Fandom Keeping Up With The Weasleys (natasha)

[Pigeon.]

12 Grimmauld Place, London

Apprehensive, slightly distracted

Black (with yellow flowers) summer dress, midi-length, nude tights/stockings, black kitten heels

Rhian Jones

hufflepuff . witch . muggleborn

I called you into the office so you can collect your things, Miss Jones, we’re letting you go.

It had been two weeks, yet the words still buzzed in her ears every few hours, making her stomach jolt unpleasantly. Rhian still felt the sheer bewilderment she experienced when sat opposite grey-haired Cobalt Flint, the chief wizarding examination officer who had been appointed a year after she had joined. She could picture the image of his hands pressed together behind his desk - the twinkle of a smile in his eyes though his lips remained thin, almost pursed. She hadn’t gone quietly, demanding to know why.

Why, when she was easily the most dedicated person there to wizarding education, was she being cast out? Why, when she had devoted so much extra time to this career, was she suddenly deemed unworthy? Why, when she had been in this job for almost two years, that these ‘problems’ with her work were coming to light now?

It was only as she was escorted out of the office and through into the Atrium that it struck her. She had taken a moment to watch as all the paraphernalia of Cornelius Fudge was magically removed, the large hanging moving banner folding itself in the air and floating to the ground. Her eyes had widened as she was forcibly moved along towards the emerald fireplaces. Did this have something to do with her blood status? She had heard whispers that Cobalt was prejudiced, that his family was known, as many of the sacred-twenty-eight families were, for being extremist in their outlook. As she was consumed by the green flames of the Floo Network, she reflected on the year she had spent under his direction; she could finally piece together the subtle hints, the underhand jibes. Cobalt Flint had simply jumped on his chance, amidst all this chaos, to rid his department of Muggleborns.

Rhian had travelled back to her hometown and spent at least three days crying on her mother’s shoulder and eating as much cake as humanly possible; this felt worse than a break-up. Never had she ever envisioned being fired from her job, the job that was hopefully going to lead to her ultimate goal – to revolutionise wizarding education, from the inside. She had sent a dozen letters to various contacts she had in the Ministry, to try and fight her case; the response was disappointing – but in some ways, expected. What did her case matter, now that the truth was out about He Who Must Not Be Named? He was back, and something nagged at Rhian that told her he never truly left, despite the Daily Prophet’s attempts to discredit Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

Explaining the whole crisis to her parents was challenging, but they were as supportive as ever. With three magical children, they had learned as much as they could about their world, and she was forever grateful. She did, however, declined their offer for her to come and stay with them, to save her some rent money. Rhian had enough saved and a good enough relationship with her landlord to know that her living situation wasn’t going to be a problem, at least not for some time. As she had started the process of finding a new job, an unusual letter had arrived. Unusual in both its contents and its sender. Her old Headmaster had requested to meet with her as soon as possible.

It seemed ludicrous that Dumbledore wanted to meet with her; but her curiosity got the better of her and she agreed. When he did indeed show up on her doorstep, with a bar of Honeydukes Best Chocolate to share, she was catapulted into a world she never knew existed. After making them both a cup of tea, he explained everything. In his own words, he re-told the story of Voldemort’s (she had shivered at the name) return, openly criticised the Ministry, divulged information about current Death Eater activity, revealed the true story of Sirius Black (this had her particularly dumbfounded, since the Daily Prophet had barely explained the details behind the man's innocence and recent death, as though it hadn't really mattered) – and importantly – invited her to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

You’re a marvellous witch, Rhian. Yes, you may be known for your talent in transfiguration, but that was never your only strong suit. You excelled at practically everything that was thrown at you, and you also have a wonderful tendency to make people smile. So, really, I would be a dingbat if I didn’t make the effort to ask.

Rhian had made the point to store away his words, as ‘marvellous’ as she might be, she didn’t often get to hear it; least not from the greatest wizard of the century. As for making people smile, well, she felt as though she hadn't been able to do that since she had lost her job.

It was late evening, the sky a swirling mix, orange, blue and white cloud, the air thick with summer heat. Grimmauld Place was quiet, aside from the occasional car that whizzed past. She stood across from an unsuspecting row of tall, terraced townhouses, her heart thumped her chest. Rhian had arrived for her very first meeting, but where was Number 12? She unfurled the little slip of paper in her hand that contained the address of the Order’s headquarters. Dumbledore was secret-keeper, and he had told her the secret. When she looked back up, however, it had appeared.

