Of Pranks & Princes

There was no set agreement, no contract in writing, but it was understood between them that what was going on with Emily and Fred was essentially a secret — as much as it could be. They snuck stolen kisses in the stairwells when no one else was around; they walked to and from mealtimes together, their hands suspiciously close and nearly touching; and they each turned a light shade of pink when catching the other’s glances across the Great Hall.

It had been a few days since the Yule Ball and even fewer since she and Fred agreed on whatever it was they were doing, and Emily tried — struggled — to settle into the new status quo. She and Fred, together but not, secretly seeing each other without a word to the public.

She hadn’t told Violet yet, though she probably had her suspicions, and she wasn’t sure George knew exactly what was going on either.

But as good as Emily was at keeping things hushed, Fred was... less subtle.

“Oi, Princey!” Fred shouted up the stairs toward the Ravenclaw common room. “Don’t make me come up and get you!”

Emily rolled her eyes as she brushed her fingers through her hair, pulling it back with a clip; the finishing touch. “I’m coming, you pain in the arse.”

He was waiting for her at the bottom of the spiral staircase and greeted her by pulling her into his arms and kissing her on the forehead. One of his hands snaked around her lower back, pulling her tighter into him as he moved to kiss her on the lips.

“Oi!” she hissed and pushed herself back with a hand against his chest. “Pull it back a bit.”

She didn’t really want him to stop, but they couldn’t be doing this here, out in the open at breakfast time, just paces away from the Ravenclaw common room.

Fred let out a resigned sigh. “You really do take all the fun out of everything.”

“I thought you were just happy to take what you could get,” she joked and let her hand fall next to his. When he intertwined his fingers with hers, she didn’t complain.

The door to the common room opened, and Violet bounded down the stairs. Emily stiffened at the sight of her, quickly dropping Fred’s hands from hers, but he didn’t even seem fazed. He kept loose and relaxed, although disappointed at their new distance, as he leaned casually against the wall.

“There you are, Em!” Violet said. She turned to Fred and curtly said his name, eyeing them both up with a focused sort of scrutiny. Emily tried to quell the inevitable blush that rushed to her cheeks.

“What’s up?” Fred said, breaking the tension that lingered.

Violet’s face relaxed into a smile. “Just heading to breakfast. You coming?”

“We’ll be right there,” Emily said, and Violet hesitated, like there were words she was holding on her tongue, before she headed down to the Great Hall.

Once Violet was far enough ahead, Emily went to follow her.

“Hold on,” Fred said and caught her by the hand. He pulled her back in front of him, looked her up and down, and a grin crossed his lips. “You look good.”

“I didn’t do anything different,” she said. She was wearing a grey, long-sleeved blouse and light jeans, her usual attire. Her hair was pulled half-back but was still its same wavy mess. She was even barely wearing any makeup, just a dash of eyeliner and a swipe of lip gloss.

“I know,” he said. “And I stand by what I said.”

Emily quirked a brow. “That’s uncharacteristically nice of you.”

“I can be characteristically nice,” he argued. “But if it would make you feel better, I can tease…” He pulled her close to him again, leaned against the wall, and whispered in her ear, his voice almost an animalistic growl, “Like thinking about how good you’d look in other things… or not in other things…”

“Fred!” she squealed, and before she could even think twice, her hand smacked hard against his cheek, leaving the outline of her fingers across his skin. Her face paled with mild panic. Oops…

His own hand flew up to cover the slap. “Oi, I thought we were trying to be discreet!”

She reached out to move his fingers and examined the reddish mark of her hand against his face, and she scoffed. “That was your idea of discretion?”

“I whispered it,” he argued. His hand slipped under the hem of her blouse to rub against the skin on her waist, and she got goosebumps at the touch. “I could yell it in the Great Hall instead, if you’d prefer that.” She shook her head, and he took a deep breath before bellowing out, “I want to sha—”

Emily jumped to cover his mouth with her hand before he could finish, the motion slamming them both toward the wall. He smiled from beneath her hand, and she couldn’t help but start giggling — nervous, excited schoolgirl giggling. “Hush, you…”

She snuck a reckless kiss, knowing that her lips could for sure keep his quiet.

