A/N:Hi! Sorry this is about two weeks later than I hoped it would be. In addition to general insanity with my job, Chapter 10 ended up being a doozy to write. I'm at a point in the story where Something Exciting will be happening, but it's not for a few chapters yet and I kept getting ideas for that (and like four other fics) instead of the thing I was actually supposed to be working on. And then on top of all of that, this ended up being the longest chapter in the fic so far, which I wasn't expecting. Alas.

Timeline for the next update: In my real life job, March through July tends to be the Convergence of Many Deadlines. I'm also going to be traveling a bit this month. So, let's go with late June to mid July 2018 for the next chapter, just to be safe.

As always, thank you all so much for your kind words, faves, follows, etc. You are all delightful people and I enjoy hearing from you!

Chapter 10: The Romance of Vengeful Ghosts

The upside of this Hogsmeade date was that there was so much that could go wrong that I couldn't decide what to worry about. We could get caught sneaking out of school. Bringing Lee and Angelina along could blow up in our faces. Bea and George would almost certainly be supremely irritating; George would likely bring that damn notebook. I still wasn't entirely sure that this harebrained scheme was even working.

In the end, my brain couldn't quite settle on one potential problem, so it instead settled on nothing.

"I'm rather impressed," said Fred before Defense Against Arts that Friday. "I'd thought you'd be pinging off the walls right about now."

"Congratulations, Weasley, you've broken me," I said tonelessly as I took out my books. "I've too many things to worry about and it's completely overloaded my poor brain. I'm afraid I'll never be the same."

"And it only took me four fake dates," he said, looking rather pleased with himself. "I expect you'll be back to normal shortly, though."

"Oh, probably," I sighed. "A girl's got to have a hobby after all."

Bea, of course, could not be persuaded to abandon her self-appointed duties as wardrobe consultant.

"I didn't help you last time and you wore leggings and a baggy jumper." She was ransacking my wardrobe once again, pausing for a moment to aim a scolding look in my direction before redirecting her attention to a green cardigan.

"I got another date, didn't I? Also, how many times must you do this? Surely you've memorized my clothes by now."

"Don't question my methods," said Bea, tossing the cardigan onto the bed and picking up a yellow blouse. "You should be grateful that I'm willing to lend my expert advice."

I eyed the mess of clothes stacked haphazardly on my bed. "I'd be grateful if you put everything back properly.

Bea chucked the blouse at me. "Cheeky."

"Besides," I said, taking the blouse and refolding it neatly, "I hardly think I should prostrate myself with thanks when a). I have repeatedly told you that I do not need your assistance and b). you've gone and invited yourself on this date."

"You have demonstrated that you are in need of my assistance," said Bea, putting a hand on her hip. "Source: that jumper and those leggings. I'm discounting your second argument on the grounds that by the point I got involved, half of Hogwarts was coming on your date." She paused, giving me a beatific sort of smile and batting her eyes. "Besides, I'm delightful company."

"It's the less-than-delightful combination of you and George that concerns me at the moment."

Bea snorted and held up a pair of grey trousers. "My collaboration with George Weasley is one of the great partnerships of the age. We're like Watson and Holmes, only not fictional or detectives."

"You'd better see to it that he doesn't bring that damn notebook."

"Who am I to tell anyone what to do?"

"And yet here you are, refusing to let me dress myself."

"That," she said, raising her eyebrows and looking back at me, "is because you have demonstrated a certain lack of personal creativity. Shall I discuss your boring knickers again?"

I sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed. "You're going to drive me to an early death."

"Alas." A jumper landed on my face. "I'll make sure you have a nice funeral."

Leaving Hogwarts was a complicated affair that involved carefully timed departures, creeping into a secret passage in the back of a statue of a one-eyed witch, and tiptoeing out of the Honeydukes basement.

"Well. I can't say I expected that," I said to Fred as we walked up High Street.

"What, were you thinking we'd just casually stroll off the grounds through the main gates?" asked Fred, his eyes twinkling. "Lewis, you've so much to learn."

"Oh, I thought it would be best to not think too much about the details on this one," I said. "It seemed like the safer option."

"It usually is."

"Speaking of details, where is it that we're going?"

"Three Broomsticks." He checked his watch. "The others should be along within the hour and they'll meet us there. I tried to get out of it, but Lee insisted."

I frowned. "Won't Madam Rosmerta notice a table of Hogwarts students?"

Fred shook his head. "We've an arrangement."

"That sounds rather cryptic and quite possibly sinister."

Fred grinned. "Hardly. The arrangement is that I'm pleasant and charming and I always leave a gratuity on my bill."

Compared to school visits, the Three Broomsticks was nearly empty when we arrived. Madam Rosmerta looked up from the bar at the sound of our footsteps and to my surprise, she shook her head and smiled, as though she not only expected to see Fred, but was rather amused by his appearance.

"I knew you couldn't keep a secret," she said with a sigh. "Though I must admit you kept quiet for longer than I thought you would."

Fred grinned and leaned up against the bar, resting his chin in his hands. "You also told me that sneaking into Hogsmeade is a time-honored tradition of many Hogwarts students, including yourself. Sort of relies on not keeping secrets, doesn't it?"

