Fred didn't know how he was supposed to feel. Things were changing; that much was obvious. Whether or not they were changing for the better, well… that remained to be seen. Part of him wanted to continue acting put upon whenever George insisted they spend their free time with Rook, but Fred knew he was merely posturing. Fred found he quite liked spending time with Rook. Still, there was something bothering Fred that he couldn't put his finger on.

There was the third-wheel aspect of this new dynamic. Fred had never before bothered himself with his younger brother's interpersonal relationships, but for once he wondered just how his friendship with Harry and Hermione worked. Was there always someone left out at any given point? Harry and Ron were friends before either of them were friends with Hermione. How did she manage to fit in with them?

It just so happened, however, that Fred noticed Hermione heading for the library as he and George were on their way to dinner one evening. Fred managed to shake George off fairly easily and rushed into the library after her. He found her off in the corner of the Divination section, examining a book entitled Nilgiri Augury.

"Hermione, can I ask you something?"

Hermione looked up at Fred but did not answer. Instead she looked around the aisle with a bewildered expression.

"Er… Hermione?"

"Is this a prank, or something? I really don't have time for—"

"Why would you think I'm pranking you?" Fred asked, genuinely confused.

Hermione stared. "I never see you without… your, er, counterpart, for one…" she explained uncertainly, still eyeing the bookshelves as though she thought George might jump out at her at any moment. "For another, what could you possibly want to ask me?"

"It's George, if you were wondering," Fred lied. "And I wanted to ask you what it's like, being mates with two blokes? Do you ever feel left out?"

"I suppose I do sometimes," Hermione admitted, "I mean, if Harry and Ron decide to talk about Quidditch for half an hour, for instance. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy watching the school matches, but I can't help it if I don't have much else to say about it. Still, I imagine there are times when any one of us might feel like the odd one out, so it's not all about the fact that I'm a girl, you know."

"I see…" said Fred, pondering Hermione's answer seriously. "I have one more question; do you fancy either of them?"

Hermione fumbled the book as she was placing it back on the shelves and bent over to pick it up, her face red. "What kind of question is that?!" she snapped as she straightened up. "Of course not! We're just friends!"

"All right, all right, there's no need to get defensive," Fred spoke, trying not to laugh. "But that is the sort of question someone would have to ask if he wanted to ask you out, though, isn't it? What if I were trying to ask you out?"

"A-are you asking me out?"

"Of course not! Why would I do that?"

Hermione huffed. "Are you quite finished, then? Believe it or not, I have better things to do!"

"I don't believe, but I'll let you get on with it! See you later!"

Fred rushed out of the library and down toward the Great Hall, jumping the last three stairs in the Entrance Hall as he mulled over Hermione's words. He was overthinking it. It's not like he and George didn't have other friends. Of course Rook would be left out sometimes; that much was unavoidable.

Fred stopped short as he walked toward the Gryffindor table. George and Rook were laughing about something, and it was clear that neither of them particularly missed him. Fred watched them intently from afar. They sat close together on the bench and Rook was writing in a leather-bound journal Fred hadn't seen before. He felt a pang of annoyance. He wasn't going to be the third wheel. Not if he could help it.

"What's so funny?" he asked as he sat down on Rook's other side.

"We're playing mad libs!" Rook answered enthusiastically. "You've got a good one—give me a body part!"

"One of mine, or shall I grab an axe and head for the Slytherin table?"

"Just name any random body part," Rook clarified once she had stopped laughing.

"All right, then. Hmmm… Left buttock."

Rook giggled inexplicably as she wrote something down in her book.

"Is that a diary?" Fred asked curiously.

"Some of it. George, give me an adjective."

"Sticky."

"What are we doing, again?"

"It's brilliant," George spoke. "You write out a passage from a textbook or something, and then replace certain words with other words and read it all out when your finished. Rook's made a bunch of them."

"It sure made the Medieval Assembly of European Wizards more interesting," said Rook.

"Or rather, the Drunken Assembly of Pompous Windbags," George said, grinning at Rook who responded with a coy smile.

"Uh, Fred," she said, returning to her task, "Can you give me an adjective? Like 'smart' or 'funny'?"

"How about 'obnoxious'?" offered Fred, his tone almost imperceptibly testy.

"That works…" Rook wrote it down in her book, but eyed Fred quizzically.

Fred tried to act natural. He felt like he was being petty, but it was as though he couldn't stop himself, and he wasn't even sure what was bothering him. Rather than examining this, Fred tried to ignore it and focus on the odd game Rook had them playing. It didn't take her much longer to complete whatever she was working on, and she read the result of their collective efforts aloud:

Dearest Professor Snape,

From the minute I laid my earlobes upon you, I was smitten. Your urine flows as tenderly as the left buttock of some sticky and obnoxious God of Larmers Brand Ham Medallions. Your nasal cavities contain unfathomable depths, sweeping me off to Japanese bath houses I never knew existed until the moment you entered my vampire erotica.

Let my week-old leftovers, inadequate as they may be to titillate your tremulous tits, reach your prostate and rest in your soul until the day you realize that you and I were always meant to be together, until the end of time.

