5th August, 2012- Midnight

Whump!

A cloud of soot kicked up in the living room and Megan was without the means to clean it up. So she stood in the fireplace, blinking down at the mess before stepping over it. To her left, a small, brass-handled black brush leapt to life, dusting under her feet, sweeping the soot back into the fireplace. She ignored it.

Everything ached and she couldn't help but notice how quiet the flat was as she paused by the arm of the sofa to peel off her shoes. Fred being in bed already was as likely as Megan helping a little old witch across the street. She flexed her toes, listening for a sound, and heard it--the clink of metal against metal. The sound was so familiar that Megan could immediately pinpoint Fred as being in George's old room.

There had been much debate--or bickering--over what the room would be. Fred wanted a gym, Megan wanted a giant wardrobe. Or a room for Oscar to roam. Fred had won that particular battle way back when he had agreed to fund her pub venture. At that point she had been willing to give him anything.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only time she was willing to give him anything. Of course, she would argue that she had married him, that she had moved in,that she had limited herself to one man. The truth of course, was that all of those things had benefited her. Honestly, she didn't see what was wrong with that--but then he had found a wonderful way to make her feel guilty about it all, hadn't he?

“There’s everyone, Megs, and then there’s me.”

She'd refused to publicly acknowledge the fact, but he had hit a home run with that one. Wanker.

She made a detour on her way to the gym, taking a glass from the small cabinet in the corner and a bottle of brandywine. She filled her glass a quarter full and took a large swig. They called this sort of thing Dutch Courage, didn't they? Plus, it distracted her from the throbbing pain her feet. One was wrapped thickly in a bandage, exposing only her toes, while the other looked sore.

When she had taken on this pub venture, she had thought it would be an exciting new life of meeting people, being her own boss and getting to tell other people what to do. Unfortunately, there was also a lot of standing around and as a result, Megan's feet were tender from blisters and blood where her shoes had rubbed (specially purchased to go with her 'uniform'). There was also, apparently, a lot of socialising. Megan had quickly established her position as non-cuddly landlady, letting her staff woo the patrons instead.

But she was enjoying it. Despite her not talking too much, people seemed to talk to her, and on her first day, she had already had her first couple come in, a father and son, looking to wet the head of their new family addition. The fact that it was tragic that this man's 18 year old son was a father with a girl he had been seeing for, 'about four months' seemed to go unnoticed.

On the plus side, she thought to herself as she dipped her free hand into her pocket briefly, to check the contents, it leaves the mornings free.

She downed the rest of the glass and left it on the top of the cabinet, crossing the flat to George's old room. The door was already partially open, light streaming in from the magically ignited bulb in the ceiling. The wireless was playing and Fred was laid out on a bench, weight training. His feet were facing her, his shirt bunched on the floor beside him. His arms tensed under the weight, and the fact that he waited a beat longer before putting it down suggested that he had noticed her entrance.

Things had been tense since yesterday, Megan insisting on staying mad at him for being mad at her. So it was probably the last thing expected of her when she crossed the room and planted herself on the bench where his legs parted, leaning her soot smudged face into his eye-line. He frowned.

"I take it from the look on your face, you're not through being pissed off at me." She said, arching her brows at him. "It's not very becoming, Fred." She didn't like being ignored. Especially not by someone whose attention she enjoyed winning so much.

"You know what sort of person I am." She said finally, as if it explained everything, as if it excused everything. "You know it better than most, so if this bothers you so much now, why didn't you just give me the divorce? Would've saved you a lot of trouble." She asked, something unsettling about the flat tone she used, carefully concealing her emotions behind a wall that had been restructured for the purposes of this evening's chat.

Fred heard the telltale thump from the living room and knew that Megan was home, but he wasn’t about to go out of his way to check on her. Why should he? It wasn’t as if his opinion on her welfare mattered or anything. She’d made that abundantly clear last night, hadn’t she?

