Chapter Thirteen: Trying Not to Fall
Fred lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Banned. He was banned from playing Quidditch. He, George and Harry.
The joy of beating Slytherin in their match that afternoon seemed as though it had never existed. Only minutes after winning, Malfoy had started up. Insulting him. Insulting George. Insulting Ron. Harry.
Fred had never in his life wanted to pound someone so badly as he'd wanted to pound Draco Malfoy. He would have, too, if Angelina, Alicia and Katie hadn't been holding him back.
For some reason this angered him even more. He had been banned from the game and he hadn't even gotten a chance to get some punches on his own in. He felt as if he'd been banned for no reason at all.
Lee was snoring softly in his bed; George had snuck off to be with Alicia, no doubt engaging in a kind of consolation shag to make up for the misery of the day.
But this wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst of it was Angelina. Somehow, he knew he had let her down. Her one year to be captain, to lead a winning team, and he'd blown it.
He turned on his side and closed his eyes. He had never felt so exhausted in all his life. Maybe it would be like Angelina had said earlier. Maybe he'd go to sleep and wake up to learn that this whole day had been a bad dream.
Somehow, even as sleep took him, Fred doubted it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fred walked wordlessly toward the Room of Requirement behind George, Lee, Angelina and Alicia.
It was the last D.A. meeting before the holidays. Normally Fred was always overjoyed for the holidays. Between getting gifts and leaving school and not worrying about schoolwork, the holidays were always a fine time to be had. But this year...
He and Angelina had become a bit distant. They maintained a friendly, civil enough façade, but things had become strained. She told him time and again she wasn't angry with him for getting himself banned from playing, but Fred knew she wasn't being entirely truthful. She was under a lot of strain lately; having to find three new team members was not helping her already strained state of mind. When she'd told him who they were, Fred was shocked and dismayed. Ginny, his baby sister, playing Seeker? Fred hadn't even known she could fly a broom. And the two beaters, Kirke and Sloper? Fred HAD seen them fly, and they were miserable.
They entered the Room of Requirement to find it decorated with all manner of banners and mistletoe. Angelina marched over to Harry to tell him about the new team members. She gave Harry a dirty look at the end of it and stalked back to the crowd of seventh years. She glanced at Fred with a pained expression. She was torn, it was obvious, between wanting to give HIM dirty looks, too, and feeling wretched at not being able to play alongside him anymore.
Well, thought Fred, if SHE feels badly about it, think about how I feel.
The meeting began, and people paired up. Fred found himself paired with Angelina, more by default than by choice. Harry cleared his throat and announced that they would be reviewing all they'd done so far before jumping into anything new.
And then that prat Zacharias Smith had to open his stupid mouth again.
"We're not doing anything new?" he said, in that whingey, nasal voice. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come..."
"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," Fred snapped, feeling his nerves fraying just a bit. Honestly. Like that idiot Smith was getting BETTER Defense Against the Dark Arts instruction from Umbridge than he was in here?
Several people in the room laughed, including Angelina. Fred felt a little better when she smiled at him.
They paired up and Fred found himself partnered with Angelina, more out of default than by conscious choice. They went through the motions of the spells and charms and jinxes. Angelina was better at it than he was; she managed to Stun him twice as often as he did her. But as the hour went on, Fred felt a bit of the tension between them thaw. He was grateful for it. Maybe later they could take a walk somewhere and talk and just...be together. Like they used to be.
But when the hour ended and Fred and Angelina helped put away the dozens of cushions that had been in use during the Stunning Spells, she smiled at him. As his stomach clenched and his lips tingled and his hands fought the urge to reach for her, he knew they could never be like they used to be again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was perhaps the longest night of Fred's life. Since being awakened after midnight by Professor McGonagall with the news, he had spent the rest of the night in a half-dream state, punctuated by a few episodes of abject fear and temper. His nerves were frayed to the breaking point; he knew he must stay awake as he waited for news from his mother, and yet he was so beyond exhaustion that sleep was stealing over him seductively.
It was the Christmas holidays, but Fred was here, in the gloomy kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, awaiting the arrival of his mother from St. Mungo's Hospital. George, Ginny, Ron, Harry and Sirius Black all sat with him, around the long rectangular table, none of them speaking. The only sounds were the ticking of an old clock; the crackling of the fire, the occasional swish of butterbeer when one of them lifted his or her bottle to take a half-hearted sip.
