Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to J.K. Rowling. Anything that sounds familiar is hers. I just enjoy playing with the world she created. All of the chapter names are lyrics from songs from the various bands, named.
Chapter named after "Miserable At Best" by Mayday Parade.
Story named after "Stay Young" by We The Kings.
Fred Weasley sighed as he stared into his younger brother's eyes. Ron stared back, just as defiant.
"Please, Fred?" Ron's blue eyes were desperate. "I'd go myself, but Hermione is going to be here in a few minutes, and I really want to practice some stuff I learned from the book…"
Fred laughed. Ron, seeing some hope in this, persisted with, "Please, Fred?"
His brother, although reluctantly, relented.
"All right. I'll go to the village and get those lousy flowers Mum wanted you to fetch. I don't understand why we can't just conjure some, I mean really…" Fred's sentence trailed off as Ron shrugged, smirking.
"Women," he agreed.
Suddenly, they heard the door slam, and Hermione Granger's voice drifted up the many landings, to carry up to Ron's topmost attic bedroom.
"Really, you're too kind, Mrs. Weasley. I'm not all that hungry, more tired, actually…" Hermione yawned, exhausted from her journey.
At the sound of her voice, Ron went into some sort of panicked frenzy. He smoothed his hair and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, begging the wrinkles to disappear from it. Fred watched, amused, as Ron pointed his wand at his shirt and stammered out a spell that succeeded in burning a small hole in the blue print. Fred laughed and pointed his own wand at Ron's shirt.
"Reparo!" he said in between chuckles as the fabric of the shirt rejoined, removing all evidence of the singe, and then, "Erudio!" The wrinkles smoothed themselves instantly.
Ron looked down at himself, astonished. Then, as if remembering that Fred was there, he started pushing him out of his Chudley Cannons decorated bedroom, and shut the door behind them both.
Fred casually leaned against the door to Ron's room, his arms crossed and his face set in a smirk. With a wink and a grin, he turned on the spot, leaving his younger brother staring at him, puzzled.
Crack!
Mrs. Weasley jumped at the sound of one of her sons Apparating next to her. Hermione gave a small smile to Fred before she went back to anxiously staring up the staircase.
"Hey, Mum. Hey, Granger!" Fred stuck out his hand towards Hermione and affectionately ruffled her hair. "Looking for Ron, I expect?"
"Ah, yes," said Mrs. Weasley, "Ronald is out fetching flowers for the wedding in Ottery St. Catchpole and he should-"
"Actually, Mum, Ron's upstairs. But I'll get the flowers," Fred interrupted. "Later, Granger!" And with those words, he turned on the spot, concentrating on the small village nestled in the hills, very close to The Burrow.
He gasped for breath as soon as he felt his feet touch solid ground. He shuddered. Apparating was all right, but the feeling of losing all of your breath was never pleasant.
"Now for those ruddy flowers…" he grumbled, seeing the busy streets of the village and regretting his promise to Ron. The streets were filled with Muggles, all busy with their summer shopping.
Fred wandered around the streets, looking for a flower shop at each turn. Finally, he reached Florin's Florists. He gave a sigh of relief as he stared through the glass windows and saw the biggest array of flowers he had ever seen. The young wizard marched up the steps, opened the glass door, and walked into a large green room, with plants lining all of the walls in various arrangements, and mist settling on the greenery in ten-second intervals. The cool temperature of the room was a vast relief from the blistering heat that plagued anyone outside.
"May I help you?" fluttered a melodic female voice. Fred turned his head to see the teenage girl sitting at the counter. He felt a bit of shock. This girl was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.
She was tall, that much was easy to see, even when she was sitting down. Her height was perfect when compared to his mounting stature; she was shorter than him and yet he wouldn't have to tower over her. She had the complexion of one who was naturally pale, but had grown up in the valley of the sun, resulting in a subtle tan all over her body. She had long brown hair that looked like a compromise between straight and curly; it tumbled down her shoulders in slight, messy waves. Her chocolate brown eyes were dark and deep, and framed by long black lashes. Her lips were naturally light pink, and her face had a few freckles. Her cheeks were flooded with a light and natural blush.
