Chapter Nine: A Shoulder to Cry On
Fred ran a hand through his hair in frustration and sat back on the cushy armchair in the common room. His attempts to do his Potions homework were futile.
He was in a foul mood. He'd been in a foul mood a lot these days. Between Bagman cheating him and George out of their gold over the World Cup wager and the rigors of their lessons and homework, Fred wasn't liking school much at all this year.
He missed Angelina, but she had been spending most of her time with that prat Roger Davies.
Roger Davies. Fred scowled just thinking about him. Angelina, poor fool, was besotted. Fred couldn't understand why. Davies was arrogant and full of himself and not even all THAT good at Quidditch. He was smart and he knew it, and he lorded his intelligence over everyone.
Angelina, meanwhile, had changed. Or at least, she changed whenever she was around him, which was often. Fred couldn't believe it. When Davies and Angelina were together, Angelina just wasn't herself. Instead of being the tough, independent, fun-loving and outspoken girl she normally was, she turned into the kind of simpering, silly female Fred couldn't stand to be around.
The worst of it, though, was that Fred knew for a fact that Davies was cheating on her.
A few nights ago, late in the evening, Fred had been in the library with George--not studying but doing research on old joke products for their own product development--and as Fred had moved into the stacks and pulled another reference volume from the shelves, he noticed through the crack in the shelf two people in the midst of a rather enthusiastic but quiet snogging session. They were going at it in the next stacks over, and Fred knew at once who the girl was. Her hair gave her away instantly.
Fleur Delacour. The abnormally beautiful, part-Veela Beauxbatons girl who was also the Triwizard Champion for her school. Fred wasn't surprised to see her snogging someone--half the blokes in the school who'd past puberty were lusting after her (Fred himself had briefly entertained fantasies of getting in her knickers). But then the two of them turned and he saw who the boy was. It was Davies.
Fred backed away and returned to the table, his face tight. When George asked what was wrong, Fred merely shook his head and said "Nothing."
But that night, and for the past few nights, Fred had felt a bit sick. Angelina was crazy about Davies. If she found out that he was cheating on her with Fleur, she'd be devastated.
Fred groaned and ignored the looks of his twin and Ron, Harry and Hermione in his direction. He pretended to focus on his Potions homework, but his mind couldn't erase the image of Fleur and Roger snogging.
A part of Fred desperately wanted to tell Angelina what he had seen, but that part of him was squelched by the other part of him that knew she wouldn't believe him, that knew she would instead get angry with him and accuse him of trying to hurt her. Fred understood this instinctively. Had not Angelina remained silent about Marietta's true character for the very same reason? Because she knew that Fred wouldn't have wanted to listen to Angelina criticize his then-girlfriend?
She's your best mate, a voice in his head said. And she's in love with a prat who's dicking round with another girl. And you're just going to let that go on?
Yes, he thought. What else can I do?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You're sure it was Davies?" said George, two hours later.
"Yeah," said Fred. He and George sat on Fred's bed; the curtains were drawn and Fred had charmed it so that no one could eavesdrop on their conversation. Fred hadn't meant to tell anyone about what he'd seen, but it was eating him up inside, and of all the people in the world who would understand and keep a secret, it was his twin.
"Blimey," said George. "What a prick."
"No kidding," said Fred. "I dunno what to do, George. This arsehole's cheating on my best mate in the world. If I tell her, she won't believe me and she'll hate me. But if I don't tell her and she finds out...IF she finds out..."
"Oh, she'll find out," said George. "He's snogging Delacour in the library, it's not like he's trying to be very discreet about it, is he?"
"I suppose," said Fred. "What the fuck is wrong with him, anyway? Angie's fantastic. Why would he want to cheat on her?"
"Well, Fleur IS part Veela," said George reasonably. "Her kind always mess with a man's head."
"They can't mess with a bloke's head if he's careful," said Fred.
"True," said George. "Listen, Fred, uh, have Angelina and Davies...you know..."
"Slept together?" said Fred. "Yeah. She told me about it over the summer in one of her letters. But you can't--"
"--say anything," George finished. "I won't." He paused. "When she finds out, it'll be that much worse."
"Why's that?"
"Well," said George, "she's had sex with him. You know how girls are, the whole losing their virginity thing. Most of them practically wear chastity belts and want a marriage proposal before they give it up."
"Not all of them," said Fred, remembering Marietta.
"Yes, well, there ARE the exceptions," said George sourly.
"Alicia still hasn't--"
"No," said George shortly. "But as to Angelina," he added pointedly, "I mean, it would be serious for her, wouldn't it? Giving it up for Davies."
