A/N: Welcome! First, I would like to thank my reviewers for the wonderful support. You guys make it possible to go from one chapter to the next. Second, I'm currently editing the story, to fix grammar mistakes and other unforgivable things. Chapter 1 has just been replaced. If you're new to this story or have never left a comment: please, remember to leave a review. It really helps immensely to have some feedback!

A Message

"HUGO!" shrieked the voice that came from the second floor. Hermione startled, her eyes shifted towards the ceiling of the living room. She dropped interest in her book and placed on the same couch she was sitting in. Her eyes didn't leave the wooden roof. An empty silence followed the squeal. Hermione turned her head around, towards the doorframe of the kitchen, from where Ron was already sticking his head out, staring at her in hopes of an explanation. Hermione shrugged in disconcert.

A loud stomp was heard again from above. Hermione stood up and Ron pulled his body out of the kitchen and into the living room. Smaller but constant stomps that sounded like running footsteps went back and forth on the second store of their house. Eight years ago they would have ran up the stairs with their wands at the ready. But, somehow, they knew better now.

Ron frowned harshly as he looked up trying to follow the sounds that echoed on the wood.

"What's going on up there?" Hermione raised her voice, now frowning as harshly as Ron.

"AAAAAAAAA!" Hugo stormed down the stairs, clumsily and in the biggest of hurries. Behind him ran Rose, just as fast, a fearful anger written on her face. "Run for it, she's gone mad!" Hugo warned, his long legs allowed him to reach his mother, to hide himself behind her. Rose, careless of the fortress Hugo was using, attempted to fetch him, but her father was faster than her, and his hand grabbed her arm tightly to pull her away from the victim.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Ron demanded, sternly.

"She's mad! That's what it is!" Hugo said, still behind her mother, who shot him a hard glare.

"No I'm not. Mum, he went through my things AGAIN!" accused Rose, searching for her mother's support. But Hermione crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow.

"No, I didn't! It was an accident! I told you that!" replied Hugo, backing off slowly.

"An accident? You destroy everything you touch!"

"No, I don't!"

"That's Enough! Both of you!" Hermione ordered. "You two are too old to be chasing each other around the house."

"She's gone mad because I borrowed her parchments!" Hugo complained.

"You borrowed them? You destroyed every single one of them! And they were expensive, and it took me months to find those! And you destroyed them in three seconds!" she yelled, the skin of her cheeks intensely red.

"I didn't know they were expensive! I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry? I'll give you something to be sorry about—"

"Rose Weasley, that's enough!" Ron scolded, his hard eyes set on her. Rose had figured that whenever he was angry his eyes turned into a very dark shade of blue. She always wondered if her own blue eyes transformed like that when she was infuriated, like she was now.

"He goes into my room and grabs everything! And he keeps hexing my things!" Rose told them. A miniature paper goose flew down the stairs and towards the group, intervening the conversation, as if pointing out the evidence. Hermione directed her hard sight towards her youngest son.

"Hugo, are you using spells out of Hogwarts?" she asked him.

"Um...just a bit,"

"A bit? You could be getting yourself a howler from the ministry at this very minute!" She waved her hand to scare off the small paper goose that flew towards her nose.

"Um..but, it was a small spell, very small," he said innocently, his eyes shaping like the ones of a defenceless puppy. Rose gave her brother a killer look. It wasn't the first time she saw him hexing objects, but doing it to her personal things was going too far. She bit her lip to restrain the impulse of reciting the many things he had hexed while being out of school before. She spotted Hugo gazing at the window, she knew he was making sure no owl from the ministry was coming.

"Alright, that's enough. Your mum's right, you two are way too old to be chasing each other around the house. Hugo, you better find a way of replacing your sister's parchments, and I want you two to go upstairs, and there better not be anything broken or out of place when we go up."

Rose exhaled in annoyance. She spotted her younger brother building a satisfied smile because the matter didn't get out of hand for him.

