Chapter 3: Everybody's Got Something to Hide But Me

If there is anything Eleanor has learned in the last fifteen years, it is that nothing in this life exists without reason, even if she lacks the wisdom to understand why.

Her father would've loved to hear her admit that perhaps, The Beatles were right. With every mistake, we surely must be learning.

She knows that there's a bigger purpose of being a twin, of being one half of a greater whole.

Twins are defined by their duality, and little else could describe her relationship with Ben more perfectly. Some days she thinks that the both of them must've played a game of rock-paper-scissors in the womb in order to decide who each of them would grow up to be; deciding how they'd split up all of the traits that'd be born to them so they'd find always be in perfect balance with the other.

And they are, really, a perfect balance. Eleanor is analytical, fixating on small details regardless of their importance, whereas Ben has always been intuitive. She is patient where he is fickle, logical where he is emotional, unyielding where is willful. There are always differences in a pair of twins, however inscrutable, but she believes that the equilibrium between her and Ben is one rarer than most. If what she believes holds to be true, there must be a reason why.

While she didn't have much room for negotiation in the matter, she rather likes being a twin. But being total opposites offers ample opportunity for mistakes. She and Ben will never be identical, not in thought nor in body, and the gap between them is just big enough for things to slip through the gap.

The next morning, Eleanor trudges to the Ravenclaw table for breakfast with circles under her eyes, darker than usual, after a restless night of sleep. The feeling of impending doom of serving detention for the first time in her enrollment at Hogwarts is persistent and relentless like she's committed some great act of moral failure.

Ben is sitting beside Alfie, and a spoonful of sugar spilling into his tea comes to a halt in mid-air at the sight of her- she knows she looks as though she hadn't rested for a moment during the night. She knows he knows her better than anyone, knows that something is wrong.

"Nel," he says to her carefully, taking the smallest sip of his beverage as she sits down across from him. His eyes peer up at her over his cup, two cornflower blue eyes meeting an identical pair across the table. "You look horrendous."

"Thank you, Ben."

Eleanor swallows thickly, and her hands move around in front of her as she fixes her own cup of tea. Her expression is intentionally blank, but this practiced apathy does not rid Ben of his alarmed expression.

"I have detention today," she admits quietly without further explanation. Ben sits up a little straighter in his seat but tries to downplay his surprise with a clearing of his throat. He sips at his tea, his long fingers padding at the porcelain in a nervous rhythm of one, two, three, four.

"What? What happened?!" he asks a little too quickly to sound natural. He knows she is, hell, she knows she is, but the rest of the conversation depends solely on how she chooses to respond.

She shakes her head, ignoring the quiver in her fingers as she grips the handle of her cup. "Weasley happened. George, specifically."

"…Oh."

Ben spares an inscrutable glance over at their brother, who merely blinks at the both of them silently. Eleanor scoffs. "What?"

"Nothing. What happened? What did he do?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Just know that he was harassing me in the library with a book about vaginas, and somehow he managed to get me in detention even though I didn't do anything."

Ben certainly looks like he wants to talk about it, face reddening at the mention of female genitalia. He doesn't appear to have any idea as to how to parcel apart this information, but if Eleanor refuses to talk about it, she won't.

"Do you need me to do something about it?" he asks her nervously, his shoulders stiffening at his offer. "Do you, er, want me to… talk to him?"

Ben rolls up the sleeves of his robes and glances around the Great Hall suspiciously, and for a moment, Eleanor feels the slightest bit of pity for him. Ben isn't exactly the intimidating sort, with long, gangly limbs and a persistent jumpy disposition. Even if she wanted him to have a few choice words with George, if the Weasley's have proven anything in the time she's known them, it's that Ben would certainly be unable to defend himself, never mind his sister.

"No," she sighs, fighting a small upturn at the corner of her mouth. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Ben completely deflates in his chair, the stress in his shoulders sinking out of him as he lets out a deep breath. "Thank Rowena," he sighs exasperatedly, his face burrowing in his hands. "Because if you need me to… to fight him, or something, I will, Nel. Just say the word."

