Counting the Cracks


It was a Saturday afternoon on the holidays, and I was lying 

on my bed, innocently staring up at the ceiling counting the 

cracks- I don't think there's any other way to stare at cracks, 

really. I was busily calculating how many more cracks it 

would need before the ceiling collapsed on top of me, just 

coming to the conclusion that I really needed a life, when 

there was a knock and my big dopey brother Ron came in. 


Nobody in my family seems to understand the concept of 

the knock. They might as well just barge on in, but no, they 

knock and then they barge on in. My theory is that they just 

knock to ease their conscience. Take Ron for an example, 

he's not stupid- oh, wait, he is. So Percy, he's not stupid at 

all (though he is a bit of loser, but that can't be helped). 

And yet even he seems to think that if you knock first, then 

you can walk on in. You don't have to wait or anything. 

Since I have nothing better to do, maybe I should hold a 

crash course in common courtesy. Sounds like a c-sentence 

from Sesame Street. (I love that show. Dad brought home a 

telewizzer or whatever they are when I was little. Big bird 

is my hero.) 


Anyway. Ron burst in, and I glared at him in true sisterly 

fashion. 'What?' I said icily. 


Ron didn't seem to care that I was glaring at him furiously. 

Although, I guess I wouldn't care if someone more than a 

head shorter than me was glaring at me furiously. I'd 

probably just laugh. 


'Me and Harry were just wondering if you wanted to come 

to Diagon Alley with us.' I realised why he hadn't noticed I 

was glaring at him. He was staring at the floor, kicking the 

carpet. I almost defended the carpet- I mean, it hadn't done 

anything wrong, had it? Mum was probably making him 

ask, but the carpet had nothing to do with that, did it?


'Why would you want me to go with you?' 


Then I caught on to what he'd actually said. 


'Harry's here?' 


Ron nodded dully. 'I don't want you to come,' he said 

crossly. I guess mum was making him ask. 


'Well, too bad. I'm coming.' Anything to annoy dear Ron. 


'We have to go by floo powder,' he said, hopefully, as 

though hoping I'd be put off. It was almost insulting. I'm 

not a baby. I can handle floo powder. 


'So what?' 


I walked out the door coolly, feeling quite pleased with my 

whole sisterly act. I bumped into another taller person in 

my doorway. I was about to yell at them, until I looked up 

and saw Harry Potter, his glasses askew.


One day I will curse dad for giving me genes that make my 

ears go red. I will. I bet he did it just to spite us. 


'Um...hi.' 


My sisterly act went down the drain. Or maybe it trickled 

through the floorboards, as no drains were about at the 

time. 


He smiled, pushed his hair off his forehead with an 

annoyed expression, and then Ron grabbed his arm and 

pulled him away. I could hear them talking about 

Quidditch, discussing which brooms were the best and a 

whole lot of other boring rot. I have nothing against 

Quidditch, of course. I love Quidditch. I'd join the team if I 

could ride a broom, but as I can't ride a broom (I have this 

horrible fear of heights, apparently George almost dropped 

me off the roof once. I think it had drastic after effects) I'm 

really not that interested in broomsticks. 


Fred brushed past me, giving me an odd look. 'What's 

wrong with you? Coming to Diagon Alley?' 


I nodded. 


George followed him and grinned at me. I hurried down the 

stairs, as I get scared whenever one of the twins grin at me. 

It's disturbing. I never know if they're going to turn me into 

a cockroach or just make my hair go blue. As neither plan 

is very appealing, I generally escape as quickly as possible. 

They're bad enough at school, but at home they're twice as 

much trouble. (This is weird, because Mum is much scarier 

than Professor McGonagall is.) If my ceiling ever does 

collapse on me and crush me to death, it'll be all their fault 

and I hope they feel guilty about it. 


In the kitchen Harry and Ron were still going on about 

brooms, Mum was reading a magazine or something, 

muttering to herself, Dad was still at work and so was 

Percy. Fred and George reckon his hair will start going 

grey from overwork. They're waiting for the day this 

happens with glee, I suspect they already have a 

photographer lined up. I almost feel sorry for Percy. He's 

never done anything to me. In fact, he's been quite a nice 

big brother, if you put the other imbeciles I live with into 

the picture.


I have to admit though, Ron does have good taste in 

friends. Hermione's nice (I personally think Ron likes her. 

