Round 5 of The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
A/N: If you didn't know, I'm from the University of Alabama. Today I had the privilege to see Alabama Head Coach Nick Saban. Coach Saban is the most feared and respected name in college football (American football, to everyone else). He is an inspiration, and he is fantastic at what he does. He wins. Because of him, the University has the attitude of champions, because we have gotten used to winning, and to say we despise losing with every fiber of our being is an understatement.
Disclaimer: Everything goes to JoRo.
Prompt: Fred Weasley
Additional Prompt: "If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change." Wayne Dyer
The Twins, the Transfiguration Teacher, and the Theme
Not for the first time in their lives (or that week), Fred and George Weasley were sent to Mr. Filch's office for disciplinary action. Although they'd been attending school for less than two months, they were intimately familiar with the office. Filch had squeezed his desk and three chairs into the tiny broom-cupboard of a room. The walls were lined with filing cabinets about the various mis-doings of Hogwarts students throughout the years.
The boys were sitting in their usual postures- Fred relaxed and leaning the chair back on two legs and George in a slouch with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Mrs. Norris was sitting on the desk, eyeing the pair of them with distaste.
The room was quiet except for a ticking clock and the legs of Fred's chair creaking. Like all eleven year olds, Fred liked to test how far he could lean back without falling over, except Fred never fell. Magic was useful like that.
The door to Filch's office opened and in stepped the man himself. Although it was only October of their first year, he'd seen more of them than he cared to and Fred and George could spot the weariness already afflicting him.
Filch sat at his desk and sneered over the report. His beady eyes darted across the paper, reading of the twins' crimes.
"Weasley," the caretaker growled.
"Yes?" both replied.
Mrs. Norris hissed, and for a wild second, Fred thought it had been Filch.
"Fred Weasley," continued Filch. "Professor McGonagall informs me that you were rude during Transfiguration."
"Au contraire. I did exactly as I was instructed," said Fred.
"You were supposed to be transfiguring cheese into butter," said Filch. "It says here that your cheese, Mr. Weasley, turned into little, smelly, red hairs."
"I thought she said 'butt hair'. It was an honest mistake."
Mr. Filch did not look amused, but George sniggered.
"Have something to add, Mr. Weasley?" Filch asked.
"I just thought it looked more like nose hair, is all."
"Blimey, what kind of hair have you got in your nose?" Fred asked.
"Silence!" roared Filch. "And you, George Weasley, were supposed to be turning leaves into grass."
"And where was my error?"
"She didn't mean marijuana!" Filch said, his teeth grinding. "Professor McGonagall was quick to confiscate it."
"I bet she was," muttered Fred.
Filch's eyes were bulging out like a madman. The two boys sat in their seats, both grinning up at their tormenter. "This is your seventeenth misdemeanor," said Filch.
"That seems a bit low, doesn't it?" asked Fred.
"This month!" Filch snapped.
Fred relaxed. "Oh, yeah. That's better."
Filch stood up and leaned over his desk like he was about to pounce on the boys. "If I had my way, I'd have you both in chains, squealing on the dungeon floor like pigs sent for slaughter."
Fred made a face. "That sounds pedophilic."
Filch ignored him. "However, Professor McGonagall seems to think a more appropriate punishment is separate detentions."
Fred and George exchanged glances. "What? Separation anxiety?" asked Filch.
George shook his head. "Only when making eggs."
Fred and Filch both stared at him. "What?" asked Fred.
"Y'know," said George, miming a mixing bowl. "Separating the yolk from the whites."
Fred face-palmed. "Eggs? From separation anxiety? Is that joke a joke?"
"What like 'butt-hair'?"
"Silence!" Filch screamed again. "Detention for the pair of you. Tonight at seven o'clock. You," he pointed at George, "with me, here, dusting without magic! And you," at Fred, "in Professor McGonagall's office."
"And what will I be doing?" asked Fred.
...
"An essay?" Fred asked.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall. "I want you to write an essay." She waved her wand at the blackboard. Chalk appeared on it as if an invisible hand were writing across it. How I want to be remembered by my time at Hogwarts.
"How many words?" asked Fred.
"It's not important. Just keep writing for the next hour. I will tell you when time is up."
Fred set his bag on the desk beside him and withdrew a quill, ink, and parchment. He sat down, dipped his quill in the ink and set it to the parchment.
Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, her glasses lowered on her nose so that she could occasionally peer over them at Fred. Seeing that he was doing his work, Professor McGonagall turned her attention towards grading Transfiguration homework. She got through a small stack of fifth-years' assignments, then proceeded on to the third-years' essays.
Before she knew it, the clock struck eight. Looking up, she saw Fred writing furiously, trying to work in the last few words. "You are dismissed, Mr. Weasley," she said.
"Sorry, just let me finish this bit," Fred said hurriedly, dipping his quill in the ink one last time.
Professor McGonagall tucked the graded assignments into her files under her desk just as Fred dotted the last period on his paper. He stood up proudly and passed it over.
"Thank you," said Professor McGonagall. "Good-bye, Mr. Weasley."
Fred smiled. "I'll see you in class, Professor."
She watched Fred depart, then turned her attention to the essay he'd just written.
...
Professor McGonagall knocked on Albus Dumbledore's door. "Enter," the Headmaster called.
McGonagall did so, Fred's assignment in hand. "Albus," she said, "I think we need to write home to Arthur and Molly Weasley regarding their sons, Fred and George."
