Chapter 8: Cry for a Shadow

TW: Mentions of unknown mental health issue

Flashback- First Year

It's a cold, Friday evening, and Eleanor decides to skip dinner entirely in favor of aimlessly wandering the grounds. Her arms are folded across her chest but she still feels her hands shake, and her teeth chatter from the brisk weather. The last thing she wants is for her brother to see her, but even more importantly, she doesn't want to embarrass him in front of these friends he seems to care so much about.

It happens, sometimes. She'll just feel… off. A strange, overwhelming feeling, more unconscious than not, will wash over her like a pervasive tug on her robes that refuses to go away. It festers from the bottom of her stomach all the way to the tips of her fingers, a constant, unknown feeling she can't shrug off no matter how at ease she knows she should be. Nothing is wrong, yet something must be, because out of nowhere, everything just feels begins to feel like too much.

The feeling had started when her dad died, but what was once an itch under her skin had grown into a full-blown metaphorical rash since she'd come to Hogwarts. It's a relentless nagging sensation that makes her lungs feel tight and her insides feel hot. At least in the cold, she can't tell how much of the shaking in her hands comes from the weather, and how much of it is her own.

"G-Gosh, this is so silly," she laughs to herself bitterly, irrationally agitated. "Ridiculous, even."

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

The abrupt arrival of a voice behind her forces Eleanor to nearly jump out of her skin, and a loud shriek pierces from her mouth in surprise.

"Good Godric, it's me!" George Weasley blurts out, hands held up submissively. Even in his own state of shock, his eyes twinkle with mirth and his mouth is twisted in a smile. He brings a hand to his ear and tugs at his lobe, scrunching his nose at her. "Blimey, I think you've gone and popped my eardrum, you barmy, batty-"

"Where did you come from?!" she exclaims, pressing a palm against her beating heart. "How did you find me?"

"What do you mean? The Great Hall, of course," George replies. "You know, where you were supposed to be. Your brother's gone mad looking for you. He and Fred went to search the Ravenclaw Common Room, since he hadn't a clue where you'd gone."

"But I never lounge around in the Common Room."

"Of course not. Merlin forbid you choose somewhere a bit warmer to wallow."

Eleanor doesn't need to look at him to know that George certainly finds the situation hilarious. "You really have a set of lungs on you, Vance. Maybe you could become a singer, like Celestina-"

"How did you find me?" Eleanor interrupts, her face flush with heat. "I didn't even notice you were behind me. Were you following me? How long have you been out here?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to never find out," George shoots back. "I think the better question is, what in the bloody hell are you doing out here in the freezing cold? You'll catch your death out here, you know."

She doesn't say anything, but she stands in front of him awkwardly as her jaw clicks in her mouth. She offers a light shrug, and he immediately scoffs. "You can't catch a cold from being outside. It's a common misconception," she tells him distractedly. "You can't catch the flu, either. But you can become hypothermic, I suppose, and-"

"Wow. You really are barmy," George says as he stares at her, eyes narrowed as if he's trying to figure out if she's completely lost her mind. "What's the matter?" he asks bewilderedly. "Are you feeling poorly?"

"I wanted to go for a walk."

"In the dark... alone. Not telling anyone where you've gone, in the middle of November."

"It was supposed to be quick. It wasn't…I wasn't…," Eleanor stammers, eyes wide. "Ben's going to be so upset. I just needed to think. Do you think he's upset? What time is it?"

George doesn't answer her questions. Instead, he continues to stare at her, his expression only growing warier. "Everything's fine," he replies vaguely. "…But I think we should go back to the castle, now."

She shakes her head hurriedly, pulling her arms closer to herself. "You go back. I want to finish my walk."

"Don't be a prat. Ben will faint if I tell I left you out here."

"No," she protests, the words tumbling out of her mouth clumsily. "I'm fine, alright? I'll finish my walk, and you can go find him, and you can tell him I'm okay. I just… George, please?"

"You've had more than a moment, Merlin knows how long you've been out here!"

