Coming Out

The Weasley's couldn't escape family drama, especially on Christmas day. Fred had sat on a bed in the spare room with the shoulder of his sweater soaking up Victoire's tears, his soft honey hands being her handkerchief for every tear and his words slowly, but eventually calming her down enough to go downstairs for dinner. There was almost no greater spectacle than the Weasley Christmas table. Of course the thing that would make a muggle's jaw drop was how long the table was made to fit almost the entire Weasley family around it, but what would render everyone speechless, was what could only be described as a stunning and mouth-watering cornucopia of deliciousness. Against the glossy sepia brown table were maroon red napkins with delicate white and maroon china plates and sparkling silver cutlery. A rainbow was created by the sense arousing food; the glistening red of the cranberry sauce, the sweet orange of Fred's favourite glazed carrots, the pale yellow of steaming fluffy cornbread and a profusion of food covered the table, with just enough space for people to eat. Fred sat at the table in between Victoire and his mother and in front of the succulent pink pork with golden brown crackling calling his name. This year, the Christmas crackers were covered in swirls of maroon and cream with golden glitter dusted over them and the family picked them up, creating a festive circle. Despite the warmth from the swaying candles that hovered over them that could only be beaten by seeing most of his family smiling around one table, there was an uncomfortable tension that Fred hoped digging into a tasty homecooked banquet would fix. Together, they counted down and yanked the crackers open, cheering when glitter and streamers erupted from them and laughing at the lame jokes while putting on their crowns. Grandad Arthur carving the turkey was the green light for them to dig in and let the passing around of dishes commence. Like every Christmas, Fred placed two slices of pork on his plate, along with a gravy coated chicken drumstick, glazed carrots, vibrant green broccoli and peas, a heaped cloud of mash potatoes and two Yorkshire pudding ships that threatened to tip off of the plate. To wash it all down, he went between water and a sweet blueberry lemonade that he knew his little sister Roxanne would ask for and he would trade for more pork crackling.

"I really am sorry," Fred heard Teddy say quietly to Victoire,

"I know, Fred talked to me and I forgive you, sweetie," Victoire replied, "I just need time to get over it, you know."

Fred smiled as he watched Victoire kiss Teddy's cheek and continue to eat her food. It was when he was munching on a piece of salty crackling he had drowned in rich gravy that he heard a tapping come from the kitchen window and everyone turned to see an owl with the string of a long rectangular parchment covered present in its mouth.

"Let him in dear Roxanne," grandma Molly sang before taking a sip of her wine.

Skipping in her all pink ensemble, Roxanne made her way to the window, climbed onto the counter and opened it, snatching the package from the owl's beak before petting it with a giggle. She cheekily balanced the present on top of Fred's curly hair and sat back at the table, digging into her food like nothing happened.

"Who's it from?" his mother asked.

Dear Freddie,

I know I said I'd give it to you later, but I wanted you to have this now. Write to me as soon as possible. I didn't realize I would miss you so much. I can't stop thinking about you, your soft lips and warm hugs. Enjoy the present.

From Lucas

Of course this was from Lucas; it looked like a child had done the wrapping and he had obviously had issues learning how to do intricate patterns with the string around it. The gift made everything disappear, even the food, and as if handling the most fragile dainty material, Fred carefully pulled the string until it unravelled on his lap and then peeled away the parchment. His smile grew as his eyes lay on a velvet teal box- notably his favourite colour- and he slid his fingers along it to be soothed by its smoothness. When he gently lifted the lid, there was a teal pouch lying on a white satin bed with a note next to it.

Use your wand when taking the contents out of the bag. Contents is very delicate. An awesome wand maker deserves awesome objects!

In a flash, Fred ran from the table to get his wand, with excitement increasing his heart rate as he sat back at the table and loosened the opening of the pouch. Pointing his wand into the bag, he willed it to pull out the contents and slowly lifted it to reveal strands a fiery red hair.

