Hogwarts' Dawn
Chapter 5
By Jeconais
Author Notes:
Thanks to Kokopelli for betaing this for me.
“And I call this, the last meeting of the Weasley Twins of the year, to order,” Fred said regally.
“Here here,” George added.
“According to our agreed agenda, the first item on the list is our family, and the other things that we have discovered during our day of working independently.”
George sighed. “Let’s start from the bottom up, with darling Ginevra. She’s decided that she ‘loves’ Harry again this week. So she’s jealous of Kate, and is bad mouthing Harry for being with the ‘slut’.”
“Kate’s not a slut,” Fred pointed out. “She’s a prostitute, a lady of ‘negotiable’ affections.”
“True,” George agreed. “Anyway, so this week the bad mouthing is due to love, unlike last week, when it was due to hate. It strikes me as remarkably sad that in no time during this did she think to try supporting him.”
“Do you think that now we have some money, we should try and get her some sort of counselling? This behaviour can’t be good for her.”
“If we did that, we’d have to include half our family,” George pointed out. “If not more. Which leads us neatly onto Ronald. I believe you have been investigating him.”
“Our darling younger brother is still on the ‘he’s in it for the fame’ kick, and it’s got worse since Harry fought the dragon. He now compares Harry to Malfoy, not favourably, and all he sees is the fact that Harry has friends he doesn’t, does things he doesn’t, and took someone like Kate to the ball, and his jealousy is off the scale.
“There’s also some weird thing with Hermione going on. Despite the fact that Harry has stated clearly that he claims Hermione as his sister, Ron blames him for ‘stealing’ her from him.”
George sighed. “If I look long enough, will I ever find the logic?”
“No.”
“Right, I won’t bother then. So, Percy?”
“Has taken prathood to a new level. We need a new word for him, because his pratness is just completely unreal. He looks down his nose at us because he has a job in the Ministry. I stole his first pay slip; we earned more than him last month with out factoring in our main job working for Harry. He seems to think that the Ministry actually has power, when all it is, is a collection of people reliant on the rich and powerful for their jobs, with a thin veneer of democracy thrown on top of it.”
“Which takes us to dear Chuckles, who is mine. Harry managed to hide the fact that we taught him that charm, but he’s pissed at Harry for daring to fight one. He’s bogged off back to Romania where he spends all his time with the other rugged male specimens.” George shrugged his shoulder expressively.
“You think he really wanted to ride Harry’s broomstick?” Fred asked.
“I wouldn’t discount it,” George muttered. “Which leaves Bill, and frankly, I’m getting just a little fed up of his very young girlfriends having just left school. He’s right at the top end of the acceptable age for dating school girls.
“And then we have Mum, who, let’s face it, raised us.”
“No,” Fred argued. “Unless you count shouting a form of raising? I swear, the way she would hold it in when Harry was around was the best form of entertainment we’ve had in a long time.”
“And Dad,” George finished, “well, you can see why he spends his time in the shed.”
“We don’t like our family, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” George sighed. “So, to move on to our favourite eight year old. I had a chat with Marie about Gabrielle. It turns out that she would be small for her age if she was a human, but as a Veela, she’s fine.”
“She looks to be about six,” Fred pointed out.
”Quite, and she’ll stay that way until she gets to be around twelve, then she’ll catch up over about a month. She’ll then stay like that until she’s between sixteen and seventeen, and she’ll get her adult form.”
“Weird,” Fred said with a shrug.
“One interesting thing though, Gabrielle is empathic, and she can feel what people are thinking to a small degree. If there’s anyone we doubt, we should introduce them to her.”
“Has she agreed to that?”
“As long as she has protection, Gabrielle will do anything for Harry. Oh, and if we hear anyone making bad jokes about Harry and Gabrielle, Harry passed the parent test, with Michael who turned on the full Veela-lie-detector-whammy. In the interest of being thorough, I asked Gabrielle as well, and she laughed at me. Gabrielle seems to understand the concepts of sex, but thought of following through leaves her scratching her head and wondering why.”
“Next person who insinuates something like that can fall down the stairs,” Fred decided. “Not sure that Bill would pass,” he muttered darkly as an aside. “Anyway, the bodyguards are having great fun and are happy. Lisa adores her job, and Ben’s happy – he thinks that Harry can be something special in the kick-boxing world. Smasher and Crusher are having thoughts about their future; they’re beginning to think that they would do better with someone else in charge.”
“Who do they have in mind?” George asked
“Harry. They’re going to ask him to run the business side of things, while they are in charge of personnel, training, and running the protection unit.”
“Hmm,” George said slowly. “That’s actually a good idea. Lisa doesn’t want to run it?”
“She thinks it would be dull. She is far more excited by doing the leg work.”
“All wizards lead to Harry, don’t they? But before we get to them, what have we found out about our allergies?”
“That we are clearly, definitely allergic to fir trees. Twice on Christmas day, our eyes started to run for no reason. The first was when Harry and Gabrielle exchanged presents; the second was when Harry let us into his dreams of his parents.”
“We should see if there is a potion for that,” George suggested. “But speaking of which, is there anything holding us in England?”
Fred tilted his head. “Apart from Alicia and Angelina, not really.”
“How do we feel about moving to France?”
“Why?”
“Because I happened to glance - and by glance, I meant going through her bag when she wasn’t looking – at the presents Harry gave Hermione. It was an acceptance letter to Beauxbatons. I was thinking that we might want to do that as well.”
“What about Alicia and Angelina?”
“Well, they could come, or we could try a longer distance relationship – which makes me think it would be liking leaving Hogwarts for the real world a year early, and would see if we all did love each other. Or we could break up, and well, have you seen the quality of the French girls?”
“Yes,” Fred replied with a chuckle. “Okay, we need to start learning French then. Harry will be able to get us into the school. Oh, going back, you know how we don’t know who we are?”
George nodded. “Our earliest memories are mum calling us by different names in a ten minute period when we hadn’t moved.”
“And since then, we’ve never been sure, as everyone has called us both names at some stage.”
George nodded again.
“I’m Fred, you’re George,” Fred said cheerfully. “We have identities.”
“How?”
“Harry has, right from the start, called us by the same names every time. Even when we try and move around, he doesn’t seem to notice.”
“Brilliant,” George sighed happily. “So I’m George. I always thought that I might be, but it’s nice to know for sure.”
