(PoA) CHAPTER NINETEEN: Surely

Christmas was drawing nearer, and with it, Harry and Ellie's relationship seemed to be mending. They weren't friends, exactly, but they were civil to each other now, which meant she got to see more of Ron and Hermione, too. Fred was back to avoiding any uncomfortable topics whatsoever, but still spent time with her and George, which was something. She was hurt by the way their conversation had gone, but ultimately unsurprised; he had never given her any reason to believe he might reciprocate her feelings, after all.

On Christmas Eve, Oliver approached her in the common room. She was with Fred and George, but they were immersed in some sort of magical whoopie cushion, and she found herself glad for an excuse to step away from them.

"You seem better," he told her as they stepped over to the fireplace. "Happier."

She liked him for noticing that. She liked him for the way he'd picked her up and spun her around at the last Quidditch game, too. "Thanks, Ollie. I think I finally am."

"I got you a gift," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, neatly wrapped box. "I know it isn't Christmas yet, but I wasn't sure what you'd be up to tomorrow."

"Again with the lavish gifts?" she asked him, rolling her eyes, as she accepted it. She ripped the wrapping paper away and was unsurprised to find a jewelry box beneath it. "Oliver, you've got to stop with this. I can't—"

"Just open it."

She sighed and opened the box. It wasn't jewelry, she realized as she stared down at the smooth, round stone inside it. It wasn't even a jewel. It was a material she didn't quite recognize—almost like quartz, but swirling and moving of its own accord.

"It's a wizarding worry stone," he explained. "You hold it in your hand and rub it when you're feeling anxious. It vibrates against your grip and calms you down with these slow, rhythmical kind of pulses. My dad got me one before my first Quidditch game, and I found that it actually really helps."

She stared down at the stone in amazement. It was exactly what she needed. It was so much more than the throwaway gifts he'd given her the last few times.

She looked up at him, expression shifting. How long had it been since she really looked at him—not as the tireless, old flirt who constantly tried to seduce her, but as the charming, handsome, funny Quidditch captain who made her smile and blush?

In her first year, Ellie had pushed Oliver away because she was too young and inexperienced. In her second, she had been preoccupied with her first love—Harry.

But now…

In a way, the timing was perfect. He'd be leaving for good in the summer; neither of them would allow themselves to get too attached. Before, that might have seemed pointless, but now, after having her heart broken? She couldn't handle more than that. It was… fitting.

What else was holding her back? Fred? She'd as good as told him about her feelings for him, and, as usual, he'd done nothing about it.

"Wow," said Oliver, watching her thoughtfully. "You haven't looked at me like that in a long time."

She blushed, then, realizing how good it felt to blush again, smiled. "I know. I just can't for the life of me figure out why."

He took a step closer to her, eyes glinting with playful, hopeful mischief. "You know," he said in a husky voice, "after the last time, I told myself I wouldn't kiss you again until you asked."

She took a step closer to him, too, grinning up at him. She was enjoying this. "That's a really good rule. Though maybe one you should have come up with sooner."

A tiny groan of impatient desire escaped his lips at that, and he reached out to grab the front of her robes, pulling her even closer to him. They were now mere inches apart. "You're killing me," he whispered.

"Am I?" she whispered back.

And she kissed him.

At least—she almost kissed him. Until she heard the startling slam of the window shutting behind Fred Weasley as he mounted his broom and flew off into the night.

She sighed, turning back to Oliver. She should just kiss him, anyway. She should forget about Fred and his ever-confusing tidal wave of emotions.

She didn't, though. She couldn't. Where did Fred get off, storming off like that because of her interactions with another guy? He'd had plenty of chances with her, and he hadn't taken them. So what gave him the right to be so… so… frustrating?

"Hold that thought, would you?" she asked Oliver with a tiny, guilty smile.

And she went to fetch her broom and follow Fred out the window.


Thanks to the arrows she'd had installed in her locket, it wasn't hard to find him; he was in the pit.

It was exactly as Sirius had left it—its own sad, lonely, primal sort of bedroom. When she dropped into it, she hoped, for a split second, that Sirius might be there with Fred, smiling back at her.

He wasn't, of course. She still hadn't heard back from him. Wherever he was, he wasn't at Hogwarts.

Fred was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. "I didn't mean for you to follow me," he said without looking up. "You should go back to your boyfriend."

She took a seat next to him, rolling her eyes. "Didn't we stop calling him my 'boyfriend' like two years ago?"

He lifted his head from his hands, giving her a sour look. "I don't know, El. Been a bit hard to keep up with them all."

"Oh, come on. Are you serious?"

"Sorry if I'm not being quite as supportive and nice as I usually am. Did you ever think that maybe I just need a break from it?"