Dad, Fred thought. Dad's in St. Mungo's. Dad's been attacked. Fighting for his life. And I'm sitting here in this stupid fucking kitchen drinking a butterbeer. His mind rebelled against this forced incarceration. They couldn't go to St. Mungo's, Sirius said, because it would jeopardize the very mission their father had been fulfilling when he'd been attacked. Secrecy was crucial. The Order couldn't be risked, not for anything.
Bugger the Order, Fred thought again. He and George had rebelled against Sirius's pretty speeches about duty and how some things were worth dying for. What the hell did Sirius know about it? He was holed up in this house, he wasn't Out There, risking his neck. Not like Dad.
Fred's eyelids felt like lead and he let them close. Anything to take away the burning. Sleep came and went; his mind was full of angry, brutal images, all of them ending with his father lying on the ground, bleeding.
Harry had seen it. The attack on Arthur Weasley. Somehow, Harry knew what had happened. Fred supposed he ought to feel grateful to Harry, for alerting them all to what had happened. But part of him couldn't help but wonder just what was going on with the kid this year. He'd been acting edgy and just...weird all year. He was losing his temper constantly, doing stupid things, getting detentions for no reason.
Fred's mind would have explored Harry Potter's behavior further, but a noise broke through the haze of Fred's half-sleeping brain. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, not noticing the stiffness in his neck from sleeping in a chair.
Mum, Fred thought, as the pale, red-haired woman entered the kitchen. He sat up sharply.
Mrs. Weasley was more pale than Fred had ever seen her. Deep, bruising shadows were beneath her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. Her nose was red and raw, from the cold or from crying or both, Fred couldn't tell. She smiled weakly.
"He's going to be all right," she said, a half-sob in her throat. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now, he's going to take the morning off work."
Even as the lead weight that had settled on Fred's chest lifted, he felt weak with relief and sat back. He saw George and Ginny get up and hug their mother; Ron gave a kind of exhausted, relieved laugh and finished his butterbeer.
Before long they were fixing breakfast. Sirius's black mood had greatly improved, and the tension in the house lifted, at least somewhat. Fred vaguely noticed that Harry still seemed very tense, but Fred himself was so exhausted that he didn't pay much attention. He was suddenly famished, and the two things he meant to do at that moment were, first, to eat his fill and second, to go upstairs to the room he and George had shared over the summer holidays, and collapse into bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the end, Christmas was about as happy as Fred could have expected. He would have rather preferred spending the time at home, at the Burrow, or at Hogwarts. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place never did completely lose its dark overtones, even with the layers of decorations and gifts and the fat Christmas tree. The portraits of Sirius's awful family members screamed on more than one occasion, that nutter of a house-elf, Kreacher, skulked relentlessly in and out of rooms, muttering to himself, both Sirius and Harry were predictably moody, and all the adults were particularly secretive, but Fred couldn't complain. His dad was alive and well and cured.
Of course, his father had taken his time in hospital to explore his ongoing obsession with All Things Muggle. Mrs. Weasley had nearly blown a gasket upon learning that Mr. Weasley had been experimenting with a Muggle remedy known as stitches, in which a patient literally had their skin sewn up with a needle and thread. Needless to say the barbaric remedy didn't work, and Mr. Weasley had suffered another of Mum's blisteringly loud tirades for his trouble.
Harry, who'd been convinced he'd been possessed by You-Know-Who and had caused the snake attack, was assured at once by Ginny--who HAD been possessed once by You-Know-Who--that Harry couldn't have been. Percy was still being a complete prat, having sent back his Christmas jumper. Fred was starting to take a tally of how many times he'd have to pound his older brother. Once for every time Percy made Mum cry, Fred decided. George, not surprisingly, had his own tally.
"Between the two of us he won't have any teeth left," said George.
"What's he need teeth for?" said Fred. "They only encourage him to talk."
Hermione Granger had shown up, having cut short her skiing vacation with her parents. Ron had laughed out loud every time Hermione tried to talk about how great skiing was, but he seemed rather obviously happier with her around. Fred smirked. Some day his little brother would get a clue and tell the girl he fancied her. If she didn't smack him upside the head or snog him first.
The gift haul wasn't bad this year, either, Fred thought. The usual jumper from Mum, a small book from Hermione Granger that he would never read, a subscription to Joker's Monthly (the industry magazine for joke shop owners) from Lee, a broomstick compass from Harry, a knitted scarf from Ginny, and a pair of dragon-hide Oxford shoes from George. Fred kept these hidden; dragon-hide shoes were very expensive and the twins still weren't ready to share their joke shop venture with Mum.
