Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

It was a Wednesday. Fred had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Sylvia on Wednesdays. She showed up late, her makeup especially messy and her demeanor especially unusual. Even for her.

It was silent when she entered, most students working on their NEWTs studies, some not. Fred wasn't. He busied himself with drawing as many penis doodles as he could in his notebook. Sylvia slipped in with relative secrecy, immediately approaching Umbridge's desk and speaking to her in a low whisper, handing the woman a note.

Umbridge looked over the slip of paper with a raised eyebrow, waving her hand at the girl primly.

She passed Fred's desk on her way to the empty seat at the back of the classroom, making an obvious effort to avoid his gaze. And she sat there, all of class, calm and still as a statue, her eyes glued on the windows.

A chill ran down his spine every time he glanced over his shoulder to find her in the same position, face blank, too blank, almost pallid. She was so still. And when Umbridge dismissed the class, she jumped out of her seat like a machine sprung to life, throwing her bag over shoulder as she hurried past the desks of students lazily pushing away from their desks.

He didn't know why, but he pulled his things off his desk and into his bag in one swipe of his arm, nearly tripping as he shot out of his seat. Sylvia was already out the door, nothing but the sound of her boots against the flagstone floor.

Fred was fast though, and in only about ten steps, he was behind her. He wasn't even thinking about the eyes that stared as he put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't completely freeze, just slowed down, blinking slowly at his hand as she turned to face him. Her mouth was open the slightest bit, like she was surprised.

"Hey." He said.

Her eyebrows raised a little, "Hi."

He nearly threw up from the bundle of nerves that tensed in his stomach when she looked up at him, her eyes like an owl's, big and wide and coquettish. His mouth went dry and he pressed his tongue against his palette, trying to swallow.

"Are you okay?" One of her dark eyebrows arched.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. You?"

She almost smiled, "Alright," her eyes shifted around as she glanced at the students moving past them, "Do you need something?"

Fred became especially aware of his hand on her shoulder and dropped it to his side, rubbing it awkwardly against his thigh. Sylvia watched like a hawk.

"I uh. I was wondering if you..." Her eyes moved up to meet his again. He hated when she made him choke on his words, "Can I buy a joint from you?"

Her face went slack, she looked disappointed, annoyed, "You want to buy weed from me?"

A first-year walking behind her turned his head and widened his eyes.

Fred nodded. Sylvia scoffed, unsmiling. She looked away and he could suddenly breathe again. Her jaw tightened.

"Yeah sure." She turned back, but wouldn't meet his gaze, "Remind me tonight, okay?" She was already stepping away.

"Okay," He mumbled, but she was practically at the other end of the hall, falling into the flow of bodies moving between classes.

It wasn't until he was back in the Gryffindor common room when he heard about it. It was a madhouse, buzzing with murmurs and giggles. Angelina was talking with Hermione in a hushed whisper on the couch, both shaking their heads. A group of first-year girls sneered at a fourth-year boy who was gesticulating, pretending to hold a head at his crotch and thrust his hips against it.