FicWad

Please note that the Harry Potter series does not belong to me, nor do Hermione, Ron, George, or Fred (though I wish Fred was mine!). These are all exclusive property of Ms. JK Rowling, even if deep down I believe that JK Rowling is a witch, Squib, or has some form of direct contact with the magical world, and that she found out all the details for her novels from Harry, Ron, or Hermione. Yes, I really believe that. And yes, I am aware that I am a loser. Enjoy the story.






As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.
“I know he will.”
The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.



I smiled to myself as I closed my copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I had read the book several times before, yet the final chapter always made me happy. I am Amy Coarte, 13-year-old Harry Potter fan. I adore all of the Harry Potter books, of course. JK Rowling is the greatest thing that ever happened to this planet. Deathly Hallows, however, is my favorite. My favorite by a close margin, mind you, but my favorite. Probably because it invokes such an emotional response in me. I’ve cried more than once over the deaths of Tonks, Lupin, Dobby, and Fred. Especially Fred, because the Weasley twins were always my favorite characters. When I read Chapter 34, The Forest Again, for the first time, I was shaking so badly I had to put the book down and try to calm myself down, reminding myself that Harry’s not real. But to me, I suppose, all the characters are real. You get to know them so well, it’s like they’re your friends. I looked over at the alarm clock sitting on the dresser next to my bed. It was 9:22 PM. It was Saturday night, so I didn’t need to do anything tomorrow. The school year had started last month, and I was used to going to bed at 9:30. Yet, somehow, I felt wide awake, and decided to go downstairs. Getting off my bed, I walked across my room to the open door that led to the hall. I paused for a moment as I passed my bookcase, wondering if I should put my book back, but I decided against it and continued walking. I passed my little brother’s room on the way to the staircase, and saw him stretched across his bed in his pjs, watching a movie on his portable DVD player. I passed the doorway and turned down the staircase, and heard a snatch of what my little brother was watching. It was the scene from Spiderman 3 where Spiderman forgives the Sandman. I chuckled to myself as that movie dragged a quote into my head. While I was walking down the stairs, I imagined Darren Criss from the hilarious Very Potter Musical saying, “And Spiderman 3 is where everything sucks and falls to shit! What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want my life to be like Spiderman 3. I hated that movie.” Man, I love that play. Humming Got to Get Back to Hogwarts to myself, I saw Mom watching TV in the living room. “Can I go outside?” I asked her. She moved her gaze to me. “In your pajamas? Well, fine, just stay on the porch.” I walked from the living room to back porch. I didn’t care if the neighbors saw my pjs. They were simple light blue pants and a solid gray tank top. Nothing I wanted to hide. As I stepped outside, I felt a wind blow. It chilled my head, as my short straight brown hair was still wet from the shower. I sat down on the edge of a metal chair on the screened-in porch, and placed my book in the space I wasn’t occupying. I looked out at the backyard. Beyond that, the lake, which was surrounded by other homes. I liked my neighborhood. I didn’t know most of the people, as most of them were old people, but there were lots of lakes. I suppose lots of retirees are just a small drawback to living in South Florida. Normally, the houses surrounding the lake had their porch lights on. That was normally the only light in this small section of the neighborhood. However, there was another light. A blue light. And it was emanating from my copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. My first, insane thought, was, Portkey. Looking curiously down at the book that was giving off pulsing blue light, I did the first thing that popped into my head. I touched it.
As soon as my fingertips made contact with the book, I felt a jerk behind my navel, and I began spinning uncontrollably, my feet had left the ground, and my fingers were stuck to the book, I couldn’t see where I was… and then I hit the ground hard. I was laying face down on dirt, my arm in an awkward position. My ankle felt as though it was sprained. I tried to sit up, but only succeeded in turning to my side. Looking out, all I could see was hills. There was a farm a long ways away, but I wouldn’t be able to make it on this ankle. I heard shouting from behind me. My heart soared. People would be able to help me! While attempting once again to sit up, I heard a woman’s voice from behind me shout, “Harry, is that you?” I had no idea why this woman searching for a boy named Harry, and even as I thought this, I saw my book lying beside me. I edged away from it. I didn’t want to touch it and be transported somewhere else. The footsteps were coming nearer, and the ground was illuminated by a small light, which the woman was probably holding. I felt hands on my back flip me right side up, and saw my rescuer. She was a squat, motherly-looking woman, who was wearing patched robes and an apron. She had red hair. Even with her kind looks, it was remarkable how much she resembled a saber-toothed tiger. Her face, which was filled with worry, suddenly filled itself with confusion. “Who are you?” she asked. I saw where the light she was carrying came from. It was a wand. No, I corrected myself. It’s just a stick, with a light hidden in it. I didn’t believe myself. I knew exactly what that stick was, and who that woman looked like. And I turned a little bit, and saw what I knew, however crazily, would be there. The Burrow.
