CHRYSALIS - FRED WEASLEY

CHAPTER 22

"Do you know a 'Professor Slughorn'?"

Lillie shrieks, her magic instinctively zipping to her fingers as she spins her head to the side. Of course, almost the moment he opened his mouth, Lillie knew who had purposefully startled her. If the low, sonorous voice didn't give it away, the muscular weight on her shoulder did.

"Fucking hell, Fred! How do you always find me?" she asks.

"We're connected," he says, kissing her, "'M like a whale. I've got that inner GCS, or whatever. Always know where you are."

"You're a bastard," she gripes.

"Mm. Fuck like one, too," he whispers, his smiling lips brushing her ear.

"Anyways," she says, attempting to change the subject before she pulls him into the closest broom closet.

The truth about their feelings have been out in the open for almost a week, and Fred and Lillie have not yet had sex. Though not for a lack of trying; every night they attempt to sneak off, and every night, through some twisted divine intervention, something prevents them. Twice they caught other Hogwarts students participating in their own midnight activities, effectively killing the mood. Once a house elf with a mop and bucket walked in as Fred was unzipping his pants, and for three nights Lillie had a Room of Requirement-induced headache so bad she spent it in the infirmary.

"Slughorn," Fred says, "Heard of him?"

"I think Dumbledore might have mentioned him to me the other night. He's new, yeah?" Lillie replies after a moment's thought.

It took her a bit to recover the memory, as she and Dumbledore talk about many things in their weekly meetings. When the practice began, their conversations were strictly safety related. Though, as it became clearer that the castle is not under any immediate threat, their meetings became more social. Sipping on jasmine tea and cauldron cakes, Lillie and the headmaster discuss a variety of topics. Lillie found a worthy intellectual companion in Dumbledore, and he quickly took on a sort of mentor role, beguiling her with stories of his youth. When Dumbledore speaks, he reminds Lillie of a preacher, his speech riddled with parables, his cadence flowing and even.

"Right. Ok, well, he's having a party tomorrow night."

"Yeah, Dumbledore mentioned that. But it's only for members of his little club, I think."

"Feel like gatecrashing?"

"Oh, Godrick, yes. Can we get, like, so fucked up? Cause a scene?" she says excitedly.

"It's like we share a brain."

***

"You're sure I look ok? Not like I'm trying too hard, or anything?" Lillie says, pulling the hem of her dress down in a futile attempt at covering herself. She borrowed the dress from Ella, and despite its beauty, it's not the frock she would have chosen for herself.

"Can you shut the fuck up? This is literally the hottest I've seen you look. Fred's going to come in his pants."

"Thanks," Lillie says, blushing. They stand in a corner, away from the thick of the party. She twists the fine silk curtain that covers every wall of the room between her forefinger and thumb, rolling and unrolling the green fabric. She gnaws on the paper straw that leans limply in her warm glass of lemon punch, her wine-colored lipstick leaving faint marks around the circumference. She notices this and pulls her compact from her clutch, a small silver circle with an engraving of a rose, to check that her makeup hasn't smudged. It hasn't, so she snaps her mirror shut and shoves it back into her bag.