A/N: Warning for some smut towards the end of this chapter. You've been warned.
That evening, Winona was one of the first people to get to dinner. She sat at the very end of the Gryffindor table with a bowl of hearty stew. Once Fred and George arrived, they sat opposite her, watching in varying degrees of concern as she all but inhaled her food.
"They're not going to run out of soup, Win," George said delicately.
The look she shot him was scathing. "Whatever Umbridge has planned, it'll be easier to handle on a full stomach," she muttered.
"Can't be any worse than scrubbing cauldrons though, can it?" Fred asked cheerfully. "Remember that time Snape had us do the first-years' cauldrons? It took weeks for the smell to wash out of my hair. I think they'd been working with Bubotuber pus."
Winona rolled her eyes, grabbing a piece of bread and using it to mop up her stew. Angelina sat down heavily on the bench beside Winona, all but growling with frustration.
"Bite down on a real Galleon instead of a chocolate one again, Ange?" Fred teased.
Angelina made a face at him. "Shut up."
Winona looked up from her food. "What's got your wand in a knot?"
"Harry's gotten himself in detention Friday night," she said, anger making her features darker. "Can you believe it? I specifically told him to keep the night free for our Keeper tryouts, and what does he do? He gets himself detention. On the first day of classes!"
Winona took a deep breath, forcing herself not to see red. "Ange," she began, the words coming through gritted teeth. "It's not his fault. You saw how Umbridge came at me this morning-"
"You could have stopped pushing long before she gave you detention, Winnie," said Ange sternly. "And I'm sure Harry could have too."
Winona put down her spoon, pulling herself up to her full height which – while it wasn't very impressive – told them exactly how seriously she was taking it. Fred and George watched on warily. "Umbridge pushed back. She's a bully and a toad, and Harry had every right to defend himself. Do you believe what Harry says happened the last night of the tournament?"
Angelina blinked, blindsided by the question. "What? I don't-"
"Do you believe him?"
Angelina hesitated, glancing at the twins for help, but Fred's stare was blank while George offered only a shrug. She looked back at Winona. "Yes, Win," she said, taking a deep breath for patience. "Of course I believe him."
"Then act like it," Winona said, simple and matter-of-fact and somehow also a threat.
Angelina's expression shuttered, then opened again, and she sighed, slumping against the table. "I wasn't expecting to be made Quidditch Captain," she said softly, picking up a slice of garlic bread and restlessly ripping it into chunks. "I need to take this seriously – and to do that, I need everyone else to take it seriously, too."
The frost in Winona's heart melted with the confession. "I know, Ange. But Harry didn't get detention on purpose. And maybe he'll find a way out of it – try going to McGonagall. The woman loves her Quidditch."
But Angelina wasn't listening, an idea lighting up in her eyes. "You have detention with him tonight, don't you?"
Seeing through her, Winona scoffed. "Umbridge isn't going to go easy on Harry; and she's especially not going to go easy on him because Iasked."
"If anything, it'll probably make it worse," George agreed, looking less concerned now that the risk of the conversation devolving into a fight had dropped back down to zero. "Umbridge seems to really hate Win, for whatever reason."
"Actually, I've been thinking about that," said Winona. The twins looked to her, eyebrows raised. "When she said I needed to re-evaluate my choices, I think she was referring to the job offer I got from Fudge."
Realisation trickled over the twins, while Angelina's eyes went round in shock. "You got a job offer from the Minister for Magic?" she asked, understandably taken aback.
Winona flapped a hand carelessly. "I turned it down. Anyway, from what I saw at Harry's hearing, Fudge is still holding a grudge over it. I think part of why Umbridge is here is to…procure me, as it were, for Fudge."
"Well," said Fred, looking darkly amused. "She's doing a pretty piss-poor job of it, isn't she?"
She shook her head. "I don't think she's out to try and earn my loyalty."
The twins exchanged a look. "What's she out for, then?"
"I don't know," Winona murmured. "But I know it isn't good."
"Winnie?" Winona looked over her shoulder to find Harry stood next to her, a scowl on his lips. He very pointedly did not look at Angelina. "You ready to go?"
Winona nodded, scooping up her bag and climbing off the bench. "I'll see you later tonight," she told Fred quickly.
"Be smart," he warned her.
She snorted. "Since when are they your parting words?"
"Since the Ministry infiltrated our walls," he said, unsmiling. Winona sobered, nodding in agreement, then blew him a gentle kiss before she turned to follow Harry from the Great Hall.
They walked silently through the halls, and while Harry wasn't the most chatty of people, she was surprised that he didn't speak at all. He was scowling at the floor, gripping the strap of his bag so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"What's up, Boy-Wonder?"
"I hate her," Harry murmured without looking up from the floor.
Winona sighed. She didn't need to ask who he meant. "Yeah. Me too."
Harry glanced up, fury glittering in his emerald eyes. "Surely you know it isn't a coincidence that we were the ones, out of the whole school, to get detention with her."
She sighed again. "Yeah, I know."
"I heard you had a vision in her class today," he said after a few moments of uneasy quiet.
"The gossip mill in this bloody castle really works overtime, doesn't it?"
"What was it?" he pressed, unbothered by her cantankerous mood, probably considering his was just as dark.
"I dunno," she confessed. "It wasn't so much a vision as it was…a sensation."
"What kind of sensation?"
She hesitated. "Pain."
Harry looked concerned, and Winona wound an arm through his, holding tight. With him now a little taller than she was, it was easy to forget he was a whole two years younger than her. But at the same time, he would always be that scrappy little eleven year old she'd met all those years ago, and somehow also a baby boy she'd never truly gotten to know before life had ripped them apart.
"Whatever we're walking into, Harry," she began bracingly, "I don't think it's going to be good."
Harry frowned. "How bad could it be, really? She works for the Ministry."
Harry didn't quite seem to realise how little comfort that brought her after everything they'd been through over the last however many years. "I don't think that's exactly working in our favour, these days," she told him grimly. Harry's answering silence was thick with tension.
He was the one to knock on Umbridge's office door when they arrived, and her sugary voice called for them to enter.
Winona wasn't sure what she was expecting to find in the office, but somehow she wasn't surprised. The entire room was decked out in the most terrible shade of pink and it reeked of perfume. Little white doilies decorated every surface and the walls were covered with ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a gaudy bow around its neck. Winona grimaced; it was like poison on her retinas.
"Good evening, Mr Potter, Miss Black," said Umbridge, and Winona realised her eye had completely skipped over the professor. She was sat behind her desk, dressed in floral robes which made Winona want to hurl, a cold smile at home on her toad-like face.
"Evening, Professor Umbridge," Harry said stiffly. Winona said nothing, silent even as Umbridge's icy eyes cut to her expectantly. She was here, and that was as good as the frigid bitch was going to get.
Umbridge's eyes shuttered, but even she couldn't hide her disdain. "Well, sit down," she ordered them impatiently, gesturing towards a set of matching desks in the corner. They were draped with white lace and on each was a large piece of blank parchment waiting for them.
Winona got the feeling that she knew exactly what their punishment would entail – although she had to admit, making them write lines was an awfully lame show of her power. Winona had thought she'd want to go with something larger. And it certainly didn't explain that searing pain she'd felt in her not-quite-vision. Frowning to herself, she began to head towards the desks, only to pause when she realised Harry wasn't moving.
