Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Control

"I know, I know", I kept repeating in a poor attempt to get Fred and George to back off. We were back in McGonagall's classroom at the end of the day. While the rest of the student body was getting in some leisure activities before dinner. Sitting on top of the same desk as last time, I ran my hands over my face.

"I don't think you do", George argued; bothering his bottom lip with worry. "Holly, this is really….." George trailed off. Why? I wasn't sure. Maybe to spare my feelings. Or maybe he really didn't know how to finish that sentence.

Fred didn't have the same problem. "A really mucked up situation", he finished George's sentence. There were wrinkles on his forehead as he frowned at me.

After Arithmancy class, Adrian had pulled me aside while the rest of our class left. I wasn't allowed to avoid him. "All those things I said on Sunday were an offer of protection" Pucey had said. My immediate response was to scoff. Hell, I had a similar reaction when I retold the whole conversation to Fred and George. That Sunday, I didn't feel protected. I felt singled out like a dog that was about to be adopted from a shelter.

"I know", I repeated; irritation bubbling in my insides. So, so, so much; I wanted that day to not be a big deal. For it to be a stupid mistake that Pucey had said without thinking. But that hadn't been the case. It was irking that the conversation we had after Pcuey cornered me in Arithmancy made it more likely that Fred and George were right.

Pucey had gone on to say, "You wouldn't have taken this the wrong way if your family wasn't so anti-conventional". As if this whole conflict was my fault. I had wanted to slap him. Hours after, as I sit in front of my fellow triplets under their disapproval, I can still feel my hand itching to do so. My family isn't anti-conventional. We aren't conventional either. We just don't prescribe to either side. We simply think for ourselves and make our own decisions. It's the reason why Bill gets along so well with the goblins he works with at Gringotts. "Weasley", Pucey had continued. "I wanted to wait. Generally, what I did isn't something people do until they are at least sixteen. But now the Slytherins, or at least the other heirs, have to leave you alone unless they want to contest me".

Instantly, I was confused. There was a lot to unpack in that statement. I was still turning it over in my head as Fred and George kept their 'you were stupid, Holly' speech going. Something about how I wasn't anything but an object to Pucey.

At what had been my befuddled expression, Pucey had said, "You are off-limits. I made you off-limits". That sentence went over as well as one would expect.

I had responded with, "You don't get to decide that!"

"Holly?" Fred asked at what was probably a glazed-over look on my face. "Are you listening?" I wasn't. Trapped in a loop of the conversation I had with Pucey; listening to it play over and over again in my head. It was easier than paying attention to Fred and George pointing out all the reasons why they were right.

Pucey had sighed and looked up towards the ceiling as if he was pleading with Merlin to give him patience. Right, because he was the one who needed it. "Our numbers are dwindling, Weasley", he had said after he had collected himself. "They were dwindling when I was Regulus. And our numbers are even fewer now in this generation. Purebloods are having fewer children because couples are having a difficult time getting and staying pregnant".

"Yes, that is a consequence of inbreeding". I had said. But it's weak coming from me. My mum comes from the Prewett line, and both the Prewett line and the Weasley line have ties to the Blacks, so….

But Pucey had ignored me. "A lot of families are only producing one child. And in this generation, there have been more sons than daughters". Pucey had looked at me expectantly. As if I was suddenly supposed to get it. At my unmoved expression, Pucey had loudly sighed. He looked like he would like nothing more than to grab my shoulders and shake me until I saw what he clearly did. "To keep bloodlines alive families are going to have to find their sons' brides" Pucey had trailed off as if he was waiting for me to pick up his line of thought. I let him down. Pucey had huffed. "Your family isn't rich but your parents achieved something, specifically your mother, that the other pureblood lines will desire". At that point, he had lost me. The majority of purebloods that Pucey was referring to are families that see my family as blood traitors. We do not have anything those people would want.

George shook his head. "All that stuff you told us he said", George started up again; doing what he could to get into my head. "About Mum-".

Pucey had gone on the say with a boatload of exacerbation in his voice, "Your mother, Weasley, had eight children. Eight healthy children, all that have presented as magical so far. You have a younger sister still at home, right? I'm guessing that she is magical too". It started to make a little more sense at this point. A suspected consequence of pureblood inbreeding was producing squibs. My family was very large and very magical. I guess we did have something others would want.

