Chapter 22 – Goodbye

The past few days had been... tense.

Fred and Ava hadn't properly spoken since the blow-up in the corridor. Not really. Just the occasional icy glance exchanged across the common room, or awkward brushes past each other in the hallways, each pretending the other didn't exist. At Hogwarts, that was nearly impossible.

George had done his best to play peacemaker, sweet and well-meaning George. But even he admitted Fred was acting like a toddler whose favorite toy had been dunked in a puddle. He had also, annoyingly, agreed that staying friends with Oliver Wood might not be the wisest move. But unlike Fred, George delivered his opinions without the emotional landmines.

So Ava had distanced herself, retreating into girl time. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia had practically adopted her, pulling her into a whirlwind of last-minute packing, casual gossip, and joint homework panic in the lead-up to the winter holidays.

At the moment, she was curled up cross-legged on Angelina's bed, watching as her cousin wrestled with her overstuffed trunk like it had personally offended her. Alicia was lying sprawled on the rug, absently twirling a lock of hair around her finger, while Katie folded jeans beside her own trunk with frightening efficiency.

With a grunt and a final heave, Angelina managed to snap her trunk shut. She collapsed onto the bed next to Ava, breathless.

"Alright," she exhaled, brushing her braids back over her shoulder. "Let's assess the damage. Have you talked to Fred yet?"

Ava shook her head, jaw tight.

Alicia rolled over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. "Are you planning to? We leave in a few hours."

Ava shrugged, trying not to let the pang in her chest show. "Nope. He's being a complete prat. I'm not the one who needs to say sorry."

Katie raised an eyebrow while folding a sweatshirt. "Okay. But if the situation were reversed? Say you saw him hugging and kissing some girl he used to like?"

"I didn't kiss Oliver!" Ava snapped, a little louder than she intended. "He kissed me. On the cheek. That's it. And I haven't even seen him since. Fred saw what he wanted and filled in the rest."

Angelina flopped backward onto the bed, one arm behind her head. "Boys are like that. Selective hearing. Selective memory. Selective logic. That's why I'm happily single."

Alicia snorted. "Since when?"

Angelina sat up with mock offense. "Excuse me–I'm perfectly happy not getting caught up in feelings."

Katie rolled her eyes. "You mean you haven't found anyone you haven't completely out-Quidditched or scared off with your personality."

Angelina shrugged, unfazed. "Maybe my standards are just too high."

"Or maybe," Katie teased, "you should follow Ava's lead and snag the other Weasley twin."

Ava chuckled softly. "Fred's enough chaos for one lifetime."

Angelina shook her head, amused. "George? No way. He's just a mate. He's never shown any interest."

But Ava wasn't so sure. She'd seen the way George's face pinked whenever Angelina teased him or touched his arm. Maybe Angelina hadn't noticed, or maybe she simply didn't believe George could feel that way. He played things close to the vest. Fred, on the other hand, wore his feelings like a neon sign.

Which, unfortunately, meant he also exploded when things didn't go his way.

Angelina turned toward Ava, suddenly more serious. "You know what I think?"

Ava tilted her head. "What?"

"I think you're right to stand your ground. Let him sulk if he wants. You didn't do anything wrong."

Ava stood, brushing her skirt smooth, though her fingers lingered a beat too long. Her chest still felt tight. "He needs to grow up. And stop acting like a bloody child."

"Amen," Angelina declared, flopping back again.

"Men," Alicia sighed dramatically, still lounging on the floor. "Utterly exhausting."

Katie snapped her trunk shut. "Can't live with them, can't hex them without at least two witnesses and a permission slip."

Angelina smirked. "That's never stopped me."

Ava laughed with them, truly grateful for their presence. For the distraction. For the way they made her feel normal again, even if only for a moment.

But when the laughter faded, when the room quieted just a little… the ache was still there. It wasn't the fight that hurt. It was how much she missed him.


"You need to talk to her, Fred."

George's voice broke the tense silence in their dorm as he chucked a few enchanted fireworks into his trunk, each one labeled with scribbled warnings like Might Explode Without Warning and Do Not Light Near Curtains. He wasn't even looking at his brother when he said it, just casually tossing chaos into a suitcase like it was laundry.

Fred lay sprawled on his back across his bed, one arm slung over his face as if shielding himself from reality. His voice came out muffled. "Not happening. Not until she stops talking to bloody Wood."

George groaned. "Merlin's saggy left–Fred, for the love of sense, stop being so damn proud."

Fred sat up suddenly, eyes wild with frustration. "I'm not proud! I'm–I'm… protective!"

George raised an eyebrow and flopped down onto his own bed, folding his arms. "You're being a twat is what you're being."

"She shouldn't still be talking to him," Fred insisted, hands moving with his words. "He hurt her. And now he's slinking back around like it never happened. I just–I want her to stay away from that prat!"

"Right," George said dryly, "and I'm sure yelling at her in a corridor and storming off really reinforced what a great boyfriend you are."