He just gets mad at her because he's so dim witted he can't 

express his feelings in any other way. I tried to tell him this, 

and he sort of gaped at me and then he told mum I was 

sick.) It does get a bit boring, listening to them bicker about 

the stupidest things. Honestly, I don't see why Ron even 

cared about stupid Scabbers. He was just a rodent. Not to 

mention a dumb and lazy rodent, I never was fond of him. I 

did feel sorry for Ron when we thought Crookshanks had 

devoured him, but Scabbers was never high on my list of 

people- or creatures- I liked, so it was really just Ron I 

pitied. Okay, so Scabbers turned out to be working for 

You-Know-Who. And it was dumb of Ron not to notice 

anything suspicious. But really, it would have been nice of 

Peter Pettigrew to not get Ron so worked up, he can get 

very loud, not to mention violent. 


Anyway. By now Harry and Ron had left for Diagon Alley, 

Fred and George were getting ready to leave- mum was 

checking them all over, making sure nothing was in their 

pockets or anything- if they weren't going to become fully 

qualified wizards this year I'd laugh at them but by the end 

of next year they'll be free to use their wands whenever 

they want. I think Mum's quite anxious about this. I 

overheard her and dad talking, they're trying to make the 

house even stronger before the twins graduate. Maybe 

they'll finally get round to fixing the cracks in my ceiling, 

it's hard to sleep at night with images of plaster pinning you 

down. 


Mum finally decided they were safe, and they jumped into 

the fireplace, Fred first, George right behind. 


Mum smiled at me. There are advantages in being the only 

girl in the family. It takes several years to find out exactly 

what the advantages are, and when your brothers are 

morons like mine (I am fond of them, but that doesn't stop 

them being morons) these advantages are even better 

hidden. 


I sprinkled some floo powder into the fireplace, opened my 

mouth to yell Diagon Alley, and promptly swallowed a 

mouthful of ash. I guess the fireplace mistook my choking 

for something else, because the next thing I knew I was 

being spun around and around and when the whirling 

stopped and I fell out of a fireplace, I knew that I definitely 

was not in Diagon Alley. That is, unless Diagon Alley had 

had changed quite bit and was now by the beach. 


I'd never done this before. I was an experienced floo 

powder traveller, I'd never so much as inhaled a little bit of 

ash before. Fred must have done something to my lungs. 


The strangest thing about this place that I was now in was 

that it was a little, itsy bitsy cottage with a huge fireplace 

and a beach outside. Nothing else. Except, perhaps, large 

ferocious spiders hiding under the table licking their lips (if 

spiders have lips) waiting to pounce. But I hadn't 

encountered any of them yet. 


I looked up at the ceiling. Not even one little crack to 

count. 


I sighed, slumped down onto the floor and gazed into the 

empty fireplace. Maybe mum would be able to translate my 

chokes and come rescue me. Or maybe not. Maybe I'd be 

trapped forever and ever in an itty-bitty cottage full of 

spiders-, which I was hoping were harmless, they didn't 

look as though they had fangs on them- and I'd have to pull 

their legs off and nibble on them for dinner. The thought 

made me feel rather sick. 


I was beginning to feel incredibly depressed. I had just 

decided to find a poisonous spider to ask it (politely, of 

course) to bite me so I could be put out of my misery, when 

the door swung open and someone walked in. I was getting 

tired of this. It appeared that even on some tropical island 

people didn't knock. 


Then I remembered this wasn't even my house. 


The person stared at me. I felt my ears turn red, and I stared 

back at them, hoping I didn't look too much like a robber. 


'Who are you?' He asked me. 


'I'm...um...Ginny,' I said lamely. 'Weasley,' I added, 

wondering if this would ring a bell. But it probably 

wouldn't, as most people who knew of my family 

recognised me straight away. When I grow up I plan on 

dying my hair black, maybe add some purple streaks. Or 

maybe even before that. Next week sometimes, perhaps. 



'And what are you doing in my house, Ginny Weasley?' 


The person was oddly familiar. 


'Um. I'm sitting.' 


'Would you mind telling me why you're sitting?' They had a 

little smirk on their face, as if they found it funny. I didn't. 


I almost said no, until I realised this could be some insane 

murderer who might be a little cross. I didn't want to 

provoke him or anything, so I said 'I, um, came here by floo 

powder. By accident!' I added hastily. 


The man looked a bit puzzled. His hair was very dirty and 

matted, and I decided that if he wasn't insane I might 

recommend some shampoo brands, it looked as though he 

desperately needed advice. 


