AMOR FATI . . . fred weasley

I. NEW YEAR, NEW ME -REVISITED

31st december, 1995 (11:50pm!)

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

JOHANNAH ATTLEE thinks the phrase 'new year, new me' is - well, frankly, dragonshit.

Because here's the thing: it isn't that she doesn't want to believe it. 1995 got a bit sour-lemony towards the end, and Joey would rather walk barefoot to Pluto than do all that over again! She just finds it ridiculously hard to be optimistic that 1996 will be anything other than a little bit glum, even with all the fun and giggly Weasley-shaped scrapes that she's probably going to get lumped in with against her will.

Speaking of Weasley-shaped scrapes...

'Ready, Joeypoos?'

Fred's voice calls down from the shadows of the attic, so all Joey can see is his feet in their thick red socks, George's shuffling beside him - thick blue socks - in anticipation. From her own spot just below the trapdoor, she twists quickly round, glancing down the claustrophobic corridor, lined with its enticing ebony doors and mouldy paintings that have depressed her ever since Christmas.

'Yep,' she calls back softly, imagining her voice drifting up into the attic and hugging them. 'All clear.'

'You sure you aren't gonna buckle under the weight of all these? What with you being so bloody tiny?'

'Just throw them down, will you, or I'll - I'll blow a raspberry at you!'

'Ooo, well, that's got me quaking in my socks, that has,' comes George's sarcastic drawl, followed by a cloud of silver dust as the cardboard box comes hurtling through the trapdoor and straight into her hands.

Immediately she's startled by the way the box wibbles and wobbles in her palms, almost like the contents are... moving? She peeks uncertainly into its ominous depths and reels upwards, nostrils overflowing with a smell more manky than Fred and George's farts combined - and that's saying something! 'What in the name of Venus are these?'

'A truly delightful delicacy that goes by the name of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage,' George answers, swinging from the latch down into the corridor.

'Fancy trying 'em?' Fred says, sniggering, jumping down beside them with as much grace as Hagrid doing ballet.

'Yuck, no way! I won't eat a vegetable!'

'Calm down, only yanking your wand,' Fred says with a smirk, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall in that casual way Joey admires so bad. 'Besides, these are for products. Not fit for consumption - well, not by us at least.'

George snorts. Joey rolls her eyes, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she carries the box to the twins' bedroom, wary of its precarious wobbling in her hands. She doesn't know why they've trusted her with this - come on, everybody knows she's too clumsy for her own good!

Passing the door to Buckbeak's bedroom, where a gloomy Sirius has begun retreating for hours at a time now Harry's departure is creeping up, Joey can't help worrying like crazy about him. He's been a bit doom and gloom lately, and it's been really, really sad, especially because only Remus or Frances can get him out of his 'fits of the sullens', as Mrs Weasley likes to call them.

She turns to the twins, gesturing towards the box that is now dancing madly in her hands. 'Are you sure Sirius said we could have these?'