It's Hard to be Perky when You're a Malfoy

Relatives

There was a woman standing in a large dark building. She had red hair tied back in a bun and freckles on her face. She was looking out of a window. There was a loud bang and the whole house shook. The woman fled. She ran down two flights of stairs and into a large room. In the room was a man with blond hair. She ran up to him.

"They're coming," she told him.

"I heard," he replied blandly.

"We have to get it out of here."

"I know."

There was another bang and a shake and plaster fell from the ceiling. The woman screamed and held on to her husband.

"There's not enough time," she said. "You take it and I'll stay here and distract them."

"Stop acting like a Gryffindor," he snapped.

"I am a Gryffindor," she replied obstinately.

"Do you really think I'm about to leave you here?" he asked.

"You're a Slytherin," she said. "Aren't you?"

"Ginny," he said reproachfully.

"Draco."

They stared at each other for a moment while the building fell around them and the noise began to rise to deafening.

"I have a plan," said Draco. "But you're going to have to trust me."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Hold on to me."

"Draco? What is it?"

There was the sound of the door caving in.

"Draco!"

Followed by an explosion-

***

I woke up panting.

"Lucy, dear?"

There was an old woman at the door. She resembled the one in my dream but she had grey hair, wrinkles and was slightly larger.

"Breakfast is on the table," she told me.

I nodded, still utterly confused and my head swimming. She left and I took to staring at my door. No, not my door. It took me a few minutes to remember where I was and why I was there. I was in The Burrow; my Grandparents' house, staying in my mother's old room. It was slightly disturbing how much pink was in it. My house had been destroyed the year before and they still hadn't found my parents. They had sent around a few boxes of stuff they had managed to salvage but I hadn't the heart to look through it. I know my Grandma had had a discreet look through it and had taken out and cleaned some of my things. I pretended not to notice that they had appeared in my new bedroom. Aside from that they remained in the loft to gather more dust.

I dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen where an entire English breakfast awaited me. Gregory was already at the table reading a book and helping himself to all the bits he knew I wasn't going to eat. He was staying too, so that I didn't feel so lonely.

"Morning," I said.

Gregory mumbled something through his, or rather my, bacon that may or may not have been 'Good morning'.

"What are you reading?" I asked, tucking into my scrambled eggs and stealing a cooked tomato from Gregory's plate - mine had mysteriously disappeared despite my liking them.

He showed me the title; 'Arithmancy For Dummies'.

"Starsy sent it," he said, swallowing my bacon and scratching his head. "I think it's a joke."

"You're really doing it then?" I asked.

"For the last time," he replied angrily. "Yes."

"But..." I floundered. "Arithmancy? Just because Lione's doing it?"

"I'm not doing it just because Lione's doing it and even if I was, what would be the problem? She's my friend and I want to be in a class with my friend."

"You're not doing Muggle Studies," I pointed out

"You're my cousin," he snapped "That's a completely different matter."

"You're not taking Study of Ancient Runes," I prompted

"What if I don't want to take Study of Ancient Runes, eh?" he cried. "What if I want to take Arithmancy? Have you thought of that then, have you? What's wrong with that?"

"It's hard," I stated.

"You think I'm too stupid to take it then, do you? My mum took it; you never know I might have a talent in it. I might be a genius."

"An idiot savant, you mean?"

Gregory, who had jumped up from his seat and been pacing around the kitchen as he spoke, turned to me and waved his finger in my face. "Watch it, you," he warned. "I don't see what's wrong with taking Arithmancy and I'd like to see you come up with one reason - one proper reason - as to why I shouldn't take it."

"You're already taking Care of Magical Creatures," I pointed out.

"And?" he shrieked manically.

"Divination," I continued.

"And?"

I frowned. "That's it, I think. Unless you've decided to pick up another course."

"There's nothing wrong with taking three extra classes," said Gregory slumping back into his chair sulkily.

I shook my head. "You're going to die come OWL time."

There was a sound of a knock at the door. Mrs Weasley - I mean my Grandma (I'm still having problems getting used to that. I have Grandparents!) - went to open it. There were cries of delight and chatter from the hall.

"Kids!" Grandma called. "Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron are here!"

"Oh no," grumbled Gregory, dropping his face into his breakfast. "Simon."

