Orange Trees | Fred Weasley

Chapter Seven

August 28th, 1994

Jericho watched as two birds chased each other outside his window. They circled the orange sky as they followed one another, chirping in a game only they could understand. One of the birds was much smaller than the other, perhaps younger, but feistier than its counterpart. It tailed its friend closely, nipping its feathers in what Jericho hoped was a playful manner. He envied them; not their ability to fly, but their ability to go wherever they pleased. Something Jericho currently couldn't do.

It was now Wednesday, just three days after the events of the world cup. Three days since Jericho snuck away from his family in an attempt to meet the mascots of the World Cup teams. And that he did – well one of them – but not without consequence. Jericho sighed as he once again thought back to the morning he arrived back home. His father had already given him a stern talking to when he arrived back at the tent, but nothing would compare to the wrath of Jane Diggory.

She was furious; not just furious, incandescent. A word Jericho didn't even know existed until he heard his mother scream it. Not only had he directly disobeyed his mother's rules of not getting into trouble, he had indirectly caused a panic within his family by disappearing during a Deatheater attack. This had been, according to his mother's count, the sixth time this summer his actions had caused indiscretions for the rest of the family. Something, she had to remind Jericho, Cedric has never done.

So here Jericho sits, in his room, watching the sun set in a world he would much rather be in. Not only was he not allowed to leave the house for the rest of the summer, he was forbidden from partaking in anything he deemed as fun. That meant no gardening, no going outside, no animals, and no orange tree. A charm was also placed on the border of his room, ensuring that nothing could go out or in without his mother being alerted. It was quite overdramatic, if you asked him, but it was the harsh price he paid for angering his mother. So now he was alone, and bored, with nothing to do but watch the rest of summer days pass on.

Jericho turned away from the window, deciding to no longer stare at the summer sun that only seemed to mock his confinement. His room felt smaller than ever, the walls closing in as he sighed once more. He hated being stuck inside, especially during the warm months, and he could feel his body physically ache from the sheer amount of time he hasn't breathed in fresh air. Plopping himself on his bed face down, Jericho decided he was officially and utterly bored.

His thoughts drifted back to that night, to the surreal encounter with the Veelan Dance Troupe. He could still see the vibrant colors of their tent, the pink and red drapes that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. The Veela themselves, ethereal and mesmerizing, had welcomed him in a way he had never experienced before. They had seen him for who he was, beyond his impulsiveness and youthful mistakes.

Did he regret it, sneaking out on his own in hopes of adding another magical creature to his notebook? A little. Especially since he didn't know if he would get to see his tiny friends before he left for school. But as he thought more about it, it was slightly worth it. The punishment of having to stay home was worth getting to meet and talk with the Veela.

He remembered how Selene had pulled him into their tent, her initial anger melting into a slight understanding. The Veela had gathered around him, their eyes sparkling with curiosity and kindness. They had listened to him, truly listened, as he spoke about his fears and insecurities. For the first time, he had felt no shame in admitting who he was.

Ramsy's question echoed in his mind: "Are we the only ones who know?" His hesitant response had opened a floodgate of emotions, and the Veela had been there to catch every drop. Their sympathy had been genuine, their support unwavering. They had assured him that he would find acceptance and love, that he should never feel shame for his feelings.