Mistaken Identity
It was dark.
Suddenly, the small room was filled with light, sunlight streaming in through gaps in the numerous patches adorning the old worn out curtain hanging from its place above the lopsided window frame. Fine dust particles in the air danced in a random but elegant waltz through the ribbons of spotlight made by the sun, many of which illuminating the red hair shifting into an even more unruly mess on the equally unruly bed as the figure was roused—rather ungracefully, might I add—from the comfortable embrace of deep slumber. Bleary-eyed, the figure blinked once, twice before glaring at the gaps in the curtain where the culprit of the premature awakening continue to intrude in unwanted place, blissfully unaware of the ineffective death-glare sent its way.
An all-too-familiar shriek tore its way up the stairs from the kitchen/dining hall below. The bleary eyes blinked again, shooing the dreamy fog from its crystal depths before looking almost apologetically at the supposed culprit for speeding up the waking process, it seems that the sun was not quite as guilty as assumed, though ribbons of sunshine did nothing to ease said process—surely having sunlight shine right on one's eyes had some effect on said person's eminent waking.
That dratted shrieking started up again, and the figure on the bed attempted to bury itself back under smothering blankets that would hopefully ease the torture-for-ears that followed—though it never did. As more shrieking floated up the stairs, the figure gave up and turned one baleful eye on the magical clock on the opposite wall. Eyes widened as realization crept in. It was Saturday! What had she done that deserved such a rude awakening from the most annoying member of their household on such a day, the day, the perfect day for teenagers (such as herself) to sleep in. Slowly, very, very slowly, she inched back into the beckoning comfort her bed had to offer, all the while keeping her eyes on the clock, hoping she wouldn't be caught.
She froze, realizing that the shrieking had halted before groaning inaudibly under her breath. Ignoring her previous attempt at stealth, she threw herself into her blankets and pillows with abandon, pulling the layers over her head for protection with the desperation of a man running for cover from a grenade.
"Don't you dare, Ginny Weasley!"
It didn't work.
Dang! Why did her parents add that enchantment that allowed that irritating time-teller to move through clocks like the magical portraits back at school? The magical clock that usually hung in the living room just got—there were 7 other clocks in the house—7 times more irritating. Deciding to test her fate once again, Ginny pretended to have fallen asleep in her blanket cocoon, the outside world further muffled by her nest of pillows.
It didn't work.
"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!"
The source of the screaming was now clear, and in much closer proximity than preferred for the average witch/wizard.
The worst part wasn't the singing itself, no. It wasn't the volume too. It also wasn't the multitude of forgotten lines covered up with various vocalizations. No, it wasn't of that, maybe just a little, little bit due to the volume. But, no. it was the way it was sung so terribly off-key and out of both tune and rhythm. Now, that was what grated on her terribly thin and worn-through nerves, not being a morning person in the first place.
She gave up and burrowed out of her cocoon and surrounding nest, replying in a defeated voice meekly, "I'm up, I'm up."
Upon not receiving a response, her disappointed gave way to irritation and she shouted, "Now stop your blasted singing!"
"Shame, I was about to stop in a minute or two." The clock replied with mock sadness.
Ginny glared at it clock accusingly for a moment longer before retreating to the relative safety of the bathroom, proceeding to brush her teeth and go through the rest of her usual morning routine, all the while thinking of the mountain of chores that must be waiting for her by now.
Except the bathroom was already occupied. By Harry Potter. And…Harry Potter? Wait, why were there two Harry Potters in the bathroom? One of the Harrys opened his mouth, releasing what was unmistakeably my brother's voice.
"Hey, Ginny. Failed at sleeping in again?"
"Yeah, why else would I be here and not in my bed? And what's with that get-up? You look—and sound—ridiculous."
The Harry on the left replied, "We're going to pull a prank on our dearest younger brother, Ronald," a little too cheerily for Ginny's liking. She decided to stay out of the way of all three Harrys that were sure to be roaming about the sanctuary of her home this morning.
The Harry on the right continued, "Think it'll work, Ginny?"
"Um, guess so," skepticism written clearly across her face. Her two brothers merely took it in stride as they faced each other, identical eerily mischievous expressions marring their faces.
"Alrighty then, ready Fred?"
"Ready, George." At the slightly questioning glance thrown his way, he quickly replied.
"Ready as you are. Let's go."
Throwing one last potentially eternally scarring grin at their mutual younger sibling, the Harrys darted out the toilet door—in opposite directions.
Well, that was a little weird. Ginny shook her head as she shut the door before more interruptions came her way. There was bound to be screaming, it was a good day for microwave popcorn, as Harry once taught her, the real Harry. Unfortunately, Lady Luck was not shining on her today, as their one and only microwave had fallen victim to her father's boundless curiosity and was sacrificed in the name of knowledge.
Finishing her morning routine hurriedly as she was anxious to be present for the upcoming show, she headed down to the kitchen in hopes of being lucky enough to find food left for her, knowing the ravenous appetites of her siblings, and Harry. The real Harry.
