Chapter 3: New House, New Life, New Everything

I took a deep breath, biting my lip, the keys in my hand shaking slightly in my too-tight grip. It was stupid to fear this, but I couldn't do anything about it. I tried to gain strength from the feeling of Emma's hand clutched onto my sleeve and Lavender's arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I finally pushed the key into the lock and turned it quickly, opening the door. Then I stepped in and looked around.

Nothing had changed in the six weeks we had been away: everything was exactly as I remembered. For the tiniest moment a crazy, irrational thought sneaked in my mind: I bet Mom and Dad will be so happy to have us home again…Mom will start crying as always, and Dad will give us one of his bear hugs-

And then reality hit me, along with the stuffy, slightly dusty smell of the house, untouched for so much time. There was no one waiting for us here, and there would have never been again.

I felt Lavender's arm squeezing my shoulder sympathetically, steading me. My knees were wobbly and weak, and I would have tripped without her supporting me, even though I had crutches keeping me on my feet. Emma came closer to me, her large blue eyes wandering around the empty rooms with a sadness that broke my heart.

"C'mon, Em," I said softly, trying to smile. "I bet you missed your room a lot. Even if I will never be able to understand how you can even walk in there with all those toys around…" She nodded, her eyes suddenly bright, and I felt relieved as we walked together to her room.

Her door was of smooth, white wood with large baby pink flowers painted all over it, in a perfect Emma style. She left my side and almost run in, jumping on her queen sized bed and bouncing on the soft mattress, her face lit up by a small but happy smile. I could never understand how she managed to convince my parents to buy such a large bed, since five of her spoiled self could have slept in there comfortably, but somehow she did. It was huge, with a pink embroidered bedspread and fluffy pink tulle curtains falling in soft puffs on both sides of it. And it was literally covered in puppets of every shape and color, to the point that it almost disappeared under them.

The rest of the room was exactly like her bed: girly, bubbly and pink. Utterly, completely pink. The wallpaper was white with a soft pattern of pink flowers on it; the curtains of her windows had little pink stars on them, even the chair of her desk was pink.

She loved that color; I, on the other hand, couldn't stand it since the age of four, when a kid in playschool told me that dressed in pink I looked like an Easter egg with bushy hair.

"Oh, I forgot how comfy my bed was! The one at the hospital was so narrow…"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Just because you are used to sleep in a ridiculously large bed. You funny little monkey…" She wrinkled her nose when I called her like that, and buried her face in the soft fur of her peluches.

"I'm not a monkey!" she complained, her voice muffled by the puppets. I chuckled at the sound of her voice, amused and annoyed at the same time.

"Yep, you are! You are my little pink-loving monkey!" It was fun, teasing her like that: I often did that, and we always ended up playing fight together, Emma laughing breathlessly while I tickled her until she gave up.

It was one of our things, one of those big sister-little sister habits we loved so much, like reading fairytales together curled up on the sofa in winter, or watching stars during clear summer nights in July. Emma scoffed and sank further in her toys, almost disappearing under them.

"I love pink, but I AM NOT A MONKEY, HERMIONE!" she screeched, her voice raising of two octaves at the end of the sentence. "Ok, sweetie, got it. No monkeys here, just cute little Emmas," I said, giving up and leaning against the doorframe, watching her with affection.

My little Em, my funny monkey, my baby. Maybe it was because of the twelve years of age difference between us, but I had always adored her, since the very day she was born. It was almost like she was mine: I had spent countless hours rocking her when she was just a toddler, and then helping her with everything, from comforting her after she had a bad dream to supporting her bike as she learned to ride it at the park near our house. She was bright and bubbly, she could bring out my happiness and joy -a thing no one else, not even my parents, were able to do-, and there was no one in the world I loved more than her. I smiled seeing her so calm and happy just to be home, so I assumed she wouldn't have blown up anything if I left her alone in there for a while.

My room was right next to hers, but there were no flowers on my door, just the words Hermione's Room written in a neat cursive, the deep blue of the paint I had used standing out on the white wood. I pushed the door open and stepped in, always supporting most of my weight on my crutches, always with Lavender by my side, like she was ready to steady me in case I lost my balance.

