Buttercup Boy | fred

Chapter 10

She didn't mind.

No one would have with the ocean lapping at their feet, sand buried between their toes; not a soul would care as the next wave rolled to shore, curling around your legs and dampnening the glow of the moon.
It was bliss.
Her bliss.

Fred, however, found the ease of their interaction unsettling. Where were the hurtful exchanges, now numbed by passing years? Why couldn't he summon the reason for their disputes?
And why did she look nice? Really nice?

Finally the group had returned to the burrow.
Angelina dressed herself in Fred's clothes, disregarding her very own that lie on her bedsheets. Cherry redressed in the comfortable attire from earlier that evening, Harry grinning goofily when she entered the room, patting the space beside him.
Wedged beside Cheryl was George, watching as Angelina leant into his brother's hold, admiring the twitch of her small smile, affectionate glance, passion-fueled words.
And then he looked to Hermione, sat to Johnson's left and reading a leatherbound novel with an intensity he could never muster.
Her hair falls across her face, her blinks slowing by each drifting moment.

Excluding herself from the quiet murmurs of the group (and politics of emotionally fueled teenagers), Ginny works away in the kitchen, making cups of tea (or coffee in Hermione's case, her desperation to finish the last chapter barely holding herself awake).
But from her space in the kitchen, Ginny can hear the subtle conversations that litter her abode. The elderly Weasleys had retired to bed which forced the group to remain quiet.

Not quiet enough, thinks Ginny.

"We'll have to take a trip to the beach again...just the two of us." Coos Angelina, Fred's lack of reponse suggesting exhaustion.
Ginny didn't like the new girl, she was competitive and sly - not to mention her behaviour when playing Quidditch. Had she not been aware that the Weasley was on the same team as her?

"You look pretty." Grins Harry. Ginny grits her teeth.

"So do you." Cherry jests, earing a soft bubble of laughter from her admirer.
Much to Ginny's fright, a pang of dangerous jealousy swells in her thrumming chest. Tamping down the blossoming disliking, she returns to the gathering with a tray of mugs.

"Harry." Nods the red-head. Taking the cup, he forgets to thank her, instead busying himself with the woman at his side. Ginny moves on. Only physically.
"George?" But still all eyes remain elsewehere, admiring another across the living room, ignornt to their friend's attempts at hospitality.
"George!" She hisses, careful as to not disrupt the others conversations.

Her bother looks instantly apologetic, leaning foward to take the mug. "Sorry, Gin." His eyes resume their previous yearning.

Instead of continuing around the group, the female Weasley falls beside her brother, staring ahead. Silence settles between them for a moment, the occasional fracture of angelic laughter rippling from Fred's partner.
"I'm not sure you want her." Starts Ginny, looking to her sibling. "I'm not sure why anyone would?"

"Have you not seen her?" Scoffs George with minute offence. "The woman's so out of my league we're running different races!"
Ginny stiffles her laughter, George letting his linger.
  "Fred's always been the flirt. Girls love it." A quirk of his lips. "Not my forte." Ginny laughs in agreement at which he nudges her, sending her hissing as a little tea spills across her lap. George is quick to hand her a napkin.
"But I always got the good girls. The nice, commited ones. The ones, deep down, Freddy wanted." At his very own words he smiles, clearly pleased at his brother's subtle jealousy.

"Angelina's not a 'nice, commited girl', George."
He sighs, picking at the rip in his jeans. "You know who is?"

George, already understanding his sisters suggestion, rolls his eyes and slouches in his already lazy position. "Yes."