unfamiliar
"I'm young, I'm wild and I'm free,
I don't care where time takes me."
The blistering sun had finally begun to set on the settlement of Hogwarts as the town’s schoolteacher, one Miss Hermione Granger, locked the warped yellow door of the schoolhouse.
The worn, wooden steps creaked beneath her dust-coated boots as she slung a small beaded bag onto her shoulder and began the walk into town. Just over two years ago, the young lady arrived on the morning train with a saddlebag in hand and a noticeable determination glinting in her amber eyes
More often than not, Hogwarts seemed to move in a slow, familiar pattern.
On Hermione’s walk home from the school, she could always count on Mr. Finnegan, Hogwarts most-respected blacksmith, to send a friendly wave in her direction as she passed in front of his property. This day was no different, standing on his porch in a thick black apron, Seamus Finnegan greeted the young schoolteacher in his familiar fashion.
“Evening, Miss. Mione!” He hollered, catching her attention. “Hope them youngins weren’t causing too much trouble for ya, today.”
“Mister Finnegan, good to see you.” She smiled up at the young gentleman, noticing the left side of his face was, once again, covered in soot. She had asked him the day prior to forge a new set of horseshoes for her treasured Appaloosa, and was curious to hear about the progress. “How are those horseshoes for Crooks coming along?”
“I’ll have ‘em brought down to The Burrow tonight so Missus Ginny can fasten ‘em on as soon as possible.” He promised, a proud smile on his face. If Hermione needed to sum up the townsfolk of Hogwarts in one word, she would use the word ‘reliable’.
“Thank you kindly, Seamus. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She quickly waved a tan, slender hand and continued her brief journey home.
Hermione continued alongside main street, waving through a shop window to Missus Minerva as she passed the general store. The older woman merely nodded once, her thin lips upturned slightly; not quite a smile but the closest Minerva would ever get to one.
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Deciding to look in on Crookshanks, her beloved horse, Hermione turned right as the worn road forked in two before her. The route to The Burrow was nearly as familiar to her as the route to her own home. The young woman who ran the stable and training grounds, one Ginevra Potter nee Weasley, was a mere six months younger than Hermione and had a fiery attitude that matched her copper hair. The two women had gotten along instantly, and enacted a weekly tradition of getting lunch together at Wrackspurts, the lively saloon.
It was nearing four months that Hermione had owned Crookshanks, bought off of Missus Potter at a concerningly low price. Ginny was in the process of taming the animal when Hermione had stopped in for an afternoon visit, and was immediately drawn to the Palomino. After that initial run-in, Hermione stopped in every night to check on the horse's progress. Despite the animal having an untrusting disposition, it wasn’t long before Hermione gained its trust and Ginny deemed them a “well-matched pair.”
The Burrow, an eclectic, thrown together plot of land containing stables, a well-loved farm house, two pig pens, a large horse enclosure, a barn with a slight left lean and a shed full of trinkets.
The Burrow was known around town for two reasons.
One, the land was owned by the biggest living family in Hogwarts, The Weasleys. Mister and Missus Weasley had a total of seven children, who in turn had children of their own. Leaving the Weasley matriarch with five grandchildren, and a hope for more on the way. The Weasleys were a hard working bunch. Their only daughter Ginevra, had an impressive gift with wild horses that had earned her, and by association her family, a presence within the town. The Weasleys' youngest son, Ron, had been recently appointed Sheriff's Deputy. Save for Percy, the banker, the rest of the Weasley men were to any and all degrees steel-gutted cowboys who made a living on cattle drives, long hauls and backing up the town's long-pitiful police force. Among the townsfolk, the last name was synonymous with consistent, contributing members of society.
And two, The Burrow was probably the strangest property anyone had ever set eyes on. Upon first glance, one's eyes were immediately drawn to the uncommonly tall farmhouse. Which, quite frankly, looked as if someone kept stacking small towers and rooms on top of each other. Thus creating a surprisingly charming and homey franken-house. Beside the leaning house, was a shed overflowing with commodities bought from world travelers. Never anything extravagant, always practical, useful things; If only sweet, naive Mr. Weasley knew how to use them.
