~ 1 September 1984 ~

The sun came through the curtains, falling over the hot pink rug, pouring over an absolute mess of nail polishes, lip gloss tubes, blush compacts, eyeshadow clam shells... little mascara-coated wands, and a bottle of Dewberry scented oil, freshly daubbed and dripping onto the wooden desktop, a violently pink bottle of Cotton Candy body spray directly beside it. The light shone through the spray and turned everything beyond it to bubblegum hues.

Thump-thump-thump.

With a flourish, an intense, ultra-rockin' hair flip and a dramatic tip of the shoulder, the pink-haired girl who the mess of cosmetics belonged spun, her voice rasping a whisper of song lyrics that went along to the music that blasted through her headphones from her Walkman cassette player.

She could almost hear the offense in her mum's voice if she had any idea the volume the Walkman was turned up to. "You'll go deaf before you're thirty!" Andromeda always shouted.

Maybe. But she'd have fun doing it.

And after all -

"Girls - they wanna have fu-uhhhhn... Yeah, oh oh... Girls they just want to have fu-uhhhhn!"

She was wearing a knee-length black pleated skirt, a white oxford untucked in on only one side (so her Walkman could clip onto the waistband of the skirt on the other), gray over-the-knee socks that had bunched about her left ankle, and a pair of mary-jane shoes. A heavy school trunk stood yawning open and waiting at the end of the bed, which was unmade, strewn with books and parchment rolls, quills, ink bottles, folded socks and underpants, and loads and loads and loads of AA/LR-6 batteries (the first thing she was gonna learn was how to recharge those by magic).

"When the working day is done... ohhh girls just want to have fu-uuuhhhn..."

Her eyes were closed, palms over her hands now, keeping the headset on as she bounced about in sync with the plinky-plonky music of the bridge... and so she was caught off guard when a pair of hands caught her shoulders, stopping her spinning, and she opened her eyes to find her mother staring into her eyes.

"Nymphadora!"

"Don't call me Nymphadora!" the girl whined as her mother took hold of her headset, unplugging it from the cassette player. "Mo-OOOHM! Oh my GOD."

"Listen to that! Volume all the way up! I'm surprised we couldn't hear it from downstairs at that level!" Andromeda said, then with a stern sigh, "You're going to--"

"--go deaf before I'm thirty," Nymphadora nodded with frustration.

"Well you are with volume levels like that!" Andromeda said. She looked around the room, her eyes widening at the sheer mess and the nearly empty school trunk. "Honestly, Nymph - what exactly have you been doing up there?"

"Packing," Nymphadora replied.

"Oh packing, were you?" Andromeda looked into the trunk, her eyebrow raised.

"Organizing to pack," Nymphadora said, taking a stab at it.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. Why was her daughter so much like her? She could almost hear her own voice echoing back at her. But she'd had a reason! Her Mother had been Druella Black - a heinous woman - and talking back had been earned by Druella. Andromeda didn't think it was too much to ask for just a mite of respect from her eleven year-old daughter. (Was it really that much to ask, honestly!?)

She waved her wand and the things from the bed and the desk, the floor, the closet, the drawers of the dresser all fluttered through the air in a great vortex of color (mostly pink color, mind), nearly dropping into the trunk in rows and stacks, organized and lovely. As the last of the packs of batteries flew in and tucked itself neatly between the soles of a pair of rain boots, Andromeda tucked her hair back behind her ear. "There - there, was that so hard?"

"Well no but you used magic!" Nymphadora pointed out. "I was using raw strength and energy!"

"You were wasting raw strength and energy," Andromeda pointed out.

"Taking a break!"

"From not doing anything."

"MO-OHMMMMM!"

Andromeda sighed and turned to her daughter, catching her off guard by catching her face up in her palms and looking at the grey eyes looking back at her. "I'm sorry, I'm having a - a very emotional morning." Nymphadora struggled to back away but Andromeda held on. "I can't believe this day is here!"

"MOTHER," Tonks whined pointedly. She only ever called Andromeda 'mother' when things got really annoying.

Sirius taught her that.

A really... really... really long time ago.

Well, three years. But it felt like a really... really... really long time ago.

