Bottled Up

Angelina Johnson did not want to kiss Fred Weasley.

She had been dreading what was about to happen ever since Katie Bell had dragged her into a game of "spin the bottle," shoved said bottle into her hand, and demanded she partake in the so-called fun. The game was all well and good for Katie-she always managed to make the bottle land on Oliver Wood, a feat which baffled him exceedingly-but Angelina was not the sort to let an empty bottle of butterbeer determine who she would snog, thank you very much. She much preferred to be in control of these things herself.

She had not been dragged into the game so much as blackmailed. Katie and Alicia Spinnet, ever determined to get what they wanted, had threatened her in an exceedingly persuasive manner. They had numerous secrets they could hold over her head at any moment, just as she had secrets about them. On this occasion, though, Katie had decided that the best means of achieving the goal was to inform Angelina that if she did not comply and agree to the game, at dinner that evening the entire school would be made privy to the fact that she fancied Roger Davies.

The game of "spin the bottle" would not have been such an issue for Angelina had it been like any other reasonably sane game that teenagers have a tendency to play, but this was not a reasonably sane game. This was a Weasley game, and as such there were Weasley rules and regulations.

The first time they had played-in the locker room during a "team meeting," which frequently involved more than just the quidditch team-it had been a perfectly innocent diversion. Give the bottle a spin, wait for it to stop, then bestow a little peck on the lips of whomever fate selected for you. After a good five spins, Fred had snatched the bottle and declared that he would not play a single round more until rules had been set down for the "unruly pastime."

"Rule number one," he had begun, "there will be no more of this 'pecking' nonsense. All kisses are required to take enough time and involve enough tongue to be considered snogging." This proposition was greeted mostly by laughs and general approval. "Rule number two is that there will be no public displays of affection during this game, and all snogging must be done in the privacy of the changing room. When you have finished snogging you may return." More laughs and hearty praise. "Rule number three, you are all on the honor system when it comes to your snogging, and anyone who does not snog will be forcefully ejected from the premises and hexed."

That was the last time Angelina had played. She managed to escape any snogging that round, and had since been able to come up with any number of excuses for not partaking. Until now.

When she had sat down on the wooden floor of the Gryffindor locker room, this time accompanied only by Alicia, Katie, Fred, George, and Oliver, a knot had already tied itself firmly within her stomach. It wasn't that she didn't like snogging-she was quite fond of it in fact-nor would she have had a problem snogging George or Oliver. It was Fred. She didn't want to kiss him simply because he wanted to kiss her. It wasn't that she didn't want him to get what he wanted, at least not of malicious intent, but she felt that somehow, if she had to kiss him, it would only encourage him.

She would have to face her fate sooner or later, however, and so reluctantly took the bottle and set it whirling on the floor. She shut her eyes. Not Fred. Oliver or George, but not Fred. Please, please, please, please, please, not Fred!

"Angelina?" Oliver's loud Scottish brogue sounded in her ear, and her eyes popped open. Looking down, afraid of what she'd see, her heart sank. There was the bottle, old and empty, butterbeer label almost completely ripped off, neck pointing straight at the person she dreaded most. He was already on his feet, grinning from ear to ear.

Grabbing her hand and pulling her up, he led her away from the other four and into the changing room. Angelina's thoughts were whirling frantically. She couldn't understand why she was so anxious all of a sudden. She told herself it was because she just wanted the experience to be over, but there was a part of her that didn't believe it. Why did she suddenly feel like she cared what he thought? Why did she care what he did? It didn't mean anything. It was part of a silly game. She fancied Roger Davies, dammit, not this goofy, lanky boy who now held her hand.

She was so preoccupied with trying to make sense of the feeling that had erupted in her gut that it took her a moment to realize that, his hands on her shoulders, Fred had pushed her up against the wall and was now whispering in her ear.

"You don't want to kiss me, do you?" he asked.

"I...I don't," she replied, voice barely audible. No sooner, however, had the words escaped her lips than they were met by his, gentle and tender yet persistent.

"How 'bout now?" he asked as he broke away.

"N-no, Fred," she stammered as he again brought their mouths together.

"Okay," he persisted, "what about now?"

"No, Fred, I don't want to," Angelina told him, but she could feel the words becoming more and more meaningless as he repeated his question. Before long they had just become placeholders, words necessary to reply and receive his next kiss.

"I think you're lying by now," he murmured, placing a kiss on her neck.

For a moment, just a single, solitary moment, she had considered contradicting him, but she knew he had called her bluff. If she protested again he would just plant his lips against hers, and ask the same question, and eventually she would give in.

"I'll take your silence as agreement," he told her. "But, you know, we are on the honor system, and I don't think what we're doing right now entirely counts as snogging."

She grinned at him, her anxiety, her doubts, her refusals gone, and threw her arms around his neck, finally bringing them together of her own accord. She knew now why she had dreaded this moment. Silly as it sounded when she thought about it, all it took was a bottle, spinning about the floor, to bring out the feelings that had been bottled up inside her. When she had laughed at Fred's stale antics, or blushed angrily when he made a pass at her, she now knew why.

She didn't fancy Roger Davies, but rather Fred Weasley. But why hadn't she been able to see it before? Hell, she knew why. People weren't supposed to fancy Fred Weasley. Appreciate him and laugh at him, sure, but never fancy him. But she did. She couldn't explain how, or why, but she did.

"Oi, snog-monsters, we're playing a game here, remember? Some of us would fancy a turn," Oliver called, shaking the two of them back into reality.

They broke apart, Fred looking sheepish, Angelina even more so, and both incredibly surprised. Who would have thought that Angelina Johnson actually did want to kiss Fred Weasley?