Chapter Thirteen-Sleeves Tucked In Anxiety

As Hogwarts settled back into normal life after the Headmaster's announcement, rumors spread among the students like a virus. The Professors were often forced (or in Snape's case, delighted) to give out detentions for gossiping in class.

"Have you heard what that dreadful Mara Flynn has been spreading around?" hissed a Hufflepuff to her classmate. "She says that Skye Weasley isn't going to make it to the team!"

"No!" came the shocked reply.

Celestia pursed her lips as she passed by the two whispering Hufflepuffs. She was relieved that last Saturday's events with Skye weren't the talk of the whole school. Still, a few of her classmates were now giving her knowing smiles whenever she was see in Skye's company.

Since Dumbledore said that all current Quidditch players were eligible to try out for the Hogwarts Quidditch team, she had seen a lot more girls mooning over Skye. It seemed that the possibility of him representing Hogwarts boosted his popularity to an even higher level.

"Oh, hello, Skye!" the two Hufflepuffs she had just heard gushed suddenly.

Celestia turned, and smiled. Skye had just rounded a corner, heading in her direction, when he ran into the two girls.

"Hi. Er-Catherine, isn't it? And...Emily?" he said with a smile.

The two Hufflepuffs nodded, blushing to the roots of their hair. Cel watched the little scene with amusement and was about to continue walking when Skye called her name.

"Oi, Faber! Slow down a minute," he said, bidding a hasty goodbye to his previous audience and walking towards her.

So Celestia stayed where she was, waiting for him.

"I've been trying to catch you up since we left History of Magic," Skye explained, straightening his gold and scarlet tie as he fell into step with her.

"Oops. Sorry. I was lost in my thoughts, I guess," replied Cel, matching the smile had on his face.

"And what would be so serious that you didn't hear the racket I was making?" he asked, still smiling.

"What else is on everybody's mind? The European Inter School Quidditch Cup. Are you going to join, Skye?"

Skye gave a shrug, then moved his hands in a motion that asked if he could carry her books for her. She obliged him, feeling a tingle run up her spine when their hands briefly made contact.

"Maybe I will," he said presently. "My parents say that it's fun, even though the games are nothing like Hogwarts games. Competition is tougher because the rivalry among the schools tends to be...ugly."

"Your parents-?"

"They were members of the team."

Shyly, Skye gave another shrug.

He is so cute when he does that. Of course, he's cute no matter what he does.

Devon threw his quill onto the table. This was useless. His pride would not allow him to apologize. She was totally out of line, losing her temper like that. He was not going to back down and apologize.

Suddenly, a voice echoing through the walls made Devon frown.

"All Quidditch team members are to assemble in the Great Hall at once. Repeat, all Quidditch team members are to assemble in the Great Hall at once," echoed Professor McGonagall's voice, the sound bouncing off the dungeon walls, enhancing the volume.

Sighing, Devon stood. A number of other Slytherins stood after he did, his brother included. He made his way out of the common room, his team following him, and walked toward the Great Hall.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Devon noticed that the teams were seated at their respective house tables. He walked towards the Slytherin table and seated himself, casting his gaze at the High Table where six adults were seated: two women and four men. They were all talking and laughing.

Ah, so this must be the first Hogwarts team. Interesting.

He focused on the two redheaded men. One of them was Rain's father.

Devon wondered if he knew about his daughter's taste in company...but then he quickly forced himself to think of somethign else. Thinking of Rain would not do-especially when she was walking towards the Gryffindor table, smiling at the persons seated at the High Table.

Once all the players had assembled and taken their seats, Professor Dumbledore rose, eyes twinkling.

"Good afternoon to all of you. Now, as you have probably surmised, you have been gathered here to be briefed about the European Inter School Quidditch Cup. Here with us today are Mr. Aidan Lynch, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry (who stood up), and the very first Hogwarts team (the remaining other adults stood up). Now, I give the floor to Mr. Lynch. Aidan?"

Aidan Lynch, former Seeker for the Irish National Team, smiled at his audience and began to speak.

