Chapter Two
The Closeted Boggart
–
Alas, by the time Fate caught up with Life,
Chance had it all planned.
–
"He's not that bad," I said in an apathetic tone, sliding a pawn across the chess board I currently shared with Ron.
Sirius sat on the sofa behind me, beside Harry and Hermione. Fred and George had woken up later than me for once and were currently hogging the toilet, fighting over who got to shower last. I had been persuaded into playing a game of Wizarding Chess against Ron (who was admittedly brilliant at it). I was willing to do anything to battle my extreme bouts of boredom. I was mildly hoping to see another brawl between Molly and Sirius again, but they'd been pretending as if everything was just marvelous between them ever since what Molly referred to as a "small disagreement between friends."
Sirius had been relentlessly teasing me about Oliver ever since he had met him at Diagon Alley. I was growing tired of his constant pestering, and his awareness to my irritation did nothing to dissuade him from continuing his insufferable rants.
"Not that bad, she says," said Sirius, elbowing Harry in jest. "I swear he was wearing foundation. What sort of bloke cares that much about how he looks?"
"You're being unnecessarily mean," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Yeah, Padfoot," said Ron, smiling coyly as his piece mutilated my knight, "a light base can do wonders to illuminate that healthy glow no matter your gender."
Harry snorted abruptly while Hermione smirked slightly, hiding her face deeper behind her enormous textbook. Sirius roared with laughter, approving of Ron's sardonic comment.
"First of all, my boyfriend does not wear make-up," I frowned. "Second of all, I don't know how you know that odd cosmetic fact Ronald, but I am starting to suspect that your sexuality is what's been hiding in that drawing room closet instead of a boggart."
Harry began laughing so hard from behind me that I thought his stomach was going to burst. Even Hermione giggled slightly at his expense. Ron's face turned bright pink as he slaughtered another one of my pawns.
"What's keeping Fred and George?" Ron muttered. "I wish they'd hurry up and take you off our hands."
"Oh, bugger off, Ron, you've been nagging me to play a match of chess with you all week," I sighed. "Don't get your knickers up in a bunch just because I've brought your deep-seated homosexual tendencies to the forefront of the conversation."
Ron suddenly shot up and stomped off towards the other room. He looked back and raised his eyebrows to gesture for Harry and Hermione to join in his horrendous storm off. Harry begrudgingly took to his feet and gripped Hermione's elbow to lead her off with them. Neither Harry or Hermione looked pleased to follow after Ron considering Harry was still fighting off a laugh.
"So you know, I'm counting this as a forfeit," I called after him.
"He certainly looked furious with you," said Sirius indifferently, listening as several words I shan't repeat were shouted in the distance.
"That tends to happen," I yawned, putting away the chess game. "He'll get over it soon enough. I've said much nastier things to him than that."
"Yeah, he's like you in that sense," said Sirius, pretending to be fascinated with his fingernail cleanliness.
"How's that?" I replied, taking to my feet and sliding the chess board into the trunk across the room before returning to the comfortable armchair diagonal from Sirius.
"You know, easily forgiving incidents of cruelty," he said. "I watched you do it recently with your boyfriend. And I understand it that those sorts of incidents happen more often than not according to George."
"Why is George talking to you about my relationship behind my back?" I snapped. "It's no one's business, I'm handling it."
"Not very well as it seems," said Sirius, unwilling to back down.
"What does it matter to you?"
"Because I care about you, and I want to see you happy, and I'm not the only one," he added, and I knew exactly what he was implying. "You're better off without him."
"Coming from the man who has met Oliver once," I said.
"One time too many if you ask me," he teased.
"I didn't," I sneered.
"Why have you been putting up with this shit all this time?" asked Sirius.
I rolled my eyes, repositioning myself in my chair so my legs hung over one arm and my head rested on another.
"It wasn't always like this," I said regretfully. "Things were great for a long time – the entire first year we dated in fact. I loved him; we were in love – completely. I was happy, he was happy and it was all rainbows and sunshine. Then Oliver graduated and got his dream job, and at first I was pleased and all with his success. He was doing well and happy with what he had always wanted to do. Then as the season began, he grew busy and found less time for me. I was selfish and immature because I was jealous that I was no longer a top priority, but I now see where he was coming from. Things started spiraling downward and just when I thought our relationship had run its course – he got hurt, and I realized that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if something happened to him. He recovered and things were great again – for a while, but now… it's worse than ever. I can't blame him completely for this imploding relationship of ours, and I think I've been clinging to what we were instead of realizing what we've become. I am just holding out hope that his old self will come back for good."
"Well, grow-up," said Sirius suddenly, causing me to jerk my head to meet his frustrated expression. "This isn't complicated. It's fine if you're brokenhearted about what's happened between the two of you, but it's obvious that things are over between you. Open your eyes. It's no one's fault but it's up to you to fix this. Take charge of your life and your happiness, take back everything he ever took away from you."
"Excuse me if I'm hesitant to take advice from someone who has successfully avoided monogamy like the plague," I sighed.
"Hey, I really cared about your mum," he said. "She was as good as my girlfriend for years, so I know what I'm talking about."
"And you broke things off with her because she made you miserable too, then?" I said in a condescending tone, "and by 'broke things off' I mean, stopped sleeping together – because I'm sure that was the extent of your relationship."
"It was more than just that, thank you very much. And no, she broke things off with me for the same reason you should break things off with your boyfriend," said Sirius, "Well, that and because I think she had feelings for someone else. I'm sure you know who I mean."
Actually, I didn't. It was between Gideon and my Dad. I didn't know who, and I didn't need or want to.
"Whatever," I shrugged. "I'm going to tell him how I've been feeling about our relationship, so we can make an adult conclusion to whether we want to continue being together or cutting our losses. He must feel the tension between us too. It's suffocating."
"How utterly mature of you," said Sirius, tickling my dangling bare foot with his fingers. I laughed and kicked his arm.
