It was quite possibly the worst Hazel had ever felt.

That was a bold claim after eleven long years of living with the Dursleys and there were plenty of contenders. There had been her first day in primary school, when everyone had laughed at her for having a uniform two sizes too big. There was the day she had set fire to Dennis Miggin's lunchbox as he teased her and there was any time spent with Aunt Marge. Every day of the whole last year could count as well, they'd only gotten worse and worse as they'd gone on.

Nope, this beat them all.

For reasons she'd never understood, the Dursleys had never made her live under the stairs like they had Harry. For as long as she could remember, the smallest bedroom in the house had been hers. Maybe there hadn't been enough room. All these years and she'd never realised how lucky she was.

She could barely move in the tiny space. Even though she was smaller than Harry, she was sharing her new home with a cauldron, a trunk, and a broomstick. The broomstick was the worst roommate of all, the bristles it kept jabbing her any time she moved and there wasn't even enough space for her to lie down properly. The vent was always closed so unless she had the light on, the cupboard was in constant darkness. The air was stale and hot. It was like trying to breath in a hoover bag.

Aunt Petunia opened the door to bring her food three times a day, usually the previous night's stone-cold dinner. In between her stomach ached terribly. She quickly lost track of how many days it had been. Her mouth was bone dry from the dust and her lips stung where they had cracked.

To think she'd been worried about Stonewall High. At this rate she'd be lucky to get back in the living room. It really was the cherry on top of what had been the worst year of her life. Ever since Harry had gone to Hogwarts and Dudley to Smeltings, her aunt and uncle had treated her like a cross between an unexploded bomb and a hideous slug. Stuck with her, just as she was stuck with them.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Uncle Vernon was going upstairs. Each step rained dust down on her head and she covered her aching eyes. A few spiders fell into her hair, and she scrambled madly to get them out.

There was a lighter set of footsteps on the stairs. That was Aunt Petunia going up as well, so it had to be evening. That meant next was…

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The whole cupboard shook. If she hadn't known better, she would have guessed a baby elephant was going up to bed. The dust fell thickly over her shoulders, and she coughed violently as it stung her throat and her nose.

Her eyelids drooped but there was no hope of sleep. Any time she half-drifted off, the cramp in her legs or the jabbing broomstick or the fear of spiders would wake her up again. It would be like that for hours, until those same footsteps came back downstairs, until the door was opened for her morning bathroom break. How much more of this could she take? How had Harry put up with it for so long?

He was so strong, her brother. So much stronger than her.

She had no idea how much later it was that she heard a car revving. That was nothing new, the local boy racers liked driving up and down the quieter parts of town. At least she knew it was early in the morning. She lowered her head back to her knees and tried to move so whatever was poking her back would stop. Harry's favourite or not, if she ever got out of this cupboard she was going to break that bloody broomstick over her knee.

Footsteps on the stairs.

She didn't dare look up and risk a face full of dust, but these steps were different, softer. Aunt Petunia never came down at night and, as they weren't bending the wood each time, they couldn't be Dudley's.

There were whispers out in the hall, just beyond her door. Was it burglars? Who else could it be? She wasn't as scared as she thought she'd be, just numb to everything by now. Were they going to steal the television? Dudley might die of shock if they did.

The whispers stopped at her door. Were they going to nick the hoover? Her shoulders tensed and she placed a hand on handle of Harry's broom. Maybe it could do some good at last.

A gentle rap on the door.

"Hello?" Whispered a voice, "We're friends of Harry's. We're going to open the door. Please don't scream."

"Well," Said a second voice, eerily similar to the second, "You can if you want but it'll not be helpful."

The bolt slid back, and the door opened.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the moonlight, so dazzling after the darkness of the cupboard. In front of her were two boys identical in every way, from their flaming red hair to their jumpers to their grins. Clearly her eyes needed to do a bit more adjusting.

"Hazel?" Asked the boy on the left.

She must have finally snapped. There was no other explanation. She was going mad.

"Guess not, George," said the other boy, "We must have the wrong cupboard under the stairs."

"Sorry, let us introduce ourselves." Said the first boy pointing to himself, "George and Fred Weasley. We know Harry from school."

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was croaky.

"Oh, charming," said the one she thought was George?

