Fred and Angelina
She was sitting on the bleachers when he found her, curled in a ball to hide from the rain. He almost couldn't tell she was crying. Crying, but crying quietly, suppressing her sobs and hiding her face. She turned away when she heard him coming, and it hurt him more than anything.
He sat down next to her on the cold, wet bench, and, taking off his cloak, wrapped it around her shoulders. Hugging her tight, he let her wrap her arms around him.
"Hey." He whispered.
She cried harder, more openly, now. He squeezed her tighter, pulling her closer and onto his lap.
"You can tell me, if you want." He offered after a moment. "I'll listen." Blimey, he was never this serious. It scared him almost as much as her crying.
She sniffled, letting her tears flow for a few more minutes.
"I was so excited." She murmured into his shoulder. "So excited. I've wanted to be Quidditch captain for years. And then—and then that awful woman comes, with her stupid pink clothes and her stupid cats and her stupid, stupid rules. And now you and George and Harry are off the team—that's our three best players. And—and I won't get to see you as much." She finished weakly.
He pulled her closer, breathing in her scent. He smiled into her hair. He let out a chuckle.
She pulled away, looking hurt. "Fred! It's not funny!"
He shook his head. "No, Angie, it's not. Listen, you'll find players. There's two hundred people in Gryffindor, you won't have a problem finding three new players." He paused. "Alright, they might not be as good as us. But you can't always have things perfect. That's life. As for Umbridge? Her time'll come. It always does. I promise you, love, she'll be gone by the end of the year."
She looked at him accusingly. "Fred Weasley, what are you planning?"
He smiled. "Nothing. But face it, she's professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's been forty years since someone's kept the job more than a year. Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky and she'll be one of the ones to die."
She gasped, and swatted his arm. "Fred!"
He laughed, and grabbed her hands. "Wonder what'll happen. Maybe someone will put a compulsion charm on her quills, and she'll bleed to death. Maybe she'll be stampeded by centaurs. Or maybe she'll lose her memory, like Lockhart."
She was starting to grin. His heart soared. "Yeah, can you imagine them sharing a room at St. Mungo's? He'd be trying to give her autographs, and she'd be giving him detention."
"Oooh, kinky." He grinned. "Maybe they'll fall in love and get married. What do you think their kids would like? Blonde toads, I'll bet. With shiny teeth and pink bows in their hair."
She laughed now, for real.
"That's disgusting, Fred. I don't know where you get these thoughts."
"Oi!" He complained, pulling her back into a warm hug. "Here I am, trying my best to cheer you up and make you a very happy Quidditch captain, and all I get is abuse!"
She swatted him again, before returning the embrace happily.
"Thanks for being here."
He hugged her tighter, then slowly tilted her head up to look into her eyes.
He kissed her once, soft and slow.
"I'll always be there, Angie. I promise."
AN: Sorry, I know this is sad. Sorry, sorry.