a/n: First ever FredAngelina. Thoughts?
sunday mornin', wake up early,
fredangelina
skip curch service to find true meaning.
i know, it sounds so disappointing,
but i just don't belong in a place like that.
~"Sacrilegious," Never Shout Never
She's five, her curly hair in braids and a pink sundress on, stretching for the sanctuary in her mother and father's hands as they Apparate to the little white church on the top of a hill. She smiles as she sees the colorful flowers down below, and longs for the time after the service when she can fall face-first into the sea of whites, purples, yellows, can play and gallop and be free. She finds her grip slipping from her parents' in the anticipation, hoping maybe this once she can go instead the service and –
"Angie." her mummy says, and Angelina sadly averts her eyes, letting a puff of disappointed air escape her lips as she's lead inside the church.
"Just an hour, boo," her daddy assures her, gathering her up into his arms and fondly kissing the top of her head, "and you're home free."
"It's too long…" she whines, but they just laugh and go to their reserved pews, beside a large family of redheaded people, with more children than she can count on one hand. She notes two boys in particular, one hanging off the back of the pew with his rear end arched into the air, the other down underneath the pew, scrunched up like an accordion.
"'Ello, love," the second one says as he puts his head between her knees, smiling goofily like some drugged-up idiot. "Fred Weasley as your service." Angelina finds herself smiling at the young boy, with his hair splayed out on the marble floor like a candle and his eyebrows scrunched in such a playful way above those deep brown eyes.
"'Ello," she replies, "I'm Angelina Johnson." He grins wider at the name, and she looks into his mouth of gaps and bright teeth.
"Pleasure." he says, crawling out from beneath the pew at his mother's insistence as she tugs the other boy – the spitting image of Fred – down to sit by his belt buckle. As Fred clambers up to sit before she can grab him by the collar, he rolls his eyes at Angelina, settling in beside her.
"Mums." he sighs, and she giggles as the sermon starts.
After she's the third out of the church – Fred and his brother taking first place as a tie – and she follows the two of them as they shove each other down the hill, screeching like banshees as they all three plummet to the bottom, their pretty church clothes turning green by the second. They laugh as they reach the bottom, wrestling each other, ending up in an odd entanglement that has them looking like a horrid twelve-limbed creature.
Unfortunately their mother beckons them too soon, and they groan as they trudge back up, Angelina not far behind. As they all reach the top, Fred presses a kiss to her cheek, winking at her and smiling that drug-addict smile of his.
"Another day, then." he says, before he's off with his ginger-haired pack.
And she likes to believe they will, another day. Whatever that will entail.
.
She's twenty-seven, her curly hair tied in a bun and a flowing white dress on that billows in the back, grasping her father's arm as though letting go would send her flying backwards into oblivion. The flower petals fan out as she steps on them, and it almost kills her (anything can nowadays).
The pews are filled with people on each side, crying, smiling, both. She catches Mrs. Weasley looking at her, but the old woman averts her eyes when she meets them. Angelina doesn't blame her – she blames herself, really.
Dad leads her up to the altar, and she kisses his cheek in thanks (she feels like whispering don't let me do this in his ear, doesn't dare). She turns then, and she grins up at the boy before her – he grins too, his red hair flopping over his eyes and covering the scars where his other ear should be. He takes her hands, and a chill runs through her entire body – she says it's because she's marrying him, the man of her dreams (and the man of her nightmares), but inside there's so much more than that.
Because this is George, and she loves him, but he doesn't have that same crazed smile, those same eyes that once looked at her like she was made of glitter and honey, that same mouth that whispered in her ear as they twirled at the Yule Ball, words like you look fat in that dress and I love you. His eyes have looked at different girls, whispered different words at different times to them. (But not to her.)
When they're married and they escape the church (escape is the only word that fits, because it's the birthplace of her and him), the first thing she sees is the meadow of flowers down there, blossoming and blooming beautifully under the springtime sun's glare, and as little Teddy, Dominique, and Victoire rush to roll down the hill in their pretty white clothes, Angelina bursts into tears.