George rubs at his arms to keep himself warm and huffs discontentedly as the Ravenclaw refuses to budge. Eleanor looks pale, paler than normal. Even in the dark, her eyes are too wide and her breaths too quick, like she's just seen a ghost. Fred had joked a few times about Ben's sister when the boy was out of earshot, but George can hardly reconcile that the girl in front of him is the ever-poised, sharp, skeptical Eleanor he knows her to be. The only place either of them should be walking is to Madam Pomfrey's for a Calming Draught- it's obvious she's not all there in the head, even though he doesn't know why.

"Did something scare you, maybe? Is that why you're acting all…" he asks, circling his finger next to the side of his head. Eleanor shakes her head.

"Are you nervous about something?" he tries again. She's not as quick to disagree, and George smiles proudly at himself. "So you are nervous," he states matter-of-factly. "Nervous Nellie! Would you look at that? Like it was meant to be."

She doesn't snap at him, she knows George wouldn't understand why she hates that name so much, anyway. But it feels like he's making fun of her, and she turns away from him before he can say anything else, hands clenched.

But George doesn't laugh, and he doesn't neg her on. Instead, he blows air out of his mouth and shoves his hands in the pockets of his robes. "I'm not taking the piss," he says, voice softening perceptibly. "I just meant that I can tell you're nervous. Even though there's nothing to be nervous about, I don't think."

"I-I can't help it. It just…it happens."

"It just happens? For no reason?"

Eleanor nods, embarrassed. "Don't tell Ben," she pleads. "He doesn't know. I…I needed to screw my head back on. That's why I didn't come to dinner. I needed to…." I needed to think, she tells herself. I needed to calm down.

George still looks confused. "He's going to want to know where you've been."

"Please," she says quietly, her eyes pleading. "Don't tell him. I know he's your friend, but… please, George, he'll be worried."

Neither of them says anything for a moment, and George kicks something with his shoe. "If I promise not to mention it… you've got to come back with me. I told you, I'm not leaving you out here," he tells her sternly.

She nods quickly. With begrudging reluctance, the Gryffindor lets out a sigh. "Alright," he says, more to himself than to her. "Let's go. I'll keep my mouth shut."

Present Day

Halloween is only a few weeks away, and the usual drabness of Hogwarts is beginning to fill with the sort of festive spirit only a holiday seems to bring. Eleanor hears it, she sees it- students chattering amongst themselves as excitedly as they do during their first and last days of classes, anticipation coursing through their tones and conversations. It's not an exaggeration to say that every witch and wizard, pureblood, half-blood, and Muggleborn alike, knows that the end of October is simply one of the most magical times of the year in the Wizarding world.

It'd be an understatement to say that Eleanor usually looks forward to Halloween weekend.

She and Ben usually spend the thirty-first of October strolling along the long, cobblestone streets on their school-approved trip to Hogsmeade, his hand pulling on her arm to drag her into all sorts of shops she wouldn't frequent if not for her brother. She'd pull him into Tomes and Scrolls, their one-stop of the day that was entirely up to her, where she and Ben would lose themselves for hours in long aisles of books before they got too hungry to push lunch off any longer.

They'd pointlessly argue back and forth about their next plan of action until ultimately, they'd decide to go to The Three Broomsticks, where they'd down Butterbeer and split Shepherd's Pie until Eleanor felt sick. They'd walk back to Hogwarts with full stomachs and satchels full of books, and as of last year, fun surprises for Alfie.

But with the growing tension between her and her twin, Eleanor has a terrible feeling that her normal plans with Ben are about to fall through. It's a frustration that is, of course, compounded by another ongoing problem she can't seem to fix: the Walkman is still refusing to work.

Instead of lamenting over her brother's behavior, she spends nearly every minute she can sitting in the Muggle Studies section of the library, leafing through age-old mechanical books that haven't been updated since her mother was a student; rifling through texts about batteries and motors that apply to every technology but cassette players in the hopes she can find something, anything, that will tell her how to fix it. Using magic to fix the device again feels like too great a risk to take when she can't guarantee how much further it may be damaged.

It astounds her how much wishes, more than anything, that her father was still here. He'd know what to do.

A flurry of footsteps and hurried, harsh whispers catch her attention somewhere in another aisle. Taking a moment to pause from her self-pity, her ears perk up at the hastened conversation taking place beyond her line of vision.

