Disclaimer: I'm just an admiring reader of Ms. Rowling's work, which isn't mine, never was mine, and never will be mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to those of you who took the time to write a review. I really appreciate it. Again, please feel free to leave feedback if you have any—I'd love to hear from you!
Chapter Two: Raccoons and Newts
I once encountered a quote in one of Mum's old literature textbooks that made a great impression on me. It was a harsh, yet strikingly truthful observation attributed to a Chinese librarian named Lao-Tzu: "A scholar who cherishes the love of comfort is not fit to be deemed a scholar." It was a maxim that impressed itself upon my mind despite the fact that I did not truly understand the wisdom behind it.
Naturally, this was all before I started Transfiguration.
Transfiguration was one of the most difficult classes on my schedule, but I found an almost perverse delight in the complexity and intricacy of the subject. It was easier than Potions, as most mistakes were fixable and Professor McGonagall was far more approachable than Professor Snape. I worked hard and earned decent marks, so I was generally satisfied with the class as a whole.
However, love (or what you will) must be tested at some point, and those moments came all too frequently in the Transfiguration classroom. This generally happened when the test subjects were of the cute and fuzzy variety.
I felt my resolve weaken as the small raccoon on my desk peered up at me with large innocent eyes. I was supposed to be turning him into a pair of shoes—however, every time I raised my wand, the furry creature would make a confused mew that made it impossible for me to perform the spell without feeling extremely guilty.
Vivian was working industriously at the desk next to mine. She had absolutely no reservations about exploiting small innocent animals, and was the first person in the class to set to work. Although her success was at best minimal, as both of her shoes managed to retain ringed tails throughout the entire process, she kept at it with a persistence I had not seen since the time she got to practice Silencing Charms on me.
Though as I recall, I had to write a note to Angelina asking her to perform the counter-charm, as Viv was suspiciously oblivious to my frantic hand signals.
"I can't do this," I whimpered to Viv. She rolled her eyes and made an exasperated noise.
"Really, Sophie, it's a raccoon," she stressed for the fourth time that day. "They're not particularly pleasant creatures."
"You're only saying that because yours bit you."
"It hurt; I have very little sympathy for him now," she replied. "Besides, you know McGonagall changes them back once she's marked us on them." She gave me a pointed look before tapping the tailed shoes with her wand, changing them back into a rather befuddled raccoon.
"I know, I know," I mumbled as the animal on my desk sniffed curiously at my wand. "But really—look at its eyes! I can't just turn it into a pair of galoshes without feeling guilty!"
Vivian sighed and waved her wand sharply, causing her raccoon to turn into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers, which, in addition to matching tails, had sprouted a pair of whiskers each.
"Use your wrist, Miss Archer," advised Professor McGonagall as she stopped in front of my desk. "Miss Fletcher, your progress is...less than admirable." She looked pointedly at my raccoon, who was happily chewing on a stray piece of parchment. "Are you having trouble with the assignment?"
"Er...well...no..." I stumbled, my ethical standings seeming increasingly foolish under her scrutiny.
"She thinks it's cute, Professor," supplied Vivian matter-of-factly as she gave her slippers a sharp tap. McGonagall peered over the top of her spectacles at my raccoon.
"Be as that may, Miss Fletcher," she replied, "you must make an effort to complete the assignment or I shall have to fail you."
The raccoon chirped happily in response, unaware that we were discussing his very fate.
I nodded slowly. "Yes, Professor."
Her lips tweaked up in the semblance of a half-smile and she gave a curt, but understanding nod before continuing her rounds through the classroom. I sighed and raised my wand, giving the raccoon an apologetic look.
"Sorry," I whispered before gently tapping its forehead.
There was a small 'pop' and the raccoon was replaced by an ugly pair of penny loafers striped in varying shades of red, brown, and bright violet. Gold sequins and a pair of acid green tassels were stitched on the toes.
"Lovely," remarked Vivian.
"Well at least they don't have tails," I countered.
Vivian sniffed primly. "They're getting smaller."