Madam Rosmerta swatted him in the face with her bar rag. "Don't be pert with me, young man." She smiled and glanced at me. "I take it that he's trying to impress you?"

I shrugged. "More or less."

Fred pushed himself off the bar. "Charlotte Lewis is notoriously difficult to impress. But she won't be able to resist my charm and wit for long."

I arched an eyebrow. "That remains to be seen."

Fred snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. "She likes me, she's just afraid to admit it."

Madam Rosmerta chuckled and gave me a wry smile as I attempted to extricate myself from Fred's iron grip. "Oh, I'm sure. I imagine you'll be wanting a table for two then?"

"Six, actually," said Fred, finally relinquishing me. "And butterbeers for the two of us."

Madam Rosmerta's calm veneer finally cracked. "Six?"

"All I tried to do was take a lovely girl on a nice date," sighed Fred, placing a hand over his heart, his shoulders sagging and his mouth turning downward in an exaggerated pout. "It can't be helped if I have a nosy roommates."

Madam Rosmerta shook her head. "You're going to be the death of me, Fred Weasley."

"I'll make sure you're remembered in my will," said Fred, solemnly.

She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward, as though she was not only accustomed to this sort of nonsense, but that she was both amused and exhausted by it. "You can have the table over there." She gestured to a nearby table situated by the window. "Special today is pot roast and we're out of the lamb stew. I'll have your drinks in a moment."

"Cheers," said Fred.

Madam Rosmerta busied herself at the bar and we sat down at the table, shrugging out of our coats.

"Sneaking out to Hogsmeade is really a Hogwarts tradition?" I asked, taking off my gloves and shoving them into my coat pocket.

"It is," said Fred as he unwound his scarf. "You are now part of an elite group of students. It's quite a selective group, you should be very proud."

"What are the selection criteria? Finding a secret passage and not getting caught?"

"That and a little bit of daring," said Fred with a smile, nudging my foot under the table. "I told you you've got more nerve than you think."

"I'd like to remind you that I had to go here," I corrected him, nudging his foot back with mine. "Seeing as I was made to agree to do something utterly insane on every other fake date."

Fred shrugged. "Close enough."

"Speaking of our fake dates: this is number four. We should probably consider becoming a fake official couple at some point soon, don't you think?"

"Probably."

I looked at him pointedly. "Well…when do you want to get that sorted?"

"Lewis. What have I told you about scheduling romance?"

"I am aware of your feelings on the matter," I said, rolling my eyes. "In fact, I can quote you: 'A Weasley does not romance a woman on a timetable, Lewis. You can't schedule passion, Lewis.'"

"I have a feeling you're mocking me and I don't like it," he said, wagging a finger at me.

"I would never dream of mocking you."

"Now you're lying."

"Careful, Weasley. You realize that I have to agree to being your fake girlfriend. I can't say these accusations have me feeling particularly charitable."

"Blackmail?" He whistled. "Seems I'm rubbing off on you. You're turning into a right criminal."

I laughed. "Who have you ever blackmailed?"

"Never you mind."

"That's probably for the best." I leaned in. "But look, can I make one request?"

"I'll consider it."

I took a deep breath. "I suppose there's no point asking you not to do something ridiculous."

He grinned. "That is typically a fruitless endeavor, yes."

"I know the point of this whole exercise is to attract attention but—"

"You don't want me to put you in a position where you have loads of people looking at you and waiting to hear your answer."

The tension in my shoulders eased a bit. "I don't mind if it's a little showy, but the whole concept of putting someone on the spot like that just makes me queasy. Even if it is a fake relationship."

Fred smiled and patted my hand. "Don't you worry: I'll manage something that's sufficiently showy without making you feel queasy."

"More romantic words were never spoken."

"Cheeky."

"Speaking of queasy—are you going to be all right with this?" I asked, gesturing vaguely at the table. "Angelina and Lee, I mean."

Fred shrugged. "Maybe. Probably. Can't do much about it, at any rate. Besides, I'll only need to get through lunch. I reckon we'll all go our separate ways afterward."

"Well, if you need a moment, let me know," I said. "Nudge me under the table or something. That can be our code."

"Will do." He looked up. "There's George and Bea now."

"I always thought that statue looked a bit dodgy," said Bea, plopping down in the seat next to me and picking up a menu. "Ooh, lamb stew."

"They're out," I said.

"Bugger."

"Lee and Angelina should be along shortly," said George, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his hair. "I told them to wait until quarter of."

"Ah yes, and here's George," said Madam Rosmerta, approaching the table, that half-amused sort of smile returning to her face. She set the buttterbeers down in front of Fred and me and arched an eyebrow at George, her hand resting on her hip. "Let me guess: you are also trying to impress your girlfriend."

"Oh, we're not together," said Bea.

George sighed. "We can't be. She's only just inherited her ancient husband's vast fortune following his mysterious death and it would only look suspicious. We must pine for each other from afar until the estate is settled."

"You'll have to excuse George," said Bea, placing a gentle hand on George's shoulder and looking at Madam Rosmerta with an exaggerated expression of pity. "He's an idiot."