“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “Anyway, as we’re talking about our employer, this year has changed a lot of things, hasn’t it?”
“Well, I think it’s because he’s a Potter, and Potters have been ruling class for eons. Taking control and acting like he has been is deep in his blood. It’s the only explanation of how he’s fit so neatly into the role he’s undertaken.”
“Agreed. So, let’s start with the other students in Hogwarts.”
“Right. Slytherin house. Draco Malfoy is being knocked around by the older students now. His arrogance is gone, because Snape can’t protect him, as quite a few seventh year Slytherins have discussed claiming his Dark Mark.”
“Which would be a shame,” Fred said with a grin.
“Quite. Now, we’re going to have to get some help for Melissa at some stage. The fourth year Slytherin girls have been mocked for following Malferret, and not Potter, when it is clear that Potter has the real power, and well, that’s the sort of thing that drives Slytherin girls mad.”
“There’s an additional thing here,” Fred interrupted. “I was talking with Adrienne, and she tried to explain some female logic to me, and I’m not sure I’ve got it. After yesterday, when Harry bought Kate to the ball, he’s now more attractive to every witch in the school.”
“Explain?”
“Well, it’s got nothing to do with his looks, power, or money, as those factors were in place before yesterday. It’s because Kate is drop dead gorgeous, stacked, and dances like she was born with ballet shoes on her feet. And she’s older. So, as far as the witches in this school think, if they dated Harry now, they’d be favourably compared to Kate, and would therefore appear better to everyone else in school.”
George tilted his head and his eyes crossed. “No,” he eventually said, “I can’t see the logic.”
“Like I said,” Fred agreed. “But Melissa can only do so much to keep these ambitious witches down. There are some rumours that the odd witch is planning on being found in Harry’s bed, then announcing that she’s pregnant the next day.”
George frowned. “They would have to get past the wards first, and didn’t Harry cast the sterility charm?”
“Twice,” Fred agreed. “Smart, that one. He said he was far too young for children. So, it wouldn’t work, but the fact that some are thinking along those lines is worrying.”
“Yeah. He needs a girlfriend, but he doesn’t like Fleur.”
“A teenage boy who actually won’t even think about dating a smoking hot Veela because he doesn’t like her, it’s actually kinda nice.”
“Agreed. I think we ought to step back from the girlfriend front, and let him do what he wants. It will be easier for us.”
“And less likely to get us in trouble.”
“Moving on,” George continued. “Ravenclaws are the most suspicious, as they recognise that Harry is right on the edge of having a natural boost in his size – yet he’s obviously had an unnatural boost.”
“What do we think?”
“Unnatural, he played games with the Time Dilator, which Kate thinks should be called the Time Accelerator, as it squeezes a lot of time into a small place.”
“That explains it,” Fred said cheerfully.
“Yeah, so, Cho is trying to protect Harry in there, she doesn’t want to be kicked out of the parties, the learning, and the idea that Harry’s going to be important in the future. She’s quite serious about Cedric, and wants Cedric to work for Harry, so that he can approach her parents.”
“Right, Hufflepuffs,” Fred took over. “Most of them are merely fantasising, and are quite happy about that. They’re the most supportive of Harry, mainly because of Cedric. He likes Harry anyway, and has never blamed him for what happened.
“And as for the Gryffindors, well, Lee is clearly with us, the seventh years like him, especially as he can make wine.”
“It’s not that he can make wine,” George interrupted. “It’s that he can make good wine. Did you try that poison someone made the other day?”
“Yes, and I stand by my comment that the only use for it is with chips as a condiment. If I may continue, all the younger years are influenced by Ron, Seamus and Dean and their bad mouthing.”
“Harry doesn’t even notice them these days, and that drives them insane. They’re used to their accusations being met in one way or another, but the fact that Harry doesn’t even see them half the time has them looking stupid.
“They’re also losing points in class as they’re spending time glaring at Harry and Gabrielle. One day, one of them will throw a curse, and if it goes near Gabrielle, we’ll be scraping essence du Gryffindor off the wall for a month.”
“Good. So, the last item on our agenda. A discussion about our future.”
“I was surprised to see that.”
“I was surprised to write it. With Harry just giving us quitclaim deeds to a property suitable for our shop, our future should be simple. We open the store, we make pranks, and we have a lot of success.”
“We leave home, we go back occasionally, we live independent lives and eventually beget miniature Greds and Forges to take on our legacy.”
“Exactly. However, I look back over the last few months, and wonder if that’s what we want. We’re in a position here, brother mine, that is unique.”
“In that we have the ear and the trust of a man who’s going places.”
“Precisely. I wonder if a joke shop is enough for our genius. We’ve yet to find something we can’t do when we set our mind to it, and things often take on a life of their own.”
“Like with Harry.”
“Absolutely. So, why stop here? He’s going to need close advisors all his life and why not us? We’re loyal, dependable, trustworthy, independent, and we know where the best escorts are.”
“And we’ve had a lot of fun working for him. You know, you may actually be right.”
“This isn’t to say that we give up pranks, far from it, we just treat them as we have, as something entertaining to do on the side.”
“And with the shop, we open a wine store and charge a ridiculous mark-up for it.”
“Excellent plan. So, all we have to arrange now is the next set of Harry’s lessons.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about the Second Task, Harry seems remarkably confident that we’ll be proud of him.”
“In that case, I call this meeting to a close. Let’s go find Padfoot and get drunk.”
“Faster!” Lisa barked
Harry increased his pace as much as he could, spinning the rope twice for every skip he did. He was moving as fast as he could, and could feel the sweat running down his back.
“Stop. To the bag, twenty of each low, middle and high round house kicks.”
He grabbed the bag, raised his right knee, keeping his toes pointed, he rammed the inner part of his knee into the bag, pulling down at the same time. He repeated this, using his mental count to retain focus, as he hit as hard as he could each time.
When he reached forty, he switched legs and started again. After he had finished with each leg, he looked at his trainer again, panting hard.
“Stretch,” she ordered.
He nodded in relief, and started to cool down, making sure to do each muscles group. It was amazing how one day of agony because he didn’t do a good job focused his mind.
“Good session, boss,” Lisa said as he finished. He could almost see the moment she stopped training him and became his employee again.
He grinned at her. “It’s fun.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s the best stress remover. We’re going to work on your jump kicks and spins tomorrow. You’re not keeping your balance when you finish the spin properly.”
