EDITED: July 10th, 2020

05 — The Burrow

Harry pulled me back. He tried to be discreet about it, but I was so stunned all he managed was for me to almost fall on him. For all her motherly-looks, Mrs. Weasley made me feel like if I were standing across a tigress. Luckily, I got my footing right on time and, instead of running away, I elbowed Harry on the stomach, hard.

Ron would have laughed, had it not been his mother that inspired the fear of death into everyone. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could to join us, but Mrs. Weasley didn't deign to look in our way; her eyes were dead set on her husband.

Mr. Weasley ran a hand over his scalp; the long strands stuck close to the bald patch.

"La-land, dear?" He laughed nervously. "I didn't! That would mean I flew rather than drive – which we didn't, did we, children?" We shook our heads quickly. "See?"

"Are you suggesting I do not have eyes, Arthur?" she snapped. "What about my ears then? You know as well as I do that car's engine falters every time it's about to take flight or land!"

See? Only a predator would be able to catch those details. It floored me as much as it impressed me.

Mr. Weasley gave up. "It was just a test fly, Molly—I wanted to know whether the spells could hold up within Muggle vicinity, and they did! Well, the Invisibility Charm needs some recalibrating—"

"ARTHUR, YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO TAKE THE CAR APART, NOT USE IT! IF YOUR SUPERIORS FIND OUT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO IT, YOU'LL BE FIRED! WHAT SORT OF EXAMPLE WILL THAT BE FOR OUR CHILDREN?"

Several windows opened. On the first floor, two identical twins looked out from one opening; on the third, a girl about my age peered curiously while on the other side of the building a boy with horn-rimmed glasses leaned all the way out, looking annoyed.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't notice. The latter was breathing heavily, her face red; the former was simply frozen.

"That we can have fun once in a while?" one of the twins piped to her rhetoric question.

"Or that we have to spoil our guests who have just discovered magic?" said the other.

The word 'guest' seemed to deflate Mrs. Weasley's fury. She hissed, "Do not think this is over, Arthur!" and clearing her throat, she turned to us, her expression now warm. "I am very pleased to see you both, Harry, Anya. Come in, we were just about to have dinner..."

She turned to walk back into her house. Harry and I simultaneously turned to Ron. He gave an encouraging do and shoved us forward. Harry, however, stuck his feet to the ground and refused to move. Throwing them a nasty look, I bravely led our team into the unknown.

Like the outside, the inside looked like the result of throwing everything together after many failed plans of decoration. Half the room was the living room, the other half a small kitchen. A dining table with ten chairs took most of the space; two of them were occupied by Fred and George, both of them wisely quiet as their mother swept past them and toward the stove. There was a clock on the opposite wall that had no numbers, but hands with moving photos of the Weasleys and different names of places; seven of them were currently on home.

Books and magazines, all equivalent of gossip and home décor, were stacked up on the mantelpiece. In the air, a song that sounded a lot like jazz was playing, accompanied by a woman's strong voice. Mrs. Weasley moved around her kitchen, following the tune; she was cooking, and while she did, she kept throwing dirty looks at her husband. The frying pan in her hand looked particularly dangerous.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," said Fred – and I knew it was Fred because only he would dare to grin at me after the grief he and his brother caused me and my friends last year for losing house points. "If it isn't our favorite couple!"

The urge to kick his shin was strong. But I was a guest... so I held back. My restraint must've been visible, as Fred's grin seemed to widen.

"Good to see you, Harry," said George. "Been keeping up with Quidditch training?"

"Does sweeping the floor count?" Harry said, sitting next to him after Mr. Weasley gestured for us to do so. I followed.

"Unless you were sweeping some twerp, no."

"George," Mrs. Weasley harrumphed.

"What about you, princess? Terrorized someone this summer?"

"Scolded them to death?"

If only they knew what I did this summer. They wouldn't be this irritating. "I found Harry. That counts as something of an achievement, doesn't it?"

Harry kicked my foot. He had no qualms about hitting me apparently. I stepped on his foot, making him startle with a loud, "Ow!"