“We can only be so discreet, Princey,” he whispered between them as he held her close and kissed her again. It was tempting to let herself get lost in his embrace, and she leaned her head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat a steady cadence in her ear.

The door to the Ravenclaw common room slammed closed, and both Fred and Emily jumped at the sound as heavy footsteps hit hard against the stone floor of the stairwell.

“Emily?”

She turned around at her name to come face-to-face with Roger, staring at her wide-eyed. He took hurried steps down to the landing where she and Fred stood. He spoke again, “You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?”

“He’s joking, right?” Fred gently nudged her before setting his fingertips comfortingly on the small of her back. His voice was a grumble under his breath; “Barmy git.”

Roger looked between them, saw Fred’s hand on Emily’s hip, caught glimpse of Emily’s gloss smudged on her lips. He thrust his finger accusingly toward Fred, his face coated in disgust. “Don’t you touch her like that.”

“Bugger off, Davies.” Fred stepped forward in a heavy stomp and pushed away Roger’s pointed finger. “And don’t let your head get any bigger, or it’ll be mighty hard to dodge a Bludger next term.”

Emily stepped in front of Fred, blocking him from Roger’s path. “What do you want, Roger?”

“Listen, I just want to talk,” Roger said, and Emily rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand why —”

“I don’t have time to talk.” She took hurried steps down the stairs toward the Great Hall, with Fred close behind and Roger rushing after her.

“I’m not sure what I did, Em,” he started anyway once he caught up with her, stumbling through his thoughts, “or what went wrong, but I want to make it up to you if you’ll just —”

Emily huffed and flexed her jaw. She didn’t turn to look at him. “That ship sailed back to Beauxbatons with Fleur Delacour.”

The other schools left a few days ago, heading back home shortly after the Yule Ball. She saw Fleur kiss Roger gingerly on the cheek when she said goodbye, saw him pining after her as the Beauxbatons carriage flew off to the south, heard him sulk and skulk, mumbling nonsense as he paced the halls like a lost spirit. The last time she even saw him was in passing in the common room, where he walked the circumference of the room with his eyes practically glazed over.

It was strange, sure, and disconcerting, to say the least, but it wasn’t her problem anymore. And she was glad for it.

Emily continued through the Entrance Hall, but she still couldn’t quite shake him. She finally stopped and turned to face him until she was looking him square in the eyes. “Roger, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t leave me alone I will hit you with a Bat-Bogey hex so hard you won’t stop sneezing ‘til next Christmas.”

There was a moment where Roger looked stunned by her threat, staring at her dumbfounded, but he quickly shook his head as Emily started to head away.

“Nice one with the Bat Bogey hex,” said Fred with a chuckle as he moved to leave with her.

Roger caught Emily by the wrist, like an impulse he couldn’t control, and the move frightened her.

Fred instinctively moved to her defence, but she put up a hand to stop him, her fingers resting gently against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his ragged, panicked breath.

“I just want to talk,” Roger pleaded again. It was almost as if he didn’t realize he had grabbed her at all, didn’t realize he still had her wrist in his grip, and from the corner of her eye, she could see Fred stiffen up again. Roger looked at Fred and then back at Emily with a smug half-smile. “You know you can do better.”

“No thanks.” She watched Roger’s face fall as she ripped her arm from his grasp and moved to leave, still revelling a bit in his hurt pride. With a grin, she added, “You’re not better.”

“But—” he started, and Fred cut him off.

“She said she’s not interested, Davies.”

Emily spun to face Fred and snapped, “I can speak for myself, thank you very much.”

Fred’s face softened into an unspoken apology that satisfied for now.

