A Fading Bubblegum Pink

I can’t waste another minute, I have to see if this’ll work.

“Wrap up warm m’dear, you’ll catch your death out there.” I hug Molly and tell her I’ll keep in touch.

“Thank you so much Moll, I can’t say how grateful I am.” She smiles giving me a quick hug back. Grabbing a handful of floo powder from the tub on the mantelpiece, she steps inside the fireplace. She pulls her shawl tightly around her shoulders in preparation for her journey. “Think I’ll do a spot of shopping,” she grins before adding “Diagon Alley!” With a blur she’s gone.

I can’t be bothered getting dressed the Muggle way, so pointing my wand at my persona I conjure up a dark pair of corduroy trousers with my purple Doc Martens and a hooded sweatshirt. I take Molly’s advice and grab my warmest jacket. It’s a bit worn now but who cares – it does the job.

I go through the floo powder routine, get into the fireplace and clearly state “number twelve Grimmauld Place.” You’d have thought after all these years of using the floo network I’d have gotten used to it. Nope, the spinning motion still sets my stomach feeling like I’m going to say hello to my last meal. Just as I really think I’m going to throw up I find myself hunched up in the grate of the fire. Surprise, surprise, Kreacher’s not been doing as Molly said – keeping the place tidy. Course we should have got Harry to give the order, him now the official owner of old Grimmauld Place.

I’ve landed in what seems to be the remains of some kind of old and burnt parchment. What the hell has that vile cretin been upto? I shudder to think. I get out of the grate, dusting myself off and take a look around. “Kreacher, where are you, you dirty little…?” I hear a shuffling sound but no Kreacher. Oh to hell with him, I move across the creaky floorboards to the door, I grasp the handle baring the Black family crest and turn. The door creaks open. I come into the dark and gloomy hallway, keeping in mind I must be quiet. That damn portrait of Mrs. Black is still there ready to shriek at the slightest noise or movement. I see the cove under the stairway like I saw in my vision and quietly make my way over to it.

“Lumos.” I light the tip of my wand in order to see a little clearer. Here it is. My portal to Hermione. I get out my wand and closing my eyes, put the tip to my temple thinking of my time with her. I draw my wand away and drag what looks like a silvery thread into the depths of the bowl of the pensieve. The silvery substance ripples for a few seconds until it settles into a steady swirling motion. It’s almost hypnotizing to watch. I repeat this exercise three more times. That should be enough to go on for now. Putting my wand back inside my jacket, I move closer to the enticing whirlpool of which can be identified as neither gas or water. As the substance in the bowl settles, imagery within it makes itself known. I see the Great Hall in Hogwarts, it's hustling and bustling with the students eating their breakfast. My eyes scan over the tables until I see a little brown bushy head. She's sat with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley seeming to be unusually quiet. She's not even scanning her copy of The Daily Prophet. I remember it to be later on in the morning when Shacklebolt rudely disturbed our...intimate moment. Looking at her from here feels like watching her on the television. Yearning to get close to her, I lean into the moving pictures within the whirlpool and get sucked into the dimension below me...

A.N. : Rather short chapter I know but plenty of dirty-ness to come so please keep checking back. I really would appreciate any comments, encouraging or (constructively) criticizing, hehe. Thanks for reading guys!