"Winnie?" Molly interrupted, striding into the living room and shooting Sirius an almost threatening look when he saw the two of us. "I need you in the drawing room with the others. I need all the help I can get to rid the house of these Doxys. I also found a nest of Puffskins under the sofa this morning, so who knows what other creatures we'll come across."
"Alright, Mol," I sighed, regretting my previous offer to help. Sirius rose to follow after but Molly shot him a glare.
"We'll manage, Sirius," she said in an icy tone. "Thank you."
"You just said that you needed all the help you can get," he replied coolly.
"And I've gotten all the help I need," she said. "Thank you."
He begrudgingly fell back onto the couch, yanking out a thick book of Muggle motorbikes off the coffee table so hard that several glass coasters flew onto the floor ans shattered. I sent him an unnoticed fleeting gaze back over my shoulder.
"Why couldn't Sirius help too?" I asked, trailing after Molly into the drawing room.
"I don't like you two spending so much time together," said Molly.
"And why is that?" I asked.
"I'm not having this conversation now," she replied, entering the drawing room before me and avoiding the subject.
The drawing room was a long, high-ceiling room on the first floor with olive green walls covered in dirty
tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. Ginny, Hermione, Harry and the twins already had tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end. Molly handed me the items she had already given the others.
"Morning, I see you showered," I teased the twins who still had damp red locks, "However, I don't smell that you showered."
"I wish we were exterminating you," said Fred, squirting my bum with the Doxy spray.
"Now that's not very nice," I pretended to pout.
"Shut it," George jested, spraying my other butt cheek. "We're always nice."
"Stop wasting the spray," Molly barked.
"We're only trying to get rid of a big pest of all, Mum," said George, pinching my cheek.
"Oh, just cover your faces and take a spray – the Doxys, Fred!" Molly said to Fred the moment she saw him, pointing his two more bottles of black liquid at my bum. "You lot, you need to be more careful, because Doxys bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it. I'm looking at you three." She nodded towards the twins and I. "All right - squirt!"
Everyone began to spray like mad as the numerous Doxys soared about.
"George, what are you doing?" said Molly sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"
George was holding a struggling Doxy between his forefinger and thumb. "Right-o,' George said brightly, spraying the Doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted.
"This venom is just what we need for the Skiving Snackboxes," I said, draining the venom from another Doxy.
"You best keep your voices down before Mum hears you," Ron hissed, looking over at us in disbelief.
"I heard them, Ron," said Molly, keeping her attention on a Doxy hovering before her face. "It's alright."
"What the–" Ron started.
"I wouldn't finish that sentiment if I were you, Ronald Weasley," Molly snapped.
"Yes'm," said Ron quickly, swallowing his tongue.
The de-Doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Molly finally removed her protective scarf and sank into a sagging armchair. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying. At the foot of them unconscious Doxys lay crammed in the bucket beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks and May were now sniffing.
The clanging doorbell rang. Everyone looked at Molly.
"Stay here," she said firmly as Mrs. Black's screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."
She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, all of us dashed over to the window to look down on the doorstep. We could see the top of an unkempt gingery head and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons. It was Dung, carrying a stack of undoubtedly stolen cauldrons, and Molly instantly started screeching at him as loud as Mrs. Black. Fred, George and the trio tried to peek their heads into the hall to ogle the scene downstairs.
"Fred, close the door, all this screaming is giving me a headache," I sighed, collapsing into the armchair Molly had just occupied. Fred made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, Kreacher edged into the room.
The hideous, old elf took absolutely no notice of us. Acting as though he could not see us, he shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under his breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's.
"… smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats and strays messing up my mistress's house, oh, my poor mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do…"
"Hello, Kreacher," said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap.
The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.
"Kreacher did not see young master," he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."
"Sorry?" said George. "Didn't catch that last bit."
"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are."
"You know, Kreacher, you really shouldn't sugarcoat what you think of us," I sneered. "Go on and tell us how you really feel."
"Oh, Kreacher does not know what mistress means," he replied most unconvincingly before muttering again. "Mangy bastard of blood traitors."
The twins made threatening motions towards the ugly elf that made him flinch slightly which was exactly what they wanted out of him.
Kreacher straightened up, eyeing us all malevolently, and apparently convinced that we could not hear him as he continued to mutter.
"What do you want, anyway?" George asked.
Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards George.
"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.
"A likely story," said a voice behind the twins.
Sirius had showed up; he was glowering at Kreacher from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Molly and Dung had moved their argument down into the kitchen. At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snout-like nose on the floor.
"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "And get out. Now. You're not cleaning."
Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.
"Keep muttering and I will chop off your head and hang it upon the wall with the others!" said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on Kreacher. "No, he'd probably find that to be the highest honor... I'll just chop it off."
"Sirius, he's not right in the head," Hermione pleaded, "I don't think he realizes we can hear him. If you could just set him free then maybe–"
"I am not having this conversation again, Hermione," said Sirius curtly. "And anyway, I didn't come in here to talk about that repulsive mongrel. I came here to give Winnie her special delivery."
"Delivery?" I said with an upward inflection.
Sirius (who had been holding his hands casually behind his back) pulled his hand forward to reveal a box with a red bow tied around it for decoration.
"It's from your boyfriend," said Sirius in teasing manner. "Shall we have a peek?"
"I already know what it is," I frowned. "That stupid, ruddy awards ceremony is tonight, and he took it upon himself to prepare my outfit for the grand affair."
"How considerate of him," said George under his breath. "Maybe he'll win 'Gentleman of the Year' tonight as well."
–
"I'm so excited to see what he picked out," Ginny squealed, leaping onto her stomach upon her twin bed between mine and Hermione's. "I bet it was expensive."
