Rebel Rebel (A Fred Weasley fanfic)

17

Stevie, like always, had spent the majority of her summer alone in the Nicholson family manor, only this year, she got the shock of her life when her parents returned home early - almost a whole month early.

She had been making herself something to eat when the familiar crack that came with apparition sounded from their vestibule and they informed her that their trip was cut short because they'd received an owl from the Minister of Magic, who had written to personally invite her father to sit in the Minister's box at the upcoming Quidditch world cup final that was taking place that weekend.

They then dropped the bombshell that she'd be going along too.

"I don't even like Quidditch," she says on the morning that they're setting off, "Why am I being dragged along?"

"You're going," her mother begins, "Because the Minister invited you. Show some gratitude, will you?"

Stevie decides that she's not going to argue and falls down onto their couch with a sigh, watching as her mum hurries to gather the last of her father's things.

"Don't just sit there. Stevie," Giles huffs, "Go get your bag. We're leaving in exactly ten minutes. I won't be late."

"Alright, alright!" she gets up again, grumbling under her breath as she climbs the stairs, meeting their House Elf Copsey at the top.

"Miss Stevie, your bag is on your bed," she says loudly, "You're ready to go."

"I told you not to do that," Stevie frowns, "I was going to do it because you're supposed to be having a day off."

The elf shrugs with a bashful smile, "Copsey wanted to be a help, miss."

Stevie pats her shoulder with a smile, "I know. And I appreciate it."

"A letter also arrived for you, miss Stevie. Copsey put it on top of your bag."

Stevie thanks her once more, being interrupted by her mother calling for the elf, who leaves her with a low bow.

"You don't have to do that, either!"

The letter is on top of the bag, just as Copsey said and she grins when she recognises the handwriting.

She and Fred had been in almost constant contact over the summer. So much so, that there was a thick bundle of envelopes in her bedside drawer all from him and tearing the one in her hand open, she finds that it's his response to her telling him that she'd be attending the match as well.

You're coming to the match? That's brilliant! Dad says that the campsite is rather large and that there's no point in me trying to find you but I promise I will if I get the chance. Hopefully I'll see you this weekend.

Fred.

"Stevie!" her dad yells, "We're leaving. Hurry up!"

She quickly shoves the letter into her drawer and grabs her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder as she heads for the stairs and she lets out a shocked gasp when she almost topples from the weight.

What the hell was in there?

"How are we getting there, dad?" she asks as she steps into the living room, seeing that the furniture has been moved to that there's space in the middle and she answers her own question.

Apparition.

"Come along, Stevie." he holds out his arm and she moves to stand beside him, looking at her mum.

"See you Monday."

Out of all the ways to travel, Stevie was not a big fan of apparating. She preferred floo powder - she would even rather fly a broom than apparate. She hated the twisting feeling it brought; how it felt as if you were being crushed from all directions.

But, at least it was quick and in only a matter of seconds, she was standing in the middle of dense woodland.

"Nine minutes past eight," a voice beside them makes her jump, "From Nicholson Manor. Morning Giles."

"Edward," her dad greets and it's strange to see him talking so pleasantly with someone, "Busy?"

"Been here all night," Edwards frowns, "You'd best move. People coming in are landing all over the place. You're in campsite two. Ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks Edward. Come along, Stevie."

They walk for about a quarter of a mile until Stevie sees a gate and beyond that gate, are hundreds, no thousands of tents stretched as far as the eye can see.

For someone who doesn't know anything about Muggles or doesn't associate with them, her dad handles paying for their spots quite well, handing the paper money with very little trouble, getting a map of the campsite in return.

The two of them trudge their way through the misty field and Stevie takes the time to have a look at the tents that are already pitched.

There are children running around on miniature broomsticks and pointing what are obviously toy wands at one another while their parent's set up their tent.

"Right," she almost walked into her father's back when he stops, "Here we are."

They're right in the middle, where all of the larger, fancier tents seemed to be and stuck into the ground is a sign post with their surname on it.

"Right where I wanted," her dad mutters, shrugging his bag from his shoulders.

Stevie does the same, taking a look at the signpost in the spot next to theirs to see who their neighbours were for the weekend.

Malfoy.

"Oh come on," she whispers, "Really? This weekend can't get any worse."

"Now for some reason, the Ministry has forbidden us to use magic, some rubbish about the numbers so we'll be doing it by hand."

She couldn't use magic out of school anyway - she was only sixteen. Clearly, her father didn't know that.

It doesn't take long for the manual labour to cause her dad to start huffing and puffing, trying to slot pieces that clearly don't fit together while Stevie, thanks to patience -and the fact that Copsey had packed the instructions in her bag - was almost half way through assembly.

"Dad," she says after another ten minutes, "How about you go get us some water and I'll finish this."

Giles throws the two rods he's holding down onto the floor with a clatter, "Fine. But-ah, Lucius!"

Stevie spins around, seeing Mr. Malfoy standing behind her.

"Lucius," her dad repeats, "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you," he steps to the side, "You remember my son?"

"Of course," Giles steps forward to shake Draco'a outstretched hand, "Draco. My, how you've grown."

"Lovely to see you again Mr, Nicholson," the blonde nods, eyes flirting briefly to Stevie, "Stevie."

"Draco." she greets politely.

"I'm just going to fetch some water," her dad tells his friend, "It's a farce, isn't it? Not being able to use our wands."

"Indeed," Lucius drones, eyes locking in Stevie who's gone back to building her dad's tent, "Though your daughter seems to be having no trouble adjusting."

Thankful that he can't see her, she rolls her eyes and connects two of the poles together. She had a feeling that this was going to be the longest weekend of her life.