Chapter Fourteen: The End of a Friendship
"Well, that wasn't hideously awful," said George dryly, as he, Fred and Lee made their way out of the stands.
"Yeah," said Lee. "Only mildly horrific, really."
"Ginny IS pretty good, anyway," said George.
"Almost makes up for Ron, doesn't she?" said Lee.
A pause, and Lee and George looked at one another.
"No, she doesn't," they both said.
Fred was only half-listening to them. He'd lost most interest in the match when it became obvious Gryffindor wasn't going to win, but now the only thing on his mind was Angelina, who'd been hit in the face by a bat. Jack Sloper's bat. Fred was torn between wanting to see to Angelina and pound the stuffing out of Sloper. What kind of idiot hits his own teammate instead of the Bludger?
"Stupid fucking crowds," Fred muttered, trying, not all that gently, to push his way through the throngs of people as his feet hit the near frozen earth of the Quidditch pitch.
"Easy, Twin," said George. "I'm sure Madam Pomfrey's already got her all fixed up."
"Nasty hit, that was," said Lee. "How did Sloper mistake her face for a Bludger, I want to know."
"Dammit!" Fred yelled, losing his temper with these stupid people who were milling about as if nothing was wrong. As if Angelina wasn't bleeding all over herself in the hospital wing.
"Relax, bro," said George. "She's going into the tent, see?" He pointed.
Fred looked up, and indeed, the lone figure of Angelina Johnson was ducking inside the Gryffindor Quidditch tent.
"Pomfrey must have healed her up on the spot," said Lee. "Let's get inside, yeah? I'm freezing my arse off."
"Coming, Fred?" George asked. "Oh, wait. Never mind." He shook his head, then looked over and called, "Oi! Alicia!"
Fred felt rather than saw George and Lee jog away; he was too busy pushing his way through the crowd. He couldn't say why but it seemed urgent beyond all measure that he get to the tent. He had to know that Angelina was okay.
At last he reached it, and slipped inside. Angelina was there, facing the large blackboard that was currently covered with drawings and diagrams and notes from the strategy sessions she'd been holding before each practice. She stood back about twelve feet from the blackboard. Her back was rigid and she didn't hear him come in. He started to speak, but stopped. Something in her posture stopped him. He waited.
A choked, angry sob burst from her throat in the next moment.
"DAMMIT!"
Suddenly she picked up a dead Bludger from the bench and hurled it furiously at the blackboard. It bounced and landed a few feet away. She gave another furious sob and hurled herself at the blackboard, smearing the diagrams and notes with her balled up fists. She was bawling.
"Fucking STUPID game!" she cried, and she began to pound the blackboard with her fists. "I hate this fucking game!"
"Angie..." Fred said weakly, and he crossed to her. She didn't seem to hear him; she beat at the blackboard weakly a few more times before sinking to her knees on the frozen ground.
"Angie," he said again, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She started, then looked up.
"Fred..." she said. Her face was a network of tears; her mouth, which had been so savagely hit by Sloper's bat, was no longer swollen or bleeding, but there was a bruise on her cheek.
"Hey," he said softly, lifting her up off the ground.
"Fred," she sobbed again, and he pulled her into his arms.
"Don't, Angie," he whispered. "It's okay. It's...it's just a stupid match..."
This was the wrong thing to say. She cried harder and pushed away from him.
"How can you say that?" she cried. "It's not just a match. Not for you. Not for me!"
"Angie--"
"One year, Fred!" she said, throwing up her arms in despair. "That's all I had. One bloody FUCKING year to be a good captain and everything's gone to shit. I don't have half my original team anymore, and the ones I do have..."
Her voice trailed off as she buried her face in her hands.
"It's not fun anymore," she sobbed. "That...that cow took it away."
"What?" said Fred, confused. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
"That Umbridge bitch!" said Angelina savagely. "She's taken it away. All of it! Every last...DROP of good stuff this damn place ever had. She's taken you away..."
Her voice trailed off again and she turned away from him. Fred was speechless. Fred knew she had a temper, that her anger could be impressive when aroused, but this was different. Anger combined with despair. It frightened him. He wasn't sure just what to do. He wanted to hold her, but she didn't seem to want him to touch her. And what did she mean, anyway, by Umbridge taking HIM away?
"Angie..." he said weakly, and again he put a hand on her shoulder.