He stretched into a standing position, and then bowed at her formally. He looked at his watch. “Right, I’ve got dinner with Michael, Marie and Gabrielle tonight, so take the evening off.”
“Thanks, boss. Good to see you’re wearing the charm.”
“I doubt I’ll ever take it off,” Harry admitted. “It’s the first piece of jewellery I’ve ever received.”
Lisa nodded slowly as she shrugged her uniform back on. “I asked if I could wear this when school is back in, instead of the school robes, but I’m not allowed.” She walked with him toward the Durmstrang ship.
“See Hermione, see if she can find any loopholes around that rule,” Harry suggested. “You look good in it.”
Lisa grinned at him. “Chatting me up, boss?”
Harry looked surprised. “Would you be insulted if I said no?”
“Nope, I’m guessing that after seeing Kate, you’re tastes run a little older?”
“Yeah. The girls in my year seem so young, and well, unattractive. There are very few of you that know how to move.”
Lisa smiled brightly at him. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll speak to Hermione.”
He nodded bid her a good evening as he moved to his room, showered, shaved, and got dressed in an expensive black suit.
He was meeting them there, so he slid out of his room, and used the darkness to ensure no one noticed him leaving school grounds. He didn’t want to push his luck at the moment. In his hand he had a conjured bottle filled with some of his conjured wine.
Once passed the wards, he Apparated to London, and his now favourite restaurant.
There was the usual heaving throng at the bar, and Jonathan was in charge as always, looking cool and collected.
“Mr Potter,” he called, ignoring the people in front of him.
Harry walked forward and shook Jonathan’s hand. “How are you, Jonathan?”
“Wonderful, Mr Potter, thank you for asking. Your table is ready.”
“Thank you.”
“We have a new wine in that you simply must try. I’ll have a bottle sent to you immediately.”
“That would be brilliant,” Harry said. “My guests will be arriving shortly. Lord and Lady Delacour, and Gabrielle.”
Jonathan smiled. “Young miss Delacour is quite delightful,” he said happily. “I will show them to you as soon as they arrive.”
He grinned, because as soon as he was gone, Jonathan lost all the friendliness as he dealt with the people who were still waiting.
With nothing to do, he waited until Jonathan was free, and poured two glasses of his wine. He walked down and handed one of the glasses over.
Jonathan looked at him in surprise. “Try it,” Harry suggested.
Jonathan tasted it expertly, before his eyes widened. He sipped it slowly, reverently, and looked at Harry curiously. “This is not one of our wines.”
“I was on holiday in France last year, and I stumbled across an old vineyard. The owner wanted to retire, so I offered her a lot of money for the vineyard and the contents of her cellar,” he lied, as he considered that admitting that he made his own wine would be met with a short journey to the local asylum. “This is one of the bottles.”
“This is a truly outstanding red.”
“I’ll drop a bottle by for you tomorrow,” Harry promised.
Jonathan waved his hand, and a smartly dressed man seemed to Apparate in. “Richard,” Jonathan said, “try this.” He looked at Harry. “Richard is our sommelier.”
Richard went through the routine of tasting it, before he looked at Harry in surprise.
“This is outstanding. Rhône Valley I believe?”
“Yes. The vineyard I purchased had simply the best terroir,” Harry explained.
Richard looked thoughtful for a few moments. “I will talk to the chef,” he decided. “This wine deserves some pheasant.”
“I tried it with some venison, just the other day, and it was spectacular.”
Richard seemed to puff up slightly. “Are you planning on selling this wine?”
“I’ve only had the vineyard for a few months,” Harry explained, making a mental note to actually buy one. “It will take me a few years to get up to a commercial level, for now, I’ve got a few bottles knocking around that I’m giving to friends, like Jonathan here.”
“If you can create this quality, we’ll pay handsomely for it,” Richard promised.
Harry paused for a moment, and then slowly smiled. “If you think its good enough, we could do an exclusive deal,” he suggested. “I’ve got a couple of cases I can give you, you sell it for as much as you can, and we share the profits.”
Both Jonathan and Richard’s noses seemed to twitch in unison.
“An exclusive high quality red,” Jonathan said, “it’s about time the Guardian’s food critic visited us again, if we serve it to him, we’ll have clients coming out of ears.” He smiled. “Mr Potter, you have a deal.”
“Then do you think that you could see your way to calling me Harry?”
Jonathan smiled and nodded. Richard smiled as well. “I’ll go and talk to the chef.”
“Party of four,” Jonathan told him. “No starter, as they’ll want some of the chocolate for dessert.”
Richard nodded and scurried off happily.
“He does love his wine,” Jonathan said fondly. “I do believe that your guests have arrived.”
Harry turned, his hands going out to catch Gabrielle automatically. She squirmed into his arms and kissed his cheek, before squirming out. “Bonjour Jonathan,” she said, curtseying.
“Madame Delacour,” Jonathan replied with a solemn bow. He took her hand and kissed her fingers gently.
Gabrielle giggled.
“Michael, Marie,” Harry greeted the older two.
“It’s good to see you, Harry,” Michael said dryly. “Gabrielle had to walk here!”
“Papa!” Gabrielle complained with a cute little blush. She looked up at Harry, a pleading expression on her face. “Carry me?” she begged.
He reached down and picked her up easily. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll pop by tomorrow,” he promised Jonathan.
“I shall look forward to it, Harry,” Jonathan said happily, as Harry moved led the other two up to their table. He placed Gabrielle down, and then offered her chair to her, as Michael offered a chair to Marie.
His bottle of wine was still on the table, so he quickly poured three more glasses out. He palmed his wand, and surreptitiously refilled the bottle.
He was sitting opposite Michael, with Gabrielle to his right, and Marie to his left. He lounged back and shot them a slow smile. “Have you enjoyed your holiday?”
“I’ll pay you a hundred galleons to sit like that at Hogwarts,” Michael said with a grin.
“Michael,” Marie scolded.
“What?” Harry asked, feeling confused.
Gabrielle winkled her nose. “He’s saying that you look hot,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. “And that the stupid girls at your school would melt like cheese under the grill.”
“No deal,” Harry said to Michael. “Not interested.”
“You’re a teenage boy,” Michael protested. “You’re supposed to try and cut a swathe through the witches there.”
“Stop trying to live vicariously through Harry,” Marie scolded.
“Sorry,” Michael apologised insincerely. “So,” he continued. “Kate.”