Swallowing thickly, she crossed the road quickly, looking over her shoulder to triple check that she hadn’t been followed. Her black kitten heels clicked on the pavement, her yellow flower dotted black dress swooshed just above her knees. She reached the black-wood door, which was adorned with a silver knocked twisted in the shape of a serpent – though, it was the doorbell that she chose to press. Instantly, she could hear the clang of the bell and then there was screeching…Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! She recoiled in shock and almost backed away, but shuffling footsteps and a click of a lock made her stay rooted to the spot. The door flew open, and she was pulled inside.

 

[Pigeon.]

93 Diagon Alley, London

Excited, a little tired

White t-shirt, knee-length light khaki shorts, trainers

Fred Weasley

gryffindor . wizard. pureblood

Fred felt incredibly lucky. In a life characterised by never having anything, suddenly, the dream he and his brother had been visualising for some time now seemed to be a reality. They were about to open a joke shop, a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Sometimes he felt like he needed to be pinched, like he was going to wake up and find himself sat next to Percy in an office somewhere, writing reports for the rest of his life. That life wasn’t for him, and it wasn’t for George either. Admittedly, it was a shame that their last year at Hogwarts had been a shambles, but that toad of a woman, Umbridge, had been the icing on the cake of ‘we’re done with education’. It was also a shame that He Who Must Not Be Named had made his return; somehow that really managed to put a downer on things.

Strangely, it was the Boy Who Lived who had pushed Fred and George into action. The day that Harry had given them his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament, over a year ago, when everyone was trying to process the death of Cederic Diggory and what it meant for them, was something Fred thought about often. He had been so resolute in his dismissal of Harry’s gold, embarrassed that he was even being offered the jingling sack of galleons. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need them more than usual before long. Harry’s persistence – particularly the idea of needing laughs - had forced the twins’ hand, they accepted the gold and got to work.

Their final year at school, minus their involvement with Dumbledore’s Army and a tumultuous Quidditch season, was dedicated to developing their Skiving Snackboxes; but this was just one range of products that Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had to offer. They spent the year with their heads together, which wasn’t unusual – what was unusual was how ridiculously hard they had worked to design their products and packaging, to draw a floor plan of the premises they had been scouting out for the shop, to come up with a five-year business plan. Of course, no one really knew about the extent of their plans – apart from their best mate, Lee. They were certain opening day was going to be a total shock for their friends and family, and they simply couldn’t wait.

Now, as Fred climbed down the stairs to the basement, he knew how much work they had to do today, but at least they'd have an extra pair of hands. Morning sunlight poured through the strip of glass that ran along the top of the back wall, illuminating the stock. Fred yawned widely as he surveyed the large room, which was filled to the brim with boxes, full of a wide array of products: fake wands, magical fireworks, love potions, dung bombs, screaming yo-yos, boxing telescopes. In the corner of the relatively cobweb free stockroom stood a little playpen that George was crooning over, shaking a box labelled ‘Puff Pellets’ into a metal dish. The floor of the pen had been layered with blankets, and Fred could hear the distinct, excited squeaks of about a dozen pink and purple pygmy puffs they had managed to breed themselves. He let out an exasperated sigh.

“Those things never shut up” he groaned, weaving through the pillars of boxes towards his twin, who turned around and wore a scowl.

“If they don’t sell out within a week, we’re never stocking them again” George conceded, for it had been his idea to include them in their WonderWitch range after hearing how popular they were among the opposite sex. He looked past his twin at the wonky clock that was mounted near the staircase. “Jamie will be here soon. Hopefully she’ll take an interest in them instead”.