"And," Rose's mother suddenly whispered to her father.

"And what?" He retorted oblivious.

"What? That's it?" she said, simulating a drop of patience. "Hugo is doing magic outside of school," she pointed out gravely.

"Hermione, they are wizards. They can't help themselves," he explained, patiently as well.

"He's 13 years old, and she's 16. I think they can control their temper and their use of magic."

"Sorry luv, but you don't know what it was like to have brothers," Ron shrugged, chuckling slightly. Rose wrinkled her face. Luv: three lettered word commonly used by her dad whenever he considered that her mum was beginning to show herself irrational towards him. Rose's eyes shifted between each of her parents. She had a hunch of where it was all going.

"But I certainly know what it was like to have to deal with a temperamental Weasley all the time," Hermione retorted, sternly.

"Oww, Low punch," Hugo whispered, softly enough to be heard by Rose only, and clearly entertained by the scene.

"You should be one to talk about being temperamental, Hermione."

"What?" Hermione crossed her arms sternly, in a way that reminded Rose of the many times she spilled her mother's potions on the bedroom rug. Generally the gesture meant she was in major trouble.

While Hermione retorted with something that Rose paid little attention to, the two siblings backed off slowly, they looked at each other and Hugo gave his sister an expression of annoyance that she shared. Silently they retreated, and left the two parents arguing alone.

Rose hid herself in the comfort of her own bedroom, where she spent a good fifteen minutes cleaning the room from the mess she and her brother had occasioned. She fetched the flying paper swans that were all around the ceiling and the paper frogs that were jumping across the floor. The animated figures wrestled in her fingers and after a rather annoying chase she managed to put them all in a box. She threw herself on her bed once the job was done, and then remembered, that she still hadn't finished that book she had been reading and that was waiting for her on the nightstand.

"Rosie," her brother's rehearsed innocent voice said. She sighed strongly.

"What?" she asked dryly to the door that had slightly opened. Hugo sneaked the side of his face first, and then seemed encouraged enough to expose the rest of his red head, followed by his body. He walked in the room slowly, his head somehow down.

"Can I come in?" he whispered, his hands tucked inside his pocket.

"You're already in," Rose regretted, opening her book. With no invitation, her younger brother took a seat at the end of her bed silently. "Did you pick up the table that fell in the hall?" Rose asked him, although her sight remained on the pages of the book.

"Yeah,"

"Good," she said acidly.

"Mum and dad stopped arguing," he informed. "I heard them going to their bedroom," her brother explained, plainly. Rose wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Really? Right now?"

"I suppose they didn't want us hearing them fight," he said, shrugging. Rose looked at him from over her book, to see if her brother was as oblivious of what was going on as he sounded. His plain face confirmed her supposition.

"Sure, Hugo," she said sarcastically.

"We don't fight as much as they say we do…do we?" He suddenly asked, revealing his concern. Rose looked at him from over the book again.

"Actually, I believe we do," she answered plainly.

"Oh," he looked down. "But it's fun most of the time, right? I mean, except when you go mental, that is."

"Hugo, what do you want? I'm still upset with you."

"I know," Hugo looked at his shoes, which moved nervously. "I'm sorry about your parchments," he mumbled. "I didn't know they were expensive," he then shrugged.

Rose closed the book definitely and set it on the table. "It doesn't matter anymore Hugo," she said resentfully.

"Hey look! Yesterday when I was at our grands' house, grandpa gave me muggle money. Thirty pounds! I'll exchange it for galleons, and then I can buy your parchments back!" Rose's heart shrunk irrevocably once she saw her brother sticking his hands in his pockets to take out the money he was talking about. She tried, but couldn't fight the smile. He always did that, and like an effective tonic, it always dissolved her anger, just like when he was seven and blew up her stuffed bunny. He felt so bad about it that he cleverly collected an advance of his Christmas money from their grandparents and uncles, and then tried to find a rabbit as similar as the one he had ruined. "We're going to Diagon Alley next week for our school supplies, I bet we can buy the parchments there!" he continued, encouraged with the idea.