"Er," he began, as awkward and uncomfortable as any of them felt around the newest professor in the castle. "Professor Umbridge. Er – before we start, I wanted to ask you a…a favour," he said the word like it hurt to speak aloud.
Realising with a stab of clarity what he was about to ask, Winona took a step forwards. "Harry-" she tried to warn him, but before she could manage it Umbridge held up a pudgy, manicured hand. The old witch didn't even glance in her direction as she commanded Winona's silence. Like a trainer clicking her fingers at a misbehaving dog. Winona tried her best not snarl like one, too.
"Yes, Mr Potter?" Umbridge asked sweetly.
"Well, I'm … I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was – I was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it – do it another night instead…"
Umbridge's cold, awful eyes seemed to almost dance with glee. Winona wanted to hit her so badly that her knuckles began to ache.
"Oh, no," Umbridge sang, looking utterly delighted at the chance to deny him anything. "Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."
Winona opened her mouth to say something that certainly wouldn't be taken well, but Harry surprised her by dropping his bag to the floor and sitting down hard in his waiting chair. Winona remained on her feet, glowering at Umbridge and imagining how wonderful it would feel to break her nose with nothing but her bare hands.
"You'd best follow your cousin's lead, dear," Umbridge said the word like it was dirty. As if their relationship to one another was something to be disgusted by; ashamed of. Harry glanced up at her through his untamable hair, pleading her with tired eyes to just do as the teacher said.
Teeth grinding down hard enough to give herself a headache, Winona sat reluctantly in her chair.
"There," Umbridge trilled, "we're getting better at controlling our tempers already, aren't we? Now, the two of you are going to be doing some lines for me today. No, not with your quill," she added, as they reached into their bags. 'You're going to be using some rather special ones of mine."
Umbridge reached into her desk and pulled out two long, thin black quills with unusually sharp points. Winona felt a shudder run down the length of her spine as she took it from Umbridge's stumpy hand. It seemed hot against her skin, and an uncomfortable feeling settled low in her gut, like spoiled milk. She grit her teeth again, doing her best to ignore the warning she knew it to be.
"Mr Potter, I want you to write, I must not tell lies," she told him softly. Harry's jaw ticked but otherwise he said nothing. Umbridge's smile turned sugary as she turned to Winona. "And Miss Black, you're to write, I must always obey my betters."
It was unlike any lines Winona been given to write out before – and there had been a lot of them in the past. The wording was so demeaning, succeeding in what she was sure they were designed to do from the start, and making her feel about three inches tall. Her entire body felt like a spring coiled far too tight, and she wondered what might happen when all that tension finally snapped.
Wondered who might get hurt in the explosion.
"How many times?" Harry asked Umbridge, short and sharp, but not disrespectful. He was slowly learning to play her game, and if Winona weren't a puddle of fury, she might have been able to spare the attention to be impressed.
Umbridge smiled, all sugar and venom. "Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in. Off you go."
Their professor retook her seat at the desk, a pleasant smile on that horrid mouth. She took a sip from her little china teacup and lifted her own quill, setting to work marking essays from another class.
"You haven't given us any ink," Harry ground out.
Umbridge giggled like he'd made a joke. "Oh, you won't need ink," she sang, eyes on her work.
Winona took a deep breath, reminding herself that there weren't any art supplies in Azkaban, and set her quill against the parchment.
I must obey my betters.
The ink was blood red, and she knew it was no coincidence, for as soon as the tip of her quill left the parchment, a sudden – familiar – searing pain cut into the back of her hand. She gasped in pain, watching with horror as the same words in her own handwriting were cut into the skin on the back of her hand as though traced there by the tip of an invisible knife.
The skin healed over just as quickly, leaving nothing but an irritated red mark, as if she'd simply rubbed the skin a little too hard. The pain remained, however, and she stared down at the blood – her own blood – that was used to write the humiliating words.
Harry let out an identical gasp and her eyes darted to him, realising with a swoop of churning horror that the exact same thing was happening to him. In amongst the pain, she hadn't considered that Harry was suffering the same. The words I must not tell lies had appeared and healed over in his skin, identical to the words written in his blood on the parchment.
Winona's chin jerked up, eyes cutting to Umbridge who sat smiling at her desk, delicate teacup held in stubby, meaty hands. Fury burned like acid in her veins. "How fucking dare-"
Harry thrust his elbow into her ribs hard enough that Winona fell silent. She looked back at Harry, whose eyes were wide and pleading. While they were close, they'd never been able to communicate silently to quite the same degree as the twins – however in that moment, speechless conversation came easy.
You'll only make it worse, his eyes told her urgently. Don't give her the satisfaction.
She can't get away with this, she replied, brow furrowed, jaw tight.
She won't, he soothed her, but we have to play this smart. We can't let her win.
Winona took a deep breath, trying to soothe her own rage. Harry looked up at Umbridge, but Winona couldn't stomach even glancing at the hag. If she did, she'd surely do something even more stupid than usual.
"Yes?" Umbridge asked sweetly.
Harry's jaw clicked, the only giveaway that there was anything bubbling beneath the surface. How different that were, while still being so similar. "Nothing," he finally said, his chin tilted upwards in defiance.
And that was that. The two cousins sat there for hours, until the sun had faded from the sky and was replaced by swirling constellations of familiar stars. Over and over they wrote their lines, and over and over they were carved brutally into the skin of their hands. It would heal over every time, but the redness and irritation never faded, leaving their hands aching and sore. The pain radiated up Winona's arm, and any movement at all only seemed to hurt more.
She had no idea how long Umbridge would make them do it for, but it grew late – extremely so – and she never called for them to stop. And they knew better than to ask for it to end.
Finally, once the cuts on Winona's hand had finally begun to stop healing over, the little bloody words carved into her flesh like a brand, Umbridge looked up from her task. "Come here," she said briskly. Harry stood to his feet, hatred dripping from his very being. "Hand."
Harry extended his hand and Winona watched as she took it in hers, checking the wound she'd caused with a self-satisfied smile. She wanted to rip her cousin's hand out of her grip. She wanted to cut off Umbridge's fingers for even thinking she had the right to touch him. But some things were out of even her control.
"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she sang, cheerful and snide. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go, Mr Potter."
Harry turned to go, but then looked at Winona expectantly. Winona began to stand from her chair, but Umbridge suddenly cleared her throat and their attention snapped back to her.
"I have extra business to discuss with Miss Black," she said sweetly. Winona had never known she could hate a voice with such intensity. "You may go. She'll be along shortly."
Harry didn't want to leave, Winona could tell. But he had to; for both their sakes. She nodded to him once, attempting a smile that neither of them believed. With another tick of his jaw, Harry swiped up his book bag and stomped for the door. It shut after him with a loud bang but Winona didn't think for a second that he'd left her there. She'd bet anything he was right outside the door, waiting anxiously for her to reappear – perhaps trying to listen through the wood.
"Pass me your hand, dear," said Umbridge into the ringing silence he left behind.
Winona stood sharply to her feet, thrusting her hand in Umbridge's face without a word. Her touch made Winona want to scream, but instead she bit down on her tongue and let the horrid woman assess the damage.
"No, no," she finally tutted as though she were greatly disappointed by it all. "I can tell this lesson's hardly sunk in at all. Oh well, we'll have all week to keep trying."
