Like a Weasley
Fred and his brother, George, helped a first-year student about to fall face-first onto the cement.
“Easy there, firstie! We wouldn’t want you to get a bloody nose on your first day at Hogwarts,” Fred said with a smile.
And a smile that immediately dropped upon glancing at said the first year.
Fred sensed that something was seriously wrong with this first year. He exchanged a knowing glance with George, who adjusted the child's glasses and helped him to his feet.
The boy stood unevenly and glanced between the twins but said nothing.
The first-year had long, matted hair that looked dark and sweaty. Fred thought he resembled Professor Snape, especially when Fred and George accidentally exploded their cauldron in Snape's face.
The kid fiddled with his hair, trying to brush it aside, but it kept falling back into place.
His clothes were… well, “dirty” would be a kind way of putting it. “Gross” was the first word that came to Fred’s mind. The clothes were stained, and the kid had a musty smell, like dust, mothballs, and clothing that hadn’t been touched for a long time.
He wore clothes that were four sizes too big for him. His shirt was tattered and torn, and his only possession was an equally worn-out backpack.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Fred attempted to clean the boy up, using all the spells a third-year could muster.
Fred knew a lot of spells, of course, but cleaning spells were not precisely his specialty.
“Fred! George! Hurry up, or you'll miss the train!” Fred heard his mother call out.
Fred had lived his whole life around George, and they could share so many words with just a glance.
At the sound of their mother, the twins looked towards each other, conveying much information that only two soles linked together from birth could share.
“Right, Firstie.” George began, wincing when the kid flinched, “We’re, er,” He trailed off distractedly.
“Our mum needs us,” Fred interjected.
“Right, yes, only for a moment,” Said George.
“Can you save us a seat on the train?”
“A quiet one, please!”
The first year, who had yet to say a word, let out a low whisper, like hiss from an old, crotchety old cat. “Of course.”
Fred could barely hear him over the train whistle; a ten-minute warning caused all three Hogwarts students to jolt.
“Sirs.” The kid tacked on awkwardly after a moment.
George opened his mouth- Fred assumed to correct the boy- but decided the better of it.
Now was…not the time.
The kid turned slowly on his heels and limped towards the train.
Fred took a deep sigh when the kid was out of earshot.
George wrapped his arm around his brother. “Right. Let's go.” The twins marched towards their mom.
—
Molly licked her thumb and aggressively scrubbed a stubborn piece of dirt off her youngest son, Ron’s nose.
“Right, Ron, my love, are you all ready for your first day at Hogwarts.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mum.” He
Shoved her hands away. “Stop fussing.”
Molly put her hands on her hips. “I will never stop fussing so long as I live. Now, off you go!” She gave him a light pat on the shoulder and spun Ron towards the train.
Ron, ever her brave boy, skipped towards the Hogwarts train, shaking off his nerves as he boarded. “Bye, Mum, Bye!” And he turned on his heels and marched out of view.
Molly mentally checked all her children, or at least all the children she had taken to the trim station.
Percy had boarded early with the other perfects, practically vibrating with nerves. Ginny was beside her, watching with wide eyes as her brothers boarded the train.
That left Fred and George her troublemakers. She looked around the station, eyes darting to where she had last seen them.
She was surprised to find her twins walking towards her briskly and grimly.
They looked eerily serious…nervously serious.
Fred and George looked so unlike her sons that she thought, for a moment, maybe they were some other mother’s red-haired twins.
She shook her head foolishly and her nerves took over.
Something was wrong with her sons.
She rushed forward to them, eyes scanning for injuries. “Is everything alright? Are you
Boys, okay?”
Fred, or at least who she thought might’ve been Fred, looked dejected down to the ground. “We’re fine, Mum”
“Only…” The other one began.
Their tones were so frighteningly serious as they explained the situation. Her eyes scanned the crowd behind the twins for the first year.
“We sent him on the train.”
“We didn't want to make him nervous.”
“We thought you might scare him.”
Molly nodded in understanding. Her boys were so brave and smart and so good-hearted.
There was a thought in the back of her mind. A horrible and selfish thought.
The Weasley's were not well off.
And Molly, admittedly and unfortunately, was thinking about money. Her thoughts were always on money.
Money for food, money for her kids. Her thoughts were on penny-pinching. And now, thrusting into her life without warning, was a kid in need of her.
