Fred
It was hard to act normal when it looked like she wasn't going to show up for breakfast. Merlin, he had it bad, didn't he? He about never got to sleep thinking about her. And it wasn't like he was going to say anything to her - they hadn't actually decided when she would give him the seeds - but, still, he just wanted to at least see her from across the room.
If that felt like misery, then it had to have doubled - no, tripled - when she did show up with only a quarter hour to spare before the breakfast dishes were set to disappear. She was tucked under Montague's arm, her face flushed and a little smile perking up the edges of her mouth.
A cold shock started in his stomach and shot through him, lingering in his hands.
Someone nudged his shoulder. He tore his eyes from the two who had taken a spot at the end of the table, away from any lingering Slytherins. They didn't even sit across from each other, but side-by-side, talking lowly in their own little world.
It was George. Nearly everyone else from their own table was gone, except Lee who had his head buried in his arms and was snoring.
"She's got a boyfriend, mate," George said lowly, so no one else would hear. Fred didn't question how he knew. They always just knew everything about each other.
Fred's eyes drifted back over to Parkinson. Montague leaned in and said something to her, making her cheeks go pink.
Fred looked around to make sure no one else was near them, then looking at his brother and ducked his head slightly. "I've seen bruises on her," he said quietly. George's mouth set in a grim line and his eyes darted over to the Slytherin table.
Then his brother let out a frustrated growl and ran a hand through his hair. "He's so much bigger than her," he said, looking back at his twin with clear irritation.
So George had a soft spot for her, too. Not as big as his, but enough to warrant concern. Or were they just chivalrous idiots trying to save a girl who didn't want to be saved? And a Slytherin girl, at that.
Fred picked up a goblet, sat it down, then picked it up again but didn't drink. He couldn't look at his brother. "I know," he said under his breath. "I know that we're poor and I know that we're blood traitors to her. I know I would never have a chance in a million years, but-"
"Montague," George finished darkly.
No explanation was needed between them. The twins had hated Montague since first year. They'd seen first hand how cruel he could be.
"Anyone but him," Fred said.
George nodded and cast one last look over at Parkinson. "Right," he said, "Well, she's sort of part of our team now, whether she likes it or not. So that means she's stuck with us and we're just going to have to make her see how dreadful he is."
Fred rubbed the back of his neck, stomach twisting. "I think she knows. You know how I told you last night she had conditions for the seeds? She wanted full immunity, but she wanted him worth double."
George snorted. "At least she's on the right track before we interfere," he said, but then drifted off. They both looked over toward the Slytherin table. Montague had an arm around her shoulders, his mouth pressed against her ear whispering something to her. Parkinson looked completely blissed out.
"Yeah, but what's he done to draw her back in since last night?" Fred added darkly.
"He's just a manipulative git, that's what," George said with disgust.
But how could they make her see that? Fred thought about it - thought about her - all through Transfiguration and all through free period. He was nearly bursting with anticipation when it came time to walk down to the greenhouses.
There was a knot in his stomach the size of Gringotts when he didn't see her in the parade of his schoolmates making their way down the lawns, but it released as soon as he stepped into class and saw her already sitting in the corner. He and George shared a look before sliding into their seats. Lee followed a moment later, his head cradled in his arms on the desk the second he sat down.
"Morning," he said to her, pulling out his book.
Parkinson fidgeted nervously, but did not offer a greeting back. "There's something I need to talk to you -," she said, then cleared her throat, "-to both of you about."
George, who was definitely listening even though he was looking to the front of the class, turned around.
Parkinson looked up at Fred, a little pink spreading over her cheeks, then quickly looked back down at her hands.
"Alright, listening," Fred said, wondering what had her acting so oddly.
"I made a mistake," she said, pointedly looking at her hands. "I shouldn't have asked you to make Graham worth double."
Disappointment settled deep in Fred's stomach, but he managed to keep his face straight. George shot him a dark look and said, "Parkinson, since you're kind of part of the team now, we think it's our responsibility to tell you what a git Montague is."
If possible, Parkinson's face grew even more pink and she looked up at George as if to say something, but Professor Sprout chose that moment to begin class. George turned around and Fred noticed Parkinson hadn't even pulled out her things. She simply stared at her hands, a nervous energy rolling off her as she picked at her nails.
He nudged her knee with his under the desk. She looked up at him, face flushed, nervous as if she didn't know whether she should make eye contact.
"What's wrong?" he whispered.
Parkinson's eyes dropped and she shook her head with a failed attempt at a smile. "Nothing," she whispered back.