"Yeah," said Fred, hating the very idea of Angelina and Roger having sex.
"Look, Fred," said George. "You know what you have to do. You can't tell her. You're right, she won't believe you."
"So I just sit by and watch my best girl mate get her heart stomped on?" said Fred. "That's bollocks."
"I know," said George. "But that's love for you. Clouds the brain. Makes people blind. All that stuff."
"I want to beat the snot out of Davies, you know," said Fred angrily. "What's he on about, cheating on Angelina? If Angie were my girl I wouldn't so much as LOOK at another woman."
George gave him a look. "Uh huh," he said. "But she's not your girl."
Fred looked down at his feet. "No, she's not." He groaned and flopped back onto his pillows in frustration.
"I don't want to see her get hurt, George," he said. "I really don't."
"I know you don't," said George.
"Isn't there ANYTHING I can do about this?" said Fred.
"Just be there for her when her heart breaks," said George. "Be her shoulder to cry on."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fred's shoulder was put on duty for just that purpose only a week later. He entered the common room late one night, after another vigorous round of product development study in the library, to find it empty.
Empty, save for a long, dark figure sitting on the sofa near the fire.
Angelina. She was in white pyjamas and a robe and her legs were curled beneath her. Her skin glowed golden brown in the firelight. She was staring at the crackling flames. Her face was wet with tears as she cried silently.
"Hey," said Fred hesitantly, feeling his own heart constrict at the sight of her.
"Hi," she said, her voice thready and weak. She didn't look at him, she kept staring at the fire.
Fred put his books down on a nearby table and slowly approached her.
"Angie," he said slowly. "Uh, what's...what's up?" He sat down gently next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
Something about this gentle contact brought forth a choked sob from Angelina's throat.
"Fred..." she sobbed, and her shoulders began to shake. He pulled her into his arms and she wept bitterly.
"I'm here," he whispered, stroking her braided hair. "Tell me." He already knew, but she didn't know that he knew. She pulled out of his embrace and looked at him. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her face stained with tears. Fred brushed the tears away from her cheeks tenderly with his thumbs. She looked very young and vulnerable. His heart was breaking.
"Roger," she said, her voice shaking. "He...I saw...with...with that French girl...they were..." Her voice broke again. "They were...shagging...in a corridor!"
She broke down again, her shoulders slumping.
"Oh, Angie," Fred whispered, and he pulled her into his arms again. "My poor baby." He held her close and stroked her hair, her shoulders.
She couldn't talk anymore, and he didn't bother asking her questions. He just let her cry.
"What's...wrong with me?" she asked at last, sobbing into his shoulder.
"What are you on about?" he asked gently, lifting her chin and brushing more tears away.
"I don't understand," she said.
"What don't you understand, love?" he asked.
"I thought...I thought he loved me," she said, looking down. "He told me he loved me."
THAT really made Fred angry. Probably told her he loved her just to get in her knickers, he thought furiously. And now he's gone and broken her heart.
Fred couldn't think of what to say, but in the next moment she began to talk again.
"Am I ugly?" she whispered.
Fred stared at her, stunned. "What?"
"Am I...ugly?" she repeated, still looking at her feet.
"No," said Fred at once, in the most fervent voice. "No, Angie. Where on earth would you get that idea?"
"I'm just so...BIG," she said miserably.
"You're tall," he corrected.
"Built like a bloody footballer," she said.
"Athletic," he corrected.
"And Fleur's this...this perfect GIRL and I'm just this big lump--"
"Stop it," said Fred, cupping her face with his hands. "Angie, you're beautiful. Do you hear? Beautiful and smart and graceful and athletic and regal. The best girl in the world."
She sniffed and looked up at him, her dark brown eyes shiny with tears. Her expression was that of a whipped puppy.
"Really?" she whispered.
"Really," he said firmly, feeling a lump in his throat, and hating that she was so insecure. Where on EARTH had that come from? Angelina, smart, tough, confident, gorgeous Angelina thought she was big and ugly? Just because she was tall and athletic instead of wispy and petite?
"Come here," he said again, and he hugged her tightly. "Don't you ever think badly about yourself, Angie. You hear me?"
"But Roger--"
"The hell with Roger," said Fred softly. "He doesn't deserve you."
She sniffed and he felt her shoulders shake again. "I...love him," she whispered miserably.
"I know," said Fred sadly. He could tell her a thousand times that Davies was a prat, that he wasn't good enough for her, but at that moment, despite the hurt he'd inflicted, Angelina was still in love with him.
Fred shifted on the sofa and pulled her with him, hugging her to his chest, letting her cry softly there and stroking her hair. He let her cry until she fell asleep in his arms, and he held her all night.
