Harry Potter Imagines

Envy C.D

He was watching you again. Brushing up against you in the corridors. Wanting only to speak to you.

Desperate, desperate, desperate.

Jealous.

Fred fumbled with the small rip in his robes, picking at it with torn fingernails. There was something sour in his stomach, reverberating through him as he caught a snag, pulled away, widened the hole.

Hermione placed a hand over his, simmering and gentle. Telling him to stop.

But she didn't get it; she couldn't understand the pure hatred settling in his veins, bones, pupils. Because you let out this little laugh—his favorite sound—but it wasn't being presented to him. You weren't looking into bright, Weasley purple.

You were looking into cool, Diggory yellow.

Desperate he was, because he had not moved on. Not like you had. It couldn't have been two months-two months that felt like two years, but Fred could've sworn he had told you he loved you for the first time two days ago.

-

Cedric Diggory was not blind.

He could see the way Weasley peered at you, begged you with that pathetic, pitiful purple. Cedric made sure to pull you closer every time he caught a hint of that gaze. He didn't respond further, didn't go out of his way to hex the Prankster into oblivion. But, Salazar, did he want to.

Your robes swished softly on the ground, the yellow stitching and the notable badger sewed on always a shock when presented next to his emerald and snake. You smiled at everyone, almost formidable in the way it was so kind.

Cedric, however, never let his scowl slip. His hand stayed entangled with yours, the pace brisk as the pair of you walked to Charms. There was this intoxicating sort of thought that often littered his mind, strewn among a million other delicious ideas.

He wondered what it would take to reveal you. Because currently, you were the kind Hufflepuff. An angel in all the ways that mattered. But that prickling thought reminded him of what you were like in private.

What he could do to you in the seclusion of his lonely, unassuming prefect dorm.

And he wondered if Weasley knew that side of you too.

-

"You should talk to Fred" Hermione implored, seated across from you by the Great Lake. Her lips pursed as you tossed another piece of bread into the water, trying—fruitlessly—to tempt the Grindylows into making an appearance.

You shook your head "Absolutely not."

"He misses you."

"I know."

An exasperated breath left her. She had been working to persuade you for months. None of her words ever took, and you had declined each advance on his own part until Fred had decidedly given up. "You're being unfair."

"How so?" your eyes caught onto a minor tear in your robes. Deftly, you plucked your wand and tapped the hole, repairing it with a spell Cedric had taught you when you first met.

Hermione's eyes seemed trapped to the now-perfect spot, something flickering "He deserves closure."

"He deserves a lot of things" you agreed. The memories slotted across your lids at every blink—the Triwizard Tournament, Christmas holidays, free periods spent in the Room of Requirement. They were the good sidled beside the bad.

The fights, the funerals, Fred's refusal to let you go in fear that he lost you too. You were just a kind Hufflepuff after all, and that meant there was nothing even somewhat intimidating about you. It was his desperation to keep you close that drove you away.