'Strange,' he muttered. 'I thought I'd made it impossible for 

anyone to get here...what did you say?' 


'I- er- kind of choked.' Darn Fred. Thanks to him I was 

somewhere in- well, I wasn't exactly sure of the location, 

but hopefully it was on earth. 


'Ah. That explains it.' 


'It does?' It didn't explain much to me. The man raised his 

eyebrows and I shut up. 


'I take it you don't remember me, Ginny,' he said, picking 

up a piece of fruit. He bit into it loudly and I felt my 

stomach rumble. I hadn't had any breakfast because George 

had done something to the toast (Ron had bat ears all 

morning) and I hadn't been sure which slices were safe. If 

any. 


'Uh, no.'


The man muttered something to himself. 'So, where were 

you off to today? Not here, I take it.' 


'Diagon Alley.' 


'School books?' 


I nodded silently. I had a sudden vision of my first year 

when Tom Riddle leapt out of a diary. Shivers ran down 

my spine- this person didn't seem much like a murderer, but 

neither had he at first. I bit my lip and tried to look tough. 


Either he thought I looked funny or he remembered a 

hilarious joke, but either way, the man burst out laughing. 


I felt quite insulted. 


'What?' I said, dropping the tough look. If it was ever tough 

in the first place.


'Nothing,' he giggled. 


I stared at him. 'Nothing?' He was having hysterics because 

of nothing? Maybe he was insane after all. I eyed the 

fireplace- perhaps I'd be able to talk him into lighting a fire 

and letting me go find my mum, who was probably sobbing 

in the leaky cauldron against some unknown witch's 

shoulder, or out in Diagon Alley screaming my name. How 

embarrassing. 


'Well, not nothing exactly.' 


'You aren't you to kill me, are you?' I said nervously. 


He laughed harder. I wasn't sure if this was because he 

found the idea of killing someone hilarious or if he was 

cackling in delight. I wasn't even sure which one of these I 

wanted- definitely not him cackling in delight, that would 

be bad, but finding killing someone hilarious wouldn't 

exactly be delightful either. 


Maybe he thought I was just being stupid. 


I started to edge towards the fireplace- I really have no idea 

why exactly, it's not like the fireplace would miraculously 

gobble me up and save me from that mad man. Then I 

remembered that I was 14 years old and that I most 

definitely should not be crawling. It was hurting my pride, 

not to mention my knees. 


'Um. You're aren't going to, um, kill me, are you?' I said, 

standing up, attempting to look dignified. 


He stopped laughing. I waited for him to get out a knife and 

chop me up, feeling unusually calm. 


Then I came to my senses, and burst all the glass in the 

cottage apart with an ear-splitting, glass shattering scream. 


But there might not have been any glass there in the first 

place, which would explain the lack of it after I'd shut up. 


The man winced, covered his ears, and raised his eyebrows 

at me. I'm not sure if I stopped screaming there. It might 

have just been an echo for the next few seconds, but either 

way, he didn't lift his hands off his ears until it was well 

and truly silent. 


He breathed a sigh of relief and let his hands drop to his 

side. 


'What'd you do that for?' He asked, rotating one finger 

around the inside of his ear. It looked as though he was 

testing to see if he'd gone deaf. 


'Oh, I -er...' I tried to look nonchalant. 'I just thought you 

were going to kill me,' I said, like it was the most normal 

thing in the world to think. 


He snorted. 'No. Want something to eat?' 


My stomach jumped about excitedly. 'Yeah! Oh- my mum,' 

I faltered. 'She doesn't know I'm here.' My stomach 

dropped sadly. 


'Look. I'll ring your mum and tell her your fine-'


'She might be beyond the point of just ringing,' I said, 

imagining her trying to strangle this stranger. It wasn't his 

fault but if I told her that I doubted she'd listen. 'She might-

erm- try to kill you or something...'


He laughed again. 'Molly? Kill someone? I doubt it.' 


I didn't think to ask how he knew her name. 'What would 

you know?' I said grumpily. 'My mum could yell until you 

jumped off a bridge.'


He sat down, still chuckling. 'Know from experience, do 

you?' 


'I am an angel,' I said. 'But Fred and George wear ear-plugs 

sometimes...'


'You remind me of someone I once knew...she was an 

angel as well.' His dark eyes had gone almost dream-like. 

'Anyway- we'd better get you home, hadn't we?'


I nodded, thanking my lucky stars he wasn't a child-napper. 

