Harry Potter The Invention of Hugo Weasley

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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Welcome, readers, to the fifth story in the journals & ice cream series! At this point, you really do need to read the first four in order for the copious background to this story to make sense, as I'm sure most of my regular readers will have guessed by now that there is a large over-arching plotline. Don't worry, all the other stories are only 11 chapters each! All the relevant information regarding them (and their order) is on my profile page_._ This story is going to be a different again to the others, in that _The Invention of Hugo Weasley_ has a different the tone from the first four stories in this series and is set six years after the events of _Lorcan Scamander and the Year of Raging Hormones_. The first four stories were considerably light-hearted. This one… is not.

As always, this story is dedicated to my muse/enabler/partner-in-crime and friend, **Jenn** – and to my sister, **Akinaka**! Couldn't have made it this far without the both of you!

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**The Invention of Hugo Weasley**

one

_from the journal of Hugo Weasley_

_20 December, 2030_

So you know that little voice in the backs of peoples' minds that warns them when they're about to do or say something really, _really_ stupid and makes them _not_ do that really, really _stupid_ thing?

I don't have one.

I mean, sure, Rose tells me often enough that I don't have one but I didn't really believe her until I botched up big-time last night and proved her 100% correct.

I hate it when she's right.

_Later_

It was my fault. But if you ask me, Livia totally overreacted:

"More the fool was I to believe that you were above the lowest common denominators in this room," Livia had said. We were at the Yuletide Charity for the Muggleborn Fund (1), and she was using her cold-as-ice voice – the one she uses on people she doesn't like. She's never used it on me before. "It appears that your social trustworthiness and your value on personal matters, Hugo Weasley, are as repugnant as Mister Blishwick's business scruples (2). As I now find myself in undesirable company, I take my leave."

…No, it wasn't an overreaction. It was only fair, I suppose. I ruined her trust in me with a single word; she destroyed our friendship with a sentence.

She was a lot classier about it, though.

* * *

_21 December, 2030_

I think I'm still in shock from it all. I don't… really know what I should be feeling. No, actually, I _do_ know what to feel (some sort of combination of ashamed/devastated/angry/heartbroken), but it hasn't really hit in yet. I guess it will soon. It all happened so _fast_.

I just… need to get my thoughts out, I think. Write about what happened.

It started out okay. That stupid charity at Malfoy Manor. I mean, it's not stupid, it's a worthy cause and all. It's just time consuming. And I was minding my own business, you know? Just talking with a couple of people, trying to get away from all the prying questions of "How's work going?" and "What's your next invention?" Because, I get enough of that from the Ministry and I just wanted an evening off. One evening, was that really too much to ask for? Like I get that's my career. But I don't _plan_ my inventions, I just sit down and decide to make something one day. Like that air conditioning/cooling charm hybrid I made two summers ago. I only made it because it was stinking hot, and then I got a heap of money for it (3).

"Hugo, I really wish you'd let me look at your accounts," Mum sighed while I was trying to sneak another glass of champagne. "You received three Howlers last year before you –"

"Do we have to talk about this_ now_, Mum?"

"Oi!" Dad said. "I don't care how old you are or how successful you are, don't take that tone with your mother."

I didn't think I was using a tone, but I said "sorry" anyway. And I wasn't really sorry, but Dad could tell because when Mum wasn't looking he cuffed me over the back of the head and told me to go and socialise. Unfortunately 'socialising' for me generally means people coming up to me and asking me if I'll invent such-and-such impossible item.

Not that I say no. I mean, nothing's impossible when you put your mind to it. But that's what my office in Diagon Alley is for – for people to come in and visit me and put in requests.

Most of the people were pretty polite. Teddy was at the charity and he helped me brush off a few weird requests (mostly sex-related requests, it's really uncomfortable), but he got dragged away by Victoire, and Rose was in the middle of an argument with Lysander (some on-again-off-again relationship thingy). I tried to look for Al as well, but Uncle Harry just said Al was off looking for Scorpius, and basically it was just a whole lot of everyone-looking-for-everyone. (I should've stayed with Uncle Harry, he's been kinda lonely since Aunt Ginny's accident.)

