PORRIDGE

Chapter One

The Hogwarts Express sat cooling in the station, steam rolling off it in great waves. The children poured from it, glad to be released from the stuffy train carriages and to be home from school for the summer. For Fred Weasley, it was the last time that he'd get to experience that last-day fervour, and it was something of an anti-climax. He wasn't really looking forward to going home. He never really was.

Home meant sitting in his room alone for most of the day. It wasn't that his family was actively antagonistic towards him, but he often got the feeling – and he had for a long time – that they simply didn't like him very much.

Who would? He wasn't like them, and it wasn't hard to be forgotten about in such a big family. They were all loud and they were brave and they were ginger. There were a few exceptions, but the ones that didn't fit all seemed to have something else that made up for it. The quiet ones – Albus, Lucy – they had studious attitudes and a charming modesty that meant even if they weren't quite so obnoxious, they were relatively inoffensive and they got on OK with everyone else.

And the gingerness – well, it seemed to have been diluted slightly, but despite the various shades of brown and blonde that he saw from time to time at family gatherings, for the most part it was a sea of coppery red and it was, if he was honest, a little disconcerting. He remembered hearing Scorpius Malfoy in first year mouth off to some kid he was hoping to impress about his father's views on the Weasleys – "all have red hair and more kids than they can afford." Not strictly true, not any more. His own hair was a deep almost-black, curly, and far too long, or so his grandmother said.

"You're just like Bill when he was growing up," she'd tut, gazing at it disapprovingly. He could always tell she was itching to get her wand out and give it a trim. But he liked it long. He kept it tied back because he liked to work with his hands and tinker with the Muggle machines his grandfather kept in the shed, and he supposed it would be easier to cut it off, but he didn't like it short because long hid his face better, and in any case, it gave them something to talk about. Just like Bill.

He was always being told he was just like people.

He was just like Percy when he spent too long in his room and studied and sent out owls of enquiry and tried to push himself ahead. He was just like Arthur when he'd get excited about silly Muggle things, like finding out how electricity worked or how the different gravitational forces at work helped an aeroplane stay up (he'd explained this to his grandfather but still suspected he didn't really understand). He was just like George whenever he was secretive about anything, whenever they thought he was trying to come up with some sort of scheme. Just like his father. He wouldn't have minded that.

But he was never just like Fred. Never like his father's brother, his namesake, his late uncle Fred. No one ever said it, and he knew that he wasn't, and sometimes he felt that his father resented him for it. Amongst other things.

Weasleys were famously brave – famously Gryffindor. What was it he'd heard his uncle Ron saying back when Rose was starting first year? If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you, but no pressure. Loud enough for the entire platform to hear, Fred had thought. And not particularly comforting for him, who was starting fourth year and was already very not-Gryffindor, maybe as not-Gryffindor as it was possible to be.

So on the whole he preferred spending his time at school, and not at home, where he always felt a little bit out of it. He kind of wished, sometimes, that he had someone to talk to, because he hated chasing round in his own mind the thought that he just wasn't meant to be in the family. But he never said that to anyone, because he didn't like to talk about feelings, and because he wasn't sure there was anyone who would listen.

(He had tried talking, once, to the memory of uncle Fred, as he lay in the darkness with his arm thrust over his eyes because he didn't want to look anything because he was embarrassed. He mumbled under his breath to this man he'd never known, and tried to ask him for help, but he ended up picturing only his father in his mind and he felt a bit stupid so he hadn't done that again.)

(He wished Fred hadn't died, and wondered if his father might treat him differently then.)

And he never talked to his friends at school about it, because they would have sneered at him for being a pansy. But on the whole, he preferred them to his cousins, who were generally obnoxious.

But he was leaving all of them and school behind now for the final time, heading home to a long summer and the high probability of being bullied into helping out with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"All right?" asked Jack Miller, who shared his dormitory, as he helped him lug his trunk off the train carriage. "Oi. Freddy. You look like you're in another world."

"Hm? Oh, sorry."

"Carry your end, will you?"

They managed to get the trunk off without dropping it on too many toes, and Fred cast a furtive look around then clouds of steam billowing around the station, through the crowds of waving and chattering families. He could make out a sea of red hair further down the platform, and he jerked his head in the other direction, giving Jack a pointed look.

They pulled the case over behind one of the pillars on the far side of the platform, and Jack sat down on it, pulling a carton of cigarettes from his inside pocket and lighting one with the tip of his wand.