Fred's mouth opened. Then shut. Then opened again. He flopped back onto the mattress like the dramatic idiot he was. "She hasn't even tried to talk to me!"

"She shouldn't have to!" George shot back. "You made the scene, you stormed off, you started sulking like a Hippogriff denied a ferret–"

"I'm not sulking!"

"You're absolutely sulking!"

"I'm brooding," Fred muttered with a pout. "It's very mature."

George grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at him.

Fred barely managed to catch it. "Oi!"

"You sound dumb."

"I do not!"

"You do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"DO NOT–"

The door slammed open and Lee strolled in, catching the tail end of the war just in time to duck as a pillow soared past his head and exploded in a burst of harmless pink feathers–one of their latest prototypes.

"Blimey!" Lee coughed through feathers. "What'd I walk in on? A couple of toddlers fighting over biscuits?"

George pointed at Fred. "He's refusing to talk to Ava unless she stops speaking to Wood."

Lee blinked. "Still? Mate, you've got it bad."

Fred let out a huff and turned over dramatically, face-down on the bed. "I don't have anything."

"Oh no," Lee said, grinning, "you have full-blown romantic dumbassery. Classic case."

Fred didn't answer. He just groaned into his pillow.

George zipped up his trunk with a flourish. "Look, I get it. No one likes seeing their girlfriend hugged by the walking ego that is Oliver Wood. But Ava's not stupid. And she's not yours to control."

Fred didn't reply, but his fists clenched slightly against the mattress.

George's voice softened. "She picked you, Fred. Not him. So stop acting like she didn't."

Fred stared at the wall in silence.

Lee walked past him, patting his shoulder once. "You've got two options, mate. Talk to her. Or keep throwing pillows and losing her one scowl at a time."

George raised a hand. "Preferably stop with the pillows. My aim's too good, and Lee's getting jumpy."

"I heard that."

Fred rolled onto his back again, scowling at the ceiling. His heart ached, though he'd never admit it aloud. Not yet.

But maybe…

Maybe he was being a bit of a prat.

He just didn't know how to say it without making everything worse. And maybe that was the real problem.


The whistle of the Hogwarts Express echoed across Platform 9 as the train slowed to a halt in a hiss of steam and metal. Ava stepped off with Angelina by her side, their trunks trailing behind them. Around them, the station bustled with familiar chaos–families reuniting, owls hooting in their cages, trolleys creaking under mountains of luggage. It was the kind of organized mayhem that always marked the start of a school holiday.

But for Ava, something felt different this time. Off. There was a strange weight pressing down on her chest. Maybe it was knowing she wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts for Christmas. Maybe it was the uncertain silence that still hung between her and Fred.

She spotted the red hair first…Fred, George, and Ginny weaving through the crowd toward their parents. Fred's eyes met hers for a heartbeat. Then he quickly looked away, focusing instead on Mrs. Weasley, who was already fussing over Ginny's hat.

Before Ava could retreat, Molly Weasley's warm voice rang out.

"Angelina? Ava? Is that you, dears?"

Angelina lit up like a lantern and jogged over, pulling Ava gently with her. "Mrs. Weasley!" she called.

Mrs. Weasley enveloped both girls in her signature bone-crushing hugs, her plump arms pulling them in like a mother hen reclaiming her lost chicks. She smelled faintly of cinnamon and wool, her knitted scarf askew and her cheeks flushed with warmth and welcome. "Oh, look at you two!" she exclaimed, her eyes misting just a little. "I haven't seen you in ages. How's school, hmm? Keeping those boys in line, I hope?"

Angelina grinned, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Trying our best, Mrs. Weasley. Though with Fred and George in the picture, you know that's a full-time job on its own."

Mrs. Weasley let out a hearty laugh. "Tell me about it. Those two have been giving me grey hairs since they could crawl."

Both Ava and Angelina smiled.

"You must come by the Burrow over the holidays," Molly said, turning to gently pat Ava's cheek, her palm warm and familiar. "It's been far too long. A proper dinner, no excuses this time, mind you."

Ava offered a small smile, the edges of it soft with genuine affection. There was something about Mrs. Weasley's voice, the way it wrapped around her like a wool blanket fresh off the line, that stirred something deep in her chest. A sense of comfort. Of being seen. "I'd love that," she said truthfully, even though the thought of her father allowing it was about as likely as Filch letting her watch Mrs. Norris.

Across the platform, a familiar voice called out. "Angelina!"

Angelina's father was waving them over, already juggling a trolley and two duffel bags. Angelina gave Ava a quick squeeze around the shoulders. "I'll owl you, alright? Try not to get into trouble without me."

Ava laughed softly. "No promises."

She watched her cousin jog off toward her family, then turned and found herself standing among the Weasleys.

"So," Molly said with a pointed smile, her gaze flicking knowingly between Ava and the twins, "Fred and George tell me you've been spending quite a lot of time with them this year. I do hope they've been behaving."

