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Special thanks to chocolatecheesecakes for always sending lovely reviews and PMS! I recommend HERFred/OC fic Unconditionally.

Also, new fic alert! George/OC called Mending Broken Souls post DH. It would be great if you guys could read and leave some feedback.

Enjoy!

22. Gold and Brown

I had never truly been alone, not ever. My entire childhood was spent with my biological mother and father and my sister. After that, Nanny Anne and Bill, George, then Fred. And now Oliver.

The process of jumping between families was rocky and certainly unusual. I had lonely moments, of course I did; everyone did. But I had others to rely on, others there for me. I was not alone.

Trust. I had to learn to trust everyone new in my life. As an eight year old, trust came rather easy. I had been given food, shelter, hugs and love. To a child, that equalled trustworthy. Later on, it was slightly more complex. I had long passed the illusions of physical comfort and sought something more. Hadn't my parents once declared their eternal love for me? And yet, that was not enough, I realised. For those who love you can still hurt you. Those who love you, have the most power to hurt you. The Cruciatus curse has nothing on the biting words of a loved one.

What did I seek? The small things: Dumbledore's eyes swam with an innocence; the twins' flair to always bring a smile to my face (although it took slightly longer from Fred, of course). And Oliver.

A few letters daily had me opening my heart to him. I told myself it was foolish, that I was being far too naïve, far too trusting far too early on. But the emotion through his words were so…genuine. He didn't have to force comfort like the twins, awkward and fidgety at the first sign of an emotional breakdown or tears. He didn't read my mind and give me cryptic answers before I even realised I had a question to ask.

He was indeed the brother I never had. The brother I never felt I needed. He was my honey: natural and sweet.

So no, I was never really alone. And I don't think I ever would be.

We spoke of everything: Quidditch, Hogwarts, magical creatures, the muggle world, Harry Potter, Quidditch, the twins, muggle contraptions, Bill, Nanny Anne…did I say Quidditch? Well, he spoke of that most often, as Fred had warned me.

I tried to remember all this as I walked along the streets of Hogsmeade with Fred, George and Lee. They had attempted to distract me with a long trip to Zonkos, far too long, in my opinion, while the girls shopped for shoes and robes. Then, I took the lead as Honeydukes came into my line of sight. The smell of chocolate and sugar bubbled my blood instantly, my mouth watering at the rows upon rows of sweet confectionary. I grabbed handfuls of everything, and then another. The boys had their pranks and humour to remedy their boredom. I had sugar.

Eventually, the boys had to resort to force and dragged me out of the lively store.

"Don't you ever get sick of all that sugar?" Lee had asked.

"Don't you ever get sick of sex?" I retorted.

The twins laughed. Chocolate was my sinful haven, just as orgasms were for the boys.

"We're a bit early so you have plenty of time to prepare yourself, love," George said as we stepped into the Three Broomsticks.

The temporary sugar induced fog in my mind was gone.

"Damn you Weasley, I had forgotten about that. Thanks for not making me anxious or anything."

"It's only Oliver," Fred said.

We seated ourselves on a table, me snuggling against the wall, submerging myself in the shadows. I was bubbling with excitement, eager to meet Oliver yet equally worried. What if he changed his mind when he saw me? Maybe he'd already arrived and bolted the second he saw me, changing his mind and preferring not to be associated with a squib after all. But we had decided on a time to meet, and we were early. No, he wouldn't do that. Don't go running off scared, I won't start yelling and screaming at you, he had written in his letter, I'm just as anxious as you are. But all beginnings to great adventures have to be a mystery, otherwise there's no fun. He remedied his phrase lines later: OK, I'm bullshitting, but I need just as much of a prep talk as you!

I smiled thinking about it.

Lee ordered us some butterbeers.

"What does he look like again?" I asked, my eyes flying around the room at all movement.

"You're being stupid," one of the twins said.

"And you're a twat," I said, craning my neck in an impossible twist to see behind the twin beside me.

"He'll come to us, he knows what we look like. How many times do we have to tell you?"

"Sorry," I murmured. I gave a small smile to the twin beside me. "It's just so nerve wrecking - all this bloody waiting!"

