Repression.
Because the psyche knows that the truth is so overwhelming that it'll consume you.
Daphne sits across the table with a small smile on her face. She is pretty; straight brown hair that falls gently to her shoulders, brown eyes, elfin little nose, a cute little mouth. She is wearing a low cut top and a little skirt, despite the slight chill in the air.
"You don't seem all that funny. Guess things are always overblown they pass around."
Fred looks at her with a quiet smile. "You don't know what a person really is like until you get to know them yourself."
Daphne's smile turns a little cheeky. "I'd like to know you."
Fred smirks. "You sure?"
"Positive."
He had made it clear to her right on their first date that he doesn't intend this to be more than a casual fling.
Fred raises his butterbeer. "Don't say that I hadn't warned you."
Daphne returns the smirk in kind. "No," she takes a sip of her own beer. "Even if you hadn't, I would've just taken it in my stride. How long do we have now? Weeks? Months? Might as well enjoy my time here."
"Ah," Fred chuckles. "Don't get so pessimistic." He looks at her over the rim of his glass. "Maybe I'll save you and we can keep doing this forever."
Daphne eyes him for some time. "Maybe we can do it tonight." she says quietly.
Fred lowers his glass. He holds her gaze steadily.
"Maybe we can."
The last time he had lost his control this way was after a win against the Slytherins in fifth year. That Ravenclaw girl had been a fierce Gryffindor supporter. With her dyed, flaming red hair, redder than any of the Weasleys, and the intricate lion and Gryffindor slogan tattooed onto her lower back, she had outdone Luna Lovegood in her Gryffindor fanaticism.
But what made it truly intense was that it was all for the Weasley twins. The best beaters the team has ever had. Two lanky, identically gorgeous boys, diving down, wind whipping at their hair and their jerseys...
And the sounds of exertion they made as they struck the bludgers with all their strength and sent them hurtling...
She'd begged him to make those sounds while he lost his virginity to her in an abandoned broom cabinet. He hadn't. He'd just fucked her, gripping her flaming red hair and tugging at it, hearing her moan Fred, George, Fred...
And when she moaned fuck me, George, he'd driven violently into her for the last few times, moans slipping past his lips against his wishes, knocking her against the cabinet, again, and again...
He has Daphne pinned against the wall, with her back to him. She desperately gropes at the wall, trying to hold on to something. Fred enters without warning, though he is thoughtful enough to cast a spell before doing it.
She is shocked, he knows it.
"Fred.."
He takes her hair in a fist, grips it tightly, and fucks her; deep, short, quick thrusts that has her arching.
"Told you," he whispers into her ear, "You never know what a person really is like,"
She laughs a breathy laugh, turning her head and trying to connect their lips. He turns his head away. She chuckles again, before it ends in a sharp, stunned cry.
She has never been breached from behind by any other man except Fred.