Buttercup Boy | fred

Chapter 11

As she awoke, Cherry felt the warmth of a body at her side.
Her imagination must have grown mismatched so early in the morning.

After an evening of reviving somewhat of a bond with her old rival, Cherry had been completely prepared for all loss of such progress, however the two had convinently fallen asleep before dinner, the evenings troubles causing much exhaution between them.
So, as the bodily warmth tickled her side, the young woman's eyes instantly unstuck, puffy from thickness of sleep and intoxicated with fright.

Curled around her was Fredrick Weasley, inhaling with a whistle and exhaling with a murmur. She lurches back, scrambling away from the bedcovers and checking for all clothing.
All items still clinging to her skin (albeit with rather unfashionable creases), Cheryl corrects the covers so as to not wake her rival from slumber before creeping from the room at a skillful speed and darting down the hall.
  Each step was a promising leap away from what would appear to others as a compromising position. All Cherry could hope was that the souls of the Burrow were still at peace and that they wouldn't wake from her pacey thuds.

"Mornin'," Smirks a male voice from behind a cup of coffee. One hand supporting his lean figure againt the counter, the other lifting his mug. The knowing glint in George's eye sends Cherry's stomach sickening. "Fancy a coffee, love?"
He knows, she thinks, he knows, he knows, he knows. Mind like an ominous chant, a clammy feeling blossoms from her palms.

"That would be lovely, thank you." He nods and places down his very own mug. Cherry seats herself.
"Sleep well?"

"Alright, thanks." George's shoulders shift, suggesting a humorous thought. "You?"

He knows.
"As good as ever." Instantly Cheryl regrets such a chirpy response, suggestive with the context of their unspoken conversation. Time to divert the topic. "I heard the owls this morning? Has there been any post?"

George lifts the mug and approaches her. "Yeah," She takes a sip. "Bit for all of us. Reckon it's a letter for the ball."

"Surely they won't hold it this year? What, with all the troubles of so much evil?" Cherry grins into her sip. "No matter what dear Dumbledore says, Hogwarts is anything but safe."
The Weasley smiles in response, sitting beside her and lazily tipping back on the chair, rocking it so Cherry worries he'll fall.
The concern instantly dissipates with the image of him toppling over.

"The man's bonkers." A quiet ruffling from the staircase warns of a newly woken resident. "Rather take advice from a..."
But they'd never know quite what, because upon the entrance of Hermione, George's works fizzle into a slur of murmurs. Cherry takes another sip.

"Ooo, who made coffee?" Smiles Hermione with a yearning expression. George grins.

"The one with the pink cheeks." Cherry replies, stiffling laughter as the Weasley scowls in return, nudging her so she nearly topples off her very own chair.
Suddenly he is sitting upright and offering Granger various concoctions as the bushy haired intellectual stands, bewildered, and overwhelemd with the selection. Finally she falls to a decision.

"I'll have whatever Cherry chose?" But her puzzled exterior halts when she recieves a goofy smile from an enthusiastic ginger, instantly rougeing her cheeks. She tucks a strand behind her ear and falls beside Cheryl, hoping to cool down her face before George can return with any beverage.
Fortunately, Hermione's busy gaze snags on a tower of letters, instantly reaching for one addressed to herself and tearing it open. Her eyes glitter with excitment.
"Have you recieved one, Cherry? An invite to the New Year Ball?"

Without hesitation Winfred lunges for her own, ripping the pretty presentation to reach a similar letter.
She was invited!
"You were right, George!"
He turns with a smug smirk, eyes bright with a gllint of narcissism.