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HP stories following Canon but PRE-OotP >> Didn't Know It by IleanaGoddess

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
Author’s note: Yay! I love fanfiction challenges!
So this one is one of the most interesting challenges we’ve had yet. We’re doing a fanfiction exchange, and for inspiration it has to relate to St. Patrick’s Day, as well as fulfil our partner’s request.
Here’s the one I have to do:

Penname: Marble Venus
What would you like in your fanfic? Well, I would like a good plot...and perhaps a winter setting.
Rating? Any, mates!
Ship? Anything involving Fred or George Weasley. Absolutely anything.
Genre? Whatever, guys! I am open to lots of things.
Name three things you would like your fic to include: the giant squid, a bowl of fruit loops, and Peeves spouting poetry.
Name three things you DON'T want your fic to include: ...nothing. Whatever you come up with is cool with me.

Which is pretty flexible, so that’s cool. But my hyposity level (Shut up. It is so a word) was running high while writing this AND I had just finished watching Alex & Emma (really good movie), so I hope you guys are pleased and you don’t just think, “Uh . . . that’s nice . . .” My biggest problem was who Fred or George would end up with. We were only given a certain list of people we could use in pairings, and I was having some troubles. So I hope this is all right.
Let’s get ready to rumble!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling. J.K. Rowling is rich. I am not rich. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.
In other words, don’t sue.
Oh, and obviously some ideas are not mine. St. Paddy’s day and the ideas of the giant squid, Fruit Loops, and Peeves spouting poetry aren’t mine either. But you already knew that. And Angelina’s curl is actually an idea taken from my own life . . . hate that thing.

It had been two months since Fred Weasley’s last brilliant prank. The thought, to him, was almost repulsive. He hadn’t even realized it until George had pointed it out to him five minutes ago, in the squashy armchair across from him in the common room.
Really, what was wrong with him lately? Yes, the joke in January had been quite amusing if you were into randomness; Snape had never seen it coming. Fred was sidetracked momentarily as he remembered with bliss the look on his least favourite teacher’s face as he walked calmly and coldly down the halls of Hogwarts on the first day back from Christmas holidays and was suddenly attacked by a horde of angry people in animal suits, who chased him down the hall. Even better was the length that he had slid, due to the fact that he had tripped because of a Slippery Charm, and fallen flat on his face. Fred himself had been wearing a lion suit, but neither himself, his twin, or the many first-years they had paid to do the stunt had gotten in trouble, having dove into the secret hiding places once Snape had fallen. It was a mysterious prank that had never been solved, except of course by students and, most likely, Professor Dumbledore.
Perhaps he was just tired from all the studying he was doing for his OWLs. He almost laughed at the thought. “Studying” wasn’t the term most people would use for what he was doing. “Pretending to study but actually just playing Exploding Snap” was more like it.
What he really wanted was an occasion. He’d missed Valentine’s Day because he’d been in detention as usual. And what was there to do in March? There weren’t any occasions that he could think of. Fred and George Day, known by some as April Fools Day, though not by Hogwarts students—or teachers—was still half a month away.
His silent (surprisingly, all of this was actually causing Fred to become very quiet) brooding was suddenly rudely interrupted by the sounds of a very loud argument going on.
“Because it’s a stupid idea, that’s why!” an exasperated Ron explained to Dean Thomas.
“It is not!” the latter replied. “St. Patrick’s Day is a fun day and I think Professor Dumbledore would love the idea!”
“Yeah, well, Dumbledore’s mad, isn’t he?” Ron pointed out wisely. “He loves insane ideas.”
“It’s not that insane! Muggles celebrate St. Patrick’s Day all the time!”
“Again, crazy people like crazy ideas.”
Dean’s eyes were now rolling around frantically like a sleeping man’s. “Don’t you wish there were more holidays in the year?”
Wait a minute. A holiday was an occasion. Fred was suddenly quite interested. “What’s this I hear about a holiday?” he asked Dean.
Dean sighed. “It won’t get you out of class, Fred.”
It was Fred’s turn to roll his eyes. “I know, Dean. I just happen to like holidays.”
Now Dean was excited. “You agree with me then? I want the school to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day on Saturday!”
Fred paused. “What does it celebrate?”
Dean opened his mouth, and then, when no sound came out, closed it. A frown formed on his forehead. “Actually . . . I don’t really know. Something about Ireland.”
Fred grinned. “Good enough. Let’s go tell Dumbledore!”
The third year and the fifth year, wearing matching smiles across their faces, although for very different reasons, headed out of the common room, leaving Ron standing by the roaring fireplace, a very confused look upon his own.
“What,” he asked aloud to himself. “was that?”