"I can't believe you're so grown up," Andromeda said, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at Nymphadora all gooey and melty and just there on the verge of getting even gooier and even meltier than she already was. "I'm just not ready for you to become such a young woman already. It seems like we've only just gotten you! Doesn't it seem like we've only just brought her home from Mungo's fresh out of the oven?" Andromeda turned Nymphadora about so she was facing the open doorway of her room, which was now blocked up with her father, Ted, who was smiling in amusement, seeing the look on his daughter's trapped- face and the sticky eyes of his wife.

"Morning!" Ted sang. He smiled and slid sideways into the room. "Oh look at all the things packed away." He ran his fingers over an empty wall where there used to be about twelve million posters torn out of magazines taped up on the wall. Now the wall looked pale and empty and a bit like Pepti-Calm. "Oh come now, Andie," Ted said, puckering out his lower lip, "Don't look so weepy! She's about to have the time of her life up at the castle and you know it as well as I." His dark eyes sparkled.

"Yeah mummy, time of my life, yadda-yadda..." Nymphadora said, and she wrenched herself finally free of Andromeda. She unclipped her Walkman from her hip and took the headset and carefully wound the wires and the ear pieces 'round the Walkman for safe-keeping.

"It's just so bittersweet," Andromeda said, and she turned as her husband pulled her into him, hanging an arm about her shoulders as they watched Nymphadora shove the Walkman into her satchel, along with three different flavor tubes of lipgloss, the nail polish she'd put on that morning incase of chips in the color, a small leather-bound book of poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, a roll of pastilles, two packs of batteries, and about twelve cassette tapes.

"Oh I almost forgot." Nymphadora danced over to the desk, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out two completely perfect, unsharpened, hexagonal pencils. She tucked these through the ponytail at the back of her hair in a giant X. "In case  my tape gets chewed on the train," she explained.

"Ah," Ted answered, smirking at his daughter, and glancing down at Andromeda. "See, look, there's a moment you have to remember from today - from right now. By next term, she'll have figured out a spell to do that which doesn't require muggle fixes like hexagonal pencils."

Andromeda started crying at this. "My baby girl is almost all grown up!"

It was moments like this which Nymphadora Tonks really, really, really hated being an only child.

It was moments like this which Charlie Weasley really, really, really hated being one of a brood of seven children. He closed his eyes, hugging his hand-me-down backpack, and telling himself that in less than twelve hours he'd be off, on his way to Hogwarts, where he'd have his very own room -- well, no, not his very own room, admittedly, but at least a room that was far off from the commotion of -- all -- of -- this -- madness. He dragged his palm over his face and sighed a giant-sized sigh.

"You must be looking forward to going off to Hogwarts, aren't you, Charlie?" Molly Weasley had started off focused enough, at least, kissing the top of her son's head and doting over him, giving him eggs and hash extra crispy the way he liked it, but he hadn't even got his answer out before she'd shrieked, "Arthur! The twins!" and his Dad had dove across the kitchen to catch two of the fine china saucers before they'd been flung to heir ultimate destiny against the flagstone kitchen floor.

Even as Arthur had dived, Molly herself had been spattered by milk flying from the heavy glass bottle that Percy Weasley was attempting to operate on his own. "Milk everywhere! Bill, hand me my wand please, dear, it's just there - by the toaster - good lad, thank you," Molly swept the floor with her siphoning charm and the spilled milk Percy was now crying over was cleared away like it'd never been done. Molly puffed, then spun to lift Ginny up from her high chair just before she started scream-crying. Ginny, it seemed, could not handle being outdone by any other Weasley in the department of crying. Being a baby, that was her one true specialty at the moment.

"I'm glad you're excited, dear," Molly answered, even though Charlie hadn't said anything - at all, much less about being excited. "PERCY! ASK AND WE WILL POUR IT FOR YOU!"

Bill leaned over. "Don't worry, Charlie, the Sorting Hat doesn't bite real hard. You'll be able to fight him off faster than you can say the scientific name for a Welsh Firesnout."

"There's no such thing as a Welsh Firesnout!"

"The point was that the hat's been known to bite people, Charlie."

"What?"

"Bite people. Yeah," Bill nodded solemnly, speaking under his breath, "Put the hat on and it starts nipping at your ears! In my first year, there was a girl - Merlin rest her soul, mind - that put the hat on and --"

"BILL! Stop scaring your brother!" Arthur snapped. He came 'round, balancing all the plates that Fred and George had now taken and chucked for dead multiple times. Arthur could've had a promising career in muggle juggling - if only there were such a need of things.

