Fight Me

You were woken up by the sound of talking, loud talking, at the top of the stairs. You laid for a moment, eyes still closed, as you clung onto the last bit of sleep that hung around you, before you were ready to be fully conscious. 

“...you should've thought it through… dangerous…”

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up, looking around the room as you threw the duvet off of yourself. 

“...yeah but it was funny… calm down…”

You yawned, draping your legs off of the edge of the bed, resting your toes on the ground, wiggling them in your socks. The air was warm inside, matching the cosy interior of the house, and made for a welcomed contrast to the Slytherin common room that you would’ve been staying at if it weren't for the Weasleys. 

“...you’re an arse…shut up…”

You decided to barge in on the conversation that woke you up, getting up and poking your head round the doorframe. 

You saw Fred and George talking with their brother, Percy, who seemed, as usual, stressed: He was probably suffering from altitude sickness from sitting on his beloved steed. 

“What are you all bickering about, then?” You said, resting your head against the door frame. 

They turned to look at you, the twins smiling. 

“Nothing.” Percy said, crossing his arms. “My brothers just like to make my life as hard as possible.”

“Isn’t that what brothers are for?” 

Percy huffed, hobbling down the stairs as Fred and George snickered amongst themselves.

“What exactly did you two do?” You said.

“Ah,” Fred said. “Nothing. He’s just being a spoilsport.”

“Yeah,” George continued. “He’s no fun, it was just a prank.”

“Right.” You nodded, yawning, still groggy from sleep. 

George looked at his brother, who looked back at him, and then at you. 

“Right, I’m gonna go annoy him some more.”

Fred jogged off down the stairs, nodding goodbye to you before he headed off to poke fun at his brother, no doubt.

“Anyways,” George said, leaning against the wall. “Good Morning.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“Sorry if we woke you up,” He chuckled, shaking his head, his hair ruffling over his forehead. “Honestly, it was just a dumb prank, my brothers just annoyed because he’s a prefect or head boy or whatever he is, so-”

“So he’s basically a teacher.”

“Yeah, he is, and not too fond of his… rebellious brothers.”

“Is that what you are now?” You tilted your head. “A rebel?”

“I’d like to think so, but I think I'm just more…” He paused. “Annoying.”

You chuckled, looking up at him. “To the teachers maybe.”

“And to you?” He raised his eyebrows, leaning forward slightly.

“Oh, the absolute worst.” You frowned for a second, then smiled, just in case he took you seriously and decided to turn your bolognese into snakes.

He shook his head, putting a hand on his chest and pretending to be hurt. 

You chuckled, shifting as your stomach groaned: You weren't sure why, being that the amount of food you ate last night could feed a horse, or a horse sized person. 

“Hungry?” George said, nodding to you.

“Yeah, apparently.”

“Hm, well we were all gonna eat breakfast together, but my parents decided they needed to go shopping.”

“ Big Tescos or Diagon alley?”

“What’s Big Tescos?” George said, plunging a spear through your heart with his words.

“A magical place where all time and space warps and you’re left between the floorboards of the universe.” 

“That sounds cool, if slightly scary, how do you get there?”

“Bus.” Was your ever enlightening answer, before you were interrupted once again by your stomach, who obviously thought it had something interesting to contribute to the conversation.

“C’mon, I haven’t eaten either, let’s grab breakfast.”

“Sure,” You said, stepping back. “I’ll get changed.”

“Nah, don’t bother.” George said. “I’m still in my PJs.”

You looked and realised that he was, indeed, still in his pyjamas: red chequered drawstring trousers and a grey top, which you guessed was meant to be long sleeved, but ended far before his wrists. Lanky bastard.

You and George went downstairs, passing Ginny on the stairs as she brushed her hair. 

“George, if you see Ron, kick him for me?”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Fair enough.”

The kitchen was empty, though you could hear the shuffling of footsteps from the rooms above as the house slowly rose awake. 

