Everybody Party Till the Gasman Comes

"When are you going to forgive George?"

I looked up from the book that was in lap to shoot a look at Ginny. We'd been sitting outside throughout the entirety of lunch, her working on some homework questions for Transfiguration and me reading a book that had been suggested to me by Hermione. We had hardly spoken the whole time and the topic she'd brought up wasn't one I was up for discussing.

"When he grows up," I answered, returning my gaze to the words on the page before me but not really seeing them. I knew she wasn't going to give up that easily.

She sighed and I heard her textbook close. "Don't you think this is a bit...childish of you?"

"Don't you think him stealing my diary just because I took his letter is a bit childish? He's acting like a seven-year-old, Ginny. I don't find it to be funny."

"He didn't think it was funny when you took his letter."

Marking what page I was on, I closed my book as well. I set it in the grass beside me. "And I said I was sorry. I gave that letter back to him as soon as I'd done so. He's neither apologized nor given back my diary. I'm not going to forgive him until he does one or the other. Or, preferably, both."

Ginny's expression told me that she knew there was something else going on with the situation.

I let out a puff of air. "I don't like being cross with him! I hate it, actually. But I'm not going to just stop because of that. He's done something wrong and he deserves to have me not speaking to him."

"C'mon, Sammy. We both know you're not cross with him. Not at all."

"Alright, fine. You've got me. I'm not cross with him."

She laughed. "Then why are you acting like you are? Have you seen him these past two days? It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself."

"Once he's learned his lesson, I'll stop acting like I'm angry."

Ginny rolled her eyes and went back to working on her homework.

I knew I was being a bit over the top about the whole thing. It wasn't like George to do something like that, though. Maybe when we were kids it was alright, but we'd grown up. I hadn't had any idea what was in his letter when I took it; he knew exactly what I wrote in my diary, and that's what upset me so much about him taking it. I know I said that best friends don't keep secrets from each other, but there are some things you just can't tell.

***

Fred and George sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the common room. Though I'd been prodded many times that day, by both Ginny and Ron, I hadn't talked to George yet. I wasn't easily broken from what I wanted, and what I wanted, as malicious as it sounds, was for the boy to suffer. I watched the two of them from where I sat (the armchair Harry had occupied most of the time of his squabble with Ron). They were speaking in hushed voices, and were across the room, so I couldn't hear what they were saying, nor could I read their lips from the shadows that the fire was casting over them.

The moment I looked away from them, I knew I was in for trouble. Again, I was reading the book I'd gotten from Hermione. I read for only a few seconds before I saw a pair of shoes and legs standing directly in front of me. I didn't look up, because I knew who it was. When that person decided to sit on the arm of the chair, however, I did look at them.

"What do you want?"

Fred grinned down at me from his perch. "I was just wondering when you were going to get over this and go talk to George."

"You were wondering or he was wondering?" I asked reproachfully.

"Both, I suppose." He never stopped grinning.

I looked back down at my book, opening it again and continuing to read. Fred cleared his throat many times, hoping for an answer to his somewhat question, or at least some sort of recognition of his existence. I didn't give him either.

"What are you reading?"

"Nothing you've ever heard of." My eyes didn't stray from the book.

"Oh?" he asked. "And how can you be so sure?"

"It's a Muggle book."

"What's it called?"

"It's called Fred Weasley, Leave me Alone this Instant, I don't Wish to Speak to You."

I heard him chuckle. "Sounds fantastic. Can I read it?"

"Please go away. I'm busy."

"Ah, Sammy! Look at the poor bloke!" Fred grabbed hold of my chin and turned my head up so that I was no longer staring blankly at the black ink on the pages but angrily at the red headed boy I was so desperate to get out of my head.

George was looking back at me, a bit of hope cropping up on his otherwise worried and distraught face.

I yanked my head from Fred's hand, knowing that if I was forced to look at his brother any longer I would forget why I'd even been angry, and shoved him off of the arm of the chair. "No," I said. I gathered my book and my satchel then walked across the common room and up to my dorm.