I'd been coerced into examining my outfit for the evening by Ginny and Hermione just an hour before I was supposed to meet Oliver at his flat. I was not looking forward to wearing yet another dress, and I hoped Oliver was right when he said I would like it. I was already less than enthused to attend this awards gala or whatever it was for the evening, and I just prayed I would at least be comfortable while I was there. I was about seventy-five percent positive that things were over with Oliver, and I intended on telling him how I was feeling when I saw him that night. I just needed to find the words to explain to him what I was thinking without him having a fit.
"It doesn't matter how much it cost," said Hermione, cradling Crookshanks in her arms as she sat upon her twin bed. May leapt up to lounge beside Ginny who instantly began scratching her furry stomach. "It just matters that she likes it. I'm sure you will, Winnie, I bet it's lovely."
"Well, quit stalling, let's see then," said Ginny anxiously.
I pulled back the ribbon and opened the box and pulled back the tissue paper without a moment's hesitation. My eyes widened as I carefully pulled the dress Oliver had picked for me. I held it before Ginny and Hermione who looked more shocked than I did.
"It looks like a leather gym sock with the toes cut off," I said slowly, now holding it between my thumb and index finger as if it were a piece of waste.
"Where's the rest of it?" said Ginny, only half-joking.
The dress, if that's what you want to call it, that Oliver had bought me was barely a dress at all. It was so short I was convinced it had to be meant to be a skirt. It was coal black and made of leather that would undoubtedly act as a corset. It was so small that I wasn't even sure how I was going to manage to fit my tiny frame inside it. It also came with matching heels higher than I had ever seen and a tiny package that contained some sort of unknown beauty charm with attached directions. Apparently, Oliver thought I would like dressing like a street walker.
"Maybe it'll look less... er– revealing once you have it on," said Hermione with uncertainty.
"Do you think it'll look less leathery too, 'mione?" I smirked.
"Well, maybe it'll just look better on you in general," said Ginny, cringing at the sight of my expression.
"I'll put the ruddy thing on," I sighed begrudgingly. "I'll be down in a bit."
"I doubt Mum will even let you out of the house wearing that thing," asked Ginny.
I smiled slyly, "I'm counting on it."
Ginny and Hermione went downstairs to leave me to change. It took me 20 minutes to even pull up the skin tight dress to my waist and another 10 minutes to full it over my chest. I was miserable in the ruddy thing without even having been in it yet. When I had pulled open the box that concealed the charm to do my make-up and hair for the night it exploded into a cloud of powder that made my face look like a raccoon. My eyes were coated in thick black liner and shadow. With y hair now teased into straightened oblivion. I was so humiliated. I stood before the mirror upon the duvet, trying to collect myself. I take that back. What stood before the mirror was not me. I looked like some sort of trollop, trying my damnedest to make some sort of sexy impression. It was pathetic. I motioned to zip up the back of my dress in the most awkward of ways to no avail, trying to reach over my shoulder and from behind my back to reach the tiny zipper.
"Here, let me help," a familiar voice said, startling me slightly.
It was George, closing the door quietly behind him. He smiled softly at me, not mocking my appearance at all, though I was convinced he wanted to. Hell, I wanted to.
"Get out, George," I mumbled, turning back to the mirror. "I don't want you to see me like this."
"Suck in," he said, firmly gripping my zipper and ignoring my prior sentiment. I did as I was told and sucked in as much as could. With one abrupt jolt, George jerked the zipper all the way up and managed to fit me into the dress. I couldn't breathe, mind you, and I looked so small it was ridiculous but I still fit inside of it.
"Thanks," I gasped.
"We might have to cut you out of it later," he smiled crookedly, scratching the back of his neck and laughing a bit awkwardly.
I nodded because I was still trying to figure out how to breathe in the suffocating dress. I pressed my palms against my abdomens and tried to steady my breaths again. I waited for George to rip into my ridiculous outfit, but he stood in silence and just stared at me unnervingly.
"Well, let's hear it," I said finally, turning about so hastily in the heels that I stumbled slightly.
"You can barely walk in your trainers," George chucked, helping me stand upright again. "Best of luck in those neck snappers."
I laughed at my own expense along with him, "I actually considered wearing my Converse, but I bloody well ripped them this morning running up the stairs."
"Those things were as old as time," said George, "at least you have an excuse to get some new ones now."
"I suppose," I shrugged, "but you know how hard it is to get into Muggle show stores and buy them, especially now."
"Yeah," he said apathetically, looking sideways at my discarded Converse shoes atop my comforter.
It was quiet again, and I cleared my throat. George didn't er– check me out like I half expect him to. He looked at my face. I smiled weakly at him.
"I thought you would have at least made a dozen insults to my appearance by now," I smirked. "I take it that's why you're in here – Ginny tip you off, did she?"
"No, I just wanted to see how things were coming along," he shrugged.
"So you think I look good then?" I said in disbelief.
"No," he said quickly.
"Thanks," I replied sarcastically.
"Hold on, I didn't mean it like that," he said indignantly.
"How did you mean it then?"
"You look– you look... well, hot," he said awkwardly, and I punched his shoulder so hard I swear I cracked a bone. "Ouch, damn it! Hot isn't a good thing. I don't like it."
"Ha," I scoffed, "most blokes would beg to differ."
"I'm not most blokes," he replied and paused a moment before continuing. "You want to know when I thought you looked the hottest or the prettiest I have ever seen you, Freddie?"
"Sure, George," I said, believing him to be pulling my leg.
"It was a few summers ago when Mum and Dad went to visit Charlie in Romania, remember?" he said.
"Yeah," I said slowly, "Ginny caught the flu for half of it and even though Percy was in charge he refused to go anywhere near her, bloody git."
"Exactly, you do remember," George smiled. "Well, it was then – that week that I saw you look more beautiful than I had ever seen you."
I looked at him as if he was completely off his rocker.
"What are you talking about?" I replied. "I spent most of the time at Ginny's bedside, covered in vomit and a mixture of other repulsive bodily discharges."
