In Between

It never crossed your mind that the Weasley twins would occupy your time more often now that you were no longer upset with them than at any other point before. You of course met them before at the Sorting Ceremony your first year after the hat evidently decided you were courageous enough for Gryffindor—they were a lot smaller and less devious then, if that was ever possible. Since then, you’ve been in shared classes, seen them in the common room, and watched them play Quidditch all the while somehow avoiding their attention—until this year. Nothing had changed, not to you at least, so why were they constantly vying for your attention now?

“Want to help us out?” Fred whispered leaning over the back of the sofa in the common room, interrupting your studying of Advanced Potion Making. His hands pushed the cushions down with his weight resting on the backing, awaiting your answer impatiently.

Closing the quaint textbook, you looked up at him, his eyes gleamed back full of mischief. “I’m afraid if I do, I might not come back in one piece.” The answer was less than satisfactory to him, but it was warranted. They hadn’t blown anyone up, yet, but their recent adventures into pyrotechnic products have caused some permanent staining on the common room ceiling—a legacy of their time here you suppose. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you come and see?” He leaned in closer.

“I thought it was obvious I don’t trust this.” You said, pushing yourself off the burgundy cushions, stowing your book on the end table nearby mentally noting to pick it up later. Your comment was left hanging as Fred walked towards the boys’ dormitories guiding you to the sixth-year room and ushering you in. It looked the same as the girls with 5 four-poster beds spread evenly, mismatched trunks laid at the ends of the frames—much less neatly than the girls. The missing partner, George, was found rummaging in the drawer beside his bed, sheets made decently to your surprise, but you couldn’t help in assuming the bed to his left was Fred’s due to the scattered sweets wrappers and unmade sheets. You made it to the end of the bed, but before you could take in the rest of the room a thin object came hurling through the air.

“Catch—” said George absently.

Your hands outstretched instinctively catching the long wooden object—a wand you deciphered—though before you could get a good look it shifted into a rubber duck, plopping back into your hand softly.

“So, what do you think?” Fred arrived next to you plucking the yellow ducky out of your hand and squeaking it before tossing it into the open nightstand drawer. “It’s only one use so far, but we are working on multi-use ones.”
“What was that?” The inquiry was expected as Fred joined his brother on the bed, splaying his long figure about taking up most of the neatly made space. George abandoned the junk-filled drawer and turned to look at you, grinning at your curiosity.

“They’re faux wands—don’t really make magic, but great for a good joke.” He produced another, similar looking wand though this time when he swished it the tip began to sparkle, slowly burning down as a candle would and extinguishing—his fingers still intact. Your interest must have been showing on your face as both boys smirked at each other. Fred was the first to speak.

“We wanted your opinion on the prototypes.”

Your brow raised as you sat on Fred’s messy bed, making sure to brush the candy wrappers aside. “My opinion? But why? You know I don’t like your pranks.”

“You like our pranks—”

“—just not when they’re towards you.” Fred stated, his finger raised high as-a-matter-of-factly.

“And that makes me a qualified product tester, huh?” You frowned in their direction, though not entirely upset with them. Their transfiguring wand was quite clever, and their choice of rubber duck was quite cute having heard their father was devoted to muggle affairs and objects. If their testing didn’t involve Puking Pastilles, you were more likely to agree in accompanying them during the preliminary phase. George began explaining the reasoning behind having you be the beta tester and your outsider opinions on joke products, Fred chiming in frequently to emphasize your loyalty from ‘day one’.

Frankly you stopped listening after the second reference to the pastille incident and instead began to snoop through Fred’s side of the dormitory. Looking at his trunk at the end of the bed you could tell it was rugged and worn like George’s but not clean and closed like his brothers’—dirty laundry laid sprawling out, several potion textbooks were all worn through and tabbed. You felt like you were learning much about the two of them just by observing their living habits, you decided to turn to his nightstand which too was covered in several candy wrappers, most you had seen from Honeydukes, but some you didn’t recognize. Opening the drawer slowly you were able to glimpse at some of his junk which included some messy drawings of what looked like their joke-wand, crinkled rolls of parchment, a photograph—though you couldn’t see what—and what looked like—

“’Ay stay out of that.” Fred threw his hand over the drawer, closing it with an audible ‘thunk’ bringing both George’s and your attention to him. His ears were burning red as he ushered you out of his bed, suddenly very interested in straightening his sheets. “Go rummage in George’s drawers he’s got more interesting stuff.”