Everything was exactly like I had left it before leaving for the contest at school: my schoolbag abandoned by the desk, the stack of books on my nightstand, the small pile of folded clothes onto the dresser. Just the thin, grey veil of dust covering the honey-colored wooden surfaces of my furniture witnessed that time had passed. I sighed, plopping onto my bed and smoothing the slightly crinkled blue bedspread with my hand.

I had spent so many hours reading or studying there I had lost count of them; it was my space, made for me exactly as I wanted: it was large and relaxing, with the light blue flowers on the wallpaper, the white gauze curtains shielding the dim light just the littlest bit and my almost four hundred books placed neatly on the shelves of the huge bookcase which occupied a whole wall from floor to ceiling. I had always loved it, but, somehow, it just made me sick in that very moment: it was too tidy, too silent without all those noises I was used to hear from all around the house.

Suddenly, I was looking forward to leave for England: I had nothing left here, just bits and pieces of my former life. I didn't want to forget, but I needed to heal, and a fresh start in a new Country seemed the perfect way to do it. At least, that was what I hoped.

I didn't want to waste time, so I immediately started packing my things. I didn't have much to bring with me: just my clothes and my books, nothing else. I could have done it by myself, but Lavender insisted in not letting me.

"How could you reach the books on the upper shelves and lift those boxes if you can barely stand on your feet?" she asked me, smiling, as she called her brothers to help us.

The two kids came quick -after all, the Brown family lived on the other side of the road-, complaining with their sister for forcing them to work, but glad to be useful (or, at least, that was what they said).

So, little Tommy, who was seven and in total adoration of Emma, volunteered to help her with her toys, while Andrew, a tall, strong fifteen-years-old, was recruited by Lavender to do the 'hard work'.

We ended up in my room, Lavender putting the stacks of books into the boxes, while I sealed and numbered them and Andrew piled them one on top of the another. It took almost two hours and seventeen boxes to pack all of my books, and when we eventually finished Lavender laughed, pointing at the pile of boxes in the middle of my room.

"How are you supposed to take all of these with you?" she asked, plopping on the floor near my chair. I sighed and made a face, glancing sadly at the packed books. "I can't bring everything with me: I think I'll take just the boxes 1 to 5 -there are my favorite books in them-. The others…I don't know. Maybe I'll leave them here: I doubt there will be much space for us there anyway, so…"

I shrugged and got on my feet, clutching to my desk to prevent me from falling. Lavender made the move to help me, but I shook my head. "No, Lav: I need to do it on my own." I stretched and managed to grab my crutches, which I had left by the bookshelf; I smiled proudly as I straightened my back and walked out without needing help.

Lavender shook her head, laughing softly. "Proud as an eagle and stubborn as a gorilla," she said, teasing me as she and Andrew got up. I stuck out my tongue at her, like I was seven years old, not seventeen, and then I smirked. "I take that as a compliment," I muttered, heading towards Emma's room.

When I got in, I widened my eyes in surprise: there were just four boxes placed by the door in a small pile. Written on them in Tommy's untidy script were respectively the words Dollhouse and Peluches 1, 2 and 3. I stared at Emma in surprise, and she smiled at me, lifting her eyes for a moment from the domino game she and Tommy were playing.

"You-is this everything you are taking?" I asked her, pointing at the four cartons. She nodded absentmindedly. "Yep: I packed my dollhouse, and almost all of the puppets I had on my bed. I thought I couldn't take everything with me, so I chose the things I liked most," she said simply, shrugging.

I couldn't suppress a smile: I had packed seventeen boxes of books before understanding I had to take just the ones I loved most, but she had gone straightly to the solution without thinking twice. And she was just five, for Goodness' Sake!

"You've done the right thing, honey, as always," I said, walking over to her and sitting onto her bed. Her cheeks turned pink, as always when someone complimented her, and she smiled. "Tommy helped me to pack everything, and he wrote on the boxes what we put in them."

The kid smiled shyly and ruffled his blondish hair, looking up at me. "Emma did most of the work, I only wrote on the boxes. And just because she can't write yet, or she wouldn't have let me do anything at all," he said, pushing his glasses further on his nose. Lavender shook her head with a loud sigh.