“And Roger,” she continued, turning to face him again, her fingers now firmly gripping the handle of her wand, “I’ve already said what I’d do to you if you didn’t leave me alone — and I won’t hesitate to make good on that promise.”

Roger retreated, and she let the remaining frustration roll off her shoulders as she shoved her wand back into the pocket of her jeans.

Under his breath, she heard him say it as she walked away, though something cut him off before he could finish. “Bloody bi—”

By the time she spun herself around, Fred was already on top of him, his fist meeting Roger’s face with the force of a Beater’s muscle. The sound wasn’t loud, though it echoed through the corridor, but to Emily it was deafening, and the ringing in her ears clouded the sound of thrown punches. Fred was tall and thin but certainly not weak, and it was surprising how well-matched he was against Roger, who was well-toned from years as a Chaser. Though Roger was taken down at first by Fred’s punch, which had the element of surprise as an added effect, he quickly overtook Fred, throwing him the ground. Roger was quick, darting around Fred like the Snitch at a Quidditch match, almost too fast to even see. He was a blur of blue sweater as his arms whipped around, knocking against Fred’s nose. But Fred wasn’t slow. He turned the tides of the fight, and the two struggled against each other. Emily took an elbow to the face trying to pull them apart.

The sounds of cracking knuckles resonated through the Entrance Hall, quickly drowned out by the groups of students that began cheering the fight on. None of them knew what it was about or how it started, but sides were quickly drawn, crossing house lines and alliances. The crowd grew around the fight until Emily felt suffocated at the recesses.

“Enough!” A voice erupted from the end of the stairwell and rapidly approached the scene with an echo of strong footsteps. Severus pulled each boy up from his shirt collar and stood them upright. He looked out to the crowd, now stunned and silent. “I want everyone cleared from this area immediately.”

The fight hadn’t gone on long, but plenty of damage was already done, judging by the blood coating their shirts — both their own and each other’s. Their faces were mangled, Fred with a busted lip and a broken nose, Roger with a massively swollen forehead and a bruising eye. And Emily froze under Severus’s glare as he brought the boys, still held tight by the collars of their shirts, down the hall to the Hospital Wing.

>>>

Per Madam Pomfrey’s orders, no visitors were permitted in the Hospital Wing until both boys were more healed, though Emily certainly tried. She followed at a distance behind Severus and tried to sneak into the Hospital Wing before Madam Pomfrey caught her and shooed her away.
With a disappointed sigh, Emily headed back down the corridor and let herself fall to the floor, balled up around herself. She sat there as breakfast went on, as the Great Hall bustled with students and gossip, as everyone filtered out and the dishes were cleared and she was the only one left.

“I thought you were coming to breakfast,” a voice started over her shoulder before it sat down next to her.

“Sorry.” Emily leaned back against the wall and snuggled further into her shirt, her fingernails scratching against an unsettling reddish stain on the sleeve. She couldn’t look at Violet.

“Do you want me to get you something?” Violet offered, but Emily shook her head. There was no way she could eat at a time like this. She couldn’t even stomach the thought.

For a moment, there was a silence that fell over them like a suffocating echo. By this time the corridor had cleared out, and they were alone together in the emptiness that remained. Neither one of them said anything; small talk would just be noise to fill the void.

Violet finally let out a sigh and said, “I saw what happened.”

Emily pursed her lips into a sort of smile as she fought the tears brewing along her waterline. “This is what you meant by messy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not quite what I had in mind, but you do always manage to outpace my expectations.” There was a whisper of a laugh from her lips before she grew serious again. “Have you decided yet what you want to do?”

“About what?” Emily asked, almost absentmindedly.

“About you and Fred.”

Emily sighed, her answer floating from her breath, “...No.”

Violet pursed her lips. “Do you want my advice?”

“Handle it before it gets messy, I know,” she said and let her head fall into her hands.