“Yes?”
“Nice girl?”
“Very much so.”
“Stop it, Papa,” Gabrielle said firmly. “Kate and Harry broke up after Christmas, and he feels sad about it.”
Michael looked at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he said after a while. “But from what I could read, you were right to break up. You had the physical stuff down perfectly, and the friendship was there, but you both have matching issues, and together you wouldn’t be able to support each other.”
“That’s what we agreed,” Harry said. “Which wasn’t what I wanted to agree to at all, but I had no choice. Still,” he said with a slight smile, “we’ll always have Paris.”
“You took her to France?” Marie asked.
“No, it’s a quote from a movie,” Harry explained. “My aunt loved that movie, probably due to the lack of romance in her own life. The actor who said it was referring to the euphoric stage of love, where everything is bright and beautiful, and the world’s problems can be overcome, just before the real world comes crashing down on your hopes and dreams, and you realise that you’re just another person, fighting for what you believe in, and sacrificing what you need to sacrifice, so that others don’t have to.”
Gabrielle reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly.
Marie smiled softly as she looked at her husband, who was lost in her eyes.
There was a surreptitious cough, as a waiter arrived with a small trolley, with four plates on it.
Michael and Marie looked away without fuss, and the waiter placed a plate in front of each of them.
“Jonathan didn’t order a starter,” Harry explained, “so that we could enjoy the chocolate pudding.”
“Yay,” Gabrielle cheered happily.
“What is this?” Michael asked curiously.
“Pheasant. Richard, the sommelier, felt that the wine deserved a big flavour. So he asked the chef to make it for us.”
“You do know,” Marie said, an amused expression on her face, “that normal people don’t get a chef with three Michelin stars to cook something for a bottle of wine you bring from home.”
“Even if it is truly magnificent,” Michael added. He’d already taken his first bite.
Harry grinned at him. “Yeah, I’ve agreed to supply this place with a couple of crates, as an exclusive. I believe that Richard and Jonathan are already planning on how they can exploit it.” He tried some of the pheasant, and was blown away by how tender it was. He waved to a waiter. “Another wine glass, please.”
“Of course sir,” the waiter agreed, scurrying away.
He was back within twenty seconds, and Harry poured another glass of wine out. “Please give this to the chef, with my thanks.”
The waiter grinned, and nodded.
“The three most important people in any restaurant are the chef, the sommelier, and the Maître d',” Harry said to the others. “I certainly don’t want a chef who can create this to think that I don’t appreciate his hard work.”
“Who taught you that?” Michael asked.
“Kate.”
“I thought so,” he mused. “She seems to have taught you a lot.”
Harry nodded. “Having someone like her in your life makes you realise that you have to grow up really fast to keep her. She made it her personal mission to ensure that I knew how to conduct myself in any situation.”
The conversation slowed as they concentrated on eating. Their plates were cleared away with a minimum of fuss. Their pudding was brought to them by the chef himself.
Harry stood and shook his hand, thanking him for the outstanding meal. They spent a few minutes talking, before the chef went back to work, and Harry sat back.
“I can’t decide,” Michael said slowly, “whether I should introduce you to the Veela court.”
“What’s that?” Harry asked curiously.
“I’m a distant relative to Veela royalty,” he explained. “And do occasionally spend some time at court. It would be fascinating to watch you in action there.”
“So why not?” Marie asked curiously.
“Because I don’t think their egos could handle him,” Michael grinned. “I’m not supposed to be ignored, ever. I am Veela.”
“Don’t worry, you are still beautiful,” Harry teased. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Gabrielle attack the chocolate pudding with the focused determination of one who was afraid that if they waited a second longer, it might go missing. “But I have wine, and to some people, that is more important.”
“I love you too,” Michael responded cheerily.
As Gabrielle finished, he reached out and swapped her empty plate for his full one.
“No,” she said softly.
“Eat up,” he ordered. “I’m going to have a coffee shortly.”
That was all that was needed for Gabrielle to give up her protestation.
“You could try savouring it this time,” he suggested, as he settled back, his wineglass held loosely between his fingers. “Marie, I know that your husband is on the Beauxbatons board of Governors, and is a minor royal, but what about you?”
“Me?” Marie asked. “I’m a photographer for a Muggle newspaper. Le Mundial.”
“Now that’s an interesting job,” Harry said, as he leaned forward, focusing on her.
“Oh well done,” Michael said. “Devastatingly good,” he added.
“Michael, if you don’t want to spend the next fortnight on the couch, shut up!” Marie ordered.
Michael pouted at her. “I was just saying that the way he leant forward and focused on you was smooth.”
“He knows, I know,” Marie snapped. “And it was working effectively, you might want to remember that you can use these techniques yourself occasionally.”
“But here I can point out Harry’s,” Michael protested. “And that’s much more fun.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Harry said, “We’ll do lunch without him.”
“Good idea,” Marie agreed, as Harry settled back. “Finished?”
“Stuffed,” Gabrielle said contentedly, as she slipped out of her chair and raised her hands to him.
He smiled and moved his chair back, lifting her into his lap, where she cuddled into him.
“Three or four years,” Michael said fondly, “Then she’ll grow up practically over night, and all we’ll have are the memories.”
Harry stroked Gabrielle’s hair softly. “Then we enjoy it while we can,” he suggested. A waiter appeared, removing their plates and glasses, and coffee appeared.
He took a sip of the bitter liquid and sighed in pleasure.
“We’re going back to France tomorrow,” Marie said. “We know that you’ll look after Gabrielle.”
“With my life,” Harry promised seriously.
“But can you keep an eye on Fleur as well?” Michael asked seriously. “Her tongue can get her in a lot of trouble, but underneath it, she is a nice girl, really.”
Harry nodded. “I will,” he agreed.
“Thank you. We’re going to take Fleur and Gabrielle to see their Grandmother as well. Want to come?”
“Sorry,” Harry said, “I’ve got some things that need doing.”
“But…” Gabrielle said, as she looked up at him, her eyes wide.
“You’ll survive,” he said softly, and lightly touched his wand, using it to send her how much he loved her.
Gabrielle gasped and started to glow.
“We are in public,” Michael pointed out, “and glowing children are not something that Muggles are used to.”
“Whoops,” Harry replied, and stopped.
Gabrielle pouted massively, and buried her face into his chest.
“I’ll miss you,” she mumbled.