Fred ran a hand through his hair in frustration and sat back on the cushy armchair in the common room. His attempts to do his Potions homework were futile.
He was in a foul mood. He'd been in a foul mood a lot these days. Between Bagman cheating him and George out of their gold over the World Cup wager and the rigors of their lessons and homework, Fred wasn't liking school much at all this year.
He missed Angelina, but she had been spending most of her time with that prat Roger Davies.
Roger Davies. Fred scowled just thinking about him. Angelina, poor fool, was besotted. Fred couldn't understand why. Davies was arrogant and full of himself and not even all THAT good at Quidditch. He was smart and he knew it, and he lorded his intelligence over everyone.
Angelina, meanwhile, had changed. Or at least, she changed whenever she was around him, which was often. Fred couldn't believe it. When Davies and Angelina were together, Angelina just wasn't herself. Instead of being the tough, independent, fun-loving and outspoken girl she normally was, she turned into the kind of simpering, silly female Fred couldn't stand to be around.
The worst of it, though, was that Fred knew for a fact that Davies was cheating on her.
A few nights ago, late in the evening, Fred had been in the library with George--not studying but doing research on old joke products for their own product development--and as Fred had moved into the stacks and pulled another reference volume from the shelves, he noticed through the crack in the shelf two people in the midst of a rather enthusiastic but quiet snogging session. They were going at it in the next stacks over, and Fred knew at once who the girl was. Her hair gave her away instantly.
Fleur Delacour. The abnormally beautiful, part-Veela Beauxbatons girl who was also the Triwizard Champion for her school. Fred wasn't surprised to see her snogging someone--half the blokes in the school who'd past puberty were lusting after her (Fred himself had briefly entertained fantasies of getting in her knickers). But then the two of them turned and he saw who the boy was. It was Davies.
Fred backed away and returned to the table, his face tight. When George asked what was wrong, Fred merely shook his head and said "Nothing."
But that night, and for the past few nights, Fred had felt a bit sick. Angelina was crazy about Davies. If she found out that he was cheating on her with Fleur, she'd be devastated.
Fred groaned and ignored the looks of his twin and Ron, Harry and Hermione in his direction. He pretended to focus on his Potions homework, but his mind couldn't erase the image of Fleur and Roger snogging.
A part of Fred desperately wanted to tell Angelina what he had seen, but that part of him was squelched by the other part of him that knew she wouldn't believe him, that knew she would instead get angry with him and accuse him of trying to hurt her. Fred understood this instinctively. Had not Angelina remained silent about Marietta's true character for the very same reason? Because she knew that Fred wouldn't have wanted to listen to Angelina criticize his then-girlfriend?
She's your best mate, a voice in his head said. And she's in love with a prat who's dicking round with another girl. And you're just going to let that go on?
Yes, he thought. What else can I do?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You're sure it was Davies?" said George, two hours later.
"Yeah," said Fred. He and George sat on Fred's bed; the curtains were drawn and Fred had charmed it so that no one could eavesdrop on their conversation. Fred hadn't meant to tell anyone about what he'd seen, but it was eating him up inside, and of all the people in the world who would understand and keep a secret, it was his twin.
"Blimey," said George. "What a prick."
"No kidding," said Fred. "I dunno what to do, George. This arsehole's cheating on my best mate in the world. If I tell her, she won't believe me and she'll hate me. But if I don't tell her and she finds out...IF she finds out..."
"Oh, she'll find out," said George. "He's snogging Delacour in the library, it's not like he's trying to be very discreet about it, is he?"
"I suppose," said Fred. "What the fuck is wrong with him, anyway? Angie's fantastic. Why would he want to cheat on her?"
"Well, Fleur IS part Veela," said George reasonably. "Her kind always mess with a man's head."
"They can't mess with a bloke's head if he's careful," said Fred.
"True," said George. "Listen, Fred, uh, have Angelina and Davies...you know..."
"Slept together?" said Fred. "Yeah. She told me about it over the summer in one of her letters. But you can't--"
"--say anything," George finished. "I won't." He paused. "When she finds out, it'll be that much worse."
"Why's that?"
"Well," said George, "she's had sex with him. You know how girls are, the whole losing their virginity thing. Most of them practically wear chastity belts and want a marriage proposal before they give it up."
"Not all of them," said Fred, remembering Marietta.
"Yes, well, there ARE the exceptions," said George sourly.
"Alicia still hasn't--"
"No," said George shortly. "But as to Angelina," he added pointedly, "I mean, it would be serious for her, wouldn't it? Giving it up for Davies."
"Yeah," said Fred, hating the very idea of Angelina and Roger having sex.
