None of my friends visit me in the hospital, not that I expect them to make any attempt to see me. The girl who brought me here, Robin Browning, I discover, comes to see me every day. She says that while I was sleeping Silas brought me flowers, but I'm pretty sure that she just got them and is insisting that they are from Silas.

I'm stuck inside for two weeks because it seems Bronwyn's hex was rather vicious. Furthermore, the head injury I sustained from Elora last year has prevented me from taking any potions to heal it without a searing headache. My head pounds and I am barely able to lift it off the bed.

"You have a visitor," Madam Pomphrey says, moving the curtains from around me.

I take my head and lift it with one hand, using my other hand to pull myself up. Madam Pomphrey helps prop me up with pillows so that I can keep my head from lulling to the side.

Robin Browning rounds the corner. She tucks a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear.

"How're you?" she asks. Her voice is smooth like honey. If I didn't know that she was a muggle-born, I would assume that she was an actual descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. She embodies the house like no one's business.

"The swelling has gone down," I say since I can finally sit up on my own. I move my homework aside, putting it down. "Did you just get back from the Quidditch game?"

She nods, taking off her tight yellow and black scarf. She rubs her hands together. "It is rather chilly. Gryffindor beat Slytherin, but then Harry Potter and the Weasley twins got banned."

"Why?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"They got in a fight with Draco Malfoy," Robin says. "Like, a fist-fight. Now I don't condone violence."

I wait for her to add a but to the sentence, but she doesn't. Instead, she simply sighs, and unloads the basket she brought along with her. Inside are few a sweets that she snagged from the kitchen, where the Hufflepuffs all love to spend their time. She hands one to me, and I take it.

"Thank you, Robin," I manage.

I really do owe her, and I want her to know it.

Robin blinks beneath her eyelashes. Her lids flutter up and down, and she lets out a little bit of a smile. "You can call me Robbie. I prefer Robbie, that is."

"Right," I smile.

With that Robbie packs up and leaves.

Eventually, still sitting up, I find myself drifting off to sleep. It's a miserable bit of time, and I feel my chest tightening in on itself as I sit and dream. I imagine Marcus's hands all over my body, in places I don't want them, and my brother, watching with a smile on his face. We are in the privacy of his bedroom, not mine, and he's just content. I can't tell if it's because I'm with Marcus or if it's because I'm suffering at the hands of Marcus. My stomach feels sick.

I'm jolted awake.

My neck is sweating, and my whole body feels gross. I want to shower, but I'm barely able to get out of bed.

"Darling, you have more visitors," Madam Pomphrey says.

Oh great, just what I need. No doubt it's Elora come to rub my future detention in my face.

I try to compose myself as Fred and George enter my view. They stare at me, both frowning.

"What," I begin, but I don't know how to end. I'm in shock. Absolute shock. "Hello."

"Hello," Fred says. His face is bright red.

"What's... how're you both?" I ask. I imagine my face is as red as his.

He straightens out his Quidditch uniform. They both sit down in chairs next to my bed, staring at me.

"Sucks the hex hasn't worn off," George points out, biting his lip. His knuckle is bruised, presumably from punching Malfoy. I don't know what the poor kid said to deserve being attacked by three boys, two of which are two years older than him. "It's rotten luck."

"Bronwyn really meant it," I point out. She only got lines from Snape for her transgression, while I have been rotting away.

I want to ask them what they are doing here, but it doesn't feel right to ask.

"I heard you've been banned from Quidditch," I tell them, trying to keep up with the conversation.

"Well," Fred sighs. "Rumours travel quickly, don't they?"

He heard about the reason Bronwyn and I got into a fight.

George squeezes Fred on the shoulder and stands up. "I'll leave you both to it."

"You're a git," Fred says to his brother, playfully shoving him.

George shrugs but gets up, and walks away.

Then, it is Fred and me, staring at each other. Merlin, I'm embarrassed that he knows. I don't know how to fix it, or how to stop it from feeling like this. Like intensity has been bottled up inside me.

"Are you using Harry to get to me?" Fred asks. "Because if you are, it's not going to work. It's just going to piss me off."

"No," I answer. What did he tell Fred? I'm so confused. "I just, I wanted to let him know that I believed him. About You-Know-Who."

"Why?" Fred asks. "Nevermind, I don't actually care to find out."

He swallows. A look of disgust makes his eyebrows contort and he turns his head away from me. I wish there were no Death Eaters. I wish he didn't have to believe that my family knows intimately about the Dark Lord's return. As far as I know, they don't.

"Why do you play this game?" he asks.

I furrow my brow. "What game, Fred? What game am I playing?"

"You can't just be straightforward with me," he answers. "You avoid confrontation like nothing else. You lot. You're all sneaky and conniving. Never just honest."

"I am being honest with you," I tell him. I sigh, looking down. "Do you want to know what I smelled, last year when we made Amortentia?"

He shakes his head. "Honestly, Larkin, I don't want to know. I don't care."

"Then why are you here?" I snap back. "You obviously know that I fancy you, as per my explosive argument in the Great Hall. I know that word has gotten round to you. So, why have you even come?"

"I wanted to know why you told them when you couldn't even tell me," he points out, taking in a deep breath and sighing. He shakes his head back and forth. "I've had a pretty shit day, and I figured that you might be able to make me feel better. Now, I'm just angry."

"I was bewitched. They forced me tell the truth," I answer, and it makes me feel guilty. I didn't want anyone to know about how I felt, not even myself. "It wasn't my choice. Don't you see that no one has ever cared about what I chose? I haven't had the luxury to be who I am."

Not like him. Fred is unapologetically himself, and I've always admired that in him. Even now, with his breath heavy and his cheeks as bright as his hair.

"I just wish you weren't content to keep me a secret," he tells me.

"Everything has changed now," I insist.

He stands up. "But not by your doing, right? Because they used Veritaserum on you? So, nothing's changed."

"I want to make it up to you," I tell him. I really do. "At the very least, I want us to be friends. I just don't understand why you are upset with me!"

"Really?" he asks. "How was your summer? I heard that the alps are lovely."

Is this seriously about Ander Ander? I haven't heard from him in months, and I have no intention of ever hearing from him again. "Is this really about him?"

"It's about you hiding," Fred says.

"You don't know what's at stake for me," I tell him. My whole life. My family. All of my friends. Money. Surviving. All of it is being whisked away as we speak. If I am authentically me, I lose everything.

"It wouldn't matter to me," Fred points out. He steps away. "I guess I'm just disappointed. I shouldn't have expected to be enough for someone like you."

~~~~~

Is this out of character? I hope it isn't, I tried really hard to make it in character. Fred is just more complicated than meets the eye, I think. As is Larkin. I also hope I balanced this well, between who is right and who isn't. I don't think there is anyone correct here.

What do you think?

P.S. I had a really shitty night. So I'm sorry if this isn't as well done as my usual stuff.