nobody move, nobody get hurt [rosie]

[FREDERICK IGNATIUS WEASLEY]

Fred wasn’t exactly having the most exciting day, tapping away at top of one of the window-side tables in the Gryffindor common room. Several scrunched up balls of paper laid about his feet and littered the top of the desk, while splotches of ink adorned the immediate area of his workspace and kept smudging on his hand. Fred grabbed a spare piece of parchment and tried to wipe it off, before ripping off the last disaster that was his essay, crunching it into a ball and throwing it over his shoulder. There wasn’t really anyone else in the room with him – a first year was dozing on the sofa by the fire, but that was it – and to be honest, he was perfectly bored of Transfiguration homework.

It was his own fault, he mused and rather imagined one of his cousins would tell him exactly that when they found out he’d been sat there for the last hour. He’d woken up late that morning, none of his room mates seemingly willing to wake him up. Fred frowned slightly in memory at that; someone could’ve at least woken him up, but he guessed he had been complaining (rather loudly) about a killer headache the night before. Maybe the guys was trying to help Fred out in case he was still feeling ill? Nonetheless, Fred had been at least half an hour late for class and since he decided to spend the rest of the day chatting instead of working, he now wasn’t able to go down to the Quidditch pitch with his friends to watch them practise. This homework was due in the next day and Fred hadn’t even made a start on it.

The brunette realised he’d stopped writing again and looked down at the fresh parchment, hand hovering over it as though threatening to douse the page in ink. He’d written his name in the top corner during his little reminiscence – an untidy scrawl, barely legible – but nothing was coming to mind. They had been learning about... well, something. Fred really hadn’t been paying much attention, more preoccupied with flicking parchment balls at a Slytherin’s head to improve his aim. He’d had little success, but had managed to get one down his shirt collar. That had made his morning. Sighing, he delved into his bag and pulled out his course book, muttering to himself. ”Teacher’s are working us wicked bloody hard,” he complained, astounded by how fierce the entire staff were being already. He’d known NEWTs were going to be tough, but did it have to be this bad? It was only the beginning of term!

Sitting up and chucking the book on the desk, he managed to knock his inkpot off the desk and he watched helplessly as it bounced onto the floor, over the rug and towards the sofa. ”Bollocks!” he hissed, grabbing a piece of spare parchment, unscrunching it and chucking it over a puddle of ink in the hope that it would absorb the mess up. Just what he needed, staining the floor and getting Longbottom pissed at him. He ran over to collect the ink pot, grumbling under his breath about how impractical it was for pots to be round – why couldn’t they be square? They’d roll less! - and frowned as the pot had gone underneath the sofa. Getting down on his knees, he made a grab for the pot when the first year he’d forgotten existed decided to wake up. The first indication Fred has was a pair of legs slipping down either side of his waist, accompanied by a small shriek from the surprised, confused and sleepy boy. Fred himself couldn’t say he wasn’t a little shocked – he jumped, whacked his head on the edge of the sofa and sat up, accidentally pulling the first year off the sofa with the motion as the boy’s legs hooked behind Fred’s arms, and then falling backwards on top of the kid.

There was a minor struggle and Fred desperately scrambled to get off the scared child, who promptly ran away. Irritable, he yelled after the kid. “Watch where you’re putting your damn legs, brat!” he shouted, raising a fist after the kid. Seriously. Fred was not having a good day. And besides, how could the kid not have expected someone to be down there when he woke up? Grumbling to himself once more, he returned to fetching his pot from under the sofa and sat down in front of it, clutching the offending item in one hand and gingerly poking his head with the other. He winced. Okay, that was a pretty hard whack, apparently. Maybe he’d be forced to go see the school nurse, and then he could get out of lessons? That sounded pretty damn good to him.

notes: not entirely sure what happened. apologies for running away a bit there. >.>