Before the Dawn | George Weasley

31

A pleasant breeze swept through campus a couple weeks later, the sun shining warmly down on Jamie, Fred, George, Annie, and I as we sat at a table in the courtyard.

I flipped through my Herbology book absentmindedly as Jamie and Fred argued about something, their words mere background noise as I stressed about how I was going to convince Draco that I was a worthy confidant. He had been mainly cordial so far this year, relieved that I didn't try and replace him on the team but still not speaking to me much outside the Quidditch pitch.

George was  teaching Annie how to fold parchment owls and charm them to fly around the courtyard, and she watched with wide-eyed amazement, absorbing his every word. When they ran out of parchment, they resorted to tearing pages out of George's Potions textbook and using those, and soon there was an army of paper owls circling overhead, letting out a chorus of tiny hoots. 

George flicked his wand and muttered a spell, and the hooting grew deafening, the clamour shaking the courtyard. Students nearby began running with their hands over their ears to escape the noise, casting irritated glances in our direction as they went. Annie was laughing so hard tears were running down her cheeks, and George grinned, his fingers in his ears.

"Do you know a counter-spell?" he shouted at me over the hubbub. "'Cause I don't think I do."

With a dry smile I drew my own wand. "Silencio Maxima."

The owls fell silent. George shot me a sheepish grin. Fred and Jamie resumed their argument.

Annie wiped at her tears with her sleeve, still laughing. "That was excellent."

Professor Umbridge walked by, then, and frowned at the sight of the owls flying silently overhead. With a flick of her wand they were all incinerated. 

"No!" Annie gasped, dismayed by the ash falling like snow around us.

Umbridge swept her eyes over us. "Disruptions like these will no longer be tolerated. This is a school, Mr. Weasley, and students are here to learn."

We watched her walk away, listening to her kitten heels click against the stone floors.

"Spiteful cow," muttered Jamie. Fred snorted.

"How'd she know it was me?" George grumbled.

"Well, technically she said Mr. Weasley, so out of the five of us she had a forty percent chance of guessing correctly," mused Fred.

"I'm sure her guess was entirely based in statistics," I said.

"Purely mathematical," agreed Fred.

"Almost totally analytical," I followed.

"And in no way historical," added Jamie.

"Or even remotely reputational," concurred Fred.

George gave a begrudging grin. "She did the math and took the gamble."

"Brave soul," sighed Fred.

"Well, I'm off to class," said Annie, picking dejectedly at a speck of ash that had caught on her jumper. "I'll see you."

"'Bye, Annie," we chorussed.

"For you." George handed her his last folded owl, and her face was noticeably brighter as she walked away, the tiny owl situated in the palm of her hand.

There was a pause, then George made to rip out another page from his Potions textbook.

I slapped his hand away. "Stop it! You still need that textbook, you know, we've an entire year of classes left."