Winona snatched her hand back and said nothing, standing before Umbridge and wishing she were anywhere else. Umbridge clearly had more to say. Winona hoped she'd just get it over with and let her leave. She needed Fred – something that was becoming easier and easier to admit to herself. She needed him, and it didn't make her weak.
"Now, it has come to my attention that you're rather close with those two Weasley boys, aren't you, Miss Black?" Umbridge began deliberately, almost as if she'd read her mind.
Winona's entire body went rigid, heart freezing in her chest. Seeing she'd hit a nerve, Umbridge gave an awful smile, like the leer of a hungry shark, and continued on.
"I've heard from the other teachers that those boys are somewhat infamous for their troublemaking tendencies. After your detention this evening, I'd imagine you would want to avoid getting them into any…unnecessary trouble."
That certainly sounded like a threat to Winona. Her blood turned to concrete. "Why ever would they get into any trouble, professor?" she asked, surprised when her voice came out saccharine around the venom pooling on her tongue. Winona hoped the mocking might annoy Umbridge, but if anything, it only seemed to make her giddy.
"Well, if they were to learn you were suffering in any way, surely they might react…unfavourably," she finished with a terrible giggle. "I'd think you would want to protect them – even from themselves."
The message couldn't have possibly been any clearer: do not tell anyone about this, or the twins would suffer for it. But Winona had lived the kind of life that taught her how to fight fire with fire.
"If you're aware of my friend groups, then you must surely know I meet with Professor Dumbledore every week for private tutoring," she said sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes for effect. "He likes to hear about my week; see how my classes are going; how I get along with my professors."
Umbridge smiled again, teeth pointed and gleaming threateningly in the peachy light of her lamps. But the smile was cold, and Winona withheld a shiver under the force of it.
"Well, that sounds lovely, dear. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know we've become such wonderful friends. You should be mindful, however, that spreading lies like your cousin simply won't do. And if I find out you are – well, you'd hardly be the one to truly suffer for it, now would you?"
Another blatant threat: tell Dumbledore, and she'll torture all the people closest to her. Tell anyone – fight back in any way – and it wasn't Winona who would see the consequences.
"Dumbledore would never allow suffering in his school," she told Umbridge, but it was unconvincing to even her own ears.
Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Umbridge leaned forwards in her seat, baring her teeth like a warning. "Even Dumbledore must bow to the power of the Ministry, and certainly the Minister himself," she simpered. "Surely you must understand, dear?"
Was she saying what Winona thought she was saying? Was she threatening to use the Ministry against her, on top of just torturing her friends? Winona glanced to the desks she and Harry had been sat at, picturing the twins sat in their places, grimaces of pain on their identical faces as they wrote lines in their own blood.
What good would it be, running to Dumbledore? Umbridge was right; against the Ministry, what chance did Dumbledore really stand? All she had to do was get through this week of punishment, then she could go about her usual schedule and ignore Umbridge whenever she possibly could. She could do that; or rather, she could do it if it meant keeping the twins safe.
Winona bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood. "I understand," she ground out, trying not to feel like the words were some sort of spell, locking her into this course of action before she'd even properly thought it through.
Harry was waiting anxiously out in the corridor, his foot tapping an uneven rhythm against the floor. Winona let the door click shut and together they set off down the corridor, saying nothing until they were at least an entire floor away from Umbridge's office.
"What did she want?" Harry whispered, maybe to keep from waking all the portraits sleeping along the walls, or maybe just because he didn't trust his voice to work if he spoke any louder.
"She threatened me."
Harry blinked. "She what?"
"Basically told me that if I tell anyone – Dumbledore, the twins, anyone I care about – she'll make my life and theirs a living hell."
Harry took a deep breath, his sore hand stuffed into his pocket. "Bloody hell," he whispered to himself. "What are we going to do?"
It took a moment before she could think clearly enough to answer him. "We're going to get through this week of detention, and then we're going to go about our lives as usual," she told him simply. Glancing at Harry, she found him staring at his feet, visible only in the moonlight shining through the windows. "Are you planning on telling Ron and Hermione?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply, then paused as if realising he didn't know the answer. "What good would it do?" he eventually whispered. "They'd only be angry. Hermione would only want to go straight to Dumbledore… Are you going to tell the twins?"
Winona shook her head, cradling her aching hand against her stomach. It would be so easy to tell the twins – to get revenge on Umbridge and have this all out in the open. But when it came down to it, this was a game being played on a board larger than just the walls of this castle. Nine months and she'd be out in the real world, playing with the big kids. Nine months and she'd be a pawn in this chess game of politics, just as the rest of them were. She couldn't afford to keep thinking like a kid, like someone who balked at sacrifice and never allowed herself to compromise. She had to start thinking like the chess piece she was; it was more important than ever.
And Umbridge? She was a powerful piece recently appeared on the board. And she couldn't be dealt with through petty pranks or vicious revenge. Winona had to be smart about this. She had to be clever. Or, at least, cleverer than the other guy.
It didn't matter that Harry was being tortured – not to the rules of the game. Her cousin was tough, he could handle a little torture, and if it meant getting through the other side of this war with all of them intact, then that fleeting pain of his was something even she was going to have to stomach.
Because this wasn't about the small battles; it was all about the bigger picture. She might get rid of Umbridge today, but tomorrow? She couldn't take down the entire Ministry. And suddenly she realised, that was who she was playing against. Voldemort wasn't the real threat – at least, not the immediate one. To win this battle, she had to be what she wasn't. Or maybe just what she'd never wanted to become.
"I'm leaving the twins out of this," she finally told Harry, ignoring the twist of guilt in her stomach even as she spoke the words. "They'll just act recklessly," she added, telling herself it was true, "enact some revenge and get themselves into trouble."
"So it's agreed," Harry nodded grimly, like a soldier preparing for war. "Nobody knows."
Winona swallowed the lump in her throat. "Nobody knows," she nodded, and they fell back into a tense, uneasy silence.
Winona was half expecting to find Fred still in the common room waiting for her, but a glance across the empty room at the grandfather clock in the corner showed it was nearly half-past one in the morning. He'd probably already gone to bed.
Winona hesitated with one foot on the first step of the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories. Harry noticed her pause. "You all right?"
She abruptly changed directions, slipping past him and strolling up the boys' staircase instead. "Not a word," she warned her cousin, wagging a finger in his face as she passed.
Harry smirked, although it was weak. "Not a word," he agreed, following her up the stairs. He continued on to the fifth years' boys' dorm, while Winona let herself into the seventh years' room with a quiet click of the handle. Waving a goodnight to Harry, she slipped inside the familiar dorm.
Lee was snoring from across the room, and George slept silently on the right. In the middle sat Fred's bed, and she could just make out his shape in the moonlight spilling in through the open window.
Toeing off her shoes, Winona silently dug in her boyfriend's trunk until she pulled free a Quidditch jersey. Wriggling out of her jeans and tugging at her teeshirt, she changed right there in the darkness. Once her dirty clothes were in a pile at the foot of Fred's bed, she climbed gently onto the mattress beside her slumbering boyfriend.
He made a humming noise as she lifted his covers, sliding beneath them and curling herself around him. She watched in the dark as his blue eyes blinked sleepily open.