"What was that?" said Mrs. Weasley, glancing back worriedly.

"Nothing! I-I kind of twisted my ankle."

"You mustn't have been watching were you stepped," I commented, ignoring his half-hearted glare. "Thank you for letting me to stay with you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I know this was very sudden..."

"Don't worry, dear, the more the merrier." She waved her wand; nine plates floated out of a drawer. With another wave, the spatula began to place food on them. "Ron, go and call Ginny and Percy."

"Why me?" Ron whined.

At the dangerous glint in her eye, he quickly stood and ran to the stairs.

"Did Natasha Rosenberg truly ask you for me to stay here?" I asked the grown-ups.

"Oh, yes!" said Mrs. Weasley. "She visited us, you see, and told us how difficult it has been for you to adjust to the wizarding world. Because the magical system works differently in America – and she also confessed to being rather out of touch with the wizarding world in general – she feared she wouldn't be of any help to you and asked us to assist her! We told her you could stay with us this summer, see how we usually act in our home and out with the Muggles – we visit the town so often all of us had learn how to act in front of them –"

"Not as much as we would've liked to," said Mr. Weasley sheepishly. He gestured to himself. "We are very lucky Ottery St. Catchpole is detached from the major cities, but things like clothing and etiquette still fail us most of the time. We were hoping this could work both ways."

Part of me was incensed Natasha had concocted this ridiculous lie to this poor couple. And it was frustrating, because she'd guessed my natural inquisitiveness wouldn't allow me to decline the offer.

"I'm not as good with crowds like she made me out to be," I confessed. "But I can tell you the basics – Harry can, too."

Harry startled. "Yeah. I wouldn't mind – I mean – I'd like to learn about the wizarding world, too."

"Good," said George. When his father was too busy watching his wife, he leaned towards us to whisper, "That way we can know whether Dad's nicking the right stuff or not."

I rolled my eyes.

•••◘◘◘•••

"Well, good night, guys."

I was ready to step into Ginny Weasley's room when Ron stopped me. He looked awkward. Shuffling as I frowned at him.

"What?"

"Just..." he started. "Don't let my sister get to you. She was really quiet at dinner, but she's really nosy. If she says – if she asks – ignore her. That's what I do."

I stared after him. Then I looked into the room I would sleep for the rest of the summer, feeling a little weary.

Out of all the Weasleys, Ginny was the one I couldn't get a read on. She'd been so quiet through all night, though I suspected it was because of Harry; she'd blushed every time he'd tried to bring her into the conversation, dropping food all over the place. I'd been too busy speaking with the older Weasleys to care about that, but now that we were alone, I felt like slapping myself for not talking with her. Was she similar to Marie? O worse?

"Do you like the covers?" she asked as I closed the door behind me. "They are not pretty, but they are really warm even without a Heating Charm."

"That's fine," I said hesitantly. I stooped to feel the fabric.

Warm and soft. Better than I'd hoped for. The pillow was a little flat for my taste, but that was easily remedied; I fluffed it before putting it at the head of my make-shift bed on the floor.

"Is one pillow all right?" I nodded. Ginny sat on her bed, bouncing a little. From her position, she seemed taller. "I'm sorry you've got to sleep on the floor. I asked Mum if we could conjure a bunk bed but she said the ceiling's too low and one of us would still wake on the floor."

My lips twitched. "Not so different from my place," I said. Most of the time I woke up to find Marie sleeping on the floor, usually figuring it out by the time my foot stepped on her.

I took a deep breath –

"What is he like?"

– the words died in my throat.

"Who?"

This last question tripped me. Ginny Weasley had an impressive range for talking, almost as good as Hermione's; and like Hermione's, I'd blocked her out unconsciously. However, this one slip was impossible to ignore. And it was definitely a slip, judging from the shade of red the girl's face had turned.

"'He' who?" I asked suspiciously, leaning up on my elbows.

Ginny took a deep breath. The next words were almost whispered.

"Harry Potter." Her face relaxed to a dreamy smile. Then she recovered, almost jumping in excitement. "What is he like? Is it true he fought You-Know-Who last year? Ron usually blows things out of proportion, so –"

I cut her. "Ron told you that?" I was planning the redhead's demise. If I asked the twins, I had no doubt they'd cooperate willingly.

