Fred was done with pretending.
Everything was a mess, in his perspective. It took everything in him to keep up the friendly act with Y/n, and it was even harder knowing that tonight she'd be his date. Friends or no, Y/n was his date. This could very well be the best chance he has to tell her everything.
So, Fred decided he was done with pretending. Decided he wanted to tell her about all the things that drove him crazy about her. He wanted to tell that he fancied her— if he could find out if that was how he felt, or if it was love.
That was the one thing that really tore him to shreds trying to decipher. The word "love" was something he's only seen between his mum and dad— between the couples in the corridors, kissing and hugging their goodbyes. But the fact he felt that tug of love was... almost unbelievable to him, unsettling that he wasn't even with her. He felt that he should be denied the right to love her if he wasn't hers and she wasn't his— and with his heart straining to no end, he almost wanted it to be...
Her face when he asked her out... The shocked expression he couldn't seem to figure out made him so angry, it haunted him. And so he drew it out, every detail from his memory that was all too vivid for comfort, and burned it. Every detail of her beautiful face contorted in shock and confusion— burned. Burned it so he had some sort of power over getting rid of the small strain in his heart, and it worked for a few minutes before he was nearly yelling at George and Lee, explaining everything.
They said love. Lee and George said he sounded like a boy in love.
But was it really something they knew? Was it something they could really make a judgment on? Or was it something he had to figure out for himself?
He knew the answer— he knew it, and still... And still was the doubt and the frustration of it. There was no escaping the way he felt, he tried and tried, but it never went away. He knew the only way out of this hellhole of emotions was to tell her and hope she was stuck in it, too.
"We're already late," Lee frowned at his watch, the gold glinting in the light.
"Why don't you both just go then?" Fred grumbled, running his hands over his face.
"We're not leaving without you," George looked at Fred, his sky-blue, silk blouse catching the light. "I'm telling you, she picked out a couple's costume, Freddie. From my knowledge, Mavis and Johnny are in love, in that kids movie— like, married and everything."
Fred pulled at his shirt, frowning at it. He was indeed dressed up from Johnny as from Hotel Transylvania, and he trusted her enough to wear it, even though he never watched it. And also Y/n dressed up as Mavis... he had agreed almost instantly after seeing her put together and try on the costume.
"Listen," George sighed, putting down the makeup palette Lee borrowed from Carrie Mckinnon. "Just tell her, mate. Put your pea-sized brain to work and put the pieces together and realize that it isn't a coincidence she dyed her hair after you told her she'd look great, that she blushed when you kissed her on the cheek and left that green kiss print at the World Cup, and that it isn't a coincidence that she chose a couple's costume."
Fred ran a hand through his now fluffy, trimmed hair— courtesy of Lee's hairstyling skills— and sighed. Then he looked up, right at the two that seemed to know everything about love, and asked, "You think she fancies me?"
George looked at Lee, who smiled, and then said, "I guess you'll have to find out, Freddie boy."
"If you've got the guts," Lee added, also adding a wink along with it.
Fred looked at their own couples costumes. Y/n's Beauxbatons dress mended to fit Lee, and George's "borrowed" suit uniform from a boy around his size and height, mended slightly, as well. If George and Lee were so blatantly up front with each other about their feelings, maybe he could too.
And with that sudden burst of courage, he stood and began striding for the door, ignoring the calls from both Lee and George.
✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯
Y/n wasn't good at pretending.
Y/n wasn't good at pretending she wasn't head-over-heels for Fred. Y/n wasn't good at pretending to be patient as she waited for him. Y/n was not good at pretending.
She picked at her black painted nails, chipping some of the polish off as she waited. Fussed with her now black hair— the bright veela blonde underlayer tied so it was not seen, as the dye never seemed to affect it— and at her mesh black gloves that didn't cover her pale, manicured fingers.
Thirty minutes had passed, and still no sign of Fred.
Giving small waves and shy smiles, Y/n watched as people passed her in the dark corridor and entered the Slytherin dungeons. She waited near the door, nearly in the shadows, waiting for her date.
"You're still waiting?"
