Before we knew it, the day of Harry's trial had arrived. Harry and Mr. Weasley had gone to the Ministry early in the morning, and now we were just waiting for them to return.
"I'm sure he'll get off," Hermione said, though she didn't seem very sure. "The Ministry barely has a case."
"He always gets away with these things," I reassured her as we sat down at the kitchen table. "This isn't the first time he's done something illegal."
Hermione glared at me slightly.
"What?" I shrugged. "Are we forgetting the time you all snuck out to save the Sorcerer's Stone? Or the time Harry went down into the Chamber of Secrets? Or the time—"
"Okay, okay, I get it!" Hermione said defensively. "But aren't you the slightest bit worried?"
Yes.
"No."
"Come on, Ella," Fred elbowed me in the rib as he took the chair on my other side. "You don't have to act all tough."
"I'm not acting tough!" I snapped, though my racing heart suggested otherwise.
"Whatever you say, love," Fred shrugged.
It wasn't long before the kitchen door swung open, and Harry and Mr. Weasley were standing in the doorway, looking relieved.
"Well?" Mrs. Weasley questioned.
"Cleared, of all charges." Harry announced proudly.
I leapt up from my chair, and Hermione and Ron did the same.
"I knew it!" yelled Ron, punching the air. "You always get away with stuff!"
"They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, holding a shaking hand over her eyes. "There was no case against you, none at all."
I hurried forward and wrapped my arms around Harry. The anxious feeling that had suffocated me all morning was gone.
"Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I'd get off," said Harry, embracing me tightly.
I let go of Harry and glanced around the room. Sirius and my mother were toasting glasses of butterbeer, Mrs. Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George, and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went "He got off, he got off, he got off—"
"That's enough, settle down!" shouted Mr. Weasley, though he too was smiling. "Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry—"
"What?" said Sirius sharply.
"He got off, he got off, he got off—"
"Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together, Dumbledore ought to know."
"Absolutely," said Sirius. "We'll tell him, don't worry."
"Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green waiting for me. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner—"
"He got off, he got off, he got off—"
"That's enough— Fred— George— Ginny!" said Mrs. Weasley as Mr. Weasley left the kitchen. "Harry dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast..."
***
Summer holidays were coming to a close. Tomorrow I would be heading back to Hogwarts. Of course, before I could worry about going back to school, I had to worry about something else— Prefects.
Not for me, of course. Fred and George taught me better than that. But I was listening to constant nagging from Hermione about the position.
"I hope it's me, I really do. Oh, but Ella, you deserve it, of course you do! But, I suppose with your— er— history with troublemaking, you might not be considered after all..." Hermione speculated as she paced the room.
"I don't want to be made prefect. It will be you, for sure." I assured her for the millionth time.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door.
Ginny entered the room looking excited. "Booklists have arrived!"
We graciously took the envelopes and tore them open. I was skimming through the list when Hermione shrieked.
"It's me!" she announced. "I got it!"
"Congrats, Mione!" I grinned. "There would be no one more perfect for the job."
"Come on! We've got to see if Harry got his!" she grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the room.
When we got to the boys' room, Hermione practically knocked the door down.
"Did you— did you get—?"
At that moment I noticed the shiny badge in Harry's hand, and I knew Hermione did too.
"I knew it!" she said excitedly. "Me too, Harry, me too!"
"No," said Harry quickly, pushing the badge into Ron's hand. "It's Ron, not me."
"It— what?"
"Ron's prefect, not me," Harry said.
"Ron?" Hermione and I said simultaneously.
"Are you sure?" Hermione's jaw dropped.
"It's my name on the letter," Ron said.
"Congrats, Ron!" I cheered, pulling him into a hug.
"Yes, well done, Ron!" Hermione said. "That's really—"
"Unexpected," said George, nodding.
"Says who?" I pulled away from Ron and looked around the room.
Sometimes it bothered me how much Ron was picked on by everyone else. Sure, no one expected him to be prefect, but it's an accomplishment nonetheless.
The door opened a little wider and Mrs. Weasley backed into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes.
"Ginny said the book lists have come at last," she said, glancing around at all the envelopes. "If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon. Ron, I'll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing...what color would you like?"
"Get him red and gold to match his badge," said George, smirking.
"Match his what?"
"His badge," said Fred. "His lovely shiny new prefect's badge."
"His...but...Ron, you're not...?"
Ron held up the badge and Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek similar to Hermione's.
"I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"
"What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?" said George indignantly.
***
I woke up bright and early the following morning. September first had come at last.
It was quite a chaotic morning, to say the least. I had procrastinated on packing my trunk, so I spent almost an hour throwing things in it left and right.
I had to pack up everything, seeing as I had no idea if I would be returning to Grimmauld Place anytime soon. Truthfully, I didn't know if I wanted to. I missed my own house, and my own bed.
"Ella! Mum says if you don't get out here in five minutes we'll leave you behind!" Miranda shouted from the hallway.
"Miranda! What have I said about using your outside voice?!" my mother's voice rang through the house.
"Lyra, please!" I heard Mrs. Weasley sigh.
At that moment, there was a loud crash, and I could hear screaming from the portrait of Walburga Black.
"I'm coming!" I yelled exasperatedly, snapping my trunk shut.
Crack!
Fred was standing right in front of me, a mischievous look on his face.
"How's my girl?" he said.
"In need of assistance," I replied. "A little help with this thing?" I motioned to my trunk.
Fred picked up one side without another word. I lifted the other, and we hauled it out the door and down the stairs.
"Shouldn't there be a spell for this?" I groaned.
"We tried that already," Fred chuckled. "The trunks hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs. Mum was furious."
The only thing less fun than carrying a heavy trunk down the stairs was walking to King's Cross. Which, believe it or not, we had to do.
Sirius joined us, even though Mrs. Weasley advised against it. He took his Animagus form, Snuffles, and ran excitedly beside Harry and my mother, chasing the occasional bird or cat along the way.