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or in which confusion is piling up on ramona pham's plate.
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FRED WEASLEY LIKED to think there were few things he didn't understand. Especially at Hogwarts where, with the help of the Marauders Map, him and George just about knew everything going on. Not only did they have an advanced knowledge of every nook and cranny of the castle, but the people in it. He knew who was hooking up in broom closets, which teachers were skulking around the corridors at night, each and every first year that got stuck on the staircase to nowhere their first week. He knew that Harry Potter spent a lot of time in the restricted section of the library, that Looney Lovegood spent her Saturdays in Greenhouse #3 with Neville Longbottom, and that there was some sort of secret society meeting on the Quidditch Pitch every Tuesday at midnight.
Part of him enjoyed this omniscient knowledge. Like being a fly on the wall at the wizarding school, a role that allowed him and his twin to pinpoint not only what annoyed each student to no end, but occasionally what made them smile as well.
Fred Weasley liked to think there were few things he didn't understand— but he knew that one of them was Ramona Pham.
Perhaps to make matters worse, he had even thought he did for a while. Throughout the course of his sixth year he had simply accepted that Ramona couldn'r take a goddamned hint— and he had, in turn, stopped trying to hide it. Then Ramona had started reacting. Fred did not miss the rouge of her cheeks or the fact that sometimes she forgot how to speak altogether. That, he though, might even mean something.
And then things changed.
For the last week Ramona had seemed to be doing her absolute best to avoid him at all costs. When she couldn't, like at dinner or in class, she was quiet and scarcely even looked at him.
