I entered the orchard, my heart beating so fast I thought it was going to burst. Never had the walk between the trees taken so long; my feet felt like lead, and it was almost painful to drag them along. But the sight of Fred, his back to me, his red hair shining, kept me going.

"Fred!" I called to him as I neared, and he turned. Our eyes met and he smiled, widely, sending a flock of birds wild in my stomach. "What's all this about, then?"

He did answer immediately, but turned away and went into the trees. I could hear movement and soft voices, and suspicion stung me painfully. Craning my neck to see what was going on, I began to wonder who on earth would hide in the trees. Everyone else in the family was at work or inside, I'd thought.

A minute later Fred emerged, grin having blossomed into a beam, and behind him, clutching his hand possessively, stood my eldest stepsister. Her blonde hair looked beautiful in the sunlight, and her blue eyes were glittering smugly. She leant over to Fred - being a smidge taller than him - and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Claudia," he said, in a proud voice, and motioned to the smirking Polly. "Polly and I are going out. George, Lee and I have decided that it's about time she replaced you in the group. You've got a bit boring, you know?"

"What?" I asked, feeling the blood drain from my face. "Fred, what - what are you on about?"

Instead of replying, though, he pulled Polly closer to him, and their lips met in a passionate kiss, and I -

My eyes flickered open, and I let out a low groan. Before I was even fully awake, nausea and pain shot through me, causing me to sit up sharply. I let out another groan immediately, as my head felt like I'd been spun in circles for hours on end. My mouth was dry and my muscles achy, and I blinked blearily, trying to get accustomed with the light.

Problem was, there was no light.

Of course, me being me, I began to panic. Why the hell had I woken up, after that weird pain in my head, somewhere pitch black? What the hell was going on? Tentatively, I reached my hands out either side of me, and felt for my surroundings. Before I started to hyperventilate, which was bound to happen, I thought I ought to establish just where I was.

One hand brushed against what was evidently some kind of wooden wall, and the other against a number of long, wooden implements. I moved my other hand to them, trying to work out what on earth they could be. After a minute or two of groggily wondering, it suddenly clicked. They were brooms.

Did that mean I was in the broom shed? The unconsciousness had come about next to it, and I couldn't imagine where else I could be with brooms inside of wooden walls. Alright, Claudia, no need to panic. Just open the door and get out.

I clambered unsteadily to my feet, head spinning alarmingly, and took a few deep breaths to steady myself. I could start to think about what had happened once I was back outside. I stepped forward uncertainly, my arms outstretched to reach the door. It only took two steps for me to have grabbed the handle. Feeling relieved, I shook it - and the door didn't open.

I swore, loudly, and kicked it in frustration. Since when did they lock the broom shed? Especially in the afternoon, when I'd only been in here an hour or so ago. I guess it depended how long I'd been out cold, but it couldn't be that long, surely? Gnawing on the inside of my lip, I tapped my foot and folded my arms, fighting hard against the sick feelings inside and the soreness of the back of my head.

A sudden inspiration hit me, and my hand flew to my pocket to withdraw my wand - and I found that nothing was there. Casting my mind back, I remembered that I'd left it in the bedroom. How bloody perfect. I was well and truly stuck, and in no state to be breaking any doors down.

With a hiss of breath, I leant my forehead against the rough wooden wall, trying to figure out a way to escape. I wasn't afraid of small spaces, but I was rather worried about how I'd ended up like this. I'd been going to meet Fred in the orchard, yes, and the moment I saw him something had struck me in the back of the head. But what?

Instinctively, I lifted up a hand and gingerly touched the back of my tangled hair. There was something stuck in it, and there was what felt like a tender cut, and I whimpered in realisation. There was dried blood in my hair. At least it was dry - if it had been wet, I'd probably have passed out.

Just as I was planning to curl up on the floor and cry, I heard the handle being jiggled around, and jumped about a mile. The person on the other side evidently had as much luck as I did, and swore softly. I heard them mutter to themselves, "Bloody keys are in the kitchen", and then their footfalls retreating. A wave of relief crashed through me; whoever it was would be able to let me out, and I'd finally know what had happened to make me end up in here.

Patiently, I waited for whoever it was to return. In a minute or so I heard the jangling of keys, and the sound of a key being twisted in the look. I brushed down my clothes and tucked my messy hair behind my ears to try and make myself more presentable. I hoped it'd be Fred or George, who would be a little more understanding (if a little more amused) than anybody else.

The door swung open, and I immediately shielded my eyes. The sun was alarmingly bright after the darkness of the broom shed, and it took me a moment to blink my vision into focus. The face of George Weasley soon came into view, and I smiled in a weary kind of way - until the smile slipped off my face as I saw his expression.

He looked livid.

"George!" I asked, startled. "What on earth is wrong?"

