned inside.

Dahlia herself is let off the hook after a long lecture on her failure to keep Harry in line, though it was largely because her various jobs made it hard for the Dursleys to keep her in isolation for long without her employers noting something was wrong. She had always notified them in advance if she couldn't make it and her sudden disappearance would raise questions.

Unwilling to be stuck in a small room with a moody almost teenaged boy, she spends a lot of time at the local library working on her language skills – she was currently learning German.

She did make sure to contact Hermione and inform her Harry was in need of 'saving' as soon as she had an opportunity to get her hands on a public payphone, so that was handled. The Weasleys should be arriving any day and she was already all packed and ready to go.

On the night of the breakout, she is woken by the too-loud revving of a car and an abrupt crunching noise. It was the bars being pulled clean out of the window.

"Whazzat?" She asks, groggily peering through a curtain of hair at the turquoise car that was hovering outside with its three red-haired occupants. "Oh, it's you."

The Weasleys shared an identical 'oh shit' expression with Harry as they stared back at her – didn't want to wake her up or something? Planning on escaping without her, are they? Not going to happen. You think she'd willing to stay back and deal with the fallout of Harry's breakout? Uncle Vernon might not get physical often but this would definitely be one of those times he would. She'll be forced to kiss whatever little freedom she had goodbye and she'll have to start planning her own getaway from this very same room. Only, the window will probably be bricked up and she would be unable to contact any of her friends for help.

No, better leave now while she still could.

Yawning, she pushed back the thick strands from her face and swings her legs over the edge of the mattress.

Under the moonlight, the Weasleys' faces flush. Dahlia resists the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn't indecent! Okay, yes, her nightgown came to rest just above her bare knees and the silk might be a bit much, but she enjoyed how it felt against her skin. And her body was hardly developed enough to make it sexy. Wizard sensibilities. It made prudes out of all of them.

"Potter." Fred – or was it George? She never knew – says curtly. "We're here to take Harry with us. We'd appreciate it if you kept quiet."

"Don't be ridiculous." She tells him, putting on a robe matching the nightgown and tying it close. "I'm coming with you."

"You are?" Harry says, surprised.

"You are?" The Weasleys chorus.

"Of course." She moves over to her dresser and pulls out her wallet. "The Dursleys are threatening to keep me out of school too, you know."

Setting aside a stack of pounds where Aunt Petunia was bound to notice when cleaning the room, Dahlia pens a quick letter on a discarded piece of paper she had used to calculate a complicated equation with detailed diagrams for her Arithmancy homework. She had then noticed it was wrong and had to start it all over again on another sheet.

Dear Aunt and Uncle,

The money is for the window from my personal savings. If it is not enough, I will pay you back every penny you spent on repairs next summer, I promise.

Please inform Dudley that Mrs. Trent from two houses down needs help tomorrow. She will pay him handsomely for it.

Your niece,

Dahlia

"Our trunks were locked in the cupboard under the stairs after the house-elf fiasco." She says distractedly.

"House-elf?" Ron mouths at Harry behind her back.

"I'll tell you later." He mouths back.

The twins climb out of the car and pick the locked door with a hairpin with surprising skill.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," One of them explains. "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"We'll get your trunks, you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron." The other whispers.

"The bottom stair creaks." She informs them as they disappear onto the dark landing, already rifling through her tower of books. Should she take the German dictionary?

Harry dashes around all excited, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. That done, he goes help the twins haul their magic belongings up the stairs, a feat that required two trips.

As the boys maneuvered the trunks into the car's boot – she's finally getting the hang of British English! – she grabs Hedwig's cage. "Can't forget you, pretty."

It's a clean escape. The Dursleys peacefully snore in their beds the entire time, utterly unaware. Dahlia settles down in the backseat and takes the offered hairpin from a twin, before demonstrating her own lockpicking skills. Tom was a good teacher and soon Hedwig was stretching her wings for the first time that summer. Her lack of freedom had been the source of many disagreements between Harry and Uncle Vernon, and even she had attempted to get their uncle to let the poor animal out of her cage for a few minutes to no avail.

"So, what's the story, Harry?" Ron prompted her brother impatiently. "Why'd you need rescuing?"

"There was a house-elf, ruined Uncle Vernon's important dinner party using the magic that had been blamed on me," Harry explains. "He's been the one stealing my letters."

"Why would he do that?" The Weasley twin at the wheel twists around in his seat to look at them.

