George was acting really weird… Fred could only assume it had something to do with Rook's flying lesson, and he was determined not to ask about it. He had made a definitive decision to stay out of it, once and for all. If George hadn't told Rook how he felt by now, nothing Fred said or did could help him, and if he had… Well, there wasn't anything Fred could do about that, either.

It became apparent, however, that George was intent on getting Fred alone. Fred had successfully ignored their secret signals for "I need to talk to you alone," "I'm bored out of my mind," and, "I literally shat myself laughing; help me get to the toilet," before finally caving at, "I accidentally transfigured Ginny into a lemur, then accidentally summoned an additional twenty lemurs, and I can't tell which one is our sister."

"You better have lemurs coming out of your bum with all that signaling you were doing back there," said Fred as he walked away from the others with George.

"So you've just been ignoring me?"

"I think we need to rework our signaling system. It's a bit silly."

"I don't disagree, but—"

"Frankly, it's ridiculous that we don't have a signal for—"

"I kissed Rook."

"Er… No. No, we do not have a signal for that…" said Fred. He suddenly felt very unwell.

"Fred…"

"Well done?" said Fred with a forced grin. "Not sure what an occasion like this calls for, but it's about time."

"Fred, I know you're in love with her."

"What? In love with—? I'm not… Oh, I see. You're having me on, aren't you? It's still April first, and you're—"

"Not an idiot," said George. "And not the only one who's noticed. Just about everyone knows you're completely in love with Rook, except Rook."

Fred stared at his brother. He wasn't joking.

"Then 'just about everyone' is completely mad," Fred insisted under his breath while dragging George further into the shadows of a nearby bookcase. "I'll admit that I've maybe thought about… No—this is ridiculous! I'm not in love with anyone!"

George sighed, but it was not a sigh of anger or frustration. If anything, he looked guilty.

"I know why you're doing this," he said. "You knew I fancied her since start of term, so you wouldn't let yourself admit it. Fred, I never had some claim on her."

"Are you thick?" said Fred, not looking at George. "You have a chance with her. Say I am… you know… Well, what would be the point in telling her when she so clearly prefers you?"

"You don't know that."

"We both know it. You're not an idiot, remember?"

Fred stood there a moment, waiting for George to argue further, but he did not. Instead he seemed at a loss for words, and the sickening feeling in the pit of Fred's stomach intensified.

"I'm going to bed," he said. Without giving George time to reply, he did just that. Once in bed, however, his mind refused to rest. All he wanted was the relief of unconsciousness, but instead he felt a kind of mental vertigo from the torrent of thoughts and feelings swirling madly through his head, vying for his attention.

Everyone knew he was "in love." How could they know something like that, anyway? It irritated him. It was fine for them to think he had a crush, but only he could know if what he felt amounted to "love," right? That wasn't something someone could just decide for him.

But… was he? He had convinced himself that his feelings for Rook were the result of a mere infatuation, and he kept waiting for them to pass. He had been waiting to feel normal again, to not be bothered by the thought of Rook dating George… but it still bothered him. It bothered him a lot.

He had spent so much time in denial, he never let himself entertain the thought of asking her out himself. The way things were, she'd say no. Of course she would say no. But if George hadn't kissed her, and if she didn't have feelings for George, was there a chance she might say yes?

He could picture it a lot easier than he expected. In his mind's eye, Rook was bashful, but not displeased by Fred's question. She nodded, her cheeks flushed slightly pink as she smiled.

Fred's heart was pounding madly, as though he was actually standing in front of her, telling her how he really felt…

How he really felt...

He was in love with her.

No, he wasn't just in love with her. He was stupidly, obviously in love with her. He was so in love, all his friends thought he was an idiot, and he didn't even care.

Fred was still awake when George climbed into the bed beside his own. He must have known that Fred was awake, but he didn't bother checking. Fred wanted to be angry with him, but it was difficult to manage. It was clear that George only wanted to give him a chance to admit his feelings before it was too late. Sure, he kissed Rook knowing Fred was in love with her, but Fred could hardly blame him for that. If he thought that Rook would want to kiss him, Fred was sure he wouldn't have half George's restraint.

By morning, Fred hadn't gotten much sleep. Despite devoting almost the entire night to thoughts of Rook, he had not yet decided whether or not to confess his feelings. Unable to stand being still any longer, Fred climbed out of bed, thinking a walk might facilitate his deliberation.

