Chapter Text
Within just a few weeks I’d slipped alarmingly easily into a life of comfort.
Maybe that’s no surprise for someone who’d grown up counting every Knut, but I hated admitting it—even to myself. And I certainly wasn’t about to tell my family. Things between us were strained enough. The fact that I spent my birthday away from them said it all.
Great-aunt Muriel mostly left me to my own company, filling her summer with a constant parade of intriguing guests. I usually watched them from the safe glass walls of the winter garden or from the little park where she kept a riot of bright, chattering birds.
It wasn’t as if I lacked ways to fill the hours. Her house was vast and full of quiet wonders. The ancient library held volumes as old as Hogwarts itself—where I’d soon begin my second year—and plenty of newer treasures too, even Muggle novels famous enough to win a place on Muriel’s shelves. For all her devotion to wizarding history, she was curious at heart. And proud of her one-hundred-and-three years, a number she liked to mention almost as much as she liked to read.
Yet for all the work I could do—homework, spell practice, or wandering those endless book-lined corridors—I often caught myself alone in my wide, echoing room, mind pulled back to the end of last term.
The memory still made me shiver: the moment I learned my twin sister had vanished. I’d come apart completely, seized by rages I barely understood. Only later, after the Chamber of Secrets nightmare had finally passed and we’d all come home to the Burrow, did those emotions begin to make sense. I understood why Ginny wasn’t ready to talk; she promised to tell me everything when she could, and I never blamed her for waiting. What mattered was that we had each other again. Before the summer began we simply lived side by side—no heavy conversations, just the quiet joy of family, making up for a year of danger and distance.
It didn’t take long for the full story to reach me.
One heavy July night, with only moonlight and the distant call of night-birds for company, the world I’d been clinging to tipped sharply off its axis. The soft pink haze I’d wrapped around last year’s horrors finally burned away, leaving only the cold breath of reality.
While the rest of my family praised Harry Potter as the hero who had saved my little sister, I saw a different truth—one that pushed me to pull back as far as I could.
For the second year running, Voldemort had found a way into Hogwarts. And for the second time, someone in my family had faced mortal danger for one simple reason: because Harry Potter was our friend.
I knew exactly how my parents would react if I tried to explain. Nothing I said would change their minds. So I stopped trying. I would simply keep my distance and watch over things in my own way.
That choice wasn’t as hard as it might sound. I already stood apart.
A different House than every other Weasley. Friends they distrusted. Quieter loyalties. All of it gave me cover to slip further out of their circle—and I let the distance grow.
When Ginny was first rescued, fear and relief pulled us briefly close again. But as I learned what had really happened in the hidden chamber under the school, that closeness faded. Mostly on my side.
I could no longer meet Ron’s eyes without feeling the slow burn of anger at his famous best friend. I couldn’t share in Ginny’s glowing smiles whenever she spoke Harry’s name. I had no patience for Mum’s praise of “the extraordinary boy who saved her daughter.”
No one else seemed to see the obvious: that if it weren’t for Harry, our family might never have been in danger at all.
So I stayed quiet.
I even turned down the family trip to Egypt, though it meant missing Bill and Charlie, whom I hadn’t seen in months. Around them I might have spilled every anxious thought, and I wasn’t ready for that.
Instead I moved in with Aunt Muriel for the summer. She agreed after a few carefully worded letters, and she filled the long evenings with sharp gossip about neighbours and distant cousins. More than once she called me a black sheep of the Weasley clan, then added—almost with satisfaction—that she was willing to overlook it, certain I would thrive better in Slytherin than anywhere else. Her final remark still echoes in my mind: “Even Dumbledore isn’t as saintly as people think.” I didn’t ask what she meant, but oddly, the words lightened something inside me.
And so midnight came on my twelfth birthday. I lay outside beneath a restless August sky, the grass cool against my back, as I whispered a wish into the dark.
One lone tear slipped down my cheek. No matter that wish, I doubted it could find its way across the miles to my sister in Egypt.
♛♖
The next two weeks slipped by in the same steady rhythm.
Aunt Muriel eventually grew impatient with how many hours I spent hidden in her library and, one bright morning when the sky was an unbroken blue, she handed down a royal command: sort every book by topic and author.
I dove into the task gladly. Alphabetizing titles and stacking volumes kept my mind pleasantly occupied, a welcome barrier against the thoughts that began creeping in as the end of summer approached.
Soon I would have to return to the Burrow, where a month’s distance would melt away in a single family dinner—and I would be expected to smile as though nothing weighed on me. I cared about my family enough to hide the truth, to swallow my unease about the friendship that had drawn danger to our doorstep.
In a strange way, I almost longed to be back at school. Back in the Slytherin common room, where Malfoy’s gang would doubtless pick up their teasing right where they had left off. Yet our last real conversation hadn’t been mocking at all. If anything, Draco had seemed… concerned.
