Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
—✧—✧—✧—✧—
TWENTY-THREE ONE OF A KIND
—✧—✧—✧—✧—
THE NEXT DAY, HOLLY'S ENSURED that her presence is known to the others residing at 12 Grimmauld Place. She woke up early, grabbing as much food as possible before she stakes out in the attic, protesting against their stupidity, and she left the door leading up to the attic wide open, so that anyone that passes knows. They know that, up those stairs, is a very angry fourteen-year-old girl, who they don't trust and they don't know what to do with. They know that they accused a fourteen-year-old of speaking to Tom Riddle himself to arrange for dementors to suck out Harry Potter's soul. They know that this has — shockingly — offended her, and now, she's past that open door, up those stairs.
She used to play music loudly, to make her presence known, to make them aware that she's never been happy with the fact that she isn't at her own house. But now, she keeps her headphones pressed against her ears and her Walkman's volume up high, a pile of new batteries ready and waiting to be switched over if they're required. Because now, they've gotten to the loud music blaring from morning to night — but now, it's dead silent. They won't hear the music downstairs today, and they'll be aware of it, and maybe, just maybe, they'll feel a little bit guilty about telling off a fourteen-year-old for trying to be a good friend.
She's making use of the day, and she's sorting through the copies of The Daily Prophet that she's been tossing to the side, not bothering to read due to the lunacy of the headline, and she's reading through all of the articles, figuring out what the rest of the country thinks is going on.
The majority of it is this: Harry is lying, Dumbledore is lying, and they're both very stupid and very crazy. Holly feels bad to think this, but she's a little grateful that the Minister of Magic arrived at school when she was asleep, and now she's got nothing to do with this, with the exception of a little note, how whatever happened, she was there, but no further knowledge is known. Which she's happy about. She knows that Harry can handle this better than she can. She's still curling up in a ball at night and trying to get the image of the boggart, as Karkaroff, out of her head.
Holly sighs. She begins to wonder if she should pack her bags and ask to stay with her cousin for the end of the holidays — at least there, there's an adult who'll happily tell her things. Not like the ones here, who say I'll explain it later, all the while tricking her dad into thinking he's helping them, when he isn't, not in the slightest, but rather, they need a way to keep an eye on her. As if she's some time bomb. As if she's secretly going to turn into something evil. As if she's her mother, which she is not.
She sees someone walk into her room, and she takes off her headphones, sitting up, about to tell Ron or Hermione that she doesn't want dinner, she's fine. But, as she sits up, she sees Harry, and before she knows what she's doing, she jumps off of the bed, throwing her arms around him.
