It was a little over a week after Fred and George's birthday party-the following Sunday, to be exact. Even though it was my day off from working at the Leaky Cauldron, I was spending the morning thoroughly cleaning the flat. Martha had mentioned falling behind this past week due to being so busy with the pub. So I'd decided to help while she and Tom handled things downstairs. It was my day off after all, which meant now I had the time to spend on the cleaning.
But there was also something else bothering me as well, and my offer to help clean wasn't entirely selfless. I'd been quiet and lost in thought all morning, and I knew Martha had noticed. I'd been nearly silent through breakfast and merely picked at my eggs. Martha had asked if I'd felt sick, to which I'd told her no, that I was fine and she shouldn't worry. It hadn't stopped her from reaching over to put a hand to my forehead so she could check for a fever.
What really had been on my mind was that it had officially been one full year since Tom and Martha had taken me in. One year ago on this very day, I'd been once again found digging through their trash cans for food. One year ago, Martha had taken pity on me and brought me upstairs where she'd fed me, given me clothes, healed my cuts and bruises, and convinced Tom to let me stay. It had been one year since they'd given me Veriteserum so they could know for sure where I'd come from and what my story was. One year since the night that entirely changed my life.
I couldn't help but think of how much could've been different now if one little thing had been different back then. Martha didn't know about me at all until-well, it must have been at least the third or fourth time that I'd been caught digging through the trash. What if she'd never come outside to see who Tom was yelling at? Tom would have kept chasing me away and eventually, I would have stayed away. And what would have happened then? Perhaps I would have found my own kind of shelter somewhere else. Perhaps I would have gotten lucky enough to meet another family kind enough to take me in. But I doubted it. Finding people who were that open and willing to take a chance on someone like me was rare. As Tom had even said, they were all more skeptical than ever of strange people, having just come out of a nasty war. Nobody had any reason to trust me. But Tom and Martha had trusted me. And I owed them my life. I'd meant it when I said I'd probably be dead if it weren't for them. I'd have either starved to death, or Eric would have found me and perhaps even killed me.
I would never have been able to stand up to him in the state I was in. I was weak in every sense of the word-physically, emotionally, and mentally. If he'd caught up to me around when I'd first come to England, I would have given up. I had barely any fight in me anymore. It was taking all I had to force myself to even keep myself moving and stay on the run.
I was even ready to give up back in Salem and that had been after months of being in England and after befriending the twins. After finding out that people did care about me and that I was worthy of it.
I blew a puff of air out of my mouth, shooting the strand of hair that had fallen in my face straight up into the air. It fell back down again a moment later and I sighed as I sat back on my heels. I was dusting the legs of one of the end tables in the living room while the floors in the kitchen were being washed by magic. I also had the laundry washing itself and I had already done the bathroom. So all that was really left was for me to clean was my bedroom.
That was the thing-the flat wasn't all that big, and cleaning wouldn't even take that long even if I didn't use magic. I had tried to split it up between doing it magically and manually. I'd swept the floors and dusted by hand, but saved the laundry, the floor washing and the cleaning of the bathroom to be done by magic.
I checked on the kitchen floors, which were nearly done, so I finished that off and put away the cleaning supplies. And then I headed for the bathroom where I got cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes. And then I headed for my room.
It wasn't all that messy. In fact, it was very clean. I'd already swept and dusted it, and my bed was made. But I had some laundry from the week before that was still piled on my desk chair. I had wrapping paper and other gift wrapping materials sitting on the floor in one corner from when I'd wrapped Fred and George's birthday gifts. And there were a few other things lying around that just needed to get put away.
I was also in the middle of washing my quilt and bedsheets, so my bed currently sat extremely bare against the wall opposite the door, positioned in between two windows.
The weather outside was fairly nice and actually fairly warm-at least for spring it was-so I threw open the window to get some fresh air before going to work. I was grateful that it wasn't raining out today and that it also wasn't very cold except for a slight spring chill in the air. I was so tired of all of the rain. Fred and George had told me to get used to it, which I'd supposed I'd have to if I was going to be living here for the rest of my life.
It took me another thirty minutes to finish straightening up my room. All that was left now were the sheets, which were now drying on the clothesline that we magically suspended just outside the living room window whenever we did laundry, which was once a week. Living in the flat meant that there was no real outdoor area to hang a clothesline-unless we wanted to use the back alley where the trash was. So we magically suspended the clothesline in midair right outside the window. It was a little unconventional, but it worked.
