Hi guys…sorry I've been so neglectful of my story…it happens when one takes far too many AP classes to live with. Grr…
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I could die and be happy. Unfortunately I don't, so please, don't kill me.
Sunlight streamed through the painfully clean window, streaking Ron's face with gold. The disturbance caused him to wrinkle his forehead into a frown, before opening one olive green eye to face the morning. The shock of light after eight hours of blackness nearly blinded him, but in any case it forced him to fully wake up. Ron pulled the maroon covers over his head in an attempt to invite sleep back to his body, but to no avail. He groaned in annoyance. This was one of the many Weasley curses, passed on for generations: once awake, the person in question would not be able to fall back asleep, regardless of the time. His eyes flickered towards the clock, afraid of what he might find. He groaned again in disgust. A glittering array of multicolored pixies danced in lines across the face of the clock, forming themselves into a gigantic "6, 3, and 0" in succession. A tiny voice could be heard yelling, "Smile! Never forget to smile! Aaand…switch!" Dozens of tiny purple pixie legs shot into the air, their owners sculling furiously to stay atop the water captured inside the clock. "6..3..1..6..3..1..."
Ron realized he had been staring at the clock in amusement for an unnaturally long amount of time, and rolled himself out of bed. He padded over the worn wooden floor towards the bathroom, stifling a chuckle as he glanced at Harry. The latter was involved in a fight to the death with his blankets, and Ron couldn't tell who was winning. He was about to close the door when his friends voice rang out, "The Koosh has stolen my chicken!"
Ron had no idea what a "Koosh" was, so the humor of the situation was lost on him as he adjusted the six nozzles lining the tub. He stripped down, stepped in, and was lost in a world of blissful green bubbles within seconds.
The Weasley curse had worked its evil upon George as well, who awoke as soon as he heard splashing from the room next to him. George took one glance at the obscenely happy pixies dancing their way across the face and threw his pillow at the clock, a grin coming to his face as high-pitched screams reached his ears. Serves them right. Being perky at 6:30 a.m… he thought, before hastily throwing on clothes and bolting down to the café before his stomach imploded. A sign near the door announced that breakfast was self-serve, so George picked up a menu, calmly directed his order towards his plate, and dug into the trout-and-mushroom omelet that appeared there with gusto.
If George had paid a hint of attention to anything besides his grumbling organ, he would have noticed that one of the beds in his room was empty: primly made, but empty. Its occupant was currently moseying around the streets of Diern Alley, peering into clean store windows at hand-carved toys and homemade sweets. The alley on a whole had a very homey feel, with ancient buildings and an inviting atmosphere. It was hard for Hermione to believe that this city was buried underneath a hill and surrounded by Muggle-hating zombies, but the underside of the hill was charmed to look like the sky (somewhat like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, she noticed fondly) and the zombies were a necessary (if overdone) precaution.
Hermione was under the impression that half the town was awake at this obscene hour of the morning, and none of them looked tired in the least. She gave it no second thought, since the alley's name corresponded with this unnatural habit, and continued gazing into shop windows, giving the occasional cheery wave to a passing inhabitant. In less than twenty minutes she had meandered her way across the entire town, and as she came to the end of the street she stopped abruptly, staring at the wall in front of her. It was a solid blue color, with wispy white blobs floating lazily through its depths. It took her a few moments to realize she was staring at the sky. The hill apparently ended here, and this was where the gently curving slope came back to meet the ground. She reached her hand out and touched a cloud, which was indeed what the white thing had been, and began to laugh with delight when it squirmed and giggled. A childish instinct overtook her mind and she stuck both hands into the blue up to the wrists, poking at all the clouds in reach. It was kind of like being in a Muggle store, squeezing all the talking toys and watching with amusement as they all started making noise; or maybe when someone blows a bunch of bubbles and you take off running, trying to pop them all before they hit the ground.
A loud growl brought her back to her senses and she pulled her hands out of the sky with a plopping sound, watching as the surface rippled like water. The grumble came again, causing her to look down at what was causing it: her stomach. Hermione bid the clouds farewell with a happy smile on her face, before letting her feet lead her back to the Pub. She opened the door and found the entire group digging into their breakfasts. She grabbed a menu, although it was unnecessary, since she already knew she was in the mood for Hexcakes. A stack of the hexagonally shaped wizard concoctions appeared, and Hermione instantly knew she was in heaven as she smothered them in syrup.
The teenagers went their separate ways after breakfast was over, scattering themselves over the entire town. Fred and George, of course, took off to explore the local joke shop and try to commandeer some ideas for new products back in Diagon Alley; Muffles had gone off with an extremely pretty green poodle; Harry, Ron, and Hermione milled around all the shops, spending an especially long time in the Broom Bungalow, a tiny hut that specialized in Quidditch brooms. Ron and Harry were standing enthralled beside a customized flying apparatus, and Hermione was reminded vaguely of Muggle boys who were overly-obsessed with their cars.
She poked Harry in the ribs, telling him she was going next door to the bookshop, but her statement was drowned out by an exclamation from Ron,
"Will you look at that acceleration? It's amazing! Abso-bloody-lutely amazing!"
Hermione left with a huff, opening the door and watching the tiny bells chime. She received quite a shock when she realized that the enchanted sky was letting loose a downpour and pulled her hood over her frizzy hair. She ran as fast as she could to the little brown door enhanced with golden accents, hurriedly turning the handle and pushing the door open.
