Chapter 5: Nowhere Man

Flashback to First Day of First Year

"Nel, you've got to lift me a bit higher!" Ben huffed out breathlessly, his arms barely grasping at a tree branch. "Almost there!"

Eleanor's hands grabbed at his ankles, his shoes pressing into her shoulders painfully as she tried to hold him still. Her knees were quaking underneath their shared weight, and she attempted to hoist him closer.

"I'm too short," she groaned out, feeling her foot slide in the dirt. "You've got to try to lift yourself! I can't get you any higher!"

"Can't you just try?!"

"I AM trying!"

" Then move to the left, at least!"

"Benjamin, I literally CANNOT move!"

Ben took a deep breath and as a last resort, brought himself to his tiptoes. The change in weight threw Eleanor completely off balance and her hands shot up to her brother's calves to try to regain it, but it was already too late. Both Vance siblings came toppling to the ground, Ben falling right on top of his sister.

"That was…"

"…a catastrophic failure," Eleanor finished her brother's sentence, taking his hand as he helped her up. Her fingers curled over her ribs, sore from where her brother's massive head smashed right into her as they fell in the dirt.

Suddenly, the crunching of a pair of footsteps across the grass startled both of them, and Eleanor hurriedly readjusted her robes and Ben pulled leaves from his hair. Two redheaded boys, identical in everything from appearance and gait, walked over to them aimlessly.

"Oi," one of them said. "What're you going up in a tree, for?"

" We saw the both of you fall," the other continued.

"Really nasty, it was."

"Terrible all around."

Eleanor began to backpedal until she was right behind Ben, her hand reaching for his elbow to pull him with her. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed her brow was furrowed, but he didn't understand what the big deal was. It wasn't like they'd been caught by a pair of grown-ups, and besides, there was nothing against the rules about climbing trees on the Hogwarts grounds.

"We're looking for Bowtruckles," Ben told them. "They're very difficult to spot."

Both of the boys looked at each other confusedly and turned back to the Vance's. "Why're you looking for Bowtruckles?" the boy on the left asked. "They can be quite mean, the little buggers…"

"…They'll gauge your eyeballs right out!

Ben shrugged. "Well, because we've never seen one, and Nel and I-"

" Who are you?" Eleanor interrupted, wrestling with her mangled tie. "You're not looking for Bowtruckles."

" Who are you?" the redhead on the right quipped back. "Maybe we are."

" I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

" Answer me and maybe I'll tell you."

"My name is…Sir Jingleberry, and this is my brother, Sir Dingleberry. Jingle and Dingle will do just fine," he answered with a grin, motioning towards the boy on the left. "Now you need to tell us YOUR names."

Eleanor folded her arms across her chest, and she scowled. "Those are not your names," she scoffed at them. "You've just made those up! Now, I won't answer you at all."

" How do you know those aren't our names?"

"Yeah, how do you know?"

"Because there has never been a person called Dingleberry or Jingleberry ever… not anywhere in the history of the world, probably!" she exclaimed, cocking her hip to the side. "And you're both too young to be Sirs!"

"Maybe we're the first."

"Yeah, maybe we're the first! And besides, you can't possibly know the history of everywhere in the world."

"Nobody does."

Ben lifts his hand slightly at her, a silent sign to tell his sister to settle down. "My name is Benjamin Vance, and this is my sister, Eleanor," he informs the boys, batting away at his sister's persistent pulling of his sleeve. "You're twins."

"Godric, how could you tell?! Was it our identical stunning looks, or was it-"

"-I'm George. George Weasley. This is my brother, Fred," the other twin interrupted his brother's sarcastic blabbering, rolling his eyes. He extended a hand for Ben to shake, and tentatively, Ben shook it. George gave his brother a sharp elbow in his side, and Fred reluctantly offered his own as well.

George stepped beside Ben and extended a hand towards Eleanor, and she looked down at it like he'd just placed a puzzle in front of her. She made no move to take it, so George wriggled his fingers to prompt her forward.

" You won't tell on us, will you?" she asked skeptically, her mouth pursed into a frown. Her short, black hair shrouded over her face like a curtain, but George was able to see two bright, blue eyes peeking through. "Nah," he replied, staring at her face. "We…er, Fred and I can help you look, if you want? We're a bit taller, anyway."

Ben brightened noticeably, glancing between George and a far-less enthusiastic Fred. "That'd be aces," he told them. "What do you say, Nel? Can they?"