"Oh, I like you," said Madam Rosmerta with a smile.

"I'm rather delightful, aren't I?" said Bea, beaming. "Is it true that you're out of the lamb stew?"

"I'm afraid so. We've got pot roast today, if that suits."

"Intriguing. I'll think on it for a bit, but can I have a butterbeer for the time being?"

"Absolutely. George?"

"I'll have the same."

"So what are you two planning on doing after lunch?" I asked as Madam Rosmerta headed back to the bar. "Because you can be damn sure you're not following us around."

"When have we ever followed you around?"

"George, you literally own a notebook in which you insist on recording Merlin knows what about our movements." I narrowed my eyes. "Which for your sake, I sincerely hope you have not brought with you."

George grinned. "Now Charlotte, that would be telling."

"Besides," said Bea, "I'd have thought you'd be touched that your friends care about you so much."

"I'd rather you'd cared a little less."

"Not possible," said Bea, flinging her arms around me in an exaggerated bear hug and planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. "Such is our love for you."

"Careful, Bea," said Fred, failing to hide a smile. "I might get jealous."

"You, Fred Weasley, aren't even her proper boyfriend yet," said Bea, releasing me and folding her hands on the table. "Which is something that we need to discuss."

I glared at Bea. "Is it really though?"

Bea ignored me. "What's the delay, Fred?"

"Bea, you know how these things are," sighed Fred. "My solicitors have been speaking with her solicitors, both of us need to read over the contract, Charlotte keeps asking for an increase in her stipend and you know I haven't got that kind of money…"

"And then you've got to get the damn thing notarized," added George. "And you know you can never find a notary when you need one. It's like they don't think these things through."

Fred shook his head. "I tell you, this paperwork is enough to make a lad reconsider the entire notion of romance altogether."

"You know, a simple 'none of your business' would have sufficed," I said with a wry smile.

Fred grinned. "I can't help it if I've a rich imagination, now can I?"

"Perhaps you could channel that into more productive pursuits," I suggested. "Maybe creative writing or painting."

There was a subtle change in Fred's expression—so quick that you might not have noticed it if you blinked—and I knew immediately that Lee and Angelina had arrived.

"Looks like they made it all right," he said. I nudged my foot against his under the table and he caught my eye, giving me a quick smile.

As Lee and Angelina approached the table, I realized it was this part that I was most nervous about. To a certain extent, I was used to fudging my way through half-truths about my relationship with Fred, but the stakes suddenly felt a lot higher. My smile felt bright, tight, and artificial when Angelina caught my eye and I found myself tapping my fingers nervously against my knee in a kind of frantic arpeggio.

The only reason that the entire thing wasn't a complete disaster was because the ratio of who knew the truth and who didn't was decidedly in our favor. Bea, bless her, didn't know anything about Fred and Angelina and certainly nothing about our harebrained scheme. George and Lee might have known that Fred once fancied Angelina, but not that his infatuation was still ongoing and certainly not that we'd orchestrated a plan to address it. Angelina probably knew the most, but I had hopefully convinced her that her suspicions of the truth were largely unfounded.

Of the six of us, only Fred and I knew everything. We were a strange partnership in a tangle of emotions, broken hearts, and lies dressed up like the truth. It was camaraderie that gave me a strange sort of confidence. I watched how easily Fred put on a casual grin to mask his emotions, the easy way he slung his arm across the back of my chair, the way he was able to conjure smiles that seemed genuine if you didn't know to question them, and after a while, it became easier to believe that we might actually be able to pull this off.

"I can't believe you tossers never bloody told me about this," said Lee, plopping down in one of the empty chairs. "This is brilliant."

"Secret keeping is not typically their strongest suit," said Angelina. Her expression was particularly Angelina-ish: largely stoic and calm, but if you looked carefully, you could catch a twinkle in her eyes that hinted at a quiet sort of amusement.

"Oh, I thought it was rather obvious," said Bea. "My other theory was that George had a trunk that was devoted entirely to chocolate frogs and Zonko's products and that didn't seem plausible."

George shrugged. "I think a man's entitled to his vices." He poked Bea in the shoulder. "Besides, I never heard you complain about it."

"Not about the chocolate frogs," said Bea, her eyes narrowing. "The Zonko's products I could live with out." She turned to Angelina. "Do you know he put a fake doxy in my bag two weeks ago? I opened it in the library. Madam Pince still won't let me back in."

"I beg your pardon, that was a custom built Weasley original, not some Zonko's imitation," said George, huffing in mock offense.

Fred sighed. "I told him she wasn't the right subject for product testing, but he didn't listen. Six weeks worth of work, smashed to bits with a Transfiguration textbook. Absolute tragedy."

Lee gave a low whistle. "You smashed a Weasley original, Bea? That's a national treasure. You're lucky he hasn't filed a complaint."

Angelina arched an eyebrow, fixing a pointed look at both George and Lee. "Do you really think this is an argument you're going to win? I don't think anyone would've faulted Bea if she'd cursed him on the spot."

"Oh, she's not mad at me," said George, grinning. "I'm too charming."

"I rather think that it's more that I'm too magnanimous and you don't appreciate it," said Bea.

