All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right
I'm tripping on words--
You got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here.

-You & Me, Lifehouse.

v.

In fifth year, Angelina was very sick and very tired of being a friend to Fred Weasely.

She started dating Craig Forsythe, a handsome sixth-year bloke in Hufflepuff. He had sloe-green eyes and curly black hair in tight ringlets that cascaded elegantly around his defined face. He had approached her the morning after Gryffindor won the cup, tall and muscular, a perfect smile stretching across his full lips.

Angelina, he had said, you played magnificently. She had smiled back, ignoring the giggling of the other girls at the Gryffindor table. Thank you, Craig, she had said. I was wondering if I could talk to you alone for a few minutes? He asked, his heavy-lidded eyes searching hers boldly. Resenting the mistrustful look Fred was glaring at him, she said, Of course, Craig.

"Angelina, you lucky creature," Katie had pinched her. "Craig is so dreamy!"

Angelina murmured her agreement, barely looking up from her homework on the table infront of her. It wasn't that Angelina didn't find him dreamy-- it was just that whenever she was kissing Craig she would imagine what it would be like to be kissing lips a bit thinner or running fingers through soft, red hair or being held close to a leaner body; her thoughts always drifted to Fred.

"Dreamy my arsehole," Fred had said meanly. "He's got nothing but muscle between his ears."

He was hunched over his work, copper hair falling into his bored eyes, long fingers curled around a shoddy quill. Angelina had been disregarding these comments for five months now.

"Yes, because your tart girlfriend is awfully bright, too," she had spat from behind clenched teeth.

"Oi, Jean is perfectly fine conversation," he shot back, blue eyes cold underneath tinsel lashes.

"Only because the only time she speaks is to salivate over your freckled arse!"

"Are you having a go at Jean?"

"No, Fred," Angelina growled. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Hey you two," Lee called from across the room. "Quit rowing."

"I agree," she seethed, closing her books and gathering her parchment. She could feel the blotches of crimson on her cheeks and his pale eyes on her. "I'm going upstairs."

The end of the week found Angelina in her dormitory, head in her hands off the edge of her bed. Katie and Alicia were on either side of her; she could feel them giving worried looks to each other. Katie's slim hand ran up and down Angelina's back soothingly, and through the thin material of her jumper she could feel the long nails. She took shuddering deep breaths.

"I hate him," she whispered around tears.

"We all do," Alicia agreed, taking her hand. "He's a wanker, he's a bloody--"

"He had to tell everyone--" she breathed, wiping her face. "--now everyone knows..."

"Not everyone, love," Katie interrupted gently. "Just the twins and Lee...and they made sure he won't tell anyone else."

"He's got the black eye to prove it," Alicia added.

"He told everyone that matters," Angelina sniffed. "George, and Lee and...oh Merlin, Fred--"

Almost on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. Angelina looked down at herself, at her worn jeans with holes and her wrinkled sweater. She must look a mess, tangled hair and puffy eyes-- she wiped her face one more time and called brokenly to come in.

He walked in, looking pale and worn out, the skin around his knuckles bruised and bleeding. His hair was in tangles as well, it seemed, although how that was possible she'd never understand, when it was fine and soft and every strand seemed to flow.

Leaning against the doorway, hands sheepishly in his pockets, he asked quietly, "Can I get a moment alone?"

Angelina exchanged a quick, significant look with Katie and immediately understanding shone in her emerald eyes. She got up and Alicia followed. Angelina stood and moved to look out the window; she watched out of the corner of her eye as Fred moved away from the door and bit his lip. A sharp click of the lock confirmed they were alone. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Where to begin?

"Angelina," he said, walking towards her. "I'm-- sorry I lost my temper."

She shook her head, looking down at his shoes. Her fingers worried at her frayed sleeve. "Don't-- I'm not upset, Fred, I just--"

He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. His face was full of concern and pity and a little bit of betrayal. She couldn't stand it.

"Are you angry?"

"It's your life," he said, smoothing a strand of her ebony hair from her face. "Horses for courses."

"You're a bloody liar, Fred Weasely," she said, trying to smile. It hurt.

He glanced at the floor and at the window, at the bed and at his shoes again-- he was avoiding looking at her. In the fading sunlight that touched every corner of the room, he looked much older than his fifteen years; there was weary wisdom in his eyes and shadows underneath. He took his hand from her shoulder and shoved it into his pocket.

She bit the inside of her cheek. "What did he say?"

"Bugger, Angelina,--"

"Tell me."

He paused and rubbed the back of his neck, looking her in the eyes earnestly. They were so painfully honest, his eyes, deep and full of expression. Right now they were pale in the light that was glinting off the window; sad and hesitant.

"He said it was too bad you dumped him because...because you were a good shag," he finished lamely, obviously twisting the ending to make it less vulgar. She had a pretty good idea of what Craig would have actually said, but didn't press the matter.

Angelina chuckled. "And here I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be nice," she murmured.

"Don't joke," said Fred seriously, narrowing his eyes. Dusk flashed indigo on his pale face. He paused for a moment and seemed as though he was carefully planning out his next words. This was somewhat foreign to Angelina, as he always spoke what came to the tip of his tongue; loose and uncontrolled and raw honest.

"Is it true?" he finally asked.

"Yes," she said. She saw his fist clench and a stab of guilty pain went through her. "Are you--?"

"No," he whispered. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he turned and steadied himself against the windowsill. His slim face reflected in the glass, painted breath-takingly into green hills and Scottish sunsets. "Just hurt."

"Why?" She asked boldly.

"Damn it, Angelina," he almost shouted. "You know bloody well why--"

"No, Fred, I don't," she grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. "Because if for some reason it concerns you, you didn't make a point of trying to be involved."

He glared at her. "I care about you."

She frowned. "I know you do. We're best friends."

"No, I mean--" he sighed in frustration, rubbing his slim hands over his face. "I always thought--"

He lowered his hands from his face and regarded her wearily. His eyes were bright and she could see the pulse racing in his neck. So much to say and not enough words in all the world to say them. Should she tell him how she felt-- Fred I've loved you since I first laid eyes on your tiny freckled face on the train and I love you more each day and when I was withhim all I could thinkof was you in every possible way your face your eyes your hands your neck your mouth your voice--

"I want you to be happy," he finally said. "Even if it makes me miserable."

"I don't want you to be miserable," she whispered, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

He moved closer and took her face in his cold hands. He had a callous on his thumb and she could feel it against her wet cheek. His mouth was so close and when she looked up into his eyes she might as well have been touching the sky because that's how blue they were, infinite and clear. She forgot the room around her.

"I won't be miserable as long as you're always my best mate."

She nodded and started to cry, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He let go of her face and looped his arms around her shoulders, resting his head against hers. His breath fanned out on her ear, hot and smelling of treacle. She shivered.

"We'll be okay," he murmured, running his hands down her back soothingly. They were silent for a long time. An owl hooted by the window.

"I hope you gave him a good thumping," she whispered finally, hearing the faint amusement in her own voice.

Fred grinned. "I hope you won't mind that he's not quite so pretty anymore."

He was never as beautiful as you, she wanted to say, but instead, "No," she laughed. "I don't mind."