For Vitzy, whom I know will get where she wants to be in life, especially with her great AS results!
I don't own anything
~a continuation, in sorts, of a drabble from 'the melting of the flames', but does not need to be read to read this fic~
She runs through the streets, hearing the calls for help, the screams for help, issuing from her brother, her twin. The high pitchedness of his cries, the intensity with which he begs for someone to help him, rips her heart to shreds as she tries to find her way home, to Fred.
She turns corner after corner but this seems to be a maze and it's seemingly impossible for her to find her way to the centre, to her goal: Fred. All she wants is to get there and to see why he is in so much agony, why he can't help himself.
Street after identical street is before her: she's sure she has passed this exact crossroads about five times, yet she seems to come to another one after that and it is so annoying! She is losing patience, losing the little self control she has as Fred's cries grow in volume, agonising her even more – how can she be calm when her twin is in trouble?
She hears it before she sees it.
The roaring of the flames encompassing her house hits her three streets away, as the scent of smoke seems to all of a sudden appear, in canon with the appearance of the column of smoke rising from her house.
Nobody is around as she sprints faster and faster towards the devastating sight of her house succumbing to the roaring flames, orange, red… and hot.
"HELP!" she hears Fred scream just as she reaches the house. She prepares to run straight in to find him, forgetting that it will probably result in her death – she just wants her brother!
But as she reaches the door, she falls. It isn't into the burning ground, no, but through it somehow, sending her spiralling downwards… she can't stop and it's so scary, especially since she can't hear Fred anymore and-
She wakes up.
~x~
Breathing heavily, she shoots upright in her bed to realise that she is in her house, that Fred and her parents are down the hall in their rooms, and that it isn't on fire, to the best of her knowledge.
It was just a dream, she placates herself with repeating the same five words over and over again in her head, not believing it even after the hundredth time. The soaking of the sweat over her skin, the way she can't help her eyes darting over the room to make sure that there aren't any signs of potential firestarting, is just a physical showing of the gravity of the situation in her head.
It was just a dream.
She isn't so sure.
As she swings her legs out of bed to shower, she remembers the conversation she had with her Father about psychics.
"Are there really psychics in the world, Dad?" she asked him innocently, wondering whether the dreams that Joe would ask her out had been foretelling the future or whether it was just a dream.
He had contemplated the question for a moment, evidently going to give at least a semi normal answer, one without his usual jesting.
"Trelawney was apparently a psychic: she predicted about Uncle Harry and his parents," he replied thoughtfully. "But I always thought she was a fraud. So, honestly, I don't know. But I know that you've given me a new avenue to expand into – thanks Roxie!"
And he had raced off to his inventing lab at the back of their house without even giving her a definitive answer.
The randomness of this memory worries her, in a way, because she doesn't know why she's going back down this route. She had her obsession with psychics and being able to predict the future back when she was thirteen; now, a seventeen and a half year old ought not to have this problem.
But something in the back of her mind niggles away as she goes through the motions of a normal day, showering and dressing to eradicate the physical evidence of the pain of the dream. Now all that remains are the emotional scars of such a traumatic experience – even if it was only a dream.
"Roxie, breakfast is done!" her mum calls up the stairs and she starts, realising that she has been staring in the mirror for almost fifteen minutes, just thinking about the past eight hours. But she manages to muster up enough strength to wipe the fear from her eyes, replace the grimace on her lips with a small smile, and Apparate down the stairs just to show her brother up for failing his test.
"You're going to rub it in my face every day till August when I know I'm going to pass, aren't you?" he groans as he takes a piece of toast from the pile in the centre of the table.
She grins widely, the horrors of the nightmare forgotten for the minute, and nods, mirroring his movement. She grabs the chocolate spread pot before he can, sticking her knife in it to 'claim' it, so to speak. "You can bet that I will: after all, didn't you rub in my face when I couldn't cast the Disillusionment charm for three weeks longer than you?"
He ducks his head and mumbles incoherently, not even trying to get the chocolate spread from her.
"So what are you doing today?" their mum turns her attention from the pan on the cooker to her teenage children sitting at the table.
"Well, I think we have plans to do homework, dearest mother," Fred says, a twinkle in his eye. "You see, NEWTs are coming up in the future and I have decided that I must study for them in order to get at least an acceptable grade," he continues, Angelina raising her eyebrows further into her hairline with every word.
"Fred translation: you are planning on spending the day making variations to your pranks to then set off when everyone else is studying," she knows him too well so can see right through his flimsy explanation of plans. "However, since you have said that, I shall expect to see you have made it through at least two subjects by the time I come home this evening," slave driver Angelina slips through as she orders her children to study, wondering whether or not it will be in vain.