It was difficult thinking of someplace to go where neither George nor Rook would think to look for him. He had to find someplace, though, because he was not yet ready to face George, and he thought he might lose his composure completely if he saw Rook now. He wandered aimlessly for a bit before he thought of a suitable hideout.

To his bewilderment, the space was taken when he arrived.

"Selwyn!" he exclaimed once his eyes had adjusted enough to see the sole occupant of the secret passage.

"Weasley," the Slytherin girl replied, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Sans Weasley. Where's your other half?"

"Someplace else. I sort of wanted to be alone."

"Right. I'll be on my way, then."

"Wait… You're the one from the train, right? The Slytherin who dumped Rook?"

"Did she say that I dumped her?"

"She's never really mentioned it. You're an idiot, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"You're daft, ditching her like that. She makes a great friend, Rook. She's one of my best mates."

Selwyn scoffed. "Are you in love with her, or something?"

"Yeah, I am," said Fred. "Have been for a while, but I only just realized it. Isn't that stupid?"

"So what you're saying is, we're both idiots?"

"I guess so."

Selwyn leaned against the wall opposite Fred and examined him in the low light.

"So are you going to tell her how you feel?"

Fred shrugged. "She fancies someone else. Telling her how I feel would just complicate things."

"First of all, complication is not always a bad thing. Second, putting everything on the table might actually simplify things. You'll never know until it's done."

"That's a fair point. Maybe you're not such an idiot after all."

"And I like Rook just fine, okay? And I can't know for certain, but I think she'd want to know how you feel about her." With this, Selwyn left in a hurry.

"That was weird," Fred said to himself. He never thought he'd be getting love advice from a Slytherin, but it was surprisingly helpful. Selwyn's argument had convinced him; He was going to tell Rook how he felt.

Still… this was much easier said than done. Fred skipped breakfast in favor of wandering the corridors furthest from the Great Hall and Gryffindor Tower. He found it difficult to sit still, so he stayed on the move, but his feet seemed determined to steer him away from any place he thought she might be.

Come lunch time, Fred was starving. He waited until the last minute to head to the Great Hall, but as he neared his destination, he was struck by a mysterious malady manifesting itself as a sudden onset of jelly legs, dry mouth and an odd sensation like salamanders writhing in the pit of his stomach.

He was quite relieved with Montague and a handful of his Slytherin cronies blocked his way.

"Good afternoon," said Fred brightly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We just wanted to know if the rumor is true," said Montague with a snigger.

"That your breath smells like a rotting troll carcass? I'm afraid it is."

"We heard that Spencer ditched that friend of yours 'cause she screwed around on him," said Ashworth, prompting a ripple of snide laughter among the Slytherins.

"You heard… what?"

"It gets better," said Montague. "Everyone's saying she cheated on him with you and your brother at the same time. Rumor is the two of you share her, is that right?"

Fred felt his whole body tense even before he fully understood the implications of what was said. If he had stopped to think about it, even for a moment, it would have been obvious that the Slytherins were baiting him. If he had any sense at all, Fred would have easily realized that they had intercepted him at a location frequently trafficked by Professor Snape, and that this was by design. But Fred did not stop to consider any of this, and, even if he had, these things would not be enough to stop him from clenching his fists and lunging at Montague with every intention of breaking his face.

Fortunately for Fred, something else stopped him. Before he had a chance to react, Montague started sprouting immense amounts of hair from his ears, nostrils and eyebrows, forming ringlets so long and thick that they obscured his eyes and mouth. His fellow Slytherins backed away from him in alarm as he stumbled blindly forward. Fred sidestepped him easily, and the Slytherin chaser tripped on his now floor-length nasal locks.

And, just like that, Fred's anger gave way to uncontrollable laughter at the sight of Montague struggling to right himself without yanking on the wiry ringlets. He sobered just as quickly, however, when he caught sight of an irate Professor Snape looming over them menacingly. How much of the exchanged had the Potions Master witnessed? Had he seen who was responsible for the hex? Fred cast a cursory glance about the area. The only other students present were Slytherins. Fred didn't like his odds.

"Professor!" Ashworth shouted suddenly. "Professor, Weasley just attacked Montague!"

"Believe me, I wish I could take credit for this masterpiece," said Fred, struggling to keep a straight face, "but I never touched my wand, so I don't see how this could be my doing."

"We saw him do it," Warrington chimed in.

"I see," Snape spoke slowly, taking in the comical sight of Montague, who had finally managed to right himself. Snape held out a hand. "Weasley, your wand."

"But—!"

"Now, Weasley."

