Shrinking Violet

Cascading waves of black hair fell to the small of her back, each individual stand rippling as she took yet another deep breath. Two identical pools of brown reflected the dimly lit corridors as they tentatively searched the area.

Even normally Mundane objects and shadows seemed to hold malice. She could picture it now, Professor Snape lurking within the shadows, appearing out of a cloud of black smoke, handing our punishments in his famous drawl. The vivid scene coursed through every neuron in her brain put her weak heart in an uproar.

"Can we leave now?" She whispered, her voice barely able to break the silence around them. Fred grinned, a mischievous smile illuminating his face. His mirthful green eyes scanning over his latest invention. It was George, however, who placed a delicate hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle and fleeting like a butterfly. The girl looked up at him and - not for the first time - noticed the obvious difference between the two.

"Cleary's right, Fred. It's getting late." Fred rolled his eyes, and she didn't blame him for his exasperation. Since when did it ever matter if it was late or not? Regardless, Fred sped up his artful process, his hands moving with grace and precision. It was enviable, really, how skilled he was.

"Done." He said as he brushed his hands against his trousers. However, his smile was quickly replaced with a hurried look. He glanced down the long hallway, a feeling nibbling away at his chest. He'd felt this aching sensation once before, but couldn't seem to place when and where.

Mindlessly, the three walked quickly and quietly through the dim light. Fred seemed too ensnared in his own thoughts to notice his companions actions. Once again it was George who noticed Cleary's expression and the uneasy way her teeth bit into the frosty red flesh of her lip as her eyes darted across this room.

George's pale hand pressed against the smooth skin of her caramel colored arm. She breathed in deeply, preparing herself for whatever questions George might have.

"A Knut for your thoughts?" A smile curled upon his lips, gentle and slowly pushing her to reveal all her secret. She sighed, lost in the haze of her own confusing thoughts.

"It's about the defense of the dark arts teacher." As soon as the words left her mouth, George's smile broke out into a grin. It was only then that she realized how foolish she sounded. Of all the things to be concerned about, considering she was wandering the eerily dark school well past curfew, she didn't understand why this seemed to bother her the most.

"It's not just me, is it?" She asked quickly and quietly. "That feels like he doesn't know what the hell he's doing?" Fred smiled at her voice of words, and George shared the emotion as it was very...             un-Cleary like.

"No, it's not just you." Fred said, breaking his own streak of silence. His eyes danced around the walls, as if searching for an elusive answer that lay amongst them. A long wisp of air was released from her mouth, relief washing over her, it was good to know she wasn't the only one. George was about to say something, his mouth open and tongue set in gear to spill out the words, when a burly figure interrupted him.

Oliver Wood's clothing was stained with residue from grass and beads of sweat, much like most of his skin. His eyes big and brown as he came to an abrupt stop at the sight of the three, though they mostly rested on the girl standing between the two redheads.

"Fred, George, Cleary." Her name rolled off his tongue with malice, as though she was the sole reason that Voldemort himself had ever existed.

On lonelier days, when neither Fred nor George were around to keep her company, her mind would always wonder what caused Oliver Wood's hatred to burn so bright. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she was categorized as a "distraction" towards the two boys. Or perhaps it was because, every so often, even Professor Snape spoke highly of her. Or maybe it was because she was the Seeker for Hufflepuff. The answer always remained elusively out of her grasp, and before long it was forgotten once more.

"What are you all doing up so late when we have a game in a few days?" His tone sharp, the last few words directed at Cleary herselff. It would be a dirty lie to say that she wasn't used to it by now. How could she not when she endured it for the entire year?

"We could be asking you the same question-" Fred's mischievous smirk resurfaced, an amused glint twinkling in his eye.

"-But I think we already know the answer." George finished, scanning and noting Oliver's appearance, to which he returned with a short but clear grimace.

"Go to bed, you two." Oliver said, breezily walking past Cleary without so much as an indication toward civility.

"Oh, come on, we were just getting started!" Fred yelled, only to be silenced by a swift squeeze from Cleary.

"Do you want to get caught?" She asked, her brown eyes peering into his own questioningly. It was only after she asked did she find the answer to her question: the only person who cared about getting caught was her.

"Come on Miss Cleary, let's get you to bed before-" his voice was cut short by a droning voice, thick and straight from Cleary's imagination to the world around them.

"Well, if it isn't the Weasley's." His keen eyes fell to the boys before, finally, focusing on the thin girl between them. Her tawny skin glowed in the light as her dark hair framed her face, but it was her dark brown eyes that caught his attention.

Shame filled them, the illustrious result that mirrored the expected disappointment Snape had of her upon seeing his prized pupil in this situation.

"And Ms. Prince," his voice was cold and hard, earning a flinch from the girl as she refused to make eye contact.

"I suppose detention will be a sufficient punishment." He drawled. With those words Fred finally understood what the emotion he was feeling was: un-easiness.