"He didn't want Harry to go back to Hogwarts." Dahlia answers. "Something about someone plotting to do terrible things there this year. Of course, then you have to wonder what can be worse than a Dark Lord-possessed teacher having access to impressionable children…"

"He wouldn't tell you who's the bad guy?" The second twin asks.

"House-elf magic." She shrugs. "Can't betray his masters. He already had to punish himself heavily for telling us what he did. Any more and he'd be crippling himself."

"Is it possible this was a prank?" Fred – she thinks – wonders. "Know anyone who could find something so tasteless funny?"

"Someone with a grudge?" George adds.

Dahlia giggles. "He's Harry Potter." She points out. "Anyone who's parent was a supporter of the Dark Lord would have a grudge. Most of Slytherins, half of Ravenclaw… It'll be impossible to find the culprit based on that requirement. And nearly all of them are rich enough to own a house-elf."

"What about Malfoy?" Ron interjects. "He would easily –"

"He does fit the profile – son of an assumed inner circle Dark Lord supporter who claimed he had been Imperioused into it to get out of jail and they are certainly rich enough to own several house-elves," She agrees, giggling again. "but you're overestimating him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry exclaims.

"Oh, nothing." She waves it off with a badly hidden smile.

Harry and Ron look outraged and ready to demand more answers, but Dahlia turns her head to look out the window to watch as the cityscape turned into the countryside, effectively ending her participation in the conversation. She was too sleepy to get into the complexities of a Slytherin. The lions had it easy with their brash, honest personalities. They wore their hearts on their sleeves and read like open books.

Having spent a year living in close quarters with Malfoy, she definitely knew he didn't hate Harry nearly as much as he pretended. He'd be bored without Harry being there to needle at. Even that time with the fake duel, he had only been trying to get Harry and Ron in trouble, not expelled.

Her brother could be such an idiot at times, she thinks in an exasperated sisterly way. Who even gets expelled for merely wandering the corridors at night? The Weasley twins have been caught a dozen times before they found the Marauders' Map and they were still in school.

Malfoy treated his rivalry with Harry like a semi-serious game with his friends. They spent a lot of time in the evening after they were done with their homework, sitting in the Common Room thinking up new insults to use the next day. He could do a whole lot worse if he really wanted to. All he had to do was use his father's money and influence, but he didn't because it wasn't that important to him in the grand scheme of things. Thought, it was probably going to change in the future…

She was aware that as the older sister, she should put a stop to it. Problem was; she was well aware there was nothing she could do. Going snitching to the teachers wasn't going to endear her to her Housemates and it wasn't as if that ever worked for anyone before. She could only ask the snakelets to not do so in her hearing. To his credit, after the Forbidden Forest detention, Malfoy did become more discreet about it.

Beside her, the boys had shifted the conversation towards Arthur Weasley and his fascination with all things muggle. On the horizon, a faint pinkish line was becoming visible, quickly growing into a red sun. It becomes clear they were moving towards a house standing in the middle of a field that looked as if it had once been a large pigpen of stone, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several crooked stories high and was held up only by the grace of magic. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof and a lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read THE BURROW. Dahlia was rethinking her decision to stay with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer. There was no way that shack was structurally sound.

Fred lands the car with a slight bump next to a rundown garage, scattering the multitude of brown chickens roaming the yard with indignant clucks.

"It's not much," Ron says, almost embarrassed, as they disembark.

"It's wonderful," Harry assures his friend happily and Dahlia side-eyes him skeptically.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," Fred – or was it, George? She was confused again – says. "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see you two and no one need ever know we flew the car."

And how did we get to the Burrow in the first place, Dahlia wants to ask, the Knight Bus? The wards would have noticed it.

…There were wards, right? Muggles would have long since noticed something was wrong if there weren't any, so there must be some.

Arthur Weasley was a joke in the Pit.

Most of her Housemates didn't think he could charm his way out of a paper bag.

But then again – Dahlia considers, heaving her trunk out from the flying car's boot – it took skill to enchant the said car. And she seems to recall him being able to produce a Patronus.

"Ah." One of the twins says unenthusiastically.

"Oh, dear." The other echoed.

Dahlia spins to look back at the house again and almost cowers in the face out the short, plump, kind-faced woman marching across the yard towards them.

Scary.

In the moment, she definitely believed this woman could kill Bellatrix Lestrange, despite the flowered apron.