“Well, it’s too late for that anyway, innit?” Violet joked. While the words were playful, her tone had a sort of solemnity to it. Violet was quiet for a moment before she finally said, “But I think you should do it, the two of you.”

“What?” The sentiment caught Emily off-guard. She stared wide-eyed at Violet, her brow scrunched in confusion. “But you said it was a bad idea, and —”

Violet shrugged. “Maybe I was wrong. It was only a matter of time for it to happen anyway.” She stopped to look at Emily and smiled. “Em, I’ve never seen you so happy. When you’re with Fred, it’s like you’re really you. And you two sneaking about…”

“You knew?”

“Everyone knew,” Violet corrected, laughing at Emily’s face, which was paled with horror. “You’re not as discreet as you think.”

“Oh, bloody hell…” Emily groaned.

“And I can only imagine how much work it must be right now, sneaking around all the time, holding back, playing pretend…” Violet continued, “Maybe you ought to give it a chance.”

“I don’t know…”

“You’re worried about things getting all mucked up. I get it, especially after Roger,” Violet said. Her eyes focused on Emily who nearly crumpled under her gaze. “But this is Fred we’re talking about. You don’t get any more low-key than Fred.”

Emily sighed. “It’s not Fred I’m worried about.”

“Then stop self-sabotaging,” Violet argued and wrapped her arm around Emily’s shoulder. “Please just let yourself be happy, Emily. It doesn’t happen enough.”

Emily took a deep breath before admitting, “I know you’re right.”

“Then just give it a chance, okay? Give it ‘til the new year and go from there.”

The New Year was only a couple of days away, and the thought both thrilled and terrified her.

>>>

The whole castle seemed emptier without Fred. The library was too quiet, the common room too cold, the Great Hall too dull, so inevitably Emily found herself back outside the Hospital Wing. There wasn’t much else to do anyway but wait. She tried to think of what she might say, how she might bring up the idea of them, officially.

“You’ve the patience of a saint,” said George when he met up with her at the door just outside the Hospital Wing, “if you’ve been waiting here this whole time.”

“Just about,” she said and shrugged. She had too much nervous energy to be so casual.

They both tried to peer in through the small window in the door to see how Fred was doing. Madam Pomfrey hurriedly rushed forward and shut the small blinds, leaving them alone in the hallway once again.

“You know, Em, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was glad to see Davies get his arse kicked,” he said as he leaned back against the door, crossing his legs out in front of him and looping his fingers into the pockets of his corduroys.

She smiled, despite herself. “It was pretty satisfying, wasn’t it?”

“Beyond satisfying,” George agreed and nodded back to the door. “And I’m sure he feels the same.”

“Which one?”

“Which one?” George repeated in a mocking tone before answering the question himself, “Fred, of course. Don’t think Roger would be so glad he got beat.”

“He did get a few good hits in though.” Emily closed her mouth into a tight line across her face.

“Don’t let Fred hear you say that.”

“Don’t ever tell him I did.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” There was a mischievous twinkle in George’s eye.

“George,” she insisted, and he let out a chuckle as he stood straighter and moved to leave, asking her to let him know when Fred finally got out. She repeated after him, “George.”

But he was already gone.

Which left Emily alone again.

The wait was torturous, and she almost wondered if it wasn’t worth following George to whatever he had planned for now instead. But she couldn’t do that. After all, she was part of the reason he was even in hospital in the first place.

So she stayed and waited, twiddling her thumbs, pacing, trying not to think about Fred and Roger being stuck in a room together without her there to mediate.

Suddenly, the door to the Hospital Wing opened, nearly knocking Emily askance, and Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the hallway and called out.

“Miss Prince, don’t think I haven’t noticed you standing there, pacing back and forth like a —” She abruptly stopped when she saw Emily’s face, her cheek a shining black and blue. Madam Pomfrey sighed and pursed her lips into a hard, sympathetic line. “Let me get you something for that, dear.”

