Just A Bet ● Fred Weasley × Reader ●

18 - I spite god = I am God.

Twas the night before Christmas...

And I was stressed right the hell out. 

Why?

I still don't have a date to the Yule Ball...

I was sitting in the dining hall, listening to the girls talking about their dates as I ate and wallowed in my own self-pity. Angelina was talking about Fred again, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't seem to tune out her blabbering.

"I'm so excited for tomorrow! I can't wait to show Fred my dress!" She clapped her hands excitedly while everyone smiled at her like she was a toddler demanding attention.

Just then, Fred sauntered up behind her like the pompous prat he was and kissed her cheek, saying, "I'm excited to see it, princess."

I looked away, grumbling my annoyances under my breath until I finally gathered the courage, finally making the decision I had been debating for a few days since getting my dress.

"I'm not going," I said.

Everyone within a ten foot radius of me froze and turned their heads. Some people just really know how to dig their noses into other people's business.

"What!? Why?!" Hermione placed her fork onto the table.

"Because I don't want to." I stared at my plate, avoiding any and all forms of eye contact.

George chimed in and I could hear the grin plastered across his face, "It's cause you don't have a date, isn't it, l/n?" 

"I- no- It's not," I stammer. I hated admitting it, but I was pretty much the only one in the school who didn't have a date at this point.

The twins shared a look, then grinned, but something else seemed to hide behind Fred's gaze.

"Princess of Gryffindor doesn't have a date, eh?" He teased and it made my blood bubble beneath my skin.

"No. I don't have a date. Why does that matter anyway?" I ask, leaning against the table with my elbows. 

Fred shrugs like the prick he is, "Just curious, sweetheart.:

I huff. Sweetheart? What kind of nickname was that? 

The worst part about it was that I actually kind of liked how it sounded. Rolling off his tongue with such ease.

"I don't want to go. Not because I don't have a date, but because I simply don't want to go," I say, my voice coming out slightly harsher than I had originally intended.

Fred - along with everyone else - just stared at me, having clearly heard the snap in my tone.

Examining hi face further, I could have sworn I saw a flash of something that resembled hurt, but I couldn't be entirely sure. But when Angelina's arm grazed his and he looked down at her with a smile, I could tell that he didn't feel anything when I got snappy.

That seemed to spark something in me... Now I want a reaction...

Now I wanted to go to the ball. I did have a dress. I could go in spite... I might as well. If I got a reaction, any at all, I'd be happy.

●Fred's POV●

I couldn't deny that seeing her snap at me struck a chord deep within me that kind of hurt. 

But I chose to ignore it and sat beside Angelina, slinging my arm over her shoulder, but something about the action just didn't seem right. Her body just din't fit against mine like it should...

I look back at y/n, who has her head down, her fork shifting the food around on her plate.

I wanted to talk to her. To reach over. To touch her. To ask if she was okay, but I stopped myself. She obviously wasn't in the mood right now, so I would respect that for her sake.

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The next day, my palms were drenched in sweat as I straightened my suit that mum sent me in the mail. It wasn't terrible. definitely not as terrible as Ron's. Get close enough and the fabric smelled like my great aunt Tessy. 

I couldn't help but chuckle, but my amusement died when George barged in and took my wrist, dragging me to the great hall.

Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck.

George stood beside me, checking out everyone, admiring everyone's outfits.

That was until a flash of red caught my eye and I was drawn to Angelina as she descended he stairs, but my mind didn't shut off like it usually did when I looked at y/n.

Angelina approached me and I smiled, telling her that she looked beautiful tonight. Her dress was a brilliant red, and it complimented her mocha skin, but she would have looked so much better in perhaps a purple...

I heard a gasp, then felt a nudge in my side from George. I turn, and my hand drops from Ange's waist, my jaw following suit.

Merlin's beard, she was beautiful... Her y/f/c dress hugged every curve and I didn't even care if she had curves or not. Her y/h/c hair flowed down her back in curls that not even Rowena could do herself. She looked like a goddess...

My brain short circuited and shut off. My senses were consumed by her, but she didn't even spare me a glance as she walked up to Ron and Harry, sending a surge of disappointment through my chest.

Hang on... I thought she wasn't coming to the ball. That's what she said yesterday, so then why was she here?

She began conversing with them, then waved them goodbye and went over to Malfoy of all people while he stood with his date, Astoria Greengrass. 

y/n must have said something, because the platinum blond laughed and then did something I never thought I'd see someone of the likes of him do: He ruffled her hair. He ruffled her perfectly curled hair. Honestly, how dare he mess up those perfect locks with his grimmy little fingers.

She laughed and fixed her hair, but then her eyes darted over to me for a fraction of a second and my heart fluttered in my chest. The urge to steal her away and scold Malfoy for messing up something so perfect was immense, but then George and Angeline dragged me into the great hall.

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A/N - Woooo! Only been a few weeks since I have posted, so yeah. Whatever. Hehehehehehe

See you next time, Darlings! Xxx