Disclaimer: I own nothing. Angel the Series belongs to Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling.
A/N: These drabbles won't always be in strict chronological order.
It took Fred a long time to understand that people were pointing and staring at her for a reason.
She wasn't stupid. It was just that for as long as she could remember everyone
she knew got stared at and whispered about.
People stared at her mother with her sense of style that nobody could keep track of, large eyes, and odd sense of humor and reality.
They stared at her Draco-dragon because he was rich and he told her that his whole family did bad things in the War.
They stared at Uncle George because he only had one ear. And they whispered because he had lost something else. Someone else. A brother. A twin that shared her name.
There were crowds and on a few occasions paparazzi when she went anywhere with her bio-Dad because he was the Hero. The Boy who Lived they all called him. Which was a funny name because he wasn't a boy he was a Daddy.
Aunt Hermione got recognized because she was one of the Golden Trio. One of three. 1/3. But that didn't make sense since she was her whole person as well. People made up odd nicknames.
The only person that really didn't get much attention was Aunt Hannah which was so silly because she was a MediWitch. She saved peoples’ lives and delivered babies every day. Plus she was really
And even she
got stared at some too because she was always with Uncle Neville who was another Hero of Hogwarts. He even got to cut off a super evil snakes head, which was neat.
So, it wasn't lack of noticing the looks or whispers. Maybe, she was guilty of not noticing the contents of the whispers or the fact that often times the stares were directed at her
not who she was with.
She was seven and had wandered away from Aunt Hermione in the bookstore the first time she remembers truly recognizing it. There were two women slightly behind her whispering loudly about her birth and what type of person her mother was. Mean things. Bad things. Things she knew were wrong (and some she knew were right).
Fred clutched the book shelf in front of her tightly and breathed deeply as she felt anger wash over her. An image came to her mind of blonde spikey hair and a cocky smirk and she smirked at him in agreement as she turned on her heel to look at the women head on.
And flipped them the bird.