Chapter 6: All Things Must Pass

Eleanor knows that around three to four months, a baby can recognize its mother's face. Her own mother used to tell her it was called the 'biological imperative,' the way a mother recognizes her offspring and vice versa. But often, she wonders to what extent that's true for her and her own mother since she's confident that even if they weren't related, she'd be able to positively identify Emmeline Vance in a crowd of hundreds.

When Eleanor sees an infamous emerald shawl through Madam Puddifoot's front-facing window at 11:59, she knows- along with many other patrons of the tea shop- exactly who's in their midst.

Emmeline, staring at her pocket watch, looks up at her daughter and places her wooden Mundungus pipe next to a pot of hot water. "You're right on time."

"Didn't you say 12 o'clock sharp?"

"Yes, you and I both know I did, you shouldn't second-guess yourself."

Emmeline rises from her chair, her black hair pinned high on her head in an elegant pompadour and her shawl delicately graced across the shoulders of her dress robes. She takes her daughter's hands in her own, ignoring the stares of nosy onlookers, and pulls her close. "You are such a sight for sore eyes," she says gently, a thumb grazing across Eleanor's cheek. She beams at her, an almost, wild manic grin that Eleanor knows well because it's the only smile her mother knows how to give, spreading across her features. "My darling Eleanor."

"Mum, people are staring," Eleanor says bashfully, cheeks reddening as she takes in the sight of more than a couple of curious Hogwarts students staring at their table. Emmeline, for the first time, glances around the tea shop and her gaze forces their voyeurs to turn away. "No they're not," she protests confusedly. "Nobody's watching us."

"Not anymore, but-"

Emmeline bats a hand at her, and practically pushes Eleanor into a chair opposite hers. She picks up her pipe and sticks it in the corner of her mouth, and crosses one leg over the other under the table. "You look well, my dear," she says, blowing out a cloud of smoke that always reminds Eleanor of the caterpillar from one of her favorite children's books, Alice in Wonderland. "But I can see the worry in your eyes. It's about Ben, isn't it?"

Eleanor sighs and nearly folds her face into her hands, but she thinks better of it because she knows her mother would slap her elbows right off the table if she saw such an indecent thing. Instead, she straightens her shoulders and fidgets in her chair. "Among other things, yes, he's been… very strange, lately."

"How so?"

"Ben's been very secretive lately. And apparently, he's stealing and acting otherwise very irrationally, in my opinion."

"Irrationally."

"Yes."

"You mean he's been acting emotionally."

"Is there a difference?"

A server walks over begrudgingly to their table, a nervous-looking woman in her mid-thirties, and her weak smile interrupts their conversation. "Good afternoon, ladies… Miss Vance, it's wonderful to have you at Madam Puddifoot's, really, it is… your work with the Ministry has been…well, personally, I think you're very brave, working with the Muggle Prime Minister…" she trails off, her hands twitching in front of her.

Giving her a polite, Ministry-official-approved smile, Emmeline gives her a slight nod. "Thank you, you're far too kind," she says graciously. "Have you come to take our tea orders?"

The server shifts the weight in her feet, and glances between both women seated before her. "Well… yes, but… I apologize, Miss Vance, but my supervisor has just told me to relay that Madam Puddifoot's has a no-smoking policy, I'm afraid."

Emmeline gives her daughter a sardonic glance, and turning back to the server, raises a single brow. "Don't be ridiculous," she states. "I'll cast a Bubble-Head Charm."

"I…I'm sorry, Miss, it's our shop policy-"

"-Good grief," Emmeline interrupts with a sigh. Reluctantly, she taps her wand against her pipe and looks at the server for approval. "It's hard to believe anyone's able to ignore the fact that the Wizard World is being driven into the ground when Hogsmeade starts instituting no-Munungus allowed policies."

The server looks at the woman apologetically, but Emmeline raises a dismissive hand and inhales sharply. "We'll take your finest Earl Grey… with lavender if you have it. Cream and sugar for the table, please."

