Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of it's components, including characters are property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc. No money is being made and no trademark infringement is intended. All lyrics are credited. Title taken from song on a John Mayer album.

Summary: Six ways that Angelina Johnson and Fred Weasely savedone-another.

Author's Note: This is very PWP. If you're looking for a juicy plot, then go elsewhere. I wrote this fic specifically so I could develop the relationship between this two semi-minor characters. Expect at least six chapters.

Tonight I'll dream while in my bed
when silly thoughts go through my head
about the bugs and alphabet
and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet
that you and I will walk together again
cause I can tell that we are going to be friends

- We're going to be friends, The White Stripes.

i.

In first year, in that small, cramped compartment that smelt of chocolate and singed hair, she had sat beside him, staring curiously at the struggling dragonfly in his palm. It was a dark shiny green and it contrasted fearfully with the pallor of the slim palm of the young boy.

"What's happened to the poor bugger?" His twin had asked, looking curious and frighteningly like him. A shock of bright hair fell sheepishly into his eyes, and was impatiently pushed away.

"I bet some Slytherin toads tortured it," the boy had said, and she had looked at him because she had heard a sudden sadness in his soft voice, the profile of his face soft with freckles, and fresh, she thought, like he had just been scrubbed clean. He had the look of someone who had not had an easy life, but didn't really notice. The dimpled corner of his mouth said, hello Angelina. Make friends with me.

"Put it out of its misery," Angelina had murmured. They all looked up at her, the two boys who looked the same and another black boy, with big dreadlocks and pretty brown eyes. It was the first time she had spoke since entering the compartment. She felt nervous and her stomach twisted with the dragonfly as she locked eyes with his blue ones, bright and surprised.

"Kill him?" asked the boy. "That's awful." She felt a stab at her heart as she realized he thought her cruel. His dimple had disappeared.

"Well, look," said Angelina, leaning over and pointing at the legs of the fly. "They're broken and bent, and that broken wing? He'll never be able to fly again. He's probably in tons of pain." She had nervously pulled at a dark pigtail."And suffering," she added.

There was silence and then, "I reckon she's right, Fred," said his twin. Fred-- that was his name. She briefly wondered if it was short for Frederick and if his mother had called him Freddy; the twin spoke again. "I think you should do it."

The boy with the dreads finally said, "I'll do it if you're scared, Fred."

"Rubbish," he had answered quickly, "I'm not afraid of anything."

But she saw the fear behind his eyes and the hesitation. His palm shook. He stood up and gently placed the dragonfly on the floor, it's tiny, shiny body still writhing. Fred had closed his eyes, his small fists clenched at his side and freckled cheeks drained of colour. His clothes were too big for him; a too-large dark green jumper and jeans with holes that gathered over the top of his beaten shoes. She thought him to be extraordinary.

She closed her eyes-- the vague outlines of the three boys dancing against her eyelids like shadows from a dream, the stomping of a foot and the inaudible crushing of the fly came. She opened them, only to find Fred against the wall of the compartment, and his twin with his foot over the fly.

"I was going to do it," Fred whispered, face flushed from embarrassment and surprise.

"Well, you were taking to bloody long," his twin had said. Angelina didn't look down at what was left of the insect on the floor.

Later, as they got off the train, she felt someone tug at her robe-sleeve. Turning, she saw Fred, his pale face and hair bright against the sea of black robes moving behind him. The people parted around them, but Angelina barely noticed, subconsciously transfixed at the dark blue eyes regarding her.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice barely audible and coming from a very small body.

"Angelina Johnson," she said. She touched one of her braids. "Fred, yeah?"

"Yeah-- I mean, yes, Fred Weasely." He looked extremely uncomfortable.

She paused. They were going to get left behind. A large figure in the distance was shouting firs' years' this way, then and the last thing she wanted was to get lost.

"It's nice to meet you, Fred, but we'd better go," she smiled, holding out her hand and cocking her head. Surprised more at her own nerve than the fact that he actually took her hand, she bit her lip as they walked. There was the low rumble of the crowd of first years ahead of them, and the louder sound of their trainers on the pebbles.

They reached the boats and Fred let go of her hand, perhaps before his brother and the other boy could see. She stared at the looming castle ahead and briefly pondered the next seven years. But like the clouds over the lake they were soon gliding on, they were impossible to predict.

The river glowing in moonlight and anticipation, in the ripples of the water underneath the boat, his soft voice floated to her ears, and "You'll see Angelina, I'm actually really very brave," was just barely heard. She looked over her shoulder at him but his dark eyes were directed at the gleaming castle ahead and his future.

She looked over the edge of the boat at their wavering reflections and smiled.