To start, it must be said: Ginerva Weasley had never loved Harry Potter. She'd never even really been infatuated with him, simply shy. Muggles didn't understand the isolation of pureblood children before age 11. Even despite all that, she was convinced it was impossibly to replace Fred and George in her heart; there simply wasn't enough room. Besides, she was far too busy.
Fred and George were known for their impetuousness; they were not known for their patience. Yet as Hermione Granger would testify, it took legions of patience to be a true genius at potions or transfiguration, or anything truly artistic about being a Wizard. The stuff Harry did, it was brave, surely, but it lacked grace. It lacked the precision so favored by those proud of their powers.
They began with defense. Verbal, physical, mental—they built fortresses of words and ice and blood around themselves until no one could see in. The process would have been heart-wrenchingly lonely if they had not relied on each other. Revenge, they decided, could never be done with only one; "the poor bastard would die of misunderstood isolation," George said one night after a particularly horrifying day, and everyone agreed. At first, the only thing that kept Ginerva from throwing hexes at Malfoy during breakfast was the warmth of a familiar hand on her wand arm. Before long, her self-control was legendary—or would have been, had anyone known of it.
The twins would wait for her outside her classroom—themselves having already snuck out in some way or another—and then for all intents and purposes they disappeared for the rest of the day, only resurfacing for dinner. If they wondered if they were missed (which Ginny did when she was feeling particularly maudlin), they need not have worried. Gossiping about the boy who lived and their own friends took up more time than students had to spare. Ginerva blended in, and while everyone knew Fred and George by reputation, no one could point them out in a crowd, let alone tell you one certifiable thing about them. (It was only in their forth year, when they came back from summer a head taller than the rest, that they had to worry about truly blending in.)
The boys were a little too detached from reality to truly care about petty gossip. What was reality to those who held worlds of magic and fantasy behind their mischievous grins? Ginerva, however, still felt a pang every time a group of girls in the common room pointed, whispered, giggled loudly over what was quite obviously some defect they saw in her. Her brothers told her to ignore them; she would smile and nod and try harder to be more like them. But it never fully took.
"Why must I be so bloody horrible at this?" Ginerva asked one night, after picking herself up for what seemed like the thirtieth time. George flicked his training sabre at her teasingly. Fred simply stood and waited. "I take it back," she continued. "Why must I learn this at all?"
"Because, darling sister, it is all part of the grander picture."
"The larger scheme, if you will."
"I do will, Fred."
"Excellent, George." She rolled her eyes at both of them, but tolerated the teasing.
"You two think you know everything. One day I'll show you both, and you'll be so speechless the silence will stick there in your mouths like toffee." She was rewarded with deep laughter.
"Ah, dear one…"
"How we long for that day."
"But until then…"
"En garde!" they both lunged, but she anticipated and the fight began again in earnest.
Her second year passed quickly like this. Her third, they were fully engrossed in their parts. Had they been more observant, however, they might have noticed an odd trend: they had begun to forget about Malfoy. It was a bit predictable, really, that what began as immature revenge, fueled by hate and old blood and subconscious jealousy, became an excuse to be together.
Sometimes it would Ginerva that would forget. It was easy, for the most part, because they never saw each other. But inevitably, she would see Hermione would ring her hands and fret until Ginny asked what was wrong and the kind-hearted brainiac would tell her about Harry's new foolish plan to blame everything on Malfoy. Then the coldness would seep back into her veins and the next time they saw her, the twins would take her hands and promise retribution.
Other times, Fred and George would be distracted by a grand prank or a new potion and Ginny would be sucked into the whirlwind, their laughter echoing through their eyes and warming their hearts indefinitely. But quite routinely, while serving detention with Filch and other miscreants, they would hear a story from a first year being set up by the Slytherin prince and their rage would pierce through their hearts. The all too familiar course, their third year, a cycle of forgetting (almost… wanting to forget, if they were honest) and obligation to remember and carry on the cause.
Their days were filled with merriment, their nights with planning. The years were spent training, drawing out their cunning and preparing for a war they never truly intended to fight.
On the last night of classes her third year, the trio gathered in their favorite hiding place. Ginny had been caught up with Luna and George had been helping a younger Gryffindor avoid some Ravenclaws to whom he owed galleons, so it had been Fred's duty to sneak into the kitchens and get all their favorite foods. Ginny had grabbed a blanket and George their box. Soon, the blanket was covered with strawberries, chocolate covered raisins, baby tomatoes, cold steak sandwiches, and fizzy lemonade. In their laps sat folders full of all their plans, doodles and notes passed in the halls all pasted in a scrapbook, trinkets they'd lifted from classmates, objects they'd stolen from Filch and the classrooms. It was their treasure chest and lock box, full of their secrets and dreams. And amidst all this, three heads of shockingly orange hair bent towards each other forming a messy triangle.
"No picnic is better than one in a tunnel," Ginny said as she bit delicately into a tomato.
"Cheers to that," George nodded, clinking his bottle against Fred's. "I fear for the morning. Potions first thing."
"At least if it's a final, the slimy git won't be able to talk back the whole blasted time."
"He's not as bad as all that," Ginny argued, popping the rest of the tomato in her mouth. She rather liked potions; it was her favorite subject. Her opinion of Snape was supplemented by the fact that none of the Gryffindors in her grade were as loathed as Harry or as incompetent as Neville Longbottom. The twins, on the other hand, brought out the worst in Snape nearly as easily as Harry himself.
"Now, now, don't tell me you've been enchanted by our dear Potions Master," George grinned.
"How could she not, though, really. There's just so much to love."
"The hair—"
"The nose—"
"The rosy outlook on life—"
"The way he truly loves his students—"
"Alright, alright," Ginny said. "I get it. Snape is the worst person in the world. The only person who could possibly ever be worse than that is Malfoy."
The name skittered off the packed-earth walls and their forced laughter could not fight against it. Silence fell heavy. They were reminded once again. Then, suddenly, Ginerva reached out and grabbed both their hands.
"Let's not let Malfoy or Snape ruin this. Tonight is ours, and it's meant to be special. I wouldn't be able to stand you without those idiot grins on your faces; it just… it just wouldn't be the same." Fred looked over at George, who met his gaze steadily. Then Fred leaned in to kiss his baby sister on the cheek. George simply squeezed her hand.
"Of course not, dearheart."
"Tonight—"
"And all nights—"
"Are ours."
Her smile made their hearts break.
"Cheers," she said quietly.
"Cheers," two voices echoed, and the call chased out all the remaining shadows.
They would mention revenge, surely, plans they had concocted whilst daydreaming in class or drifting off to sleep, but they never went further than talking. It became another secret, yet another joke, something shared with nudges and winks. Fred, George, and especially Ginerva never forgot their hatred of the Malfoys, nor passed up an opportunity to slip something in Draco's drink or send something flying towards his thick skull. But revenge did not consume them; companionship took its place instead.
In that way, they truly did win a sweet revenge against Malfoy, who'd never had something so precious, but they could not know of this victory since they had not bothered to send a second glance his way for quite some time.
