𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 | 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

A Leg-Locked Chicken and a Parseltongue

authors note: die here, on my revising journey. oh, how terrible this chapter used to be. snuggles in warm blankets to everyone who reads my book!

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

December 25, 1992

Elodie stormed upstairs, to find Ginny with a quill and a black notebook out on her bed. The young Weasley immediately slammed the journal closed as Elodie threw herself on the blowup mattress.

"Hey." Ginny said gently. Elodie faced the horrible apprehension that her room directly faced the orchard.

"How much of that did you hear?" Elodie groaned.

"Pretty much all of it." Ginny admitted. "I don't think you're wrong, though."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I always felt a bit bad for George, you know. He's... quieter." Ginny said, in a voice so low it could've been a whisper.

"People always assume the twins are the same person." Elodie said frustratedly. "It infuriates me, sometimes."

"I know."

"But..." Elodie felt the urge to hit herself.

"But what?" Ginny asked gently.

"But I hate myself, because I pay more attention to Fred, too. I'm just the same as everyone else."

"You're not." Her friend insisted. "But Elodie, do you ever stop and think about why you pay more attention to Fred?"

"Because he's louder, and he just-"

"No."

"What do you mean, "no"?" Elodie frowned.

"How do you tell the twins apart, Elodie?"

"Fred has a scar on his left eyebrow, and his voice is lower. And he likes to keep his hair longer than George, because he thinks it makes him look like a rockstar." Elodie smiled faintly.

"Exactly." Ginny nodded her head knowingly.

"Stop speaking in riddles, and spit it out, pipsqueak."

"You're in love with him."

Elodie choked on nothing. "I am not in love with him." She coughed.

"Mhm." Ginny said disbelievingly.

"You must be mental. I hate him! I hate how he's so competitive, and I hate how he's always the center of attention, and I hate how he bickers with me, and I hate how overprotective he is, and I hate how he just does whatever he wants, all of the time, and I hate how much taller than me he is, and I hate how he smokes cigarettes when I tell him not to, and I hate how he's so smart without trying, and I hate how I always want to play with his hair, and-"

Elodie paused her rant. Ginny was grinning at her.

"Now, change all those hates to love." The younger girl instructed.

The thought shot through her windpipes like an arrow. All this time- her, in love with Fred Weasley? It seemed ridiculous. And also... made sense.

"I- you're- you're right." She choked.

"I know." Ginny giggled.

"How are you so smart? You're eleven." Elodie groaned.

"Hey, age is but a number."

"I'm still mad at him."

"Oh, you should be. He was a git." Ginny agreed.