The Scars to Prove It

The leaves fell from the trees. Pranks were played, and rumors twisted their way around the castle as the Chamber of Secrets was supposedly opened. Time passed on as usual, and when the first snow began to fall, Farren and Carina were packing their bags for their annual Christmas trip to the Weasley’s. With their suitcases in tow, they eventually found themselves in a compartment of the homey train with George, Fred, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Lee was going out of the country with his parents, and Hermione had recently had an incident with Polyjuice Potion which rendered her in the infirmary all break. It was quite cozy, yet thinking that she only had half a year left before she had to return home was chilling. Farren, too, was quiet, for she had mentioned her mother’s letters becoming quite odd and a little unsettling. Carina tried to tell her that it was all in her head, yet the letters did seem rather off -- censored, maybe, because she spoke as if Farren were at boarding school, with no mention of the twins or Carina or Lee. She hoped there was nothing happening in the Muggle world that would be forcing Mrs. Zabell into censoring anything for her own daughter.

George and Fred, as usual, were quite oblivious to the girl’s unusual inattentiveness. They spoke of long Quidditch games, snowball fights, and Mrs. Weasley’s scrumptious Christmas turkey. Harry, who had never been over for Christmas before, had his jaw dropped and eyes wide as he soaked in every word.

Finally arriving at King’s Cross, the six piled out of the train, caught up with Ginny, and made their way to Mrs. Weasley and Bill who were waiting for them all. With five matching gingers and two with stark-black hair, they easily looked like one big family.

“Harry, Carina, dears, you’re so thin! What have they been feeding the two of you at that school?” Mrs. Weasley cried, embracing the two at once as if they were actual siblings.

Farren turned to Bill with her usual smirk and her hands in her back pockets. “Good holiday so far, Bill?”

Bill smiled down at the young girl who, at this moment in time, could easily be his sister. His shaggy hair fell in front of his eyes handsomely, and he deftly brushed it aside before answering.

“It’s well, but I figure it’ll be pushed downhill what with the twins back. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been home to fall victim of their pranks.”

Farren shrugged nonchalantly. “There may be a few things up their sleeves.”

Bill chuckled. “And nothing up yours, Miss Zabell?”

She gave him a horrified look, ruined only by her mischievous grin. “Could such an innocent face concoct something against the very family welcoming me into their home?”

Bill outright laughed, his hazel eyes crinkling as all the Weasley’s did. “Innocent, yes, that’s the word I was looking for. Excuse me. You do know that we have to Apparate all of us back home because the Ford Anglia was taken by a certain second year, given the idea from whom, I wonder?”

Carina rolled her eyes as Harry and Ron turned bright red. “It certainly wasn’t me.” she said, nudging Farren by her hip before Mrs. Weasley grew tired of the talk of the Ford, and bustled the group outside to meet up with Percy and Apparate to the Weasley’s.

Once they reached the Burrow, the students were so tired from the eight hour trip that they quickly headed to their rooms, their dreams of Quodpot and snow wrestling put off until the morning.



“It’s been half of break already, and we’ve done nothing,” Carina stated blandly, her head resting on the back of George’s bed.

“I don’t know about you, but we got Bill pretty good with that Miracle Stubble Grow,” Fred laughed from his bed. Farren, lying opposite him, snickered at the memory.

“If that was supposed to be stubble, then you’ve got a lot of work to do. That beard could compare to Hagrid’s.”

“Dumbledore’s, even!”

Carina rolled her eyes, pushing George off his bed next to her so she could stand up.

“Well let’s go outside. I’d like to play some Quidditch.”

George grumbled incoherently as he rubbed his head, but Fred and Farren both lit up at the idea.

“Let’s! I completely forgot that I brought my broom home!” Farren yelled, darting out of the room and leaving Fred also pushed off the bed and groaning next to George.

“Oh, you poor things,” Carina commented with a small grin before walking out of George and Fred’s room, following Farren to their room across the hall -- Percy was staying with Bill instead of his usual room. Farren had already swiped up her Comet 290 and was hurriedly pushing her red and gold gloves on. Carina smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm as she lifted her own Nimbus 1500 -- a present from her father, back when he thought she would play for Slytherin. The embossed snake had been hexed off long ago with the help of George, Fred, Farren, and Lee, but the burn mark still remained. Sighing, she slipped her own black gloves on, tired of the everyday reminder of her real family.

When the two girls emerged once more, the twins were already geared up as well, and they headed out. Throughout the week, they snow had not slowed at all, and the pond was almost frozen over. By the end of holiday, they would be able to skate on it. But for now, they headed to the broom shed to grab George and Fred’s Cleansweeps and a homemade Quaffle of scraps of leather and thread.

