In Between

It had taken approximately 15 minutes since entering the Gryffindor Common Room for identical red-headed pranksters to spoil the beginning of your sixth year. Just as quickly as the Welcome Feast ended those two had begun marketing to their new first-year victims some preliminary products that they created, intending to sell them for a somewhat fair price. However, what was not fair was the vomit dripping off the front of your new robes from the interaction of a first-year boy and a Puking Pastille. Now that was unfair.

A small crowd of Gryffindor first-years gathered near you trying to help remove as much of the sick residue as you could and apologizing profusely for being reckless—but you did not want an apology from them. You could make out the back of two red heads just over the crowd of onlookers, obviously consumed by something more important than the current situation.

“I’d say it needs tweaking,” said Fred.

“I’d say you’re right,” agreed George, “couldn’t even get the second half of it down.”

The two pondered amongst each other as you ripped off your robes, irritated by the pungent smell and your peers unwanted attention. You dragged the stained garment behind you as you made your way to the girls’ dormitories, passing Angelina Johnson and taking a seat on your four-poster bed, the robes now scattered to the side. Your trunk had already been delivered before entering the common room thankfully, rummaging to find a change of clothes for the night that didn’t smell.

That night you laid awake staring between the ceiling and outside the small glass windows scattered around, pondering what your next actions would be. You could create your own concoction with a little extra potions research and give them a taste of their own medicine, or you could sneak into the boys’ dormitories and get rid of their stash while they were away. The ideas swarming your head were tantalizing, it was only fair that your response was to overreact seeing as how they couldn’t even personally apologize for the backfiring of their own product—what kind of entrepreneurs did they think they were? A rustling of sheets drew your attention from the devious thoughts, seeming to whisper in the darkness what you already knew—you would just have to confront them the traditional way.

With the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament being held at Hogwarts this year and the urgency of new advanced curriculars it was hard to spare time to confront the Weasley twins at a time you felt they would feel inclined to listen. But would they even listen when you did find the time? You were about to find out having followed them since Defense Against the Dark Arts ended, entering a semi-empty corridor where the boys were.

“Hey!” Your voice reverberated against the paned walls, a few heads turning your direction including the two you intended the message for.

They glanced between each other briefly before turning to continue, your face contorted in disbelief at their disinterest. Picking up your pace you dashed after them as they turned right out of the hallway, but as you rounded the corner you ran into something hard, stumbling and falling backward onto the floor. As you got up, brushing off your robes and your hands which were now covered in pebbles and cuts from the stone floor, the hard object you rammed into spoke.

“You okay?” Looking up, your eyes met with brown ones, another set of the same eyes made their way into your field of vision.

You cleared your throat having been caught off guard by the sudden shift in dynamics. “No, actually I’m not.” Standing up straighter you began to berate them. “You ruined my robes! Both of you! With your antics!” Their eyebrows shifted at the same time; a skeptical look spread across their faces.

“Us—"

“Never—”

“Couldn’t be—”

“But it was!” You interrupted, “Your stupid pastilles made that first-year puke on me and ruined my robes.” As your hands flailed about, attempting to help make your point, Fred chimed in.

“Oh, I remember now. The Puking Pastille.” His long fingers snapped together, a sign of his correct recollection. “We’ve solved that issue so don’t worry, no more vomit on your pretty robes.”

“And—” begun George, “you can have a free sample when the rerelease is ready.”

Your face was scarlet with rage, how could they be so dense? It was no longer about getting an apology; they plainly didn’t even realize they were in the wrong. You tried to speak, to think of anything to say back to them but instead you looked like a fish gasping for air. Completely downtrodden with how the interaction was going you turned on your heel and left the way you came, hoping to save yourself further embarrassment.

Fred and George stood watching your retreating figure, only speaking once you exited out the large wooden doors.

“Wonder what that was about.”

“Reckon she wanted an apology?”

Fred pondered the idea and shrugged, turning to continue where the pair were heading to before your interruption.

The next few weeks continued as normal, homework was becoming insurmountable, the first Triwizard task was approaching in November, and any sort of prank or scheme seemed to have avoided your proximity so far. Your robes were salvaged with a few washes and some powerful scrubbing, so you now dawned them once again on your way to double Herbology. The warm atmosphere of the castle faded away as you made your way to the greenhouses, a crisp, cold October wind nipped against your cheeks and hands as you hugged them tighter to yourself. Gathering with the rest of your house as they all huddled for warmth, you spotted the twins whispering amongst themselves.