"Time s'it?" he slurred.
"Late," she replied, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. His hair was still damp from his shower and he smelled the same as he always did – like a lovely July evening at the Burrow and a joke shop that wasn't yet a reality.
"You only just got back from detention?" he asked sleepily, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against his side. She nodded against his neck. "What'd you have to do?"
Winona's heart stuttered in her chest. "Lines," she told him softly – not a lie, but certainly not the whole truth.
"Hm," he hummed again, already falling back into sleep. "You're back now."
"Yep," she whispered lamely into the warm skin of his throat. "I'm back now."
She barely slept that night, even with Fred's weight and warmth beside her the whole time. Every time she began to drift into sleep she remembered the searing, cutting pain in her hand. And when she finally did drift off, she dreamt of Umbridge's pointy grin widening and widening, until it was as wide as a great white's, then could only watch as she bit down on her left hand with a sickening snap.
It took three repeats of the same dream for her to just stop trying to sleep at all. She contented herself with breathing in Fred and trailing her fingertips down the smooth skin of his arm, trying not to think about all the ways everything had changed in so short a time, and how much things were going to continue to change – whether they were ready for it or not.
The sun rose slowly over the distant mountains, but it was ages still until the boys began to wake. Much to her pleasure, Fred was first, probably woken by the feeling of her tracing patterns into his exposed skin.
"Mornin'," he said, voice raspy with sleep, and Winona pressed a soft kiss to his Adam's apple as it dipped.
"Morning," she whispered, nuzzling into the hollow of his throat.
"You okay?" he asked carefully, gently pulling her back until he could see her properly, his fingertips tracing the dark circles beneath her eyes.
But Winona was nothing if not stubborn, and when she smiled at him placatingly, even she sort of believed it. "Never better," she lied, then kissed him before he could call her on her bluff.
They had nonstop-classes that day, without even a free period to give them a break. Winona remained herself, trying her best to keep from snapping at everyone just because she was bitter and sleep-deprived.
She knew Fred could tell something was up. She could see it in the way he looked at her when she wasn't looking at him, and feel it in the cautious, worried touch of his hand to her spine when they walked in the hallways. But throughout it all he was his usual self, joking with the others and even pulling off a seamless prank on a group of younger Slytherins that was almost enough to bring Winona out of her funk.
It was awful to keep something from him – but she was determined. He and George would not end up in that torture-session of a detention. Or, at the very least, they wouldn't end up there because of her actions.
That evening, she sat at dinner between Katie and Fred, toying halfheartedly with the mashed potatoes on her plate. "You've barely eaten," said Fred, stealing her fork from her and scooping up some of her food. "Do we need to play the broom game?"
"Broom game?" she echoed.
"Yeah. Y'know, when you're a kid and you won't eat your food, so your mum pretends the spoon is a broomstick, and you've gotta open wide for it to get through…"
Winona smiled fondly. "Raised Muggle, remember?" she said. "And Muggles say 'aeroplane game'."
"Well, that's rubbish," he retorted without missing a beat. "Why would an aeroplane need to get into your mouth for?"
Rolling her eyes, Winona snatched back her fork and ate the bite of food herself. At five to five, Harry appeared over her shoulder, a grim look on his face as he tapped his bare wrist, telling her it was time to go.
"Blimey," said George as Winona pressed a kiss to Fred's jaw and stood smoothly to her feet. "You two look like you're walking to the gallows."
"Well, it's detention with Umbridge, isn't it?" Winona shot back quickly. "We're not exactly going to skip there."
"Yeah, but it's just lines," George shrugged.
"I'll see you guys later tonight," was all she said in farewell, ignoring Fred's searching look as she wound her arm through Harry's and tugged him towards the door.
Umbridge was just as brisk and sugary as she had been the night before. She had them sit and silently write their lines, glancing at them with sick satisfaction every hour or so. Hours passed again, the sun long since disappeared by the time they were allowed to leave.
The line that would be carved into their hand every time they wrote it always healed a little less successfully than the time before. Winona knew soon that it would stop healing at all, leaving her with the actual sentence carved into her hand. If Umbridge was had her way, it might even scar permanently.
She got no sleep that night, either, and the next day she was beginning to look rather like a zombie. She'd stayed in the girls' dorm that night, so come morning she asked Alicia if she could use some makeup to look a little less like a member of the undead.
Alicia and Angelina stared at her like she'd spoken fluent Mermish. "But…you never wear makeup," said Alicia slowly, as though Winona might have forgotten.
"I look dead on my feet, and I don't want to look dead on my feet," she explained briskly. "Ergo, makeup."
Alicia painted on a quick face of makeup for her, masking the bags under her eyes and bringing some life back to her pallid face. Winona thanked her and went about her day. Fred didn't mention the fact she was wearing makeup when she saw him at breakfast; which probably didn't bode well. It was always worse when he didn't acknowledge something. That was when the real trouble began.
Still, she went about her day, completing her homework during lunch, knowing she'd get no time that evening. "Why don't you skive off detention?" Fred suggested that evening, as she was eating a quick dinner before she was due to walk with Harry to Umbridge's office.
"Are you kidding?" she laughed. "That'll only get me more detention."
Fred frowned, but he didn't argue, for which she was grateful.
Harry stopped at her shoulder to collect her, and she pecked Fred gently on the cheek in farewell. "You look how I feel," she said dryly as she and her cousin made their way through the castle, alone but not quite lonely.
"You're wearing makeup," he murmured after a few minutes.
"Yeah, otherwise I'd look how I feel, too."
Umbridge greeted them as always – sugary and sweet enough to hurt their teeth – and let them get on with their punishment without another word. Things went differently, this time. It was only two and a half hours in – the sun not even completely set behind the mountains – when the words on her hand finally gave up healing over at all.
She stopped writing, staring down at the script in her skin. Little beads of crimson blood oozed and dripped from the letters, and it stung where the air hit it, making her hiss. Tears gathered in her eyes before she could stop them, the stinging making her own pulse beat in her ears. When Harry stopped writing, too, Umbridge finally looked up and took the time to assess their hands.
"Ah," she said softly, pleased with herself. "Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight."
Winona didn't hesitate to grip the strap of her bag, throwing it over her shoulder. "Do we still have to come back tomorrow?" asked Harry hopefully as he climbed up after her.
"Oh yes," giggled Umbridge, like the question was somehow amusing. "Yes, I think we can etch the messages a little deeper with another evening's work."
Winona just got the fuck out of there, the tears still stinging her eyes nothing compared to the burning pain in her hand. Blood was smeared on her skin, giving it an intensely horrific look, like something found in a bad Halloween film.
"Winnie?" asked Harry quietly.
She looked up from her bloodied mess of a hand, blinking at him in surprise. She quickly wiped her eyes with her clean hand and tried to keep from sniffling. "I'm fine," she lied. "I can take it." She paused, looking at him shrewdly. "Can you?"
"I hate her," was Harry's only answer. "Maybe even more than Snape."
Winona laughed quietly as they began walking slowly back towards Gryffindor Tower. "Yeah," she agreed. "I'm with you there."
They were only a few floors away from the common room when they ran into an unexpected face crouched suspiciously behind a statue in the corridor. "Ron?" asked Harry in confusion, and they watched as the redhead unsuccessfully tired to hide his broomstick behind his back. Sensing that whatever was about to happen would go easier without her around, she ruffled Harry's hair with her uninjured hand.
