Playing With Fire * { Fred Weasley }

Quicksand

It was dark when I woke.

Fred was curled up behind me, his arms wrapped loosely around my waist. There was a quilt tangled round my legs, though I was reasonably certain that it had started off wrapped around the two of us. I had a vague memory of waking up with chills and muttering at him to budge over. There'd been a moment's worth of shuffling about until we'd settled into the position that we were in currently, my chills subsiding with the combination of the heat of his body and the weight of the quilt.

A slight shiver ran up my spine and I gently moved Fred's arms so I could sit up. He stirred slightly as I untangled the quilt from my legs and spread it more evenly over the two of us.

"What's the time?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Dunno."

He fumbled with his watch for a moment. "Quarter past nine. Feels like it ought to be later."

I laid back down, pulling the quilt back up to my shoulders, and Fred's arms snaked back around my waist as I settled back against him. "How long d'you think we ought to stay up here?"

"Probably a little longer," he said, his breath tickling the back of my neck. "Hasn't been all that long. More importantly, though, you're quite comfortable and I don't really feel like moving for the foreseeable future."

"So what you're saying is you're lazy."

"Lazy and comfortable, Lewis. Be specific."

I laughed quietly. "Noted."

I found myself relaxing as I listened to his breathing gradually become even and deep. My eyes slid closed.

He had a point: this was quite comfortable.

I realized that this was the first time I'd ever been in bed with a boy. Or the second time, I suppose—technically, I'd been in his bed last night, though I'd vaulted over that particular milestone with so much accompanying drama that it had been rather overshadowed. And granted, it was a rather innocent iteration of "in bed with a boy"—we weren't having sex or anything and we'd slept together only in the most literal sense of the word—but it was still a new thing.

And it was a rather nice thing, I thought. It was very comfortable and safe sort of feeling being all cuddled up like this. I could see the appeal. And really, if it was appealing in a non-romantic situation like this, it seemed like it might be rather wonderful if you were with someone who you loved.

That particular thought generated a small pang of sadness. I certainly wasn't here under particularly enviable or romantic circumstances. I wasn't in a real relationship and I'd only ended up here owing to the spectacular disaster that had been my day, not because Fred especially wanted me to be here.

I sighed. Sodding Aidan Kilbourne.

My eyes stung a bit, but I'd already cried so much that I wasn't sure I could cry any more without shriveling up into a Charlotte-shaped husk. So instead I tried to comfort myself with practical reassurances: one day, this would all be a distant memory. These wounds would fade to bruises and then to nothing more than a story that I might tell from time to time. And really, as much as it hurt now, it probably wasn't as bad as I was making it out to be. Even though I didn't have a proper boyfriend now, I was only seventeen. There was still plenty of time for me yet. Maybe my someone wasn't at Hogwarts; maybe he was at Hogwarts but I hadn't realized yet or maybe we both needed to do some growing up before we were right for each other. Having a boyfriend wasn't the singular purpose of my life, nor was it what made my life meaningful. I would accomplish bigger and better things: I was more than whoever I happened to be dating.