Chapter 3

Fred was lying flat out in the back garden, absorbing the hot sun and humming quietly to himself. It was the perfect place to live, he knew that. He could hear the quiet splashing of the stream and the singing of the birds, and the smell of freshly mown grass was in the air. There was a light breeze that ruffled his hair, and he was just brushing a stray hair out of his eyes, when he heard the voice of Mrs Johnson.

"Fred, come in a moment! We need to talk to you."

He sat up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. This was unusual- the normal course of conversations in the Johnson household was a short one- 'do the washing up', or 'stop eating the biscuits Fred, its liver and onion time in ten minutes', so the promise of a 'talk' was either exciting or terrifying.

He stood up lazily, shaking his head in contempt at the thought of the bane of his life (liver and onions) and followed the long, curving path through the trees towards the house. He entered the kitchen, where there was a delicious smell of baking. Mrs Johnson was standing there waiting for him, and she beckoned him through to the lounge, where Mr Johnson was sat with a glass of cider next to the open window, reading The Daily Telegraph.

"Sit down, Fred," Mrs Johnson said, and Mr Johnson put down his newspaper and gazed intently at Fred. His expression was unreadable.

"We got a letter today," she continued, " Off a one 'Professor McGonagall'. She is from a school and she is coming to meet you this afternoon to discuss where you're going in September."

Fred groaned. "Special law school or something, is it?" he said.

"I'm not absolutely sure, but she's having a meeting with all of us to discuss it with us. Maybe you've been scouted by your old school for good grades!"

He rolled his eyes. These 'good grades' were a figment of her imagination, a result of her ignoring the fact that he never concentrated at school so his grades were actually very average.

"Well, anyway we'll find out soon enough. She'll be here in an hour or thereabouts, so I want you to go and smarten yourself up, at least put another pair of trousers instead of those horrendous jeans with holes in the front. That really won't make a good impression."

He stood up and left the room, glancing over briefly at the silently brooding man by the window. He gave Fred another unreadable glance before turning back to his paper.

Half an hour later, Fred was sat in his room with another pair of jeans on and a new shirt (unbuttoned at the top). He was staring at the wall, a million thoughts flying through his head. Where was this school? What type of people would there be there? He wrinkled his nose when he thought about the type of people Mrs Johnson would have him be with, and the way she would have him act, all prim and proper and saying 'grass' with a long 'ah' instead of a short one. It simply wasn't him.

That was it. He had made up his mind- he wasn't going. Whatever this Professor McGonagall had to say, he wouldn't listen- nothing would change his mind.

At half past one, Fred was sitting on the sofa in the living room, waiting. Mrs Johnson was pacing the room nervously, occasionally giving Fred a warning glance that said 'You'd better not screw this up'. He looked away, avoiding her eye. Mr Johnson had abandoned the paper and was sat in his chair, staring silently at the wall.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Mr Johnson jumped out of his skin and Mrs Johnson flew out of the room to answer it. Fred heard muffled voices and sat up, taking a deep breath.

Professor McGonagall was a tall, black haired woman with a stern looking expression. She looked about 60, and she wore a long black robe, which Fred thought was incredibly odd, especially in this weather. Maybe it was the school uniform at this school she had come about. Well, that definitely didn't help her case- if he had to wear things like that, he certainly wasn't going.

She walked over to Mr Johnson and shook his hand. "Hello Mr Johnson," she said. "I'm Professor McGonagall, pleased to meet you." She had a Scottish accent. Again, Fred groaned inwardly. Maybe it was in Scotland. Scotland was cold. He hated the cold.

Professor McGonagall sat opposite Fred, where she was quickly brought a tea set by Mrs Johnson.

"Thank you," she said, and she began to pour her tea. There was a short silence, and then she began.

"So, Fred," she started, giving him a kind smile. "I've come to talk to you about a proposition I have for you."

"Yes, about that... I'm not going." Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows, Mrs Johnson looked furious and Mr Johnson looked baffled, if a little amused.

"I don't want to be a lawyer, politician or anything like that," he continued, "and if I went to this school I would hate it and run away. I'm not kidding."

"Quite," she said, smiling. "Mr Weasley," (he rolled his eyes at her calling him that) "I'm not here about a school of politics, or law, or anything like that. I'm here about a school of magic."

Mrs Johnson choked on her tea and Mr Johnson dropped his glass of cider, where it smashed with a crash on the hard wooden floor. Fred simply stared, before he began to laugh.

"Very funny. You're not going to trick me into going. Not happening. Nope."

"Mr Weasley..."

"I'm not Weasley. I'm Johnson."

Mr Johnson looked up in surprise, and his eyes met with Fred's. He had never said that before.

"Okay then, Mr Johnson. I am not joking, I assure you."

Mrs Johnson, having just recovered from her choking, began to speak.

"A school of magic? How ridiculous. These magicians don't perform magic, it's illusions. That's all it is."

"Is that right?" Professor McGonagall said. "Well, this isn't a school of illusions. It is a school of true magic. Fred, you are a wizard. There is no point fluttering around the subject. You were born with magic and you will have it all your life."