"See ya later, Boy-Wonder," she said, but before she could leave, Harry caught her elbow.
"If you want, we – I can stay with you," he offered helplessly, eyes glancing nervously to her hand, which she'd stuffed deep into her pocket before Ron could see it.
"Thank you, Harry," she said softly, squeezing his hand in her own. "But I think I just want to go take a hot shower."
"Fred and George just passed me, by the way," Ron spoke up. "I think they were heading for the courtyard."
"At this time of night?" she frowned.
"They had a bunch of first-years with them. I reckon they're testing stuff on them, somewhere Hermione won't be able to stop them."
She smiled wryly. "Clever boys."
"Are you going to go find them?" Harry asked hopefully. It was clear he didn't want her to be alone.
She smiled at him, ruffling his hair once more. "Nah, I really do want a shower. I'll see you later. Oh – and Ron," she added, tossing him a look over her shoulder, watching as his face went bright red. "Don't be so nervous about it. You're going to do great."
With a final, mysterious grin she left them be, listening in vague amusement as Harry demanded to know what Ron was so nervous about.
The dorm was empty when she got there, and Winona happily slipped into the shower. She stood under the blistering hot spray for longer than she should have, but she thought she probably deserved a little indulgence. The nights of zero sleep were beginning to catch up to her, and Winona found herself blessedly tired as she changed into pyjamas and crawled into bed. She was asleep before she knew it, but as always, the nightmares were never far away.
She woke up in the early hours of the morning, panting for breath and sweat clinging to her body. The rest of the dorm was still fast asleep, so Winona made sure to stay quiet as she stumbled into the bathroom to have another shower, this one colder than the last.
It was Friday – her last night of detention with Umbridge. All she had to do was get through this one more day, then she and Harry would be free. Maybe, with a little luck, their hands would even begin to heal.
She was the first one down to breakfast. Eating her eggs and bacon quietly, she found herself without much of an appetite. People began to stream in through the massive doors to the Hall, and eventually her friends joined her, too.
"You're up early," said Katie, taking a seat across from her and pouring herself some coffee.
"Couldn't sleep," she murmured.
"Really? You were dead to the world when we came up for bed," said Angelina, sliding onto the bench beside her. Winona could only shrug.
The twins arrived eventually, too, and they took up their seats on her left, already pulling food onto their plates. They were quiet, though – too quiet. Winona felt concern take root in her gut, but before she could figure out how to bring it up, Fred turned to her.
"Let's take a walk," he said, too softly. Heart in her throat, Winona nodded her head.
They gathered some toast in a pile and headed for the doors. Outside it was dreary and overcast, and the wind was unusually frigid for that time of year. Winona felt scared – she'd been avoiding Fred, she knew that, but was it too much for him? Was this it? Was their relationship over? Was he going to say it wasn't working, that he just wanted to be friends?
Her heart raced, pumping against her breastbone with thick, painful pulses. For a lack of anything better to do with her trembling hands, Winona swiped a piece of toast from Fred's pile and took a bite. They began a slow walk down the bridge, towards the Quidditch Pitch, eating their toast until it was gone.
Fred was giving her time to relax, but all it did was make her rigid with tension.
"You're wearing gloves," said Fred suddenly, a frown on his face.
She understood the strange comment. She never wore gloves – it was too hard to draw in them, and they were a hassle to take on and off whenever she wanted to sketch. "It's cold," she said lamely, then just as quickly blurted, "Is everything okay?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing," he said, that tiny crease appearing between his ginger brows. Winona wanted to smooth it away with her thumb, but things were too uncertain, and she couldn't risk the rejection.
She said nothing as they kept on walking, trying desperately to come up with something to say that wasn't a lie, but after about a minute of tense quiet, Fred came to a sudden stop. Surprised, Winona turned towards him, finding him looking stricken.
"Would you talk to me?" he demanded, understandably upset.
Winona opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She wasn't sure why this thing with Umbridge was screwing with her so badly; but it was. She was struck with fear at the thought of the twins coming under fire, just because she made some stupid move without thinking it through first. Umbridge wasn't just any old witch – she was undersecretary to the Minister himself. If anyone in this castle was a threat, it was her. She couldn't be underestimated.
Fred ducked his head to catch her stare, his blue eyes nearly desperate. "Win, whatever it is, let me help."
Her mouth was dry, and she had to clear her throat before she could speak. "It's nothing-"
"Don't lie to me," he said, voice hard. Winona stared at him, at a loss for words. There was pain in his eyes now – pain she had put there. "You've been distant, this last week. I've barely seen you, and when I have, you've…you've not been yourself. Talk to me, Winnie," he begged her. "I'm your boyfriend. I want to help you."
Her eyes prickled with tears, so she crossed her arms and looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice. "It's nothing I can't deal with-"
"Winona," Fred growled, and she met his stare with surprise. All the frustration drained out of him at the sight of the tears glistening in her eyes. "Win," he sounded pained. He crossed the distance between them, taking her pale face in his warm hands. "What's wrong? Please, tell me."
"Fred, it isn't – you can't help, I can't-" she stammered, struggling to find the right thing to say. She gripped his hand with her uninjured one, holding tight.
His eyes narrowed. "Is this something to do with the Order?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't be able to tell him about it if it was.
It would be so easy to lie, to claim it was Order-related, thus giving her the perfect excuse not to have to explain herself. But that wasn't just a lie of omission, it was a blatant untruth. And she couldn't look Fred in the eye and lie to him. He'd see through her, anyway. He always did.
"No," she whispered, shutting her eyes tight, horrified to feel a tear trail down her cheek. "It's not about the Order."
"Then what is it?" he asked despairingly. She didn't answer him, and he took a step back. Her face burned where his hands had just been. "Is it me?"
Her eyes snapped open. "What? No – Fred-"
"What else am I supposed to think?" he asked, brow furrowed, fringe nearly hanging in his eyes. "Win, I just want to help. Please-"
He took her face again and she caught sight of his perfect, flawless skin. The backs of his hands were unmarred. He hadn't been tortured. And if she wanted to keep it that way, she had to do what Umbridge said.
"Fred," she began, forcing her voice steady. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't, okay? I'll be fine in a few days. Just, please, leave it be."
Fred let go of her face again, eyes narrowed as he stared down at her, trying to figure out how to react. "You're not going to tell me?" There was a painful lump in her throat, making it hard to breathe, but still Winona shook her head. "Okay," he said, voice measured as he nodded once.
She looked up at him warily. "Okay?"
"Fine," he said, but she knew it was anything but.
"Fred – I'm just trying to-"
"Don't you trust me?" he demanded.
"Of course I trust you."
"Then why the secrets? If it's not about the Order, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to tell me," he reasoned.
Winona swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn't go away. "It's complicated," she whispered. Fred stared at her a moment, two, then he nodded his head once more and turned to leave. Blinking in surprise, Winona hurried after him. "Fred, where're you going?"
"For a walk," he said flatly. "Alone."
Panic swooped in her gut, and she was left with the distinct feeling that she'd made a mistake. "Fred-" she tried to say, tried to stop him, tried to beg him. But he wasn't listening.
"Not now, Winona," he said, firm and uncompromising. "I'll see you in Charms."
