FLAMEOUT \\ fred weasley

Chapter Seven

"The Daily Prophet has 'Harpies' Beater Weds Rising Entrepreneur,'" Fred said. Runi glanced up from her magazine to see him frown and take a sip of the strange potion he'd tried to pass off to her as coffee. As if any normal person hoarded their morning coffee like a jealous dragon without brewing extra for their spouse, let alone drank a whole goblet of it just before bed. His right leg was crossed over his left, his sleeves were rolled up, revealing his strong forearms, and he had the newspaper open in front of him. Hot. She snapped back to attention, trying to ignore the way her body seemed to react to his very presence as he kept talking. "Headline's a bit of a let-down. They couldn't come up with anything better? 'Most Desirable Bachelor in London,' perhaps?"

"I married you, not Cedric Diggory." Teased Runi, hoping that he couldn't tell how badly she desired him.

Fred looked up from his paper and narrowed his eyes at her. Hurriedly, she turned her gaze back to her own magazine, pretending to be captivated by the mediocre writing in front of her.

"Ha-ha," he said dryly, and Runi suppressed a giggle. "You mean to tell me you haven't heard of Hermione Granger or Harry Potter, but you know who Cedric Diggory is?"

"He's in this edition of Witch Weekly," Runi said, waving the bright yellow magazine at him. "Apparently he's back in London, and he's been deemed this month's Most Eligible."

Fred scoffed. "There's no way that's a real award."

"It is," Runi said, smiling slightly. "But it went to Roger Davies with the Tornadoes instead. I saw Cedric Diggory in Spellbound earlier this week."

Spellbound was a celebrity gossip rag that had been in circulation for nearly a century. Fred had been featured in it four times over the last several years, along with his brother George, but Runi would die before she admitted to him that she knew he was in it. Runi herself had once featured seven times between Halloween and Christmas, and it had come as something of a relief when she hadn't seen her name printed for over a year.

"Has Spellbound come in, then?" Asked Fred curiously.

"Over there," Runi said idly, turning the page of her magazine as she pointed to a bright red cover on the kitchen table. "Their headline on us is 'Match of the Century!' I suppose they think 'match' was a clever bit of wordplay, given the Quidditch of it all." She looked up and lifted a sardonic eyebrow at him over her magazine. "It isn't, but at least they tried for a pun — Witch Weekly didn't bother with even that and went with 'Homewrecker Harpy.'" She spoke with a lightheartedness she didn't quite feel.

"Hey, that's alliterative," Fred pointed out. "And depending on your definition of harpy, there's a pun there, too."

"Written by Leigh-Anne Warner," mused Runi. "One of those saintly types, isn't she?" She tried to smile, but it fell flat and weak. The words on the page were particularly biting and cruel — it seemed that Miss Warner was the type of woman who had an inflated opinion of her own cleverness.

"Give me that." Fred snatched the magazine from her hand and skimmed it. He scowled. "If by saintly, you mean sanctimonious—"

"Oh, I really do."

"Then you've hit the mark perfectly." Fred snorted. "I wouldn't put much stock in her words. She seems like a self-important idiot."

"Perhaps, but she's a self-important idiot with influence," Runi sighed. "I'm telling you, Homewrecker Harpy is going to stick." Her shoulders slumped, and she put her face in her palms, muffling the loud groan she couldn't hold back.

"Hey." She heard the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, followed by footsteps coming closer to her. She only caught the barest hint of Fred's scent — the clean smell of his eucalyptus soap, the fresh notes of his spearmint toothpaste — before his finger was under her chin, nudging her face up. Runi only barely stopped herself from gasping aloud as the touch of his fingertip sent jolts of electricity coursing through her. Her mind went pleasantly blank.