"Just like her sister," she said dramatically, plopping down on the bed next to me. I playfully nudged her, pouting, and Lavender nudged me back. We both laughed, while Emma and Tommy looked at us in confusion. "Why are they laughing?" the boy asked, frowning. Emma slowly shook her head, chewing her lip. "I don't know, but I don't want to become like them when I grow up."

Lavender and her brothers stayed with us for the whole afternoon, and left just before dinner.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Lavender asked me for the for the millionth time in the last two hours. "Mom would be happy to have you for dinner…" I shook my head and smiled, gently pushing her out of the door. "You've already done more than too much for us, Lav. Don't worry, we'll be fine."

She nodded solemnly. "Yes, ma'am," she said with a smirk. I rolled my eyes, sighing. "Rest, soldier. See you tomorrow, 'kay?"

"'kay, Mione. Bye!"

I closed the door and sighed, leaning against it for a moment: suddenly the house seemed too big and empty to me.

"Mione, I'm hungry!" Emma's complain made me smile, and I slowly stepped into the kitchen, where the little monkey was sitting on the counter by the sink. I wondered how she had climbed up there, since the wooden surface was as tall as her and there were no out of place chairs she could have used as a stair, but I preferred not to investigate further.

"If you are hungry, you will have to help me: it would be difficult to cook with these," I said, swaying slightly my crutches. Emma nodded enthusiastically: she loved to help in the kitchen when Lavender and I baked a cake or something like that. "Perfect: I'll just need the large pan, some pasta and a bottle of tomato sauce, one of those ones onto the lower shelves…"

She didn't even let me finish the sentence: she jumped down and ran to take everything, a huge smile lighting up her face.

Half an hour later we were sitting in the living room, our plates balanced on the arm of the sofa, watching Emma's favorite cartoon, the Disney's Little Mermaid. She absolutely loved it, and I totally agreed with her: it was the one I liked most when I was little.

We ate quickly, and then Emma curled up against my side, resting her head on my shoulder and watching the movie in silence.

"I like this part," she whispered after a while. "When Ariel meets the prince but she can't talk to him." She looked up at me, a faint smile tilting her lips. "You are like the Little Mermaid now: it's like you are not used to have legs, so you can't walk well. But it won't last for long, won't it?"

I smiled back at her, pulling her closer to my side. "No, honey, it won't last long. A few weeks, maybe, but then I'll be as good as new, I promise." She nodded and turned her attention back to the movie, not walking again until it was over.

"Ok, Em, bedtime," I said softly as the end titles of the cartoon began to pass onto the screen. She nodded and got up in silence, bouncing away. I switched off the tv and went to the bathroom we shared to brush my teeth. Then I went to her room, sure to find her already in bed, but she wasn't there. Where was she?

Then a thought hit me, and I slowly walked to the door at the end of the corridor, the one I hadn't had the courage of opening for the whole day. It wasn't closed anymore, so I pushed it open further, while tears welled up in my eyes.

My parents' bedroom, still untouched after all that time: my mother's perfume and make up things on the dresser, one of my father's sweaters thrown carelessly on the chair in the corner, their dressing robes neatly folded at the end of their bed, like everything was normal, waiting for them to come home.

Then I saw her, curled up between their pillows, sobbing silently. I felt a wave of sadness raise in my chest and I stumbled to the bed, pulling her in my arms and rocking her back and forth.

"Shh, honey," I whispered, while tears streamed down my face. "It's ok, Em. It's ok. We are going to be ok." I waited for a few minutes until she calmed down, and then I managed to smile at her.

"How about sleeping here tonight?" I asked softly, stroking her bushy hair. She sniffed and nodded, her blue eyes still shining with tears. I knew what I had to do. I took my mother's nightgown from under the pillow and put it on instead of my pajamas, breathing in the familiar scent of her, a mixture of perfume, shampoo and, well, just mum. Emma nestled in my arms, closing her eyes, and I held her close, singing softly her favorite lullaby, one from a Celine Dion's cd my mother loved.

