Disclaimer: Everything but the plot and a few OC characters belongs to Rowling, not me
A/N - Just a warning before we start, this story is rated M for a reason, there will be drugs, sex (not too graphic though who knows how it'll go?) mentions or rape, eating disorders, under-age drinking, self harm, strong language...basically anything I can get in really! And a warning, this story is not a happy one!
Chapter 1 - Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight, let the fire bring me back to life
He stands waiting, watching the other First Years nervously approach the stool where they are sorted. He waits with butterflies in his stomach as the line slowly dwindles as more and more students are sorted, he waits for the list to reach the 'W's' where Freddie is stood waiting, anxious for his turn.
His gaze drifts across the Great Hall, the roof that seems to not be there but to be open to the heavens, the floating candles with their flickering flames, the pale faces of students and ghosts alike fixed on the stool at the front where Neville stands, calling out names. Freddie's eyes narrow ever so slightly and he scans over the faces once more, just briefly, all pale faces. Sometimes, he finds it easy to forget just what a minority he is in as half cast.
The eleven year old suddenly spots a familiar face, Teddy flashes him a crooked smile, his hair his favourite turquoise shade, his eyes a bright green. He shots Freddie a thumbs up from his place at the Ravenclaw table then mouths 'Focus!' Freddie shakes himself a little and forces himself to focus back on the sorting. His cousin, Victoire, rolls her eyes at him from where she stands beside him.
"It's your turn next!" She whispers in the taller boy's ear.
Freddie blinks in surprise at that, he could have sworn they were only on the 'S's' last time he checked.
"Weasley, Fred!"
A murmur, quiet but unmistakable, sweeps through the Great Hall but vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Freddie represses the urge to correct Neville, he was Freddie not Fred, and his Uncle of sorts very well knew that. Freddie gathers his nerves and walks towards the stool, he hears a murmur again and ignores it, he ignores the Professors looking at him unwaveringly – after all he is the first Weasley to be sorted for a long time – he tries to return Neville's warm smile but he's sure his is more of a pained grimace and sits down.
Neville places the Sorting Hat on his head and he can no longer see the pale faces of the Great Hall staring at him. He's only a little disconcerted by the voice that suddenly appears in his ear.
"Ah, a Weasley is it?" The Hat says in a sly voice, "Haven't seen one of you for a while and my - not a red-head! That is a miracle! Now…where to put you? Gryffindor seems like the obvious option…"
Freddie feels a stab of panic at that, he doesn't want to be another Fred Weasley, Gryffindor through and through.
"I see…not so fond or your Uncle now are you?" The Hat sounds all too knowing when it next speaks, "You are certainly brave enough for Gryffindor or reckless enough as some would say, your Headmistress would be proud to have another Weasley there, smart but not smart enough for Ravenclaw, kind oh yes but not quite so…hmm, how very strange, I see a darkness brewing inside you Fred, this will be entertaining, it'll have to be… Slytherin!"
Freddie finds himself going tense very suddenly. Slytherin? Well, he's not that surprised if he's honest but Slytherin? There's a silence for a whole two seconds in the Great Hall before the Slytherin table explodes into applause. Neville pulls the hat off his head and Freddie glances up at him, his eyebrows raised at the Professor's stunned expression. Freddie stands.
"It's Freddie, not Fred." He tells him before making his way over to the Slytherin table.
As he sits, he see's many shocked expressions being shot his way, he's sees Victoire's mouthing of 'its okay' before she rushes off to get sorted herself, he sees Teddy's familiar crooked smile which soon turns into a goofy grin as Vic is sorted into Ravenclaw as well. Freddie can't help but feel like he made the right choice, even if he didn't have a choice in where he was sorted.
He's thirteen the first time he's accidentally dragged into a Slytherin party. He's been pretty good at avoiding them with his friend, Aaron, up until then, mainly because everyone part of the parties have a nasty habit of being severely hung over the next morning or coming down from highs. It's not as if the idea of being blackout drunk hasn't ever appealed to Freddie, he'd just rather wait until he's older.
He knew he'd made a mistake when he'd headed down from his dorm to retrieve the hoodie he'd left on one of the couches that morning, everyone was moving around the Common Room, everyone was chatting and laughing, people were here and there are snogging in corners or on the couches. The teen couldn't help but roll his eyes at the actions of his house, he glanced around for his hoodie hoping no one is shagging on it when Jay, a Fifth Year, slammed into his side, his drink going over both teens.
"Freddie!" Jay slurred heavily, his dark brown hair fell into his eyes as he grinned at the dark skinned teen, "You came!"
