Dis: Not mine, not yours…unless you're JK, which in that case WHERE IS BOOK 5?!
Chapter 4- Molly Looks Closer And Surprises are found
(Rather long title)
There were 6 people seated the dinner table- every single one of them with red hair. No one ever seemed to notice that Molly luckily had red hair as well. It was just a shade darker than her husband's was; almost more brown than red, but still fit in with the signature Weasley tones. She looked at her husband, his graying hair was helter-skelter as usual, but he was smiling happily in a conversation with her eldest son Bill, whose hair was still long and bound by leather strap. His fang earring dangled as he nodded excitedly, agreeing to whatever his father was saying. Now, he also had what seemed to be s long, dangerous looking claw in a second piercing right near the first. But she wouldn't worry about that now, she'd pester him about it later.
Next to him, there were Fred and George, her two troublemakers. They were whispering together as usual, probably making plans for more pranks to pull. In a way, Molly was proud of them- they showed a lot of ambition. If only it were for something not quite as annoying.
Charlie, next to them, was animatedly talking about quidditch with Ron. He could have gone professional- if he hadn't gone off chasing after those ruddy dragons. She knew he had always been talented with animals, but when he left, it, well, came as a bit of a shock. She saw him the least out of all her children and he always looked different- one more burn, or he was more tan. He was also quiet and easygoing, and got along well with Fred and George.
Ron was happily speaking with Charlie across the table. His long nose wrinkled in disgust as he disagreed with something Charlie had just said, and he pushed is flaming red hair out of his face impatiently- it was getting a little long. He waved his lanky arms about, seemingly describing a quidditch play.
Next to him was Ginny. She was the only other Weasley besides Molly who wasn't in conversation, but she wasn't watching her family with a smile on her face as Molly was. She was picking at her plate, which had many of her favorite foods. Molly could barely see her face because her dark auburn hair was hiding most of it. Suddenly, Molly took a long look at that hair- hadn't it once been the brightest of them all? Now it more resembled her own demure red, and was quickly losing its fire. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to ask, Molly leaned over the empty chair next to her to speak to Ginny.
"Gin, hon," Molly said, trying to catch her youngest child's attention. "Have you done anything to your hair lately?"
Ginny fingered her long straight hair absentmindedly. "No, Mum. What do you mean?"
"Well," Molly said delicately; "It just looks a bit darker, that's all." Curiously, Ginny pulled some strands in front of her face and peered at it closely. "Are you sure you haven't done anything?"
"Quite certain," Ginny replied confidently. "But, Mum, when did you…What I mean to say is…When did you notice the change?" Ginny stumbled over her words.
Molly frowned. "Just now, actually. But let me think back a bit." Ginny bit her lip nervously as Molly settled into her chair in thought. "Since you came back from school, I would guess. Are you sure no one did anything there?" she frowned.
"Absolutely certain," Ginny said. But she was paling a little, and her few freckles began to stand out more prominently. Hastily, she stood up, excusing herself from the table. Ron called out in protest, saying something about not announcing his 'big news' yet. But Ginny strode quickly inside. She took the stairs two by two up to her room on the third landing. She locked the door, sat on her bed and began to quietly cry.
*********************************
Harry tossed and turned in his cot, praying for sleep to come. He looked at the illuminated clock on the desk and groaned when he saw it read half past two. Usually, sleep wasn't a very restful thing for him anymore, but tonight had to be different. He was stuck at Aunt Marge's house. He was almost one hundred percent sure that there would be a book full of chores for him to complete as soon as he woke up. Which, at the rate he was going, looked like never, because he still couldn't get to sleep. He flipped and flopped, turning round and round. At one point, his old cot gave a menacing creak when he rolled over and he froze instantly. He didn't want to know what Marge was like if she was awoken from her slumber. For a moment he just listened, but when the resounding snores kept coming at even intervals, he relaxed again. He stared at a spot on the ceiling; hoping sleep would come soon. Harry was also hoping for no pains.
Nowadays, he felt pain in his scar at least every other day. Only a week after school let out, it had seemed like a constant, throbbing pain. Muggle medicines like Advil and Motrin didn't help, and neither did a cool, wet rag. H had to bear the brunt of the pain. But surprisingly, his pains were not accompanied by dreams. He also hadn't heard of anyone getting hurt. He mulled these thoughts over in his head, but they did not seem to add up.
Sometime while Harry was thinking, he must have finally drifted off to sleep. But all too soon, he heard a knock on the basement door. He leapt up quickly to turn the knob and allow the person entrance, because they were pounding so hard it seemed as if the door was about to be knocked right off of it's hinges.