"Yes sergeant, that shall be accomplished, sergeant!" Fred salutes his mum in an attempt to make her seem like a dictator, but only results in both Roxanne and their mum laughing.
"Be good," she warns as she walks through the door before Apparating off to work.
"When are we anything but?" Fred mutters, evidently forgetting that in the Christmas holidays he almost got kicked out when he decided to open the house to the various vagrants of London, who then proceeded to rob the place.
~x~
Three hours later and they are almost through with Transfiguration when Fred moans that he's hungry.
"You mean to say you ate that huge breakfast as well as three bags of popcorn when we've been revising and you're hungry?" Roxanne looks at him in absolute amazement, unable to comprehend where he puts it all.
"I'm a Quidditch player, baby; I need the food."
"Urgh… save that for when you've roped some poor, unfortunate girl into marrying you and then providing a meal for you about fifteen times per day," Roxanne shoots back, shaking her head. "Well, if you're so hungry, go make yourself something. We're the same age: if I can do something, you can as well."
He sighs but stands up and heads to walk down the stairs, muttering about how if she went, she could have it all cooking by the time he gets down there.
"Hurry up!" she yells, focusing on the page in front of her so that she can be word perfect on the definitions for Switching spells when he returns.
Fifteen minutes later and he finally manages to return, having made himself a bacon sandwich complete with his favourite spiced pumpkins, the grease evident from the other side of the room.
"That looks actually fouler than the sausages you had the House Elves cook over the Common Room fire last month," she shudders as he offers her a bite, picking up her uneaten packet of popcorn. "No thanks, I'll just wait till Mum's home to cook us some proper dinner."
"That shows proper gratitude, that does," he mutters darkly. "I have to walk all the way down the stairs to make this bacon sandwich, then you say you don't appreciate it! I can't win!"
She shrugs but forces him to concentrate on the work at hand and ignore the way that the pumpkin splats all over the floor when he places the sandwich flat in his palm for mere seconds.
This behaviour continues for a good forty minutes, until Roxanne goes to the bathroom. She had been sniffing something slightly strange for a good fifteen minutes or so, but she just put it down to Fred's unusual sandwich combination… however, out here, it's so much more than a slight whiff.
It's dangerous.
She recognises it instantly from her dream, the way that the smoke clogged her nose slowly, trying to force her to succumb to its long tendrils for fingers, trying to bring her under its control.
But by now, she's in the bathroom and realising the window is open and the neighbours are having a barbeque. It must just be that, she thinks, instantly berating herself for thinking that she has some sort of sick psychic powers to have known that there would be a fire here. There can't be…
She sighs slightly as she goes to open the bathroom door, just to find that, once again, it's jammed. It's been doing this ever since her dad threw her then boyfriend, John Longbottom, into it when he found them together upstairs last year. Normally, it's just a little annoying, but today, it's really irritating her, especially when she just wants to make sure that everything is alright in the house.
"Dammit!" she curses under her breath, pulling and yanking at the door for a good five minutes to try and open it. It just won't seem to budge, but it sounds like someone is yelling behind the door.
Ever the prankster, she wonders what her brother will be getting up to now that she has disappeared for such a long time. He'll probably have James on the phone and they'll be plotting what they can do to ensure that Hogwarts never forgets them when they leave, she thinks, a wry smile on her lips.
That is, until she finally opens the door.
A huge wave of heat hits her head on, causing a vacuum between the evidently boiling hallway and the comparatively cool bathroom. That wasn't like that before, she thinks, puzzled as she dares to take a step out into the carpeted area. To her bare foot, it seems too warm, as if something is heating up beneath it.
Or if the carpet is heating up.
And then, the voice she heard before is amplified.
"HELP!"
It's Fred; he's in trouble… she doesn't hesitate as she runs through the hallway, down the various corridors (blast them for having such a big house) and towards where she and Fred were revising.
But the smoke, it's back. and it's back with a vengeance, thick and opaque, rendering Roxanne unable to see more than a foot in front of her. She begins to choke and drops to the floor, remembering the fire safety advice she got from her parents when they began to be allowed to stay home alone.
Remember, always drop to the floor; there's more air there.
Get away from the smoke as fast as possible.
Always stick together.
She has two of the three down pat on the side she shouldn't be heading; she's on the floor all right, but she is heading into the path of the smoke and she and Fred are separated by all this smoke – smoke means there's a fire nearby.
Suddenly, a crackling sound comes from below her and, to her horror, she sees the floor beginning to slip away from beneath her. The fire must be downstairs, in the kitchen, and it's fighting through the floor rather than take the path of the stairs.