"O-Oh…of course, Miss Vance. Absolutely."

The server practically sprints out of sight, and Eleanor lets out an exasperated sigh at her mother, giving her a reproachful look. "You could stand to be a little less Ministry-official in public, you know," Eleanor tells her quietly. "Madam Puddifoot's is one of the nicest shops in Hogsmeade."

"Let's be honest, my dear, this place is garish and their choice in décor hasn't changed since I was a student at Hogwarts. Forgive me, but all this pink is giving me the sort of tremors only tobacco can soothe."

"Most people don't want their lungs shriveling up into tiny, black raisins while they're drinking tea."

"And that's precisely the problem," Emmeline tsk-tsks, giving her pipe another forlorn look. "Anyway, we were discussing your brother."

"Yes. He's…well, we had a lesson in Transfiguration yesterday, and somehow he started thinking about Dad… he was very upset and stormed out of class, but I believe Fred Weasley, his partner, had something to do with it."

"You don't think it's possible that Ben would've reacted in such a fashion on his own?"

"No. I mean, he's always been very easily upset, but this was different."

Teabags suddenly appear in their cups, and the water kettle pours over into both of their cups. Steam washes over the table as their tea begins to steep, and Eleanor halfheartedly swipes at it. Emmeline sips at her tea, and she narrows her eyes with scrutiny. "This blend doesn't have nearly enough lavender. Shame, really, just dreadful…have you asked him what's been on his mind?"

Eleanor slumps in her chair and pouts uncomfortably. "It's been a mission to get him to talk to me at all," she mumbles. "I find out he's hiding something, and then it makes me wonder what else he could be hiding from me, and then it makes me question why he's hiding things in the first place. We don't hold secrets from each other, him and I. I've not a clue what to do."

"And you want my opinion."

Her mother pats at her pompadour, glancing away from her daughter as Eleanor stares at the indecipherable expression on her face. "Mum, you know Ben almost as well as I do, and you know him differently. Of course, I want your opinion."

"I think…" Emmeline trails off. "I think that you and your brother are at an age where this sort of behavior isn't terribly abnormal, even if you believe it so. And I think you should consider forming some relationships beyond Ben and Alfie."

Eleanor lets out a startled laugh and immediately shakes her head. Other relationships? She thinks to herself. I've already got brothers, what more could I possibly need?

"No offense, Mum, but it is strange. Ben has never been one to keep things from me, and I hardly think he'll start opening up if I start entangling myself in acquaintanceships, or whatever you're implying."

"I think that you would be surprised at the amount of good a little separation can do."

"I can't just detach myself from him, Mum. Leaving him to his own devices isn't going to do either of any good at all."

Emmeline leans across the table and clasps Eleanor's fingers in her own, holding them tenderly. "Eleanor," she states matter-of-factly. "You must know that there was always going to come a time when the both of you started thinking and acting more…independently. You aren't children anymore. I think it would be healthy for the both of you to gain a sense of privacy from each other…perhaps I've allowed you both to become a little co-dependent."

"But he is obligated to tell me about things that affect me, isn't he? He didn't tell me about stealing the Weasley's Chocolate Cauldrons until after he'd already done it."

"Nel, you aren't listening to me."

"Because I don't think your advice is suitable for this! And we are not co-dependent!"

"You're my daughter and I love you," Emmeline says. "And while you're one of the smartest people I know, you're not infallible. You are projecting your own perceptions and logic onto Ben when he is not you. You are not him."

Eleanor huffs out a breath, a whine inching away up her throat at the unfairness of her mother's words. How else do people perceive the way people behave, if not compare it to their own? She knows Ben. She knows Ben in the way that only people who've co-occupied a womb can know someone else- if she can't say that her own twin brother is acting oddly, who can?

