Seraphic ➳ Fred Weasley

⥱ A Carol of Chihuahuas

❝ A Carol of Chihuahuas❞

So, it likely will not be a shock to you, fellow reader, to know that Harry Potter ended up in Grimmauld Place, two days later.

Delphi thought about several strategies when alone at night, the balmy wind whispering volatilities; throw a fit in front of everyone; sneak out; Sherlock Holmes her way into a secret passageway that will somehow lead her out. But all seemed a bit too much.

Her eyes flew to her charmed paintings book; most famous wizarding paintings to go down history, and the wind slowly peeled the painting of a siren weeping. She had always observed those paintings when she was a child; the book had always been there. Placed by her parents.

The bulb clicked in her mind.

You can never pair teenage girl tears with a male adult. Delphini knew of their stoicism—the no-more laughing and no-more crying state of their mind, the slaughtering of their mortal emotions, and that statuesque indifference they had built up over the years. So at the crack of dusk, when the blue sky darkened to coalesce with the navy cloak of the night, she cried and cried and greeted the thus far ill at ease Order members with pitiful tears. She made sure to direct all her words to Dumbledore, who listened on and on. And of course, he was already quite manic from the banters that had occurred. It was all so much.

So yes, that whole little ruse ended up with the Order flying to Surrey and everyone staying back at home making a sort-of quiet, eye-spoken, unobtrusive party.

But Harry—oh boy... Harry was PISSED. Like totally dragon-pissed. Delphi knew they'd arrived right when Harry's voice sounded up to her room and woke her up from her kip. She put on a nightgown, hands fiddly and shaky and—Merlin's beard why is the sleeve upside down right when she needs it!—and her slippers were nowhere to be found!

She ended up going down the stairs barefoot.

Harry was there, with Hermione and Ron, and his face looked red as if someone had just suffocated his soul out of his lungs and sent it to hell and back out. He looked wearied, and it made Delphi's shoulders sag a bit. The purple of his under eyes held nights of corrupt, restless attempts at slumber. And the gleam of his eyes stripped away by the ungodliness of the world.

Delphi felt her lungs close up when he hugged her, and didn't trust herself to speak. For her voice was as brittle as straw.

"You little shrew," she gave him a hefty slap on the arm. "What in the heavens happened, Harry?"

A muscle in his jaw popped when he glanced at Hermione and Ron. Hermione had a conscience-stricken look about her. "Dementors happened."

Delphi gave him a goading look. "I know about them, idiot. What happened happened? Because Dementors absolutely do not have promenades round the U.K. just for leisure and tick by for a refreshing lemonade!"

"I know that! And that's the mystery behind it, isn't it?" His tone augmented an octave, "I'd thought you would've all figured it out while you left me in that shithole—"

"—oh no you don't blame this on me because we," she motioned towards everyone in the room, "do not have anything to do with them! We've been mewed up in here like a lobster shelter this whole summer!"

Hermione and Ron nodded eagerly, as if desperate for another voice on their account.

"I know. They told me." He said. His chest was heaving slightly from the exertion of having went berserk on Ron and Hermione. "Dementors just attacked me and Dudley."