Buttercup Boy | fred

Chapter 12

T/W: reference to abuse, pain, the affects of abusive households and ptsd
(if you skip this chapter, feel free to dm me at lolalucyclarkk on instagram and I can let you know what happened in this chapter so you don't miss any vital parts of the story!)

Hermione knew no more than Fred or Cherry, so when the group discussed their potential attire for the event whilst gulping down coffee (eyes now wide and a little bloodshot) Cheryl was sure to bring up the topic of partners.
George, once more, brushed off the interrogation before scuttling off to the kitchen.
Ginny was the first to single out a member of the gathering with a not-so-subtle glance.

"What?" Says Hermione, her well-spoken ways making her question all the more biting. "Is there something on my face?"
Ginny simply shakes her head with a knowing smile.
The bushy haired Gryffindor sighs with puzzled amusmant.

The rest of the evening fizzled out into nothingness, and a lack of conversation drove Cherry outside.

Beyond the stretching fields glows a murky horizon, moon drawn amidst sparkling splatters. A soft breeze lifts her skirt.
"I'd hold that down, if I were you." Grumbles Fred from a distance, arms resting on his bent legs as he sits on the small porch of the Burrow. Between his fingers he plays with a wand, every so often casting a pointless spell. His lack of enthusiasm causing it to fizzle away before being completely cast.

"Don't tell me what to do, Fredrick."

Fred scoffs, staring at the turning wand and shaking his head.
Cherry approaches him slowly, the milky light too alluring on his speckled complexion.

"Maybe I want my skirt to lift?" It came out far more seductive than intended and its purpose (to constantly defy the Weasley) is lost when Fred turns with a large grin, tucking his wand in his back pocket and rising.

His cheeky grin speaks before he does. "Well, if that's what you meant, then..."
Cherry rolls her eyes. He watches her with a toothy smile.

This woman would never go out of style. She had the looks, the charm, the charisma.
So, as the young woman mumbled over the seasonal politics of fashion, Fred watched her with eternal awe.
If art were a person, Cheryl would be the unique piece, advertised, used as the attraction to lure customers in, each visitor flaunting their time in her presence.
And yet she chose to be with him, lingering by shop windows or bothering over his opinions on her favourite clothing items.

"Get them both. My treat." Fred says, rising from a stiff seat. Cheryl spins away from the mirror, hurridly tidying the items away and denying his gift.

"It's not a treat if you keep doing it, is it, Fred?" Not once would she meet his eye as each item returns to its hanger.

Fred takes her chin and lifts it, drinking up the soft pink of her cheeks, honey of her gaze.
"What a boring way to look at life?"

Fred speaks into the momentary silence.
"You still like the moon?"
He clears his throat.
The question clearly pains Cheryl because she clenches her jaw and blinks a little slower. The bobbing of her throat sells her agony instantly.

Cherry continues to argue, however the items are already sat at the counter and an elderly witch is passing the Weasley several coins.
She was painfully aware of the Weasley's financial position, and Fred's constant kindness was blooming into carelessness, even if it came from a place of affection.
"No, Fred! I don't want any of it that much anyway!"

He steers her from the shop, still smiling to himself. "You've been lookin' at the same knecklace for weeks now," A cresent in a striking green, the gem infused with magic, likely used to give good luck.
Cheryl truly wanted it to add her own spell, perhaps add magic regarding romance or intelligence?
"And I don't reckon I've ever seen anyone look at a dress with such love." They pause outside a quaint coffee shop near the beach, trails of sand and scents of the ocean spread thick across their senses.
"Was worried the bloody dress was gonna replace me!"