The Scars to Prove It

The rest of the day passed quickly for Farren. With the twins around to ease the tension, it was easy to forget the reason Carina was there. Farren nearly forgot the awful situation that brought her to the Burrow this early in the summer.

Of course, awful memories don’t go down without a fight. Farren was given a sharp reminder of her purpose that evening, when she and Carina were getting ready for bed.

The two girls were sharing the old room of the oldest Weasley brothers, Bill and Charlie, who were both grown and out of the country. They could have each had their own room, as Mrs. Weasley was more than willing to force Percy in with Ron.

Farren and Carina, whoever, were persistent. It wasn’t that they didn’t mind sleeping in the same room, they wanted to. The cozy comfort reminded them of their dormitory at Hogwarts.

Carina was getting into her pajamas when Farren returned from brushing her teeth. Farren’s toothbrush fell to the floor with a clatter as she rushed into the room.

“Carina! Why didn’t you show these to Mrs. Weasley!” cried Farren at the sight of the bruises coloring Carina’s back and stomach.

Carina froze. Swallowing nervously, she spoke. “I didn’t want her to see them. They aren’t that bad and you know how she overreacts. I just want to forget it ever happened.”

Farren softened. “Well, at least let me get something for the bruises. I’ll pretend to fall down the stairs.”

“The twins will take the mickey out of you for the rest of the summer.”

“I don’t care,” Farren replied somberly, and then brightened. “It’ll give me a great excuse to prank them.”

Carina smiled, “You don’t need an excuse.”

“Yeah, but it makes it a bit more fun.” Farren finished, and then waltzed back out of the room. There was a thump, followed by a small crash. Carina cringed.

A few minutes later, Farren returned with a small container of bruise healing paste. Grinning, she tossed it to Carina who opened it.

Carina wrinkled her nose at the smell, but quickly applied the odious yellow paste. Sighing in relief, she capped it, and then tossed it back to Farren.

“All better?” she asked.

“Much.”



The next few weeks passed in a blur. There were many two-a-side Quidditch matches, picnics, and pranks. Farren was having the time of her life, and Carina was happier than ever. The two older girls spent a lot of time with Ginny, and Farren and Carina managed to beat the twins in a Quidditch match every once in a while. Everyone was carefree.

But when August rolled around, Ron began to get nervous. He hadn’t heard from Harry all summer. He had heard a little about how awful the Dursleys were and assumed the worst. They were obviously keeping him prisoner. Harry had even performed underage magic, according to Mr. Weasley.

Ron approached the twins, who in turn approached Farren. A plan was hatched: a rescue plan. Carina was kept in the dark; they didn’t want her to rat them out.



A few days later, Ron, Farren, Fred, and George snuck out of their respective rooms. They met outside of the Burrow, and then walked together to Arthur Weasley’s shed.

It was locked, but they were prepared. Farren pulled a bobby pin from her mess of light blue hair and surrendered it to the twins. Ron and Farren anxiously watched the burrow for any signs of life as the twins worked on the lock.

The door sprang open with a soft click, and then they were in.

Farren looked in awe upon the blue Ford Anglia. Though it looked unassuming, Farren grinned at the hidden possibilities. She knew from whispered conversations that the formerly muggle car could now fly, as well as become invisible.

“Farren,” whispered George, “are you coming with us, or will Fred or I have to drive?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m coming. Heaven forbid I let you two drive. I doubt that you would even get it off of the ground,” muttered Farren as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

Farren had been nominated to drive, as she had actually driven a car before. The twins were the demolition crew, and Ron was the navigator: he was the only one that knew where Harry lived.

Farren eased the car out of the shed and pulled onto the drive. The car’s engine sounded painfully loud as it putted down the road and out of the Burrow’s gates.

Once out of earshot of Mrs. Weasley, Farren put the car into the air and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“So, Ron,” called Farren as she leveled into the cloud cover, “where am I going, exactly?”



Privet Drive was dark and silent as they flew over it.

“There!” cried Ron, pointing to number four.

“Are you sure?” asked George.

“We wouldn’t want to scare some muggle half to death,” finished Fred.

The boys were arguing about whether or not that was the right house when Farren interrupted.

“There are bars on that window over there. Sound like Harry’s muggles?”

Ron nodded, and Farren maneuvered the car to the window.

Fred peeked in. “It looks like he’s asleep.”

“Start rattling the bars.”

Fred complied with Ron’s suggestion, and Harry soon began to toss in his sleep.

“Harry,” called Ron, pushing Fred out of the way. “Harry, wake up!”

Harry stirred, and then opened his eyes. He gaped at the sight before him.

“All right Harry?” asked George.

Ron began to explain their basis for the rescue mission, as Fred and George pulled out a long coil of rope.

Farren backed up to the window, and Fred tossed Harry one end of the rope.

“Tie this ‘round the bars,” he instructed. “And stand back.”

Once Harry had backed away from the window, Farren revved the engine. Grinning wickedly, she slowly pulled away. When the rope was taut, she revved again, and the Anglia yanked the bars away with a crunch.