"I can't go," says a hushed voice full of disappointment. "The Dursleys didn't sign my Hogsmeade permission form, and Fudge won't either."

A sharp gasp follows.

"You're not allowed to come? But…no way! McGonagall or someone will give you permission-"

A sad, hollow laugh serves as the only reply.

Eleanor quietly turns in her position until she's kneeling down on her knees, and very slowly, she moves a few books aside in the shelf until there's only the smallest gap giving way to the aisle behind her. She can't see much at all, not from where she's sitting, but she sees bright red hair and immediately recoils at the sight.

Is that George again? She demands inwardly. Hasn't he already gotten into enough trouble for speaking in the library?

She can't be sure, but how can she be? She looks a little closer and sees the back of the redhead's tie- red and gold. It could be one of them, the thinks. Who else has red hair like that, besides the Weasleys?

"I don't think he should be sneaking out of the school with Black on the loose-"

"Yeah, I expect that's what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission. Again."

"Black wouldn't dare-"

"-Don't talk rubbish, Black's already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street…"

"Yeah, but-"

"Shh! This is a library, for Godric's sake, we've got to be quiet!"

Eleanor's eyes widen- murder? Her thoughts run wild at the words being said in the aisle behind her, and she decides it must be Fred or George, or both. She only knows two redheaded criminal-adjacent Gryffindors at Hogwarts, and a conversation involving the topic of killing somebody is hardly a surprise if it's coming from their mouths. Slowly, she begins to tuck her materials back into her satchel beside her, eyes wide and ears peeled for the discussion happening right in the back of the Muggle Studies section.

Before she even realizes she's doing it, she stands up from her position on the floor and begins to turn into the next aisle. If George even tries to get me into trouble, she thinks angrily, fists clenched by her sides. If thinks I'll start entertaining some half-witted…

But as she rounds the corner, she freezes mid-step as a redheaded boy who is very much not either of the Weasley twins jumps at the sudden interruption. A black-haired boy who is also just as unfamiliar looks over the redhead's shoulder, and a girl with wild, chestnut curls trips backward into the bookshelf in surprise.

Eleanor stands a few feet away from them and cocks her head to the side. "…Oh," she says aloud stupidly. "Oh."

The girl with the wild hair blinks at her and then turns to the redhead to harshly slap him on the shoulder. "I told you you were being too loud!"

"Ow, Hermione, Merlin!" the boy snips back, rubbing at his arm sorely. "You were the one being too loud, talking about murder and-"

He stops himself immediately once the word leaves his mouth, and all three of the Gryffindors straighten up as they realize they are no longer alone. "Er," the black-haired boy mutters. "Hullo?"

"Sorry," Eleanor says quickly. "Sorry, I… I thought you were…never mind."

The girl the redhead called Hermione sighs, shoving her face into her hands. But he pays her no mind, instead, he's looking down the aisle at their newly present audience, and he narrows his eyes at Eleanor.

As she takes a closer look at him, she realizes that though he isn't Fred or George, he must be a Weasley. Aside from the bright, red hair, the similarity in their features is far too familiar. The boy's narrowed eyes widen, and he glances at his friends quickly before he looks back at her.

"Merlin's beard," he says, tone full of confusion and wonder. His eyes look her up and down, carefully assessing. "I think…I think I know you."

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're a Ravenclaw."

"…What?" she asks quietly.

"You're a Ravenclaw. A Ravenclaw girl with short, black hair." He repeats her outer description again, like it's supposed to mean something to her. Like its significant, somehow. "Are you a Fifth-Year?" he demands.

Eleanor, still staring at the trio with wide eyes as she only then starts to realize her own stupidity, takes a moment to process his question. She nods.

"Ron, leave her be!" Hermione snaps at him under her breath. "We don't even know who she is, come on!"

The boy ignores her, and he takes a skeptical step forward. "What's your name?"

Why would he want to know? How would he even know who I am? Before she can answer, Hermione clamps a hand over the boy's mouth and he instantly recoils, pushing the girl's hand away from his face to look at Eleanor again.

