1. She’s a ginger. The most notable thing about the Weasley family aside from a) the fact that they can do magic and b) they’re, like, super poor, is their fiery red locks. Valerie Frizzle is inarguably of this clan, unless the color settings on your TV are all janky.
2. She’s magic. Yeah, I know. These first two are kinda obvious. Ms. Frizzle is a red-headed wizard lady. I promise these get more interesting.
3. She drives an enchanted vehicle. Molly Weasley had no earthly idea why her husband, who had the ability to apparate wherever the hell he wanted on planet earth (or beyond? Harry Potter in space? Excuse us while we distract ourselves with that thought for about 20 minutes) with the snap of a finger, was so obsessed with his enchanted muggle car. I imagine the matron Weasley looking at it every day, parked either in the yard or in the branches of the nearest Whomping Willow, with the same look of exasperation that Arnold had on every time he heard the class was taking a “field trip” to a “totally normal location” on this so-called “bus”: I knew I should’ve stayed home today. The bus’s unpredictability and penchant for acting up and sputtering out at inopportune moments, however, was infinitely more dangerous when a dozen kids were free floating somewhere between the orbits of Neptune and Pluto, or in the plaque-lined circulatory system of Roger the Fat Kid. So maybe stop your bitching about landing in a tree and getting detention, Harry and Ron? Hmm? Maybe think about those poor kids whose likelihood of dying increases exponentially every time Arnold’s horrible cousin Janet insists on putting another Mars rock on the bus because she’s a stupid selfish bitch-face? Causing Arnold to, out of sheer frustration, take his fucking helmet off on Pluto? Did you freeze solid on Pluto? No. You were in a tree. Take a goddamn chill pill.
4. She has a weird pet with some potential secrets. Ms. Frizzle’s lizard Liz (say that five times fast) appears to be your run-of-the-mill classroom chameleon. Oh, except that he can also drive buses, has dexterity reserved only for those creatures typically graced with more than two chunky digits per leg, and has the mental acuity necessary to babysit a twelve year old when he decides to puss out on a field trip and stay in the classroom all by himself, *cough*Arnold*cough*. Liz the chameleon quite literally suffices as a fully functional substitute teacher. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch of the imagination, then, to suggest that perhaps Liz is actually the animal embodiment of a fugitive Animagus on the run for aiding and abetting an internationally feared psychotic murderer across both the wizard and muggle worlds. WHAT ARE YOU HIDING, LIZ. STOP PREYING ON THE KINDNESS OF THESE POOR UNSUSPECTING CHILDREN AND REVEAL YOURSELF.
5. Despite her otherworldly abilities, she works a mundane Muggle-related job. The Frizz could probably wrangle entire galaxies with her immense power, threatening to smash them together and obliterate all life in the known universe unless all the world’s governments give her absolute global power and a whole crap ton of money in an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. Wait, what am I thinking?! What is mere human money to a woman who can shrink people infinitesimally, make sound waves visible, bake children into a pie in an actual oven without burning them alive, and travel back in time eons to ride on the backs of dinosaurs? Ms. Frizzle is become death, destroyer of worlds! But no, instead she’s an elementary school teacher administering standardized tests to snot-nosed little kids who, after weeks and weeks of absurd field trips, are now woefully unprepared for said standardized tests. Her interest in the muggle world is not unlike Arthur Weasley’s position in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, in that both seem to gaily stomp through the non-wizarding world with reckless abandon and very little understanding of how it actually works.
As soon as Katie learns the name of the regular attendee at her Monday trivia nights, she’ll credit him for this idea.