The Johnson/Weasley Story

A nice fluffy story all about Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson, from their first meeting through seventh year.

Rated R (later chapters) for language and sexual situations. Absolutely NO twincest. Sorry.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything. Don't sue.

Chapter One: The Sorting

Fred Weasley's whole body was tense with anticipation. He was finally here. Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Next to him, his twin brother George was equally apprehensive. The first year students all stood in a clump, staring up at the dais on which the staff table rested. The first years were about to be sorted into their houses.

Fred wanted Gryffindor, of course. Slytherin was out of the question. Fred was a pure-blood, which qualified him for that house, but Slytherin was also the house that had produced all manner of dark witches and wizards, including the most famous one of all, Lord Vol-...Well, Lord You-Know-Who. Plus, Fred had heard from his older brother Charlie that Slytherins were all prats.

Ravenclaw was probably not in Fred's future either, as Ravenclaw was the house for all the brainy types. Fred had never been like that. He and George had firmly established themselves as the troublemaker brothers in the family, always playing pranks and getting into mischief and tormenting their brothers. Well, not Bill, the oldest, and Charlie, the next oldest; they were much bigger than Fred, so Fred didn't mess with them. But Fred and George loved to annoy the snot out of Percy, who was a real fussbudget, and of course little Ron. Ickle Ronniekins, as Fred and George loved to call him. Then there was Ginny, the youngest Weasley child and the only girl. Fred and George teased her, too, but never so much as Ron and Percy. Ginny was so young, anyway. It wasn't as much fun to tease her. Yet.

In any case, Fred knew Ravenclaw was not for him. Nor, most likely, was Hufflepuff, the house known for having the hardest working students. Fred and George had never worked hard at much of anything except making trouble.

So it was down to Gryffindor, the house where all his brothers so far had been sorted. The house where his parents had been. The best house in the whole school, as far as Fred was concerned.

"When I call your names," said the tall, severe looking witch standing next to the dirty old wizard hat perched on the stool, "you will come forward and be sorted into your houses."

Fred gulped. The moment had come. It would take a while to get to him and George, their surname being near the end of the alphabet. Which gave Fred plenty of time to get more and more nervous about the whole sorting thing. Charlie had once said being sorted was really painful. Bill had mentioned some sort of test they had to take.

The Sorting Hat sang a song of some sort, but Fred was too nervous to really hear it. After a few minutes, it went silent, and Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll and began to read from it.

"Abbott, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth Abbott walked slowly up to the dais, sat on the stool, and looked terrified as Professor McGonagall placed the dirty hat on her head.


Cheers went up from the Hufflepuff table, and Elizabeth Abbott grinned weakly and walked down the dais to join her housemates.

Fred tried to focus on something to take his mind off the inevitable. Looking at the severe witch who was calling out names was no good; she was rather intimidating looking. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, which was good, but she also looked very strict, which was not so good. Probably just like Mum, thought Fred, though perhaps without all the yelling. This McGonagall doesn't look like she NEEDS to yell.

Fred looked away from Professor McGonagall and at his fellow first years. To a one they all looked small and scared. There were a roughly equal number of boys and girls. He knew some would be pure-bloods, some half, some Muggle-borns. The Muggle-borns fascinated Fred the most. How strange, really to be born to non-magic people.

Fred's eyes passed through the crowd but the students were too bunched up for him to really see any distinct faces. He did notice that there was every manner of skin and hair color. Fred and George, of course, stood out because of their vivid Weasley red hair.

Next to Fred, George squirmed. Like Fred, he hated ceremony. Just get it over with. And besides, they were both starving. They'd heard plenty from their older brothers about the spectacular Hogwarts' feasts, and Fred's stomach growled in anticipation.

"Davies, Roger."


Good lord, this was taking forever. Fred's stomach gave a rather loud grunt. The sound of giggling came directly behind Fred, and he turned, feeling a bit embarrassed and indignant.

He came face to face with a girl. A girl with velvety dark brown eyes and skin the color of...what? Fred thought. Like his dad's coffee after he'd put some cream into it. That was it. Coffee and cream. She was the giggler.

"What?" he hissed.

"Hungry, are you?" she asked, grinning.

Fred studied the girl who'd been laughing at him. He saw at once that she was quite pretty, although when he saw her hair, which was braided in elaborate cornrows, he was immediately tempted to yank on those braids in retaliation for her laughing at him. But she was smiling at him, and she had the whitest, most perfect teeth he'd ever seen.