Ginny blushed. "No. I – I read his letters to you. I mean – he left them in the open, so I peeked..." she trailed off and looked away, her brow furrowed.

So that was what Ron meant. Part of me wondered how he could stand it; the other was impressed he'd endured the torment this long.

"Yeah," I said gruffly, "we did." I turned and seized the pillow, punching it violently. Hoping it would deter her from asking further.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her perk up slightly. Her lips parted – but the words got stuck in her throat.

We both lay down. Once the lights were off, the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Still, I dozed off.

"Anya?" a voice called me. I hummed, too tired to really care.

"What is he like?"

My eyes shot open. Her tone – it was different from before. And it was obvious who she was asking about.

No one would blame me if I slept in the Weasleys' living room. I was used to sleeping in tight spaces, and Ron probably had told his family I used to fall asleep anywhere but my bed. If I woke early, I could think of a very good lie to not get Ginny Weasley into trouble – it'd probably get her off my back, too.

But I was tired. So, so tired. The last weeks at St. Louise's had been trying; but now that I was here, it felt like I could rest without fearing about the nightmares.

The nightmares. God, would I really not have them?

A flash of red had me stiffen. But it was just the curtain of the window moving slightly.

Just the curtain. Not eyes.

There was so much fire back then, and thanks to Snape's potion, I hadn't truly felt it. But when Quirrell had knocked me into a wall, just before I'd lost conscience –

A slight pressure on my cheek. Two fingers trailing down from my forehead to my cheek. I didn't think Harry had seen it; if the fire wasn't prominent in my dreams, I doubted I would've remembered at all either.

"Warm," I said at last. "He was warm."

•••◘◘◘•••

I was used to living in loud places, but living with the Weasleys was an experience of its own category.

I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Nothing beat Hogwarts, but the castle was mostly bare of personal items. It was a school, after all. But there was something about Ron's home that I couldn't help but think of fondly, even if I jumped each time the stairs creaked or the mirror at its feet shouted that 'plaits were out of fashion.'

Still, adjusting took its time. The Weasleys were the type of family that was used to rowdy children, but Harry and I weren't like that. In fact, Mrs. Weasley had gaped for almost a minute when I offered to wash and dry the dishes; she stopped short at the sight of a well-made bed and folded clothes; and she'd almost cried when she saw me awake at five in the morning, sitting at the dining table as I sew a few pieces of clothing.

Ron later complained that I was making him look bad.

It was with Mr. Weasley and Ginny whom I got along better. Mr. Weasley wasn't around much, but when he was he always stopped by me to talk about Muggle technology. He did the same with Harry when I wasn't available, but I had a better grasp on the subject. I liked them, if only for the look of fascination on the man's face; I had never seen anyone look so young and excited as I explained the workings of an airplane.

On the other hand, conversation with Ginny had been at first stilted after that night. But when she realized I could talk about anything – anything but that – she'd opened up a lot. Perhaps more than I would've liked, considering I now couldn't look at Harry without laughing. Also, Ginny introduced me to aspects of the wizarding world I hadn't ever considered before: clothes, bands, magazines, and most importantly of all, Quidditch.

Every two nights without fail, Ginny and I sneaked out of the house and broke into the shed to steal her brothers' brooms and play Quidditch in the garden. Somewhere along the first week, I'd confessed I wasn't good in a broom: to Ginny, that meant sacrilege, more so when she found out I knew a lot about the game. It was on these nights that I discovered her temper could rival that of her mother's – and it was downright frightening because Ginny did have control over it. I suspected Hermione wouldn't approve of our late-night escapades – then again, I purposely forgot to mention certain things, such as me staying at The Burrow.

Mornings talking with Mr. Weasley, lunchtime arguing with Ron, afternoon helping Harry with his homework (much to his frustration), and nighttime playing with Ginny — I adjusted into this lifestyle as easily as I did to Hogwarts. I probably shouldn't, but I couldn't help it. The Weasleys were people I could talk easily with; I had two of my best friends living with me.

