This is – gasp – a oneshot with a happy ending. I know my regulars will find that impossible, but it's true. I gave it to my beta as it was and she begged me not to make it depressing, so here it.
Narcissus and Echo
I.
A shy Angelina clung to her aunt's leg as her aunt knocked on a dilapidated door.
"Auntie, where are we?"
"A friend of mine has boys your age and invited us to lunch."
"Boys?" Angelina made a face, but quickly transformed the look of disgust into a polite smile as the door swung open, revealing a pleasant, red-haired woman.
"Molly, wonderful to see you."
The women began exchanging pleasantries while Angelina stood awkwardly in the entrance of the house. It was simple and messy, but she felt oddly at home in the chaos.
Mrs. Weasley ushered her inside and brought her to a living room where two identical boys sat on a threadbare couch. "These are my sons, Fred and George. They're your age." And with that, she left with Ms. Johnson.
The twins eyed her mischievously, and she instantly felt as though she had missed the beginning of a joke. "I'm Angelina, but you can call me Angie." She'd extended her hand and the boys took it in turn, each grinning in distinct ways. Fred's encompassed the entire width of his face and had a lopsided, goofy aspect to it; George's was less broad and showed more of his teeth.
When her aunt walked past again, she froze and Angelina cocked her head to the side, perplexed.
"What's wrong, Auntie?"
"Your hair."
Confused, Angelina had run a hand through her hair and then dashed to the bathroom. Her dark hair had turned shocking pink, and she could hear the twins' laugher as she screamed.
II.
Angelina had counted down the days until she would go to King's Cross with her trunk and finally board the Hogwarts Express; however, now that the day had finally come, she was nervous and unsure. She had walked the entire length of the train twice, and yet there were no familiar or friendly faces. She'd chosen the empty caboose and was considering walking off of the train all together when the door opened and a pair of flame-haired twins walked through the door.
Angelina sat up straight, her eyes narrowing. The leading twin had stopped and scratched his head slightly.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
Angelina scowled. "You turned my hair pink once."
The boy laughed, and then winced slightly. "Oh, you're right, that was you. I'd almost forgotten. George, do you remember her? The girl who screamed so loudly that you thought she was a banshee?"
Indignant, Angelina opened her mouth to protest.
"No, I'm just kidding. He only joked about you being a banshee." He extended a hand to a still affronted Angelina. "Fred Weasley."
"Angie Johnson."
"Do you mind if George and I sit here?"
She hesitated before moving her things so that he could sit beside her.
III.
Angelina was nearly green as she stood in line for Quidditch tryouts her second year. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Fred Weasley leaning against her. His hair was ruffled by the wind and his broom was still in his hand.
"You look anxious."
"That's because I am."
"Aw, tryouts aren't bad."
"Easy for you to say; you just aced yours."
"I don't know if I'd say that." Nevertheless, he grinned. "You really think so?" She shot him a venomous look and the frown faded. "Sorry."
"Do you really think I'll make it?"
"Yes, I do. I've seen you fly."
There was a pause in the conversation and she heard her name called. She grimaced and looked at Fred. "Wish me luck."
"Luck!" He called out, and he watched as she shuffled unsteadily towards the pitch.
IV.
Something had changed. She'd woken up that morning and suddenly when she looked at him, she felt a foreign flutter in her stomach. Almost like nausea, if nausea were pleasant and made her giggle like a child. She couldn't breathe when she looked at him, so she'd spent the morning running like a madwoman in the other direction whenever she saw him in the corridors.
"Katie, something's wrong with me. I must be sick."
"Have you got a fever or something?"
"Not exactly. I have…butterflyitis, or something."
"Butterflyitis?"
"Yes."
"I don't think that's actually a disease."
"Well, it's how I feel. Every time I look at that damn Fred Weasley, I feel like there's, well, butterflies. In my stomach, which is a place that butterflies don't belong. …Do you think he hexed me? If he hexed me, I'll kill him. I really will."
Katie stifled laughter.
"What?"
Katie grinned at her. "Do you want to kiss him?"
"What? I come to you for help and you ask me if I want to kiss Fred Weasley?"
"You didn't answer me. Do you want to kiss him?"
"Well, I don't know. I suppose I haven't exactly thought of it."
"Think of it, then."
Angelina paused for a moment and imagined Fred's lips on hers. She felt the heat in her face rising and, acutely aware that Katie was watching her, blushed profusely.
"Yes, you do."
"Do what?"
"Want to kiss him."
"Do not. …Alright, maybe a little. But only a little!"
"You haven't got butterflyitis. You like him."
"I do not." Angie folded her arms indignantly before realizing that Katie was already walking down the corridor.
V.
"Angie, will you help me with my History of Magic homework?"
Fred glanced over at her and Angelina rolled her eyes, indicating the mountain of books ahead of her with her head. "I've got a twelve-inch essay due to Slughorn tomorrow that I'm halfway through with, not to mention I haven't even started my work for Binns."
"Well great, neither have I. We can help each other."
"You've got to be joking."
"I'll love you forever."
"Forever?"
"And ever."
He made puppy eyes at her and she exhaled sharply.
"Helping you does not mean doing your homework for you."
Fred grinned. "Of course not."
Angelina glared meaningfully at him. "I mean it."
"Okay." He kissed her cheek quickly and wrapped his arm around her playfully. "You're the greatest. You really are."
"Just shut up and work."
VI.
"I've figured it out."
Katie glanced over at her. "What, the answer to number six?"
"No. Why boys are so completely awful."
"Oh. Well, let me know when you figure out how to do the problem."
"You mean you don't want to hear what I have to say?"
"You know, no offense, Angie, but you're kind of a bollocks tutor."
"Boys are so awful because they're too good at dancing. And they're too strong – far too strong. And, well, doesn't it just annoy you to now end when they're so confident in themselves? I mean, really, is there any need to think that they can just waltz up to any girl they fancy and just assume that they'll go to a ball with them?"
"You're still hopelessly in love with Fred Weasley."
"Well, of course. But I still hate him."
"Of course you do, Angie. Of course you do."
VII.
They're kissing in the locker room. Shirtless. They're kissing shirtless in the locker room and she's pressed against him and she should be cold, seeing as it's March and it's storming outside, but instead she feels quite warm, if that makes any sense at all. His hands are in her hair and this is far better than she'd ever pictured it would be. She pulls her mouth away from his for a moment.
"Fred?"
He presses his lips to hers again and she closes her eyes. He moves his mouth to her collarbone.
"Fred."
He pulls away from her and makes eye contact. His hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed; he's panting and for a moment he looks worried.
"Yeah?"
She runs a hand nervously through her hair. "What does this mean?"
"What does this mean?"
"Yeah."
"Me kissing you?"
She nods.
"Well…I sort of thought it meant that I fancied you and you fancied me back. Was I wrong?"
She grins and shakes her head.
"No. No, not at all."
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
"Good," he says, and then he kisses her again, and this time she can feel the curvature of his lips as he smiles.