He glared at me fiercely for a full minute, before shaking his head in disgust and looking away. "Don't play stupid. I can't believe the cheek of you. What the hell are you doing in the broom shed? Realised you couldn't get home without our family's help?"

"I - what?" I asked, laughing slightly. Fred and George had played stupid pranks like this before; they'd pretended to have no idea who I was in second year, for example, which ended up with me pushing one of them out of the portrait hole and spraining their wrist. "Come on, I'm hardly in the state for a joke. What time is it? Did you lock me in here? If you did, I'm going to -"

"A joke?" he asked, looking surprised, before he scowled again. "Oh, shut up. Just get out of here, would you?"

His tone was harsher than I have ever heard it, so I folded my arms and tapped my foot impatiently. "Alright, whatever. Very funny. Can you please just explain what's been going on?"

"I think you're the one with explaining to do," he replied, angrily. "Fred didn't tell me a lot, but what I heard made me feel sick. I even covered for you when you went missing and told Mum you'd had to Floo home urgently. I don't know why. You don't deserve it. I thought you'd got the hell out of here."

"Wait, what?" I asked, suddenly realising that George seemed to be being deadly serious. "What exactly did Fred tell you? That I didn't get to meet him?"

It was George's turn to look startled now. "No, of course he didn't! He told me what happened when you did meet him."

"But -" I furrowed my brow, trying to think clearly with my aching head. "First thing first, I didn't meet him. I was on my way to - I was standing about here - when something whacked me in the back of the head. I just woke up in there."

George snorted, derisively. "You expect me to believe that, do you?"

"Of course I do!" I exclaimed, beyond frustrated. "How would I get locked in if I'd gone in there myself? I don't have my wand on me. And look, there's dried blood on the back of my hair."

I showed him, and when I turned back round he looked troubled. We stared into each other's eyes for a little while longer - him looking perplexed, me defiant - until he sighed, shaking his head again. "I dunno. Why would Fred tell me that you'd met him and said horrible stuff, if you hadn't?"

"I have no idea," I shrugged, relieved he was beginning to believe me. "But I can promise you that I didn't say anything horrible. What sort of stuff -"

"You need to talk to Fred," he said, suddenly.

"I do? Why?" I asked, unnerved by his sudden change of tone. "Look, can't you just tell me -"

"He knows more about it than me, and he's the one who needs an explanation," he explained, tugging me back towards the house. "He's in our room, doing some tidying because Bill and Charlie complained about the mess last night. Go tell him what you've just told me."

We entered the house and went to the bottom of the stairs together, until he came to a halt. "I'm not coming with you. Up you go."

"George!" I growled, impatiently. "Stop this a minute, you're making no sense. If Fred thinks I said loads of nasty stuff, he's hardly going to want to see me, is he? Why can't you come, too?"

"'Cause I don't understand it myself," he sighed, and then broke out in a smirk. "Plus I don't want to get blood on my clothes when he rips you to shreds."

"Don't say things like that!" I reprimanded, anxiously. "He won't be that mad, will he? I don't know what I'm supposed to have done wrong!"

"Just explain, and you'll be fine," he said, serious now. "I promise it'll be okay. I'll only be in the garden if you need me, okay?"

"Wait, what -" but before I could ask him what it was I was supposed to have said to Fred, George had gone back to the garden. I glowered at his retreating back, before giving myself a bracing shake and heading up the stairs. Whatever was going on, George had been reasonably easy to convince I was innocent. I was pretty sure Fred would be fine, and so I went confidently up to the second floor and opened the twins' bedroom door open, wanting nothing more than to get this mess cleared up and sleep.

Fred was rummaging through his wardrobe when I entered, plonking pairs of shoes into the bottom of it, and didn't look up. His back to me, he muttered, "You know George, I still can't believe it. I actually - God, who the hell would have thought she'd have said something like that? I thought - I thought -"

To my absolute horror, his voice was rather thick and stuffy, as though he'd been crying. Never, in all the time I'd known him, had I ever known of Fred Weasley crying. I took a tentative step forward and asked, in a small voice, "Fred? Are you alright?"

He spun sharply at my words, dropping the shoes he'd been holding. His eyes had lost their mischievous, bright sparkle, instead being replaced by a dull look. His hair was tousled and unbrushed, his expression sullen and miserable. At least, it was sullen and miserable, until he realised just who he was gazing at.

Then he, just like his twin, looked absolutely bloody livid.

"Before you say anything, I'd just like you to know it wasn't me," I said, in a rush, because I'd learned not to let a twin get the first word in. I didn't want to hear anymore accusations, I just wanted to be cleared of blame. "Whatever happened, it wasn't my fault."

"Oh, someone had used an Unforgivable and forced you to be a bitch, had they?" he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest.