"Ben has always, always been a sensitive soul. He's like his father in that way, you know? His heart leads his mind…not the other way around, even though he's just as intelligent as you are. You cannot always protect him from his own decisions, from his feelings, because they are rational to him," Emmeline explains softly.

"If I don't protect us…him," Eleanor quickly adds, placing her teacup back in its saucer with a loud clatter. "Then who's going to do it? I have never tried to tell him how to feel, or how to think. All I have ever done is try to keep us afloat, keep him safe, and if he's making it impossible to do that, what am I supposed to do?"

Emmeline gives her a pitying look that Eleanor immediately flinches away from- she doesn't need her mother feeling sorry for her, nor does she want to appear like some sort of pathetic, overly-protective sister, because she isn't.

Eleanor can't even fathom letting Ben drift away, even if neither of them is going anywhere, because any amount of distance…emotionally or otherwise…feels far too familiar. It feels like loss. Individual growth, separating… it would mean giving up the part of their relationship that's always been so special to her.

It would mean grieving what they had. She's not ready to do that.

"There are things you cannot protect Ben from, my love, and you cannot keep him wrapped in cotton wool forever," Emmeline explains gently. "And there are things you shouldn't. Your brother is entitled to have a life outside of being a twin. And you're entitled to the very same. Your protectiveness, while not malicious in nature, is keeping your brother from living his, and you from living your own."

Eleanor swallows thickly, her eyes stinging and something akin to shame festering deep in her chest. "I don't want Ben to hurt. I don't want him to experience pain, or sadness, or fear. How could I want that, when I've seen what that does to him? Sometimes, all I can think about is the last time I couldn't protect him, he wound up falling fifteen feet from the air off of a broom because he convinced me that two idiots in Gryffindor were mates of ours."

Emmeline reaches over her teacup again, clasping at Eleanor's hand as her daughter looks away in horror at her own admission, and smooths a thumb over her knuckles. "The Weasley boys, Ben…they're not eleven years old anymore, Eleanor," she says. "And neither are you. Human beings are not static creatures, we are constantly changing, constantly evolving, and our relationships with other people do the same. It takes a long time, and sometimes, it will hurt."

"Sometimes?"

Her mother tilts her head to the side ever-so-slightly, and she gives Eleanor an inscrutable look. "Becoming your own person isn't about how you came into the world. It's something that happens to you, and becoming can be painful. But I find that once you have, you don't mind being hurt nearly as much…. because you know just by feeling it, that you are whole."

Emmeline Vance floos back to the Ministry an hour later, leaving Eleanor alone with a tender goodbye, a promise to write, and much to think about.

It's going to hurt, she thinks to herself. Becoming.

Her mother's words shouldn't make sense, but they do. Because deep down, Eleanor knows her mother made a valid point. Nobody's ever the same person they were when they were eleven, not even Ben. As much as she can try to keep them joint at the hip, the world simply won't permit it.

It's not as simple as giving Ben the space he needs to become his own person, to make his own mistakes and his own relationships and his own decisions. It's an issue, she thinks, that she can't picture what that would look like. And it's an even bigger issue that she knows that she can't, and therein lies the problem.

But perhaps she can grasp on just for a little longer, just until she figures out what being her own person would mean. Maybe it's okay not to let go just yet, and Ben will understand. Her mother did say these things take time, after all.

Eleanor sits on a bench watching passerby walk through Hogsmeade, completely alone, and finds herself watching other Hogwarts students laughing and chatting away as they walk down the cobblestone paths. She feels like a proper scientist- studying the strange phenomena, taking mental notes on how people are behaving in their interactions. It all seems terribly foreign; these people who were once perfect strangers talking to each other fondly, even intimately, and she supposes that friendship between people who don't share the same parents must look like this.

It never bothered her, that she didn't speak to anyone besides Ben, and since her youngest brother has come of age to attend school, Alfie as well. But did it bother Ben? Had he wanted for more than what his twin could provide?