"I hate playing without you," said Angelina, her head drooping. "I hate it."
Fred felt his stomach flip-flop. Her anger seemed to have petered out, so he gently turned her and pulled her into his arms again. This time she sank against him.
"I'm sorry," he said, for lack of anything better to say. He shouldn't feel elated that she missed playing Quidditch with him, but he did.
"I miss you so much," she said into his shoulder. "It's not...right. Being up there and not having you there. Every bloody time we practice I...I get up there and I turn round to look for you...and it's bloody Sloper or Kirke instead. I...I hate it."
"I miss it, too," said Fred, holding her close. "I miss being up there with you."
"It's no fun without you," she said, pulling herself closer. "No bloody fun at all."
He closed his eyes and rather hoped they could stay like this for a while. Holding her and breathing in the scent of her, jasmine and spice and sweat. But of course they couldn't. They were Just Friends.
She pulled back from him and looked him in the eye. Hers were dark and reddened and shiny with tears; her cheeks were stained with them. He brushed the tears away with his fingers.
"At least I never hit you in the face with my bat," said Fred, grinning.
She laughed, but it turned into sobs and she sank against him again.
"Hey," he whispered, holding her. "It's okay. I'm here."
He held her for a while, and her sobs quieted. It was very quiet in the tent. The sun was setting outside. Long shadows were falling across the Quidditch pitch. The only sounds in the tent were the rustling of the canvas and their breathing.
Angelina pulled back from his embrace just a little, so that her face was mere inches from his.
"You okay, love?" he asked softly. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it humming in his ears.
She nodded. "I will be," she said. "I can't believe Sloper hit me with his bat."
She laughed, and he laughed with her, and he found himself kissing her gently on the forehead. Like a friend would.
She stopped laughing as he pulled his lips from her forehead. Fred heard her breathing, felt his heart beating, saw the tears staining her cheeks. He felt his lips move to her left cheek and kiss her there softly. He felt her close her eyes.
His lips moved again, traveling over to her other cheek. Somewhere in his mind he thought he ought to stop this. The kisses he was giving her could not easily be written off as simple, friendly gestures. Not the way they lingered, not the way his lips floated just above her skin only to rest softly against her cheek, her temple, next to her mouth...
"Fred," he heard her whisper, but then she couldn't say anything else, because his lips were against hers.
He waited for her to pull away, to slap him or to laugh nervously and say "Oops." She didn't. He felt her mouth move against his, heard the intake of her breath through her nose, felt her lips open...
The blood in Fred's body surged south as he felt her tongue brush against his. Sweet Merlin, there was no mistaking this kiss for platonic. He felt her wrap her arms round his neck, felt her hands in his hair, felt his hands moving up and felt dizzy with desire as his mouth moved over hers. It was easily the most incredible kiss he'd ever experienced in his life.
He pressed her closer to him, his hand on the small of her back, moving beneath her Quidditch robes. He heard her whimper and felt her press her pelvis against his aching erection. He ground his pelvis against hers and suddenly their kissing became hot and feverish.
"Angie," he gasped, as he moved his mouth to her neck. She sighed and let her head fall back, exposing the tender golden brown flesh to his lips and tongue. His hands moved over her bottom, pressing her against him once more. His hands roamed some more, over the whole of her back, her shoulders, into her braided hair, and finally finding her lush breasts. She whimpered again as his hands kneaded the soft flesh over her Quidditch robes; he groaned and bit his lip when he felt her hands stroking him over his trousers. His mouth crushed against hers again, and they were kissing as though their lives depended on it. Fred's hands moved from her breasts to her back to crush her against him again, grinding his hardness against her...
"--dunno what the hell happened to them, but Angelina didn't look too chuffed."
Fred almost collapsed when Angelina tore away from him, hurrying to the other side of the tent and making a show of gathering up her broom. Fred blinked and shook his head as Lee and George came into the tent.
"Ah," said Lee. "We were just wondering where the hell you were."
"Misery party upstairs," said George, looking at Fred and then Angelina.
"Right," said Fred, not looking at either one of them, trying desperately to calm down. Angelina wasn't looking at him. She was, in fact, very resolutely not looking at him.
"Right," she said quickly. "I'm going."
She hurried out of the tent without a backwards glance, and Fred, George and Lee were left to stare after her. Fred's head was spinning. What had just happened?
