Chapter Three: Bed Time
Behind their wood door, now falling apart, on which dementors had stamped the number 223, Ginny lay curled in a small box inside a cupboard.
Molly had hung some patchwork curtains around her cupboard, which did not have a door. This made Ron cry, for it was made from his favorite blanket. Molly had to yell at Fred and George for trying to use her privacy curtains as a swing.
"Really? Fred and George, come here. Ginny is the only girl, and this is her special space for privacy." Ginny stuck her nose in the air. "Don't let me see you doing that again, or I'm getting the paddle stick."
"No one else gets a 'special space'" whispered Fred to George.
"Well, I guess she is a princess," said George, who went off to make his own cushion house to sleep in.
A round window above Ginny's pillow looked onto the Black Lake, offering a view of boats rowing to and from Hogwarts, and when she looked out at them it made her feel very majestic indeed.
The largest room in The Burrow was where the Weasleys cooked, ate, argued and occasionally did school. It held many things to trip over. Fishing reels, rat traps, nets and knitting, school books, magic books, books and yet more books. If you were foolish enough to try finding a space to sit, chances were a book had found it first.
In the middle of the room was a hearth from which a tall chimney snaked into the roof, holding the remains of a fire, around which the six boys slept in a chaotic pile of quilts, cushions and blankets.
Molly and Arthur now slept in the attic Arthur had discovered two years ago by accidentally blasting a hole through the ceiling with his wand, in an argument with Bill, who would not get a haircut.
On their table sat a wrapped box, tied with a sloppy string, for Ginny's eleventh birthday. But on the other side of Hogwarts, things weren't so peaceful.
A tall woman wearing the black cloak of a Death Eater bowed low. Long, slashed sleeves swept across a stone floor.
"Our spy has found the young Minister of Magic, my Lord," the Death Eater hissed.
Lord Voldemort stared at Bellatrix with his red eyes. "Are you sure? I want no mistakes this time," he said. "What age is she, exactly?"
"Eleven years old today, my lord."
Lord Voldemort sat back in his chair and considered what Bellatrix had said.
From inside her tunic, Bellatrix took a piece of wrinkled parchment. On it was a skillful drawing of a young girl with red hair. The Dark Lord took the drawing. The girl looked like the dead Minister. He clicked his bony fingers.
Bellatrix inclined her head. "My lord?"
"Tonight. Midnight. You are to pay a visit to- Where is it?"
"The Burrow. Stamped home number 223, my lord."
"Family name?"
"Weasley, my lord."
"Ah. Take the elder wand. How many in the family?"
"Nine, my lord, including the child."
"Then use nine curses. The killing curse for the child. And bring the body to me. I want proof."
"Yes, my lord." Bellatrix bowed and withdrew.
In a corner of the dungeons, the ghost of Albus Dumbledore drifted out the window and swooped through falling snow. He landed next to the Burrow and peered into the window above the lake, where a little girl with red hair slept.
"So, it is true. I may only be able to visit places I have been in my lifetime, but I make a good spy myself, if I may say so," he swooped back over the shore and landed on the tips of his toes.
Minerva McGonagall sat up in fright and fixed her curlers. Albus was staring at her over her bedside.
"My hair is naturally curly, thank you, Albus," said Minerva crossly. "I put these in for educational purposes. You might have waited until I was awake."
Albus became slightly more transparent than usual. "I'm afraid, Minerva," he sighed, "this won't wait."