NO SIGNAL ➝ FRED WEASLEY [1] ✓

FORTY FIVE [GRYFFINDOR COMMON ROOM]

reese made me post this (listen to the song for vibes)

Amelia sulked back into the castle, Fred pulling her along by her wrist.

She sighed unhappily, wet brown hair hanging down her back in two pigtail braids. All she had wanted to do was wallow in her misery in the rain, but her blasted boyfriend had, of course, come to take her back inside before she caught a cold, or maybe even pneumonia.

When they reached the common room, Fred sat her down in front of the fire, instructing her to wait and get warm while he ran upstairs to grab her fresh clothes.

Fred came back down a few minutes later, a soft wool jumper and a pair of sweatpants in his arms. He thrust them at her.

"Go change." Were his only words to her, and then he was shoving her back the way he'd come, towards the stairs to her dormitory.

She grumbled the whole way up, grumbled as she was pulling off her sopping wet clothing, and grumbled while she put her boyfriend's too-big clothes on.

But then she smiled softly as the scent of him drifted off the garments—cinnamon and vanilla, primarily, with the tiniest hint of smoke. Her lips parted into an even wider grin when she saw what exact jumper of his he'd given to her.

It was one knitted by his mother, made of incredibly plush blue wool, with a yellow F stitched into the front of it.

Merlin, she'd been waiting for a chance to steal it, ever since they had had their own private dance lesson several weeks before the Yule Ball. However, Molly Weasley's jumpers were a hot commodity, and while Amelia knew it'd only be a matter of time before she got one of her own, she had a special fondness for Fred's; it was soft, worn in with time, and it smelled like what the sensation of her nose pressed into his chest smelled like.

She shook herself out of the silly, smiley stupor, and pulled the clean, dry sweatpants up her legs. Like the jumper, they were much too large for her small frame, but with a quick double not of the elastic ties around the waistband they were snug enough on her hips to not fall down.

Amelia opened the door and found Fred waiting in the stairwell for her, and she gave him a small, loving smile.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked, pulling her into a hug. His chin rested on her head, and her face buried into the crook of his neck.

She shrugged, not ready to separate from him. "I feel like shit." She said, and her words were mumbled by the fabric of his shirt.

"Alright, love..." He pulled her down the stairs into the common room, which was mostly deserted at this time of night. He let go of her hand briefly to turn on the Muggle radio that sat on a side table.

"Dance with me."

It was not a request, nor was it a command. It was more like he was telling her what she wanted to do all along, and it made her happy to comply.

Just like every other time, melting into Fred's arms was the easiest thing in the world. In their ten months of dating, his hands had learned how to push and pull and prod her in order to get her knees to turn to jelly, and this was one of those occasions.

Due to their height difference, Amelia oftentimes found herself standing on her boyfriend's feet and letting him do all the work, simply enjoying the calming ministrations.

An old Fleetwood Mac song played on the radio—Landslide, she guessed—and with one ear on his chest she could much more easily hear the way he hummed softly along to the music.

"Don't stress too much about quidditch, Meely. I'm sure we'll be able to get you back on the team in no time." He murmured sweetly, leaning down a bit further to kiss the shell of her ear.

She fought to keep a smile from breaking onto her face. "I love you, Weasley."

"And I love you, Bishop."