Disclaimer: I have an unhealthy obsession with a fictional boy. Ah well, at least I’m not alone. You all know I’m not JKR, so there’s no use telling you otherwise. If you cared who I was, you’d read my author information, or whatever it’s called.
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Chapter Four: The Black-Haired Weasley.
Dinner that evening was brimming with anticipation. A few attempts were made at conversation, though they died almost immediately. I sat, as I had so many times before that day, on the windowsill. Pig was next to me, quiet, for once. I suppose that he too was eagerly awaiting Harry’s answer.
Harry suddenly put down his fork, and looked up. Everybody around the table raised their heads immediately, and looked at Harry. Harry looked right at Mrs. Weasley, who was sitting across the table.
“Please pass the potatoes, Mum.”
The effect of theses words were enormous. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears; Ginny and Ron did a high five; Percy (who was sitting to the left of Harry) clapped him on the back; Hermione gave a shriek that sounded oddly similar to the one that Pig let out, and Mr. Weasley choked on the pumpkin juice he had been drinking.
“So, Mum, what will you be calling Harry?” asked George, his face split in a wide grin.
“How about ‘ickle Harry-kins’?” said Fred, his face identical to George’s.
But Mrs. Weasley didn’t hear either of them. After hastening to Harry, and hugging him so hard he looked as though his eyes were going to pop out, she had dried her eyes, and started preparing desert. The family talked happily throughout the evening, and I listened to Pig. He rambled on about how great it was going to be when I was moved in, and how we could spend so much time together, and how we were practically related. It was enough to make any owl loose the desire to eat for the rest of their lives.
“Hey, beautiful; come here often?” came a low hoot from my other side.
“Please, Hermes, that is the oldest pickup line known to owl-kind,” I hooted, turning to see the handsome owl beside me. “Not to mention you’ve already used it on me about seventeen times.”
Hermes looked taken aback for a moment, but soon regained his normal (if it can be called normal) behavior. “So, what’s the party for?”
He really is so dense. I mean, come on! The whole house has been buzzing about it all day. Hermes has probably been staring at himself in a mirror all day. “Harry has accepted being adopted by the Weasleys. For full detail and/or annoying commentary, see Pig, located on my other side.”
That shut him up all right. Though, unfortunately, it did nothing to hinder the flow of what would soon be my future coming from Pig.
“Who’s up for some Butterbeer?” asked Mr. Weasley to the table. Everybody agreed, and soon there were foaming bottles of Butterbeer being passed around the table.
“Thanks Dad,” said Harry happily. Every time that Harry called Mr. or Mrs. Weasley Dad or Mum, everybody smiled; Pig shrieked on with renewed enthusiasm; I attempted to react gladly. I really was happy for Harry! It was just unfortunate that his happiness came at the expense of never having a sensible moment to myself ever again.
Dessert passed happily, and everyone had emptied their bottles of Butterbeer. Mrs. Weasley stifled a yawn, and addressed the table.
“Bed time! We’ve plenty to do tomorrow!” She walked around the table, giving each of her children and Hermione a hug and a kiss. “I know you want to celebrate, but we’ve got to get your school supplies tomorrow, and Ronald needs some new underpants.”
Ron went scarlet. It was very amusing to watch as the blush started at the bottom of his neck, spreading upwards quickly, like a thermometer being heated up. It would have been very amusing if he had been given a Pepper-Up potion, then he’d be smoking out the ears as well.
Everybody got up, laughing at the very beet-colored Ron, and made their way to their rooms. I lingered behind to snag a few sips of Butterbeer that had spilled. Afterwards, I flew up to the room that Ginny and Hermione shared. They were already climbing into their under their covers, and I flew to the bedpost above Hermione’s head.
“Congratulations, Ginny,” yawned Hermione.
Ginny just smirked at her.
“I’m really very happy for you,” said Hermione.
“Yes, I suppose you are,” smiled Ginny. “Though not as happy as you are for yourself. Am I right?” she asked wisely.
Hermione gaped at her. She took a deep breath, and regained her composure. “I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking of,” she said with a brave stab at poise. Ginny simply rolled her eyes.
“You know, you shouldn’t fight it. It’s obvious to me; I have no idea why nobody else has picked it up.”
“And what is ‘it’ supposed to be?” asked Hermione innocently.
“Oh, it’s just… you know…” Ginny began airily, then broke into a speedy rant, “the fact that you love Harry with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns!”
Hermione now resembled a goldfish; her mouth opened an closed repeatedly, but not a sound escaped her astonished lips.
“I thought so!” exclaimed Ginny triumphantly. She switched off the lamp, and lay down on her bed. “Good night!” she said happily. No response greeted this happy statement though. Hermione remained sitting up, still gaping noiselessly. I flew out at that point. Adolescents can be so amusing.
I heard a set of identical voices coming from behind a door that was cracked open. A sliver of light was spilling onto the landing. I flew in sideways to avoid hitting my wings on the door and door frame.
Fred and George were crouched over a cauldron, which was filled with a red smoky, floating kind of substance.
“It’s not supposed to be that color!” whispered Fred.
“Quite right…” said George. “Ooh, that’s why!” he said, pointing at a line in the book in front of them. “We were supposed to stir it clockwise seven times left-handed before adding the powdered cockroach legs!”
“Good thing we made two, eh?” said Fred. “Evanesco!” he said, pointing his wand at the contents of the cauldron, which disappeared. He pulled out a second cauldron, and replaced the old one with it. “After a month of perfect potioning, we messed up on the last two steps!”
“So unlike us,” agreed George. “Oh well.”
He stirred the dark blue substance in the cauldron seven times clockwise with his left hand, and the potion paled to a light blue. Fred tipped a small bottle of powdered cockroach legs into the potion, which promptly turned crystal clear. Like water, almost.
“I’ll test it!” said Fred energetically.
“Excellent!” said George. He took what looked like an eyedropper from his pocket, and sucked up a few drops. “Pumpkin juice, tea, or Butterbeer?” he asked Fred.
“Pumpkin juice, I think,” said Fred, as though he did this everyday. George conjured a glass of orange juice, and carefully let two drops of the clear substance drip into the glass.
“Cheers,” they said in unison.
Fred drank deeply from the glass, licked his lips, and smiled. An odd, glazed expression stretched over his face.
“What is your deepest, darkest secret?” asked George.
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A/N: I am really really really sorry! I got a case of writer’s block about three times while writing this chapter! I knew what I wanted to happen, I just didn’t know how to make it happen… And I was really depressed about a certain character in HBP er, passing on… *sniff* And I was trying to read everybody else’s copy of HPB that I knew to make sure that mine wasn’t malfunctioning.