note: tried dual pov (kind of) so yeah (: 

AZALEA POTTER HAD A WAY OF FINDING HERSELF IN TROUBLE. 

This one would have to take the cake, at least so far. In her fifteen years of life, she can't remember a time where she'd fucked up so bad. 

That's how she found herself locked in her room, Vernon Dursley outside her window in the dead of the night, drilling grills onto her window while glaring daggers into her soul. 

"You're never going back to that school. Ever!" 

Yeah that much was obvious. It was well past 10 on the 31st of September, and the train for Hogwarts would leave in a little over 12 hours. She didn't have her books, her Hogwarts letter. . . 

She huffed, staring up at the ceiling, hands resting on her stomach. It was probably midnight by now but there was no way of knowing — they'd taken her clock and alarm away. 

This was the third time she'd tried to go to sleep, only to wake up just a few minutes later. Her stomach grumbled again, and curled up in a ball to try to make it better. Of course this was different from but there wasn't anything she could do. The granola bars she stored under her clothes were already sitting in her stomach, the sweet taste of the berries still lingering on her tongue, making her thirsty too. 

She heard another rumble and resisted the urge to groan. She turned over to her left side and clutched her stomach, staring at the door.

Hooded eyelids begged for a flash of sleep, but her tummy wouldn't let go. It needed food, and it needed food now — but she was locked in the room. There was no way she could sneak out. 

She muffled a weak scream in her pillow. 

Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to sit up, get up from the bed, a wince leaving her lips when the wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. 

She opened her closet, cautious with her movements because the lovely couple slept only a door down her room, and reached for the pair of scissors hiding beneath the pile of Dudley's old books — the Dursleys used most of her cupboards as space for storage, so most of her stuff was almost always towed away in her trunk. 

Fragments of her reflection stared back from the glass of her room's window. She could see the flickering light of the topmost room of the house opposing hers, where a very kind old Mr. Brown lived with his instruments, his granddaughter and his cats. He was also the owner of the lovely store where she worked whenever she could. 

She frowned but didn't linger on it. Tilting her head to the side, she took one last look at her long waves before grabbing a rubber-band and tying her hair into two separate sections — one forward, towards her forehead, and the other at the nape of her neck. 

Alisa, Mr. Brown's granddaughter, worked in a hair-salon and had taught her enough of the ropes. She volunteered to work there too, whenever she wasn't needed at Brown's Notes. 

She bit her lip and tightened her grip on the scissors, her muscles tensing and flexing as the clip clip clip of the scissors two arms clashing against one another filled the silence. She let go of the breath she didn't know she was holding once she was done with the section in the back, opening her hair and grinning at the shorter length. Then, she did the same with the forward section, and once she'd cleaned up, she ruffled her dark waves, satisfied with the result. 

At least something good had come out of tonight. 

.  .  . 

AT LEAST SOMETHING GOOD HAD COME OUT OF TONIGHT. 

Castor was done packing away his letter and trying his best to go to sleep (he failed) when his father came into his room and asked if he'd like to visit the Weasleys. 

Castor eyed the clock on his wall. It was close to 11. 

"Just got a letter from Arthur and the Ministry. Hogwarts is gonna open a week later than always, so he thought you'd like to spend the extra days with his boys. What do you say?" 

Who was Castor to argue? 

So here he was, thirty minutes later (his aunt had introduced him to the concept of Floo Powder — lovely stuff), being squeezed to death in Mrs. Weasley's tight hug while Zade tried to hold in his chortles at his brother's discomfort (he failed too). 

"Come on, dearie, Ron will show you to his room — you must be tired!" 

But that wasn't Ron's plan. No, Ron was going to find out what the matter was with Azalea, and Fred and George were nothing if not excited to help out, as was Cas. 

So here he was, at four in the morning, in the backseat of a flying car hovering over Privett Drive. 

He was the one closest to the window, and the one who got the shortest glimpse ever of a sleeping Azalea, leaning against her window's cool glass, her knees to her chest. 

She looked so serene. 

.  .  .

THE NEXT TIME AZALEA WOKE UP, IT WAS TO A BLINDING LIGHT. 

