𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 | f. weasley

forty-six

THERE WAS A DEFINATE end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when Cassie awoke the next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as she got dressed in jeans and an overly loose cardigan of Remus (ninety per cent of her clothes were stolen from someone she knew); they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts Express.

The boys and she had just reached the first-floor landing on their way down to breakfast, when Mrs Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.

"Arthur!" she called up the staircase. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"

Fred got squashed in front of Cassie who had joined Harry by sticking to the wall as Mr Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. 

"Sorry," he mumbled as he looked at her, his arm pressed on the wall to stop himself from completely squashing her. 

"It's okay," she shrugged, trying her best to cover up the burning sensation in her cheeks as she smelt Fred's homely scent of grass and his annoyingly strong deodorant which smelt a lot like the varnish put on broomsticks. When the boy bent down to pick up a coin that had slipped off his father's pocket as he ran, Cassie got a sniff of his cherry-scented shampoo.

"Is that Sleakeasy's?" the girl asked suddenly, getting immediate flashbacks of the familiar scent she had smelled when she helped her mother make an efficient anti-dandruff shampoo for the company. 

"How'd ya guess?" he asked with a quizzical look on his face as they walked down the stairs. 

"I helped make that scent," Cassie blushed, scratching her neck, "I'm glad you like it,"

I use it only because I heard you love the scent of cherries, Fred thought to himself, and I can't help it but I think I'm starting to like the scent myself.

"So now you work for Sleakeasy's too?" Fred joked as they entered the kitchen. 

"The Potters own the company," she laughed, Harry nodding. 

"She told me about it," Harry explained, "Currently Aunt Julia runs it from behind the scenes,"

"Wicked," George nodded. 

"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" Cassie heard Mr Weasley ask Amos Diggory who was talking to him through the fireplace. Unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes, Arthur beckoned Amos to continue. The Black girl perked up at the mention of her former trainer. 

Mr Diggory's head rolled its eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house but was ambushed by his dustbins."

"What did the dustbins do?" asked Mr Weasley, scribbling frantically.

"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," said Mr Diggory. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up —"  

Mr Weasley groaned.

"And what about the intruder?" 

"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," said Mr Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot gets their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it — think of his record — we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department — what are exploding dustbins worth?"

"Might be a caution," said Mr Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"

"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," said Mr Diggory, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."