DOROTHEA {fred weasley}

eight

No one in Hogwarts was surprised that Cedric Diggory had been chosen as their school champion, Elvira had cheered loudly, along with the rest of Slytherin, who had decided they would rather him than a Gryffindor. The shock of Harry Potter's name coming out of the goblet only made them all like Cedric more. Camille Rosier and Manon Lestrange had spent days complaining about Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons prefect, saying that it was unfair and predictable.  Manon even went so far as to say that it was prejudice against her surname, she said no one likes a Lestrange.

"No one likes a Rosier either but you don't see me whining about it," Dorothea had snapped at her.

The entire school was counting down to the first task, with Hufflepuff immensely excited and cracks beginning to show between the three schools. Even Manon and Camille had managed to drag out some support for Fleur Delacour in the name of school solidarity. Dorothea couldn't care less about the tournament, she thought it was ridiculous, but secretly expected Viktor Krum to win. 

A week before the first task she trudged to one of the empty classrooms in the dungeons, where she had been scheduled to watch over Fred Weasley as he polished every single cauldron, which, according to a grinning Argus Filch, was one hundred and three of them. He arrived five minutes late and she took five points, he said nothing and made his way over to the cupboards, pushing past her without contact. When he pulled his wand out the witch spoke.

"Ah- without magic, Weasley."

Fred stared at her in bewilderment, "is your name Argus fucking Filch?"

"If you need it to be," she said sweetly. "Wand."

When he scoffed and turned his back to her she silently disarmed him, his wand landing firmly in her palm. He glared at her and she threw him a rag and gestured to a pot of water, sitting down and pulling a piece of parchment and a quill out of her bag.

"I'm gonna complain to Dumbledore about this," he said, furiously scrubbing one of the cauldrons.

"Why's that?" She asked, not looking up from her writing.

"I'm disarmed, alone, with a Rosier," he spat. "I don't feel safe."

The witch snorted a little and said nothing, not bothering to bite. After years of school with Fred Weasley, she was well aware of how much he hated her family, he'd never shied away from telling her. And, her mum hated the Weasleys, Arthur Weasley had been apart of the trial against her, apparently, if Lucius Malfoy hadn't intervened, she'd still be in Azkaban. Dorothea didn't hate the Weasleys because of her mother, she hated them because with every chance they had to be a proper pureblood family, they failed. In fact, she didn't hate them at all, they were below her, in every single way.

Fred huffed when she didn't reply and carried on scrubbing, "in fact, maybe we'd better start being civil, Rosier, we might be family soon."

Dorothea sighed at his dislike for silence, "I assume you're talking about Camille."

Fred nodded his head eagerly, "who knows... if things go well..."

"I'm surprised you're so keen for it, she's a Rosier after all," Dorothea said, not looking up from her parchment.

"She's not as bad as you."

The witch smiled into her hand as she wrote, if only he knew.

When he opened his mouth again and began to speak the witch sighed and looked up, meeting his eye.

"Weasley, you've cleaned two cauldrons, there are one hundred and one left to do, neither of us want to be here-"

Fred scoffed, "seems like you do, Argus."