"Thank you, Headmaster. Good afternoon, all. Allow me say a few words about the European Inter School Quidditch Cup..." said Lynch.

Devon resigned himself to listening to the man babble. It was better than thinking about how to remedy the situation with Rain.

She didn't listen to Lynch. She had heard him give that speech about the 'humble beginnings' of the Cup at least three times already. Instead, she allowed herself to look at the Quidditch teams assembled before them.

Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. At the four house tables sat the students-each face filled with the same determination. It seemed that all of them wanted to have the honor of representing Hogwarts against other European schools.

At the Gryffindor table sat three redheaded students. One seemed to be listening to Lynch, while the other two were whispering about something. Because of this, Calla cast a glance at the two men beside her.

"Fred, what are you up to?" she hissed, hardly moving her lips.

"Whatever are you talking about, darling?" came Fred's whispered response.

Calla knew her husband too well to accept his answer at face value. She looked back at the two Gryffindors, who now had identical grins on their faces, but were seemingly listening to the Head of the Department of Games and Sports.

"You, George and the children are up to something." she whispered.

George heard her and gave her a look that did not fool her one bit.

"Now, Calla, we're grown men. We're fathers. Do you think we would willingly include our children in planning pranks that might get them in trouble at school? My, my, Calla, I thought you knew us," he said, pulling a pout.

Yes, you're fathers, and yes, you've grown. But nobody ever said that you grew up.

Calla just rolled her eyes. She would just have to watch out, is all.

Her grey eyes moved then to the Slytherin table, where she could make out two pale boys with silvery blond hair.

Those must be Draco's sons.

She watched the taller of the two Malfoys, trying to figure out if the was Devon that Rain had told her so much about. He had the same build as his brother and father, and his looks were very similar to Draco's. However, Calla noticed something. This boy's eyes were blue.

Must be Jemana's eyes.

Often, Calla wondered what it would be like, had that relationship with Draco Malfoy worked out. Oh, she loved Fred with all her heart, but she had always wondered how different her life would have been from the one she led now. Would she be as happy and contented as she was now?

Those boys...those boys could have been my sons.

Pushing the lump in her throat down, Calla forced herself to look at her son. No matter how she put it, no matter how many memories of Draco Malfoy and her fourth year penetrated her thoughts, what mattered was that she was Fred's wife, and Skye's mother...Fred's wife...Skye's mother...

"You alright, love?" she heard her husband whisper as he slipped his hand into hers ad gave it a squeeze.

"Yes, Fred."

"You looked a little distracted for a while," Fred continued.

She smiled at him, turning her head to look at his wonderful brown eyes.

"I'm perfectly alright, darling."

Yes, as long as he was there, she was perfectly all right.

A breeze playfully whipped Rain's long hair in several directions. Instinctively, she hummed a few notes and made it subside...only for it to grow stronger again two seconds later.

Skye fought to keep his face impassive as he received glares from both Rain and his mother, who knew, by the sudden changes in wind velocity, that he was fooling around. He saw Rain pull a grey scrunchy out of her pockets and hurriedly tie her hair back.

It's just too fun to get these two riled up.

Skye caught his father's eye, and found himself at the receiving end of a slight frown. Instantly, he sighed and returned the wind to its normal speed. Fred Weasley gave him a slight nod and a wink to let him know that he was forgiven.

This was how it was between him and his father: his Dad understood him well, and generally gave him the freedom to do whatever pleased him-as long as he was behaving himself reasonably and knew his limits. He and his Dad were great friends, and so the smallest sign of disapproval from his father always made him stop whatever it was that he was doing wrong.

Everyone who had been in the Great Hall earlier as now on the pitch. Due to the tremendous amount of yawns while Lynch had been speaking, the Headmaster had moved their little assembly.

"All right, now, allow me to introduce to you, one by one, the members of the very first team to represent Hogwarts." said Lynch.

Skye and Rain shared a glance. They knew how famous their parents were, but thet they were probably never going to get used to it.

"Our Chasers: Mrs. Katie Bell-Sewell, Mr. Ethan Wolfe, and Mrs. Calla Marvick-Weasley."

Skye put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Loud applause and whispers from the students were to be heard, though they presently quieted.