"The Sorting Hat does not hurt, Percy, don't worry," Arthur said gently and he smiled.

"I'm Charlie," Charlie said.

Arthur smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Blimey, what've I gone and said? Did I say Percy? I am sorry, Charlie. I know you're Charlie, my tongue's only slipped up. I'm very sorry." And Arthur hugged his son. Charlie knew he knew which kid he was - there just were a lot of them and yeah sometimes the names slipped about the mouth and the wrong one got out.

All the Weasleys were used to the phenomenon.

Molly did this thing where she would stand at the bottom of the stairs and yell for one of her sons and she'd cycle through the names -- "FRED! No - not you - no go back upstairs." ("It's alright mother," would come the inevitable reply, "I'm George anyway.") "CHARLIE! I MEAN PERCY! ...No! BILL!" (here both Uncle Bilius and Bill used to respond, when Uncle Bilius lived with them, that is, and there would be a good deal of laughter from the two respondents and Molly would correct herself "WILLIAM!")  Sometimes, she even yelled for Ronald, though she usually remembered Ron because he was the little one, and of course Ginny was still attached on her hip and also the only girl, so she might get lucky. But Fred and George were already giggling over planned comebacks if the day ever came that she confused one of them for Ginny.

"We ought to give her pictures to refer to," Percy said in a completely solemn tone once when he returned from the trek down the stairs and back.

"Tag, you're it," Bill always guffawed to whoever was next up to go downstairs.

But it stung a bit more when it was Arthur because Arthur was usually a little less scattered. But it was a very stressful morning and it was just exactly the reason why Charlie really, really, really hated being one of seven kids sometimes.

"Alright you lot," Arthur said, pointing at Bill and Charlie, "Go get your trunks polished off, we'll get the rest of this lot into the car, and I'll be right there to collect them! And don't forget Errol."

"Don't worry, Dad, nobody is going to forget that kooky owl," replied Bill. "No matter how hard we try." He looked at Charlie and crossed his eyes, wagging his fingers at the side of his head. CRAZY OWL MORE LIKE, he mouthed, and Charlie laughed.

Molly looked at the clock, "Oh dear!" she cried as all nine spoons moved to the Running Late position. "I thought we were doing alright on time! Every year!" She waved her wand and the plates went flying to the sink, though Bill managed to grab up the last three slices of toast from the serving platter before it vanished, and he grinned triumphantly as he shoved one of the triangles in his mouth and led the way up the rickety stairs.

In their room, Bill grabbed a few last minute things to add to his ruck sack, which he slung over his shoulder. Charlie had finished his trunk the night before, but now he grabbed a small bag of Animal Crackers and ran up the steps to the attic to leave them on the rafters for the Ghoul, who moaned and clanked his pipes at the sight of Charlie's head popping up through the trap door. That old room was quiet and dusty and he ducked back out quickly, not wanting to linger in it too long.

Back in the bedroom, Bill was tucking his Gryffindor ties into his back pocket and it hung out like a long tail and he checked his look in the mirror, running his palms over the sides of his hair, tilting his head this way and that and scooping a bit of Sleekeazy into his palm.

Charlie took a deep breath and looked at the bed, where Molly had laid out all his things that morning. Everything had been packed up or put on, except for two, which still sat on the bed.

Bill looked in the mirror at Charlie.

"If you want to bring it, I'm not going to be the one to judge you," he said, "But I wasn't kidding about how cruel other kids can be about stuff like that. You know I don't care. But your room mates might."

Charlie nodded. He stared at the worn out dragon on his bed. It was missing an eye and his head flopped pathetically to one side, loads of loose threads everywhere that barely looked red anymore. He was as old as Charlie was, nearly, and he came from Uncle Bilius's best friend who'd died in the war ages and ages ago. He sat on top of the thick old book about dragons that Charlie needn't even really look at to read anymore. He could see the pages in his mind's eyes, he'd looked at them so many times, and he could recite the facts and information by heart.