Reluctantly, Fred reached into his robes and withdrew his wand. Snape did not have the authority to break it, but Snape wasn't necessarily one to operate above board. Fred hesitated as long as he dared before finally handing over the invaluable implement. Snape took it impatiently and withdrew his own wand. Wordlessly, he lightly touched the tip of his wand to the tip of Fred's, and the latter began to emit a ghostly light. Snape then repeated the action, this time undoing whatever spell he performed and returning Fred's wand to its previous state. Miraculously, Snape handed the wand back to Fred.

"It would seem that Weasley is not responsible for what transpired here," said Snape. "Fortunately, your condition is not dire, Montague. Feel free to find your way to the hospital wing. Weasley, you are dismissed."

Fred could hardly believe his ears. The Snape he knew would never pass up such a perfect opportunity to penalize him, or any other Gryffindor, for that matter. Fred saw that he was not the only one struck with disbelief. The Slytherins were now looking at their Head of House as though he might shed his skin and reveal himself to be George in disguise. Even Fred half expected it, but Snape merely continued on his way to the dungeons.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fred saw something that drew his attention away from Snape's bizarre dismissal. While the other students remained preoccupied, Fred slipped away from the crowd and followed the familiar mane of long, black hair to the nearest courtyard.

"Selwyn, wait!" Fred called.

Selwyn quickened her pace in response. Fred started running. By the time he caught up with her, they were a good distance away from the Entrance Hall.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Fred said.

"Yes, it was me you were shouting at. Good job. Now go put your deductive skills to use someplace else, will you?"

"That was pretty brave of you," Fred spoke loudly as she turned her back. "I mean, if any of them knew it was you, your whole house would turn against you."

"Yeah, well," said Selwyn, "Montague's a toerag."

"I have to admit, he's getting more creative, coming up with a 'rumor' like that."

"Montague didn't make that up," she said, turning to face him again.

"He didn't? Then who did? Was it Ashworth, or—?"

"Spencer is the one telling people… that."

"What?"

"I heard him telling my—I mean, that's what he was telling Robert Hilliard earlier. Look, I have to go."

Fred let her go, preoccupied with the fury and disgust once again building inside him. He knew Spencer was git, but Fred never thought he'd stoop so low. And why? He and Rook were supposed to be friends, weren't they?

Rook… Had she heard the rumor? Fred started off in search of her, disregarding his earlier apprehension. He needed to see if she was okay…

His first instinct was to head back to the common room, but as he passed the Muggle Studies classroom, he remembered that she once mentioned that she sometimes liked to visit the art room in her free time. Thinking he might as well check, he made a beeline for the door. Just as he reached it, however, someone else stepped out.

"You!"

Stefan Spencer recoiled slightly at Fred's exclamation.

"Do you need something?" he asked.

"Yeah, I need you to explain to me why people apparently think Rook cheated on you with me and my brother!"

Spencer was now glaring at Fred defiantly. "How should I know? Anyone can start a rumor, Weasley. I don't know why you'd just assume I'm responsible. For all I know, someone might have seen the three of you going at it. Doesn't seem all that improbable, does it?"

This time, there was nothing to stop Fred's fist from flying. In moments, Spencer was on the floor in the doorway of the art room, and Fred wasn't about to stop there. He got down on the ground and lifted Spencer up by the collar of his robes, fist primed to strike him again.

"Fred, what are you doing?! Get off of him!"

Fred froze at the sound of Rook's panicked voice. He looked up to see her horrorstruck expression. Fred noticed the blood on his fist and quickly wiped it on his robes.

"Rook, you don't understand, he's—see, he started this rumor, and—!"

"I already told you, I don't know how that bloody rumor got started!" Spencer yelled. Rook hurried to his side. He groaned pathetically.

"Rook—"

"Get off of him," she said, her eyes cold. Fred complied and Rook helped Spencer to his feet.

"He's… he's lying…" said Fred, not without a hint of uncertainty.

"Rosemary, I swear I had nothing to do with that rumor," said Spencer, looking Rook in the eyes.

"Rook… I…"

"Come on, Stefan. Let's go to the Hospital Wing."

Fred slouched against the doorway to the art room and watched them go, the full weight of what he'd done slowly dawning on him. He punched a prefect. He was almost certainly going to be banned from participating in the final match of the season, and that was pretty much the best-case scenario. Oliver would be furious with him, and what would George say? And Rook… She had never looked at him like that. She hated him. The first girl he ever loved hated him.