The Potion Princess

Introducing- Emmeline and Clary

They're friends now.

She thinks.

Audra wonders about this all the time, doing a platonic sort of "they love me, they love me not" as she cuts up her potion ingredients, like if the last sliver of chopped dragon liver she drops into the potion lands on the latter option then she'll magically know that they consider her as good of a friend as she considers them.  She supposes they'd have to be friends, what with all the time they spend together in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the three of them sprawled across the cold floor listening to the gurgle of the potion and talking about nonsense.  Not to mention all the time they spent huddled in the library together, them drawing out sketches and plans and laying out possible ingredients, her saying that next time she'll add a bit more of this to a potion, or take out a step, or maybe try something new altogether. 

She's not stupid enough to think this would have happened had she not been good at potions.  Audra knows what kind of family comes from, and what the Weasley's had said about her just a year ago.   It had taken a while, but she had finally noticed what she was becoming- had felt the stomach wrenching guilt when she lets slip the accusations of muggle and mudblood and what do you expect from a muggle born like they were dirty swear words, learned to cringe when she heard the opinions some of her classmates wore like badges, learned that it was much better to live in a family where the kids had robes that were too short and never went on big vacations but still be warm and loved and happy rather than have every comfort provided for you and still be cold.  She has learned that the sounds of a happy home come from off-key singing and wild laughter more than the clink of gold. 

Somedays she still thinks that this will disappear.  Audra's worried that one day the twins will come to their senses, look around and realize that this was a Stanton they had been hanging around with, clearly they don't belong together, and they'll see the horribleness of her with a glaring clarity that will be unable to ignored.  They will start to think that she is just like her father, like her cousins, or worse, that she shares more with her aunt than her looks.  She does not think she could stand having this glimpse into a new life, where she can spend some of her summer holiday visiting at the Burrow, and can go to Hogsmeade and not feel weird about grabbing a butterbeer with a bunch of Gryffindors, or can call Ron's friend Hermione by her name, not Granger or mudblood or any other disrespectful thing. She's worried it may go away, but she knows (or hopes she knows, lines are beginning to blur between what is a feeling and what is fact, but Fred and George never seem to go on anything but gut instinct anyways, so maybe they feel it to) that as big a part of her life the twins have become, she has become an equally important part in theirs. 

It's not just the potions anymore.  This is racing down the tunnel behind the humpbacked witch, laughter echoing off the walls and a stitch in her side, sneaking off because they need to get a specific ingredient for a new product.  This is getting to Hogsmeade and deciding that they don't want to go back to the castle just yet, instead spending their time daring each other to see who gets closest to the shrieking shack (Audra always loses) and taking shots of firewhiskey that Fred and George somehow get people to buy them.  It is the three of them sitting in the bathroom, claiming they need to watch the potion or discuss plans, but actually just needing an excuse to knick food from the kitchens and skip divination.  It's cheering for them at quidditch games even if the twins are playing Slytherin, and getting her own Weasley sweater at Christmas, and always having someone to sit by in class.  There are also things whispered in the darkness that they would have never said if they could see each other's faces; about the plans for the joke shop, about her parents and their past, about having money and never having enough, about what it feels like for people to look at you and only see you in association with the ones who came before.  She is intertwining herself with them, and they with her, and hopefully they will keep going until there is no hope of them ever separating.