𝐌𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 | f. w

4.

"Fred Weasley, you absolute dolt!" I spat, storming into his office and slamming the door behind me. My voice echoed through the room, a sharp contrast to the cheerful atmosphere he seemed determined to maintain.

Fred looked up from his desk, his usual grin faltering slightly. "Good morning to you too, Freya," he said, his tone light but cautious.

"Don't you dare 'good morning' me," I snapped, my frustration boiling over. "Do you even take this seriously? We're supposed to be drafting legislation that could change the lives of countless house-elves, and you treat it like some kind of joke!"

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting mine with an infuriating calm. "I do take it seriously, Freya. But maybe we don't have to approach it like it's the end of the world."

"Don't patronize me," I shot back, feeling my temper rise further. "This is important work, and your flippant attitude is undermining everything we're trying to achieve."

Fred's expression softened slightly, but the glint in his eyes told me he wasn't backing down. "Look, I understand where you're coming from, but you have to see that my approach can help. Sometimes, a lighter touch can make a big difference."

"A lighter touch?" I echoed incredulously. "Fred, this isn't a prank at your joke shop. This is about the rights and dignity of beings who have been oppressed for centuries. They deserve better than half-hearted measures and insincere smiles."

Fred's grin faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Freya, I know you care deeply about this cause, and I respect that. But you're not the only one who cares. Just because my approach is different doesn't mean I'm not committed."

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Then prove it. Show me that you're willing to put in the work, that you're not just coasting on your charm and reputation."

He stood up, his eyes locking onto mine with a newfound intensity. "Fine. Let's lay out our plans right now. We'll work through every detail, every potential issue, until we're both satisfied. But you need to trust that I'm here for the same reason you are—to make a difference."

I paused, taken aback by his sudden seriousness. For a moment, I considered backing down, but the thought of Fred brushing off my concerns again reignited my resolve. "Alright, let's do it. But don't expect me to go easy on you."

Fred smiled, but this time it was a smile of determination rather than amusement. "Wouldn't dream of it."

We sat down at his desk, spreading out the parchment and notes we had accumulated over the past few weeks. The room was silent except for the rustle of paper and the occasional scribble of a quill. The tension between us was palpable, but so was a shared sense of purpose.

As we delved into the specifics, the arguments continued, each of us passionately defending our perspectives. Fred insisted on provisions that would make the legislation palatable to business owners, arguing that without their support, the laws would be impossible to enforce. I pushed back, emphasizing the need for stringent protections to ensure house-elves were genuinely safeguarded.

"You're not seeing the bigger picture," Fred argued, his frustration mirroring my own. "If we push too hard, we'll alienate the very people we need to enforce these laws."

"And you're not seeing the immediate harm that will continue if we don't set strict standards," I countered. "House-elves need real protection, not just platitudes."

The back-and-forth was exhausting, but I could feel a grudging respect forming for Fred's persistence and dedication. Despite his infuriatingly upbeat demeanor, he was clearly committed to finding a solution that worked. It was a different kind of passion than mine, but it was passion nonetheless.