The girl cleared her throat. Suddenly, Fred remembered where he was, and who he was. He was a wizard. She was a Muggle. He had to keep his thoughts to himself… But what would be the harm in flirting a little bit? He knew his twin, George, would absolutely agree with him on this point, and that gave him the motivation needed to restore his confidence and find his voice.
"Hello, my name is Fred Weasley," he said, approaching the counter, and paused.
"I'm Emma. Emma Florin," replied the girl, "and this is my dad's flower shop. What can I do for you?" She was pleasant, and seemed amused by his carefree attitude. Surely she had noticed how obviously he had been staring at her…
"My brother is getting married, so I'm going to need a ton of flowers for the wedding," Fred stated matter-of-factly, "Mixtures of lilies, roses, and some baby's breath interspersed in pleasant arrangements would be quite lovely."
Emma nodded, writing down his order on a small pad of paper with a pen that resembled a flower. Her hair fell across her face as she scribbled furiously, and Fred leaned onto the counter, watching her with a smirk, his hand pillowing his cheek, elbow resting on the wooden surface covered in green paint. Her time in writing gave him the time to look at her more closely. She was wearing a pair of long, ripped, blue jean shorts with a light yellow deep v-neck T-shirt. The color perfectly complimented her skin and hair.
"You have nice taste in flowers, Mr. Weasley," she said, looking up from her notepad and noticing how close he was to her. Emma gave him a small smile.
"Why thank you, miss," he replied gallantly, making her laugh, "But please, do call me Fred." Fred gloried in her smile. She seemed to make the room glow.
"Good," replied Emma cheerfully, "It was really weird calling you that, considering you're only what, nineteen?"
"Yes, I am. How old are you, then?" Fred pushed some of his shaggy red hair out of his blue eyes.
"Almost eighteen. I'm free in exactly four days. Can't wait," Emma propped up her chin on her hand, leaning on her elbow just like Fred. They were no more than five inches apart.
Fred grinned devilishly. "Well then, I suppose I can no longer talk to you," he remarked lightly.
"May I ask why?" Emma was caught off guard.
"You're a year younger than me." Fred feigned disinterest in the conversation.
"So?" Emma bit her lip.
"I usually only date girls born in the same year as I was." Fred smirked flirtatiously.
Emma laughed. "Well who says I want to date you?"
Fred's blue eyes twinkled with merriment. "I can understand if you don't." He looked down dejectedly, his red hair falling in messy strands and hiding his eyes as he faced the wood counter.
"Well you never actually asked me…" Emma smiled tentatively, tapping the fingers of her free hand on the wood.
"Oh, never mind. It's too late now, I've ruined the moment," Fred teased, looking up and meeting her eyes.
"For crying out loud, Fred!" Emma straightened up, exasperated, and rested a hand on her hip.
"What?" Fred blinked innocently, straightening up as well.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, considering how I just met you, but do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?" Emma kept her eyes down, obviously afraid of rejection. She was so beautiful that Fred couldn't imagine a thought of denying her anything coming into any guy's head.
"Since you begged, I consent." He grinned maliciously.
"So…. Will you meet me here? At seven o'clock?" Her voice was still hopeful, unsure.
"It would be my pleasure," said Fred. To Emma's intense surprise, he picked up her hand and gently kissed it, like a true gentleman, then bowed himself out the door of the shop and onto the street, where he disappeared into the crowd.
Emma sat at her counter, staring out the glass doors of her father's flower shop, smiling to herself. She had never met anyone so eccentric. It was too bad he was a Muggle. Emma pulled out her wand and sighed as with a slight flick of her wrist, she sent Fred's floral order into the back stockroom.