"We're here," said the other one, Fred? "To get Harry's broom, his trunk, his cauldron and, oh yeah, his sister."

"Come on." George offered her a hand.

If it was a dream, then at least her dream self could stretch her legs.

She took his hand and George pulled her up to her feet. Every joint felt stiff and sore. She hadn't realised how huge the hall was before. It was like a palace.

"You go upstairs," George whispered, "We'll get the rest of the stuff."

She crept up the stairs as carefully as she could with limbs feeling like rubber. Uncle Vernon and Dudley wouldn't have woken if they'd marched around their rooms playing trombones but if Aunt Petunia heard so much as a whisper…

The bedroom door was open. How they had unlocked it, she had no idea. Magic, perhaps? Harry was at the window, passing his birthday present out to another red-haired boy in the front seat of a…

Okay, she was definitely dreaming. She had to be. Because it looked to her like he was sitting in a car parked at their first-floor window.

"Hazel!" Harry took her up in a bone-crushing hug, "Are you hurt? Have they been starving you?"

"I'm fine," She wheezed, "Only I think I've gone mad."

"This is nothing. Wait until you get to Hogwarts," Harry pulled her over to the window by her sleeve, "Ron, this is Hazel, my sister."

"Hi," said Ron awkwardly, "Do you need a hand?"

He helped her climb up onto the drawers and onto the backseat just as Fred and George appeared with the rest of Harry's school things. It was a bit of a faff, but they got everything sorted and the twins climbed in too. Her brother grabbed Hedwig's cage and handed it out to Ron in the car.

The cage slipped.

Hedwig screeched as the cage bounced off the cabinet and across the bedroom floor. Down the hall came a booming voice, "THAT RUDDY OWL!"

Harry had gone pale as he scrambled down and grabbed the screeching Hedwig. He had just passed her out to Hazel when the bedroom door flew open to reveal Uncle Vernon in his stripey pyjamas. With a roar like an angry gorilla, he charged across the room and grabbed Harry by the ankle. Her brother cried out as he was pulled back towards the bedroom.

"Petunia!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, "He's getting away! He's getting away!"

George and Ron grabbed Harry by the arms and tried to pull him into the car, but Uncle Vernon was a heavy man. Harry was slipping through their grip.

"You're going nowhere, boy!" Uncle Vernon bared his teeth, "Just wait until I get you back into this room…"

He was going to fall! He was going to punished so horribly she couldn't imagine it. Her heart thumped against her chest at the sight of Uncle Vernon's big blotchy, purple face, his bared yellow teeth, and his cruel, dark eyes.

"No!" She shouted.

There was a bang and a yell of surprise. Uncle Vernon was thrown out of the room and into the hall with a crash.

"Put your foot down Fred!" Ron yelled as they hauled Harry into the car.

The engine revved and the car shot up into the night sky. Harry landed on the backseat in a mishmash of jumpers and red hair. When he had untangled himself, he leant out the window and looked back at the stunned Dursleys.

"See you next summer!" He called.

The Weasleys roared with laughter. Hazel did not. What had she done? Had she actually attacked her uncle? Punishments were flooding her mind again, only now she was suffering them rather than Harry.

It was hard to be worried for very long as the car rose up beyond the silvery clouds and amongst the stars. It was beautiful, the night sky the deepest blue she had ever seen, and the moon shone like a torch. Non-flying cars snaked beneath them like fireflies and towns appeared as little clusters of glowing lights.

She shivered fiercely. She was only wearing a t-shirt and the car was absolutely freezing! Maybe she should have brought her dressing gown. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm.

Harry put his jumper over her shoulders, "Don't worry about Uncle Vernon."

"What's there to worry about?" She said as her teeth chattered, "It's not like we tore a hole in his wall or threw him across the room or anything."

"That was pretty cool what you did back there," George said from the backseat, "Very nicely timed."

"I didn't mean it."

"I don't think anyone's complaining," said Fred, "Except maybe your uncle, and who cares about him?"

"This is just more proof you belong at Hogwarts," Harry nodded his head in that annoying way he did when he knew he was right.

"Even though I'm not going?"

"What? You don't want to go?" asked Ron in astonishment.

"Of course I do! Just, I'm not sure they'll have me."

