WE'LL TAKE ON THE WORLD ; h.j.p.

1 | Grimmauld Place Nr. 12

The burning hot July sun stood high above the Burrow and unbearable, thick air accumulated in Ron's room right underneath the roof. The occasional breeze coming over the high grown lavender fields did not help in any way.

Ron was lying on his bed, one leg dangling over its edge while watching the Quidditch players on his posters flying around, not capable of any movements himself.

Hermione leant against the opened door leading to the slim balcony, her hair bound to a high bun which did not keep the glimmering beads of sweat from appearing on her dark skin. As usual, she flicked through the Daily Prophet. A week ago, a picture of Harry and Cedric had adorned the front page alongside with the headline Tragic Accident Traumatises Boy Who Lived, now it was just some trivial article about a restoration of the Ministry.

They were one week into the summer holidays and the press was still determined to not mention the return of You-Know-Who with a single word. Instead of writing about that, the reporters had their fun of casually slipping Harry's name in small articles, calling him "attention-seeking" or straight up "mentally troubled".

Allison groaned and turned over onto her stomach, sprawling across the chapped floorboards just like Hermione's cat Crookshanks. Technically, her parents and Allison had planned to stay a week during the summer in France at a rented holiday house like every year, but due to obvious reasons they had cancelled the trip.

A few days ago, they had arrived at the Burrow and had stayed here, which usually would have been fun - playing Quidditch with the twins and Ginny, maybe Bill would have paid them a visit - but after everything, no one was really thinking about anything except You-Know-Who. And if the heat was going to stay, no one would get her motivated for anything except lying around all day.

"What do you think they are talking about?" asked Ron, his voice dry. Since their arrival, the adults were constantly talking behind closed doors, whispering, and sending out letters.

"Hopefully your mum is making us some cold drinks," Allison answered.

"Yeah... that would be great..."

Hermione rolled her eyes at them and scrambled up from the floor to sit down on the camping bed at the other side of the room. Up until the age of eleven, that had been Allison's bed, but then Mrs. Weasley had decided that she wanted no girl in her son's room overnight and had given the bed to Harry.

"They're talking about everything that has happened and You-Know-Who," said Hermione, fanning herself with the newspaper. "I think they are planning on what to do next. I mean, they have to do something if the Ministry keeps denying the truth, right?"

"Well, Fudge has to accept that he's back. It's ridiculous," replied Allison.

"Not only that, but it's also dangerous," said Hermione urgently. "People have to be warned, better sooner than later."

"Yeah, well, later in You-Know-Who's case means death, so obviously -"

"That's not funny, Ron!" Hermione hissed.

"I didn't mean for it to be funny!" Ron pushed himself up and crossed his arms. "I only said that -"

"Oh, will you two stop!" Allie interrupted them.

Thankfully, before the bickering got any further, someone knocked and in the next moment, her mum's face peaked through Ron's door. Theresa Parker's dark brown hair framed her round face just like Allison's did, and in her blue eyes lay a worried, tired expression, though she tried her best not to let it show.

"Would you three come downstairs, please? Lunch is ready," her mother said, and as none of them moved, "We have to tell you something."

"Finally," muttered Ron, and Hermione held out her hand to pull Allison up from the floor.