Old Books and Firecrackers: Chapter VII

A Harry Potter Fanfic

Fred aimed carefully and tossed the little parchment ball. It flew across the common room and landed on the fire. He watched it burn, the sight cheering him a bit. He ripped another piece off his Tranfiguration essay and balled it up.

He knew McGonagall wouldn’t be surprised when he showed up to class without his essay the next day. She’d probably be more surprised to know he had actually done it. Not that he was going to tell her.

The next piece missed and landed close to the fire, but not on it. He watched it blacken and shrivel, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction.

He needed to go to bed. He knew it. He would regret being up so late in the morning, but he couldn’t care. He had sat in the dormitory listening to George shout and rail for hours, trying to calm him down. Now it was his turn to be upset.

He only had half the essay left. He studied it for a moment before tearing off another piece. Why stop at Transfiguration? He had some Charms homework lying on the table. Might as well burn that one too.

He leapt to his feet but didn’t notice the trunk some first year had left lying on the floor until he hit his shin on it. He swore. Who left their trunk in the common room? That’s what dormitories were for!

He marched over to the table and grabbed the parchment, checking for his name on it before dropping back on the couch. He didn’t want to ruin someone else’s homework.

He ripped another piece off his Transfiguration essay and tossed it into the fire. He heard a noise and looked up as someone slipped out of the girl’s dormitory.

“Hermione? What are you doing?”

She frowned. “I heard noises and thought I better check and see what was going on. What are you doing up?”

Fred smirked. “Quidditch practice.” He tossed another piece of parchment into the fire.

She rolled her eyes and walked over to the couch. “Seems a waste of parchment.” She snatched up his essay.

“No, wait!” He grabbed for the parchment, but she took a step back, out of his reach as she looked it over.

Her eyes grew wide. “Fred! Whose essay is this?”

“It’s mine. Give it back!” He stood up and tore it out of her hands.

“But why are you burning it?” He ignored her, sitting back down and tearing another piece. “Don’t you want a good grade?”

“No, I don’t.” He rolled the piece up and threw it. She was still standing there, waiting for an explanation. He sighed. “Most people aren’t like you, Hermione. You know why most of these kids want good grades? Most of them–most of them want a job at the Ministry or somewhere else important. I don’t. I don’t want a job that’ll turn me against my family and–and my values . . .” he stared at the fire.

“You’re not Percy,” Hermione whispered.

“What right did he have?” Fred burst out suddenly. He turned to Hermione, trying to force back the angry tears that had been threatening all day. “What right did he have to break her heart?” He turned back to the fire as he felt a single tear slide down his face. He swiped at it, then began tearing his essay again, tearing one long strip as slowly as he could.

“It should have been me and George,” he muttered.

“What? What do you–”

“We were always disappointing Mum. What would one more disappointment be?” He leaned his elbows on his knees and studied the strip in his hand. “But Percy, he was her golden boy. Perfect Percy who could do no wrong. Who always made good grades and never got in trouble. Who became Prefect and Head Boy–”

“Your mother loves you!”

He turned his head so she couldn’t see the tears falling fast now. “I know that, but it’s different. He was always special, but now–What would she say if she heard about Ron?”

“What about Ron?” Hermione asked.

“He got a letter from Percy today. Did you know?” He wiped the tears off his face and looked at her. She nodded.

She sat beside him. “I–I understand why you’re upset and I can’t blame you. I can’t imagine how you must feel, but making a good grade doesn’t make you like Percy.” Fred said nothing. He only stared at the fire again.

She picked up the torn essay. “I can help you fix it if you like?”

He shook his head. “It can’t be fixed.” That was a lie and they both knew it. There was probably enough left that, even if it couldn’t be fixed by magic, he could rewrite it easily.

“Have you heard of bluebell flames?” Hermione asked after a moment. Fred shook his head. “It’s a spell that creates blue flames that can burn anywhere. Even underwater.”

Fred put his head in his hands. “As fascinating as that sounds, if you’re trying to distract me, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I was just going to say that if this really is irreparable, it might make good kindling.”

Fred looked up at her and leaned back against the couch. “Alright, who are you and what did you do with Hermione Granger? Is this polyjuice potion I’m looking at?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “If it really was polyjuice, I would have other plans for it since it takes a month to brew and only lasts an hour.”

Fred raised his eyebrows. “And how do you know that?” If he didn’t know any better, he would almost say she was blushing, but that must have been a trick of the firelight.

“Because, unlike some people, I actually pay attention in class.”

He gave a slight grin, grateful for the distraction in spite of himself. “Alright, teach me the spell.”

“Only if you promise to go to bed right after, she said. “And please, spare the Charms homework at least.”

“Which one of us is of age?”

“Which one of us is Prefect?”

He laughed. “Touché. Alright. Teach me the spell and I’ll go to bed. And I’ll turn in the Charms homework tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“George! Lee! Fred!”