"I don't believe you." There was an awkward silence while Fred's eyes blazed with fire at this strange woman who had come into their home and told such lies.

"Let me demonstrate," she said after a long pause. She took out a long stick from her robe and pointed it at the broken glass at Mr Johnson's feet. A stream of sparks flew from the stick and the glass repaired itself, before floating up into the air, filling with cold sparking cider and hovering in front of Mrs Johnson's eyes. He stared in bewilderment before taking it from the air.

"I guess we can't have much more proof that that," he said faintly. Mrs Johnson looked like she was going to faint, but Fred's eyes were shining.

"You're telling me that I can do that?" The Professor smiled and nodded.

"One day. First, you have to come to our school. It's called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the school year starts on the first of September. Here is your letter, telling you everything you need to know. There is a pub called the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road in London. You will see it, although most people will walk straight past it. Ask the landlord where to go, and then go straight to Gringotts, the bank. Here is the key to your vault, but it may be best to use your Muggle money and exchange it."

"What's Muggle?" he asked, his heart thumping from all this information. Mrs Johnson still looked like she was going to collapse, and her tea was pouring slowly from her mug, which she was still holding but appeared to have forgotten about.

"A Muggle is a non-magical person. Like everyone you have ever met, probably. As I was saying, once you have your money, you must buy everything on your list, enclosed in your letter there. Then on the first of September, the train to Hogwarts leaves from platform nine and three quarters at eleven o'clock, so I recommend you get there in plenty of time. Your ticket it also enclosed in your letter."

After another silence where she looked at each person in the room, smiling reassuringly at them, she stood up.

"Well, that's everything you need to know. Your foster parents may go with you to buy your school supplies. Thank you for your time and I will see you on the first."

And with that she left, leaving a shocked family behind her.

"Well," Mr Johnson said, clearing his throat, "at least we have your school sorted out now Fred."

Mrs Johnson stood up, straightening her skirt and placing her now empty mug on the coffee table. She closed her eyes, as if collecting herself, and then opened them. Fred was looking up at her, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Well I can't say no now can I?" She smiled for the first time in a while, and looked up at the calender on the wall.

"First of September... that's in two weeks!" Fred groaned. He knew this tone. Her organisational skills were coming into play. "Right, we need to go to this place the Professor told us about, as soon as possible. I need to take some money out to exchange, and I need to start packing. Of course, we need to tell your other school we had lined up for you that you aren't going and..."

She carried on talking rapidly, and Fred met Mr Johnson's glance. He smiled knowingly and shook his head at his wife's panicking. They said nothing. They didn't need to. Their eyes said everything they needed to say.

It was six o'clock in the afternoon and Fred and Sam were sat in their usual spots on the swings, with Helena leaning against a nearby tree. Fred had been silent. He didn't know how to tell them. Thankfully, Sam interrupted the silence.

"Fred, what's up? You've been quiet today. Is it about that school you had a meeting about today? Is Mum forcing you to go?"

"No, she isn't," he said. "I... I want to go."

Helena looked up, eyebrows raised, and put her book down. "Really?" she said. "I find that hard to believe."

"It's not a school for law, or business, or politics, or anything I hate."

"What is it then?" Sam's eyes were keen, interested.

"It's... it's a school of magic." Helena snorted and Sam stared.

"Sure, sure," Helena said, standing up. "Sure you don't want to just admit that you've gone over to the dark side and want to be Prime Minister now?" She walked away, laughing. "I'll speak to you guys later, I'm going out with Anna and Jane."

She left, leaving Sam and Fred in silence.

"Sam," he said after a while. "You have to believe me. I really am going to a school of magic. I didn't believe it either, but then she mended a glass and made it fly and everything. It's... it's mad, I know, but I want you to understand, more than anything."

"I... it's hard Fred. Not that you're magic, I always knew you were different-"

"You believe me then?" Fred interrupted.

"Yeah, I do... but Fred, don't leave me, please."

"What do you mean? Whatever school I went to, I'd be leaving you. Not properly though, I'll always be here for you!"

"No, it's just... with all those people like you, you might forget me."

"Never. Don't think like that. These people might still be different. I'm not exactly normal, even in wizard standards."

Sam grinned. "Okay, as long as you promise. You have to show me the magic you learn though."

"Of course. It's so exciting that I'm gonna learn something useful. I wouldn't be surprised if Mum makes me go into wizard politics..."

They started laughing, and the pair stayed on the swings until it was completely dark and they were called in to go to bed, where Fred wouldn't sleep a wink all night.

A/N: Okay, I'm back! Feel free to write me abusive reviews, I understand completely. I am awful and a disgrace to fanfic authors. I finished my exams yesterday though and I simply had to come back to my favourite pair of ginger people ever. This story always makes me excited to write, so expect fairly rapid updates. I'm sorry, its the way I roll. Unless you like that sort of thing of course... please review, abusive or not ;D

Next Chapter: George has a strange visitor.