Y/n looked up from her chipped, black nails and met Carrie's eyes. Her blue eyes were framed with black eyeliner, smudged a bit, with mascara elongating her lashes.
"It's not ideal," Y/n sighed, crossing her arms and leaning further against the pale stone wall. "But— yes."
"Here," Carrie said, pulling out a flask from her long, shimmery black skirt.
The bracelets stacked upon her wrist jingled and clacked against each other as she fully pulled out the silver flask. Carrie gave her a sly grin, shaking the flask in front of Y/n.
"My dress has pockets," Carrie flicked her brows up. "I thought it'd be perfect to hold... certain things."
Carrie's magenta painted lips were closed now in a smirk, her eyes bright. Y/n sighed again and gingerly grabbed the flask, examining it before twisting the lid, maintaining eye contact with Carrie whilst doing so.
"Do I want to know what else is in those pockets?" Y/n asked, swirling whatever was inside the flask.
"Oh, you naughty girl," Carrie rolled her eyes, extending a finger toward the flask, pushing it closer to Y/n's mouth. "I've got food—cookies, more importantly."
Y/n frowned at the flask, knowing full well that the liquid inside could be entirely unpleasant. But, she brought it to her mouth, taking a single sip— or what she intended to do. Before Carrie pushed it up, more liquid poured into her mouth.
She nearly choked and vomited. She was right, the liquid was absolutely vile. It was definitely liquor, she thought. It was almost like rubbing alcohol, and it stung in her mouth, and in her throat as she forced herself to gulp it down.
"That's— foul," Y/n choked, pushing the flask to Carrie's chest.
Carrie only gave a huffing laugh before reaching into her pocket again. The taste of the alcohol lingered in her mouth, a strange sense of warmth settling in her throat, her stomach. And when Carrie held something out in front of her, Y/n nearly shoved it away before she smelt the cookie now waving before her.
Snatching the chocolate-chip cookie from Carrie's hand, she scowled, "Remind me to never drink anything you give me again."
Carrie shrugged, adjusting her flowy, black skirt while watching Y/n carefully. Expectantly.
Y/n took a bite of the cookie, desperate to get rid of the taste that stung her mouth. Soon the taste was almost gone entirely, a small sense of it lingering on her tongue, but the sweet cookie took over. All that was left was a cozy, small warmth nestled in her chest, her throat.
"Nice and warm, right?" Carrie asked, cocking her head.
Shoving the remains of the cookie in her mouth, Y/n nodded, though still content to scowl at Carrie. Her friend only fixed her silky, black witch hat, her hair shifting beneath. That ghost of a smile on her lips.
"It's a good cheerier-upper," Carrie took the flask from Y/n finally, taking a swig— a scrunch of her face was the only discomfort she let show.
"Did you talk to Kylie yet?" Y/n asked, watching her carefully— the shifting of Carrie's feet at the question.
Carrie gave a shrug, though it looked tight and heavy. "I haven't yet. Why do you think I brought the flask?"
Y/n gave her a stern look, crossing her arms once more. "Just talk to her- without using a drink as a crutch."
"Once you work up the courage to confront Fred, I will," Carrie gave a smirk, doubting Y/n's ability to do so.
"If he'd show up, I would," Y/n sighed, scanning the corridor behind Carrie for signs of the boy who did not show.
"Stop looking for him," Carrie snapped her fingers in front of Y/n's face, scanning her face- her eyes. "Don't keep waiting, enjoy yourself- even if he doesn't show. And if he doesn't... I'll have to exchange a few words with him."
"He's my date, Carrie," Y/n sighed, the weight of her annoyance heavy. "I want him to be here— right now."
Carrie gripped her chin with surprising gentleness, forcing Y/n to meet her eyes. "You do not need him. If he doesn't show, he's an idiot. You don't need him, you want him- there's a difference. Do you understand?"
Y/n rolled her eyes but nodded as much as Carrie's hand would allow.
"Good," Carrie gave a cheery smile, removing her hand, tapping her cheek with a light slap. "Now, do we want to go in or wait for your prince charming?"
Y/n considered her options for a heart beat, then quickly realized she didn't have any— as Carrie quickly grabbed the lid to the flask and screwed it tight. No later than that, Carrie was pulling her along to the door.