Eleanor is starting to believe that she probably should have just stayed in her own library aisle and minded her own business, for once. She has no idea why this boy is so interested in who she is, but if he's a Weasley like she suspects, that can't possibly mean anything good.

"Eleanor," she blurts out, despite her greater inclination not to say anything at all. "Eleanor Vance."

The redhead nearly jumps at her, and he begins frantically motioning at the Ravenclaw to his friends. "I knew it! You're her! You're-"

Eleanor immediately brings a finger over her lips to get him to quiet down, but her confusion multiples tenfold at the wide eyes of all three children in the aisle. She doesn't know any of them, so how would they know her?

"Merlin's beard, I was beginning to think George had made you up, because I've never seen you-"

"-Wait, George?" Eleanor demands suspiciously, stepping closer to the Gryffindors. "What? What are you on about?"

The boy takes no notice of this, and he looks at her with wide, dumbstruck eyes. "My brother, George! George Weasley, he-"

Hermione slaps her hand over the boy's mouth yet again, and this time, his words stilled in his mouth. "Sorry, he's…easily excitable," she apologizes uncomfortably. "What Ron means to say is, his brother has mentioned you before."

"…The twins," Eleanor says grimly. "They're your brothers."

Ron nods hurriedly underneath Hermione's hand, and the black-haired boy looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than in a library aisle kerfuffle involving his two very-loud friends and a Fifth-Year Ravenclaw.

"Well," Eleanor says to the three of them, feeling more than a little embarrassed. "I thought… well I was obviously wrong, but I thought…anyway, sorry."

"Wait, don't go!" Ron protests. He grabs at the other Gryffindor boy's hand and pulls him forward, like he's cattle ready for auction. "This is my friend, Harry. Harry Potter. And this is…well, that's Hermione. And you're Eleanor."

Eleanor's eyebrows raise. "Yes. I am. Do I know you? Do you…know me?"

"Maybe you can help us," Ron continues, not answering her. "George, he told me once that you're really smart, and you're in Ravenclaw, which means you probably are, and maybe you can help Harry!"

Harry puts a hand on his friend's shoulder, and he shakes his head. "Ron," he says seriously. "Ron. It's fine."

"Harry wants to go to Hogsmeade," Ron explains in a harsh whisper, dismissing the other boy. "But he can't, because his mean, stupid, fat Muggle uncle won't sign his permission slip. And I'm not saying he's stupid and fat because he's a Muggle, he really is mean and stupid and fat."

Eleanor nods warily, blinking quickly at this strange, random information she's receiving for some unknown reason. "Got it," she plays along weakly, unsettled by the boy's vehement demeanor. "Stupid and fat Muggle uncle won't let your friend go, which is…bad."

"And he's mean. Don't forget mean."

Why are you telling me this? Eleanor thinks to herself. "And…you want to go, I suppose," she guesses blankly, confused as to what Ron's intentions could possibly be by giving her this story of his friend's plight, though it's hardly the most confusing part of this strange interaction. Why would George tell you anything about me?

"Really bad. Harry can't miss his first real trip to Hogsmeade! He's going to be stuck here, all alone, and that's no fair at all," Ron groans out.

Eleanor can hardly concentrate on anything but the idea of darting away, but the desperate expression on his face and the hopeless look on Harry Potter's are, strangely, pulling something akin to sympathy from her. Eleanor's utter befuddlement with the scenario in front of her wanes just slightly as she looks at the trio, and she lets out a breath.

"I'm…I'm confused why you're telling me this," she whispers to them seriously. "I hardly see how a total stranger…which is what I am, because I don't know any of you… will be of any use to you."

Ron stomps his foot. "But you're not a total stranger, my brother's told me all about you!"

"Ronald!" Hermione snaps under her breath.

Perhaps making a suggestion will suffice enough for them to leave her alone, she thinks. "I mean, have you thought about just… forging your uncle's signature?" she questions halfheartedly, looking past Ron at Harry, unsure of what else to say. "You don't have anyone else that can sign this for you?"

Harry blinks at her acknowledgment as if he hadn't expected her to talk to him, and he sadly shakes his head. "Nobody else," he says morosely.

