"Don't drink the milk," Fred warned as Ginny sat down on the other side of me at the kitchen table. The youngest Weasley froze with her hand halfway towards the plate of chicken Fred was tasked with putting away as soon as I was finished, and she frowned at Fred and then me. Fred shook his head and wrinkled his nose to thoroughly warn her off the beverage, and I glared at my plate with the expert focus that only comes from experience.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked slowly, carefully studying me as I viciously stabbed my fork into some cauliflower. My stomach thoroughly protested "sleeping" through dinner, but Fred was rightfully concerned with giving me eating utensils.

"Dunno, but the way she's acting, I think someone pissed in it."

"Probably George," Ginny grumbled, pulling her hand away from the pitcher and turning towards the sink. It would be plain old water for Ginny that night. "Maybe she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Doubt it. She hasn't been to bed." Fred shot me a look before returning to the parchment he was studying. "Unless she got up from the wrong side of the chair."

"I thought she…oh," Ginny nodded wisely as she took a sip of her water. "Maybe she's sleepy because she didn't take a nap when she pretended to take a nap and wants to take one now but is too hungry to take a nap because she pretended to take one during dinner and has to eat dinner now when she wants to take a nap!"

That was enough. I motioned towards my knife, and Fred lunged forward to grab my hand before I could pick up any object that could be used as a weapon.

"Gin," he grunted, "fork." Ginny frowned in confusion, but as I fought to free my hand from Fred's grasp, she grabbed my cauliflower-filled fork and attempted to pry it from my fingers.

"Lemme go!" I insisted, shaking one fist and then the other repeatedly to no avail. Overpowered by two Weasleys. This was why I would never take over the world. "Fre-ed, let go-o!"

"Drop the fork."

"I want my cauliflower."

He rolled his eyes, let go of my fist with one hand to swipe the knife out of my reach, and locked his gaze with mine. Ginny had no idea what was going on, but I could see the question written in his eyes. Could he trust me enough to give let me go? I bit my bottom lip and, when I let out the shaky pre-breakdown sigh that I'd been holding in all evening, my muscles all relaxed. I didn't have the will to fight them. What was I going to do, anyway? Stab Fred in the eye with cauliflower for talking like I wasn't in the room? He was clearly very aware of my presence.

"Gin." When she looked at her brother, he nodded softly, and she let me go. She kept her hands nearby in case she had to grab me again, but I only raised the fork to my mouth and took a satisfying bite. "Good. Now, get out."

"I just…"

"Gin. Out."

"Fred!"

"I could always tell Mum about the time you called Professor Sprout a nilly-headed grass eater."

"Fred!" Ginny gaped. "I never said that! You know I didn't say that. Mel, tell him I never said that!"

I had no idea what Fred was playing at, and I had a mouthful of vegetable, so I hesitated too long to come to Ginny's aid. She huffed, turned on her heel, and stomped out of the room, careful to end her fit before the portrait caught on that it was tantrum time.

"Good, she's gone!" Fred nodded happily. "So, talk to me."

"Aaav nuffik..."

"Chew, swallow, talk."

I made an exaggerated motion out of swallowing and putting my fork down. "Nothing's wrong."

"And I'm reading a letter in the middle of the night as I wait for you to eat your bloody food because it's perfectly innocent and my mum would love its contents. What's bothering you?"

"At the moment? I'm finding you rather bothersome."

Fred rolled his eyes, folded his parchment, set it down, and turned to face me. "Alright, I'll talk to you. Was that the first time you snogged my brother?"

My stomach clenched, but I refused to let him know that. I rolled my eyes and stabbed my fork into my chicken. "Fred, don't be disgusting. Ron's, like, twelve."

"Right, Mel, I'm being serious here. Don't make me take that plate away from you." He leaned towards me to accent this point, so I gave in and nodded. "Why haven't you talked to him about it?"

"I have."

He leaned away and draped an arm over the back of his chair. "Liar."

"Well, he kissed me, Fred, and that's a technicality I find extremely important! If he wants to start snogging me, then he can bloody well start talking to me about it afterwards." I insisted, tossing my fork down. Fred held his hands up in casual defense. He knew I wasn't upset at him and didn't particularly feel the need to calm me down, but I appreciated even the slight gesture that showed he didn't want me upset. "How'd you even figure it out?"

"Erm, well, we are twins. You should've seen him at dinner. Right grump. I couldn't even drag the story out of him, but his attitude combined with your sudden fondness for sleeping through meals? I figured an event preventing or proceeding the…" he hesitated, then clasped his hands together, "…part got you both all bothered. Seeing as George refuses to tell me anything, I'm hoping you can shed a bit of light, yeah?"

"Why won't George talk to you?" I deflected. It was rare that George and Fred kept something from the other, and I found it both worrisome and wonderful that I was enough trouble to be one of those things.

"I dunno, 'cuz he's a git like that?" Fred shrugged casually, as if it was common knowledge that he found George to be an idiot. "Now could you please tell me what is going on?"

I dropped my head into my hands. "It's gone all balls-up, Fred."

"As I've gathered, yeah."

"I don't know why he did that."

"Probably because he's fancied you for years."

