Untouchable: a Fred Weasley fanfiction

Undetected Awkward

"This is bullshit."

"Jo!"

I ignore my mother's scolding remark because this is, in its finest form, the most top-tier level of bullshit.

Not even just bullshit. Like, big piles of stinking, heaping horse shit.

"Ms. Carter," Madame Duval says in an infuriatingly calm tone of voice. "I hope you can understand..."

"I hope you can understand that this is total bullshit." My voice is sharp and unwavering.

If Madame Maxime were still the Headmaster here at Beauxbatons, she would not be the Headmaster kicking me out of school for the purposes of "finding a more suitable environment" for me. Madame Duval? Well, she seems keen on getting me the hell out of her perfect little school with her perfect little girls.

"I've been here for six years," I retort, arms crossed as I sit opposite of the Headmaster. "Six years. And you're just gonna kick me to the curb now right before my last year, huh?"

"We are just trying to find a more-"

"'Suitable environment', yeah," I scoff. "Why don't you just say it? The real reason."

She swallows, hands folded on her desk. "I don't know what you are referring to..."

"That I don't fit the standards of perfection at this school," I say without hesitation.

I watch her internally deteriorate as she desperately attempts to keep her composure.

"There's a reason you're kicking me out of here," I go on, "even when I have good grades and not a scratch on my record. And it ain't 'cause I'm not French, because we both know plenty of Brits attend Beauxbatons. No, it's another reason. Isn't it, Headmaster?"

Madame Duval stares at the plus-size, angry-as-all-hell teenager pushing up her glasses in front of her and can't seem to find a defensive answer right off the bat. Gee, wonder why.

"Ms. Carter..." she says again in that voice, and I clench my fist, "... ze reason why we are transferring you is because you... don't seem to be ze right fit here. You've shown evidence of instability in social environments at times, and- and I'm afraid your standards of respectability are a beet different zan your peers'."

"And by that, are you referring to my lack of neatly folding my skirt under my ass before sitting down, and tossing silvery-blonde hair behind my back before waving like a princess at passing students?" I retort. "And don't tell me about instability. I had one panic attack in class and I've been dealing with anxiety just fine on my own, thanks, it's not like I've blown anything up."

"Jolie," my mother quietly pleads from my side, "please... don't make this any more difficult than it has to be."

I clench my jaw and don't respond. I don't know how to feel about my mother's behavior right now... she works at this school as a Professor, but she doesn't seem to be protesting my enforced transfer as we sit in the Headmaster's office.

I feel like I can't even look at Madame Duval at the moment. She just doesn't have the bullocks to say that the real reason why she's throwing me out is that I'm not pretty. I'm not perfect. I'm not a gorgeous, flawless goddess that floats about the halls and gently giggles at jokes with a polite hand over the mouth.

If a school inspector were to come and check in on the establishment, an inspector with their eye on how things were running and how nice everything looked, I would be the odd one out. I would mess up the image. Duval just can't say it out loud.