Eyes On Her
Fred Weasley wasn’t one to linger on details. Life was too short and full of too many possibilities to get caught in the little things. But lately, his eyes kept drifting to Atlas Grey, a girl in his year. She was a girl who didn’t demand attention but somehow commanded it anyway. She wasn’t loud or too flashy, not like him and George. She kept to herself mostly, always with a book in her hand, often talking to Hermione Granger who had taken quite liking to her. She wasn’t his type. He liked bold. He liked loud. Yet, there was something about her. Something that stuck. Something that kept him coming back, like a song that got stuck in his head no matter how hard he tried to shake it.
The common room was alive with the usual chaos. Parvati Patil was giggling over a Witch Weekly by the window, whispering in hushed tones with Lavender Brown. Lee Jordan tossed a fanged frisbee that nearly took out a lamp when Neville Longbottom ducked with a yelp. Ron grumbled at the corner table, “Snape’s out to get me,” while Hermione snapped back “If you started that essay-"
George waved a half-enchanted firecracker under Fred’s nose.
“Oi, mate, focus! Filch will be patrolling soon,” He prodded with a wicked grin, but Fred wasn’t in it. He should have been plotting with George, some grand scheme involving Filch’s broom cupboard, but he wasn’t listening to a word George was saying. Instead, his eyes kept on drifting to her.
“What is it about her?” Fred muttered under his breath one day as he leaned against the Gryffindor common room wall. He was watching her from across the room, as he usually found himself doing these days. George, who was sprawled on a couch nearby, raised an eyebrow.
He’d barely noticed her before. She was always in a corner, nose in a book. But last month when she’d smirked at his jab about Snape’s greasy hair, something shifted. Now she was everywhere he looked.
“Who’s that now?” George’s voice pulled him back to the present.
Fred didn’t answer, just tilted his head towards Atlas, who was sitting by the fire, scribbling something in a book. George smirked but didn’t press. Fred wasn’t even sure why he’d said it out loud. Maybe it was the way she carried herself like she didn’t need anyone’s approval. Maybe it was the way she smiled. He wasn’t sure. But there was something there. A spark, maybe a pull. And he couldn’t shake it.
It started in the damp corridor outside Potions. The air was thick with a sour tang of burnt nettles from Snapes latest brew. Torchlight flickered across the stone walls, casting long shadows as students shuffled out. Fred and George were perched near a rusty suit of armor, their heads bent over a Dungbomb. Its faint smell of sulfur was tickling Fred’s nose. They were plotting the perfect arc to land the bomb in Ron’s hood. His head snapped up when he heard Draco Malfoy’s familiar snide.
“Granger, do you ever tame that hair?”, Draco’s voice cut through the thick air. “Or is it just part of the package? Filth inside and out?” he sneered at Hermione, circling her like a vulture. She tightened her grip on her books, face now flushing pink.
Fred was too seconds away from lobbing the Dungbomb at Draco’s head when Atlas Grey stepped in. She had been a few paces ahead of Hermione, but now she had planted herself between them. Her Gryffindor scarf was loose around her neck, and she dropped her book bag down with a thud that echoed off the walls.
“Leave her alone, Malfoy,” Atlas said, her voice was steady with no hints of wavering. She wasn’t yelling, wasn’t dramatic- just firm like she was stating a fact. Draco turned, his smirk faltering as he sized her up.
“What’s it to you, Grey?” he spat, but Atlas didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms, her dark eyes narrowing.
“It’s basic decency. Something the likes of you wouldn’t understand” Her tone was sharp enough to cut, but calm, like his presence was a minor annoyance. Hermione blinked up at her in surprise as Draco muttered “These blood traitors,” under his breath and slunk off with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him like lost shadows.
A buzz broke out. Seamus Finnegan whistled low, “Nice one Grey!”; a Slytherin hissed ‘Mudblood lover’ from a corner. Hermione thanked Atlas, her voice shaky.
Fred was watching this whole debacle with a grin tugging at his lips. “Well, well,” he said to George. “Didn’t know little Grey had it in her.”
George snorted. “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that.”
“More than Malfoy’s got brains” Fred grinned as he pocketed the Dungbomb he was holding.
Fred’s grin widened. Guts, yeah. But it was more than that. It was the way she didn’t even look proud of herself after. She just turned around to Hermione, asked if she was okay, and went on her way, her scarf trailing behind her. His chest was buzzing with something he couldn’t name. Maybe it was pride. She didn’t wait to bask in the applause that broke out after her. She just moved on like it was nothing.
His eyes followed her. She was walking into Potions class. And then he saw it. Her eyes flicked towards the corridor’s end, where Cedric Diggory stood. He was laughing with a bunch of Hufflepuff first years. Her gaze softened, just for a heartbeat, before she turned away. It was brief, but he saw it. and for some reason, it made the buzz in his chest die down. Fred’s grin slipped, his brow creasing. “Huh,” he muttered, the buzz in his chest dimming, with a cold feeling taking over. What was that?