My precious one, my tiny one,

Lay down your pretty head

My dearest one, my sleepy one,

It's time to go to bed

My precious one, my darling one,

Don't let your lashes weep

My cherished one, my weary one,

It's time to go to sleep

Just bow your head

And give your cares to me

Just close your eyes

And fall into the sweetest dreams

Cause in my loving arms

You are safe as you will ever be

So hush my dear and sleep

And in your dreams

You'll ride on angels' wings

Dance with the stars

And touch the face of God

And if you should awake

My precious one, my tiny one

I'll kiss your little cheek

And underneath the smiling moon

I'll sing you back to sleep

By the time I had sung the last line, Emma's breathing had slowed and deepened, and her eyelids had fluttered closed while she drifted off to sleep.

I felt sleepy too, so I closed my eyes with a sigh, relishing the memories of my mother's voice as she sang that same song to Emma in the room next to mine, knowing I would have been listening too. It seemed like ages ago, even if the last time I listened to her lulling Emma to sleep was just the day before the accident.

Things had changed so much since that night…But at least I was alive. A little messed up and barely standing on my feet, but I was alive. And Emma was too, thanking God for my parents' decision to leave her home with our neighbor, an old woman they had known for something like twenty years, since the day they moved in our flat. We were together, and this was enough to me.

Lavender and Tommy came to visit us right after breakfast, and they stayed with us the whole day, helping us packing all of our clothes in two huge suitcases and filling a box with our favorite CDs and DVDs, and with our family albums, three thick, heavy books which contained something like five hundreds -literally- of pictures, from when my parents met at college to my seventeenth birthday, last July. I wanted to take them with me to remember. I would have never admitted it, but I was afraid, afraid of…forgetting. Of forgetting what my parents looked like, or what it felt like when they hugged me.

This way, I could have seen them every time I wanted, happy and joyful as they had always been.

At about five that afternoon the courier boy from DHL came to get the boxes, which we had checked again and again during the day, and I signed the papers he handed me, since I would have been the one to get them once in England. Seeing him loading our things on the truck made me understand how close we were to leaving, and I felt a wave of sadness, along with excitement, well up in my chest at the thought of going away, of leaving everything behind me and have a fresh start.

Emma spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Tommy in her room -I knew she would have missed him, since they had been best mates for almost their whole lives-, while Lavender and I talked about everything and nothing at the same time, recalling every laugh we had shared, every prank we had set up when we were kids, every summer spent together here in Seattle or to their house on the beach near Port Angeles.

And then, it was time for them to leave. I would have said goodbye to Lavender the next morning, since she had convinced her parents to take her to the airport with us, but for Emma and Tommy that was the last time they would have seen each other in months. I knew it would have not been simple for them, since they were used to see each other every day almost since they were born.

"Will you come to visit?" Emma asked in a small voice. "For Christmas, maybe?"

Tommy smiled and nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose, and held out his pinkie finger to her. "Pinkie swear," he said as she smiled widely. "Even if you are in England nothing will change: we will always be best friends. I'll send you emails, Lavender taught me how to do so. Hermione could help you reply," he suggested.

"And I promise I'll tell you about every prank we make at school, so when you come back next year and you start first grade you can help us organizing them." Emma nodded happily and entwined her pinkie finger with his.

"Pinkie swear," she said, smiling. She waved at Tommy as he and Lavender went out, and sighed when the door closed behind them.

"I'll miss him, Mione," she said in a low, sad voice. I stroked her bushy hair with my free hand -with the other I was gripping to the doorframe in order not to lose my balance-, and smiled.

"I know, honey, but he'll write you, he promised. And he and Lavender will come to visit us at Christmas, and for your birthday in March." She nodded half-heartedly and followed me to the kitchen. I didn't want to cook, so we had ordered pizza. It was our last meal there, so I wanted it to be special.

We ate in the living room like the night before, watching another cartoon -the Beauty and the Beast this time-, and I put Emma to sleep right after that: we would have had to wake up early the next morning, and I wanted her to sleep enough before travelling for so long. We slept in my parents' bedroom again -we felt better somehow doing so, like we felt them closer there than in the rest of the house-, and the next morning we woke to the bright golden light of the sun shimmering through the thin curtains.