Harry swung back the door, and standing before was Aunt Marge. Her lavender nightgown billowed out around her large middle but only reached mid-calf. Her legs seemed to be missing ankles, and went straight from portly calves to stumpy feet. He almost screamed in shock when he looked down further and saw brown, gnarled toenails that she had tried (and failed) to disguise with alarmingly bright orange nailpolish.
Marge's deep and booming voice startled Harry out of his horror. He looked up to her face and she said, 'I have no use for you today, boy."
"What?" Harry said. He couldn't believe. No book of chores? Did she not see him? He might as well have had a sign on that read "Harry Potter- free labor!"
"Don't make me repeat myself!" she growled, turning her back. Harry's mouth was still hanging wide open. "Just get out, and don't come back until well after dinner. Take a walk or something, I don't know what it is you troubled children do." She thundered around the corner, but harry was scampering after her, hardly able to believe his good luck.
"Are- are you sure you don't need anything done?" he asked, double-checking to make sure his hearing hadn't suddenly gone bad.
Marge turned abruptly, and all her fat shifted dangerously when she whirled around. Harry was so close to her that her potbelly almost touched him, and he could make out the bunnies on her nightgown even without his glasses. She bent down a little so that she was on eye-level with Harry and very close to his face. Then she bellowed, "Get out!"
Three times was all he needed to be told. Harry scrambled out of the tight hallway and back to the basement. He quickly threw on some clothes and then followed Marge's advice- he got out. Just as he was sneaking through the back door, wondering what had blessed him and made him so lucky, he saw a red car pull into the driveway. A stout man wearing a bright red suit hauled himself out from behind the wheel, and he smoothed down his greasy hair using the side-mirror. Then he ducked back into the car, gathering a bouquet of flowers. His black shoes clicked against the ground as he strode up the steps of Marge's house and matter-of-factly pushed the buzzer. Harry groaned when he realized what was happening. Aunt Marge had a boyfriend.
It was all Harry could do to not be queasy. When he saw the door open and the suitor slide in, he made an escape for it. Quickly, he found himself around the block, walking on a lane where the houses seemed to get very far apart and large. He had no idea where he was going, so he just shuffled down the street with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He kicked at pebbles on the road, but a car honked its horn loudly at him. It was then he realized he had swerved out too far and if he wasn't careful, a vehicle would run him over. He scurried closer to the curb, but kept his eyes up and peeled open this time. He soon found that all the postboxes had family names on them, and he read those so that he wouldn't be distracted to look back towards the ground.
Klein, Smith, and Woodbury…the names just passed through his mind without a second thought. But he did notice that the Welch's had a very pretty daughter, who was sunning herself outside in her front yard, wearing nothing but a bikini. His cheeks flushed when he realized his train of thoughts and he silently berated himself. He felt dishonest towards Cho for having feelings, no matter how hormonal, towards another girl. But he realized the more he thought of Cho, the less and less he liked her. He never knew her well to begin with, and now thinking of her made him think of…Well, anyway, during his walk he came to the conclusion that Cho was just a fleeting fancy, and that he didn't have feelings for anyone right now.
He went back to reading the postboxes. Lane, Mead, Granger… He backtracked so quickly he almost tripped on his own feet. Granger?! As in the Hermione Granger? It had to be too good to be true. Disbelievingly, he took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. But when he looked back at the name, it still read the same thing: Granger, in black, painted on letters that looked like they had been done very neatly, and just gone over recently.
Harry quickly drew a deep breath and looked up at the house. It was very large- the kind of home the Dursley's only dreamed of owning. The sizeable house was white and had light blue shutters that framed most of the windows. The grass was a bright green and perfectly manicured. It looked to be about three stories and Harry could see what seemed to be a mini forest of sorts in the backyard. The house itself was very far back from the street and had a small path that ran to the large wooden double doors at the front of the house, that was framed with small rosebushes and small pink flowers in a constant pattern.
Was it possible? He hadn't heard from Hermione in at least a week- no letters had come while they were on the road or at Aunt Marge's house. He had received his last one while he was still at the Dursley's, who were treating him warily, but speaking to him enough to assign him what seemed like endless chores. Among those, a new one had been added to the list- make minor repairs to the living room, which was never the same after the Weasley's last visit. But none of that meant that this couldn't be his best friend's house. Making up his mind, he slowly started to walk up the walkway, approaching the imposing doors in the otherwise comfortable house. He drew his courage and knocked on the door, three times, using the large brass knocker. He found himself holding his breath as the doorknob began to turn…
To be continued!
A/N: So...here we are again. Thank you for the continuing reviewers-
Xavien- we will find all about Hermione and the Granger's in the next chapter, which I'll hope you will read.
Callas-and-ivy- Petunia's secret won't be reveled for a while. Sorry!
And Ian, thank you all for reviewing!!!! You guys make my day!