Freddie rolled his eyes and quickly cast a charm that made his shirt dry once more, he forced himself to smile at his friend, "No, I didn't, I just came down for – hey!"
Jay had shoved a drink into his hand before he can blink, he glanced down at it and recognised the drink – vodka. He wondered where they'd gotten Muggle alcohol from.
"Drink up!" Jay slurred and clapped him on the shoulder before he vanished into the crowd.
Freddie was almost half tempted to set the drink down, he'd had a sip of alcohol here and there when his parents had let him (always a good little boy at home) but right then, he wanted to drink this glass of vodka. He drank it quickly, it had a bitter taste but it was pleasant at the same time, not the same burn as Firewhiskey but similar. He liked the taste. He likes the taste.
He told himself he'd just have the one that night. But he can't remember how many he had after his third. That's when he knew he shouldn't have left his dorm, his eyesight is blurry and he feels like he's going to be sick but he still presses Aaron's girlfriend up against the wall beside one of the windows in the Common Room and presses his lips to hers in a heated, drunken kiss.
He feels worse because he doesn't feel bad at what he's doing.
Having the reputation as 'Hogwarts partier' is both a blessing and curse, Freddie decides. He's fourteen and he's been to more parties than most of the Seventh Years, he's been drunk far too many times to keep count. He likes the feeling of drinking too much that he blackouts and wakes up wondering what happened the night before. He doesn't like the hangovers but then again who does?
He's learnt Ravenclaw parties are a bit wilder than people expect, he knows Vic is a lightweight and that even a half a glass of cider can wipe her out and have her professing her love to everyone and anyone – especially Teddy. He knows Teddy can hold his booze quite well but eventually the haze turns to drunken slurring and the already uncoordinated Lupin stumbling around. He's seen James tag along to a few of the parties, drink a little then stop. Freddie knows he should do the same.
He's the first to start drinking but not the last. The vodka is still bitter but doesn't burn the way it used to, the beer is still strange and frothy but he can't taste the different flavours anymore, it all tastes the same after a while. He drinks until he can't see straight, and he can't remember the name of the girl he's kissing, and he can't keep track of what clothing he has on.
Freddie drinks for the sake of drinking, or so he says. He sees the looks Aaron and Teddy send his way as he stumbles into the table holding the drinks, reaching for another beer, he sees the look and almost hears the mutters of his two friends but he pushes forward, downing the alcohol almost desperately. He misses the feeling of near sickness, of the mild dread of a hangover the next morning. He hates his tolerance for the alcohol. He needs something else to drown things out.
He goes to Jay. Jay who's not quite drunk yet but getting there. Freddie stumbles over to his friend, blue eyes bright but a little unfocused and dark brown hair damp with sweat from a rather intense snogging session with a Gryffindor girl.
"Freddie!" Freddie can't quite understand just how Jay is always so cheerful, "You're not drinking," his tone is half teasing half relieved, "I'm impressed mate I-"
But Freddie needs a solution and fast, "You got a joint I can have?" he blurts out suddenly.
Jay blinks, once, twice then his mouth drops open, "Yeah, sure, here…" he's hesitant to give Freddie the joint, that much the teen can tell, but he gives him it anyway.
Freddie takes it quickly and raises it to his lip, with a reckless abandonment he doesn't even bother to ask to see if his friend has a match or a lighter he just draws his wand mutters, "Incendio," somehow doesn't light himself on fire and takes in a long drag of the joint. Every nerve comes to live, he feels tingles all over his body, his fingers feel weird but he inhales more of the joint feeling his eyesight go clear then blurry. It makes him feel alive.
He moves away from Jay and see's Teddy stood with Vic both watching him, worriedly.
He told himself he'd just have one that night. Freddie knows that is not the case.
He like the Quidditch stands but not Quidditch. He can't focus long enough on watching a game let alone play, he knows lots of his family, his parents especially, would love for him to be on the team. But he's Freddie, not Fred. He doesn't want to do that. He stands in the stands instead of going to class. It's November and bitterly cold out. He stands on the top row of the Slytherin stands, the icy breeze stings his cheeks and whips back his hair.
He's just in jeans, his favourite black pair, and a thin band tee. He's dressed for warmer weather but he doesn't care. Freddie raises the cigarette to his lips and breathes in the toxic smoke before breathing it outward. It tingles a little but not as much as a joint because he knows better than to get high before McGonagall's class. Also, his joint dealer has stopped selling them to him thanks to Teddy.