Carrie wasn't one to let her friends wait around in lone corridors waiting for someone that would never show, and Y/n knew it, too.
Pointy witch hat piercing the air above, her shimmery skirts hissing along the stone floor, silky bodice shimmering in the remaining candles of the corridor— Y/n thought Carrie looked beautiful, and Kylie would be stupid to deny it. But, what Y/n liked most, was that Carrie's dyed, black and electric blue hair was gone— her natural color of dirty blonde replacing it, thanks to George and Fred's hair potions. It met just below her shoulders, but it was wavy and silky, bouncing with her hurried steps.
If Remus's stories of Marlene Mckinnon couldn't do enough justice for her, Carrie could. She was nearly a spitting image of her mother, based off of the images Remus managed to find and show Y/n.
Soon, Y/n was yanked into the Slytherin dungeons, music filling her ears and lights flashing. Y/n blinked and covered one ear with the hand that wasn't in Carrie's grip. It was the manner of her friends' boldness that settled her, because if Y/n was timid about the party, she knew Carrie wasn't. She knew Carrie would pull her out of her comfort zone and still manage to make Y/n feel comfortable all the same.
If the celebration after Harry's champion announcement was crazy, this party was even wilder. Y/n would be lying if she said she didn't think the Slytherin's could pull this off, but now... looking at the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students mingling with the Hogwarts students, she was slightly shocked— but excited, nonetheless.
Carrie made it down the pale stone steps and down to the main level of the dungeons, Y/n following her tugs. Y/n followed her even when the smell of alcohol and sweat laced every breath she took through her nose.
"You're coming with me!" Carrie yelled, looking back at Y/n with a grin as she began to push through the crowd. "To talk to Kylie!"
"What?!" Y/n yelled back, debating whether to run away from Carrie or not.
Carrie just gave the widest smile—perfect teeth and all—pulling Y/n along until they were both in the suffocating crowd. Lights flashing, music blaring, and the push of the people around her set her mind scattering, and the only thing she focused on was Carrie's pull.
Y/n found that she did not like the feeling of being pushed around in a crowd of people anymore, let alone being tugged. She was confused and a bit irritated now, and Carrie would get an earful once Y/n had the chance to scold her.
But for now the only thing keeping her steady from the rocking crowd was Carrie, and Y/n would hold on with all her might.
Crazy— absolutely crazy Carrie was. And sudden; it seemed Carrie had a sudden impulse- a rush of confidence, no doubt. To approach someone she often only took in from afar.
"What did she say to you the last time you spoke with her?" Y/n asked, her hesitant voice nearly gobbled up by the music, even though she was nearly yelling.
"She told me she was scared," Carrie said loudly above the music and rising voices of those around them as she looked back at Y/n. "She told me that— that she wasn't supposed to like me. That it isn't right. But I can change that!"
Y/n only gaped as she was jerked forward by a fierce pull from Carrie. None of the people around them and their forceful pushes at them would stop what Carrie felt. Carrie was cleaving through the crowd, searching for Kylie— the girl who was scared, scared of her own feelings.
"It's not worth it then, is it?" Y/n spoke as loud as she could, pulling back Carrie's arm until she was close enough to hear.
Carrie's face was set with determination— that, or anger. "What?"
Carrie deserved someone willing to face their fears with her, someone willing to go against everyone and everything for her. She deserved someone caring and kind, daring and bold, everything that Carrie could ever dream of.
Not fear— never someone whose fear took control.
"It's not worth it!" Y/n yelled, trying to be heard over that music. Now they're at a stop in the swarm of people, and they all danced carelessly while Carrie and Y/n seemed to be frozen in the middle of that chaos. "I mean—it doesn't sound like it."
The witch hat that was propped atop Carrie's head was gone now, her dirty blonde hair messy and bits plastered on her forehead. It must've fallen off somewhere.
"She's not worth it, Carrie!" Y/n repeated, gripping Carrie's hand with both of hers. "Not if she can't willingly face her fears for you."
"But I'm scared, too, Y/n!" Carrie shook her head, then attempted to shake her hand from Y/n's grip.
