I Know The End {Fred Weasley, ACT I}

Chapter 43- An Unlikely Betrayal

"What does being in love feel like?"

Eleanor raised her eyes from the book she was reading, perplexed. She did her best to hide the shock that such a question elicited, but she knew she had been unsuccessful. She gently placed the textbook she'd been skimming through, Spells of Life and Death, in her lap before turning her gaze upon her brother, his eyes alight in expectation.

"Er, that's a pretty big question," Eleanor answered, biting her lip, "but if you have to ask the question, then you aren't in love with Cho."

"I wasn't asking because of Cho," Harry snapped, turning away from Eleanor slightly as he blushed. "I was just... never mind, it doesn't matter."

Eleanor snuck a glance at Fred who sat on the opposite side of the common room, speaking in hushed tones to Iris and George. He caught her eye, winking half-heartedly before returning his attention to Iris. Eleanor's heart fluttered. It had been a while since he'd had it in him to wink at her. Things were getting better, but she knew not to expect more than the awkward friendship they were currently playing at.

"I don't know," Eleanor kept her gaze glued to Fred as she spoke, "it depends, I guess. On the person. On the situation. I've only ever loved one person that way."

"You didn't love Cedric?" Harry asked. His body was still turned away from her, hoping she'd fall under the pretense that he was uninterested in the topic of conversation. She wasn't so easily fooled.

"Not really, no. You won't fall in love with every person you come to fancy. He was nice and smart and very good looking but... there was nothing there."

"But what is there? What needs to be there? And how do you know?"

Eleanor shifted in her chair. She'd rather have the talk with Harry than try to explain the complexity that is love, but she knew that him bringing such a thing up in the first place meant it was important to him. It was odd for Harry to speak in this manner, deeply, about emotions and all.

"Er, it's hard to explain. It... hurts when they're gone. Sometimes it hurts when they're there because you just care about them so much that you can't express it properly. Pain. Love is painful."

Harry stared at her; his brow furrowed and mouth slightly open. "There's something wrong with you. I don't think that's normal."

Eleanor shrugged, looking back at Fred. "I don't know, maybe ask me again when I'm not... alone."

"Okay, forgetting Fred, what did you feel like when you were with Cedric?"

"Bored."

The word left her lips rough and raw. She cringed at the bluntness of such a statement. She was speaking of someone who was now dead, someone she didn't actually find boring. In fact, she found him much more interesting once they'd broken up, in a non-romantic kind of way. But when they'd been together, when she'd been trying to force herself to find shelter in him, she'd felt empty. Bored. Unamused.

"You didn't deserve him," Harry said sharply. She recoiled slightly at the comment; Harry shaking off his disgust to apologize. "I didn't mean that."

"It's okay," she muttered. "I mean, I probably didn't. I spent most of our time together wondering what Fred would have said or thinking of things to tell him later. Maybe that's love. Always on your mind, even when it's annoying. Love is definitely annoying."

"So far, you've called love painful, boring, and annoying," Harry pointed out, "sounds like a wonderful experience."

"Well, if you'd have asked me last year, you'd have gotten a better answer," Eleanor shrugged, returning to her book. "Ask Lee, or something. He's a hopeless romantic. He writes Oliver love poems and sends them via dove mail."