As George picked up one particularly lazy ball of purple fluff to place it by the food bowl, Fred couldn’t help but let his mind wonder. It had only been a handful of weeks since he had last saw Jamie. The twins had just employed her as a shop assistant after she responded to their advert in the Daily Prophet, and today was her first day. They didn’t even have to interview her - it was easier to go with someone they knew, someone they trusted – and someone who was okay with their pay being delayed until they had opened up. Perhaps alongside Angelina Johnson, Jamie Arryn was one of Fred’s closer female friends. She crossed the house divide too, being a Hufflepuff; but that never seemed to matter. Jamie just clicked with the twins. She was always down for a laugh, and quick-witted enough to keep up with their changeable sense of humour. He could hear her laugh and picture her smile and her brilliant blue eyes rather clearly. Maybe too clearly. His mouth went a little dry. There had always been something between them. He wasn’t naïve enough to deny that it was probably some sort of mutual attraction. It was amplified when they shared a dance at the Yule Ball, a memory that he found sometimes drifted languidly across his mind, particularly while lying in bed. He gave an involuntary cringe at the memory of his shoulder length hair. Still, even with George’s coaxing and jibing, he didn’t quite know how to admit that he had liked her. The feeling seemed to come and go, distracted by the whirlwind that seemed to be their lives. Their family had become integral to the Order of the Phoenix, and sometimes it was hard to think about anything, let alone opening a joke shop. Was that feeling still there? There was a distant knock on the shop door. His twin made a start towards the stairs.

“I’ll get it” Fred blurted, darting in front of George, whose face had split into a wide smile.

“I’m sure you will, mate” he teased, but it fell on deaf ears for his twin had already climbed the stairs two at a time. Fred moved through the empty shop floor; the colourful decorations amplified in the morning summer sun. He spotted her, stood on the other side of the door and he couldn’t help but let a grin spread across his face. He reached up to unlock the door and pulled it open. “Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, how may I help you?” he announced, leaning against the door frame casually as if to impress. natasha.

 

[natasha.]

12 Grimmauld Place, London

Surprised

Grey shirt, dark slacks, moccasins

William 'Bill' Weasley

gryffindor . wizard. pureblood

For Bill, this wasn't technically his first war. It was, however, the first war he was being actively involved in. The first wizarding war came and went in the blink of an eye for him, though there were faint memories of the time. Regardless of the situation, Bill never felt quite unhappy or stifled as a child. His innocence preserved, he was able to live through to the end of the first one while leading happy days, and knowing even happier ones were to come.

It was different this time around. Bill was no longer a child, and all his work in Egypt and other parts of the world couldn't compare to what it felt like to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Having only recently moved back to England to help out in the efforts against the Dark Lord and his followers, Bill was getting adjusted to a routine. Meetings were frequent, especially since the untimely passing of Sirius Black, and Bill continued his work at Gringotts. Things were changing, and the world was becoming a more dangerous place for muggles and wizards alike, but Bill felt confident that the Order's efforts would put a stop to Voldemort once and for all. If they couldn't, nobody could.

Today was a slower day than usual. It was early, but as Bill did most days, he showed up to Grimmauld Place to see if there were any new developments. He was well aware of the changes taking place, especially within the Ministry of Magic, and as he mulled on those thoughts while he made his way into the house, Bill found his thoughts drifting toward an old flame.

Well, Rhian was hardly just a flame. His last year of school with her had easily been one of the best of his life, and even when they parted ways and he left to pursue a career that had him out-stationed for the longest time, Bill's mind often went back to Rhian. He kept up with her as much as he could, though last he'd heard, she'd found a job working in the Ministry. Bill didn't know the details of it, though with everything going on, he couldn't help but worry just a little. The Weasley's had never had anything against half-blood and muggleborn witches and wizards — they weren't like a lot of other pureblooded families, which was likely what earned them the nickname of 'blood traitor'. But because this kind of prejudice existed in the wizarding world, naturally Bill felt concerned. Him and Rhian may have parted ways, but that didn't mean he didn't care for her anymore.

The same thoughts seem to run through his mind as he lazily shed his coat and made his way into the kitchen. The house was quiet. If anyone was inside, they were busy doing their own thing, and likely wouldn't notice Bill's presence or pay him much attention unless there was something to say. With it being so peaceful as Bill made himself a cup of tea, he could almost pretend like there was no threat of war hanging over their heads. He knew better than to pretend that wasn't the case though. Now wasn't the time for anyone to let their guards down.

A loud screeching broke through the serenity that Bill had settled into, and he nearly jumped back in surprise, spilling some of his tea onto the floor — and along the top of his hand. His skin burned wherever the beverage touched it because it was still quite hot, and Bill muttered a curse under his breath while he reached for an old cloth nearby to dab his hand dry and stifle some of the burning. It wasn't bad, but the skin was visibly irritated. He didn't think he could ever get used to that bloody portrait.

