Defence Against the Dark Arts bores me. In fact, I'd rather be propelled against walls by magical means than sit through another one of Professor Umbridge's classes. As she would have it, we are not to practice any spells in the classroom. Instead, we spend our time focusing on the written components of spells, which is absolutely nightmarish. Professor Umbridge claims we haven't a need for any defensive spells. In some ways, she is correct.

Bronwyn's father would rather us simply practice the Dark Arts, rather than any defence against them. Perhaps, soon enough Corban Yaxley will be running this place. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. Even though it shouldn't. While, like Elora says, I shouldn't have made up my mind yet.

Which I haven't done if anyone's asking. Not that anyone is asking. No one seems to pay my opinion any mind.

It is the beginning of October, and the Weasley twins are still eluding me. It's gotten to the point where I am beginning to think it's intentional. They often skip meals, and their pranks have slowed. They are up to something, surely, I just can't imagine what.

Bronwyn is waiting outside of the classroom when we are done. I hang back a few seconds, taking a few steps to feign talking to Professor Umbridge. I hope to escape their clasp, but no luck.

Eventually, I head outside to meet them. I watch as the Weasley twins duck out of reach just down the hallway.

"Excuse me," I say to Elora and Bronwyn, before tearing off after them, hoping that only Elora will pay it any mind.

I duck between the crowds of students, following the sight of short, bright red hair. It's the only thing I've been able to notice has changed because I haven't been within ten metres of them for so long. I whisper excuses as I push through the crowd, trying to catch up to them.

Fred must hear my voice because he turns around. With one shake of his head, he heads off, leaving me in his dust.

I breathe in and out deeply. So, he is ignoring me. Something's changed, and I can't quite pin anything on it. Is it still the tower, or is it something else? Maybe George will tell me, if I can pin George down, although George has never been my biggest fan.

"Travers," Bronwyn class from behind me. Her voice rings out like the tune to a song that is going to get stuck in my head. I spin around to see her hand stretched up in the air, waving.

I lower my head and move back to her.

Elora is twirling her hair, looking me up and down. She smirks, and I wait for her joke, but nothing comes.

"What were you chasing after?" Bronwyn asks me.

"Stole my quill," I point out, turning my head. "Blasted Weasley."

"I thought you owed George," Elora furrows her brow. "After all, didn't he pay for your butterbeer?"

I cross my arms over my chest.

Bronwyn lets out a cackle. "First a Fawly and now a Weasley. Merlin, can you pick anybody with more than three sickles to their name?"

"It wasn't like that," I insist, and I'm not lying, technically. Not that I have any issue with lying to these people.

"And aren't they Muggle-obsessed like their father?" Bronwyn asks. She comes up next to me, wraps one of her arms around mine and begins to drag me down the corridor. "Seriously, it's a wonder that they aren't shagging some, rather unsavoury people. You seem a bit too good for their taste."

"They were paying me to help develop an Amortentia perfume," as I said, I had no qualms lying. It's a stretch of the truth, but not entirely fabricated. They just weren't going to pay me, under any circumstances for the favour. I didn't even want them to thank me.

"What did you smell again?" Elora asks, knowing full well that I said I smelled nothing.

I roll my eyes. "I was sick that week. I smell vanilla, mint, and cigars."

"Didn't you smell fish, Elora?" Bronwyn asks, a laugh between her cheeks.

Thankfully she is distracted. As Elora stammers, we make our way into the courtyard.

"It was blue cheese, not fish," Elora manages. "And black pepper and citrus cleaner. Perfectly normal smells, my mother says."

"Not Henri?" I ask.

She bites her tongue.

Bronwyn gasps. "Wait, did you break up? Who are you going to see now?"

We could ask Bronwyn the same question, but we don't dare. After all, we haven't spoken to Silas in a while. It's been a month of silence. Sometimes I will catch his eye across the way, or I will

Through the courtyard, we walk into the grassy field, towards our usual spot. Bronwyn lounges down in the grass, lying on her stomach. She pulls out a magazine from her bag.

Elora doesn't read anything. Normally she is caught with a copy of the Daily Prophet everywhere she goes, and yet she has none now. She too sits down, making eye contact with me the entire time.