Opposite the house, on the other side of the property sat a fenced half-acre, containing the stables, a barrel course, and a large pen. Just on the other side of that fence sat a run-down purple barn. It’s once-bright violet now sun bleached in patches and faded to a dull lavender. Missus Ginny’s most prized possession was that barn and that half acre. Between the house and the half-acre were two pig pens housing, each pen respectively, one pig. One was grey with a large white spot, and an untrustworthy look in his beady eyes. The other was bright pink with a brown spot covering her left ear, and she always seemed to understand when one spoke to her. They made quite an unsettling pair and most guests tended to avoid them. All in all, the Weasley property made some people wary. But not wary enough to avoid the baked goods Missus Weasley brought to luncheon after church on Sundays, for she was the best baker in Hogwarts and no one could refute it.
There was light coming from the kitchen windows of the farm house, shadows passing frequently back and forth, and as Hermione approached she could smell a sweet mix of spices, the tell-tale signs that Mrs. Weasley was cooking dinner for her large family. Walking up the path to the welcoming house, Hermione reached into her beaded bag knowingly and stopped at the first pig pen. With one hand, Hermione was petting the grey pig's large head and with the other, she tossed an apple onto the ground in front of the beast.
“Hello, Grawp. Brought you something.” Hermione greeted the pig kindly, but she did not trust the creature enough to let it eat from her hand. Grawp snorted and crunched happily on the crisp fruit. Then, stepping toward the second pen, she called out, “Winky, it’s lovely to see you.” The other pig stood and waddled over, stopping at the gate expectantly. Hermione smiled to herself, as Winky ate the apple from her extended hand.
Dusting a now-slightly slobbery hand on her beige coat, Hermione considered leaving and coming back first thing tomorrow when a voice called out to her from an upstairs window. Due to the sheer amount of windows on the odd shaped building, she had to scan the peeling walls before finally locking eyes with a familiar face.
“Mione?” Ron popped his head out the window, shading his eyes with his pale freckled hand, partially blocking out the shine from the setting sun.
Hermione cringed slightly at the nickname. It had started in her early days at the schoolhouse, the younger children had taken to calling her Miss. Mione, complaining that Hermione had “just too many syllables". Somehow, she presumed through Ginny, her friends had found out about the new nickname and had begun using it frequently.
“Hello Ronald, pardon the imposition, I’m looking for your sister. I just wanted to check up on Crooks.” She looked up at the red-headed man with a smile.
Ron gasped, putting a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Mione. I thought you came to see me.” Hermione laughed good-naturedly, a blush slowly forming on her cheeks. “I’ll let Gin know you’re here.”
Hermione was not so blind as to be completely oblivious to Ron’s crush on her. In all honesty, Hermione found him to be rather charming and she could not deny he was good looking. In a handsome, familiar sort of way. He was tall, bordering around six-foot with broad shoulders and full frame. He had recently started growing a thick, ginger beard that made him look a few years older than he truly was. He had heavy lines around his eyes from years of eye-crinkling laugher, growing up in a tight night family of nine.
Ron swung his front door open widely, it's hinges creaking due to the abrupt movement, to reveal the entryway before him where two other figures stood. Hermione recognized the couple instantly. Despite the gentleman having his back to her, his mop of messy black curls gave away his identity immediately.
“Good Evening, Sheriff.” She greeted the dark haired man and then nodded to her friend. “Mrs. Sheriff.”
“Miss Hermione, doing well I hope?” Harry Potter, the town’s trusted sheriff, inquired once he and his wife had stepped onto the porch to join their guest.