"I know," he smirked. "Ginny had just projectile vomited some lime green concoction onto your face, hair and jumper, completely missing the bowl you had been holding out for her. Fred and I walked in with the ginger ale you asked for, and you looked up at me with this sort of adorable pathetic look before bursting into a fit of laughter before getting up to clean yourself off. That was the best you have ever looked in my eyes."
"You sap," I grinned, pinching his cheek.
"Shut up, it's true," he laughed, pulling away.
It was quiet then, silent and uncomfortable between us. He had become so handsome just over the past few years. He was still taller than a giraffe and skinner than a beanpole, but he'd outgrown a lot of his gangly and clumsy limbs. His face had become more mature though still youthful and fitting for his age. That smile, however, that smile remained unchanged. It illuminated his pale skin, brightened his eyes and infected those in its wake with a matching grin.
"George–" I began. "About tonight–"
"You don't have to say it," he interrupted. "I already know what tonight means. I'm well aware, and I'm not worried."
"Don't say that," I breathed. "Something always happens that keeps us apart, maybe it's not in the cards. How can you be so confident that Oliver and I will break-up tonight? It's a big decision, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to–"
"I just know," he said firmly. "I know because I know you."
He gripped my shoulders and looked me square in the eyes, refusing to blink. My lips parted, but I had no words came to me at first.
"George, promise me," I started. "Promise me that whatever happens, no matter what– we will still be best friends."
He released a brief laugh, staring impossibly deeper into my eyes.
"Always," he replied.
I had never been so sure of a single word in all my life. I hugged him tightly before sending him on his way to finish getting myself together in more ways than one.
–
I puckered up enough courage to descend the stairs and face my audience. Everyone was sitting in the dining room, preparing to eat the dinner Molly had cooked. A number of people were bickering or laughing or lost in paperwork being passed along the lengthy mahogany table. George was helping Molly move a heavy pot of stew across the counter, their backs to me. I am certain it was because of his recent magical accident from the night before. Fred sat on his father's left side was consumed with a boisterous conversation with Sirius, speaking vividly with his hands as Sirius laughed in reply. Charlie (who sat between Arthur and Bill) caught my glance first as I reached the first floor. His eyes widened before a sly and humorously seductive grin graced his handsome face. He nudged Bill with his elbow, and Bill immediately had a similar reaction minus the grin. He released a low whistle that attracted the attention of the oblivious members of the group. Arthur, Sirius and Fred shared matching looks of shock and disgust.
"Oh, I certainly hope you don't plan on leaving this house wearing that," they said in unison. It was rather impressive, admittedly. Arthur paused a moment and looked over at Sirius and Fred as if her was surprised to have support or perhaps because he felt that he was the only one allowed to tell me something so paternal.
"Er– right," said Arthur slowly before looking back at me, the other two companions didn't seem to notice Arthur had looked over at them. "Winnie, go up stairs and change out of that offensive – thing and put on something more age appropriate."
I smiled to myself and shrugged faux defeat, motioning to return upstairs with an excuse to tell Oliver for not wearing his dress. However, I was interrupted before turning my back.
"Oh, Winnie darling, don't you look lovely?" said Molly in a high-pitched whimsical tone from behind her husband.
"What?" everyone in the entire room said in unison. Molly strode forward, clasping her hands together with glee. She hugged me tight and shook my body because she was shaking so much with excitement. I caught George's eye across the room. He sported a very amused grin, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the counter top by himself. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned my immature action. Molly pulled back, gripping my elbows and looking me up and down.
"Oh, you look like such a beauty," she cooed, "so grown-up."
"George, what did you sneak in that stew?" I said, looking back over Molly's shoulder.
"Nothing that would spark delirium," he joked, "just diarrhea."
Ginny, Ron, Harry and Tonks giggled together. Hermione rolled her eyes, but I caught a slight smile hiding behind her book. Arthur rose to his feet and nearly knocked over his chair if Charlie wouldn't have leapt to his feet to catch it. He rushed to Molly's side and gave her a sterner look than I had ever seen.
"Have you lost your mind?" he whispered. "She's dressed like a...a–"
"– a what, Arthur?" Molly hissed, egging her husband to say what he was thinking because she knew he would never say the foul things he was truly thinking aloud.
"Don't make me say it," he replied quietly as everyone behind us remained ridiculously silent to try to eavesdrop.
"Allow me then," said Sirius. "She looks like a trollop–"
"– a street walking prostitute," said Fred.
"Thank you, gentlemen, I think we get the picture," I said shallowly.
"I think I have to side with mum on this one," said Charlie, pushing in Arthur's chair. "I think Freddie is certainly old enough to wear what she likes, and you can hardly blame her for wanting show off those legs."
He slowly strode forward and positioned himself behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He pulled my back against his abdomen and rested chin upon my shoulder. I rolled my eyes. Charlie turned his face in against my neck and playfully took a large bite against my collarbone like a vampire. We both laughed as I slid away from him and punched his chest. Charlie looked up for a moment and noticed George's arms fall to his side, his stature not rigid and stressed. Charlie's smile faded for a moment as he seemingly contemplated a thought before helping me to the table to sit as Molly and Arthur continued their argument.
"Molly, how can you honestly allow her to wear something so... revealing in public?" said Arthur.
"Arthur, honestly, it isn't that bad," said Molly calmly. "I think she looks beautiful."
"Mum is just happy whenever Freddie is forced into a dress," said Bill, sipping on his goblet of cider. "It doesn't matter if the dress looks tight enough to have been painted on."
Ginny elbowed him and cider spurted out of his mouth and onto the papers before him.
"Winnie, why would you waste your money on a dress like that in the first place?" asked Arthur. "This isn't like you. That dress is not you."
"She didn't even buy it," said Fred, "Oliver bought it for her."
"So this is how he wants to see you then?" asked Arthur, appearing extremely revolted. "I hope you feel insulted, Winifred."
