{Book one in the 'WEASLEY' series}
Ranks ~
{5th in harrypotterandthegobletofire ~ out of 1000+ stories}
{9th in fredandgeorge ~ out of 1000+ stories}
No one survives the killing curse, but Ruby did.
After a traumatic event involving Lord Voldemort...
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I woke in a sleepy haze to the sound of Hermione slamming her trunk shut. She was in a frenzy, half-dressed with bed hair and Crookshanks brushing up against her legs, begging for attention. "Ruby! I didn't even realise you were still in here!" She said, bustling around the room. "You better get up. Breakfast starts in five minutes."
I leapt out of bed, changing into my uniform and robes in record time. I smeared on a hint of lipgloss and mascara, tied up my fiery red hair, and ran down the stairs.
When Hermione and I reached the common room Harry and Ron were already there, waiting on the larger couch by the fire. "It's about damn time," Ron snorts, looking from me to Hermione. Together we walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast. We sat down and I loaded my plate with toast and eggs, before we heard a whooshing sound above us. At least a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows.
"Mail's here!" Ginny said from next to me. I scanned the group of owls for Emerald, who I spotted flying next to Hedwig. Both the owls swooped down, making a graceful landing on our table. "Morning Emerald." I cooed, stroking my owls honey coloured feathers as she clicked her beak. Hedwig had brought Harry a copy of The Quidditch Chronicle newspaper, which he scanned through enthusiastically.
I untied the letter from emeralds foot, addressed to myself in curly, cursive, colour-changing writing.
I opened the envelope, and a profusion of gold and maroon confetti explodes in my face, clinging to my robes and tangling in my hair. Unfolding the piece of parchment from inside, I read:
Dear Ruby, Congratulations on making Gryffindor! Your father and I are so proud! Don't worry if you feel like you're behind, you're exceptionally bright and you'll catch up soon enough. Make sure you go to Professor McGonagall if you need help, though I'm sure your friends and siblings would love to also.
All my love, Mum P.S make sure to write! *****
Professor Sprout entered the greenhouse just moments after Hermione and I ran in, giggling. The herbology professor displayed to the class what had to be the most ugly plant I'd ever seen in my life. They looked less like plants and more like black slugs that protruded vertically out of the soil.
"Bubotubers." Professor Sprout explained. "They need to be squeezed, and collect the pus, it's extremely valuable." "The what?" Said Seamus Finnigan, a boy in my year with an incredibly thick Irish accent. "Pus, Finnigan, the pus!" She replied. "Collect it in these bottles and don't waste any! Wear your dragon hide gloves, please. The pus can do odd things to the skin when handled directly."
Squeezing the slug-like plants was disgusting, but oddly satisfying, like popping a large pimple. As it popped, it swelled for a moment before a large amount of thick yellow liquid burst from it, which smelt oddly like petrol. We collected it in the bottles and had several pints by the end of the lesson.