She feels her brother's absence like an itch she can't scratch, uncomfortable in a place she had only ever visited in his company. Eleanor thinks it's an awful lot like being in a country in which she doesn't speak the native language- it's as disconcerting as it is isolating, but she doesn't know where to begin to learn how to engage with all these foreign people. For the first time, she feels like somehow she fell behind and didn't even realize it.

Through the midst of her contemplation, she's hyper-aware of the fact that she must look like a sad sack, sitting all alone on a bench by herself kicking at rocks. She looks to her satchel and with a careful glance around, takes out her Walkman and a pair of headphones. Carefully tucking the metal band connecting two foam-covered earpieces under her hair, she shoots another cautious look over each shoulder and plugs them into the audio jack.

Eleanor isn't sure if Muggle technology is banned in Hogsmeade like it is at Hogwarts, but she decides to be careful regardless if only because the last thing she wants to do is draw attention to herself.

Her fingers flip familiarly over the buttons of the device, and upon realizing that she's forgotten to change her tapes out, resigns herself to another listening session with The Beatles. The Walkman spurs to life, gears shifting into place as the sweet sounds of a piano croak through her headphones.

"She was a working girl

North of England way

Now she's hit the big time

In the U.S.A

And if she could only hear me

This is what I'd say…"

Feet tapping to beat of the song, Eleanor feels her mouth twist slightly in fondness at the song. Her father used to sing it in a terrible, high falsetto in the kitchen in the mornings, placing her feet on top of his as he rocked them back in forth in what must've been a fool's imitation of ballroom dance, spinning them around as she cackled until tears streamed down her face. "Oh Honey Pie, you are driving me frantic!" he'd bellow loudly, shaking his head with feigned heartbreak. "Sail across the Atlantic, to be where you be-long!"

She can almost imagine her father's reaction to a place like Hogsmeade, just in the same way she'd imagined what he'd look like if he'd ever gotten to see the Hogwarts Platform. He was different than most Muggles in that way, or at least, so she'd heard. He had an undying appreciation for magic, one that almost rivaled the one he held for his wife and children, even though the only magic he could do was stuck to the confines of science and his infamous English breakfasts served on Sundays.

The memory of it thuds so painfully in her chest Eleanor nearly gasps for air, the thought of her father- his blonde hair and blue eyes, just like Alfie's, his wide, face-splitting grin- tainted by the image of the last time she'd seen him, lifeless and bloodied on the bathroom floor. She shuts off her Walkman as quickly as she's turned it on, her breaths a little shakier than they were minutes ago, and she pushes whatever feelings brimming to the surface right back down.

Back where it's safe for them to be.

It hurts, even more, she thinks, to remember. It hurts more than becoming, because nothing can ever be quite as painful as thinking of what once was as opposed to what might be. She finds that she minds quite a lot, actually, because hurting hurts no matter when it happens, or why. And she'd rather not feel it at all.

She packs up her satchel and decides to head to the Platform early. Hogsmeade isn't nearly as much fun without Ben, anyway.

Eleanor knows she just needs a little more time to get used to being apart from her brother. The pain of losing a person is far worse than the pain that comes from holding someone too close.

George realizes that though Ben Vance isn't Eleanor's doppelganger in the way he and Fred seem to be, they're not terribly unalike.

When he takes out his and his brother's top-secret map, The Marauder's Map as it's so-aptly titled, he almost laughs at how very unsurprised he is at Ben's location. He's in the Hogwarts courtyard, alone, if the map is any indication.

He doesn't take much pride in taking a Third-Year's advice, but Hermione might've been correct in her suggestion- perhaps, thinking like a Ravenclaw will bring him closer to Eleanor than Angelina and Alicia's silly one-offs that seemingly blow up in his face at every turn.