I began to worry that I was going insane. But I had no time; Mrs. Weasley had pointed her wand at me. “Remus!” she called back to the house. “Come here, quick!” “Get up!” she hissed at me. “I can’t.” I tried to explain. “My leg…” There was a loud bang, and I saw the silhouettes of three people running towards me. As they got close enough for me to see their faces, a man with very wolfish characteristics raised his wand, and spoke to the others. “Get back inside, Ginny!” A small, red-headed girl backed up, but did not go back to the house. Another man, who I could see also had red hair, turned to Ginny. “Go look after George.” Those words seemed to do it, and Ginny turned away from her father and walked grudgingly away. Lupin and Mr. Weasley both pulled out their wands, and Mrs. Weasley backed up. “Who are you?” Lupin barked. “A- Amy.” I stuttered. “Amy Coarte.” “What are you doing here?” he shouted. “I didn’t think Death Eaters were recruiting children!” “I- I’m no Death Eater… I’m just a Muggle…” I stammered. “A Muggle who knows about Portkeys, and knows what Muggle means in the first place! Indeed!” He raised his wand over his head, and I closed my eyes and heard him shout, “Expelliarmus!” There was a sensation like a wave rolling over me, and then, nothing. “She has no wand.” Lupin said. “But it is probably a trick… but we have to take her inside.” “On your feet.” said Mr. Weasley. “I can’t.” I once again tried to explain. “I twisted my ankle.” He looked at my ankle, nodded curtly, and conjured a pair of crutches from midair. “If you are really a Muggle,” he said. “You will know how to work these.” I grabbed the crutches, and using them to help me up, put them under my arms, glad to have something to prove I was a Muggle. Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows, but said nothing else. I left my book where it lay; I had no desire to ever see it again. It was left untouched by the witches and wizards that surrounded me. I hobbled back to the Burrow, following Mrs. Weasley, and being followed by Lupin and Mr. Weasley, their wands pointed at my back.
The bright lights of the Burrow took my eyes a moment to adjust, but once they did, I saw amazing things. A scrub brush was washing dishes of its own accord. A pair of knitting needles were knitting a sweater. There were all sorts of items pinned on the wall, and a clock with the faces of all the Weasleys. All the clock hands were pointed to mortal danger. They marched me into the living room, and I saw Ginny and Fred kneeling next to George, who was lying asleep on a couch underneath a window. The side of his head was being bandaged by a tall man I recognized as Kingsley. With a jolt, I realized I knew not only where I was, but when. I was in the scene where everyone is waiting for everyone to get home, after the Battle over Little Whinging. George had lost an ear. They were waiting for Ron, Tonks, Mudungus, Mad-Eye, Hagrid, and Harry. That meant Hermione was somewhere around here. I glanced around the room, and saw her looking out a window, watching the dark sky. Lupin pushed me into a seat, and Mr. Weasley spoke quietly to Kingsley. From what I could gather, he was talking about me. I swallowed as I realized uneasily that of the six they were waiting for, only five would return. Mad-Eye Moody was going to die, or was already dead. Lupin was glaring at me. A couple of people walked into the room. A long haired-man with an earring that had a fang on it, and a very pretty blonde woman. Bill and Fleur. Mr. Weasley waved his wand, and a small bottle flew into the room. He caught it, and walked back to me. I was aware that everyone was looking at me. “This isn’t poison.” Said Mr. Weasley. He seemed a little more sympathetic towards me now that we were in the light, and he could clearly see how young and terrified I was. “It’s Veritaserum. If you mean us no harm, this will prove it.” He tipped it to my lips, and poured a couple of drops down my throat. I didn’t feel any different, until he asked a question. “Are you a Death Eater?” It was almost as if I was in a trance. I didn’t even know I was going to answer until I heard my answer escape my lips. “No.” “Do you mean any harm to us, or anyone who will be staying at the Burrow?” “No.” “What is your name?” “Amy Coarte.” “How old are you?” “13.” “Are you using Polyjuice Potion?” “No.” “Are you a witch?” “No.” “Are you a Muggle?” “Yes.”
“What?!” shouted Lupin. “She knows too much about us to be a Muggle. And she may be holding back even more information!” “Calm down, Remus.” Said Mr. Weasley. “She is just a child.” “Actually.” I said, noticing their surprise that I would decide to speak. “I do know more. But you probably won’t believe me.” “Why, dear.” Said Mrs. Weasley. “Of course we’ll believe you. That potion won’t wear off for a half hour. We know you won’t lie.” I smiled at her, glad for her voice of encouragement. “If you don’t mind, however, it would be better if we wait for Ron, Tonks, Hagrid, and Harry to get here.” “How…” Mrs. Weasley murmured, dumbstruck. “I know a lot of stuff, more stuff than you guys know. But Hagrid, Harry, Ron, and Tonks need to hear it, is that all right, Mrs. Weasley?” She nodded wordlessly. “But Amy.” Voiced Hermione. “You claim to know so much, yet you left out two people who will be arriving.” My breath caught, and shakily, I told her, “Mudungus and Mad-Eye won’t be arriving.” Her face drained of all color. “Mudungus is safe.” I said slowly. “But Mad-Eye… won’t be coming back. He’s…” My voice faded. I didn’t speak for a while, nor did anyone else. After a couple of minutes, there was a flash of blue light from outside. Everyone rushed outside, except for Bill, who hung back to keep an eye on me, and George, of course. There were many voices speaking at once, and I didn’t hear anything specific. After about five minutes, everyone came back in. Their faces were all solemn. I knew what they had learned. May-Eye was dead. Everyone took a seat, and a red-haired boy who could only be Ron Weasley walked over to Hermione, who was standing next to George. And pink-haired woman, who I recognized as Tonks, put her arm around Lupin. Hagrid squeezed his way through the doorway, and took a seat on a couch, which groaned under his weight. While everyone came in and made themselves comfortable, I saw the boy who I most wanted to see. His unruly black hair and his green eyes were as much a giveaway to his identity as the lightning scar on his forehead. Harry Potter.