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23. Relationships

Nanny Anne once said that to dream of flying means good luck will come your way, to dream falling means that the dreamer feels out of control in their real life, or if their life is going downhill. But the true definition was different to everyone, and not all people fall, some are pushed. Interpretations.

To understand these meanings we would go to the library and read up on all the varying elucidations from different cultures, receiving bemused gazes from the other townspeople for looking up ancient superstitions in the modern world where science answered all. It was almost amusing, the contradictions of the same images.

I dreamt of home, in Ottery St. Catchpole. There was a quiet noise in the background; a party, perhaps, or the old television. But, as always in a dream, the beginning was always lost in the haze of deep slumber. It was the dead of night, I was sure of it, but the sky was bright in its darkness, the moon large and white as I stood in my open window in a pale nightdress. I felt light, almost as if the breeze would carry me away at any moment.

And then I was flying. There were no angel wings, no broomstick to aid me. I flew over the small village in the sweet air of the clouds, until I found my destination.

It was a tall house in the middle of a field, crooked to the point where I feared it would tilt to its doom from a feathers touch on the wrong side. I had never seen the house before, not in my real life with my real eyes, but everything about it was clear to me. There was only one light on, several stories up. As I got closer, a figure emerged in the window, tall and thin. Instinctively, I flew to him.

Wrinkles marred his beautiful freckled face, crinkled into a thousand lines as he grinned, his eyes sparkling as they always had, his hair white and thinning on his head, almost as if it had slipped down onto his face and chin like an ice cream on a hot summer's day. Despite his aged looks, he looked as cheeky as ever, youthful even. He held out a hand to me. Two words whispered from his mouth and echoed around the sky.

I reached my hand out for his, equally creased, only slightly fatter. Our fingertips grazed and then parted, the distance between us growing. I was falling. It wasn't a steep fall, like from the top of a mountain to my instant death. It was slow, the pressure on my stomach dragging out the pain. His eyes followed me as I fell, his hand never retracting. The two words buzzed in the air around us, cushioning my fall like the clouds surrounding me as I flew. His face blurred the further I fell.

"My Ella."

I didn't feel the fall; I never did. I awoke to a pain in my stomach, heavier than the pain in the dream. I leaned over onto my side and heaved, the sound disgusting to my ears, the smell nauseating, sickening me further. Hands gathered my hair and patted my back, cooing softly into my ear. When I had nothing left to throw up but hot air, I sat up.

"Fred?"

"Oh dear, fainting outside the Great Hall straight after dinner. No wonder you're sick. You should have come here sooner," Madam Pomfrey chastised, patting me finally on the back and shuffling bottles on the side table. "Here, drink some of this, it'll settle your stomach."

She held the spoon to my face, brimmed in a gooey liquid. I pinched my nose and swallowed the potion, gagging as it oozed down my throat.

"That was vile," I croaked.

"It is medicine, not sweets. It's not made for pleasuring the taste buds," she said, taking the bottle away to her supply cupboard. "You can leave as soon as you are steady on your feet." Madam Pomfrey left to her office without a look back.

I fell back on the bed and closed my eyes. I had dreamt, I was sure of it. Flying and falling, and a man. I tried to remember the rest.

"Ella!"

The layered voices overlapping one another in perfect synchronisation alerted me to the twins' presence.

"Hey," I coughed, the bitter taste lingering on my tongue.

"Why didn't you tell us you were sick?" George asked. They were sitting beside me, identical expressions of worry and relief.

"We wouldn't have guilt tripped you into coming to dinner with us."

"I didn't feel so bad at the time. Sorry."

"Well, that's a dinner gone to waste," Fred said, frowning at the place the bucket had been moments ago.

"Good thing she didn't get a start on dessert then."

"Oi, you followed me out the Great Hall. And Darren was there, what happened?" I asked, the confrontation shooting to the forefront of my mind.

"He followed you out first, said he wanted to talk to you," Fred said.

"And then you came out. Then what?"

George chortled, receiving and elbow in the ribs from a grinning Fred. He was terrible at hiding his jubilation.

"What?"

"Darren wanted to bring you to the hospital wing, said you were burning up or something. I wasn't going to have him anywhere near you, not after what happened before…"

"So Freddie punched him."

"You did what?!"

"Hey, he was going to –"

"You don't know what he was going to do! He said he wanted to talk, what's wrong with that?"