I bit my tongue and tried to hold back a smile, which did not escape George's notice. "Charlotte looks skeptical."

Bea fixed a stern look at me and then I couldn't help but smile.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I said.

"None of you appreciate me." Bea jabbed a forefinger against the surface of the table. "One day, I'll be gone and then you will realize that I was the single thread of stability holding your lives together and you will weep for the way you abused my kind and gentle nature."

"We'll build you a glorious memorial statue," said George solemnly.

"'Here lies Beatrice Pierce,'" said Fred. "'The single thread of stability holding together the lives of many, appreciated by none.'"

"'In lieu of flowers, please make a donation to the George Weasley Defense Fund, a non-profit group dedicated to providing legal remedy to those who have been wronged by George Weasley.'"

Bea's stern expression finally cracked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Please: it's called the George Weasley Victims Relief Fund."

Initially, it seemed like perhaps I'd been overly cautious in my worry about the potential awkwardness of this part of the Hogsmeade outing. Lee and Angelina stepped into the patter of the conversation without missing a beat, which I suppose made sense given that they were both friends with Fred and George. Bea's cleverness and quick mind thrived in this sort of environment. I was content to listen and throw in a comment here and there, keeping a weather eye on Fred, watching for a sign that he was ready to leave.

"So," said Bea toward the end of lunch, "where are the two of you going off to next?"

Lee waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, you know, somewhere romantic."

I held back a sigh. So much for avoiding awkwardness.

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Hardly. He's insisted on Zonko's."

"She keeps saying that like Zonko's isn't romantic," sighed Lee, draping an arm round Angelina. Angelina had previously struck me as the sort who wasn't keen on public displays of affection of any sort, but she made no move to dislodge Lee's arm, merely giving the sort of put-upon sigh that was equal parts irritation and genuine affection.

"It's not far from that little playground," said Bea with a sly sort of smile. "Which, if I recall correctly, has a rather secluded area underneath the green dragon slide…"

"Bea…" I gave her a stern look—less because of the content of what she was saying and more because she was unknowingly making an awkward conversation even worse. Not that the why mattered: she wasn't listening to me, a point that she made clear by sticking out her tongue.

"Like I said: it's very romantic," said Lee, smiling rather wickedly at Angelina.

"Honestly, Lee, you're an embarrassment," said Angelina. But there was a pretty sort of blush on her cheeks that hadn't been there before and her eyes lingered for just a half second too long on Lee.

I didn't dare look at Fred: to look at him would give everything away.

"I only intend to be a little unseemly with you," said Lee.

Angelina groaned. "If you keep at it, Lee Jordan, you'll be lucky if I agree to go at all."

Lee gave her a dazzling smile, utterly undeterred by her narrowed eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw. "Can you really blame me for being so enraptured by your beauty?"

"Don't tell me that you'll need a chaperone as well," said Bea. "George and I are going to have to tail Fred and Charlotte and I'd really rather not split up our team."

George nodded. "We've a whole system. I'm a bit lost without her."

I sighed. "I believe that we previously established that the two of you will not be doing this."

"Left to your own devices, you two end up breathless up against the wall quite often," said Bea. "Who's to say what will happen without my watchful eye?"

Lee looked moderately impressed and gave Fred a thumbs up; Angelina rolled her eyes and smacked his hand away.

My cheeks flamed. "Bea, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I know about the empty classroom that you and Devereux have been using to snog and I have absolutely no reservations about telling Peeves."

"Devereux? Is that the Beauxbatons boy I've seen you with?" asked Angelina. "Maybe you can introduce me to one of his friends after I dump Lee for being a disgusting prat."

Bea shook her head. "Oh, you don't want that. They're all horrid. I've only kept seeing Devereux because he's good at snogging and nice to look at and even that excuse is starting to wear thin."

"Looks like you're stuck with me, love," said Lee cheerfully, planting a kiss on Angelina's cheek.

Fred nudged my foot.

"What's the time?" I asked.

Fred checked his watch. "Quarter of." He gave me a sly sort of grin. "Shall we depart for our undisclosed location, my sweet?"

I sighed. "I believe I made my feelings on pet names clear."

Fred grinned. "I'll take that as a yes."

"If you must." I narrowed my eyes at Bea. "Bea Pierce, I swear on my life—"

"Oh, keep your hair on, I only do it because it's fun to irritate you." She grinned widely at me. "Just be sure to be safe and—"

I clamped my hand over her mouth before she could continue with that particular thought. "We'll meet you lot back here at four, yeah?" Bea licked my palm and I yelped, snatching my hand back and wiping it on my napkin. "You're disgusting."

"Love you, too!" she said, blowing a kiss at me.

I scowled at Bea as Fred dropped some coins on the table. We collected our coats and bundled back up, waving to Madam Rosmerta as we left the building and ventured back out into the cold.

"All right?" I asked as soon as the door shut behind us.

"Yeah." Fred scuffed his shoe against the ground. "More or less."

I nodded. "I'm assuming we're not going to Zonko's."

Fred's laugh was bitter. "No. I thought maybe the Shrieking Shack."

"Ah yes, the second most romantic place in Hogsmeade."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's rather frightening and a little isolated. Perfect for the young couple trying to escape their overzealous chaperones."