“Will toast satisfy your hunger, M’lady?” George said, producing a loaf of bread from one of the cupboards.

“I believe so, M’lord.” 

“Right-o.” He chucked some bread into a toaster that was being polished by an animated dishcloth.

You were about to say something, when you felt a tickle on the back of your throat, clearing your throat. It didn't help, and you cleared your throat again, this time feeling a sneeze come on. 

You turned around, putting your arm over your mouth and bracing for a sneeze, when you noticed something on your sleeve; purple powder.

 What the hell is th- You began to think, being interrupted by the sneeze.

“Ah-choo.” You sneezed, turned back around, and were greeted by George looking at you, eyes wide, shoulders stiff.

“WHAT THE-” He started, before jumping up and rushing to the sink.

“What?” You asked, very confused.

“YOUR ARM!” He replied, hastily grabbing a bowl from the side and filling it with water.

“What about my- Oh je-” You looked at your arm, which was wrapped with fire, flames licking into the air. “OH OKAY JEEZ-”

You were about to start hopping around, trying to put out the flame, when you were slapped in the face by a wall of water. 

You heard a pathetic sizzle as the fire went out, and a more prominent dripping as water flowed off your hair. 

“Are you okay?” George said, throwing down the now empty bowl and grabbed your shoulders. “Are you okay??”

“Yup.” You said, spitting out a mouthful of lovely dishwater. “All good. Thanks for that.”

You opened your eyes, looking back at a very worried George. 

“Is your arm okay? I think we have a first aid ki- wait do we still have it, I'm not sure, I think it's in th-” He rambled to himself.

You ignored him, rolling up your singed sleeve to assess the damage that was done.

Nothing.

There was nothing wrong with your arm. No burns, not scrapes, not a single hair was damaged.

“Huh.” You thought out loud. “Weird.”

“What?” George abandoned his rambling.

“I’m fine.”

“What?’

“I’m good; no burns.” You paused. “Cool.”

“Wh-” George grabbed your arm, examining it. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

You both paused, wondering why you weren't hurt, and mostly why you were on fire in the first place.

The toaster popped up, and you were immediately distracted by the nearing temptation of toast.

“George.” You said, pulling him away from his iron grip on your arm. “Toast.”

“Oh,” He looked up at you, eyebrows still pinned up. “Yeah.”

You sat with him on the counter in silence, crunching toast being the only sound for about two minutes before you had both annihilated your food. 

Fred waltzed into the room, saying nothing as he hopped up onto the counter next to his brother. You paid him no attention, licking the melted butter off your fingers, ignoring the sound of whispered bickering that was rare between the twins, but always amusing to watch. 

The toast was finished and you had dried off a bit, though still left a small, butt-shaped puddle of water on the counter after you hopped off. You grabbed a dish towel that hung out of one of the drawers and wiped it up, ringing it out in the sink that sat beside George who was still on the counter. 

“Sorry about that.” 

“No, it’s fine, I love smelling like dirty dishes.”

George chuckled. “Take a bath.” He hopped down from the counter. “And i'll put your clothes in the wash.”

“Mkay.” You licked a smear of butter that remained on your thumb. “Bathroom?”

“Here, I’ll show you.”

You followed George through the house, your eyes flicking between the myriad of family photos whose eyes followed you back. 

“Here,” George said, swinging open the door to the bathroom. It, like the rest of the rooms, was small, a plant swinging down from the ceiling in the corner, leaves curling up into themselves. “Chuck your clothes round the door.” 

You did as he said, stepping in and pulling to door to, undressing and handing your now only mildly moist clothes around the door to George, who took them.

The door was clicked shut and you turned the taps on, waiting for the bathtub to fill. To pass the time you looked in the mirror, gliding your hand over your face like they did in the movies, simply because people did it in movies. 

You continued this staring contest with yourself until the bath was half full, climbing in and sitting down, finding a bottle of soap that said “Scented with natural Dittany oil.” 

Unsure of what that is you slathered it on, immediately the smell of dirty dishes dissipated and you felt less yucky. 