Fred and George owled Lee a few times, to let him know what had happened to their father and how their holidays had turned out, but also to keep tabs on the business. They were making real money now, and spending more and more time holed up in their dormitory at school creating their inventions. It wouldn't be long before they could really set up the business permanently, but between having to keep things secret from their mother AND from Umbridge, Fred was growing ever more impatient to just be done with school, already.
Perhaps the best thing about Christmas this year, though, were the letters he'd received from Angelina. He'd written her the night after he'd come to Grimmauld Place, to tell her what had happened, and she'd written back at once. Her letter was full of the kind of warm, comforting words Fred had needed to read. A second letter had arrived just before New Year's Eve, in which she told him she was in Paris with Alicia and that she missed him terribly and wished he was there with her. He wished he was, too. Paris was supposed to be a very romantic city.
Her letters were wonderful. They were terrible. He missed her. He couldn't wait to see her again. He knew when he saw he again that it would hurt like hell, because she only wanted to be his friend.
Better my friend than nothing at all, he told himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The journey back to Hogwarts was about the most uncomfortable Fred could remember. His initial delight at finally experiencing a ride on the Knight Bus quickly faded when he was thrown out of his chair for the eighth time, thanks to the herky-jerky manner in which the bus was driven. Ern, the bus driver, was terse to the point of silence. The conductor of the bus, on the other hand, was a chatterbox. Thankfully, Stan Shunpike preferred to lavish his attentions on Famous 'Arry Potter.
By the time they reached Hogwarts, Fred was nearly as tired as he'd been when he'd left for the holidays. His mind was in a bit of an uproar, and his stomach wouldn't calm down. He didn't like the idea of coming back to this place, not when he couldn't play Quidditch, not when Umbridge was running everything. Not when Angelina was here and only wanted to be his mate.
Fred was only vaguely aware of dragging himself and his things to the common room and up to his dormitory. Lee was back, as evidenced by the things in his trunk strewn all over the bed, but he was not in the room. Fred guessed he was in the Great Hall at that night's feast, which had started only ten minutes earlier. George came in and dumped his trunk unceremoniously at the foot of his bed.
"Well, I'm going to find Alicia," he said. "I've gone way too long without a snog, and I think I need at least a dozen after that holiday."
"You do that," said Fred, rolling his eyes.
"See you at dinner, yeah?"
"Right," said Fred, not feeling the slightest bit hungry.
He arranged his trunk at the foot of his bed and stared round his room. For the first time, the sight of his warm, cozy four-poster bed brought no comfort. He was powerfully aware of how much he was ready to leave Hogwarts. His mind drifted to his broom, currently locked away in that foul Umbridge woman's office. He didn't even want to think about the start of the new term tomorrow; now that it was a new year, the teachers would all be hammering them with homework in preparation for the N.E.W.Ts.
"Bugger," he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and headed out of the dormitory, down the spiral steps, and into the common room. He nearly tripped on his own feet when he saw Angelina standing by the fire.
She turned to him and grinned. Fred felt his heart constrict. Was it even possible that she was more beautiful than when he'd last seen her. It hurt to look at her. He wanted to run from the room. But his feet were stuck, and then she was right there in front of him and pulling him into a tight hug.
"Hi," she whispered. "I missed you."
Fred's arms did the only thing they could do; they went round her waist and he pulled her close, breathing in her scent: jasmine and spice.
"Missed you," he murmured.
She pulled back and looked at him. "You look knackered."
"Took the Knight Bus back," said Fred, grinning, falling back on his usual casual demeanor. "It's a miracle I survived at all."
Angelina laughed, which made Fred's heart constrict again. Bloody hell. Being in love was awful, Fred decided, if it made you feel like you were going to drop dead from a damn heart attack every other minute.
Her face became serious again. "Your dad okay?"
"Yeah," said Fred. "Yeah, he's just fine."
"Good," said Angelina. "I'm starving. Let's eat, yeah?"
"Okay," said Fred, but he still did not feel hungry. He forced himself to keep a light tone. "You'll have to tell me all about Paris, of course. Hopefully you got into a lot of trouble."
"Not much," said Angelina conversationally as they moved through the portrait hole and into the corridor. "Getting in trouble isn't much fun without you around, I have to say."
"Why, Angie, love," he said, "I'm flattered." They grinned at one another, and when she took his arm and walked with him toward the Great Hall, he tried very hard not to feel like a stupid, lovesick git.