Using his better judgment, he chooses not to tell Fred about his plans or his whereabouts. There's no telling how much more he and his brother can possibly muck this up, and Ravenclaws are decidedly not risk-takers. If he wants to think like one, taking as few chances as possible may be his best bet.

He walks across the courtyard, his expression intentionally aloof as to not look as scheming as he feels, and whistles under his breath. George wants Ben to think he's merely taking a stroll, that it was just a coincidence they ran across each other. He tucks the map into the pocket of his robes out of sight and looks up at the clouds though he knows exactly where his feet are taking him.

George hears Ben before he sees him, he can hear the muffled curse under his breath and the quick scrambling of his feet before he strays his gaze away from the sky and turns it towards a boy sitting underneath a large tree. "Bloody hell," he hears the Ravenclaw say, muffled by his shuffling. "My fucking luck."

"Oh," George says out loud. "Ben, mate, is that you? Didn't see you there, I was, er…just looking at the clouds, as one does."

Ben looks terribly unamused but doesn't seem to pay much notice to the lie, and stands up quickly as he throws his bag over his shoulder. George's eyes widen with alarm, and he holds up his hands submissively.

"Hey, no need to leave, I'll turn around," he says, watching Ben freeze in his stance and give him a skeptical look. "Seriously, I will. I mean, I was hoping to catch you for a minute, but no worries. Don't want to be a bother."

"Really," Ben says in a deadpan voice, eyes narrowed. "I find that hard to believe."

"Which part, when I said I'd leave, or that I didn't want to be a bother?"

"All of the above, frankly."

George sighs and looks at the tree Ben's standing under, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. "You don't happen to be on the lookout for Bowtruckles, are you?" he asks the Ravenclaw, smiling at the memory. "If I remember correctly, that's something you and your sister used to do often."

Ben's cheeks turn bright red. "I don't do that anymore," he protests. "I'm not a First-Year."

Don't offer to help, George thinks to himself. Ravenclaws don't appreciate that sort of thing. You have to make it offer it as if it's a sensical solution to a problem.

"Well, I was just asking because if you were, I remember that it took more than one person to find them. If you need a second person, that is," he says lightly.

Reclining his back against the tree, Ben sets his satchel down, and George feels a slight sigh of relief urging its way out of his mouth. "That was only because Nel and I weren't tall enough," Ben states earnestly. "That's no longer an issue."

It's true, Ben has shot up in height seemingly overnight in the last year or so- he's easily a few inches taller than him and Fred, twice as gangly as he used to be, and he moves like he's not quite sure how to control his limbs. He practically dwarfs his sister, who hasn't grown a centimeter since Second Year.

"I'm really not looking for Bowtruckles. I just like to sit here sometimes," Ben tells him, tone sheepish with an unsaid thanks, anyway.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, I suppose."

"…Didn't you say you were looking for me?"

"I said I was hoping to catch you, but I don't want to disturb your peace, or whatever it is you're hoping to get out here."

"Well, consider my peace officially disturbed. You've already got my attention, you might as well make the most of it."

George smiles inwardly, almost bewildered that a simple change in his usual inflection hasn't blown into smithereens like his other attempts. "Right, then," he says nonchalantly. "I spoke to Fred."

Ben's neutral expression twists at the mention of George's brother, but it quickly smooths into something passive, if not skeptical. "And you're here to add to the fun, I'm guessing?"

"You guess incorrectly. I'm actually…" George takes a sharp inhale, the words fumbled in his mouth like he's just been struck by a Tongue-Tying Curse. "I wanted to apologize to you for what he said in Transfiguration. Fred… I know it doesn't matter to you that he wasn't trying to, er, offend you, but I know he did. Merlin's beard, I was offended for you."

"You were."

"Yeah."

Ben doesn't say anything, silent as if he's waiting for a punchline or for Fred to jump out of a shadow and yell, got ya! George rocks back on his heels, but he keeps his eyes straight on the Ravenclaw's face.