Obviously, he thought furiously, you two snogged quite a bit and then your stupid twin brother and your stupid best mate had to go and interrupt you and now Angelina's all weirded out by it. Wonderful.
"Uh, Fred," said Lee slowly. "You all right?"
George's eyebrows shot up. "What just happened between you two?" he asked.
"Nothing," said Fred at once.
George and Lee exchanged looks.
"Right," said George.
"Nothing happened," Fred lied. "I'm...going inside."
He left the tent without looking back at George and Lee. His hands were shaking, his brain was reeling, and he wondered just how on earth he and Angelina were going to explain themselves out of this one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was well after two o'clock in the morning and Fred couldn't sleep. He hadn't been able to talk to Angelina at all about what had happened in the Quidditch tent. She had barely looked at him all night while everyone was in the common room, and she'd gone to bed before Fred could corner her.
Fred climbed out of bed and went down to the common room. He was cranky and tired and confused. He cursed himself for letting what had happened in the Quidditch tent happen, but he knew he was beyond saving now. He could no longer pretend to be satisfied with simply being Angelina's mate. He loved her, he wanted her, he needed her. He was beyond help. As he started down the spiral staircase he felt his stomach growl. A trip to the kitchens might relieve his hunger. At this point, he didn't care if he got caught out of bounds after hours.
He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice somebody else in the common room when he reached the foot of the spiral staircase.
"Fred."
He looked up. It was Angelina, wearing blue pajamas and a white robe. The firelight played on her skin.
"Hi," he said, finding it very difficult to look at her. Mainly because he wanted to snog her again.
"We need to talk," she said quickly.
"Okay," he said, immediately wishing that he hadn't. Ironic, really. All night he'd been wanting to talk to her and now that he could, all he wanted to do was run upstairs. Because he didn't really know if he WANTED to hear what she had to say.
"Sit with me?" she said, indicating the sofa.
"Uh, sure," he said, taking a seat next to her.
"About what happened," she said, "earlier, in the Quidditch tent--"
"Angelina," Fred interrupted, suddenly feeling overcome by the need to tell her...everything. "Before you say anything else I...I have to tell you--"
"We shouldn't have done it," she went on, as though she hadn't heard him.
Fred sat back. "Wh-what?"
"It was a mistake," she said firmly, though her voice shook slightly. "It shouldn't have happened, Fred."
He looked down for a moment, trying to push away the sharp pain in his chest that hearing her words had induced. It didn't go away. It got worse. He supposed he ought to have expected this. A part of him actually did. But expecting it did not make it hurt any less.
"I see," he said slowly.
"Look," said Angelina quickly. "It's not your fault. I was a real mess and I just...I guess I was a bit overwhelmed by everything and...and--"
"No," said Fred suddenly.
"What?"
"No," he repeated, and just as the pain in his chest grew hotter, anger bubbled beneath the hurt. "I don't want to hear it."
"Fred, listen--"
"No, Angie," he said, standing up suddenly, not able to look at her. His eyes fixed on the fire instead. "Dammit. How many times has this sort of thing almost happened, eh? How many times are we going to make excuses?"
"Fred, we're mates," said Angelina gently, not getting up. "We shouldn't be- -"
"Shouldn't be what, snogging one another?" said Fred bitterly. "Maybe it's BECAUSE we're mates that we OUGHT to be snogging one another, ever think of that? Maybe we've been chasing after other people when what's good for us is right here. BETWEEN us."
"Fred, please," said Angelina, standing up and putting a hand on his arm, "I don't want to ruin what we have--"
"Who says we'd ruin it?" said Fred, turning to her, his tone changing from anger to supplication. "Is there some rule that says if two best friends get together their friendship is over?"
"No, but--"
"Then why not?" said Fred. "Why not try and be together?"
"You know why," said Angelina.
"No, dammit, I don't," said Fred, angry again. "What I see are two people who get along famously and have a great time together and have been there for each other through good times and bad. What I see are two people who had a damn fine time snogging in the Quidditch tent."
"Fred, don't do this," said Angelina.
"Don't do what?" said Fred. "Tell you how I feel about you? Tell you that I love you? That I'm in love with you?"
