Playing With Fire * { Fred Weasley }

The Romance of Vengeful Ghosts

The upside of this Hogsmeade date was that there was so much that could go wrong that I couldn't decide what to worry about. We could get caught sneaking out of school. Bringing Lee and Angelina along could blow up in our faces. Bea and George would almost certainly be supremely irritating; George would likely bring that damn notebook. I still wasn't entirely sure that this harebrained scheme was even working.

In the end, my brain couldn't quite settle on one potential problem, so it instead settled on nothing.

"I'm rather impressed," said Fred before Defense Against Arts that Friday. "I'd thought you'd be pinging off the walls right about now."

"Congratulations, Weasley, you've broken me," I said tonelessly as I took out my books. "I've too many things to worry about and it's completely overloaded my poor brain. I'm afraid I'll never be the same."

"And it only took me four fake dates," he said, looking rather pleased with himself. "I expect you'll be back to normal shortly, though."

"Oh, probably," I sighed. "A girl's got to have a hobby after all."

Bea, of course, could not be persuaded to abandon her self-appointed duties as wardrobe consultant.

"I didn't help you last time and you wore leggings and a baggy jumper." She was ransacking my wardrobe once again, pausing for a moment to aim a scolding look in my direction before redirecting her attention to a green cardigan.

"I got another date, didn't I? Also, how many times must you do this? Surely you've memorized my clothes by now."

"Don't question my methods," said Bea, tossing the cardigan onto the bed and picking up a yellow blouse. "You should be grateful that I'm willing to lend my expert advice."

I eyed the mess of clothes stacked haphazardly on my bed. "I'd be grateful if you put everything back properly.

Bea chucked the blouse at me. "Cheeky."

"Besides," I said, taking the blouse and refolding it neatly, "I hardly think I should prostrate myself with thanks when a). I have repeatedly told you that I do not need your assistance and b). you've gone and invited yourself on this date."

"You have demonstrated that you are in need of my assistance," said Bea, putting a hand on her hip. "Source: that jumper and those leggings. I'm discounting your second argument on the grounds that by the point I got involved, half of Hogwarts was coming on your date." She paused, giving me a beatific sort of smile and batting her eyes. "Besides, I'm delightful company."

"It's the less-than-delightful combination of you and George that concerns me at the moment."

Bea snorted and held up a pair of grey trousers. "My collaboration with George Weasley is one of the great partnerships of the age. We're like Watson and Holmes, only not fictional or detectives."

"You'd better see to it that he doesn't bring that damn notebook."

"Who am I to tell anyone what to do?"

"And yet here you are, refusing to let me dress myself."

"That," she said, raising her eyebrows and looking back at me, "is because you have demonstrated a certain lack of personal creativity. Shall I discuss your boring knickers again?"

I sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed. "You're going to drive me to an early death."

"Alas." A jumper landed on my face. "I'll make sure you have a nice funeral."

Leaving Hogwarts was a complicated affair that involved carefully timed departures, creeping into a secret passage in the back of a statue of a one-eyed witch, and tiptoeing out of the Honeydukes basement.