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"AAAAUUUGHHH!"

It isn't a really fun experience to wake up to the thought of is someone dying?

Did Death Eaters get in?

Did VOLDEMORT get in?!

But that's what woke me up on Monday morning.

I roll out of bed, grabbing my wand off the nightstand even though I really couldn't use it and sprinting out the door at a speed that was extremely fast for it being as early as it was. I follow the screaming out to the kitchen, wondering if someone had managed to slice themselves open with a knife.

But no, it's just Ron. Ron screaming his head off at…I wasn't sure what that was. It was kind of red, and definitely lacy, with frills. It was ugly, but my sleep-riddled brain couldn't understand why he was screaming.

"Whassit?" I mumble, leaning against the counter.

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley startles, just now seeing me in the doorway. "Did we wake you, Orissa? I'm so sorry – Ronald is just a bit, ah, upset about his dress robes."

"Dress robes?!" Ron shrieks. "These aren't dress robes! This is - this is a rug! That I won't wear!"

"Ronald, please," Mrs. Weasley sighs, sounding about at the end of her rope. "You need dress robes-"

"Why?" he howls.

"This says for formal events," I mutter, having crossed the room to pick up the supplies list that was on the table.

"What formal events?" he asks furiously. I just shrug and rub my eyes, still half-asleep.

"And anyway," Ron continues, "Harry's are nice!" He waves at a simple green set of robes laid out on the table. "Why do mine have to look like - well, this?"

"Because...because I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't much choice!" Mrs. Weasley shouts, face turning a deep red.

"Why is everything I own rubbish?" Ron whines - I fully expected him to stomp his foot and wave his arms like a toddler throwing a fit.

"Ronald, shut the bloody hell up!" I snap, marching up to him and crossing my arms. "You're acting like a spoiled brat. Your mother would get you something better if she could, so don't you dare throw a fit because you can't have everything in the world! At least you have a roof over your head, food to eat, and a family."

Ron starts to protest, but I cut him off with a glare. "Don't argue. I'm tired and cranky because someone's yelling woke me up…" I glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. "An hour and a half before I was supposed to be up. Bugger off."

Ron gapes at me for a moment before dropping the robes in an unceremonious pile and storming out of the kitchen.

I sigh and pick the bundle up, listening to his footsteps thunder up the stairs.

"Thank you, Orissa," Mrs. Weasley says as she takes the robes from me and lays them next to Harry's. "I'm so sorry about him waking you up - I should've cast a Silencing Charm…"

"It's no problem," I yawn. "Ron's a git sometimes - sorry," I apologize at her stern look. I step around her to get a better look at the robes. "D'you know why we need dress robes?"

"Not entirely," she admits. "But I bought Fred and George some too, and Harry's - I figured I would let you and Hermione shop for your own, since I didn't know what you liked."

I nod, rubbing a hand over my face as I sink into a chair, laying my head on the table with a thunk.

"Would you like some tea, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks. "It's the least I can do."

I mutter something against the table, but apparently she takes that as a 'yes' because a little while later I hear the kettle whistle and then the plink of a saucer and cup being put down next to my head. "There you go. Be careful, it's hot."

I mutter my thanks and pick up my head, reaching for the cup.

After I'd finished my tea (if Mrs. Weasley thinks I didn't taste the Pepper-Up Potion, she'd be wrong) I make my way back upstairs, change into the clothes I'd wear until changing into my robes, and return to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley with breakfast, since I wasn't getting back to bed anytime soon.

People started trickling down after another half-hour, and I quickly start dishing out the eggs, bangers, and toast Mrs. Weasley had made. About halfway through breakfast, there was a loud chime from the living room, and Percy gets up to investigate.

"Dad!" his voice calls a moment later. "Urgent call for you! It's from work!"

"Coming!" Mr. Weasley rushes downstairs, followed by Harry and George. "Go back in the kitchen, boys. And get the door, would you?"

There's some murmuring coming from the living room followed by some shuffling as Percy comes back into the kitchen, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"What is it?" George demands.

"None of your concern," he says coolly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must get to work - Mr. Crouch may be promoting me soon, you know…"

"Yeah, he may even know your name soon!" George calls after his older brother.

"They're talking about Mad-Eye," Ginny, who had an ear pressed against the door, reports as soon as Percy's disappeared up the stairs.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" Fred asks, perking up. "That old nutter? What're they saying?"

"I don't know, Fred, be quiet!"

"Budge over, Gin-Gin, let me listen…"

I lean a little closer to George and whisper, "Who's Mad-Eye Moody?"

"He works at the Ministry," he explains softly. "I met him once, when Dad took Fred and me to work with him." I raise an eyebrow, and he rolls his eyes. "Dad only did it once. Anyways, Mad-Eye's an Auror - kind of a wizard please-men-"

"Policeman," I correct automatically.

"Right. That. And he's really good at it, too. Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. But he's made his fair share of enemies too - families of the captured wizards and such, so he's a bit paranoid. Sees Dark wizards at every turn. Barmy, if you ask me. What're they saying, Fred?"

"That he's been kidnapped," the other twin reports. "They're calling Dad in because he's got muggle rubbish bins shooting off garbage."

George snorts in amusement and glances at me. "See? Barmy."

I chuckle in agreement before standing up. "Harry, help me with the plates. Everyone should probably check their trunks…"

"Yes, Mum," six voices chorus as they all head for the stairs.

I scowl after them but follow, completing one last check of my trunk before grabbing Tyche's cage and tucking it under my arm, taking care not to wake the sleeping owl.