She coughs again, fighting to get forwards and to Fred, to help him as his calls for help continue to pierce her ears. She is entirely focused on him, her only goal to get to Fred so she can Apparate him out of there to safety. He's her only priority. Screw her safety; if she doesn't have Fred, who is she?
Unfortunately, the floor right in front of her suddenly collapses, allowing a huge burst of orange fire to leap up in front of her. She screams loudly and cowers back, deciding that she can't get Fred from here; she can't breathe and she can't get through – they'll both die if she doesn't get out and get help.
With a sick feeling, Roxanne pulls her wand out from her sleeve and Disapparates, reappearing in the back garden. Only from here can she see how widespread the damage is: every downstairs window has been blown out from the heat, whilst it is raging all the way up through the top floor, heading for the room where Fred is… where Fred is all, alone.
She can't reach him from here, she knows she can't, not even with the ladder over on the other side of the lawn. As she coughs and splutters, wiping her face to remove the soot from her eyes, she can hear the peal of the fire engine's siren, but she knows it will get here too late to save Fred.
His cries are louder now, almost identical to the ones she heard in her dream, the dream which is becoming sickeningly true. He's dying before her very eyes; she can hear his death, imagine it with sickening clarity – she has to act. How can she allow her brother to die in there when she escaped, just because he didn't have his wand on him?
Almost like a flashback, she remembers him setting his wand down after breakfast and leaving it there 'so it wouldn't distract him from revision'. Those were his exact words; she was so proud of him actually wanting to work… now she hates herself for it.
Stop talking as if he is dead; he's still there, she tells herself, wracking her brains for a way to help him.
Then it hits her.
The spell.
Years ago, she logged away a piece of information from a book she took from the Restricted Section in the library. It would give you the thing you desire – for a price.
And all she wants to do is help Fred.
What price could there be on that?
She drops to her knees and shuts her eyes, begging herself to remember the incantation properly, for fear of casting something else. All she wants is Fred to get out, to be with her – alive.
"Desirio Pricitio," she murmurs, pointing her wand in the location she presumes Fred is, all the while thinking, all I want is Fred to be alive.
Similar to the experience in the dream, the ground opens up and swallows her, sending her downwards and causing her to scream. Where am I going? What's happening? Where's Fred? The questions keep on coming as she, for one worrying second, thinks the price for Fred to be alive is her death.
The ground seems to right itself once again, sending her coursing to the surface. A sharp jolt occurs as she is thrown out onto a carpet in a room so posh, her first instinct is to think she is in Buckingham Palace.
How is this helping Fred? She thinks in disbelief, searching the room for any signs of possible recognition. Maybe she is in an Auror's office, someone to help her with Fred, or a Healer's to aid his body as they rescue him.
The only thing she notices is that there is no natural light whatsoever.
Where am I?
"Who on earth are you?" a feminine ice cold voice sounds behind her, raising goosebumps on her fiery hot skin. Slowly, Roxanne turns around to be faced with one of the most beautiful, yet scariest, people she has ever seen.
She has long blonde hair loose over her shoulders and is wearing a business-y suit. Her face is devoid of makeup, yet she appears to possess natural beauty, with large grey eyes and an appealing face… the face which is marked by a disdainful expression.
"I…uh… where am I?" Roxanne asks, standing up and clutching her wand tighter in her hand. Though the woman doesn't seem dangerous, a vibe she gives off tells Roxanne to stay away, to get away from there now.
But she can't.
Because the spell sent her here to save Fred, so she has to stay to find out how this mysterious woman can help her.
The blonde raises an eyebrow delicately, as if she is shocked to hear this question, before her gaze drops to the apparent stick in Roxanne's hand.
"You," she begins slowly, exerting her authority in the three simple letters, "Are in Morganville, Texas. Where on earth were you intending on reaching?"
The almost knowing of the question, in a sense, that wizards exist shocks the Weasley girl almost as much as the fact she has been sent here in a probably vain- no, she will save her brother, she's sure of it.
"I… my brother, he needs help… I cast this spell to take me somewhere which could help me save him and it sent me here," she lets it all spill out, not bothering to censor her words in front of a possible Muggle: a) she knows about magic and b) Roxanne Apparated in front of her! To appear like that could hardly be deemed normal human behaviour. "Wait… how do you know about wizardry? Are you a witch?"
The woman snorts and shakes her head, the movement both riveting to watch and disturbing. She seems so in control to Roxanne, yet almost as if one move could have her turning into a feral beast.