The words flew out of his mouth before he really understood that he was saying them. She gasped, her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. Fred swallowed and blinked and tried to find his footing. He hadn't meant to tell her like that. He'd had fantasies of taking her out for a romantic picnic and sharing a bottle of wine and laying her down in the warm summer grass and telling her he loved her. Not bellowing it at her in the bloody common room.
But it was out now. There was no taking it back. He squared his shoulders.
"There," he said defiantly. "I've said it. Now...what...what about you?"
"What about me?" she said, still looking shocked.
"How do you feel about me, Angie?" he said, gritting his teeth, trying to contain the sudden swirl of emotions in his brain and pressing on his heart.
"I...I don't know," she whispered. "Fred..."
"You don't know," Fred repeated dully.
"Fred, I care about you," she said quickly. "I just don't...I can't...our friendship means so much to me, I can't risk..." Her voice trailed off.
Fred nodded and looked down. A horrible, painful lump had lodged in his throat. Good god. He couldn't believe what he'd done. Blurted out how he'd felt and destroyed their friendship in one fell swoop. Nice work, Weasley. Had he simply gone along with her idea of brushing aside the incident in the Quidditch tent, perhaps their friendship might have been salvageable.
No, he thought. No. Their friendship could never be the same. He could have gone along with her and he would still be living a lie. He couldn't content himself with being her friend anymore. He couldn't handle acting like he didn't love her when he did.
"Well," he said slowly. "I guess...that's it, then."
"What?" said Angelina, looking alarmed.
All the anger he'd felt moments ago had vanished, replaced by a horrible, heavy resignation.
"I can't do this, anymore, Angie," he said sadly. "I can't...pretend around you. I never meant...I didn't want to feel like this."
"Fred, please don't do this," she begged. "Don't throw away our friendship. I can't...I don't want to be without you..."
"You don't want to be with me, either," Fred said, his voice shaking.
"I...I can't," she whispered, and tears were in her eyes. "I just...can't. I'm sorry."
Fred felt his own eyes burning. He tried to recall a time when he'd ever felt more horrible. The only time he could remember feeling this wretched was right before Christmas, in those awful hours of waiting to hear news about his father.
"I'm sorry, too," he said, brushing a tear from her cheek with his hand. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He couldn't look at her anymore. He brushed past her and walked up the spiral staircase to his room without looking back.
"Well, that wasn't hideously awful," said George dryly, as he, Fred and Lee made their way out of the stands.
"Yeah," said Lee. "Only mildly horrific, really."
"Ginny IS pretty good, anyway," said George.
"Almost makes up for Ron, doesn't she?" said Lee.
A pause, and Lee and George looked at one another.
"No, she doesn't," they both said.
Fred was only half-listening to them. He'd lost most interest in the match when it became obvious Gryffindor wasn't going to win, but now the only thing on his mind was Angelina, who'd been hit in the face by a bat. Jack Sloper's bat. Fred was torn between wanting to see to Angelina and pound the stuffing out of Sloper. What kind of idiot hits his own teammate instead of the Bludger?
"Stupid fucking crowds," Fred muttered, trying, not all that gently, to push his way through the throngs of people as his feet hit the near frozen earth of the Quidditch pitch.
"Easy, Twin," said George. "I'm sure Madam Pomfrey's already got her all fixed up."
"Nasty hit, that was," said Lee. "How did Sloper mistake her face for a Bludger, I want to know."
"Dammit!" Fred yelled, losing his temper with these stupid people who were milling about as if nothing was wrong. As if Angelina wasn't bleeding all over herself in the hospital wing.
"Relax, bro," said George. "She's going into the tent, see?" He pointed.
Fred looked up, and indeed, the lone figure of Angelina Johnson was ducking inside the Gryffindor Quidditch tent.
"Pomfrey must have healed her up on the spot," said Lee. "Let's get inside, yeah? I'm freezing my arse off."
"Coming, Fred?" George asked. "Oh, wait. Never mind." He shook his head, then looked over and called, "Oi! Alicia!"
Fred felt rather than saw George and Lee jog away; he was too busy pushing his way through the crowd. He couldn't say why but it seemed urgent beyond all measure that he get to the tent. He had to know that Angelina was okay.
At last he reached it, and slipped inside. Angelina was there, facing the large blackboard that was currently covered with drawings and diagrams and notes from the strategy sessions she'd been holding before each practice. She stood back about twelve feet from the blackboard. Her back was rigid and she didn't hear him come in. He started to speak, but stopped. Something in her posture stopped him. He waited.
