FicWad

When the early-morning sunlight streams through the open windows, it illuminates the orange room to look as though it has erupted in flames. A stray beam from the glimmering sun falls onto a young girl's face causing her eyelids to flutter open as she wakes, then squint in the shock of the blinding glow. She turns her back to the windows, and then sits herself up while rubbing her tired eyes. She pushes her red hair from her face and looks around the room. In a sudden moment, her expression brightens and she leaps from her bed, and to a matching one across the room. The girl flings herself into the bed with a sleeping lump, climbs on top of it, and begins shaking its structure in vicious excitement. "Ronald!" she cries as she tries to jolt him awake. "Ronald, wake up!"

However, he gives her an unconscious grunt of protest and tugs his blanket to cover his entire red-haired head. The girl climbs off of him with a huff and sits on her bed to deliberate her next move. She rubs her chin, as though she is a thoughtful philosopher with a beard. A mischievous grin spreads across her face, and she stands to creep to the opposite bed. She leans down, moving her lips to be directly next to her ear, takes a large breath inwards, and then screams: "RONALD, WAKE UP! THE CHUDLEY CANNONS ARE HERE!"

Ronald Weasley snaps upwards in his bed with eyes open, crazed, and red with sleep, and looks back and forth frantically. "Where?" he demands, "I need to get Galvin Gudgeon's autograph!"

When he realizes that what forced him awake was an entire fabrication, he shoots a smug face to the culprit behind the fabrication itself. "Thanks a lot, Aralynn," he grumbles. "I really thought Galvin Gudgeon was here."

Aralynn gives him an innocent smile, and says, "if not Gudgeon, who else?"

"Dragomir Gorgovitch," Ron yawns. "He holds the record for most Quaffle drops in a season. It may not be a good record, but it's a record."

"Is that your dream job, then? Ronald Weasley: Chudley Cannon Chaser, and notorious Quaffle-dropper?"

Ron gives her a dark look before pushing her over on the bed. "Why did you wake me up? I was having a very nice dream, and now my chances of ever kissing Indira Choudry are gone."

"Indira Choudry?" Aralynn gasps dramatically, "but what would Galvin say?"

"Shut up," the boy grumbles in response before curling up under his blanket again, and then places one of his pillows over his head, "back to sleep."

"No!" Aralynn shouts, jumping on top of her brother. "You have to wake up, and stay awake, Ron! It's absolutely crucial!"

He groans for a long time before pushing Aralynn off of him and sits up again. "Why?" he asks, "who died? I want to go back to sleep! I don't even know what time it is!"

"It's nine o'clock," she says, "and no one died," she adds with a shove, "but someone was born today."

Ron gives her a dumbfounded look for a long while before his expression slowly shifts with the realization. "Oh!" he exclaims. "That's right, happy birthday, Aralynn!"

"Thank you," she responds proudly.

"You're old."

"I am not!"

"Old woman," Ron grins, "being eleven isn't easy."

"You've been eleven since March, and it's been a breeze for you, so shove it! You're not going to freak me out about being eleven," she states, then crosses her arms over her chest.

"You'll see," he shrugs, and then crawls out of his bed. He drops to his knees and crawls under his bed, rummaging through items beneath the frame, as though he's looking for something.

Aralynn leans over the side of the bed, watching his feet and legs shift around as he digs through the mess that is the underside of his bed. "Uh, Ron?" she questions. "What're you doing?"

"Looking for something," his muffled voice responds.

"Looking for what?"

"Something."

"Which is what?"

"This," Ron replies as he scoots out from underneath the bed. In his hands, there is a lengthy leather-bound book. "It's your birthday present. I thought you might like it."

"What is it?" she asks, taking the book within her arms.

"Memories," he tells her.