* * *

She was so cute.
George Weasley was sitting comfortably in the Quidditch stands, apparently reading a book. The key word here is apparently.
After all, he mused to himself, breaking free his thoughts of the girl currently whipping around on her broom, tossing a round quaffle into the hoop for a moment, he hardly ever read. He was usually too busy to read at all, what with the whole pranking thing. Although, really, it was mostly Fred who cared about that. He preferred to invent things for others to use. Spread the good works, and all.
George stole another glance over his book, Chocolate Frogs and their Stupidity, to get another look at Angelina Johnson. This was becoming increasingly hard with Fred beside him, watching his every move.
He suddenly had an idea. It would be easier to tail Angelina in the air, and also easier to keep Fred from noticing.
“Accio broom!” he called lazily, and after a moment his Cleansweep 7 flew to him at an astonishing speed. For a moment, he considered changing . . . but he was far too eager to fly. He hadn’t been in the air in ages.
He mounted his broom and kicked off, clumsily slipping on the benches of the stands, which caused his Cleansweep to swerve dangerously, but he regained balance and sped off to join Angelina.
She waved as she saw him coming and circled him.
“Hey Fr—er, George. How’ve you been?”
“Enynblezem,” he replied brilliantly, which caused Angelina, who hadn’t quite heard him due to the whirling March wind, stare at him confusedly.
George grinned. “I mean, I’m good.”
“Good enough to Keep for me?” Angelina asked. “I need somebody to stop my goals.”
George paused. He had never tried Keeping before, but it probably wasn’t too difficult. Couldn’t be much harder than Beating, at least, which, if he did say so himself, he was quite good at . . . although usually he was better with the help of Fred.
Still, he told Angelina he would. The better to spy on her with, my dear.
He hadn’t counted on her excellent Chaser skills, however. He was so busy trying to save one goal (which he couldn’t seem to manage) that he barely got to look at her. At last, he caught the quaffle in his hands, and Angelina smiled at him, saying that it was probably time to go inside, as it was starting to get dark—the sky was a mixture of blues and rose, and a few stars twinkled mischievously in the twilight, as though they were gossiping about the twosome on the Quidditch pitch below.
George and Angelina slowly made their way down to the ground, chatting amiably.
“Well, that was great, George,” she told him as they hit the ground. “What can I do to repay you?”
George was fully prepared to shrug it off, to say it was nothing. But suddenly, as though Lord Voldemort in his crazy schemes had suddenly possessed him and caused him to suggest such a thing, he replied, “Go out with me?”
She turned her head slowly to face him, an expression of surprise on her face. Astonishment soon morphed, however, into a beaming smile, her cheeks a bit flushed.
Astounded at his luck, George didn’t even notice that they had left the Quidditch stadium and were heading towards the castle. He had gotten all the way to the common room, and she had headed right into her dormitory, when a thought popped into his mind.
“Er . . . Angelina!”
She didn’t hear him.
Now she did. And apparently everyone else in the common room, as well, because everyone stopped talking to stare at him.
He ignored them. “Saturday, okay? Noon, by the lake?”
Angelina giggled and Alicia Spinnet raised her eyebrows at her.
“All right.” The girls disappeared into their dormitory, Alicia prepared to bother Angelina and force her to give her the scoop.
George, happy enough to go invent another joke product, was fully prepared to tell Fred about his date. He wondered for a moment whether or not Fred would be offended, but, though he didn’t know it, it didn’t matter.
Fred pushed through the doors of the castle, a slight frown on his face. What George was unaware of was that Fred had heard the entire conversation with Angelina . . . well, almost the entire conversation. George actually had a sort of tracking device, much like a muggle invention that his father often went on about, a Talker and Walker or something like that, in which he could hear most things George was saying. The device needed work, of course—Fred had made it himself, but George was the inventor of the two, and Fred had a feeling that it would be better if it wasn’t cordless and there wasn’t so much wind interference—but the prankster of the twins had heard bits and pieces:
“Enynblezem . . . good . . . Keep for me . . . was great . . . repay you . . . go out with me . . . OI . . . Saturday . . . noon . . . lake . . .”
Fred easily concluded that George had asked Angelina out on Saturday, by the great lake at noon.
And so . . . he got an idea. Well, of course he did.
What better prank is there to play than one pulled on one’s twin?