Fred scrunched his nose. "You need permission from your little sister?"

"I am not his little sister!" Eleanor protested. "I'm twelve minutes older."

George's jaw slackened, and he did a double-take between the Vance siblings. Now that he thought about it, they both looked quite alike, and both were First-Years, just like he and Fred. "Wait, you're twins, too?"

"You might've missed it," Ben replied with ruddy cheeks. "V comes right before W. You were probably preparing yourself for your own Sorting right as we did. And we're not Gryffindors, so you might not've noticed us."

"Blimey, we must've. What are the chances? Two sets of twins in the same year?"

"One in three thousand," Eleanor said quietly, kicking a rock underneath her shoe. George blinked.

"How'd you know that?" he asked her, impressed at her quick answer. She shrugged, looking over at her brother. "We're Ravenclaws, silly. We're supposed to know loads of stuff."

This didn't deter George at all, in fact, he thought it might be rather useful, knowing someone who knew so many random facts about random things. He wondered if he could ask her questions, because he had tons of them, and he didn't know any Ravenclaws at all.

"So Nel, can they help us? Find Bowtruckles?" Ben asked her again. She gave the Weasley twins another scrutinous look, but a moment later nodded her head.

"As long as you promise to be very careful," she warned them anxiously. "Alright?"

George grinned, and finally, she shook his hand. "Promise."

Present Day

Eleanor watches Ben from the corner of her eye in their Transfiguration Class, barely blinking in an attempt to keep watch for the entirety of their lesson until dismissal.

If there's one person she trusts even less than George Weasley, which is marginal at best, it's his brother Fred.

She and her twin almost always work together on assignments. But there's been a strange tension between the two since they spoke about the Chocolate Cauldron situation the other day, a silent protest on both of their behalves that express that neither will talk nor apologize until the other does first. She and Ben have bickered before, even launched into full-on arguments, but they've never ignored each other. Until now.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't feel compelled to look after him, even if they're not sitting at the same table, even if they're not speaking.

When Fred sits down next to him, Ben completely disregards the strain between them and shoots her a troubled look, a look that pleads for help or intervention. But there's nothing she can do now that she's got a partner of her own, so she gives him a helpless shrug and tries to convey as much support as she can muster with a single glance.

Eleanor wonders if George does the same, if he's watching Fred and her brother with just as much apprehension. She doesn't bother to turn around to see for herself- she's got her own problems to deal with, and the last thing she wants to do is look at George Weasley and see what's waiting on his mischievous, always-grinning face.

She watches Ben like he's her charge. In a way, she supposes he is. And when he storms out of class in the middle of their lesson like someone has lit a fire under his arse, she's not too far behind. She never is.

"Ben," she breathes out as she chases him down the hallway, walking as quickly as possible to catch up to his brisk pace. She doesn't have a single one of her belongings- her satchel, quill, and parchment are laying discarded carelessly back in the classroom, but she hardly cares about that. Ben's stride is longer, wider, than her own, and he's determined to put as much space between them as he can manage.

"Ben, wait! What happened?!" she says, picking up speed until she's nearly jogging after him. "Are you alright?!"

"Leave it, Nellie," he says loudly enough to hear but doesn't turn to look at her. Her chest tightens at the nickname- it's been years since anyone has called her that, a name that is nearly as dead to her as their father, a name that she has forced out of the vocabulary of her siblings and stings painfully when said out loud.

But he doesn't stop, he doesn't apologize in the way he usually would even in their worst arguments when it rolls off of his tongue before he realizes what he's said. He walks on, his legs carrying him down the corridor as his hand braces itself on the satchel over his shoulder.

"Benjamin," she bites out. "Can you please stop? Please?"

To his credit, Ben slows down until he's nearly halted in his step, and whips around to face her. "I just want to be alone," he says too calmly. "Go back to class, Nel. I'm fine."

"You are not fine," Eleanor argues back. "Fred said something to you, didn't he? What did he say that's got you so upset?"

"Nel-"

"Benjamin and Eleanor Vance," an older voice thunders down the hallway. Ben's eyes widen as he looks past his sister, swallowing visibly and straightening his shoulders. Eleanor turns around and sees McGonagall, walking as quickly as her age will allow, with a concerned expression on her face.

"I'm sorry Professor McGonagall," Ben tells their teacher quietly. "I'm really sorry, but I can't finish class today."