“It’s just a bruise,” Emily tried to argue, but it was too late. Madam Pomfrey was already smearing a clear, goopy potion onto her face, covering her entire cheek.

“That should help with the colour for now.” She closed the jar and set it to the side of her workstation. Emily still stood waiting in the doorway. “And you can come in now if you’d like. They’re both fine but incredibly stubborn.”

Emily followed Madam Pomfrey into the Hospital Wing and was hit with the strong stench of sterility, a chemically smell that burned in her nostrils. She could see various potions and brews lined up along the back wall of the room, meticulously organized and labelled. The Hospital Wing was a wide room with stone tile floors that echoed each stepped as you passed through it. There were beds lining opposite walls, all empty save for two.

Madam Pomfrey returned to her office at the back of the wing, leaving Emily standing in the middle. Both boys were set in hospital beds, bruised and bandaged and beaten. Fred looked asleep, and Emily eyed him with a sort of anxiousness.

From one end of the room, Roger spoke up. “You know she’s part-Veela?”

“Who?” Emily meandered over to the hospital bed where he laid. He looked like hell, his eye black and blue and swollen shut. The bruising had spread to his forehead too, which was now twice its normal size, like he’d been the unfortunate victim of a Balloon Head jinx.

“Fleur,” he clarified. “A quarter Veela. Crazy shite, huh?”

“Sure, Roger,” she said, almost sarcastically. It was difficult to keep her voice down in the echo of the room.

"And if it's any consolation," Roger continued, wringing his hands in his lap, "I wasn't even her first choice."

"Honestly, you weren’t mine either."

"That's fair." He winced against the pain of his tired muscles as he tried to sit up straighter in bed. "I deserve that."

It was quiet for a moment, and Emily couldn't help but wonder why magic couldn't heal these injuries more quickly until she saw they both had undrunk cups of potion on the side-tables next to them. Stubborn boys... Madam Pomfrey was right.

Roger spoke again. "I'm really sorry, Em."

"Thanks."

"I mean it. I don't really know what happened, but to see you like that... whatever I did must've been shite."

"Dumping me a week before the Ball because Fleur Delacour asked you and you already said yes," she explained and took the seat next to him. "Ring a bell?"

Roger pursed his lips a bit, though his mouth was still fairly swollen. "Worked out for you, though, since now you're with Weasley and all..."

Emily let out a breath, passing it through her lips as a huff.

"Are you with Weasley?" he asked, and Emily realized it was the nicest conversation they'd had since before the holiday break.

"It's complicated, Roger, and I'd rather not."

"All right, sorry, I don't mean to pry." He stopped suddenly and smiled to himself. "Still can’t believe I really went to the ball with Fleur Delacour…"

Emily rolled her eyes and got up. "Goodbye, Roger."

At the sound of a groan, Emily looked back over her shoulder at Fred who was beginning to stir.

"That git still trying to justify himself?"

"Don't worry about him." Her face grew sullen as she got a good look at Fred’s state. He fared better than Roger, but that wasn’t saying much. She pulled her wand from her back pocket and snapped his nose back into place with a quick ‘Episkey’. He groaned and ripped off the pinkish bandage from his nose. Emily spoke again, sternly, "What you did was stupid.”

“I’m not known for much better,” he said with a chuckle, “so what did you expect, really?”

“You’ve made a right mess of yourself.” She pointed to the spatters of blood that peppered the white fabric of his shirt.

He stripped the blood-splattered shirt off unceremoniously, the motion pulling his undershirt up with it, exposing skin. Emily tried not to stare at his bare chest, at his muscles as they flexed with his movements, but Fred noticed the flush in her cheeks. He pulled his undershirt down to cover himself and tossed the other shirt to the end of the bed. “What’s this you were saying about ‘complicated’?”

“We’re not doing this here,” she said, keeping her voice low as she continued, “You need to get better so we can talk and I can kiss you if I want to without worrying about your face.”

