The Weasley Trap


The following morning, it was pouring outside, the sound of rain falling echoing throughout the castle. Trapped inside and stricken with cabin-fever, the Gryffindors had resorted to playing egregious teengage party games. Presently they were playing a game Seamus had invented called Would you Rather.


So, Lavender, Dean said, chuckling at his own cleverness, Would you rather be covered from head to toe in thick animal hair or have Sevvy Snape attatched to your leg?


Everyone groaned; Dean always took Would you Rather to new levels of absurdity.


You have to answer the question.


Fine. The hair.


It was Fred's turn to ask now, and he looked positively evil.


So, Ronniekins, who would you rather shag: Cho Chang or Hermione?


He turned bright red. Um, Cho, I guess.


It was a lie of course––Ron's eyes always flicked upward when he lied, and his eyes were up at the ceiling.


Riiight...So, Fred grinned. Who would you rather shag: Gilderoy Lockhart or Ron?


She looked smug. You can't ask two questions in a row, Fred. It's Parvati's turn now.


Fred elbowed George, and George winked at Parvati, who smiled knowingly. Apparently George, although not blessed with a bludger-resistant skull, was still considered to be quite a hottie. Ignorance is always hot.


Parvati giggled. Hermione, who would you rather...er, shag, Ron or Gilderoy?


All right, all right. At least you didn't mention Victor...I guess, um, I'd rather shag Ron, then, to dispell the fact that she had just admitted that she thought her best friend to be shagable, she added sarcastically, Because he's just so damn hot. I mean, really, how can anyone resist him? All that red hair. Er, he's...quite...yummy, really.


All right, my turn! Dean bounced happily. Would you rather poop through your mouth and talk through your butt, or would you rather eat your own flesh?


***


Fred and George sat in their dorm, comparing the lists each had made of thngs to remember in preparation for their party.


Fred's list read: 1) Do NOT invite Dean Thomas. If I hear the phrase Would you rather again, I swear I'll kill that little git. Also, he's not so good with the ladies. 2) Buy butterbeer 3) Use money from wheezes to buy Gin a new dress to impress Harry 4)Make sure room is secure in case George acts like an ass again.


George interjected, offended.


It's not like your list is any better!


George read over his list; it seemed perfectly normal to him: pinata, Tahitian babe calender, cage for GoGo dancers to dance in, chocolate syrup and whipped cream for human sundaes, giant hampster wheel––kinky!, nose-hair trimmer––I'm getting a little burly up there, giant cake for stripper to pop out of...


Please, George. This is a dance-party, not a goddamned bachelor's party! And please, please do not mention to your nose-hair problem to anyone, okay?


Oh, I think wittle Freddyweddypoopants is a wittle afwaid of being embawassed in fwont of his wittle Angel.


Fred's voice dropped. Did Ginny tell you anything?


Ginny tells me a lot of things. Like how no one ever listens to her. Of course, I kinda zoned out in that part, so I don't really remember––


What did Ginny tell you about my, er, Angel?


Oh, just that... George broke into a sing-songy voice. You think she's pretty! You want to date her! You want to love her! You want to kiss––


Bugger off, or I'll tell the whole school about your excessive nose-hair growth.





***


George waltzed into the Hospital Wing confidently, chortling Hullo Poppy! as the sharp smell of medicinal potions stung his nose.


He had received a note from her to come there, and he assumed that it was probably just a routine check-up on his brain-cell count.


Good afternoon, Weasley, she said, trying not to smile. I have some good news for you.


Oh! Please tell me they're making female-shaped vitamins now!


Fortunately, no. It's about your brain damage, Weasley. I talked to my friend over at St. Mungo's, and he created a potion that will set you right as rain. She handed him a flask of bright pink liquid. Here, drink this.


George took the potion––it tasted like bubble gum. Suddenly, though, the world began to spin around him in a whirl of color, and he lost his balance, crashing to the floor.


he said dazedly, That was trippy.


A concerned look on her face, Madame Pomfrey knelt. What's your name?


George Thatcher Weasley.


And what is your main interest?


While I do spend a great deal of time pulling pranks, I have a secret passion for theoretical physics.


Pomfrey gaped. Theoretical Physics--that difficult muggle science? Physics, not stalking Tahitian swimsuit models?


Ah, the Oceanic island of Tahiti. The capital is Papeete. Principal economic asset tourism. No, I do not recall stalking Tahitian women, I am afraid.


Pomfrey's mouth hung wide open. Do you know any other capitals, Mr. Weasley?


Of course. I'll start with South America: Caracas, Venezuela; Bogota, Colombia; Quito, Ecuador; Lima, Peru; La Paz, Bolivia...

***

George is smart! Hehehe! Well, I'll be taking a short break from writing fanfiction, for I am off for two weeks to that pedestrian teenage profession known as summer camp counselor. I hope I shall be able to keep my sanity among giggling 11-year-olds. Truly, in the ten years I have attended this camp, I have always been the nerdiest one. And I'm not that much of a nerd (haha), so that says a lot about this young-Republican camp. Oh, and I learned the South-American capitals at school. We were forced to memorize them. That was 5 years ago, and I, being a nerd, remembered all of them. Also, my apologies for the would you rather scene, I know it was quite trite. I was kind of writer-blocked and needed some filler to get this chapter out before I left. If you didn't enjoy that scene, then review and leave some suggestions!!!!!!