Setting the cloth aside, Bill took a few long strides toward the front door, wondering just who it was that might be knocking at the door, instead of just walking right in. Everyone else did, so it struck him as a little odd. Regardless, he knew their location wouldn't be given away to just anyone, and so, after he made sure to draw the curtains over old Walburga Black's portrait — which admittedly did little to stifle her screams — Bill opened up the door. He intended on moving aside to let in whoever was there, but when he caught the familiar tint of blonde hair, he was rooted into place. Bill's gaze seemed fixated on the woman before him, partially because he was surprised, and also because he never expected to see Rhian showing up at Grimmauld Place. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he shouldn't have been surprised. She was a perfect addition to the Order. Bill was probably more surprised that he hadn't known about it in advance, and had to open the door to see her standing there without a clue as to what to expect.

He was briefly at a loss for words. "Rhian?" He spoke her name, mainly to convince himself that it was indeed his ex-girlfriend standing there. Then he seemed to remember that she was out in plain sight, so he forced himself to move, allowing her to step inside.

93 Diagon Alley, London

Excited

Dark blue t-shirt, jeans, sneakers.

Jameson 'Jamie' Arryn

hufflepuff . witch/seer . muggleborn

Jamie admittedly grew up not quite knowing what she wanted to do for a living. Becoming an Auror had a certain appeal, and she always thought she'd be good at it. By the time she finished her seventh year, she had the grades for it too — and she'd somehow managed to make it in Potions when it had been one of her weakest subjects.

But with the state of things at the Ministry ever since everything that happened in the past year — or past years perhaps, since this wasn't all just starting all of a sudden — Jamie thought it was better if she didn't pursue a job under prejudiced witches and wizards. She probably wouldn't even get a job, and that was the best case scenario. Dealing with discrimination if she did get a job would perhaps be even worse. As much as she wanted to help put away dark wizards and witches, right now she had to help out the war effort. Having spent a couple of Christmases at the Weasley household — and last year at Grimmauld Place — Jamie knew all she needed to know about the Order. At the time, she'd been considered too young to join, but that wasn't the case anymore.

It was good to know she at least had somewhere to go, instead of home. With the rise in muggle deaths in the world, Jamie thought it was best she stay away from home for a while. Her uncle and brother seemed to understand, but that didn't make it any less hard. The only ray of light in all of this was when Jamie had been told that the twins were officially opening up shop in Diagon Alley, and from the moment she found out, she knew she wanted to help their efforts. At a time like this, people needed to laugh more, and they needed to keep their spirits lifted. Fred and George were helping with that in so many ways, and if Jamie could contribute to that even a little, she was happy. She applied for a job to help out right away, and her first day on the job had arrived.

Jamie spent the past week getting other things in order. She'd managed to find a decent enough place to stay in that was close to Diagon Alley — well, technically it was a floor above a flower shop. It was small, but that was enough for her, and it was a five minute walk away from the twins. Jamie thought it was perfect, especially if she needed to pop into work every day. The world was definitely becoming a more dangerous place, and the changes were evident in the streets alone. So many places had gone out of business, but the twins had one hell of a business on their hands, and she had complete faith in them, and their work. Jamie was keeping her head up so she knew when to step in and help the war efforts when needed, but until then, she was happy to work on little tasks like stocking shelves or doing inventory. Plus, a little extra time spent with the twins was a bonus.

A little extra time spent with Fred, rather.

Jamie adored George, and they got along splendidly, but it didn't quite match the way she got along with Fred. Many times over the past few years, she'd been led to believe that maybe there could be something more. The only reason Jamie hadn't really admitted it is because she values her friendship with Fred, and the last thing she wanted to do was mess it up by being the only one feeling these feelings. Still, she was going to enjoy any time she got with Fred, and she was certainly excited at the prospect of working with him for days to come.

Jamie arrived at the shop a little early, and she knocked on the door because she didn't seem to be able to see anyone inside just yet. Assuming they were upstairs, she just leaned against the wall with her hands in her pockets till she eventually heard faint footsteps. The door swung open, and Jamie stood up straight, smirking a bit when Fred greeted her the way he would a customer. "You can help me by letting me in and telling me what I can to do help you," Jamie told him with a small chuckle, nudging his shoulder with her own as she attempted to wiggle her way through him and the door.