The Extraordinary Lessons Life Taught George and Felicity

Lesson 3: It's Hard For Something to Grow on Something that's Moving

"I always liked strange characters."
~Tim Burton

Felicity groaned as her annoying alarm blared through the stillness of the early morning.

It had been three days since her encounter with the red-haired, one-eared drunken wizard George Weasley, which meant it had been three days since she had claimed her family's inheritance.

As much as she would have loved to pretend that she didn't need or want the money, the first thing she had done was exchange enough of her family fortune for muggle money to pay the next six months of rent in advance, and pay off the last of her university fees.

Grudgingly, she rolled out of bed and shut off the obnoxiously loud alarm, then stumbled her way into the kitchen, following the enticing smell of an English breakfast being cooked.

"Morning, Jan." She mumbled in greeting. Her flaxen-haired flatmate hummed a happy tune in response and set a plate of sausage, eggs and fried tomato in front of her.

"Good Morning, 'Licity." The unusually tall girl sang. The acquisition of Janice Holt as a flatmate had been a godsend. The girl was optimistic to painful extremes, but didn't seem to care that Felicity sat contentedly on the other end of the half-full philosophy. She also didn't mind that Felicity spoke very little and when she did speak only seemed to make derogatory comments. She hadn't asked too many invasive questions when Felicity had expressed interest in living with her and was gullible enough to accept Felicity's forged papers without any background checks or phone calls to the very made-up family members she'd listed as her emergency contacts.

"Food doesn't look like it jumped out of Mordor today." Felicity commented, but Jan just laughed. It was a tinkling laugh that Felicity thought might have been endearing coming from the type of fairy one read about in Peter Pan.

"Thanks, 'Licity." She sat down with her plate opposite her. "I've been meaning to ask you, actually," Jan started, chewing her lip. Felicity cocked her head to the side, curious. She seemed unsure of how to approach her desired topic of conversation.

"Yes?" She asked slowly.

"Did you...did you pay the rent for the next six months? Because I went to pay Mr. Pepperman yesterday and he said someone had taken care of it."

"I did." Felicity answered truthfully, remaining stoic.
"Why? I mean, how did you get that kinda money?" Jan asked, wide-eyed.

"A relative of mine just passed away and I came into some money. I figured I'd put it to good use." In truth, Felicity knew that Jan had been struggling to pay her portion of the bills and if she had had to move out then Felicity would have to find a new roommate and she doubted she's find one as easy to deal with as Jan.

"Oh, well that was very kind of you." She said slowly. "I'm sorry for your loss, were you close to them?"

"No. They hated my guts." Felicity stood, her chair squeaking against the tiles, placed her plate in the sink and strode out of the room.

"I'm sorry I asked." A very shocked Jan whispered in the wake of the mysterious woman's departure, before placing her own crockery in the sink and following after her.

"'Licity! I'm sorry I brought it up, I didn't mean to pry." There was no response from behind the closed door of her bedroom. "I meant to tell you something earlier, a letter came for you." No reply was forthcoming, so Jan simply pushed the odd and unexpected letter underneath the door and returned to the kitchen to wash up.

The system the girls had settled on had been "I cook, you clean," but Jan decided that just this once, it wouldn't hurt to do Felicity's chore. After all, she had just saved her from having to pay out money she didn't have.

Felicity sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the letter Jan had pushed under the door. It was an unusual letter, not a bill or a rejection letter from yet another publishing company, but a personal letter. It was handwritten, the writing curved and the letters connected, written in ink that must've come from some type of fountain pen.

The scariest thing was that it was addressed to Felicity Nott, not Felicity Norman, the false name she had taken on shortly after her release from the ministry.

Felicity tore open the envelope, only to find the letter to be a friendly letter. She didn't receive friendly letters.

Dear Felicity,

I cannot express my disappointment at not seeing you since our interesting encounter at The Leaky Cauldron, and so I have decided to write to you.

I certainly hope you found our night together enjoyable, even if we spent the majority of it inebriated and sobbing our eyes out.

I am going to tell you something, Felicity, something I haven't told anyone, although I expect my family has already noticed this.

I have not attempted to tell a joke since the night of my brother's death.

This might sound rather bland, however, as a man who spent his childhood laughing and his school years causing mischief, not to mention as the owner of the finest joke shop in the Wizarding world, let me assure you that this is indeed a tragedy.

That is, I had not attempted to tell a joke until I met you. It was a pathetic attempt and I don't think you even cracked a smile, however, I do recall that it happened in the middle of the night at my kitchen table.

I have spent the last day and a half thinking about this, and I have come to the following conclusion. As the first person who made me want to laugh again, I cannot let you slip through my fingers. My late brother would be absolutely appalled and I refuse to dishonor his memory in the way that I have been doing.

So I will lay a proposal forward. I will meet you at three o'clock outside The Leaky Cauldron on Saturday the 17th of May and we will attempt to make each other smile, as -and don't try to deny this- you seem to suffer from the same illness as myself: pessimism.

To make this challenge slightly harder, we will do this without the use of alcohol.

I hope to see you there,
yours truly
George Weasley, Resident Drunk.

Felicity let out a loud groan and flopped backwards onto her unmade bed.

It wasn't that she disliked the wizard, it was just that he was ...well, a wizard. And no matter how different he seemed from the kind of wizards and witches Felicity had known, his association with all things magical made her wary of forming a friendship.

1141 words
10 July 2016