What had Harry wanted her to do? The question was plaguing her. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered whether or not he had actually expected her to follow him. She would have done it regardless, but it would complicate things a great deal if he didn't really want her there.
Everything Harry had told her...it sounded like he wasn't the kind of person to get anyone else involved in his problems, or, really, his life. He was scared of connecting with people. Which was particualrly unfortunate because, for being just a boy, he was incredibly charismatic. He didn't seem to realize it, but people really wanted to follow him. Everything he'd said...about Hermione, Ron, the DA...he was a leader, and he would have people to help fight for him wherever he went. It was the same with her. She barely even knew him, but she knew that uprooting her life to follow him was the right thing to do. Given, it was a particularly great life, but it was comfortable. Being on the road, alone, with no idea how to reach a goal you can't even visualize? That was not comfortable.
As Gillian exited the train, with only her backpack to accompany her. She'd never traveled alone before, and she'd never been this far away from home without her parents.
Gill winced. There it was...the guilt. She couldn't say for sure if that little pang she felt was her missing her parents or not, but there was certainly guilt in it. They probably would have discovered her missing by now. If they traced her to the train station (as the search for a runaway undoubtedly would) they'd encounter a ticket salesman who had sold a ticket to a lone teenage girl...who probably would stick out in his memory for her talkativeness and her particularly sad story.
Gillian kicked herself. Damnit, why had she made herself so memorable! Well, they were at least an hour or two behind her by the time they got to the trains tation, as she saw it. And the train ride was three hours. So, that was it. She had to keep moving, and be as discreet as possible while doing so.
Hitching her backpack
higher onto her shoulder, Gillian set off. According to the map at
the train station, Ottery St. Catchpole was about ten miles east of
Exeter.
Ten miles. It was about 11 o'clock. That was plenty of
daylight for the journey, which she would hopefully be able to make
within three hour. After that it would just be a matter of locating
the Burrow...she would think about that little hurdle when it came
up.-
So, she started walking. She tried to stick alongside the roads, while staying far enough back so as to not attract attention to herself.The weather was misty and a bit chilly, as it had been all summer, but not bad for the long hike. At least she wouldn't get to hot.
About two hours into her journey, her feet hurting her more than she thought they would, her shoulders aching from the backpack, Gill stepped a little further of road and took a break. It would cost her some time, but she needed it. She was getting hungry, too.
Pulling the bread and cheese out of her backpack, Gillian made herself a sparse lunch. She didn't want to be too liberal with her rations, considering she wasn't sure as of yet what her living situation would be like once she arrived.
After a fifteen minute break, she was on her feet again. It was slower going now. She was aching all over, and was actually getting a stitch in her side from all of the walking. Gill couldn't remember the last time she had walked this far, but she hadn't thought that she was this out of shape! She made a note to herself to try to be more active from now on, although she had a funny feeling that that wouldn't be too difficult.
About an hour and a half later, she arrived at Ottery St. Catchpole.
Arrived, though, might be to definite a term. It wasn't so much a place you arrive as a place you suddenly realize you are. This was nothing like Magnolia Crescent, or even Little Whinging. Everything was spread out...she could walk for full minutes and not see another house, which was for more than she could say for the rabbit warren-like neighborhood she lived in.
It was beautiful, but it did mean she would have to walk that much further to get to the Burrow, which was supposed to be on the edge of all of this, closer to the River Otter.
It was still afternoon, but the sky was dark, and the mist that had plagued the country all summer was chilling her through to her bones, even through the extra layers she had added during her brief lunch break.
She walked through the
town (if you could call it that) for another half hour, and was
beginning to worry. She had no idea what to expect of the
Burrow...not only the people or her reception, but also what the
house itself would be. It was quite possible that she had already
passed it and didn't even know!
Harry had told her about the
Burrow, though. He had made it sound so fantastic, surely she would
have noticed it. It didn't sound like the kind of place one could
just walk by without noticing. But, then, she wasn't a witch. Was it
possible that she wouldn't be able to see it?
She shook off this possibility. She had always been good at seeing things other people couldn't. Surely she wouldn't be able to miss a house. Besides, she could probably just use her flute to find out what was...
Oh no. Her flute. Gillian,
stopped, suddenly frantic. She had forgotten it! How could she forget
her flute?!
Gillian, overcome with exhaustion and frustration,
fell to her knees.
This idea was stupid.
Stupid. She didn't know where she was going, what she was going to do
if she ever managed to get there, and now she didn't even have her
flute!
Maybe she was overreacting, but the flute seemed important
to her. It had been her support. It had warmed her through. And now,
for no reason, with no excuse, she had just left it behind in the
flurry of a half-formed whim.
Tears welling in her eyes, a sob hitched painful in her throat, Gillian almost gave up. But, just then, she heard a loud pop!
She looked up and saw, to her amazement, a man standing some twenty yards away. A man who had certainly not been there before. And, just down the road from him...
It was the most unsturdy, shabby, and beautifully magical house she had ever seen. That had certainly not been there before, either.
Gillian shivered a little. She knew she ahdn't been seen...quite probably, no one knew she was there or anywhere nearby. But, for some reason, she had the sensation that someone was watching her. It was not an unpleasant sensation...it was warm, and felt much like it did to hold her flute in her hands.
As the man walked forward toward the house, Gillian watched, desperate not to lose sight of it, and quietly made her way toward it.
Here, surely, was the Burrow.
Here was where she would
find Harry Potter.