AMOR FATI . . . fred weasley

VI. WHAT'S EATING ROGER DAVIES

2nd september [tw: blood]

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

WHY, IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S MISMATCHED SOCKS, the school day has to start at nine o'clock is absolutely disgraceful if you ask Joey. They couldn't just accept the fact that it's practically inhumane to ask a load of teenagers to be fully functioning at the crack of dawn, could they? No, of course not. She's been at Hogwarts seven years now and it still cheeses her off no end.

    Like, it's hard work being at magic school when you can't even do magic! Please, Dumbledore, grant her a lie in. Just one.

    On her first day back at the funny farm, Joey's dragging herself into the Great Hall in a huff. Her beloved sleep was even more fragmented than usual, nightmares shimmering in her subconscious like shards of a shattered mirror. There'd been the usual ones about Cedric, but other nasty scenes rearing their ugly heads as well: Matthew and Pyotr's little brother Pawel both dead, both holding hands; Professor Umbrella and Zacharias Smith enjoying a candlelit dinner; and, worst of all, Fred and George actually paying attention in lessons.

    That last one was so freakish and horrifying, ew, that Joey's heart physically soars as she wanders up to the Gryffindor table to see them arguing with Hermione. Some things should never, ever change.

    'Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s,' George is in the middle of recounting dramatically. 'Tears and tantrums...Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint...'

    Joey flops onto the bench beside them, yawning. George slides her a plate of buttered toast which she accepts gratefully, knowing that he'll try and steal the slices from her anyway. Well, it's the thought that counts!

    'Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?' Fred sighs, all daydreamy. She won't lie, deep down in her heart of hearts, Joey feels a twinge of disappointment that he hasn't even acknowledged her arrival at the table - like, at all.

    Then his pinky snakes around hers under the table, which really, really surprises her. It's their unspoken thing, so they've never even spoken about it, obviously, but she'd always assumed it was saved for when they were under moments of extreme duress. Yet here he is, voluntarily clutching her pinky, when they're just eating breakfast. AKA, literally the least dangerous thing to do, ever. Mind you, this is Hogwarts we're talking about, so...

    She glances across at him. He's smirking but staring straight ahead, not giving anything away. And it drives her mad, honestly.

    'That's cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas,' George says.

    Fred grins. 'Oh yeah! I'd forgotten... Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?'

    Joey finds it so ironic that here he is, grinning like a semi-sadist as he remembers what they did to Kenneth Towler (which was, admittedly, hilarious), but the crescent of his pinky nail is currently pressed reassuringly into hers. For no reason whatsoever.

    She just doesn't understand this boy at all.

    'Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth,' says George. 'If you care about exam results anyway. Fred, little Johannah here, and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow.'

    Ron rolls his eyes. 'Yeah...you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?'

    Joey yells in protest - she got four O.W.L.s, thank you very much! 'Luf an lafter are the ony ejucadion wof hafing,' she exclaims defensively, her mouth thick with toast.