It didn't work.
Fred lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Banned. He was banned from playing Quidditch. He, George and Harry.
The joy of beating Slytherin in their match that afternoon seemed as though it had never existed. Only minutes after winning, Malfoy had started up. Insulting him. Insulting George. Insulting Ron. Harry.
Fred had never in his life wanted to pound someone so badly as he'd wanted to pound Draco Malfoy. He would have, too, if Angelina, Alicia and Katie hadn't been holding him back.
For some reason this angered him even more. He had been banned from the game and he hadn't even gotten a chance to get some punches on his own in. He felt as if he'd been banned for no reason at all.
Lee was snoring softly in his bed; George had snuck off to be with Alicia, no doubt engaging in a kind of consolation shag to make up for the misery of the day.
But this wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst of it was Angelina. Somehow, he knew he had let her down. Her one year to be captain, to lead a winning team, and he'd blown it.
He turned on his side and closed his eyes. He had never felt so exhausted in all his life. Maybe it would be like Angelina had said earlier. Maybe he'd go to sleep and wake up to learn that this whole day had been a bad dream.
Somehow, even as sleep took him, Fred doubted it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fred walked wordlessly toward the Room of Requirement behind George, Lee, Angelina and Alicia.
It was the last D.A. meeting before the holidays. Normally Fred was always overjoyed for the holidays. Between getting gifts and leaving school and not worrying about schoolwork, the holidays were always a fine time to be had. But this year...
He and Angelina had become a bit distant. They maintained a friendly, civil enough façade, but things had become strained. She told him time and again she wasn't angry with him for getting himself banned from playing, but Fred knew she wasn't being entirely truthful. She was under a lot of strain lately; having to find three new team members was not helping her already strained state of mind. When she'd told him who they were, Fred was shocked and dismayed. Ginny, his baby sister, playing Seeker? Fred hadn't even known she could fly a broom. And the two beaters, Kirke and Sloper? Fred HAD seen them fly, and they were miserable.
They entered the Room of Requirement to find it decorated with all manner of banners and mistletoe. Angelina marched over to Harry to tell him about the new team members. She gave Harry a dirty look at the end of it and stalked back to the crowd of seventh years. She glanced at Fred with a pained expression. She was torn, it was obvious, between wanting to give HIM dirty looks, too, and feeling wretched at not being able to play alongside him anymore.
Well, thought Fred, if SHE feels badly about it, think about how I feel.
The meeting began, and people paired up. Fred found himself paired with Angelina, more by default than by choice. Harry cleared his throat and announced that they would be reviewing all they'd done so far before jumping into anything new.
And then that prat Zacharias Smith had to open his stupid mouth again.
"We're not doing anything new?" he said, in that whingey, nasal voice. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come..."
"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," Fred snapped, feeling his nerves fraying just a bit. Honestly. Like that idiot Smith was getting BETTER Defense Against the Dark Arts instruction from Umbridge than he was in here?
Several people in the room laughed, including Angelina. Fred felt a little better when she smiled at him.
They paired up and Fred found himself partnered with Angelina, more out of default than by conscious choice. They went through the motions of the spells and charms and jinxes. Angelina was better at it than he was; she managed to Stun him twice as often as he did her. But as the hour went on, Fred felt a bit of the tension between them thaw. He was grateful for it. Maybe later they could take a walk somewhere and talk and just...be together. Like they used to be.
But when the hour ended and Fred and Angelina helped put away the dozens of cushions that had been in use during the Stunning Spells, she smiled at him. As his stomach clenched and his lips tingled and his hands fought the urge to reach for her, he knew they could never be like they used to be again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was perhaps the longest night of Fred's life. Since being awakened after midnight by Professor McGonagall with the news, he had spent the rest of the night in a half-dream state, punctuated by a few episodes of abject fear and temper. His nerves were frayed to the breaking point; he knew he must stay awake as he waited for news from his mother, and yet he was so beyond exhaustion that sleep was stealing over him seductively.
It was the Christmas holidays, but Fred was here, in the gloomy kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, awaiting the arrival of his mother from St. Mungo's Hospital. George, Ginny, Ron, Harry and Sirius Black all sat with him, around the long rectangular table, none of them speaking. The only sounds were the ticking of an old clock; the crackling of the fire, the occasional swish of butterbeer when one of them lifted his or her bottle to take a half-hearted sip.