A choked, angry sob burst from her throat in the next moment.
"DAMMIT!"
Suddenly she picked up a dead Bludger from the bench and hurled it furiously at the blackboard. It bounced and landed a few feet away. She gave another furious sob and hurled herself at the blackboard, smearing the diagrams and notes with her balled up fists. She was bawling.
"Fucking STUPID game!" she cried, and she began to pound the blackboard with her fists. "I hate this fucking game!"
"Angie..." Fred said weakly, and he crossed to her. She didn't seem to hear him; she beat at the blackboard weakly a few more times before sinking to her knees on the frozen ground.
"Angie," he said again, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She started, then looked up.
"Fred..." she said. Her face was a network of tears; her mouth, which had been so savagely hit by Sloper's bat, was no longer swollen or bleeding, but there was a bruise on her cheek.
"Hey," he said softly, lifting her up off the ground.
"Fred," she sobbed again, and he pulled her into his arms.
"Don't, Angie," he whispered. "It's okay. It's...it's just a stupid match..."
This was the wrong thing to say. She cried harder and pushed away from him.
"How can you say that?" she cried. "It's not just a match. Not for you. Not for me!"
"Angie--"
"One year, Fred!" she said, throwing up her arms in despair. "That's all I had. One bloody FUCKING year to be a good captain and everything's gone to shit. I don't have half my original team anymore, and the ones I do have..."
Her voice trailed off as she buried her face in her hands.
"It's not fun anymore," she sobbed. "That...that cow took it away."
"What?" said Fred, confused. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
"That Umbridge bitch!" said Angelina savagely. "She's taken it away. All of it! Every last...DROP of good stuff this damn place ever had. She's taken you away..."
Her voice trailed off again and she turned away from him. Fred was speechless. Fred knew she had a temper, that her anger could be impressive when aroused, but this was different. Anger combined with despair. It frightened him. He wasn't sure just what to do. He wanted to hold her, but she didn't seem to want him to touch her. And what did she mean, anyway, by Umbridge taking HIM away?
"Angie..." he said weakly, and again he put a hand on her shoulder.
"I hate playing without you," said Angelina, her head drooping. "I hate it."
Fred felt his stomach flip-flop. Her anger seemed to have petered out, so he gently turned her and pulled her into his arms again. This time she sank against him.
"I'm sorry," he said, for lack of anything better to say. He shouldn't feel elated that she missed playing Quidditch with him, but he did.
"I miss you so much," she said into his shoulder. "It's not...right. Being up there and not having you there. Every bloody time we practice I...I get up there and I turn round to look for you...and it's bloody Sloper or Kirke instead. I...I hate it."
"I miss it, too," said Fred, holding her close. "I miss being up there with you."
"It's no fun without you," she said, pulling herself closer. "No bloody fun at all."
He closed his eyes and rather hoped they could stay like this for a while. Holding her and breathing in the scent of her, jasmine and spice and sweat. But of course they couldn't. They were Just Friends.
She pulled back from him and looked him in the eye. Hers were dark and reddened and shiny with tears; her cheeks were stained with them. He brushed the tears away with his fingers.
"At least I never hit you in the face with my bat," said Fred, grinning.
She laughed, but it turned into sobs and she sank against him again.
"Hey," he whispered, holding her. "It's okay. I'm here."
He held her for a while, and her sobs quieted. It was very quiet in the tent. The sun was setting outside. Long shadows were falling across the Quidditch pitch. The only sounds in the tent were the rustling of the canvas and their breathing.
Angelina pulled back from his embrace just a little, so that her face was mere inches from his.
"You okay, love?" he asked softly. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it humming in his ears.
She nodded. "I will be," she said. "I can't believe Sloper hit me with his bat."
She laughed, and he laughed with her, and he found himself kissing her gently on the forehead. Like a friend would.
She stopped laughing as he pulled his lips from her forehead. Fred heard her breathing, felt his heart beating, saw the tears staining her cheeks. He felt his lips move to her left cheek and kiss her there softly. He felt her close her eyes.
His lips moved again, traveling over to her other cheek. Somewhere in his mind he thought he ought to stop this. The kisses he was giving her could not easily be written off as simple, friendly gestures. Not the way they lingered, not the way his lips floated just above her skin only to rest softly against her cheek, her temple, next to her mouth...
