The Girl Who Hid | ✓

|34| (fourth year)

With my hand on my chest, I jolted awake. The pain in my shoulder, enough to feel like I was being stabbed. Looking around the room, I realized I was still Ginny's crooked room at the Burrow. The last time my scar hurt was when Professor Quirell, who had Voldemort's head on the back of his, touched me four years ago.

Scrambling out of bed, I walked across the hall, into the bathroom. My feet felt like cement blocks as I made my way there, every floorboard squeaking under my weight. The mirror was almost too high for me to see my shoulder, I had to stand on my tip-toes. The reflection of a pale fourteen-year-old girl with hazel doe eyes and pin-straight auburn hair stared back at me. Pulling my shirt to the side, I look at the scar of my reflection more closely. It looked normal, but was still stinging.

I had no clue why it did. I wasn't having a nightmare and I don't think Voldemort was lurking around the Burrow. A light knock at the bathroom door made me jump.

"Are you alright?" a small voice said to me.

"I didn't mean to wake you up, Hermione," I whispered.

"You were whining in your sleep, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," said Hermione.

"I'm alright," I smiled. "You go back to bed, I'll be there in a bit."

With a nod, Hermione left and closed the door behind her that I had left open. I sighed, looking at my disheveled self in the mirror. I wonder if Harry's okay... if his scar hurt.

Going back into the room, I grabbed a quill, ink, and a piece of parchment to write a letter to Harry that I'd send in the morning with Pigwidgeon, Ron's new owl.

Dear Harry,

I hope this finds you well. I'm sending it with the little owl Sirius sent Ron.

Happy belated birthday, I missed it by a few days, sorry!

I've written you because... A weird thing happened. My scar hurt. I don't know if yours did, but mine did. The first time it hurt was right before you asked Percy who Snape was and then back in the hidden room with Quirrell.

Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Especially if your scar hurt as well, I assume.

I hope to see you sooner rather than later. Maybe you can come to the World Cup with the Weasleys and me, yeah?

Miss you loads,

Maisey

The next morning, I sent the letter with Pig before having breakfast with the Weasleys. A crazy lot they were.

There's never a boring day at the Burrow. Fred and George are always pulling pranks on each other and anyone else they can direct their energy to; Ron is always the butt of every joke, and now me as well ("Mousey can't reach up there," Fred teases); Ron's older brothers, Charlie and Bill, weren't around much, but do pop in sometimes; Percy stayed in his room and seemed to work a little too much, in my opinion; Ginny and I became almost as close as Hermione and me, easily like sisters; the three of us spent most of our days with Mrs. Weasley whether it be cooking or cleaning, there's never a time where I am not attached to her hip. I've never had a motherly figure in my life and Mrs. Weasley was like the mother I've been missing.

"Maisey, dear," Mrs. Weasley called from the sitting room. "Can you help me with this?"

Standing up from the breakfast table and stepping over a trap the twins had set, I walked over to the sitting room to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley folding a piece of parchment and putting it into an envelope.