"Arthur, he just wants her to look current and matured for their big night," said Molly.
"It is his big night, and he obviously only wants to flaunt her about like some sort of trophy," said Arthur. "It's disgusting, Winnie, take off the dress and wash that mess off your face."
"She will do no such thing," said Molly firmly. "Winnie, come on I'm taking you to Oliver's now."
"But–" I started, looking over at Arthur who was still in a deadlock with Molly. Arthur slammed his mouth shut, however, because he knew from experience that there was no winning an argument against Molly Weasley. I quickly gathered my things and rushed out the door after Molly, glancing back one last time with a helpless expression to Fred and George.
–
Charlie Weasley kept his gaze upon his younger brother. George was looking on after Winnie with what could only be described as a longing expression. Charlie didn't know why he hadn't seen it before. He'd always been closest to the twins and Winnie, but he supposed their bond lessened when he moved away from the Burrow. Things had apparently changed, the three little kids he'd grown-up with had grown-up in star-crossed adults. Charlie rose from his chair, using Bill's shoulder as a crutch. George spotted Charlie coming towards him and instantly pretended he hadn't been staring at the closed front door, suddenly becoming oddly interested in cleaning dishes by hand in the sink – his back to his big brother. Charlie propped his behind against the counter top, crossing his arms over his chest as well as his legs and leaned over slightly to George who was desperately avoiding his eye contact.
"So Winnie, eh?" said Charlie, smirking sardonically.
"What about her?" said George, scrubbing a stubborn stain on a plate.
"She has certainly grown-up," he said coyly.
"Yeah, well that tends to happen to most living creatures," said George.
"And some grow-up into better creatures than others," Charlie smiled.
"Do you want to ask me something or what, Charlie?" asked George, pausing mid-scrub.
"When did you start fancying Freddie, little brother?" he grinned.
"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about," he replied, returning to his dishes. "She's just my friend."
"Oh, okay that's good to hear then," said Charlie in a less than convinced tone.
"Why is that good to hear?"
"Well, if you two are just mates then you won't mind if I go after her then," he shrugged, egging on George.
"What?" he said, dropping a porcelain plate into the sink and shattering it.
"What?" Charlie said, mocking him.
"You can't be serious," said George. "You're too old for her. You– shut up, Charlie. That's not funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny," he said. "She's of age now, and I've been noticing for awhile now that the little tomboy who you couldn't see without mud on her cheeks has traded that soggy dirt in for blush. You know as well as I did that she fancied me when she was younger, and childhood crushes never die. I bet if I told her how I feel then she'd–"
"I know what you're doing," said George, "so you can go ahead and stop now."
"So you admit it then?" said Charlie.
"Yeah, Charlie," George sighed, placing the plate he'd been pretending to clean in the sink and reaching for a cloth to dry his hands. "I admit it."
"Thank Merlin," said Charlie, affectionately gripping his brother's shoulder. "I was going to start getting reasonably vulgar about her body, and I just don't know if I could get through that without vomiting. Don't get me wrong, George, Freddie has been looking bloody well – er – lovely lately, but she's still such a baby to me. I just love giving her grief."
"That's good because I don't need anymore competition," said George. "I couldn't handle moving from Second Place to Third. I have enough trouble as it is just staying on Oliver's heals."
"Well, what are you going to do about it then?" asked Charlie.
"What do you mean?"
"Freddie is what you're chasing after," said Charlie. "What are you going to do win her?"
"Kill Oliver Wood," he smirked.
"I was going to suggest something a bit less likely to have you sent away to Azkaban," said Charlie, "but at least we've got your wheels turning."
"Charlie, I've been chasing her for a year now," he said. "I'm tired."
"So you're just giving up on her then?"
"I didn't say that," he insisted. "I'm just telling you that I'm done chasing after her."
"How unromantic of you," he frowned. "With Bill and I as role models I would have thought better of you."
"Well, what do you suggest Don Juan Weasley?" George jested, rolling his eyes.
"I've always been a fan of grand gestures myself," he replied.
"Seeing as you're still single–"
"I am married to my career," he objected. "If I wanted to woo then I am more than capable of wooing."
"Fine, woo on," said George.
"Can you think of anything – anything at all that would show her you're serious about being with her?" asked Charlie. "Is there something that you think would show her how much you care about her? Come on, George, you and Fred know her better than anyone. Give her one last romantic gesture and then you can feel alright with sitting on the sidelines to catch your breath."
George didn't need to think very long. He looked down at his feet before meeting his big brother's gaze.
"I need you to take me into town," said George.
"Diagon Alley?" said Charlie with an upward inflection.
"No, Muggle London," said George with a sly grin. "I need to go shopping."
–
"Here let me help you," I said, adjusting Oliver's bow tie.
"Thanks," he replied in a hoarse tone.
I could tell he was nervous. He was sweating a significant amount and his right eyebrow kept twitching. I felt completely apathetic to my situation at hand. I felt numb to everything. It was like I was watching myself through the eyes of another. Oliver looked admittedly handsome in his dress robes, prepared for whatever outcome the award ceremony would deliver him. His flat had grown rather impressive with all of his new purchases thanks to his successful career, and I imagine his roommate Jasper McQueen's flamboyant style added to the décor.
"You really do look great," said Oliver, looking me up and down.
"I hate this dress just so you know," I frowned. "The fact that I am even wearing this thing sparked a rather heated debate that I am sure will continue now that Molly has returned home."
"Why?" he asked.
"Honestly?" I sighed. "It looks like someone covered me in a role of duct tape. It's not me."
"It could if you wanted it to be," he replied.
"I don't want it to be," I replied curtly.
"Winnie, why are you so set in your ways?" he snapped abruptly. "Why are you so content never growing up?"
"Excuse me?" I spat. "Where the hell did that come from?"
"I'm just stressed, sorry," he frowned.