"Weasley, Weasley, and Jordan!" barked Professor McGonagall from behind me, causing most of the class to start and Alicia to turn her raccoon into an exceptionally large teddy bear. "This is the third time I've had to ask you to stop talking!" I stole a glance over my shoulder. Professor McGonagall towered over the three, all of whom appeared remarkably calm. "Is there something you find more important than the given assignment?"
"Well, it's a matter of a rather delicate nature," said George after a moment of tense silence.
"And what might that be?" McGonagall inquired sharply.
"How the champions are chosen for the Triwizard Tournament," he replied.
I'm not sure if the following silence was in anticipation of information regarding the Tournament, or quiet awe of George's brave, but undeniably foolish disregard of McGonagall's wrath. The Tournament had provoked quite a bit of controversy when Dumbledore had announced that all aspiring school champions had to be at least seventeen in order to qualify. Fred, George, and Lee were sixteen and as a result, indignant and very focused on finding a loophole.
"Now is not an appropriate time to discuss that matter," said Professor McGonagall tersely. A few sighs issued from other hopefuls in the room.
"But Professor—" began George.
"Enough!" interrupted McGonagall before he could finish. "This is hardly something that concerns anyone under the age of seventeen and the next person who so much as mentions the Triwizard Tournament will find themselves in detention."
The grumbling and whispering came to an abrupt halt.
"Now, Mr. Weasley, I would appreciate it if you returned to your raccoon."
The three grudgingly turned their attention back to their masked assignments, two of which had managed to escape during the entire episode.
I had managed to produce a presentable pair of sandals when class ended half an hour later. Vivian had corrected the problem with the tails and whiskers and had really outdone herself with a pair of black stilettos that seemed too dangerous to even contemplate wearing.
"Pity," Viv said as we left the classroom. "I would have loved to keep them for a special occasion."
"Vivian!" I exclaimed. "You don't mean that! That's a living animal—you can't abuse it just because you need shoes to wear to dinner!"
"Yes, but they were rather lovely...and Merlin knows that one deserved it..."
"Viv!"
"Vivian, when's your birthday?" interrupted Fred as he, George, and Lee fell into step beside us.
"You know, Fred, most people say 'hello' first," Viv replied dryly.
"I thought I'd defy tradition today," he said with a grin.
"Cheeky." Viv swatted him playfully on the shoulder. "It's the thirtieth of October and I'll expect a present."
"No good," he declared.
"Will I still get a present?" asked Viv.
"You're not going to give me a choice, are you?" asked Fred. Viv shook her head. "Well, all right then. What about you, Sophie?"
"The eighth of May."
I regretted the words almost as soon as they left my mouth. Fred's eyes sparkled with an unnatural sort of glee and Lee looked positively giddy. The corners of George's mouth were twitching as he struggled to keep his expression blank.
"Sophie, Sophie, Sophie..." said Fred, swinging an arm around my shoulder as we walked. "Have I ever told you how positively wonderful you are?"
"Yes," I replied, somewhat warily. "Last week when I let you have the rest of my apple crumble at dinner."
"A prime example of your unbounded generosity," interjected George. Vivian coughed rather loudly.
"What is it you want now?" I asked suspiciously.
"Your signature," Fred answered with a bit of a mischievous smile, pressing a bit of parchment into my hands.
"What am I signing?" I had learned through trial and error that questions like these were imperative to one's health when dealing with any of the three.
"A petition," he replied.
"What kind of petition?"
"A request to make an exception for the age limit for those who were born within the seven months following the thirty-first of October," George explained.
I suppose I wasn't really surprised—after all, in third year they charmed the grim skull on Snape's desk to periodically let out a spectacular belch—but I found myself at a loss for words as I regarded the three with a puzzled stare.
"Do you really think Dumbledore would agree to such a thing?" I asked after a moment of silence.
"No," replied Lee. "But we intend to show it to the judge. If they see that there's a group of students being treated unfairly, they might be willing to bend the rules."
"Oh." I was somewhat befuddled by their bizarre logic, but I decided not to let it bother me. "Well, good luck with that." I attempted to hand the paper back to Fred.
"What? Aren't you going to sign it, then?" asked Fred, making no move to take the parchment.
"Er...well...no," I said, rather quietly.
"Why not?" inquired George.
"Well...I don't really want to enter."