Fred put his elbows on the desk in front of him, then leaned closer to her. She didn't pull away, but she didn't look up at him either.
"I won't make him worth double if it will make you feel better," he said quietly, though he was loathe to.
Parkinson blinked nervously, then looked over at him. Even noting their closeness, she didn't pull away. Merlin, okay, yes, he knew he'd mentally had a jab at her before for wearing too much makeup and, sure, she did wear a lot, but she was...pretty. Beautiful. He'd grown up in a world of ruddy complexions and rust-colored hair, with little to no contrast between the two. Parkinson was all contrast. Pale skin and dark hair. Cruel and biting one moment, nervous and blushing the next.
A knot lodged in his throat. Not that he fancied himself like some girl off daydreaming, but it was as if they were not in the greenhouses at all, the two of them close together, tucked away in their little corner. "Thanks," she whispered, then returned to fidgeting with her nails.
"Parkinson, Weasley, pay attention," Professor Sprout said loudly from the front of the class, breaking any illusion that they were alone. Fred sat up straight, but Parkinson never looked up from her hands. As soon as Professor Sprout went back to her lecture, Fred was leaning in toward her again.
"So, what's wrong?" he whispered.
No, he hadn't known her long, but he'd never seen her like this. And it bothered him that something was so clearly on her mind. Not that he had any right to know what was on her mind, but he knew he could be an annoying git when he wanted to and if that got him answers then that's what he would be.
Parkinson gave a small shake of her head, refusing to look at him. "I'm just confused about Graham and...other things."
Fred crossed his arms on the desk and laid his head down like Lee, but with his face toward her. She looked over at him, then shook her head and looked away, brow tucked. "I don't know why I said that," she whispered.
Fred shrugged. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone you don't know very well."
That was true at least, even though he was quickly coming to the alarming conclusion that he wanted her to know him better. He certainly wanted to know her better. But he would just have to be content trying to get her away from that arse. Fred had his hopes dashed enough in his lifetime to not allow himself to actually think there may be the slightest chance she would ever go for someone like a Weasley, even without all the other obstacles in the way. Like a deranged boyfriend or being house rivals or the fact that he had very little to his name when she so clearly wanted for nothing.
Parkinson said nothing. She only stared at her hands.
Fred swallowed the thick knot in his throat. "So what did he do to make you all lovey dovey at breakfast?" he whispered, his tone failing to sound disdainful and instead falling into a more annoyed category. "Usually he doesn't even acknowledge you."
Her cheeks reddened at that, but she very pointedly did not look away from her hands. "You must spend a lot of time looking at Slytherin table," she said quietly.
Now it was his turn to go red-faced, but thankfully Professor Sprout saved him from gaping like a fish. "Parkinson, Weasley! Last warning!" she said, voice stern. There were a few titters from their classmates, a few even turning around to stare with amused grins.
Fred waited until Professor Sprout was well into her lecture before turning back to Parkinson again. He'd been avoiding looking at her, both in an attempt to look like he was paying attention and also out of embarrassment over Parkinson calling him out for watching her. He was surprised to see her arms crossed on the desk as his had been, her head facing him. With reddening ears, wondering honestly what the bloody hell he was doing other than making an idiot out of himself, he folded his arms and mirrored her, bringing their faces level. She wouldn't look at him.
"I have a little sister, you know. I know how this game goes," he said, trying his best to sound bored, uninterested, and even a little exasperated. "What did he do to reel you back in?"
There. Like a brother. He could play the caring confidante if she would let him, despite the somewhat empty feeling it gave him. But, if it got her away from Montague, then it was worth it. Stupid git.
But then his mind was going to other places - how if he could get her away from Montague, maybe get her to hang out with him and Georgie more…
No.
There's no way she would ever do something like that. Fred pushed the idea away before it took root and gave him a sliver of hope.
"He, um," she said, then cleared her throat. "He told me that no one else could have me."
Parkinson's eyes flicked over at him for just a moment and for the smallest second he got a glimpse of her warm, brown eyes. "And that he knew my mind was preoccupied with someone else and that he would make me forget all about them."
He shifted in his seat, a funny flicker of something cold going through him. Someone else? Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he didn't want to see her with any other guy at all.
Trying to feign a certain level of disinterest, he teasingly said, "So Parkinson plays double dip, huh?"
She rolled her eyes and his stomach flipped at the small smile that grew over her face. He felt his own mouth stretching into a grin. "I am not double dipping," she whispered.
Just like before, it was easy to let the classroom fall away, like it was just the two of them there with their heads on the table, whispering to one another.