“How would we even go about doing that—”

“I’m not sure, but we can’t let him get away with it—”

Truthfully you had been avoiding them like the plague since your last encounter, embarrassed at the feeble attempt to stand up for yourself and upset with the thickness of their skulls. It wasn’t hard to avoid them as you only sharded a few classes with them, and they had a tendency to disappear rather quickly after. The common room wasn’t much of a struggle either as you stuck to the library, rushing into the girls’ dormitory as soon as the portrait hole closed. Neither Fred nor George had attempted to talk to you further about the situation, but they had started to steal glances at you more often than they had before in the classrooms and in the common room, much to your dismay.

The Gryffindor huddle shifted slightly to accommodate another warm body pushing you further in and towards the scheming pair.

“It’s not technically blackmail—”

“—It very much is so!”

Your back connected with that of one of the twins, not daring to turn around and decipher who—you did not want to give the impression you were eavesdropping. Their conversation stalled and only when Professor Sprout collected you all and brought you to warmth, did they resume their shenanigans.

Once more, the topic of class was Venomous Tentacula, an overview scrawled across the blackboard at the front of the room. Noticing this you situated yourself onto one of the rickety stools and pulled out a quill and parchment to begin sketching and labeling the seedling in front of you. Professor Sprout wandered the class, examining the work and answering questions, spending quite some time explaining to a Hufflepuff the importance of protective gear when handling the plant full grown. The quill in your hand became heavy—the work was not hard by any means however there were only so many important parts of a young plant you could label before it became repetitive. Your eyes wandered the class lazily, gauging what others were doing with the rest of their time hoping to get some ideas.

The stools on either side of you scraped against the stone flooring as Fred and George sat flanking you, bookbags slunk to the floor in unison. The scanning of the room would have to wait as the familiar sinking feeling returned to your stomach, you were not pleased with their choice of seating. Placing new parchment on top of your dried work you scratched your quill aimlessly, perhaps if you acted like you were busy they would leave you alone—but you knew their manners were questionable. Two flaming heads became clearer within your peripherals, and you realized they were looking—no—leaning towards you. There was no ignoring them.

“May I help you—” you started but were interrupted.

“We’re sorry.” They said in unison. Looking between them they both seemed to be genuine, about what though you could only guess. Your hand found its way to your face, massaging your eyes and temple in thought. Part of you wanted to forgive them right away and forget about the disaster of a first day, you knew it wasn’t their intent for you to be covered in vomit, however you were weary that if you did accept the apology that this would open you up once more to their antics.

“Gonna accept it or sulk some more?” Fred spoke up, his elbow leaning precariously close to the seedling in front of him. “We can’t handle the sulking.”

“You can’t handle the sulking? I was the one who got puked on!” Your quill thunked against the barely used parchment, and your back was to George who moved next to his brother intent on being included in the conversation. “And on top of that neither of you noticed or apologized.”

“We’re apologizing now,” began George, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes, because you can’t handle my sulking.” Turning clockwise, you brought your attention back to the seedling finding it far more interesting than the current conversation. “I don’t see why my sulking bothers you so much.”

Your seat was yanked with such force it almost knocked you sideways, the screeching of metal on stone drawing much more attention than you would have hoped, but thankfully Sprout did not look up. “What are you doing?” The twins had dragged your seat closer to their station making it hard to continue your attempts at ignoring them.

“Will you just accept the bloody apology?” It was their turn to be upset with you, Fred’s face scrunched as he frowned, and George’s brows simply furrowed at your stubbornness. It was time to relent.

“Alright, I accept your apology just be quiet. I’d rather not get in trouble.” Relief washed over their faces as they scooted away, spending the remaining moments of class doing the work they seemed to have not started earlier. A thought trickled through your mind, hoping they hadn’t started the classwork for another reason other than attempting to apologize to you. The idea that you preoccupied their mind for any time longer than when you were directly talking to them seemed unfathomable. Your eyes flickered left to where they both sat, heads together as if their thoughts were connected, working on the preliminary sketches while Professor Sprout lectured them on their lack of progress. They seemed to take the criticism well, as they returned to the parchment in front of them but not before one of them glanced your way and met your gaze. Looking away hurriedly and gathering your belongings you headed out the warm comfort of the greenhouses into the crisp weather, hoping you could pass the blush on your face as just a thing of the cold.