"Never mind, Hugo. You'd have to pre-order them at Flourish & Blotts. I waited for them for months."

"Why can't you just buy regular ones?" Hugo asked, confused, still holding the money out.

"These ones don't rag, don't wrinkle, they are quick dry, and you can erase almost any ink out of them. They were Egypt's best material," she said sadly.

"Oh...well, then have the money and you can buy them later..."

"Hugo, I'm not going to rip you off," she said. "Put that away. Granpa Frank gave them to you so you could buy the weird stuff you always buy. By the way, your animal friends are in that box over there."

"Oh, great! Wait, I wanna show you something!"

Hugo picked up the box and stormed out of the room, and seconds later came back with a book in his hands.

"Look, Grandma Emily gave me this." Hugo hurried to open it. The pages were filled with pictures of small paper figures, and the steps that were to be followed to accomplish the final figures.

"Origami?" she said, smiling slightly. "God, Hugo, you're so weird."

"Why? Don't you remember? Mum once taught us how to build these,"

"That was ages ago," she chuckled. Rose remembered it perfectly. She must have been ten when her mum taught them how to do origami. The fever lasted for a four weeks. Hermione, Rose and Hugo would seat by the fireplace for hours, while Hermione patiently taught them to build hats, boats and frogs. Ron had joined them the first time only, because his lack of patience soon got the best of him. So he deserted the activity quite fast. "I remember. We never did that again."

He shrugged. "No. Grandma showed me this book yesterday and we got to building them. But once they were done they seemed sort of lonesome and lifeless, and boring. So, I just tried a little spell," he said looking at her innocently again.

Rose shook her head in disapproval. "One of these days, Hugo, you're going to get in big trouble for hexing muggle things."

Hugo shrugged uninterested. "Fancy a game of wizard chess?" he asked instead. Rose knew that the request was made to check out the status of her mood. "Or I can show you everything I brought from our grand's house yesterday. I went up to the attic! They have wicked things up there. I even saw—I—I"

Hugo's face had gone pale, white even. His small, brownish freckles lost colour. His eyes widened, in a way she rarely saw, but she captured quickly that he was looking at the window behind her.

"Oh no," he said faintly, as she heard a smack on the glass that made her turn around. "Owl," he said again, breathless. "Oh no! It's happening! I'm getting expelled!"

"What?" she said as she stood up from the bed and walked towards the window. She opened it, and the old bird let her take a small piece of parchment. The bird didn't wait to get paid or prized; it didn't even wait for a response letter. As soon as she got the piece out of his paw he flew away.

"Oh no!" she heard her brother say again. He was set dramatically against the bedroom wall, as if he was being cornered.

"For goodness sake Hugo, this isn't a howler. And you know more than well by now that you won't get expelled for doing that little amount of magic, we are surrounded by too many wizard relatives." She rolled her eyes at him. But when she examined the still rolled piece she was the one to feel her skin lose colour. "Besides...this is for me," she explained refusing herself to open the rolled parchment that had no sender.

"What? What is it?" Hugo had walked up to her and was now leaning towards the piece. "Who sent that? And why send it so late?" Curious as he was, he was beginning to feel noisy to her.

"Hugo, I need you to go now."

"But—"

"Out," she said at her younger brother, handing him his origami book back and pointing at the door. "Now."

"But—"

"Hugo! Out!" He didn't move, and with an annoyed noise she started pushing him towards the door. "Please!" she said, losing her patience, her brother seemed to weigh more than what he regularly did.

"Come on, Rose!" he claimed, putting resistance. "Who is it from? Is it from your boyfriend," he suddenly mocked. Rose's stomach flipped unpleasantly.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she said acidly, still trying to push his body towards the door.

"Is it from that guy? The one you fancy? Patrick," he teased again, with the same tone he had used before.

