Dancing In The Storm •Fred Weasley•

Chapter 14

•This story takes scenes from the Harry Potter series. I want to make it clear that I don't own those scenes. That's owned by
J.K. Rowling. Thank you•

~Scarlett~

Finally, the last weekend of the term came. Saturday morning, the second Hogsmeade trip.

Fred, George, and I had been planning for awhile to give Harry the map, but today was when we were planning on doing it.

Well, we had been planning on doing it together, but Fred and George ended up asking to do it themselves.

So I was now wondering the small village, waiting to see Harry appear.

I would've been here with the girls, but they had all stayed to pack. They were all going home for the holidays, I was staying at the castle with Mum.

So I was admiring things through the windows, slightly freezing in the cold weather.

But at long last, Harry appeared walking out of Honeydukes with Ron and Hermione.

"Harry!" I called, running over to them.
"Hey, Scarlett!" Harry smiled, waving at me.
"I see you got here fine then," I grinned.
"Yeah, that map is wicked," Harry breathed.
"Isn't it?" I laughed.
"It really is," Harry nodded.
"So what are you three up to?" I questioned.
"We were about to go to The Three Broomsticks," Ron smiled.
"Brilliant. Would you mind if I joined you?" I asked.
"Of course not," Hermione grinned, leading the way to the pub.

It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. I could see Rosmerta handing out drinks to a few students towards the back.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, slightly going red.

Harry, Hermione, and I made our way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying four foaming tankards of hot Butterbeer.

"Merry Christmas," he said happily, raising his tankard.

We all took a sip. Savoring the delicious taste. We were interrupted, however, as a sudden breeze blew against our skin. The door of The Three Broomsticks had opened again.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped coat — Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

Ron, Hermione, Harry, and I instantly ducked under the table. We watched the teachers' and Fudge's feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn and walk right toward him.

"Mobiliarbus!" Hermione hissed.

The Christmas tree beside our table rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of our table, hiding us from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, I saw four sets of chair legs move back from the table right beside ours, then heard the grunts and sighs of the teachers and minister as they sat down.
Next I saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels, and heard a woman's voice.