Professor McGonagall glances between them, her face that had once held consternation for the two runaway students. now softening into something else entirely. "Mr. Vance," she replies. "You look unwell."

"I suddenly felt ill, Professor."

"…I see."

The three of them stand in the hallway uncomfortably, Eleanor feeling chastised by the woman's presence and unsure what to do. "I believe Fred Weasley may have tried to provoke my brother. Ben would never just take off from class, right, Ben?" she says, turning to her brother who's expression shutters at the mention. He doesn't reply. "Ben, tell her."

"Mr. Vance, is this true?" Professor McGonagall asks him sternly. "Did Mr. Weasley say something to you that has compelled you to leave in such a state?"

Ben shakily inhales, his wrists wringing by his sides. Eleanor steps over to him carefully, like he's a wounded animal, and puts a tentative hand on his arm. "Just tell her, Ben," she pleads, her eyes searching his.

But the silence stretches on even longer, and Eleanor can see something distant and detached in her brother's eyes that tells her what he's going to say before he even does, and her mouth twists in confusion.

"He didn't say anything to me, Professor McGonagall," he mutters, his face turned away from both of them. "Nothing at all."

"Ben!"

He shoots her an angry look, one that says for once in your life, Nel, shut your mouth. Her jaw drops in bafflement, but she quickly closes her mouth and swallows harshly. "The conversation about ghosts, Professor… it affected me more than it should've. It made me realize something I wasn't quite aware of before."

The harshness in Professor McGonagall's diminishes, and she approaches him quietly. "Mr. Vance, it is perfectly understandable that a discussion of the afterlife…with all that your family has been through….would cause you to be upset. I should hope in the future, if such an emotional conversation were to happen again, because it will… you will ask to be excused in such a circumstance."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Ben replies in a mumble.

She lays a single, weathered hand on his shoulder, and gives it a pat. "I can pardon the both of you from class for the rest of the afternoon. But I will be docking ten points from Ravenclaw, for causing a class disruption. And I would like to speak to you privately after class at the beginning of next week, Mr. Vance. I believe you and I may need a long-overdue conversation."

Eleanor blinks, uncaring about the loss of House points, but concerned at the mention of an ominous meeting between her brother and their teacher. "Privately," she repeats. "Just you and Ben.

"Yes, Miss Vance. Do not worry, neither of you are in any trouble."

Then what could she possibly have to discuss? She thinks to herself. What could pertain to him that doesn't pertain to me?

"I'll be returning to class now, Mr. and Miss Vance. I will see you next week… from now on, the only vanishing-acts I would like to see from the both of you will be in a Transfiguration assignment, am I clear?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," they say together.

She gives them both an indecipherable look and turns to walk back down the hallway, and Ben and Eleanor stand silently until they watch her bend around the corridor.

"You're a shit liar," Eleanor says to him quietly. "She may not know it, but I do."

"Nel, please for the love of God, save it."

Ben's palms raise to his face and he rubs them into his eyes roughly, moving his hands over his face as if he's trying to wipe away his stress. He takes a few steps away from his sister and faces the wall, and Eleanor can't think of anything to say.

"He said something to you, and I need you to tell me what it was," she pleads with him, crossing the distance between them and taking his hand in hers. "I won't talk about it anymore, I swear. I just… you can't just leave class like that and expect me to believe you're completely fine."

"It didn't involve you, if that's what you're worried about." Ben stays stiffly.

"That's not what I'm worried about, Ben, I'm worried about whatever it is he said that upset you the point that I've had to run out after you!"

"I didn't ask you to!"

"Of course, you didn't! Because I'm always going to chase you down, don't you know that?! It's you and me and Alfie, always. If you're angry, or you're sad… there's nothing you can't tell me."

Ben turns to her, his chest moving from the depth of his shaky breaths, and he nods weakly. He turns his back to the wall and slides down until he's sitting on his bum on the castle floor, arms wrapped around his knees.

"Dad's dead."

Eleanor blinks a few times, surprised at the swift change in conversation and the gloom in her brother's face. She fights the urge to tell him, yeah, I know. I was sort of there when it happened.

Instead, she slips down next to him, close enough for their arms to touch. "He is," she says evenly.

"If he came back as a ghost, he must've been vanished. Right?"

Matching blue eyes glance over to hers, searching for truth. He almost looks hopeful, like he's praying she'll say that he did try to stay, and their mother vanished him or something because at least that would make sense. Because he had a whole family left behind, and wouldn't he have stayed if his soul let him?