"I think you're much better suited to be my emotional support than my knight in shining armor, but thank you."

Alfie doesn't seem surprised at either of his siblings, and he merely smiles to himself as he glances between them. "Ben's happy because he knows he would have lost, unfortunately," he says wryly. "And he'd rather keep his teeth inside his mouth, I think."

Ben stiffens beside him, cheeks red and flaring with indignation. "Excuse me, Alfred, I would have fought valiantly for Nel, and statistically, I believe I would have had a twenty-five percent chance at success. Which is a better chance than you'd have, twinkle-toes."

Their younger brother doesn't rise to the bait, and he smiles again. "I would never fight George Weasley," he says bluntly. "But if you did, I'd stand by your side."

"And what? Cheer me on?"

"No. But someone would need to get Madam Pomfrey once he was finished with you, wouldn't they?"

The blonde boy doesn't intend for it to come across as a joke, Eleanor knows- he never means to be funny, but she grins nonetheless. "No fighting," she instructs them both. "Or at least, no fighting of the physical variety. Weasley, well, he's just… he's so stupid, and a prat who doesn't care about the repercussions of anything he does. He is clearly trying to knock me off a pedestal, or something. The Weasley's have chosen me to be a victim in their reign of terror."

Ben, not quite calm after his spat with Alfie but much more relieved than he was a few minutes ago, gives her a flat look. "Well, I'm glad to see you've come to a very reasonable conclusion that is not dramatic in the least."

She waves him off. "You weren't there. You didn't see that gleam in his eye."

"Trust me, I'm quite aware of that gleam in his eye when it pertains to you," he says strangely under his breath, looking away from his siblings uncomfortably. Alfie's eyes widen and blink a few times, and he gives Eleanor a noticeable double-take. "…Oh," he says to Ben, who shoots him a sharp glare.

"What?" Eleanor protests seriously, watching her brothers and their silent exchange. "If you think there's something I should know, you should just come out with it and tell me."

Ben clears his throat and looks down at his cup. "The tea tastes a little off today, doesn't it?" Ben says after a moment of awkward stillness, his voice betraying his nerves. "I dunno, sort of tastes like dirt, or something. It could be the milk, I supp-"

"Benjamin René Vance," she says, her words low with warning as she leans over the table. "Do not change the subject. You know something, don't you?"

"I know of nothing that would be of interest to you," he replies elusively.

"The fact that you're clearly hiding something is of interest to me," Eleanor bites out. "Where exactly did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons, Ben? Where did they come from?"

Her twin's face twitches at the underlying accusation, but he quickly composes himself until his expression betrays nothing but innocence. "I told you. I got them from a trusted source."

"You trust them this source so much you won't even tell me who it was."

Ben clutches at his cup angrily, leaning forward over the table as his eyes flicker upon meeting her own steady gaze. "You're clearly very upset, and that makes me want to be even less forthcoming with you."

Alfie takes a huge bite out of a piece of sausage, and with a full mouth, jerks his head at Eleanor. "Nel always figures things out eventually," he says knowingly. "You might as well tell her, Ben."

"Yes, Ben. Listen to your brother."

Ben squirms in his seat at the watchful gazes of his siblings, and his neck turns startlingly red as he feels himself start to fold under the pressure. "You have to promise you won't be angry," he says seriously. "You can't be mad at me."

"I promise no such thing," Eleanor scolds. He flinches at her harsh tone, and she softens slightly. "…But I will do my best not to take my frustrations out on you."

This hardly appeases the boy, but he smooths out the front of his robes in an attempt to calm himself, and he does a quick glance around the table to look for any eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he leans over the table closer to Eleanor and Alfie follows suit until all three of the Vance children are inches away from each other's faces. "I took them," he whispers. "From Fred Weasley's satchel."

Eleanor recoils as though she's been slapped.

"What?!" she blurts out in shock.

Realization washes over her- all of George's strange behavior, the way the Weasley's approached them in the courtyard when they were skipping class, the assignment, the library incident. It all suddenly makes sense to her, now.

Ben slumps back into his chair, his face screwed up with guilt. "You said you wouldn't be angry."