It didn’t matter. His father had set in motion the chain of events that ended with my sister’s abduction, and I couldn’t help the cold anger that rose whenever I pictured him. I didn’t know what to expect when we crossed paths again—only that I hoped it wouldn’t turn openly hostile. Even so, the thought of facing him still sent a shiver down my spine.
I was balancing on a windowsill, shelving books on a high corner ledge, when Aunt Muriel suddenly bustled into the library wearing a triumphant smile.
“Down you come, girl. I’ve something for you,” she declared, clapping her hands.
I managed not to scowl—barely—and jumped to the worn wooden floor. Judging by the slant of sunlight on the grass outside, it must have been close to noon, though the library itself remained steeped in soft shadow. Muriel waited by the door, clearly pleased with herself.
“What is it?” I asked, curiosity winning out.
“Don’t be nosy. Just follow me,” she ordered briskly, setting off down a long corridor with surprising speed. I hurried to keep up, marveling again that she was well past a hundred.
She led me into a wing of the house where I was usually forbidden to wander—so as not to be underfoot, she liked to say. At last we stopped at a small oak door. Inside lay a dim, dust-thick room filled with trunks and boxes.
“Don’t pull a face; you won’t be cleaning it,” Muriel said dryly as she lifted a long paper box from a narrow table. “It occurred to me that a young lady should have at least one proper dress robe, and I shudder to think what your mother might buy—something secondhand and dreadful. A Weasley girl deserves to present herself properly.”
From the fragile wrapping she drew out a length of deep green fabric that shimmered like water. It unfolded into a full-length robe of soft, flowing cloth, its sleeves veiled in fine lace dotted with tiny blossoms. The collar rose just to the base of the neck, where embroidery of butterflies and bellflowers curled in a natural pattern.
“Well?” Muriel’s eyes narrowed in mock threat. “Don’t tell me you dislike it.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
Her smile widened as she placed the garment in my arms. The fabric felt like liquid silk. “But… what will I wear it for?”
“Oh, I’m sure Hogwarts will provide an occasion. If it hangs a little loose now, a few spells will see to that.”
I thanked her with a sudden warmth that surprised me. For the first time all summer, my formidable great-aunt seemed less like a trial and more like family.
“We should find something for Ginevra, too,” she mused, already digging into another trunk. “She may not value it—far too sporty for my taste—but…”
Her words blurred into the background as we sifted through robes and finery. At last she chose a dark-blue gown trimmed with gold, insisting I take it home for my sister. I didn’t argue. Ginny would look regal in it.
♛♖
That night, sleep would not come.
I kept turning over the thought of tomorrow—of my family’s return from Egypt—wondering how I would greet them face to face. They would arrive flushed with travel stories, so perhaps there would be no arguments, just a cheerful flood of tales.
And yet, the memory of my summer-long defiance pulsed under every thought. I had written to Aunt Muriel behind my parents’ backs and, the day before their departure, calmly announced that I wasn’t coming along. Fred and George, and even Ginny, had tried to change my mind. Ron, sensing my mood, left me alone. Percy hadn’t minded at all; if anything, he’d been relieved to have the house free of me for a month. Nothing between us had softened—he still thought of me as the family’s resident Slytherin, an enemy in their midst.
Mum had been the angriest. She couldn’t understand why I’d choose to miss a family holiday. But when I told her that Harry Potter felt like more of a Weasley than I did, and that they might as well take him in my place, she stopped speaking to me altogether.
So I had no idea what to expect when they returned. Fear slithered through me like a restless snake and finally coiled itself into my dreams. I hadn’t had a nightmare since the end of the school year—until now.
Once again I stood on a long, dark path hemmed in by towering evergreens. It looked like the Forbidden Forest, but I couldn’t be sure. I walked carefully forward, waiting for the inevitable. When a hooded figure finally appeared in the gloom ahead, I broke into a run.
Usually that was the moment when I woke. Not this time.
I chased the black figure through shifting shadows. Whenever it vanished from sight, it always reappeared just ahead, drawing me on. There was something familiar about it, maddeningly so, but I couldn’t name the feeling. I never saw a face, or even a lock of hair—only the cloak, dark as midnight.
I was closing the distance when a hidden tree root caught my foot. I pitched forward into a carpet of dry needles and leaves.
I woke with a jolt, my skin clammy with sweat, my chest locked in a vice of panic. For a breathless second I couldn’t move. Then I rolled off the bed and crawled across the room until I reached the curtained window. My heart stabbed with each beat as I fought to part the heavy velvet drapes.
At last a blade of sunlight—newborn and sharp—struck my eyes. I threw the window open and drew in the cool dawn air, leaning my forehead against the sill until the world steadied.
Had I been running only in the dream… or had some part of me really fled into the waking world?