The game was pretty intense. With the twins knowing the terrain yet the girls on faster brooms, they were pretty evenly matched. And the icy Quaffle made for several times of crash-landing in the orchard from fits of laughter. Life was good, and this was a happy place.

“Fred, George! Farren and Carina, dears! It’s time for supper!” Mrs. Weasley finally called from what seemed like nowhere -- the snow was so heavy, they could hardly make out the Burrow before landing and stomping their way through the snow drifts. They burst through the door covered in still-frozen snow, laughing and teeth chattering just as loudly before Mrs. Weasley helped them with their coats and shooing them upstairs for a hot shower. Downstairs, the roasting turkey smelled delicious, and once the entire family was suitable, they sat down for their Christmas Eve dinner.

“Fred, pass me a roll?” Carina asked.

Fred laughed, tossing the roll around. “You gotta catch it! Go long!”

“I am not jumping for that bread, Fred!” she cried, yet she still leaned and jumped out of her chair to snatch the still-hot roll, to much of Harry’s and Fred’s cheering.

“Bill, you think this is funny?” Farren asked from the other side of the table, making a grab for her fork, which had walked to the edge of the table and was threatening suicide. Her spoon, knife, and napkin were all dancing on her shoulders and her head, and no matter how many times she swiped at them, they ended up right where they had been before.

Bill laughed, acting as the conductor of this orchestra with his wand as his baton. “Yes, I actually do. Quite like how you found my beard amusing, yeah?”

“I had nothing to do with that!” The fork leapt dramatically from the table before sprawling out on the floor, now giving small spasms every so often.

“Say you’re sorry,” Bill teased.

“Never!”

“Don’t do it, Farren!” George called from across the table.

“Please?” Bill’s grin widened as the utensils began to tap dance rapidly, pushing Farren’s short hair all over the place.

There was a long pause before Farren cracked. “Fine! I’m sorry, Bill!”

The tableware slowed to a stop and flew to land gracefully where they should have been placed. With the entire family laughing, dinner began. Mrs. Weasley elbowed Mr. Weasley under the table, giving him a glare that caused him to stop chuckling to himself before she spoke.

“Could we not have at least one normal Christmas Eve dinner, hmm? For goodness sakes, we have guests!”

“You’re the one who decided to have all us kids, Mum,” Fred laughed.

“Besides, our guests don’t care,” Bill added, ruffling Carina’s hair, who in turn ducked out of the way and swatted his hand away.

“They may not...” Percy grumbled, rubbing his temples.



It was much, much later that night when all the kids meandered their way up the their rooms, smelling of poppers and eggnog.

“Happy Christmas, Farren... Carina,” Fred and George yawned, nodding to each of them in turn as they went separate ways on their floor.

“Happy Christmas to you guys too,” Farren and Carina returned in unison. The four friends stopped briefly to laugh about it before dragging their feet to their respective rooms.

Carina, as with the rest of the house, slept soundly at first. But only a few hours after crawling into bed, there was a sharp tapping at the window.

“Who on earth would send an owl at this hour? Someone obviously waited last minutes to buy gifts...” Carina muttered to herself as she stumbled out of her cozy blankets. She opened the window, and with the owl came a fit of snow and cold air, causing Carina to hiss and slam the window shut once more. The owl, tawny and recognizable, flew around the room urgently before the girl offered her arm for it to perch on.

“Farren!” she whispered, moving to nudge her friend. “Farren!”

Farren grumbled incoherently before finally sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Come again?” she asked thickly.

“This is your owl, is it not?” Carina asked, motioning to it. Brows furrowing, Farren untied the letter and ripped it open while Carina set the owl in a cage with Farren’s personal owl. By the time she had turned back around, the letter was on the floor and Farren was staring blankly at the wall.

“Farren? Farren!” Carina yelled, the panic rising in her voice. “What is it? What did it say?”

Farren blinked, her wide-eyed gaze turned to Carina. Her once-mousy-brown hair had suddenly faded into a dull dark brown, and her complexion was unnaturally pale. “My mother...” she whispered, suddenly ducking around the room to throw a few assorted things into a knapsack. “My mother... she’s dying... I have to go.”

Carina’s eyes bugged, her breath catching in her throat. Dying? How? Why? “I’ll get Mrs. Weasley.”

Moments later, Mrs. Weasley was out in the garden with Farren. With a pop, they both disappeared from Carina’s view from the kitchen. She sat, her knees pulled up to her chin, and a few minutes later, Mrs. Weasley returned. She smiled sadly down at Carina, patting her head. The girl gazed up at her quizzically, begging for answers.

“It’s a Muggle disease -- I can’t remember what it’s called. The poor woman doesn’t remember a thing, and goodness... things just don’t look good.”

Carina nodded, and headed back upstairs with Mrs. Weasley to attempt some sleep.