When I said this was based around the play Gruesome Playground Injuries, I mean it's pretty much that play, but in the Harry Potter universe.

I hope it's working out like I think it is.

Please review/follow/favorite!

Thanks.

-alienoctopus

Age Eighteen: Eye Blown Out

Fred lay in a hospital bed at St. Mungo's. His body was numb. She could feel where pain should be—clearly the hole where his eye should be—but it didn't hurt him. It was ice cold. His head lolled to the side. The lack of feeling in his nerves made it difficult to keep his body in any one position. His tongue flicked in and out of the gap where he was missing a tooth.

He shifted around continuously in the bed, his black suit making a scratching noise as she moved. Despite how black his suit was, anyone could see splatters of blood soaked through them.

Finally, Fred felt a bit better, or at least, able to sit still and stare ahead, albeit with only one eye.

As soon as he has himself straight, Hazel stumbled into the room. She was in a black dress, the edge of which was covered in still-wet mud, as were her legs. She held black shoes in her hand. Her dirty blonde hair was frizzed and knotted. She looked just as dazed as Fred did.

They stared at each other.

"The fireworks were awesome." Fred said.

"Shut up, Fred. Just shut up. Whose great idea was it to leave you alone with explosives?"

"I didn't want to be alone."

"Shut up. It can't be my fault. Not tonight—the night I had to—"

"What are you even doing here?" Fred asked, trying to quell both his and Hazel's anger.

"Maxine O'Flaherty sent me a floo."

"From Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, she's a Healer here. She flooed me. Told me you kept saying my name and thought to call me. She said they thought you were trying to kill yourself."

"Who tries to kill themselves with a firework?"

"That's what I said. Actually, I said, have you ever met Fred? It's surprising this didn't happen sooner."

They shared a rare smile.

"So I told her, no, you're not trying to kill yourself and that you've just got shit for brains. I said you wouldn't even think to try and kill yourself because you wouldn't be able to show off the scar afterwards."

Fred wanted to laugh but couldn't bring himself to.

"So she said you got hurt, and now I'm here."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Freddie. I was asleep on the coffee table when I got the floo."

"Why?"

"I had some firewhisky when I got home."

"What about that guy. The one you live with? What about him?"

"He's asleep. He's been asleep. His name is Roger."

"His name is dickhead. Why do you have mud all over you?"

Hazel sighed and slumped down in the chair next to Fred's bed. "I tried to walk here."

"What?"

"I don't know. Maxine flooed me and I thought I should walk here."

"You tried to walk here?"

"Yeah."

"Were you drunk?"

"No, it's just—Roger only has the floo set to make and accept calls, not to actually go through and all I could think of was to walk. Then I remembered I could Apparate. That, and I've had a couple drinks."

"So you just walked."

"You know how I get."

"How you get?"

"Fuck you. How I get. When you get hurt." Hazel felt dejected. Unwanted. She wanted to shake Fred and tell him he still knows her—that she still knows him.

"Healer says the eye can regenerate, but it will take a while. Said I might lose a little vision, though."

Hazel moved the chair closer to Fred, but was now unable to look at him.

"It's gone for right now, though. But I don't think it as just the firework going into it. I think it was the burn. The poke didn't hurt. The burn went on forever."

"It's always that eye, isn't it?" Hazel lifted her head again, now observing Fred.

"Yeah."

"The cutting charm."

"Yep."

"And when Ron scratched you. Oh—and then seventh year, when you got some stinging potion splashed on you."

"And pink eye."

"I almost forgot." Hazel lied.

"I gave it to you. Pink eye." Fred started to smile. It felt hollow.

"No you didn't."

"I did. I think about it all the time." He paused, still remembering—a memory that felt so revisited that it might be worn. "I think about that all the time."

Hazel was noticeably more uncomfortable. "Well, you're a freak."

"I didn't want you to have to come here." Fred said solemnly.

"Sure."

"I didn't. Don't get me wrong—I'm happy you're here. But you've got the funeral tomorrow and, well, you should go home. Get some sleep."

"Shut up. I don't feel quite like Apparation yet. It's been a tough week. I come home from work to find out my dad was found dead and all this shit. And then there's you. Here's Freddie all of a sudden, after all this time, after half a year. I just feel like I haven't slept in five months.

Fred looked at Hazel, right in her eyes. If he were closer, he would be able to see his reflection in her eyes. He'd be able to see his bandaged head, beneath which would be an empty eye-socket. He bared his teeth, but couldn't see well enough to see the gap. He held up four fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up."

"Four."

He put down all his fingers but his middle one. "How about now?"

"Shut up."

"We both can't see."

"Probably for the best."

"I think I'm seeing two of you."

"I see two of you, too."

"Let's dance."

"Sod off."

"Really, the four of us should dance." He tried to get up, but he was still too numb all over. He sang a tune, eliciting a laugh from Hazel as he tried to dance from the hospital bed.

"Are you going to touch it?"

"What?" Hazel asked, immediately taken out of the good moment.

"My eye."

"You don't have an eye yet."

"Fine. Are you going to touch my eye socket?" He was still grinning.

"That's disgusting." She said. She looked around. "I probably can't smoke in here, can I?"

"Will you touch it?" Fred pestered on.

"Stop, Freddie. That's weird."

"You could always heal me."

"Great." Hazel took out a cigarette. "I'm just going to smoke anyway. What are they going to do? Tell me to put it out?"

"I know it's nothing, but I need you to touch it. You always do."

"I don't do anything."

"It's like you have extra magic for it. Like earlier. When we kissed. You kissed the missing tooth. The gap didn't hurt anymore."

"I'm not touching your eye socket." Hazel said with finality.

Fred ignored her and proceeded to take off his bandage.

"What are you doing?" Hazel asked, putting out the cigarette in a plant by the window.

"You're going to heal me. The numbness will go away soon. The eye growing back will hurt. But you're going to touch it and it will be ok."

"No. Stop it, Fred."

"I have to." He argued.

"I don't want to see it!" Hazel yelled at him.

"Please, Hazel. I need you to do this." The final bandage fell to Fred's chest. His eye was covered in a single, particularly bloody piece of gauze. "Please?" He begged.

"No! I'm not touching it. I don't even want to see—This can't be good for it!"

"You'll make me better."

"Just wrap it up again."

"Please. Touch it, just once."

"Absolutely not!" She yelled. "I'm not here to take care of you—I'm not a healer, Fred."

"I'm in pain, don't you—"

"—I don't care!"

"Then just fucking go!" Fred yelled He threw the used bandages at Hazel. She looked at him for a moment, shocked and sad. Both felt startled. Hazel Apparated.