"You're the one trying— you're the only one trying!" Y/n gripped her hand harder, shaking it, trying to get the message through. "I haven't seen her try to talk to you ever! Not once."
A push at Y/n's back, and she sent one back, the person staggering back. There was no way in hell she'd let someone push her— push her while she tried desperately to tell Carrie something.
"She said no to you many times!" Y/n scanned every feature on Carrie's face, her heart nearly cracking at the emotion in her eyes.
"But she said she liked me, Y/n!" Carrie shook her head, her voice rising. "You would try for Fred if he said the same!"
"Don't use that against me," Y/n knew her face dropped a bit, did not bother to hide it. "Kylie is scared— you said she's scared and she clearly doesn't want to fight it!"
"What do you know?!" Carrie's eyes were lined with silver, and her face was set in frustration and pain. " You are a coward."
Y/n felt her stomach drop, felt her face drop. Yet she did not pretend she wasn't hurt.
"You are a coward!" Carrie ripped her hands free from Y/n's grasp. "You are trying to tell me that Kylie is a coward, yet here you are, the biggest coward I've ever seen. You've never tried anything to get Fred— never! Not in the ways that count.t coward I've ever seen. And maybe Kylie's a coward, but I'm not." Carrie's voice does not waver. "I will do what it takes to try and convince Kylie there is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to care about. But you do not get to tell me that I shouldn't, because you don't know anything!"
Some people around them bothered to look, but didn't bother to show they weren't listening to them argue.
"The fact you would even try and tell me that it's not worth it," Carrie shook her head in disbelief. "You don't get to tell me things like that."
Every word was true— every harsh, brutal word was true. That was the worst of it, if it were not only because Carrie was saying them, but that they were true.
"She said it wasn't right," Y/n tried to speak loud, but her voice was straining. "That's... did that hurt— did that hurt you to hear? From her?"
"She was raised in a household that taught her that loving another girl is wrong," Carrie clarified, stepping back from Y/n, speaking loud. "And so was I. If I'm not scared, I can teach her not to."
Y/n let her lips tremble and did not bother to hide it. And as Carrie looked her up and down— disbelief written across her face— she reached in her pocket and pulled out the silver flask, and put it into Y/n's hand that hung limp at her side.
Carrie watched as Y/n gripped it until her knuckles were pure white. "I'm going to tell Kylie the things I haven't said yet. I'm going to stop being a coward."
Y/n said nothing. She let herself become a mess internally while the music still blared, the lights still flashing, and the dancers still dancing.
"Maybe you should learn a few things from me."
Carrie was gone, the determination taking over again as she disappeared through the crowd.
So true, so true, so true, so true, so true, so true, so true.
All the words that rose above the music only moments before were a dose of truth. A dose of truth that woke Y/n, left her feeling awful.
They all still danced around her, they pushed her. This time she let them. And she fell toward someone.
She didn't care who. She didn't care—
"Y/n?" A familiar voice rang in her ear, hands gripped her upper arms and held her upright.
Y/n looked up and felt like nearly crumbling into her brother's arms. Thank Merlin he was dressed in his normal Gryffindor robes—dressed as The Boy Who Lived, funny enough—so he was easily recognizable.
"Y/n, where've you been-" Harry started, but as he scanned her for any sign of any sort of injury, he saw the look of devastation on her face—then the tears.
The pity in Harry's eyes was almost enough to set her sobbing—she hated how sensitive Carrie's words made her. She sucked in a shaky breath.
"What happened," Harry demanded, bringing a hand up to remove a few strands of hair sticking to her tear-stained cheeks.
The last thing Y/n wanted was for him to know and go off trying to have a talk with Carrie. And seeing the look on his face—brows furrowed, lips a tight line, eyes narrowed and scanning her face—she knew he was already set in his protective brother mode.
"It's nothing, Harry," Y/n tried to shove him off, but he held strong.
"Was it Fred?" His voice was stern, like he already knew the answer.
"No-" Y/n said quickly, and she didn't know why she was defending him. "It wasn't him—he's late, but it wasn't him. Now shove off."