She did see him in Charms, and he even sat in his usual seat beside her. But he didn't play hangman with her while they waited for Flitwick to show up. He didn't toy with her hair and whisper lewd jokes into her ear as they worked. He didn't touch her leg under the table, for no other reason than that he could.
There was an invisible wall between them, one she'd put there. She'd never hated herself more.
That afternoon she had Arithmancy while Fred had Divination, and they parted with little else but a nod at each other. She couldn't concentrate through the whole lesson, staring unseeingly at the sums on the board, utterly deaf to Professor Vector's lecture.
By the time dinner came around, Winona didn't want to go to the Great Hall and sit with Fred in terrible silence. She went without a meal, instead walking straight to Umbridge's office once class let out. She sat in a large gap in the stones of the corridor, pulling out her sketchbook and drawing Fred from memory. She meant to draw him laughing, but that wasn't how it translated to the paper.
Harry found her at ten to five, ten minutes before they usually arrived at detention – which is to say, not a second earlier than they absolutely had to – and walked towards her slowly, making his steps extra noisy so she knew he was coming. She thought it was overkill, but said nothing.
"He looks upset," Harry commented after a moment, peering at the detailed sketch of Fred on the page in her lap.
"He is upset," she said miserably.
"You should tell him what's been happening with Umbridge," Harry said, surprising her so much she nearly dropped her sketchbook. She looked at her cousin in alarm, but his expression was calm. "That's the problem, isn't it? He knows there's something you're not telling him. Well, the answer's simple."
"Umbridge warned me that if I told them-"
"Can Umbridge read minds?" Harry asked, unbothered. "She won't know you've told him if he keeps it to himself. Look, I can tell how much this is hurting you. Don't drive a wedge between you and Fred. Don't you dare give Umbridge the satisfaction."
Winona sighed, tipping her head back until it tapped against the stones behind her. "I'm scared for him," she whispered. "Umbridge could hurt him-"
"He's a big boy, Winnie," Harry reminded her rationally. "He can take care of himself. In fact, I think he can take care of himself better than most."
She knew he was right. "Yeah," she whispered. "Maybe I'm just being selfish… Wouldn't exactly be unheard of from me, would it?" she asked with a bitter, self-deprecating smile.
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're not selfish, Winnie. You're willing to ruin your relationship with Fred just so he won't have to spend a few hours in pain. That's not selfish. It is stupid, though."
"Hey," she barked, frowning at her cousin darkly.
Harry remained unbothered. "Get through tonight, then tell Fred the truth," he said, exasperated. "You'll feel better – I promise."
She narrowed her eyes, peering at him shrewdly. "How d'you know?"
He looked uncomfortable for a few moments, then leaned in to confess, "Ron found out. I didn't tell him, but he saw my hand. It really does feel better to have your friends know. Trust me."
Winona couldn't possibly argue with him; not when she knew he was right. "Come on," she said, climbing to her feet. "One more night of this shit, and we're in the clear."
They stepped into Umbridge's office with a muttered, "Good evening, Professor Umbridge," and took their usual seats. Winona watched as Harry positioned himself so he could see out her office window, to the Quidditch Pitch that lay in the distance below. Whenever Umbridge was distracted, he would peer down at the tryouts happening, eager to experience it in the only way he could.
Winona, on the other hand, couldn't have been less interested in the tryouts happening down on the Pitch. It helped to already know the outcome – but that was neither here nor there.
I must always obey my betters, Winona wrote on the paper over and over in her own, crimson blood. The carving now tore into her flesh, and blood trickled down the line of her wrist, staining the sleeve of the grey jumper she was wearing beneath her robes.
It was difficult not to cry out in pain, or at the very least gasp. Winona focused on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. In and out, it went. Blood dropped onto the parchment, the cut digging deeper, smarting and burning.
The sky darkened, and on and on their detention went. At one point, Umbridge began to quietly hum under her breath, as if two teenagers weren't bleeding out of their hands right beside her. Eventually, when Winona thought she might actually give in and let her tears escape, Umbridge spoke up.
"Let's see if you've got the message yet, shall we?"
Winona thrust out her arm, trying not to snarl like a dog as fat fingers caught her around the wrist and wrenched her hand closer to the old hag's face.
"Ah, yes, it's come along nicely, hasn't it?" Umbridge simpered. It took a great deal of restraint not to spit in the professor's face. She clicked her fingers at Harry, who obediently put his hand in hers.
But Harry didn't react how they expected. He launched himself out of the chair, letting out a cry of pain at the touch. Winona flew up with him, shifting in front of him, as though he somehow had the knowledge that Umbridge was about to attack him.
Umbridge only smiled, wide and pleased. Sick bastard. "Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she all but purred, her eyes aflame with pleasure. Harry said nothing, staring at Umbridge, chest heaving as he breathed. "Well, I think I've made my point, you two. You may go."
Winona didn't wait another moment. She scooped up her bag with the hand that wasn't numb, barely waiting for Harry to grab his own bag before pushing him out the door, leaving a sneering, satisfied Umbridge in their wake.
"What the fuck just happened?" Winona demanded once they were too far away for Umbridge to overhear.
"My scar – when she touched me, it burned," he panted. Winona peered at him, concern and panic warring for a place in her chest.
"Do you have any idea-"
"No," he said, going to rub his forehead with his hand, before abruptly remembering the blood.
"We'll figure this out," Winona promised him. "I – I'm sorry I let this happen to you."
Harry quickly shook his head. "I shouted at her in class. This was my fault."
She remained unconvinced, but Harry didn't care.
"How's your hand?"
In her horror, she's forgotten the pain. The realisation of that pain returned with a vengeance, and Winona gasped, glancing down at her bloodied hand with tears stinging her eyes. "It hurts like a bitch," she admitted. Her nerves felt sore and tight, and not only in her hand. Her whole body felt the effects of those cursed quills, the pain trembling her fingers and making her knees feels weak with hurt.
But it was more than just the pain that upset her – something deeper and darker about the whole thing that she didn't want to admit – not to Harry, and certainly not to herself. But she felt a tingle down her spine that told her, before the night was through, she'd be admitting it to somebody.
"Come on," she whispered to Harry. "Let's get up to the common room. I think Ron has some news to share with you."
Harry barely heard what she'd said, and she knew it was because he was so caught up in the panic over his scar hurting him. She wrapped her good arm around his shoulders, guiding him in the direction of the Tower.
"Mimbulus mimbletonia," Harry said to the Fat Lady when they arrived at her portrait. She turned away from her conversation with another portrait to shoot them a scathing glance before swinging open to let them inside.
A roar of sound hit them, and Winona felt an unexpected wave of nausea at it all – at the party that was happening inside the common room. How could these people celebrate when they'd just been tortured all night? How could they not know? How could the world just continue to turn, as if it didn't care about their suffering?
By the time Winona had painstakingly swallowed back the hurt, Ron found them. He was upon them instantly, as if he'd been watching the entrance, waiting for his best friend to arrive.
"Harry, I did it! I'm in! I'm Keeper!" he shouted, sloshing butterbeer down his shirt, although he didn't seem to notice.
"What?" asked Harry, blinking slowly, taking a moment to process what he'd been told. "Oh – brilliant!"
"Have a Butterbeer," Ron shoved a bottle into his hands, then looked at Winona accusingly. "And you knew!"