It was oddly warm inside the little shop, and she could see her sweatshirt begin to steam as the water evaporated. She read the peeling letters written across the window: DragonLore. Interesting name for a bookshop she thought to herself, but her thoughts were put on hold as her ears picked up the noise of footsteps. She turned to see a tiny old man step out from the shadows; he could not have stood five feet from the ground and looked as if he had outlasted his expiration date. It was his face, however, more than his odd stature, that caused Hermione to take an immediate liking to him. Sparkling hazel eyes shone from his cutely wrinkled face, and a smile devoid of teeth graced his mouth.
"Well hello, dearie, is there anything in particular I can help you with on this fine day?" he spoke, his voice surprisingly full of vigor and energy.
"Oh, no, thank you, I was merely looking."
His eyes shone all the brighter.
"I beg to differ, miss."
Hermione was unsure what to say. He beckoned to her and she unconsciously followed him into a room adjacent to the main shop. The man had his back turned towards her and was rustling around in a drawer, muttering to himself, "Now where did that go? I left it here a few days ag…ah! Here it is!"
Hermione jumped as he turned. He held a plain box in his hand, slightly tattered and worn from years of existence.
Hermione wordlessly took it from him, holding it as though it were a priceless relic, although she had no idea what was contained inside. She felt a little hazy, as though she were living inside a dream. A million questions were fighting to escape her voice box, but something kept her silent. She turned on one heel, still clutching the tiny box, and heard the man's parting words, "No meeting is without reason. You will know when to use it."
Hermione was outside in the slackening drizzle before she broke out of her trance, and realized that she hadn't even learned the man's name.
Her thoughts were again distracted by a loud laugh that issued from her left, and she looked up at the familiar sound to see something quite unexpected. A rainbow had formed during her bookstore excursion, and, as is typical, a pot of Galleons was located at the end of it-- which just so happened to be ten feet away. What she didn't expect to see, however, was George struggling to restrain a green-clad little man with pointed shoes and a clover sticking from his leaf-green hair. Ron was laughing uproariously as Fred began to steal the gold, stuffing his pockets with it and running off to spend it before it disappeared. The man at the candy store window was quite confused by Fred's odd behavior, but handed over the sweets and didn't realize his mistake until his boss fired him a month later for "missing funds."
The little green man, who was, indeed, a Leprechaun, had begun to get nasty. George was having a hard time restraining him and had resorted to sitting on his stomach, but even this was having its drawbacks as the points of the man's shoes contacted his thighs repeatedly. Finally George had had enough.
"Stop it, you little rat!" he yelled, putting his face right up next to his captive's.
"Well, at least I'm little!" retorted the Lep in a lilting Irish accent, "Ye must weigh at least a hundred pounds!"
"Are you calling me fat?" George whined, even though everyone could tell it was meant to be a joke.
The Irishman struggled to keep from laughing. "The least you could do is learn me name before insulting the pants off 'o me."
"Alright then, what're you called?"
"Tilly the Leprechaun, you impudent whelp."
"Well then, Tilly, if you don't mind me asking, why do you have an Irish accent if you live in Belgium?"
"Probably because I come from Ireland. Now if you'd be so kind…" he motioned to George, who was still partially smushing the three-foot-tall being.
"Erm…aren't you supposed to go bonkers over your lost gold?" asked Harry timidly, afraid that Tilly might do just that.
"Not a problem, laddy buck" he said, waving his hands and surprising everyone as his pot of gold was refilled. He gave them all a cheery wave and magically shrunk his gold before picking it up, stepping into the sky and walking up the rainbow to disappear behind a cloud.
"Hmm. That was decidedly weird." muttered Fred, although it was muffled by a huge glob of Glowing Gumdrop stuck inside his mouth.
The others nodded in agreement before heading off to the pub again. Hermione had informed them that they were leaving at noon, but said person was trailing behind, examining the rumpled package in her hand, so Muffles led the way instead. They suited up, readjusting the straps of their heavy backpacks, and stepped back into the street to find it was pouring again. Spatters of rain spurred the lethargic group into action, and they began jogging along, Hermione in the lead.
About halfway through the town she made an abrupt turn into an alleyway, over which hung a sign that proudly flashed, "The Gateway to the World." George snickered, muttering to Fred, "Facetious, are we?" and smirked as his twin guffawed.
His rauctious laughter was put to a halt when they stepped into the seemingly dark alley, and his jaw dropped in disbelief. They were surrounded by thousands upon thousands of doors- short ones, tall ones, purple ones, glowing ones, wooden ones, stone ones…one was studded with what appeared like stars. There were rows of them, stacked up past where Fred's eye could see, seeming to fly into the sky. They were all standing speechless, staring at the doors in wonder-- besides Hermione, of course. She was pouring over a map on the wall, and finally said happily to them, "C'mon, the Alps are this way."
George was walking in a daze. His eyes zipped across the silver plates stuck to each door, revealing what lay on the other side…Antarctica, Japan, Santa's House (George was sorely tempted by this door), Australia-- the names flew by in a whirlwind of color. He only realized that the others had stopped when he ran headlong into them; his eyes were too busy staring at the door that read "Pluto."
His head whipped around and he caught his falling brother out of reflex, before staring into the doorway they were perched under. A dazzling whiteness made him sincerely wish he had sunglasses on, but he forced his eyes open to witness the spectacular sight: beyond the door there was only snow-- perfect, shining, untouched snow-- piled atop a mountain that seemed too large to be real. Hermione smiled and bundled up her coat before stepping into the crunchy snow. A mischevious glint came into her eye and she yelled a word that the Weasleys were all to familiar with… "SNOWFIIIIIIIIGHT!"
That was exciting! A cookie to anyone who can figure out which alley Diern Alley is the complete opposite of…
And a kind thank you to all of my faithful reviewers.