"I never said that."

"You said you'd try!"

Their voices are becoming progressively louder, and a few other Ravenclaws have turned their heads towards them. Eleanor shoots them all a dark look, practically daring them to continue to stare, but none of them turn away.

Ben begins to crack at his knuckles, his thumb moving over the ridges of his fingers in embarrassment. "We were in Potions," he confesses ashamedly. "They were sticking out of his satchel. I just… I don't really know why I did it. But I think he saw me do it, and he didn't say anything at the time."

"Benjamin, do you realize that this is probably why George has been harassing me?" she snaps. "Do you have any conscience whatsoever? Why wouldn't you tell me?!"

"And you got caught," Alfie says with a shake of his head, looking disappointed. "What a terrible waste."

Alfie's words only register a few moments after Eleanor stammers and sputters in an attempt to find something of more substance to say, but she figures she can deal with him another time. Ben is clearly the one who's lost his mind, not George Weasley, and she is unfairly paying the price for his mistake.

Problems you sow are the troubles you're reaping….With every mistake, we surely must be learning, The Beatles hums into her head unhelpfully. She's learned something, alright, even if it wasn't her mistake, to begin with.

"I'm sorry," Ben pleads. "I'm sorry, alright? I just wanted us to have a bit of fun."

"Fun is for children and Americans," she scolds back. "You are fifteen years old, Ben. Petty theft is not fun!"

"I didn't think I'd get caught."

"That's just it, isn't it? You didn't think!" she exclaims wildly. "The only consolation I have is that you are clearly far from the criminal-mastermind you think yourself to be! Really, Ben, grow up!"

Her twin looks properly chastised, his head hunched into his shoulders and his chin tucked into his chest. Between the both of them, Ben has always been the one to act before thinking, the sort to leave a mess big enough for Eleanor to have to clean up by herself.

"There's nothing we can do about it now. We just have to put up with them until they forget all about it," Ben assures. He rums his fingers on the surface of the table, taking in the sullen look strewn across his sister's features. "He'll leave you alone at some point He's got to give up some time, right?"

Eleanor looks past his shoulder and looks at the Gryffindor table, and she takes a long sip of her tea.

"Somehow, Ben, I find that a little hard to believe. But don't worry."

"What are you going to do?" Alfie asks her warily. She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, and upon seeing the back of the heads of two redheads sitting at the red-and-gold table, she nods.

There was a reason Ben didn't tell her of his own actions, and there was a reason the Weasley's were seeking her out. There is always a reason.

"I'm going to do what I always do. I'm going to take care of things myself."

Eleanor was born first, and sometimes, she thinks there was a reason for that, in the same way that everything else in her life was slightly symbolic. "I've always made sure the path is clear before you get to where you're going," she used to say when they were little. "I've always made sure you've got a safe place to land."

Maybe Ben makes these sorts of decisions because he knows that if he's the twin to make the metaphorical jump, Eleanor is always there to pass him a rope, using every ounce of energy she has to pull him from trouble. He allows himself to fall because he knows she will catch him; he knows she will guide him to safety if he ever strays too close to the edge. He jumps into the deep end of situations because he doesn't have to think of the consequences. Why would he, when she thinks enough for two?

"You always know what to do," Ben had told her during their first night at Hogwarts four years ago, her hand rubbing his back as he sobbed his homesick-ridden heart out. "But I can't do this alone. I can't do this without you."

"There is no without," she'd promised him. "You will never be alone in anything, Ben. I'm always here. I will always make things better for us, alright?"

Ben has always had a bleeding heart, impulsivity driven by nonsensical feelings. He holds all of the empathy meant to be shared between the two of them, and she accepts the place in their relationship as the one to bring them ashore when he's lost in a sea of his own emotions. But there are times such as this one when his lack of rationality leaves her at a loss as to how to deal with him. And that's exactly what she does when he's like this, she deals.

The Beatles' White Album plays out through the charmed headphone jack, and she sighs as she looks out at Black Lake. Her chin tucks itself onto her knees as she rests her head, tapping her foot to the sound of the beat.