Harry’s olive skin glowing in the last beams of the day's sunlight. Standing next to his wife and brother in law, Sheriff Potter was clearly the shortest of the three, standing at about 5 foot eight. Still an intimidating officer, though. What he lacked in physical presence, he made up for in the form of a large white scar on the right side of his forehead. Commonly compared to a large crack of lightning, the scar branched downward from his hairline spreading wider as it hit his eyebrow, covering a quarter of his forehead. He was typically clean shaven save for a thick black mustache, but the beginning of this evening's stubble was coating his jaw.
Beside him was his wife, Missus Ginevra Potter, revered horse trainer and best friend to Hermione. She stood clad in a long green coat with beige leather lining the collar and sleeves. Her pin straight hair was braided back practically, a large felt hat was hanging by its cord around her neck. The cool breeze reddening her freckled nose, and round cheeks. Ginny caught Hermione’s eye, and stuck her tongue out, rich brown eyes glinting with mischief.
“Miss. Granger, how bold of you to show up unannounced.” Ginny teased, raising her eyebrows in mock judgement. “And just before dinner. No doubt, you heard mother is making potatoes and salted pork belly. Well I suppose we can set another plate for you, Hermione, dear.”
“Oh, only if it’s not too much trouble, really. I truly only came to make sure Crooks is alright, and then I’ll be out of y’alls fiery red hair.” Hermione explained adamantly.
“Did you hear that, Ronald? Now she’s saying she did not come for a visit at all. Our poor family will be devastated that she did not wish to see us.” Ginny had drawn her older brother into the teasing. Ron's immediate grin clued Hermione into exactly how tonight's Weasley Family Dinner was going to go, and thereby giving her no opportunity to leave.
“Perhaps she has plans already, dread to think it, with someone more interesting. I cannot believe you’d trade your closest friends for some rowdy so-and-so.” Ron shook his head in disbelief, but was forced to stare at the toe of his rust coloured boot so as to not break character and laugh.
“There’s plenty of people at your dinner table to keep things interesting, Ronald. But if you all feel so strongly about it, I’ll stay.” Hermione eventually conceded, allowing the siblings to guide her onto the creaking porch swing.
Ginny sat beside her husband, leaning casually on Harry’s shoulder. Which left Ron and Hermione to occupy the swing’s other bench. The old wood had held its fair share of weight and shenanigans. Just last summer, the four friends plus two more full grown Weasley brothers had played a rousing game of Snap on the rickety swing, and they only feared its collapse once, when the twins had begun their victory dance. The wood, after years of use had splintered slightly, and one had to be extra careful when touching their hand to it, but the swing got consistent use by the two youngest Weasleys.
The Burrow seemed to get quite crowded, quite quickly and the swing on the front porch was their preferred escape.
“Y’all will not believe what Sherrif Krum, up north at the Durmstrang settlement, wrote in that letter I received this mornin.” Harry locked eyes with Hermione, his emerald eyes glinting with the remnants of a secret. “The travelling fair is coming to Hogwarts in a fortnight.”
The sheriff's wife squealed in excitement.
Hermione’s mouth dropped open, honey-coloured eyes widening in disbelief.
Ron, to his credit, was equally expectant, his denim clad knee bounced eagerly.
“I, with y’alls help of course, am supposed to coordinate with Miss Parkinson over at Wrackspurts to host some sort of fandango for the town on the first night the fair arrives.” Harry divulged the contents of his letter. A month into his appointment as sheriff, Harry had begun a correspondence with the law enforcement in neighboring settlements. Some were more open and helpful than others, and a few had yet to respond but the exchange of letters was surprisingly helpful. Not just at stopping and preventing crime-sprees but at keeping the area informed and exchanging occasional advice, sheriff to sheriff. The West was wild and untamed after all; one often saw the unexpected.
“Why, that is the best news I’ve heard all week.” Ron admitted. “This town could use some fun and excitement for a change.”
