A/N: Thanks for all of the lovely reviews and concern. I'm getting better now.

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I woke early the next morning, when the sunlight barely lit the room and the low, soothing snores of the twins filled the room. I sat up, muscles stiff, and winced. It felt as though somebody had smacked me over the head with a brick. Cursing quietly so as not to wake the twins - who were bound to both tell me it served me right to have a hangover - I climbed out of bed and tried to clear my mind.

Before leaving the bedroom, I cast a glance at the twins. They both looked so innocent when they slept, it was hard to believe the trouble they could cause. As I gazed at Fred, there were the familiar feelings of warmth inside of me, but today it was tainted with something else. Guilt. I couldn't for the life of me remember why, though I had a horrible feeling it had something to do with Cedric.

Leaving the room, I sighed heavily and went to the bathroom. The house seemed still, but not quiet - somewhere, a clock was chiming, and downstairs I could hear a tap running. I guessed Mrs Weasley had risen early to begin a day of chores and cooking. The mere thought of food made me feel nauseated, and so I hastily entered the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

The bathroom was golden in the early morning light, and I paused a moment to take a deep breath, trying to clear myself of the remnants of alcohol surely in me. I crept over to the sink and looked into the mirror - to see a pale, round-faced girl, with a mouth of smudged lipstick and a tangle of brown hair.

Hardly a pretty sight.

With a dismayed shake of my head, I turned on the tap and splashed my face with cold water, hoping to wake myself up. It worked rather too effectively, leaving me spluttering and groping for a towel. With my face dry and blinking blearily, I ran a comb through my hair. The face that gazed back at me then was at least washed, although was still sleep-deprived and slightly green.

I rested my forehead against the cool of the mirror, taking more deep breaths. I knew from experience that moaning about a hangover only made it worse, and so tried my hardest to forget about it. It was harder than I had expected, though, so I settled with trying to sort out the muddle that was last night's events.

Cedric and I had drank a lot, that much I knew. At one point we'd argued about whether or not Hufflepuff was better than Gryffindor, but the argument had ended in laughter. We'd drank some more. After that, things got a bit blurry in my memory, and I closed my eyes to try and bring forth what had happened.

We'd spoken about our friendships with our opposite sexes. Cedric had said that it was weird I didn't have a boyfriend, and I had counted it. But why would that leave me feeling so awful? I couldn't comprehend it. What had happened next? Cedric had said that we had to prove something to each other, and I'd protested, and then he'd leant over and -

"Oh, God," I mumbled, and stumbled backwards as the nausea overcame me at last. Thinking quick, I hastily dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, and a second later I was retching. Up spilled the poisonous Firewhisky still lingering in my blood, up came the memories. I knew exactly why I felt guilty now, as my body heaved horribly.

The bathroom door slammed open as I knelt straighter, wiping my mouth and trembling. In the next moment a warm hand was against my cheek, brushing hair back from my face. I looked up into the concerned though somehow resigned face of Fred Weasley, and smiled weakly in thanks. He smiled back, and glanced behind him, to where I could hear George moving around.

"Are you alright?" Fred asked, laughing slightly. "I didn't know a person could throw up so much. You're either a modern miracle, or you're gross."

"Probably the latter," I admitted, too tired to get annoyed at his insults. "Why are you two up?"

"As if we could sleep whilst you were churning your guts up," George snorted, from behind me. "Though it serves you right for getting smashed. Hopefully, this will teach you in the future to not drink more than you can take."

"How come you two aren't being sick?" I asked, feeling wrong footed. "You two drank too, didn't you?"

"We're real men who can take our drink," Fred announced, proudly. At my indignant glare, he grinned and added, "Alright, we just didn't drink. Couldn't be arsed, and we knew that you'd come back in a state so we thought it best to be sober for you. Didn't want to be taken advantage of, after all."

"I wouldn't take advantage of --"

I began to heave again, causing Fred to hiss sympathetically and hold my hair back once more. Once I was done throwing up for the second time, I sat up, shaking my head. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to get so pissed. Anyway, I'm not the sort to take advantage of people, it'd be the other way round if anything."

"Yes, actually, that's something else we need to talk to you about," George interrupted loudly, from the back of the room. I couldn't tell if it was the light or not, but I felt sure Fred went a little red at the statement. "You and Diggory. Did he take advantage of you?"

"I - of course not!" I exclaimed, taking the tissue Fred kindly handed me and wiping my mouth. "Why would you think that? Why would you even think anything happened?"

"If we didn't, we'd know by how defensive you're getting," George laughed, and I heard him sigh. "Well, there is the small matter of you coming into the room last night and telling us you'd kissed him."

