Thursday, December 12, 1995

It had been a week since Michelle had spoken to Fred. She arrived early to the few classes that she had with him. (Honestly, she arrived early to all of her classes). But he always strolled in right before the doors shut. And he never stayed after they were dismissed. It was like he would disappear in the few seconds it would take Michelle to close her books. The few times that she had seen a tuft of messy red hair bobbing along the corridors in front of her, it was never the right redhead. Twice, it had been his younger brother Ron. Four times, it was his twin. Their paths did not cross once. Not that she was hoping it would happen, or at least she wouldn't admit to herself that she wanted it to happen.

After their constellation tutoring session, they started to talk about other things. Nothing of any importance. They talked about how she really didn't like The Weird Sisters, how much she loved muggle board games, and how when she was a first year, she was dead set that Dumbledore's beard was fake. Fred told her what it was like to grow up in a house with six siblings, how much he hates Celestina Warbeck, and how he pulled McGonagall's tail once.

It had all been a nice distraction. On a particularly bad day, she would remember how he walked her to the bottom of the Ravenclaw Tower staircase, the way he smelled when he hugged her – cinnamon, freshly mowed grass and clean laundry – and the wonderful feeling of crawling into her nice warm four-poster. That morning she woke up refreshed, surprisingly. She was starting to wonder if it was something in Fred's smell or his aura, or whatever Professor Trelawney blathered on about regularly. Because that was the only night she had slept well in the last week and she held a strict bedtime that was not nearly as late as she had crawled into bed that night.

On this bright Thursday, which was making many students wonder if it would be a white winter holiday, Michelle was spending her time in the hospital wing. She couldn't even enjoy the sunshine if she hadn't had volunteer hours; it was still far too cold for her. She found herself wrapped up in her heavy cloak in the middle of classes. However, she was unsure if it was really because of the temperature or the fact that it still faintly smelled like Fred.

Michelle didn't want to think about that, though. Having feelings for someone like Fred would only end badly. She knew he wasn't someone to stick around one girl for long. And he certainly wasn't the serious type. Michelle wanted someone to challenge her and she didn't think he could do it. It wasn't as if she didn't think he was intelligent; they just didn't have anything in common. There would be nothing to discuss. Surely, he would get bored with a recap of her day within seconds. It would never work. And she continued to tell herself that every time she got a whiff from her cloak, or she saw a redhead roaming the halls.

Instead, she thought solely about her studies. The potions master had become increasingly impressed with the way her notes looked, also noticing that they helped her performance greatly. Unfortunately, that meant that he thought she could do better. Snape expected so much more of her, in class and in their tutoring sessions. Michelle found herself revising twice as much for potions as she was before.

Fred couldn't admit to himself that he was hiding from Michelle. Instead, he was making excuses. He thought he forgot a book in the classroom. He had to use the loo. He wanted to take the long way to the Great Hall, since he wasn't getting any exercise from Quidditch, even if he did spend several hours a night practicing on the pitch and running laps. The redhead continued to think about how Michelle smelled, like gardenia and jasmine, and sometimes if he got close enough, like fresh soap and apples. He loved the way she felt in his arms; she fit just perfectly.

But every time those thoughts crossed his mind, he would quickly try to clear his mind of all remnants of her and mentally kick himself for daydreaming about a girl who would never put up with his nonsense. Then he would quickly remember that up until this point he had been trying to woo Angelina, with little to no success. She would go on a date with him every once in a while, if there was a Hogsmeade weekend. And she would giggle at all of his jokes. But she was just too focused on becoming a pro Quidditch player. She wanted to be a memorable house captain and he couldn't blame her for that. But he was starting to wonder if that wasn't a factor, would Angelina fancy him? Or is it just fun to snog for stress relief? Fred was pretty sure that Michelle wouldn't want anything resembling a mates with benefits situation. He didn't want to be with Michelle, though. Even though the more he thought, it might not be so bad. She may push him to be better, to do better. He could turn his NEWTs around.

He wasn't even sure why he was thinking this way. Fred regularly found himself shaking the thoughts out of his head. He knew he wanted something different, a joke shop with George, making people smile and laugh, to pull his family out of the pauper-like status. He wanted better for himself and maybe a girl didn't come with that. Not a girl like Angelina with her own dreams and certainly not a girl like Michelle, who knew better than to be with a guy like him.

But he also knew that if any of what he wanted was going to come to fruition, then he was going to have to work hard. He and George had been toiling away in the unused seventh floor loo, which they had used as a personal storefront for several years, creating and testing new products whenever they had some spare time. They were ready to test something new but they were slowly starting to realize they needed some place to do the testing. The loo just wouldn't work for this product. He needed Michelle's help, but that was going to completely ruin the imaginary game of hide and seek he was playing with her. He was supposed to be hiding, not seeking.

Nevertheless, there he stood, staring at the closed doors of the hospital wing. He knew she was in there. He had gotten to know her schedule like the back of his hand in all of his effort to avoid her. Fred just couldn't figure out what to say to her. He started to pace, trying to find the best opening.

"Michelle, I know I have been avoiding you, but I need your help." Yeah, that sounds great. Just straight out admit you've been avoiding her, he thought sarcastically. "Look don't hate me," Not the best way to start. "Michelle, I'm desperate." Hmm, seems needy, not very Weasley. "I know you don't agree with my aspirations…" That won't work. "Hey Michelle, I need your help."Well, that is simple enough.