"Fair enough."

We walked in silence for a moment. I watched Fred out of the corner of my eye. He wasn't visibly upset, but he also wasn't quite himself. He finally noticed one of my surreptitious glances and gave me a grim sort of smile.

"Are you sure you're all right?" I said. "You don't seem like it."

He sighed. "Yeah. I'm fine. It's probably best if I don't think about it too much."

"What will keep your mind off it, then?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Just talking. That always helps."

"All right. What do you want to talk about?"

He squinted at the sky. "Anything."

"That is a rather broad subject, don't you think?"

"I'm ambitious."

"Clearly. But you're going to have to narrow it down a little."

"Hmm." He thought for a moment. "Tell me something about yourself. Something you haven't told me before."

"There are a lot of things I haven't told you."

"Pick one."

"We-ell…" I chewed my lip, thinking. "I've a nickname. I don't think you know that about me."

Fred's face lit up. As much as it was a relief to see him happy, his eyes sparkled with the sort of delight that instantly made me feel cautious about sharing any more details.

"Go on…"

"It's not terribly exciting," I warned him. "And I'll only tell you as long as you promise not to use it. It's a family nickname—it's weird when non-Lewises use it."

Fred stopped walking and held up his right hand. "You have my word that you will never hear that name from my lips."

"You needn't be that dramatic about it," I said, poking him in the chest.

"I take our secrets very seriously, Lewis."

"Clearly." I paused for a moment, allowing a small smile. "It's Cricket."

Fred put both of his hands on my shoulders. "That," he said, staring into my eyes very seriously, "is completely adorable."

"I'm glad you think so."

"What originated that charming name?" He dropped his hands from my shoulders and we continued walking.

"Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid." I stepped aside to avoid a patch of ice. "When I was little, we used to read a book about a very quiet cricket. Dad thought it suited me." I shrugged. "He gave all of us odd nicknames like that."

"Go on, what are the others?"

"Alice is Goose. As in silly goose—not Dad's most creative work. Ophelia is Duckie and Bianca is Bunny." I ticked each one off on my fingers.

"So you're the only insect?"

I smiled. "Yeah. Dad said he didn't really think about that until it had already stuck. I don't mind—I've always been a little different from my sisters anyway."

"That's quite sweet."

"What about you? Any charming family nicknames?"

"Nothing that inventive. Forge—as in Gred and Forge. Pretty self-explanatory. And occasionally—" He gave me a very serious look. "—and you must swear that you'll never, ever use this…"

"How about this: I won't call you by whatever name it is as long as you don't call me Cricket."

He looked genuinely pleased. "Incentivizing my silence. You're learning, Lewis."

"Are we in agreement, then?"

"We are." He took a deep breath. "Occasionally…" He let a dramatic pause linger until I cleared my throat expectantly. "…my parents call me Freddie. My siblings as well, but mostly to irritate me."

"That is not nearly as bad as you made it out to be, but I'll never breathe a word."

We were both quiet for a moment.

"Now you tell me something," I said, bumping my shoulder against his.

"What do you want to know?"

"I dunno—how about…tell me about the biggest thing you've ever been in trouble for."

Fred chuckled. "Oh no."

"Is it that bad?"

"Well, yes. It's one of those things that's both funnier and more stupid and dangerous in retrospect."

"Oh, this should be excellent."

To my surprise, he looked faintly embarrassed. "You have to promise you're not going to think terribly of me. I was quite young and I didn't fully understand what I was doing."

"Of course not."

He took a deep breath, only this time it didn't seem like a stalling tactic. "George and I tried to get Ron to do an Unbreakable Vow."

I winced. "Oof."

"Yeah." He kept his eyes focused on the road in front of us. "Not my finest moment, certainly."

"What were you trying to get him to promise?"

"Oh, it was something stupid, like if he ever had dessert, he'd have to give us half. Dad caught us right before. He's generally quite even tempered, but that day…" Fred trailed off and shook his head. "He was furious. Rightly so, of course. We could've killed Ron. Only time I've ever been spanked." His expression was oddly somber in a way that unnerved me a bit.

"Well, now I feel guilty. This talk was meant to cheer you up, not depress you. Do you want to hear about mine? It's considerably less grave and rather stupid."

His usual grin was back. "Lewis, I hardly think you need to ask that question. Let's have it."

"Well, when I was seven, we went to visit one of my aunts. She lives in the country in the sweetest little house. And my favorite part about the house was this little balcony off one of the bedrooms. I thought it was desperately romantic and I had this whole idea that I could go out onto the balcony and pretend to be a princess or a very fancy noblewoman."

Fred laughed. "Is this a common fantasy?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, I had a rather overactive imagination as a child. Anyway, the balcony was unstable—one of the supports had rotted through and the railing was a bit rickety. They kept trying to cast reinforcement spells on it, of course, but it wouldn't take—it had something to do with the wood and the potion that had been used to treat it originally. So my parents were naturally very adamant that I was not to go on the balcony because it wasn't safe."

"I take it you went on the balcony."

