A/N: Hi, all! This is another entry for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition—this time for Finals Round 2. As beater 2 of the Caerphilly Catapults, I was tasked with writing an endorsement for Fred Weasley's Basic Blaze Box. For judging purposes, the word count for this story is 1425. My optional prompts are as follows:
2. (word) lace
6. (quote) "If selling my soul is all it takes to win, I'll give you my whole body, no holds barred." – Yuri Pilsetsky, Yuri on Ice.
What We Manage
Fred Weasley's Basic Blaze Box sat in all of its glory on the windowsill of the Burrow's kitchen. Its lid was creased and damp along the seams, and the green and red stripes adorning the surface had long since begun to fade together. A stifling layer of dust had recently taken residence atop of the box, though the stained wood around it was immaculately clean. Molly Weasley's daily, household charms had been in fine form since her grandchildren had arrived for the holidays, but something about the box itself had left it impervious. Victoire Weasley was unsure of whether that was a flaw in the magic or a conscious choice on the part of her grandmother, but she wasn't about to ask. Even at the spirited age of ten, she knew better than to push the topic of her Uncle Fred.
The floo sputtered at the other end of the house, and Victoire could hear little James burst into tears in response. Neither James nor Fred II had grown accustomed to the spontaneous flames yet, and incoming visitors always incited a bit of a fuss. Victoire, however, in her tween-aged superiority, considered herself above encouraging such a fuss, and she remained fixed at her place atop the kitchen counter. Her eyes wandered from the box, however, as a head of magenta curls stumbled through the doorway.
"Tori!" Teddy breathed, obviously fighting to suppress his excitement. "My grandmum brought her Pumpkin Pasties with her if you want some, but Uncle Ron's already made a beeline for them, so you might want to hurry."
"I don't," Victoire said simply.
Teddy huffed another deep breath and flopped toward the counter. He had recently gone through a growth spurt and hadn't quite gotten used to his longer legs. Victoire herself wouldn't have been able to notice, but the previous evening she had overheard her mum and Uncle Harry talking about it over tea. Victoire now found it a bit funny, and she allowed herself a lofty smirk as he tripped over his laces before pulling himself up to sit beside her.
"What are you doing?" the boy asked after a moment.
"Uncle Fred's box is dusty."
Teddy stared at his friend for a moment before drawing his eyes to the Basic Blaze Box. "It's always that way, isn't it?"
"No—it's always there, but usually Grandmum keeps it clean like the rest of the house. The place has been practically spotless since Aunt Hermione bought her that charm book for Christmas."
"So why's the box dirty, then?"
"That's what I just asked, genius." Victoire rolled her eyes and inched closer to the sill. "I wonder what's even in there," she said after a pause.
"You've never asked?" Teddy was leaning over her shoulder, and Victoire pushed him back with her elbow.
"You haven't either!"
James' cries had finally begun to peter out in the living room, and the two children stared at the box in silence. Victoire had never actually thought about what a Blaze Box could be—it had always just been a part of the kitchen, honestly—and now she couldn't banish her curiosity. She leaned closer after another moment, and Teddy had to grab her hand to keep her from reaching out toward it.
"No," he hissed. "You'll smear the dust, and then they'll know we touched it."
"Touched what?"
There was a loud bang as Teddy's high tops snapped against the lower cabinets. His and Victoire's necks shot up toward the doorway, where George now stood, smirking.
"Finding yourselves some trouble, now, are you?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"N-no, of course not," Victoire stuttered, internally cursing herself. Why hadn't she inherited her mother's charm?
George's eyes fell on the windowsill in question, and his forehead creased in pain. He pursed his lips, and Victoire felt a pang in her middle. She hadn't meant for anyone to see them.
After a moment, however, George's face smoothened and quickly lifted into a grin. He crossed the kitchen in three swift strides and pulled the box from its perch.
"This thing looks a bit neglected, doesn't it?" He smoothed his hand over the cover, pressing the dust to either side of the box. "Fred gave it to your Grandmum just before the War, you know. He had finally perfected it, and he was quite proud of it. It doesn't look like she ever opened it."
"Opened what?"
Three necks snapped up toward the doorway this time to find Molly Weasley perched against the doorframe much like her son had been. Her face, however, immediately fell upon seeing the box. Even after a few, silent breaths, there was no grin in sight.
"I think it's best if we put that a way, Georgie," she said after a minute. Victoire thought her grandmother's voice sounded a bit choked, but she didn't say anything.
"It's been eleven year's Mum," George said softly. Neither Victoire nor Teddy could decipher the look in his eyes. It was sad but also excited. He looked like he had a toothache at the back of his mouth but also was waiting for someone to show him a new trick. He took a deep breath. "Don't you think it's time?"
"No," Molly said quickly, and she quickly crossed the room to take hold of the box. George stopped her by taking her hands in his.
"It was his gift to you, Mum. He was proud of it. So proud of it. What a better way to celebrate that than to share it with the kids?"
Molly's eyes blinked quickly for a few moments as she bit the inside of her lip. Finally, she nodded her head jerkily and pulled her hands back. George leaned close to kiss her cheek before motioning for the children to move closer, which they did eagerly.
George lifted the box lid slowly, allowing the bottom to follow it and then fall to the counter with a dull thud. With the impact, a small sheet of paper fell to the floor. Molly let out a choked breath, and Teddy hopped to the floor to retrieve it. He held it out to his honorary grandmother, who took it with a shaking hand. She studied it briefly before handing it back to him. She shook her head and closed her eyes to fend off her tears. Victoire's arms ached with uncertainty. She had seen her family upset over Uncle Fred before, but never like this. She held her breath for a moment, and let it out only when George broke the silence.
"Go on, Teddy. You can read it."
His eyes were still sad, but he wore a small smile as well. Teddy looked to him for reassurance before beginning to read.
"Dear Mum," he stumbled before finding his stride. "No matter how things go over the next year, I want you to know that I made something of myself, and I'm happy about it. The Dark Lord can't take that from me; don't let him take it from you either. If selling my soul is all it takes to win, I'll give him my whole body, no holds barred. I love you more, Fred."
A sudden sob burst from Molly's throat, and Victoire watched as George's arms engulfed her in seconds. Teddy placed a hand on her elbow, and Victoire dropped to the floor to join in the embrace. She didn't quite understand what the letter had meant, but she knew it was important. She listened to her grandmother's breathing slow, and, after a moment, Molly Weasley took a fortifying breath.
"Alright, then," she said. "Let's do your Uncle Fred proud—which shall we try first?"
Victoire lifted her eyes to meet her grandmother's but got lost in George's along the way. They were brighter than she had ever seen them, a bit of mischief dancing in the corners.
"Harry! Ron!" he called over his shoulder. "Get the boys in here, eh? We've got history to make!"
The following minutes were a blur of cloak-buttoning and boot-zipping as the adults each laughed and dabbed their eyes in turn. When the group was finally at the top of the Burrow's largest, snowiest hill, Victoire watched as her family did, indeed make history. Even years later, she couldn't tell you what fireworks erupted from the box. She couldn't tell you how many there were or which one was her favorite, but she could describe clearly the light in her Uncle George's eyes. She would always try to replicate the growing excitement of mismanaged mischief.