Harry looked taken aback, only to be more confused when Y/n pushed him away slightly with both hands on his chest—one hand fisted and holding the flask still.
"I'm only trying to help—" He tried to move forward again, his face softening into just genuine concern.
"I don't need your help, Harry," Y/n snapped, unable to stop the tears that blurred her vision.
"What's that in your hand, then," He jerked his chin to the flask gripped so tightly Y/n's knuckles were bone-white.
"Not that it's any of your business," Y/n crossed her arms, someone bumping into Harry as she concealed the flask under her other arm, "but it's Carrie's."
"You know you shouldn't—" Harry began, his tone remaining stern and concerned.
He tried placing a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't want to let him in on whatever she felt, and she knew she would come crumbling down if he tried comforting her.
"I said shove off," Y/n shoved past him, acting no better than the people who have been shoving her around in the crowd the entire time.
She was fuming, her blood practically boiling and rolling beneath her skin. And she was so hot— she was sweating and she hated every second of being in that damned crowd. She was angry—not only at Carrie, but herself.
Why had she pushed Harry away when he was only trying to help, to be the comforting brother he sought to be? Why was she so rude to him? She knew why, but it didn't seem good enough for an answer to either question.
She was just mad, and she was done with pretending not to be. She always did this, always bottled up every inconvenient emotion until something happened and she burst at the seams. Everything comes running up—flowing, exploding— until she just wanted to scream to where her throat was burning and raw.
The feelings were engulfing her, and so were the people around her—shoving, pushing, dancing. She didn't want to be here, and her main reason for coming hadn't even shown up. He left her on her own, and now she was sobbing through her teeth in the middle of everyone.
No one seemed to notice,
You are a coward.
True, she was.
You've never tried anything to get Fred— never! Not in the ways that count.
True, she really hadn't.
You don't know anything!
True, she thought she did, but she most likely didn't.
She didn't know a lot of things, and she didn't know that Fred was running around trying to find her and spend the rest of the night dancing and laughing with her. She didn't know how badly he wanted to find her so that he could spill everything, every last drop of words that could describe the way she drove him out of his mind.
Fred didn't know she was sobbing in the crowd, drowning in her own feelings.
✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯
Y/n blinked, brows slightly furrowed, and met Angelina's stare. There was no hatred or anger in that stare, but... there was a little, tentative smile spreading on her full lips, and there was nothing sinister in it.
She was beautiful— stunning, actually. Her costume was fitting; white fabric draped over her body, a gold ring attaching the fabric into straps on either shoulder, and a decorative gold belt fitting her waist. The white, silky fabric was bright against her dark brown skin, and it flowed down her crossed legs and onto the stone floor.
She fit the role of a goddess perfectly. Angelina looked like a living goddess.
"Under-age drinking is illegal, you know," Angelina tried to joke, though her voice was hesitant.
Y/n looked at the un-capped flask in her hand, the taste of the liquor still stinging her tongue. She gave a huff of a laugh.
"Aren't you underage, too?," Y/n flicked her brows upward, motioning to her cup filled with—well, whatever it was—on the coffee table between them.
"I'm seventeen already, so technically no," Angelina gave a shrug, the corners of her mouth moving upward in a delicate—still hesitant and weary—manner.
Y/n shrugged, too, only bringing the flask to her lips to prove whatever point she felt she had to make. Or maybe she just wanted to.
It still tasted like shit, and Y/n's face still scrunched in distaste. At least it was something.
There was that tired, numb feeling after crying your eyes out that took over after the explosion of emotions that happened only a short while ago. She liked the calmness after the storm, but she was immensely hungry.
Angelina's small smile turned into a frown as she scanned her face—her blotchy red cheeks, somewhat puffy eyes, and the tear stains running down her cheeks. Y/n couldn't help feeling a little violated and intimidated at that moment.
"How much have you had?" Angelina's frown still remained, and her gorgeous eyes seemed to peek into Y/n's very soul.
Angelina's eyes were that of dark soil, deep and rich, and they always seemed to hold the right light to everything. Y/n only seemed to find admiration for Angelina, it was near impossible to find anything to hold against her— except her captivating beauty.
