Sunny October 27 (Part 2)

George and Flami walked side by side in silence, neither sure what to say. George had made his feelings clear in the love letters he'd sent over the summer, but Flami had never responded. She could feel him subtly closing the distance between them, their shoulders brushing occasionally. Yet, she didn't pull away, and George took that as a small victory.

As they neared the Shrieking Shack, George finally broke the silence. "This is where I first saw you getting into a fight with those Slytherin students."

Flami glanced at him, unimpressed. "Not the best way to start a conversation," she thought.

George immediately realized his mistake and tried to backtrack. "I mean, I thought you were so brave, standing up to them like that! No, wait, that's not what I meant to say..."

He groaned internally. "Why am I so bad at this?" He scratched his head, desperately trying to think of something romantic to say.

Flami, however, understood George well. The boy who had written her love letters with a quill that traced her name over and over wasn't exactly a master of romance. She smiled softly, trying to ease his discomfort. "It's fine, George. I wasn't brave at all. I was just too embarrassed to make a scene."

"I'm sorry," George muttered, feeling even more awkward. "But I still think you're brave."

Flami stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and looked away. She clasped her hands lightly in front of her, taking a few slow steps forward before turning her back to him. "I'm a coward, George."

George stepped forward, but Flami raised her hand to stop him. "Don't come closer. Just listen."

He froze, a sinking feeling in his chest.

"I was born into the Fawley family," Flami began, her voice steady but distant. "Wealth and status are everything to us. My sisters were all married off to influential wizards and nobles. My cousin was sent to Russia just to secure a business deal involving dragon blood. She had a boyfriend, but the family drove him away. He couldn't find work anywhere in Britain and had to leave for America. My cousin didn't have the courage to defy the family, and neither do I. Do you understand, George?"

"I don't understand," George lied. He understood all too well.

"I'm going to be engaged next year when I turn sixteen," Flami said, turning to face him with a calm, practiced smile. "I don't even know who my fiancé is, but the engagement party is already being planned."

George opened his mouth to protest, but Flami gently pressed a finger to his lips. "I know what you want to say. Thank you, George. I'm sorry."

Her words were final, delivered with the grace and composure expected of a Fawley. But as she finished speaking, a falling leaf brushed against her eyelid, and the dam broke. Tears streamed down her face as she crouched down, covering her face with her hands. She had just rejected the one thing she truly wanted—her dream.

George knelt beside her, his heart aching. "If it hurts this much, why did you say those things?"

Flami sobbed into his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. She didn't want to refuse him. She wanted to be with him more than anything. Every night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining climbing the stairs to the boys' dormitory—where he was.

"Don't reject me, Flami," George whispered, tilting her face up to meet his. "If it comes to it, I'll take you away. I promise."

He kissed her gently, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. For the first time, Flami felt a glimmer of hope.

---

Meanwhile, Fred carried a still-drowsy Joey back to the castle. George and Flami were waiting at the entrance, and when they saw Fred's disheveled appearance, George couldn't resist teasing him. "What happened? Run into a Dementor? Or was it a Boggart?"

Fred shot him a glare. If it weren't for Joey slumped over his shoulder, he'd have punched George right then and there. Judging by George's smug grin, things had gone well with Flami, which only made Fred feel worse about his own chaotic day.

The group made their way inside, and Fred deposited Joey on the common room sofa. She stirred slightly but remained asleep. Fred sat beside her, exhausted, while George and Flami exchanged knowing looks.

"He's not very dedicated today," George whispered to Flami. "Usually, he'd be stripping me and Fred for inspection."

Flami rolled her eyes but didn't respond. She wasn't about to fall for George's attempts to steer the conversation toward something more flirtatious. She knew him too well.

"You're too hard to fool," George sighed, but he couldn't help grinning as he took her hand. "But I like that about you."

---

Joey woke up hours later, the common room bathed in the soft glow of dusk. She blinked at the familiar ceiling, confused. The last thing she remembered was the Hog's Head Bar. How had she ended up here?

She turned her head and found Fred asleep beside her, his face pressed against her neck. His red hair fell over his forehead, and his long lashes brushed his cheeks. Joey smiled, gently blowing the hair out of his face.

The common room was empty, and Joey had no idea how long they'd been lying there. She tried to sit up, but Fred's arm tightened around her waist. "Stop moving, dear," he mumbled sleepily. "Let's sleep a bit longer."

Joey heard the portrait hole opening and panicked. She tried to scramble off the sofa, but Fred held her firmly. "If you want to sleep, sleep by yourself!" she hissed, struggling to free herself.

In her haste, she lost her balance and ended up sitting on Fred's lap, her hands braced against his chest. At that moment, several sixth-year students walked in and froze at the sight.

"No! It's not what you think!" Joey protested, but the students only grinned and backed out, whispering excitedly.

"An hour should be enough, right?" one of them joked.

"Maybe an hour and a half, if Fred's up to it," another added, laughing.

Fred, now fully awake, smirked at Joey's mortified expression. "You've touched me, kissed me, and now this?" he teased, his hands wandering to her waist. "And you're denying it?"

Joey's face turned bright red. "I didn't—I don't remember—"

Fred leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You bit me, kissed me, and touched me. And now you're acting like it never happened?"

Joey's mind raced. She had no memory of any of this, but the evidence—Fred's neck bore faint red marks—was hard to ignore. Before she could protest further, Fred's hands slid up her back, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Ah! You—you satyr!" Joey squealed, pushing him away and scrambling off the sofa. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, glaring at him.

Fred laughed, stretching lazily. "You didn't call me a pervert when you were all over me earlier."

Joey grabbed two pillows and hurled them at him. "Stop looking at me like that!"

Fred caught the pillows effortlessly, his grin widening. "I can't see anything anyway," he said, standing and closing the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her, his voice low and teasing. "But now I know what I want to see."

Joey's heart raced as Fred leaned in, his lips brushing hers. She didn't resist this time, letting herself melt into the kiss. For once, she didn't overthink it. She just let herself be.