I was just standing in the fireplace, emerald green flames 

licking at my ankles. 'Hey- how'd you know my mother's 

name was Molly?' 


'I'm a seer.' 


I blinked. He didn't look much like Trelawney to me. 'You 

are not,' I said, my voice doubtful. 


'I am too!' He argued, obviously enjoying himself 

thoroughly. 


'How come you don't wear long skirts then, huh?' I think 

the afternoons events were taking their toll on me, I'm sure 

I wouldn't have asked such a dumb question if I'd been with 

it. 


One of his dark eyebrows was raised, and he was looking at 

me with a bemused expression his face. 'I'm a male?' He 

suggested. 


'Oh, yeah...well, I have to go. Bye!'


I yelled 'Diagon Alley' and a few seconds later, mum was 

cradling me in her arms while I choked, wishing Ron 

wasn't laughing so hard so he could rescue me. 


'Mum! Get off!'


She released me, wiped her eyes and then went into lecture 

mode. 'Where have you been? I've been worried sick! I 

thought someone had abducted you! Ginny, you know I 

don't want you wondering around by yourself these days, 

where on earth have you been?' She was beginning to 

repeat herself. 'I thought someone was going to kill you!' 



'Me too,' I said truthfully. 


It didn't stopper her flood of tears. Instead she wept into my 

t-shirt. I sighed. I'd been quite fond of that shirt, too. 


'Mum,' I whined. 'I need to get my stuff.' 


'Oh, right. Yes.' She blew her nose loudly. 'Off you go 

then.'


And off I went. 


I went to Flourish and Blots, looking for all my new 

schoolbooks. My mind kept wandering back to the strange 

hut, though, and I decided to find out who the man was. I 

couldn't believe I'd never thought to ask his name. I bought 

my books in a hurry, shoved them into a bag, and then ran 

off to find mum. 


I think there's some kind of magnet that makes me run into 

Harry whenever he'd within crashing distance. Of course, 

it's only ever me that runs into him. He never runs into me 

or anything. Life can really be unfair sometimes, especially 

as I don't know that spell to fix glasses. It could really come 

in handy sometime. 


Harry smiled at me, held his glasses together, and then 

walked into The Magical Menagerie, dirt on his knees. 

Such beautiful knees...


But back to the strange stranger in the little cottage. 


My plan was to go back to our fireplace at home, and 

sneeze to see where it would carry me. If that didn't work I 

could try swallowing ash. I wasn't sure if all chokes and 

splutters sounded the same, but it stood to reason that they 

weren't completely different. 


It was a comforting theory. 


Mum was sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, chatting cheerfully 

to Tom the bartender. 


'Ginny!' He said, waving at me with a dishtowel. I waved 

back, trying to look ill. 'You okay, love?' He asked, his 

expression changing to concern. Mum swung around on her 

stool. 


'Sweetheart, what'd wrong?' 


I groaned loudly. 'My tummy hurts.' I hadn't aimed to 

sound like a five-year-old, but it did the trick. They 

believed me. And if they didn't they were humouring me, 

but I didn't care either way. 'Can I go home? 


Mum felt my forehead. 'Are you sure you want to do that, 

Ginny? Maybe Tom should get you a bed here...'


So she was humouring me. It's not fair, having six older 

brothers; mum knows all the tricks. Even the pathetic, lame 

ones. 


'Uh- no. I'd really like to go home, if that's okay. I'll just lie 

down. Please, mum?' 


She looked at me suspiciously. Then Ron and Harry raced 

in, their hair all over the place. 'Mum!' Ron was yelling. 

'Quick, come see!' 


Harry was laughing hysterically, his glasses hanging off his 

ear, taped together with spellotape. Mum, sensing trouble (I 

swear, she has a radar for it, even dad gets scared when 

she's on the warpath) dashed out the pub, Ron and Harry, 

who were clutching their sides, following as fast as they 

could without falling over. 


I ran to the large fireplace in the pub, sprinkled some floo 

powder into the roaring flames, jumped in, and sneezed. 


Tom was watching me but by the time he'd made it over to 

the grate I was spinning off somewhere. I was very dizzy, 

and as I spun around and around, my elbows knocking into 

bricks and other very hard and painful objects, I thought of 

something Percy could design at work. Safe non-spinning 

floo powder. Excellent for people who get seasick (or 

chimney sick.) 