"Actually, he's going to go to you," he said, looking to his brother. "Alicia promised me the afternoon once she finished with the girls."

"But how d'you know she's done?" Lee asked.

George pointed out the window, where Alicia stood, face pressed against the window, her breath fogging up the cold glass. She waved when we looked over.

"Where are the other two?"

"Merlin knows. But I reckon Lee's going to go and find out."

"You read my mind, Weasley," Lee grinned. Him and George both stood, bowed farewell and left.

I sighed, resuming to watch the busy pub. The warmth on the side of my body alerted me to Fred's lingering presence.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" I asked, nudging him with my elbow.

"Nope. 'Fraid you're stuck with me," he replied, finishing off his butterbeer and sliding my untouched mug before him. "You never drink this."

I didn't bother with a response. A tall man entered the pub, catching my attention. He gazed around the pub, loosening the buttons on his robe and unwinding his scarf. It was like magnetism, his eyes meeting mine and instantly knowing.

One thought sounded loudly in my head, clouding all others: Oliver had Bill's eyes.

"Ella Wood," he greeted, his voice lovely and thick with the rich Scottish drawl so similar to Bill's, yet more youthful. He smiled.

"Oliver Wood," I said, my smile mirroring his.

"Fred Weasley."

Oliver laughed, his warm brown eyes turning to Fred. "Indeed you are. I would say nice to see you again, but it's really not. I'm getting a headache from just looking at you."

Fred gasped. "Is that any way to greet an old friend, dear Ollie?"

Oliver chuckled. "Friend is pushing it a bit, wouldn't you say?"

"'Course not, Ollie my boy! Once a Weasley friend, always a Weasley friend."

"Should…should I be happy to hear that?"

I laughed at the easy banter between the boys. I was glad Fred was with me in that moment, for giving the beginning and air of calm. I squeezed his hand in thanks. The beginning's always the hardest.

"Hello, Ella," Oliver said, sitting down opposite us.

"Hello, Oliver."

"It's wonderful to finally meet you. We heard quite a bit from Bill."

"You…what? Bill mentioned me?" I tilted my head to the side, brows furrowed. When had Bill met his family? And why hadn't he mentioned it to me?

"Yeah, 'course he did. He came 'round a few times and showed pictures and everything. Here - I brought one."

From his pocket he pulled out a rectangular photo, frozen in one scene. It was an ordinary photo of me at around nine years old, sitting at the kitchen table with spaghetti slipping off my fork and sauce surrounding my open mouth. Jimmy was propped up against the table, sniffing my plate. I hadn't seen him, my eyes fixed to the camera lens. If I had been paying more attention I would have been able to save the plate before Jimmy nosed it off onto the floor.

My heart lurched. What was the correct feeling? Was there one? I didn't know.

"Look at little Ella! Weren't you just the cutest," Fred grinned.

Beneath the table I felt Fred's warm hand rest over mine.

"Oh Merlin, I started on a bad note didn't I? I'm sorry. Let's go again," Oliver sat up straighter and cleared his throat. "Lovely to meet you Ella. You look nothing like the pictures…Bill…showed us…shit. Bad again. Ok, ok, I got it now. Ella…shit!"

"Always one with words, our Oliver is," Fred informed me, leaning in close.

I laughed; it was the easiest thing to do. "I can tell. It's fine Oliver. Would you like a drink?"

"Right now I'm feeling a firewhiskey but Merlin knows what'll come out of my gob if I do," he chuckled nervously, rubbing his face.

"A bit early for the strong stuff, isn't it Oliver?" Fred quirked an eyebrow.

Oliver blushed. "A butterbeer will have to do."

He made to get up. "Fred will get it."

"I will?"

"Yes, you will. Now go."

Fred wiped away an invisible tear, only moving once I shoved him out of the booth.

"Always thought he was nuts," Oliver commented, filling the silence.

"Oh, he is," I agreed.

"So, you met him in Ottery? What was it – a wizard befriends assumed muggle in muggle town, reunited in a magical school where it's found out she's not a muggle after all? That it?"

"More like that was me and George. Fred only came into the picture once I got here."

"Seriously?" Oliver's eyes bugged open a bit. "You met George without – really? That seems hard to believe."

I shrugged. "It was a shocker."