Footsteps sounded outside my door. Before I could get to my feet, the door swung wide and Dad burst in, his light green robes billowing and a broad smile on his face. The smile faltered as his eyes went straight to the open window and then to me, hunched in the sunlight, one hand trembling against the sill.
“Frankie! Merlin’s beard—what happened? Are you all right?”
He was at my side in an instant, steadying me with a firm hand.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I tried to assure him, though my voice came out thin and cracked.
“It doesn’t look fine. You’re bleeding.”
His alarm sharpened every word. I glanced down at my white nightdress and saw a dark blotch of red on one knee. A thin trail of crimson led back across the wooden floor to the side of my bed.
“I fell out of bed,” I said, grasping at the simplest truth.
“And crawled all the way to the window?” he asked, clearly unconvinced. The cheer was gone from his face.
“Please—don’t ask. I’ll be all right.”
I met his searching gaze and held it, pleading without words. After a long moment, he let out a quiet sigh and gave a small, reluctant nod.
“What brings you here so early? I thought I was to Floo home this afternoon.”
“Is that how you greet your father?” he said with a soft laugh. “I decided to fetch you myself. We’ll travel back together with your trunk. There’s so much to tell you—everyone can’t wait to see you.”
I studied him, suspicious of the ease in his tone, but he pretended not to notice, letting his eyes wander around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
“Aunt Muriel treated you well, didn’t she? You’ve spent a month in more luxury than the rest of us combined,” he added with a warm pat on my back.
“I still have to pack, Dad. Would you mind waiting outside?”
“Not at all.”
He inclined his head and slipped back into the hall.
I sat down heavily on the rumpled bedclothes. So much for the quiet hours I had meant to spend steeling myself for the family reunion. All that was left now was to pack and face them—ready or not.
♛♖
I stepped into the sun-flooded entrance hall where Dad was already waiting. Beside him stood Aunt Muriel, chatting in her brisk way.
“…always welcome here if she ever needs a refuge,” I caught her saying as I approached.
“Thank you, Muriel,” Dad replied, his voice polite but tinged with something less than delight. Then he turned to me, face brightening as though a switch had been thrown. I said my own thanks and good-byes, and together Dad and I crossed to the great hearth where a pot of glittering Floo powder awaited us.
He stepped into the emerald flames first, trunk in hand, and called clearly, “The Burrow!” The fire swallowed him whole.
I lingered just long enough for one last look at the airy house that had sheltered me all summer. How wonderful, I thought, to live in a place with so much space and quiet magic one day. Then I took a breath, threw in the powder, and let the warm whirl of green carry me away.
A heartbeat later I was standing in our own crowded sitting room—exactly as I’d left it, overfull and chaotic.
Ginny and the twins stood in a cluster ahead of me. Mum sat stiffly on the couch, arms folded, her expression unreadable. All of them were browned by the Egyptian sun, their faces spattered with new freckles.
I forced a cheerful smile even as a sudden urge to turn back, to run straight back to Aunt Muriel’s, almost overwhelmed me. I didn’t feel welcome here.
“Hello, everyone!” I called. Three pairs of arms wrapped me in a rough, happy tangle. Mum remained seated.
“How was your stay?”
“You have to hear about the tomb we explored!”
“I’ve made a little change to our room—you’ll love it.”
They spoke all at once, but Ginny’s last remark snagged my attention. After a few hurried exchanges she drew me upstairs to our shared room on the third landing. I had no idea what to expect. The moment I stepped inside, I had to blink hard to keep back tears.
“I thought you’d like a bit of privacy—after everything that’s happened,” she said brightly. But her excitement only deepened the ache in my chest.
A heavy curtain now hung from ceiling to floor across the middle of the room, slicing it neatly in two. From where we stood, neither bed was visible. Only a narrow strip by the door and window remained common ground.
“What do you think, Frankie? Isn’t it clever? We won’t disturb each other, and Mum says as we grow up we’ll need more space of our own.” Ginny beamed, waiting for approval.
“Was this your idea?” I asked, fighting to steady the quiver of anger and disappointment in my voice.
“Actually, Percy suggested it. Mum liked it, and then I did too.” She gave a little shrug, still watching me hopefully.
“Well, Ginny,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended, “why stop at a curtain? You might as well build a wall.”
I turned my back before she could answer and stepped through the curtain into the half-room now deemed mine. It was noticeably smaller, which suited me perfectly. On my trunk sat two paper boxes. I picked up the top one, the gown Muriel had packed for my sister, and returned to the doorway where Ginny still hovered, puzzled.
“Aunt Muriel sends you this. I hope you like it.” I pressed the box into her hands and went back to unpacking. The thick curtain muffled everything on the other side, and I couldn’t tell if she stayed or left, or whether she tried to speak.
And yet, I had to admit: inside that quiet corner of a long-familiar room, hidden from every curious glance, my little enclave felt like a necessary refuge.
No one could see the tears that finally came.