I tumbled out into a pretty, warm, furnished house. The two 

people in the room stared at me, and immediately I felt self-

conscious. My red hair was sooty; I'd seen it in the 

reflection at the bookshop and nearly fainted. My cheeks 

were singed black and my skirt was ripped. The little girl 

seated on the couch (who was about four or five) screamed 

and hid her face in her older brother's shirt, her blonde hair 

fanned out over his shirt. 


'Sorry.' I stammered. 


Her brother stared at me, and I saw that he was cute. Very 

cute. His hair was scruffily messed up, his eyes were hazel 

and they seemed to sparkle in the firelight. 


This was not how I wanted to meet cute boys. 


'Hi.' I said, smiling at him as I backed away. 'Well, I guess I 

got the wrong address, so I'll just be going now.' I stepped 

into the fire, coughed, and the poor, frightened little girl 

and her adorable big brother disappeared from view. 


The fireplace in the next house was extremely fancy, it was 

made of gold and there were little silver statues sitting on 

the mantelpiece. I felt a little out of place. 


'Roger!' A woman shrieked, spotting me as she entered the 

room. 'Quick, Roger! A robber!' 


I leapt back into the fireplace. 'So sorry. Here, want a 

lolly?' I handed her a jellybean I'd found earlier that day in 

my pocket. Hopefully it wasn't grass flavoured. 'Here you 

go!' 


The woman screamed again. 


I tried to remember what we'd learnt at school about this. I 

racked my brains, but nothing came to light. In the end I 

curtsied, wobbled, and then inhaled a huge cloud of ash. I 

didn't need to pretend to choke this time. 


It had been the right address- although it was very strange, 

the way all these people had coughs for their fireplace 

addresses. Very odd. I stepped out into the cottage, which 

was again empty. Outside, however, I could hear someone 

whistling off-tune. I winced and opened the door. 


'Professor Lupin?' I said in disbelief.


My day was getting more and more confusing. Standing 

outside the little house was my old defence against the dark 

arts professor, collecting firewood. I didn't see why he 

didn't just use magic. 


'Ginny! Sirius told me you'd visited him earlier today,' he 

said cheerfully. 


'He did? Sirius?' 


'Mm- your father's working with us at the moment, 

actually. You look a lot like him.'


'I knew I'd seen him somewhere before,' I muttered, 

ignoring the comment about my dad. Everyone knows we 

all look the same. 


'Ah, the wanderer returns!' 


I spun around and saw Sirius Black leaning up against the 

door. 'Did your mother kill you?' 


'No. She got distracted...I just came back to find out who 

you were...'


'Sirius Black, at your service.' He bowed. 


'Yeah, I know. Anyway. I have to go now.'


'Say hi to your dad for me,' he called, as I walked back 

inside, feeling a little disappointed. It would have been far 

more interesting if the mysterious stranger had been a 

famous wizard or something. Well, Sirius Black was 

famous but I mean, come on; he works with my dad now. 

He's Harry's Godfather. Nothing interesting at all.


'The burrow,' I yelled clearly, sick of coughing. 


Back at home I walked around listlessly. Fred and Georges 

room would have been very exciting to explore, but it was 

sure to be booby-trapped. Ron's room was boring, Percy's 

room could put anyone to sleep, my room had had every 

single crack counted, and I knew every inch of 

floorboard...


Maybe the attic? The attic could be good to explore, as long 

as the ghoul wasn't in a grumpy mood. Mum had descended 

from the attic once covered from head to toe in eggs. 

Scrambled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, fried eggs, gooey eggs, 

omelettes...we had been very curious to find out how the 

ghoul had found the eggs- not to mention how he'd made 

omelettes with them. 


I bounced up the stairs to the attic, kicking aside all the 

junk lying about on the steps. I was considerably happier 

now that I had a mission. Well, something to do. There had 

to be something interesting in the attic. Even if it was only 

photos of my brothers in nappies. 


I took the stairs three at a time- if I found photos of Fred 

and George in nappies they'd never hex me again. I'd be 

their queen. Their ruler. They'd never hex me again.


I came to the end of the stairs and turned the handle 

energetically. 


The door was stuck- one of the hinges were broken. I stared 

at it helplessly. Then I kicked it, and as I was hopping 

around on the spot a voice said knock down the door!


'The door?' I said dubiously. 'I don't know...wouldn't that 

be painful?' 


Pain? Who cares about pain?


'Not you, obviously.'


