Chapter 1 : My Dad, My Hero
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My dad had always been the greatest person in my life…ever. He was brave, tall, and amazing. He taught me how to fly my broom. He told me what was important in life; he taught me what it meant to be alive. He told me that my mum and he would always love me, no matter what I did. My dad was my savior, my hero. He taught me how to cope with Aunt Ginny’s death. He told me that Uncle Harry was going to save us all.
One day we were walking home from the park, and I was probably around the age of four or five. My mum was home, asleep, for my sister was always waking her up. Crying at night, biting at her bottle at day, making the room smell really bad whenever she had to go, of course this had been when she was younger, and yet we all loved her. Three years younger than me, but why I wasn’t like all those others around me, the boys years older complaining about their siblings getting all the attention, taking away the spotlight, is beyond me.
I guess I got it from my dad.
He carried both of our brooms, his big one and my smaller one, and he seemed like a giant to me. Everybody always told me I looked exactly like my mum, except for my eyes. Brown hair that always was in a mess and a knack for being brilliant-the first in my pre-school class to know the entire alphabet. Not a freckle on my face, a bitter disappointment to my father whose face was covered with them. But I had his eyes, blue and crystal clear, and that is why everybody told me I was his child, Ron’s child. Everybody could see it in the eyes.
We passed by the big tree, the one that I always remembered climbing, the one where I had broken my limbs several times, and mum would have to heal them that night. How I hated that potion. We began to walk on the grass, hair sticking to our necks, sweat pouring down us both. A warm summer day it was and a foolish time to fly around for hours. For the next few days I walked around the house, wincing at the pain of my sunburns.
The grass settled beneath my shoes, poking up at me sometimes, others just crackling under my weight. A quaffle lay in my right arm, curling around the round ball, grasping it to my body. I suppose I was a lanky child, long arms and limbs. Children from the nearby town often called me the ‘Monkey’, for I was faster than anybody my age at climbing trees. We had gotten my record for the oak at eleven seconds.
I glanced ahead, our house in view, much larger than it was from at the park, the Quidditch area, where all the witches and wizards in our area came to play.
“Dad,” I stated abruptly, continuing with my walking, though he paused for a moment before continuing, “Which house were you in at Hogwarts?”
He gave a small chuckle before replying. “I was in Gryffindor. Why do you ask?”
“Just want to know,” I replied, a smile beginning to creep on my face.
“Was Mum in Gryffindor too?” I inquired, glancing up at him for a moment.
He nodded. “Yes, your mum was in Gryffindor, along with Harry.”
I paused for a moment, appearing to take in the information. “So were Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur in Gryffindor too?
“Uncle Bill was, first one of your Weasley aunts and uncles. Aunt Fleur went to a different school though, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. We’re pretty sure it’s in France, but that’s supposed to be a secret,” Dad stated, whispering the last bit.
“So, everybody else went to Hogwarts?”
“Yes, everybody else went to Hogwarts.”
“I want to be in Gryffindor too.”
I didn’t look, but I could tell my dad was smiling. It was too obvious, it was too much like him not to know. I could tell he was smiling without looking at him, because I know my dad. My savior, my hero, whom without I would not be telling this story today, well, except for that whole Mum and Dad need to be in love and the stork story… I smiled along.
I hesitated at my next action, but I knew it was what was best. I needed to do this, and I’m glad I did. The aura surrounding us was too thick, words something both of us knew would just ruin it.
I grabbed onto my dad’s fingers with my hand, softly, but still. He glanced at me for a moment, smiling my head off inside of my mind, though I knew it would be too big of a give away if I smiled on the outside. He wrapped his hand around mine, a big bear protecting its child.
That’s how the rest of the walk home went, two happy people, a happy time indeed. Our happy times didn’t last long though, for dark times still lay ahead. That’s what I got for having an Auror as a dad. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Aka Voldemort, was defeated by Harry a year or two before I was born, though some of the ‘Death Eaters’ still loom around, seeking revenge for their master’s downfall.
Probably when I was around eight, possibly nine, Harry was at our house, talking with Dad and Mum, catching up on old times. At this point, Emily must’ve been nearly six. She was exactly who I wanted to be though, in looks anyway. She was, how many put it, especially all of my uncles, a Weasley at first glance. Straight red hair and brown eyes, freckles covering her face, she was a Weasley through and through. She was Aunt Ginny, respectively. What many put, anyway, a miniature version of Ginny, and for a while I didn’t understand why Grandma would begin to cry when she saw her, until I realized that she missed Aunt Ginny, her only daughter, her only dead child.
She died when I was four or so, Emily much too young to remember. Many family members joked about it, some just reliving memories when they played jokes. Uncle Fred and Uncle George said that it would be another female family member that would most certainly not be allowed to use the love potions at their shop. I didn’t understand why when I first heard it.
But Emily sat in the living room, coloring away in a little coloring book Uncle Charlie had gotten her, full of dragons, as usual. I sat across the coffee table from her, playing with the Auror action figures and dragon plastic toys I had, pretending it was once again the Triwizard Tournament, something that many people still congratulated Harry on, though it was twelve or thirteen years ago.
Suddenly, an owl sped through our window, landing in front of my dad, sticking its leg out, a letter upon it. Harry and Dad glanced at each other, ripping the letter off of the owl, ripping it in the process. They held the pieces together, reading the letter lying on the table.
“Damn it,” I heard my dad mutter as he jumped out of his chair, Harry doing the same.
“Ron, Harry, what is it?” my mum said, getting up from her chair to read the letter, though they had an explanation ready at hand before she finished.
“Death Eaters,” Harry stated in a rush, checking his pocket for his wand. “Bunch of people we knew from school. Diagon Alley. Got to go, and try to hurry it up Ron.” He disappeared with a pop.
“I’ll be back after we’re done. Don’t answer the door, close all the windows,” Dad stated, placing a kiss on her cheek, though she was still left in a daze. He ran over to us, giving Emily a quick squeeze. He turned to me, squatting for the moment. “Be good while I’m gone Keith,” he said, squeezing my shoulders. “Be good.” Before I knew what had happened, he had followed suit and had disapparated, most likely to Diagon Alley. I hated my dad always running off to do his job, but that’s what you get for having an Auror as a dad.
For the next few hours we sat in our house, Mum and Dad’s room, telling ghost stories on the bed. A battle raged on in Diagon Alley, and we had no idea what was happening at that moment, but what happened was for the worst.
I’ll never forget the tension in the room, the panicked expression on my mum’s face. Death Eaters, I had heard that name before. Weren’t they, Voldemort’s followers? Didn’t Harry defeat him? Why were they back? Only Emily didn’t know what was going on, thinking dad had merely gone for a walk or a meeting.
How wrong she was. Oh how wrong she was.
A/N Err, review? ^.^ Constructive criticism, support, flames, anything would be nice really. How about a 'I like/hate this because....' I suppose this chapter is a bit short, though I didn't want to get into the details of my next chapter too much... ^.^
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