moonlight (f.w.)

ten

     The days passed quickly for Fred and Gen. Fred found he was no longer nervous around Gen, only excited and adventurous. He put his arm around her shoulders at every opportunity, and every time he did, she would lace her fingers through his. George found their happiness disgusting, but he couldn't help but laugh along because he'd never seen his brother so happy with someone but him. He used the time that Fred was running off with Genevieve to flirt with Angelina Johnson, and soon he found himself just as happy as Fred. Fred was happy for his brother, and extremely relieved because he felt bad running off with a girl and leaving his brother alone. But now they were branching off, and George and Fred agreed that as soon as they were going steady with their respective girls, they would go on double dates all the time, eventually get married and buy houses right next to each other with the money they got from the shop they were going to run together. They agreed it sounded like a perfect life. 

     Soon it was Friday afternoon, and Gen was pacing her dormitory, Georgia sitting on her bed and laughing. "Genevieve, love, listen to me. You're freaking out for no reason! You're going to go, have a grand night out on the town, and you're going to have fun!" she demanded. Gen stopped walking and put a hand on her hip. "I'm not freaking out. I'm just nervous. We haven't really been alone since that night in the hospital wing and I just have this feeling that he's going to kiss me, and my feelings are never wrong," Gen told her friend, continuing to walk around her room. She ran her hand through her straightened hair. "What? You don't want him to kiss you?" Georgia asked, knowing the answer already. "Don't be stupid, of course I want him to kiss me. It's just... I've never been kissed before, and I don't know what to wear. I don't know where to put my hands. He's probably done this lots of times before," she ranted. Georgia laughed. "You're thinking way too deeply into this. You're going to get dressed in a shirt and jeans and a coat, because it's chilly. You're going to put your hair up so it doesn't get messed up while you're flying. You're going to go meet him where the brooms are kept, hug him hello, and you're going to go to Diagon Alley and have a good evening with your soon-to-be boyfriend. Okay?" she said confidently. Genevieve took a deep breath and grabbed a black turtle neck and a pair of paper bag jeans with a belt. She got dressed in the bathroom and combed through her hair again, deciding to leave it down, before applying some lip balm and mascara. Something was missing, she decided, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She went back into the dormitory and whistled. "You look hot. Now go get him," she said, handing Gen her coat and practically shoving her out the door. 

     Gen walked to the broom shed by the quidditch pitch, fiddling with her fingers. She had known Fred a week, and in that time she had fallen head over heels for him. He could do no wrong in her eyes, and all this time she had been imagining what his lips would feel like against hers. She couldn't tell if she was more nervous or excited to actually find out. She walked up to him, her lips automatically turning up upon seeing him. "Ready to go?" she asked, grabbing a broom. He nodded. "So what are we doing? Going to Gringotts and that's all?" he asked, hoping desperately that would not be it. "Well... we could make an evening of it? I'll get you dinner as a thank you for coming with me, and maybe we could browse the stores there? I never got the Diagon Alley experience every brit thrives on," she giggled. He grinned widely and mounted his broom. "Well then I'll make sure you get it. We can even go into Ollivander's if you'd like. I reckon he'd like to see your wand, he lives on that stuff," he suggested, and she nodded, remembering her father telling her that Ollivander was his biggest inspiration growing up and a great teacher to him in his early adulthood. Her father had been a very talented Wandmaker, and she had been taught wandlore from a young age. He had left her his shop in New York in his will, and she would inherit it when she was 18. She got on her broom and took off, following Fred in hopes he'd know the way to go. She smiled at the feeling of the wind in her hair which she had not felt in three long weeks. Flying could always make her problems go away, but for quidditch-practicing purposes, she only used school-issued brooms. She hadn't had the opportunity in weeks, and she felt renewed now that she had.