PURIFY : Fred Weasley

01: Sullied

Even though the train is moving, I wander through the hallways. I'm avoiding the people I always hang out with, since they all tend to love gossip and desperately want to know how my dates (if you could call them that) have been with Marcus Flint.

I make it to the booths, peering around for any Slytherins but see no sign of them anywhere. Instead, I pass by two prefect girls chatting, both from different houses. I debate pausing to talk with them, if only for a split second.

"You dropped your coin purse," a voice calls over my shoulder.

Again? I sigh and look down. It's not on the ground.

"He didn't mean now. He meant at the Quidditch World Cup!" another voice laughs.

The Weasley twins giggle behind me. I turn to face them as the train lurches. They bump into each other, but I manage to stay upright. Well, I catch myself a bit on the railing, but it's no matter.

"You two must think you are very funny," I point out.

One of them scrunches his nose. The same nose of the one who returned my coin purse, and who made eye contact with me. I think. It's easier to tell them apart when they speak because the one I know is always leading and the other is always following.

Plus, the one who gave me my coin purse back has a slightly longer forehead.

"We don't think that we're funny," one retorts.

"We know that we're funny," the other becomes his echo.

I bite my lip and furrow my brow. Am I really going to do this? The answer, seemingly, is yes. I stick out my hand. "Larkin Travers."

"We know," they say at the same time. It makes me blink, and a nervous laugh threatens my lips, but I contain it.

"You're the potions whiz," the first adds.

The second nods. "Snape treats you like Merlin himself."

All I can do in response is shrug. I'm pretty decent at potions, but I've never really put any effort in. It's always odd when someone notices

"I'm Fred, and this is George," Fred says, taking my hand and shaking it.

My nose twitches at his touch. His hands are much warmer than mine.

Something flickers in George's eyes. I watch as a smirk slowly engulfs his face. "We ought to be going, shouldn't we Fred?"

Fred shoots George a look. I wish I could understand their silent communication. Instead, I find myself trying to peruse the gap between them. There's too little space for me to properly fit.

"It's okay," I smile. "I should be going on my way too. Nice to meet you though."

"The pleasure is mine," Fred says.

"Ours," George corrects, his smile not quite reaching his cheeks.

The two of them squeeze by me, leaving me alone in the hallway.

Now that enough time has passed, I head towards the compartment where I am sure the others are. After walking for a few minutes, I finally reach them.

Bronwyn Yaxley has her hair draped over Silas Selwyn's lap. Her body looks stiff in her charcoal peacoat and thick turtleneck. She's not as stiff as Silas though, who doesn't dare move beneath her. His hair is gelled into place, dark and immaculate.