Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Thirty-Seven: Scorpio Rising

It seemed ironic to Sylvia that it was such a beautiful day out. The snow was melted already and Molly made the boys knock down icicles "before they took someone's eye out". It was sunny enough that it felt hot if you stood in it for too long. And the ground was nearly dry, bright purple and yellow flowers opening up in Molly's garden to soak up the warmth.

Sylvia was beginning to feel like a burden. More than she had already. There was practically no evidence that she had been living in the Burrow for nine months. She did the dishes twice a day, even though the charmed scrubber did a good enough job on its own, and cleaned the countertops and table after every meal. Molly told her in her kind manner that there was no need, but she appreciated it anyway, to which Sylvie nodded and smiled and smiled and nodded, feeling nonetheless like a permanent guest in the Weasley home.

The twins had noticed of course. She figured George would let Fred handle it all. "She's your girlfriend," she could imagine him saying, although she knew he would never say something like that. If anything, he probably offered to talk to her first. When Fred did breach the subject, she felt herself begin to bubble over.

"What's on your mind, Syl?" He asked.

"You'd tell me if I was overstaying my welcome, right?" She said, twisting blades of wet grass between her fingers until they tangled together before letting them unravel again.

"You're kidding right?"

Sylvie thought he looked heavenly like that, stretched out on his back, one hand behind his head and the other lifted to shield his eyes from the sun. He'd taken his sweater off and the muscles on the inside of his biceps stretched out of the sleeves of his white tee shirt. She almost caught herself reaching out to run her hand over them. Instead, she tore her eyes away and back to her fingers and the grass and the little ants traveling under the greenery, shrugging.

"Sylvia."

She didn't like it when he called her by her full name. It made her roll her shoulders uncomfortably and suck in a breath. Still, she looked up and tried to seem pleasant. She could tell by his face that she was unsuccessful. His mouth was open slightly and he blinked at her, shifting. She blinked back at him, she knew that always worked on him, but he didn't waver, his gaze steady.

"We've been living in your parents' house for like eight months."

"Yeah?"

She shrugged again. She could feel the seat of her jeans getting wet through the blanket she sat on and stood, wiping her hands on her thighs. Her fingers were stained green and she rubbed them together mindlessly as she paced.

"I'm serious." She mumbled, bending over to scratch off a smudge of dried mud from her ankle.

"So am I." Fred said.

"Well you haven't really said anything."

He reached out and held the hem of her jeans between his thumb and forefinger, "Sylvie."

"What?" She breathed out.

"I think my mother would have told us if we were overstaying our welcome."

"I just feel like I've been mooching off you for almost a year." She scratched at her shoulder to instinctively cross her arms, pausing before saying, "My mother cut me off before Christmas. I didn't tell you."

"Why didn't you?" He asked calmly.

Sylvia shrugged again. She wished she would stop. She chewed on her finger nails and looked down at Fred, who squinted up at her. The sunlight hit his eyes and his pupils disappeared, leaving little pools of amber, ringed with mossy green and brown.