𝘝𝘖𝘐𝘊𝘌𝘚. harry potter world ¹

𝘹𝘹𝘪𝘪. 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸

     RORY WAS BLOOMING BEAUTIFULLY. Her skin was darker and her cheeks sunburned; stars were disguised as freckles doting her nose and her brown eyes were turning a sticky, sweet honey colour. 

     Molly Weasley watched from the kitchen window, she looked so peaceful as she read one of the three books she carried around, the light summer breeze making her brown curls dance behind her back. It had gotten very long, and was almost untameable, but still she managed to look as fresh as a pink rose.

     Rory took after her mother's family side, there was no doubt in that; the golden tone of her skin blessed by the rays of sunshine that seemed to shine even more in her white dress, the crazy brown curls flying around and her tall frame (she had grown a lot too during the summer.) 

Nevertheless, she unconsciously carried herself like the Durnin's due to many years of only seeing that side of the family; Elizabeth II Durnin had shown her two granddaughters before she passed away that their movements had to be elegant, precise, feminine, delicate one could say, like the petals of the rose that symbolized the family emblem.

     Truth was, Rory wasn't as delicate as the petals, but the thorns. 

     George Weasley was watching her too from his own bedroom window, and he could confirm that she was as elegant as a field of wild lavender or a field of blooming sunflowers. It would be degrading to be compared to the sunflowers, because Rory was the sun that the sunflowers followed, and the sunflowers were everybody else that couldn't get enough of her. 

     Rory had a say in this too, and thought that everyone was overexaggerating. She looked the same as always and didn't stop doing what she did; she kept her fiery curls tucked in a bun with her wand, she carried three books around in case she got bored of the first one and talked with the voices in her head. 

      Maybe, what they were seeing, she once told them, was true happiness, as the Burrow had lightened her mood since she ran away.

     The Burrow was so different from the cold manor she had grown up in; the Burrow was welcoming like hot chocolate in the middle of a winter's storm, it protected the people inside from the nightmares and the burning thoughts of their minds. It was built on love and laughter, chaos and mischief, belonging and peace. 

     She enjoyed helping Mrs. Weasley with the cooking and doing chores around the house, it gave her some normality as her past house had silent house elves covering that part. The first time she accidentally slashed her finger with a knife cutting tomatoes, instead of shouting at her, Molly Weasley healed it and kissed it. Molly Weasley took care of her wounds, she didn't cause them.

     Rory and Ginny shared a room. It wasn't very big, painted a light pink that was barely noticeable as the walls were papered with posters of female Quidditch players and music stars.

     ''It isn't much,'' the redhead had told her when Rory had looked around with wrinkles in her eyes. Rory didn't care, it was radiant and perfect, and made Rory feel safe every time she entered it.

     Ginny's room was below Fred and George's, and oh boy, had she gotten any proper sleep at night in which she wasn't jolted awake due to the explosions? No, she hadn't. Whatever Fred and George were doing up there was obnoxious, loud, and probably, would steal a couple of smiles from anyone. 

     Not from Molly Weasley. When she discovered what they had been doing, she was furious and Rory witnessed a third world war in front of her eyes. Well, not in front, because she was hiding behind the book Dead Poets Society by Nancy H. Kleinbaum. (She took in the conversation all the same).

     ''I think it's admirable,'' she told George after her mother had left the living room and they were finally in no man's land, (not safe at all, but it was something). ''Making people laugh and happy, I think that you're intentions are in the right place.''

     ''She doesn't seem to think likewise. . .''

     ''I never thought that you, out of all people, George Weasley, was going to let what others think of you interfere with your aspirations.''

     (He was looking at Rory in another light).

     (Rory was looking down at the stupid book— Oi! Girl!).

     ''We are all different,'' she began, finally staring at his eyes. ''Some of us are born for different things, and so on. Now, that those things differ from the system and what society had taught us, they don't make them less worthy.''

     George thought. So did Rory.

     ''Did I phrase that correctly?'' she doubted. 

     ''Just fine, my dear Rory, just fine.''

     (The explosions kept coming after that, so she counted it as a win). 

     She loved spending time with Ron, playing chess, and Quidditch, and just having meaningless conversations after curfew in which their thoughts would drift to the sky due to the tiredness. She loved that he filled the space that was supposed to be Alexandro's (and he did a great job at it).

     Rory loved Ginny's curiosity and gossip, how they would talk for hours tucked in their beds and whisper secrets to each other. Rory loved annoying Percy with the twins, and loved meeting Bill and Charlie for the first time.

     Everything about the Burrow she loved.

     Just like if it was made for her to go once.