Long live Fred/Angelina!

Dedication: To the girls out there who always feel like the friend, not the girlfriend. To the girls who make dirty jokes and laugh. To girls like Angelina Johnson.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters.


Angelina Johnson was not beautiful. Pretty, maybe, but she wouldn't turn any heads when she walked down the street. Her eyes were a little too far apart, her arms were a little too muscular, and her braided hair was always a little too messy. She didn't bother with make-up, unlike all the other girls in her year, and she hardly seemed to care whether or not she was matching under her robes.

Angelina Johnson was not graceful. She tripped over nothing, had trouble wearing heels, walked in a slightly masculine fashion and couldn't dance for what her life was worth. Give her a broomstick and a quaffle and she'd soar with a certain degree of fluid dignity, but otherwise she was easily a Class A klutz.

Angelina Johnson was not flirtatious. Not in a way that most girls could identify with, anyways. Where other girls flipped their hair and batted their eyelashes, Angelina liked to hang out with the boys and laugh at their dirty jokes. This was why most girls had her pegged as a non-threat when it came to competition for male attention. She'd always be the friend, the giggling girls concluded, not the girlfriend.

Angelina Johnson was smart. Dangerously smart as it turned out, with razor sharp wit, a comeback for every occasion, and a few choice hexes from hell. She could hold her own in verbal spars with both sexes, often earning her applause from the boys and dirty looks from the girls. There was a fire that burned in her eyes as she took on the quickest and the most cunning, including the Weasley twins themselves. It was the same passion and drive that put the trademark scowl on her face during Quidditch games, as well as when she tried to resist the advances of one Fred Weasley.

Angelina Johnson was not beautiful, graceful, or properly flirtatious for a girl of her age, and she probably never would be. But there was something about her that kept Fred trying to win her over where most guys would've given up long before, if they even bothered to attempt at all. Maybe it was because he knew that somewhere under that bullet-proof skin of hers was a real, beating heart that might just find him attractive, despite her flippant remarks. Or perhaps it was simply her wit. Over time Fred had come to the conclusion that wit was sexy. Period. He found a strange satisfaction in knowing that there was at least one girl in the world who wouldn't just giggle and toss her hair when Fred said something flirtatious, but could shot a response back almost instantly. She had him hooked, and yet sometimes he had no idea why or how.

It was the wit. It had to be.