"Not only that, but your mother had six sons and two daughters. Her oldest five are all sons. Your family has one heir and many spares''. It was an awful phrase, but I got what Pucey was talking about in that context. Families needed sons to pass on their names. A family with an heiress would most likely end up passing on a different surname. Or be the end of the bloodline altogether if they failed to marry. Hell, before the 1900s a witch's inheritance got consolidated into her husband's property. The one exception I can think of where a pureblood witch passed on her name to her offspring was Madame Zabini with Blaise Zabini, in Ron's year, as the proof. Talk about a boon for witches' rights.

"Not to mention that she conceived multiples. Do you know how rare multiples are in pureblood families?" Pucey had asked. In truth, I didn't know if multiples were rare to purebloods or not. It's not something I ever really thought about. I tried to think of all the sets of multiples I knew of at Hogwarts. Fred, George, and I were the only triplets. Then there were the Patil sisters in Ron's year, but I didn't know if they were half-bloods or purebloods. Then there were the Carrow sisters, but I couldn't remember if they had started Hogwarts yet. Was that a lot of multiples or not? I really didn't know.

"You're just a broodmare to him", George finished; adopting a pained expression at ever having to let such a word fall from his lips.

"I get that", I growled out before digging my teeth into my bottom lip; feeling sick.

"Do you?" Fred asked; raising his arms above his head in absolute frustration. "Because you seem too relaxed to really understand what that bastard was telling you".

Relaxed? I'm too relaxed? Fred's comment had me curling my hands into fists as I tried to restrain the overwhelming feelings I was unwilling to try to analyze and label. But why? Why was Fred acting like everything that had happened…. Everything Pucey had said had happened to him instead of me?

Pucey went on to say, "So it doesn't matter if your family is considered to be blood traitors. You won't get any offers from families like the Malfoys". When he had said that, I thanked Merlin for small mercies. "But you and your sister, assuming that she is magical, will get offers. And when that happens, you'll need to pick the best one. Do you think you could keep your reincarnation hidden from your husband? Do you think just anyone would approve of your past life as a muggle?"

It was something I never had considered. Before now there hadn't been a need. The Burrow is like its own little bubble. We rarely venture into wizarding society as we didn't maintain many social connections except for family and a few of Dad's work friends. There wasn't really any need. Great Aunt Muriel was about all we could handle. Marriage and dating also wasn't a conversation I've had with Mum yet. In truth, I've been avoiding it. Did Mum know about all this traditional courtship nonsense? Did Dad? Or had Pucey been trying to pull a fast one over me? Throw in past muggle lives and it sounded like a complete headache. Why did any of that have to matter? Why did Adrian assume I would have to accept one of those offers he was hinting at?

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to go along with what you're suggesting?" I had retorted with; something in me growing darker. "Maybe I don't care about 'offers'. Maybe I have every intention of living without commitments. Maybe I don't care for what you're offering. Have you ever thought of that?"

Pucey had rolled his eyes. "You've been perfectly agreeable up until now. Agreeing to go to Hogsmeade with me".

"That was a transaction".

"I've loaned you my scarf on a couple of occasions".

"I was cold".

"And yet you never managed to bring your own scarf. The wizard sharing garments is a form of courting". I did know enough to know if that was true or not. "Then there were all those times when we were talking that you kept getting closer and closer".

I had answered, "That's just harmless flirting!" Immediately, I had to take a step back. Before that moment I had never referred to our interactions as flirting. It felt like ripping off a band-aid. I didn't like it. But I had managed to regain myself seconds later. "I wasn't aware that having fun with you was the same as promising myself to you".

Pucey had said the last line, "you can refuse my advances at any time, Weasley. But until you do, I am going to write this off as a spat, and follow through with my intentions". And then he had stood there, having placed the ball in my court.

I had taken the metaphorical ball and ran with it. Literally, I turned around and ran from the classroom. I didn't run because I was scared, or because I didn't want to face Pucey. I left because I was unsure of what I wanted to do. I don't want to lose what potential friendship I could have with Pucey. I also didn't want to encourage this foolishness. Past experiences have taught me that relationships don't work out for some people. Jessie's experiences had taught me that. Images of blood and a knife flashed through my mind, and I had to pause to take a deep breath. That was… that was a new memory.