I sat up, surprised: it was a very unusual thing, that sun at the end of September. I took it as a good sign, and I smiled, gently caressing Emma's hair to wake her up. "C'mon, Em: today is the day. We have so much to do! Get up and shine!"

She scoffed and threw her pillow at me. "You are always half dead in the morning, why are you so bubbly today?" she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"I'm just happy, honey. See? It's sunny today. It's like the world wants to wish us good luck! C'mon, we have to be ready in an hour!" I almost threw her out of bed, and she squealed and laughed, influenced by my good mood.

We ate and got dressed in record time, and at 8.15, when Lavender and her father rang to our door, we were ready to go.

I smiled sadly, pressing my hand on the door of my parents' bedroom for a second before heading into the hall. A huge wave of sadness caught me, causing tears to well up in my eyes, and Emma gently tugged at the sleeve of my coat.

"It's not like we are saying goodbye to Mom and Dad, you know," she whispered, looking at me with her sweet blue eyes. "This is just the place where we used to live, Mione, but they are not here anymore. You don't have to feel sad…"

I looked at her, surprised by her words: when did she become so mature? Jeez, she was just five: how could she sound so adult and…wise?

"Hermione Granger, if you don't come out within ten seconds from nine seconds ago you are going to miss the plane, and I'm officially going to kill you!"

We both smiled at the amused tone in Lavender's voice as she called us from outside the door, and we walked out.

It was a half an hour ride to the airport, and we spent it in silence, each one of us lost in thoughts.

I would have never admitted it, but since the accident I felt uncomfortable every time I got into a car: I sat still, my body stiff against the seat, my hands balled into fists. Every time I saw a truck on the road my heart squeezed with fear, and I instinctively braced myself like we were going to be hit in a matter of seconds. I knew I would have been afraid of them for a very long time.

Time passed in a blur, and then we were at the gates, ready to get onto the plane. Lavender hugged me tightly, and I held her back -as much as the crutches allowed me-, tears welling up in my eyes and threatening to flow out.

"I'll miss you so much!" she said, sniffling. "What will I do without you?"

I smiled, starting to cry along with her. "You'll do everything, as always. But promise me you'll write!" Lavender laughed, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Write? I'll send you dozens of emails! Every day! And if you don't write back immediately, I'll fly to England and I'll drag you back here!" We hugged again, and then smiled to each other.

"Now go, before you miss the plane," she said, sniffing. I nodded, taking a deep breath, and waved to Mr Brown, who was waiting a few meters away from us. I handed our tickets and documents to the flight assistant, and went into the gate, with Emma safely clutching my sleeve.

So, it was time. I smiled at her and walked to the plane, feeling nervous, unsure and excited like never before.

It was a 13-hours-long flight to London, so we didn't have much to do. Emma slept for most of the time -it seemed like she could sleep the whole day without interruption- and I took the book I had into my handbag, Sense and Sensibility, one of my favorites. I didn't know how many times I had read it, I had lost count, but I still loved it. I read almost half of it, and then drifted off to sleep almost without noticing.

The next thing I knew, the voice from the speaker was telling us to fasten our seatbelts and get ready for landing. Emma was bouncing happily on her seat, asking me what England would have been like and such things. I didn't know much about it, I had to be honest: I just told her that London was a big, busy city and that Ottery St Catchpole, on the other hand, was a small town surrounded by hills and fields. She didn't look satisfied, though, and questioned me until we got off the plane.

It didn't look much different from Seattle: same grey sky, same chilly wind, same thin mist covering everything in the early morning. Anne White had called me the previous day telling me that there would have been a social assistant to get us from the airport to aunt Elspeth's house, so as soon as we got our luggage I started to look around. I didn't know who I was looking for, so I randomly searched through the crowd for someone who looked like he/she was waiting for someone. After a few minutes I saw a young woman looking around with a worried expression; when I met her gaze her eyes lit up, and she almost ran toward us.