"Ew, he got you hair?" said Victoire,

"It's not just any hair," Fred smiled as he looked closely at the strands, "it's Curupira forest dwarf hair. They can only be found in Brazil and I've been wanting it for ages."

Fred put the strands back in the bag, closed the box as delicately as he had opened it and attempted to wrap the present in the parchment again. He paused to take in the words written on the wrapping, running his fingers over every letter as if his touch allowed the words to sink into his heart and he was able to hear Lucas's voice in his head, whispering every word in his ear with his deep seductive voice. He didn't realize Lucas had been paying attention when Fred babbled on about the things he wanted to make wands with, the same way he didn't think he'd know about him being allergic to mayonnaise. How long had Lucas been interested in him?

"Erm, Fred?" Angelina's voice came from over his shoulder.

Turning from side to side, he saw Victoire and his mother peering over his shoulder at the words his thumb stroked. Immediately he pressed the present against his thumping heart, hoping that they hadn't read the words and would leave the subject alone.

"So, that night when you and Lucas went out of the tent," Victoire started, with Fred putting his finger against her lips and begging her with his eyes to not utter another word,

"Do you need to tell me anything, honey?" his mothers voice was sweet and concerned.

His finger quivered as he took it away from Victoire's lips and so did the rest of his body as he turned to face his mother while noticing that the rest of the table were focussed on him. Surely the message on the present screamed what was going on loud enough, but there was a louder way that he really didn't want to do. Heat rushed over him and he took a giant gulp of water before clasping his sweaty palms together. Maybe this was the right time to tell them. But what if they were as disgusted as the bullies at school, called him weird and treated him differently? The anxiety of being rejected by the people he cherished the most made breathing harder and amongst his panic, he felt a tender hand stroke his back.

"It's okay," Angelina assured,

"I-I-I di-didn't know how to t-t-tell you," the fear was almost paralysing him.

Tears couldn't be felt on his numb face as they dripped down, but his mother was there to wipe them away as his dad got up and placed his hands on his shoulder behind him. This was it. He was going to finally say the words.

"I-I-I don't like g-gg-g-girls," he took a deep breath and squeezed his hands together and his eyes shut, "I-I-I'm g-g-gay."

Flight was the only option as he refused to stay to hear the judgement and teasing and he bolted out of the house into the cold. Feeling was retained in his face; only for the stinging cold that made his tears feel as if they were morphing into sharp drops of ice and made him thankful for his Christmas sweater. Hearing the words he said over and over again in his head knocked the wind out of him and his knees gave up, sending him to the ground as he felt the sinister choking sensation around his throat. He put his hand to his neck, keeping him in the reality that there wasn't a rope or a thick python around his neck; it was his malevolent anxiety draining him of oxygen and energy.

"Fred!"

A blanket and arms were wrapped around him, a valiant effort to try defending him from destructive panic and he fell back into the tall body behind him.

"It's okay, my boy," his father's words fought against his anxiety, "I love you and this is you."

Fred turned to cry in his father's arms, hearing two pairs of feet run towards him and join the embrace. The force around his neck eased up, allowing him to breathe in the alleviating smell of family from the blanket and his sister held onto his waist while his mother completed a circle around them.

"I was scared that you'd hate me like the others. I can try if you want me to. I-I-I can try liking girls. I'll try to be normal. Just don't hate me, please," he prayed as he grabbed onto his George's sweater,

"No. Don't say things like that," his mother's voice was stern but wavered, "we could never hate you, son, never,"

George lifted Fred's head and put his arms back around them, "We love you. Promise us you won't be anything other than yourself."

Was this acceptance? Loved poured out of his father's eyes into his and he could feel that same love coming from his mother and sister as the tears increased. These tears weren't of panic, fear or sadness anymore; as breathing became easy again and the tightening around his neck completely disappeared, these tears became tears of relief and happiness.