A/N: Revised - 20/07/2020.
AWF
"I don't understand the logic behind the design choices that have been made," Keith deadpans, staring up at the misshapen house known as the Burrow ̶ (why it's called that, she doesn't know) ̶ with unimpressed eyes. "Is this the unfortunate result of being poor?"
As he levitates one of Hem's ̶ (or is that Hermione's?) ̶ suitcases, Ron squints at Keith. "Definitely a Perks. Joy." He rolls his eyes but he doesn't seem to be particularly offended by the barb. Maybe he's just gotten used to it via Sally-Anne. (Maybe he's just gotten used to Sally-Anne.) "What is it with you lot and your constant need to point out how much money you have?"
"Sorry," apologises Lincoln while he leans on his car and looks completely unapologetic. "Force of habit. We need to assert our dominance at almost every opportunity. You should see what it's like when the whole family's together." His smirk becomes a smile full of unnervingly perfect teeth.
Ron shivers while Harry and Hermione share a grimace. Keith continues to look bored and Sally-Anne takes in their surroundings with a critical eye.
"My goodness!"
Hem turns with the others at the new voice, her eyes landing on a short, plump woman that's most likely the Weasley matriarch standing by the front door. Said matriarch scans the scene in front of her before shaking her head in apparent disapproval and yelling, "Fred! George! Come down here and help with the luggage!"
The sound of an explosion from within the house and a muffled, "Quick, George, the lid! The lid!" is the apparent answer to her call.
Whipping around, she proceeds to shout, "Boys! If I come up there and there's a mess in your room while we have guests ̶ " but she's interrupted by the second-floor window being flung open. Some kind of smoke wafts out ̶ (it's an odd, suspicious colour and seems to bubble somehow) ̶ and a partially hidden figure leans over the sill. It's the ginger hair that stands out the most.
"We're fine, mum, thanks for asking!" replies either Fred or George. "We'll be down in a sec!" And then Fred or George disappears into the smoke to presumably help his brother clean up the mess.
Their mother sighs and mutters to herself, which seems to prompt Lincoln into action as he pushes off his car and strides towards her. Ron watches him for a moment, his gaze speculative before he turns towards the others and gestures for them to follow him inside.
"Is he going to convince mum to accept some ridiculously expensive item?" he asks Sally-Anne, his tone mostly curious and a little too casual. "I remember her always making a fuss whenever one of your siblings came over and did that. Every time, too. Always said it was just your form of common courtesy since it was no trouble to buy them." The tone becomes a little bitter during the last sentence, but it doesn't seem to be directed at the Perks in particular.
He gets his answer when they draw closer to the two in question and see Mrs Weasley ̶ (is that what Hem's supposed to call her?) ̶ trying to reject the large bag of galleons ̶ (probably) ̶ that Lincoln's holding.
"Oh, I couldn't," she demurs. "It's far too much!"
Lincoln wears a patient, charming smile as he replies, "It's really not. Please, take it. It's going to be expensive to feed all the extra kids and I hear that the new school books for this year aren't cheap." Seeing her on the verge of giving in, he continues with, "If you don't accept, I'm afraid I'll have to stay here to convince you even though I have an important appointment in Australia. People could be dying as we speak."
That seems to work, for Mrs Weasley sighs and accepts the bag before bestowing upon him a wry but grateful smile. "You Perks… Thank you, Lincoln. You know none of you have to have to give me anything for having you over, don't you?"
"Of course, but that doesn't mean ̶ "
Hem doesn't catch the rest of his response as someone exclaims, "Ugh, don't come near me, Fred! I don't know what you're covered in!" from her left. She turns towards the source ̶ (and absently registers the fact that she's inside the house even though she can't remember entering) ̶ to find Ron backing away from Fred, who's covered in murky-coloured soot and has his arms spread out for a hug.
"Oh, c'mon!" Fred laughs. "Just one hug! You'll feel great, if a little like your skin is about to peel off."
"You're always inexplicably covered in dirt, anyway, Ron," Sally-Anne remarks, her eyes casually surveying the interior around her. Harry and Hermione are looking around with a little more awe while Keith's gone back to playing on his Game Boy. "What's a little foul soot to add to your beauty regimen?"
"You hug him, then! See how you like it!"
"Are you sure your mother would approve of her son dirtying a lady so?"
"That's ̶ "
And as the Burrow descends into rowdy bickering, Hem takes the initiative to go back outside and levitate the rest of the luggage. Despite not being able to recall the incantation for the particular spell ̶ (did she learn it in class?) ̶ she seems to be able to do it with some conscious ̶ (but nonverbal, as always) ̶ effort.
She thinks Kenelm's said it before that focusing on conscious wand-casting would be a good idea, so this should count as her exercise for the day. (Or week, more likely. She still has trouble with the perception of time, after all.)
. . .
. . .