Falling back to what has always worked for me in the past, I found Fred and George. Which is how we found ourselves where we are now; I told them everything and they proceeded to tell me how they'd been right this entire time.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked Fred; refusing to look at him so he couldn't see the fury that was brewing. "You're right. Pucey is wrong. Everything is my fault".

"Yes!" Fred exploded; either not hearing the sarcasm or not caring.

Reading the signs, as he has always done, George stepped into his role as the peacemaker of our group. "How about", he started to say; holding his hands up in a nonaggressive placating manner. "We just agree that Holly can do much better than Pucey and that we're not going to bother with him anymore?"

The silence was tense as Fred and I waited for the other to break first. It wasn't my fault. What Pucey thought or felt wasn't my doing. And maybe Fred and George were right, but…. That doesn't mean they should…. "Fine", Fred said after George dug an elbow into his side.

"Fine", I parrotted; voice gruff. But it didn't matter if Fred and George were right. They shouldn't get to decide for me. Not everything needed to be a unified choice.

I continued to sit next to Diggory during Arithmancy. Despite this, he seemed just as unsure of me as he had that first day. It probably didn't help that I spent most of the class hunched over a sheet of parchment and mumbling to myself as I made a bunch of notes about things unrelated to the curriculum. Even as distracted as I was by my own thoughts, I could feel the side-eyed glances Diggory kept shutting in my directions. Did I care? No. Should I care? Probably. But right now, I'm on the threshold of a mission. One I was struggling to come up with a plan of attack for. Whatever I did, it needed to be epic. It needed to be memorable. Something that leaves behind no question of who was in control. Something that would help me feel better about everything that happened with my brothers, Pucey, and Stimpson. I was looking to restore my equilibrium.

"Um", Diggory started in a slow whisper; too distracted by the tension building between me and the Slytherin sitting in the front of the room to properly focus on the lesson. "Did you work things out… with Pucey?" He asked; despite the opposite being obvious.

"No", I grumbled as I scratched out one of the ideas I had. Not sure why I had even thought of it. There's no way I'd be able to get my hands on enough flobberworms to pull that off. "It got bloody worse". I decided to elaborate, even though Diggory hadn't asked for the whole story. "Apparently, I'll grow up to be a baby machine because my mum had eight kids so I'll probably be able to as well. Pucey thinks he's the best person to do the job, so I should just accept him pulling the shots". I was scribbling on my parchment so hard that ink was smudging and splattering everywhere. "Meanwhile, my brothers think that Pucey is an asshole and that I should run for the hills. And they're right. But I hate that they're right. Because that means they're going to make decisions for me for the rest of our lives. And this whole thing is stupid Stimpson's fault for starting this whole mess in the first place". I had to stop for air; gasping for breath as loud as I dared as class continued to go on around us.

"Um…" Diggory blinked as he eyed the nearly strangled quill clutched in my hands. Slowly, as if he was approaching a wounded animal, Diggory reached out and carefully removed the quill from my hand; preventing me from hurting myself or anyone else with it. "That's… I'm sorry".

Exhaling through my nose, I felt like a bull coming down from a rampage as I jerked my head in Diggory's direction; glaring into his grey eyes. "You're a boy. Do you think the only thing witches are good for are babies and that I shouldn't complain about doing what my brothers want me to do?"

Diggory leaned away from me in his seat. "Uh…" He seemed afraid to answer. "I think witches are scary", came an answer that was reflective of this moment.

Scoffing, I refocused on the sheet of parchment I had absolutely destroyed with my angry penmanship and vengeful scribbling. Annoyingly handsome and passive Hufflepuff. If only all wizards were that easy.

"But you know, maybe you should tell them how you feel", Diggory spoke tentatively; having worked up the courage now that I wasn't looking at him. "They might not know", he tried to reason. "If it's too hard to say everything out loud, maybe you could send them letters".

Something sparked through the angry haze that was an overbearing presence in my mind. A letter, huh? There was promise in that idea. With my shoulders relaxing, I turned back to Diggory; feeling a little bit like my usual self. "Thanks, Diggory. That's not a bad thought".

Diggory blushed, even though he looked more confused at my sudden turn around than embarrassed at my acceptance of his idea. "Happy to help", he muttered softly.