"WHAT?" The three of them looked at me as though I had just declared Snape the most sensitive teacher in all of Britain.
"I don't want to enter," I repeated, somewhat daunted by their incredulous expressions. Vivian coughed again, very obviously hiding laughter. They gaped at me for a moment before launching into a list of the rewards to be reaped.
"Glory!" stated Fred.
"Honor," George added.
"Money," concluded Lee with a sage nod.
"Honestly. Don't you remember first year? I ended up in a bloody tree when I tried to fly a broom," I reminded them as we approached the portrait that marked the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "I really don't think that I'd be the best candidate for school champion."
"She also fell down the stairs last week," added Viv. I elbowed her in the ribs.
"Oh come off it, Sophie. It wasn't as bad as you make it out to be," argued Fred.
"I distinctly remember you laughing so hard you almost fell off your own broom."
"You must be mistaken. That was George," Fred responded promptly.
"It most certainly was not!" exclaimed the accused.
"It doesn't matter," I interrupted, shoving the paper into George's bag. "I don't want to enter—I'm not going to sign."
"Sophie..."
"Oh really!"
I jumped slightly and looked toward the source of the noise. The speaker was the occupant of the portrait, a rather large woman who had been christened with a nickname more unfortunate than my own—the Fat Lady. However, at that particular moment, she looked more annoyed than anything else.
"Leave the poor girl alone—she doesn't want to sign whatever it is and I don't want to sit here all night listening to your silly arguing."
"Balderdash," said Fred in reply, looking rather put out at her interference. The portrait swung forward, the Fat Lady grumbling about rude students. I clambered through the hole, dropped my bag in the common room, and assumed that the issue had been settled.
If there's one thing I learned that particular day, it was never to underestimate the combined efforts of Fred, George, and Lee.
They gave me a brief reprieve during dinner, and settled for sending suspicious looks my way every once in a while. At the time, I simply assumed that they were bitter and had given up.
After dinner, I retreated to my usual table in the common room, intending to complete the essay Professor McGonagall had assigned that afternoon. Viv had buried herself in the latest bodice-ripper (sadly, all attempts to introduce her to good literature have been in vain) and it looked to be a quiet evening.
Appearances, however, are often deceiving.
I had spent all of five minutes on McGonagall's essay when Fred, George, and Lee plopped down in the three remaining chairs.
"Hello, Sophie," George greeted, sitting in the chair closest to me. I observed him warily.
"What now?" I asked, setting my quill down.
"We were just checking to see if you had changed your mind," he replied.
"I haven't."
"Sophie...reconsider!" wheedled Fred.
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
This went on for several minutes.
"I'm getting a headache and my patience is wearing horribly thin," Viv finally announced without looking up from her book.
"Oh, sod off, Viv. This is important," replied Fred.
"Continued disruption will result in a dramatic reading from My Muggle, My Love by Celesta Paramour."
I don't think I've ever seen them move more quickly. Perhaps there is some merit in Viv's choice of reading.
Several minutes after the three took their leave, my cat, Chester, hopped up on the table and stretched out on my Transfiguration notes, purring as though this action was supposed to be endearing. I removed him from my workspace and placed him on the floor. I then spent a good five minutes of my time in relocating the feline, as he kept leaping back up onto the table as though I had made a mistake in his initial displacement.
Chester eventually accepted his fate and settled down at my feet. After I had shaken all the grey cat hairs from my notes, I thought the interruptions would cease and I would be able to get some work done.
Shortly after that thought crossed my mind, Viv and I were both approached by a determined looking fourth year carrying a large collecting tin. I knew her name was Hermione Granger, but I couldn't imagine why she would want to speak with me, as we had never exchanged more than ten words.
"You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?" she demanded in place of a greeting.
I blinked, rather bewildered.
"Er--sorry?" I replied. Vivian looked as though she were caught somewhere between amusement and perplexity.
"House-elves!" Hermione snapped, shaking her collecting tin for emphasis.
She launched into a very long explanation about the oppressive house-elf slave system that existed at Hogwarts and why we needed to band together to put a stop to the injustice. It was all very confusing and I wasn't really sure where I stood on the issue to begin with, as it had never been brought to my attention before.