Instead, he continued to focus on the task at hand. He was laying flat on his back on the slightly cushioned weight bench that was situated in the very middle of the room that used to belong to George. Carefully held above his chest was a bar that had enough weight added to both ends that it had to weigh near as much as he did. He grunted, muscles straining as he lifted it up then down again slowly.

All the while, his ears were attuned to Megan’s movements. He could hear her rummaging about in the kitchen and wondered if she was just getting a night cap before turning in. It wasn’t exactly like her to come to him to talk about something serious… at least, not when that something serious was them, so he didn’t really expect that she would stop in for more than a brief glower in his direction.

Well, Fred had decided that if that was the way she wanted it, he would play the game. Let her get a taste of her own passive aggressive bullshit. He was angry, dammit, and it was her turn to try to fix things. For once, he wasn’t going to budge. If she wanted to make up, then the first move would have to be hers. Fred kept giving and giving only to have her take for the sake of taking.

He loved her. Merlin, but he loved her…

He just didn’t know whether he could do it anymore.

That didn’t mean that when she paused there in the doorway that he wouldn’t show off a little. He was on the last rep, and he carefully heaved the bar upward, holding it there a little longer than necessary as the muscles in his arms rippled impressively. Then, he brought it slowly down to rest on the notches that would keep the weight raised above his chest.

Megan settled between his legs, and he blinked in surprise but said and did nothing. Then, she was leaning forward to peer over the bar at him. The sight of her sooty face would normally had him howling with laughter, but this time, he just frowned.

"I take it from the look on your face, you're not through being pissed off at me."

He arched a brow at her, then slid further underneath forward on the bench. This allowed him to sit up on one end of the bench with the metal bar between them. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached over, grabbing his shirt from the floor. He used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead, neck, and chest. He barely even looked at her.

"It's not very becoming, Fred."

“Prob’ly not, but how long would you make me suffer using the same tactics?” If she were the one mad about something, she would have stomped around, giving him the silent treatment, and doing whatever else she thought would make him suffer. They both knew it. Usually, the more Fred tried to appease her in a situation like this, the sulkier and colder she would get towards him. It was time, he had reasoned, for Megan to get a taste of her own medicine. Never mind that they were both in their thirties and should be handling this more like adults. He was tired of being the only grown up in this relationship.

"You know what sort of person I am."

Fred was not impressed with her explanation. Shaking his head, he started balling up the shirt in his hands just so he’d have something to do.

"You know it better than most, so if this bothers you so much now, why didn't you just give me the divorce? Would've saved you a lot of trouble."

He had a slew of good reasons, but he was afraid to voice them aloud. What always happened when he laid his heart on the line with her? She walked out, that was what. Disaster of some sort always followed. Fred never had forgiven himself in the part he felt he played in her getting kidnapped. That was where a lot of this stemmed from, really. He was so afraid of losing her again… of being at fault… that he had kept walking on egg shells around her to some extent.

Fred stood, throwing the wadded up shirt at the spot he’d just vacated. He started pacing in the very small pathway between the weight bench and some other exercise contraption. Hands tangled in his hair in frustration, as if he would tear it all out by the roots. Soon, though, his hands fell to his sides in a gesture like defeat.

“I dunno.” He stopped suddenly, turning to look at her. “Maybe I thought that I could love you enough for the both of us. Maybe I fooled myself into thinking you cared enough to let me in… that we were both grown up enough by now to take one another’s feelings into consideration.”

She watched, unabashed as he wiped himself down. She enjoyed the view, actually; especially the places where the scar interrupted the muscle, giving this good man a rough edge.

“Prob’ly not, but how long would you make me suffer using the same tactics?”

"Days." She said, blandly. "And in ten years time I would remind you of it and make you suffer all over again." She shrugged as if this was normal.

Megan couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been like this. When she hadn't used any number of excuses to avoid letting her feelings get involved. The one time she'd allowed herself a slip up, she had been much too late in letting them know. And now, it seemed, she was doing the same thing with Fred. For a long time, she had known she had this sort of impact on him--that when she wasn't making him ecstatic, she was riling him--but it hadn't mattered so much then. She had relied on him pinging back when it suited them both and they would resume their usual antics. Now however, it seemed to matter. And that annoyed her because it meant that in the end, Arthur's point was staring her in the face. She had loathed previous relationships because they demanded change from her that she was unwilling to give. Now she was involved in a relationship that meant something and yet again the cries for change were knocking at her door.