"From what—from being my best friend?"

"From you! From the constant, exhausting, maddening attention you get from every single guy you come across!"

Her heart was starting to pound, though whether it was with anger or exhilaration, she wasn't sure. "At least those are things that are out of my control! You could choose not to be a total coward, but you don't."

His eyes flashed with the same kind of confusing passion that she herself was feeling. "A coward? Is that what you think I am?"

She squared her shoulders, looking him fiercely in the eyes. "Tell me I'm wrong, Fred. Tell me it didn't matter to you when I told you I loved you more than Harry. Tell me you don't care that I almost kissed Oliver back there. Tell me—"

Before she could get another word out, he kissed her.

From the moment their lips touched, she lost all concept of reality. She had never felt anything like it in her life. The way he grabbed her face—raw and desperate, like he was afraid she might slip through his fingertips at any moment; the way he inhaled sharply, as if the sudden and shocking act between them had taken his breath away; the way his lips moved against hers, fervent and hungry, as if they'd been waiting far too long to find hers…

She climbed into his lap as she kissed him, pressing herself against him so that there was no space left between them. It still wasn't close enough. His hands seemed to agree with her, trailing down from her face to the small of her back as he pulled her even closer to him—holding her—completely unwilling to let her go—

And then, suddenly, he was pulling away from her.

"El," he whispered. His voice was strained—hoarse—confused. Desperate. But desperate for what?

But one look into those deep, brown eyes gave her her answer.

He wanted to stop.

"No," she whispered. She put her hands on his cheeks, shaking her head. "Don't you dare."

"We can't." He looked miserable, yet resolute. It didn't make sense. How could he possibly not want to be with her after kissing her like that? "I shouldn't have—El—"

But she kissed him before he could finish his sentence.

It was an act of desperation—a plea for him to remember how good it had just felt—a way to keep him from finishing the sentence that would surely break her heart.

For another few, glorious seconds, it worked. The flame reignited; the passion was back; if possible, he was kissing her even more deeply than the last time—

But then, again, he pulled away.

"We can't," he said again—louder this time. He pushed her off him—not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to free himself to stand up and back against the opposite wall. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry. Forget I did."

Her heart was pounding. Her head was pounding. Surely this wasn't happening. Surely he wouldn't do this to her. Not Fred—her best friend—the boy who had always made her so happy. Not him.

"I'm in love with you," she heard herself whisper. Her voice was quiet—meek—afraid. "I want to be with you."

His brown eyes clouded over with a mixture of emotions no less confusing than anything else that was happening between them. Her words seduced him, she could tell—pleased him—elated him, even. And yet… they scared him.

"You can't say that to me," he said suddenly. "It isn't fair."

She gaped at him, sure she must have heard him. Rejecting her was one thing, but blaming her? She jumped off the bed, going from sad to seething in two seconds flat. "I'm not being fair to you?"

"This isn't a game, Ellie. You can't toy with me like this."

She felt overwhelmed with the urge to hit him. "You're the one who kissed me!"

"In a moment of weakness!" he shouted back. "And I tried to take it back! But you—"

"A moment of weakness?"

Her voice was softer now. There were tears in her eyes. Surely he wasn't doing this to her. Surely he hadn't just kissed her, tried to take it back, and then gaslit her into thinking she was the villain in this scenario. Surely he hadn't called the best and most important kiss of her life a "moment of weakness." Surely.

His expression softened slightly, but it was no less resolved than before. "You're not in love with me, El," he said softly. "You're meant to be with someone like them—like Oliver or Harry or even Cedric Diggory. You're confused because of your breakup with Harry. You're lonely. If I hadn't kissed you, you wouldn't even be considering this."

What did Cedric Diggory even have to do with any of this? What did anyone besides Fred have to do with any of this? "I considered it a thousand times before you kissed me, and you know it."

"How could I have?" His voice was starting to rise again. "How could I have ever thought you might have feelings for me when you dated a different guy every five minutes?"

How could he say these things to her? Was this really what he thought of her—what her best friend thought of her?

"I asked you," she said. Her voice was softer now. She was about ready to give up; he'd hurt her enough for a thousand lifetimes already, and she wasn't sure how much more she could take. "I asked you before any of that—before I so much as looked at Dean Thomas. And you told me that romance was off-limits with us."

His gaze was a million miles away.

"And we both should have listened."


Heartbreaking, I know - but such an important chapter within the bigger picture of the saga. What did you all think? Fred was pretty unforgivably horrible to Ellie, but is it possible he had some valid concerns? And how steamy was it before it got bad, amirite? Love is scary, y'all. Review, review, review - and come back and see us for the next!