"Blimey, a bloody big one at that. You'll have to tell me about how that all happened sometime."

I was about to ask why he didn't want to know now, but Fred approached the table. One butterbeer for Oliver, another for him.

"How's Quidditch?" I asked. Fred groaned; Oliver grinned, and I knew I made a mistake.

Oliver, it seemed, could talk not only write about Quidditch a lot, but could discuss it non-stop as well. At one point, I had imagined a troll strolling through the doors and beating him with a club, and still he went on about strategies and players' strengths and weaknesses. It was a harsh thought, but Fred blatantly snoring on the table top topped it.

"Went to the Quidditch World Cup summer last year. Was absolutely insane! Weasley went as well," Oliver said after highlighting the best features of Puddelmere's players and who they would go up against best from other teams.

Fred let out a loud snore. I jabbed him in the ribs none too nicely until he shot up wincing.

"Oliver was just talking about the World Cup. Said you went," I said, ignoring his muttered curses.

"Oh yeah, Ireland and Bulgaria. Wicked game! Shame the Deatheaters ruined it."

Deatheaters? Green flashed behind my eyes. Screams. Cries. Did I hear correctly?

"What Deatheaters?" I asked.

Both boys sat silently, shifting their eyes.

"Well?" I prodded.

"There was an attack, after the game at night. They attacked a muggle family in front of everyone, walked through the land with them hanging in the air. They used the dark mark," Oliver explained, his voice forced calm.

No response came from my frozen lips. Why were there death eaters at the World Cup? What muggle family? Were they alright? Did they find who did it? Did –?

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew," Oliver said. I shook my head.

"It's ok. I just…never expected that."

Fred's hand had made it onto mine somewhere during the conversation again – probably during Oliver's crazed Quidditch monologue – and he squeezed.

"Do you know how many Deatheaters there were?"

"Too many to count," Fred said, taking a swig from his butterbeer. "Everything was chaos, people running and screaming every which way. It was terrible."

Oliver grumbled an agreement. "I was with my parents. Luckily we apparated away in time."

"What's that?"

"Apparating? It's like...you know, it's - uh, what you do is think hard on a place, and then..." Oliver fumbled for an appropriate response, but was finding it difficult. "It's basically twisting on the spot and disappearing then reappearing wherever you were thinking."

"So transporting yourself elsewhere," I smirked.

"Well...yes."

"Destination, determination and deliberation," Fred chanted, winking. "How many times did you splinch yourself before passing again?"

Oliver flushed red, and murmured, "Three."

"Why do you people have to be so cryptic. What's splinching?" I should have been annoyed at being behind on all the seemingly common knowledge of the wizarding world, but being able to learn it as opposed to not having known it at all, leaving it behind the snowy curtain of my past, was so liberating that I would have eagerly listened to them all day.

"When you lose a bit of your body," Fred said.

My eyes widened and I inspected Oliver, much to the boys' amusement.

"I'm better now, obviously. Splinching during lessons just means I had to retake the test before getting my license."

"At least you could have apparated, we had to wait for it to pass before getting a portkey back home."

Fred's words brought me back to the Quidditch World Cup. I knew what a portkey was, having used one before with Bill and Nanny Anne when we went to the seaside. You couldn't forget a feeling as intense as being pulled through a tiny tube from my stomach. It was an odd reminder of being born, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for the hole.

"Bill wasn't there that night, was he?" I asked, although fearing the answer.

"No, he wasn't there," Oliver said. "He probably went after, I'm not sure."

I wanted to ask what Bill was doing when he was away from me, away from the muggle world. I was dying to know – I needed to know.

"What did Bill do? When he was out there, with other wizards?"

He played with his empty tumbler. "I don't know. I never knew. All I did know was that when Dumbledore called, he went running. He was willing to risk his life for whatever Dumbledore said. Never gave anything a second thought."

"This is certainly turning out to be a pleasant first meeting, isn't it now?" Oliver chuckled.

This man, Oliver, so like Bill, with his brown eyes, dark hair and pointed ears, the same face, young and unmarred. I could have thought of a thousand reasons not to believe him, to accuse him of knowing everything but hiding it from me. But I didn't. This man, so like Bill, had the same honesty in his eyes, and sincerity in his words.