"Are you Hermione Granger?" she asked, almost hopefully. I nodded carefully: was she the social assistant? I looked at her: she was in her early twenties; her honey blonde hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail, and her green eyes were at the same time relieved and hesitant. Plus, she wasn't dressed as a social assistant: jeans, purple trainers and a dark coat.

"I'm Elizabeth Firth. They sent me here to accompany you to your new house."

She must had noticed the slightly skeptical look in my eyes, because she blushed slightly. "You know, I have just started to work. They sent me because I am not much older than you, and they thought you might be more comfortable with someone more or less your age."

I smiled at her. "They were right, I think. Sorry, I was just expecting one of those strict women dressed in black, you know, the stereotypical social assistant." She laughed softly, wrinkling her freckles-dotted nose. "Yes, if I were you I would have done the same." Then Emma looked at her from behind my back, and Elizabeth smiled at her. "And you must be Emma, I presume?" Emma chewed her lip, like she was considering whether she should have answered or not.

And then: "You have a lot of freckles," she said, very matter-of-factly. Elizabeth made a funny face. "Well, it's one of the main flaws of us English people: lots and lots of freckles." Emma smiled and nodded, still staying close to my side, her small hand gripping my sleeve.

"C'mon, it's more than an hour to Ottery St Catchpole, and I bet you both are tired from the long journey." I nodded with a half-smile and followed her outside in the car lot.

Her car was small, of a brilliant red, shining even in the dim, grey light of the cloudy morning. We somehow managed to load our huge suitcases and bags in the narrow luggage van and in the passenger seat, and we slipped in the backseats.

"Ok, ready?" asked Elizabeth flashing us a brilliant smile. I nodded, and before I could say something the car jumped forward, zigzagging crazily in the traffic. I stiffened against the seat, and Emma pulled closer to me, clutching her seatbelt.

I watched in horror as the car sped across a traverse like there were no cars in the street. Horns blew behind us, and for a moment the terrific memory of the accident made my head spin. God, she was nuts! I was literally terrified, to the point that I completely ignored the monuments passing by outside the windows: I was too worried about the concrete possibility to crash into a wall, a street light or another car in a matter of seconds.

It was just due to blind luck that we got out of London without hurting ourselves badly.

My relief disappeared quickly, though, when Elizabeth sped further as soon as we got on the almost empty road. The landscapes surrounding us were wonderful -hills, fields and wide skies everywhere, so much different from the grey asphalt and tall buildings I was used to in Seattle-, but it was hard to concentrate on them for more than a few seconds, since they sped past us in a confused blur.

After an hour and twenty minutes of that torture, Elizabeth finally slowed down to a reasonable speed, and both Emma and I sighed in relief.

We were passing through a small, cute town like the ones I had only seen in movies: there was no traffic, and there were no skyscrapers, but just tiny, country-looking detached houses. It looked absolutely…perfect. Idyllic. There was no other way to describe it. I felt my own face light up with surprise, and I smiled: I had barely seen the town, and I loved it yet.

I was surprised, so, when we drove past it, towards the hills.

"Where are we going?" I asked Elizabeth, surprised. She smiled, pointing at an indefinite spot a little ahead of us.

"Your aunt lives a little away from the town. Don't worry, it's right behind this turn." As she spoke, a house came into view. It was large, made out of square stones; the large windows were white, as the embossed entrance door, and the flat roof tiles were dark grey. A thick tangle of ivy clung to the front of the house, making it look like an ancient residence of a noble family and giving something…magical to the whole building. I totally loved it.

We quickly got off the car, Emma running ahead dragging her suitcase behind her, while I followed her, a crutch in one hand, supporting me, and the handle of my luggage in the other. Elizabeth tried to help me, but I refused: I was feeling better yet, and even if it took a bit of an effort to walk with only one stick, I could do that.

We got to the door, and I hesitated for a moment before ringing the small, slightly rusty bell on the right of the door. For a few seconds everything was silent; then I heard slow, muffled footsteps inside, and an old woman opened the door.

She was a few inches shorter than me, and really, really thin. Her face was completely covered in crinkles; her dark brown eyes -the same color of mine and my father's- were a little out of focus, and her smile seemed vague, distracted.

