Chapter fourteen
Nell couldn't decide whether or not to follow up on this subtle slur, but before she could decide what to say, Mrs. Weasley spoke up.
"What are you going to do about the newspaper, dear? Are you going to tell the wizarding world the truth of the matter?"
Nell blinked. "You mean, I could just -- tell them? But wouldn't Dumbledore have to approve what I say? And how would I find a reporter? Plus, why should they believe me, a Muggle?"
Smiling, Mrs. Weasley held up her hands at this barrage of questions. "One at a time! Yes, Professor Dumbledore would have to give permission, but I don't see why you couldn't get your story ready to tell. It would give him something to approve, anyhow."
"And as far as finding a reporter goes, I work at the Ministry. They're always hanging 'round to find out what's happening. I could just bring a trustworthy one home to meet you and Harry, that's all," chimed in Mr. Weasley. "Of course they'd believe you -- you have Harry, don't you, and with Dumbledore's full knowledge.
Nell didn't feel particularly reassured. Mr. Weasley's reassurances now didn't feel half as honest as his casual dismissal of Muggles had, only moments before. But she forced a smile and promised to think about it.
Luckily, she was rescued from the incipent discussion of wizard/Muggle relations by the rowdy influx of the younger generation of Weasleys, plus Harry. The bright-faced youngsters crowded around the table, exclaiming at Harry's prowess as a Seeker (whatever that was) and demanding food or juice. Nell was utterly overwhelmed, and she watched in astonishment as Mrs. Weasley calmly processed the requests and conversation.
"How do you do it?" Nell asked in a temporary lull.
"What?" said Mrs. Weasley blankly. Nell gestured to the active children. "Oh! Practice, I suppose. My eldest three are off at school or abroad. By the time this lot came along, I'd nearly forgotten my name was anything but 'Mum!'"
Just then, a cry of, "Mum!" arose from Ginny's corner. Molly cast an exasperated, amused glance at Nell and went to tend her youngest. Nell chuckled to herself. At least she'd have some time to adjust to being called 'Mum', she supposed, if Harry even wanted to call her that at all.
A small hand slipped into hers. "Hi, mum," said Harry shyly. He looked up at her questioningly, looking for her response. She did her best not to let her shock show on her face -- was Harry a mind-reader? -- before she stooped and swept Harry into a tight embrace.
She didn't know what Molly was talking about -- 'Mum' was the best word in the universe.
Too soon, Harry squirmed away, straightening his shirt and looking to make sure his new friend hadn't seen the hug. But he cast Nell a surreptitious grin.
She smiled back before leaning down and whispering exaggeratedly, "Did anyone see that?"
Harry giggled and shook his head. Nell pounced on him, tickling his ribs in retaliation. "How about that, huh? This? This?"
Harry shrieked with laughter and the other children dashed over to watch the fun. The twins promptly began to torment Ron and Ginny similarly, and the kitchen rang with shouts and laughs.
The tickling/wrestling matches only ended when Mrs. Weasley came over and started yelling, "Children, behave! In front of your -- guests…" her voice trailed off as she saw Nell right in the thick of the battle, looking as guilty as the other combatants. Mrs. Weasley smiled at her indulgently before scowling at her own brood.
"Oh, it was my fault, Mrs. Wea -- er, Molly. I started it, it's not their fault," spoke up Nell.
Mrs. Weasley drifted away, casting an admonishing glare over her shoulder at the small crowd. This time, Nell was the first to start giggling.
"Hey," said Harry, "wanna see something cool?" Ron and the twins leaned in eagerly. "I have this book that insults you when you talk to it. It's wicked!"
"Where does it keep its brain?" asked Fred (or George; Nell, of course, had no idea how to tell them apart).
Harry looked puzzled. "What do you mean, brain? It doesn't have one."
The other twin spoke up. "It's something Dad says all the time. 'Don't trust anything if you don't know where it keeps it brain'." The twins chorused the line together.
Harry looked concerned. "But -- but I just -- it's just fun. Why do you have to know about its brain?"
The twins looked at each other and shrugged. "No worries, mate. We don't mind." Ron shrugged as well, clearly imitating the twins. Ginny followed suit.
Nell wasn't quite as sure about the advisability of trusting the book's authors, but then, she hadn't been sure before now, either. At least they were amusing, if they couldn't be trustworthy, she mused, as the group moved up to Ron's room, where Harry had stashed his knapsack.
"Er, hello," said Harry hesitantly, opening the book.
Mr. Moony would like to inquire why it took so long for young Potter to return.