At least we knew where Lorcan and Lily were – France 1986, according to the last letter they'd had delivered to us via BUNDLE. (4)

Livia wasn't in the immediate vicinity. I hadn't spoken to her all night, and the most I'd seen of her until about… like 9:30 pm was the back of her head.

So, okay. It's hard to describe Livia Malfoy.

In the magical world, she's the social elite, a fashion paragon, always in the papers, always has an opinion to give on something, and people want to be seen with her at their functions. She is the non-magical daughter of one of the oldest (reformed) Pureblood families in the magical UK. She is a young up-and-rising politician in Muggle London and the Ministry's first trial Muggle-Magical Correspondent. Despite her lack of magical talent, the people adore her thanks to all the years "Lord" Malfoy dedicated to building her an image.

To me she's always just been Livia, and she used to be my best friend.

And I might be in love with her, but you know. Best friends. Buddies. Ever since we were children.

Anyway. I hadn't been able to get near her all evening, because she was busy entertaining some Hogwarts Board Governors. That's a thing she does – entertain. She flirts and smiles at people with power and bats her eyelashes and acts like Miss Livia Malfoy, and they laugh at her sly jokes and fall down at her feet.

I hate it. I hate her pretending to be someone she isn't. That isn't _Livia_, that's a fake version of her.

So I could hardly get near her at all that evening. I wandered off on my own, and it was around about 10 pm that Cetus Blishwick cornered me by the punch.

I can't stand Cetus Blishwick. He was a year behind me at school, Gryffindor guy, and he belongs to an old-money, upper-class, Pureblood family. Said family is famous for buying businesses and getting money from other peoples' hard work. For the last three years, Cetus has been trying to buy 'shares' in my inventions. I don't know what shares even are, to be honest, but I asked Mum about it when he first brought it up and she warned me against it.

"Good evening, Hugo."

I'd have recognised that slimy voice of his anywhere. "Blishwick," I muttered back, trying to edge away. He cornered me against the table instead.

"I was hoping we might talk?"

"No, thanks," I said, and pushed him aside this time. He followed me out into the middle of the ballroom. So it wasn't technically a ballroom, but I don't know the official name for it, and basically I just call all of the rooms that are that large in Malfoy Manor a 'ballroom'.

"Come now, Hugo, there's no need to be so standoffish! Just hear me out."

"Is it about those shares things again?" I asked dubiously.

He laughed. "No, not as such. More a business offer."

"I've got a business already. A pretty successful one at that."

"I know," Blishwick said. "I was thinking more along the lines of, you help me and I'll help you."

"I said _no_."

"You haven't even listened to me yet!"

"I'm not interested in whatever it is, okay? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I could help you, Hugo," he insisted. "Look, over the last year you've invented twenty best-selling products – I don't know one family that doesn't have a fingerprint-locked door on their home."

"That was commissioned by the Ministry," I grumbled. "I didn't _want_ to –"

"But I think you could be _better_, Hugo, and if you allow me to invest in your inventions I could offer you an entirely new clientele – people with ideas that _you_ could make reality!"

It was basically his old spiel all wrapped up nicely in a new bow. "I don't _like_ it when people tell me what to make!" I snapped.

By that stage, Blishwick and I had drawn a bit of a crowd. People were staring, Mum and Dad were making their way over from the other side of the hall to either intervene or scare Blishwick off, and even Albus looked to be giving up his sulk-fest over Scorpius's absence to help out.

Which, you know, is just a bit embarrassing. I'm an adult now and I don't need my parents or cousin(s) rushing to save me every time, for Merlin's sake. That said, none of them ended up being there first – Livia stepped forward, out of the crowd, looking elegant and poised and putting on her _Miss Livia Malfoy_ act.

"Hugo, Mister Blishwick," she greeted, smiling without really smiling. I can tell the difference between her real smiles and fake smiles. That was a fake smile. "What seems to be the problem?"

"No problem," I gritted out, and she looked at me with surprise. I was silently trying to tell her to go away, that I didn't need help for it, but she didn't. Blishwick gave her a little sneer (he's bitter he isn't in favour with her) and tilted his head in a mock-bow.