Dad, Fred thought. Dad's in St. Mungo's. Dad's been attacked. Fighting for his life. And I'm sitting here in this stupid fucking kitchen drinking a butterbeer. His mind rebelled against this forced incarceration. They couldn't go to St. Mungo's, Sirius said, because it would jeopardize the very mission their father had been fulfilling when he'd been attacked. Secrecy was crucial. The Order couldn't be risked, not for anything.
Bugger the Order, Fred thought again. He and George had rebelled against Sirius's pretty speeches about duty and how some things were worth dying for. What the hell did Sirius know about it? He was holed up in this house, he wasn't Out There, risking his neck. Not like Dad.
Fred's eyelids felt like lead and he let them close. Anything to take away the burning. Sleep came and went; his mind was full of angry, brutal images, all of them ending with his father lying on the ground, bleeding.
Harry had seen it. The attack on Arthur Weasley. Somehow, Harry knew what had happened. Fred supposed he ought to feel grateful to Harry, for alerting them all to what had happened. But part of him couldn't help but wonder just what was going on with the kid this year. He'd been acting edgy and just...weird all year. He was losing his temper constantly, doing stupid things, getting detentions for no reason.
Fred's mind would have explored Harry Potter's behavior further, but a noise broke through the haze of Fred's half-sleeping brain. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, not noticing the stiffness in his neck from sleeping in a chair.
Mum, Fred thought, as the pale, red-haired woman entered the kitchen. He sat up sharply.
Mrs. Weasley was more pale than Fred had ever seen her. Deep, bruising shadows were beneath her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. Her nose was red and raw, from the cold or from crying or both, Fred couldn't tell. She smiled weakly.
"He's going to be all right," she said, a half-sob in her throat. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now, he's going to take the morning off work."
Even as the lead weight that had settled on Fred's chest lifted, he felt weak with relief and sat back. He saw George and Ginny get up and hug their mother; Ron gave a kind of exhausted, relieved laugh and finished his butterbeer.
Before long they were fixing breakfast. Sirius's black mood had greatly improved, and the tension in the house lifted, at least somewhat. Fred vaguely noticed that Harry still seemed very tense, but Fred himself was so exhausted that he didn't pay much attention. He was suddenly famished, and the two things he meant to do at that moment were, first, to eat his fill and second, to go upstairs to the room he and George had shared over the summer holidays, and collapse into bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the end, Christmas was about as happy as Fred could have expected. He would have rather preferred spending the time at home, at the Burrow, or at Hogwarts. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place never did completely lose its dark overtones, even with the layers of decorations and gifts and the fat Christmas tree. The portraits of Sirius's awful family members screamed on more than one occasion, that nutter of a house-elf, Kreacher, skulked relentlessly in and out of rooms, muttering to himself, both Sirius and Harry were predictably moody, and all the adults were particularly secretive, but Fred couldn't complain. His dad was alive and well and cured.
Of course, his father had taken his time in hospital to explore his ongoing obsession with All Things Muggle. Mrs. Weasley had nearly blown a gasket upon learning that Mr. Weasley had been experimenting with a Muggle remedy known as stitches, in which a patient literally had their skin sewn up with a needle and thread. Needless to say the barbaric remedy didn't work, and Mr. Weasley had suffered another of Mum's blisteringly loud tirades for his trouble.
Harry, who'd been convinced he'd been possessed by You-Know-Who and had caused the snake attack, was assured at once by Ginny--who HAD been possessed once by You-Know-Who--that Harry couldn't have been. Percy was still being a complete prat, having sent back his Christmas jumper. Fred was starting to take a tally of how many times he'd have to pound his older brother. Once for every time Percy made Mum cry, Fred decided. George, not surprisingly, had his own tally.
"Between the two of us he won't have any teeth left," said George.
"What's he need teeth for?" said Fred. "They only encourage him to talk."
Hermione Granger had shown up, having cut short her skiing vacation with her parents. Ron had laughed out loud every time Hermione tried to talk about how great skiing was, but he seemed rather obviously happier with her around. Fred smirked. Some day his little brother would get a clue and tell the girl he fancied her. If she didn't smack him upside the head or snog him first.
The gift haul wasn't bad this year, either, Fred thought. The usual jumper from Mum, a small book from Hermione Granger that he would never read, a subscription to Joker's Monthly (the industry magazine for joke shop owners) from Lee, a broomstick compass from Harry, a knitted scarf from Ginny, and a pair of dragon-hide Oxford shoes from George. Fred kept these hidden; dragon-hide shoes were very expensive and the twins still weren't ready to share their joke shop venture with Mum.