"Talk about what, how much he despises squibs? How he thinks you're a disgrace? He shouldn't have the chance to even say hello." George said, siding with his brother and frowning, his voice angry.

"You didn't have to hit him though," I sighed; I didn't want to fight with them. "Is he alright at least?"

Fred scoffed.

"I don't see why you're bothered about him, but yeah, he's fine. Brought him along as well and Poppy fixed him up."

"Poppy?"

"Pomfrey," they answered.

I shouldn't have been surprised; trust those boys to be cheeky with the female staff, regardless of their age. God knows how they acted around McGonagall. An image came to mind of them winking at her in the middle of lesson after giving an indecent response to the task of transfiguring a glass ball parchment-weight into a handkerchief, receiving a detention from the stern witch in return.

"Thank you," I said.

Both boys smiled. "Welcome."

"Can we go now? I'm kind of hungry."

"Being sick would do that to you," George grinned.

Fred and George hopped out of their seats, helping me up. There was a card on the table, with one word on it. The writing was small and neat, disjoined and capitalised. I didn't recognise it.

SORRY.

I realised I distinguished the twins perfectly.

It was later in the week towards the end of the Easter holidays that someone other than the Weasley twins or Lee entered the kitchen. I was glad; I needed to catch up on my studies without their distractions. Her hair was wild on her head and her face red. The house elves that saw her hushed and hid away.

"Hermione," I called out from where I was sitting by the fire, a large tome on my lap.

Her mutterings stopped and she looked over. "Oh, hello Ella."

She appeared stumped as to what to say. That made the two of us.

"Are you alright? You seem a bit angry."

The young girl huffed, her hair electrified like a mane. "I'm frustrated. Do you read Witch Weekly? That horrid Rita Skeeter made up an article – completely untrue, by the way – and the entire female population of not only Hogwarts but the wizarding world seems to hate me now. I mean, really! The nerve of that woman. And the lengths these…these…petty girls will go to. Honestly!"

I didn't read the Witch Weekly; I had no idea what she was going on about. But hearing the name Rita Skeeter told me all I needed to know – nothing remotely positive. The woman had a horrid reputation for twisting words to aid the gossips of the wizarding world. It was a wonder people even believed her. After the whole escapade with Hagrid, I was undoubtedly against the dogmatic witch.

I noticed Hermione's small hands, bandaged.

"What did she write that was so awful?"

Hermione sat down. "Only that I was a scarlet woman, pursuing and playing with both Viktor Krum and Harry. And get this: Love Potions is what I've been accused of using. Preposterous! I mean, I expected that rubbish from her, but the hate mail!"

"Is that what happened to your hands?" I asked, sympathetic to the girl who looked to be on the verge of breaking down.

She kept her head down when she nodded, playing with her fingers. "Undiluted Bubotuber pus."

I winced. From my knowledge of Herbology, that was nasty stuff.

"Can't have been nice," I said.

"It wasn't. It's a lot better now though. What's worse is that Mrs Weasley believes that rubbish."

My eyebrows raised. For all the years shared with George he hadn't much mentioned his mother, just small things like her amazing cooking, her stern and bossy manner and loud voice. That, and her ability to push out seven children and still have energy to moan to the twins constantly despite them looming over her 'shortness that is paralleled to a goblin, much like her angry face' – George's words. But from all had I had gathered, I never would have her pegged her down for believing in magazine rumours.

"Well, for what it's worth, I certainly don't hate you. And those girls? Insanely petty and jealous. I mean, you're best friends with Harry Potter, on good terms with Viktor Krum, smarter than every single student I bet, and super pretty. They're intimidated by you."

Hermione peeked out of her hair, a small smile evident, although she looked doubtful.

"You know, the only time I ever felt pretty was at the Yule Ball. I had an amazing time with Viktor and forgot about worrying about Harry and Ron. And even then it didn't last long. Someone always seems to go out of their way to make me miserable."

"Who was it then?"

"Ron."

"Typical Weasley," I scoffed. She giggled. "Those twins aren't any better, I tell you."

"Did you go to the ball?"

I shook my head, not in the least bit uncomfortable about sharing my woes with the fourth year. "I did get invited, but it turned out he wasn't so open minded about my squib status as I first thought. And the twins…let's just say their temper borderlines on hormonal pregnant women."

She laughed. "Weasley temper, I guess. Ginny's got it too."

"Yep. But they can hold it in sometimes. And they don't hold grudges for very long."

"They are good at that, aren't they? Being happy and joyful, always joking. It's remarkable. Don't tell them I said that."