"I most certainly am not a witch," she snaps, as if the idea is vulgar. Then, slowly in order to emphasise the point, she opens her mouth and allows her fangs to slide down, to be on full show to the now petrified girl before her.
Vampire.
"Ohmigodyou'reavampire!" Roxanne shrieks, running for the door pointlessly. If the woman wants, she can grab her in mere points of a second, yet why bother? The door is locked and it really isn't Amelie's style to run after the humans who wander into her office.
"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious," the woman says, lowering herself into her seat slowly. "Now, since you evidently have a need of a vampire, for whatever reason that may be, sit down and we can discuss this," she orders Roxanne to take a seat, something which has the girl barely in control of herself shaking her head vigorously.
"No; you're just going to kill me."
The woman snorts slightly, as if the idea amuses her. "I do believe that if I had desired to kill you, we would not be having this conversation," she does state the obvious here, placing her fingertips together as she speaks. "To prove to you, though I do not see why I must do such a thing, I have no plans to kill you, I shall inform you of my name so we can communicate. My name is Amelie; I am the eldest vampire in the world. And yourself?"
The politeness of her speech startles Roxanne into silence spanning fifteen seconds, until she remembers that, across the world, Fred is dying.
"I'm Roxanne Weasley and I… I'm a witch and my house is on fire and my brother is inside and he is going to die!" she wails, sitting in the proffered seat and burying her head in her hands.
Amelie sighs slightly, as if this is such a common problem it is now mundane, before replying. "And you said that you cast a spell to go to a location where the person who could help you achieve what you desire is?"
Roxanne nods, not making the link between the vampire there and the state of her brother. "Please, you have to know a way to get him out of there alive! After all, why else would I be here?"
Still, it doesn't click.
"My, you are just another example of the ignorance of the human race at the present day," the coolness of her voice is joined by a certain edge, as if she is used to saying this statement. "A girl in my town, Claire, is the only exception I am yet to see. Are you yet to make the link between being in the presence of a vampire – something which you seem remarkably calm about – and the dying state of your brother?"
Finally, it clicks.
"He has to be a vampire?" Roxanne gasps, reacting as she ought to have when she found out there was a vampire in the room. It still seems strange to think there is a vampire in the room, she thinks, especially when she appears so normal.
And tells her that Fred has to be a vampire to survive.
"Yes, that is the case," Amelie responds in a matter-of-fact tone. "I am willing, since you came here under such stress, to turn him if you desire your brother to remain walking on this earth. However, my good mood is already dwindling due to events already occurring in my town and you have three minutes to decide. That, I feel, is fair."
The redheaded Weasley stares at her, agape, unable to comprehend the situation. She has to decide whether or not she wants her brother to be a vampire in one hundred and eighty seconds? Something isn't right there… but Fred shouldn't be dying anyway.
"Does he have to be alive to be turned, or can it be when he is dead?" she asks suddenly, wanting to have as much time as possible to decide. She's being selfish if she chooses yes, to turn him, but if she doesn't, she looses part of herself.
"Within a week of death, it is... feasible," Amelie responds, raising her glance from the paperwork on her desk. She doesn't care about me or Fred, Roxanne thinks with an angry twist, she doesn't care at all!
Within a week of death… that gives me a week, if… if he isn't out.
In her heart, she knows he hasn't escaped the house, that she is the survivor of the two of them, that he won't be waiting for her when she returns.
"I… I can't," she says finally, as Amelie's eyes bore into hers. "Not today, at least. Perhaps… perhaps if he has died, in the coming days yes… but not now."
She stands up, as if to leave, when the blonde whirls across the room and picks up a book before she is suddenly clenching onto her arm.
"Read this, if you desire to know the possibilities," she says slowly, deliberately keeping Roxanne there for longer. "If you do not return, I shall know you do not desire my very fair offer."
"How do you even know about us?" Roxanne repeats the earlier, unanswered question, wondering how someone so cold and a vampire could know of witches and wizards.
"When I lived in England, I had acquaintances who were wizards," the woman answers, her eyes far away in the past. "I know of magic and therefore that the time would come when a wizard set foot in my town. I just didn't know it would be someone like you."
And, with that, she drops Roxanne's arm and returns to her work as if she isn't standing there!
Roxanne realises that she's crying, that the tears of indecision are wet on her cheeks, and she has to get back to Fred. He could be alive; there is always the chance! He could be around…
So she Disapparates with a CRACK, leaving behind the offer in Morganville as she returns to her home.
"Fred!" she screams his name as she returns, not caring if Muggles are around and see her appearing. Somehow, word has gotten out to her family and they are all arriving, wondering what on earth is going on, wondering where Fred and Roxanne are. "Fred! Where are you? Come out; I know you're going to be ok!"