Mr. Padfoot would like to register his irritation and boredom.
"How do you even know time has passed?" asked Nell curiously.
Mr. Wormtail begs to inform Miss Burton that she and young Potter failed to clear the book before closing it.
"Oh!" said Nell. "How do we do that? And, er, why?"
Mr. Wormtail regrets that the passwords are confidential, as is the nature of passwords. He does, however, explain that the phrase, once uttered, will restore the book and its inhabitants to a state of limbo that is considerably more comfortable than not.
Mr. Padfoot would like those present to commence guessing passwords; he never fails to find it amusing.
Mr. Moony seconds that request.
Mr. Prongs would like to speak more of James Potter.
"Mr. Potter would like to, also," piped up Harry, getting into the spirit of the occasion.
"What is this book, Harry? Who's writing?" said Ron, who was looking utterly bewildered.
"It's wicked," breathed a twin.
"Think we could do something like that?" asked the other. They looked at each other speculatively.
Mr. Moony would like to inquire who else is present. He is bashful.
Mr. Padfoot would like to register his amusement at this statement.
As would Mr. Wormtail.
And Mr. Prongs.
Harry giggled. "It's the Weasleys. Ron and Fred and George and Ginny."
Mr. Moony asks if these are the children of Molly and Arthur.
"Yeah!" gasped Ron, in deeply impressed tones. "D'you know them? How? Who are you?"
Mr. Prongs would like to state that the writers of this book are omnipotent. We know all and see all.
Mr. Padfoot would add his solemn agreement.
This time, Nell snorted. But the children were looking in wide-eyed awe at the book. She rolled her eyes.
"Well?" she asked. "Who are you?"
Mr. Prongs regrets that he cannot disclose that information at the present time. He would, however, like to state that the names of James Potter and his close associates are not unfamiliar ones.
"Can you tell me any more about my parents?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Mr. Padfoot would like to amend his earlier statements about the elder Potter's worthlessness. He is willing to concede that Mr. Potter may have some redeeming characteristics.
Mr. Prongs would like to inquire after the identity of the young man's mother.
Mr. Moony is interested as well.
"Er, I think her name was Lily? Her sister is Petunia Evans Dursley. I'm not really sure," confessed Harry.
There was no writing for a long moment.
Er, Lily Evans? Mr. Prongs' writing was hesitant and lacked the stylistic form of which Nell had begun to tire. Really? Did she have red hair and green eyes? That Lily Evans?
"Er, that sounds like her. She's really pretty," said Harry.
Mr. Padfoot would like to --
"Oh, stop," said Nell in irritation. "You can write as you would speak, for heaven's sake."
Oh. Right then. Woo woo, Prongs! Managed to pull the fair Lily!
"Oh!" said Nell. "Is Prongs James Potter?" Thinking back, she wasn't too surprised, although she didn't think she'd have guessed on her own.
Padfoot, you nit! Can't you keep a secret for more than two bloody minutes?
Yes indeed, I am of the noble and most ancient House of Potter.
Shut it with the 'noble's and 'ancient's, you ponce.
Oh, look who's calling whom a ponce, ponce!
Nell watched in amusement as the authors seemed to forget their audience, facilely insulting each other in a stream of steadily bluer language.
She cleared her throat as the children's eyes widened. She could see the twins taking mental notes, and she really didn't want to give Molly cause to get any more annoyed with her. The writers didn't pause, and she reached out and slammed the book shut.
"Well!" she said brightly. "Why don't we come back to this later?
The twins looked deeply disappointed.
Just then, they heard Mrs. Weasley calling them downstairs.
They trooped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was standing by the large kitchen fireplace, beaming. "Your brother Bill's agreed to come by for dinner! Isn't it nice that he's so near?"
"But he came home last night," piped up Ginny. "He said he had plans tonight."
Mrs. Weasley seemed to grit her teeth. "Well, he didn't tell me about any plans. And he'll be here tonight."
Ginny looked skeptical, but held her tongue.
Nell sighed. She knew where this was going. Just look, Bill would be in his early twenties, single, eligible. And the type of nice son willing to be set up at a moment's notice by his mother.
Not that it mattered, really. Just once, couldn't it be someone's nice daughter? Why did she always get the sons?
Just then, the fire glowed green, and a young man stepped out of the flames.
Nell gaped. So that's what Dumbledore had been on about with the fireplaces. Whoa. She caught Harry gawking as well.
"This is Bill," said Mrs. Weasley, beaming with pride.