She cursed under her breath, assuming that it was finally morning and she could be let out, into the kitchen to cook breakfast and sneak something to eat. Or that a helicopter sent by the government who finally recognized that a poor orphaned girl had been forced into her mad family's custody and had decided to plan a secret rescue in the early hours of the morning. 

She almost cried — parts happiness, parts frustration — when she saw that it was just a flying car. 

A flying car. 

Her eyes widened, the fogginess in her brain disappearing as she registered her words. Sliding her window open, she held onto the glass just in time so it wouldn't cause a noise. 

.  .  .

DESPITE HAVING GROWN UP WITH MUGGLES, THERE WEREN'T MANY THINGS THAT SURPRISED AZALEA POTTER. 

So that's why Castor captured the mental image of her awe-struck face, highlighted by the moonlight as she stared at them (rather, the car) for a good few second. 

It wasn't often that she was surprised. 

"Cas? Ron? Fred, George?" her eyes looked at each of them as she called out to them, eyebrows raised in hopes. Cas swore that her eyes were shining (unshed tears, maybe, but of what he didn't know) but when he confronted her later, she said that it was just the headlight's glare, nothing more. 

The engine rumbled as if the car was greeting her too. She finally broke out in a grin, now calling out their names again but more excitedly.

"Hey Azzie." 

Her grin dulled slightly, replaced by that one look that was parts curiosity parts concern — that one twinkle in her eyes he'd become used to. 

"What are you guys doing here? In the middle of the night? Or is it morning—"

"We've come to abduct you, Lea."

"Abduct me?"

"We were bored!" Fred spoke this time, making Azalea divert her gaze from Cas to the older Weasley. She let out a laugh as George continued. "It's a veeeery interesting past time, you should try it someday."

"I'll keep that in mind." 

"Now step back, we're gonna get this jail off of your window." Ron spoke, making her look towards the back again, past Cas, who'd become unusually quiet. He tilted his head as he analysed her. 

Something was different. 

He kept thinking of what it was as he attached the hook from the car (he had no idea why it was there in the car in the first place) to one of the bars from the grill. It finally clicked when they pulled the grills off of the window, a loud ruckus resonating through the night and no doubt waking up the Dursleys. 

Azalea's doe eyed gaze widened again, this time in panic. She froze for a good few seconds, probably scared by the anger filled shouts of Vernon Dursley as he pattered through the house and to her room. It wasn't until Ron called her name out for the third time that she snapped out of it, pushing her trunk towards the boys, and then Estrella's cage. 

Vernon cursed loud enough for Castor to hear as he fumbled with the keys. Azalea had barely managed to get in the car when they burst into the room and as soon she shut the door of the car, they reached the window, screaming into the night. 

"YOU AND THAT BLOODY PIGEON AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE! COME BACK HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND, POTTER!" 

Azalea only laughed. Castor scared at her, pitiful smile on his face. 

There was a scar near her collarbone. And the bags under her eyes had darkened, and her hair was shorter. But there was a scar near her collarbone, and one near the hinge of her jaw. 

But she was laughing now, and he wouldn't ask her about the scar when her laughter was so sweet, waving to the red-faced Dursleys. 

When they were far enough, she turned her attention back to her friends, back to making the usual conversation. 

Then her stomach rumbled, and it was quiet for a second as she pursed her lips and froze again, holding onto her stomach while her tongue darted out of the edge of her mouth, — a nervous tick. 

Then Fred and George burst out laughing while Ron grinned, the twins fiddling with the glove box and grabbing a (big) bar of chocolate, "Happy birthday, Azzie!"

"Oh, this time I mean it when I say thank you." she grabbed at the chocolate, looking at it with hearts in her eyes. She unwrapped the wrapper, and despite the hunger clawing at her stomach, she broke a piece each for the boys, then passed it to them before happily nibbling on the rest of the bar. 

. . . 

Daylight had started peeking in from behind the blinds of darkness when Azalea finished her bar, some satisfaction settling in the pit of her gut. She was leaning against Castor, who was asleep, as were Ron and George. Fred couldn't sleep, because someone had to drive. 

"I don't have my books for school."

"Neither do we!" Fred was extremely cheerful for someone who'd barely slept the past night. "Hogwarts is going to open a week later." 

Azalea frowned. That wasn't usual for Hogwarts — no matter what, it always re-opened on September 1st. 

"Why?" 