Sally-Anne, Hermione and Hem are staying in the old room of Bill and Charlie ̶ (whoever they are) ̶ on the third floor while Harry and Keith are staying in Ron's room on the fifth floor.
It's a fairly spacious room with messy diagrams of dragons on the left wall and a pile of books about curse-breaking by the right. A third bed has been conjured between two well-worn ones, but they're all neat and the sheets are freshly washed.
"I'm going to take the left," announces Sally-Anne, who's already dumped half of her belongings on the left bed. "Hemera can go in the middle, yeah?"
Hermione nods in agreement, although her attention is obviously taken by the pile of books. "Do you think they'd mind if I read some of them?" she queries, her face contorted in a light, unsure frown. "Curse-breaking sounds awfully useful. I didn't even know it was a viable career option until Ron said Bill was one in Egypt."
"If they didn't want them read," Sally-Anne starts as she opens the nearest window, "then they shouldn't have left them there, all out in the open. And they're Weasleys, anyway, so I highly doubt the possibility of the books being cursed." She turns back around to gesture at the books and finishes with, "I'd say to have at it."
Not entirely convinced, Hermione says, "Well… I'll just go check with Mrs Weasley to be sure," before leaving the room to do just that.
Hem places her things by the end of the middle bed while her best friend ̶ ("I do hope you're referring to me as your best friend in your head whenever you recognise me," remarks her friend who insists on being something more important-sounding than 'friend') ̶ spruces up the place with her own eccentricities.
"What do you think, Hemera? Lemon lime or lavender? Or should we go with the candle that's literally named, 'The Kind of Scent You Need After You've Buried a Body'?"
. . .
. . .
Dinner is loud and raucous, but apparently it's not as bad as usual ̶ (according to George, anyway) ̶ since Hem is present and they don't want to accidentally set her off. She doesn't mind that much. (It might be because it makes more sense to feel like a stranger while sitting at a lively dinner table when the family isn't hers.)
Mr Weasley is a little weird with his intense enthusiasm for all things muggle, and he's been hounding Hermione and Harry nonstop about the non-magical culture ̶ (he was also asking about Hem's mental illnesses until his wife scolded him for being rude) ̶ since dinner's started.
"Enough of that, Arthur!"
"But Molly ̶ "
Percy is one of the brothers Hem hasn't seen before ̶ (it's been a while and her mind isn't telling her that she's supposed to know him) ̶ and he seems to be a fairly prim person. He talks in an overly sophisticated manner that Fred and George tease him for, much to his visible annoyance. It does seem like his mannerisms are more forced than a natural part of him, so that's probably why it's jarring to stare at him for too long.
"Must you?"
Fred and George blink, share a glance, then turn back to Percy and decisively nod in unison. "Yes," they intone together. "We must."
Ginny, the girl sitting next to Sally-Anne, is constantly sneaking looks at an uncomfortable Harry from across the table. Occasionally, she opens her mouth as if to say something, but then she appears to lose her courage and opts to scowl at her dinner for five minutes before repeating the process. Hem can only wonder when Sally-Anne's going to point it out, since she has no qualms about embarrassing people.
"I hate vegetables," mutters Keith, who's sitting between Hem and his sister. "They taste like nothin'."
Hem takes a moment to agree with him before realising that her hand has grabbed the gravy boat and is proceeding to pour its contents all over his pile of vegetables. He blinks down at his plate, then up at her. She blinks back at him, just as bemused as she assumes he is. (Why did she do that?)
After what feels like a few minutes but should only be a few seconds, he eventually sighs and grabs the gravy boat from her to put even more on his dinner. "I didn't say I wasn't goin' to eat them…" His mouth forms a small smile, however. "But thanks."
"Je vous en prie," says a voice that she doesn't recognise.
"Merlin's saggy arse, did you just respond to Keith three times in one day?" Sally-Anne exclaims as she whips her head around to stare at Hem with raised brows. She then shifts her attention to her smirking brother, eyes narrowing into a suspicious squint. "What's so good about you, huh? Who did you sacrifice?"
Keith eats one gravy-soaked carrot before smugly retorting, "I'm a Hem whisperer. It's an innate talent."
Fred, George and Sally-Anne all dramatically gasp while the latter of the three returns, "You've got some balls to be declaring that to me, you little shite. I'll kick your arse, you know I will."
. . .
. . .
The ceiling of Bill and Charlie's room ̶ (who?) ̶ is littered with moving drawings that glow in the dark. There are dragons breathing fire and centaurs pointing at the stars and goblins baring their sharp teeth as they say things she can't hear. A lot of them are rough and look like they've been drawn by children, while a few of the others are sketchy but much more detailed.
Even when Hem closes her eyes and is surrounded by white, dragons and centaurs and goblins still dance in her vision.
(Is she okay?)
AWF
A/N: Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.