My hands are trembling as I hold the letter. I probably look like a psychotic convict but for once I don’t care about my usually immaculate appearance.
I have waited 7 years for this moment and I’m going to savor every minute of it.
Slowly, cautiously I tear open the top of the envelope. Of course it will be saved for future reminiscing but now it is placed ceremonially on the kitchen counter. Mum and Dad are at the ministry and Molly is moping outside so nothing is going to stop me from milking this for all it’s worth. I carefully pull the slip of parchment out of the embossed envelope, and hold it in my hands with reverence.
Breath Lucy, Don’t forget to breath.
It is still, perfectly still.
With stunning dexterity I flip the parchment open and squeal. Normally I’m composed but I save the squealing for those special ‘heart full of joy’ occasions.
To Miss Lucy Anna Weasley:
I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected to represent Hogwarts as Head Girl... That’s Head Girl, with a capital G and a capital H.
That is all I need to read before I’m skipping around the kitchen table, not caring who sees. I’m drunk with giddiness though I’ve got to mention I’ve never been drunk before but I’m sure this is how it feels like. I should try it sometime, it’s quite a nice feeling. I give the idea a raincheck before gliding out the back door. Now it’s piss off Molly time.
Molly is sulking under the oak tree in the yard. She looks as though someone has died, and her pretty eyes are staring blankly at nothing, though you could easily argue she’s just overly fascinated with the bird bath.
“I got Head Girl.” I waltz in front of her, waving the parchment over my head. Molly is the only human being on the face of the planet that I can be even remotely ridiculous with. I screech to a halt in front of her. She settles for a displeased glower up at me.
“I got Head Girl.” I repeat, flapping the parchment in front of her face. She reaches out to grab it but I clutch it to my chest, abashed that she would stoop so low as to attempt to crumple up my most treasured possession. Oh, she is in a foul mood.
“I got Head Girl, I got Head Girl, I got Head Girl.” I sing out, dancing around the oak tree. There isn’t so much as a twitch out of Molly. How annoying. I find myself with my hand on my hip, and I wonder dully how it got there. It’s a strange habit of mine, to subconsciously attach my hand to my hip when I’m annoyed at people. I might as well just permanently stick it there. It tends to happen a lot.
What was the deal with my normally fiery big sister?
“Oh come on Molly,” I can hear what a twangy little whiner I am, but this is my moment to shine and Molly is bringing me down so low I want to crawl back under my covers and sleep for a hundred years.
Molly won’t even spare me a glance. Instead, she seems mesmerized by the bloody bird bath. I can literally feel my blood boiling. Nothing and I mean nothing will get you off the hook for ignoring me. It’s like insulting a hippogriff. You’ll either endure acidic remarks until you cry or I’ll kick your arse. I smile benignly, but Molly still doesn’t notice me.
“Fergus is so done with you Molly,” I’m taunting her, “He’s off with a lot of pretty Irish girls right now, so get it through your stubborn redhead that it’s over.”
I know I’m a terrible person. I’m horrible I should have been sorted into Slytherin with my uncanny ability to make people cry.
Fergus Finnegan is Molly’s boyfriend of six months and currently visiting family in Ireland. Molly has an extreme lack of self esteem when it comes to boys, so she’s worried Fergus will run off with another girl. Her abandonment and replacement issues have been hanging over our household like the bloody plague, and she’s been sighing and fretting and making everyone else miserable in the process. Honestly, I have to say I’m getting annoyed with her insecurity, but she looks so crushed and heartbroken that I start to squirm. Poor thing’s fallen for him hard.
When she doesn’t answer I start to feel guilty.
“Molly,” I sigh in exasperation, “I have never seen a boy love you as much as Fergus does. I mean every time you say something he looks like he wants to shove you against a wall and snog you senseless.”
It’s true. Fergus Finnegan has been on cloud nine ever since Molly agreed to go out with him.
Molly tears her gaze away from the bird bath with a slight flush on her cheeks and a pleased expression on her face.
“Don’t be vile Lucy.”
But there’s the slightest quirk to her lips, indicative of a smile.
Confidence restored, and problem solved. Yeah, I’m just that good.