"I don't think so," she whispers softly. "I don't think there's an exact science of who becomes a ghost and who doesn't when they die."

"But…but he had unfinished business."

"I know."

"And… and it was an accident. He wasn't ready. He wouldn't have just…let go."

Ben's eyes are filling with unshed tears, and Eleanor finds herself searching for a reason, because there's always a reason, that would suffice. "Maybe it's different with Muggles," she tries. "Maybe he was really disoriented when it happened. He wasn't supposed to die, but when it happened, maybe he didn't know what to do."

He lets out an exhale. "Not vanished, then."

"Nothing's impossible. But I don't think he was."

"Maybe you're right."

Both Vance twins sit on the floor, listening to the flipping of parchment and quills scratching in classrooms nearby. Eleanor wishes Ben would tell her she was wrong, if only because he'd feel better.

"Is it bad… is it terrible of me to wish he'd come back as a ghost?" Ben asks her in a whisper. "Is it so terrible of me to wish we could've had him just for a little longer, even if it wasn't really him?"

Eleanor thinks for a moment, and decidedly, shakes her head no. "I think… that whatever you wish had happened… I think I wish that, too. And I'm sorry if Fred was being a prat to you."

Ben shrugs. "It's who he is," he says casually. "For once, I just really don't think he was trying to be. I was already upset. I can't help but feel that way whenever I think of him."

She can't speak to Weasley's intentions, if only because Ben doesn't seem to want to disclose what happened, so she takes her brother's hand and taps her own against it. One. Two. Three. Four.

"Dad is gone," Eleanor says matter-of-factly. "But we're still here. You, me, Alfie, Mum. The four of us…always."

His mouth twists into a melancholy smile. "I know you are," he tells her. "But I still remember when we used to be five."

Fred spends the rest of the day being intentionally elusive. George doesn't get a chance to speak to him until evening, and even then, Fred bats away at his twin's questions like they're gnats flying over his dinner. "We can talk later," Fred tells him in the Great Hall, stuffing his gob with a roasted chicken leg. He sounds far too casual, too nonchalant, for his comfort.

George spends the next hour picking at his food distractedly, his eyes refusing to leave his brother's evasive ones. Whatever it is Fred said to Ben Vance is clearly bad enough that he refuses to discuss it among their friends, all of whom were present in Transfiguration when the dark-haired Ravenclaw boy practically sprinted from class and surely have questions of their own.

Yes, Freddie, George thinks towards Fred fiercely. We will talk.

Dinner is terrible, if only because he looks at the Ravenclaw table and the Vance family is not in attendance. This is not terribly uncommon in itself, but a terrible feeling grips at him that forces him to realize it's not unrelated to the events that took place in McGonagall's class. Eleanor is not at dinner, and neither are her brothers, and the whole evening winds up being unusually boring for him because of it.

Despite his reservations and despite Angela's protests, stating that he's acting desperate, George decides to do a little walk-around the Ravenclaw table. Though the Vance's are not exactly the sort to have a group of friends, he hopes someone might tell him that they're alright. That Fred has not said anything completely irredeemable, anyhow.

He walks at a slow pace, and the stares coming from more than a handful of Ravenclaws are strangely inhospitable, at the very least. Something prickles at the back of his neck, the feeling that he is being watched just as much as he is watching himself.

George passes by a few Fifth-Year Ravenclaws sitting in the middle of the table and gives them a broad grin. None of them smile back.

"Oi, fellas," he says, meeting the unhappy gaze of Roger Davies. He knows the boy from Quidditch, a talented Chaser and the Captain of the Ravenclaw team. He recognizes a few of the other students around him- Randolph, Jeremy, and Grant. "Cheers to the weekend, am I right?"

"Are you lost, Weasley?" Roger asks him bluntly. "Your table is over there."

"Not lost. Just making conversation."

"Your sort never just make conversation."

George stares, wondering if it's that dry, sarcastic sense of humor he hears many Ravenclaws have. "C'mon, mate," he says with a chuckle. "No need to bite my head off. Can't a lad say hello, these days?"

Grant, a sandy-blonde-haired boy with curls so big they would've put Ron's friend, Hermione, to shame, is doodling on a scratch piece of parchment with a piece of black pastel. Not looking up from his drawing, he scoffs. "You're here to ask where the Vance's are. Obviously."

"Obviously?" George replies, furrowing his brow. "How do you figure?"

