Chapter Text
It’s the most ridiculous house I’ve ever seen in my life. I stand staring at the house before me and the feeling of foreboding swells in my chest. Totally anti-muggle. I mean the only possible way it could be standing is by magic. If a muggle were to see it they’d either have to request a change in the laws of physics or accept that there really is such thing as magic. My stomach bubbles in stressed discomfort and I unconsciously cross my arms over it, hugging myself. I hate stress. Honestly hate it with every fiber of my being. Hate. Hate. Hate.
I can’t seem to convince my feet to move forward on the path. The whole situation is making my skin crawl. It’s nauseating. Pretty much my worst nightmare come to life. Having my freedom forcibly stripped from me.
You see the whole reason I’m here standing outside this architectural eyesore is because of a law that was passed. A marriage law, of all things. What kind of government gets involved in people’s love lives? The British Ministry of Magic apparently. I guess the Wizarding population took a pretty hard hit in the war. Oh didn’t I mention that? Yeah there was a war.
Long story short some crazy nutso named Voldemort went berserk and gathered a bunch of followers (Death Eaters) and had them kill a bunch of muggles and muggleborns because their blood wasn’t up to his standards. But this kid and his school mates killed him a couple months ago and it’s all good now. Before Potter (the kid) snuffed him though, he killed a lot of muggleborns. A lot. And since muggleborns make up like half of Wizarding population nowadays we’re pretty low on magical blood now. That’s why they passed this law.
As if everyone won’t be poppin’ out kids like they’re going out of style now that old Voldy’s gone anyway. I swear the government these days… I thought we were finally on an upward swing with Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister, but apparently that was only temporary. They voted in some shmuck named Denison to take the permanent position. I think she just enjoys playing matchmaker honestly.
Which brings us back to the present situation.
The reason I’m here standing outside “The Burrow”, as the sign hanging crookedly on the gate proclaims it, is because I have been assigned to marry one of its occupants within the next two months. One Fred Weasley. You know, some random guy that I’ve never even met before. I now get to bond myself for life to him because some loony in a position of power enjoys saying jump and watching a whole nation clamber to its feet. It’s disgusting. Revolting. Vile. Inhuman. Unfair. Humiliating. Infuriating. And just plain ARGABLARGA@&#$%#*%#$*#@%%*!!!!
But anyway.
Finally, I gather the courage to pull open the gate blocking the pathway to The Burrow. As I trudge down the dirt pathway skirting chickens and eyeing them distrustfully, the picture the Ministry sent me of Fred pops unbidden into my mind’s eye. He is rather good looking. I’ll admit that. The obnoxious Weasley red hair suits his ocean blue eyes (even if I do think it’s a bit long) and his freckles aren’t totally overwhelming. He’s got a nice facial structure, strong chin and all that, and a fit looking body from what I could see of his shoulders.
Unfortunately his shit eating grin and unrelenting flirtatious winking ruined all of that. Seriously I haven’t even met him yet and I want to punch him in the face. Ugh.
I give one final chicken a death glare (I don’t like birds okay?) and step up to the door. One deep breath later and I’ve knocked. I can hear several loud voices from within all shouting over one another and I begin to wonder if they can even hear me knocking. The idea that I may just have to let myself in and announce myself terrifies me so I knock again. Well I bang my fist on the wooden door as hard as I can without injuring myself anyway. This at least causes a slight lull in the yelling.
I hear footsteps on the other side of the door begin approaching me before the yelling resumes and swallows them up. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and pray to whoever may be listening that I don’t look as terrified as I feel. The door finally pops open, releasing the full volume of the yelling voices within and a girl with long red Weasley hair glares out at me.
“What?” she snaps irritably.
“Umm,” is all that comes out. This is certainly not the reception I was expecting. I’d always heard good things about the Weasleys.
“What are you doing here?” she questions slowly as though I’m some lower life form. This sparks a bit of anger in me, just enough to get out some intelligible words.
“The marriage law. I’m supposed to meet-,”
“Ugh,” she rolls her eyes and stomps into the house beckoning for me to follow.
I make a face at her back and slog into the house behind her. I’m so dreading meeting this Fred Weasley that I can’t even be bothered with looking around the place. I focus my laser eyes on the back of Miss Pouty Pants’s head instead. I follow her down a hall and then turn left at the foot of the stairs into the kitchen, the source of all the raised voices. I hesitate a smidge in the doorway before I force myself to walk through it.
I couldn’t tell you much about what the kitchen looks like because it is jammed full of people, the majority of which have flaming heads. Well not literally, but their hair is red and they all seem very angry about something. I lose track of the unpleasant girl in the mass of new and vaguely familiar faces. I’ve just connected the dots and recognized Harry Potter when a loud sharp BANG rips through the air.
I jump and flinch away from the noise while nearly everyone else whips out theirs wands and strikes battle poses. My eyes widen at the sight of the wands and I step back into the doorway fingering my own.
“Oh put those away. I was only getting your attention.”
I struggle to identify the owner of the woman’s voice and finally spot her sitting at the far end of the table to my left with Grumpy Gills herself standing beside her, arms crossed and glaring a hole through my forehead. Jeez. What did I do?
