A Bright Star

The Burrow

They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was).

Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," Ron said self-deprecating-ly, a light blush on his cheeks and climbing to his ears.

"Not much?" Cassiopeia was astounded. "It's magnificent!"

"It's wonderful!" Harry added to the exclamation. He was thinking of his small cupboard and loaned bedroom. Flashes of Cassiopeia's tiny room also crossed his mind. It was a home. Ron had a home. Not just shelter from the outside.

They got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, flashing Cassiopeia and Harry a reassuring grin when they glanced at him with widened eyes and stumbled in their steps. "We'll w ait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and meet Cassiopeia and no one need ever know we flew the car."

Harry and Cassiopeia exchanged glances.

Do you think that'll work? Cassiopeia seemed to ask with her imploring doe eyes.

Harry snorted and clasped hands with her, shaking his head. No chance in hell.

They knew this and yet, they just weren't prepared for the storm that was Mrs. Molly Weasley.

"Right," Ron nodded before glancing back at the two guests. "Come one, Harry, Cassiopeia, I sleep at the - at the top" Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The twins wheeled. Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Ah," said Fred.

"Oh dear," added George.    

Harry and Cassiopeia's grip tightened on each other. They took a step back, not expecting such hostility and anger to be radiating from the woman. Would she blame them for her sons sneaking out?

"Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"So," she said in an eerily quiet voice that made Cassiopeia flinch.

She was all too familiar with the calm  before the storm. The soft voice that belied danger and lulled you into a false security before viciously tearing you apart.

Subtly, Harry tugged Cassiopeia a half-step behind him, keeping his one hand entwined with hers and rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. Neither of their eyes left the obviously enraged matriarch.

"Morning, Mum," said George in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice much to Harry and Cassiopeia's horror.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been," started Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper. This time Harry couldn't keep in his flinch and shuddered, his nails digging into the palm of the hand not holding onto Cassiopeia.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to-" All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

"Beds empty! No note! Car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - did you care - never, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill, or Charlie, or Percy-"