"Your guilty pleasure is safe with me," I winked, glad that my attempt at cheering her up worked. I wasn't much of a comforter; I got awkward easily and, at best, could offer hugs. But I had never needed to comfort someone as much as before now, and it felt good.

"I would have thought one of the twins would have asked you to the ball, Fred presumably. Speaking of the twins, have you noticed anything off with them lately? I know it's not any of my business but, it's just…"

"Yes?"

"I saw them earlier. In the Owlery. They're blackmailing someone. Do you know anything about this?"

This news came shocking to me. The boys had never let anything on that something was happening, not something bad enough for them to blackmail others, at least. I went over as many of the conversations we had of them moaning about people.

"No, I had no idea. They haven't told me anything," I admitted. What could they possibly be blackmailing someone about? And who?

"Oh. I see. Sorry to bring it up, they were just acting a bit suspicious. Which isn't anything surprising, honestly – those two are always sneaking around doing something, I've guessed partly you at times."

My lips twitched at her words. She must have noticed, for she gasped with widened eyes and covered her mouth.

"Oh my gosh – I'm so sorry…I- I didn't mean they were doing you! It's just – I meant –"

"Hermione!" her face burning red only made me laugh harder. "I understand, no worries. Nothing on that level happening though, in case you were wondering."

She groaned and slumped in her seat. Not one to discuss topics sexually related, I guess.

Fizzy appeared next to me with a sandwich.

"Here is Miss Ella's lunch. You missed it again, Miss," she said, grinning. It was an exaggeration, of course; I had been busy procrastinating to be too distracted to eat. I had perhaps only missed a total of two lunches over the weeks. That, according to the house elves, was far too many.

"I'm sorry, Fizz. I had to get this done; time must've slipped me. Sorry."

"No problems, Miss Ella. Enjoy!"

And she disappeared again. I took a bite out of the chicken sandwich and licked the sauce from my lips. Hermione was frowning at me. Spew. Damn.

"You're ok with them serving you?" she asked.

"Hermione, it's not how you think it is. I understand where you're coming from – I do, I'm from a world where people were racially enslaved as well, remember? But this is different," I tried to reason. Hermione wasn't having any of it.

"It's because they have been indoctrinated into believing it! They don't know anything else because they haven't had the chance."

Her hands lay clasped in her lap, her back straight, her gaze fierce. Internally, I groaned. She was just getting started.

The Gryffindor common room was lively with students basking in the last free time before the arrival of the summer term. In the boys' dorm was where I found out that George and Alicia had broken up.

"Wait, go over that again. Because from what I heard that made absolutely no sense."

They had finished advertising and selling some of their products and then dragged me upstairs away from the ears of their housemates. The mess astonished me; every surface was covered in parchment or items of clothing and sweet wrappers. Empty bottles of butterbeer and ink pots littered the floor. The boys were unperturbed by the clutter and laughed when I almost sat on one of their boxers; clean or dirty, I did not know. Apparently, the house elves were on a break from cleaning their dorm after a recurring incident that had begun in their third year.

"We just…didn't want to anymore," George said, flicking through a Quidditch magazine on his bed.

"You both or just you?"

"Both of us, of course! What kind of bloke do you take me for?" he scowled.

I didn't bother with a response. I would have lifted an eyebrow in an are-you-serious face but realised it would have had no other effect than to arouse laughter.

"When did it happen?"

"This morning, before breakfast."

"How?"

"Bloody hell, since when do you gossip?" Lee said, being the only decent one to attempt to clear up around his bed. He picked up a sock, held it up to his nose and grimaced. "Oi, whose is this?"

The twins grumbled.

"I'm curious. If you want I can just go and ask her myself."

"There wasn't a fight if that's what you're wondering," Fred said, upside down on the edge of his bed. I forced my eyes away from the patch of skin uncovered by his shirt slipping down.

"Of course not!"

"Oh, shut it. We were very civil, Ella, I pulled her away as soon as we got to the common room, waited for everyone to leave and then asked her how she felt. Then we broke up," George answered.

"But I don't understand why! You two were perfect," I said.

"No we weren't, Ella, we're teenagers. We don't fall in love, we have sex and then we get bored. Then we both move on."

"Not everyone is like that," I said. I don't know why I did, because I didn't know of a single person who had fallen in love as a teenager and remained with that person forever. But there had to be someone.

