"I hope life isn't one big joke because I really don't get it."
-- 'Deep Thoughts' by Jack Handey
"You think this is funny, don't you?"
"In a cosmic sort of way . . . yes . . ."
-- From the play 'Caught in the Act'
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Chapter 4
To Forgive And Forget
"Starkers. Both of them are bloody stark raving mad. I can't wait until they move out and start blowing themselves up on their own sweet time . . . far, far, away from me."
"You don't think they're going to pull anything else today, do you?"
"If they do, we'd better not stick around to see what happens afterwards. My Mum'll pull out their livers and serve it to them on a dinner tray with a side of laxative-laced chicken."
Harry and Ron made slowly made their way down the staircase from the second landing as they discussed the trials and tribulations of Fredrick and George Weasley. Before Harry could comment on how well the ColourMints would sell at Hogwarts as is, two voices floated up from the kitchen, both deeply engrossed in a conversation.
"Are you absolutely sure? I mean, the whole thing seems very unlikely."
"I know what I'm talking about. Heard it strait from the Department of Magical Education this morning. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking this time, I really don't."
"He must see something in the boy that everyone else looked over. Dumbledore has an exceptionally strong judge of character, you know. Remember two years ago? With that Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? Oh, what's his name?"
"Lupin was a completely different matter all together. At least he had some vague idea of what he was talking about. But this time Dumbledore hired an irresponsible, immature, drunk nutter—"
"Oh, now, I wouldn't go that far."
"Do I even have to mention that mess of trouble he got into when he—"
"Percy, stop it right now. He's almost family, for God's sake."
"Who's almost family?" Ron asked, stepping off the last step into the kitchen. Harry came closely behind, finding that the two voices had belonged to Mr. Weasley and Percy, who both jumped back in surprise as they suddenly found two extra people in the room with them. Mr. Weasley was the first to recover, adjusting a Muggle cap on top of his head.
"Oh, Harry!" he said, obviously trying to tangent his son from the subject at hand. "So glad to see you back with us again. How was—"
"I asked you a question, Dad," Ron interrupted, knowing perfectly well what his father was trying to do. "Who's almost family?"
"None of your business, Ronald," Percy snapped, putting a certain emphasis on his brother's name to indicate extreme irritation. "This is a conversation between father and I. Now, if you don't mind . . ."
"Yeah, yeah," muttered Ron as he and Harry turned to leave the kitchen. "You don't have to tell us twice."
As the two boys walked into the garden and out of earshot of Mr. Weasley and Percy's own devices, Harry couldn't help but raise a puzzled eyebrow at the whole situation.
"Who do you reckon they were talking about?" he asked.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't even give the whole thing a second thought," he advised, sending a little indignant glare back towards the kitchen. "Percy's always bringing rumours home from work. One time he claimed that Lucius Malfoy was going to take over the Headmaster job from Dumbledore."
"What a dream come true," Harry remarked, his voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. "No such luck, huh?"
"Thank God, no. I would get Mum and Dad to ship me off to Durmstrang if that ever happened," Ron said. "then it would be so easy to throw myself off an iceberg and make it look like an accident," he snorted thickly. "Imagine if that really did happen? A Malfoy in charge of Hogwarts?"
"I'd go up North with you," Harry vowed, "and jump off a glacier."
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At exactly seven 'o clock that night, Harry, Lee, Alexandrea, and five members of the Weasley family were seated outside along the lengthy, wooden table; Mrs. Weasley's mouth-watering cooking sat steaming in front of them, quite ready to be eaten. Just days ago, Harry had almost resorted to eat his godfather's rat and dirt filled tarts. Now, he was sitting with the closes he'd ever had to a loving family while enjoying mountains of roast beef, garlic potatoes, and lemon grass green beans. Since Ron, who sat besides him, was drawn into a deep disagreement about the Chudley Cannons new Keeper with Alexandrea and Lee, Harry could not help but turn his attention slightly in the direction of Percy and Mr. Weasley.
". . . oh yes, Mr. Fudge had quite a difficult time to finding someone to fill Crouch's position," Percy was saying pompously. "All he could dig up was a part time replacement, Brinker Hadley."
"Hadley?" Mr. Weasley pondered on the name for a moment, pulling the Muggle cap tighter onto his head. "Didn't Hadley play for the Falmouth Falcons a while back?"
Percy nodded. "Got thrown off years ago. I believe the official call was 'Improper Use of a Beater's Club'. The Falmouth fans where none to pleased about it. They wanted to give the man some sort of award . . . . Anyway, I'll tell you, father-- Fudge has gone down hill ever since the second primaries last year. First Bagman and now Hadley. Thick-headed, uneducated Quidditch players whose hobbies consist and are limited to cobbing the living daylights out of people are taking over the Ministry!"
