The Dinner Party

((OOC: I have no justifications for this post. Except for the newly gained appreciation of what a first-class tosser Fred is XP ))

Sometimes... people didn't quite understand what it meant to be Fred Weasley.

Member of one of the Wizarding world's First families, post third Wizarding war. Son of George Weasley, part of the infamously ingenious Twins who erected a business monster on a thousand Galleons, the most successful entrepreneur in the last decades. Then of course.... there was Fred himself. Everything about himself. Right from the jacking off in classes, to the hopeless grades in homework, the mind staggering results in the OWL's and NEWT's, the Quidditch, the celebratory parties after the Quidditch, the pranks.... what wasn't there to love? Even after Hogwarts- the massive LA penthouse, the club nights, the enigmatic and chronically dangerous job.....said a lot, really. Or maybe there was just nothing left to be said. Except, of course, that one didn't drop into the world with the looks, the talent and the bloody frickin' charisma to rival a Sirius Black without acquiring a healthy amount of ego as a generous side helping. Hell, it was practically part of the job description.

And there were the people. Oh god, the people. The girls with the attached eyelashes and the Sleakazy's Hair Potion who sighed dreamily and generated enough drool to irrigate a city. The quieter guys who gave him awestruck looks and hung around just to soak in the shedded glory. The mouthier guys who shot insults that were meant to sound unimpressed but couldn't quite lose their jealous tinge. The permanently exasperated teachers and bosses who couldn't quite hide the amused smile at that last, indolent quip. You had to despise him or adore him: but you couldn't quite ignore Fred Weasley.

The point of that hopelessly long ramble?

This.

"So, it's settled then. Fred and I will sign the certificates, I'll get my papers for here, and when I prove my case, it'll be nice and annulled. Just business. Thank you, Fred."

A part of his brain that wasn't completely frozen with paralysing, unadulterated, all-encompassing shock: registered that it was probably the first time Claire Bishop had ever called him by his first name. And what a momentous occasion it was too.

The point of that ramble, ladies and gentlemen, is to make you all aware of how 'momentous' is such an woefully inadequate word. How what had just transpired was much better described as 'unbelievable', or 'mind-boggling' or 'earth-shattering', perhaps. No, it wasn't like Fred had never been bested before. Just not so.....so....

In-your-face? His mind’s voice taunted, sounding obnoxiously like Jack. Undeniable? Humiliating?

And even when he had, there had always been something to salvage. Some last repartee that left the opponent fuming. Just...something. Not this....this...this stupid blankness as his eyes flicked over the so-obviously pleased lines of Claire’s mouth- because f*ck it, how in the name of all that was holy had Fred Weasley been absolutely wiped of smart remarks?

They were waiting for one right now. A reaction, at least. A hasty backtracking of words, an overboisterous laugh that discarded the entire thing as a joke, even a bit of anger- just some form of retaliation. He cleared his throat, wiped whisky off his chin and said- “You’re welcome.”

Then amber eyes swiveled to the gleeful face of one Jaquellene Dyllan- and the Smirk stretched over his lips. She would learn to fear it yet.

“Now, if we’re done with that pesky little thing.” His long, right arm flung around the neck of the man sitting next to him, almost sunken to half his height under the table, like they were old, reunited mates. Head turning to the side to face the man, Fred smiled a smile brilliant in all its indulgence. “So Mat- Max.” And the upper lip twitched at that because damn, that hadn’t even been deliberate. “I must say I’m positively dying to know how you ever convinced the scallywag Dyllan to marry you. Considering how Jack and I’ve been friends for ages and I didn’t even know you existed until today.” Fred shook his head from side to side, in an adequate display of disappointment. “So tell us all the delectable details. How did you propose? It must have been spectacularly....” Fred raised his eyes to Jack and smiled amiably. “Romantic.”

Of course, a part of his brain was still occupied. Occupied in scoping out every detail of Bishop’s face and committing it to unrelenting memory. Every twitch, every mannerism. Useful data for the future.

She could celebrate now. Make strange, restrained, smug smiles. Cast Patronuses of this memory. Settle into a false sense of safety. The battle had been conceded.

But the war had just begun.