I looked at Alexia (she's like a ghost. An invisible type 

ghost, you know? I mean, I only I can see her. She thinks 

my brothers are mindless fools. Many do. Fred and George 

think she's a figment of my imagination but that's 

impossible because she's pinched me before and it hurt.)


So ram it down, why don't you?


'Okay, okay.' I took a deep breath, ran straight at the door 

and smashed into the wood. 


It hurt. 


My arm would never be the same again. 


But the door crashed down onto the floor with a bang, and I 

lay there for a few minutes, waiting for the throbbing in my 

arm to die down. 


Are you alive? Do you have a pulse? 


Alexia's not a very smart ghost. She lives in the cellar, with 

all the little ratties for company and rats aren't the smartest 

creatures on the planet. Don't get me wrong, they aren't 

stupid or anything. They're smarter than Ron. But that's not 

saying much, so Alexia doesn't have intelligent 

conversations very often. 


'I'm alive,' I groaned. 'Hey, Pigwidgeon!' Ron's tiny little 

owl fluttered over to me. 'What's that? A letter for me? 

Why, thankyou Piggy!" I stroked his cute little feathers 

absentmindedly as I opened the envelope, Alexia looking 

over my shoulder. 


Dear Ginny,


How are you? Gran wants to know if you'd like to come 

over some time, if you want. Is Ron there? Tell him I said 

hi, and Harry too, if he's there. 


From Neville. 


The parchment was covered with little crosses out and 

smudges- Neville wasn't great with ink, Dad reckons we 

should introduce pens for people who can't control quills. 

He was campaigning for something like that before he 

started working with Dumbledore and Professor Lupin and 

all them. He's been at work overtime for weeks- Percy's 

been over the moon, he can stay at his beloved office until 

the moon is high up in the sky and the stars are twinkling. 

Mum thinks he's going to collapse from exhaustion so she's 

been feeding him chicken soup every night when he gets 

home to build up his strength. 


Neville's very sweet. He's not the brightest person and I'm 

glad I'm not in his year; I wouldn't want to be partnered 

with him in Transfiguration or Potions- definitely not 

potions, but he's a nice person and all. Okay, so he isn't 

cute. But he has a big heart. I think. It might be a small 

heart, actually, I've never asked and I doubt he'd know 

anyway, but he wouldn't hurt a fly. Not a nice fly. So I 

wanted to go over to his house, he'd be much better 

company that Percy. 


My attention was drawn back to the attic. Alexia had given 

up on me, and was probably back in her cellar conferring 

with Mr Fluffers (the head rat). There were boxes 

everywhere, some with sheets draped over them and lots of 

little dust bunnies floating about. There was furniture I'd 

never seen before (mainly because most of it looked like it 

would collapse the moment so much as an ant seated itself 

on it) and toys galore. 


It looked as though my stuffed toy collection would have 

some new additions joining them very soon. 


For the next few hours I sat on the floor on a space I 

cleared of dust and boxes and junk, emptying some of the 

boxes of their contents, playing and naming some of the 

toys. I hadn't actually played with stuffed toys for a long 

time, but this seemed different- all toys deserve a name, in 

my opinion. 


Soon sitting in front of me was Mariel, the rag doll, whose 

hair was a bit matted and dirty- I decided to take her to 

Hogwarts to I could fix it with my wand (or if I stayed 

bored all holidays I could hand wash it, but last doll I'd 

done that to had met a sorry end...I missed Alice.) Then 

there was Victoria, a doll with long black curls and china 

skin and hands, her mouth painted red in a smile. There 

was a funny little lizard with jewels all along her back 

called Maria, the jewels sparkling whenever it was in the 

sunlight. Sarah Michelle was a teddy wearing a little hat, 

her fur fuzzy and soft- I remembered her from Fred's room 

ages ago (I'd think she'd once been called Teddy, Fred 

being a real creative name person). Besides them was 

Annamuffin, another bear, who had a cute smirk and little 

chubby cheeks, Eve, Lucinda, Cassie, Kim, Hope -who 

were sparkly fairies- and Patrick (a little elf with a very 

long nose.)


I had just finished brushing the dirt off Eve when a tiny 

little box made of wood caught my eye. It was completely 

plain, except for the little clasp on one side made of a 

shimmery stone that twinkled when the sun caught it. 


I placed the little fairy doll on the ground and crawled over 

to the box. It was very light- often wizard objects were 

enchanted so you could carry them around without 

breaking any bones, but this seemed genuinely feather like. 