He took one deep breath, stepped forward and opened the massive hospital wing doors. As he stepped inside, he realized this was the first time that he wasn't coming to visit Harry, one of his brothers, or lying in a bed himself. He spotted her right away. Her back turned toward him, fixing the dressing on some poor second year who looked like he had a long session with Umbridge's blood quill. Fred had given up going to the hospital wing for bandages after a detention. He would just take a few drops of the dittany that Hermione had brewed up one day during a D.A. meeting. Bandages didn't seem to help. You just had to keep changing them; the blood would soak right through.

The door closed loudly behind him, causing him and Michelle both to jump into the air. She spun around to see the intruder, praying it wasn't another young student with wounds like these. This was turning her stomach to wrap his hand. It wasn't the blood, or even the deepness of the wound; it was how young he was. What could he have done to deserve this? She couldn't see this as right, in any way.

Michelle saw the tuft of red hair she had been looking for all week and her heart sank. She hoped she wouldn't have to dress wounds like this for him. She definitely couldn't handle it. She would just end up in tears. Fred peered toward the back of the hospital trying to see if he could find Madame Pomfrey. When he saw that she was nowhere to be found, he walked lightly over to Michelle, who was still staring at him. Her bright green orbs searched his hands for blood.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" Michelle asked when she saw that both of his hands were intact; however, she could see the scabs from his detentions. The young boy in front of her took in a sharp breath as she pulled the last of the bandages away from his wound; she could feel her heart break for the poor boy. "I know, I know it hurts," she soothed, "I promise, I'll be as quick as possible."

Something in Fred stirred when he heard her trying to soothe the poor boy. His mind completely blanked. He couldn't remember what he had decided to start with. His mouth went dry. Was he nervous? Nothing makes Weasley Twins nervous, he thought, trying to focus himself once again.

"Well?" Michelle asked, turning away from a small tray of lotions, bandages, and gauze to face the boy in front of her. "This may sting a bit, sweetie," she said to the boy as she poured a bit of potion onto a pad of gauze.

Fred's breath caught in his throat, thinking about the way her lips formed the word 'sweetie.' He almost wished he was the young boy, getting patched up from an awful night with Umbridge. Michelle set to work dabbing the potion onto the boy's hand. Her face tensed with each sharp intake of breath he took and each wince he made. Fred could tell it was taking everything in her to pull his hand toward her. He knew that if she wasn't forcing herself to hold the boy's hand in place, the potion would be nowhere near the boy's wound. He continued to watch as the boys flesh almost sizzled, pulling it together.

"I thought you weren't allowed to use dittany for those," Fred said bluntly.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," Michelle touched her index finger of her free hand to her lips, as the other cradled the boy's quickly healing hand.

"Hmm, breaking the rules," Fred sat down on the camp-bed next to the one the boy was resting on. "It's like a totally new you, Cartwright. Am I rubbing off on you?"

"God, no!" Michelle looked horrified at the thought. "I just don't think that woman should be allowed to torture poor students if they misbehave in the smallest manner, let alone leave a permanent mark on them."

The boy looked at his hand, flexing it in Michelle's palm and saw that the deep wound no longer held the shape of his own handwriting. A small smiled appeared on his face as he got up to hug Michelle. Surprised by the boy's action, she stumbled backward a little, before gently patting him on the back. Fred quickly stifled a laugh at the look on Michelle's face. As the boy moved to leave, Michelle pulled on his robe, causing him to stop where he was.

"You aren't finished yet. I still have to bandage it up." The boy sat back down quickly and held his hand out toward her. Michelle made quick work of re-bandaging his wound. "You can take the bandage off tomorrow," Michelle said, as the boy practically ran out of the hospital wing.

"You're really good at that," Fred mentioned.

"What bandaging a hand? Thanks, I guess," she said starting to clean up the tray she had been using.

"No. Dealing with people. I couldn't do that. Even mum has trouble with that stuff and I always said she's be a right awesome healer, but then again the only people she's ever had to deal with was us kids and we sure did squirm a lot."

"It's easy when they're young and they didn't bring the wound upon themselves. Like that poor boy, she made him write 'I will always come to class prepared' nearly a hundred times. The poor thing asked another student for a spare piece of parchment because he dropped his along the way," she shook her head as she moved off toward the back of the hospital wing to put the potion and extra bandages away. "I mean, if the student is older or brings the wound upon themselves, I have less sympathy. Earlier, some sixth year came in with this great big gash on his leg, because he had been tormenting a mermaid in the black lake."

"Been there. Done that," Fred rolled up the sleeve of his right arm to show a six inch scar on his forearm.

"Why am I not surprised?" Michelle threw away the bloodied bandages that she pulled off the boy, before turning back toward Fred. "So, you never answered my question. What are you doing here, Weasley?"

"Is Madame Pomfrey around?"

"Is that who you're looking for?"

"No, I was looking for you."

"Then why did you ask where she was? You better not have planned something lewd," Michelle backed up a few paces. "I will scream."

"No! God, no! I know plenty of girls for that!"

Michelle's face paled and looked hurt at the same time. It was in that moment that Fred realized he had hurt her feelings. Why do I have such a big mouth?

Michelle couldn't help but feel offended and disgusted at the same time. Not only did she not need to know that Fred had an arsenal of girls to go to for sex, but also that he just wasn't attracted to her. Apparently, I am just not his type. Or maybe I'm just ugly. Michelle fumed in her own head. Why did he have to open his big mouth?

"What I mean is—"

"I don't need to know that, Weasley," Michelle spat his name, as if it were poison. "What do you want then?"

"Well, you see, I—I—"

"Spit it out already!"

"We—Well, I—I need your help. A—a favor." Weasley Twins don't stutter. Man up!