PURIFY : Fred Weasley

19: Denounced

Defence Against the Dark Arts bores me. In fact, I'd rather be propelled against walls by magical means than sit through another one of Professor Umbridge's classes. As she would have it, we are not to practice any spells in the classroom. Instead, we spend our time focusing on the written components of spells, which is absolutely nightmarish. Professor Umbridge claims we haven't a need for any defensive spells. In some ways, she is correct.

Bronwyn's father would rather us simply practice the Dark Arts, rather than any defence against them. Perhaps, soon enough Corban Yaxley will be running this place. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. Even though it shouldn't. While, like Elora says, I shouldn't have made up my mind yet.

Which I haven't done if anyone's asking. Not that anyone is asking. No one seems to pay my opinion any mind.

It is the beginning of October, and the Weasley twins are still eluding me. It's gotten to the point where I am beginning to think it's intentional. They often skip meals, and their pranks have slowed. They are up to something, surely, I just can't imagine what.

Bronwyn is waiting outside of the classroom when we are done. I hang back a few seconds, taking a few steps to feign talking to Professor Umbridge. I hope to escape their clasp, but no luck.

Eventually, I head outside to meet them. I watch as the Weasley twins duck out of reach just down the hallway.

"Excuse me," I say to Elora and Bronwyn, before tearing off after them, hoping that only Elora will pay it any mind.

I duck between the crowds of students, following the sight of short, bright red hair. It's the only thing I've been able to notice has changed because I haven't been within ten metres of them for so long. I whisper excuses as I push through the crowd, trying to catch up to them.

Fred must hear my voice because he turns around. With one shake of his head, he heads off, leaving me in his dust.

I breathe in and out deeply. So, he is ignoring me. Something's changed, and I can't quite pin anything on it. Is it still the tower, or is it something else? Maybe George will tell me, if I can pin George down, although George has never been my biggest fan.

"Travers," Bronwyn class from behind me. Her voice rings out like the tune to a song that is going to get stuck in my head. I spin around to see her hand stretched up in the air, waving.

I lower my head and move back to her.

Elora is twirling her hair, looking me up and down. She smirks, and I wait for her joke, but nothing comes.

"What were you chasing after?" Bronwyn asks me.

"Stole my quill," I point out, turning my head. "Blasted Weasley."

"I thought you owed George," Elora furrows her brow. "After all, didn't he pay for your butterbeer?"

I cross my arms over my chest.

Bronwyn lets out a cackle. "First a Fawly and now a Weasley. Merlin, can you pick anybody with more than three sickles to their name?"

"It wasn't like that," I insist, and I'm not lying, technically. Not that I have any issue with lying to these people.

"And aren't they Muggle-obsessed like their father?" Bronwyn asks. She comes up next to me, wraps one of her arms around mine and begins to drag me down the corridor. "Seriously, it's a wonder that they aren't shagging some, rather unsavoury people. You seem a bit too good for their taste."