Ah, the fates were not as cruel as she had thought, as the fragrant scent of freshly cooked-to-perfection bacon and scrambled eggs wafted up the stairs and into her nose in tantalizing waves. She practically bounced down the remainder of the stairs, eager to be also visually stimulated by the mouth-watering food that was sure to be waiting on the dining table, only to be greeted by the sight of-
"Harry?"
"Oh, Ginny, it's you. Good morning, Mrs. Weasley finally agreed to have me cook breakfast for once, though it's technically brunch." He flashed her a dazzling smile, exposing pearly-white teeth.
"Oh, um, morning."
Ginny ran over to sit by Harry as he set the platefuls of brunch down before taking a seat himself.
Trying to whisper inconspicuously while pretending to take a bite of the bacon, Ginny muttered under her breath softly.
"Fred, is that you?"
Harry threw her a quizzical look, beginning to vocalize his confusion when she continued.
"Or are you George?"
His replied seemed to transfer all of his own confusion to Ginny, "What are they up to this time?
It was Ginny's turn to be rudely cut-off this time as Ron picked this very suitable to thunder down the stairs, all the while shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Mum, the house is bewitched!"
Ginny replied hurriedly, hoping to at least buy some time, "Ron, the house is bewitched, don't you remember?" mock hints of teasing creeping into her voice.
Having an idea of the situation, Harry only smirked, noticing that Ron had yet to see him next to Ginny.
"But it is! One moment I saw Harry in the garden from the window, then he's standing right next to me. But he's still in the garden, and- "
Finally looking up, Ron's voiced failed him for a moment, before reemerging in a throaty whisper, "-Harry?" And he promptly fainted.
Ginny couldn't help the giggle that bubbled its way out of her throat—Harry's smirking probably didn't help any—when, once again with that impeccable timing, Mrs. Weasley burst through the door.
"Morning, dear-" she began, before being cut-off verbally by the sight of Ron's sprawling figure on the kitchen floor.
Funny, an awful lot of people were being interrupted today, thought Ginny dispassionately as she watched the scene unfold before her, all energy focused on controlling the bubbling mirth threatening to spill out into the tense atmosphere once again.
"It's Fred and George's doing now, isn't it?"
"Yes, but mum-" Ginny tried to salvage the rapidly worsening situation, as indicated by the increasingly blackening expression that was her mother's face.
"Don't protect your brothers, Ginny." Said Mrs. Weasley sternly as she stared Harry down the way she usually stared down Fred and George.
"Fred—or George,—whichever of you, transform back into yourself immediately. I have a mountain of chores waiting for you!"
"But, Mrs. Weasley-"
Harry echoed Ginny's words, fearing the worst for himself.
"Don't you 'Mrs. Weasley' me-"
Once again, she was interrupted by Harry.
"Mrs. Weasley-"
Harry's second attempt, mission failed.
"And how dare you drink Polyjuice Potion, again!"
She pressed on, undeterred, volume increasing by the second, "And you even modified your voice! You-"
"Blimey."
Three heads turned to the kitchen door, still ajar, just in time to see two red-headed Harry Potter look-alikes sprint off in different directions, cackling madly in glee.
Having been a veteran survivor in the many similar situations the poor household has faced, Ginny immediately plugged up her ears with her index fingers and vaulted herself under the table. Having been a veteran survivor in all sorts of situations, Harry made use of his superior observation skills and copied her actions, ending up under the table next to her. They huddled together, waiting in fear for the calm before the storm to pass, hoping for their fingers to be adequate protection against the wave of vibrating particles that would soon be unleashed upon the innocents—and not-so-innocents—in the vicinity.
It didn't work.
Her voice magically magnified, Mrs. Weasley barely had to scream, though scream she did. "Fred! George! Get back here, now!"
Ginny grinned apologetically—odd that she seemed to be doing this an awful lot of times today—directing her look at Harry, receiving an equally mischievous grin. He hadn't been in on it, but it was still fun, as they tried to clear the ringing that remained behind in their ears.
The tender moment was quickly broken by Ron jerking awake at the most opportune moment, looking around confusedly, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, words rendered useless on the temporarily deafened pair still under the table.
Ginny and Harry let out a groan, which was lost on the equally deafened, lost-looking second youngest member of the Weasley family.
When they were sufficiently recovered, Harry seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, before asking Ginny discreetly.
"Polyjuice potion 'again'?"
Ginny frowned slightly, before replying, "You don't want to know."
Harry decided that he, indeed, did not want to know.
A/n: Yo, dug out something old and dusty and decided to post it after giving it a makeover XD
I hope it did entertain you and please do drop a review before you leave :)
I must say it was immensely fun to write this, but please pardon the errors that may be present as this Is NON-beta-ed. (Meaning I didn't proof-read it other than Word's spellchecks.) I apologise if it seems shoddy, but I am rather tired out due to various reasons, but I still had fun, so there :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters and locations mentioned above, and if there are stories similar to this, it is purely coincidental. I would add that I first wrote this in 2010 with no intention of publishing it. However, the fates have been kind, and this was posted nevertheless, so, to those who have the same idea, may I just add, that 'Great Minds Think Alike!'