Dandelions

I HAVE PERHAPS JUST MADE A VERY BIG MISTAKE (OH WELL)

The Gryffindor common area had adjusted to autumn well, as it always had, with a light fire roaring in the hearth and the blankets seeming cozier than ever. Rory was currently situated in one of the bay windows overlooking the east side of the black lake, eyes half-lidded as he looked down below, watching the leaves swirl on the surface currents. He was halfway laid down, his back pressed against a pillow and his legs bent in front of him. A random blanket was pulled around his legs, a quidditch book from under George's bed balanced on his thighs.

Dean had come up to him just yesterday, asking if he had considered going to this ludicrous dueling club that Professor Lockhart had conjured up. Of course, Dean hadn't thought it was ludicrous at all, that was entirely Rory. He didn't have the heart to tell that to Dean, though, instead making up some excuse that he had quidditch training with Oliver or something. Dean seemed to still have bright eyes for Hogwarts, incapable of seeing that Lockhart was a brainless git, despite watching the 'famed wizard' turn Harry's arm boneless.

It wasn't entirely a lie, not really. Rory did actually have plans with Oliver, and on the surface it really was just some quidditch practice. However, with how Oliver had been running their one-on-one training sessions before, he doubted his quidditch skills would be the topic of conversation. His cheeks burned at the thought, and he glanced behind him at the common area to make sure nobody important was nearby.

"Rory," Fred hissed, causing Rory to whip his head right back around. Where had he come from? He hadn't been there just a second before-

Rory didn't have time to really ask out loud instead of in his head, with Fred grabbing his arm and hoisting him to his feet, blanket and book left discarded. George followed up just behind him, glancing behind the group before the two of them all but dragged Rory to their dorm room. Lee must've been behind them all at the start, because as soon as they were inside, he made sure the door was shut behind them.

"You will never believe what has just happened," the words tumbled from Lee's mouth, fingers snaking through the locks on his head as he stepped forward.

"Now, before we say anything, you've got to believe us about Harry," Fred explained, "We doubt it's what it looks like, you know, especially with all the rumors circulating."

"What happened?" Rory stood straight, "Did he do something?"

"We don't know," George sighed, "That's the bad part."

"MacMillan just found him standing over Fletcher's petrified body," Lee blurted, "And even Nearly Headless Nick seemed fucked up."

"But he's dead!" Rory reeled back, "How does some thirteen year old attack a bloody ghost."

"Well," Fred shifted his feet, "It might be more like how did the Heir of Slytherin attack a ghost."

"We don't know that," George pointed out, shooting Fred a sharp look, "Ron just said he was a parselmouth, that doesn't mean anything any which way."

"It's the language Slytherin spoke," Lee sighed, "The language of the snakes."

Fred tapped his temples, "Snakes equal Slytherin, everyone knows that."

"If snakes equaled Slytherin, and Harry speaks to them, why's he in Gryffindor?" Rory asked, now backing up and plopping down on his bed before putting a hand to his forehead. "So more people are getting petrified?"

"Seems like it," George mumbled, "None of them purebloods."

"Shit," Rory hissed under his breath.

"Yeah," Lee mumbled, "Shit's right."

The twins shifted uncomfortably, and Rory bitterly thought briefly how lucky they must be to not have to truly worry if they'd be the next victims. Guilt washed over him just as he thought it, pushing anything like that to the back of his mind immediately.