"I'm so tired,

I haven't slept a wink,

I'm so tired,

My mind is on the blink…"

It bothers Eleanor more than it should, that Ben has kept something as stupid as stealing a box of Chocolate Cauldrons from her. She can't help but think that if she hadn't pestered him to the point of admission, perhaps he never would have told her. She wonders how many other things she has yet to discover about her brother, she wonders what other things she doesn't know.

He's never kept something from me, she thinks to herself. When did he start having secrets of his own? I thought we didn't keep secrets from each other. We're not supposed to keep secrets from each other, you and I.

They're twins. She's never lied about anything where Ben was involved, but now, all she can think about is whether or not he's done the same.

Eleanor is no friend of the Weasley's. She'd crossed paths with the two once before in their First Year, and it took a single time for her to realize she wouldn't ever do it again. Why would Ben steal from them, knowing their history? Why hadn't he just stayed away, after having fallen victim to them firsthand?

She supposes after a few seconds of contemplation, that there is someone she can ask who knows Ben just as well as she does.

Angrily, she reaches into her satchel and rummages around until she finds a Muggle pen and a piece of parchment.

Dear Mum, she begins.

I hope all is well with you at home, and I hope your work hasn't proven to be too taxing. Knowing you, of course, you've probably got the Ministry in tip-top shape. You've never met a puzzle you couldn't solve.

Speaking of puzzles, I regret to inform you that Ben and I have found ourselves right in the midst of one. Unfortunately, it appears as though Ben may have taken a box of special Chocolate Cauldrons from the Weasley twins. This has left us in a precarious position, particularly me, because I believe one of the Weasley's- George- is determined to take revenge against me. I've been nothing but mild-mannered with the exception of a small, physical altercation in the Hogwarts library, but I fear that he is attempting to get me into further trouble.

Due to the incident in the library, I am due to sit in detention later this evening. I realize this is terribly disappointing to hear, but I assure you, I was provoked and lured into a situation for which there was no solution. Please trust that there is little you can say that conveys any more disappointment than I already feel about my own actions.

Ben has only told me of his actions today, though the chocolates were stolen a few days prior. I can't understand why he would have kept something like this from me, and it shames me to say that I feel betrayed by his dishonesty.

I suppose I'm not writing to you for an answer, but rather because I am hoping you may have something insightful to say. You always do. Even the process of writing this letter has left me feeling much better than I felt moments ago.

Love your only daughter,

Eleanor

Once she's finished, she folds the parchment twice over and gives it a kiss, and she scrawls her mother's name across the top with her illegible, spidery script. Emmeline Vance.

As if writing the letter has given her a sense of clarity, a few seconds later, Eleanor has what can only be described as an epiphany.

If George Weasley is upset with Ben for stealing his product, there is one possible solution that can get the Gryffindor boy away from her for good.

Six o'clock rolls around sooner than Eleanor would have thought, but she supposes that time always seems to pass by more quickly when one is dreading something. It appeases something in her to know that perhaps detention will pass just as effortlessly, but upon second thought, she realizes that may not be the case. The pocket of her robe is as heavy as her mood, and her hands fiddle it with it restlessly as she makes her way to the first-floor corridor.

The only thing that has brightened her mood came in the form of a very exhausted, disgruntled Ministry owl with a letter in its mouth. Her mother insists on never using Hogwarts owls when sending a letter, preferring to send one of London's trusted Eurasian eagle-owls in its place. They're much faster, her mother promises. And why should things as silly as time and distance keep me away from you?

Because there are only two things left in this world Emmeline Vance truly cares about- her work, and her children.

My darling girl,

My work with the Ministry has, unfortunately, posed as a bigger puzzle to solve than I'd assumed, but I assure you I've been told I am quite relentless in my pursuits. I have no doubt that the Wizarding government's current state of disarray is nothing that cannot be handled now that I've stuck my hand in the hive. At the very least, I am kept busy with complicated matters that keep my mind from straying to the thought of you and your brothers, though it appears as though I can never be quite busy enough to keep you three out of mind completely.

