To Bet On Losing Dogs {Fred Weasley, ACT II}

Chapter 8- September 6, 1996

Eleanor should have grown accustomed to walking the halls of Hogwarts without the twins trailing her every step. For Merlin's sake, she'd spent the first seven years of her life haunting the castle without them. Not to mention all the fights that had pushed them apart, days spent wallowing in her dormitory instead of their presence.

In theory, Eleanor knew how to navigate Hogwarts without Fred and George. In theory, it should have been easy.

But as she sat across from Hermione, as she listened to the girl recite the necessary steps required to brew the Draught of Living Death, their absence cut deep. The sound of every footstep that echoed beyond the classroom she sat within drew her eyes to the door with the expectation that she'd see a pair of striking red heads leaning against the frame, the expectation that she'd hear their snickering laughter.

She couldn't ignore it. Missing them was instinctual in the place that housed most of their memories. Instinctual and painful.

It didn't help that there had been no word from Fred in over a fortnight. It didn't help that he was spending his days, and more importantly his nights, with Angelina. And it certainly didn't help that Eleanor was a stubborn, ruthless bitch.

"... And I did everything, everything, exactly as the instructions stated. My measurements were perfect. I'm not trying to be a smartass, okay? I'm not bragging, they just... they were perfect. I wouldn't have made it through Snape's class without proper technique. But it didn't matter. It was still.... It wasn't right. I've reviewed the instructions over and over and I still don't know where I went wrong-"

"I doubt you did anything wrong per the instructions." Eleanor sighed, cutting off Hermione's rant. She'd let the poor girl vent for long enough.

"Per the instructions?"

"Yes. I am quite positive that you followed the instructions given to a tee."

"Then why didn't I-"

"Win?"

"No!" Hermione flushed, the brilliant red of her cheeks matching her tie. "How come it didn't work?"

"Well, technically, it did work. You made a brew of the Draught of Living Death, just not one that is pure, nor one that could be safely consumed."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Then it doesn't count."

"Look, Potions... There are some classes where practice makes perfect. Transfiguration is a good example of that. Charms too. Even Defense Against the Dark Arts to an extent. But Advanced Potions? Real potion making requires a great deal of intuition."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Intuition has no place in education. Unless you count Divination." Another roll of her eyes.

"Intuition may not have a place in formal education, but it certainly has its place in magic. N.E.W.T level potions no longer deals in the absolutes of procedure but rather in an understanding of how magical substances interact with one another. It's important to know when to question the rules you've been given and instead trust your gut. Raw talent prevails in this course."

"Why would they give us incorrect-"

"They aren't incorrect."

"But you just said-"

"Look, it's hard to explain," Eleanor rubbed her temple, trying not to let her irritation show. "Just... trust yourself over your damn textbook, Hermione. You're smarter without it."

Eleanor never thought she would have to build up Hermione's confidence in regard to her intellect but yet here the girl was signing herself up to be tutored by none other than Eleanor herself.