"Our Beaters," continued Lynch. "Messrs. Fred and George Weasley."

Both Skye and Rain cheered, clapping wildly along with the rest.

"And finally, our Seeker: Mr. Harry Potter."

The applause for their Uncle Harry was perhaps the loudest. The bespectacled man, gave a shy sort of smile in acknowledgement.

After the noise had subsided, Skye noticed that some of the other teams were now conferring among themselves.

"But there are only six," said one thoughtless person rather loudly.

Frantically, Skye glanced at Rain, then at Uncle George. They had both pursed their lips; Rain looked like she was trying not to burn the guy's hair off.

"Oh, erm..." Lynch started, trailing off as though wondering how best to put it.

"Our Keeper was Mrs. Alexandra Astorga-Weasley, who passed away years ago," Dumbledore cut in suddenly.

There was a moment of silence as the students looked at one another awkwardly. Skye, however, hurriedly grabbed Rain's hand.

"He didn't know, Rain." he whispered.

For a few more seconds, he thought Rain hadn't heard him. Finally, though, she let out a breath and gave him a short nod. She looked at him, smiled a bit, and sighed.

Whew. I thought she was going to explode.

Rain was never known to keep her temper whenever the memory of her mother was violated in any way, although she had never known the woman.

"All Weasleys look the same to most people, Rain," Skye said, hoping to get his cousin to relax. "They never bother to find out who our parents are. To some, we're just Weasleys and they leave it at that."

She nodded again, now seemingly relaxed. He turned his grey eyes to his Uncle George now, who was similarly being soothed by his parents and Uncle Harry. Uncle George's face was devoid of all emotion, listening to the words being whispered to him, but Skye knew that his usually gentle Uncle was going through the exact thing as Rain-probably worse.

"Now, students, you may approach the team; ask them any questions you might have regarding their experience," the Headmaster said, cutting the uncomfortable moment short.

Fred gave his brother a pat on the back. Yes, they were supposed to pull something off today, but George and Rain obviously weren't in the mood to play pranks on anybody at the moment.

"Let me take care of the questions," he said wisely, dismissing the grateful look George gave him with a wave.

He watched as Rain approached his twin and the two of them wandered off, not saying anything.

Although it had been almost sixteen years since Alex's death, the whole Weasley family knew that George had not stopped mourning. He was back to his normal, mischievous self, of course -had been for years- but Fred knew that underneath all that, in some unreachable part of his soul, George was still in terrible grief. After all, even though they all missed Alex, to George, the loss of his wife would always be more painful.

"Dad," came a familiar voice.

Fred's face broke out into a grin when he saw Skye standing in front of him.

"Hello, you," he replied affectionately, ruffling Skye's hair up a bit.

Skye grimaced.

"Dad!" came the protest.

"Stop it, Fred," Calla said, grabbing her son and enveloping him in the kind of hug they both knew Skye would protest to even more.

"MUM!"

Laughing, Calla let go of Skye, but held him at arm's length, looking at him.

"You've grown taller, love," she commented. "Though you look a bit thinner. Are you eating regularly?"

Skye rolled the grey eyes he inherited from his mother.

"Yes, Mum, I'm eating regularly. Rain sees to that. Besides, have you known me to ever not be hungry?" he replied, grinning.

Fred allowed Calla and Skye to catch up with each other for a few more seconds, taking in the little commotion that was happening at the end of the pitch, where Harry was.

Ah, publicity. I was wondering if this was going to be covered by the press. I didn't have to wonder long, obviously, Lynch being the attention seeker that he is.

What seemed like a Daily Prophet reporter was interviewing a couple of students, while a photographer was snapping pictures here and there.

Suddenly, Fred noticed something.

"Say, Skye, isn't that Jon over there?" he asked his son.

Skye looked in the direction he was pointing.

"Yeah, I think it is him. What is he doing with that photographer...oh."

"What?" Fred asked.

"Oh, honestly, Fred, you'd think you were never seventeen and flirting with a girl," Calla said.

"Oi, when I was seventeen, Mrs. Weasley, the only girl I was flirting with was you," he defended himself, planting a kiss on his wife's lips.