"Fred," he heard her whisper, but then she couldn't say anything else, because his lips were against hers.
He waited for her to pull away, to slap him or to laugh nervously and say "Oops." She didn't. He felt her mouth move against his, heard the intake of her breath through her nose, felt her lips open...
The blood in Fred's body surged south as he felt her tongue brush against his. Sweet Merlin, there was no mistaking this kiss for platonic. He felt her wrap her arms round his neck, felt her hands in his hair, felt his hands moving up and felt dizzy with desire as his mouth moved over hers. It was easily the most incredible kiss he'd ever experienced in his life.
He pressed her closer to him, his hand on the small of her back, moving beneath her Quidditch robes. He heard her whimper and felt her press her pelvis against his aching erection. He ground his pelvis against hers and suddenly their kissing became hot and feverish.
"Angie," he gasped, as he moved his mouth to her neck. She sighed and let her head fall back, exposing the tender golden brown flesh to his lips and tongue. His hands moved over her bottom, pressing her against him once more. His hands roamed some more, over the whole of her back, her shoulders, into her braided hair, and finally finding her lush breasts. She whimpered again as his hands kneaded the soft flesh over her Quidditch robes; he groaned and bit his lip when he felt her hands stroking him over his trousers. His mouth crushed against hers again, and they were kissing as though their lives depended on it. Fred's hands moved from her breasts to her back to crush her against him again, grinding his hardness against her...
"--dunno what the hell happened to them, but Angelina didn't look too chuffed."
Fred almost collapsed when Angelina tore away from him, hurrying to the other side of the tent and making a show of gathering up her broom. Fred blinked and shook his head as Lee and George came into the tent.
"Ah," said Lee. "We were just wondering where the hell you were."
"Misery party upstairs," said George, looking at Fred and then Angelina.
"Right," said Fred, not looking at either one of them, trying desperately to calm down. Angelina wasn't looking at him. She was, in fact, very resolutely not looking at him.
"Right," she said quickly. "I'm going."
She hurried out of the tent without a backwards glance, and Fred, George and Lee were left to stare after her. Fred's head was spinning. What had just happened?
Obviously, he thought furiously, you two snogged quite a bit and then your stupid twin brother and your stupid best mate had to go and interrupt you and now Angelina's all weirded out by it. Wonderful.
"Uh, Fred," said Lee slowly. "You all right?"
George's eyebrows shot up. "What just happened between you two?" he asked.
"Nothing," said Fred at once.
George and Lee exchanged looks.
"Right," said George.
"Nothing happened," Fred lied. "I'm...going inside."
He left the tent without looking back at George and Lee. His hands were shaking, his brain was reeling, and he wondered just how on earth he and Angelina were going to explain themselves out of this one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was well after two o'clock in the morning and Fred couldn't sleep. He hadn't been able to talk to Angelina at all about what had happened in the Quidditch tent. She had barely looked at him all night while everyone was in the common room, and she'd gone to bed before Fred could corner her.
Fred climbed out of bed and went down to the common room. He was cranky and tired and confused. He cursed himself for letting what had happened in the Quidditch tent happen, but he knew he was beyond saving now. He could no longer pretend to be satisfied with simply being Angelina's mate. He loved her, he wanted her, he needed her. He was beyond help. As he started down the spiral staircase he felt his stomach growl. A trip to the kitchens might relieve his hunger. At this point, he didn't care if he got caught out of bounds after hours.
He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice somebody else in the common room when he reached the foot of the spiral staircase.
"Fred."
He looked up. It was Angelina, wearing blue pajamas and a white robe. The firelight played on her skin.
"Hi," he said, finding it very difficult to look at her. Mainly because he wanted to snog her again.
"We need to talk," she said quickly.
"Okay," he said, immediately wishing that he hadn't. Ironic, really. All night he'd been wanting to talk to her and now that he could, all he wanted to do was run upstairs. Because he didn't really know if he WANTED to hear what she had to say.
"Sit with me?" she said, indicating the sofa.
"Uh, sure," he said, taking a seat next to her.
"About what happened," she said, "earlier, in the Quidditch tent--"
"Angelina," Fred interrupted, suddenly feeling overcome by the need to tell her...everything. "Before you say anything else I...I have to tell you--"
"We shouldn't have done it," she went on, as though she hadn't heard him.