"Course I did," she said, fighting to keen her voice even and unbothered. Fighting to keep the panic from clawing its way up her throat and ripping through her lips in a scream that would shatter it all.
Ron tried to scowl at her, but he was so happy he seemed to be having a rough time managing it. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded hotly even as his lips tipped upwards in a grin.
She did her best to smile. "Where's the fun in that?"
Ron just rolled his eyes. "I still can't really believe it – where's Hermione gone?"
"She's there," came Fred's voice, pointing into the corner where Hermione dozed. Winona looked up into her boyfriend's face, only to find he wouldn't look back at her, staring resolutely across the room. Heart sinking down to her toes, Winona wondered if she'd done irreparable damage to their relationship. Clearly, he wasn't interested in talking with her. Maybe ever again.
Any determination she'd scrounged up on the walk here died inside her, and she turned away, hand burning and her eyes stinging. "See you tomorrow, Harry," she mumbled, ducking her head and making a beeline for the staircase.
Winona vaguely heard Harry speaking, but she ignored it and kept walking, shouldering her way through the celebrating crowd, eager to get away from the common room's beady, gossiping eyes.
But then a hand caught hers – the injured one – and Winona let out a piercing cry of pain as white-hot agony sizzled up her arm and down the length of her spine. She whipped around in a panic to find Fred staring down at the blood she'd smudged on his hand in a look that was either shock or horror. His eyes slowly travelled back up to her face, and whatever he saw there made him clench his jaw tight.
"Come on," he said suddenly, wrapping an arm around her and angling her up the boys' stairs.
Winona let herself be guided; how was she supposed to deny Fred, anyway, when all she wanted was to talk to him and hold him and be held in return?
He opened the door to his dorm and gently pushed her inside. She watched as he then took off his Gryffindor tie and slung it around the door handle before shutting it behind them, sealing out the buzz of chatter and hum of music drifting up from downstairs.
"A tie?" she asked dryly.
The tips of his ears went red. "Not that we're gonna shag," he hurried to explain, "but it'll make the guys think we are. This way, they'll leave us alone."
Winona had to smile, and Fred smiled back until he remembered the reason they were up there at all. The levity in his eyes died, and he crossed the room in two large steps, reaching for her hand. She hissed in pain when he took it, and he was careful to be gentle after that, eyeing the injury worriedly.
"Did you fall on it or something?" he asked, the blood thick enough that he couldn't see the words carved into her skin.
"Or something," she murmured hollowly.
Fred led her into the bathroom and Winona had to smile at the familiar setting. Fred wasn't smiling, though – and he definitely wasn't smiling when he put her hand under the sink and washed off the blood enough to see the damning evidence underneath. It occurred to her to stop him, but she was sick of fighting it, and sick of suffering in silence. And Harry was right about one thing – the twins were big boys, and they could most certainly look after themselves.
She knew Fred had seen the words etched deep into her skin when he fell deathly still. His entire body tensed, but his grip on her hand remained gentle. He stared down at the words on her hand, twisted away from her so she couldn't quite see his expression.
"Win," he finally breathed, trailing a fingertip softly over the letters that made up the gruesome script.
And suddenly, like a dam wall shattered to pieces, everything just came spilling out.
"She made us use cursed quills – we had to write it out in our own blood. And every time we did, it carved deeper into our skin. I couldn't make a sound – she wanted me to squirm. I had to act like it didn't hurt, even though it hurt so much, and that bitch enjoyed every second of it. And I'm sorry for not telling you, she warned me – said if I told you or George, she'd do it to you, too. I couldn't risk it, I couldn't be the reason you were there. I love you way too much to ever let that happen to you. It's bad enough she put Harry through it – honestly, Fred, I think I'm going to murder her. Seriously, I'm going to kill her where she stands and I'm going to make it hurt-"
She cut off abruptly, realising Fred was staring at her with too-round eyes. Winona sealed her lips shut before she could babble any more.
"I'm sorry I let things get bad between us," she whispered, reaching up with her other hand to wipe at her wet eyes. "I was just scared and – I dunno, it was stupid of me," she hung her head in shame.
Fred finished gently washing the blood form her hand, then towelled her off with soft pats before winding her arms around his waist and wrapping her up in his own. Confused but certainly not against this turn of events, Winona buried her face in his neck, trying not to lose control and start crying completely.
"It was stupid of you," Fred whispered it like a sweet nothing. She tried to pull away to look at him, but he held her fast. "It was stupid, but I understand. I would have protected you too, were our roles reversed."
She let out a sigh, feeling a relief she hadn't expected. Slumping against him, she nuzzled into his throat as he stroked his hand down the length of her hair.
"And I should have tried harder – been more understanding," he murmured.
"No, you did nothing wrong-" she tried to argue.
"We have equal blame, or none at all."
She was quiet a long moment, considering it. "None at all sounds good."
Fred chuckled into the crown of her head. "Yeah, it does sound good, doesn't it?"
He led her out to the dorm, placing her softly on his bed before going over to George's trunk and beginning to dig around inside like it were his own. "What're you looking for?" she asked quietly.
"Essence of Dittany."
"Why?"
His head popped up out of the trunk. "You really never paid any attention in Potions class, did you?" he asked, sounding heart-achingly fond.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"Because dittany has healing properties," he explained, finally producing a small, corked bottle of liquid and shutting his brother's trunk lid. He made his way back towards her, reaching for her injured hand. "Watch," he said, and she did.
He let a half dozen drops fall from the bottle. They burned where they made contact with the skin and Winona hissed in pain. But Fred remained firm and patient, so she just took it. Finally the burning disappeared, replaced by a soothing sort of cool, and when she stared down at the cuts in her skin, they looked days old, as opposed to angry and fresh.
"Huh," she murmured, running her fingertips over the wound. "Neat."
"Neat, she says," Fred scoffed, but when Winona looked up she found him smiling.
"Thank you," she told him softly. Fred placed the bottle on his nightstand with a clink, then fell back onto the bed, but not before wrapping his arms around her and taking her with him. She let out a small yelp as they fell back onto his covers, and once they were still, Fred propped himself up on his elbow and peered down at her.
"Talk to me," he begged her, and this time she did.
"I know you and George can take care of yourselves," she began quietly. "But if I have the choice between shielding you with myself or letting you fight an unnecessary battle; well then it isn't really a choice at all, is it?"
"It isn't an unnecessary battle," he argued patiently. "If it's for you, it never will be."
She sighed, shaking her head as she leaned up towards his face, ghosting her lips over the strong curve of his jaw. "Such a Gryffindor."
"Said the pot to the kettle," he responded, slinging an arm around her waist and pulling her more firmly against him.
Winona smiled against the place where his ear met his throat. She kissed him there, then gently caught his earlobe between her teeth and tugged, satisfied when a shiver shuddered through him.
"I thought we decided we weren't gonna shag?" he asked, sounding strangled.
"I feel better now."
But his hands caught her by the shoulders, pushing her away from him. She fell back against his red bed covers and huffed in annoyance. "I feel like there's more to this," he persisted. "I don't think Umbridge threatening us would be enough to keep you from telling us on its own. What am I missing?"
