Author's Note: Okay, I think I may have confused some people. This quick author's note will just be a character line, so no one else is confused.
Marcy Drummond- 11yrs old. Daughter to G.W. and D.M
Julian Drummond- 9 yrs old. Son to G.W. and D.M
Michael Weasley- 13 yrs old. Son to F.W. and A.J. Adopted Son of H.G. and R.W. (Not included in prequel)
Andrew Potter- 13 yrs old. Son to H.P. and M.P
Lillian Potter- 8 yrs old. Daughter to H.P. and M.P
There you go. That should solve some things. READ ON AND REVIEW PLEASE!
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The sun that was floating in through the open window abruptly woke Marcy from a deep slumber. The air was stifling hot as she kicked off the thin sheet that covered her, pushing it down to the end of her bed and allowing it to coil about her ankles. Almost immediately she sensed the difference in the room she was in, the room that was obviously not hers. The walls were the most putrid orange color she had ever seen and many different odds and ends were crammed in various places. Her bed was staggered haphazardly against one wall while another bed, which had obviously been slept in, was horribly folded against another. She felt her pulse quickening as she realized that the door to this strange room was sitting open and a small girl, possibly no older than Julian, was staring in at her with wide emerald eyes.
She had seen the little girl the day before, when she had landed with a thud on that boy's lap in the middle of the living room. Her hair was pin straight and black as night, her eyes flickering in the sunlight and her small face, which was beautifully flawless, was concentrating on Marcy's now awake form.
"Hi." Marcy spoke quietly, as to not scare the girl, who looked like she could jump and disappear at the moment's notice. The girl began to chew on her thumb as she watched Marcy, a piece of her hair falling into her eyes, "My name's Marcy."
The girl seemed to think for a minute before stepping into the room and crossing to the poorly made bed, flopping down on it cautiously. She resumed chewing on her thumb and remaining silent, choosing instead to watch as Marcy cautiously stood. Marcy's feet were slightly achy and wobbly as she stood up straight, shaking out her hair that had become terribly tangled.
A boy happened to walk by the room in that moment and stopped quickly, looking in at Marcy and at the young ebony haired girl before walking in, smirking lightly at the girl and then Marcy. Marcy had never seen him before, but he had a lovely smile with perfectly white teeth that contrasted well with his light puffy brown hair.
"Glad to see you're up." He stated, extending a single hand, "The name's Andrew."
Marcy generously took his hand and shook it, her fingers becoming warm and sweaty, "I'm Marcy."
"Yeah, my mum told me. Speaking of which Lillian, mum wants you in the kitchen now. She doesn't sound too thrilled." The tiny ebony haired girl scurried out of the door and down the steps that Marcy presumed were at the end of the hall, for her feet were making the most atrocious banging sound.
"Where am I?" Marcy whispered to Andrew, staring at him with a blank expression. He ran a hand through his hair and then jammed his hands deep into his pockets, rocking back and forth just a bit.
"Do you know where Ottery St. Catchpole is?" He answered. When she nodded he sighed, lifting his finger to the window behind her.
"Ottery St. Catchpole is about 10 minutes in that direction. A quaint town I've heard, though I've never been there myself."
"Is this your house?" She asked quietly.
"Sure is." He began to move out of the room, beckoning for her to follow him as he continued to talk, "Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron lived here with Gram and Pop before we did, but when my mum asked if she could stay here for a few days, Aunt Hermione told us we could move in. Said she wouldn't have it any other way."
"That was awfully nice of them." She stated, padding down the stairs behind Andrew.
"Considering they aren't really related to us at all, but were just best mates with my dad, I would call it more than nice. The Burrow's quite a cool place once you get used to it. Watch your step by the way, that floorboard creaks. You don't want to be waking up anything in this house at this hour."
The "Burrow", as he had called the house, was definitely "cool" indeed. Maybe a bit on the peculiar side, but Marcy never discredited the peculiar. The stairs were longer than any she had ever seen and it had taken two more landings before they were on the ground level, facing the room she had appeared in the day before. On a second glance, it truly was a small room; two medium sized couches extended one wall while a table with a chess set and two chairs extended the other. The clock she had seen, the one with multiple hands, was ticking nearby and the face that read "Andrew" was now pointed at the words that read "living room". Baffled, Marcy moved into the kitchen, the one she had seen with the many different tiny chairs, and was even more confused at the sight she saw over the open fireplace.