"Dunno. Dad says there's some renovation, but that's bullshit. Dumbledore can just use magic can't he?" 

"Are you gonna poke around when you go back to school?" 

"Maybe." 

". . . Can I join?" 

"Maybe." Fred grinned a mischievous grin. "Wake the lads up, yeah? We're almost here." 

She pulled at George's ear first, waking him up successfully at the first try. He'd slapped her hand away when she tried again, mumbling incoherently along the lines of "I'm up, woman." 

Then it was Castor's turn, and that wasn't so easy, because he was more or less leaning his head against hers, and she didn't want him to sprain his neck if she moved suddenly. God knows how much shit he'd give her for it. She elbowed his stomach (kindly) and shook his knee until he started stirring, rolling his neck to alleviate the strain he'd put by not sleeping upright. 

Then it was Ron's turn, the hardest. He was snoring away to glory, mouth open as he slept in a deep slumber. 

It was Castor who woke Ron up, cupping his hands around his mouth and bringing his mouth near Ron's ear, speaking very loudly, "GOOD MORNING, RONALD!" 

Ronald stirred calmly, as if he were woken up by the chirping of birds and not the Prince's bellow. 

"Morning, Cas. Five more minutes?" 

Azalea giggled, Fred and George shaking their heads fondly as if this was a common occurrence. 

"This happens everyday. He's the reason I'm late to classes." 

"No, you're late to classes because of your incompetency to tying ties. Now shut up." Ron kicked Castor's knee, to which he gasped a very exaggerated, offended gasp, so naturally, Ron kicked him again, leaving him to look like a wounded puppy. 

"WELCOME—" George screamed out of nowhere when the car began its descent.  "—TO THE BURROW!"

Azalea had never seen anything like it. 

Stacked one upon another were at least four different floors of different houses stacked one upon another, a stream of smoke leaving the chimney on top. There was a little sign hammered into the ground that spoke, in messy letters 'The Burrow' with little doodles around it, probably painted many years after the sign was originally made judging by the difference in the paint. 

She thought the outside was wonderful, but then she walked in, and everything was beautifully amazing. 

There were two needles doing the knitting all by themselves, a long scarf was their product. Dishes in the sink that were washing themselves, two separate grandfather clocks — one that told time, one that told the location of each of the family members — were pushed against the wall, one of the locations being, funnily (and honestly) enough — prison. 

Ron had scarfed down a cookie, and was in the middle of reaching out for another one when he had one of the many heart attacks he'd experience in all his years of befriending Azalea Potter. 

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" 

The first and last time Azalea Potter had met Mrs. Weasley was when she needed help getting to platform 9 ¾, and she remembered her to be an insanely sweet lady. 

So clearly, this red-faced, terrifyingly angry woman who glared at all her sons with hands on her hips wasn't Mrs. Weasley, was she? 

She glanced at Azalea, and the same Mrs. Weasley was back, "Azalea, dear, how lovely to see you!" 

But then she was back to scaring the shit out of her kids, while Castor huddled next to Azzie, enjoying the show. 

"BEDS EMPTY! NO NOTE! CAR GONE! YOU COULD'VE DIED! YOU COULD'VE BEEN SEEN!" 

This reminded her of an awfully similar monologue of Hermione's, but she kept that to herself. 

Mrs. Weasley gave another warm smile to Azalea and Castor, "Of course, I don't blame you, Azalea dear. And Castor darling, you know better than to be dragged into one of their antics!" 

"Antics?!" Ron spoke under his breath, clearly offended. This was much more than an antic, wasn't it? Driving a flying car flawlessly had to be more than an antic. 

"They were starving her, mum!" Fred raised his hands in defense, his brother joining in. 

"There were bars on her window!" 

"You best hope I don't put bars on your windows!" That shut them up pretty quick. "Now, come one, dearies, time for a spot of breakfast." 

i think i'm just a little sleep deprived so here is where the chapter ends lmao. lemme know what you think of it! <333 

i shall try and post a couple more chapters for this book before school reopens, and then i'll start working on my other works again hehe 

( also how tf do you fumble so bad that you make a criminal the president of the most powerful country of the world???? like weren't we complaining about an 80 year old guy having all power and now there's a 78 year old there????? hello??? this is what is meant by starting a war against women )