The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition - Season 4, Round 2
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Chaser 3
Hogwarts Subject: Divination
Individual Task: "Write about someone preparing for or taking an exam in the subject."
Optional Prompts:
1. (word) hangover
3. (word) procrastinate
13. (word) articulate
Wordcount: 1218
Dubiously Brilliant Ideas
"I'm pretty sure the author of this book – whoever that is – was drunk when they wrote this," George Weasley stated solemnly over breakfast the day of his year's Divination exam, squinting at the name of the author at the front of the book in question.
His sight was all blurry from lack of sleep on top of a particular overindulgence of the night before, making the writing in the old tome of a Divination textbook look like someone had gone amok with their quill instead of typing it properly like any reasonably sane human being would have. It made absolutely no sense at all and, as far as the redhead could see, it certainly didn't resemble any recognisable words in the English language.
Closing his eyes tightly with a grimace of pain at the pounding headache that felt like it was about to split his head in two, he planted his face in the center of the book, thoughts lingering longingly on the fluffy, Gryffindor red pillow peeking out from behind the hangings of his bed in their year's dorms. There was nothing he wanted more than to crawl back to bed, begging forgiveness for leaving in the first place and vowing never to do it ever again.
"Why would we even want to remember how to read tea leaves?" his twin brother Fred asked in complete agreement with George's sentiments regarding the matter, staring in an uncharacteristically morose way at the pictures of the various tea leaf shapes and their meanings. "I much prefer drinking my tea, not staring it down as if it holds the secret to the meaning of life."
For a brief moment silence settled over the table with the two pranksters, as much as it could with students constantly rushing in and out of the Hall, making certain people - with heads that already felt like they were in the process of bursting - wince with every screech of knives and forks against plates as the bulk of the student body hurriedly grabbed a quick bite to eat before yet another long day of classes.
"Oi, Georgie!" one of the identical boys exclaimed suddenly, nudging his ever present partner in crime in the side with a sharp elbow, receiving no discernible reaction in response. "Remind me why we're taking this class again?"
George grumbled something more or less unintelligible, seeming to have lost all ability to express himself in any articulate manner that morning, and just stayed exactly where he was with his nose crushed to the third paragraph of the chapter pertaining to the art of palm reading. The ginger haired teen looked for all the world – or at least the teachers and students of the Great Hall – like he was trying to absorb its knowledge through his pale cheeks via osmosis.
"What are you two complaining about?" the boys' close friend and fellow classmate Lee Jordan asked with a loud laugh at the pair's misery, showing no compassion for any possibly sensitive ears. "I'm not the one who brought out the Firewhiskey the night before an exam!"
After dinner the previous day the twins had initiated a party in the Gryffindor Common Room, both to cheer up all the students that seemed to have fallen into a perpetual state of gloom and performance anxiety, and to further their own goal of procrastinating their own studying as long as humanly possible. Plus it was ten times more fun than studying foggy, sleep-inducing old crystal balls.
At some point during the evening someone – no one really remembered or cared who – had posed the question of whether identical twins also meant equal alcohol tolerance. That had quickly spiraled into the dubiously brilliant idea that they needed to battle it out between the two of them with a game of shots. They had both been all for it, of course. After all, neither could resist a good competition, especially when it was presented as a dare. It would never be said that the Weasley twins shied away from a challenge! And if anyone wondered why they would agree to such a thing, they would gladly explain that it was all for scientific reasons. So they had downed shot after shot of Firewhiskey, with half the House cheering them on while the other half pretended their studies still had their full attention.
No one was quite sure which one of them actually won in the end, seeing as they'd insisted on being called Gred and Forge all evening and never specified exactly who was which one of those two names. Most people just assumed that was the point, though, to keep the final result between themselves so no one could ply them with drinks and see who fell over first to figure them out. The twins had always thrived in chaos and confusion. Now they were paying the price for their stubborness, and the price for that kind of fun was always steep.
"No need to shout," Fred responded to his friend's words with a groan of complaint, accompanied by a series of muffled sounds – assumed to be of agreement – coming from under the disheveled mop of bright red hair resting on top of its owner's textbook between the butter and the milk mug. "We're hungover, not deaf."
Naturally they had taken their dose of Hangover Potion that morning, but unfortunately it never took less than an hour for the effects of the potion to set in properly. Apparently it had something to do with avoiding a shock to the system, or some such nonsense. The twins disagreed wholeheartedly with that information and had a working theory that it was all a conspiracy by the Ministry to keep the young part of the Wizarding Community - people in the prime of their lives - from having fun. But they still hadn't solved that particular problem yet, so there was nothing for it but try to get through the next half hour of torment before being awarded the highly anticipated feeling of relief. Actually having to sit through the hours of their exam nauseous and in agony was a horror too terrible to even think about.
Lee just laughed cheekily and turned his gaze to the selection of foods before him, reflecting deeply on the merits of each one of them. Throwing a glance at his friends in contemplation, he nodded once to himself as he reached a conclusion.
"Care for some bacon?" he offered innocently, waving the plate of the aforementioned type of food right under Fred's nose.
The twin in question paled dramatically under his freckles, before bolting from his seat at the Gryffindor table and leaving the Great Hall at record speed in search of the nearest bathroom. Lee leaned back in his own chair and let a satisfied and mischievous grin, bordering on evil – the kind that was usually the twins' trademark - spread across his face at his triumph of finally getting some revenge for all the times the duo had teased him for being a lightweight. Through it all George remained motionless - still half in his seat, half in the open Divination textbook - for all intents and purposes completely unaware of his brother's desperate flight from the devious breakfast foods.