There, boiling rapidly was something that looked like a cauldron she had once seen in a Halloween movie. It was pewter black and seemed to be floating in the flames, its broth (which surprisingly wasn't green) bubbling. Marcy looked at Andrew for a moment, her mouth hanging down, as she pointed to the cauldron. He simply laughed and allowed her to sit down, taking the seat across from her.
"Want some pumpkin juice?" he offered, handing her a pitcher. Her nose crinkled as she caught a smell of the substance. Its color matched the one in her room upstairs and small pieces of pulp seemed to be floating awkwardly throughout it. She shook her head and pushed the pitcher away, causing another laugh to escape Andrew's bright lips.
"What is so funny in here?" A feminine voice came from the garden, almost halting as her russet eyes met with Marcy's cobalt ones. She smiled sweetly and entered the kitchen and sat herself down next to Andrew, pouring herself her own glass of this so-called pumpkin juice, "It's good to see you woke up. I thought for just a second you would sleep forever, your mother was always a later sleeper." The woman pushed a sweaty piece of auburn hair out of her eyes while flapping her hand in front of her face like a fan, "Would you like anything Marcy?"
"H-How did you know my name?" She asked intuitively, looking at Andrew. She only just remembered that he had said something about his mum knowing her name.
"There are some things in life that are better to discuss at later times." The woman answered, obviously avoiding the real question. Her eyes locked with Marcy's again and she reached her hand forward, allowing it to fall to rest over Marcy's, "If you need anything during your stay, just let me know."
"I want to know who all of you are." She said blatantly, looking back and forth between Andrew and the woman in front of her, "I know that his name is Andrew and that his sister is Lillian…but I don't know anything else. Who are you? How did I get here? Where's my mum?" Her voice seemed to crack on the last sentence as she forced herself not to show her emotions. The woman, on the other hand, seemed to tense for a moment before sighing and releasing Marcy's hand, folding hers underneath her arms lightly.
"I will fill you in on some things Marcy, but until your mum arrives or my husband comes home I'm afraid I can't say much. My name is Hermione Weasley. My husband is Ron Weasley and our son is Michael…but I am sure you already met him." She spoke with a twinkle in her eye, "Yes this is Andrew. His mother, Melinda and his sister, Lillian, live with us." Hermione stopped, looking a bit exhausted, "Anything else I'm afraid will have to wait. Andrew, why don't you go find Michael and Lillian and teach Marcy here how to play chess."
"But Aunt Hermione…" The boy began to argue as Hermione stood and shot him a devilish look, his mouth closing defiantly. He nodded his head and took off up the stairs, leaving Marcy alone in the kitchen as Hermione disappeared as well. It seemed that only minutes had passed before Andrew had reappeared with Michael (she recognized him immediately with his mud colored hair) and Lillian, who was following behind them very slowly and still chewing on her finger. Michael waved at Marcy and introduced himself, shaking her hand enthusiastically.
They moved out into the garden where a chessboard was set on a small table surrounded by chairs. Michael quickly took the seat on the white side while Andrew took up the seat with the black pieces, Marcy sitting in the center while Lillian seemed to ignore them all together and moved out to play on the swing suspended from the nearest tree.
"Ignore her," Michael said passively, "She rarely ever talks when we are around, and she doesn't like new people. She'll come around eventually."
The boys played a vicious game as Marcy watched Michael easily take most of Andrew's pieces. When his king was finally checkmated Andrew turned his attention to Marcy, who was shading her face from the sun.
"So Marcy, why don't you tell us a little about yourself?" Andrew asked, putting his chin in his hands.
"I don't
really know." She replied, "I don't really know who I am."
"That's impossible." Michael
butted in, tossing his rook back and forth between his hands, "Everyone knows
who they are."
"I don't." She replied moodily, looking at both of them, "I'm only 11, I don't know everything about myself yet."
"I'm 13 and I know a lot." Michael answered, staring at her, "My parents died when I was two. Hermione and Ron are my adoptive parents. I go to boarding school. I like sports. Now come on Marcy, if I can say something about myself, so can you."
