Pumpkin Juice | Fred Weasley

ONE

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1993

"We've been at school less than a week and I'm already swamped," Fred says. "Snape's gotten meaner with his homework."

I nod, sighing. "I reckon it's got to do with him losing out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post again. That, and I don't think he likes Lupin very much."

I'm currently sat in the common room with the twins, Lee, Angie, and Corinne; all of us slaving over our essays for Snape. Alicia is out on some kind of prefect duties, I think.

Snape's chosen method of torture tonight is twelve inches of parchment on the properties of Moonstone and its uses in potion making.

"What can you even use Moonstone for, besides a Draught of Peace?" Lee asks. No one answers. "Brilliant, are any of us gonna pass this?"

Corinne sighs, half asleep. "I think it's used in some love potions," she says through a yawn. "I vote we go to bed and worry about these essays tomorrow."

"We've got Astronomy tomorrow evening," I remind her. "And they're due Thursday, so... It's either do it now or deal with the big fat T on your OWL."

"It's too early to be worrying about that shit, Dove," Angelina says, exhaustion clear in her voice. "One incomplete won't ruin our lives."

The others begin packing away their things, but I know putting it off won't help. It'll still be there tomorrow, so why delay the inevitable?

I watch as everyone trails off to their dorms. Well, almost everyone.

Fred and George are standing by the Fat Lady's door, seemingly very concentrated on the Marauder's Map.

"I'm afraid to ask." I sigh. "You know, one of these days, Filch and Mrs. Norris are gonna get their revenge—and I will laugh and take lots of pictures to share with my future grandchildren."

"Yeah, okay." Fred chuckles. "You let us know when the grandbabies hatch."

"So Pigeon's still a thing, then? Fifteen years old and still acting twelve," I joke. "I'm embarrassed for you, honestly. The both of you."

"Obviously," George says. "It is your name."

Fred and George have been calling me Pigeon since first year. Every year I think maybe they'll outgrow it, and every year I'm wrong.

There was about a week in third year where they called me Titmouse (which, according to Charlie, is an actual bird breed).

By the end of that week I threatened to curse them if I heard it one more time. They never said it again. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for Pigeon.

"Right, well," I say, going back to my essay. "Best of luck to you both, my boys."

There's a beat of silence before Fred speaks again, "What? You're not gonna press us for more information?"

"No, I'm doing my homework."

In my peripheral vision, I see the twins look at each other, clearly confused. "You don't wanna come with us?" George asks. "It's gonna be wicked."

"I'll have to take your word for it."

Neither of them says anything to that, so I look up to see them both staring at me, pouting. I sigh. "Would you like me to come with you?"