"Ugh," he thought he heard Skye mutter. "I think I'll just go and talk to Uncle Harry now."

Rain was fuming.

She had not right to fume over this, but she was...and that just made her even more irritated. It had already been a week, of course, but what was Jon doing, flirting with that photographer from the Daily Prophet!

"What's bothering you?"

She looked up from her notes to see Imogen sliding into a seat in front of her. The two girls were in the Gryffindor common room.

"Jonathan Wycheck," she grumbled, looking at her notes again and preparing herself to continue writing her report.

"I heard him going on about some photographer he met this afternoon...Dionne I think her name was..."

Rain allowed Imogen's words to wash over her. She didn't need to know the sodding bird's name. She was angry enough as it was.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" Imogen said suddenly.

That made Rain look up.

"What?"

"I asked you if you were jealous of this girl that Jon seems to have fallen for." Imogen explained, a smile obviously fighting its way onto her face.

Why am I so transparent!

"Of course not," Rain huffed, now intent on ignoring whatever statements Imogen made in reference to Jon for the rest of the evening.

"You turned him down, didn't you? Not too long ago. That's why you're angry. You're thinking that if what he told you was true, he wouldn't be mooning over some other girl so soon," she heard her cousin say.

A pause.

"How did you know?" Rain said finally.

Imogen waved a hand.

"I didn't. I was just guessing, actually. I take it, then, that this is the reason why you're drowning yourself in your homework?"

Rain let out a breath and looked at her older cousin, wondering why she had never seen this side of Imogen before. She nodded.

The Head Girl smiled and patted her hand.

"Don't worry, dear," Imogen said wisely. "Why don't you go downstairs and have dinner? I'm sure that avoiding certain boys won't do you any good if you can't sleep tonight because of hunger."

If you only knew the number of things that keep me up at night, Imogen, you'd know that hunger would be the least of my problems.

Obediently, Rain started packing her things. It was not Jon she was trying to avoid, but hell, it would be easier to face Jon and have it over with than face the person that was really on her mind.

He looked for her again, though he knew that she wan't there. Well, she had to come down some time. Even though he knew little about what Rain when she wasn't with him, he knew that her appetite was one that rivalled his.

Damn this.

It had been a week or so since that little row they'd had; She hadn't apologized to him for her rather immature behavior, and it was killing him. Ordinarily, Devon would probably have been delighted at infuriating a Weasley so, but he didn't even bother to wonder why this Weasley made him feel different.

For about the millionth time that night, he asked himself the question he hated most: Why? Why was he throwing away his pride like this? Why was he going to let her win? Hell, why was she his girlfriend inthe first place? There were no answers to his questions...and it only served to make him even more confused.

Finally, Devon got up from his seat. He had just seen Skye Weasley exit the Great Hall, and he needed to speak with the Gryffindor in private. He walked at a timed pace-not too slow, but not too fast to be obvious. As he reached the doors f the Great Hall, however, the sight of another Weasley made him stop.

Rain's head was bowed, and she was looking at her feet as though they held the secret of the universe. She'd obviously spotted him, and was hoping to avoid him.

Well, if she's going to be that way...

Devon inserted a well-manicured hand into his pocket, feeling for a piece of parchment he had inserted earlier. Upon finding it, he changed his direction, now heading for towards the Owlery instead of following Skye.

Once he reached the Owlery, a dark eagle owl landed on his shoulder, its sharp talons almost cutting through the thick fabric of his robes. Devon reached up and gently stroked his owl's feathers.

"Druid," he said. "I have a little delivery I need you to make tonight-and I need you to be fast about it. Think you can manage it?"

Devon gave a small smile when his statement elicited an indignant-sounding hoot from his pet. The owl had always been loyal to him alone, and he was incredibly fond of it. He got the folded piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Druid.

"Leave it on her pillow. You know which one it is, don't you? Leave it on her pillow and the fly back here. Do you understand, Druid? The success of this depends on the speed of your flight." he said, walking towards the window.

Druid gave another hoot before spreading his wings and soaring into the night.