"Mum," George groaned, throwing his arms out in mock exasperation, "we're the picture of responsibility."

"Model citizens," Fred chimed in, grinning as he casually leaned against his trolley.

Molly raised a brow at them, clearly unconvinced. Then she turned to Ava with more softness. "Perhaps Arthur could have a word with your father about letting you come stay with us for a weekend or two. You've always got a place at the Burrow, dear. Don't ever forget that."

Ava blinked, caught off guard by the sudden lump in her throat. The words, so casually offered and so sincere, struck deeper than she expected. For a moment, all she could do was nod, the warmth of Molly's invitation settling into the cracks she hadn't known were there.

Arthur stepped in gently, his voice calm and kind. "Now, now, Mollywobbles. Let's not pressure her. Her father may want her home."

She softened again, her warm smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "You're always welcome at the Burrow, dear. No matter what your father says."

"Thank you," Ava said, her voice quiet but sincere. She felt the warmth of it curl around her like a charm. For someone who hadn't had much in the way of motherly affection in years, the Weasleys' kindness felt like stepping into the sun after a long, cold shadow.

She gave them each a quick hug, Arthur's gentle and a bit awkward, Molly's firm and comforting. Then Ginny launched herself at Ava like a missile, giggling as she squeezed her around the middle. "Bye, Ava!" she chirped, before bounding off toward her parents.

And then it was just her and the twins.

George didn't miss a beat. "Come 'ere, you sap," he said, scooping her up with a dramatic groan and spinning her in a wide circle.

Ava shrieked with laughter as her feet left the ground, her hair whipping around her face.

George sniffled dramatically as he set her down. "Gonna miss you, Johnson. Who else is gonna stop this idiot from blowing up a cauldron or serenading you with bad poetry?"

She gave him a look. "Definitely not you."

"Exactly," he said, grinning. Then he clapped Fred on the back and leaned in, muttering something that Ava couldn't catch, but whatever it was made Fred grunt under his breath.

George offered her a wink before sauntering off toward the rest of the Weasleys, his hands in his pockets and his whistle off-key.

And then it was just Fred.

He didn't look up right away. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his boot scuffing at a crack in the stone platform. He looked like he wanted to say something. But no words came.

Ava shifted, her heart tightening. "I guess… I'll see you when term starts," she said, voice soft.

Still nothing.

Disappointment rose in her chest like a tide. Of course. One kiss couldn't undo a week of silence. She began to turn away, blinking hard against the sting behind her eyes. But then, He reached out. His hand caught her wrist.

She barely had time to turn before he tugged her back toward him and kissed her.

It wasn't careful. It wasn't practiced. It was a little too hard, a little too fast, and it stole every breath right from her lungs. But it was real. And she kissed him back.

Her hand lifted instinctively to his jaw, her fingers brushing the edge of his ear, grounding herself in the solid, warm reality of him. Then, just as suddenly, Fred pulled back. His cheeks were flushed, his chest rising slightly with uneven breath.

"Write me?" he said, voice quieter than usual. Almost boyish.

Ava blinked, still catching up. She smiled. "Yeah," she whispered.

He pulled her into a hug, tight and uncharacteristically still. His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, "I'm sorry."

She wrapped her arms around him, holding on a moment longer than necessary. "Me too."

Fred stepped back, his smile small but unmistakable. He looked at her one last time, then turned and jogged after his family, the long hem of his coat flapping at his heels.

Ava stood there, the ghost of his kiss still on her lips, watching until he disappeared into the crowd. And for the first time in days, her heart felt like it might actually be okay.

But the warmth didn't last long.

A voice, slick and low, slithered behind her. "Does your father know you've taken up with a boyfriend?"

She turned and the smile dropped from her face like a stone. Standing a few feet away was Corban Yaxley. Tall. Gaunt. Immaculately dressed in a black suit that somehow seemed to absorb the light. His sharp features twisted into a grin that never quite reached his cold, calculating eyes.

"Hello, Yaxley," she said, stiffly.

He stepped forward, and she fought the instinct to flinch. "You've grown," he said, sweeping an appraising look down her frame. "Last time I saw you, you could barely see over your mother's casket."

"Charming," Ava muttered.

Yaxley opened his arms. "No hug for your godfather?"

Reluctantly, Ava stepped into a stiff embrace. It lasted only seconds, but the chill that settled over her skin lingered.

"Where's my father?" she asked quickly, eager to shift the subject.

"Had some last-minute dealings at the Ministry," Yaxley replied smoothly. "Since he's chosen to remain here rather than follow his... previous assignment, he's had to make arrangements. I'll be escorting you home."

He bent down and picked up her trunk as if it weighed nothing.

"I'm staying at the manor for a while," he added over his shoulder. "Your father and I have quite a bit to discuss."

Ava's stomach knotted. Home never felt further away.