[DISCONTINUED] Speak of the Devil // Fred Weasley

August 1997 Part 3

Word Count: 2000~

Possible TW: Food/Eating (not in detail)

Rhiannon dragged her tired feet along the pavement. She was much too hungry to remember which store's Floo Network she had used to get to Diagon Alley, and with more than half of the stores closed down it had become practically impossible to find an open Floo fireplace.

Rhiannon took a second to look around in an attempt to locate another open shop. Towards the end of the street, she saw Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, it had been shut down for a few months now, the bright orange and purple structure still stood tall and strong. It seemed to be untouched, more than could be said for the majority of the other shops in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, she did not have a key to the shop and therefore she couldn't access their Floo Network so she had to keep looking.

Since the "political" climate was rather delicate at the time, Rhiannon felt it safest to walk with her head low and to walk quickly. To be completely honest, she wasn't even sure why Mrs. Weasley had allowed her to go to Diagon Alley all alone but she imagined that it had something to do with her being the only person in the entire Burrow who was not being sought out by Death Eaters.

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All of the obvious people, of course, the majority of the Weasley family for being blood traitors, Harry for being... Harry, and Hermione for her less than pureblood status. Rhiannon was lucky to be of a pure enough blood status that she wouldn't be persecuted. Her mother was a wonderful witch hailing from the pureblooded Prewett family but her father, Thomas Evans, was a squib. It was rather sad to be completely honest, he had also come from a highly regarded wizarding family, a French pureblooded family called Evanders but as a squib, he was forced to change his name.

He was sent to Britain at the young age of eleven and started going by the name Evans to fit in. He had essentially been shunned at an age where other wizards had just begun their magical schooling. Even the Frenchness of his accent had disappeared within a few years and been replaced by a thick Scottish one.

When he turned eighteen, he began working at Hogwarts alongside Filch, it was not the noblest work but it was work nonetheless. Here was where he met Margaret Prewett, Rhiannon's mother. She, three years his junior, fell in love with him almost immediately. Though it took a while for their relationship to solidify, everything seemed to happen naturally. A long nine years after they first met, Rhiannon was born.

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A major downside to speed-walking while looking at the pavement and carrying heavy bags is that you begin to lose your balance and fail to see further than three meters in front of your feet. She had barely made it fifteen meters away from the restaurant when she felt something hard jab into her shoulder.

Her back bent awkwardly and her feet left their secure position beneath her as she fell towards the ground. All of her bags collapsed onto the pavement and the smallest of them all flew away with the impact and momentum of her spill. She watched the small box escape the safety of the bag and burst open onto the street. The once pristine asphalt, now covered in chocolate and cream, held Rhiannon's last hope of bringing back the joy she had felt with Fred on the night of Ginny's birthday.

Up until this point, she had been entirely focused on the destruction of Fred's cake but as she brought her attention closer to where she lay, she noticed a pair of spotless, black shoes standing in front of her. Slowly turning her head up to the owner of the shoes, she was brought face to face with a pair of piercing, silver eyes.

Draco Malfoy, the vilest person she knew. Personally, at least. She contemplated arguing with him but considering that he was the one that nearly killed Dumbledore, she figured it was best not to provoke him. Even before she got a chance to speak he already had an irritated, disgusted look on his face and scoffed at her.