Sighing, I collapsed into my desk chair and leaned back as I stared up at the ceiling. Fred and George would be heading over to the Burrow for dinner soon. They'd asked if I was planning on coming along, but I'd told them no, giving them the fact that I needed to clean as an excuse. It was a bad excuse. I knew it and I'm sure the twins knew it and saw right through it. But I was in an odd mood today and not quite in the mood to be around a lot of people.
I was staring aimlessly out of the open window when I heard a voice from the doorway.
"What's got you feeling so down?"
I jumped and turned around to see Fred leaning against the doorframe, smiling at me.
"You scared me," I said quietly as he came fully into the room and perched on the edge of my desk. I turned so that I was fully facing him and stared down at my hands, which were clasped in my lap.
"Sophie," Fred said, his voice quiet, but firm. "Talk to me. What's bothering you?"
"I'm okay," I shrugged. "Just thinking."
Fred shook his head. "You told me you couldn't come to the Burrow today because you were cleaning, which doesn't take all day. You're finished now and it's barely noon."
"Except for the sheets," I said aimlessly, gazing towards the window again. "They're drying outside."
"Soph," Fred said, turning my attention back towards him. "I came by to check on you and to see if perhaps you were done cleaning-which you are-and then Martha said you'd been quiet all morning and had barely touched your breakfast. What's going on?"
"I'm always quiet-isn't that what everyone tells me?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
"Soph, don't give me that," Fred scoffed. "Tell me what's bothering you."
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest as I stared back out the window. "Did you know that I've been here a full year?" I asked.
Fred was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I knew it was about that, but-hang on, you mean it's been exactly one year? Today-?"
I nodded as I turned away from the window and looked up at him. "One year ago today, Tom found me eating out of his garbage for-well, it must have been about the fourth time, maybe? I can't quite remember, but I can still remember the look on his face as he shouted at me to leave and that he'd meant it before when he said he'd hex me. But then Martha came outside and got involved and..." I let a puff of air out of my mouth as I shrugged my shoulders. "Everything changed."
Fred didn't answer right away. "I'm glad she did," he finally said. "Come outside, I mean."
"I am too, but I keep thinking that if she hadn't...if she hadn't been in the kitchen at the time to hear Tom yelling at me. Or if she hadn't cared or hadn't seen something worthwhile in me that nobody else had seen for a very long time...if she hadn't done what she did, I don't know what would've happened to me. I probably would've hung around London for a little while longer, sleeping in alleyways and eating from the trash. But then I would've just moved on to do the same thing all over in another city. Over and over and over until I starved, froze to death, or until Eric caught up to me or until I got too tired and let him catch me."
"Soph, you can't think too much on what could have happened," Fred said. "It'll drive you mad, going over possibility after possibility in your head."
"It was so easy for things to have been so different," I whispered.
"But they weren't," Fred said firmly. He sighed and lowered his voice. "Believe me, Soph, I've gone over every single possibility that could've happened on the night Percy died. What if we'd been standing slightly to the left? Or the right? We could've been out of the line of danger. I wouldn't have been standing right by that wall and Percy wouldn't have had to focus on saving me and stop focusing on himself. What if we'd gotten there a minute earlier or later? An hour? Two hours? What if the explosion had happened earlier? What if the person who used the killing curse had aimed it at anyone else? I realized that in every scenario, someone else could have--would have-died. And I felt awful for almost wishing those other things had happened. But I spent hours exploring the possibilities of what could have happened differently that would have left my brother alive. But it was already too late. He was gone and nothing any of us could do would bring him back. Thinking about the way things could have gone doesn't do any good."
"I feel like everything happened so fast," I whispered, looking back towards the window. "All of it. From me showing up here, to Tom and Martha taking me in, to meeting you, to Eric finding me and everything that happened in Salem." I took in a deep breath and let it out as I turned to look back at Fred. "So much has happened in only a year. And now a full three hundred and sixty-five days later, I look back and think of the bruised, bloody, tired and scared girl wearing tattered clothes and eating from the trash...and I don't even recognize her. I look back at the quiet girl who started working cleaning tables and who would barely speak to people and wouldn't even look them in the eye-and I don't recognize her either."
"You've really changed this past year," Fred admitted. "But it's been for the better. You're a lot healthier-physically, emotionally, and even mentally. You're happier. You've finally gotten all the answers you've wanted and you've gotten Eric out of your life for good. You're a completely different person."