"Oh, Percy, now maybe you're being a bit too judgemental on the whole thing," Mr. Weasley reflected. "Hadley seems to have great character, never mind all that nonsense with the Quidditch suspension. I seem to remember him from somewhere—spoke at a banquet, he did, for Riley—" he stopped suddenly in mid sentence, as if he had just caught himself from saying something which would be inappropriate for the time being.
"Riley who?" Percy mused lightly, though he sounded not the least bit interested.
"No one, no one. Just an old friend," Mr. Weasley seemed to lower his voice significantly as he changed the subject at hand. "Percy, have you heard anything Amos Diggory's side of the fence lately?"
Percy cleared his throat, trying to create an air of importance around him. "No. Nothing at all. I imagine he's taking some much needed time off, though."
"Yes, of course. What with all the poor man has been through," Mr. Weasley's voice had suddenly been flooded with the tone of sadness and a dash of pity. His eyes flickered towards Harry, Ron, Lee, Alexandrea, and Ginny. "And what with all everyone else went through as well.'
Harry turned towards his fellow Hogwartians, wondering if anyone else had heard Mr. Weasley's comment. The others, however, were still engaged in conversation, talking as if Quidditch was the only thing in life worth living for.
"Goblins by a landslide," Lee announced, wiping his mouth clear of crumbs with his sleeve. "They absolutely flattened the Cannons in the semi-finals."
"The Cannons always get flattened," Alexandrea commented thickly, triggering an indigent snort from Ron. "Even the Slytherins could take them on and smear the pitch with them."
"Chudley is just in a slump, a bad streak," Ron said defensively. "That's all."
"Chudley's bad streak has been going on for 110 years, Ronniekinns," Alexandrea remarked airily. "Now, the Meteorites—they're a whole different story, my friend. Got the power, the skill, and one damn good looking Keeper, may I add."
Lee rolled his eyes in complete and utter disgust. "So Moosejaw's going to win because they have a couple of handsome blokes on there team? Al . . . get over yourself, beautiful. The Goblins have Marcov Wronski on their side. Josef Wronski's third nephew twice removed."
"He may have the name, but the bloody piker still couldn't catch a Snitch if it was enlarged five times and then flew up his arse," Alexandrea said, carelessly balancing a spoon on the bridge of her nose. "Now, Scotty Stevens - - there's a world class Seeker for you." Looking quite absurd with the spoon still on her nose, she turned to gather Harry's opinion. "So, what do you think, Mr. Gryffindor-Seeker-Underlord? Stevens over Wronski?"
"Er . . ." was all that Harry could come up with.
"Ah, can't follow Quidditch while your with the Muggles, can you?" Ron said, his voice holding a hint of sympathy for his sheltered friend. "The finals for the first annual International Quidditch League Cup are coming up. The British and Irish League gave out an invitation to the other clubs from all over the world to come and compete in a sort of exhibition. Dad told us that it's all a hair-brained scheme by the Ministry to get more foreign tourists to visit. Anyway, only three teams from England cared enough to enter this year; pity we didn't get through to the finals, though."
"What happened to them?" Harry asked eagerly, wishing that the Dursleys had at least allowed him to read the sporting page off of the Daily Prophet. Of course all wizarding news, Quidditch or no, was completely forbidden from the house on 14 Privet Drive.
"It was the Arrows, Cannons, and Wasps in the start," Ron began to explain between mouthfuls of food. "The Cannons lost to the Grodzisk Goblins, three hundred and ninety to thirty."
"I never even thought it was possible to lose that badly," Lee commented lightly.
"It wasn't their fault that their Keeper was half tanked," Ron retorted. "Anyways, Appleby got beaten by the Patonga Proudsticks of Uganda; bloody hell, they came out of no where, let me tell you. Oh, and the Wasps were absolutely mowed down by the Wollongong Warriors."
"So, since the Meteorites smeared the Warriors around the pitch, they're facing Grodzisk for the League Cup," Lee finished, taking a great gulp out of his cup of cinnamon-apple cider. "They're playing in the old colonies now, since the Meteorites gained the home-pitch advantage, and everything. Quite ironic, if you ask me. All the Ministry wanted was a little publicity for England and now the finals are an ocean away and the Cup's going to another country."
"I didn't even know North America had any Quidditch teams," admitted Harry.
Alexandrea snorted abruptly, causing the spoon on her nose to fly forward, landing in Ginny's green beans. " Do you live in a bloody bubble, Potter? Sacrificial Hamster on a Roasting Spit! Of course North America plays Quidditch!"
Lee laughed, watching Harry's reaction to Alexandrea's outburst. "You're such a huge prat, Al," he commented. "I'm friends with the only girl on the island who cheers for a foreign team. Not to mention a foreign team from North America; home of those thick-headed berks with the most annoying accents known to man. They even make the French look like bloody English scholars."