I couldn't ask for more. Not without jinxing myself, at least. Harry was suspicious enough for the two of us, thank you very much, acting like one of us would pull at the rug under him every time Mrs. Weasley fussed over his thin frame or the twins tried to convince him to prank Ron.

But all good things eventually came to an end. Hogwarts – once considered a chance of escaping –loomed over like a dark cloud.

I didn't want to go back; I was happy here, with this simple routine and boisterous family. Going back meant facing the same problems, the same doubts.

If I went back, I'd be forced to continue investigating my parents. And if I was honest, I didn't feel as motivated — as desperate — as before.

•••◘◘◘•••

The dream came pelting down when our letters from Hogwarts reached us a week later from our arrival. Ginny and I were talking while we waited for breakfast to get ready. She faltered, and then knocked her porridge bowl to the floor. Without looking away, I greeted the boys.

When Harry and Ron sat, Mr. Weasley moved to retrieve three parchment envelopes and handed them to us.

"Letters from school. Dumbledore already knows you're both here, Harry, Anya – doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two have one, too," he added, as the twins ambled in, still wearing their pyjamas.

The kitchen was silent for a few minutes as we all read our letters. The normal notice of getting to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express on September first was there. Following was a list of the new books we'd need for the coming year:

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two
By Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee
By Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls
By Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags
By Gilderoy Lockhart

Travels with Trolls
By Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires
By Gilderoy Lockhart

Wandering with Werewolves
By Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti
By Gilderoy Lockhart

After a lot of staring between his twin's and his' parchments, Fred peered over Harry's shoulder.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he said incredulously. "The new DADA teacher must be a fan – bet you it's a witch."

"Fred," said Mrs. Weasley threateningly. Her son fell quiet.

"I've heard of him, I think," I said hesitantly.

Ginny snorted. "That's because Mum's got a lot of his books," she whispered, gesturing at the small pile of books on the kitchen counter; Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests was on top. There was a photo of a man with wavy blond hair and blue eyes on the cover. He was very handsome, and while the smile he wore seemed genuine, there was a cocky air about him that I didn't like.

"That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive..."

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."

Ginny twitched, looking down at her food. I pursued my lips. I had a vault of my own with a lot of money that I was sure I wouldn't use, but I doubted Mrs. Weasley would let me help.

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded whilst blushing, and put her elbow in the butter dish. No one else saw the small slip because Percy, one of the elder sons of the Weasleys, just walked in. The boy was already wearing robes, with his Hogwarts Prefect badge pinned to his sweat vest. From the few times he'd stepped out of his room, I had yet to see him without it.

"Morning all," he greeted us briskly. "Lovely day."

Indeed, it was a lovely morning. The sun shone brightly upon the Burrow and all the gnomes could be seen merrily trying to climb the fence once more from the window.

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leaped up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a moulting, gray feather duster – which was breathing heavily.

"Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. "Finally –he's got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys."

He carried the owl to a perch inside the back of the door, but as he tried to stand him, Errol fell straight on its back. Shaking his head and muttering "Pathetic", Ron laid him gently on the draining board. Then he ripped open Hermione's letter and read it out loud:

" 'Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there,

" 'I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because I think another delivery might finish your one off.

" 'I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course' – How can she be?" said Ron in horror. "We're on vacation! –'and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley?

" 'Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.' "

"How come she didn't mention you?" Ron asked me. I took a sip of my orange juice.

"I forgot to tell her I was coming."

"How could you forget?" he asked incredulously. "It's been three weeks!"

"Don't be dramatic," I rolled my eyes, "She'll find out when we see her – or when Marie tells her. Whatever happens first."

"You have a death wish," said Ron with a shake of his head, clearly remembering Hermione's foul temper. Besides him, I was the only one who could rile Hermione up.

I ignored him.

"Well, that'll fit in nicely," Mrs. Weasley said brightly, starting to clean the table as she looked at us. "What are you all going to do today?"

Ginny and I shared sly looks when the boys started arguing about who would play who on their Quidditch match.