Finding Heather

Year 7 Chapter 5

Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, I'm just playing with him (Ok, my bad that sounds naughty.)

Chapter Five

 Heather awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming into her eyes. She was laying on the floor of the drawing room in her sleeping bag next to Ron and, on the sofa, Hermione. Ron had insisted that she get the sofa in a fit of chivalry that somehow didn't apply to Heather. Well, that was ok. She used to be a bloke and understood how it was. Besides, Hermione would probably always get special treatment from Ron now that they were together. Heather shook her head as a memory of Ron and Lavender from last year flitted through her mind and she silently hoped she wouldn't have to see her two friends like that any time soon, if ever.

 She lay there for a while as the events of yesterday washed over her. Had it really only been a day since she had been standing in Ginny's bedroom looking at her reflection and seeing that beautiful dress for the first time. It was probably in a dump by now, she thought forlornly, remembering how it had felt while dancing at the wedding. Going pink at the memory of dancing with Charlie, which she was very happy no one was awake to see, she quickly shifted gears to consider everything that Muriel had said about Dumbledore. Was it really possible that he turned a blind eye to the neglect of his sister?

 Unwilling to lie there with these thoughts racing through her mind, and as neither Hermione or Ron seemed to be waking up anytime soon, Heather crawled out of her sleeping bag, pulled on a jumper, and left the drawing room. Out on the dingy landing, she lit the tip of her wand and looked around. To her left was a bathroom and the bedroom that the Hermione and Ginny had shared the last time she had been in this house, and along the opposite wall were the mounted heads of dead house elves. Last night they had all seen that the bedroom had been rummaged through just as the drawing room had been, making them wonder who had been in here since the Order abandoned the house and what they had been looking for.

 Heather started to climb the stairs, looking into the various bedrooms on the landings she pased, which had all been ransacked as well. On the top landing, Heather found it hard to look at the door to her dead godfather's bedroom. Bracing herself, she passed the door to the room Sirius had given her and turned the handle to his. Inside, she had to grin. Covering the silver and grey wallpaper that Sirius' parents seemed to have decorated the entire house with were Gryffindor banners and flags, pictures of motorbikes, and even bikini clad muggle girls, staring vapidly out at Heather from their faded pictures. She certainly had to admire her godfather's daring. Over a large desk was a small picture of four boys in Hogwarts robes. Sirius, James, Remus, and Wormtail, Heather couldn't bring herself to use any other name for that contemptible man, all waving out at her. They looked younger than they had in the memory of Snape's she had seen, putting this picture somewhere in their third or fourth year.

 Reaching out, she attempted to remove the photo, it was hers after all. Unfortunately Sirius had placed a permanent sticking charm on the back, in order to prevent his parents from redecorating when he was at school or after he had run away. Instead, Heather picked up the various pieces of paper that the unknown searcher had scattered in an attempt to tidy the room. Several of them were from old textbooks, but one was a hand written letter. Curious, she sat down to read it, stopping cold when she realized who it was from. Her mother had written this shortly before they had been attacked, describing her first birthday and Sirius' gift of a toy broomstick. Swept up in emotions, Heather reread the letter three times, before looking for the rest of it. Treating the room much whoever had been in here last had, she ripped open books, reached on top of the wardrobe, and under the desk. The only thing she found was a torn picture that showed her as a baby zooming along on what mast be the same toy broom.

"Heather!" cried a voice from downstairs, sounding slightly frantic

"I'm up here!" Heather yelled back.