Chapter 5 : Of Bets and Cousins.
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I wasn't going to add a new chapter until Courtney read/reviewed the earlier two, but then, I got some really good feedback on my last chapter and assumed it would be good if I did. (: So here's the next chapter. Once Courtney gets all caught up in her reading, I'll add the sixth! Probably tomorrow. It's getting good, guys! Read & review!
Amazing chapter image of my lovely Jamesie by Myriadly @ TDA! <3
All proper young ladies must never be late for any event, not even fashionably so; on the same note, they must never be more than five minutes early, either.
Somehow, no matter how hard I try not to be, I am always late for dinner. It’s foolproof, really. Once upon a time, James and Fred took bets on it. Poor Freddie would always lose miserably, because he insists he has enough faith in me to believe that one day, I will actually arrive to dinner on time. Even though, for my first four years at Hogwarts, that has never happened once. Not even in our first year, for our first beginning-of-term feast. James, of course, has enough faith in me to be certain that I will not be on time anytime soon. He might be a git, but at least he has more common sense than Fred does.
This time around, I rushed off before dinner to visit the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher- also known as my father, Bill Weasley. He took the position when I was a third year, after Professor Henderson left the position and transferred to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Before I boarded the Hogwarts Express this morning, Maman handed me my father’s wolfsbane potion, reminding me to deliver it to him as he’d forgotten it and will need it before the full moon later this week. My father isn’t a werewolf, if that’s what you are thinking. No, he doesn’t make the transformation every full moon, but the potion does ease his wolfish tendencies that he received from an attack by Fenrir Greyback many years ago, during the Second Wizarding War. Therefore, I brought the potion to him, making me thoroughly late for the beginning-of-term feast. As always. I’ve even missed the sorting this time around, but that’s of no great importance to me. All of my family members are already sorted into the houses at Hogwarts, and every single one of them- save for poor, strange little Louis- is comfortably placed in Gryffindor. Exactly as it should be.
I slide into the empty spot in between Fred and James, who are both shoveling mouthfuls of food from their plates to their gaping mouths. Boys. They just ate on the train.
“Hello, boys,” I chirp good-naturedly, settling down between them and smoothing my black robes over my lap. The visit to my father, who thankfully avoided mentioning Lorcan once the entire time, has brightened my previously irritated mood, and I hopefully will be distracted long enough during dinner to avoid over-thinking the whole Lorcan-Scamander-fancies-you-but-even-though-you-fancy-him-back-he-thinks-you-don’t-and-is-upset-with-you concept.
I glance down at the plate in front of me. A piece of grilled chicken is already sitting there, alongside a heap of mashed potatoes and a miniature treacle tart. My usual meal of choice, prepared excellently by the Hogwarts House Elves. One of the boys- probably James, since Fred hates admitting I’m going to be late- has prepared my plate for me before the rest of the nutty students could attack the food. See? I told you James and I are secretly close. Underneath all of his cocky Quidditch player arsehole-ness, James is a sweetheart. I know it’s hard to believe.
Fred looks up quickly from his plate of food. He notices me sitting to his left, and he looks prepared to full-out bawl. I guess that’s another five Galleons lost for the poor boy. I wish they would just stop betting on me. It makes me feel awful when Fred loses money because of how secretly kindhearted he is.
“Fuck,” he swears loudly, digging into the pocket of his robes. He pulls out a navy velvet drawstring pouch and drops it on the table.
Ooh, maybe it’s ten Galleons this time.
James looks up too, a wide smirk breaking out across his face. Oh, yes. Definitely ten Galleons, if he’s smirking that much. The smug little git. Any remainder of his momentary sweetness is gone, replacing it with that cocky, I-just-got-ten-Galleons-because-my-cousin-is-incapable-of-being-on-time smirk.
You think I get annoyed with them constantly betting on my ability to be somewhere when I am supposed to be there, but I long ago got over the way my cousins act like tactless, insensitive prats. It doesn’t even bother me anymore. If it did, I couldn’t stand to be around them for more than five minutes. Why do you think they spend so much time with each other and me? Because no one else can stand them.
Okay, that’s not true.
James is the god of the fifth year male population here at Hogwarts. I don’t think there’s one girl- one that isn’t related to him, of course- in all of Hogwarts, no matter what year and age they are, that doesn’t have at least a tiny crush on my dear Jamesie-poo. If he wasn’t my cousin, I’d probably be able to understand why, but since I have known him since birth and I’ve seen him in his only-family-members-can-see-me-looking-like-this state- which means wearing nothing but his golden snitch boxers, with his hair sticking up every which way- so I don’t exactly understand what the females of Hogwarts are thinking. Of course, James is good looking enough, I suppose. He looks a lot like Uncle Harry, with the perfectly tousled black hair and naturally handsome facial features, and he has Aunt Ginny’s brown eyes. I guess that’s enough for most girls, even though generally, his personality- according to my uncle, a miniature Sirius Black- is shitty. And I guess the very talented Quidditch player thing earns him a few brownie points that should be otherwise destroyed by his huge ego. If James wasn’t as desirable to the girls as he was, though, he’d be lonely.