"Not much, don't worry," Y/n looked down to her hand holding the flask, frowning at it.
Four sips, that was it. She planned on taking more, even if she only recently started feeling a bit lighter.
Angelina's eyes scanned the room— the floor just above the dungeons, the Slytherin common room. The room wasn't filled, but there was a good amount of people sitting in the same green velvet armchairs Y/n and Angelina both sat in. And there was a snack table, and it seemed Angelina took that as an advantage, her plate of treats on the little table between her and Y/n.
"You're probably wondering why I'm here," Angelina looked at Y/n again, her eyes going straight back as if she were scared to look too long.
"I am," was the only answer Y/n could give to her.
Angelina's frown returned, her eyes dropping down to her plate on the table.
"And I'm guessing you know Fred and I are... friends," Angelina's voice was quiet, almost shaky.
"I do," Y/n nodded slowly, her brows furrowed in light confusion and frustration at the fact she was clearly beating around the bush.
Angelina reached for a sweet on her plate, picking up a round, milk chocolate ball with white chocolate drizzled on top. She looked up at Y/n, nodding toward the plate in offering. Y/n could never refuse an offer of chocolate.
"I don't know if you know this, too," Angelina wasn't meeting Y/n's eyes, but took a little bite of the chocolate ball. "But I like Fred—more than friends, I mean."
Y/n looked at the twin to Angelina's chocolate ball held in her fingers, then plopped it into her mouth, nodding to Angelina.
"It's stupid, really," Angelina gave a little laugh, shaking her head at herself. "I don't know why I do—well, I do, but... he doesn't really bother with showing me any feelings—romantically. Just friends."
Y/n didn't know why Angelina was telling her all this, but she sat and listened, nodding her head. She understood the frustration of being caught up on Fred, so she let her talk.
"I was sort of invisible, in that sense," Angelina shrugged, but it looked stiff. "I don't think he ever even..." her voice trailed off and she looked up at Y/n again, seeming to realize her rambling.
Y/n just took another chocolate—this one was a white chocolate ball with milk chocolate drizzle, this time—and tried to not feel heavy under Angelina's gaze.
"What I'm saying is... I'm saying he doesn't fancy me," Angelina let out a breath of air, and Y/n noticed that disappointment in her tone.
"He's stupid, you should know that by now," Y/n tried to give a joking smile but wasn't sure if it worked well.
"Yes, but... he's got a reason," Angelina looked like she might tear up, though she kept strong, so far.
When Y/n only looked at her, confused as she licked her teeth for any remaining chocolate sticking to her teeth, Angelina gave a little smile again. However sad that smile was, it still made her look pleasant.
"She's very pretty, very charming," Angelina looked at Y/n as if she saw everything, observing.
"So it's a girl..." Y/n nodded very slowly, picking up this information and not knowing exactly what to do with it.
"Wrong," Angelina gave one of those little laughs again, a little more humor in it than the others, "a very dreamy girl."
"Uh huh," Y/n nodded slowly again, feeling her chest tight. "What's her name?"
Her voice felt tight in her throat, her hands felt restless as she fiddled with her tights.
"I'm afraid even though I'm broken-hearted, I can't go spilling Fred's secrets to pretty girls," Angelina's eyes seemed a bit brighter now that she found humor in her situation, she winked.
Fred still wasn't here, still late. Now, with this information on Fred, Y/n felt her heart sink to her stomach. Was he off with her? Did he realize that he ought to go off with that "dreamy girl" instead of his friend?
Either way, Y/n was pissed.
She felt those emotions rising again, and she needed water. There was the buffet table, off to the side, sort of behind her. Soon, she excused herself for a moment—she hoped for it to be only a moment, so that she could fetch the water and hopefully fish the answers out of Angelina. But, when she stood up and turned around, she froze.
Fred Weasley, unfairly handsome in his costume, was standing frozen. And he was staring behind her—not at her—with a harsh look in his eyes.
She felt herself being swallowed by her emotions for the second time that night.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
emo 🤣
also, bri, you have helped me so much with defeating my writers block. i seriously don't know how i could've done this without you. thank you so much!! 💋
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