“I know, sweetheart,” he replied, “but you’ll be able to tell me all about it afterward.”
“’kay,” she said, showing no sign of moving.
The next morning, Harry got up early and hunted down Christophe.
“Morning,” Christophe said cheerfully.
“Tell me,” Harry said, “what do you know about the Rhône Valley?”
“Excellent wine producing region, it’s to the south of Burgundy. There are two main areas, the north is the best, producing aromatic whites and massively structured reds – which, by the way, are probably where I classify the Chatueax Du Harry’s Magic you produce as being from. The south is slightly more plebeian, with a few exceptions like Gigondas and Châteauneuf-du-Pape,” he replied.
Harry shook his head in awe, and then grinned at him. “Fancy a day trip?”
“Why?”
“Because I need to check out the local papers, and see if there are any small vineyards for sale. I need to cover the fact that I’ve create my own wine, as I’m having it sold in a London restaurant.”
“You’re going to buy a vineyard?” Christophe asked excitedly.
“Exactly, it has to have good terroir,” Harry said, “and be in the Rhône Valley, but apart from that, it doesn’t matter.”
“Then let’s go,” Christophe said excitedly. They walked out together, after Harry told Crusher and Smasher where they were going. The two checked he was wearing his necklace, before allowing him to go.
Once they hit Hogsmeade, he helped Christophe Apparate to France.
They appeared in a small gravel courtyard.
“Welcome to my home,” Christophe said. “We’re about a hundred miles away, but I thought we’d drive there.”
“You can drive?” Harry asked excitedly.
“I can,” Christophe said, and opened a small garage. He walked in, there was a roar of an engine, and he pulled out in a racing green low slung sports car. “It’s my fathers,” he explained, as he opened the door for Harry to get in. “I’ve left him a note,” he added impishly.
Harry grinned and buckled up as Christophe floored the gas, and the rear tyres span, sending a shower of stones against a wall, before they dug into the gravel and they lurched forward like a Firebolt.
“It’s a 1965 Alfa Romeo Spider,” Christophe shouted over the noise of wind. “A classic.”
Harry had no clue what that meant, but put an awed expression on his face anyway. He did enjoy the drive – when he’d applied a warming charm. They drove for close to two hours, before pulling into a town. Christophe pulled into a parking space, and told Harry to get a seat at a café.
Harry walked over and did as he was told; order two coffees from the attractive waitress. He spent an enjoyable few minutes flirting with her, before sitting outside. His warming charm was still in effect, so he was wasn’t bothered by the mild winter weather.
Christophe arrived back and dumped four newspapers on the table. “Property supplements,” he explained, as he sat down and took the first paper.
Harry smiled and started to look through one as well. When he looked at the second, he realised that it was pretty much exactly the same as the first, just in a different order.
He looked through it carefully anyway.
“Anything?” Christophe asked.
“Not yet,” Harry replied, turning a page. A small text ad caught his eye. Compared to everything else he had seen, it was not remarkable, which was probably why he was interested. “Here.”
Christophe looked at the advert, and then did it again. He flicked back through his own paper. “I overlooked it,” he admitted. “I’ll check back for others like this.”
Thirty minutes later they had three possibilities. Christophe reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile phone. “Stole, erm, borrowed it from Dad as well,” he explained as he dialled a number.
Harry decided that a refill was in order, so went back inside to flirt with the waitress.
A few minutes later, Christophe joined them, a smile on his face. “We can see two of them today,” he said cheerfully.
“See what?” the waitress asked.
“Christophe, Zoe, Zoe, Christophe,” Harry said.
“Vineyards, Harry’s buying one,” Christophe said excitedly.
“If he wasn’t dating my sister,” Harry said conspiratorially, “I’d swear that he loves wine more than girls.”
“Close,” Christophe admitted cheerfully. “Wine, however, can’t keep me warm at night.”
“La la la,” Harry sang, covering his ears. “That’s my sister!”
Christophe grinned. “Maybe I should introduce you to mine. She’s almost as pretty as your ex.”
“Christophe,” he chastised, “don’t be rude in front of Zoe.”
Christophe rolled his eyes. “We’ll be back later,” he said to Zoe, and dragged Harry out. “We’ve not got much time.”
“Okay, okay,” Harry agreed, as he jogged over to the car and jumped in, extending his legs at the right time to allow him to land casually.
“Git,” Christophe muttered as he gunned the engine, and sent them off. “And, can you not go half an hour without finding an attractive woman?”
“Zoe was nice,” Harry retorted.
Christophe grumbled under his breath, and threw them around a corner dramatically, causing all four wheels to squeal. Five minutes later, they pulled into a small courtyard.
“I’m going to stand at the back,” Harry said, “You’re the expert.”
Christophe nodded, and they had a good look around with the owner. Harry wasn’t too impressed. There was air of decay about the place that he didn’t like.
Thirty minutes later they were back in the car.
“Hell no,” Christophe said firmly. “Non existent terroir, it’s the sort of thing that only an Englishman emigrating to France would buy. The wine you would make from those grapes would only be good for car radiators.”
Another hour down the road, they pulled into another small courtyard. As Christophe introduced himself to the owner, Harry walked around.
There was a slightly melancholy air about the place, like it had once seen greatness, and now only had its memories.
He looked out at the fields, then at the large farmhouse. He smiled and moved back to the other two.
Harry bowed deeply and kissed the owner’s hand. She was an old woman, who had the same air of melancholy about her. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said softly.
“We had a good life,” she replied. “All this, it is too much for me now.”
“I promise I will restore it,” he said.
She looked at him for a second, and then nodded. “You will give me a fair price.”
“I will pay what it is worth,” Harry agreed. “Which is more than you asked for.”
“I wanted a quick sell,” she explained. “I will make you lunch, and will argue you down.”
“You can try,” Harry replied cheerfully.
“Erm, excuse me,” Christophe said, looking lost. “What is going on?”
“We’ve agreed that I’m buying this place,” Harry explained. “Now we’re arguing about money, but I’m more stubborn than she is, so I’ll end up paying the higher price.”
“We’ll see about that,” the woman said.
“But…” Christophe said, looking absolutely stunned.
“Can’t you feel it?” Harry asked. “This place was once magnificent, but it was too much for two people, who didn’t really want to run a business, they just poured their hearts into this place. And recently her husband died, you can feel the melancholy in the air. Close your eyes, Christophe, and feel it. Feel the soul of this place.”
