Fred Weasley : Devour

Chapter 2

CUBES THAT PLAY

' Heather '

The knocking still emitted from the door and all Heather could do was stand frozen. She panicked.

Where's Melody when you need her?

What's she supposed to do? should she lock it? runaway through the window perhaps? Risk breaking her bones? no it seems silly, she should stand her ground, be brave.

The door burst open— of all moments to actually lock the door she couldn't.

Fred was panting slightly, his hair ruffled, his chest heaving up and down, almoat as if he rummaged through the whole of hogwarts and came back.

His abdomen slightly flexing—revealing his tone abs, it was as if Heather was face front a greek god, molded into peefection.

Heather was in for a treat.

"Heather?" He calls. He came inside closer to her, making the space in between seem like nothing, then shutting the door behind him.

"Heather, i- I need to know." he paused.

"Even if it isn't an answer I am hoping for, i- I just need to know. I need to know because it's driving me crazy not knowing what you think of me." Fred mumbled unable to form the right words to say, he rummaged for words that were right, some sort of vocabulary that didn't seem unfitting or rude to express — yet he breathed in, mentally slapped himself for how he vocally muttered the cringeness of his question. His words echoed through his ears like bells, it made his teeth gnawed and he knew what he said was off-putting.

"I want to know why you keep staring at me, why you look like you question the world through me, I know—" he paused. His breath was withering. She wanted to know, did she really stare at him?

"Why do you act like I'm a plague to your existence? Do you hate me? Do you like me?" He stuttered.

She doesn't hate him. She just— she doesn't know. She's spent her whole life in Hogwarts pinning herself far away from the twins. But why? Is it only because they were trouble?!

"I've spent my whole life trying to catch a glimpse of your attention, just a second of your voice, a fraction of your thoughts— and I've considered myself a champion of it. But I want more! I need more" he muttered selfishly.

How does she reply? 

He has given all of his thoughts to her, unsolicited thoughts that she didn't want to hear, echoing in her head.

How do you tell someone that loves you— well maybe just fancy, that you don't want him, that you don't like him, but does she really?

"Heather you have me whisped in some kind of trance, and I beg you— I beg of you to end it, kill me. Because I've taken it to heart that you will never see me as nothing more but a mere sickness, a plague. And I've accepted it"

Talk about Shakespeare.

He should leave, shouldn't he? He's embarrassed himself too much now. He's tried everything he could to grab the attention of this beautiful girl in front of him for far too long, and yet she's only ever seen it as a trick. 

His face is close to her, towering her whole.

"Please doll, I beg you to hurt me." he whispered, his sweat beaded down his temples to his cheeks.

— heather couldn't answer, instead she stared into his perplexing eyes, his marveling orbs glistening and piercing through her soul. His perfectly shaped nose— in her perspective slightly squints, showing bits of his freckles.