I will not lecture you regarding your detention. You and Ben of a certain age, I suspect, where it may be a null point to punish or chastise you for actions you most certainly regret. I do warn that you keep your small, physical scuffles to a minimum- your mind is your most formidable form of defense. When all else fails, it is important to walk away.

I should like to see you privately this Saturday in Hogsmeade during your allotted visit from Hogwarts. Please meet me at Madam Puddifoot's at twelve o'clock sharp- not a minute later, nor a minute before. There are some insights I can provide that I believe may be best when given in person, and I am never in short supply of excuses to see you.

Until I see you, please remember, Eleanor- disappointment is the nurse of wisdom. There is only one thing we can truly control, and that is how we choose to respond to such things.

Be good, my dear. I will see you sooner rather than later.

All of my love,

Y our Mother

Eleanor had through the letter once, and then twice over, the residual frustration from her day dissipating from this comfort. She's curious to hear that her mother's job with Muggle Liaison Office isn't going as smoothly this term as it had in the past, and she makes a note to herself to ask her about it this upcoming weekend. Despite this, she feels pacified by her prompt response and allows the slightest smidge of hopefulness to inch its way into her thoughts.

She arrives at the library fifteen minutes before the impending doom of the next punishing hour, and she is completely unsurprised to see that George Weasley is waiting outside of the large, wooden doors. His back is reclined casually against the wall, and his arms are folded across his chest as he whistles tunelessly to himself. He watches her expression flatten upon recognition, looking all-too gleeful to serve detention with Madam Pince.

"Eleanor," he greets kindly, a mischievous twinkle in his warm, brown eyes. "You're a bit early, aren't you?"

"I've actually arrived right on time," she says smoothly, refusing to give her words the biting tone she feels right at the tip of her tongue. "I was hoping to catch you before our detention."

George brightens almost immediately, and his mouth twists into a smirk. "Really," he asks her, underlying suspicion laced through his words. "You want to talk to me?"

I want you to leave me alone, she thinks to herself. I want absolutely nothing else from you.

"'Want' is a strong word, Weasley," she tells him. "But I've figured out your big, master plan, and I've come with an answer you'll certainly enjoy."

The Gryffindor's expression is both confused and elated, and he shoves his foot away from the wall and stands in front of her. "I have to say, I didn't think it'd be quite this hard for you to figure me out."

"Well, I'm not a Legilimens, George. I cannot read your mind, and I think we could have both saved some valuable time had you chosen to be direct."

He gives an assured nod, and he pokes a finger at his temple. "Noted for future reference," he chuckles. "Eleanor Vance prefers directness."

"You're under no obligation to note that. There's no need for reference because there's really no future to discuss, is there?"

Eleanor reaches into the pocket of her robes, pulls out a small bag of Sickles and Knuts, and extends it towards him. "There's sixteen Sickles and twenty Knuts in here for you," she blurts out. "That should be enough, correct?"

George, to his credit, pretends to look confused. "Er… sorry? Why are you giving me money?"

"For the stolen Chocolate Cauldrons. Ben told me he took them from Fred's satchel," she explains, refusing to meet his befuddled gaze. "He's sorry for having done it, alright? There's no need for you to go any further with your hair-brained schemes. I've done absolutely nothing to you, and if you wanted to resolve this, you need only ask."

Eleanor's hand still holds the bag towards him, though his own hands stay right at his sides. A few seconds of silence sit between them, and the longer he stares at her bewilderedly, the more patience she's beginning to lose.

"Take it," she demands. "You've got what you wanted, haven't you? How much could a box of Chocolate Cauldrons possibly cost me?"

He shakes his head at her, the smile on his face waning and a more sober one takes its place. "I don't care about the chocolates," he says seriously. "Fred saw him take them with his own eyes, and he let him get away with it. Why do you think we'd care about something so silly?"

"Because that's your business, and I think it's safe to assume that theft isn't something you take kindly to."

George sighs tiredly, and still, does not take her money. "If he'd been anybody else, I'd probably react a little differently, I agree."