Aralynn furrows her eyebrows and glances up to him before looking back down to the book. She runs her fingers over the bindings and pulls the front cover away from the first page. When she looks down, the page has a photograph of herself as an infant, asleep in her crib. She turns the page, and there's another photograph of her as an infant, only this time, she and Ron are lying together on a plaid blanket outside of the Burrow with their mother sitting directly next to them. The third page is a photograph of Ron's second birthday, where he's sitting in a handcrafted highchair with frosting smeared along his face. Aralynn, in the photograph, is in an identical highchair, taking some of the cake from Ron's plate. As she continues to flip through the pages, she watches a lane of memories pass by. There is documentation of her adventures throughout the years. The last page before the blank one is a moving picture. The picture of is Aralynn and her father dancing together at Christmas. She was wearing a navy blue dress with a white sash tied in a bow around her waist with white flats and a white headband. Aralynn smiles down at the photograph and touches the page admiringly. Even though she received very few presents that year, it was one of the best.

Aralynn looks up to Ron and gives him a thankful smile. "I love this," she tells him, and leans over to hug him tightly. "Now I can add to it throughout our years at Hogwarts. I'm never going to let this go."

"I'm glad you like it," Ron replies as his ears redden with embarrassment. "It's not lame, is it?"

"No," she smiles, "no, it's absolutely wonderful."

Before either of them can say anything more, their mother begins to holler from the base of the home, up several flights of stairs in their abnormally tall house. "Ron, Aralynn!" she calls. "Come down for breakfast, please!"

Aralynn stands in excitement and grabs her brother's hand, lifting him to his feet, and tugs him down the stairs. They trample down the stairs together, and then plow into the kitchen, where their other siblings are sitting around the table, which is stockpiled with various breakfast foods.

"Happy birthday, Lynn," Molly Weasley says, and walks over to cup her daughter's cheeks within her palms. "Eleven years-old. It's so hard to believe! I remember so clearly when you were just a little baby."

"I haven't grown too much, have I?"

"Far too much!" she exclaims, sniffing away the tears forming in her eyes. "You were so young, and so sweet, and now you're all grown up!"

"Not quite yet," she responds, giving her a small smile. "Even when I'm considered an adult, I'm always going to be your little girl, Mum. I would never want it to be any other way."

"You're such an angel," Molly says, kissing the top of her head.

Instants later, a loud explosion-like noise rings from the table, and when Molly looks over to inspect the source of the noise, she sees her twin sons, Fred and George, eating peacefully, though their faces are blackened from said explosion. "You two," she points her index finger, "are not angels."

"Of course we are!" Fred exclaims.

"Can't you see the halos?" George asks.

"We're heaven sent!" they say in unison.

"If you two are heaven sent, then heaven is one hell of a place," she says in a hard tone, though there is no sincerity in what she says. Molly Weasley loves her sons, as mischievous and aggravating as they are.

"Thank you!" Fred and George both beam.

Aralynn moves to take her seat at the table, picking at the eggs on her plate with her fork. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, and it was already the perfect birthday for her. She didn't need a cake, or presents, or anything ridiculously extravagant. All she needs is to be surrounded by her happy, smiling, and mischievous family.

The door nearest to the table opens and a tall, redheaded man with a pointed brown hat upon his head walks into the house with a few items under his arm. "'Morning, Weasleys!" he calls out to all of them.

"'Morning, Dad!" all of the children respond.

"Good morning, dear," Molly greets her husband, giving him a simple kiss on the cheek before she returns to cleaning dishes.

Arthur ambles over to Aralynn, and gives her a kiss on the top of her head. "Happy birthday, Little Red," he says, and takes his place as the head of the table, "finally eleven years-old, and ready to attend Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Dad," she responds with an unchangeable smile. She loved when her father referred to her by her longtime nickname of 'Little Red'. Even though each of the family members is red of hair, Aralynn often received various different nicknames.

