Chapter 4

I was startled awake by a snapping noise. It had to be about seven in the morning, and no Alicia, I'm not ashamed to admit that I thought that it was my mother chopping away with her very sharp and effective butchers' knife. I sprang up out of sleep and managed to pull my wand. If all else failed, I knew a few good hexes.

My father grinned at me and continued pruning his beloved bushes. I lowered my wand once I realized who it was. The snapping that I had heard was his huge gardening clippers. I tell you, Alicia. If it's not one parent with the deadly instrument, it's the other. You had to live on your tiptoes in my house, you did.

"Good mornin', Kate", my dad ran a stick over the top of one bush to make sure that it was even. Like all good herbologists, he doesn't like to use magic on his plants. He calls it cheating. Certain that the shrubbery was as pristine as it was going to get, he stood up straight and dropped the clippers to the ground.

"Morning, Dad", I replied, and picked Emmy's pillow off of the ground. Hugging it to myself, I looked to our house and asked simply, "Is mum gone?". Back then, my mum worked as a wireless announcer for our area. She was well-liked, and Brenna Bell was a household name around our town. She had to apparate early on in the morning, and wouldn't get back until six or seven at night. We never felt sorry for her long hours, though. Much of it was lunch with witches and wizards who wanted to advertise on the radio, and such things. She charmed them well. She was good at it.

My dad nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "Look Kate, I'm sorry about all of this. It just seemed fair to agree to move back, topped with all the things that Ana has her spouting…" He shrugged. "What man am I to stand in front of women's rights in the wizarding world as we know it?". My poor dad smiled helplessly. "It will be easy to open up another shop in Ireland, anyway."

I felt sorry for him, more than anything, you know Alicia. I mean, it wasn't his fault that he loved his wife, right? I smiled back at him. "Yeah, Dad. I guess that it seems fair." I looked to the house. It was early, I was hungry, and wanted to take a hot bath. Do you blame me for not focusing on the situation at hand?

My father chuckled and gave me a gentle shove toward the house. "Go. I think Connor is making pancakes." Not only was my dad giving me permission to go inside, but there were pancakes in there! It felt like the happiest moment of my life. Grinning gleefully at him, I wasted no time in sprinting up the steps and throwing open the door to the house.

Slamming it behind me, I nearly skipped into the kitchen. You must understand, Alicia. I was practically wasting away! "Good morning, Connor. You look dashing today". I wasn't surprised that my brother was awake; he didn't like to sleep in. Isn't that strange, Alicia? I only remember him sleeping past eight once, and that was when he had pneumonia and didn't really care when he woke up.

Connor was standing at the stove holding a spatula and looking intently down into a pan. He looked briefly over his shoulder at me before answering drolly, "Hullo, Katie. Wish that I could return the compliment." How is that for kindness, eh?

I leaned against the wall next to the stove and looked pleadingly up at my brother. "Do you think that you could spare me a few? Please?". Begging was not beneath me, Alicia. The pillow was still clutched in my hands, and I squeezed it hopefully.

"There were only enough eggs to make four", He answered, concentrating so deeply that lines had formed on his forehead. My heart sunk, and I felt a sigh coming on. I looked into the pan and, sure enough, only four lone pancakes.

I watched my brother for a little bit. It was extremely comical. His face was one of utmost focus, his eyes were riveted onto the pan, and his arm was raised, spatula ready to strike. "Haven't you ever heard the expression 'A watched pot never boils', Con?" I asked in amusement.

"Yes, but I never understood it. Even if you were watching it, it would have to boil sooner or later." The smile melted from my face. Freaking Ravenclaw. Sucked the fun out of everything. "But if you're applying it to the pancakes," Connor started, and I nodded in response, "There were only enough eggs to make four." He repeated. "I don't want to burn any."

Without warning, he sprang forward and quickly flipped a pancake over. I'm telling you, Alicia, I jumped about three feet. Seeing my expression, which I'm sure was not so pleasant, he laughed. "I told you I didn't want to burn any."

Lo and behold, the one that he had flipped over was a perfect golden brown. I rolled my eyes and thrust the pillow at him. "Make sure Emmy gets this back, won't you? I'm going to go pack." I noticed that he didn't say anything about writing the note to Emmy, so I took the lead from him. Alicia, I wasn't going to put Connor on the spot after he tried to help me. It just seemed too mean.

