Chapter 1: Charlie Weasley's Biggest Fan
.o0O0o.
Charleigh Gracelyn McDougal grew up as an avid Quidditch player. At a very young age she'd accompanied her aunt, a former Gryffindor league player herself, to a World Cup match and from then on she'd been quite hooked. When she was five years old she watched Charles Weasley play for the first time. His brother Bill also being on the team the first two years he played, the announcer of the period referred to Bill as "Weasley" and Charlie by his first name. Which tickled Charleigh Grace to no end. She so idolized the young man that her aunt was inspired to have made for her a gold sweater with a scarlet "C" emblazoned upon it… with repeats made as the sweater either wore out or was outgrown. By the age of 10 she was practically insufferable in her obsessions over the game, mostly her vocal and quite competitive support of Hogwart's Gryffindor team as well as World League Ireland (probably in honor of her father and much to the Scottish side of the family's dismay) , and the professional Holyhead Harpies.
Gryffindor would always have her first love, though…
Charleigh Grace practically vibrated as she climbed the stone staircase beside her aunt. It had been quite miserable these last weeks- - as it often is in England- - and she'd fretted over the weather conditions. A chest cold had plagued her (or rather, plagued her mum, since she was loathe to let any physical ailment slow her down) since Halloween and with cold, heavy weather forecast it had been doubtful that her mother would let her go with her aunt. But fate had intervened and the day dawned clear and bright. The sky looked as though it had been drawn by a toddler- - quite an obnoxious blue with big, fluffy, white clouds. She clutched tightly to her aunt's hand lest she get lost in the shuffling crowd of youths already old enough to attend the school.
"What if I don't get sorted into Gryffindor when my time comes?"
"You'll find out in just a few months," the sharp voice replied briskly. To the casual listener it would seem a callous reply by a stern old woman. To the little girl it was the beloved tone of her favorite relative.
"But what if I don't…" whined Charleigh.
"Well, then," the older one replied. "I suppose I will get a scarf done up in your house colors for when you play and you'll save your Scarlet & Gold for when we play and we'll both learn to broaden ourselves a bit."
Charleigh giggled and McGonagall looked down her nose at her.
"I will not, however, be wearing the garb of a Slytherin, so you just make certain to tell that silly hat that."
McGonagall had arrived at her sister's Muggle home to find the child dressed not only in the traditional sweater, but in a little pleated brown skirt with the Gryffindor crest embroidered around the edges and the perfunctory scarf- - one of which she was wearing herself- - as well as tights in the same wide scarlet and gold stripes.
They both laughed companionably before their attention was drawn by the small cluster of rowdy boys ascending just ahead of them.
"Oi! Good show!" one exclaimed, jostling another. Both had hair as red as the stripes in their own scarves and Charleigh admired the effect, wondering if either mother or aunt would help her add a few streaks of red and perhaps yellow-gold to her own black locks before the next match.
"I wish I were a metamorphamagi," she sighed.
McGonagall looked down her nose at her. "And why is that?" she asked regally.
Charleigh pointed. "I think having red hair with gold streaks in it would be fun for the day, don't you?"
McGonagall arched a brow. "You have your mother's beautiful hair. Why would you-" she noticed the direction of the girl's finger and let out a laugh of her own. "Of course. You'd prefer to be a redhead like the Weasleys?"
"The Weasleys?" Minerva nodded. Charleigh's voice got lower. "Are those boys Weasleys? Like Charlie and Bill Weasley?"
"Quite so, those would be their younger brothers, mischief makers extraordinaire."
Charleigh's little heart did a flip just as one of the boys turned around. His face was, to her way of thinking, quite like that of her idol, but then not so much. And he smiled. And it was an artless, pleased smile, as though life had handed him all he wanted in the pleasant day and the upcoming game and chocolate bar his brother was even now breaking in half and handing to him.
"Oi! Who's this, Professor?" the boy asked, looking down at the girl just a couple of steps behind them. He was nearly eye-to-eye with the teacher, one of his favorites.
McGonagall smiled proudly. "This is my niece. Charleigh Grace, meet Fred Weasley and his brother, George Weasley…"
Fred stuck out his hand formally, as did George in his turn.
"Quite the fan, then?" the younger twin asked.
"I am. I am your brother's biggest fan ever!" Charleigh told them.
Fred nudged his brother, then winked at McGonagall. "Told you I was famous," he teased. "My fans follow me everywhere!"
George was as amused by the younger girl, who he judged to be about Ron or Ginny's age. She simply stomped her foot and crossed her arms.
"Do you play as well as your brother Charlie?"
Fred shook his head. "Not yet. I aim to, though. And next year I'll be on the team. You wait and see."
Charleigh arched a brow. "What position?"
"Beater," Fred said without hesitation and with utmost confidence.
There was a moment's pause as the younger child almost visibly took in the boy's build and athletic potential. As he hadn't bothered to do up his robes over his school uniform there was no doubt that while not overly heavy, he was built thickly and muscularly enough to do the job.
"You'll do," she pronounced. It incited delighted laughter in both twins as well as their friend.
"We'll keep her, then, Professor," Fred told McGonagall, breaking his piece of candy in half and offering it to Charleigh.
The girl accepted with a smile.
"Oh!" the teacher started to object. The boys were known pranksters and she didn't want her pert little niece to end up the butt of one of their jokes. But even as she reached out to stay Charleigh's hand both boys bit into their own bars.
"Come on, then," Lee told Charleigh. "You can sit with us and we can tell you all the inside scoop on the players. Much more fun than sitting in the teacher's section!" he winked.
"Ummm," Charleigh had taken a step further than her aunt and turned her face up towards the venerable instructor. She had always enjoyed games with her outspoken relative and didn't mind being petted by the other teachers at all.
"Oh, I don't know about that-" McGonagall started.
"You come sit by us," Charleigh decided.
Wicked looks swapped between each of the boys. "All right, then," Fred decided. "Don't mind if we do!"
McGonagall sighed and allowed the infraction. The boys looked forward to the high, centre seats reserved for faculty at the meet where they'd have an even better view than in the student section. Dumbledore, in his benevolence, allowed the infiltration by the students under the prospect of the potential entertainment value of the Weasley twins; he was easily won over as he was thoroughly enamored of the young girl whom had accompanied Minerva before. Instead it was Lee Jordan who stole hearts that day, keeping up such entertaining and exuberant commentary during the first half that he was actually given the megaphone.
The end of the game saw them all standing, screaming, and leaning towards the Snitch themselves as though the added shift in gravity would help the Gryffindor seeker snatch the golden orb more easily. As his hand clasped over it, Charleigh Grace found herself atop the benches, both arms in the air, cheering the victory.
"WhOOO! And it's Gryffindor for the WIN!" she called.
Right before she overbalanced and nearly went tail over tin cups down the stands.
"I've gotcha!" Fred laughed, reaching a hand up to steady her even as her aunt's face fell and she reached out herself.
Charleigh let the air out of her lungs and pretended to swoon in relief at the final score.
"That was so close!" she moaned.
McGonagall just laughed and put out her hand to help the girl down from the bench. This was one witch who was safer on the ground.