"Well...I don't know...I suppose I could make a donation...but I don't think I have the time...school and all..." I faltered as Hermione stared at me rather fiercely.
I ended up giving her four Sickles, mostly to make her stop talking (she was rather intimidating, despite her age). Viv gave the same, though she was biting her lip rather hard to keep from laughing. Hermione thanked us somewhat tersely before marching toward a group of unsuspecting second years.
Shortly after Hermione left, the twins and Lee returned.
"Sophie!" greeted Lee. "We thought you might have changed your mind."
I shook my head.
"But you are the hope for the oppressed students born after October!" Fred exclaimed.
Viv snorted. I suppose this reflected her feelings on my quality of leadership.
"Quiet, Viv—you're not oppressed," replied Fred.
"And therefore, not entitled to comment on this pressing matter," concluded George.
"'At that moment, Priscilla knew she was in love with Algernon—his silvery eyes, his smile, his lips, and oh, those rippling muscles! Everything about him she cherished. But he was a Muggle and she was the daughter of the Minister of Magic! Her father would surely not approve of their love—he had made it clear that he wanted her to marry Demetrius, the attractive and arrogant wizard who would some day inherit the Cleansweep fortune...'"
Though I was somewhat sickened by the brief reading, I was more than grateful for the wonderful, albeit brief silence it created.
"What on earth has got into them?" greeted Alicia, nodding in Fred, George, and Lee's direction as she and Angelina claimed two of the empty chairs.
"Absurdity," answered Vivian.
"Typical," sighed Angelina. "Do you mind if we join you? There's a group of third years over by the fire who won't stop giggling."
"I suggested a few Lockjaw Lozenges, but she'd have none of it," explained Alicia, jerking her head toward Angelina. "She kept going on about ethics and dignity."
It's safe to say that after Alicia and Angelina sat down, we spent far more time talking than actually working.
"You look like you're having fun," greeted Katie Bell after a particularly loud burst of giggles from the four of us. Katie was a fifth year and on the Quidditch team with Angelina and Alicia. She was a very kind and sympathetic girl, and would occasionally socialize with us. "What are you going on about?"
"Very serious business," replied Angelina gravely.
"Namely: Dan Crawford or Cedric Diggory?" elaborated Viv, naming two of the most good looking boys in the school.
"Ooh…that's quite difficult," mused Katie, taking a seat.
Needless to say, productivity declined steeply after that.
Fred, George, and Lee inevitably returned and resumed their campaign for my signature several minutes after Vivian put her book away. Angelina informed me that I was being much too soft on the three and demonstrated the proper way of telling Fred off. This gave way to several entertaining conversations, which caused most of us to abandon our work entirely.
By the time the common room started to empty out for the night, I had written a total of four sentences.
When the weekend drew to a close, Fred, George, and Lee seemed to have entirely forgotten about the petition, for which I was extremely grateful. Unfortunately, I had not yet fully grasped the concept that it was inadvisable to underestimate any of the three.
I was sitting in Charms and copying down notes on Disillusionment Charms when my quill started acting rather oddly. I had dipped it into the inkwell less than a moment ago and it had already run dry. Frowning, I dipped it back in and tried again. I managed a few letters before it ran dry again.
I sighed irritably and was about to give up entirely when it gave a small squeak and abruptly turned into a rubber newt.
I stared unblinkingly at the amphibian for a moment or so. The creature suddenly blinked, looked up at me, and winked. My own eyes widened in silent surprise. The wink was followed by a large, unsettling grin. The newt proceeded to unroll a tiny scroll that was barely longer than my thumb. The scroll opened to reveal several lines of neat print:
Happy (Early) Birthday to Miss Sophie Fletcher. Compliments of Messieurs Weasley, Weasley, and Jordan.
I stared at the newt, both bewildered and amused as it continued to grin and blink back at me. After a moment's contemplation, I carefully transferred the amphibian to the front pocket of my bag. I could see Fred, George, and Lee out of the corner of my eye; all three of them were uncharacteristically intent on Flitwick's lecture. I withdrew another quill from my bag with a grim smile.
If Fred and George were still expecting me to comply, they were going to be disappointed.