I sit down. Rather than look up at the others, I stare up at the clouds above us. They are darkening. I remember when it poured, and all my friends had left me, but Fred stayed by my side.

Rain.

Then I realize that Fred always smelled firewood, even when he had changed and was no longer wearing the Amortentia potion.

Merlin's beard, I'm an idiot.

"Would you fight, Avery?" Bronwyn asks, chewing on her bottom lip.

Elora furrows her brow. "Sorry?"

"For the Dark Lord." Bronwyn presses on, leaning in closer. Her green eyes flicker from the magazine up to Elora.

Elora's head spins around, glancing about her. "We're in public, Bronwyn."

"Nobody can hear us," Bronwyn looks over at me. "What about you, Travers?"

I blink a few times. No. The answer pops into my head before I can suppress it. Obviously, I would not fight for the Dark Lord. Can't I just be neutral, like Silas? I mean, I cannot, simply for the reason that it might be expected of me, but I'd like to avoid the fight if at all possible.

So, instead, I lie. "We don't know for sure that he'll be back."

"He is," Bronwyn insists. "I cannot tell you how I know, but I know."

We all know she knows because her father dearest told her.

At first, I don't answer.

"Well?" Bronwyn prompts again.

"There's no use worrying about it now," Elora snaps. "He's not going to recruit a bunch of students, so if you'd please keep your voice down."

"We'll be done here in a few months," Bronwyn says. "I know I'm not going to fight. Unless they employ me to help with divination. My father told me to take Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I'm practically useless. I learned a few hexes over the summer, but that's it."

A few hexes aren't going to cut it. Elora and I could both easily take Bronwyn in a fight without opening our mouths. The Wizengamot still hasn't decided if I'm better than Elora, but we're probably quite evenly matched.

"I'm going to work for the Daily Prophet, I'll hardly be of any use," Elora points out.

I furrow my brow. "I thought you were going to work for the Ministry?"

"Yes, well I much prefer the work of journalism than of bureaucracy," Elora answers. Her shoulders are stiff, as is her back. I don't think I've ever seen her relax. As I stare, she stares back. Her tight-lipped expression breaks.

I wonder why she isn't answering the question. Is it because she doesn't want to be overheard, or is there more to Elora?

"You both are utterly useless," Bronwyn sighs.

"Why does it matter what we choose?" I ask back. I feel bile in the back of my throat that I swallow down.

"I'm trying to decide who my real friends are," Bronwyn says. At this, she gets up and storms away. Her hair whips behind her in the wind.

Elora looks at me. With a sigh, she gets up and follows after Bronwyn. I watch the two of them heading towards the castle, grey clouds above.

From there, I wait. Staring up at the clouds for at least an hour before it starts to drizzle. I stand up and head inside. I take a different route, to avoid the pair of them. Rather, I head through a different door.

A flood of Gryffindors, with a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, burst from around the corner. Among them are Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and their muggle-born friend. Behind the three are Fred and George.

I take my steps forward, pushing through the crowd. Harry Potter and the others stop when they see me. Eventually, I arrive in front of them, and I've got no idea what I'm doing.

"Can I speak to you alone?" I ask Harry Potter.

Fred and George barely take notice of me. They continue walking around me. The Muggle-born witch nods, but her friend Ron, shakes his head.

"Anything you are going to say to Harry, we'll hear about anyway."

"Ron, it's fine," Harry cuts in. "I'll meet you both in the Common Room."

The two walk away. Ron grumbles as they leave, and the Muggle-born witch whacks him in the arm.

Harry Potter stares at me. Still, every time it baffles me. The only known wizard to have survived the Unforgivable Curse.

"I believe you," I tell him.

He pauses, furrowing his brow. "Thanks."

I want to offer to help him, but how would I, and what would he even need help with, and how could people as small as me make a difference?

"That's all," I tell him. With that, I turn around.

"Wait," he calls after me.

I turn around to watch as he bites his lip. He's going to say something, something buried deep inside him.

"It means a lot, actually," he points out. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I say, even though I feel like I owe him, not as if he owes me.

~~~~~

Updates are going to be slowing soon, as I'm heading into exams. Still, there should be another few up before I'm done. After all, I'm like eight chapters ahead right now (which is not nearly enough, but it is something).

Anyway, I like this chapter. What do you make of Fred and George's behaviour? Of Elora's?