"Oh God, did I?" I muttered, inwardly cursing myself for being so stupid. Now the gits were bound to get all protective, which was the last thing I wanted. I just wanted to forget it. "It doesn't matter, though. It was just a kiss, and it won't happen again."

"Good," Fred replied fervently. I looked up at him sharply, searching for signs of things I knew couldn't be there. It was just my damn hopes rising for nothing, surely. He shrugged when I looked at him, and with a furtive glance back at George, murmured, "I just mean that it might have upset people more than you know."

"I - what?" I asked, following his gaze to see a frowning George. My heart felt as though it were plummeting through my body as I pieced together what exactly he'd just said whilst looking at his twin. It might have upset George? When I looked at him I felt nothing but a food friendship. He just couldn't like me, surely…

"Better out than in," Fred said cheerfully, patting my back as I began to vomit for the third time.

IIIIIII

"Claudia, dear, are you sure you're well? You look rather peaky," Mrs Weasley commented, inspecting me as she laid out a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. Trying not to pull a face at the breakfast, I shrugged, picking up a fork. "Really, did you not get a lot of sleep last night?"

"I'm alright," I lied, trying to wear a brave smile. "I just feel a little ill, there's no need to worry."

"If you're sure." She pursed her lips, but carried on dishing out breakfast for everybody. I sunk low in my seat and rolled my fork around my plate, knowing I wouldn't be able to keep any food down. It was a Saturday and so the table was full with the Weasleys, providing enough distraction to keep the eyes off of me.

Mr Weasley and Ron were talking about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup final, which Mr Weasley said he might be able to get tickets for. Ginny and Percy were discussing Hogwarts and the career prospects from different subjects. Mrs Weasley was settling in her seat, breakfast in front of her. The twins were, naturally, laughing about something or other.

I studied the two of them, a crease in my forehead. When I looked at Fred I couldn't help but feel oddly excited, however horrible the feeling was. Yet when I looked at George, I felt guilty. I didn't know if he liked me, but what Fred said led me to believe so. Deep down I knew I felt nothing in that way for George, whatsoever. Perhaps, I thought hopefully, he didn't like me, and it was just me being hung-over and silly in my suspicions.

"Oh, look, an owl!" Ginny said, suddenly, pointing outside. "It's not Errol, is it?"

"No, I only sent Errol off an hour or so ago to Muriel," Mrs Weasley replied, squinting out of the window. "Isn't that your owl, Claudia?"

"Yeah, that's Pigeon," I commented, as the owl landed clumsily on the table. "It must be her reply from - well, whoever Fred sent her to."

I looked questioningly at him, but he tapped his nose in an infuriatingly secretive manner. He untied his letter, and I looked back down at my breakfast, feeling too ill to argue today. If he wanted to be a complete arse and not tell me who he was writing to, then why should I care? I did care, of course, but nonetheless, I wouldn't show it.

To my surprise, Pigeon hopped over the table towards me. I shooed her away, causing her to nip me sharply on the wrist with her beak. I winced, but held my swearing in (I was in the presence of Mr and Mrs Weasley, after all). "What's wrong with you, Pigeon?"

"Looks like you've got a letter, too," Fred remarked, unfolding his own. Surprised, I looked down at my owl to see that he was right. But that meant that whoever Fred had written to had written to me, too. Grinning triumphantly - I'd finally know who he'd been writing to - I untied my letter, and gazed at the address.

It was my father's handwriting.

I opened it and read it, slowly, wondering why on earth Fred had written to him, and how on earth the letter had arrived so quickly from the North of England. The latter question was answered as I red that the family were taking a trip in Cornwall, staying with none other than the Malfoys, in their holiday home. I wrinkled my nose and made a sound of disgruntlement, causing George to look up.

"What's up?"

"My dad's staying with the Malfoys," I commented, as though I had a bad taste in my mouth. "He never learns. I always tell him what a load of gits they are, but he just tells me to stop being rude."

"I'm surprised such a nice man like your father can be friends with Lucius Malfoy," Mr Weasley sighed, polishing his glasses on his worn robes and looking troubled. "Lucius Malfoy is a foul man, and it's evident he has never come back from the Dark Arts. I am afraid the wizarding world doesn't seem to agree."

"When I was little and he came round, I was always afraid of him," I laughed, thinking of how I'd used to run. "He's always seemed strange. I never know whether or not to trust him or not."

"His son's an idiot, too," Ron added, thickly, as his mouth was full of egg and toast. "I hate him."

"To be honest, he's always seemed harmless to me," I shrugged, thinking of the pale, blonde boy two years younger than me. "I mean, I don't have to deal with him much at school, but when he comes round with his parents he always seems pleasant enough. Doesn't talk a lot, but he's never rude."