Hermione clears her throat, clearly wanting to redirect Eleanor's attention. "That would be against the rules. Not to mention that McGonagall probably has a hundred spells that can clearly identify if a quill's signature has been forged or manipulated."

It's true, but Eleanor lets out an exasperated huff of breath anyway. It's clear that they're hoping she'll have some kind of brilliant idea, which she doesn't, and Harry's face is only growing more melancholy by the minute. Frustrated and uncomfortable with three pairs of wide, staring eyes, she clicks her tongue admonishingly and swings her satchel in front of her to rummage through her bag. "Give it," she says shortly. Harry blinks at her, and she extends her hand to his, looking down at the piece of parchment. "The permission slip. Give it to me."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asks her. Eleanor ignores him, too focused on snatching the paper from his fingers. She takes a quick glance around for a hard surface, and upon only seeing shelves of books and the floor, she decides that the bookshelf will work fine enough.

"What's your uncle's name?" she asks him impatiently, looking at the signature block on the permission slip. She has to do this quickly, and discreetly. The constant staring between the trio of Gryffindors is starting to piss her off, and she lets out another sigh.

"But," Hermione interjects. "I just told you that McGonagall has spells-"

"-For quills, I know," Eleanor cuts off effectively. "But I won't be using one."

Digging through her bag clumsily, she finds a pen with a half-empty ink refill and clicks it open. "What's this mean, stupid, fat, uncle's name?" Eleanor repeats, eyes flickering between three shocked faces that do little more than blink back at her.

"Is that a Muggle pen?" Ron asks.

Do you want me to help you or not? She thinks harshly. Eleanor grimaces and knows that between the presence of a Weasley, their lack of urgency, and the strangeness of this conversation, her patience wearing dangerously thin. "No, it's a fucking jellybean, Weasley. C'mon, first and last name, please."

Swallowing nervously at her profanity, Harry clears his throat lightly. "Vernon Dursley."

She quickly scrawls illegible cursive, but legible enough to look like a 'V' and a 'D,' and clicks her pen shut. Eleanor has never forged a signature before, but she knows the actual signature itself is the least important. Folding the permission slip in half, she subsequently rips it right down the middle- a perfect distraction from otherwise sloppy penmanship, and assuredly, too great a distraction for McGonagall to pay attention to clear forgery.

"What are you doing?! Are you mad!" Ron exclaims far too loudly for the library, forcing Hermione to shush him immediately. But she, too, looks at the Ravenclaw with disbelief.

Eleanor gives both pieces of the paper to Harry, who unenthusiastically takes them from her hand. "Give it to McGonagall as close to Halloween as you can. Not anytime sooner," she instructs quickly.

"But… you ripped it," Harry says, confusion lacing his tone.

"Correct."

"I can't… I can't hand it in if it's ripped."

Jesus Christ, she thinks to herself. Doesn't anyone know anything about a proper diversion?

"The fact that it's ripped will distract McGonagall from the fact that it's not really your uncle's signature," she explains, tossing a careful look over his shoulder. "And if your uncle is as mean as you say, maybe McGonagall will believe he was mean enough to send this to you by owl, ripped perfectly in two. Give it to her at a second's notice, got it?"

Harry blinks at her. Ron looks awed, while poor Hermione looks terribly disgruntled by the very idea of committing an act of deception. "Give your Head of House your permission slip or don't," Eleanor continues. "But if she asks you any questions, you have no idea where this came from or who wrote this signature."

The black-haired boy nods in understanding, and Ron lets out a disbelieving laugh. "You really are as smart as George says," he huffs out cheerfully.

Eleanor frowns, and narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Tell your brother to keep my name out of his mouth," she bits out. "Remember, not a word, Harry."

She turns on her heel and begins to stalk right out of the library, wary of Madam Pince and possible impending detention coming her way not only for speaking so loudly, but for forgery, and quickens her pace as she nears the doors.

Eleanor doesn't mind breaking rules- she's broken nearly every rule by having a Muggle device in her satchel for the last five years, after all. But she refuses to be caught. Especially after having served her very first detention with that idiot George Weasley a few weeks ago, she has no intention of making that a habit.