"Of course I did. But you see, I made several important mistakes. The first was that I chose to make my attempt while my parents and my aunt were sitting on the terrace below in full view of the balcony. And even if they didn't see me walk out, they would have worked out that I was there because the balcony made this horrid groan and sank a bit as I stepped out onto it."

Fred was smiling. "You are the worst rule breaker I've ever met."

"Oh, it gets better," I said. "My second mistake was that I was also pretending I was a princess, which is to say that I was also singing as I did this."

Fred laughed. "You weren't."

"I was. 'Lavender's Blue.' It's a folk tune."

Fred looked like he couldn't quite process his sheer delight. "This may well be my favorite Charlotte Lewis story in the history of Charlotte Lewis stories."

"Better than my sneaking out to the disappointing illicit midnight bonfire party?"

"Certainly." He laughed again. "Well, I take it you survived that adventure."

"Oh, yes. Dad cast a Levitation Charm to get me down straightaway. Lots of screaming and 'what were you thinking?' and 'you could have been injured.'"

"How is it that you managed to get through that without getting grounded?"

"I think they were just relieved that I was all right—the balcony actually collapsed the following night."

Fred clapped his hands together and laughed. "Merlin's pants, you broke the balcony."

"I'll have you know that the man who came round to work on it said that if a seven-year-old stepping out onto it weakened it enough to cause the collapse, it was probably just a matter of time." I kicked a pebble. "Still, my parents made me spend the summer doing chores to earn money to help my aunt pay for the restoration."

"Brutal."

We were quiet for a few minutes.

"I think if we're taking turns, it's your turn to ask me a question," I said.

"How very orderly of you." He pursed his lips, squinting at some unknown point in the distance. "What sort of question do I want to ask Charlotte Lewis?"

"If it's horrid and embarrassing, I reserve the right to not answer," I said, nudging him with my elbow.

"You know, I hadn't even thought to ask something untoward until you brought it up." He gave me a mildly chastising look. "Once again, Lewis, your mind is in the gutter."

I sighed. "You are ever the impossible thorn in my side, aren't you?"

Fred grinned. "You pretend to be cross about it, but you adore me."

"Debatable."

"Just for that, I'm going to ask you something embarrassing."

"You can certainly try, there's no guarantee I'll answer."

He was quiet for a moment as he thought. His face finally broke into a smile. "All right, Lewis. First kiss. Spill it."

"Oh, that's a thrilling and hilarious tale."

"Go on."

"It was with a boy called Gavin Hollifax. He used to live in our neighborhood. He went to some school in Germany—I can't think of the name. Anyway, we—I don't want to say we dated because it was so ludicrously brief—but we were together for about two weeks the summer before fourth year. He kissed me in the back garden while we were stargazing."

Fred was smiling. "All right, where's the part where this gets hilarious?"

I sighed. "Well…have you ever seen one of those Muggle transports—it's not an airplane, but it's a bit similar? With the blades?"

"A helicopter?" He frowned. "What does that have to do with your first kiss?"

"Well." I paused. "Kissing Gavin was…a bit like kissing a helicopter."

Fred doubled over laughing. "What?"

I raised my eyebrows, smiling. "I can demonstrate if you really want to have the full experience."

"I think you're going to have to because I'm genuinely having difficulty envisioning this."

We stopped walking and he leaned in and kissed me. I shoved my tongue into his mouth and whirled it around like I was swinging a lasso. Fred immediately began laughing and pulled away from me.

"That was actually worse than I imagined," he said, pulling a rather horrified face.

I laughed. "I mean, I'd never kissed anyone before and even I knew he was doing something wrong."

Fred frowned. "Wait a moment. You were together for two weeks—did you kiss him more than once?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

"Lewis."

"I was young and stupid," I said, shrugging. "At that point, the novelty of having a boy like me was compelling enough to keep at it. Not for very long, mind."

"Honestly, if that was your first experience with kissing, it's a wonder that you came back to it at all."

"I've had better experiences since then."

He put a hand to his heart. "Lewis, I'm touched."

"You really go for any opportunity to boast about yourself, don't you?"

"It's not boasting if it's true." He pulled me toward him. "Here, give me a proper kiss. I feel like I have to exorcize that from my mouth."

I leaned in and kissed him very gently on the lips. "Right. Now tell me about yours."

"Oh, there's no way mine beats yours."

"Don't care, I want to hear it."

"It was the summer before fourth year. Zelda Cabot. One of the girls from the village. George and I used to go to the shops there sometimes. I met Zelda about a week before we went back to Hogwarts. She had these excellent Muggle comics—that's why we got to talking. We sort of met up for a little bit—just walking around and talking, nothing special. On the last day, I worked up my nerve and kissed her under a magnolia tree."

"And how did that go?"

He shrugged. "It was a bit sloppy. Didn't really know what I was doing." He waggled his eyebrows at me. "Obviously, I've studied and improved my technique significantly since then." He dodged me as I swatted at him.

"So what happened with you and Zelda?"

"Well, here's the problem," he said, a particular combination of embarrassment and amusement creeping across his face. "Zelda was a Muggle, so she didn't know about Hogwarts. And in my haste to vault over that particular milestone, I may have neglected to mention that I would be going away to school for the next few months."