"He's rude at school, believe me," Ron muttered, darkly, but left the topic. I felt a bit better now, and was about to attempt to eat before a thought struck me, and I gazed at Fred, thoroughly suspicious. He was reading his letter still, with a slight smile on his face.

As the rest of the table got on with their own discussions again, I nudged his leg under the table, causing up to look up, curious. "Fred, why on earth were you writing to my father?"

He stared at me, expression perfectly innocent. "I wasn't."

"But there wasn't enough time for Pigeon to deliver to two different people," I snapped, rather annoyed at the lack of information I was getting from him. "You really didn't write to my dad?"

"Nope," he said, dismissively, looking back down at his letter. I frowned at him for a while longer, trying to work it out. He'd lied enough times to get out of pranks, that I couldn't be sure if he was telling the truth or not. But why would he lie? It seemed stupid, and there was no possible explanation I could find for it all.

I considered, for a moment, who else he could have written to. My father was supposedly exempt, as was Catherine. The Malfoys were most certainly not an option, unless Fred somehow was betraying his family, which I sincerely doubted. That left Polly and Diane. I couldn't imagine him even talking to Diane in passing, let alone writing to her. So, could it be…?

"You wrote to Polly?" I asked, alarmed at how sulky my tone was. I didn't believe that he had written to her, but I couldn't think of another option. He didn't look up, immersed in his letter. "Fred, did you write to Polly?"

"Er -" he looked up from the letter, evidently distracted and not really listening. "Er, yeah, I did."

"I -" my mind strayed back to the day before, when Fred had first asked if he could borrow my owl, and I'd asked who he'd wanted to write to. What had he said then, seemingly jokingly? Just some beautiful, slim girl whose had a crush on me for some time. All of a sudden, it felt as though some heavy, indescribable weight had dropped inside of me.

Jealously. It had begun to wrap it's poisonous fingers around me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley," I said, quietly, standing up. "Breakfast looks lovely, but I don't think I'm feeling too well."

"That's alright, dear," Mrs Weasley said, looking at me, anxiously. "You go and get some rest, I thought you looked rather ill."

"I will, thanks," I smiled. I left the room as quickly as I could, without a backward glance at either twin, wondering why I felt so downtrodden and upset, simply because Fred had written to prettier, older stepsister.

IIIIIII

I lay on my bed, feeling sick and very self-pitying. I couldn't see Polly and Fred ever getting along for more than thirty seconds; they were just so different. But Polly had admitted before I'd left for The Burrow that she had a crush on the twins, hadn't she? And Fred was a hormonal, teenage boy, who was bound to fancy stunning girls. Polly was beautiful, when I really thought about it, and I knew that Fred would most likely be attracted to her.

Damn, damn and damn again.

I found myself thinking, then, of Cedric. Cedric who had seemed so sad when I'd pushed him off, but accepting. Cedric who was lovely, handsome and sweet to me. I'd stopped the kiss because I thought I might have the slightest chance with Fred - now that was blown to smithereens, what was stopping me telling Cedric I liked him?

I didn't like him anywhere near as much as I liked Fred, but he was still the best looking boy in school, and he evidently felt something for me. The more I thought about it, the stupider I felt for rejecting him. I made up my mind, there and then, to write to him and apologise, and admit my feelings for him.

I got off of the bed and took a deep, calming breath. I could do this, couldn't I? I could ruin any chance of dating Fred, and quite possibly lessen my friendship with both him and George, for Cedric, couldn't I? Well, I thought sternly, making my way to the door, I didn't have a choice. I couldn't show Fred he was getting to me, that was the only thing I could be sure of.

Before I could leave the door, however, it slammed open, revealing Fred and George, talking and laughing. They drew up short when they saw me, falling silent. There was tension between the three of us, making us awkward and rather less carefree than usual. Where had our light-hearted friendship gone? I smiled, bravely, and they quickly grinned.

"I'm going to reply to my letter," Fred announced, pushing past me into the room. He stopped half-way across it, and turned, looking at me with a hopeful smile. I felt an odd jolt in my stomach, but resolutely ignored it. "D'you reckon you could give me some privacy whilst I do so? It doesn't concern you or anything, I just can't concentrate with other people in the room."

The jolt fizzled out, replaced by venom. Folding my arms, I protested, "Your mother sent me up here to rest. Are you really going to kick me out?"

"Why don't we go for a walk?" George intervened quickly, taking my arm. "We'll feed the chickens or something. Best not to get in an argument when you're hung-over, yeah?"

"Oh, fine," I snapped, giving a now sheepish-looking Fred one last glare. "Let's go feed the bloody chickens and leave the arse to write to his precious Polly."