The three boys turned around and waited for Hermione to catch up with them.

“I wanted to ask you something.” She cast her eyes around the corridor as though afraid of being overheard. “I’ve been thinking–well, we need to learn actual defense against the dark arts, don’t you think? I mean, since–since You-Know-Who is back, it’s important that we know how to do it–”

“What are you getting at, Hermione?” Lee asked impatiently.

She chewed her lip for a minute before answering. “I’m saying I think we need a new teacher.”

Fred grinned. “Are you suggesting we oust Umbridge? Cause I think that’s a brilliant–”

She interrupted. “As great as that sounds, the Minister would just send someone else in. Ron and I–well, I suppose just me–I think we should form a sort of club where Harry can teach us defensive spells and such.”

Fred’s first impulse was to laugh, but he stopped himself. He supposed it made sense. The kid could produce a patronus for goodness’s sake.

“I’m trying to enlist people I think might be interested, and I thought I’d ask you three,” she explained.

“We’re definitely interested,” George said.

Fred smirked. “Though I must say, I’m surprised you’re setting this up, Miss Prefect.” Hermione blushed.

“Where’re we meeting?” George asked.

“Hog’s Head at lunch time this weekend,” she said quietly. “I figure there won’t be any other students to hear us and Umbridge isn’t likely to go in.”

Lee nodded thoughtfully. “The lack of respect for the rules might make her shrivel up and die.”

Fred’s eyes widened. “Maybe you shouldn’t go in, then, Hermione.”

Hermione scowled. “I have to go to class. Remember, Hog’s Head at lunch time.” She spun around and ran off.

When they got to Hogsmeade that weekend, they still had some time before they needed to meet everyone, so they headed to Zonko’s to shop.

They were the last to get to the Hog’s Head, but just barely. Fred did a quick head count and ordered butterbeer for everyone. He passed them out as the details of the meeting began sorting themselves out.

Not everyone was happy to be there. Smith kept interrupting Harry and Hermione.

“We’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,” Smith complained.

“That’s not what he said,” Fred told him. Why couldn’t the boy just shut up and let the rest of them hear?

“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” George asked, pulling out their new sterling silver stirring rod for potion-making. Fred had to admit it looked rather frightening when you didn’t know what it was for.

“Or any part of your body, really. We’re not fussy where we stick this,” Fred said. Hermione stomped on his toes and he clamped his mouth shut.

“Yes, well. Moving on . . .” Hermione said.

The meeting progressed fairly smoothly after that, except when the Lovegood girl and Hermione began arguing and Ginny had to interrupt. Fred couldn’t help but grin.

Finally most of the details got sorted out and Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her bag. She hesitated for a moment before saying, “I–I think everybody should write their names down, just so we know who was here. But I also think we should all agree not to tell about what we’re doing. So if you sign, you’re agreeing not to tell Umbridge–or anyone else–what we’re up to.”

Fred tried to take the parchment, but she held on a little too tight. He frowned but she eventually released it. He was about to sign when it occurred to him how strange she was acting.

Making a list of everyone made sense, so why was she being so hesitant about it? Unless–unless she had somehow ensured that everyone who signed couldn’t tell anyone else about what they were doing.

Stifling a laugh, Fred quickly wrote his name down, hoping no one had noticed his hesitation. He put his quill down and looked around the table to hand the parchment to the next person, but no one would meet his eyes. He slid it over to George, but George wouldn’t take it. He kicked him. George kicked back.

After a silent staring contest, George wrote his name down as well and tried to pass it onto Smith. Harry and Hermione managed to calm everyone’s fears, and soon the parchment was covered in signatures.

Fred, George, and Lee left shortly after. As soon as they were out of the Hog’s Head, Fred rounded on the other two. “Really?”

“She probably jinxed it!” George protested.

“Well yes, but were you planning on blabbing to anybody?” Fred asked.

“No, but who knows what it does,” Lee said.

“She wouldn’t have given it to us if it were dangerous,” Fred pointed out.

“I don’t know,” Lee said. “That girl scares me sometimes.”

That night, while Ron and Harry made up dreams for Divination, Fred found Hermione sitting in a chair beside them, knitting more hats for the house elves. He leaned on the back of her chair.

“So what did you do to the parchment?” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” She kept her gaze firmly fixed on her knitting needles.

“I know you jinxed it, but what kind of jinx?”

She whirled around to face him. “What–how–”

He grinned. “You weren’t acting right when you passed it around.”

She frowned. “But if you knew, why did you sign?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on telling anyone. Besides, I trust you.” She might have been blushing, but he couldn’t tell in the dim light. “So what does it do?”

She turned back around and kept working on the hat. “It gives you acne.”

He frowned. “Acne? Really?”

“Really bad acne. Kind of.”

Fred pulled a face. “Yep. Definitely won’t be sharing.” He started to walk away when Hermione grabbed his sleeve. He turned around to look at her and she dropped it quickly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Of course.”

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