Chapter 1:
It took her only a few days to come and get me. I guess Dad had left instructions on how to find her, I didn't really care. I was just glad to leave the stupid foster home the police had stuck me in where everyone gave me piteous looks and the lady cried when she looked at me. My first impression of her was of an elderly grandma figure, slightly on the plump side, but with a kind hearted face.
"Hello, I'm Molly Weasley, we're here to pick up Jane Potter," the women said to the police man at the front desk. I looked up at that, looking this woman over, she looked nice enough. If Dad had named her as my guardian that she must be nice, but then again he hadn't talked about her for fourteen years. I decided then that I must be careful around everyone one I meet, for there must be a reason Dad hid himself from the world for so long. Also there was that line in his note, which I had copied onto a notebook paper, which said 'don't let Him use you.' Who was him?
I was pulled out of my thoughts by the policeman, David something, coming over to me.
"Honey, Mrs. Weasley is here, do you have everything?"
I nodded my head, slung my bag over my shoulder, and followed him over to the crowd.
"Well here she is, I'll leave you to get acquainted, good luck."
He was uncomftable, I noticed, who wouldn't be.
"Why don't we leave, I think we should have a little talk somewhere privet before we leave. Come on dear."
I followed her and the others outside, still not saying a word. I had hardly said a word since that morning, was it truly only a couple days ago? We were outside now, a couple yards from the police station in a little wooden area.
"Well, dear, I'm Molly Weasly, your new guardian, but I bet you already knew that," she started in a kind voice.
I stared at her. She had been crying a lot recently and seemed on the verge of it again. I nodded and stared at the ground again.
"Well, err, I were wondering if you knew about magic dear," Molly continued, "Harry never gave it up, so I wasn't sure."
I just nodded.
"You know then," Mrs. Weasley repeated.
I nodded again.
"Well, that's good," she said in relief, "then you'll know how to travel by portkey." I nodded, remembering Sundays when dad had produced a portkey to take us to some beach, or shop, or amusement park.
She produced a long stick and we crowded around it, touching it with one finger. Then we were off, speeding away from the only home I had ever known to a place Dad had hidden from for fourteen years. To say I was scared was an understatement.
We landed in front of a very old run down house. It was about six stories high and looked like it was held up by magic, which it probably was. Chickens, pigs, and all kinds of livestock were scattered in front of the lawn.
"Well, dear, welcome to the Burrow, your new home," she said. I didn't respond, how could I. This place would never be my home; my home had disappeared forever when I found my dad. No place could ever truly be my home again, I thought, likely I was wrong.
"I just want to warn you," she said, as we made our way towards the house, "there are quite a lot of people that live here. My sons and daughter, well their jobs have so long hours that it's just easier to live here. Don't worry, we're all Weasleys. I bet your dad told you all about us, didn't he?"
She was looking at me, expecting a really answer.
"No," I said, in that hollow, expressionless voice that had become my own in these few days that seemed like a lifetime. "He never talked about his past."
Mrs. Weasley looked like she would start crying again. "Well," she said sadly, "we were like a second family to your father, you'll fit in great here. Don't worry dear."
She said this as she pushed open the front door and we entered a very small, crowded hallway. To say it was crowded was an understatement, about thirty people, most with bright red hair and freckled, were crowded into the small room. All I wanted to do was go to a nice quite spot and be alone, but it seemed like I would have to meet more people. I was now very angry with my father.
"What are you all doing?" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed at the group, "this poor girl is in no mood to be gawked at. Franklin, please take all the children outside. The adults need to have a talk about some arrangements. Leave, now."
Grumbling, about twenty children, most in their teens, left out the front door. Meanwhile Mrs. Weasley had steered her into a sitting room and into a large overstuffed couch. About ten adults came into the sitting room along with her, taking up all available chairs.
"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, "why don't I introduce everyone. These are my sons Fred, George, Percy, and Ron along with their wives Hermione, Alice, Angelina, and Susan. My daughter Ginny and her husband Dean. I have another son Bill, but he's at work today."
I nodded when she was done, noticing that everyone related to Mrs. Weasley had red hair.
"Now, you can call us by our first names, or put Aunt or Uncle in front of them if you want," she continued. "Almost all of us live here live here. Bill on the first floor, Fred and Angelina on the second, George and Alice on the third, Ginny and Dean on the fourth, and Ron and Hermione on the fifth. I live on the ground floor. Which leaves us with a problem. See they all live with their families and I don't want to make you chose."
"How about Harry's floor, mum," the man named Ron said, "I mean she is his daughter."
"Well, yes, I guess. It hasn't been used in a long time, we were waiting for him to come back." Mrs. Weasley had started to cry, so Hermione took up the story.
"Your father lived her for a while after he graduated from school. The Weasleys even gave him his own floor; because we had all decided to move in by then and were taking up all the room. Then when he left, well, we sealed it up and never used it again."
I was only half listing to Hermione's lecture, why had my father left? Obviously these people really loved him, so why did he leave them. Dad had said to be careful, so there must bee something wrong with these people, some alter motive. Either way, they were strange, to say the least, how many people lived in this house anyway?
"Well that's taken care of, why don't we get you settled in your new room," Mrs. Weasley was saying. I could tell she wanted me to leave so they could talk about me. I didn't care, I just wanted to be alone, which seemed like it would be hard in this house. So I lifted up my bag and followed her to a main staircase. Mrs. Weasley chattered as we walked up the stairs, about the history of her family. I could tell she was trying to avoid the subject of my father.
"All my children grew up here, but when they got married, it was way to small. My late husband, Arthur, expanded it a couple floors. See the plaques on the walls, well they're who lives there, to keep track. Each floor has something like a front door, they're all little apartments. Not that you ever get much privacy around here, but no one minds that much. Except in here," she had come to a room with a plaque that said simply 'Potter.' "We don't go in here, but since you are a Potter, I guess this is your floor. Do you want me to come in and help you get settled? Oh, are you sure. Well, call if you need anything. Dinners only in about an hour, I'll send one of the kids up to get you OK. I just want you to know that I'm glad you're here and I know you'll fit right it."
I finally got her to go away, thank God. I couldn't help but be a little angry with her for saying she was glad I was here. I was only there because a couple days ago I found my father dead in the bathtub. I can't get that image out of my mind. How would you feel if you found a dead body in the place were you took a bath for your whole life, a place were you felt safe? Now imaged that that dead body is your father or your best friend. Because that was what Harry Potter was to me, my father and best friend. There was no replacement; no other home or family for me, no matter what Mrs. Weasley tried to pretend.