The bath relaxed you, making you feel much more at home already. 

You pulled the plug, the gentle slurping singing out behind you as you climbed out and surveyed the towels, each embroidered with an overly fancy letter dedicated to one of the Weasleys. 

✸  ✸  ✸

Dried and re-clothed, you headed back downstairs, plodding down the seemingly endless staircase. You whizzed past the litany of family pictures plastered over the walls, depicting the horde of giniger children that lived in the house. In one photo you could see a small Ron, scruffy and smiley, sitting next to his sister in a field. You assumed it was the field that the house sat in, by the fact it seemed vast but warm, the same burn beige that it was now. It must have been winter in the photo, judging by the striped scarf that bundled up the young Ginny, almost suffocating her. 

You turned your attention away from spying on the Weasleys personal photos, continuing downstairs.

The front room was empty of people, as was the kitchen. The only sound you could hear was the ticking of the clock and the persistent scrubbing of the dishcloth on the dishes. 

“You’re looking less damp.” You heard behind you.

You turned to see George walking into the room, followed by Fred.

“Considerably so.” Was your response.

Fred looked between the two of you, confused.

“Where is everyone?” You asked, surveying back round the empty room.

“We’re right here.” Fred said, smirking.

“Everyone else.”

“Oh,” He said. “They went shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Diagon alley,” George said. “Ginny needed books, or bags, or something.”

“Ah, right.” you crossed your arms. “Free reign then.”

George chuckled. 

“Exactly” they said in unison. 

You made good use of your lonesomeness. As the rest of the group were out on their excursion you decided to make good use of the quiet, which was often a welcome surprise. 

You decided to tuck into your borrowed copy of ‘Hexes and Jinxes: A Comprehensive Guide on How to Curse Ethically’, still telling yourself that you would, one day, return the book. 

You picked your spot well; a small nook in what you assumed was the living room. A large arm chair and a well-worn blanket did a good job of warding off the chill of winter as you bedded down and cracked the spine of the book, unfolding the dog-ear of the page you had last read. 

You continued your read at chapter 7: ‘From People to Porcupines; How to Temporarily Transform Your Enemies into Mammals Without Hurting Their Ego.’ 

Although an outside opinion may say you were doing schoolwork outside school, your curiosity was purely of your own volition. You saw no reason that one would not fill every crevice of your mind with as much obscure knowledge as humanly possible. Although you were somewhat of a ‘Nightmare to Teach’ (as Prof. Snape had once so lovingly described you), you were a devoted bookworm, and your devotion didn’t necessarily waver at the gates of the restricted section in the library. 

You were a dozen pages in when you heard the faint hum of voices in the hall. You glanced up, irritated at the fact that these people could be so wholly inconsiderate at the fact that you were trying to read, before you realised that you were a guest in their home and shushing them was probably not an appropriate response to their warm welcome. 

You turned back to the book, staring divisively at the diagram of a ferret's cardiovascular system. The hushed chatter continued beyond the hall, and though you condemned eavesdropping outwardly, you lowered the book to your lap, listening in.

It was obviously Fred and George, seeing as they were the only other two in the house, but try as hard as you might, you couldn't quite make out what they were saying. From the tone of voice it seemed as if one of the ginger giants was trying to convince the other of something. 

Maybe they’re arguing? You thought to yourself, furrowing your brow.

The only thing you could make out was an exasperated ‘go on!’ followed by another series of whispered exclamations. 

The whispers stopped for a second; you leaned forward in your seat, as if gaining the extra inch would give you any clarity toward the conversation, but you shot back as soon as you heard the plod of footsteps entering the room. 

You looked back to the page, nodding to show concentration, as if any normal person nods when they read. 

You saw, over the top of the page, one of them walk in, turning and standing behind the armchair. 

“Reading anything interesting?” He said, leaning over the back of the chair, his face next to yours.

You looked up quickly, doing an excellent job of pretending that you hadn’t noticed the boy enter.