Molly’s now got this goofy expression on her face, and she’s practically glowing. Uggh someone kill me now. Molly in Fergus-mode just induces vomit.
“Now back to me.”
Molly doesn’t even bother to hide the eye roll. That’s the thanks I get for lifting her spirits.
“I’m Head Girl.”
Another eye roll. Honestly one day her eyes are going to be stuck to the other side of her head.
Molly smirks up at me, forgetting about Fergus for a second, “If you recall baby sister,”
Uggh here we go with baby sister mode. I think I prefer Fergus mode, and least I don’t want to punch her in the face.
“I was head girl last year,” she continues, this time I eye roll, “Dom was the year before that, and Vicky was two years before that.”
Thanks Molly, thanks for raining on my parade.
“Detail, details,” I wave her off airly, ignoring the urge to kick her.
“Weasleys are always Heads.”
I frown, more than ready to argue that point.
“If you recall correctly, big sister,” I stress the word big sister, “Are you telling me that Fred Weasley is going to be my fellow head boy?”
Molly laughs outright, and I’m grudgingly happy. It’s good to hear her laugh, even if she is a prat. I slump to the ground next to her, and I can’t stop the sigh of utter and complete contentment. I clutch the letter to my chest, and I can feel a growing bubble of comfort, security, bliss, and any other positive term you can come up with.
“So who is your head boy?”
My grip on the letter loosens. That’s a fair question.
Molly rolls her eyes again and I’m seriously contemplating permanently attaching them to the other side of her head. She seems to like them there anyway and I’m not a Ravenclaw for nothing. Though in all respects Molly could probably counter anything I cast.
“You didn’t read the full letter did you?” there’s more laughter in her voice and the bubble in my chest gets bigger.
Grinning at her cheekily, I pull out the letter with an added flourish and read in my most professional voice.
To Miss Lucy Anna Weasley:
I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected to represent Hogwarts as Head Girl, alongside Head Boy Richard Edgar Dawson of Slytherin House.
The bubble in my chest pops, and reverberates. I drop my treasured possession and it floats gently to the grass. There’s this horrible sinking feeling in my stomach, and I’m finding it very difficult to breathe.
Molly is laughing.
Somehow her laughter isn’t satisfying anymore.
“This is great,” she’s hooting, “Professor Willoughby is the most incredible sadist/matchmaker in the Wizarding World.”
Strange, my opinions on Headmistress Willoughby include a few choice profanities and rude gestures that will, sadly, remain locked in my head.
Molly, still chuckling in a cruelly loud tone, takes a hold of the letter that is now too diseased to touch. She skims it and howls, falling against the oak tree, heaving for breath, very unattractive.
“What, what is it?” It couldn’t possibly be much worse could it?
She grins, a grin full of dangers and bad meanings.
“Well,” she drawls painfully slow, drawing out the well for ages. I’m ready to implode on the spot. I bet she’d still go on tormenting my scattered remains.
“This year,” she continues with the glint in her eyes. That glint is famous for pain and suffering and is the cause of many a Weasley child nightmare, “You’re going to have a few extra “perks”
I’m going to be sick.
Molly returns to the letter,
This year, as a result of the kind donations of the board of governors and the Wizarding community you will be provided with your own dormitory as a reward for your commendable achievement.
I let out the breath I had been holding in. That was actually kind of cool, I could decorate it and I wouldn’t have munchkins, or cousins, or ickle firsties interrupting me, and if I ever got lonely I could always visit the common room. Molly is such a prat, trying to make me puke all over the stupid bird bath.
Molly continues, and I have that sinking feeling around my navel.
Attached is a floor plan of the dormitory you will be sharing with Mr. Dawson. As Head Girl you are expected to be a role model for your fellow students, meaning I trust the two of you to act in a manner most responsible.
Oh Merlin, Rowena, and hell bent Hippogriffs.
Oh Merlin, Rowena, hell bent Hippogriffs, and Great Uncle Fred.
Oh bloody hell no.
Not sodding Richard Dawson.
Write a Review In the Year of the Prat: A Prologue Concerning Hell Bent Hippogriffs