I looked up at him with a soft smile as I propped my elbow up on my desk then rested my chin in my hand. "Yeah, I feel like I am," I said. "Doesn't mean that all that happened was completely erased, though. Or that it didn't have any kind of effect on me."
"Of course not," Fred answered. "Naturally, there are still some effects. You're still a little jumpy. You get a little quiet. Pensive sometimes. Lost in thought. And I know you're thinking about your past. But everything is behind you. It's over. And you don't have to run anymore." He shook his head. "Don't torture yourself by wondering about the what ifs," he said. "If you do that, you'll never be free. You'll be tying yourself down this time."
I nodded as I sat back in my chair again and looked over at Fred. "Does the invitation still stand for dinner at the Burrow?" I asked with a smile.
Fred grinned and stood up, holding his hand out to me. "Of course it does."
My smile widened as I reached out and grabbed his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before tugging on my hand and leading me towards the door.
"My mother is absolutely losing her mind."
"Um-okay?"
I was working a lunch shift at the Leaky Cauldron towards the end of April and had wound up waiting on Ginny, Hermione, and Luna when they'd stopped in for lunch. I had just walked up to their table to be met with Ginny's abrupt statement.
"She is!" Ginny insisted. "I'm getting married in just under a month, Ron and Hermione are getting married next spring and George and Katie are getting married this fall. And Mum is throwing herself into planning all three because, again, not only is the fact that my wedding in less than thirty days making her crazy, but she's also trying to distract herself from the fact that in three days, it'll have been two years since Percy died."
"Ginny," I whispered sadly, my shoulders drooping as I lowered my notepad from where I'd been holding it up, ready to take their order.
"Don't Ginny me," she said, rolling her eyes slightly. "It's my mother who's a mess."
"But-"
"Is it a little harder for me to cope on holidays, his birthday and the anniversary of his death? Yes," she said. "I never said it wasn't hard at all. But my mother..." she trailed off and sighed. "She's going to exhaust herself if she continues to keep herself this busy." She stared down at the table for a moment before looking up at me. "How has Fred been? Has he said anything about it?"
"Not a word, actually," I answered. "He's seemed...fine. Normal, actually."
"That's good," Ginny said with an earnest nod of her head. "I hope it stays that way. Keep an eye on him, though."
"He'd hate you for saying that," I told her with a slight laugh.
"I don't care," Ginny insisted. "He'd do the same for me."
I was quiet for a few seconds. It was true. It was something that Fred would do. He'd already been doing it for me. "You're right," I finally said. "He would."
I did keep a little bit of a closer eye on Fred over the course of the next few days like Ginny had said, but I did so without letting on to him what I was doing. I looked for any sign that he was affected by the upcoming anniversary of the battle. He'd get a little quiet sometimes, but that was it. And it would never last long. He'd bounce back to his usual self within an hour.
"You're waiting for something to happen, aren't you?" George asked me the night before the anniversary. It was a Monday night and I'd stopped by the joke shop after work to visit them. Fred was closing up out front and I was in the back room with George.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, playing dumb as I fiddled with some of the vials left on the table.
"You know full well what I'm talking about," George said, glancing over at me. "You're waiting to see if Fred suddenly starts to lose his shit."
"George," I chided him with a quiet sigh.
"It's the truth," he said.
"Fine-yes, I've been a little worried and yes, he's been on my mind a lot with the anniversary coming up, but he had seemed okay and I thought maybe he would be. But then Ginny said to keep an eye on him anyway and I thought-maybe it couldn't hurt."
"Ginny worries just as much as Mum does sometimes," George snorted. "She just disguises it better and then scoffs at how much Mum worries."
"That's what she was doing the day I talked to her," I said with a slight laugh. "She was going on about how much your mother worries."
George gave me a look to say I told you so as he turned and leaned against the table, crossing his arms as he did so. "I can't blame you for worrying," he said gently. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't holding my breath a little bit as well."
"He's seemed okay," I said slowly. "Just-"
"Just a little quieter, yeah," George said.
"I know how he is, though," I sighed. "He's a shit communicator. It's like he thinks we're all experts in mind reading." I massaged a hand over the back of my neck as I closed my eyes. "I don't want to bring it up and insult him by acting as if I don't trust him to be okay," I said. "But he'd also hate it if he knew we were whispering about it behind his back."