But a hand reaches out and grazes her arm, effectively stopping her. She spins around and sees Harry, his bright green eyes wide and open. "Thank you," Harry says gratefully, slightly breathless. "I… I don't know if I'll use it, but-"

"-Do what you want with it," Eleanor interrupts him. "But… just have it with you, if you think it's the only way you can get to Hogsmeade. If going means a lot to you."

If one of us is going to have fun in Hogsmeade, after all of this trouble… it might as well be you, she thinks.

"Why did you do that for me?" he asks her quietly. "I just… You don't even know me. You didn't have to do all that, even though Ron… er, well, sorry about him."

Eleanor ponders his question, and it occurs to her that she really doesn't have a good answer. She'd signed his permission slip out of frustration, three sets of stares wheedling away at her nerves. She could've just walked off, realistically, but instead… she'd simply given in. I didn't think much about it, she realizes inwardly. And I'm supposed to think about everything.

Instead of answering him, she gives him a questioning look of her own. "What are you talking about?" she asks him perplexedly. "I haven't done anything, remember? We don't know each other."

Harry blinks, but a slow, tepid smile creeps to his face. "Right," he answers. "Never mind. Must've confused you with someone else."

"You must have."

As she opens the library door to leave, she shoots him another wry look. "Be well, Harry," she whispers only loudly enough for him to hear. "And not that it's any of my business, but maybe don't murder anyone, or talk to any murderers, or whatever it is you've got planned, alright?"

"O-Oh, I…. I wasn't-" he stammers, cheeks turning red, knowing she must've overhead more than he thought.

"-Have fun in Hogsmeade, Potter."

And with that, Eleanor is gone, leaving a stunned Harry Potter in her wake.

Ben doesn't spend every meal with the Gryffindors, in fact, he still spends more time with his siblings than he does with the Weasleys and the people Eleanor assumes are his newfound mates.

But the time they do spend together, after that first meal he spent away a few days prior, is filled with unspoken tension, uncharacteristic awkwardness sitting between them so tangibly it almost feels like someone else is sitting at their table.

The day after the second library incident, Ben eats his breakfast with Eleanor and Alfie in the Great Hall, and she can't help but watch him with careful eyes, staring into his forehead because he refuses to look back at her. The three siblings sit silently, sips of tea and food crunching the only noises between them.

"Somebody talk," Alfie mumbles into his plate, his head propped up by his hand as his elbow rests on the table. Eleanor takes a sip of her tea and pushes her nearly-full plate over to him, raising a brow suggestively. It's not quite an apology to her youngest brother for his discomfort, but an acknowledgment, and he takes a strip of bacon from her plate all the same.

"At least Halloween's coming up," she says in an attempt to cheer up the atmosphere, pushing her bangs from her face. "You'll have to tell me if you want Ben and me to get you anything from Hogsmeade. We can get you some sweets from Honeydukes, even."

Ben says nothing. He wipes his mouth with the napkin sitting in his lap, and glances over his shoulder, undoubtedly looking, once again, over at the Gryffindor table. Eleanor stares at the back of his head.

"Unless…you have other plans, Ben."

He fidgets like he's been caught.

"Nel, I…I thought I might go alone, this time," he replies carefully, his eyes only flickering to hers for a moment before they wander again. "You might have to go to Honeydukes on your own. If that's alright."

Disappointment fills her, even though she suspected such a change of plans would happen. "Okay," she says tentatively. "If you're sure."

Alfie frowns and looks at Ben bewilderedly. "But…you and Nel always go to Hogsmeade together," he states obviously.

"Well, not this time, Alfie."

"But you always do."

Ben lets out an agitated breath, and he pushes his hair back from his forehead. "Alfie, it's not a big deal, alright? Plans change, things change. Nel's gone to Hogsmeade a million times before, and we can go together another time."

Alfie does not seem appeased by this, and the glower on his face grows another shade darker. "It's alright to you," he says. "But maybe it's not to Eleanor."

"For Rowena's sake, we can work the details out later. It's still days away."

"But that's not fair, you can't just change your mind and not tell her," Alfie argues.