"I hope you realize that I am standing here in this ridiculous thing for you," I said, refusing to let him off easy. "I don't know what's more grown-up than doing something I don't want to do to make someone I care about happy."
"You know what would make me happy, Winnie, and you've been too immature to do that," he replied coldly.
"Piss off, Ollie, I told you I'm not ready," I sneered, turning to walk away but he grabbed my wrist.
"Would you be ready if I were George?" he asked, pulling me close to him.
"George wouldn't even ask," I replied harshly, "because he would know if and when I was ready."
"So you've thought about it with him then?"
"I didn't say that," I said slowly.
"But you didn't deny it," he replied.
"Fine," I frowned. "I deny it. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"I don't believe you," he said.
"What do I have to say for you to believe me?"
"You don't have to say anything," he replied. "It's what you could do–"
"This conversation is over," I spat. "Now, I'm going to grab my clutch and we can go."
Oliver nodded with a tight lipped expression, leaning over to collect his things. I fumbled into the kitchen, the heels on my feet too high to grant me any ability of looking the slightest bit graceful. I was so mad that walking was becoming even more difficult than before. I felt every muscle in my body contract, my blood boiling. I understood his dilemma, really I did. It was natural for a red blooded man to want to shag everything in sight, but not all of them have to be such assholes about it. It had been almost two years. Oliver had paid his dues a dozen times over, and we had done nearly everything but... I don't know. I couldn't bring myself to allow Oliver to take something from me that I had held onto for seventeen years, something a lot of girls toss away like a piece of rolled up newspaper. Of course, then there was my underlying reason that I couldn't bring myself to admit aloud. I bit my lower lip and continued into the kitchen to grab my things, trying to push our repetitive conversation out of my head for the millionth time. I looked around the counter to where I had set down my purse, and I saw nothing. I became a bit frantic, searching high and low for my bag. Then I looked over and saw, a tall figure leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and hallway.
"Looking for this, love?" McQueen smirked, raising a seductive brow that caused me to grit my teeth.
"Give that back," I frowned, striding inelegantly forward and reaching for my black clutch. He instantly jerked his hand high out of my reach. McQueen extended his free index finger under my chin and flicked my head upwards and a bit too roughly in my opinion. "The next time you try and lay a hand on me will be the last time you have hands."
"Oh, I am terrified," he teased, dropping my clutch so I would have to bend over and pick it up. I gritted my teeth and muttered words I could never rightfully say in front of Molly. Just then, the front door opened with an accompanied sound of heavy heels.
It was Alicia. She looked the same, her face painted up in pale pink colors to match her short cupcake looking dress. She was smiling and babbling on about how excited she was before she even opened the door, but she became still and silent once she laid eyes on me. I hadn't seen her since the end of term and her existence hadn't really even crossed my mind. She looked upon me with a curious expression. It wasn't her typical sneer or cold glare. No, she stared at me with a sort of surprised expression, appearing as if her breath had been stolen from her lungs. I didn't move at first but then opted to look down at my crooked heels.
"Hi," she breathed at last, closing the door behind her.
"Hey," I nodded solemnly.
"Wood, Alicia is here," Jasper called to Oliver. "Let's get a move on, lad."
"Alright," Oliver called from his bedroom. "I just need to grab something."
Jasper swarmed to Alicia and kissed her, causing her to giggle infuriatingly. I rolled my eyes and checked to make sure all of my things were accounted for in my clutch seeing as McQueen was infamous for thievery. I looked up when I saw that nothing was missing and only because there was nothing of interest to him. I had to admit that McQueen and Alicia looked pretty happy, at least when they were alone together. I missed that feeling, my boyfriend's arm around my waist and feeling completely at peace and not as if a creepy uncle was about to slip his hand up my shirt at Christmas dinner.
"Ready?" said Oliver, swooping behind me and leading me towards the hearth by my waist as if our fight just moments ago hadn't happened. Before I could even reply, Oliver was shoving me beside him into the fireplace, shouting the address to the banquet and tossing the floo powder before our feet. Everything was still a blur when I reopened my eyes to see an enormous hall of golden pillars and elegant tapestries that could put Hogwarts to shame. Hundred of witches and wizards crowded about and entrance that was surrounded by dozens of photographers and reporters that shouted a stream of players' names. I was blinded as we approached, feeling suffocated and dizzy. Oliver clutched my waist tight, smiling at the flashing bulbs as I ducked them.
"For Christ's sake, Winnie – smile," he said, nudging my hip against him. I forced a fake grin at a particularly plump witch who took my picture. I felt ridiculous, more ridiculous than I anticipated feeling.
"Oliver, over here!" someone shouted. "Oliver, can we get a picture of you with Jasper McQueen?"
He released me without a second thought, released me into a crowd a nameless faces. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was drowning in a sea of bright lights and loud voices. I kept being pushed and shoved into strangers – lost. I saw Oliver and McQueen with broad smiles and their arms wrapped around each others' shoulders. I think I spoke his name, but he didn't look back or even blink. I then felt a hand grip my wrist and lead me into a large banquet hall with a stage front and center, circular tables surrounding the dais with moving images on dangling fabric. It was Alicia who had taken hold of me. I was breathing heavily when we escaped the crowd, my head feeling light.
"You alright?" she asked so genuinely that I figured it must have been the hysteria of it all.
"Yeah, fine," I nodded, gasping for air. "I just wasn't ready for all that."
"Ladies?" said a cryptic looking gentlemen with a long scroll in his hand, appearing from behind us. "May I help you find your table?"
"Please," said Alicia. "We're with the Wood and McQueen parties."
"Yes, of course," he nodded, "Table 13, follow your escort to your seats. Enjoy your evening, the award ceremony will begin momentarily."
"Thank you," Alicia and I nodded.
