Drop Dead Fred || Fred Weasley

Fourth Year

A now fourteen-year-old Constance sat in the echoing halls of The Great Hall, her dark hair cascading down the sides of her face as she absentmindedly stirred her water and porridge. The humming of different voices bounced around the four surrounding walls as the excited students received their timetables for the year, but none reached her. She preferred it that way—people had always left her alone. Most of the students, and even some teachers, had learnt quickly that Constance Riddle wasn't someone you could get 'buddy-buddy' with.

As he often did, Adrian Pucey slid onto the vacant seat opposite her. He was the only person Constance allowed to get close to, a fellow Slytherin who respected her space but seemed to enjoy her company either way.

"Good morning, Constance." He greeted, a cheery smile adorning his face, as he reached for two slices of toast and the honey pot. "You look deep in thought." She looked up to see him scrape an ungodly amount of honey onto his toast. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing." She replied flatly, she scooped up the slop she had grown accustomed to over the years. She was about to ask Adrian what lessons he had today but was interrupted by a loud—

"RONALD WEASLEY!" From the Gryffindor table, Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice had cut through the hum of the students. Ron's face had turned as red as the Howler he'd received, his expression as if he had just seen a ghost. "HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR!" Her voice continued to echo around the hall, causing a few on the Slytherin table to laugh at the misfortune of the youngest Weasley boy. Ron's lips began to quiver as the Howler finished its message, and then the anger was replaced with the words of a proud mother as the no-eyed object turned to the youngest Weasley, Ginny.

The cutlery had stopped shaking, then conversation broke out again. Constance looked over to Adrian as he struggled to keep his giggles to himself. Constance merely raised an eyebrow. The Weasleys were always finding themselves in some sort of mess, though the twins, Fred and George, were a different breed entirely. Mischievous, reckless, and annoyingly popular. But none of it mattered, not really. 

"Let me introduce you to your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher..." Gilderoy Lockhart came out of his office, standing at the beginning of the stairs. The fourth years looked around, waiting to see who he was on about. Only to be met with paintings of himself, and a painting of him painting himself..."Me!" He made his way down the stairs with a certain suave in his step. Looking around the room, Constance saw a mixture of faces in the class. Some boys and girls had a look of awe as he walked down the aisles of chairs. Others, including Constance, looked at him with confusion at his arrogance. As he finished his boasting, he made his way back to the front. 

He smiled at the class as he cocked a hip and put the following hand onto the mahogany desk."I see you have all bought my complete set of books - well done. I thought we would start the year off with a small quiz." The fourth-year students' all sighed as they had not studied for a test, especially at the beginning of the term. "Nothing to stress, it's just to see how much you have taken in." As the final paper rested on the desk in the back corner, they now had thirty minutes to complete fifty-four questions... about Gilderoy Lockhart...

Constance seemed to share the same disgust of the teacher with Adrian as he turned his head to her after reading the first question, furrowing his brows and pouting his lips. Chuckling to herself, she started the quiz. 

After the multiple guesses she did, Lockhart collected the tests. He sighed at tutted when he picked up Constance's paper."You should know my favourite colour isn't lavender, it's lilac-" he spoke with a faux sincerity. Yet he interrupted himself as he looked down to see Constance's name. He looked back up and gave a "charming" smile to the girl in question. "Riddle," the professor hummed. He repeated the girl's name in an airy sing-song voice. 

"Yes," she replied, her tone clipped, her gaze steady.

"Interesting," he mused, studying her. He looked back at her work reading her answers. "You need to read my Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples." Lockhart patronizingly said, laughing after with a sigh. He snapped his head back to the fourteen-year-old girl. "Do I know your parents?" 

"Doubt it, I don't even know them." Her stare bore into him, slightly scaring the older man. Her gaze was the same as when she was a child, seeing the doctors and other children mocking her. 

"Ah, well! Not to worry, dear. Let's press on, shall we?" His smile was bright and fake as he strutted back to the front of the class.

"Can you believe this bloke?" Adrian muttered under his breath, leaning closer to Constance. "I'm honestly starting to think he believes his own stories."

"Yeah, stories," she muttered mostly to herself, her gaze still fixed on Lockhart at the front. She could feel someone's eyes on the back of her head, but the sensation only puzzled her—she didn't bother to look.