"We've had girlfriends before, s'not like Alicia was his first," Fred said, sitting up at last. His face was red and his hair neat and tidy in the mini bun I arranged at the nape of his neck. His hair was getting longer, making it easier for the band to stay. Several times I had found myself playing with his hair whenever we were seated together. All those times I used the excuse of disentangling the knots to tie it up.

"Yeah, like Fred and Angelina's week long relationship," Lee chortled.

"That wasn't even a relationship, that was friends with benefits," George grinned.

"Not beneficial enough, if you ask me," Fred said.

"You boys are disgusting."

"Cheers," the three chorused.

I rolled my eyes.

"What about you, Ella?" Lee asked.

"What about me?"

"I know you're only a year younger than us but we've never – or I've never, heard about any boyfriend from you. Spill."

"Who's the gossip now?" I refrained from fidgeting under their scrutiny.

"Come to think of it, I've never even heard anything about that," George said, disposing his magazine by flinging it across the room and sitting up.

"That's because there was nothing to be said on the matter."

They raised their eyebrows.

"What – no boyfriend? Ever?"

"Have you been kissed?"

"Ever given a blowjob?"

We all turned to Lee with looks of revulsion.

"Sorry," he murmured, and returned to sorting through his items.

I sighed. "No boyfriend, kissed Nate, and certainly no blowjob."

"Whoa whoa, wait a minute! You kissed Nate?" George asked. "Your friend from Ottery Nate? The boy two years older than you?"

I understood how Hermione had felt then in the kitchen. But this was worse – this discussion was with me and three immature teenage boys.

"It was a dare."

George laughed, a full belly laugh as he rolled on his bed. Fred quirked an eyebrow at his brother, then mouthed to me: "Who's Nate?"

I shrugged. In the common room I had observed the twins as they conversed with the other Gryffindors, selling their jokes and pranks. I made to pinpoint every detail about them, trying to find patent features that differentiated them. Ever since my awakening in the hospital wing I was able to make out which was Fred and which was George, but I found myself watching Fred more. There was a sense of discomfort when his eyes met mine as I was doing so; he would wink, as if catching me out but not caring. It was a smug wink. Even in their dorm I had sat myself far away from him, my arm burning from where it had rubbed against him as we walked up the stairs.

The feeling was familiar, but I shrugged it off. Repeatedly, I chanted in my head: I do not fancy Fred Weasley.

"That's priceless," George said through the ending breaths of his dying laughter. He wiped at his eyes and sighed.

"Is it a muggle thing?" Lee asked, finally giving up on clearing the piles of rubbish and sitting beside Fred. "Not having boyfriends or girlfriends when you're a teenager?"

"Mate, your mum's a muggle, you should know," Fred pointed out.

"Only child. And she doesn't talk about her teenage years much. Can't say I'd like to hear it either," Lee shuddered.

The conversation carried on for a while, the boys fascinated by the sexual explorations of the muggle world. I could hardly contain my embarrassment when they moved onto sex positions and explained it visually, spreading their legs out, kneeling, thrusting and panting. It reminded me that away from the eyes of others, they were normal hormonal teenage boys. And then the sudden realisation that I was one of the boys came to me, resulting in me shooting up from my seat and saying a quick goodbye before leaving their dorm and escaping to the common room where, fortunately, the girls were sitting.

I had expected Alicia to be somewhat saddened from her recent break up with George – she didn't strike me much as a girl who had many boyfriends despite her gorgeous looks. So it was surprising to see upon walking to their circle her laughing uproariously.

"Ella!" Katie said being the first to notice me. The other girls greeted as enthusiastically.

"Hi. What are you guys doing?" I asked, taking the proffered seat beside Angelina.

"Discussing Katie's lover," Angelina sang, laughing louder when a cushion flew past her face.

"He's not my lover! We just…owl a bit," Katie blushed.

"Oh yeah? I recall you meeting him last Hogsmeade weekend."

"Only for a few minutes, he had somewhere to be."

"Lasted only a few minutes, did he?" Alicia and Angelina burst into a new round of laughter. Katie, never one to be too embarrassed, giggled lightly, the redness in her cheeks dulling to a pale pink.

"Why is everyone talking about sex today?" My groan, I soon found, was too loud, as the girls had conveniently calmed down by the time I spoke. Half the common room had heard and turned to look.

"Who else was talking about it?" Katie asked.

"The Troublesome Trio, who else?"