I turned on my heel and left the room before Fred could say anything in reply. George tagged alongside me as I went to the garden, but I could barely look at him. If my wild thoughts about crushes were true, he might seek to comfort me - and I didn't want him to like me. I had no idea what I wanted anymore.

And my bloody head was killing thanks to all the Firewhisky I'd consumed the night before.

The garden was bright and beautiful, the August sun high above it. I had no appreciation for any of it, though, and simply sat against the broom shed, hugging my knees to my chest. I was acting like a stroppy child and I damn well knew it, but I felt so sick and fed up that I couldn't care less.

George lingered on his feet for a moment, obviously nervous about so much as talking to me whilst I was in such a foul mood, but eventually gave in and sat down opposite me. He picked a few strands of grass, biting his lip, before grimacing and asking, "You alright?"

"Your twin is such an idiot," I muttered, following suit and pulling out a few clumps of grass myself. "I don't know whether or not to go out with Cedric. I hate my step-sister and think she deserves to get disfigured. I keep throwing up and my head feels like I've been punched several times. But yeah, I'm fine."

"Um." George blinked, evidently having not expected such a reaction. "Well - I - er -"

"Don't worry about it," I said, resting my head against the brick of the broom shed and sighing heavily. "It's my fault, really. If I hadn't drank such a lot last night, I wouldn't be feeling so messed up now."

"I dunno if I can help you much, I've never been much of a guide through troubled times," he remarked, smiling faintly. "I have a question for you, though. It's a bit awkward, so don't jump to any stupid conclusions, alright?"

"Alright then," I replied, slowly. The way he had phrased it made me dread whatever the question would be. If it would complicate things any further, I had a horrible feeling I might burst into tears. Not the best idea in the world, especially when dealing with the Weasley twins.

"I was wondering," George said, and it sounded as though he were thinking alive, "if, hypothetically, you'd ever date a Weasley twin."

I stared at him for a moment, stunned. The fact that George Weasley was talking about dating, and me, in the same sentence with a straight face had rendered me momentarily speechless. Momentarily being the key word, there.

"What the hell, George?" I hissed, cheeks flushing. "I've just told you how crap everything is, and you have to go and make everything worse!"

He didn't flinch at my anger, but merely gave me a stern look. "Now, now, I did nothing of the sort. I asked a simple, hypothetical question, and you know full well you're overreacting to it."

"I'm not overreacting," I lied, sulkily. "But why ask something like that? George, look, I'm really sorry but I don't - oh, never mind."

"You don't what?" George asked, curiously. "If the answer is no, you can just say."

"I don't know what the answer is," I replied, miserably. "It's just - look, it's nothing personal but - well -"

"Oh come on," he tutted, impatiently, tapping me on the jean-clad knee. "Spit it out. I won't get offended if you say no. It was a completely hypothetical -"

"I'm sorry, George, but I don't fancy you," I said, quickly, and cringed. I felt absolutely horrible for saying so, even though I had to tell him the truth before he told me the truth. I waited an awkward moment or two, before opening my eyes tentatively to see what his reaction was.

He was laughing.

I gaped at him, astonished. I'd rejected him, and he was laughing? True, he was George Weasley and so his natural reaction was probably to laugh at anything, but surely even he wasn't that tough. When he clutched his sides, gasping for breath, I frowned and prodded him sharply in the shoulder, infuriated at his manner.

"What's so funny?" I grumbled, somewhat hurt.

He shook his head, grinning. "Is that what you've been so annoyed about? I hate to break it to you, but I don't fancy you either. You're like an annoying brat of a sister to me, you know that."

Relief flooded through me, and I laughed myself, before catching it in my throat. Fred and George were, in a lot of respects, the same person. If George felt that I was a sister to him, there was practically no chance of Fred thinking different, was there? George, seeing my sudden crestfallen expression, furrowed his brow.

"What? I didn't mean it about the annoying -"

"Does Fred feel the same way?" I asked, and immediately wished I could bite off my tongue and take it back. George gazed at me for a moment, as though scrutinising me carefully, but then his expression smiled and he grinned, widely. "What? Why are you smiling like that?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, in an annoying sing-song voice. "We'll keep this between the two of us, shall we?"

"Keep what between the two of us?" I asked quickly, heart beating slightly quicker.

"Oh, nothing," he repeated, springing to his feet. "All I can say is forget about Diggory, alright? He's not worth you."

"Wait!" I called, as he began to walk away. "What on earth do you mean? Don't just leave, I want to know -"

"Your secret is safe with me!" he shouted back, winking, and sprinted back to the house, leaving me feeling sick, dizzy, but oddly happier than I had felt all day.

IIIIIIII

A/N: Hmm, mysterious letter-writing business, eh? I'm so excited - next chapter, Fred plucks up the courage to admit the truth. :D

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