A young man with a blotched face lead Alicia and I to a circular table that was set for six, covered in a gorgeous purple tablecloth with golden plates, goblets and silverware. We spotted Zora and Gaius as well as the other Puddlemere players seated at nearby tables and greeted them casually. The escort then pulled out Alicia's chair and pushed it in while I beat him to the punch. He seemed very put off that I sat myself. Not a moment later we were joined by two more guests, though not Oliver and Jasper as we expected. It was Mick O'Neil and a very pretty young girl with long, golden hair even thick than my own arrived across from us. The girl had enormous chocolate brown eyes with hazel specks and an infectious smile that matched Mick's. She waved and greeted us as if she had know us for years. I hadn't smiled since we'd walked out of the fireplace, but there was something about the girl that made me feel guilty if I denied her a grin in reply.
"Hello girls, don't you both look lovely," said Mick, helping the girl into her seat. "How are you this evening?"
"Hey Mick, thanks, mate," I replied. "We're just waiting on our boyfriends to stop tanning beneath the flashbulbs. Who do you have with you?"
"This is my baby sister, Monica, she sneaked in," he smiled, slinging his arm over her slender shoulders. She blushed and tried to shrug him off, laughing despite herself as Alicia and I couldn't help but join in. "Only joking, I dragged her along."
"Hi Monica," I said. "I apologize that you are going to be subjected to an evening with the lot of us."
"No, this is all rather exciting," she spoke with a French accent that I didn't expect. "I don't get to see Micky much being away at school and all. I'm glad to be in the middle of his world for a night."
"She is a fifth year at Beauxbatons," Mick explained. "Our dad died not long after Monica was born, and Mum remarried a Frenchman while I was at Hogwarts."
"Hey O'Neil," said Jasper, slapping him harshly on the shoulder and taking his seat beside Alicia as Oliver did the same by taking his place beside me. "Who's this?"
"Wood, McQueen, this is my little sister M–"
"Couldn't manage yourself a real date, O'Neil?" McQueen laughed.
"That's rude, Jasper," Alicia said to my incredible surprise. "It's sweet that he wants to spend time with his sister."
"You can't shag your sister," McQueen joked, nudging Oliver who looked as if he'd swallowed wrong. "Well, I suppose you can't always shag your date either. Right, Wood?"
I shot Oliver the nastiest look I have ever mustered and dug my fingernails into the upholstered chair I was sitting upon. How dare he? I mean the audacity to discuss such personal information with someone like Jasper McQueen. I hadn't discussed anything of the sort with anyone, and he– I wanted to stab him with the gold-plated fork before me. I was furious. Oliver could tell because he looked over at McQueen and mouthed for him to shut up. He placed his hand on mine, but I pulled it away as soon as his skin touched mine. I turned my head away, catching Alicia scolding McQueen out of the corner of my eye and Monica looking rather embarrassed and out of place as her brother tried to comfort her which only made me more upset knowing her evening was being influenced by our idiocies.
A tall, handsome wizard wearing robes of royal blue and silver emerged, holding several envelopes in his hands. He grinned and introduced himself to the crowed as the Quidditch Commissioner, giving a brief oration about the successful year of Quidditch amongst the teams and humors tales from his time on the pitch. He then introduced the Minister of Magic who immediately began spewing about how honored he was to be here and how much of fan he was of the sport. He would be announcing the first couple awards for Best Coach, Memorable Individual Performance, and Best Comeback Player of the year. The other awards for Rookie of the Year, Best Female Player, Best Male Player, Best Play, and Outstanding Team would be announced later on by the Commissioner. I focused my attention on the food that had magically appeared upon our plates and tried to zone out from my surroundings to avoid committing murder in public.
"Winnie?" said Oliver in a hushed voice.
"Do not speak to me," I hissed, cutting into my steak as if it were still alive.
"Winnie, please don't be upset with me," he pouted. "I told Jasper that in confidence–"
"That was your first mistake," I snapped. "I can't believe you, Oliver. What we do and do not do in private is our business. I am humiliated."
"I'm sorry," he replied. "I will make it up to you tonight. I promise."
"I'm sure," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms.
"Listen, Winnie," said Oliver in a completely different tone. He sounded as if he were scolding me. He lowered his voice so no one at the table could hear him. "I will not have you spoil my night over something so petty. If I win tonight, I will be world renown – do you know what that means? My face will be on every newspaper in the world, and teams we've never played – international teams – will know that I am one of the best. I need positive publicity now more than ever, Winnie, if I have any hope of getting traded to a team that actually has winning potential."
"So you want your face on The Prophet to be recognized to be traded to a better team?" I hissed. "Do your teammates know about this? That seems like a pretty shitty thing to do if you ask me, Oliver. They have embraced you from day one, and to have this ulterior motive is the ultimate betrayal."
"Trades happen all the time, it's part of the game," he sighed, half-listening to Cornelius Fudge announce his last award for the evening. "I want Scotland to give me a second glance, and they would never do that if I'm stuck on a team that can't make it to the playoffs."
"Puddlemere had a good season!" I objected.
"Puddlemere had a good season for Puddlemere," he replied, sipping his wine, "but their good is not good enough."
"Where the hell is this coming from?"
"I've been mulling it over for a few months now," he replied. "I need to start focusing on my upward mobility potential."
I stared at him with a blank expression for a long time. I set down my fork and knife and just stared. It took a long time for my brain to process everything that had just happen and respond.
"What happened?" I said finally in a quiet voice.
"What?" he replied, oblivious to my question as he nibbled on a slice of bread.
"What happened to you – to us?"
"Stop being so melodramatic, you know I love you," he said, "so stop being all worked up in case the cameras see you."
"Why would the cameras see me?" I said. "You would be the one to win the award, not me."
"Yes, but I would have to give an acceptance speech, and I would want to thank my new fiancee for all her unyielding support," he replied as if he was ordering a salad.
"That is not funny," I frowned.
