5, 🎨 Killer in the Kitchen - and not Molly's Stew!

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pre - order of the phoenix

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12 grimmauld place

🌻 Marigold held her hand over her missing eyebrow self-consciously. The room creaked with uncertainty of how long the old wooden walls could stand, and Marigold was very wary of the whispers of the adults surrounding her.

She sipped on her chocolate milk quietly, ears perking up when the kitchen door was swung open yet again. Behind the figure of an unrecognisable stranger walking in, Marigold saw her classmates Hermione and Ron craning their heads to look through, accompanied by three other gingers. She locked eyes with one of them and quickly averted her gaze, shifting uncomfortably.

The door closed behind the incredibly short man, and Marigold could almost hear them scrambling up the stairs, hissing at each other for almost getting them caught earwigging on the adults conversation.

"Oh, please," Marigold's ears perked up at the sound of a man barking out a laugh, suddenly interested in what had previously seemed like a dull conversation. "Molly, you can't be serious. Harry-"

"- he's fiveteen!" she screeched, snatching the Daily Prophet from his hands and pointing at a picture of the famed Harry Potter on the front page. It was a photo taken months ago, before the last task of the Triwizard Tournament. "He's too young to be subjected to - to - to all of this nonsense!"

"And yet you didn't seem to argue when Dumbledore told us he was bringing Marigold, did you?" Aloe, she had come to learn her name, interrupted loudly. At the mention of her name, a few people around the table turned towards her. "What, you're afraid to bring my godson here to be with his family because you're afraid he might want to know what's going on in his life, but you don't lift a finger when it's a girl the same age who's allowed to sit in on a meeting? Have some sense, Molly -"

Marigold shrunk slightly. A meeting? Well, it did make sense... . There was a plate of biscuits in the middle of the table, and the kettle was still boiling. Marigold wanted to reach for a custard cream, but thought she'd better focus on the argument at hand, since it now counted her.

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