Then there’s Fred. I think Fred actually has no problems making friends without James and me by his side. Out of the three of us, Fred is the least socially clueless. He doesn’t scare people away with his cynicism and bluntness, and he doesn’t annoy the living hell out of people by being an arrogant prick. However, since he is incapable of taking anyone serious, I guess that’s a bit of a turnoff for most girls. Like James, he looks good enough. I’m not a very good judge of it, obviously, but Fred looks a lot like his father- tall, gangly, with long red hair and blue eyes- and his father is always described as “quite handsome”. He has the whole Quidditch player thing going for him, too, not to mention being the heir to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He has quite a few friends in our year, although not as many girls as James has twisted around his finger.
So maybe I’m the one who will be somewhat alone if James and Fred aren’t around to talk to me. Figures.
“Ten Galleons?” I question.
James continues smirking. He looks across my plate towards Fred, who glowers at him as best as he can. Fred fails miserably at trying to look angry or even semi-serious, even when he is angry. It’s the downside of being the offspring of a Weasley twin.
“No, actually,” James answers, his smirk widening. His brown eyes gleam in a boyish, mischievous way. As usual, he’s thrilled by this win, even though it is a negative occurrence for his best mate. “It was fifteen Galleons. Wasn’t it, Freddie-boy?”
Fred furrows his brow. “I had a temporary moment of extreme stupidity.”
I roll my eyes at Fred. “You git. I’m always late. Just stop betting on me!” I tell him this every single time. Does he listen? Of course not. He’s too thick to listen. Both of them are. I’ve told James ten thousand times to stop letting Fred bet on me arriving on time, and I’ve told Fred to stop betting that I will arrive on time. Do they listen to me? No. It’ll be a shocker if they ever do.
“Dommie,” James whines, patting the pocket on the side of his robes. “If he stops betting on me, where will I get the money for my new Firebolt?”
“Seriously, James?” I roll my eyes a second time. He’s so full of dragon dung. “Your father saved the fucking wizarding world. Your mother was a world-famous Quidditch player. Don’t they have any money to spare for your stupid broom?”
My cousin looks at me with an expression full of aggravation- at least the smirk is gone- and scoffs. Apparently, this thought has already occurred to him. Multiple times, surely. “Mum told me I needed to work for it.”
Fred scowls. “And winning money off of me ten times a day is your form of working?”
“Wait, ten times?” I look at James, whose eyes dart away from mine. Typical. He’s so guilty. He can never look me in the eyes whenever he’s guilty. One look into my eyes- which are apparently piercing enough to make anyone feel the need to tell the truth, according to James- and he’ll be spilling out the numerous things the boys bet on today, all of them having something to do with me. “Oh, you little prat! What else have you two bet on today?”
The raven-haired boy leans back on the bench, stretches his arm behind me, and deals a blow to Fred’s shoulder. Why do boys always have to hit each other when they are pissed off? Isn’t that why we’re wizards and witches? I mean, the wands have a purpose, and it’s not just to look cool- even though, generally, the wands do look cool. Still, they, you know, create magic. When girls are pissed at each other, after they’re done doing that shrieking thing we tend to do, they send a few facially reconfiguring hexes at each other and be done with it. No punches, no slaps, no pulling hair out. Girls prefer not to do things the Muggle way if they can help it. Boys, however, love doing things the Muggle way. Gits.
“Well,” Fred starts, leaning away from James as to avoid another blow to his arm. “James bet you would spill pumpkin juice on your blouse within five minutes of having it- which you did. Then he bet your chocolate frog would escape because you would be too slow to catch it- which you were, since it did. Then he bet you would completely lose your shoes before we got off the train- which you did. Then he-”
“Merlin’s beard! Shut up, Fred!” I groan and cover my face with my hands. Fred chuckles at me. Even though he’s losing money from all of this, he still finds it funny. He finds everything funny, eventually. Boys are always like that. Boys! So aggravating to have around. Too bad that’s all I do have around. “I’m glad you have so much faith in me, James Sirius Potter.”
“The second,” he adds. Merlin forbid I don’t utter his complete name.
“Your Sirius is showing, arsehole.”
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