And so I trusted him.

"Who won?"

Fred and Oliver looked up.

"The World Cup. Who won?"

"Ireland. But Krum got the snitch."

Krum. Viktor Krum. Viktor Krum, the Triwizard champion from Durmstrang.

"He plays professional Quidditch?"

Fred beat Oliver, responding quickly. "Yup, the very one. Won me and George that bet, he did: Ireland for the win with Krum snatching the snitch." He scowled upon the mention of the bet. His narrowed eyes and bared teeth gave his handsome features an ugly quality. It was gone in a heartbeat.

"Who did you bet with?" Oliver asked.

"Bagman," Fred grumbled.

George and Alicia returned just then, flushed from the cold and God knows what intimate deed they engaged in, and sat down beside Oliver. "What's this about the smarmy git I hear?"

"Nothing," Fred said.

"Hello, Oliver, nice seeing you again," Alicia smiled.

"Likewise, Spinnet."

"Still doing that surname thing I see," George said.

"Could have done without seeing you today, Weasley," Oliver retorted.

"Ouch."

"Harsh."

"Unbelievably so."

"I get the feeling he doesn't appreciate us, don't you brother dear?"

"Indeed, Gred."

I rolled my eyes.

"Boy, do I feel sorry for you, Ella, having to deal with these twits."

I giggled. "Poor Alicia!"

"Yes, Ella did mention in a letter you two were together." He lifted an eyebrow, turning to his former Chaser. "I don't want to know. Spinnet, I'm sure your head will be better once you've finished the end of year exams. Hopefully then you'll have your sense back."

Fred guffawed. "Oh-ho-ho, hear that Georgie? Miss Spinnet's only with you because she's not all there."

George's neck burned pink, slowly growing into red. His flushing skin did not deter from his ego. "I seem to have that effect on the ladies. It's a side effect of being around me: speechlessness, loss of coherent thought, weak limbs, racing heartbeat. What can I say?"

Alicia rolled her eyes and smacked his arm hard. He jumped back. "Weak limbs, was it?"

"What are you two even doing here? Shouldn't you be finishing your date?" Fred asked.

"Puddifoot's was packed so we decided to come here and say hello to Oliver."

Fred and Oliver had identical looks of horror. "Puddifoot's?" They gasped together.

George snickered. "Of course not you dolts. Can you imagine me going in there?"

"Nor me! What do you take me for?" Alicia grumbled. George slapped a noisy kiss onto her cheek.

"Right then, love, I think we should continue our date elsewhere, in private preferably, seeing as we're not wanted here." George stood, pulling Alicia with him.

"Bye, Ollie! Nice seeing you again!" Alicia said as George dragged her out of the pub.

"I should be going too now," Oliver said, checking his watch.

"Do you have to?" I regretted asking as soon as the words were out, fearful that I sounded like a clingy child. I tried not to look too disappointed.

He smiled in response. "'Fraid so – I need to make a quick stop and then head off to practice. I'll owl you as soon as I'm finished. You're still thinking about it, right?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Good. I'll see you around then. Next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Sounds great."

Pushing Fred out of the booth, I slid myself out and crossed over to Oliver as he finished buttoning his robe, engulfing his tall frame in a hug. His scent had an underlying tone of Bill.

"Thank you," I mumbled into the thick fabric of his robe.

"Nothing for you to thank."

He pulled away. With a final wave and a nod to Fred, he exited the pub. I sat back down beside Fred and rested my head on his shoulder, savouring the contentment from the blissful encounter in the buzzing room.

"We've still got loads of time. Care to go out and spend the rest of the day with me?"

Fred didn't wait for me to reply. He held my hand firmly and ran outside into the chilly winds.

It was nearing the end of March when they came down to the kitchen and begged me for what could have been the thousandth time to go up with them for dinner. But this time, they were more persistent.

"You need to get out of here!" George said, following me around the kitchen as I maneuvered around the house elves.

"I don't need to do anything of the sort," I snapped, my voice thick with mucus lodged in my throat. Exposed to the harsh Spring chill in Hogsmeade had given me something of a cold, the weather alternating between freezing and light sunshine in true British form.