“Oh,” It was George. “Obviously.”

He reached down and folded the book, examining the slightly dusty cover. “Is it obvious?” He frowned.

“Why else would I be reading it?”

“A fair point.” He grinned, still looking at the cover. “Hexes and Jinxes?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you need to know about hexes and jinxes?”

“It’s not that I need to know, It’s just interesting.”

“No,” He said, letting go of the cover. “Quidditch is interesting. Watching Ron try to figure out where I hid his clothes is interesting. This is homework.”

“This is the opposite of homework!” You remarked, only slightly offended. “It is something that I have a personal interest in, thank you.”

“Oh,” George said, tilting his head. “A personal interest?”

“Yes!”

“Well then,” George said, turning round the side of the chair and lifting the edge of the blanket. “I suppose I should indulge. Budge up” 

You obeyed, budging as much as one could budge on a singular arm chair. 

He took his seat next to you, his legs sticking out of the edge of the blanket, revealing his clearly homemade striped socks. 

“Lets see,” He said, shifting the book between your laps, bringing himself closer to the page. “Ah, yes, ferrets…” He shot you a sarcastic look. “How extremely interesting.”

“Shut up, okay,” You shifted the book towards yourself. “Just because your feeble little mind cannot begin to comprehend the wonder of transfiguration, that doesn't mean that I can’t enjoy it.”

“Transfiguration, huh?” He pondered. “I guess I should take you more seriously when you threaten to turn me into a frog then.”

“You should, actually.” You said, flipping back through the book. “There is literally a diagram of how to do that.”

You thrusted the page in front of George, who looked down at the illustration of a slightly worried, froggish looking man. He looked ever so slightly worried. 

“Oh…” He muttered, bringing the page up closer to his face as he studied the page. His fingered overlapped yours as his eyes flicked over the words, betraying his condemnation of interest. “Oh yeah…”

You nodded triumphantly, consciously ignoring the warmth of his hand over yours.

“Hang on, they just let people read this stuff?” He asked, still skimming the page.

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” He flipped the page. “They just let students read about how to turn people into frogs? I mean, what; give a bunch of hormonal tweens the ability to turn their classmates, and teachers, into animals? Seems stupid.”

“Well…” You said, tilting your head. “Not really, no.”

“What,” George looked to you. “This stuff doesn't work?”

“No, it works, I assume, it just isn’t readily available, so to speak.”

George scowled at you. “As in… You have to buy it?”

“As in… It’s in the restricted section?”

George chuckled, looking away for a second. “Well no it’s not! It’s in your hand!”

“I’m well aware of that! I’m the one who took it!”

“How did you even get into the restricted section?” He lowered his voice, as if there was a teacher lurking in his home, reading and waiting to hand out a detention. “Filch would’ve surely caught you?”

“Filch?” You chuckled. “Filch wouldn’t realise I was in the restricted section if I asked him to gift wrap the books I’d stolen.”

“I thought you borrowed books?” George poised, crossing his arms.

“Well…”

“Wow, can’t believe I am fraternising with a thief.” He turned his back to you, as much as he could inside the bounds of the crowded arm chair. 

“Oh well, I’m sure you’ll survive.” You picked your book back up, flipping back to where you were and continuing to read.

George said nothing, back still turned. After a short while he turned his head. “I’m still ignoring you over here.”

“Mhm.” You turned the page.

“Are you ignoring my ignoring?”

“Mhm.”

“That is incredibly upsetting.”

“Mhm.”

 He sighed, turning back round. “You’re no fun.” 

“Mhm.” 

He chuckled lightly, pulling the blanket up and leaning over, resting his head gently on your shoulder. “Where are we then?”

“Hm?” You questioned, slightly put off your book by the softness of his hair brushing against your neck. 

“Which chapter - are we still on frogs or have we moved to toads?”

“Oh,” You scanned the page, remembering where you were. “No, we’re on ferrets now.” 

“Ferrets, huh? How interesting.”