I gaped at the name he had called me, and then bristled angrily. "You know what? To the hell with you. If you're not going to hear me out, I'm not going to try and make you."

"How dare you stand there and say crap like that?" he asked, laughing humourlessly. "How dare you even stand in my family's house, after what you said? You might as well just leave. I thought you had gone to that airhead Diggory or something."

"Evidently I haven't gone to Cedric, though I'm beginning to wish I had!" I hissed, trembling with fury at not being listened to. "I didn't want to come up here and explain myself all over again, but George told me to. If you're not even going to let me talk without shouting at me, I might as well -"

"Oh, don't tell me George has been taken in by some pathetic excuse?" Fred laughed, but his eyes were narrow. "What's the lie, then? You were drunk? You were hexed?

"I don't know what happened," I said, the words already familiar. "I didn't even meet you. I was knocked out."

"Oh, very good, very good," he said, applauding me. "So, who met me then? Was it your twin?"

"I don't know!" I insisted, actually stamping my foot in frustration. "I was on my way to meet you, I swear, but then I -"

"I'm not going to listen to you," he snapped, striding forward and holding the door open for me. "Just go, would you? Floo home, and just forget this whole thing. I don't even want to see you again."

Feeling sudden, stupid tears stinging my eyes, I shouted, "I didn't do anything, alright? I was on my way to meet you, something hit me in the back of my head and I just woke up locked in your bloody broom shed! If George hadn't have found me, I'd still be in there. I didn't even get to meet you. I don't know what the hell is going on, but whatever it is, it's not my fault."

Fred reached forward, and sharply grabbed my forearms, pulling me towards him. I tried to struggle but his grip was firm and painful. As I stared up into his glaring eyes I felt, for the first time in my life, intimidated by a Weasley twin. He shook me, none to gently, and snapped, "Don't lie, alright? I'm not thick. You met me, I know you did."

"I - I didn't!" I said, again, feeling desperate and a little scared now. "I didn't."

"Don't lie," he hissed, but I had thought I'd seen a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and so took courage from that.

"I'm not lying," I pressed, trying to calm myself. "I swear, I didn't. Was is it I supposedly - supposedly said?"

He gazed down into my eyes for a moment, before looking away and muttering, in a heavy voice, "I don't see why you can't just cast your mind back and remember for yourself. You said that my family was the lowest of the low, and there was no way you'd ever consider a - a romance with anyone in it, because we had no money and shouldn't even be allowed to have so many children because - because we're all such scum."

I gaped up at him, stunned beyond words. Why the hell would I ever say that? The Weasleys were my favourite family in the world, let alone the fact that I'd been best friends with two of them for five years. Firmly, yet in a shocked, bland voice, I replied, "I didn't say that. I'd never say that. You lot are the best family in the fucking world."

There was a moment of tense, stormy air. Our eyes were locked and Fred was shaking slightly and my chest was heaving and neither of us seemed quite sure of what was going to happen. Then, without warning, he muttered, "Polyjuice Potion".

"Sorry?" I asked, at a loss as to what he meant.

"Somebody must have used Polyjuice Potion because someone who looked like you definitely met me, but - but you wouldn't have said those things."

He released me and I talk an automatic step backwards, rubbing the painful red marks on my forearms. "I'm glad you finally - finally see sense."

"Well," he murmured, looking thoroughly sheepish, and gazing anywhere but at me. "It was - well - in my defence, somebody who looked -"

"In your defence, my arse," I muttered, storming over to the corner of the room in which my trunk was stowed. I pulled it out and laid it on the nearest bed, proceeding to hunt for my belongings and throw them in. "I can't believe you didn't believe me the first time I said I didn't do it. Why the hell would I say something like that? You're supposed to be my best friend and trust me."

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding panicked. "Why are you packing? Things are alright now, aren't they?"

"I know when I'm not really trusted," I growled, slamming the lid of the trunk down and lifting it. I knew, even then, that I was acting irrationally, but I was so infuriated that I really didn't care. "I'm going home. Tell your dad thanks for the ticket to the World Cup, but someone else can have it."

"You can't leave!" he exclaimed, following me to the doorway and trying to reason with me. "Look, calm down. Let's talk. I'm sorry I thought it was you, okay?"

"I don't care," I replied, stubbornly, and marched across the hall, breathing heavily. At the top of the stairs, I couldn't help but look back. Fred stood in the doorway, looking miserable and defeated. I felt the familiar jolt in my stomach, but fought it defiantly. Our eyes locked. He blanched, muttered "Oh God", and stumbled forward towards me.

Then, passion inflicted in his every movement, he grabbed my arms again and pulled me towards him - and kissed me, hard, on the mouth.