Arthur Weasley leans over the table and offers an envelope to the girl. She takes it from his hand and looks at the scratchy handwriting on the front addressed to her. She flips the envelope around and sees that the stamp is a dragon. "It's from Charlie!" she exclaims. She breaks the seal and unfolds the parchment to reveal more scratchy handwriting. All of the words are, again, addressed to her, which, for some reason, makes her feel special.

'Dear Fire Head,

Happy birthday. I hope it's exciting for you to turn eleven today. By now, I expect that you've already received your acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Now that you're eleven, you're officially old enough to attend the school. Hogwarts was a wonderful time for me, and I hope it's equally as wonderful for you. It's the doorway between adolescence and adulthood, where you discover your purpose, and who you are. Though, I think you may already know your purpose in life. You have a conscious head on your shoulders, and I know you'll be okay, no matter where life takes you.

Mom and I have been writing back and forth, discussing what your life at Hogwarts will be like. She's insistent that you're going to be sorted into Gryffindor. She says it's a Weasley family tradition, but I can't say I agree. You're brave, yes, that's undeniable, but you're also intelligent and witty, loyal and hardworking, but also ambitious and cunning. You're a perfect mixture of all the houses, but I could see you as a fine Slytherin. When I told Mom that, she was absolutely livid. She insisted that you'd never be sorted into a house of such evil. Aralynn, always remember that Slytherin is not an evil house. It has a bad reputation because of the members who have shuffled through there have taken the teachings of Salazar Slytherin, and twisted them into something dark and demented. Slytherin is the House of Evil People, but not the House of Evil. Remember that, will you? There have been plenty of good people to come from Slytherin, and I'm sure you'll meet them, or at least hear of them, one day.

I wanted to come home for your birthday, but we recently got a new dragon, and he's particularly disobedient. Romania has been such an interesting place to live, and I'm sure you'll love it when you can come to visit. Mom and Dad have been planning to come and see me, but as you know, money is tight. They're going to do what they can, when they can. You'll love the dragons, and I can't wait to see you, Fire Head. For your birthday, if I've enchanted three galleons to the bottom of this letter. Spend them on something nice for yourself, will you?

I hope to see you soon, Aralynn. I miss you.

Love always,

The Dragon Tamer.'

Aralynn looks down to the letter and detaches the three galleons Charlie gifted her. She studies them in her palm, and then looks up to her father. "He sent me three galleons. He wants me to spend them on something nice for myself, but I think they should go to mine and Ron's schoolbooks and such," she says, offering them to Arthur.

"You ought to take his advice, Little Red," he says, but takes the coins regardless. "You could always buy a pet with them."

"Supplies for Hogwarts are more important," she says. "If there's anything left over, I'll use that to buy something for myself, a pet or maybe an ice cream from Florean Fortecue's."

"That's very humble of you," Molly says. Her expression told everyone that she was very proud of herself for how she raised her children.

"You could get an owl!" Ron exclaims. "You should get an owl. I'll be stuck with Percy's hand-me-down rat."

"Scabbers is a fine rat," Percy scolds. "He's been in the family for nine years, and you should be grateful I gave him to you, at all."

"Oh, yeah," Ron says sarcastically, "thanks."

Percy opens his mouth to retaliate, but Molly intervenes to set down a birthday cake. "You two quit your bickering. It's your sister's birthday."

"Happy birthday," Percy says, then places his nose back into the Daily Prophet newspaper he was reading in silence.

"Thank you, Perce," Aralynn responds, then smiles up to her mother. "You didn't have to make a cake, Mum."

"Of course I did!" Molly squawks as though outraged. "You have to have a cake on your birthday! A birthday is never complete without a birthday cake."

"Oh, all right," Aralynn laughs.

Molly places eleven candles into the cakes, then lights each of them. "Go on," she encourages, "blow them out and make a wish."

Aralynn turns her attention to her birthday cake. She looks between each of the candles' flames. She takes a deep breath inwards, then blows all of them out in one try. As her mother had encouraged her to do, Aralynn made a wish. She wished for happiness, health, and safe passage to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.