Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Twenty-Seven: Sense and Sensibility

Sylvia was, in the simplest of terms, sloshed. Across the tent, Fred watched as she tripped over her own feet, nearly spilling the full glass of wine she had just retrieved all over herself. She recovered with a giggle, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear and meeting his eyes. He shook his head at her, but smiled, resulting in another quiet giggle as she hurried over to him, placing the drink down on their table with exaggerated carefulness.

"This," She nodded once, stiffly at the wine as she sat, "is for you."

Fred cast an amused eye at the glass, quite literally filled to the brim with a burgundy that he knew would taste too dry and give him a headache. He raised an eyebrow and reached out to turn it by the stem.

"I have a suspicion you're trying to insinuate something." He teased, flicking his gaze to hers.

She tucked her chin back, frowning at him, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiled, letting out a little chuckle as he shook his head, "Nothing." And he leaned in, placing his hand on her cheek as he kissed her, quick but sweet, tasting four glasses of champagne on her lips.

"I think..." She tilted her head back and looked at him through hooded eyes, "you owe me a dance."

"Alright then, Miss Callis. Would you like to dance?"

Fred stood and held his hand out to her, which she took daintily, like a regency-era debutante, standing with a small sway. She hung from his neck and he held her waist like they were at a secondary school dance. Sylvia only made it two side steps before her ankle rolled over and she stumbled. She stifled a laugh as Fred caught her, catching her coy eye.

"I drank too much." She whispered, a pink glow growing up to the skin below her eyes.

He wanted to put his nose right up against hers and giggle with her like a couple of schoolchildren.

"Come on," he wrapped his arm around her, holding onto one of her hands, "let's get some air."

He guided her out of the tent without much notice, feeling her eyes on him as they stepped out into the warm summer air.

"Fred?"

He looked down at her, dropping his arm from her shoulders, but still holding her hand in his.

"Sylvie?"

She stepped up to him, biting down on her lip as her gaze shifted between his eyes and his mouth.

"Lets go up to your room." She whispered.

Fred raised an eyebrow down at her, but smiled.

"It's a little early to go to sleep, don't you think?"

She breathed heavily through her nose, trying to keep her expression serious, shaking her head. Her voice was silky and hushed with drunk fluidity.

"I want you to fuck me."

He let out a loud guffaw, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had heard. They were far enough away from the tent that he felt they were safe. Looking back at her, he smiled, amused by her assertiveness, but shook his head.

"Not tonight."

Her eyebrows furrowed.

"You don't want to?"

"Believe me, Sylvie, I would like nothing more."

She frowned, her mouth tucking in slightly at the corner, "Is it because I'm drunk?"

He snorted, smiling down at her as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Yes, it is because you're drunk."