Freddie scowls at the mention of his so-called friend. He stabs the cigarette into the side of the stands burning a hole in the wood before its extinguished. He grits his teeth and with numb fingers pulls out his pack, his hands start to shake as he rips out another cigarette and lights it with his lighter, so crudely designed with the words 'Buy your own fucking lighter' stamped on the side. He breathes in the smoke he craves so much and tries to not think about Teddy. Teddy who meddles too much for his own, Teddy who told Freddie's drug dealer to stop dealing him, whose took to taking drinks off Freddie at parties… He hates him. But at the same time he doesn't. He hates Vic who cries every time she confronts him and says he's only upsetting everyone else.
The teen scoffs aloud at that. As if anyone else would notice he's upset, he's too sad to cry at this point and too tired to sleep. He inhales more smoke. Goosebumps are erupting across his bare arms at this point. He shuffles his feet and glances down at his arm, his skin is dark, darker than his Father's but lighter than his Mother's. He looks like George and therefore he looks like Uncle Fred. He wishes he didn't.
Freddie rolls the cigarette between his fingers. Uncle Fred didn't smoke. He knows that. He's different than he is yet he can't escape the name. He can't escape the pressure. He glances down at his left arm. Smooth dark skin, a scar on his wrist from when he and Teddy broke a few plates at the Burrow once and in Teddy's panic he'd fallen over and knocked Freddie into the broken shards. Freddie touches the scar. He likes the scar.
Fred wouldn't have a scar like that. He knows that. Freddie looks at the cigarette at the lit end, a bright red glow staring right back at him. He purses his lips and pressed the cigarette to his arm, just beside the scar. He cries out at the pain but doesn't pull the cigarette away, if he listens he can hear the sizzle of his burning flesh but he doesn't. He takes in a sharp breath and holds the cigarette there.
He holds it there for forty nine seconds before pulling it away, a small gasp of pain only escaping his lips this time. He tosses the cigarette away over the side of the stands and stares down at the burn. Its circular, small, and his flesh is no longer brown but red and bumpy and strange but…beautiful. He likes the burn but he knows he will like the scar more. He likes scars. He needs more scars.
He told himself that it'd just be the one time.
The issue with staying at the Burrow is that everyone is there. From Andromeda, to Harry, to Hermione and even, at times, Charlie. Christmas that year is no different. Every Weasley and Potter is packed tightly into the house, Freddie has been forced to share a room with Louis and Albus and whilst he has no issue with his younger cousins, he and Al both like the same books and Louis likes to listen to his music, he can't smoke. He can't drink.
His stash is in the bottom of his trunk, joints and needles and lighters and cigarette packets, a few bottles of alcohol are there as well but Freddie can't remember if they're empty or not. He doesn't have any alone time to check either way. He showers before the Christmas meal, he dresses into a plain long sleeved jumper (he refuses to wear his Gran's knitted jumper and she doesn't like his band tee's) and his favourite black jeans. He flops on his bed and everything is quiet for a moment.
Freddie takes in a deep breath and wonders if he would get away with having a cigarette or a joint right then. He misses making scars. He glances at the shut door to the room then at his arm, he rolls the sleeve up to his elbow and looks at his forearm. The skin is brown and smooth, there is a scar of his wrist, and a scar below that, fresher and a strange circular shape, beside that scar, another one and another and another. Freddie now has seven. He needs more.
There's a knock at the door and Freddie jumps suddenly.
"Freddie?" It's Charlie. Freddie breathes a silent sight of relief, Teddy has been trying to corner him all holiday.
"Yeah?" The teenager hastily rolls down his sleeve.
Charlie takes that as an invite to open the door, he stands in the doorway, stocky with muscled arms, a nice new burn on the back of his hand, his ginger hair long and unruly, so freckled he could be tanned, he flashes him a grin, "Dinner's nearly ready you may want to hurry up before Bill eats…" he trails off and frowns, "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," The lie rolls of his lips with well-practiced ease, he stretches his long legs and stands, "Gran bothered you about the burn?"
Slytherin had taught him many things, one of them being deflection.
Charlie rolls his eyes, "Oh yeah, big time, one of you kids needs to get injured so she gets off me back."
Freddie managed a grin, "Teddy's down there, they'll be an injury."
Charlie laughs and so does Freddie. The elder Weasley turns away and as he does the grin and laugh vanish from Freddie as if they were never there. Sometimes, he finds it tiring to pretend.
He remembers when he told himself he'd just do it the one time.
A/N - Like what you read? Please review I really appreciate it, hope you guys will want more - I already have a few other chapters ready! This story won't be very long maybe just about ten chapters, I haven't decided yet.