"Go on and bring it," Bill goaded. "I can tell the way you're staring at it you want to. You'll look even more pathetic if you have Errol dropping them off a week from now in the middle of the Great Hall! Trust me - I'm not joking when I say nobody forgets Errol. Everyone knows exactly what one is ours. It's a running joke at Gryffindor table, and they'll all see it if you get a manky thing like that delivered to the breakfast table!"

"No... no," Charlie answered. The only thing worse than ending up made fun of in the dormitory for having a manky stuffed dragon was being made fun of in the Great Hall for having a manky stuffed dragon.

Arthur came up stairs then. "Got everything?" he asked.

"Yep," Bill answered, pocketing the tiny tub of hair potion and grabbing his wand from where he'd set it on the desk.

Charlie nodded.

Arthur waved his wand. "Locomotor Trunks!" he cried and they both started down the stairs.

"I'll go get Errol," Bill said and he jetted off up the steps.

"Are you forgetting Dragon?" Arthur asked, pointing to the manky thing by Charlie's pillow.

Charlie shook his head, "Dragon is staying home, Dad..."

"Really?" Arthur looked shocked. "You take him everywhere."

"Dad, I'm eleven."

Arthur muttered, "That's never stopped you before, but come on, then, let's go before the train leaves without us. The spoons are officially in the 'running really late' area and your mum's setting pace at frantic."

The trunks flew out the front door and into the gaping open trunk of the blue Ford Anglia in the driveway, which hummed and popped exhaust, sending the chickens scattering across the lawn in a spray of feathers and squawking. Even with the car doors shut, Charlie could hear Ginny screaming and crying, and Ronald, too, as the twins were shouting. Percy had his face turned down into the spine of a book as Charlie crawled in next to him. A moment later, Errol's cage was shoved into Charlie's lap and Bill shoved his way in, smelling of hair potion and taking up more room than the others because of his broad shoulders.

"Dad, I think you need to add to the extending charm back here!" Bill complained as he struggled to shut the door.

Charlie stared through the window at the house in all it's wibbly-wobbly layers.

"Maybe he should make YOU smaller!" George suggested.

"Yeah! Shrink Bill instead, Dad!" Fred cried, "Shrink Bill instead!"

Bill teased. "Better yet, let's just leave the spare one of you lot home. We only need one of your ugly faces around at a time. Two is just too much."

"Hey!" both twins said in unison.

"I'll stay home," Percy offered from his spot squashed against the far door, looking up from his book for the first time.

"You are not staying home alone!" Molly said. "Nobody is staying home. We are going to see your brothers off as a FAMILY."

"Don't - don't - wanna - goooooo!" cried Ron.

Arthur extended the back seat a wee bit. "There you are, everyone comfortable now?"

"Can't we strap Errol to the roof?" Charlie asked.

"What a fright that would look driving into London!" Arthur answered, "The statute of secrecy would never allow such a thing!"

The car started down the driveway.

Charlie stared back through the window. Ginny's screaming got worse and Fred and George were starting to tell knock-knock jokes in loud voices while Ron kept on with the crying and Errol's shrieks started - Errol hated riding - and Charlie suddenly felt very alone in the middle of a very good deal of people and chaos because of all the things that was happening the one thing that hadn't happened was that he hadn't fully grasped the thought that all of this chaos wouldn't be happening again for a very good deal of time and as much as he hated it he would also miss it and he felt a funny sort of homesickness before he was even gone yet.

"WAIT!" he screamed, "WAIT! STOP THE CAR!"

The car jerked to a stop so hard that Errol's cage flew off Charlie's lap, nearly into the front seat, poking Ron in the eye which made him start sobbing even louder and limbs were flying about as the twins dramatically threw themselves forward, even though it hadn't been that hard of a stop. Charlie flung himself over Bill's lap and grabbed the door handle, tumbling out and running back across the yard as fast as his trainers could carry him.

"HURRY UP!" Arthur called.

"Hey! Maybe we can leave CHARLIE here!" cried Fred.

But Charlie didn't hear the response from their mother. He was already passing the old pair of Gomer's Degnoming Service standard issued Wellingtons by the front door and careening up the rickety old staircase to the bedroom. He wrenched open the door, launched himself at the bed, grabbed up his old dragon and hugged that manky thing to his chest as tight as he could.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm an idiot. Do you forgive me?"

The dragon's neck flopped and Charlie smiled, tucking him into the satchel at his hip for safe keeping.