“Careful there, Ronniekins. Wouldn’t want to go setting a jinx upon Hogwarts now, would ya?” A disembodied voice called out, startling the four friends. The voice, while initially a shock, was instantly recognizable. It came as no surprise when two beanpoles stepped around the side of the house and into view.
The two cowboys were nearly indistinguishable. Mirrored smirks pulled their thin lips tight against straight teeth. Constellations of freckles coating their pale complexions. One was wearing a white felt hat and wore a lavender pearl snap with dark denim. The other was brushing his hair from his eyes, the motion drawing everyone's attention to his orange neckerchief and the grey felt hat in his hand, a single white feather tucked into the band. Many would have said the cowboys were identical, if it wasn't for one jarring difference.
Two years prior, George, the twin in orange, had a brush with a band of outlaws and in the skirmish, the majority of his left ear was sliced clean off. Due to the cause of the injury, it fueled a deep, family-wide hatred for those on the other side of the law. George’s injury was the deciding factor in Ronald’s career choice.
“Oh hush, Fred. I ain’t jinxing nothin’.” Ron was quick to defend himself against his older brother’s joke. “Just sayin’ the fair might be a nice change of pace, is all.”
“Well, I’ll admit, Angeline will be plenty thrilled to finally do something new .” George agreed, referencing his long-time best friend and recent fiancée. “Y’all would think planning a wedding would keep her mind occupied all day but no.”
The two women chuckled slightly at the expense of the small-minded cowboy before them.
“Oh, Georgie. Angeline is so lucky to have you." Ginny teased her brother, patting his shoulder in jest. "If she's ever looking for something to do, I could always use an extra pair of hands with the horses most days. Well, I think dinner should be just about ready, y’all should go wash up and get the youngins to the table. Hermione and I will be right in, we’re just going to pop in and see Crooks.”
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After the brief walk to the Weasley’s personal stables, just behind the crooked house, the two friends had checked in on the young Appaloosa, Hermione provided her with a crisp apple from her bag and brushed her other hand against her spotted coat.
But on their way back to the farmhouse, they spotted an unfamiliar horse tied to the willow tree beside Mr Weasley's shed. Immediately on guard, the two women straightened their posture and rounded the corner of the house. Ginny reached her hand to her waist slipping in past her coat, and to her belt. Her holster was just within reach.
A tall, cloaked man in pointy brown boots was mid-stride up the home’s front steps as Ginny cleared her throat, freezing his movements in place.
“I’ll thank you to tell me who you are, sir.” She demanded, doing well to hide the fear in her raspy voice, as she attempted to command the conversation. “Before walking any further onto my property.”
“My apologies, Miss.” The stranger turned around, his tanned face barely visible beneath the hood of his cloak, which he swiftly removes as he raises his hands in surrender. Revealing a handsome unblemished face, with dark brows and darker eyes. He had a green bandana tied snuggly on his head, his ends of his golden brown hair visible beneath it. He grinned once he was eye to eye with them, revealing a crooked smile and a row of perfect teeth. “Howdy, I’m Teddy. I was told by that stone-faced shop-keeper, that if I needed a place to house my horse while I was in town, I was to head to The Burrow and look for one, Missus Potter. I am going to assume that’s one of y’alls momma.”
The redhead scoffed, apauled at the implication but finding the humor in getting mistaken for Harry’s child. She began mumbling to herself.
"Unbelievable. Well I never-" Ginny put her hands on her hips, and then immediately dropped them with a huff. “My momma? Heck, I know my husbands older than me, but only by a few years."
The stranger leaned his head skyward and laughed openly, loud and unashamed. Looking over at the stranger, she took a step closer and in the silver light of dusk, got a better look at the young man. Noting the expensive glint of gold on the toe of his boots. The boyish unguardedness in stance he's dropped into as he laughs, as if he is among friends. She deems him non-threatening, assuming he's a young, be-somebody wishing to make a name for himself by finding himself some land and a job in a new settlement. That was the story for a lot of the young men living in Hogwarts, the Sheriff included.