Without a moment's hesitation, I dropped my trunk and entangled my fingers in his hair, kissing back. He let out a small groan and I moved the angle of my head slightly so the kiss was easier. His arms slipped around my waist, pulling me closer, and in our passion we staggered backwards together, too lost in the kiss to care about falling over.

However, gravity did care, and being at the top of the stairs had certain consequences.

Naturally, we fell.

The fall was hard and painful, and we crashed down right to the bottom. Once there, we both let out low groans of pain and shock, stirring from our tangle of limbs. Fred had landed on top of me, the git, and pulled himself off me, shaking slightly. He clambered to his feet and shook each of his limbs to ensure nothing had been broken.

Satisfied he was okay, he offered his hand to me, his cheeks crimson. Feeling my own cheeks glow warmly, my mind still screaming from the suddenness of it all, I took his hand. He attempted to pull me up but there was a sudden, sharp pain in my leg and I fell back down, letting out a pained cry.

"I think - I think -" I winced, and looked down at my leg. Sure enough, it looked as though the bone was sticking out at a terribly awkward angle. I closed my eyes against the tears that had risen because of the pain, and let out a hiss of breath. It really, really bloody hurt. "I think it's broken."

"Oh, shit," Fred said, simply. He gazed down at it a moment, seemingly not able to meet my eye. "Well. Uh. Does it hurt?"

"Just a bit," I muttered, through gritted teeth. If I hadn't been so preoccupied by the pain, I'd probably have rolled my eyes. "What - what do I do, then? My leg happens to be bloody -"

"You'll have to go to St. Mungo's," Fred cut through me, beginning to smile. "There will probably be loads of blood involved."

"Don't," I moaned, trying not to think about it. "That's not helping! You're such a git."

"I guess I am," he shrugged, unconcerned. "Thing is, I'm going to have to carry you, aren't I? I wouldn't call me a git, if I were you."

"You're going to have to carry me?" I asked, mouth suddenly going dry. "I guess - well, of course you do, but -"

"Up you go," he said, and lifted me up. One of his arms was holding my back, the other my thighs, and I felt rather like a bride being carried by a groom. I nearly slipped out of his arms, so quickly hooked an arm around his neck, wincing as I did so. I was trying my hardest not to think of that damn kiss. It had to have been a spur of the moment thing.

Fred Weasley would never fancy me.

As he carried me over to the top of the stairs, our way was blocked by George. He had just come up from the kitchen, and looked rather hesitant. "Is everything okay? Mum heard bangs from the front room and asked me to - oh!" He suddenly realised that I was in Fred's arms and looked away, embarrassed. "Um. Sorry for interrupting something. I'll just - err -"

"Claudia's leg is broken," Fred explained, quickly. George's jaw dropped, and then snapped closed again. He folded his arms, scowling heavily at his twin, and going an angry red colour.

"What did you do to her?" he shouted, evidently furious. "Didn't she explain that it wasn't her who said that stuff? What the hell has happened? I can't believe that you'd ever -"

"I didn't do anything!" Fred burst out, though he looked rather sheepish. "It wasn't my fault."

I glared at him, trying to ignore how close our faces were, and murmured, "Liar."

"Oh, alright," he sighed, going a bright, boiling red. "I kissed her. We fell down the stairs. Her leg is broken. Is that a good enough explanation?"

George looked stunned for all but ten seconds, before letting out a delighted laugh. "You did? Well done! How was it?"

Our twin glowers made him fall silent, but he was still beaming to himself. Fred sighed again, still not meeting my gaze, and took me down the stairs. "Let's get your leg fixed, then, before we hit anymore obstacles."

IIIIIII

Half an hour later, I strolled out of the hospital ward, whistling to myself. I had been whisked away by a harassed-looking Healer to have my bone fixed, leaving the twins and Mrs Weasley in the waiting room. Mrs Weasley had been mortified to see me injured (although we'd only told her I'd fallen down the stairs, alone), and had insisted she should come along as she was my acting guardian. Bill and Charlie had agreed to look after Ron and Ginny at home.

The procedure of fixing my bone had been painless and instant, and I felt as good as new as I went to find the waiting room. I wasn't even limping. I'd also trained myself, in the past half hour, not to think of what had caused my injury. The kiss, I'd come to think, had been a mistake of Fred's part and would not happen again, no matter how much my heart had felt like exploding when our lips had connected.

No matter how much I wanted to kiss him again, I had to accept I wouldn't.

I turned a corner, taking a deep breath to try and steady the battling emotions inside, when I heard a strangled cry. I looked up, but before I could see who it was, my vision was obscured by a tangle of mousey brown hair and I was slammed - hard - into the hospital wall.

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A/N: Don't hate me for another cliffhanger! I really hope you liked this chapter, please tell me if you did or not!, as things are beginning to tie together now.

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