"Sure", Connor answered, and as I walked from the kitchen, I heard the violent scrape of the spatula against the pan.

Hopping up the stairs two at a time, I decided that a hot bath was just what I needed. Is there anything that can't be fixed with a good, long soak? After proving myself correct, that nothing couldn't be somewhat repaired after a bath, I swung open my bedroom door.

I always loved that bedroom, almost more than my dormitory at Hogwarts. Although the walls were white and plain, I had pasted posters and newspaper articles all over them throughout the years. Pictures that I sketched were tacked onto my closet, and they blew back when I opened my closet with a 'whoosh'. Donned only in a towel, I slipped on the first pair of pants that I saw (Blue jeans, for posterity, you know), and the first shirt that I touched (Some yellow thing). I know that you don't approve of outfits chosen at random, but so far they have yet to fail me.

My room was fairly neat, and for the most part I knew where everything was. I pulled out the black duffle that Angelina got me a few years ago, and began stuffing robes into it. Mostly black, but a few of assorted colors. I added a few pairs of trousers, a few shirts, toiletries, a few underthings, and tada! The perfect 'kicked-out' bag. On a second thought, I threw in my quidditch robes. I didn't think I needed to bring my guards; one because I didn't believe in them, and two because I didn't think I'd need them. I figured that we would only be playing scrimmages, anyways. And I ask you, Alicia, what beaters play for real during the scrimmages? None.

Pulling on a pair of sneakers and a regular open-front robe, I hefted the strap of my duffle over my shoulder. It threw me off balance, and I nearly stumbled into my bed. I tell you, Alicia, it was very, very heavy. I picked up my trusty Cleansweep 10, took a look about my room, and headed downstairs.

I wasn't really miserable, leaving that room, Alicia. After all, since England National players got Saturday through Monday free, I was just planning on coming back the next Saturday after I had found someplace to set up camp.

But what was miserable, Alicia, was going down the steps with my bag. I could have used the levitation spell, and thought it through a moment, but then I would just have to reposition the bag again, since I was going by floo. No, I figured that it was less hassle just to carry it down.

I waddled through into the kitchen, where my brother was calmly eating his pancakes and reading The Daily Prophet. He looked up, then held up a finger as he finished reading an article. I waited patiently, watching the second hand move around the clock. I ask you, Alicia, what can be more important than one's own sister leaving? Because apparently it was in The Daily Prophet that Monday morning.

Finally, Connor looked up. "Where, exactly, are you going?" He skeptically asked. I mean, really, Alicia, is it so much to have a little bit of faith in your older sister? I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to triple-W", I answered with a sneer. "Everyone meets there to start their work-week anyway."

Connor looked toward the ceiling, then back down at me. "Whatever." He mumbled. "See you, then?" I nodded.

"Tell Emmy thanks again, won't you?", I told, more than asked, him. He, too, nodded in reply. "Good luck at practice, tomorrow." Connor called after me, as I shuffled from the room.

I passed my father in the hallway. "See you later, Dad", I told him simply, with a waggle of my broom (I couldn't wave). My dad responded with another bear hug, and a, "Love you, Kate", before appropriately lumbering into the kitchen. "How about some pancakes, son?", he suggested loudly. As I walked down the hall, I faintly heard Connor say something about eggs.

Shoving my way through the small doorway into the living room, I set down my broom to pick up the floo powder vase. It was quite ugly—bright green. My sister had made it years ago when she decided that she had wanted to be a clay artist.

In a quite rude manner, I opened up a robe pocket and emptied the great majority of the powder into it. Don't worry, Alicia. I didn't feel too badly about it. The fireplace in front of me was kept burning by magic at all times for floo reasons, even if it was as hot outside as it was that June. I could feel my face getting pink from the heat.

Shaking some into my hand, I replaced the vase on the mantle of the fireplace and picked up my broom. Yes, Alicia, this was a big step, but I thought nothing of it as I tossed the powder into the fireplace and the fire glowed a bright green.

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes" I commanded the Floo Network, before taking a deep breath and stepping into the flame.