"Hazel doesn't think she's magical enough to go to Hogwarts," Harry explained with a grin.

"Are you joking?" George laughed, "Anybody who can do that is definitely magical enough to go to Hogwarts. They let Ron in, and all he did was turn his hair white. He looked like Great Uncle Bilius."

Ron scowled and turned to Harry, "So what's been going on? Why haven't you been answering my letters all summer?"

As Harry told the long story of the summer, Hazel found her eyes getting heavier and heavier. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon and the sky was glowing a fierce pink. It was still freezing, and the seat wasn't particularly soft, but it was the most comfortable she'd felt in a very long time.

"Not far to go now, that's the village," George gestured down at a tiny group of lights, "Ottery Saint Catchpole. Only ten minutes away. Just as well, it's getting light."

"Perfect," said Fred from the front seat, "We'll park up the car, sneak in before mum wakes up and no one need ever know we flew her tonight."

The world was bathed in a warm orange glow as the car touched down with a jolt. It stopped in front of the most remarkable house Hazel had ever seen. It looked like it might have started life as a large stone pigsty, but more floors and rooms had been added and added until it looked like a giant stack of cards, swaying slightly in the breeze. The garden grass was long and filled with enough clutter to give Aunt Petunia a heart-attack while chickens wandered and clucked happily in the courtyard.

There was a sign stuck in the ground at an angle beside the gate. It read 'The Burrow.'

"It's not much," Ron said as he went a bit pink.

"It's brilliant!" Harry said and Hazel had to agree. It was as far from the boxy, soulless Privet Drive as it was possible to be.

"Right," George said, "We'll sneak back up to our rooms. Harry, Hazel, you go with Ron. Then when mum's up you can run down and say, 'look who turned up in the night!' and no one need be any the wiser."

"Right, you two, come on. My room's just up the…uh oh."

Ron had gone a nasty green colour. Everyone else turned to see a plump woman with vivid red hair approaching like an army officer. She was wearing an apron and had a wand sticking out of the front pocket. She had a kind face, or at least as kind a face as anyone who looked as livid as she did could.

"Ah," said George.

"Oh dear," said Fred.

So much for the plan then.

Mrs Weasley, for it couldn't be anyone else, erupted at her sons. She bellowed herself hoarse at the three boys who cowered before her, despite them all being quite a bit taller than she was.

Hazel wrapped her arms around herself and tried to be as small as possible. Would Mrs Weasley's anger be worse than Uncle Vernon's? Uncle Vernon was bigger and purplier, but he also couldn't do magic.

At last, red-faced and breathless, she turned to the Potters. Hazel held her breath and braced for the inevitable. Even Harry took a half-step back.

"Welcome dears," she said in a suddenly kind voice. Hazel's gasped quietly in surprise. She was being nice? Where had that come from? "Come in, come in. You must be hungry."

Both looked at Ron. He gave them a big thumbs up.

The kitchen was as incredible as the house. Pots and pans, plates and bowls were piled up the ceiling and cleaning themselves in the sink. The floor was so littered with clothes that Aunt Petunia would have fainted in shock. There was a large clock in the corner with no numbers but things like 'Time to Feed the Chickens' and 'You're late'. There was something wonderful no matter where she looked, from the huge fireplace topped with books like "Charm your own Cheese" and "Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests" to the radio which was playing something called 'Witch's Weekly'. The air smelt of sizzling sausages and crackling bacon. Her stomach rumbled longingly.

Mrs Weasley started dishing out breakfast as soon as everyone was seated at the large, wooden table. Every so often she'd shoot her sons a glare and mutter under her breath things like "don't know what you were thinking" and "completely irresponsible."

"They were starving them, mum!" Ron protested.

"You be quiet!" The snappy response made Hazel flinch, but Mrs Weasley was perfectly pleasant when she spoke to her.

"Here you are, my dear," She tipped half a dozen sausages onto her plate, "There's more if you'd like them."

The breakfast was the best thing she had ever eaten. The largest as well, no sooner had she cleared her plate than Mrs Weasley was back with more of everything.

A figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a small and red-haired girl about Hazel's age in a nightgown. She saw Harry, froze on the spot, and fled back up the stairs.

Was that normal?

