"Didn't know you was into gingers, Malfoy?"
"Shut up Weasley"
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Gemma Weasley shared many similarities with her siblings, the ginger hair, pale skin, freckles and a super sense of humour, yet she was the one that stood out from them all. Even her tw...
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The castle had never felt so suffocating.
A week had passed since the Yule Ball, and the ripple effects from that night hadn't subsided. Every corner I turned, every hallway I walked down, the whispers followed. It didn't help that Ron had avoided me entirely, Harry barely spoke, and even Hermione was treading lightly, giving me space but watching me carefully.
My twin brother was a master of silent treatment when he wanted to be. Every meal in the Great Hall had been unbearable—Ron always sitting just far enough from me to make a point, but close enough to remind me of the rift I had caused. Harry tried to mediate, but he had his own issues to deal with—like Ron's not-so-subtle complaints about Hermione and Viktor Krum. The tension in Gryffindor Tower was so thick, it felt like I could cut it with a wand.
I hadn't seen Draco much either. He'd been distant since that night. Not cold, but preoccupied. There were moments when we passed in the halls, and he would offer me a nod or a small smile, but they were fleeting—almost secretive. Slytherin and Gryffindor didn't exactly mix well at the best of times, but now it felt like the walls between us were higher than ever.
That morning, I sat alone in the library, trying to focus on my homework but failing miserably. My mind kept wandering back to the events of the ball, to Draco's words, and to the way Ron had looked at me—like I'd betrayed him. I scribbled half-heartedly in my notes, but I could hardly remember what I was studying. I was lost in thought when a familiar voice broke through.
"Thought I'd find you here."
I looked up to see Hermione standing beside the table, holding a stack of books. She wasn't smiling, but her expression was soft. Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down across from me.
"Everything alright?" she asked gently.
I nodded, but I knew she could see right through me. "Yeah. Just... busy."
"Busy avoiding your brother, you mean," she said, raising an eyebrow.
I sighed, dropping my quill. "It's not like I have a choice. He won't talk to me."
Hermione rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly. "Ron's just... processing. You know how he is. Give him time. He'll come around."
I wasn't so sure. Ron could hold a grudge, especially when it came to family. I'd seen it happen with Harry and Hermione, and now it was my turn.
"It's not just Ron," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's everything. The way people look at me now... like I've done something unforgivable just because I went to the ball with Draco."
Hermione's expression softened. "You didn't do anything wrong, Gemma. People are just... stuck in their ways. They'll get over it eventually."
I glanced down at my hands, fidgeting with the corner of my parchment. "I don't know if I will."