Christophe did, standing still for a few moments, before his eyes opened, and he looked at Harry, shaking his head.
“Christophe is still in school,” Harry said to the woman. “He’s going to be running this place as soon as he leaves.”
“What?” Christophe squeaked.
“You think I’d trust anyone else to run some place this special?”
“You’re insane,” Christophe blurted. “I’m too young,” he said weakly.
“You know more about wine than any single person I’ve ever met,” Harry told him. “And you are dating my sister, who is a far better judge of character than I am, and if she thinks that you’d do brilliantly at anything you set your mind to, you can be damn sure that I’m going to exploit that.
“Your goal will be to produce wines only of the finest quality, we won’t do mass market ever. I’ve got contacts in London who will pay a premium for what we can produce here.”
Christophe took a step forward and hugged Harry tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Harry smiled. “Now, about this lunch?”
“You may call me Renèe,” she announced.
“I’m Harry,” Harry introduced himself. “And this splendid man is Christophe.”
Renée smiled, and took Harry’s arm, dragging him with surprising strength into a gorgeous rustic kitchen.
After an hour of the hardest negotiation he’d ever tried, it was agreed that Renèe would live there for a further six months and supervise Harry’s repairs, and then would accept slightly less than Harry offered for the vineyard.
Back in the car, they drove for a while in silence.
“You are insane,” Christophe eventually said.
“Why?”
“You can’t just get me to run a vineyard; you need someone with years of experience.”
“Bollocks.”
“I thought you only wanted a cover for your own wine anyway.”
“I did,” he agreed, “until I found that place. My wine, for all its taste, is still conjured, and has no value beyond that. To make it last long enough, I have to put more power than I want in it. That place felt like it could live up to the same standard.
“Everything about it screamed potential greatness.”
“What about Melissa?” Christophe asked softly. “I really like her. She’s smart, sexy, scary, and sarcastic.”
“You should add Slytherin on there, to complete the alliteration,” Harry grinned. “Leave her to me.”
“Thank you.”
Half an hour later they pulled into Christophe’s parents’ home. An older couple met them, the male storming out.
“Mum, Dad,” Christophe greeted them, hugging the male who had a face like a thunder cloud. “I’ve got a job when I leave school.”
The man froze, his expression changing in an instant. “Really?” he asked.
“You remember the guy I wrote about?”
“Harry?”
“This is Harry,” Christophe introduced him. “He’s just bought the most amazing vineyard in the Rhône Valley, and is giving it to me to manage!”
Both the adults blinked. “Are you insane?” the male asked.
“If I was, would I know?” Harry replied casually, he was finding their accent a little hard to understand. “Name one person more obsessed with wine than Christophe?”
They looked at each other and shrugged.
“That’s why,” Harry said with a grin.
“Is Jeanne-Antoinette coming home for dinner?”
“She is,” the male said slowly. “I am Gustave, as my son seems to have forgotten his manners. My wife is Inès.”
“Delighted to meet you,” Harry replied.
“Why the interest in Jeannie?” Inès asked warily.
“I told Harry I’d introduce him,” Christophe said cheerily.
“You did?” Inès asked, “The last boy she dated you scared so much that he didn’t talk to her again for a month.”
Christophe grinned. “He was an idiot,” he explained to Harry. “Besides, it’s only fair, Melissa is his sister.”
“Ahh,” Gustave grunted. “The legendary girl you managed not to bring home for Christmas.”
“I didn’t want to scare her off,” Christophe replied.
“Well, while Inès interrogates Harry, we can go and have a chat about borrowing my car without permission.”
Christophe gulped, and shot a look at Harry.
“Sorry,” Harry said, “I’d never get in between a father and a son.”
“Wise man,” Inès said. “Come into the kitchen.”
Harry followed her into a gigantic kitchen, and sat down as ordered at a table, as Inès bustled around.
“You look like no fourteen year old, ever,” she stated. “In fact, I saw a picture of you late last year in our press.”
Harry shrugged. “I grew up.”
Inès slowly nodded. “I guess a magical maturity would explain it,” she agreed, and changed the subject.
A sheepish Christophe and Gustave joined them a while later and they sat around the table, talking about anything that came to mind.
To Harry, this was the greatest thing about what had happened to him. He was able to talk to people and just be himself. No artifice, no feeling on edge, just relaxed companionship.
A couple of hours later, there door banged open, and a small dark-haired girl bounced in cheerfully.
“Christophe!” she cheered, and hugged him tightly.
“Jeannie,” Christophe replied, hugging her back as tightly.
“How’s England, how come you’ve only written me once? Who is Melissa, is she pretty? What’s Hogwarts really like?”
Gustave coughed, causing Jeanne-Antoinette to look up. She suddenly seemed to spot Harry, and went several shades of red.
“Excuse me, monsieur,” she said formally.
Harry grinned at her. “Hogwarts is amazing. She’s imposing, vaguely gothic, and disjointed, and yet stunningly beautiful at the same time.
“Melissa is a beautiful girl, who is also smart as a whip, she and Christophe have been together for a month now, and are a very cute couple.
“And Christophe has only written once because he’s been far more interested in chasing Melissa,” Harry finished with a grin.
“Thanks,” Christophe muttered. “Harry, this is my sister, Jeanne-Antoinette, or Jeannie for short. Jeannie, this is my good friend, Harry.”
Harry stood and walked over to her, he took her hand and bowed, lightly kissing her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure, mademoiselle,” he said, not releasing her hand, “it’s good to see that you are as beautiful as your mother, when Christophe mentioned he had a sister, I was afraid that she’d take after him,” he finished with a wink, as he let her hand drop.
She flushed, then giggled, then blushed, then gulped, before excusing herself.
Harry sat back down, and Christophe looked at him. He met his gaze equally. Christophe sighed softly. “Not going to happen, is it?”
“Fifteen, sixteen?” Harry asked.
“Sixteen.”
“Nope,” Harry said softly. “She’s beautiful, but I’d feel like I was taking advantage of her.”
“After Kate, I guess I can understand,” Christophe said.
“Would you care to explain it to me?” Gustave asked.
“Kate was Harry’s date to the Ball,” Christophe explained. “She was beautiful, and in her mid twenties.”
“What happened?” Inès asked.