Eleanor puts a hand on Alfie's elbow, shaking her head at him in an attempt to shut the conversation down. Leave it, she tries to communicate to him silently. It's fine, Alfie, just leave him be.

"Are you going with someone else?" Alfie continues, his eyes narrowing. "If you're going with someone else, you could invite Nel."

"Who said I was going with someone else?" Ben replies, taking a bite of toast and looking back at Alfie.

Both brothers stare at each other with indiscernible expressions, and Eleanor suddenly feels like a foreign third-party to their conversation. Alfie is so rarely agitated by anything at all, and it's difficult for her to understand exactly why he's refusing to let this go. It can't possibly be about Honeydukes, she doesn't think.

"Alfie, it's alright. Ben, just let me know what your plans are once you've decided, yeah?"

For the first time that morning, her twin's face floods with relief, replacing the tension screwed in his expression moments before. "Yeah," he says. "I will, okay?"

"Okay."

In inexplicably poor timing, a Gryffindor girl with two thick braids laying on either one of her shoulders taps on Ben's shoulder, and she gives a shy wave to Eleanor and Alfie. "Hello!" she says warmly. "Morning, Ben. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to have lunch at our table, today."

Ben's hand on his teacup stills, and his eyes widen slightly. "Oh…er, hi, Alicia. Sure."

Alicia takes a moment to look at Ben's siblings across the table, and she straightens her shoulders. "Hi," she says. "I'm Alicia. I'm one of Ben's new mates."

Neither Eleanor nor Alfie says anything, but before it becomes too uncomfortable, Eleanor gives the girl a weak smile. "I'm Eleanor," she introduces herself quickly. "Ben's sister."

"Oh, I know all about you," she gushes, clasping her hands in front of her robes. "I've never met boy-girl twins before. You look even more-alike up close!"

"They've got most of the same genes," Alfie states bluntly. "So that would make sense."

Eleanor gives him a swift, warning kick under the table, but Alicia doesn't notice. "It's nice to finally talk to you," the Gryffindor tells her with a grin, turning on her heel to leave. "Tell your brother to share you with us, sometime! I'd love to have a proper chat."

Ben waves her a quick goodbye, and unbeknownst to the Gryffindor as she heads back to her own table, he glances between Alicia's retreating figure and his sister alarmedly.

"I don't know why that girl couldn't have just asked you if you were having lunch with her at lunch," Alfie grumbles despondently. "We're still having breakfast."

Ben shrugs. "She was just being nice."

"She was being nosy."

"She seems nice," Eleanor reassures Ben faintly, hoping to distract him from Alfie's bizarrely tense tone. "She plays Quidditch for the Gryffindor team, doesn't she? I think I recognize her."

"She does…yeah," Ben nods. "Alicia's…er, nice."

"She has a crush on you," Alfie says suspiciously, like he's just seen something indecent.

"No, she doesn't."

"Yeah, she does."

For the second time this morning, Eleanor finds herself glancing between her brothers like a voyeur to their conversation as Ben's expression musters up indignantly at Alfie's suggestion. "You're only twelve, what do you know?" he scoffs at him. "I barely know her. You can't like someone you don't know, genius."

"Maybe you don't like her, but she likes you. Even I could tell," Alfie says vaguely, taking a sip of water from the glass beside his plate. "That's probably why she wants to have lunch with you so badly."

"Shut up, Alfie. You sound like a nutter," Ben shoots back disdainfully.

"Because you know it's true."

Ben and Alfie rarely argue, but she can tell that from the quickness in their back-and-forth that this conversation is spilling into dangerous territory. Eleanor can't understand how the morning has taken such a weird turn into a pissing contest between both boys, but the glowers on her brothers' faces speak for themselves. "Alfie, enough," Eleanor demands under her breath. "Can we just eat, please?"

Her brothers continue to glare at each other, ignoring their sister completely. "If you're just acquaintances, you shouldn't have lunch with her," Alfie prattles on.

"Why don't you try minding your own business, Alfie? I'll sit with whoever I like," Ben says stonily, his hand tightening his hold on his teacup.

"So, you like her, then," Alfie states factually. "Because you said you'll sit with whoever you like, but you've also just said you didn't like her because you barely know her. So, do you like her, or do you not?"