"Roxanne!" her Gran runs across to her and picks her up from the floor, wrapping her in a hug. "Thank God you're ok. Where's Fred?"
How can she say that he's dead? How can she say that not only Fred I, but Fred II is dead? No words can describe it.
So she simply nods her head to the building.
"Oh my GOD!" Molly screeches, motioning to the house hysterically as the other members of the family arrive. "Fred's still in there; he's in the house!"
Frantically, the wizards fight the flames to get to the house, trying to get to Fred before the Muggles get inside, to get the boy out and to save him.
"Fred!" his parents, Roxanne's parents, cry out as they arrive, getting held back by Ginny and Hermione. They fight to get to the house, yelling to save their son, to get him out of the house.
~x~
The fire is out.
The Muggles are gone.
The house is a shell of its former self.
Fred is dead.
.
They carry him out of the house as if he is only sleeping, like his parents would when he was a little boy. He's tiny in death, his huge frame having shrunk to nothing in Roxanne's eyes.
They tried to make her leave, to make her go somewhere else whilst they got her brother out. But she wouldn't; though nobody had said anything, it's her fault he is dead. If she hadn't made him cook, there wouldn't have been a fire. If she hadn't been with John, then the door wouldn't be jammed. If she wasn't around, then there would be no problems.
"Nooo," she wails on the grass, the book she was given in her pocket as she hammers the ground, wishing it was her in Arthur's arms, wishing she was dead rather than Fred. He didn't deserve to die; he was good and bright and a genius with pranks! Everyone loved him; he was needed in Hogwarts… unlike her, the bit part on the side.
She'll miss him every second of every day.
~x~
The funeral is held on a bright, sunny Saturday morning, three days after his death. It's family only, no matter what anyone else tries to make them do, and Roxanne has dressed in whatever she could find: clothes don't matter, not when your best friend has gone, not when you've lost half of your self in a flash of an eye. It turns out she's wearing an ivy coloured dress, dark and dank, perfect to match her mood. Not that she cares.
She's read the book Amelie gave her, the idea she could get her brother back the only thing keeping her together. She wants him back with all her heart, but can she be so selfish to turn him vamp, without even her parents knowing?
It's in her heart, the idea that she could turn him, keep him forever. But can she? It's an idealistic ideology, she thinks, one that sounds better than it would be: he'd want blood, he'd be unhappy at being a vampire; it wouldn't be right, fair on him.
And she bets that bitch Amelie would keep him in her town.
Forever.
Roxanne shakes her head slightly, trying to dispel the thoughts of turning her brother, but not succeeding. The terror of remembering his screams hits her and she winces once again, allowing the very idea of the idea to have him back as a vampire to comfort her in most mysterious ways. The elixir of eternal life lies in the method of becoming a vampire, the way to live forever and never to be mourned again. She could save him from eternal death, save him from being the first one out of their entire family born after the war to die, save him from the possibility of being forgotten.
The book is clenched in her hand, unable to be seen by the others, and she shrugs her shoulders as she looks at the grave being filled with dirt over his coffin, the coffin containing her brother. He shouldn't be dead; he's gone before his grandparents, which can't be right! They were supposed to die together, at the ripe old age of 113, so they beat Muriel, whatever relation she is to them. They were supposed to make an absolute fortune and spend it all, have three kids each and marry someone awesome.
Nobody blames her for the fire, or for her getting out, but she blames herself. If she had done anything, he wouldn't be in there. He would be happy and they would be getting bollocked by their mum for not revising.
She wouldn't be at his grave.
Tears fill her eyes as she attempts to read the words on the gravestone:
Fred Weasley II
31st October 2005 – 1st November 2026
A beloved prankster till the end.
She knows her decision.
She sneaks off into a corner of the church and writes a hasty letter, addressing it to Amelie:
I'm sorry
I can't let him come back and be unhappy
I bet you wouldn't let me have him anyway.
Thanks for the offer.
By the way, that colour doesn't suit you
Roxanne Weasley
She laughs slightly manically at the slight bit of humour in the letter before sending it with her owl. In a few days, across the world, Amelie will receive the letter and sigh at the waste of a life, the wrong decision being made.
But she doesn't care.
He's my brother, and I decide.
So, with a heavy heart, she steps out and takes one of her parents' hands each, like she did when she was little, and they stand together, each of them letting the tears fall freely.
They'll get through it… together.
So… it turned out a little differently to what I expected.
Less Amelie than I thought as well.
Still, please don't fav without reviewing!
Vicky xx