Molly Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, glaring at her suddenly nervous children. "So." She says lowly.

"Morning, Mum." The twin closest to Dahlia tries and she edges away from him.

"Morning, mum?! MORNING, MUM?!" Mrs. Weasley explodes. "HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I'VE BEEN?!" They might have been taller than her, but all three red-heads hunched their shoulders until their mother towered over them as she yelled. "Beds empty! No note! Car gone – could have crashed – out of my mind with worry – did you care? – never, as long as I've lived – you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy –"

"Perfect Percy." Fred? muttered.

Dahlia took another step back away from the Weasleys.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" Mrs. Weasley's voice rose to higher volumes, prodding a finger into her son's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job –"

The dressing down didn't end until Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse. Dahlia's ears were ringing and she had to swallow back 'yes, mom' and 'sorry, mom' and 'won't happen again, mom' at quite a few points.

She hadn't been near her own mom in more than a decade.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, Dahlia, dears." Mrs. Weasley says turning towards them with a motherly countenance. "Come in and have some breakfast."

Following after the woman, Dahlia jumps over the jumble of rubber boots and the very rusty cauldron lying around the front door and enters the kitchen. The space was small and rather cramped, barely fitting the scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. Needles were knitting a jumper in the corner, hovering over a worn couch. On the mantlepiece, books were stacked three deep with titles such as Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts—It's Magic! The old radio next to a sink with a self-washing pan was announcing that coming up was 'Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck.'. On one of the walls was hanging the famous clock, silver spoons depicting the names of the family member it belonged to with their moving photograph. In place of hours, there were a series of possible locations, including home, school, work, traveling, lost, hospital, prison, mortal peril, and for some unfathomable reason, dentist. Since most wizards had no idea what dentists were, it was a little out of place.

It was cozy. Homey. It couldn't be more different from Number 4.

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," She addressed the woman already clattering around, cooking breakfast and muttering things about her unruly sons under her nose. "is there anywhere I could change?"

"Hm?" Mrs. Weasley blinks at her and takes in her dressing gown and bare feet for the first time. "Oh, yes. Yes. Head on up, dear. First floor, first door. Do wake Ginny up for me, please? Fred, help her with her trunk."

Fred looks happy to escape his mother and heaves her trunk up the creaky steps without arguments. They seemed to have reached an impromptu cease-fire, although Dahlia was certain it wouldn't hold for long. They'll be back to fighting each other soon enough, and the twins will have the advantage of knowing the layout and having an extensive collection of prank items.

Fred goes back to the kitchen and Dahlia raps on the door labeled GINEVRA'S ROOM with the back of her knuckles. "What?" Ginny replies, annoyed and her voice muffled.

"Your mother wants you downstairs." She calls through the door.

There is a second of silence and the door opens a sliver. "Who're you?" Ginny asks, examining her between the crack.

"Harry Potter's older sister." There's a small gasp. "We'll be staying for the rest of the summer," Dahlia explains. "As I understand, as the only girls, I'll be rooming with you."

The door opens wider and she steps in, dragging her trunk behind her and appraising the girl who might be her sister-in-law one day with a snooping glance. She was a pretty one if nothing else, with the typical Weasley family traits of red hair and freckles. Unlike Ron, she had inherited Molly's brown eyes and small stature. She was also fidgeting excitedly, shooting looks at the stairs. Eager to meet Harry, huh?

"I'm Dahlia." She introduces herself. "I don't snore and I won't touch your things without permission."

"You can put your things there." Ginny vaguely waves and makes her escape, thundering down.

Dahlia chuckles and smiles at the room. It was small but bright with pink walls. On one wall there was a large poster of the Weird Sisters and the other a picture ripped from a magazine of Gwenog Jones, the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, an all-witch Quidditch team. A worn desk stood facing the open window which overlooked an orchard. Stuffed toys were lying on the messy bed and an old broom peeked out from underneath it. On a bookshelf, there was the well-worn collection of about fifty tomes about her brother and his childhood adventures where he flew on dragons and fought with Dark wizards that she had been told was extremely popular and that she was going to sue the hell out when she had time. She was also told she was mentioned rarely and when she was she was usually the damsel in distress.

She wouldn't be surprised if most wizards didn't even know she existed. Whatever. She didn't care whether she was famous or not. She was just a little annoyed they had immediately relegated to the role of a fairytale princess.

Anything you recognize belongs to Rowling.