"Alright, that's it. If you don't walk out at this minute, then mum will know that you were trying to give four magical legs to her Chinese teapot, and that is the reason it is now broken."

"I'm out!" he announced cleverly as he ran out of the room with his origami book under his arms.

Rose closed the door behind her. The small rolled piece of parchment danced with her fingers. Her instincts made her recognize it. The skin of her neck rose, her heart sped up, she suddenly felt genuinely sick.

She breathed in, and encouraged herself to unfold it.

In a very dark ink, and handwriting she knew nothing about, two words made her breathing go short.

Remember me?

"Al," Rose whispered. No response. "Al," she insisted, this time shaking his shoulder. "Al," she waited patiently, for two seconds. "AL!"

Albus' startled body made a sudden move. His thorax rose abruptly, hitting his head with a low bookshelf. Rose slid herself on the bed, a few inches far from him. "Ow! Wh—what it is?" he asked roughly, rubbing his head with his hand.

"I have to talk to you," she explained plainly.

"At this hour? You couldn't wait until tomorrow?" Albus hands searched for his glasses on the nightstand, but soon found that Rose had been handing them to him. "How did you get in?" he yawned as he took the glasses and placed them on his face.

"Fireplace, of course."

"What is it?" He murmured, setting himself straight.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained.

"And so, you decided that I shouldn't sleep either?" he snapped, annoyed.

"No! Al, It's starting again. He wrote to me," she heard how mortified her voice began to sound in the quiet room.

"Who—Oh," Albus acknowledged, his green eyes opened entirely for the first time, as if doing his best at waking himself up. "When?"

"A few hours ago."

Albus exhaled strongly. "That's weird. He stopped writing all summer, and we're only a week away from returning to Hogwarts."

"I know, I thought about that too."

"What did he write this time?"

"Not much, just..." she opened the notebook she had carried to her uncle's house. Incrusted between the cover and the first page were a collection of small, torn pieces of parchment she had carefully kept. Each of them held a single phrase, written in ink. She handed Albus the newest one of the pieces.

"Remember me," he read out loud. In the half dark room, illuminated with nothing else than a lamp on the nightstand, Rose chose to look down at her notebook, knowing that her cousin's eyes were on her. She took one of the little pieces with her hand.

"The things he writes," she whispered in concentration.

"What about them?"

"I don't know what they mean."

In a swift move, Albus took the piece of parchment from her hands, leaned near the lamp, and fixed his glasses properly over his green eyes to read it.

"Everything about you is how I want to be," he first read, and reached for Rose's notebook to pick up another one. "Everything about you is so easy to love."

Albus wrinkled his face in disgust, as if he had just savoured a most bitter potion.

"Ghastly, isn't it?" he said, handing her the papers back.

Rose read the lines to herself for the hundredth time, in silence.

"Isn't it?" he asked again, directing his accusing sight towards her.

"Yes! Yes, it's—terrible," she mumbled.

"The handwriting is different in the last one too," Albus pointed out.

"I know, that's what's more confusing! Why is he sending these with different handwritings? Not a single one matches the other one. That doesn't make any sense!"

"He must be doing a hard job to avoid getting recognized."

"But, why? How I'm I supposed to know who he is, anyway? He wrote for an entire month, before the school year was over. He disappeared, now he writes again, I don't get it!" she said, exasperate. The anonymous writer had appeared for the first time during her first OWL exam. She remembered it well, it was Transfiguration. She had studied hard for it, she had properly memorized all of the spells, she had digested the theory, and she, along with Albus, had transformed a considerable amount of chairs into cats –a practice that won them detention for irreversibly violating school property-. So when the day arrived she could say she was entirely ready. But during her walk towards the Great Hall she had been intercepted by a black, foreign owl she had never seen before. In a fast move the bird had dropped a tiny piece of rolled parchment in her hands. The owl continued on his journey and she opened the delivery to discover a note written in an unidentified handwriting:

Everything about you resonates happiness, now I won't settle for less.