I opened it carefully, my fingers fumbling on the clasp, 

partly because I couldn't see it very well in the half-light 

and partly because I was nervous it would blow up in my 

face. When you live in a house where things blow up on a 

regular basis you can't help being suspicious. It just 

becomes part of your nature. You don't necessarily drink 

only from a private hip flask, but you don't go opening 

strange boxes without feeling a little bit wary. Diaries don't 

count. I find it incredibly unfair that I can't even have a 

diary without almost being killed. Sometimes being a witch 

sucks. 


Sometimes. 


The rest of the time it is pretty cool. (Except for when you 

have to turn a toad into a guinea pig. I can't handle 

transfiguration. Besides, what's the point? When will I ever 

need to turn a toad into a guinea pig? My point exactly.)


Anyway, I finally got the lid open. I was all excited, 

thinking it might be something really cool, like treasure or 

spells no one had ever heard of before. 


It was empty. 


I felt disappointment flood through me. What was the point 

in finding a really cool box if it was empty? Feeling put 

out, I tipped a box out onto the floor, recruited yet another 

teddy (Brigitte) and then packed all the stuff I'd found into 

it, careful not to break Victoria, who looked like she might 

fall apart at any moment. 


I picked it up, wished I could use my magic on holidays 

because I wasn't sure my back would make it to my room, 

and then remembered there was no door left. 


Dad wouldn't be pleased. 


I put the heavy box down on the landing outside the attic, 

looking at the door with distaste. I knew from experience it 

was a very heavy door. I could always blame it on 

Ron...but Harry had been with Ron all day, he'd tell mum 

Ron couldn't possibly have done it. Unless I told mum 

Harry was lying. 


Seeing as I couldn't tell mum that, I tried pushing the door 

back in the doorframe- it took forever, but in the end it was 

standing upright, looking like a proper door. Then I realised 

it was dark. 


I was on the wrong side of the door. 


Sometimes I think stupidity is genetic. 


I couldn't be bothered knocking it down again. It could've 

broken all the toys, for one thing. Or me. I was deciding to 

yell for help (I don't know why but it seemed like a good 

idea at the time) when I saw the little window in the roof 

blow open. Must have been the ghoul going out. I didn't 

stop to think- if I'd stayed in there any longer I'd have gone 

insane- I pulled a couple of boxes on top of a chair and 

pulled myself out of the attic. 


The dizziness hit me as soon as I stood up on top of the 

tiled roof. Why do I have to have the same amount of 

brainpower as Ron in emergency situations? I can be smart. 

Just not in life or death emergencies, I guess. 


I looked about. Everything looked a bit different- either 

because I'd never been on the roof before or because 

everything was a bit out of focus. Or both. 


Trees. I need trees. Trees you can climb. Why doesn't mum 

like trees? Doesn't she know one of her kids will end up on 

the roof one day? Doesn't she know we don't carry around 

parachutes?


I sighed and sat down on the tiles. A few came loose and 

toppled down to the ground. I heard the smash from where 

I was. It wasn't fair. I was stuck on the roof. I was a witch. 

And I couldn't even use my magic. I tried to remember 

Percy's lectures. He knew the entire rulebook off by heart, 

he'd be sure to know the loopholes as well. 


Then again, he'd probably been fighting the minister of 

magic to ban all loopholes. Percy's so stupid sometimes. If 

I didn't get off the roof because of him and his stupid rules 

I'd haunt him. 


Loopholes, loopholes. There has to be one...didn't Dad 

once say we could only use our magic in emergencies? 

Well, if this isn't an emergency I don't know what is...now 

what is that spell? 


I pulled my wand out my pocket- it was soothing just to 

have it with me- and stared at it for a few minutes, hoping 

for inspiration. Nothing came to mind, the brain doesn't 

work as well under stress. Or terror. 


In the end I remembered a herbology lesson in which 

Professor Sprout had babbled on for hours about making 

plants grow. I peered over the side of the gutter, wishing 

we had an aerial I could hold on to. Of course, it would 

probably snap, but as we didn't have one in the first place I 

don't suppose it matters. I could see the flowerbed a billion 

miles beneath me; little flecks of colour all jumbled up. 

Feeling even dizzier, I let go of the roof with one hand to 

get my wand. 


'Engorgia!' I yelled, flicking my wand and pointing it at the 

little plant. It grew very rapidly and I was reminded of Jake 

and The Beanstalk. Or was it Joe? Either way, I hoped the 

flower wouldn't grow up to the clouds. That might be a 

little hard to explain to the muggle airlines, dad was always 

going on about that kind of stuff whenever Fred and 

George tried to go out flying. 