It was beyond frustrating that she couldn't just stamp her feet and have him come skittering back. Instead, he moved away from her and despite everything she wondered for an instant if, maybe, it would be better if she let him. If she allowed him to back-pedal to the point of separation maybe he could enjoy a life of normalcy. Maybe he could have a nice, easy relationship with someone who wasn't quite so...Megan.

But selfishly, she didn't want to give him that opportunity because if someone else got to have a nice, easy relationship with him, then she wouldn't.

“I dunno.” She watched him pace, frustrated, angry in a way she hadn't seen aimed directly at her before. Something twinged in her gut and something like guilt that she used to see as weakness, she saw now as change.

“Maybe I thought that I could love you enough for the both of us. Maybe I fooled myself into thinking you cared enough to let me in… that we were both grown up enough by now to take one another’s feelings into consideration.”

Swinging one leg over the bench, Megan stood, using blackened fingers to smudge away the soot from her face. It didn't so much get rid of it as it did redistribute it. She pushed herself to her feet but maintained, for now, a respectable distance.

"If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be." She said. And when she did, it sounded like it was selfless. That wasn't the case. "I want to be with you, but I don't want to be looked after by you." She said. Which was precisely why she refused to wander through their life without a job. Why the pub proposal had come with a business plan and not a little sweet talking.

"And maybe you're right. Maybe I should have told you when I started going for tests, but I--" How did she put it without it sounding like a ploy to get him to see her side of things? She'd never been very good at much more than arguing.

"--A part of me is missing. A big part. And it means I'm not the same person I was before and I need it back." The emphasis on need was almost painful. "And it was humiliating but I am not like you. I can't look at something like this and say I need to tell you. That I need to consider you. That we need to get through it. Because however I looked at it, I could only see me. That's what I'm used to."

However inappropriate, she stepped forward, but made no move to reach for him and didn't expect him to do the same. "It feels like everyone is waiting for this to fail. We've been hurling stones in a proverbial greenhouse for years and I'm not sure I can change."

Fred was well aware of her gaze, and part of him relished in it. Another part was right pissed off that the little head would still be doing so much of the thinking. He glanced down at the scar that spread across the expanse of his chest and stomach. Megan rather fancied it, he knew, but the memories that it brought up were still a little much for Fred to deal with sometimes. That night would always be so vivid in his mind. He could remember the screams of fallen comrades and enemies alike… and holding in his own innards to keep them off the floor of Merlin’s Temple. The time that followed was much more hazy… but he remembered Megan being there.

He wasn’t stupid enough to admit it to her, but she’d saved his life. Without Molly there to pick up the pieces, Fred hadn’t been sure he wanted to live. He would gladly have given up his life for the life of his father’s true love… for his family’s shared source of strength…

Still, even that old gratitude wouldn’t save her now. He wasn’t just going to stop being miffed!

"Days. And in ten years time I would remind you of it and make you suffer all over again."

Megan, obviously, wasn’t going to make it easy. He rubbed at his face to conceal the threatening smile. It wasn’t that her matter-of-fact statement had him any less mad. It was that he knew she was telling every inch of the truth. It was just so… Megan. When he was sure he’d successfully fought off the traitorous smile, Fred dropped his hands and rolled his eyes heavenward.

Fred was content with Megan. Oh, who are we kidding? He was as head over heels for the woman as any schoolboy with his first crush. He didn’t want her to change. He loved that she knew what she wanted. He didn’t even mind that she could be a downright bitch.

He just wanted her to let him in.

Merlin, was he really such a pansy as to bring feelings into it? Megan might just eat him alive over that one. There was a large mirror on the wall that he now faced, and he watched her stand up inching closer but not invading his personal space. He stooped, picking up some weights from the floor to return them to their proper places.