"Ginny," Ron muttered to Harry, "My sister."

"Reckon you have a fan there, Harry," George grinned but caught his mother's eye and looked back at his toast.

Fred yawned from across the table, "Blimey, I'm tired! I think I'll go to bed and-"

"You'll do no such thing!" Mrs Weasley snapped, "You're going to go de-gnome the garden. They're getting completely out of control! You two as well!"

George and Ron groaned aloud.

"You can go to bed, my dears," Mrs Weasley said to the Potters. Had anyone ever looked at Hazel as kindly as she was now? It felt weird, like she was confusing her for someone else.

"I don't mind helping!" Harry said at once.

"I appreciate that dear, but it's boring work."

"I really don't mind, Mrs Weasley. I've never seen a de-gnoming before."

Hazel was about to say the same. She had no idea what a gnome was, but she wanted to find out. After her first taste of the magical world, she wanted more.

What came out instead was a long and drawn-out yawn.

"I think you definitely need some sleep," Mrs Weasley said, "You look exhausted."

The boys left through the back door and Mrs Weasley put her hand on Hazel's shoulder. Hazel pulled her shoulder away without thinking and felt silly at once. Mrs Weasley wasn't going to drag her anywhere, but it was a hard habit to get out of.

"Sorry," Hazel said.

"Don't worry," Mrs Weasley said with a strange expression. Hazel didn't think it was anger, "You can sleep with Ginny. It'll be a tight squeeze, but you'll manage."

They walked up a set of rickety, wooden steps, past oddly shaped doors, and weirdly angled hallways. There was more clutter lying on every floor. Hazel's instinct was to put it away before she was shouted at. There were pictures hanging from every wall, filled with red-headed people who were smiling. It was pretty cool that the pictures moved, especially when they were waving so happily.

Mrs Weasley tapped on a door marked 'Ginevra's Room' and opened it. Ginny was sitting pale-faced on her bed and looked up in alarm.

"Ginny, this is Hazel," Mrs Weasley said, "She needs a bit of rest, so she can take the spare bed in here."

She left them alone, closing the door quietly behind her. There was an awkward silence. Hazel wasn't sure what to say. She didn't want to sound stupid in front of the first witch her own age that she'd met. She bit at her lip and looked at her feet.

"How was the journey over?" Ginny was watching her with brown and interested eyes, "Did you like the car?"

Was this a trick question? What if she said something to offend her host? Everything since they had flown away from Privet Drive had been amazing, she didn't want to ruin it.

"It was great," She finally decided on the truth, "Weird, but great."

"Isn't it? Fred and George brought me out for the first time

last month. It was so stormy, and they kept trying to flip the car over. I've never screamed so much in my life! I had to tell mum I was catching a cold the next morning to explain why I so hoarse!"

They both giggled.

"Well, anyway," Ginny said, "Welcome to the Burrow. I know it's not much, but it's home."

"It's incredible," Hazel was watching a poster of a rock band on Ginny's wall. The lead singer had just been hit by a pumpkin, which had got stuck on his head. The guitarist was trying to pull it off, "So different to what I'm used to."

"The muggle's house wasn't like this then?"

"No, it was way less interesting."

"I'd take less interesting sometimes. It can get mad when we're all here."

"Want to swap?"

Ginny laughed. There was shouting from downstairs and even a few floors up Mrs Weasley's voice was unmistakeable. That was a more familiar sound.

"Dad must be home," Ginny hadn't so much as batted an eyelid but shook her head and clucked in sympathy, "Oh dear."

"Will he be okay? Your mum didn't know about the car?"

"Oh yes, dad loves tinkering with muggle stuff like that. His last project was a toaster that followed you around and just popped your toast in your lap, only it took funny moods and wouldn't actually pop until it was burnt. The smell was terrible," Ginny pulled a face, "At least the car actually flies. It got you and Harry here."

"Lucky for us you didn't send the toaster then!"

They both giggled again. It felt so good, to just laugh with someone. It felt like so long since she had just been able to enjoy herself.

Hazel settled into the smaller bed. It was soft and warm and very, very comfortable. No sooner had her head touched the pillow than she was fast asleep.


Thanks everyone who's read and favoured the story so far! Feedback is welcome! Is the chapter length okay? :)