* * *

Angelina Johnson tidied her hair quickly, dripping water on a little stubborn strand that twisted around in an odd, frizzy curl by her forehead. It refused to be tamed, however, and she had grown rather impatient with it.
“Does anyone have any of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion?” she called through the bathroom. A few girls looked at her in annoyance, and Hermione Granger gave her a slightly scandalized look, but her friend Annie Leonowa cheerfully passed her a bottle of the potion. “Thanks.” Angelina gratefully took it and applied it to the twist.
After a few minutes, it had successfully straightened itself, and Angelina glanced at herself in the mirror. She was wearing casual robes; not her uniform, but nothing to make George think she was trying too hard. She was quite excited about this date and planned, finally, to get her first kiss.
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t in love with George or anything, but at fifteen years old she was getting nervous, and George was quite nice. Funny, too. Ha-ha funny, not strange funny.
Although he was kind of strange, she realized. He wasn’t quite like Fred . . . they were both outgoing, but there was a small distinguishment between them that she could never put her finger on, the tiny detail that made her realize which brother was which.
In any case, she wanted to look nice for her date, and she was at last satisfied when she checked with Annie, who gave her a huge smile and two thumbs up.
She made her way down to the Great Hall for breakfast and was immediately taken aback. One word immediately came to her mind before she registered what was going on. And what was the word?
The vast space was decorated in every single shade of bright green. There were emerald tapestries hanging in every corner and the tables had magically turned jade. Even the Fruit Loops they were having for breakfast (Dumbledore insisted on bringing muggle ideas into the castle) were not multicoloured, but instead pale green. The staff were all wearing green clothes, from Dumbledore’s shocking lime muggle suit to the calm olive of Professor Sprout’s robes to the dark, dark forest green of the robes of Snape (who wore a sour look on his face as though he had merely been forced into doing this so as to show “spirit”). After “green” had passed through Angelina’s head about fifty times, she wondered stupidly if she had accidentally wandered into the Slytherin common room. But then she noticed the glittering golds flying around and the repetition of the colour orange and realized that a band of leprechauns were fluttering around the room and the orange represented one of Ireland’s colours. She then remembered that today was that muggle holiday, St. Patrick’s Day.
George waved at her to sit with him, and she noticed with mild interest that Fred was nowhere to be seen. She shrugged and sat down beside him.
It was a bit awkward at first, she had to admit. In fact, her first word to him was:
He stared at her, and she stared back. There was a long pause. And then suddenly in unison they both threw their heads back and laughed, causing many people (and leprechauns) to turn to look at them. It was a nice way to break the ice for a few hours later.
Of course, the ice would be satisfactorily demolished in any case . . . but they didn’t know that.

* * *

George ran a hand through his hair but stopped abruptly, as that particular action always looks cocky on some people or girly on the rest. He was the latter, and he wanted to look remotely like a male.
He really liked Angelina, and he didn’t want to ruin this date. Normally, he probably would have gone to Fred for ideas on what to talk about, but he hadn’t seen his brother all day, which was strange. Nothing to worry about, though, George reasoned. Fred was probably in trouble and serving his penance again, except this time his punishment was too embarrassing to talk about. George amused himself for a moment thinking about strange things Professor Snape might do to his twin and headed down to the Great Lake to meet Angelina. It was only ten thirty, but she could be early and he wouldn’t want to appear late.
As he made his way to the grounds, however, he was sidetracked by a certain, well, peevish poltergeist. Peeves floated above him mischievously, and oddly enough began chanting.

Nothing’s wrong with ickle Peevsie,
But someone’s gone awfully sleazy,
The second half doesn’t know much,
But the giant squid is a Peevish touch,
And ickle wetfaces run around,
Dates will be ruined, leprechaun or clown,
And so take your word from dear friend Peevsie,
Someone’s gone awfully sleazy!

George, confused, promptly fell into the trick step that he usually jumped, and shouted for an hour and a half for someone to dislodge him.
Needless to say, he barely made it to the lake on time. Angelina stood calmly waiting for him. She smiled, and they sat down in the grass.
George wracked his mind for a topic—any subject!—and settled on Quidditch. He began talking about Puddlemere United, but Angelina didn’t seem to interested. In fact, she was leaning close . . . dangerously close . . .
She froze.
Her eyes widened, and George noticed she wasn’t looking at him, but over his shoulder. He turned his head, and found an astonishing sight.
The water behind him was whirling, churning. It rocked back and forth, and suddenly crashed over them, drenching them in cold, slimy liquid, and all the sea creatures in the lake.
The giant squid, waving its grotesque tentacles, lunged at them, making a hideous sucking noise, and George and Angelina both cringed. Suddenly, a horde of leprechauns danced around the giant squid and spelled out words.
“I once dated George Weasley.”
The rest created a formation of a thin arrow, which pointed directly to the giant squid. George was almost humiliated.
But it didn’t end there. A group of clowns came rushing onto the grounds, attacking George and Angelina. George winced; he hated clowns. They weren’t actually funny.
All of a sudden, the staff and students of Hogwarts all came pouring out of the school and then stopped, stunned. George’s eyes widened . . . how had they all decided to come out at that very moment?
A laughing Fred told him the answer.
“I told them . . . troll . . . grounds . . .”
This was indiscernible, but George got the general idea. He glanced at the students. He glanced at Fred. He glanced at the giant squid.
He then turned to glance at Angelina, and was very surprised when he ran into her lips.
Suddenly, he forgot that everyone was watching. This was his moment.
She didn’t know it, but it was his first kiss, too.

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