Fred and George owled Lee a few times, to let him know what had happened to their father and how their holidays had turned out, but also to keep tabs on the business. They were making real money now, and spending more and more time holed up in their dormitory at school creating their inventions. It wouldn't be long before they could really set up the business permanently, but between having to keep things secret from their mother AND from Umbridge, Fred was growing ever more impatient to just be done with school, already.
Perhaps the best thing about Christmas this year, though, were the letters he'd received from Angelina. He'd written her the night after he'd come to Grimmauld Place, to tell her what had happened, and she'd written back at once. Her letter was full of the kind of warm, comforting words Fred had needed to read. A second letter had arrived just before New Year's Eve, in which she told him she was in Paris with Alicia and that she missed him terribly and wished he was there with her. He wished he was, too. Paris was supposed to be a very romantic city.
Her letters were wonderful. They were terrible. He missed her. He couldn't wait to see her again. He knew when he saw he again that it would hurt like hell, because she only wanted to be his friend.
Better my friend than nothing at all, he told himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The journey back to Hogwarts was about the most uncomfortable Fred could remember. His initial delight at finally experiencing a ride on the Knight Bus quickly faded when he was thrown out of his chair for the eighth time, thanks to the herky-jerky manner in which the bus was driven. Ern, the bus driver, was terse to the point of silence. The conductor of the bus, on the other hand, was a chatterbox. Thankfully, Stan Shunpike preferred to lavish his attentions on Famous 'Arry Potter.
By the time they reached Hogwarts, Fred was nearly as tired as he'd been when he'd left for the holidays. His mind was in a bit of an uproar, and his stomach wouldn't calm down. He didn't like the idea of coming back to this place, not when he couldn't play Quidditch, not when Umbridge was running everything. Not when Angelina was here and only wanted to be his mate.
Fred was only vaguely aware of dragging himself and his things to the common room and up to his dormitory. Lee was back, as evidenced by the things in his trunk strewn all over the bed, but he was not in the room. Fred guessed he was in the Great Hall at that night's feast, which had started only ten minutes earlier. George came in and dumped his trunk unceremoniously at the foot of his bed.
"Well, I'm going to find Alicia," he said. "I've gone way too long without a snog, and I think I need at least a dozen after that holiday."
"You do that," said Fred, rolling his eyes.
"See you at dinner, yeah?"
"Right," said Fred, not feeling the slightest bit hungry.
He arranged his trunk at the foot of his bed and stared round his room. For the first time, the sight of his warm, cozy four-poster bed brought no comfort. He was powerfully aware of how much he was ready to leave Hogwarts. His mind drifted to his broom, currently locked away in that foul Umbridge woman's office. He didn't even want to think about the start of the new term tomorrow; now that it was a new year, the teachers would all be hammering them with homework in preparation for the N.E.W.Ts.
"Bugger," he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and headed out of the dormitory, down the spiral steps, and into the common room. He nearly tripped on his own feet when he saw Angelina standing by the fire.
She turned to him and grinned. Fred felt his heart constrict. Was it even possible that she was more beautiful than when he'd last seen her. It hurt to look at her. He wanted to run from the room. But his feet were stuck, and then she was right there in front of him and pulling him into a tight hug.
"Hi," she whispered. "I missed you."
Fred's arms did the only thing they could do; they went round her waist and he pulled her close, breathing in her scent: jasmine and spice.
"Missed you," he murmured.
She pulled back and looked at him. "You look knackered."
"Took the Knight Bus back," said Fred, grinning, falling back on his usual casual demeanor. "It's a miracle I survived at all."
Angelina laughed, which made Fred's heart constrict again. Bloody hell. Being in love was awful, Fred decided, if it made you feel like you were going to drop dead from a damn heart attack every other minute.
Her face became serious again. "Your dad okay?"
"Yeah," said Fred. "Yeah, he's just fine."
"Good," said Angelina. "I'm starving. Let's eat, yeah?"
"Okay," said Fred, but he still did not feel hungry. He forced himself to keep a light tone. "You'll have to tell me all about Paris, of course. Hopefully you got into a lot of trouble."
"Not much," said Angelina conversationally as they moved through the portrait hole and into the corridor. "Getting in trouble isn't much fun without you around, I have to say."
"Why, Angie, love," he said, "I'm flattered." They grinned at one another, and when she took his arm and walked with him toward the Great Hall, he tried very hard not to feel like a stupid, lovesick git.
It didn't work.