The Dane and the Magpie - (Fred Weasley Fanfiction)

The Devil's Claw

YAY, MY FIRST NEW CHAPTER! I honestly started getting mega bored of just editing. Some of you will remember this being called 'The West Wing' but I was so unhappy with that chapter so I've cleared it out and started again. :)

Wren was currently sat up in bed, her feet comfortably tucked under the white sheets of the hospital wing and a cup of warm milk in her operating arm. Madam Pomfrey had said she'd need a night for the minor fractures to heal and that her ribs would probably remain sore for about a week.

Despite being quite smug with herself, the tension of the room was so thick you could cut through it with a knife. As Wren awkwardly sipped her drink, she could feel the eyes of Adrian Pucey's glaring into the side of her face, his bed conveniently positioned directly next to hers'.

"I heard about you becoming the Triwizard champion, along with the chosen one." He spat. "It doesn't matter what you do, he will always come on top, famous Harry Potter." Wren took a long sip from her drink, trying to hold back a smile, but failing miserably.

"Oh?" She remarked quietly after setting down her mug, she met Adrian's gaze with an equally challenging one. "Speaking from experience, are you?"

Adrian slammed his fist on the side table, almost making Wren jump. "Can't you see I'm trying to help?" He said angrily, there was a sharp bite to his voice that almost sounded desperate. Wren rolled her eyes, cringing in pain when her bandaged back touched the cool metal of the head frame. 

"I don't need help, and I certainly don't crave the kind of help you're offering." She said with an angry overtone.

"I give up on you, Hawthorn." Just as Adrian went to stand up, there was a commotion at the entrance of the wing. As guests entered, he stormed out.

"Wren, you were amazing!" Larson exclaimed, running over to the bed, she was followed by Fred and George, who looked equally excited. Wren grinned in response reaching out her left arm for a hug which Larson accepted, embracing her tightly. Wren nearly grimaced in pain but held herself back to avoid worrying them. "Now, I'm not going to lie to you, when that Hebridean smacked you into that big rock like a rag doll, I thought you were a goner-"

"Larson! Have a bit of faith!" Wren laughed and picked her mug again using her left, uninjured arm. She took a long sip, finishing off the milk, before placing it back onto the bedside table positioned to her right. There was something about Fred's demeanour that changed when she did that.

"You'll be happy to hear that Harry lived," George remarked. "All for the better, Fred and I raked it in with bets against him surviving." The ginger boy grinned proudly, elbowing his brother, who seemed distracted. Noticing his distress, Larson began to drag George out of the wing with her.

"We should get going, celebrations and all that." She remarked, slamming the door shut behind her. There was a distant shouting from the corridor which quickly faded along with the sound of footsteps.

Fred sat down on the mattress, his brows furrowed. "You're hurt," Something in Fred's voice faltered when he said that, it made Wren's heart ache. "Your right arm... you're not using it." He cautiously moved his hand to get a closer look but Wren moved her arm away.

"It's nothing to worry about, Pomfrey said it would be healed by tomorrow." She replied, her voice gentler. Fred nodded slowly, his worry seeming to dissipate slightly. Wren patted her hand on the mattress, causing Fred to climb into the bed in response. He leant his back on the headboard, letting out a quiet sigh as his muscles relaxed. Wren snuggled into his chest.

"Whatever your next challenges are-"Fred swallowed, taking a minute to collect his thoughts. "I don't think you realise how terrifying that was to watch." He moved an arm to wrap around her waist gently. She pulled a few strands of hair away from her face that were bothering her, but they were stubborn.

"Mmm... you're comfy," Wren murmured, trying to change the subject. She felt Fred begin to mess with her hair, tugging at strands and picking away knots. She flicked his nose, and he scrunched up his face cutely in response... she recognised his facial expression from one of the family photos at the Burrow.

"Stop fussing, I'm just plaiting your hair." He smiled warmly at her, "Ginny's would get untidy like this all the time after quidditch, so Mum taught me how to fix it for when she wasn't at home... Ginny can't do a plait to save her life." Something about that made Wren feel so warm... the kind of warm you get from a hot bowl of soup in a sharp, chilling winter. She nearly said something to him at that moment, as his large, careful fingers rain through her brunette locks, but in fear of regretting later, just hugged him tightly, burying her face further into his chest.