George let out a breath of laughter. "He's a complicated little shit sometimes, isn't he?"
I shrugged as I smiled slightly. "Sometimes I think I have him figured out and I think I understand how he feels. But other times, I have no clue."
"Look," George said with a heavy sigh, "I'm going to be with him tonight and tomorrow. I can handle him if anything happens. If things get really bad, the bracelets will go off, so you'll know, but-"
I felt the blood drain from my face. "You think things could get that bad?" I asked, looking at George in alarm. "I know he was bad two years ago, but he's been so much better."
"Doesn't mean it's not hard," George said. "If the bracelets do heat up, though, I'd suggest you stay with Tom and Martha. Don't come over here."
"What? No way!"
George shook his head. "Don't put yourself in the middle. You've seen pieces of how he is when he's feeling like shit and then drinks to feel better. He only feels worse. If he drinks when he's in a good mood, he's on the top of the world, but then on the flip side..." he rubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed. "If you showed up and he hurt you, he'd never let himself live it down."
"He'd never hurt me," I insisted.
George looked at me sympathetically. "If he's drunk and sad and angry enough, I'm not sure he'd be able to help it. There were days where I got in his face about his behavior-I was really pushing him to get his act together, and he even swung a few punches at me. If he hurt you-"
"What about last time?" I asked. "When he grabbed my arm and I freaked out?"
"He only frightened you," George said. "Luckily, you weren't harmed in any way. And that was bad enough for you and for him. That was also before he felt the way he feels about you now. Now...it would be worse. Obviously."
Tears welled up in my eyes and I looked at George pleadingly. "Don't make me stay away," I said. "Don't make me stay away if he's in that much pain. Let me help. Please."
"I'm trying to think about what's best for both of you here," George whispered.
"I know, George, but-" I let out a sniffle and shook my head, "I'm just asking you to let me be there for him the way he was there for me. Don't push me away on his behalf. Besides, we don't even know for sure if anything will happen. We're just making assumptions based on his past behavior, which feels like a really shitty thing to do."
"I don't like doing it," George said. "But I just wanted to warn you about what could happen. So that we could be ready." He paused. "But you're right. I guess it's not entirely fair to tell you to sit home and ignore what's happening. I can't make you do that." He swallowed. "Just-if anything happens...be careful, okay?"
"I will," I whispered. "I promise."
I was awoken in the early hours of the morning on May 2nd by my Galleon bracelet burning into my wrist. I sat up with a gasp and stared down at it in horror, my stomach twisting unpleasantly. I glanced at my watch. Three in the morning.
"Shit," I groaned, quickly getting out of bed and pulling on my shoes in the dark.
I was suddenly thankful for Fred's concern with "middle of the night emergencies" as he'd called them when we were discussing a solution to my nightmares. He hadn't wanted me to be so deeply asleep that I was unable to wake up in the event of a fire, a robbery or something happening to Tom and Martha. He hadn't mentioned anything about himself, but now here we were. And I was grateful that I'd been able to wake up.
I grabbed my wand, pulled on my coat, and scribbled a note to Tom and Martha before dashing out the door. I ran all the way to the joke shop and was breathing heavily as I reached the back door. It was locked, as expected, and also surrounded by charms. But I just so happened to know what they were, now that I'd been taught what they were and had even put them up quite a few nights while helping the twins close. Fred had been the one to teach me himself.
I dismantled the charms and used Alohomora on the door. It clicked open and I ran inside. I took the stairs up to the flat two at a time, unlocked the door to the flat and burst inside, breathing heavily and terrified about what I might see.
"Fred?" I whispered, looking around the empty living room. It was not only empty, but clean. No signs of any firewhiskey bottles, full, empty, broken or whole. But I knew that didn't necessarily mean anything.
There was a sudden distant thump, followed by a slam from down the hallway, near the bedrooms and I began making my way towards them, my heart hammering in my chest.
As I approached the hallway, I saw George standing outside of Fred's room, breathing heavily and resting his forehead on the dark colored wood. His left hand gripped the doorknob as his right palm rested on the door beside his head.
"Fred, come on," he said. "I'm sorry-those were shitty things to say." He looked up and saw me standing at the end of the hallway and he rolled his head to the side, turning to look at me while keeping his forehead on the door.
"George," I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth. He was already sprouting a black eye. My gaze shifted from his face to Fred's door as my heart sank and my stomach twisted in sadness and anxiety.
