MISCHIEF MANAGED// FRED WEASLEY X READER

001. A Most Fortunate Disturbance

Fred's Disclaimer: The author of this book does not own Harry Potter, but if she did, I'm sure she would've let me live...unlike someone

It was perhaps the long-lapsed silence that worried me, more than the fact that the Weasley's were over twenty minutes late. 

The clocked ticked irritatingly overhead, and a tiny bead of sweat appeared at the top of Uncle Vernon's hairline. The sun was just beginning to set outside, and the sky was starting to tint with pink. 

When the muttering started, I knew Harry and I were in deep trouble. Uncle Vernon stood promptly to his feet, nearly tripping over one of Dudley's many gadgets. He swore loudly, hissing words under his breath. 

"-late, disrespectful, strange folks, should've known-" 

Harry and I exchanged anxious glances. Too aggravated to form a whole sentence, Uncle Vernon shuffled out of the room. Aunt Petunia sat in the kitchen, absent-mindedly dusting away at a shelf, which mind you, had already been dusted a good three hundred times, while she stared out the window. 

Dudley was twitching in the kitchen chair, his eyes darting around the room at any noise. 

"D'you think they got lost?" Harry asked me in a hushed whisper, as he leant closer towards the window. "I suppose Mr. Weasley wouldn't be too good with muggle maps?" 

I shrugged. "It's possible." 

"So," Uncle Vernon re-entered the room, a very haughty look on his large face. "Your friends," He waved a large palm. "These Weasley's," He uttered the word like one might say evil rats. "-Think they're clever, not arriving on time? Think they'll get to stay for supper, huh? Your kind are always-" 

Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's clearly heartfelt speech was rudely interrupted by a loud clanging by the fireplace. Bits of dust detached themself from the wood, covering the clean carpet in brown shavings. 

"Oi!" A familiar voice shouted from inside the electric fireplace. "Are you stuck?" 

"No, Fred, I'm having a party down here!" Another voice yelled back, their voices sounding muffled from inside. "Hey! Dad!" 

"It appears to be missing an opening!" The voice of Arthur Weasley called. "No problem, I'll just..Harry, Y/N, can you hear me?" 

"Yes," Harry strode over to the non-existent opening, tilting his head to peer up the side. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you, the muggles-sorry, the Dursley's have an electric fire!" 

"Electric, you say?" Mr. Weasley's interest seemed to peak. "Does it have a plug?" 

An indignant noise from behind me reminds me that Uncle Vernon is still standing there. His face is purple with rage. 

"Can somebody tell me what in tarnation is going on here?" He seethed, poking a fat finger in the air. "Girl?" 

"They've tried to travel by floo powder," I explained, half patiently. "It's how some wizards-" 

"I've heard quite enough," Uncle Vernon backed up, his voice rising in panic. 

"It's not a problem!" Mr. Weasley seemed to have missed that whole exchange, and I can hear shuffling around. "I'll just blast a hole for us-" 

"I'm sorry, what are you going to do?" Aunt Petunia joined us in the living room, staring in horror at the wall. 

Dudley emitted a loud squeal, grabbing his butt with both hands and scurrying back into the kitchen. The tip of his large nose peeks out from behind the wall.