"Sometimes my brother… he's not very good at being sincere. And like I said, I know that doesn't matter, because it doesn't change anything, but he didn't mean anything by what he said… he was trying to cheer you up, I think. He did mention to me that he thought you were..."

"What? An arse, for leaving class like that?"

A little exaggeration won't do any harm, George says to himself. A little extraneous detail, if you will.

"He said you were actually nice to chat with, before…he said what he did. A proper bloke, even."

The dark-haired boy's eyes widen with surprise. "That's a lie."

George nods vehemently. "He did," he says earnestly. "I mean, we used to be friends, you, me, and Fred, weren't we? And I suppose your sister was a friend, too… even though-"

"-She was never particularly enthusiastic about you and Fred. And after… First Year-"

"-Yeah, I'm starting to realize that, I think."

Ben smiles at George's own ruddy cheeks, the smallest upturn of his mouth that the Gryffindor doesn't really think he's seen him wear before. "Nel's not very good with that sort of stuff, either," he tells George quietly. "I mean, she's very sincere. Too sincere. But she's not good at…she doesn't really know what to do when things get heavy, I suppose. Like Fred."

George chuckles. "Quick and to-the-point," he says. "That's Fred."

"Nel, too."

Both of them stand awkwardly, the lightness of their conversation familiar to Ben and George, a smidge of the way they used to talk when they were eleven years old and in a strange way, really were friends. It hadn't lasted long, the friendship, and it was about as surface-level as a First-Year friendship could get, but there had been one, once upon a time.

"That's all I wanted to say," George replies. "I just… I wanted you to know that I'm sorry, and Fred is too, but I didn't trust that he wouldn't come here and make a bigger mess."

"That was probably for the best. Thanks."

"And I'm…. I'm sorry for a lot more than that."

Ben's eyes narrow again. "What are you sorry for, exactly?" he asks him softly. "Because if you're apologizing for what you and Fred did in First Year, you're about four years late."

George's expression softens slightly, and he nods in understanding. "We wanted… I wanted…to apologize to you after…everything. But you were sort of hard to talk to, at that point."

"A letter would've sufficed."

"No, it wouldn't have," the Gryffindor sighs. "If it makes you feel any better…"

"-Oh, here we go again, another Weasley twin trying to cheer me up-"

"-I regret it all the time," George continues, interrupting Ben's skepticism. "If I could go back and redo it all, I wouldn't change a thing but that. I think I'm only realizing how much I regret it, even though I have all this time."

Ben fidgets in his stance, picking at a thread on his robes and looking in every direction George doesn't happen to be in. "It was a long time ago," he says calmly. "And technically, Fred was the one who did it. Not you."

"Still."

"Do you always apologize for your brother, or is this a recent development?"

"We're twins. You understand that more than anyone."

"Yeah… I do."

So… is forgiveness on the horizon, or am I completely blind? George wonders. Silence rings out between them yet again. "I'd like to…" he alludes uncomfortably, barking out a laugh he doesn't really feel but doesn't know how else to ask such an earnest question. "Do you think there's a chance we could be mates, you and I? Maybe Fred, too, with a bit more groveling?"

Ben's brow furrows. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why would you want to be mates?"

Has George read this conversation wrong the entire time? He apologized, hadn't he? Ben seems to be in good spirits… was this all-

"I don't get it," Ben continues hurriedly. "A lot of time has passed. We're different people. Very different."

Oh.

"Because I think being mates could be loads of fun," George says truthfully. "I think that despite all that's gotten mucked up, there was a reason we were friends in First Year."

"We were kids, back then."

"Yeah, but Fred and I never decided not to be friends with you and Nel. We may have been a bloody pair of idiots, but you both stopped being friends with us."

Ben glances down at the ground, and George is starting to feel a bead of sweat trickle down his nape into his robes at the humiliatingly vulnerable pace of this conversation. It feels strange and foreign in his head and in his mouth, the absence of jokes and laughs obvious like an open void. "I suppose you're right," Ben says acquiescently. "We just never spoke again after The Incident, did we?"

