Thea Howell and The Boy Who Lived

Chapter 7: A Wizard's Idiot

The end of September was an important day for Fred and George. Not only was it a Saturday, but they had cleverly timed their classes to free them on Fridays. They finally found their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting distracted. The Hall was still cold, no candles were lit, only the yellow glow of the braziers around the entrance. All was quiet until I told them how yesterday's flying lesson went.

George gasped, "Boy, that Malfoy's a d—"

"George!" Fred smacked his brother's shoulder

"What?" George continued, rubbing his arm, "It's true!"

"Yeah, of course it is, but they're still in the same house,"

"But he's such a tool,"

"Don't worry," I shook my head, opening my bag to reveal all the broken bottles and spilt goo, "We're not even close to what Gryffindor would consider family — not that there's much to go off," A house-elf wandered past, handing me a square of soap wrapped inside a brown rag, "Thank you, Tupp, sorry for the mess,"

Tupp shrugged and hurried off.

The twins went silent, awkwardly handing me my extra bag of treats. I picked up the lolly, bright pink with yellow spots. Boils, I remembered correctly and sucked on the sweet. It tasted of mixed flavours of cherry tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, and toffee, with buttered toast. One of their best treats, yet.

The Grey Lady showed her hair flowing around her like snakes. Bobbing about her body, shaken by her breath (or lack thereof). Once beautiful, intelligent, and proud, was now a husk of who she was. Visibly uncomfortable to be out in the daytime. She passed me a fluffy brown blanket, clearly from the Ravenclaw towers, dropping it on my legs.

"Thank you, Helena," I whispered. Her serene smile turned concerned as I felt my skin bubbling up with puss. I touch my face, bumpy and slick.

"Cheers, darl!" George smiled, but Helena was too concerned with my face to notice, vanishing to somewhere else. When she left, he nicked the blanket, wrapping himself up into a burrito.

Fred and I snickered, "Cold?"

"The usual around you," He replied, levitating his teacup to his lips.

My jaw clenches as

They glanced to the right, and I felt my hair stood on the back of my neck. I looked over along my side of the table and saw him, too. With stained chains and torn clothes, mist cloaking his feet as he cradles his wounds.

The Bloody Barron.

"GO ON THEN! SHOO!" I shouted, chucking my cup at him. He sunk into the floor, leaving the cup frozen to the touch. My "Sorry, lot of drama for a first week,"

"We know," Fred began.

George winked, "You can't help it. Ron's pretty annoying, but he is our brother."

"And these treats won't finish themselves," They tossed me a hand mirror, "How are they?"

I poked the white buttons on my face, glowing red around the edges, "It works but they look... normal." Pushing one under my nail, it burst onto the glass, "Anyone would confuse them for just regular pimples,"

"More frog skin then," Fred smirked, "Make them real gooey,"

"And some troll jam to help with the size," George agreed, "Make them a lot bigger."

Right on seven, the mail arrived. Most of the owls just went to through the hall and back out again, realising no one else would be out of bed on a Friday morning, in the middle of Autumn, in Scotland. Errol — the family owl of the Weasleys — tumbled across the table like a large pellet, moulting feathers. George sneezed. To this day, I could not tell you if it was from the cold or dust sloughing from Errol's old hide.