The Other Potter Book Two

Chapter Three: Diagon Ally

The nineteenth arrived finally. It was literally the longest nine days of my entire existence, and I’d lived in a basement.

“You have five hours.” Snape said, as he stalked off. I was trying to determine whether or not that was too long or not long enough when someone picked me up from behind.

I let out a squeal.

“Put. Me. Down.” I demanded.

“Never!” George laughed in my ear.

“God damn it, George!” I growled. I was both hating being held against my will, and loving it. And that was something I would never understand.

“Willow!” Called Fred’s voice and he sort of joined us, and I was sandwiched mid-air between Fred and George.

“Hey Fred,” I sighed, accepting my fate.

“Willow!” Ron joined in and hugged us too.

Mr. Weasley arrived, and my feet found the ground again.

“Where’s Harry?” I asked. “Isn’t he with you guys?”

“I think he got out at the wrong grate.” Fred shrugged.

“We got a Willow instead, though.” Ron smiled.

“Much better in my opinion.” George added with a wink.

Does that mean he likes me? Or am I reading too much into this? Are we friends?  What the hell?  I didn’t have any answers to anything and it was annoying.

“I dunno Harry is pretty awesome,” Fred said. The pair continued to have an argument.

“Hello Willow.” Mr. Weasley beamed at me, as we stood nearby the grate. “You’re happier than the last time we met.”

“Hi Mr. Weasley-“I was cut off.

“You two have met?” it was Ron who spoke.

“Just before Christmas. I swear I told you this.” I explained. Ron looked puzzled. “I am a lot better now, Mr. Weasley. Like, I got stabbed, but stuff happens.” I shrugged as he stared at me, bedazzled.

Well Mr. Weasley, I don’t have clinical depression. I’m just a cynic who vaguely hates herself, and has a knack for making bad decisions.

We were distracted by Mrs. Weasley coming through the fireplace-accompanied by Ron’s younger sister. What was her name? Jamie? Jenny?

“Hey Ginny, this is Willow.” George introduced.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly.

“G’day mate, I’m from O’straya.” I said in a very bad interpretation of an Australian accent. I’d decided to try and be sociable and happy.

“Okay,” she said slowly, and proceeded to hide behind her mother.

“Since when are you Australian?” Fred asked me, amused.

“Awwh yeah nah, I don’t farkin’ know mate, it just kionda happened like that, aye?”

“So Hermione is ridiculously clever, Harry is the-boy-who-lived, and you’re a fake Australian stereotype?” Ron asked me and I nodded. “I have the weirdest friends.”

“Molly, Harry ended up at the wrong grate,” Mr. Weasley told his wife as we continued to stand in a disarrayed bunch.

“What?” she said sharply.

“Harry ended up in-“Ron began.

“I know that,” she snapped. “He probably went one grate too far...let’s go search.”