"Hello?" she said, furrowing and sounding slightly confused. Elizabeth smiled, gesturing towards us. "Hello, Mrs Granger," she said brightly. "I'm Elizabeth, the social assistant who came to talk to you last week, do you remember?" The woman nodded, a sparkle of understanding lighting up in her eyes.

"So, these are the girls?" she asked, looking at us with a new attention. "Yes, it's them."

Aunt Elspeth looked at me, slightly crooking her neck, and smiled. "You know, you look exactly like your mother," she said softly. "But you have the eyes of us Granger." I blushed slightly and smiled at the compliment. "And you too, sweetie," she said, looking at Emma. "But your eyes are of the most wonderful blue I had ever seen." Emma smiled back at her, her eyes lit up with curiosity.

"So, I guess I would better go," said Elizabeth, smiling at the three of us. "I will call soon to hear how you are going, ok?" I nodded, waving at her as she jogged back to her car.

"Hey, Elizabeth!" I called before she started the engine. Her blonde head popped out of the window. "How old are you?" I asked, slightly amused: at the airport she had said that she was more or less my age, but she hadn't told me how old she really was. She smiled a brilliant smile, waving. "Twenty one from last week!" she answered, waving and starting the engine. The red car jerked forward with a loud screech, and she quickly disappeared at the end of the road.

"She drives like a drunk monkey," Emma muttered as soon as she was out of view. Aunt Elspeth laughed softly and gestured for us to come in.

"You must be tired after travelling so far. Come and sit down, I'll make some tea."

Emma and I exchanged a happy glance and followed her inside, closing the door behind us.

Ron's POV:

"Hey, have you heard the news?"

I sighed as my sister ran into the living room, a wide smile on her face. "No, Gin, what?" I asked, smiling at her enthusiasm. She plopped on the sofa beside me. "Someone has moved with old Mrs Granger. You know those two girls she talked about last time Mum visited her?"

I looked at her with a blank expression, and she scoffed. "Ron, you were there too! She said her two grand-nieces were coming to stay with her, remember?" I recalled something -vaguely-.

"The two girls who were supposed to come from America?" I asked doubtfully. She nodded, her ginger hair bouncing around her happy self. "Yes, them. Well, Mum and I were doing the shopping, and we met Rita-"

I scowled at her. "That gossiping Skeeter goose? Gin, you know she talks just to tan her tongue!"

She laughed at my words, and nudged me in the ribs. "She didn't say anything bad today, Ron. She just told us that she had seen this red car stopping in front of Mrs Granger's house, and these two girls coming out of it."

I threw an annoyed glance out of the window, scoffing. I couldn't stand even hearing the name of that Rita: she was the founder of our local gazette, and she loved gossiping about everything and everyone in town, to the point that many people avoided her purposefully.

"She didn't say anything bad because she had barely seen them. Wait for her to know these two girls, and you'll hear how much meanness will come out of that large mouth of hers," I muttered, shaking my head. Ginny sighed.

"Oh, come on, Ron, you big git! Anyway, I talked to Luna, and we agreed it would be nice to go visit Mrs Granger and welcome the newcomers. Do you want to come with us?"

I looked at the huge amount of undone homework waiting on the table in front of me, and shook my head. "Not this time, Gin, I'm sorry. I have a Chemistry essay due on Monday, and the professor will kill me if I don't do it properly. He would use any excuse to give me detention, and if I get into trouble again, Mum will ground me something, like, forever."

Ginny smirked and got up, stretching. "Well, I'll go: I told Luna I would have been at her house at half past sixteen, and I hate being late. See you later, Big Brother!" I waved at her and sank back into the sofa: I loved my sister, but sometimes she was just too much.

I shot a sideways glance at my Chemistry book and sighed, taking it and heading upstairs to my room. It would have been a long afternoon.

Ok, guys, sorry it took so much to update, but I had to study like crazy this week. I didn't know well how to introduce Ron into the story, so I assumed starting to see things from his POV would be a good idea. Guess who's the terrible Chemistry professor he's so afraid of… ^-^ And a big thank you to all of my reviewers: I'm glad you like the story!