"Oh no."

"Needless to say, she wasn't particularly keen on repeating the experiment when I returned for Christmas holidays."

"I can imagine."

We had arrived at the Shrieking Shack. Broad daylight made it a little less unsettling that it might have been—it looked like a very old, boarded up house that could possibly be haunted. Still, though, there was something about it that made me draw my coat a little more tightly around me.

"You're not scared, are you, Lewis?" said Fred, nudging me.

"It's the most haunted building in all of Britain," I said, swatting at him. "I think it's rather sensible to feel a bit uneasy."

"Rubbish." He slid his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my head. I leaned back into him, grateful for the extra warmth. "I thought we'd established that you're more daring than you thought."

"I have to draw the line somewhere. Vengeful ghosts seem like a sensible place to do it."

"I don't know if they're all that vengeful. George and I have tried to get in and they've never gone after us."

"I thought that was just a rumor. Don't tell me you actually tried to break in."

"Once again: your doubt is very upsetting."

"Fred." I turned around to face him. "Why on earth would you do something so monumentally stupid?"

"I beg your pardon, we were doing research." He grinned and tweaked my nose. "No one's ever been able to break in. No one knows what's actually in there. We would have been providing a public service."

"Or a cautionary tale," I said, poking him in the chest. "You forget that the going theory is that there are some very angry ghosts haunting that place. What would've happened if that turned out to be true?"

"I think they would have been charmed by our boyish looks and winning personalities."

I laughed. "Is that your typical defensive strategy?"

"Of course." He grinned. "With a face like this, you'd be stupid not to rely on that as a strategy."

"You're too much, Fred Weasley."

He gave me a wide smile. "If anything, I'm too delightful."

I rolled my eyes. "So what actually happened when you tried to break in?"

Fred shrugged. "Not much. All the entrances are sealed. Very complicated spellwork—I've never seen anything like it."

"No ghosts came out to shout at you for trespassing?"

He shook his head. "We heard some eerie sounds and there were some odd shadows in the windows, but nothing extraordinary."

"Just another day in the life of Fred Weasley."

He grinned. "I do have a lot of thrilling adventures. Keeps things interesting." He jerked his head toward the Shrieking Shack. "Want to have a look?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think you've asked enough of my poor nerves on this date?"

"We're just getting started." His eyes twinkled in a way that felt slightly dangerous.

"Fred—"

"Come on, Lewis." He was approaching the fence. "This is hardly a proper fence, you don't even need to leap over it."

"You're not actually going to do this—"

He ducked under the barbed wire—which admittedly had a particularly wide gap—and stood up on the other side. "See?"

"Fred, get back here."

He grinned and turned on his heel.

"Fred!"

He kept walking.

As it turned out, my desire to avoid vengeful ghosts was second only to my desire to not see Fred attacked by said vengeful ghosts. Swearing and gritting my teeth, I ducked through the fence and emerged on the other side, sliding after Fred as he tramped through the snow.

"You are going to get us killed," I said as I caught up with him.

"Oh, Lewis, don't be such a spoilsport."

"I am concerned for our safety and well-being."

"And you mock me and roll your eyes when I say that you adore me." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I think you've secretly grown rather fond of me."

"Well, you're certainly testing that theory."

He chuckled. "Oh, go on. We don't have to go all the way up to it and I won't try to break in again. Will that ease your mind?"

"No."

He gave me a sidelong glance, his mouth crooking upward into a sort of half smile as he extended his hand. "But you're going to go with me anyway, aren't you?"

I sighed irritably, putting my hand in his. "Let's just get this over with."

His expression broke into a full on grin. "Lewis, you're a delight."

Fred loped casually toward the Shrieking Shack and I followed, my heart pounding in my throat and my grip on his hand tightening as we made our way closer and closer to the house. To his credit, he didn't complain once, though I was fairly certain I was on the verge of compressing the bones in his hand into a fine dust.

We stopped about twenty feet away from the house. Up close, it wasn't quite as bad as I thought it might be—it simply looked a bit more sad and abandoned than it did from farther away. But then a cold wind whipped against us and I could swear I heard an unsettling sort of groan and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran laps up and down my spine.

"See? It's not so bad," said Fred cheerfully. "If we fixed it up, it'd almost be rather cozy."

"You can take on that task by yourself."

"I think it'd be rather convincing if we took it on together," he said. "It'd really give gravity to our fake relationship. Aidan and Angelina would be knocking down our door to confess their feelings."

"Or the vengeful ghosts would be knocking down our door to get back at us for evicting them from their home."

"Nah, I imagine they'd be pleased," he said. "It must get a bit dull, being vengeful all the time. I reckon they'd like a break."

I studied his face as he looked around at the building, a soft smile playing at his lips. He seemed…happy, strange as it was to say. And for just a moment, I forgot about the shivers creeping up my spine and the fact that we were standing in the shadow of a famously haunted house. "You genuinely enjoy this place, don't you?" I said quietly.

He looked at me and smiled. "You've worked out my secret. I'm rather fond of the Shrieking Shack. You were joking earlier, but I've always thought it's a bit romantic."

I laughed. "Romantic? How?"

