Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

The three of them walked down to the river behind the house, Fred, George, and Sylvie. George complained of a kink in his back the whole time, trying to get Sylvia to massage it for him.

"It's fucking killing me," he whined, "Just dig your elbow into it."

"My girlfriend is not giving you a back rub, George." Fred laughed.

Sylvie liked hearing Fred call her his girlfriend. It made her so giddy that she almost lost her footing over a tree root. He reached out to grab her hand, helping to steady her.

"Please?" George sounded like a child begging for candy, "You can literally step on my back for all I care."

"I'll step on your back." Sylvie said.

They waded in the water, the cuffs of their jeans rolled up and their shoes left on the rocky bank, socks stuffed into the toes. The water was clear and cool, shallow enough to see each and every pebble and little silver fish that darted past their ankles. And the sun beat down through the trees, leaving dappled shadows over the stream, reflecting back in their eyes. It was humid and Sylvie's hair stuck to her neck, sweat gathering on her forehead like dew. Fred and George kicked water at each other and tried to skip rocks even though it was too shallow, and Sylvie picked up pieces of sea glass.

The stream turned into a true river further down the hill, flowing into a pond that was lined with emerald green water soldiers and big, slippery brown boulders that grew moss of all colors. They hung their shoes around their necks by the laces and hiked their jeans up so they bunched around their thighs, and walked down the river, slipping over slimy stones and looking for water snakes. A pair of goldfinches sang above their heads and Sylvia whistled back, mimicking their call.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Fred asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Sylvia shrugged, feeling the chilly water bring goosebumps to her legs.

"How do you do it?" George tried to tweet back, but let out a dull whistle that was mostly air and no sound.

"You have to put your tongue up behind your teeth. And move the back of it up and down while you whistle."

The twins attempted mercilessly to copy the goldfinches' call, but gave off the impression that they were calling for a lost dog. Sylvia smiled and mimicked the call again, receiving one in response.

They reached the pond and striped their clothes off, hanging them from tree branches or laying them out on the dry rocks on higher ground. Sylvie hadn't worn her bathing suit since she was 17 and it hardly fit her now, riding up her thighs and cutting too low against her chest. She picked at it and tried to not let the straps cut into her shoulders. Fred's swim trunks were blue and George's were green, it was a small detail of notice, but she found a bittersweet twang strumming her heartstrings. A little jealous of their relationship, unconscious bondage between brothers, she mourned over what could have been for her and Quentin. Maybe in another life they'd be wearing color-coordinated clothing like they were in a Christmas pageant. But she decided that would be strange and couldn't even imagine being that close with him.

She floated over the reeds, among the water violet and dragonflies, feeling the sun filter through the leaves above. Behind her eyelids, red shifted to black and black shifted to red as she moved across the water. It cooled her sunburn and she would've fallen asleep right there hadn't Fred and George picked her up, heaving her over their heads like a couple of wrestlers, and thrown her into the deepest part of the pool. She squealed as she hit the water, blowing bubbles out her nose as she rose to the top, rubbing the water from her eyes and treading her arms and legs.

"My contact fell out, you dicks." She laughed, trying to focus on them with her one corrected eye.

"I'll find it." Fred said, diving down below as Sylvie furrowed her brows and gave George a quizzical look. She peeped out a small scream of surprise as he rose beneath her, holding her knees so she sat on his shoulders. He stood taller than she'd expected, the water just lapping against his collar bones.

"Did you grow six inches or am I shrinking?"

"What are you talking about?"

"How are you touching the bottom?"

"With my feet."

"Careful, Freddie." George grinned, kicking his feet up to float on his back, "She's got you in a headlock between her legs."

Sylvie laughed and bent over him so her nose touched his forehead and she held his face in her hands, pretending to snap his neck. Fred made a short choking sound and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, sinking down and coming out from under her. When he breached the surface, he smiled, reveling in her laughter. Her teeth bit down on just the top of her tongue and she let herself lower a bit, chin below the cool surface.

She sniffed, watching him watch her. Or maybe he was watching her watch him. It didn't matter, she liked it when he watched her. Sometimes she thought he could read her mind when he did that, not just looking at her, but observing. His eyes roamed all over her face like he was memorizing it, studying it, maybe contemplating or even scrutinizing it. It made her cheeks burn and her heart pound.

She lifted her head and kissed him quickly, watching his eyes scrunch up with his smile. He held her face and kissed her again. He made a ckk sound, his teeth clenched together, and turned her head to the side. Sylvie mimicked Fred and let out a breathy choke, leaning back until her feet floated up and her body lay horizontal on the surface of the water.

"You two are fucking weird." George said.

The sun burned a million new freckles into Sylvia's skin in spots Fred didn't even know she could get freckles, like the round parts of her hips where she kept picking at her bathing suit. Or across her collar bones, a light sunburn blooming over her chest. He walked a little ways behind her, so he could watch her feet move meticulously through the river. They'd all gone quiet and he was sleepy from sun exposure and all the walking. He felt oddly melancholy, like he did when he thought about school. Nostalgia with a heavy dose of bittersweetness.

His feet hurt by the time they got home, and he felt dirty with sweat and dust from the path to the house. He showered with Sylvia and when they got out he smelled like her shampoo.

It had taken him that long to understand why he felt so strange.

Fred hadn't cried in front of anyone since he was eleven. He couldn't remember when the last time was, but he thought it might have been after the first time he had sex with Sylvie, when she told him to hit her and he clammed up.

She was there now, in his bed, in one of his tee shirts and a pair of denim shorts that just showed the bruises that somehow always blossomed on her knees even though she never seemed to know how she got them. And her hair was getting the pillow wet. Her pillow. On her side of the bed. Her toothbrush was in the bathroom he shared with his entire family.

He didn't know he was crying until she looked up from her book.

"Fred," her eyebrows knit together and her voice was high and soft, "What is it?"

Her hand touched his chest and he sank down, letting her take him in her arms and run her fingers through his hair. She shushed and cooed like he was a child, whispering "what's the matter?" like she didn't really know, she just wanted him to say it finally.

He couldn't say it, though. His sobs were only interrupted by deep inhales that shook his whole body against hers and he couldn't find the breath to speak. She waited a while, holding the back of his head and his shoulder, letting his tears soak into the shoulder of her shirt. A shiver ran down his spine.

"You're worried about Ron." Sylvia said.

His fingers curled into the back of her shirt and he squeezed her in his arms.

"He's okay," she said, "he's smarter than anyone gives him credit for."

That made Fred laugh, a short huff into her neck, and he nodded, sniffing. She hesitated, running the tips of her fingers across his back, down his spine and up again. Each time she spoke, her voice seemed to grow softer and softer, until it almost wasn't there at all.

"Everything's going to be okay, Freddie. I promise."

She didn't like making promises, especially ones she knew she couldn't be certain to keep. But she said it anyways.