"Shut up," I groaned. "When he asked me to the Yule Ball, did he mean that as a proper date?" Fred raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips to one side, and nodded slowly. "Shiiiiit."

"You mean you had no idea? Blimey, you really are thick, aren't you?"

"Shut up!" I ordered again, but Fred always could make me laugh. "I do like him, you know." Fred nodded. "I just don't know why he never said anything."

"Mel, honestly, you know George. He's not exactly…well, me." Oh, yes, because Fred was the portrait of honesty when it came to his feelings. I'd have to tell Angie about that one. "He's...y'know, not shy so much, just more reserved. Goes with the flow a bit more. Let's other people lead. He's the brains of the operation, but only after someone else comes up with the starting idea."

"He's shy," I rephrased.

"Well, I guess you could put it that way, yeah. He's not just going to shove you up against the wall and show you what manly stuff us Weasleys are made of."

"You have the eloquence that poets and wordsmiths only dream about."

"Oh, hush," Fred rolled his eyes. "Look, if you really do like George, you should talk to him. As utterly repulsive as it is to think of my best mate and my twin brother getting it on, you do make him happy, and I think you two might actually make good go of things. Don't let your bull head get in the way."

I was about to protest that I was not bullheaded in the slightest, but decided to forgo that thought when Fred held his arms out. A Weasley hug was worth swallowing a little pride for, so I threw my arms around him and let him sway me back and forth.

With his face still in my hair, he asked, "Now, I really am exhausted, but if I go to bed without putting this food away, Mum'll have my hide. Could you finish already?"

And that was the Fred Weasley I was proud to call my friend.

FGFGFGFGFG

It was rare that the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place was empty, so when I did not find it that way early Christmas morning, I was hardly surprised. It was maybe three or four in the morning when I finally gave up on trying to get a wink of sleep and shuffled downstairs to start a fire that I could stare into, giving my thoughts a focal point rather than rolling around in bed trying to get George out of my head.

When I entered the kitchen, though, the fire was already roaring with life, and the flames illuminated the shaggy hair of a man I had once been absolutely horrified of. A man that, two years ago, I would have been too petrified to move around. I grabbed a chair from the table and dragged it next to him by the fire, plopping down without a word. He glanced at me casually and turned back to the flames.

"Can't sleep, Melbecka?"

"Not a bit. Too much to think about. You?"

Sirius Black nodded. "Something like that."

We settled into silence, both focused on the flames. Someone fell off their bed upstairs, most likely Ron, and the thunk echoed through the house. Whoever it was didn't move for a long time, probably falling asleep again on the floor. So, probably Fred. Maybe George. No, George would get back up and at least attempt to climb into bed. We'd find him in the morning on top of the covers with a leg hanging off the mattress and a huge bruise somewhere from the impact. His hair would be all mussed up, sticking every which way, and when I asked him if he had a rough night, he'd look at me incredulously and ask why on earth I would think that. He and Fred would argue over who got to wear a particular shirt (Fred would win), and George would grab the same shirt in a different color. Pants were never a point worthy of discussion. I'd point out that he needed to brush his hair, and George would look at me like I'd suddenly sprouted a second head. He'd run a hand through it quickly, which would do absolutely nothing, flash me a boyish grin, and apparate to the kitchen.

Except, none of that would happen right now anyway. George and I were all wrong. Why were we all wrong? It was only a kiss. Just one foolish kiss. This sort of thing must happen to best friends all the time. It was just a hormonal rush that we would get over in a few days, and everything would go back to normal.

Nothing would go back to normal.

I didn't want them to. I wanted George. I wanted George to hold me when I was scared and kiss me whenever he bloody well felt like it and laugh with me (and at me, I suppose) and dream of me. I wanted George to love me. I just couldn't actually have any of that, no matter how simple Fred made it all seem.

"What's bothering you, Mel?"

Sirius's voice made me jump, but I threw an arm out to the side and managed to stay in my seat. "It's a long story. Not…it's not worth getting into right now."

Sirius studied me carefully, then shrugged. "All right."

We settled into silence again, both staring at the flames. And then it hit me. Why couldn't I tell Sirius? What would be so bad about that? Not everything of course, but some of it. The things I couldn't tell Fred or Angie. Sirius wouldn't tell anyone.

"Suppose you knew…something was going to happen. Something bad. Y-you don't know what or anything! Just…something. And, so, say, y'know, that you…care about someone. But this, em, thing, it's going to take you away from him one day. You can't let him get attached just to hurt him, right? No matter how badly you want to. Right?"

Sirius took in a deep breath, still looking at the fire. He let it out slowly, and took in another. I silently pleaded that he didn't ask for any elaborations that I couldn't give, and, thankfully, someone was listening. Maybe Sirius understood better than anyone else that sometimes there were just things you couldn't bring yourself to say.

"George already cares too much. You'll hurt him deeply either way."

Sorry I took a bit longer to get this one up. I've hit sort of a wall with my writing, not just with this story but in all regards. You should see the progress of my term paper. …Yeeeeah… But, I've written far enough ahead that I could at least post. Thanks for your patience!

Next Chapter: Brown Paper Packages