Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Twenty-Three: Meshes of the Afternoon

Fred kissed her on New Year's Eve, in front of his brother and Angelina and even Lee, who just whoop-ed and slapped him on the back so hard that he jerked forward and clashed teeth with Sylvia. She smiled though, and laughed into his mouth, and put her arms around his neck so she could hold him closer, and someone set off confetti so it fell in-between their faces and stuck in their eyelashes and atop their noses. His fingers spread against the small of her back and he reached up to hold her jaw. Her skin was damp with a thin sheen of sweat where her hair touched the back of her neck, and he imagined pulling her hair away to lick it off. He wanted to run his tongue up her stomach and over her sternum and along the tendon of her neck like she was covered in sugar. He'd drank a lot that night, so he told her, his lips against her ear.

"I want to lick the sweat off your body right now."

She erupted in a great fit of laughter and leaned back so he had to lean into her, grinning like a child. She'd put on glittery pink eye shadow and a green sequin dress and she caught every light in the room, sparkling like a disco ball. It made Fred's head spin.

"You're laughing at me." He smiled. Someone bumped into him but he didn't notice. Sylvia brushed at the hair on his forehead with cool fingers.

"Should I not?"

"I like making you laugh. You used to never laugh. You were always so serious." He exaggerated a frown.

She didn't reply, but smiled, holding his face in her hands. Fred felt like he could fall asleep just like that.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He asked, just as George set off a firework that cracked so loudly, his voice became nothing but a whisper.

Sylvie's eyes lit up and she leaned in, "Did you just ask me to be your girlfriend?"

Fred nodded. His head felt like it was going to fall off and roll across the floor like a bowling ball. Maybe someone's shoe would tap it and it would roll down the hallway into bed.

"Yes. Will you spend the night?"

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, "Sure, but I'm not sleeping with you. You're drunk."

"So? Aren't you?"

"Not nearly as much as you are. Don't breathe near any matches."

"What?"

"I said don't breathe near any matches."

"Come to my room."

She laughed, still holding the sides of his face, her thumbs brushing against the warm tops of his cheeks. He reached up to grab one of her hands and pulled her through the crowd. A window was open in his room and it was freezing, but the cold air felt good on his face. Sylvie closed the door behind her.

"Do you want me to close the window?"

He shook his head, "I'm burning," and sat on the edge of his bed.

She walked over to him and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"You're warm." She said, her voice hoarse from talking over the noise outside, "How much did you have to drink?"

Fred opened his eyes, "A lot." He smiled at himself, "Too much," and fell back onto the mattress.

"I'm going to get you some water, okay? Will you drink a glass of water for me?"