"But you fancy somebody else?" he asked, trying not to think of that Zabini git she was out running laps with. It had to be him, right? Why else would she be out and about with some guy that early in the morning if she wasn't hiding it from Montague?
Parkinson chewed her bottom lip and he had to force himself to look anywhere but her mouth. "I don't know," she whispered. "It's confusing."
"Well, in my professional opinion," Fred said, then tried to hold back a laugh as she arched a brow, "Montague is probably one of the worst human beings I've ever met. So I say to hell with him and see where this other thing goes. As long as it's not, like, a schoolgirl crush on Snape or anything."
Parkinson's face screwed up in a look of disgust and she let out a loud, unexpected laugh.
"Parkinson! Weasley!" Sprout said, calling a halt to class once more. "Out! Detention tonight, here, after dinner!"
Parkinson had raised her head and was looking at Professor Sprout in shock. Blimey, she'd never been kicked out of class before, had she? Fred gathered his things, then nudged Parkinson with his knee. She jolted to her senses and grabbed her own things.
Fred could feel every eye on them as they made the long trek from their corner across the room and out into the balmy air.
"Well," he said, stretching, not bothered in the least with getting kicked from class, "At least we don't have to whisper now."
To her credit, Parkinson didn't seem upset in the slightest. There was a small grin etched on her face. "I cannot believe you accused me of fancying Snape," she said with a disgusted snicker.
Fred grinned, pleased that he got some unexpected free time with her. "So," he started, throwing his arms wide and motioning around the grounds. "Where to?"
Parkinson's smile faltered and a pang of rejection settled in his stomach. Slowly, he lowered his arms. She wasn't planning on sticking around.
Her cheeks had gone pink again and she stared down at her hands.
"Unless you've got better things to do," he said, trying to keep a smile on his face. "Which I'm sure you do."
She looked up quickly, giving a small shake to her head. "Er, no, it's not that," she said. "Uhm. Graham's got a free period, is all. So, can't really be wandering around the halls with a boy. Gryffindor boy at that, no offense." Then she paused for a moment, getting a thoughtful look and let a teasing smile cross her face. "Actually, I did mean offense, you lot are awful," she said with a smirk and a shrug.
Fred rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the grin that crossed his face. "Oh, don't get me started on you sneaky little Slytherin brats," he said. "It's all the same, I could never be seen walking alongside one of you."
He was teasing and she knew it. Parkinson huffed a laugh and looked down past the lake, toward the treeline of the forest. "Maybe the tree?" she asked.
That silly, irrational thought was still niggling at the back of his mind - if he could get her away from Montague, if he could just get her to hang out with them, to have fun, then maybe…
"The tree it is," he said and the two took off toward the edge of the lake at a slow pace.
Near the water, he noticed she kept a clear distance from the lake, putting him between her and it. "What, afraid of the squid?" he teased. "Or that you'll get splashed and it'll mess up your hair?"
At this Parkinson did not look amused, but rather distant. He wondered if he'd said something wrong. But after a moment she gave a slight shake to her head and offered him a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. "I just don't like water, is all," she said, then very adeptly changed the subject to what he and George would need the Venomous Tentacula seeds for.
He shrugged and the two of them ducked into the line of trees, following the path away from the lake and out of sight of the castle. "Just different stuff. We experiment a lot." They came across a few low vines and he held them back so she could pass. Fred couldn't help the way his stomach tightened when she offered him a small smile of thanks as she passed. And, possessed by some compulsion to ruin the moment before he got in too deep, he said, "So, tell me about this bloke you may or may not fancy."
He chanced a look over at her and the pink was back in her cheeks. He tried to push away the jealousy that tightened his stomach.
"It doesn't matter," she said, veering off to the left at a fork in the path. "It's not like it would happen in a million years."
Yeah, Fred knew the feeling. He clucked his tongue and sighed dramatically. "You're one of those girls still pining after Viktor Krum, aren't you?"
She shot him a surprise look and laughed. "What? No!" she said with a grin. "I mean he's hot or whatever, but I already have one broody arse to deal with."
Good. They were back to calling Montague an arse. Small steps.
Fred hummed, following her into the thicker brush. "So this man of your dreams is not a broody arse. Okay."
Parkinson's face screwed up and she gave an incredulous laugh. "Do not say 'the man of your dreams', that's super weird."
Fred rolled his eyes, but indulged her. How could he not when she was smiling at him like that? Actually smiling. Wherever that tough exterior went, he never wanted her to find it again, at least with him. "Fine," he said. "So what else is there to know about this guy except that you don't actually know if you fancy him or not because your boyfriend is a manipulative git?"