"I want to be with you, but I don't want to be looked after by you."

He started to protest, but clamped his mouth shut. She wasn’t wrong. Since she’d returned, there had been a difference. Used to be, he would give Megan as good as he got from her as far as verbal sparring and the like. Since she’d returned, however, he let guilt rule his tongue and actions. He was trying so hard to set things right that he didn’t realize how much he was doing for her instead of letting her fend for herself.

"And maybe you're right. Maybe I should have told you when I started going for tests, but I--"

The eyes of mirror-Fred caught the eyes of Megan’s reflection. “Oh, I am definitely right about that much.” Well, he wasn’t going to back down anymore. He was Fred Weasley, dammit; not some spineless jellyfish of a man who let a woman walk all over him.

"--A part of me is missing. A big part. And it means I'm not the same person I was before and I need it back."
That one ripped right at his heart. Fred could understand it better than she might realize. He was a very physical person; a man just as likely to get in a bout of fisticuffs as he was to draw his wand. After Merlin’s Temple, he couldn’t move like he used to. The healers weren’t sure that he would ever bounce completely back, but he’d worked harder than ever… forcing himself through the pain to stick to his workout regime. He understood what it felt like to feel like you weren’t complete anymore… like something was missing.

Unfortunately, he was a Weasley… and on top of that, a twin. It had never occurred to him to suffer alone. He had his family—George especially—and even then, Megan. He wanted to reach out to her… to let his fingers tangle in her satiny hair while he told her that it would be okay, but it wasn’t something that he could just make better. That would just put them back where they’d started with this all over again.

"And it was humiliating but I am not like you. I can't look at something like this and say I need to tell you. That I need to consider you. That we need to get through it. Because however I looked at it, I could only see me. That's what I'm used to."

He turned to face her now, leaning up against the shelves that housed the weights. “I get that. I mean, sort of…” He paused, trying to sort out his thoughts well enough to put them into words. “I know that I don’t want you to suffer. I’m not even opposed to you getting this done. It isn’t like I wouldn’t do it if it was me. The thought of losing you again—permanently—scares the bloody hell out of me, but I can get that it is something you’ve got to do.”

"It feels like everyone is waiting for this to fail. We've been hurling stones in a proverbial greenhouse for years and I'm not sure I can change."

Fred watched as she stepped closer, and he reached up, wiping away some of the soot from each cheek with either thumb. This time, he didn’t bother to hide the way the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a half smile. “Hey. I love you, Megan… You’ve got to know that by now.” Now seemed as good a time as any to actual share his thoughts instead of keeping them to himself. “But you aren’t that scared little girl on the Hogwarts Express trying too hard prove herself anymore. ”

He smirked, confident that those awaiting their failure were wrong.

“I know we can make this work. You just… You just have to let me in.”

“I get that. I mean, sort of…I know that I don’t want you to suffer. I’m not even opposed to you getting this done. It isn’t like I wouldn’t do it if it was me. The thought of losing you again—permanently—scares the bloody hell out of me, but I can get that it is something you’ve got to do.”

It was Megan’s turn to push her hands through her hair, locking her fingers in between the dark strands at the back of her head as if trying to force herself to contain what he’d just said. She withstood the twitch of her lip a little better than he would moments later. She didn’t want him to do this. She was verging on an apology and he was beating her to the punch.

She couldn’t deny it though; that was Fred all over. Ever since they were kids, she had witnessed things about him, things that weren’t directed at her, things that shouted about how valiantly this one wore his heart on his sleeve, out there for everyone to see…That was something that had made him interesting to her. That he could be so open. Of course, it hadn’t stopped there of course, Megan always thought that you knew what Fred was angry about. What made him sad, what made him laugh. His emotions were not veiled and each one, to her, seemed to be loud and proud. Like now; the fact that he was giving her words real consideration radiated from him.

When he touched her face, her stomach did an unexpected leap. She caught sight of the soot on his fingertips and wondered just how much was on her face and how frightful she looked.