“We took a look at ourselves, and realised that he had similar issues, and because of that, would be atrocious at supporting each other. We had the passion and the friendship, but not that emotional strength between us that would have allowed us to take the next step, so we broke up. It was the only way to be fair.”
Inès nodded. “A wise move.”
Harry smiled faintly. “Anyway, my tastes are now a little older, and as beautiful as your daughter is, she is also a little young.”
“I have no idea how to feel about this,” Gustave muttered. “This is still my daughter.”
“And my sister,” Christophe agreed. “And if I thought Harry would mistreat her, I’d never have allowed him anywhere near my home.”
“How do you want me to act?” Harry asked.
“Be yourself,” Christophe said, “it wouldn’t hurt for her to see how a man treats a woman, so that the next time one of the local parasites asks her out, she will know to say no without me having to threaten to impale one of them on a weather cock.”
Harry sniggered. “I’ll have to remember that one for when Gabrielle grows up.” He paused, and then shrugged. “No, actually. If anyone hurts Gabrielle I don’t know what I’ll do, well, apart from the fact that it will be violent, it will be slow, and it will publicly show that Gabrielle is not to be hurt.” He looked at Christophe, “That does go for Melissa and Hermione as well.”
Christophe gulped exaggeratedly.
Harry grinned.
“I like your attitude,” Gustave said. “Especially as you are not going to be going after Jeannie yourself.”
Jeannine walked back into the room. She’d changed into a smart new skirt and blouse, and had brushed her hair.
“Do you have any homework left before school tomorrow?” Inès asked.
“Mama,” Jeannie complained.
“That wasn’t an answer,” Inès pointed out.
“Yes,” Jeannie muttered.
“Oh,” Harry said, “What do you have left to do?”
Jeannie looked at Harry, “Just some transfiguration. It’s the practical I’ve not got right. Why would you want to turn a stupid placemat into an anteater anyway?”
“I asked my best friend that same question,” Harry agreed.
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Shut up’,” Harry replied cheerfully.
“Hermione?” Christophe asked, as he started to laugh.
“Of course.” Harry pulled his wand out, and tapped the placemat in front of him. He whispered the spell, with a shudder, it started to grow, as it changed form, a long nose appeared first, before the rest of the anteater turned up.
“There is actually a good reason for it,” Harry said. “If you ignore the ridiculous actuality, what you are left with is inanimate to animate transfiguration, and that can be very useful.
“For example, you are at Beauxbatons, and Christophe is canoodling with Melissa at Hogwarts. You want to talk to him, but can’t be bothered to walk to the Owlery. You take some paper and transfigure it into an owl. You add a location charm, and a timed finishing spell, and send it on its way.
“The owl flies to England, finds Christophe, and with a pop, it turns back into your letter.”
Jeannie sat down opposite Harry at the table. “That makes sense,” she said slowly. “So why aren’t we taught to do that?”
“As near as I can understand,” Harry replied, sending her a lazy grin, “is that magic has a detrimental effect on common sense.”
“How did you do the spell so easily?”
Harry looked at Christophe, who shook his head. “Nothing that good in the house. Make some.”
Harry sighed and nodded. Christophe smirked as he pulled out an empty bottle, and handed it to Harry. Harry took it and pointed his wand down the neck of the bottle and whispered the spell.
Christophe took the bottle back and poured out five glasses. Harry took one and settled back again, holding the glass loosely in two fingers.
“What is magic?” Harry asked.
“Well,” Jeannie said, as she took her own glass. “It’s making things happen with wands and spells.”
“Correct,” Harry agreed. “To a degree, but magic is more than that. And that’s the secret of it. I’ve heard it said that we formalise a basically chaotic ideal. That we take what is unordered and give it order. Personally, I think that’s the biggest pile of cow dung I’ve ever heard.
“There are three basic tenets to magic. The first is imagination. Our imagination is what gives the idea of what we want to achieve. We take imagination, and work out a way to achieve the effects we want. That may be waving a wand in some way as a focus, it may be by combining things into a potion, it maybe by reading the stars, but at the end of the day, the idea comes from us.
“We have been given this gift that is truly amazing, the gift to make our imaginations come to life.
“Now, imagination is like the truth, it’s a wonderful and dangerous thing. I can imagine a placemat turning to an anteater, or I can imagine Christophe topless,” Harry continued, waving his wand at his friend. “More than that, I believe that if I do this, he is.” He waved his wand and cancelled the spell. “Was that spell light magic or dark magic?”
“Hey,” Christophe protested.
Jeannie was concentrating hard on him. “Dark?”
“Okay, now imagine that you’ve come across a Muggle. He’s been in a car accident. You do a medical scan, and it tells you that there is nothing you can do. The spell tells you that he’s going to die in around ten minute’s time, and his last ten minutes are going to be agonising. You’re a witch; you do what you can for him. You whisper an apology, you point your wand at him, and, even as you feel your heart break, you say Avada Kedavra. You believe he would be better off dead, and you do what you have to do.
“Is that a dark spell, or a light spell?”
“I don’t know,” Jeannie whispered.
“Correct,” Harry said, leaning forward. “A spell used by hospitals the world over to get to an injury is dark, and a killing curse can be used mercifully. They are both spells. They are both created the same way inside you; the only difference is the intent you have. One is to remove clothes, the other is to kill. They are both products of your imagination and belief, and can be used for good purposes.
“But here’s the killer part, and it’s what infects our world to the core. Imagination is addictive. I see a beautiful Muggle. I have the imagination to take her, I believe I can take her, so I do. The magic is not bad, but I’m using it in a bad way. I’ve done it once, so why not again? And again. Then I do it to someone and her boyfriend comes home, so I imagine him dead. He is dead, and I can move on. As I do, my arrogance grows, and I stop seeing people as people, but as threats. I have reached the top of the tree, and I want to stay there, so the first thing I do is to try and stop people using the same spells I have. I call the magic dark, and try and polarise it.
“I turn on other creatures, because my spells might not work on them, so they are villainised and persecuted, and then I tell the schools they have to teach one way, so that the kids who are becoming magical can’t have the same spells I do, and don’t know that their imagination is the key.
“I have them blinded be silly concepts, and learning magic through rote. You have a goal. You do this and it happens. You don’t tell them that hidden deep inside the rote is their imagination, that with each movement you reinforce your belief, until suddenly, you have the imagination and the belief, and it is that which is the power behind the spell.