You made a mock attempt at reaching for George’s nightstand, but he shooed you away, intent on keeping his junk just as private as his brothers. Deciding you had spent enough time ‘testing’ their product, George ushered you out sending a cheeky wink your way before closing the door on you. Your ear was pressed flush against the door trying to make out any conversation, but none could be heard.

Of course they’d be smarter than that.

Your nosey adventures had not dissuaded Fred or George from seeking you out frequently now for more than just your opinion on their schemes. Halloween had come and gone, and just like everyone else you participated in frequenting Hogsmeade to take in the decorations and festivities, enjoyed a butterbeer, and returned to the castle with goodies to keep yourself entertained—the twins kept the rest of the common room busy with a better version of their faux wands and scaring first years as they came through the portrait hole.

It was now two weeks into November and the castle was abuzz with anticipation as the first task was to begin in the coming days, and Gryffindors were a whole extra level of nerves with one of their own—albeit a fourteen-year-old—competing in the competition for fame and glory for the house. Harry was a friend to the twins seeing how they all played on the same Quidditch team—and played well—but he was also a friend to their younger brother Ron who you noticed coming and going more frequently most likely because of his friend’s involvement in the tournament.

“Our brothers won’t tell us what it is.” Began Fred as usual, his legs propped up on the desk as his chair leaned precariously backwards. The two of them found you studying in a corner of the library which was secluded and quiet before they arrived—you had no idea why they were even still there.

“One works for the Ministry. Been goading us about the tournament since summer.” George clarified, resting his chin on the backwards chair he occupied. You simply hummed in response as the potions essay in front of you was starting to look more and more daunting with every word they spoke, and Professor Snape had been in a rather poor mood since the first class of the semester, assigning it in a fit of rage.

A small, winged paper insect fluttered its way into your view, hovering over your parchment paper and taking off to join a small group of similar looking paper crafts above your head. George was aimlessly making more next to you and adding to the swarm, which wouldn’t have bothered you had they not begun to flap their papery wings around your head. The waving of your hand to shoo them proved fruitless and you decided it was time to take a break from the essay, though you could think of two people who had already decided that for you.

“Your brothers must be cool. I mean, working for the Ministry is big.” Your gaze fell upon Fred who snorted in response, crashing the legs of his chair back to the floor.

“One of them is, the other’s a git.” It was not the response you were expecting. You knew very little of their family except for what they told you and what you’ve heard around, but this suggested that there might be some conflict you didn’t know of. George didn’t seem happy where the conversation was going either.

 The three of you sat in silence for a little while, only the sound of enchanted books above and quiet distant chatter occupied the empty space. The weather had not been kind the last few days as the long, paned windows reflected—it was horribly grey out, but the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting against the window lulled you dreamily.

“Whose photo do you keep in your dresser, Fred?” You asked out of the blue, curiosity getting the better of your manners.

His brown eyes stared at you from across the table, dancing with an orange from the tables’ candlelight. Your stomach tightened, afraid you may have overstepped a boundary—you didn’t really know the two of them well, were you even friends? They had just begun pestering you one day and you went along with it. Did you have a right to ask about their personal lives?

“Wondering if you’ve got competition, love?” He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, a grin plastered across his face that hung from ear to ear.

Your face burned with embarrassment, and they seemed to recognize this. Fumbling for a comeback you blurted out what you thought was witty. “I don’t think I want to compete for your attention with your aunt.”

“It’s not our aunt!” Fred seemed dejected by your response and George’s burst of laughter from across the table, but regained his confidence as Madame Pince made her way over, lecturing the table on library etiquette. Her thin figure shrunk as she turned her attention to another unsuspecting victim across the library.

“Old crone…” George murmured.

“So, you won’t tell me who it is?” You decided to ask one more time before giving up your efforts, it wouldn’t have been hard to sneak in and look again, not to mention find out what Fred was being so secretive about in his drawer anyway.

“Never.” Was his simple answer.