Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: This is a belated birthday present for embracing. Thank you for being such a great friend and reviewer. Happy Birthday!
Omissions of Memory
Sometimes it's wisest to give up when you're ahead. It's a simple enough concept, but one that several people have trouble grasping. Of course, this is usually due to the fact that they fear retribution, from the most awful source imaginable. Must I tell you what this mysterious source is? Naturally, I must. It all boils down to one dreadful word … it would be nice if I could have a drumroll, please, Mr. Accompanist … thank you.
Strawberry jam.
Yes, you are surprised, are you not? After all, who could imagine that sweet (pardon the pun) little strawberry jam could be used in guerrilla fire? Certainly not this author. But the Weasley's have always thought of everything, haven't they?
"Fred Weasley!" Angelina screeched across the Gryffindor common room. "What on earth have you done?"
Fred glanced up from his position next to the fire.
"Oh, set a few broomsticks on fire … cut a few first-years noses off …" – the first-years gathered around him backed off a little. Just a little, of course – money was money – "…and judging by the look on your face, none of those guesses was the right answer … so in all honesty, I really don't know."
Angelina's face was extremely amusing – especially to Fred's evil counterpart (or was it his angelic counterpart? It was so hard to tell sometimes…), George, who began chortling – as she held up a life-size rubber mermaid figurine. Fred rubbed his eyes blearily.
"Oh," said he, in a voice that suggested that he hadn't thoroughly registered the mouse yet. "That."
You see, dear reader, the trouble with being a master prankster is that you often have so many pranks to keep track of that sometimes – oh the unfortunate sometimes – one or two tend to slip your mind.
"Yes." Angelina smiled, eyes glittering dangerously. "That." She began advancing down the stairs – a tad too quickly for Fred's liking. "I was in Snape's class, making a potion … when my wand turned into … this."
"This." Fred repeated, in a way that made this author suspect that he was incapable of human speech.
"No, that." The grin on her face was distinctly reminiscent of … well … the unfortunate boy in question.
"That?" Fred asked, obviously confused. "I'm confused."
Like I said, obviously confused.
"Um … Fred?" George finally decided to intervene. "It might be a good idea if you …"
"Got up and ran?" Fred completed, finally regaining his wits. "Hey, you know what I'm thinking, B2!"
George started to nod, then frowned.
"Hey, I want to be B1! He gets all the cool telepathic powers!"
Fred shook his head stubbornly.
"Nuh-uh. I'm B1. You can be B2. He gets to come up with all the ideas!" Fred groused. Then catching sight of George's face, he stopped and slowly turned to see Angelina walking away from him, an empty jar in her hand. "What … happened?" He asked, with trepidation.
The question was answered as a sticky glob of …
"Mm … it's good honey too …" Fred stuck his tongue out to taste the gooey substance sliding down his forehead. Then the reality hit him. "It's … honey … in … my …"
"Hair?" George offered, as his twin seemed unable to finish his sentence.
"Yeah, I was going to say that." Fred nodded, standing up and heading to the boys' dormitory.
"Uh oh …" George grimaced. "From the look on his face you'd think that someone had just poured honey all over him."
"Someone just did – Angelina, to be specific." Lee Jordan pointed out to the shell-shocked common room.
"The reality is irrelevant." George brushed off dismissively. "Angelina's in trouble …"
Oh, did I promise that strawberry jam would feature in this? I lied. Everybody lies, remember? But the way Fred is going – exacting his revenge, I can most readily assure you that strawberry jam will feature next time. Probably in his cauldron. Nothing like a nice glob of strawberry jam to lift up your Draught of Living Death, hm?
Poor children.