The woman, whom I can only assume is Mrs. Weasley, gets to her feet. She looks worn and tired and her eyes are puffy like she’s been crying, but she still has a commanding aura about her that no one in the room dares to cross. Everyone quickly tucks away their wands and avoids her glare.
“Now if you’re all finished behaving like ruffians, we have a guest,” she says, smiling warmly at me. I grin weakly back, more than a little uncomfortable with all of the assessing eyes raking me up and down. My hand goes behind my back of its own accord to tug nervously at the end of my ponytail while the other hand clenches into a fist at my side.
“Erm hi. I’m Cora,” I tell them all with an awkward half wave.
“Pleased to meet you. Who are you here for dearie?” Mrs. Weasley asks glancing around the room. “It must be Charlie. He’s the only one left. I’m sorry dear but he’s in Romania still. Won’t be back until-,”
“Er no,” I interrupt when it becomes clear she won’t be running out of steam. “I’m uh, I’m actually here to see, er, meet Fred. Um, Fred Weasley?” My voice rises in pitch slightly making it a question when they all stare uncomprehendingly at me. I tug the end of my ponytail a bit harder at all the tension in the room.
“He’s my, umm, match,” I mutter and my lips press together in distaste at the word.
“Fred’s dead,” a quiet but rough voice finally fills the awkward silence. My eyes flick to the speaker and I blink at him for a moment. He’s sickly and pale. There’s no smirk and he’s not winking at me, but there’s no mistaking that he’s a dead ringer for the photograph of Fred Weasley that I received from the Ministry. I squint at him for a moment and then actually take my letter with match photo attached out of my pocket and squint at the two side by side. Yup. Dead ringer.
Then why is he lying to me? Oh right. Duh Cora. He’s trying to get out of marrying me. A pathetic attempt really. Still, I manage a small smile.
“Oh I see,” I say knowingly. “A family of jokes! Ha ha. Very funny. No, actually, it’s really not. A lot of families lost loved ones to the war so it’s pretty low of you to lie about it. And besides, the Ministry would know-”
“It’s not a lie!” Fred Weasley snarls at me, slamming his fists onto the table and half standing from his seat to lean towards me looking furious. I take another bewildered step back, but the man standing behind him places a hand on his shoulder and forces him back down.
“It’s not a lie,” the second Weasley states, much more calmly than his, I’m assuming, brother. The red hair and freckles really are a giveaway, although this Weasley boy wears his in a long ponytail and has a golden stud in one ear.
“Fred died in the battle at Hogwarts,” a bushy haired brunette girl (obviously not related) explains looking confused as to why I’m even there. I frown at all of them. They all look fully serious and maybe a little pained and angry to be having this conversation at all. This only adds to my confusion.
“But… But the Ministry would know,” I repeat. They all stare wordlessly at me so I continue slowly. “As I’m sure you all know, when a wizard dies his name gets wiped off the Book of Registered Wizards. So if his name isn’t in the book anymore how would they match me with him?” I ask, holding up the official match designation form with Fred’s name and photo. They gape wordlessly between the parchment in my hand and a matching one in front of Mrs. Weasley that appears to have my photo on it and then all hell breaks loose.
An older balding man, Mr. Weasley, shoves past everyone and runs to the floo closely followed by a stuck up Gryffindor I remember being Head Boy in my 6th year. Petey, or something like that. I’m bad with names. They each grab some powder and shout out “Ministry of Magic”, one after the other, before disappearing with a whoosh of green flames.
Mrs. Weasley has collapsed into her chair and seems to be on the verge of passing out. The boy with the ponytail is trying to calm her which is not helped by formerly-angry-Weasley-girl beside them chanting “Oh my Godric. Oh my Godric,” over and over again with varying inflections. The bushy haired girl is rapidly speaking to Harry Potter and a tall gangly Weasley boy, but I can’t hear what it is over the indecipherable yelling coming from every single corner of the room.
It’s a lot like how it was when I first walked in, only now everyone looks rather pale and panicked rather than red and angry. I catch a few key phrases like, “That explains the letter!” and “Then where is he?”
I feel a set of eyes on me and my gaze is drawn to the boy I assumed was Fred Weasley.
I now belated remember that there is a set of twins in the Weasley family. Fred Weasley must be half of it and this boy the other half. Furthermore, I remember a lot of gossip about the infamous jokester Weasley Twins in Gryffindor in the year below me at Hogwarts. Ugh. Is it too much to hope that there are two sets of Weasley Twins? For my own sanity I’m going to go with the answer no. No, it’s not.
The Fred Weasley look alike is staring at me with an unreadable expression. It could be some muted, washed out form of curiosity, but I’m not entirely sure. I look away. I just wish he would blink or start freaking out like the rest of his family. Although seriously, I’m not sure they could get any louder. I thought my family was bad. There’s even a vaguely familiar blonde girl jabbering fearfully in what seems to be French, although I can’t be certain.
The chaos continues for several minutes and I’m just considering slipping out and going home when the fireplace flares up bright green and Mr. Weasley rushes out looking pale, disheveled, and leaving a trail of ash behind him.
“It’s true!” he cries over all the hullabaloo as Petey tumbles out of the fireplace behind him looking shell shocked. “He’s alive!”