"No problem," he echoed me. "I was simply trying to discuss a business proposition with Mister Weasley."

"Does Mister Weasley want to hear your business proposal?" she asked coolly before I could speak.

"No," I snapped, "Mister Weasley does not, and Mister Weasley was handling this just fine!"

Livia turned to gaze at me at that, and her _Miss Livia Malfoy_ act dropped for a moment. She looked confused. "I was only offering my help, Hugo," she said, lowering her voice so only I could hear her.

"I don't need help from a Squib!"

Not only did I say that, I _yelled_ it. So, you know. Everyone heard. This sort of horrified silence settled across the entire room, everyone who wasn't already paying attention to the argument staring at me. Even Blishwick, the prick, looked shocked. I definitely heard a glass shatter on the ground (5). I wasn't watching them – I was watching Livia. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, as though I'd slapped her, and for a second I wondered if _she_ was going to slap _me_.

I kinda wish she had.

I _really_ wish she had.

Livia composed herself immediately. She lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and said, "I see."

"I –" I choked. "Livia, I –"

I guess I thought maybe I could apologise, like it would fix what I'd said? I don't know. I don't know why I said that, why I called her _that._ I'm pretty sure I hadn't been drinking, no more than one glass anyway. And even if I had, why _that?_

Merlin's saggy left testicle. Understandably, Livia wasn't very interested in my spluttering attempts at an apology.

"More the fool was I to believe that you were above the lowest common denominators in this room," she said. "It appears that your social trustworthiness and your value on personal matters, Hugo Weasley, are as repugnant as Mister Blishwick's business scruples. As I now find myself in undesirable company, I take my leave."

And she left, and I Apparated the hell out of there, and I've just set fire to the third Howler Mr Malfoy sent me since yesterday.

* * *

_22 December, 2030_

I don't know what to do. She isn't answering her phone – I've been calling her all morning.

I don't even know what to say to her if she answers.

_Later_

I blew my phone up by accident. I guess the _Sonorus_ charm on it didn't mix well with the electronics.

_Later again_

Bloody hell. I don't… I don't know what to do.

* * *

_23 December, 2030_

I got two letters from customers today saying that they want to cancel their invention commissions. Usually there's an explanation, but… no reason given.

That aside, I've been ignoring the letters from Mum and Dad. And from Al and Rose and Lysander.

I'm surprised Scorpius hasn't sent me a letter yet. Or come into my shop to beat me up.

* * *

_24 December, 2030_

Five more customers pulled out their orders – just before Christmas. This is usually the busiest time of year for me. I asked the one who came into my shop to break the news why he cancelled the order, and… well, I'm in deeper shit than I realised.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Mister Weasley, it's just…"

"Just what?" I asked.

He winced. "It just wouldn't reflect well on my family to be associated with your inventions any longer."

"…Why?" I asked, because I'm thicker than maple syrup and still hadn't caught on.

"You know," he said, then lowered his voice and looked around. "Because of the… _incident_. At the Muggleborn Charity."

So it turns out, Livia is apparently capable of destroying a person's reputation with a single sentence. That's legitimately, like, an _actual thing_ she can do.

And she did it to me.

_Later_

I deserved it.

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_Footnotes:_

1. The Yuletide Charity for the _Muggleborn Fund_ used to be called The Annual _Muggleborn Fund_ Christmas Charity Ball. It got cancelled after that murder at Malfoy Manor in 2018, until Mr Malfoy funded a revival Christmas Charity and renamed it.

2. Seriously, the guy is a total prick and I'm convinced all of his money is dirty.

3. A few hundred thousand galleons. I'm not actually sure what the real amount is. Mum keeps telling me I should buy a house or something with it but I'm pretty happy living above my shop in Diagon Alley. What do I need a big whopping place for?

4. Time travel. At least they're happy. Also, Rufus from Blundershire's Universally Notable Deliverer of Letters and Entities is starting to get confused with the strange dates on the letters.

5. Dad told me afterwards that it was Mr Malfoy who dropped his glass, and he looked like he was ready to murder me. I don't blame him.


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Suspense