"Again?" said Dumbledore.
"I just had Fred write me this essay for detention," said McGonagall, and she passed it over.
Dumbledore straightened his half-moon spectacles and read aloud, "How I want to be remembered by my time at Hogwarts?"
McGonagall nodded. "Read it."
Dumbledore held the parchment aloft and read.
This is actually something I've put a lot of thought into. The Weasley family, while not wealthy or influential by any means is fairly well known in our world. With my brothers Bill and Charlie already graduated and my brother Percy well on his way to being the next prefect, my younger siblings and I have a lot to live up to.
What George and I have gathered in our time here is that a lot of students aren't happy here. They're under the same sort of pressure George and I are, but aren't nearly as well equipped to handle it. I know it appears at times that George and I don't care for our education, but in actuality, we recognize it's importance. We also realize that our strengths are not in pursuing higher education learning. Of course we want to learn as much as we can, but we also need to know practical things we can do with our magic.
George and I can make people laugh. It's something we're good at and something we love doing. If our friends come out of class feeling disappointed by their grade, feeling useless, feeling like a failure, we have the capability and responsibility to uplift them. We make them laugh by taking their mind off whatever's dragging them down so when they return to it, they feel uplifted and invigorated again reinvigorated, so they're more confident in their next assignment. What George and I have is a very real source of stress relief for the whole student body.
This is a pre-dominantly Muggle philosophy, according to our father. He told us how Muggle students, when they feel lost or alone, can go to their teachers or advisors for guidance and support. Since we started school, we've noticed that teachers are more interested in results than in meeting the their students' needs. George and I are both struggling in Potions, so why doesn't Professor Snape address what our issues are and find a way around them rather than offering us snide criticism?
Excuse me, I've started to write off topic. I want to be remembered as someone who made a difference in a lot of people's lives. I want to be a source of comfort and humor to people who are worried about the next homework assignment or test or whatever daunting obstacle's coming up next. I want the students at the school to be just a little bit happier and take the world around them a little less seriously so they'll realize that growing up is about more than isn't just about receiving the best marks of the class. There's also joy and laughter that can allow people an escape from the darker serious side of life.
In conclusion, I want to be remembered as being someone who was there to support and encourage a generation of students when other people only had to offer what they were doing wrong.
Dumbledore finished the essay and smiled. "Bit of an awkward ending," he said.
McGonagall took the essay back. "The young man straight up confessed to me that he believes doing well in school wasn't important."
"He also pointed out something that even I've overlooked," said Dumbledore. "That there are a lot of students at this school who don't feel like they have someone to encourage them."
McGonagall's jaw dropped. "How can you get behind this?" she asked.
"Because it was something I wish I'd read when I was a student," said Dumbledore. "Maybe my life would be kinder if I'd recognized the importance of joy and laughter a bit earlier."
McGonagall rolled up Fred's essay and tucked it into her robes. "This doesn't excuse the boys' behavior."
"No," Dumbledore agreed. "But it explains it very well, and considering everything our world has gone through, and could go through, I think seeing the lighter side of things and having a laugh at it could be very beneficial to the school."
McGonagall did not agree, but held her tongue. "Should I write to Molly?"
"You must do what you believe appropriate," said Dumbledore.
McGonagall nodded. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."
"Goodnight, Minerva."
Dumbledore watched her leave, then turned his attention to his notes.
The portrait on the wall of Phineas Nigellus scoffed. "You don't really think those boys have any chance of a future do you?"
"You know I was never all that gifted at Divination, Phineas," said Dumbledore, smiling. "But I do believe that society has a place for them. If nothing else, they're exceptionally gifted at Transfiguration."
Another headmaster from the 18th century spoke up. "What did you really think of that essay, though?"
Dumbledore thought it over for a minute. "I sincerely hope that Fred Weasley is remembered the way he wants to be."
...
Fred was waiting up for George in their dormitory. He spun his wand around in his fingers, occasionally shooting out a spark or two. He heard the door open and dropped his wand.
"So how was Filch's office?"
"Dusty," George replied. "How was McGonagall?"
Fred shrugged. "She had me write an essay. How I Want to be Remembered. Not a lot of work."
"Well, dusting without magic was exceptionally difficult," said George plopping down on Fred's bed with a smile.
Fred couldn't help but smile too. "So what're you grinning like a prat about?"
"Did you notice some of the labels on his files?"
Fred shook his head.
George continued to smile proudly as he boasted. "One was labeled 'Confiscated and Dangerous' or something."
Fred sat up. "You didn't?"
"Why wouldn't I?" asked George. He reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew a piece of parchment.
"Wicked!" said Fred taking it. "What is it?"
"I was trying to figure it out on the way up here," said George. "Here." He took the parchment and tapped it with his wand. "What is your purpose?"
Black writing sprawled across the parchment in the same way the chalk had appeared on Professor McGonagall's blackboard. To lend a hand to any mischief maker who passes through the halls of Hogwarts- signed, Mr. Moony
"Let me," said Fred, taking the parchment. "How can you help us?"
More than a few ways- signed, Mr. Wormtail.
The writing disappeared, and then reappeared with more. First, you must prove your worth as a mischief maker. - signed, Mr. Padfoot
"How?" asked Fred.
"Swear it. Solemnly!- signed, Mr. Prongs
"Okay," said Fred. He looked up at George who nodded.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."