Prefect Isn't Perfect
The Truth Be Told
Studying dragons in Romania, rubbish… absolute fairytales. Everyone knows there’s no dragons in Romania. Well, with the exception of my family – they are, after all, Weasley’s.
It all started when I was elected prefect my fifth year. I was a superior of my family, besides my elder brother Bill whom had been prefect as well, but the praise and the attention of my family was just lavishing. Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely adored every pleasing second of it. The praise grew even fervent when I was entitled team captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Honestly, I couldn’t get enough of it.
However, such praise and glory wore down and eventually ceased as I had failed my first Apparition test. I was devastated – this couldn’t happen to me I was perfect; I was a prefect. Fred and George made fun of me, not to my face, but I could sense these bloody fools finding enjoyment out of my defeat. I could only imagine what the rest of the family thought of their failure of a son. However, I finally passed and only received a slight congratulation from the family.
This hurt me so. In fact, on sleepless nights, I planned a comeback that my parents would finally be proud of. However, this planning took its toll. My head was wrapped around this plan as if it were my security blanket. The flawless effort and performance in school I had once possessed was dwindling and my professors had taken notice to this. I still managed, though, to keep my grades in excellent condition with slight struggle.
Finally, I had concocted a plan so vile, vile compared to my standards at least, that it would either help or hurt me. For the first time in my life, I was planning to lie. Prefects don’t spew dishonesties; it’s a poison. However, since the rest of my family had lacked logic within their brain, this plan may actually work.
Therefore, the Christmas break before graduation, I returned home with the intent to lie. Around the table my family sat being their normal Weasley selves when I opened my mouth to regurgitate the story.
“I’m planning on moving to Romania,” I eyed their expression before continuing, “to study dragons.”
My heart pumped to a halt when a moment of silence separated my announcement and their reactions. It took quite a while for them to process what I had just said, but it was my mum who finally sliced through the thickness of the silence,
“By God, that’s great, Charles!”
Everyone else chirped in together as if they were a choir. My father agreed with my mum’s statement, Percy rolled his eyes in a disgusted manner, Fred and George made sarcastic remarks amongst themselves, Ron forked a large chunk of boiled potato in his mouth, and Ginny curiously surveyed the scene. Finally, the attention bathed me once again.
Unfortunately, graduation from Hogwarts came and passed all too hastily. My parents were eagerly anticipating my departure to Romania as much as they were expecting to accompany me on the travel to say their final farewells. However, to their dismay, I was forced to tell them I insisted on travelling alone. With a bit of reluctance, they agreed and performed bittersweet parting as my mum sobbed in my father’s arms.
A harsh reality check slapped me across the cheek when I arrived in Romania. I had lacked a secondary plan of how I was actually going to make it here without an actual occupational goal in mind. Though, I eventually applied to several muggle businesses and landed a job manually washing muggles’ plates at a local diner. It didn’t pay much, but I was able to afford some kind muggle family’s shed for a small rent.
Once I got that managed, finally came the frequent owls from my mother whom eagerly questioned how my work with dragons was going and I was forced to lie once more. Occasionally I would get her angry howlers, which exclaimed her infuriation that I have yet to invite the family out for a visit. Eventually, I collected enough money to visit them on Christmas holiday. This meant I had to lie once more; I even used a charm: dare lassitudo, to make my appearance look weary, almost as if I had been working hard for ages.
This rocked my mother’s emotions as she held my face in her hands and cried. I hated lying; I was a prefect. Sooner or later, we parted ways once again and I went back to reality as a dishwasher. I was undeniably living a double life, but I had to. I had to make my parents proud; I strove to be perfect. My parents’ pride in me replaced the guilt of lying and that’s all that mattered…
Prefects don’t have perfect.
It all started when I was elected prefect my fifth year. I was a superior of my family, besides my elder brother Bill whom had been prefect as well, but the praise and the attention of my family was just lavishing. Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely adored every pleasing second of it. The praise grew even fervent when I was entitled team captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Honestly, I couldn’t get enough of it.
However, such praise and glory wore down and eventually ceased as I had failed my first Apparition test. I was devastated – this couldn’t happen to me I was perfect; I was a prefect. Fred and George made fun of me, not to my face, but I could sense these bloody fools finding enjoyment out of my defeat. I could only imagine what the rest of the family thought of their failure of a son. However, I finally passed and only received a slight congratulation from the family.
This hurt me so. In fact, on sleepless nights, I planned a comeback that my parents would finally be proud of. However, this planning took its toll. My head was wrapped around this plan as if it were my security blanket. The flawless effort and performance in school I had once possessed was dwindling and my professors had taken notice to this. I still managed, though, to keep my grades in excellent condition with slight struggle.
Finally, I had concocted a plan so vile, vile compared to my standards at least, that it would either help or hurt me. For the first time in my life, I was planning to lie. Prefects don’t spew dishonesties; it’s a poison. However, since the rest of my family had lacked logic within their brain, this plan may actually work.
Therefore, the Christmas break before graduation, I returned home with the intent to lie. Around the table my family sat being their normal Weasley selves when I opened my mouth to regurgitate the story.
“I’m planning on moving to Romania,” I eyed their expression before continuing, “to study dragons.”
My heart pumped to a halt when a moment of silence separated my announcement and their reactions. It took quite a while for them to process what I had just said, but it was my mum who finally sliced through the thickness of the silence,
“By God, that’s great, Charles!”
Everyone else chirped in together as if they were a choir. My father agreed with my mum’s statement, Percy rolled his eyes in a disgusted manner, Fred and George made sarcastic remarks amongst themselves, Ron forked a large chunk of boiled potato in his mouth, and Ginny curiously surveyed the scene. Finally, the attention bathed me once again.
Unfortunately, graduation from Hogwarts came and passed all too hastily. My parents were eagerly anticipating my departure to Romania as much as they were expecting to accompany me on the travel to say their final farewells. However, to their dismay, I was forced to tell them I insisted on travelling alone. With a bit of reluctance, they agreed and performed bittersweet parting as my mum sobbed in my father’s arms.
A harsh reality check slapped me across the cheek when I arrived in Romania. I had lacked a secondary plan of how I was actually going to make it here without an actual occupational goal in mind. Though, I eventually applied to several muggle businesses and landed a job manually washing muggles’ plates at a local diner. It didn’t pay much, but I was able to afford some kind muggle family’s shed for a small rent.
Once I got that managed, finally came the frequent owls from my mother whom eagerly questioned how my work with dragons was going and I was forced to lie once more. Occasionally I would get her angry howlers, which exclaimed her infuriation that I have yet to invite the family out for a visit. Eventually, I collected enough money to visit them on Christmas holiday. This meant I had to lie once more; I even used a charm: dare lassitudo, to make my appearance look weary, almost as if I had been working hard for ages.
This rocked my mother’s emotions as she held my face in her hands and cried. I hated lying; I was a prefect. Sooner or later, we parted ways once again and I went back to reality as a dishwasher. I was undeniably living a double life, but I had to. I had to make my parents proud; I strove to be perfect. My parents’ pride in me replaced the guilt of lying and that’s all that mattered…
Prefects don’t have perfect.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is merely for comic relief; don't smite me. :)