Farren smiled to Fred and George as Ron tried to pull Harry into the car.

“But what about all of my stuff?” asked Harry.

“Well, where is it?”

“Locked in the cupboard under the stairs. I can’t get out of this room.”

“No problem,” replied George as Farren wordlessly handed him another hair pin. “Out of the way, Harry.”

“I won’t have any hairpins left if we keep pulling stunts like this. My hair will be flailing about like a deranged woman’s,” muttered Farren as Fred and George stalked into Harry’s room. Within moments, they had the door unlocked. Farren waited anxiously for them to return, watching the other rooms’ windows for any signs of life.

The twins came wheezing back into the room, carrying Harry’s trunk between them.

“Quickly,” yelped Farren, “a light just came on!”

George scrambled back into the car to help Ron pull the trunk through the window.

Farren nervously edged the car closer to the window ledge. “Hurry!”

Then the trunk was free. Ron reeled it into the car and Harry and Fred climbed in.

Farren was just about to peel out when Harry jumped back into the house. He grabbed his snowy owl and practically threw her cage through the window. He had just climbed back on the ledge when the door burst open, revealing a very angry large man.

With a murderous yell, he thundered across the room and grabbed Harry by the ankle.

“Petunia!” he cried. “Petunia, he’s getting away! The boy’s getting away!”

“Go, Farren!” yelled George. “We’ve got him.”

Farren sped away from the window, looking nervously over her shoulder toward the backseat.

The Weasleys had successfully pulled Harry into the car, leaving the large man stuck halfway out of the window.

“See you next summer!” called Harry, laughing like a maniac. Soon, the whole car joined in.

After catching her breath, Farren spoke. “Hullo, Harry. Have a good summer?”

This set off another bout of laughter. When everyone had sobered up, Harry began to regale the tales of his summer.

Farren was half listening, keeping her eye on the horizon. The sun was just peeking up, tinting the sky with shades of red and blue. It was beautiful, Farren decided, changing her hair to match.

“You’re too far west, Farren,” informed George.

Farren glanced at the compass and corrected their course. Harry resumed his story.

“Look guys,” interrupted Farren. “We’re almost there.”

The village of Ottery St. Catchpole was laid out beneath them. Not a soul was awake yet: the village was quiet and still. Farren pulled the car lower and lower the ground. When they reached the Burrow, it landed with a thump.

“Touchdown!” exclaimed Fred.

Farren parked the key next to the garage and pulled the key out of the ignition. “Well, this is as far as I’m going.”

Everyone smiled and jumped out of the car. They were home free, or so they thought. Mrs. Weasley came screaming out of the Burrow, a very angry looking Carina right on her tail.

“Oh no,” muttered Farren.

“We’re dead,” finished the twins together.

Ron and Harry swallowed audibly.

Mrs. Weasley and Carina stood in front of them, both awash with rage and worry.

“So,” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Morning, mum,” replied George, trying to win her over.

“Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?” questioned Carina in a whisper that spoke of barely controlled violence.

“Sorry, Carina,” explained Farren hastily, “but you see, we had to—“

Nearly all of the accused were taller than Mrs. Weasley and Carina, but they all shrank in fear before them.

“Bed empty!” began Mrs. Weasley.

“No note!” countered Carina.

“Car gone!”

“Out of our minds with worry!”

“You could have died!”

“Could have been seen!”

“Could have lost your father his job!”

“What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“We’ve created a monster,” whispered Farren to Fred and George who were on either side of her. They nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Weasley was then distracted by skinny young Harry. After the bespectacled boy received some sisterly ministrations from Carina, leaving said boy very confused, Mrs. Weasley ushered him inside for breakfast. Ron followed. This left Farren, Fred and George to the mercy of Carina. Farren couldn’t decide is this was a stroke of luck, or a death sentence.

“Well, I’m waiting.”

Fred and George nearly tripped over themselves trying to explain their reasoning, but Farren wasn’t buying it. She knew Carina well enough to know that her scowl was hiding something. In the four years Farren had known her, Carina had never been angry. She would get disappointed, but never angry.

Then it dawned on her, and Farren began to laugh. The twins looked at her like she was crazy. Carina’s scowl twitched.

Bent double, Farren tried to catch her breath.

“She’s gone barmy,” sighed Fred.

“The stress had obviously gotten to her,” muttered George, shaking his head.

“I-She’s not-You guys seriously--” Gasped Farren.

Carina broke into a smile. The twins just looked even more confused.

Since Farren didn’t look fit like she would be fit to speak anytime soon, Carina took pity on the boys.

“I was never angry. Worried sick, yes. But I knew you had a good reason to go running off in the middle of the night. Without telling me.”

Farren had regained her senses enough to speak. “We would have told you, Carina, but the boys were afraid you would tell Mrs. Weasley.”

Carina smiled. “I probably would have.”

Now that everything was explained, the four friends walked back into Burrow, ready for whatever horrors Mrs. Weasley would surely throw their way.