"-Merlin's fucking beard, Alfie, leave me alone, will you?!" Ben snaps, leaning slightly over the table in frustration. "You have no idea what you're even talking about, so shut your mouth!"

Eleanor has never seen her twin snap at anyone, never mind their own brother. Alfie doesn't seem intimidated in the least, but she can't help but feel shocked by the sharpness in his tone and the expression on his face. She puts a hand in front of her youngest sibling almost defensively, eyes daring Ben to lean any further on the table.

"Both of you need to stop," Eleanor reprimands across the table, tone appalled and temper flaring. "You are brothers, for Merlin's sake, what is the matter with you two?! Have you both mentally-regressed overnight, or is there some other reason you're both squabbling like infants?"

Ben's anger dims in the face of her admonishment, but he lets out an incredulous scoff. "Alfie started it!" he snaps again, pointing his finger at his brother, who has aptly folded his arms across his chest in protest.

"Benjamin, I don't give a flying flobberworm if Rowena Ravenclaw herself started it, I'm finishing it. This conversation is over," she tells him harshly, smoothing her hair away from her face. "Jesus Christ, it's not even eight in the morning."

Ben lets out an incredulous breath, and he grabs his bag beside his seat as he stands up from his seat. "Whatever," he mumbles, turning to leave. "I'm done. Enjoy your breakfast."

"Ben, where are you going?" Eleanor demands. "Can we all just act rationally?!"

Her twin nearly knocks over his bench in his rush to run away, and whirls around only inches from her face. "I am acting rationally!"

Alfie and Eleanor sit in stunned silence as he stalks off, the younger boy's eyes widen and her own face shuttered with exhaustion. Her twin's behavior is only getting progressively more bewildering, but she realizes she's not angry at all. She's worried.

Neither of the Vance siblings left at the table says anything for a moment, and Eleanor closes her eyes to take a deep breath. "Why?" she asks her brother, her tone frustrated. "Why did you keep egging him on, when I told you to stop?"

Alfie looks down at his lap, his hands pulling away from the table. He gives her an innocent shrug, but he refuses to meet her eyes. "He never should've been sorted into Ravenclaw. He's not as smart as he thinks."

"Alfie," she begins to reprimand, surprised at his lack of apology. "You can't just… you can't say something like-"

Her words trail off as she feels his hand move over to hers. He pulls her arm until their hands are sitting in the space between on the bench, and his mouth thins into an angry, flat line. He peers up just slightly, enough for Eleanor to see a knowing expression on his face, and his eyes finally meet her gaze. She looks down at her palm as his fingers push at hers, releasing the fists she'd unknowingly formed until the tension leaves her body like a flood.

As her fingers uncurl themselves, she realizes that she must've squeezed her hands so tightly, angry, crescent-shaped mark the otherwise pale skin on the inside of her palms. She hadn't even realized how upset she'd become; she hadn't realized her hands had curled into themselves to the point where she'd now felt prickles of pain.

Alfie's face is unreadable. "He might be smart, but he doesn't think," he mutters, looking at her hands. "Ben's a liar, and he doesn't think very hard about the lies he tells."

"What?" Eleanor whispers, eyes searching his. "He's just stressed, Alfie. I'm fine, it was all a-"

"You take care of us. You protect us. And all he does lately is lie to you."

"Alfie, we all take care of each other," she protests, mouth twisting into a frown. "And Ben never acts this way. He'll apologize, I know he will."

He gives her one of those looks again, and the longer he stares, the more nervous she feels. It's like he's staring right through her, and she feels her hands curl up again with the sudden urge to recoil from him. "I don't want an apology. I want him to stop lying. Not if it's going to make you feel this way," he tells her with bright eyes, shaking his head sadly.

"The way he's making you feel is wrong, Eleanor. Just think about it, because I think deep down, you know Ben's lying about a lot more than Hogsmeade. And I think he knows that, too."

A/N: Chapter 8 is up, and she's a long one! I would love to know your thoughts- things are taking a turn, now. How do we all feel about Eleanor meeting the Golden Trio? How do we feel about what Alfie said to her at the very end? I want to know!