"You want one?" he said to Fred, offering the packet in his direction. Fred shrugged and took one. It was a fairly new habit; Jack had picked it up over last summer and Fred had joined him a few months ago. He was sure his parents would not approve, but he was of age now, and he liked how it made him look. He wanted to kill some time before he had to go and great his family, anyway – there would doubtless be mindless chatter about something silly his grandfather had done, or Roxanne and James' zany antics.

Fred and Jack hung about for a while and watched the people on the platform rush by, searching for missing pets or small children who'd been caught up in the stampede. Shortly, they were approached by Sylvester and Hal, two other boys with whom they had shared their dormitory at Hogwarts.

"Flint's buggered off," said Hal, and, "Give us one of those, would you, Jack?"

"Where's he gone?" asked Fred, and Hal said that he didn't know.

"Snatched up by his grandmother, I don't doubt," said Sylvester, looking with disdain at their cigarettes. "I'm going to leave, too, in a minute. Every moment I spend with you brings me a step closer to death."

"Leave then," said Jack, blowing out smoke. "And good riddance."

"Ah, don't be like that," said Hal. "You might never see him again."

Jack looked up at Sylvester with an appraising eye. "Will I ever see you again, Syl?"

"Perhaps," said Sylvester, straightening his robes. "Perhaps not." He sniffed.

"Of course you will," said Fred. "We'll see each other all the time. I'm getting a new owl this summer, and you'd all better write, d'you hear? I'm not spending eight weeks with just my family. They'd drive me mad; I—Oh." His cousin Victoire had come around the pillar and was eyeing him rather sceptically. "What are you doing here?" he asked, as the others jostled about and attempted to make themselves look suave. Boys often did when Victoire was around.

"Nice to see you, too," she said.

"You all can all piss off," said Fred, aiming a kick at the trunk on which Jack was sitting, and he got up with a scowl. "I'll write to you." And they left, shooting hopeful glances at Victoire on their way. "You, too, Hal." When they'd all dispersed, he mumbled, "What do you want?"

Victoire was standing with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. "I came to look for you," she said. "Everyone else is ready to go, and they're getting antsy."

"I was saying goodbye to my friends," said Fred.

"I could tell; it was a really touching farewell," said Victoire. Fred glared at her. "Look, I just came to tell you that they're looking for you, but are you smoking now? When did that start?"

"Leave it," sighed Fred.

"No, Fred, I will not leave it. Don't you realise how disgusting and how bad for you that is? Do you think your mother would be impressed?"

Fred rolled his eyes and stubbed the cigarette out on the nearest brick wall. "No, I don't think she would, but I don't think it's any of your business, either. Don't meddle."

"I'm not meddling, I'm just trying to give you some advice. As your older cousin—"

"You can stay out of my life."

"Don't be such a child."

"I'm not a child, I'm eighteen."

Victoire snorted. "Only just, and anyway, that's hardly mature."

"I'm of age."

"That doesn't make you grown up."

"Just leave me alone, will you? I'm heading back to the car anyway." He shot Victoire a poisonous glance before bending down and grabbing the end of his trunk, attempting to drag it behind him. He hadn't had the time to fetch a trolley.

"Let me help you with that," said Victoire, uncrossing her arms and taking hold of the other handle.

"No, thank you, I'm fine," Fred said, though his voice was straining with the effort of attempting to pull it. His Levitation charm work was patchy at best, and he wouldn't be able to keep the heavy trunk floating all the way to the car; pulling and pushing was really the only option. Victoire sighed.

"I'll go and get Dad."

"Don't bother. I can do it." He paused for a moment and leaned against the pillar, trying to think of what would be the best angle to take the trunk from (maybe if he turned it on its side he could push it better?) when he heard voices he recognised coming from the other side of the stone barrier.

The noise of the platform had died down now, to a low buzz of chatter, as most of the folks had already found their relatives and left with them. Victoire, who was watching him in silence, gave him a puzzled look. He held his finger up, trying to place the voices, and then his eyebrows furrowed as he did. Victoire looked at him questioningly, and he beckoned her over. "Listen." She did.

"You will write to me, won't you?"

"Every day, if you want."

"Tch. Don't be silly. But do keep in contact. I'll... miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. Father says we'll be visiting France this summer, so the letters may take a while to reach you, but I will write them, I promise."

Victoire gasped suddenly, and quite loudly, and Fred slapped her on the shoulder. She shut her mouth abruptly, covering it with her hands, and when she spoke again, it was in a low whisper."Is that—?"

"I think so," muttered Fred.

"Rose and Scorpius Malfoy?"

"When did they become friends?"

"You tell me. You're the one at school with them. And it sounds like they're rather more than friends to me."

