The Other Potter. Book Four.

Like a boss.

I sat bolt upright in my bed.

Well, it wasn’t my bed, it was a random one in Ginny’s room.

But I sat upright none the less.

Something was wrong.

I looked at the time and it was only half past two.

I urged myself out of bed and peered out of the window, checked that my friends hadn’t been murdered in their beds before lying down again.

My head started to throb and I realised I had a headache. I felt like crap. I’m such a lemon.

Something was still wrong, and after what seemed like hours I woke up feeling very strange.

Mrs. Weasley was prodding me with a stick. Hermione was kicking my bed. And Ginny was hitting me with a pillow.

I still had a headache.

“Is she awake?”

“Did you see her breathing? I didn’t.”

“She’s as pale as anything.”

“She looks like death.”

“I like pudding.”

“Maple syrup.”

“Alpaca.”

I think I’m hallucinating.

No. I can’t be sick. Not today. They might stop me from going to the Quidditch World Cup, and then I’m a burden on Mrs. Weasley.

I stood up and smiled as I looked at the dark sky. The sun wasn’t even up yet. I must of had like half an hour of sleep.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked me.

“Yeah,” I said trying to sound simultaneously like a happy person, but also someone who just woke up. “I’m fine.”

We pulled on some clothes and headed downstairs into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as we entered, the boy were right behind us, and spread his arms so that we could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.  “What d’you think?” he asked anxiously. “We’re supposed to go incognito - do I look like a Muggle, Harry?” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, smiling, “very good.” 

“Where’re Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?” said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn. He was even cute when he yawned.

Shush.

Shush yourself.

“Well, they’re Apparating, aren’t they?” said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. “So they can have a bit of a lie-in.” 

 “So they’re still in bed?” said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. “Why can’t we Apparate too?” 

“Because you’re not of age and you haven’t passed your test,” snapped Mrs. Weasley.

“You have to pass a test to Apparate?” Harry asked.  He really likes to ask questions, that is when he isn’t saying what I want to say, being some perfect hero, or failing at speeches.

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. “The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It’s not easy, Apparition, and when it’s not done property it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I’m talking about went and splinched themselves.”