It stopped growing a few metres below the roof, the huge 

green leaves swaying about dangerously towards the 

bathroom window. I winced as the glass smashed. 


'Uh oh.' 


The middle of the flower looked pretty soft. Kind of fluffy 

almost, like a big sponge cake. It was jump or stay up on 

the roof until mum got home and I was grounded. Needless 

to say, I jumped, the flower catching me safely. It bobbed 

about for a moment- I almost brought up everything in my 

stomach- so I scrambled down as fast as I could, the leaves 

making good foot rests, until I reached solid ground. I 

almost kissed the grass I was so happy, until I remembered 

all the dirt and other gross stuff that could hidden under the 

little leaves. Ants. Caterpillars. Big hairy spiders. All of 

which are icky. 


It was a big relief. I shrunk the plant, shoved the broken 

tiles into the bin, vowed to do something about getting a 

really tall tree in our backyard and then rushed up to the 

attic before someone claimed my toys. I don't see why any 

of my brother would want them- it's not that they weren't 

lovely toys it was just that I couldn't imagine Ron or Percy 

looking after Victoria. Unless they were exploring their 

feminine side. But Percy's feminine side would probably 

just be brushing his hair over and over again (him being the 

perfectionist he is) and Ron would- actually; I don't know 

what Ron would do. 


I'm not sure I want to know. 


So even though no one would steal my lovely toys, I raced 

up the stairs to save them and hide them in my room. Dad 

had told me back in my first year not to trust anything that 

could think for itself but you couldn't see their brain- or 

something similar to that, I was a bit hysterical at the time- 

but none of these dolls were talking. At the moment. 

Besides, dolls are different to diaries. Diaries aren't 

supposed to talk or write back to you. (Although they 

should, it's pretty cool. Unless the person talking turns out 

to be the most evil wizard who ever lived, that's not quite 

so cool.)


Back in my room, I layed all of them out on the floor, 

talking to them. It sounds crazy but I'd been cooped up at 

home (Mum's been a bit- well, very- over protective lately 

so she hasn't let any of us go out) and I hadn't talked to 

anyone with half a brain cell for at least a month, so these 

dolls were like a breath of fresh air. I could make them talk 

about normal things. 


Sarah Michelle wasn't very fond of beans, but she liked 

Charms and when Patrick (the little elf guy) said that she 

was crazy she threatened to charm him. I left them to argue 

between themselves while I looked in the little box again. I 

was thinking that there might be some gold hidden in it 

somewhere. I can't help liking gold. You'd like gold if you 

grew up in a house stuck together with magic and had to 

buy all your robes in the second hand shop in Diagon 

Alley. The stupid Slytherins in my potions classes always 

tease me about them. One day I'll make stupid little Dylan 

grow a long tail with fluffy bits sticking out like his hair. 

He thinks it looks cool, but I know better. He looks like an 

echidna. 


I tried to find secret little drawers, a secret bottom or 

anything. I shook it, tipped it out, scolded it and even 

offered to make it some cake. But it was just an ordinary 

box. The clasp was nice but the rest of it was just a box. 


I glared at it. 


It sat there. 


I'd almost been expecting it to glare back at me, but when it 

didn't I gave up and flopped down onto my bed. I couldn't 

be bothered waiting up for mum or my brothers or even 

Harry. I was exhausted. But as I fell asleep, with Mariel the 

rag doll by my side and Milky Way (my most prized teddy) 

tucked under my arm, I felt quite content. It had been a 

pretty interesting day. I'd been to the beach (and been 

terrified, but that's besides the point), I'd found an empty 

box (with a pretty clasp, please note), I'd rescued lots of 

cute toys and given them a home and I'd be escaping my 

family sometime very soon. Hopefully Neville wouldn't 

mind if I turned up on his doorstep in the morning.


I rolled over his bed, snuggling up under the covers, one 

more thing coming to mind. 


The ceiling hadn't caved in on me. How delightful. 
 


 Okay. Now, I am aware that was a little strange. Well, 

more than a little, and I KNOW somebody will say 'um, 

where's Lily Angel?' Lily Angel is currently sitting in my 

computer half-written, waiting patiently for me to finish. 

::sweatdrop:: Ideas? Somebody? My mind has blocked off 

all access to Lily Angel...


I'm very bored, so, you know, some reviews would be 

nice...