"Do it for us then, as an early birthday present," Fred pleaded, appearing in front of me.

"No," I said, moving past him.

"Ella!" they both whined.

I sighed. "I don't want to see them."

"They won't get near to you, we swear it."

My eyes met identical blue eyes. I looked between them. I shut my eyes. "I hate you two, so much."

They jumped and high fived, linking an arm in each of mine and skipping out the kitchen.

Upon entering the Great Hall, I squeezed myself between the brothers and shuffled forward with them. With difficulty in my jumbled limbs, I sat down on the bench, Fred beside me and George opposite him beside his younger brother and Alicia. Looking up, I noticed Dumbledore sending a small wink my way. I smiled in return.

It was with a jab from Fred that I filled my plate with the assortment of food laid out, listening to the conversations around me. It was odd, having so many different voices speaking of different topics all at once. The group of Gryffindor sixth years caught a lot of attention with their rambunctious stories and the flicking of undesirable vegetables. On more than one occasion I found myself curtaining my hair over my face to avoid any attention. Every time I did, Fred would rub his hand on my leg comfortingly. It would have been a kind gesture had he not forced me to come to dinner with them. I had plenty of food in the kitchen, there was no need for me with them. Or rather, they could have easily eaten in the kitchen if they so pleased.

As the attention reduced somewhat I pushed my hair behind my ear, freeing my face once more. Straight ahead of me at a distance were golden eyes.

I had never seen gold eyes before. Brown with gold flecks in them, yes – like Hermione Granger who had made it something of a habit to visit the house elves in the kitchen and attempt to dissuade them from doing their work without any wages. But pure golden was a rarity. And it was beautiful. Mesmerising. Magnetic.

I don't know how long I stared. It was Fred who snapped me out of the daze, his pea hitting me squarely on the nose. Whispers hissed low in my ear (stupid squib…disgrace…abomination…), gradually increasing in volume until the conversations around me blurred. Something about a boyfriend being too clingy, new underwear from Witch Weekly, the lack of options for a vegetarian...

The pounding in my ears became too much, like a balloon ready to burst. I fixed my eyes on Fred's worried gaze. I shook my head, barely.

And then I ran.

Run isn't really what I managed, though – it would have attracted too much attention. I stumbled over the bench, limped a few steps and hurriedly walked out the Great Hall. I didn't make it to my destination; my legs gave out just as I passed the doors, forcing me to lean against the wall to stay upright. I breathed in lungfuls of air, attempting to clear my sinuses from the stuffiness of the Great Hall.

"Ella?"

I expected to see Fred.

It was not Fred.

"Ella," he called again, slowly moving towards me. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

His gold eyes, pools of liquid gold, rich and sweet.

Breathe in…breathe out…breathe in…

"You don't look so good," Darren said, frowning. The back of his hand was cool against my forehead. "You're burning up. Maybe we should get you to –"

"Oi! Move away from her!"

Darren's hand was gone. Fred had pushed him against the wall, his wand poised to his chest.

"Don't you dare touch her again, dirty snake."

"Fred –"

"I wouldn't have had to if you prioritised her," Darren said, stanch in the face of a hundred different possible threats pointed at him.

"Don't you try and act all high and mighty. Not after what you did." Fred's face was fixed in an ugly scowl, his handsome features hardening.

"And what is it I did? Hm?"

Fred's lips thinned impossibly into nothing.

"Fred," I called out again, regaining my breath. Black spots were beginning to invade my vision.

"Leave," he ordered, backing away from Darren but keeping his wand steady.

"I want to take her to Madame Pomfrey."

Fred laughed. It was dark and hollow. "Like hell you are."

"She's sick. She needs to see Madame Pomfrey."

"Then I'll take her. You're not to go near her again."

Darren's fist balled up beside him. He twisted his wrists as if to loosen them.

"I want to talk to her."

"Oh, get it through your fat skull already!"

"Please, just a few minutes and I'll be gone. I swear." Darren edged his way in my direction, ever so slowly, like an animal escaping its predator.

"Oi! Stay away."

"Fred, don't –"

The black spots swimming in my vision blocked out what happened, but I heard perfectly. Someone falling. A cry.

And then I was out.