He shook his head. "You're so clever, Lewis, but sometimes you astound me with the tremendous gaps in your education."

I elbowed him. "Enlighten me then, oh wise one."

He squinted up at the house, shielding his eyes against the sun. "It's a great big mystery, isn't it? There are rumors and theories, but no one has ever really worked out what this place is or what's inside." He looked back at me. "It's always been this great possibility in my mind. Not just what's inside—it could very well be nothing—but the idea that someone could work it out." He looked back at the house again. "It's like you're standing on this precipice of what-if and I've always found that to be sort of a romantic notion."

I don't know what I expected Fred to say, but nothing like that had ever crossed my mind. I looked at the house, trying to see it as this big question mark, the grand what-if that Fred had described.

"I suppose you're right," I said after a moment.

Fred looked back at me, and the softness was gone from his eyes, replaced with the sort of carefree amusement that I was accustomed to. "I did have some ulterior motives in bringing you here," he said, doing his best to look chagrined.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that? Did you make a wager with the vengeful ghosts and this was all just an elaborate ruse to bring them a living soul"

"Now do you really think so poorly of me that you think I'd sacrifice you to vengeful ghosts? I thought our friendship meant more to you than that."

"Yes, because most friends take each other to famously haunted houses for fun."

"Cheeky." He grinned. "No, I brought you here because I've always wanted to kiss a girl in front of the Shrieking Shack."

I sensed there was more to that than this particular admission, so I waited, eyebrows raised.

"…and maybe Lee and George and I made a bet during third year about which one of us would be the first to do it."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Typical."

"Come on, Lewis." He stood in front of me, putting his hands on my waist. "I'm doing you a favor, you know. Think of what an excellent story this will make."

"'Ah, yes, let me tell you about the time that Fred Weasley nearly got us both killed by vengeful ghosts so he could win a bet he made as a thirteen-year-old.'"

He scoffed. "We've been here for nearly ten minutes and we haven't so much as seen a single vengeful ghost."

"Unless they're waiting for us to be distracted by something. Like kissing, for example."

"I'll give you a cut of my winnings."

"You're going to need to be more specific than that."

His smile widened. "You really are learning, aren't you?'

"Like you said, I'm clever."

He smirked. "Thirty percent."

"Forty percent and you'll let me choose the next two dates and you can't complain about them."

He considered this for a moment. "Deal."

He leaned in and kissed me.

And as much as I hated to admit it, there was something rather romantic about being kissed right in front of a famously haunted house while the winter wind tangled in your hair and you huddled close to the person kissing you to get a little extra warmth. For a moment, the cold and the eerie creaking of the Shrieking Shack didn't quite matter. I was pressed against the solid warmth of Fred's body, luxuriating in the feeling of his mouth on mine. I felt comfortable; I felt safe.

He ended the kiss and suddenly I found myself staring into those maple brown eyes, twinkling with that familiar sort of amusement that reminded me that this was all just a game. A queer sort of embarrassment bloomed somewhere in my stomach and I hastily dismissed it.

"Thanks, Charlotte," he said.

"You're welcome." I took a deep breath, trying to shake that odd feeling. "Have you sated your thirst for entirely stupid decisions or would you like to go knock at the door to see if any vengeful ghosts are at home?"

He grinned and pecked me chastely on the lips. "You're a peach. Come on, I'll buy you something at Honeydukes."

I suppose it's a strange sort of testament to my trust in Fred that I didn't really think twice about turning my back on the most famously haunted house in Britain and walking away, my hand clasped in his.

We were about halfway back to the fence when he started laughing.

"I knew it," he said, pointing toward the road. Two figures—unmistakably Bea and George—were walking together down the road.

I crouched down and grabbed a handful of snow.

"What are you doing?"

"Well," I said, calmly shaping the snow into a snowball, "I know for a fact that Bea has actively avoided going to the Shrieking Shack because she thinks if you've seen it once, there's no point in going back." I finished the first one and began working on a second. "And it's been about thirty minutes or so since we left the Three Broomsticks, so I suspect she was waiting, hoping that I'd let down my guard. Hold this." I handed the first snowball to Fred and stood, fishing my wand out of my coat pocket. "So I am crafting the appropriate response."

I muttered a quick spell and both snowballs zoomed out of our hands. I stood with my arms folded across my chest, watching the snowballs make their way toward their intended targets. Fred's quiet laughter mingled with Bea and George's shouts.

"Charlotte Lewis," he said, chuckling as George unsuccessfully tried to dodge the snowball after it reformed, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to make me fall in love with you."

I laughed then because I still didn't know any better. You're probably starting to tire of hearing this: how much foreshadowing can one story demand? Merlin's beard, Charlotte, stop being so heavy-handed: we get it. But the thing is, looking back now, there were so many points—so many obvious points—when I ought to have taken a moment to stop and reflect, when I ought to have realized that I was veering quickly toward something that I didn't understand.

It was all there, if I'd taken the time to look. Instead, I struck a match and twirled it idly between my fingers, blissfully unaware that I was about to slip, that I was about to be burned.

A/N: Just popping in to say: the helicopter bit? That was based on a real experience (albeit not a first kiss).