Naughtily Yours,

Argus Filch

Rook had trouble getting through the letter without laughing. It dawned on Fred and George that this was a perversion of the love letter they had made her write to Snape, which made it all the more ludicrous.

"Maybe I should have given him this instead!"

"It's poetic enough," Fred agreed.

"It's irresistible," said George, eyeing Rook with fondness.

Fred stood suddenly. "I'm going to the common room," he announced shortly.

"Fred, wait—" Rook stood hurriedly. "Is it all right if I walk with you? I have so much work to do, I should get started…"

Fred nodded but didn't wait for Rook to gather herself.

"I'm not quite finished, so I'll meet you up there," Fred heard George speak to Rook as he walked away.

Rook rushed after Fred as he left the Great Hall. He slowed down on the stairs, allowing her to catch up, but didn't look back. Rook stumbled on the stairs as she reached him and dropped her journal. Fred bent over to pick it up, noticing it had fallen open. He stopped short on the step in front of Rook, examining a drawing on the exposed page.

It was a drawing of the Slytherin girl, Malerna Crandall, presumably sitting on the train in her casual attire. Rook had skillfully captured Crandall's cavalier air with a rough sketch that had been finished with watercolor paint that had warped the page. Fred touched the page gently as he stared at the striking blue of Malerna's eyes.

"Can… can I have that back?" Rook asked, a hint of desperation in her tone.

"I had no idea you were an artist," Fred spoke, handing it over.

Rook was blushing crimson. "I'm not," she spoke quietly and continued up the stairs. Fred followed.

"No, really! You're talented. I should know. I can draw the best stick-figures you've ever seen."

Rook was smiling again, but she still looked rather embarrassed. She clutched her journal to her chest as they walked, as if determined to never let it leave her grasp again.

"Have you drawn anyone else here?" Fred asked.

Rook hesitated. "Yes… I've drawn… some others."

"Have you drawn me?" Rook said nothing, but Fred knew the answer by her flustered expression. "You have! Can I see?"

"I've drawn you and George, but… honestly, Fred, you're difficult to get right."

"What are you talking about? We're identical. How can you get George right and not me?"

Rook shrugged. "Are the two of you really identical, though?"

Fred sighed exasperatedly. "You're going to say he's the cute one again, aren't you? I get it, already. You don't need to keep saying it."

Rook giggled. "No, that's not what I meant. I just meant your personalities aren't identical."

"Oh, er… Right."

"Personality makes a difference when it comes to posture and expression. What I have now isn't good enough to show you."

Fred paused. "Would you show me when it is good enough?"

"It's more like if it's ever good enough."

"It's when, for sure," Fred spoke confidently. "I believe in you!"

Rook still seemed diffident, but appreciative of Fred's assurance. "In that case," she said, "I will show you. When it's good enough."

When they had arrived at the common room, Fred realized that all the vexation afflicting him earlier had dissipated. Rook followed him to their usual sofa. Fred sat comfortably on one end of the sofa and watched as she sat on the floor in front of an old coffee table and unpacked several books to begin her Charms work.

"You can sit up here, you know," Fred suggested.

"There's more room here for all my books, and it's easier to reach them from here."

Fred spent several seconds watching her frantically flip through the books, tediously searching for anything relevant to the Tarantellegra spell.

"How is it that you've been able to master Aguamenti, yet you're not past Tarantellegra?" Fred inquired, somewhat amused.

"I can cast it just fine," Rook replied distractedly, "but Professor Flitwick doesn't want me to neglect the theory and history behind the spell." Rook sighed. "The history is one thing; it's actually very interesting. I'll never read The Red Dancing Shoes the same way again. The theory, though…. It's hard to understand. There are so many contradictory rules!"

"I know it seems that way sometimes, but they actually make a lot of sense the more spells you learn."

Rook leaned back and covered her face with the open textbook dramatically.

"Do you think you'll just absorb the information through osmosis, or something?"

"You somehow understand osmosis; I'll never understand this," Rook's muffled, agonized voice emanated from beneath the book. "Just let me suffocate."

With his bad mood gone and Rook at her wits' end, Fred suddenly felt magnanimous. He slid off the couch and sat next to Rook, tapping on the textbook cover to get her attention. "I could help you, you know," he offered.

Rook peeked out from under the book. Her large, brown eyes were full of gratitude. "You can?" she asked hopefully.

"Charms happens to be my best subject. Can't remember a damn thing about the history, but the theory—that I can help you with."

Rook removed the textbook and sat upright. Clasping her hands together, she supplicated, "Please, please help me, Fred. Without you I'll surely die."

"Calm down, I told you I'd help already," Fred chuckled. Fred began explain the theory, pausing here and there to make demonstrations and to evaluate Rook's form. After a short time, George joined them and offered his help as Rook moved on to her Transfiguration work. Once George showed up, however, Rook seemed to make a lot more mistakes. Fred chose to believe that this was because George was not as good at teaching, but deep down he suspected there was another factor at play.