Molly Weasley said, strolling into the kitchen, "your mother called."

If it wasn't for the plate of sizzling hot bacon balancing on her right hand, I might have just fallen asleep for the second time that morning. And if I hadn't stayed up getting that old Ford Anglia 105E to fly again, I might have been able to get a good night's rest.

But now I found the familiar smell of breakfast distracting me from my exhaustion.

"Thank you Molly," I nodded, adjusting my seat at the kitchen table, "but I already spoke to her last night."

The red head set the plate down with a smile, "when is she coming by to visit?"

"Hopefully next month," I sighed, "things in the muggle-world are hectic enough, and she's too busy to have me worry her."

It was partially a lie, because while things were hectic over there, I just didn't want to see my mother. She wasn't a wizard, and she couldn't provide the same level of understanding and comfort the Weasley's brought me—I loved her with my whole heart, don't get me wrong, but she could never love me entirely.

Because I wasn't like her.

"You're not worrying anyone, sweetheart," Molly assured, giving me a soft pat on the head, "now, eat up before Arthur gets in here."

As I picked up a steaming slice of bacon, I turned to look out the stained-glass windows across the table.

Ron, Percy, Ginny, and the twins were off to Hogwarts already for what would have been my fifth year, so I knew I wouldn't see much of them till winter break. Not as if I saw much of them since the tournament, anyways. I kept to myself mostly, living in Bill's old room, only taking comfort in small conversations when it was necessary and rarely eating.

Let's just say things changed.

I'm sure Ginny and Percy have their suspicions about who really killed Cedric, and even though they won't admit it out loud, they definitely think I'm to blame. I can see it in the way they tense up when I pass by.

Ron's fine, I suppose, although he's begun to treat me as less of a best friend and more of an acquaintance. Maybe it's because he knows I never fixed things with Harry, or maybe it's because being connected to me was something to be ashamed of back at the school. Hermione at least sends me letters now and then—but I don't respond.

Not to mention, things were set off kilter when I swore off magic. I couldn't hold a wand without thinking about that night in the graveyard. Yeah. I don't know if I'd be able to perform a simple charm much less remember one.

And the twins?

Oh, they're perfectly fine. I couldn't get them off of me, actually. If I refused to leave my room, they'd wriggle in through the window and threaten to set my hair on fire if I didn't eat, or dress themselves up like Dumbledore and Mcgonagall to see if I'd fall for it and let them in.

One time I woke up to see them trying to shuffle their way down the chimney. I threatened to set the logs on fire if they didn't shuffle their way back to their rooms.

"Ah!" A familiar voice exclaimed, hopping down the stairs, "our favorite guest is already up and at em'!"

I smiled, turning my head to see Arthur Weasley bouncing his way towards the kitchen all dressed for his job at the ministry.

"I'm your only guest, Mr. Weasley," I chucked, pushing him the plate of bacon, "but yes, I've managed not to sleep in today."

The man flashed me an all-knowing grin, "how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Right, right, I know, I'm allowed to call you Arthur."

"Atta' girl," he nodded, "no use for Mr's and Mrs' in this household, we're all family here."

While I really had nothing in common with them, I appreciated how Molly and Arthur never treated me as different from their own children. It was like I blended in with the rest of them, except I always had an excuse to get out of scoldings and chores, and...didn't look anything like them.

"So tell me," Arthur said, plopping down at one of the kitchen seats, "what is Tik Tok?"

I almost spit out my bacon, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Tik Tok! Is it a new muggle time-keeping device?" He babbled on excitedly, "I've seen it all over the muggle inter-webbings down at the ministry...fascinating things, if you ask me."

"I haven't heard of it yet."

"Pity, I'll have to look into it."

"Let me know if you find anything interesting, then," I smiled, "it's been a while since I've found any muggle things of interest."

"Oh, stop bothering the poor girl about those things, Arthur darling," Molly scolded, wagging her finger at the man across from me, "now I think it's time you tell her what we've been meaning to discuss while I go get the mail."

Meaning to discuss...?

As I watched the woman disappear out of the kitchen, I nibbled on my bacon strip in anticipation. I never took a liking to that sentence, because it either meant you were in trouble, or there was something suspicious going on. Or both. I didn't like either options.

Clearing his throat, Arthur Weasley tipped his pointy hat and put on a sheepish expression. He was clearly not the best at confrontation, but he'd get an earful from his wife if he didn't.

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" I questioned, leaning against the back of my chair, "did Fred and George frame me for something?"

The man shook his head, "no, you're not in trouble."

"So what are we discussing?"

There was a brief pause, silence falling around the space of the Burrow, and the only notions being that of ticking clocks and self-cleaning pot and pans. If I was to say anything about the place, it would be that it got me through the toughest of times.

Times where I felt so utterly alone, and so scared, and so worthless that is physically hurt to breathe. But this place showed me that whenever you need to find a place to stay, all you had to do was go to the Burrow. It was home for everyone who stepped through the doors, and it's been more of a home to me than anywhere else I've ever been.

Arthur gulped nervously.

"We think it's time you picked your wand back up again," the man said promptly, "do a little bit of magic every now and then."

Oh.

So that's what they've been meaning to discuss.

"I..." I began, before cutting myself off. I gave up magic because it brought back a sickly feeling of guilt, and to think about ever starting up back up was a territory I wasn't ready to venture into, "well, I just don't think..."

Arthur sighed, "not every second of every day of course, but Molly and I think it would be an awful waste if you gave up all of your talent."

"I haven't given the subject much thought."

Before the man could speak, I heard Molly let out a squeak from a few doors down, followed my the sounds of her shuffling back into the kitchen in confusion. In her hands was a stack of letters, but she had one specifically in mind.

"How very peculiar," she mumbled, scanning the letter in suspicion, "who else other than the boys knows you're staying here, [y/n]?"

I furrowed my brows, "no one."

"Are you sure?"

"Dumbledore said I had to stay somewhere private so no one could try to...attempt murder, and things, ya' know?"

"Right, dear, you're very right..." she mumbled, stalking over to the table in haste, "but it seems you've gotten a letter."

Arthur seemed just as confused as I was. A letter? I'd been staying at the Burrow for almost a year now, and no one's sent me any letters (except Hermione, but those don't count, because she'd rather send me a couple notes instead of visiting me in person—since the school would hate her for it).

But not even any of the Weasley children, with the exception of Fred and George, who keep sending me love letters and boxes of puking pastils, sent me anything, because my location was supposed to remain undisclosed.

"Are you sure it's for me?" I mumbled, picking up the letter.

Molly nodded, "it's addressed to you."

I furrowed a brow, tilting my head to observe the envelop in my hand. The sides had been crinkled from an owl's talon grip, a musty smell of rainwater wafting out from the sides, but something on the top right corner caught my eye.

A green lined symbol, with a silver snake curled into the shape of a letter.

It was a Slytherin crest.

And I knew who it was from.