Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
·✲
BELLA AND HARRY were officially on house arrest, or, in better terms, bedroom arrest. After Harry's expulsion and subsequent un-expulsion, after which some very strange events occurred regarding their Aunt and Dumbledore, the Dursleys decided it would be best for everyone if they stayed in their room. Bella might have even agreed – that is, if Harry hadn't been her roommate.
He spent the four days they were trapped together pacing with random bursts of energy in which he'd rant about whatever came to mind, followed by a long period of time where he would lie on his bed, either moaning and groaning about his possible expulsion and the radio silence they were getting from everybody else or staying uncharacteristically quiet and appearing absolutely miserable when Bella looked over at him.
"How does the Trace work exactly, anyway?" Bella started while he was in one of those quiet phases, trying to get him to have a sensible conversation with her. "It only tells the Ministry that magic was done, not who did it, right? But every time magic is done, they always assume it's you! Like when Dobby levitated that cake and you blew up Aunt Marge and just now, they always accuse you, but how do they know? Couldn't it have been me, as well?"
Harry gave a small humph in response.
"Well, I think the ministry's just corrupt at this point, but I guess we've always known that," Bella shrugged. "In any case, that could be used to your advantage at the trial – we could just say I–"
Bella was cut off by the door opening, and she whipped her head to see her uncle standing in the doorway, dressed in his best suit.
"We're going out," he announced.
Harry sat up slowly, still rather apathetic. "Sorry?"
"We – that is to say, your aunt, Dudley, and I – are going out."
"Fine," Harry laid back down.
"You two are not to leave your bedroom while we are away."
"Okay."
"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions."
"Right."
"You are not to steal food from the fridge."
"Okay."
"I am going to lock your door."
"You do that."
Bella frowned, swivelling her head between her uncle and Harry and trying to think of something that could extend their conversation and maybe take Harry out of whatever mood he was in. "Er– what are you leaving for, exactly?"
Vernon seemed more than happy to take this bait and began adjusting his collar and straightening his lapels. "We've been short-listed for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition! We're off to receive an award for my fine upkeep."
Bella held in a snort. Right. His upkeep. Not her and Harry, spending hours out there until the lawn met his standards. It should've been them getting that prize, not him, but, then again, it wasn't like she actually cared who had the best-kept lawn in England.