As my cousin (I have cousins! Okay, so that wasn't really a shock since I knew Gregory but it was still odd to know that there were these people all over the world my age related to me that I'd never met and that Gregory actually didn't like visiting) entered I half expected to here that music from that old horror film. You know, the really famous one. I can't think of the name... The one that goes NING NING NING NING while the blood goes down the drain... Or the paint if you're watching The Simpsons. Gregory had made him out to be some little freak. He looked perfectly ordinary. He had red hair like Gregory, although his was much neater and lacked that wild look Gregory could never shake off (although I later found out he used a spell to keep it that way. Apparently his naturally stays flat but he preferred the 'Harry Potter look'. Don't worry, I have pointed out that unless he gained glasses, etched a lightning bolt scar into his forehead and dyed his hair black he would never look like Harry Potter. Lione did however offer to help him with the scar). He was short and wore glasses. It was only when I looked at his eyes did I realise what Gregory had been going on about. His eyes, which were grey, never stayed still. They would rest on one thing for exactly three beats then dart away to something else to rest on that for three beats then dart away again and so on and so on. I found myself counting along with them.

"You must be Lucy."

"Two, three- what? Sorry?" I looked up into the smiling face of a tall woman with big brown hair. "Oh," I said, taken aback. "Minister. I mean Ministeress. Or... er..."

She laughed. "I'm Aunt Hermione to you. We can't have you calling me Minister all round Diagon Alley, can we? And this is your Uncle Ron." She indicated a nervous-looking man with red hair who waved vaguely. She turned to Asher. "Aren't you going to say hello to your Cousin Simon, Gregory?"

Gregory sat up. "Hello, Simon," he said dully, egg dripping off his ear and a piece of toast sliding off his face with a squelch.

There was the sound of the door opening again and a man's voice.

"It's us, Mumsy."

Gregory leapt from his chair and ran into the hallway shouting "Uncle George!" delightedly.

Simon watched him leave for three beats, then looked at his chair, then at the ceiling, then at the stove, then at his shoes, then padded out of the kitchen to, or so I assumed, look at his Uncle for three beats, then the door...

"Why don't I get an 'Uncle Ron!'?" Ron asked Hermione quietly.

"Oh, Ron," she replied.

"It's not fair. None of them like me."

"That's not true."

"Charlie's kids barely noticed me when we visited them."

"You are not going into this," said Hermione, sternly.

"Is it my job or something?" he asked anxiously. "I mean I've got a cool job."

"Of course you do, darling."

"A healer is cool, isn't it? I mean I... heal... people."

"Yes, Ron," she reassured my Uncle. "You're very important."

"Then why don't I get a 'Uncle Ron!'?"

"It's different. George is his Dad's twin."

"Well, that's not my fault."

"Shut up, Ron."

"Hey, you know the kid's obsessed with Harry? Well, what if I were to tell him-"

"You are not telling him you know Harry just to get him to like you. You promised Fred you wouldn't, remember? We do want him growing up mildly normal, you know."

"Okay. Well, what if I just-"

"And nor are you going to tell him any of Harry's secrets so you can be popular all-knowing Uncle Ron."

There was silence as Ron looked sulkily up at my Aunt. "I should never have let you go to those Occlumency night classes."

"Harry needed someone to practice with," she replied promptly. "And besides, let me? I can make my own decisions, you know."

"Not when it comes to reading my mind."

"I'm amazed there's anything there to read."

"Oh, here we go!" cried Ron, throwing his arms in the air. "Why couldn't you have done better in your NEWTs? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, that was not what I was saying."

"Then what was it this time? Why don't I put the toilet seat down?"

"Ron!" Hermione cried, horrified.

"Why don't I do the washing up?" Ron suggested

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh for crying out loud."

"Why aren't I the perfect first lady?"

"You're mad," Hermione told him. "You honestly are a complete lunatic."

"Oh, so I'm mad this time," he concluded, sounding hysterical

"Your whole family is!" she cried. "Except maybe Ginny."

"Ginny's sane? She married Malfoy! How much crazier can you get?"

"Maybe it's the whole lot of you then."

"That doesn't explain Simon."

I thought I could feel the temperature in the room drop dramatically.

"What did you say?"

"There's something a bit odd about him and it doesn't come from my side."

"Our son is very unique," my Aunt protested. "Most fathers would be proud to have a son who's already got an A GCSE in Maths."

"Exactly! What did he get from me?"

"He's got red hair, hasn't he?"

"Oh, wonderful," said Ron, oozing with sarcasm. "He looks like me. I get all the blame."

"Ron!"