"Look, Fred," said George. "You know what you have to do. You can't tell her. You're right, she won't believe you."
"So I just sit by and watch my best girl mate get her heart stomped on?" said Fred. "That's bollocks."
"I know," said George. "But that's love for you. Clouds the brain. Makes people blind. All that stuff."
"I want to beat the snot out of Davies, you know," said Fred angrily. "What's he on about, cheating on Angelina? If Angie were my girl I wouldn't so much as LOOK at another woman."
George gave him a look. "Uh huh," he said. "But she's not your girl."
Fred looked down at his feet. "No, she's not." He groaned and flopped back onto his pillows in frustration.
"I don't want to see her get hurt, George," he said. "I really don't."
"I know you don't," said George.
"Isn't there ANYTHING I can do about this?" said Fred.
"Just be there for her when her heart breaks," said George. "Be her shoulder to cry on."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fred's shoulder was put on duty for just that purpose only a week later. He entered the common room late one night, after another vigorous round of product development study in the library, to find it empty.
Empty, save for a long, dark figure sitting on the sofa near the fire.
Angelina. She was in white pyjamas and a robe and her legs were curled beneath her. Her skin glowed golden brown in the firelight. She was staring at the crackling flames. Her face was wet with tears as she cried silently.
"Hey," said Fred hesitantly, feeling his own heart constrict at the sight of her.
"Hi," she said, her voice thready and weak. She didn't look at him, she kept staring at the fire.
Fred put his books down on a nearby table and slowly approached her.
"Angie," he said slowly. "Uh, what's...what's up?" He sat down gently next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
Something about this gentle contact brought forth a choked sob from Angelina's throat.
"Fred..." she sobbed, and her shoulders began to shake. He pulled her into his arms and she wept bitterly.
"I'm here," he whispered, stroking her braided hair. "Tell me." He already knew, but she didn't know that he knew. She pulled out of his embrace and looked at him. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her face stained with tears. Fred brushed the tears away from her cheeks tenderly with his thumbs. She looked very young and vulnerable. His heart was breaking.
"Roger," she said, her voice shaking. "He...I saw...with...with that French girl...they were..." Her voice broke again. "They were...shagging...in a corridor!"
She broke down again, her shoulders slumping.
"Oh, Angie," Fred whispered, and he pulled her into his arms again. "My poor baby." He held her close and stroked her hair, her shoulders.
She couldn't talk anymore, and he didn't bother asking her questions. He just let her cry.
"What's...wrong with me?" she asked at last, sobbing into his shoulder.
"What are you on about?" he asked gently, lifting her chin and brushing more tears away.
"I don't understand," she said.
"What don't you understand, love?" he asked.
"I thought...I thought he loved me," she said, looking down. "He told me he loved me."
THAT really made Fred angry. Probably told her he loved her just to get in her knickers, he thought furiously. And now he's gone and broken her heart.
Fred couldn't think of what to say, but in the next moment she began to talk again.
"Am I ugly?" she whispered.
Fred stared at her, stunned. "What?"
"Am I...ugly?" she repeated, still looking at her feet.
"No," said Fred at once, in the most fervent voice. "No, Angie. Where on earth would you get that idea?"
"I'm just so...BIG," she said miserably.
"You're tall," he corrected.
"Built like a bloody footballer," she said.
"Athletic," he corrected.
"And Fleur's this...this perfect GIRL and I'm just this big lump--"
"Stop it," said Fred, cupping her face with his hands. "Angie, you're beautiful. Do you hear? Beautiful and smart and graceful and athletic and regal. The best girl in the world."
She sniffed and looked up at him, her dark brown eyes shiny with tears. Her expression was that of a whipped puppy.
"Really?" she whispered.
"Really," he said firmly, feeling a lump in his throat, and hating that she was so insecure. Where on EARTH had that come from? Angelina, smart, tough, confident, gorgeous Angelina thought she was big and ugly? Just because she was tall and athletic instead of wispy and petite?
"Come here," he said again, and he hugged her tightly. "Don't you ever think badly about yourself, Angie. You hear me?"
"But Roger--"
"The hell with Roger," said Fred softly. "He doesn't deserve you."
She sniffed and he felt her shoulders shake again. "I...love him," she whispered miserably.
"I know," said Fred sadly. He could tell her a thousand times that Davies was a prat, that he wasn't good enough for her, but at that moment, despite the hurt he'd inflicted, Angelina was still in love with him.
Fred shifted on the sofa and pulled her with him, hugging her to his chest, letting her cry softly there and stroking her hair. He let her cry until she fell asleep in his arms, and he held her all night.