And children were not cheap. Molly made do, with careful preparation and planning ahead of time.
She knew the books Ron would need, passed down from Bill, to Charlie, to the Twins and then to Ron and next year to Ginny.
And his clothes were the same and so was his wand.
She could not afford to buy another child a whole entire set of everything.
She just could not.
But Molly also couldn't stand by and do nothing.
That was not the kind of person she was.
She would need to think, to scrape together cash and do her very very best.
Molly placed one hand on each of her twins and looked them in the eyes very carefully.
“Alright, my loves,” She began. “Give him a robe or two to borrow, if he ends up in Gryffindor; you tell Ron to share his books until I can get him some. Once all the first years are sorted, and after the meal, you too go straight to the boy’s Head of House. Then You send me an owl. Make sure he’s-” The final whistle blew, her boys needed to leave. “Fred and George, you take care of him like you would a Weasley. Understand?”
The boys nodded.
There was so much more Molly wanted to say and more she wished she could do but her twins needed to get to school.
—
The train was impossibly loud; possibly the loudest noise Harry had ever heard, and he had lived with Vernon Dursley’s booming voice.
Every train car seemed to overflow with passengers, their animated conversations merging into an overwhelming scream that pressed in on Harry from all sides. His heart raced, a tight knot of anxiety settling in his chest as his hands tingled with unsettling numbness. He desperately scanned the aisles, hoping to find a solitary train car where he could escape the crowd and the weight of their gaze.
Those older boys had been so kind to him, saving him from an embarrassing and problably painful face plant into cold hard cement. Yet now he felt he was on the brink of letting them down. A wave of panic washed over him as he realized he couldn’t disappoint them.
He limped through the train, scanning each cabin as he passed. The air felt charged with an inexplicable tension, and strange occurrences rippled through the crowd—a furtive glance here, a stifled giggle there. Harry could sense the scrutiny of the other passengers; their eyes seemed to pierce him, filled with unspoken judgments and curiosity. Whispers floated to his ears like ghostly winds, amplifying his anxiety. Each hushed conversation seemed to confirm his deepest fear: that he had done something wrong, something unforgivable, and that certainty tightened its grip around him.
A whistle blew from the train, somehow even louder above the roar of students.
Harry flinched violently, nearly toppling to the ground. To his luck, he caught himself on the wall of the train, just as it lurched to life, wheel churning.
He thought he heard a laugh somewhere behind him but Harry didn't dare look back to face the sound.
He scrambled forward, chest heaving and legs aching.
And he realized, in a terrifying second, he had reached the end of the train, with no empty car to be found.
No, no, no. Harry pulled at his hair, twisting it in his fingers. No.
He had failed.
And then, all the sound on the train vanished. Harry stilled, hands still stick in his hair.
What on earth?
He looked up and around him, the train car next to him were still full, mouths moving, and the people in the cars reacted as if nothing had changed
Thinking he had somehow lost his hearing, Harry clapped his hands together. A ringing sound came out, just like normal.
He could still hear. Harry let out a sigh of relief.
Harry, then, deciding everything was fine and patiently ignoring the weird bubble of silence that surrounded him. (Now was not the time)
Harry went back to his search, surprised to find the train extended one more car.
He had thought he was at the end of the train but apparently, he was wrong.
And even more to Harry’s surprise, the last car was empty.
Almost giddy with joy, Harry skipped into the last train car, settled himself among the seats and waited patiently for the two older boys. With each passing train car, George felt his anxiety increasing.
They couldn't find the first-year boy anywhere. George was certain he had gotten on the train.
While he hadn’t actually seen the first-year board the train, he had told the boy to, and it seemed the boy had agreed.
What if he had gotten scared and didn’t board the train?
What if something was horribly wrong?
Fred and George quickened their pace, each passing car heightening their worry until only one train car remained.
When they stepped inside the last car, an eerie silence enveloped them.
The twins peered in and, to their relief, saw the first-year boy, his face pressed against the window, sound asleep.
Then George’s heart sank.
When they had met just minutes earlier, the boy had kept his head bowed, anxiously fidgeting with his hair, almost compulsively combing it.
George hadn’t noticed it then, but now, with the boy asleep, the long, jagged scar stretching across his forehead was clear as day.
Fred met George’s gaze.
The tiny first-year boy, with his tattered clothes and something profoundly wrong, was none other than Harry Potter.