Marcy began to talk and continued to talk for the next hour, telling Michael and Andrew everything about her life, from the Highland Developing Community to her temper and enjoyment of beating up frivolous boys like Oliver Puddley and Hank Thomas. They both seemed to relate to her on the concept of growing up without a father figure, since Andrew's had disappeared at a young age and Michael's had passed away. At one point, Michael had tossed his rook at Marcy; she made him gasp when she caught the rook with ease and set it back on the table. He had whispered something into Andrew's ear excitedly, and then the moment was over and both boys had started up another game of chess while talking with Marcy. Andrew won, although Marcy could have sworn Michael let him win, the twinkle in the boy's midnight eyes suggesting it. When Hermione called them inside to dinner, Marcy had yet to realize that the sun had set in the sky and a wonderful smell had wafted out into the garden.
A wonderful setting was established at the table as Marcy quickly took her seat between Andrew and Michael. Lillian sat across from her but refused to say a word, her emerald green eyes twinkling with wonderment. Another woman had joined them, the woman that Marcy had deducted to be Melinda, and was now animatedly talking with Hermione. Marcy listened intently to the conversations, chewing every once and awhile on the delicious Sheppard's Pie that had been laid out in front of her. When the meal was over she went to leave, but a loud popping sound and the appearance of a man in the kitchen startled her beyond all belief.
The man wasn't extremely tall; his body was lankier and his muscles compromised for his build. He had eyes that could have matched hers in color and hair that, had it been longer, would have been exactly the same as her mothers. Looking about, for the first time that evening Marcy noticed the similarities of all the people in the room. This man, Melinda, Hermione…she had seen them all before.
Reaching into her pocket as the man pulled off a long cloak that billowed around him and was greeted by all of the people at the table, Marcy extracted the long worn out photo of her mother's family. Her mother, smiling brightly with her large belly and Marcy in-toe was standing next to the people she could recognize now. Hermione was the woman with the wind whipped brown hair, Melinda was the fair skinned woman, her husband was obviously the ebony haired man that Lillian looked so much alike, and this new arrival was the man that had been standing next to Hermione, eating her hair by accident.
Her whole body began to shudder as she dropped the picture to the floor, tears beckoning at the back of her eyelids. She attempted to keep her emotions under control but they broke as the new arrival stepped towards her and extended a hand, introducing himself as Ron Weasley.
"WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?" She bellowed, looking up at all of their shocked expressions, "I don't understand how I got here, I don't know who any of you are, and moreover I don't know how I know you but I obviously do!" She bent down to pick up the picture and shoved it into Ron's face, pointing at his former form in the snapshot, "That's you isn't it? And Hermione and Melinda and whoever her husband is? And that's me right there…how do I know all of you?" She yelled again, circling about the table. Andrew stood up and ushered Lillian and Michael out of the room, looking at her sympathetically as she collapsed into an empty chair, her tears finally flowing. She felt someone sit next to her and an arm move about her soothingly, rubbing her back in odd circles that seemed to make her anger ebb away. Someone else was forcing a drink to her mouth and she took drank angrily, the horrible taste burning down the back of her throat. She stared at Hermione, then at Ron, then at Melinda, her eyes becoming foggy and her mind starting to drift away.
"I just want to know who I am." She whispered before falling asleep on the table, her head landing softly as Ron quickly conjured a pillow from the glass she had left empty.
"We have to tell her." She could hear a man's voice saying as she slowly woke, her mind fuzzy and her eyes refusing to come into focus, "She doesn't deserve to be hidden from everything."
"It's Ginny's place to tell her, not ours Ron."
"Hermione, if we don't tell her, what will happen? She is more powerful than even you were at the showing year. She apparated here, I saw the message on Dad's desk this morning. Not even you could do that at 11."
"Ron she knows nothing…if we tell her anything at all…it could send her into shock…she could…"
"Damn Hermione it doesn't matter anymore. She has to know the truth. I'm owling Neville and having him get Ginny here at once." The voices seemed to stop and move away from her. Marcy sighed and felt sleep roll over her again. This man, this "Ron", he evidently knew her mother (as well as Mr. Lovegood, though at the moment Marcy could care less about Mr. Lovegood's predicament). He wanted to tell her something, something important. Maybe something that tied into this Ministry of Magic and Blaise Zambini fellow.
As sleep came over her again, Marcy was left with thoughts of apparating, whatever that was, and the faceless man from her picture.