George seemed to anticipate what I was going to do before I'd done it. "Sophie-no," he said. But that didn't stop me from starting to run towards Fred's door. George leapt away from it and grabbed me around the waist, holding me back.
"Fred!" I yelled. I struggled until I pulled away from George and was at Fred's door. "Fred, open the door," I demanded, knocking rapidly against it. "It's me. Open up."
"Of course it's you," Fred called back, laughing sarcastically. He sounded upset-upset, sad, angry and a mix of other emotions. But he didn't sound drunk, which surprised me.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"Don't think I didn't notice you watching me extra closely the last few days," Fred said. "Looking at me the way everyone else always does when they're waiting for me to blow up."
"Fred, no," I whispered. "That's not true!"
"It is! Don't lie to me, Sophie," Fred insisted. "How am I supposed to trust myself when you don't even trust me? When George won't even trust me?"
"I do trust you!" I said. "Fred-we all love you."
Fred scoffed from the other side of the door.
"Fred, Sophie was the one who told me that it was unfair to assume you were going to react like you had in the past," George said. "She's the one who said you were doing so much better. Don't get angry with her. If you're going to blame someone, blame me."
"George," I whispered, but he shook his head.
"He's not even drunk," he whispered. "He's just...mad. Sad. Confused."
"What?" I asked. "Then why did he hit you?"
George swallowed and leaned against the wall beside the door. "It was my fault. I think I deserved it. He wasn't even bad all night. He was unusually quiet and didn't touch his dinner. But that was it. I figured he wouldn't be sleeping much either, if at all, but then I heard a crash from his room-not long before you got here. I went in and he'd pushed everything completely off of his desk, including the lamp. Cut his hand open and everything."
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back against the wall.
"I got scared," George said. "I got scared that he was going to act the way he used to. Any hope I'd had all night was suddenly gone. I told him to quit while he was ahead. I told him you were worried about him too. Maybe I shouldn't have, because that seemed to make him even more angry. I told him that he'd better get his shit together for you. I told him that he was only going to break your heart if he kept this up. I told him that you didn't deserve this. After everything you've gone through, you didn't need to take care of him. And that really pushed him over the edge. He hit me and kicked me out of the room. I think that's when the bracelets went off. Because of me."
"George, I told you," I whispered, "I want to help. I can't sit around idly while he's like this. And I can't let you handle it alone."
"You don't understand," George said. "It's not that simple. Things were difficult. Fred was unpredictable and-and almost a completely different person. Angelina tried so hard to fix things. To keep their relationship afloat. To help him get better."
"I'm not Angelina," I said. "And regardless of what happens, I'm not going to give up without trying first." I looked at him. "Is that what you want me to do? Give up on him this easily? Walk away before things get bad to save myself any heartbreak?"
"No," George whispered. "I just don't want you to feel-"
"Feel what? Obligated?" I let out a bitter laugh. "George, I know you feel like he's your responsibility-yours and your family's. And to an extent, he is. But he's also mine now, too. And yes, I do think I owe him this much for all that he's done for me. He's done more for me than I sometimes feel I could ever do for him. But even more importantly, I love him. So much. It's more than just an obligation. Standing back idly while he's hurting like this would cause me more pain in the end than if I interfered and got hurt."
George swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. "Two years ago," he whispered, "with Angelina...I don't think Fred would allow himself to even accept help because he didn't even want to help himself. He didn't care. He cared just enough to barely keep himself going, but it really was only barely. He fought Angelina-and the rest of us-every step of the way. She tried too. Until she couldn't. And part of me can't blame her, which makes me feel so shitty."
"I know," I whispered. "I know she tried and I know she loved him too. I'm not trying to say I'm better than her or that she ever truly gave up on him. I know she still cares, even now. But Fred was drowning and taking her down with him. I get it."
"Don't you worry the same will happen to you?" George asked, looking at me. "What if it does? What if you have to walk away? For your own well being. What if you have to leave Fred behind to save yourself?"
"I can't," I whispered. "He's never walked away from me, even when my problems put his family in danger."
"What if you have to?" George insisted.
"I'm hoping we never get to that point," I answered quickly.
"What if something happens that you can't control?" George went on. "Like Angelina falling in love with Oliver?"