"Because we were in Transfiguration Class with you, you baboon. We saw what you did…or what your brother did. It's not like it's very important who's who."

It was Fred, not me, he wants to retort. He knows it would be to the disbelief of everyone at Hogwarts, but he and his brother are not some kind of singular being, even if they seem to be. "I just wanted to know if any of you have seen them," he says.

The Ravenclaws exchange uneasy glances. "We're not going to tell you that."

"Because you don't know?"

"Because it wouldn't make sense for us to do so."

George scratches at his forehead, hyperaware of how he must look, standing over the Ravenclaw table like a First-Year. He motions over for one of the boys to move over, but none of them make any move to do so.

"I think it was just some sort of misunderstanding," George explains seriously. "I want to apologize to them."

Roger lowers a utensil to his plate, and he gives George a sharp look. "Can I be frank with you?"

The Gryffindor blinks once, and he nods. "Yeah."

"Leave them alone," Roger instructs, his tone holding no room for argument. "I don't know what's gone on between you all, but Ben and Eleanor don't bother anyone. They barely even talk to us as it is. Whatever it is you want with them, whatever it is you're toying with, drop it."

George feels a sudden rush of embarrassment, chastised like a child by the Ravenclaw's Quidditch Captain. "Look, I don't know what you think-"

"-It doesn't matter what I think," Roger interrupts quickly. "It's about what I know. I know we've just lost ten House points for whatever it is you and your brother pulled today, I know Eleanor's gotten a detention, and I know that you Weasley's love your games and your trouble. We haven't got time for it. Leave it be."

"How do you know about any of that?" George questions him. He hadn't heard anything about lost House points, and if what Roger's said is true, who would Eleanor have told?

Godric, what did Fred do?

"Because Ravenclaws don't get detentions, and we certainly don't lose House points," Roger answers. "You've had your fun. Now it's time to move on."

"Davies, I just want to apologize, for Merlin's sake. What about we make a little exchange, yeah? What do you want? I just want to know where I can find them, so I can…make amends."

The Ravenclaw exchange those same inscrutable glances again, and Grant chuckles lowly. "Figures," he says to his friends more than he says to George. "You're a Gryffindor, Weasley. Through and through, you are."

George swallows. "What's that have anything to do with this?"

Grant looks up from his doodle, and offers a twisted, smug look. "Because," he states simply. "You think you can just joke around and stronghold people until you get your way. The truth is, there isn't anything you can offer, that any of us Ravenclaws would want."

"You need to tell me exactly what it is you said, Fred."

George has finally managed to corner his brother in the Gryffindor Common Room later that evening, their faces are dangerously close as he looks at Fred with nothing but suspicion. "Out with it," he demands.

Fred puts a hand on George's chest, giving him breathing room. "You need to seriously unknot your knickers, Georgie," he says humoredly. "Look, I put my foot in my mouth, what else is new?"

"Fred. I'm not asking."

"George. It wasn't a big deal."

"Fred."

"George."

Both brothers are staring at each other tensely, catching the attention of a few of their Housemates. To George's aggravation, one of those onlookers just so happens to be Ron and his friends, and only a few seconds later three Third-Years are watching them with rapt attention.

"You must've said something," George says frustratedly. "What was it? You told me we'd talk later, and here we are, talking later."

Fred looks petulant, and he shifts his feet. "Yeah, but now I don't really want to."

"I'm not having a laugh right now."

"Neither am I!"

"Why are you being a prat?"

"Why are you?"

"Did you bring up the Chocolate Cauldrons?" George asks. "Did you threaten him, or something?"

"What do you think I am, a Slytherin? 'Course not. We were having a silly little chat, and suddenly he went off to cry in the loo, or wherever he went," Fred explains tiredly. "Look, Vance was already going barmy because of the spell we were using, right? I was trying to make him feel better."

George takes a step back, placing his hand on his chin thoughtfully. "Going barmy? What for?"

"I dunno, mate. Just kept saying he didn't want to do the assignment. He felt bad for the fucking snail, I think."

Nothing his brother was saying was making any sense. "Just tell me everything. From the beginning."

With a longwinded sigh, Fred began to explain- the Vanishing Spell, the snail, the mention of Ben's father. George listens to every last word, trying to figure out what could've gone so possibly wrong, and a part of wonders if Fred's recount of events is true. Because if it is, there'd be no reason for Ben to be as upset as he was and to storm out of class.