“And once you understand that simple idea, you look at your instruction at school differently. They are working in the frameworks that their jobs allow, and they are trying to teach you how to do it, but they have to be subversive. So they teach ideas that don’t make sense, hoping amongst hope that you will realise what the Ministry stops them from saying.
“And that leads me onto the second tenet. Belief. If you believe you can do what your imagination has suggested, then there is no reason you can’t.
“Magic is a powerful thing, there is nothing it can’t do if you believe it and can imagine it.
“And with that ability comes the responsibility, the responsibility to value the talents you have been given, to work for others, not for yourself, and to understand that if you go down the dark path, there will people standing in your way, and no matter how many you kill, there will be one who is more powerful, more cunning, or more intelligent, and one day your dreams will lie in the dust, trampled by someone who didn’t forget the message.
“So you asked how I can do that so easy, it’s because I understood the lesson, it’s because I could imagine the placemat as an animal, and because I had the desire to do it. You know the spell?”
Jeannie nodded, she was breathing hard and there was colour in her cheeks.
“Do it, now. No thinking, not second guessing me, just say the spell, and know that you can do it,” he barked.
Jeannie moved without hesitation, following his instructions exactly. The placemat in front of her became an Anteater and started to snuffle around the table.
“Do you know why Finite Incantatem is one of the first spells they teach?” he asked rhetorically. “It’s because it is much easier to imagine something in its original state, than it is to imagine something so different. So, the next time you are asked to do something silly, think about what you are really being taught. Imagine what it is that you want, and believe you can do it. There is nothing that anyone can do to stop you, once you have that belief that if you follow the instructions, what you imagine can come to life.”
Jeannie nodded.
Christophe frowned. “You didn’t cover power, the third tenet,” he pointed out. “There may not be a limit to your imagination, but there is a limit to how much magic you can use.”
“Power isn’t the third tenet,” Harry said gently. “Price is the third tenet. There are ways of increasing your power, if you are willing to pay the price. Every spell has a price. Changing the state of something like a placemat has a negligible price. Nothing is harmed, the spell doesn’t last long, and we, as wizards, have found a way to make the price less.
“Using the Killing Curse has a much higher price, not just the amount of power it takes, but the effect it has on you. You lose the ability to distinguish between good and bad, and you become less of a human, and more of a monster.
“My analogy earlier was slightly false, because no matter how you dress it up, the forbidden curses are the most evil ever developed. Sure, there are rumours about nerve stimulation, and other such nonsense. They are patently untrue. The Killing Curse was designed to kill. The Cruciatus was designed to cause pain, and the Imperious was designed to control people.
“This is where we differ from Muggles. I’ve heard it said from friends that us with wands is no different to a Muggle with a gun. If the Muggles used their souls to fire bullets, it might be more appropriate, but they don’t, they use cheap bullets, and a lot of them are capable of dealing with what they do.
“Every time you do magic, you use these three tenets to achieve what you want. You imagine it, you believe you can do it, and you pay the price to do so.”
“You didn’t say anything about wands,” Jeannie said, “so do you need them?”
“Technically, no.”
“So you can do wandless magic?” Christophe asked.
“Well, yeah,” Harry said, looking surprised. “But why would you want to?”
“So you don’t need a wand!”
Harry blinked and looked at Christophe, “why would you want to give up a wand?”
“If you don’t need it?”
“I can walk,” Harry said, “so why did we take a car earlier?”
Christophe paused.
“On the whole, wizards aren’t that powerful, so to compensate, we use wands and formalised movements and incantations to make the spells we want easier. I could do the same thing without a wand, but without those helps, it would take a phenomenal amount of power, and just be a complete waste of the price I’d have to pay. It would be worse when you are duelling. You raise a shield, pay the price, and collapse because you’ve just drained yourself.”
Christophe nodded slowly. “It’s just that wandless magic always seemed really cool.”
“The only way I could see it being useful,” Harry said, “is if you set the spell up beforehand, and release it wandlessly, that would allow you to do what you need, but even then, you’ve used more magic than you needed to.”
“So how do you increase your power?” Jeannie asked curiously.
“By imagining it, finding the right way, and believing, and being ready to pay the price?” Christophe asked.
Harry winkled his nose. “If you can find a right way that doesn’t involve selling your soul,” he agreed. “I like to compare magic to a muscle – the more you use it, the stronger it is. You just have to be careful, though, because doing magic when you have none left is painful. It feels like the very life force is being drained from every fibre of your being.”
“How do you know that?” Jeannie asked.
“Oh, I wasn’t happy with my power levels, so I tried to increase them.”
“Harry,” Christophe said, “let’s see it then, bring up your magic.”
Harry closed his eyes and did as asked, bringing up his magic, holding nothing back, imagining he was about to pull off the biggest spell ever conceived. His wand started to vibrate in his hand.
After a moment, he slowly pushed it back down, taking control back over it. He opened his eyes.
“Sweet Merlin on a bike!” Gustave exclaimed. “People have set up religions for people with less power than you.”
Harry used every ounce of his will power not to blush.
Jeannie had a giddy expression on her face.
“That’s more effective than wine,” Christophe muttered. “Remind me to get you to do that at Hogwarts.”
Harry laughed. “No chance.” He looked at his watch. “Anyway, Christophe and I need to get going, I just remembered I promised to drop a case or two of wine into a few friends. And he needs to meet Richard.”
“I do?”
“He’s the sommelier of one of the top London restaurants.”
“I do,” Christophe agreed.
“It was nice meeting you all,” Harry said, throwing a wink at Jeannie. She blushed and sat up a little straighter, her shoulders going back, which had the effect of making her chest slightly more evident.
Harry looked for a second, making it obvious that he was doing so to the girl, and then nodded his goodbye at her.
“Do come and see us again,” Inès said.
“I will,” Harry agreed, as he stood and followed Christophe outside. “Ready?”
Author Notes:
My, Harry gets preachy toward the end. I guess you could call it blatant foreshadowing. Is he right in his views? Well, you'll have to see.
I guess you could call the first part Weasley bashing. It was meant to be more humourous than anything else..
Bill: He did marry Fleur, who was a lot younger than him - so I figured she wasn't the first young girlfriend.
Charlie: He does spend all his time surrounded by fine young men (and probably spends the weekends at nightclubs).
Percy: He was a prat.
Ron: Was jealous during the tri-wizard tournament
Ginny: Was a fan girl.
The Twins are just venting.