"Fine, I'll agree about the think-headed part, but they're accents have absolutely nothing to do with the way they play Quidditch," Alexandrea shot a glare at Lee, as if daring him to say anything else. "You know perfectly well that my family has been cheering for the Meteorites even since they first took off from the pitch. It's a tradition that's been passed down through generations."
"Generations of absolute loonies, may I add," Ron commented. "And you thought I was pathetic because my team's the Cannons. You've got the lot that can't play a decant game without causing the other team to bleed internally."
Alexandrea arched an eyebrow. "And that's a . . . bad thing?"
Several more exchanges of strong words past through Ron and Alexandrea as the sky began to darken. By time Mr. Weasley began to conjure up some small tea candles to light up the garden, Alexandrea had forgotten all about Ron and was now busy dealing with Lee. Harry, who had glanced down the table, could not help but notice that Mrs. Weasley hadn't been as talkative as usual. One hand still held the top of her baby blue towel/turban tightly, while the other played with the loan green-bean which had been on her plate for hours. Her eyes had been locked on the two empty seats across from Lee all night.
Seats that should have been filled by Fred and George.
"Wonder what they're up to," Harry murmured to himself more to anyone else.
Ron mused over his friends comment for a while. "Have no idea," he said finally. Then, his face suddenly brightened as he looked over at the back entrance of the Burrow. "But I think we'll find out soon enough."
The Weasley twins had just exited the kitchen and were presently making their way across the garden towards the dinner table. They supported a large serving plate between them which carried a monstrous cake covered with a turquoise frosting. Everyone stared in awe and slight fear as Fred and George set the cake in front of Mrs. Weasley.
"Boys, what in—"
"Look, Mum," George interrupted, running a hand over his blue hair as if he was not yet used to it. "Fred and I have decided that we're done some pretty . . . . er, luridly stupid things in the past."
"And we've also decided that you deserve something for putting up with us for seventeen excruciatingly long years," finished Fred. Then, with a mysterious grin, he took out his weathered wand and waved it over the top of the cake.
All eyes turned towards the turquoise baked good as it started to shake violently. Without warning, it exploded, maliciously plastering everyone with coloured frosting.
"Oops," Fred looked as flabbergasted as everyone else. A bit of sugary icing slid off his nose and dropped into Percy's cup of rosemary tea. "Erm . . . that really wasn't suppose to happen . . . ."
Mrs. Weasley, who had seemed to have gotten the worst of the exploding cake, stared down at the large, now empty serving plate which Fred and George had carried their 'present' on. Harry saw a small, battered, old wizarding photograph of a much younger looking Molly Weasley. In her arms she held two red-faced, newborn babies who were, at the time, zealously pulling on each other's ear lobes.
"Oh . . . my boys!" Mrs. Weasley's eyes were soon thick with tears. She pulled Fred and George into such a tight hug that they seemed to have quite a hard time breathing.
"Mum—Mum, you're suffocating us—"
"Need . . . air . . . Smothering . . . . to . . . . death . . . ."
"All those horrible things I said to you!" Mrs. Weasley cried. "I threatened and yelled . . . and then you—you went up to the attic and found . . . found your baby pictures!" All emotions flooding forward like a collapsed dam, she suddenly burst into a fit of heavy tears.
"Now, Molly. It's perfectly alright," Mr. Weasley had quite a hard time prying the twins away from Mrs. Weasley's head-lock. "Let's all forgive and forget, shall we?"
Mrs. Weasley, frosting still clinging to her face, looked back at the twins with motherly affection. "Fred . . . George . . . I forgive you for everything . . . For all the pranks, gags, and jokes—for my hair . . ."
"Her hair?" Harry questioned. He was left in doubt no longer for a great gust of wild wind blew across the garden. The flurry flung off Mr. Weasley's cap and Mrs. Weasley's towel, revealing their new hair styles (Bright pink and deep chartreuse) lovingly bestowed upon them courtesy of Fred and George's ColourMints.
"I told them not to test in the kitchen, the idiots. 'Anyone could waltz right in', I said," Alexandrea mumbled off-handily, placing another spoon on the bridge of her nose. "They never listen to me . . . ."
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Now, reading over this for the umpteenth time, I shamefully realize that this chapter is quite similar to a chapter in GoF. All I can consol you with is the fact that this is a total coincidence and that it shall never happen again. Believe me, this story will take off on its own, leaving the cannon books far behind. Please be patient and you shall be rewarded with a wickedly humorous story with a underlying dark meaning.
Now then, I must mention that this chapter's Alex-ism ("Sacrificial Hamster on a Roasting Spit!") was provided by my amigo Brynne via e-mail, who has written several funny pieces of fan fiction about Percy. If you have a witty Alex-ism floating around in the back of your mind (and I know you all do), please send me an owl, e-mail, or leave it in your review. Thanks you for reading! Remember to leave me a review so I can bow down at your feet for a eternity.
Much Love from Pezzie
