Complementary Colors (Fred Weasley)
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- Parti 8
"I just..." Fred sighed.
Visibly upset by whatever topic was at hand. I could tell he was tinkering with his words. A crease formed between his brows as if he was worried what he said next was a question he didn't want answered.
"I don't understand why you choose their company. You aren't like them."
He paused. I could see the warmth in his cheeks. Hear the way his breath softened. I wanted so badly to forget everything that he did. That I did.
"You're... you're good, Indie. You're considerate and caring. You have so much love to give. You don't fit in with such hateful people."
That's when the tidal wave broke through. That one godamn word that Fred surely didn't mean any harm by but caused this vengeful ice to slither through my lungs, up my throat, onto my tongue... up, up, up.
I furrowed my eyebrows, but the crease between mine meant something else entirely.
With venom on my tongue I spat,
"Well fed devils behave better than famished saints."
The one in which a willful, witty Slytherin tries desperately to not suffocate in her feelings for Fred Weasley.
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