"A bit," he said, but he didn't tug on her hair. Maybe because he didn't really want to get in trouble with that stern-faced witch who was calling out names. Or maybe because those perfect teeth of hers were casting some sort of spell on him.

"Johnson, Angelina."

The girl who'd giggled at him gave a little gasp and started forward.

Angelina Johnson, thought Fred. Angelina. Fancy name, that. The girl was tall for her age, he noticed. Tall and long-limbed and a bit awkward. She stumbled, just a bit, and the Slytherins laughed. Fred felt a rush of anger. They really were prats. Good lord, so she'd stumbled a bit. So what? As if a Slytherin never got nervous and stumbled a bit!

Angelina smiled faintly at Professor McGonagall and sat on the stool. McGonagall lowered the hat slowly to Angelina's head; it was barely touching her hair when it bellowed "GRYFFINDOR!"

Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table and Angelina smiled sheepishly and headed to the Gryffindor table. Fred followed her progress with his eyes and was suddenly struck by how very much he wanted to be in Gryffindor, too. They can't be all bad, he thought, if they have nice girls like Angelina in them. Angelina. He liked that name. She did look kind of angelic.

"Jordan, Lee."


The sorting dragged on. Fred's stomach was growling very loudly by now but it was joined by nearly every other first year left. They got through the L's, the M's, the N's. When, WHEN would they get to the W's?

"Weasley, Frederick."

Fred gave a start. What? Hadn't they just finished with the R's?

"Fred, go," George hissed. Fred nodded, his heart in his throat and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He headed up the steps to the dais and toward the school, with a look on his face as though he were facing his executioner.

Gryffindor, he thought wildly. I HAVE to be in Gryffindor. He looked down at the Gryffindor table. At once he saw his older brother Percy, who looked haughty and serious, as always. What a git. Way too serious for his own good. Then Fred caught sight of Angelina Johnson, and she smiled at him.

Please, let me be in Gryffindor, Fred thought. He felt, rather than saw, the Sorting Hat get placed on his head. It slipped down over his ears and blocked his vision.

"Another Weasley," said the hat in a low voice. "Only one place for you to go. GRYFFINDOR!"

Fred nearly fell off the stool with relief. He pulled the hat up, ignoring the way his hair was now sticking up, and practically jumped off the dais to join the Gryffindors. A moment later George joined Lee Jordan; the two of them immediately began a kind of huddled conversation. Lee was all right. The twins had met him on the train journey here.

Fred walked right over to the girl named Angelina Johnson and sat next to her.

"Fred Weasley," he said, holding out his hand.

"Yeah, I know," said Angelina. "You're one of Charlie Weasley's brothers. He's, like, a legend. Best Seeker in decades. Well, at least that's what my dad says."

"You follow Quidditch?" said Fred.

"I PLAY Quidditch," said Angelina. "Well, not really. I mean, I know how to. I've been flying since I was five. I hope I can try out for the team next year; there'll be an opening for Chaser. That's what I'm best at. My mum and dad promised to get me a new racing broom for my birthday next year, too! Do you play?"

Fred was a bit bewildered by the girl's rapid babbling, but he nodded.

"I usually play Beater when we play at home," said Fred. "I'm trying out next year, too. My brother George and me both."

"Cool," said Angelina, grinning. "So you're both trying out, huh? What sort of brooms are your mum and dad going to get you?"

"Oh," said Fred, and he immediately flushed crimson. "Well, uh, we don't really...I mean...I'll...I'll probably just use whatever broom we have...round the house."

Fred looked down, feeling very ashamed. Of course he wasn't getting a new broom. He didn't have much that was new. That's what happened when you had three older brothers and not much money to spare. You got hand me downs. In fact, Fred couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten anything new. Even his schoolbooks were second hand.

"Oh," said Angelina, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Well, what really matters is the person flying the broom, not the broom itself."

"Yeah," said Fred, cheering up a little. She was nice, this girl. Well, as nice as any girl could be. Everyone knew girls were weird and strange and did funny things and had cooties. But at least this girl liked Quidditch. That was cool. And she was nice to look at, too. As far as girls went, anyway. Maybe his first year wouldn't be so bad after all.


A/N: Sick of me yet? My James and Lily fic is winding down and I couldn't resist writing about my favorite twin and my favorite Chaser.

Just a note that this story skips over quite a bit of time. First chapter is first year, second chapter will be second year, and so on, with the last few chapters devoted to seventh year; I'll note any deviation from this formula if it comes up.