They suddenly seemed to notice that I was still in the room and gave me two identical embarrassed grins

"Did you notice she looks like Ginny but with brown hair? " Ron commented, through clenched teeth.

She turned and gave him a Look. "She can hear us."

Gregory came back into the kitchen followed by a man, who looked exactly like Gregory's dad, helping in a heavily pregnant woman.

"Thanks for letting us stay, Mumsy," said my Uncle George (I seem to have a lot of Uncles).

"What happened?" my Grandma asked, helping the woman down. "You were a bit sketchy on the details in your owl."

"George broke a pipe," said the woman. "Flooded the whole cottage."

"I heard that fathers have to boil some water when their wives go into labour," said George. "So I was just practicing."

"Normally they use a kettle," said the woman. "Not a heating spell on the pipe."

"You wanted Muggle plumbing," George added accusingly. "And I could have fixed it."

"No way am I letting you near those taps again."

"If you had just-"

"Ah," snapped the woman in a soft voice. "Don't raise you voice to a pregnant lady. That's another thing that's your fault."

George opened his mouth to object but stopped. "Yes, dear," he said instead.

The woman appeared to notice me for the first time smiled. "Hello," she said. "I don't think I've met you."

"This is Lucy," said Gregory eagerly, showing that his love for his uncle George spread to his pretty wife. "Lucy, this is Aunty Tara. Lucy is Aunt Ginny's daughter."

"Ginny," mused Tara. "I don't think I've met her either." She looked up at her husband. "Why wasn't she at the wedding?"

"She wasn't invited," said George, sadly.

"Oh," said Tara. "Well. It's nice to meet you, Lucy. Are you staying here too?" I nodded. "Visit?" I looked at the table. She looked up at George. "Why do I get the feeling there's something big you haven't told me?"

George smiled. "I'll tell you later."

"As long as I know before the babies are born."

"Why?"

"Because chances are I'll be too exhausted to remember afterwards. Twins!"

"You married a twin," George warned. "You knew what you were getting in to."

"Are they boys or girls?" Grandma asked.

"We didn't want to know," Tara told her.

"I did," George contradicted her. "But she wouldn't let me see. But it's all right; I know they're boys."

"I don't know," said Tara. "I've got a feeling there's at least one girl in there."

"Nope," said George confidently. "Boys. George and Fred junior."

"No," said Tara firmly.

"Tom and Tim."

"No."

"Harry and Henry," Gregory suggested.

"No."

"Ron and... Ringo?" Ron put in.

"No."

"Winthrop and Yves," said Hermione.

"Eh?"

Everyone was joining in.

"Jay and Ray."

"John and Jim."

"Eric and Ernie."

"Zak and Zebedee."

"Craig and Crispin."

"Dale and Damien."

"Tino and Carver."

"Phillip and Hermes."

"David and Arnold."

"Arthur and Merlin."

"Robin and Will."

"Tony and Gordon."

"Andrew and Peter."

"Rob and Bert."

"Stop it! Stop it!" cried Tara. "I can't decide with all you shouting hundreds of suggestions at me. Even if I could, I'm not deciding right now. And even if I was, I'm sure they're going to be girls."

"That's right," said George nodding. "Georgina and Freda."

"George!" Tara growled. "You're not getting the message here, are you?"

"Oh, that reminds me," said George looking up at Hermione. "Harry told me to give you a message."

I spotted the looks of horror on Hermione and Tara's faces but George didn't.

"He asked if you could take Laura with you when you go shopping and to meet him at the Leaky cauldron."

"Harry Potter!" cried Gregory delightedly.

George realised his mistake and winced. Everyone else in the room shot him dirty looks.

"We're going to meet Harry Potter," Gregory breathed as if he couldn't quite believe it. "I could get his autograph and talk about all his adventures and ask him loads of questions about what he did... Wow... Harry Potter..."

His eyes glazed over. I waved my hand in front of his face experimentally with no reaction. I smiled up at my staring relatives.

"Excuse me," I said and padded out of the room.

I could still hear the talk through the wall.

"What's with her?"

"George, you idiot. What did Fred tell you?"

"Have you noticed that she-"

"Yes, we did."

Pause.

"Don't prod him!"

"No reaction. He is alive, isn't he?"

"I think so. Maybe we should do something to him."

At this point I walked back in with a pen and set about writing 'Shake my hand if you think I look like a Jack Russell' on his forehead. I sat back to admire my work and was very pleased to hear my Uncle comment;

"I like her already."