And old pain twisted in her gut, her insides tying themselves up into knots. Every bone in her body urged her not to talk about it, because what good could ever come from digging up the past? But Fred deserved to know, and so she collapsed back into his side, slotting her legs through his.
"I didn't have the greatest childhood," she began, barely a whisper. She was glad the music from the party downstairs was inaudible all the way up here. She didn't want to have to compete to be heard. Not when even whispering the words hurt like hell. "I don't like to go into details. What's the point, y'know? What's done is done. But this…pain as punishment, I mean… It isn't the first time it's happened to me."
Fred said nothing, his fingertips tracing nonsense patterns up and down her arm. She felt her hands begin to shake and fisted them in his shirt to make them stop.
"I thought it was all over," she confessed, the truth of the words making it feel like there was a hot poker in her throat. Her eyes stung with tears, then stung some more just from the humiliation of crying. "Now that I'm an adult, that I'm living with my…" she trailed off, the word still too difficult to say. "With Sirius. I thought that part of my life was done. I thought my suffering was over with. But then Umbridge had me in that chair, smiling as I wrote in my own blood…"
She cleared her throat, not sure any more of it really even needed saying. Fred was silent, sensing there was more and patiently waiting for her to get there. The feeling of his fingers trailing up and down her arm was almost hypnotising, and she sighed, relaxing against him some more.
"I felt like that little girl again. Helpless; powerless. Back then, sometimes they'd make me feel like I deserved it. Like it was my fault I was bleeding, or crying. Like I was the one in the wrong. And having Umbridge stood over me, grinning as I carved into my own hand – I guess I felt the same way."
"Win…"
She smiled without humour. "Old habits die hard, I s'pose."
They were still lying perpendicular to the bed, their legs hanging over the edge. Fred slowly sat up, pulling her with him. She watched him as he climbed off the bed, confusion swimming in her eyes. He said nothing, just knelt down by her feet and began to unlace her ratty old shoes.
He took them off slowly, then peeled off her socks with them. Then he stood to his feet and held out a hand. "What?" she asked warily.
He smiled gently. "You look like you could use a shower."
Winona took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He took her into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind them, just to be safe. And then he began to gently undress the rest of her. He took off her robes and laid them over the sink. He peeled off her knitted jumper, leaving her in only a simple bra and jeans. Then he began to tug off those, too, until she stood naked before him.
He didn't even take time to appreciate her, he just leaned into the shower and turned it on. The moment he spun back to face her, Winona was tugging at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head while he quickly kicked off his own shoes.
She caught his hands as they went for his zipper, slapping them out of the way and grabbing the clasp herself, unbuttoning then unzipping him. He kicked the trousers off, leaving him in only a pair of boxers – monkeys wearing tutus; a gift from one of his brothers, no doubt – and she stepped into the shower while he rid himself of those.
The water was blissfully hot, and Winona put her head under the spray, letting it soak her hair and wash the light coating of makeup from her face. Fred pressed in beside her, positioning himself under the water. He went straight for the shampoo, pouring some into his hand. She expected him to wash his own hair, but instead he reached for her, beginning to lather it into her loose blonde hair.
She shut her eyes at the feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, moaning quietly and leaning into him. Fred didn't stop. She felt him gently nibbling at her collarbone as he washed her hair for her – thorough but achingly gentle – and it was intimate at a level she'd never before been. Too intimate, enough so that she almost made him stop.
But Winona was determined – she wanted this. She wanted him; always.
He positioned her back under the spray, washing the suds from her moonlight hair. Once that was done, he surprised her by reaching for conditioner, rubbing that into her hair, too. He was less clumsy than she'd expected him to be, his hands deft as when he was mixing a complicated potion or writing out an order form, and just as loving, too. Winona sighed against him, breathing in the steam from the shower.
Once her hair was completely clean, Fred abruptly pressed her against the shower wall, the long, lean line of him against the soft, curvy form of her. Taken by surprise, Winona opened her eyes, looking up at him to find his eyes dark with want. Gripping his sopping hair, she tugged him down to her, kissing him deeply, one hand sliding down his wet chest to grip him tightly. He was already hard, and he groaned into her mouth as she stroked him. Winona swallowed the sound.
He pushed her away from him, bracing her against the shower wall again, and she opened her legs automatically to accommodate him. He slid against her and she mewled, making Fred swear.
"Please, Fred," she begged him, nibbling at the corner of his jaw.
But Fred didn't push into her. He just held himself against her, eyes shut tight, hot water pouring over the both of them. She tugged a little at his hair, and he made a strained face, blinking open blue eyes clouded with want. "Did you mean it?" he asked suddenly.
She tugged at his earlobe with her teeth again, soothing the bite with a flash of her silky tongue. "Mean what?"
He pushed her back against the wall again, cornflower blue meeting sea-storm grey. "Did you mean it when you said you love me?" he asked, breathless with a need she shared.
She froze, casting her mind back over the night. Had she said that? She didn't remember. How could it have slipped out without her realising?
Fred caught her lips with his and rocked against her, and she was distracted again. He kissed her thoroughly and she fell into it, her mind little more than a hum of want and need. Before she could beg him again, he pulled back and met her eyes once more. "Did you mean it?" he asked again.
When Winona laughed, it was breathless. "Of course I meant it, you idiot," she muttered against his mouth, the steam making her head foggy and her eyes sting.
"Thank Merlin," he breathed, sinking into her at last.
Winona moaned, throwing her head back against the wall as her body stretched to accommodate his girth. She held onto him as tightly as she could with their wet, soapy skin, whimpering with delightful pleasure when he thrust against her.
She realised slowly that he was murmuring into her hair, and it took another moment for her to focus enough to hear what he was saying.
"I love you," he was saying against her, a stream of it coming from his mouth. "I love you, Win. I love you."
He surprised her by gripping her thighs and hoisting her up against the shower wall with the kind of easy strength that took her breath away. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning loudly as he moved against her, his face hidden in the valley of her breasts.
He hit a particularly deep spot within her, and Winona wrapped her arms around his head of fiery red hair, pressing his face harder into her chest and rocking into him with reckless abandon. "I love you," she confessed against the crown of his head, eyes shut tight as she began to climb towards her peak.
The moment dissolved into a desperate mess as they traded confessions of love and muttered adorations, lost in the slide of wet skin and painful pleasure. And when Winona fell over that cliff into bliss, it was with Fred's voice in her ear, and a new spot in her heart where her love for him would forever remain.
A/N: Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this one! Still hard at work on my original story for NaNoWriMo, but I promised on twitter to update once the election results were in – so here I am! Posting this in celebration of a favourable win! I may not be American, but this election was important to me as it was to many others – humans of any country deserve civil rights and respect from those elected in government. I hope this change in president brings about change in your everyday lives, all for the better. I love you, and congrats!
Also, I wanted to thank you again for your patience and support. You're all so amazing and kind, and interacting with you – not only on here, but also on my social media – is my favourite part of any day. I'm so glad so many people have come to love this story as much as I do. Thanks for sticking with me (especially through all the Jeremiah shit. Don't worry, I hated him too).
Review of the week goes to: Sydvan23 – Thanks for the review! Seeing that you read and loved I Know Places made me so happy, I'm so glad you enjoyed it. It's a very different story to this one (beyond the different fandoms, I mean) and it's funny how you found So Close to Magic without knowing it was also by me. I hope you continue to enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it xx
