So that's where my socks went!
"Oh, hello, Harry! Do come in!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as soon as she saw the boy who was standing on the Burrow's crooked stoop. "My, don't you look… er… different." Harry stood on the stoop, not moving. In fact, he was looking around as if to see who else Mrs. Weasley could be talking to. "Harry," she repeated. "Do come in."
"Who, me?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Yes, dear, you," Mrs. Weasley affirmed, a bit confused. "Come on in, we're having breakfast right now."
"Why, my name's not… Oh… er… alright…" Harry followed Mrs. Weasley into the Burrow. Various random magical things were all around them, and the Harry Potter theme song played in the background for atmosphere.
Ron was eating. Of course he was - it was breakfast after all. He was having toast and jam. Just normal toast - not French toast, even though everybody knows that French toast is the best breakfast food ever besides cold pizza - since the Weasleys were out of butter at the moment, and French toast with jam would be just icky… although with normal toast it might make a decent breakfast, if you ate it with hot chocolate or coffee or something…
*ahem*
As soon as Harry stepped into the kitchen, Ron dropped his toast and muttered, "Bloody hell! Harry, what happened to you?!"
Harry blinked mildly. "What do you mean?"
"You're bloody shorter, your hair is bloody curly, your eyes are bloody brown, and you're wearing bloody sandals!!!" Ron exclaimed.
"Ron, watch your bloody language," Mrs. Weasley reprimanded him before turning back to, er, Harry. "Now, dear, wouldn't you like to sit down for some toast?"
"Toast? Well, I'd prefer oatmeal muffins and butter and jam, if you don't mind…"
"Coming right up, dear."
Harry sat down at the table, a contented look upon his hobbit-fied features. "What excellent hospitality. What did you call this place again?"
"The Burrow," Ron answered, since he was beginning to get a little scared.
"The Burrow…" Harry paused for dramatic effect, hoping nobody would think he'd forgotten his line and cover for him, and came to a sudden conclusion. "Of course! Now it all makes sense! Mrs. Weasley, with a home with a name like that, and such excellent food, (not to mention the fact that you're rather short, no 'fense) you must be a fellow hobbit! And that would mean…"
He turned back to Ron. "Well, with your appetite and language, you must be a dwarf! Thorin must've took you to the wrong hobbit-hole. Well, it's a good thing I found you." He scratched his curly head. "Who are you, anyways? You're way too expressive to be Gloin… but you can't be Oin… and there's no way you're a dwarfette… and-"
Ron blinked. Harry kept talking as if he didn't notice.
"Ah, of course! You must be… uh… well, I don't really know who you are. You're not quite like any of the ol' crew… oh! You must be the long-lost cousin, Bob!"
Ron just stared. In fact, he was too busy staring to say anything, and since he didn't say anything to disprove Harry's statement, Harry assumed it was correct.
Then Fred and George came down. Or should I say George and Fred? Why is Fred always first? Why? Ooh, pick me, I know! 'Cause Fred is… *gasp* BETTER than George! Mwahaha! That's right, better! He's funnier and cooler and says better stuff and looks better even though they're identical twins…
*ahem*
On with the fic…
"Hello." Harry said cordially, biting into a random oatmeal muffin. "You look rather like Bob. You must be other dwarves. But you're really the best, funniest, smartest, most talented and interesting stars of the entire series, so you must be dwarfettes…" He paused dramatically again. "Hello, Dori, Ori."
"Hi," Fred and George said in unison, since that's mostly how dwarves talk, and since they were highly amused by it all.
And then Hermoine walked in, randomly. "Hi Arwen," Harry said.
"What happened to you?" she exclaimed, taking the whole scene in. "Never mind. Don't tell me."
"Bloody hell,'" Ron said, adding something entirely relevant and informing to this already-intelligent fic.
"Well, it's true we haven't met in a while. But, Arwen, you look just the same as usual. I guess that's because you're, well, an elf, and you never age."
Hermoine exchanged glances with Ron, whose eyes were nearly popping, and Fred and George, who were bursting in fits of silent laughter. Then she turned back to Harry. "Don't be ridiculous. If, hypothetically, I was Arwen, then my father would be Elrond. And my father is a Muggle dentist."
"Elrond is a dentist?" Harry asked, blinking. "I never knew."
Because things were beginning to get out of control, Mrs. Weasley announced, "Well, let's get to the train station, my dears, or we'll be late. We'll have to travel by Floo powder, since Mr. Weasley is fixing the car's invisibility thingy so it'll stop working and we'll be able to see the car in the movie. You first, Ar- I mean, Hermoine."
She nodded, stepped into the fireplace, threw some sand-looking stuff, and said, "Platform 9 and 3/4."
Harry jumped. "You mean... you can travel anywhere with this stuff?"
Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Yes, dear, of course. You go now."
Harry took some Floo powder from the bowl. He stepped into the fireplace, even though he had a strange fear of being over cooking fires in fake pot-looking things. He took a last look at Dori, Ori, and Bob, threw the Floo powder, and shouted, "Middle Earth!"
hahaha! ok! this was a pretty long chappy, so i hope ur all satisfied. THANK YOU REVIEWERS!!!
You MUST review by penalty of law* if you qualify for one of these categories:
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