Teaching Fred a Lesson
Teaching Fred a Lesson
When Fred Weasley awoke that Tuesday morning he immediately realized two things. First, it was his birthday. He'd made it to the ripe old age of twenty-four, in spite of working daily with some of the most dangerous and restricted magical ingredients in the world, in spite of having participated in a vicious blood war that had killed several of his good friends, and in spite of regularly pissing off his girl, who was one of the smartest and most intimidating witches in England.
The second thing he realized was that said girl was not in his bed. He was certain she had been there when he fell asleep last night, certain that she had promised him a special surprise this morning in honor of his special day. Perhaps she was in the kitchen making him breakfast. He smiled to himself at the thought of her being 'domestic', before jumping out of bed and pulling on his dressing gown. George would kill him, if he let Hermione ruin another set of their pans.
When Fred opened the door to his room, however, he found his path to the kitchen blocked by an impediment. It was as if a ward or shield of some sort had been cast between his doorway and the hall. He rolled his eyes. This was obviously Hermione's pathetic attempt to get him back for charming all the clasps of her bras to pop open whenever she walked into his flat. He turned back to grab his wand off the bedside table, but it was missing.
He shook his head sadly. If Hermione thought she could out-prank him simply by removing his wand, she was more naive than Victoire. Fred Weasley was a fucking genius at wandless Finite Incantatem. Unfortunately, even after several attempts, the spell wasn't working. The barrier across his door was STILL there. Bugger it all. If he called out to Hermione to release him, it would be admitting defeat. He would be acknowledging that his uptight, slightly neurotic, yet adorably anal girlfriend could beat him at his own game. George would never shut-up about it. Ron would probably take out an ad in the Daily Prophet. Ginny would choreograph a song and dance number, then make Harry perform it at the next Ministry function Fred attended. He could not – would not – allow any of that to occur.
He wished for the hundredth time that he hadn't let Hermione talk him into making it impossible to Disapparate from his room. After the fifth or sixth time George had 'popped' in on them unexpectedly, she'd threatened to never have sex with him again unless he could guarantee her some privacy. He had immediately caved-in to her demands, just like a pussy-whipped sod. Now, he couldn't even attempt a wandless Apparation spell, even if he was desperate enough to give it a go.
Touching the barrier with his hand, Fred was surprised to find it slightly sticky. It occurred to him that the barrier might be physical, rather than magical. He pressed a little harder on it with his hand and found that it gave slightly when he put pressure on it. Grinning, he determined that with a little exertion of manly force the obstruction would be down in a trice.
-0-0-0-
Standing in the hall, Hermione and George watched as something bounced off the barrier stretched across Fred's doorway. They heard a loud crash onto the floor, followed by cursing.
George reached out and ran a hand over the shiny, grey strips that had been stretched between the doo frame's opening until not a section was left uncovered. "What is it?" he asked, awed.
"Duct tape," Hermione smirked.
"Is it something new that is being developed in the Department of Mysteries? Some new device that Aurors are using to capture dark wizards?"
Hermione laughed and shook her head, tossing him what was left of the roll. "No. I got it from Woolworths."
She giggled at George's continued confusion. Hermione turned away as Fred again bounced off the tape. "Muggle pranks aren't as good as magical pranks, my arse," she muttered, before heading into the sitting room for some tea.