Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Sixteen: Other People

There was a cloud around Sylvia's head that followed her around for weeks. It hung in front of her eyes so they never focused and filled her ears, making everything sound like she was underwater. Her brain seemed to float around in her skull, bouncing around dumb and useless. She felt like she must be shiny all over like she was covered in a layer of sticky lip gloss or golden honey, and every time she caught her reflection in a window or a bathroom mirror, her skin looked like it was made of liquid, like she was submerged in water and lit from the inside out. There was a bright Edison bulb that burned strong and hot from inside her chest and she could swear everyone noticed.

Everyone except Fred. Or at least he pretended not to, not when other people were around. It was like sixth year again Sylvie thought, but she didn't have the energy to kick herself for slipping up. The enjoyable presence she was beginning to show again seemed to magnetize her old friends back. Angelina, Alicia, Fiona, George, and even Lee started waiting up for her in the common room before breakfast or save a seat for her in class. Angelina even told Sylvia all about her short affair with Fred last year, rolling her eyes the entire time as they sat on their adjacent beds, binging on bags of candy from Hogsmeade. Sylvie didn't even mind hearing about it. She was so unbelievably giddy and light that she thought she wouldn't even care if he'd fucked the entire quidditch team over the past year. She hadn't thought about Brendan Halkirk in weeks.

Fred was being neurotic, though he thought he was just being conscientious, only barely playing footsie under the dining hall table and avoiding any sort of public conversation.

"You always want to talk to me when we're not doing this." Sylvie mumbled.

They sat on one of the common room windowsills, Sylvie's back pressed into the cold stone arch. Her cheeks were burning, even in the freezing draft from the old window. Fred sat with his back against the windowpane, head leaned back and hand on her thigh. His fingers scratched gently against the fabric of her sweatpants over her knee.

"Hm?" He lifted his head off the glass, moving in to kiss her neck.

"You want to sit with me and you ask me for weed and then we do this and you stop."

"I always want to sit with you." His voice was muffled against her throat. He lifted her legs so they stretched over his lap and he could scoot closer, "And maybe I was asking you for weed so we could do this instead."

Sylvia knew exactly what he was doing, and as always, she stopped caring so much as he kissed up her jaw and cheek and pecked her softly on the lips. She found his hand and held it like it was made of glass, sighing and holding it up in front of her. Their fingers twisted and pressed against each other as Fred watched her, a quiet, patient expression on his face. She couldn't help but be infatuated with how long and nimble his fingers were. They reminded her of a painting she saw in a museum once, a man's chin resting in his hand.

He eventually curled his fingers between hers and pulled back so she had to lean into him, her chest pressed into his side and her nose at his lips as he kissed the end of it. It pulled a small smile out of her and he grinned, whispering, "Let's go to the prefects' bathroom."

Sylvie raised her eyebrows in mild entertainment and blinked quizzically. Fred squeezed her hand and cocked an eyebrow, "Hm? Feel like a bubble bath?"

She snorted and his grin grew. She let go of his hand to push at his chest but he caught it, dipping his head down to kiss her. And when he pulled away, he looked at her, reaching his hand up to swipe a finger at her nose. She wanted to sneak into the prefects' bathroom. Badly. But that little pricking at the back of her brain, the tugging in her stomach that made her feel just a little too ill told her not to. It was like it was too thrilling of an idea.