“Hey. I love you, Megan… You’ve got to know that by now.” The appropriate response might have been to look demure, maybe blush a little, but as Megan hadn’t learned the art of blushing on command, she allowed herself a little smirk that verged on smug, instead.

“But you aren’t that scared little girl on the Hogwarts Express trying too hard to prove herself anymore. ”

She reached her hands up, wrapping her fingers around his wrists, gripping them tightly. “And you don’t have to give up the gauntlet so easily.” She plucked his hands from her face, rubbing her finger against the plastic ring on his finger.

“You’re allowed to be pissed off at me, Fred. Letting you in isn’t as simple as it sounds. In some ways it might be kinder if—” She didn’t say it, just twisted the ring on his finger, locking her fingers around it completely.

“Okay. There’s something I need to say because if I don’t, I’ll regret it. Your mum didn’t like me.” She didn’t dare bring up that she had had a ‘conversation’ with Arthur the other night. “She didn’t exactly hide it very well. But she was your mum. All mum’s want the same thing; for their kids to have someone stable. Someone who isn’t selfish. Who treats a marriage like a marriage and not a sentence. And maybe she’s right.” In that instant, she stopped rubbing his ring and instead, gave it a twist, locking his finger straight and pulling it off. It didn’t come without a protest, leaving a pale indent on his finger.

She gripped the ring on her own finger and twisted it off—the spell that had been put on it had been removed when Megan had finally moved back in, presumably securing herself as his Mrs. Only now she was stood there with the same pale indent on her finger, stuffing the plastic rings into her pocket.

“I’m going to keep making mistakes.” She said, speaking over his protests. “I’m going to keep being difficult, I won’t always tell you what’s going on with me, and I’m going to think about number one. It’s been like that for a really long time.”

She pulled her hand out of her pocket, a small black box between her fingers.

“But I want to try. I want to be the person you need. The first thing is taking this marriage seriously. Really, this time.” She pulled the lid open, two wedding rings sitting inside. His was a platinum band with a matte finish, grooves engraved in the surface to look like three fine strands twisted together. Hers was almost identical, save for the central twist in her ring being frosted with diamonds. She offered him the box. “Starting with something we didn’t get out of a gumball machine.”

“And you don’t have to give up the gauntlet so easily.”

Touché.

Fred looked a bit defensive at this claim. He liked to think that he just chose his battles more wisely than Megan did. The truth of the matter, however, was that he’d gotten a bit complacent. He did cave in too easily. It was easier than constantly bickering. Besides that, he could step back and see her point of view. His parents were to blame. Molly and Arthur had gifted their children with social tools like (gasp) empathy.

Megan grasped at his wrists, then shifted her fingers to his hands in order to remove them from her face. She seemed to be intensely focused on the plastic bauble that still adorned his ring finger, and he watched her finger tracing around it. For the most part, whatever battery that ran the flashing lights on the thing had run down. Every once in a while, though, there would be a small flash or two. Now as Megan toyed with it, it flickered wildly for a few seconds before spluttering and dying.

Her fingers locked around it, and Fred arched a brow but said nothing. This was intriguing. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be the one to smooth things over for once. That’d be a change of pace…

“Okay. There’s something I need to say because if I don’t, I’ll regret it. Your mum didn’t like me.”

At this, Fred couldn’t help himself. He just gave a great big guffaw of a laugh. “Megs, sorry to break it to you, but it wasn’t exactly a sec--.”

“She didn’t exactly hide it very well. But she was your mum. All mum’s want the same thing; for their kids to have someone stable. Someone who isn’t selfish. Who treats a marriage like a marriage and not a sentence. And maybe she’s right.”

The conversation was taking a turn that Fred wasn’t comfortable with, but he still wasn’t expecting what came next. He was so busy letting her words sink in that he’d all but forgotten the way she’d been playing with his makeshift wedding band. He remembered, though, when the jolt of pain ran through his ring finger though. “YOWCH!” He looked down at his hand, blinking at the pale band left in the ring’s stead. Then, brown eyes flashed to Megan’s face. His features were set in a scowl. “You can’t… you can’t just take it! Give it back.”

