The Queen of Vipers || Fred Weasley

III.X

Fred followed Electra all the way to the infirmary in silence, her unnecessarily heavy bag lugged over his shoulder.

And he was fucking fuming.

Not because of the bag, obviously. No, because he never thought he'd witness a witch hunt in the year 1995, but once that toad of a witch smelled Electra's blood in the water, there was nowhere she could hide. Something had to be done about that new professor. And Octavia and Drusilla too. Fred just had to clear his head of all the scenarios that had the potential of getting his arse tossed into Azkaban before he really started his plotting.

Fred shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he looked at the back of Electra's head as she sat on one of the many cots lining the walls of the infirmary, her hair so long the ends of her curls were tickling her elbows. She was patiently waiting for Madam Pomfrey to fix up some sort of draft to numb Electra's arm so she could reset the bone before it could even be mended.

Merlin better save that Rowle girl, 'cause if he doesn't, she was going to learn the extent of Fred's wrath and how vast it truly was.

"I'm fine."

Fred blinked. "What?"

She turned her head, showing off her, quite frankly, offensively perfect side profile, with her lovely mouth and the way her top lip was a bit fuller than her bottom, and her slender nose with its slight arch to the middle (most likely from the time Octavia broke it), and that sharp chin that always seemed to be raised in that regal way of hers. Her grey eyes seemed oddly bright as she peered up at him through her dark lashes, but perhaps that was just from pain. He did notice she looked quite a deal paler than usual.

"I can practically feel you seething." Her head turned forward again. "And you haven't made a single smart remark."

Fred couldn't help the tug at the corner of his mouth. She knew him too well. And somehow that made him immensely happy. Fred slapped his knees as he sat on the bit of cot behind Electra that she wasn't taking up. He kicked his legs up on the cot and stretched out, lounging back into the single, flat pillow. Again, Electra looked over her shoulder, resting her chin on her uninjured shoulder. "I've had a few circulating up here," he admitted as he tapped his temple.

She hummed, a simple sound that he knew meant, 'I bet you do', in her own sarcastic manner as she gazed out the stained glass window behind him.

Fred swung his arms up, propping his head behind his hands. "You know, Octavia—"

"She's always been a horrible bitch," Electra spat without taking her eyes off the window. "She and her sister. That's nothing new."

"Well, yes," agreed Fred. "The 'O' in Octavia stands for odious. Dense for the 'D' in Drusilla. I could make a whole acrostic poem for you if you fancied it?"

Fred thought he noticed the corner of her mouth twitch. "I'd like to see that actually."

He couldn't help the small grin that stretched across his lips. "I'll draft something up for you. But what I was going to ask was how the bloody hell that brainless bird-eyed bigot got into N.E.W.T.s level anything?"

Electra looked at him with a sort of keen attentiveness in her slate coloured eyes. "Do you want to know what I think?" her voice just above a whisper.

"I always want to know what you think," he said, propping himself up on his elbows, his voice just as low as hers, even though there wasn't another soul in the infirmary to hear them. "Well," he amended, "not always. I'm sure there's some really dark shit in that mind of yours that would have even me running for the hills."

"Sweet of you," she said flatly.

Fred shrugged as best as he could in his position. "I try. But go on, tell me, your favourite confidant."