"No. Stop it. No. Rose's dad would go mental."

Victoire gasped again, softly this time. "No, he wouldn't. It would be so perfect. Just like Romeo and Juliet – only, you know, with a happy ending," she amended.

Fred snorted. "Yeah, he would." Scorpius was not just a Slytherin, Scorpius was a Malfoy, and if there was one thing anyone knew about Uncle Ron...

"No, no, no, I'm telling you," said Victoire. "He'd be a bit apprehensive at first but he'd learn that Scorpius is a lovely young man and he'd accept him into the family and I'm telling you, Fred, it would be such a perfect love story."

"Love story! They're fourteen years old!"

"But still," hissed Victoire. "They can't keep this a secret, worrying about what will happen when they're found out. That's not good. No." She shook her head firmly. "That only leads to secrets and lies and distrust. They need to be open about how they feel whether Ron is happy about it or not."

"Keep your voice down, would you? And do you know what you're doing here? You're meddling," said Fred. "You need to keep out of other people's business, Vic, that's your problem."

But Victoire did not appear to be listening to him. "I know!" she said, in a low, excited whisper, "You can invite him to stay at the Burrow next week. We'll all be there and they can spend some time together and no-one will be suspicious and they can break the news together. You can ask him to help you with your reports on whatever-it-is for the Quibbler. Tell him his point of view is highly valued or something. He'll go for it. He likes you."

"OK, first of all, I am not reporting for the Quibbler, I am hoping to become the junior editor. Secondly, Scorpius Malfoy is a prat and his opinion is the furthest thing from highly valued that I can think of. And thirdly, no."

"Oh, just do it," said Victoire, and she prodded him so hard in the small of the back that he stumbled out from behind the pillar and almost tumbled right into the pair, who had been standing close but jumped apart.

"Fred!" said Rose, looked terrified.

"Rose!" said Fred. "Hello there. Ah, Scorpius! Just the bloke I was looking for..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say. He couldn't very well just tell the Malfoy boy just to sod off, not when he'd have to deal with Victoire's rage (and, though he didn't see how her rage could be justified, really, Veela rage often wasn't, but it was always terrifying). "Er..."

"You were looking for me?" asked Scorpius, sounding hesitant.

"Yes," said Fred. "I would like, um... To extend to you an invitation to, um, my family home." He could almost see Victoire listening through the pillar. "I was just getting out of my train carriage, which was down in that general direction—" he pointed "—when I thought: Scorpius Malfoy's opinion would really be quite helpful on the topic that I intend to work on this summer."

"Oh," said Scorpius, giving him a bemused look. "What topic is that?"

"Well, it's... Pureblooded families," said Fred.

"Isn't your family Pureblooded?" asked Scorpius doubtfully.

"Um, yes," said Fred. "But this is an article I'm hoping to submit to a magazine about Purebloods and Muggle technology. And you know we're already up to our ears in Muggle technology; it would be good to have a fresh eye, what do you say, hm?" He didn't think he had done too badly.

"Well..." Scorpius shot a glance at Rose who seemed to be avoiding his eye, and then looked back at Fred, seeming to have made his decision. "Yeah, all right. I suppose I could help."

"Perfect," said Fred. "I'll send you an owl with the details."

"Great," said Scorpius, and there was a moment of silence as all three of them looked around uncomfortably.

"Off you go, then," said Fred, and Scorpius went, without even looking at Rose.

Rose looked at Fred, eyes wide with something akin to horror. "Why did you invite him to the Burrow?"

"Like I said, Rosie, fresh perspective on Muggle things."

"Since when—"

"Hush, now. I have a plan. I need his help. Apparently," he muttered under his breath. "Go on and meet up with your parents. They'll be worried about you."

"What about your parents?"

"I'm an adult and I can do as I like."

Rose gave him a very suspicious look that was remarkably similar to one her mother might have given, but she did leave, and Fred headed back behind the pillar to where Victoire was waiting, hands clasped together and a grin on her face.

"This is going to be so wonderful! You did really, really well, Fred. Ooh!" She clapped her hands together. "I do love a summer romance! And they are such little star-crossed lovers."

"Rose knows what you're up to and Scorpius is a prat," said Fred. "Now help me move this trunk."

This is being written for The Next Generation Multi-Chapter Competition and as it's the first next-gen multi-chapter I have ever written, I'm a little nervous about how all the characters are coming across as no-one has quite the same headcanon!

PS - The characters may be listed as Rose and Scorpius because I don't know how to work the four characters and it's the main 'ship', but Fred is the main character.

Please let me know what you think!