I can't help but think about Bronwyn's speech. Mostly, I wonder what she meant by Fred and the detention. He and George have been quieter in class, and their pranks have slowed since the incident before winter break. I want to get to the bottom of it.
It's difficult to look into without drawing attention to myself. After hours, I'm trapped in a room with Professor Snape, studying the components, and practicing the steps without the actual ingredients. Professor Snape has me go again and again until my hands develop calluses. This leaves me no time to track down Fred, or George, and try to interrogate them.
Interrogate isn't the proper word. Ask is.
I try to gossip with Robbie, and either she doesn't know, or she knows and says nothing. I try to read her face, but she's always got this glassy look to her as if she is on the verge of crying. I want to ask her about that too, but I know that she is very private. Any questions about why she doesn't have friends anymore, and she completely shuts down. Maybe if she trusted me more, she would divulge. Maybe if I was a better friend, I would know the truth.
Already, I know what I'm going to waste my Felix Felici on. It might just be trying to track down Fred. Unfortunately, that might not be for several more months. After all, it is only February. Late February, but February, nonetheless.
In the Great Hall, I get a letter from my mother. It's the first I've heard from her in weeks.
Larkin,
Your father does not know that I am writing to you, but I hope that you will understand. After talking with your father and Landry, we've come to the agreement that you will be welcome back into our home. Your father has disciplined your brother. All you have to do is agree not to see the Weasley boy again (even if you continue to see him in private, which I wouldn't mind).
I just want us all to be happy once more.
Lots of love,
Mummy
P.S. How is school going? Are you still taking Defense Against the Dark Arts? I know you'll be an excellent dueller one day.
Robbie looks at it. I realize that I've never seen her get a letter.
"It's rubbish," I rip the letter in two and shove it in the pocket of my cloak.
"Still, it must be nice to be acknowledged by your parents," she shrugs. I can see the corners of her lips turning into a frown.
I want to reach across the table and squeeze her head. Instead, I push my plate away. "Yeah, course. They'd probably hex me if they knew we were even talking. Not my Mum. She'd like you."
"Really?" Robbie seems to perk up. Her spine straightens, and she brushes a strand of curly black hair out of her eyes.
Probably. My Mum has never shown much hatred towards Muggle-borns. Maybe none at all. Then again, neither has my father outwardly. It's hardly the point though. "I'd imagine so."
Eventually, we leave the Great Hall. With my letter torn up in my pocket, I watch as Fred and George get their stuff and leave as well. I slow my pace, and Robbie follows suit until we are walking side by side with them.
Fred shoves his left hand deep into his pocket. He looks over at me, then turns his head.
"Hey, George," Robbie winds up on the other side of them, pinning the boys between us. "I had a question for you, about some extracurriculars. Can I speak to you alone?"
"Why alone?" Fred's the one who asks. "Anything you tell him he'll tell me."
"That's only mostly true," George shrugs his shoulders.
Robbie looks at me. George exhales. He leans down and whispers something in Robbie's ear. I watch as her face slowly falls.
Then, Robbie whispers something back.
"I actually need to talk to her alone," George says, looking over at Fred.
Fred sighs, but he waves the two away. Together, they briskly walk down the corridor. George has to lean down significantly to hear what Robbie is saying.
I don't try to make it out. Robbie has saved me and now is my chance.
"Can I talk to you?" I ask Fred.
"If you must," he points out, rolling his eyes. He gestures for me to begin speaking.
Rather than talk, I walk down the hallway. He doesn't step after me, not this time. Like the last time that we stood together outside the Great Hall. So, I turn around and beckon him closer.
His hands both go deeper into his pockets, but he follows.
We end up in a secluded hallway. The lights are bright, but there is no one around to hear us whisper.
"I just... Bronwyn said something and-"
"Oh," he bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. "Of course Bronwyn said something. You know, I figured that you wanted to talk to me of your own accord."
"If you'd let me finish," I cut off his tirade. His brown eyes flicker to me, as the frown on his face curls. "Thank you. Now, Bronwyn said something about you serving detention with Umbridge, and I wanted to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," he points out. "That bitch can't hurt me. She can try, but nothing is getting through to me."
His jaw is set when he speaks, but his hands are still buried in his pockets. He tips forward on his feet and then rocks backwards. His eyes are everywhere but on me. It's as if my time means less than nothing to him.
"What's she doing in detentions?" I ask him.
"Why don't you ask your friends?" Fred snaps.
I shake my head. "They aren't my friends. You of all people should understand that."
Fred takes a step away from me. He looks around the hallway, checking to see if anyone else is around. I wait for him to speak, and he opens his mouth to say something but shuts it.
"You've been different since before Christmas," I point out. "You've only done the stunt with the overflowing bubbles in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. That's it."
"Well, we've been preoccupied," he points out. He bites his lip continually.
I reach for his hand and grab his wrist, but he winces. He actually winces. I reach for it again, and he pulls back.
"Larkin," he begins.
I look down at his hand, still concealed in his pocket. He's hiding an injury from me. Why?
"Who did it?" I demand, looking down at his wrist. "Nevermind. You don't have to tell me."
Fred takes a step back and presses his back against the lockers. "You baffle me, Travers. I don't even understand the first thing about you."
There's not much to understand about me. "I just, I don't want to overstep. I want you to be able to have your own private life because I want mine. I also want to help you, like you helped me escape."
"I think you were thrown out more than you escaped," Fred says. He looks over at me and shakes his head.
He doesn't understand. He can't even pretend to understand any aspect of my life. Just like I can't pretend to understand him. We need to communicate as clearly as possible if any of this is going to make any sense. "My friends would've accepted me back if I hadn't hexed them, and I wouldn't have hexed them if it weren't for you."
"I still don't get it," he points out. He exhales, and he shakes his head. "What about your family?"
"Dead to me," I say it too quickly, but it's true.
He stares at me. His eyes narrow in. His nose twitches, and he breaks eye contact. "No way."
"Yes."
"What did they do?" he asks.
"You have your secrets," I tell him, hoping he finishes the sentence on his own. There is no way in Hell that I'm telling him what my brother did. I don't want to look like I'm getting pity points. I don't want him to look at me like I'm weak and in need of protection. Not that he would. He'd just say that if I hadn't been hexed, I never would've left my family.
Fred takes a step closer. He towers overtop of me. His eyes dart across my face. I wonder what I must look like to him. He looks certain. He's not frowning anymore.
"What did they do to you?" he echoes. "I... I'll tell you what's been going on if you tell me. It'll kill me not to know."
Could I tell him? Would he understand? I shake my head back and forth slowly.
Fred takes a step back. He walks away.