"Oh my." He laughed again, bending over at the waist and taking an exaggerated breath. "Oh, that's awful of me. You must be Missus Potter then, and I, an absolute lunkhead." He extended a lean hand in her direction, in greeting. "Forgive me, Missus Potter but it's a complement really. You look too young to be tied down to some sheriff. You should be enjoying your youth." Winking once, he shook the smaller hand Ginny had returned in kind.
"Oh, hush up now, Mister Teddy." Ginny chastised, blushing slightly and pulling her hand away. Surprised by his charming and forward disposition. "I enjoy my youth just fine, alongside my husband."
"Oh, I'm sure." He teased her, laughing as her eyes flashed in frustration and her face set into a slight scowl. "Alright. I'll believe you, once I meet this spry young husband of yours. But really, I'm just here about my horse. Ion want him tied up outside the saloon all night, while I'm stayin' there. Say, is Wrackspurts a safe bed-house? See, that’s where I dropped my belongings before setting out here."
“By golly, you sure can air your lungs.” Hermione laughed at the rambling man before her, grinding the toe of her boot into the dirt. Clearly his mix up about Ginny’s identity had him slightly flustered. “Most folks, just ask how much per day for housing.”
It seemed like Teddy hadn’t noticed the second woman until she began speaking. Getting a good look at her, he took in the pale skirt she wore. Her beige boots as they slid through the dusty earth absentmindedly. Her curly hair and the end of day unkemptness to her up-do, he could tell she’d had a full day. She had a welcoming softness to her, a certain friendly magnetism. Yet at the brashness of her call-out, the corner of his mouth turns up slightly.
Her attitude reminded him of an old companion of his. Someone he got along with quite well.
“Apologies again, for wasting y’alls time, I reckon it’s about supper time and here I am intruding. How much per day for housing?” Teddy finally asked, circling back to the true motivation for his visit; which, while surprising considering how easily the trio fell into easy back and forth, wasn’t small talk.
“Y’all can talk about that after dinner, Hermione, get the poor young man inside and I'll set an extra plate.” The easy-going lilt of an older man's voice cut through the now open kitchen window. Arthur Weasley, Ginny’s father, stuck his balding head out to greet the new-comer, sporting a pair of half-moon spectacles. “Come in for some grub, son, and welcome to Hogwarts.”
“Well, you heard the man.” Ginny rolls her eyes as she gestures to her front door. “C’mon in, Mister Teddy. You'll get to meet that 'spry, young husband' of mine, afterall."
“Much obliged, Missus Potter.” Teddy followed the two women inside to the mud-room, where he removed his pelt-lined jacket and attempted to hang it on an overflowing coat rack next to him.
While feeling quite full and bordering on stuffy, the room had this warm quality to it that extended similarly into the rest of the home. Two benches with over a dozen pairs of varying-sized boots scattered beneath. Overlapping voices could be heard from the moment the three had stepped through the threshold. The walls were covered in this pale floral wallpaper and was peeling slightly near the windowsill.
“Wash up quick, folks.” Another red-headed man urged as he walked past the doorway they were crowded in. This one with long hair tied back with a leather band and he had a series of jagged scars that covered a good portion of his right cheek and the corner of his mouth. A sharp canine tooth hung from a chain around his neck. “The ankle-biters are waiting.”
“So, that’s Bill.” Ginny introduces as she hangs her hat on the bannister, Hermione and Teddy quickly following suit. “And he’s got a point, let’s not keep my nieces and nephews waiting.” Motioning for her guests to join her, she walks through the connecting hallway and into the powder room, taking a moment to turn the faucet on.
Stumbling a step, after the toe of his boot caught on the uneven door frame, Teddy turned to Hermione, eyes wide with surprise, and inquired with a harsh whisper. “How many of them are there?”
“Oh, you’re in for a real treat.” Hermione whispered back, knowingly. “How are you with crowds?”