"Those boys are always horny," Angelina rolled her eyes. "I swear, if their mum ever found out what they got up to…"

"Hell would open up on earth," Alicia nodded grimly, seemingly unfazed by the topic of her ex-boyfriend's sex life.

"I thought you were busying studying for your exams?"

My attempt at changing the subject was a success, as the girls moved onto discuss their subjects and upcoming exams. The most dreaded exam was, as expected, Potions, followed closely by Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Transfiguration. Hearing of the sixth years and fifth year workload made me anxious for my exams; I had no idea what levels I would be entered into. So far I was studying the first two years of all my subjects and had been doing fairly well. But the closer the time got to exams, the more anxious I get. And the more anxious I get, my brain just shuts down.

Throughout the discussion the thought of Fred and Angelina being ex-friends with benefits played in my mind. I shrugged it off the first few times, thinking Angelina and Fred made an odd couple, one that could be predicted to always argue without the aid of Divination. The acts presented to me in their dorms however, irked me somewhat. And, against my better judgement, I had pictured Angelina underneath Fred's ministrations.

My stomach churned for thinking that. And then the trio appeared, Fred jumping over the sofa, landing between me and Angelina.

We stayed like that for an hour or so until I grew tired. My head was resting comfortably on Fred's shoulder when he nudged me up.

"Come on, I'll walk you down to the kitchen," he stood and pulled me up. "I'll bring up some pastries," he said to the others, waving a goodbye.

"Wait, I'll come with you," George said.

"Nah, mate, we'll be fine. You stay with Lee and work on that thing I told you about."

George looked confused. "What thing?"

But Fred didn't answer. He rushed the last few steps out of the portrait hole, yelling out a, "Bye!" The corridors were quiet as we walked down to the kitchen. Normally, I would have inspected every corner I walked past, every flickering shadow from the candles in case it was my sister or Darren preparing to hex me, but my fatigue overpowered any rational thought, and I leant against Fred as we descended the stairs.

He was oddly silent too, noticing my drooping eyes and allowing me some peace, or his thoughts busy.

He took me straight to my dorm and sat down beside me on my bed, hugging me to his side. Sleep was just within my reach when Fred spoke.

"You said my name first."

"Huh?"

"When you woke up in the hospital wing, you said my name first. Why?"

"Oh. I don't know, it just came out."

He was looking down at me with bright eyes. I couldn't read his face. He was good at that.

"If I asked you to come out to Hogsmeade with me what would you say?"

"There's no Hogsmeade weekend for a while."

All thoughts of sleep were gone, my brain wide awake now. I chanted in my head again.

He chuckled. "You really expect me to only go out on Hogsmeade weekends? Please, I'm a Weasley twin."

"So…what are you saying?"

I only now realised his fingers trailing my arm. Even through the jumper separating our skin my arm warmed.

"Tomorrow evening."

"Is George going to be there?"

"Well, I've never gone out on a date with George involved as well. Can't say it's something I want to start now either," he grinned.

"A – a date?"

"Yes, a date. You know, an activity two people do together to get to know each other better." Fred spoke as if I was a five year old. I was too shocked to retaliate.

"But we already know each other."

Ever so slightly the grin on Fred's face slipped. His fingers stopped. "So that's a no then," he stated. Fred chortled gruffly and shook his head.

"I never said that," I said, stalling his movements. "I'm merely pointing out that that's a rubbish explanation."

"How about I give you a better one on our date?"

The fairies in my stomach doubled their efforts in flapping their wings. I wanted to laugh from the absurdity of it all. It took a moment for me to digest - Fred Weasley asking me out on a date. The thought of fancying George played in my mind, but I was over that, he was just a very good friend. But Fred...as much as he had irked me when we first met, he made me laugh like no one else, brightened my day with that silly smile of his. He was sweet, and cocky, and crude, and cheeky, and protective, and wonderful.

I let slip a smile. "Deal."

"Great." His grin warmed my stomach, like a warm and gooey chocolate cake. He brought a hand up to my face, the tips of his fingers barely grazing my skin. He strode out the dorm with a wink, leaving a tingle on my cheek from his lips that remained throughout the night.

Nanny Anne once said that to dream of flying means good luck will come your way, to dream of falling means that the dreamer feels out of control in their real life, or if their life is going downhill. But the true definition was different to everyone, and not all people fall, some are pushed.

Interpretations.

To dream of being old means acquiring knowledge and wisdom.

To dream of flying from your house to a man's that you know, means you will marry him.

But to dream of flying from a known abode into an unknown, means death.