"I wasn't trying to be," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small black box. He popped back the lid and revealed an immaculate diamond ring. He looked at me as if I had ruined the surprise. My mouth hung open like a fool. "I planned on asking you tonight, on stage, but because you've decided to get mad at me – I figured I would tell you now just in case your temper got the better of you and decided to say "no" just to spite me. My reputation couldn't deal with such a blow."
"I'm sorry, I'm trying to process all this," I said, my head spinning. I was glad everyone at our table was too consumed with the Commissioner to notice out conversation. I quickly reached over and slammed the black box closed. "We have been fighting for months, and you think asking– no telling me to marry you is going to be a solution. No, I reckon this must have something to do with a publicity stunt as well. It doesn't matter what award outshines the one – you haven't even won yet – but you will still have your face on the front page if you make some romantic proposal in front of a crowd."
"You're being ridiculous," he replied.
"I'm being ridiculous? I am being ridiculous?" I laughed like a lunatic – because that was what the entire situation was turning me into. "Do you realize how out of no where this is?"
"We've been dating for almost 2 years," he objected nonchalantly.
"I am seventeen years old," I said indignantly. "I am still in school. I am by no means ready for such a commitment. I am far too young, and I don't even know if I want to get married in the first place – to anyone, ever."
"Please, every girl fantasizes about their wedding day," he said. "I don't know why you're so upset. If you don't want to get married now – that's fine, but you can't object to an extended engagement. It would be no different that what we are now, just a different title."
"And what is it that we are now?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Alright, because you are so oblivious to what is really going on here, Oliver, I am going to throw it all out on the table," I said, no fear in my heart any longer. "I loved you. I loved you so much I didn't know what to do with myself–"
"Wait, why are you speaking in past tense?"
"Because those feelings are past tense," I said solemnly. "You don't love me anymore either, Oliver, you know you don't. It's alright to admit it. We grew apart and that is no one's fault. We both have changed into people, and each of us resent each other for the person we have evolved in to. That's alright, too. I wish things wouldn't have turned out this way, really I do – but I am not going to hold on to something that no longer exists. You shouldn't either."
"Win–"
"I'm going to be honest, whether you want to hear it or not," I continued. "I would rather french kiss a Dementor than spend the rest of my life with you – actually the rest of this evening either. I realize that now, and I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you how I feel. You've become someone I don't love, but worse than that you've become someone I don't like. I am positive that someday you will comeback from whatever this is that you've transformed in to, but I refuse to wait around for that to happen. I know what waiting on someone feels like, and I can't do it any longer – I won't make anyone else wait on me any longer either. What we had was great while it lasted, and I am not blaming you for what has happened between us. I played my part as well, and I am bowing at my final curtain call at this performance we've been acting in for the last several months. I'm sorry I'm doing this now, but I fear that I will keep avoiding the inevitable until I convince myself that this is what a relationship is supposed to be, and I know it's not – you know it's not. I'm sorry, Ollie."
"You're breaking up with me?" he said hoarsely. "After everything we've been through, after everything I have done for you throughout finding out about your ability and– how could you and at a time like this?"
"OLIVER WOOD – PUDDLEMERE!"
"Congratulations, Wood!" Mick clapped. The Commissioner had announced Oliver's name. He'd won his award. He had gotten everything he'd worked for. He stared blankly at me for a moment. The audience cheered as they had for every other award winner, but Oliver just sat and stared at me. "Go on, Ollie, go up there!"
"Congratulations, Oliver," I said, softly as I reached for my clutch. "You've gotten everything you've always wanted."
"For a price, right?" he whispered.
He slowly rose to his feet and approached the stage with a blatantly fake smile plastered across his face. When all eyes were on Oliver as he began to speak, I quickly slunk out of my chair and hurried for the back doors. I knew Oliver wouldn't want me there when he returned to his seat. There was nothing more to say. A couple photographers snapped my picture as I hastily exited through the back door into the golden and now empty lobby. The floor was slick and squeaky as I rushed to find the door to leave. I couldn't use any of the fireplaces because Number 12 didn't allow the floo network in the house. I need air, I needed to breathe. My right heel broke as ran most ungracefully towards the enormous golden doors to the outside. I left behind and just walked with limp until I reached the exit. A cool gust of summer wind instantly blew my hair from my eyes, an intoxicating aroma of a recent rainfall stinging my nostrils. I covered my mouth and released a heavy sigh, shaking my head from side to side. I couldn't believe I had finally ended it or just the events that had occurred leading up the end. I grew suddenly frustrated, slipping off both broken and intact heels and throwing them into the street.
"You know, you really aren't much of a lady," said a familiar voice. A gangly figure stood in the shadows against the brick wall of the building the ceremony had taken place. I stared at him a shocked expression. "I thought these might fit your fancy a bit better."
The dark figure stepped out into the pale moonlight and pulled out a pair of brand new navy blue trainers from behind his back that looked identical to my favorite old ones I had sadly destroyed earlier in the day. I released a heavy breath and smiled feebly.
"George," I whispered. "I am so glad you're here."
–
A/N: Six months? It took me 6 months to update? Pathetic. I'm so sorry to all of you wonderful readers. I've been ridiculously swamped with school and work, and I also had my grandmother pass away a couple weeks ago. We were extremely close, and she suffered a long time from a horrible disease. I plan on using this story to work through my grief and stress. I hope you will all forgive me. I missed Winnie and the twins, and I'm glad to be with them again.
PS: Shout outs will return next chapter.
PSS: Excuse any typos for now. I wanted to post this tonight, and I half-assed edited it. ALSO I have all my trailers for this series on Youtube if you want to check them out. Just search for my username - "TopoftheGList."
Coming Soon: So what does this mean for Winnie and George? What will Molly and Arthur have to say? The kids go back to Hogwarts and Umbridge is an instant er– hit with our trio. Winnie's dreams become more vivid and terrifying, and she feels lost without Cassandra's weekly lessons. Chaos and hilarity undoubtedly ensue...
–
Review.