It takes a while to get all six trunks downstairs, as well as two owls (since Hedwig was flying to Hogwarts) and one ornery cat, but we somehow make it outside without major incident.

I wasn't the only one surprised to find three perfectly normal muggle taxicabs waiting when we walked into the muggle village nearest the Burrow.

"I had Bill call them earlier," Mrs. Weasley explains. "They don't look too happy, do they?"

I bite my tongue to keep from explaining that taxi drivers weren't happy about dealing with one mad cat, one hyperactive owl, and the batch of fireworks that went off in Fred's trunk.

The ride into London was cramped, painful, and uncomfortable; Ginny, Mrs. Weasley and I were all stuffed in the backseat of one taxi, along with two trunks and Tyche's cage. To make matters worse, it was beginning to rain, and by the time we got out at King's Cross, I could smell a storm in the air.

We find Platform 9 and 3/4 within minutes and split into groups; the Golden Trio slips through first, followed by the twins and I, and then Ginny and her mother.

The Hogwarts Express was already waiting, magnificent as always and billowing steam everywhere.

"You'll be safe?" Mrs. Weasley asks, ready-eyed, as she hugs us goodbye. "Try not to get in too much trouble, boys - and that means you too, Orissa."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," I sigh with my fingers crossed behind my back and a wink at Fred. "Thanks again for letting us stay at the Burrow."

"It's never a problem, dear. I'd invite you to stay over Christmas, but I imagine you'll want to stay because of...certain events."

I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously, but she just gives me a hug and nudges me towards the train. "Go on, you don't want to miss the train."

I hesitate, but I'm cowed by a stern look. I grab my trolley and shove it toward the train, stowing my luggage before climbing on myself.

I track Harry, Ron, and Hermione to a compartment about midway down the train.

"Ron, what was your mum talking about on the platform?"

"Beats me," Ron mutters around a pumpkin pastry – apparently someone had already been to raid the trolley. "It sounded like something was happening over Christmas."

"I'm going to find out, one way or another," I declare boldly. "Just watch."

"Sure, Ori," Hermione replies in that absent tone that parents used on toddlers. I look over to see her with her nose buried in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, not paying any attention to me. I could've declared that I was going to visit the moon on the back of a flying pig and she wouldn't have noticed.

I roll my eyes and grab my copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. If you couldn't beat them…

I had just gotten through the preface when a familiar voice floats into our compartment. "Father wanted me to go to Durmstrang, you know, but Mother wouldn't let me. The education is much better there…Karkaroff won't allow certain types in, if you know what I mean."

I look up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway in all his overly-gelled, smarmy glory. "Hello, Malfoy. Tell me, have your lips healed alright?"

He sneers at me before turning to Ron. "Tell me, Weasley, will you enter?"

I blink, caught off guard by the question. "Sorry?"

"I wasn't talking to you, Black, although I suppose you'd be the type to enter as well…always trying to please your father…"

"Like you aren't?" I scoff. "And I have no idea what you're on about. Either make sense or leave."

"You mean they haven't told you?" Malfoy asks. "My parents told me weeks ago. Maybe your father isn't high enough in the Ministry, Weasley…yes, they wouldn't discuss this in front of him…"

I grit my teeth together. "Malfoy, I'm warning you. Three…"

"Ooh, I'm positively shaking."

"Two…"

"What are you going to do, Black? Blow me up?"

"One. Flipendo!"

Malfoy goes flying backward, and another jet of light hits him just before Hermione slams the compartment door shut.

I slip my wand back in my pocket and look around to see Ron doing the same. "What did you hit him with?"

He smiles wickedly. "Something Fred and George taught me. He'll be itchy you-know-where for the next week. Nasty rash, that is."

I match his smile. "I know the one." I return to my seat, setting the textbook aside. "But what was he talking about? What does his father know that yours doesn't?"

"Something dark, most likely," Harry suggests snidely.

"It might be the same thing Mrs. Weasley knew about," Hermione suggests.

"So you think Dad knew too and isn't telling us?" Ron asks, and Hermione nods. "Great. Nobody tells us anything. Don't we have the right to know? I mean, you're the bloody Boy-Who-Lived!"

"Right, because that entitles me to all the information in the world," Harry deadpans.

I roll my eyes. "It could be some tiny thing that you're blowing way out of proportion. Don't get all pissy over it."

Ron slumps into a sulk, and I just watch him for a moment before returning to my book. Ron doesn't talk much for the rest of the train ride, not even when we all get changed into robes and the train stops, the rain now coming down in sheets.

Thankfully, one of the nearby staff members was casting Shielding Charms on students as we got off the train, so thankfully Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I stayed mainly dry as we approached the carriages.

Then something makes me skid to a halt, feet sliding on the wet leaves. "What is that?"

Hermione gives me a curious look. "What is what?"

I point. The carriages, which – I swear – had been horseless for the past two years, were now being pulled by one of the strangest creatures I'd ever seen. They look like someone had taken a Pegasus, stripped it down to the literal bare bones, and then stretched a very thin layer of skin over everything.

Hermione follows my gaze and frowns. "Ori…there's nothing there. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," I assure her, but a quick glance at the boys shows that they don't see anything either.

"This is great," I sigh, turning to Harry as we climb into the carriage. "You hear voices, and I see things."

He gives me a wry smirk. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

The carriages rumble up the path towards the castle gates, and soon enough we're all standing in front of the castle steps, hurrying towards the doors.

The castle is as warm, dry, and welcoming as always, and I let out an involuntary sigh as I step into the Entrance Hall.

"Home, sweet home."