Chapter I: Muse

It had started out as a cold, somber morning at Hogwarts that day. And what it had ended up as was... Well, anything but that. Fred Weasley awoke while the windows were still openings to the black dawn, clutching the blankets around him and burying his face into his pillow. His teeth chattered violently and his feet had grown icy cool, his skin slick with invisible frost. He turned over and pulled back the curtains of his bed and stared out at the February sky. Fred slipped a sweater over his head and continued getting dressed while listening enviously to the whistling breaths of George while he slept.

i It must be one o'clock in the morning by the looks of it outside, /i he thought. He stood up and dug his shaking hands into his pockets and headed out to the common room. Fred smiled as he sunk into a chair by the inviting fire place and felt sleep wash over him again. He was drowsy with warmth, and soon enough he was drifting into a light sleep where a dream was already awaiting him.

Fred was outside, perched on the last bleacher of the Quidditch stands. He was watching someone fly in circles among the thick, grey fog. The snitch shimmered, the only ray of light throughout the entire field. The figure on the broomstick continued flying, dodging and soaring throughout the air carelessly. The snitch took a sharp turn and disappeared again into the mist. Fred leaned back and watched lazily with the feeling that the rider could catch the snitch at any time if they really wanted to. He turned from the game and looked over his shoulder at the castle. On such a bleak day he would usually be inside with George, trying to finish up an essay long past due or playing a game of chess with Ron or Ginny. But today the building looked desolate and bare, and Fred found he would be content to sit outside in the frigid breeze, watching the hooded figure ride his broom effortlessly after the snitch.

Time flew by and Fred became desperate for the snitch to be caught, "C'mon!" he hissed, "You've been on that bloody broomstick for hours! At least let me have a go!" His words, although irritated and scornful, were quiet, and yet somehow heard by the player. They dove towards the stands and slowly came to a halt. The broom dropped onto the ground and the rider strode towards Fred, his face shrouded by a heavy crimson hood and fog.

"It's about time." Fred said loudly.

The rider continued walking towards him and did not stop until he was close to the twin, so close Fred could feel the warmth radiating off of his tired body. They were perfervid and soft to the senses and Fred stood to walk towards them in return. He let his arms travel along the curves of their shoulders, the ardent feeling sinking into his own skin and he felt happiness wash over him in an immeasurable wave.

"I know. I've been waiting for you," they replied. Their voice was heavy with emotion that Fred found he couldn't place with his own state of mind. They embraced Fred in a sudden, intimate hug, their arms enveloping him, but he didn't mind at all. The ecstatic feeling became all the more intense and Fred wanted to never let go of this person.

"Who are you?" he asked thoughtlessly, letting his head rest on their shoulder. They ran their hand over his damp, disheveled red hair and allowed their mouth to brush against the top of his head.

"It's me, Fred." The masculinity of their words suddenly brought the warmth Fred had been feeling turn glacial and offensive. He reached for their hood and began to pull it slowly from their face.

Fred became languid at what he saw. Standing before him, so close that he could see the raw flesh of scar tissue in a vehement, odious way that he had never experienced before, was an all too familiar face. A pale hand brush a mess of cabalistic black hair over the scar so that Fred's eyes traveled from his forehead to his sparkling, emerald eyes like two small pools of profound beauty that stared back at him with unexplainable fear and passion.

"Harry." he breathed.

"What?"

The words broke the image of the dream and Fred came out of his sleep startled. He opened his eyes to find his friend Harry Potter standing in front of him, a serious look hung over his handsome face.

"Huh?" Fred sat up and looked around, "What- where are your robes?"

Harry laughed, "Were you dreaming about Quidditch again? The game isn't for another week, but I thought I'd go out practicing this morning. It's getting light...You want to come?"

Fred was breathless with a strange panic creeping over him, "N-no, I... I'm still tired. Didn't sleep a wink last night." He got up, his body shaking and moist with sweat from sleeping so close to the fire place. His face felt rough and flushed and he was awkwardly panicked overall.

Harry nodded and set off with his broom over his shoulder. Fred watched, his eyes still tender with sleep. The dream had left him so abruptly that now he felt empty. He began up the stairs to dormitory again and stepped into the room briskly, as though an omniscient Harry was going to come rushing after him, demanding what Fred had been doing dreaming about him in such a vaguely utopian way. He looked out the window to see that Harry was right- It was becoming light out. Sunshine was beginning to stream across the center of the room's rug. He stood in the ray of light and watched the window, seeing nothing but sky and droplets of fresh white snow. He pressed his hand against the window, leaving prints on the streaked glass, waiting for something he could not illustrate.