Shrinking Violet

Blood

The days seemed longer without her presence the twins soon realized. And though he would never admit it, George thought they were rather dull as well. Obviously Cleary doesn't though, he would think bitterly. She was always off with Cedric Diggory, or their younger sister. And whenever she did attempt to make plans to sneak her out after curfew, she was usually too exhausted to even wake up let alone roam the corridors for the room she had informed them of.

"Where have you been all week?" George hissed as she quietly slipped into her seat, her hands scrambling within her bag to find a bottle of ink and a pad of paper. An impatient sigh escaped her bright red lips as she out everything in place on the table in front of her, his eyes narrowing.

"Are you wearing lipstick?" His tone came out oddly high pitched, and she raised an eyebrow. Her hand whipping into the front pocket of her messenger bag, plucking out a thin circular shaped compact. She clicked it open, gazing at herself for three long seconds before huffing.

"No that would be blood." She shook her head, too busy cleaning up her wound with a fresh tissue to notice George's expression that contradicted hers. His mouth hung open low, eyes wide as the ponds they reflected. He couldn't seem to comprehend how she's could be so calm about an injury such as the one she harbored.

"Well Cleary I never thought of you as one of those girls," he flashed her a broad grin while she simply raised an eyebrow. "The kind that would carry make up in their school bags." She simply shrugged tossing the bloody napkin into the waste bin, resuming her position once again.

"I suppose you thought wrong then." She said simply, and their witty banter finished at just that. Their attention turned with ease to the front of the room as they waited for the professor to begin his lecture. Though George seemed incapable of this, his hand and expression remained frozen, as if they were chiseled from ice itself.

Cleary was nothing short of a princess in his eyes, she shined just as bright no matter what the circumstance. He remembered once he and Fred had woke her up in the wee hours of the morning and he still thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever known.

To see a scratch, let alone a bloody lip, seemed impossible then.

But things got stranger and stranger from then on. She arrived to her morning classes with a mop of damp hair, and the clean scent of soap lingering upon her skin. And she came back to the dorm drenched in sweat, multiple scrapes against her arms and legs. Fred seemed to be mildly concerned, though of course it was masked by his never ending curiosity for inventions.

He was able to corner her in the corridor outside the infirmary.

"Cleary," his voice was testy as his gaze flickered down to the shadow of the gash madam pomfrey had just patched up. "Be honest, have you gotten yourself into some trouble?"

Her hard expression, and nervous eyes seemed to alight with an emotion he could not place. Her lips curling upwards in a smile, teeth glistening under the red flesh.

"George, are you worried about me?"

He didn't know why but that foreign look upon her face so filled with mirth, made the tips of his ears burn.

"Fine then go on and get yourself all bloodied up." He muttered, he knew in his heart of hearts that he didn't mean a single word, that he truly was worried just as she guessed,but most of all why he was embarrassed by the mere notion. It was natural for him to be worried about Cleary, she was practically family, a precious friend he would so anything to protect. But every time he thought this, the words sounded all wrong, almost like an overly fabricated lie.

He had just begun to stew in his own thoughts when he felt the light tug along the torso area of his robe, it seemed even she hadn't been aware she was clutching onto it as their gazes met.

"I-it's not like that George," she stammered her eyes quickly averting his. Then she looked back, meeting his gaze with her own full on. "Just wait until the next match, and you'll get everything I promise." And he did believe her, so he let her squeeze his hand before running off. His face felt hot, and his heart drummed in his ears.

He felt as if he had just been manipulated, because the moment she looked at him with her big brown eyes. That had been all she needed for him to do her potions homework for the rest of her life.

***

She was crazy, she must have been, she thought. As she stood in front of the pitch, her dark hair flying back, eyes alert. The fresh scent of clean cut grass floating into her nose, eyes drifting shut.

She remembered the first time she had stepped onto the field, it smelled just like it did now, fresh. She noticed as the memory played behind her creamy eyelids, that it wasn't really a memory at all. Because all she remembered was the way intuition positioned her, rocketing off as it entered her bloodstream. And as she reemerged she realized that she was positively insane, because in that moment she was sure that she had been born to play Quidditch, as if everything in her life had been leading up to these few moments. So she gripped her broom and flew to her position.

George and Fred where sure something was wrong, at first they thought she was merely filling in for Cedric, perhaps the poor bloke had gone and broken himself somehow. But then they saw Cedric not at the keeper position, but his eyes keen, gaze sweeping looking for the snitch.

Fred was still baffled, but that was the answer, the conclusion. Everything fit into place, of course Cleary was all bloodied up, of course she and Cedric where exchanging notes and whispering to each other, and of course she had been busy.

They had switched places, and they had kept it a secret.

And even though George felt a hint of depression lingering on the walls of his heart. He was glad, he wouldn't know exactly why for quite a bit more time, and so he found himself smiling to himself. Hoping no one would notice and steal the small fragment of happiness away.

Oliver Wood sat three people away, and he as well had a similar expression upon his face. Lips arched into the smallest of smiles, but his hand twitched.