She ignored him. Instead, Fred watched as she tugged off the matching ring from her own finger and stuffed both into her pocket. Instinctually, Fred reached out, grabbing to pull her hand out of that same pocket so that he could go in and retrieve them. If she wanted to leave him, fine, he’d deal with it. She’d given the whole thing a try, which was all he could ask of her. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d leave her be if that’s what she wanted. That ring, though… That was his. He knew it was silly, but there was a lump building in his throat. For the life of him, he didn’t know if he would scream at her or start blubbering like a baby.

“I’m going to keep making mistakes. I’m going to keep being difficult, I won’t always tell you what’s going on with me, and I’m going to think about number one. It’s been like that for a really long time.”

“I don’t care.” He said between gritted teeth. There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her not to do this, but he’d promised that he would let her go if that was her eventual choice. He wanted to tell her that she was being stupid… that he didn’t care if she was difficult because that was one of the things he genuinely liked about her, but he couldn’t trust himself to say that either.

He was still trying to wrench her hands out of her pockets in a way that wasn’t so forceful that he hurt her. (That was the tricky part. He could have gotten her hand out easily enough if he didn’t care about what happened to said hand.) Finally, though, she pulled the hand from her pocket of her own accord. He was just about to reach into that pocket to retrieve that sentimental bit of plastic when he realized that she was holding something in her hand. He didn’t even piece together that it was a jewelry box until she pulled open the top. Something glittered at him from inside, and he froze, going all stupid in the head.

“But I want to try. I want to be the person you need. The first thing is taking this marriage seriously. Really, this time.”

“I… I, um…”

“Starting with something we didn’t get out of a gumball machine.”

He took the box, taking out the rings and inspecting them more closely. Then, he glanced to the woman in front of him. “Megan, are you… proposing? Now, I appreciate the sentiment and all, but I'm the traditional sort, you know. Don't you think you should be down on one knee or something?”

Generally speaking, seeing people in distress didn't bother Megan too much. After all, their problems were rarely her problems and even if they were, she was usually too preoccupied with her side of the problems to notice. As a child, she had been apathetic. She had been that cool, aloof girl who couldn't quite muster the strength to care and when she did speak up, it was usually with a barbed tongue. Not caring had carried her a long way. Through education and into a career where she had been able to win a fair number of cases just by wearing down the competition. It was unusual for her to feel any discomfort as a result of this but the longer she spent in Fred's presence, the worse it became.

His warm fuzzy, sweet centre was leaking through his cracked exterior and she was tainted with it. And the fact that his panicked, stricken face gave her a flash of nauseating guilt pissed her right off. For starters it was spoiling her fun.

But, all in a good cause. She persevered, even going as far as to resist the urge to slap the hand of Fred's that wanted to go ferreting around in her pocket after the ghastly plastic rings. She soon put a stop to that when she produced the real deal. She wanted to laugh at him, to pluck at his insecurities in a (mostly) nice manner. And at the same time, she wanted to relish his stumped reaction. After all, it wasn't very often she got to witness him speechless.

The rings had been a careful decision. It had taken her a long time to get to the point where she thought it was worth trading up, but it was opening night that had lit a fire under her. Not that she would ever admit it, but Megan had been ashamed of her own behaviour. Not to mention, her ring got more than a few funny looks so there had been some small relief in picking up the new ones this morning, letting herself flirt with the idea of not having something laughable perched on her finger.

Well, at the very least, accompanied by something not laughable.

“I… I, um…” Her lips twitched into a satisfied smirk. He was going a lovely colour.

“Megan, are you… proposing?"

Megan rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to respond something akin to 'duh', but he wasn't finished.

"Now, I appreciate the sentiment and all, but I'm the traditional sort, you know. Don't you think you should be down on one knee or something?”

Her face was a picture. Her mouth dropped open a quarter inch but she was quick to recover the only way she knew how. She snapped the empty ring box shut and stopped respecting his personal space. Instead, she stepped into it, jabbing him with a finger in the chest.