"No. Not for a lack of trying, on my part."

"Is that why your lot has been chasing Nel around lately?" Ben asks him. "To get back into our good graces?"

Not exactly.

"Yeah."

"And this isn't some weird joke or an opportunity to get a laugh out of your friends. Or some pity-thing."

"I wouldn't be apologizing to you if it was anything else but what it is. You can mull it over, if you want," George suggests clumsily, shrugging his shoulders as if his reply doesn't mean as much as it does. "I didn't come to you in the hopes you'd tell me everything I wanted to hear."

Ben grins mischievously, eyes narrowing. "So you did come here looking for me."

"No, I was looking at the clouds, as I said."

"Mhmm," Ben responds, sounding far-too pleased. "Well, I'm willing to…try. Being mates. Like an experiment."

"An experiment?" George asks in surprise. Ben nods. "Yes. Can't guarantee that it'll amount to much… it has been a long while, hasn't it? And maybe it's stupid of me, for agreeing, but maybe you haven't noticed, I'm lacking mates of the non-blood-related sort. If that wasn't obvious."

George isn't sure how to reply, but the gleam in Ben's eye contrasts with his serious expression, and he thinks the boy's clear sarcasm is sort of intended as a joke. "Ravenclaws can't be stupid," he says instead. "That's your House's whole…y'know."

Ben gives him another deadpan look. "Well, Weasley, you'll be thrilled to know that's terribly untrue."

To both of their surprise, the Ravenclaw walks over to him and extends a hand out to George, eyes bright though his mouth has thinned back into its usual grimace once again. "To the possibility of being mates."

George doesn't think twice. He shakes it heartily, relief filling every orifice of his body. "To the possibility."

This was… a surprising turn of events, he thinks. Merlin's left tit, who knew?

"You should sit with us at the Gryffindor table, sometime," George offers happily. "You and Eleanor. Your younger brother, too."

Scrunching his nose, Ben lets out a strange laugh. "I'll consider it. Alfie will shoot you down, though. He's…quiet. Not boisterous, like the likes of you."

"Fine. You and Eleanor, then."

"Oh, no," Ben laughs incredulously like George has just told him a funny joke. "Not Nel."

George's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Er, pardon? "But… I thought-"

"-When I said we could try being mates, I meant you, me, and Fred. Not my sister. Godric, no. Impossible."

"…Why?" George can't help himself to ask, feeling as if someone's just pulled the rug under his feet. Of course, he should've known this interaction had gone far too easily- he wasn't nearly this lucky.

Ben blinks, looking at the Gryffindor like he's only just realized he's talking to a boy with a far lower IQ. "Because," he states obviously. "She hates you. Nel has hated you and Fred for four years counting."

"Oh. Yeah, she does."

"Don't take it personally. Nel doesn't like much of anyone, besides me and Alfie," Ben says with a wave of his hand as if none of this should come as news to the Gryffindor. "I'm a bit easier to persuade. To my detriment, I think, if this experiment should go awry."

But Eleanor will surely come around, if you spend more time with us, George hopes inwardly. She's got to, right? They're twins. How far can an age-old grudge possibly go?

"Maybe it'll persuade her," George tries. "If we become mates."

The Ravenclaw lets out a startled laugh. "Weasley, do yourself a favor. Don't hold your breath."

Turning around, Ben offers him a nod and heads off across the courtyard and into the castle, not bothering to look over his shoulder. George is glad he doesn't because he's still standing there like a ponce, nearly twitching in shock.

He stands there for a full five minutes, and he can't help but wonder what the hell just happened.

A/N: A/N: Chapter 6 is UP! Please leave a review and let me know what you think... George's gotten a chance to prove himself, but is at easy as it sounds? How do you think Eleanor will feel? I want to hear!