Fred lies. Often, really. But not to George.

"Okay," George says smoothly. "So what spurred him on?"

"I don't know, George. I was trying to be nice, I swear it," Fred replies. "All I said was the truth, right? I mean, he still has a Mum, and even if his Dad's dead, there are people who've got it worse."

An eavesdropper to the twin's conversation clears his throat. Ron is sitting next to Harry and Hermione, enraptured by their back-and-forth, and Harry is looking at Fred contemplatively. "You told him that?" Harry asks. "You said that exactly?"

"Well, maybe not exact, but listen, Harry, I even brought you up. Y'know, pointing out that all things considered, the Vance's have it quite good in comparison."

George stares at Fred like he's grown a second head.

"You, what… told him it would've been worse if he lost two parents?"

"Yeah! Not that bad, really. I was trying to lighten the mood, I even told 'em that life's a lot easier when you've just one, see? Because if they ever get into trouble, it's not like they've got a Mum and a Dad sending them Howlers."

Fred is smiling, relieved that despite the odd stares he's receiving from his twin and Ron's friends, they understand that it was all one big overreaction on Ben's part. He hadn't meant anything by it, and he certainly didn't go around insulting people's dead parents. I mean, he'd known Harry for three years and hadn't even made a single joke since he'd met him.

George lets out a strangled groan, tilting his head back exasperatedly at his brother's stupidity. "You're a bloody idiot, Fred," he says. He's too frustrated to feel angry, even though he knows he should be. Fred has spent nearly every day of his life offending some poor person's sensibilities, so while he's not terribly surprised, he can't believe that yet again, the Weasley's have left a poor taste in the mouths of the Vance's.

"I didn't mean to make him upset, George. Promise, I wouldn't do that to you," Fred says honestly. "You're already in a deep enough hole with Eleanor as it is. I didn't think I could make it any deeper."

"That's just it, Fred, you didn't think."

"Who's Eleanor?" Harry asks out loud, disregarding the fact that he, Ron, and Hermione had little business involving themselves in the Weasley twins' heated discussion. "I thought you just said his name was Ben."

Ron lets out a groan of his own, and he breaks off the leg of a Chocolate Frog and stuffs it into his mouth. "Trust me, Harry, you don't want to know. George's been in love with this Ravenclaw girl since First-Year, not that she even notices him."

"Hey, she notices me, alright!" George protests as Ron rolls his eyes. "Unfortunately, she notices all of my… less-than-ideal qualities."

"And Ben's her twin brother," Ron says dismissively. "And now that Fred's gone on and made him upset, Eleanor Vance will never talk to him, probably."

"I'll apologize, alright? I'll make things better," Fred tells his brother, slapping a hand on his shoulder. George slaps it away, and pointing a finger in his face, lets out an incredulous chuckle.

"No, no, no, Fred, you've done enough," George demands. "You'll keep your gob shut from now on, got it? I'll… I'll make a plan."

Fred narrows his eyes. "What are you gonna do about it, George? What can you say that I can't?"

"I don't know," George replies earnestly. "But I'm going to do what I always do when you muck something up. I'm going to handle this myself."

He has no idea how he plans to achieve this, but he'll have to figure something out, won't he?

Hermione raises her hand, looking pointedly at George. "May I make a suggestion?"

Ron scoffs and shakes his head, silently telling his friend, don't bother. We've tried. Nevertheless, she stares at George, waiting for his approval. He nods.

"She's a Ravenclaw, isn't she?" Hermione asks. "Maybe you've been trying to catch her attention a little too boldly. A little too Gryffindor for her liking. And now that Fred's just messed things up, and you want to get into her good graces, maybe you've got to think outside-the-box."

"I've already tried to be a gentleman if that's what you're thinking. Angelina and Alicia have got me learning things about 'love languages' and a bunch of other Hippgriff shite I still don't quite understand," George sighs. "Maybe Fred just hammered the last nail in the coffin. I don't think this'll ever work out for me."

Hermione smiles, a small, uncharacteristically mischievous upturn of her lips George doesn't think he's ever seen on the girl's face before. "You're smarter than you think, George. But you're still thinking too much like a Gryffindor for your own good...if you want to catch her attention, you've got to use that brain like a Gryffindor wouldn't."

"So what do I do?"

"George, isn't it obvious?" Hermione beams. "You've got to think like a Ravenclaw."

A/N: Hello everyone! Please leave a review if you can, I'd love to hear what you all think!