His lips contorted into a tight grin. “If you want to kiss me, just do it. Don’t worry about my face; I don’t care.”

“I said if I want to,” she clarified.

“You know you want to.”

She pressed a finger lightly to his lips, and he cringed at the pressure and pain. She pulled it back. “That’s what I thought. Now take your potion.”

“It tastes like dragon dung,” he argued.

“Interesting frame of reference,” she teased, and he rolled his eyes. She handed him the cup. “But you still need to drink it.”

“Or what, you’ll take House points?” He chuckled. They both knew that was a worthless threat.

“Or else I’ll leave you here to rot in silence and solitude,” came her warning.

“Enactor of the harshest punishments, you are.” He lifted the cup to his lips and threw it down his throat like a shot of firewhiskey. His face scrunched up in disgust as he gagged. “That’s bloody awful.”

Emily rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smile, the small part of her that enjoyed watching him suffer just a bit.

"So you're here to do that hot nurse thing, right?" Fred joked, setting the empty cup down on the tabletop beside him. "Because Pomfrey was no good..."

"You're insufferable," she said and struggled not to laugh. She glanced back at Roger who was still lying in bed looking miserable. He hadn't even moved since she went over to Fred.

"You know, you'll be out of here much quicker if you just drink your potion," she called out to him.

He let out a resigned groan and grabbed the cup from its place on the nightstand next to his bed. He held it to his lips and sniffed it before taking a small, careful sip. His face puckered, and he nearly threw the remaining potion to the floor.

“It’s easier if you just down it, mate,” said Fred, and Roger followed his suggestion, though begrudgingly. Emily was impressed by their sudden civility.

As she turned back to Fred, he caught sight of the shiny bruise on her face. “Did I do that to you?”

Emily raised a hand to touch her cheek. There was a lingering burn now that it began to heal from the ointment, but she could still feel it, swollen and black and blue. “I got caught in the mess, is all. It’ll be fine.”

“Looks horrible.”

“Still a right sight better than you, I reckon,” she joked, leaning to rest her head against his.

And he smiled. “Always.”

They sat for a while in a sort of semi-peace — or at least the semblance of civility where disdain once stood — before the door to the Hospital Wing opened, and Professor McGonagall entered, followed by Flitwick and Severus.

“Mister Weasley,” McGonagall said, her eyes shooting a daggered glare at Fred. She quickly turned to Roger. “Mister Davies.”

“Miss Prince,” Flitwick finished off. His face was furrowed with disappointment beneath his moustache.

“How fortuitous that you should all be in one place,” came Severus’s snide derision. He stood stoic behind them. He did not move or speak any further, just looked among them in repugnance, his thin lips curled into a sneer.

“You should all know that this sort of behaviour is most unbecoming,” McGonagall started.
Flitwick continued, turning to Emily and Roger, “Especially you both.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Fred opened his mouth as if to speak but shut it just as quickly. Emily could tell he was holding back several choice words, swallowing them with a large gulp.

She spoke instead, “It was a little spat that got way out of hand, and —”

“‘Out of hand’ to say the least of it!” McGonagall agreed as her arms snapped into place on her hips, and Emily’s face went white in response. “And although you all look a bit worse for the wear, there must be punishments for these things.”

They all knew this was coming. Well, at least they knew something was coming. Emily knew there was no way to get out of this completely unscathed. After all, as sixth year students — and prefects, nonetheless — they were supposed to set a proper example for the younger students. Something about proper role models, something about appropriate decorum, something, something. Emily could practically draft the speech in her head. There would at least be deducted house points, and she was halfway expecting threats of expulsion.

“A week’s worth of detention for all three of you,” McGonagall ordered, her voice stern and toned. “And be grateful it’s not more.”

The three of them sat in stunned silence as the reality of their punishment sunk in...

The New Year was only a couple of days away, and Emily and Fred and Roger would be spending it in detention.