Fred sat back. "Wh-what?"
"It was a mistake," she said firmly, though her voice shook slightly. "It shouldn't have happened, Fred."
He looked down for a moment, trying to push away the sharp pain in his chest that hearing her words had induced. It didn't go away. It got worse. He supposed he ought to have expected this. A part of him actually did. But expecting it did not make it hurt any less.
"I see," he said slowly.
"Look," said Angelina quickly. "It's not your fault. I was a real mess and I just...I guess I was a bit overwhelmed by everything and...and--"
"No," said Fred suddenly.
"What?"
"No," he repeated, and just as the pain in his chest grew hotter, anger bubbled beneath the hurt. "I don't want to hear it."
"Fred, listen--"
"No, Angie," he said, standing up suddenly, not able to look at her. His eyes fixed on the fire instead. "Dammit. How many times has this sort of thing almost happened, eh? How many times are we going to make excuses?"
"Fred, we're mates," said Angelina gently, not getting up. "We shouldn't be- -"
"Shouldn't be what, snogging one another?" said Fred bitterly. "Maybe it's BECAUSE we're mates that we OUGHT to be snogging one another, ever think of that? Maybe we've been chasing after other people when what's good for us is right here. BETWEEN us."
"Fred, please," said Angelina, standing up and putting a hand on his arm, "I don't want to ruin what we have--"
"Who says we'd ruin it?" said Fred, turning to her, his tone changing from anger to supplication. "Is there some rule that says if two best friends get together their friendship is over?"
"No, but--"
"Then why not?" said Fred. "Why not try and be together?"
"You know why," said Angelina.
"No, dammit, I don't," said Fred, angry again. "What I see are two people who get along famously and have a great time together and have been there for each other through good times and bad. What I see are two people who had a damn fine time snogging in the Quidditch tent."
"Fred, don't do this," said Angelina.
"Don't do what?" said Fred. "Tell you how I feel about you? Tell you that I love you? That I'm in love with you?"
The words flew out of his mouth before he really understood that he was saying them. She gasped, her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. Fred swallowed and blinked and tried to find his footing. He hadn't meant to tell her like that. He'd had fantasies of taking her out for a romantic picnic and sharing a bottle of wine and laying her down in the warm summer grass and telling her he loved her. Not bellowing it at her in the bloody common room.
But it was out now. There was no taking it back. He squared his shoulders.
"There," he said defiantly. "I've said it. Now...what...what about you?"
"What about me?" she said, still looking shocked.
"How do you feel about me, Angie?" he said, gritting his teeth, trying to contain the sudden swirl of emotions in his brain and pressing on his heart.
"I...I don't know," she whispered. "Fred..."
"You don't know," Fred repeated dully.
"Fred, I care about you," she said quickly. "I just don't...I can't...our friendship means so much to me, I can't risk..." Her voice trailed off.
Fred nodded and looked down. A horrible, painful lump had lodged in his throat. Good god. He couldn't believe what he'd done. Blurted out how he'd felt and destroyed their friendship in one fell swoop. Nice work, Weasley. Had he simply gone along with her idea of brushing aside the incident in the Quidditch tent, perhaps their friendship might have been salvageable.
No, he thought. No. Their friendship could never be the same. He could have gone along with her and he would still be living a lie. He couldn't content himself with being her friend anymore. He couldn't handle acting like he didn't love her when he did.
"Well," he said slowly. "I guess...that's it, then."
"What?" said Angelina, looking alarmed.
All the anger he'd felt moments ago had vanished, replaced by a horrible, heavy resignation.
"I can't do this, anymore, Angie," he said sadly. "I can't...pretend around you. I never meant...I didn't want to feel like this."
"Fred, please don't do this," she begged. "Don't throw away our friendship. I can't...I don't want to be without you..."
"You don't want to be with me, either," Fred said, his voice shaking.
"I...I can't," she whispered, and tears were in her eyes. "I just...can't. I'm sorry."
Fred felt his own eyes burning. He tried to recall a time when he'd ever felt more horrible. The only time he could remember feeling this wretched was right before Christmas, in those awful hours of waiting to hear news about his father.
"I'm sorry, too," he said, brushing a tear from her cheek with his hand. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He couldn't look at her anymore. He brushed past her and walked up the spiral staircase to his room without looking back.