AMOR FATI . . . fred weasley

I. NEW YEAR, NEW ME

11 : 46 PM 31/12/1994

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

JOHANNAH ATTLEE thinks the phrase 'new year, new me' is - well, frankly, dragonshit.

    As far as she's concerned, no matter how many wounds 1995 reopens and leaves bleeding, the next twelve months will be just like the past twelve months, and the twelve before that: full of chaos, dreams, nightmares, and really flipping messy.

   Take Exhibit A for example: Cedric Amos Diggory.

    She adores him with every bone in her body (who wouldn't, if that angel-whispering dreamboy was their closest confidant), but his sudden limelight in the past few months has stuck to them like treacle, oozing over their privacy and seeping through the cracks of their snoozy Sunday afternoons. Joey is utterly against stereotyping Hufflepuffs - after all, she isn't completely thick, she got four OWLS! - but all they did together before the bloody Tournament was sleep, play Quidditch and eat. Although, admittedly, it really could've been worse; she had eaten herself up with terror at the announcement of the Tournament, knowing who else would put their lives in danger in a heartbeat for the irresistible temptation of everlasting glory...

   Which brings her on to Exhibit B as to why her life's such a blooming circus: Fred and George Weasley.

   George is turning away from the railings of the Astronomy tower, freckles glowing like stars, to snatch the Firewhisky his best friend's clutching. 'You know, for a Hufflepuff you're bloody awful at sharing.'

    He swipes the bottle of liquid fire and drinks it reverentially, letting it swirl down his ravaged throat.

    'Well if Helga Hufflepuff had ever met you two, she'd've probably rethought the whole being-nice-to-everyone thing,' Joey retorts drily. It doesn't come naturally to her, does spite; all she wants to do is roar back her head and laugh.

    'Excuse me, we're nice to you!' says George with mock indignation. 'We got you a cake for Christmas!'

    'George, it was full of Ton-Tongue Toffees!'

    'Well, we have to test them on someone!'

    'And we're running out of options,' comes Fred's voice. He's splayed over the railings still, back to her, watching the lake trembling in the light of a crescent moon. 'We already put crushed Canary Creams in Snape's pumpkin juice.'

    'Test your products on yourselves then, plonkers.'

    George looks aghast, clasping his chest in shock. 'Us, potentially stuck as canaries forever? Us?'

    'It'd be an improvement!'

    'You're only saying that because we're too devilishly handsome for you to deal with,' laughs Fred, squeezing himself between his two best friends in their blanket nest.

    Giving Snape hell had always been their speciality, and by the end of the first year of doing so, the trio were inseparable and formidable. When rumours circulated around the school like wildfire that Joey had left her unloving Muggle home to live with the Weasleys, it surprised nobody, and shocked many teachers who had already forgotten which of the three students had actually shared a womb.

    They had salvaged her from a loveless household, a life that wasn't worth living, a past that bled and bruised. Wasn't it a blessing that after the childhood she'd suffered through, Joey could be friends with one Weasley, let alone two?