Admirable (Harry Potter Fanfic)

Chapter 5

Weaver was wondering whether or not to breathe.

"Charlie!!" A guy called Charlie, bringing Weaver back.

"I'll see you later." He told her, hurrying away.

Weaver wanted to say, 'What do you mean?' again, but she didn't find the gutts to. But she was glad to have gotten rid of Charlie before he gave her another attack, this time to the heart.
She found a seat and sat down staring at an empty plate infront of her, not daring to look at anybody else.

"Please be seated." Professor Dumbledore said, ever so calmly and the great hall fell silent.

"I have an important announcement to make." Professor Dumbledore began.

"Tommorow Gryffindor house is holding tryouts for the  Gryffindor Quidditch team.
The tryouts begin at 7:00am. All those who wish to participate in the tryouts are to assemble in the changing rooms by 6:45am. Please be informed that no first year can tryout.

All players are to carry their own gear and broomsticks.

That's it. You may begin your dinner..
And oh yes!
Mr Charlie Weasley, who, if I am not mistaken, is the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, please meet Professor Mcgonagall after your dinner." Professor Dumbledore said, looking at Charlie through his half moon glasses.

Weaver glanced at Charlie, who was sitting not far away from her nod courteously to Professor Dumbledore.

Ahhh, Quidditch. She missed the game so much!

It has been months ever since she last played. Or actually months ever since she sat on a broom.

But Weaver loved the sport. It was one of her favourite pass times.

Dinner was delicious like always. Weaver wasn't feeling well, but she ate a good amount.

As it was, Leo had told her to eat well. As he wasn't there to force her to eat here. Neither was he here to take of her health. So, she had to take care of herself now.

And she thankfully had Judy along with her.

She wondered if Judy wasn't there today, what would she have done..
The attack was strong enough to kill her.
It was perhaps one of the strongest she had ever received.

And then the last remembrance from her mother splattering and ending came before her eyes.
The cracking of the glass, the pellets of the snow.

"Mommy, can we make a snowman??" The 4 year old Weaver asked, gazing outside, hopping up and down at the humungous amount of snow.
"Sure Sweety. Let's go." Her mother said, picking Weaver up in her arms.

The next morning, Weaver got up and ran downstairs.
"Mommy, have you made Cocoa??" She asked, hugging her mother.

"Yes honey. Here you go." Her mother handed her a mug.

"But where is the second mug??" Weaver asked.

"The second mug??" Her mother repeated confused.

"For Mr White. I am sure he loves Cocoa too." Weaver said innocently.

"Who is Mr White??" Her mother asked her.

"The snowman we made yesterday Mother." Weaver said happily.

"Wow! That's a nice name! Here!" Her mother handed her an empty mug ruffling her hair.