Her concentration, only seconds before dedicated to her efforts of studying, had dwelled elsewhere. She spent half of her theory exam glancing at the people of the room, wondering which of them could have possibly written a note like that one, so flattering in some ways, and so disturbing in others. She wasn't sure if she liked the sender's demanding energy or despised it instead. More notes came along during the next weeks, interfering with her concentration –which made her worry about her OWLs results during the entire summer- but fortunately, that didn't stop her from getting Outstanding and Exceeds the expectations in her subjects.

Finally, her subjective and even wishful mind led her to suspect that it was Patrick Cleaver the one behind it all; a Gryffindor, one year above her, with a convincing smile and enticing brown eyes that made her stop breathing every time he walked past her. But...again, that was just a subjective assumption.

A week from the ending of the school year the notes stopped arriving, and that gave Rose a sense of relief. Maybe the anonymous teaser had gotten bored of the game.

Albus concluded for her that the writer might as well be someone who barely knew her, and as such didn't know where she lived. He also let her know more than once the negative appeal he had towards the entire situation. He expressed to feel relieved that the anonymous owling had stopped, because it was becoming annoying. Rose agreed, but soon found herself returning to her little pieces of parchments now and then, trying to align them, seeing if together they built a paragraph. She didn't want to be distracted, or bothered with riddles, but her head couldn't stop wondering into the possible meaning of such intriguing notes. Understandable curiosity, nothing more.

"Maybe we should go back to the theory that this person is somebody from school," Albus suggested. "And he knows where you live, so he must know things about you."

"I guess," she said weakly, setting her eyes on a far, dark point of Albus' bedroom. "Or maybe he's been figuring those things out," she reasoned, giving herself into thought.

"Rose, are you alright?" Albus' voice broke the suddenly hard silence.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"How many of those have this bloke sent you so far?"

"Eight," she whispered, placing her hands over the little notes. "Nine with today's note."

"You know, I don't like this, Rose. I don't like this at all. I have a bad feeling about this guy."

"Stop Al," she clicked, moving her head the other way, far from his sight. "You worry too much," she said, absently.

"Hey, I'm not the one irrupting in your bedroom at—"he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "—12:30!? Is that really the time? And you say this doesn't disturb you at all?"

"Al, I don't know what to think anymore. I just—I want to know what this guy is playing at. I want to know what it is that he really wants."

"Rose, that's the only thing that's clear," Albus took the last of the notes from her hands.

"He wants you."

A/N: Hi there, and welcome to the story. I hope you find the time to read it and especially to share your thoughts about it with me! Reviews are not only highly welcome, but they also help the writer...so please, do leave them...

The titles to each chapter will always refer to a song, mainly because the title relates to the centric event of the chapter, but also because the mood plays along with the lyrics. Of course, it isn't necessary for you to read or listen to every song, but you might find in each of them useful foreshadowing of the events or the characters' psychology...besides, it's fun.

The title to this story "Butterflies and hurricanes" also makes reference to a song by 'Muse'. The reason I chose this specific song? Well... let the story answer that question on its own.

Artist: Coldplay

Lyrics:

My song is love
Love to the loveless shown
And it goes up
You don't have to be alone
Your heavy heart
Is made of stone
And it's so hard to see you clearly
You don't have to be on your own
You don't have to be on your own

And I'm not gonna take it back
And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that
You're the target that I'm aiming at
Got to get that message home

My song is love
My song is love, unknown
But I'm on fire for you, clearly
You don't have to be alone
You don't have to be on your own

And I'm not gonna take it back
And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that
You're the target that I'm aiming at
And I'm nothing on my own
Got to get that message home

And I'm not gonna stand and wait
Not gonna leave it until it's much too late
On a platform I'm gonna stand and say
That I'm nothing on my own
And I love you, please come home

My song is love, is love unknown
And I've got to get that message home