"I think one marriage ceremony was quite enough, don't you?" The thought of putting herself through that again was...well... mostly she only remembered the hangover but it was enough.

"Trust me. The next time I'm on one knee, or both for that matter, there'll be no proposing." Something akin to mischief flashed in her expression. "Or much talking at all."

Megan took another step forward, the action forcing Fred to take a step back. "Think of it as a promise. Wear this," she said, her fingers wrapping around the ones he held the rings with. "And I promise I'll try not to fuck it up again." She took the larger ring off him and brushed it over his fingertip so just the end was poised over his ring finger.

"I'll help let you in. What do you think?"

Fred watched that smirk spread across Megan’s lips, and it was all he could do to keep a straight face. Now that his initial panic had passed, he was back to thinking on his feet… feeling more like himself. And what did Fred Weasley do best? He cracked jokes. The one about her being on one knee was a pretty good one, if he said so himself. She wasn’t the only one who would be enjoying the reactions of the other. That shocked look on her face was really something, and he was soon laughing… a sound that didn’t stop until she snapped shut that box and was pressing in closer than he had been intending to let her get.

Now though, that petty anger had dissipated. Now, his skin warmed to her touch in a way that wasn’t all that settling as she poked a finger against his bare chest, just above his scar.

"I think one marriage ceremony was quite enough, don't you?"

“Aw, but we could have it at the pub. That ogre could officiate!” Fred was holding up his hands defensively, a grin transforming his face into a much more familiar expression.

"Trust me. The next time I'm on one knee, or both for that matter, there'll be no proposing."

The tone of Megan’s voice was husky, and the man found that his heart’s rhythm was suddenly a bit erratic in response to the mischief in those eyes.

"Or much talking at all."


“That had best be a promise…” He smirked, his voice almost a growl. She stepped forward, and Fred snaked an arm about her waist bringing her with him as she forced him back. He was rather unapologetic, too, at the way his hand came to rest just below the small of her back… right on the rounded curve of her arse. It was a movement that forced her hips against the cradle of his own.

His opposite hand—the left one—was still clutching at those rings, and he glanced down as her fingers encircled the closed fist. He uncurled his fingers, letting her take them as she talked about the rings being a promise of her trying not to fuck things up again. She held the larger of the two rings, pressed it to the very tip of his ring finger, and he couldn’t help himself from take a sharp inhalation of breath.

"I'll help let you in. What do you think?"

He leaned forward, touching a brief kiss to her lips before pressing his nose and forehead against hers. “Seems fair.” In the end, that was all he’d been asking. He didn’t want her to change. He just wanted to included in her life the same way that he included her in his.

“I knew you'd come around.” She said, her tone brisk and casual all of a sudden, though she made no move to step away from him. “But still, it was sort of sweet, really...” And with that, she put on her very best Fred impression; which was pretty poor, really. “Oh, Megan! Don't! You can't!” She cackled; the sound very clichéd but hauntingly fitting for someone of her manner. The flat of her palm slapped lightly against his bare chest, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“Silly man.” She tilted forward the few inches that separated them and pressed her lips to his fleetingly. She felt a rush course through her that she hadn't experienced since the last time she'd been on the brink of losing him (and she'd been clear-headed enough to regret it) and that had nearly been to another woman. It was that feeling of concentrated relief because fate hadn't been cruel enough to take that something away from her permanently...So long as she behaved herself from now on and did as she was told.

She pulled back from him, wrapping her hands around his forearms, tugging him away from the wall. “Not having you is like not having the hand I write with.” Plus, no one cleaned or cooked quite like Fred but if she was trying to be better to him, she doubted that nugget would do much to set her on the right track.

“So to express my gratitude, I'll do dinner tonight.” She said. “You go and put on some clothes--” it seemed to pain her to say it. “--and I'll owl for food. One of my bar wenches keeps going on about an Indian restaurant her uncle owns. Does special owl deliveries for non-muggles.”

She kissed his cheek then, before stepping away from him. It was oddly affectionate for her; being that it wasn't immediately chased by some suggestive follow-through.