Eleanor sucks in a harsh breath at this, and she takes a singular step backward. "Because you have it out for me and my brother for some completely thoughtless, ridiculous reason! We've done absolutely nothing to you, and yet you continue to… to try and get me into trouble…which you've succeeded at tremendously, by the way. The assignment in Charms Class, harassing me in the library with a book about female genitalia, the constant watching. Do you think I'm a fool? I know what you're doing, so take the fucking money and leave me alone!"

Both of them stand in front of each other, stunned at the vitriol in her voice, and Eleanor chooses to drop the money on the ground and kick the bag over to him since his blatant refusal has forced her to lose her temper. The bag spills over, and a mixture of silver and bronze coins litter the ground as air leaves her lungs shakily.

George bends down on a single knee, and he begins to pick up each of the coin pieces, placing them back into the cloth sack. "You're really smart," he says as he picks them up, one by one, not looking at her angry face. "Smarter than me, definitely. And quite creative, if all that yelling was any indication. You really are a Ravenclaw, through and through."

Eleanor clenches her jaw shut. "I've figured you out. Now, we can put all this animosity to rest."

"Do you really think that I gave you my assignment out of animosity?" he presses, standing up from the floor as he holds the money in his hands. "The library incident… well, that really was poor judgment on my part, I'll agree with you, there."

She throws her hands up in the air spastically, nearly laughing in disbelief. "What else could it possibly be?!" she exclaims loudly. "Why else would you be acting so strangely? You've hated Ben and me since First-Year, I'm not blind!"

He lightly pulls at her hand from the air and stops all her waving around, and he places the bag of coins into her palm. His fingers press her own upwards until they're firmly wrapped around her payment, and with a light pat, he sets his arms back down by his sides.

"I don't want your money, Eleanor," he laughs, though the distinct sparkle in his eye has diminished. "And I never wanted you to get into any trouble. Bad trouble, at least. There's good trouble, too, and I find you might like that quite a lot."

Eleanor stares at her own hand dubiously, still feeling his strong, warm fingers on hers though they're nowhere near her now, and blinks. "But…," she tries weakly. "But you hate me. You hate Ben. You always have."

"We have to head into detention," he tells her, not answering her question. "You'd hate to be late. This is your first one, I take it?"

"…Yes."

"Well, Madam Pince can be quite the hardarse when she wants to be, so you really don't want to keep her waiting," he discloses in a whisper. "Trust me, she's not exactly the sweet, old librarian you'd think she'd be."

"I don't trust you."

"Yes, yes, I know," he says carelessly, waving a hand as if he's batting her words away. "We've already squared that away. You can choose not to take my advice, but if you don't, you may see yourself here again at six o'clock."

Eleanor considers this for a moment, her eyes peering into his for any sign of a lie, but she sees none. His face, not beaming in the way it was a few minutes prior, is open and earnest. She looks at the freckles under his eye, the ones that look like Aries, and hopes it's a sign.

"Fine," she grits out. "You don't want the money, then?"

"It's probably pretty stupid of me to turn it down, but no, I don't want it."

"But you want something."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"So you admit, there's a reason why you've been so… off."

"Perhaps."

"….Are you going to tell me what it is?"

With one final grin, George turns and opens the library door, extending an arm like he's welcoming her into his home. Since it's detention, maybe, in a way, it is. "Nope," he replies, popping the -p exaggeratedly. "You're smart. You'll figure it out eventually."

Eleanor ducks under his arm and walks through the entrance, eyes narrowed into slits. "I'm watching you," she tells him quietly. "Even when you think I'm not, I'll be watching. When you wake up in the morning, if there's one thing you can be sure of before you start your day, it's that I've got both of my eyes on you. I'll figure out what you're up to, George Weasley, and you can trust that I will."

She meant for it to come across as intimidating, a thinly-veiled threat she hoped would make that stupid smile fall from his face, but if anything, it grows wider.

"Fortunately for me, Eleanor Vance," he whispers back. "That's exactly what I'm counting on."

A/N: Hello everyone! Here's the latest installment of this story, and I really hope you enjoy the read. Please leave a comment, kudos, bookmark, whatever you can! I'd love to know your thoughts 3