They'd reached the tree and she turned back toward him. The smile was gone, replaced with a tucked brow. "Stop," she said quietly.
Fred ran a hand through the back of his hair, frustrated. "No," he said, but it wasn't unkind. "Because he's a really bad guy, Parkinson. And George and I, I don't know, you're part of our operation now. And we feel a little protective of you."
"He's not that bad -"
"How many times has he laid his hands on you?"
The clearing fell dead silent. Fred couldn't look at her, not when his anger at Montague had peaked at the thought of him hurting her. He stared off to the side behind her shoulder, focused on a snapped tree branch in the distance.
"Graham would never -"
"How many times?" His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. She was just so small compared to Montague.
Then she was in front of him, face pale as a ghost, and he was forced to look down at her. "You haven't said anything to anyone have you?"
Fred gave a humorless laugh. "Of course you're worried about his reputation."
This only made him more angry, that she would try to cover for the git, try to protect him.
"He's under a lot of pressure," she said quietly, fervently, urging him to let her handle it. Fred turned away from her in disgust. Not at her, no. But that Montague had her wrapped so tightly around his fingers that she would protect him through his abuse.
He shouldn't have said it, honestly. It was not typical of him, but his temper flared and he started back for the castle, saying over his shoulder, "Well, he's going to feel a lot more pressure when I break his sodding nose."
"Weasley!" she called, but he kept walking away from her, not knowing if he truly meant to go after Montague or just get away from her sad attempts at protecting him before he truly lost his temper. There was a rustle behind him and something hit him from behind, wrapping around him, knocking him face first into the weeds. Fred let out a frustrated growl, wondering what hex he'd been hit with, but when he flipped over onto his back all his anger drained just as quickly as the heat crept up his ears.
Parkinson had thrown herself on him to stop him, her knees on either side of his hips. And since he turned to face her, she was straddling him, her arms on the ground to either side of him, face hovering near his with a look of fright.
"Please don't," she said, barely above a whisper. "You're going to make it so much worse." Her eyes brimmed with tears and that sobered both any lingering anger and the shock of having her on top of him. Parkinson was tough, she wasn't supposed to cry.
Fred let out at irritated huff and let his head thunk back against the grass, if only to put some space between them. Despite the shock of it fading, having her on top of him was not the best idea. But she didn't know that. She probably didn't think anything of him. The idea of someone like him having the gall to fancy someone like her would have made her laugh. If she would have known, he was sure she wouldn't be caught dead near him.
"Then tell me how many times, Parkinson."
She was still hovering over him, a hand on the ground to either side of his shoulders. If there hadn't been tears threatening to spill over, he might have just said to hell with it and taken his shot at kissing her.
"Just a few times," she said and one of the tears let loose, sliding down her cheek.
Fred couldn't help himself, he reached a hand up between them and brushed the tear away with his thumb. "Please don't cry," he said miserably. "I didn't mean to upset you. Now I'm no better than he is."
Parkinson sat up quickly, back on her knees. "Don't say that," she said sharply. A frown tugged on the corners of her mouth. "You are infinitely better than he is." Heat again rose to Fred's ears. She thought he was better than Montague. "I just -," she continued, but cut off. "I don't understand why you care."
Fred pushed himself up into a sitting position, which may or may not have been a good idea. Their chests were nearly touching, their faces close. But she didn't pull away from him or make any comment.
He shrugged. "I don't know, I just do," he said, adding, "George does, too."
She was so tense, he was fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her to him.
"He promised this morning he would never do it again," she said, so quiet it was nearly a whisper. She wouldn't look at him, but he watched another tear trail down her other cheek. "So please don't say anything."
Fred grit his teeth and exhaled softly through his nose. "I'm not even going to say anything right now because I'm angry and I don't want to upset you even more. But, Parkinson...you have to promise that if he does it again, you'll tell me or George."
She nodded, but her face welled up and Fred lost any resolve he had. In one quick motion he had his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. He waited for her shock to wear off, for her to push him away, but in the seconds that followed she did not. Instead, she dug her head into his chest. And then she wrapped her arms around him, as he had to her.
He was sure there was enough heat radiating off his ears to heat all of Hogwarts. The lump in his throat was back, surely doubled in size. But all of that faded when he felt the tremor in his arms and knew she was trying to hold back a sob.
"Don't cry," he muttered quietly, running a hand up to rest between her shoulder blades. "Let's talk about things that make you smile. What's this other fellow you fancy like?"
"He's an idiot," she mumbled miserable from his chest and Fred couldn't help the laugh that burst from him. He heard her snicker against him through tears.
"Most guys are, Parkinson."