I thought about that for a moment. "I can't see myself falling for anyone else," I said. "But I know things can happen. And in the event that they did, I'd have to figure out a way to get it through Fred's thick skull that I still wouldn't be giving up on him. I wouldn't just completely stop caring or completely want him out of my life. That's something I can always control and I refuse to give up."
George was quiet for a moment before he nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Angelina did chastise him a lot," he finally said, letting out a slow breath of air through his nose as he looked up and stared at the wall across from him. "We all did. We ordered him around and told him what to do. Mum cried a lot. The rest of us would get angry and desperate and we'd shout. But I don't think we ever once told him it was okay to feel the way he did. Even though his actions weren't okay, his feelings were very much valid. And we never told him." He looked at me with a tiny smile. "You made him see how shitty he was acting but how okay his feelings were. How common they were among other people. He recognized his feelings of guilt in you, in Elizabeth Proctor, and even our own mother. He started to feel less isolated."
"I'm glad it helped," I whispered.
"After Angelina dumped him, he was really bad for a while," George went on. "He started to slowly get better, but he was still in a sort of rut. I'm not even entirely sure he was better at all. In started to think it was a front. That he was trying to convince himself that he was okay just as much as he was trying to convince the rest of us. He still didn't quite care what he was doing. He was still drinking. Still jumping into the pond. But tonight...tonight he was trying. He was trying to be better. He didn't drink, he was just trying to fight off that suffocating blanket of grief, guilt and anger that likes to show up every now and again. And I just made it worse. I ruined it."
"You were just trying to help," I whispered.
"I was angry," George said. "And scared. I wanted to break through to him and get him to think of you. I thought reminding him of you and what was at stake would calm him down. But I realize it only sounded like I was implying that you'd do the same thing Angelina did. And that if Fred kept this up, he would only push you away, just like he did with Angelina. And he can't even help it. He's not doing it on purpose. It's just...hard." He let out a long sigh. "He was already thinking about you. He was trying to protect you and he was trying to do better. Because he's a different person now, too. Just like you are. He's more like his old self now than he's been in the past two years. He knows that. And he loves you. That's why he was trying so hard to fight through on his own and without alcohol. He was trying to keep all of the rage and sadness inside without letting it burst out and affect anyone else like it used to."
"He's got to stop doing that," I said. "That's not the right way to go about this either. I've told him before, he needs to open his big mouth and use his words like an adult."
George let out a breath of laughter and tilted his head towards the door to Fred's room. "Maybe you should go in. Tell him that one more time. You said it yourself-he's got a thick skull. Sometimes it takes a few tries to get words through."
I laughed despite myself before looking over at George. "Are you sure?"
George nodded. "Go. Be with him. Show him you're not giving up. Show him the same patience he showed you. Meet him halfway. And while you're at it, tell him I'm sorry for being a prat."
I nodded and turned back to Fred's door. I hesitated a moment before knocking. "Fred?" I called. "Please let me in. Please."
There was no answer. My words were met with silence.
"Fred, I'm just going to come in," I announced. I magically unlocked the door and pushed it open.
The room was a mess. Everything from Fred's desk had been pushed to the floor, like George had said. There was broken glass from the lamp scattered around, and the pillows from the bed had been thrown across the room. But the biggest problem was that Fred was gone. I hadn't even heard him Apparate, but then I also noticed that the window was open.
"He climbed out the window?" I gasped, rushing access the room and sticking my head outside. I searched below and up and down the alley to no avail.
"His broom is gone," George pointed out as I pulled my head back inside. "He flew out the window so we wouldn't hear him leave."
I groaned as I lowered myself to the bed and buried my head in my hands.
"Fucking hell," George growled, aiming a kick at the wall. "This is all my fault."
"No, it's not," I insisted, raising my head to look at him.
"I pushed him too hard!" George cried. "I just told you I interfered in all the wrong ways. I shouldn't have done it. I should have trusted him, like he said. I should've been more rational and patient and assessed the situation before tearing in her like a lunatic and making him think he was going to lose you! But I panicked. Don't you think I'm scared? Don't you think I'm angry and sad? Percy was my fucking brother, too! And then I had to keep living with the fear of losing another one! And every time I see Fred like this, even a little bit, I get scared all over again."
"Hey, it's okay," I whispered. I stood from the bed and crossed the room to him, reaching out to touch his arm. "I get it. It's not your fault, George. It's not."
George nodded once and pulled me into a sudden, tight hug. I returned it as I closed my eyes and my heart ached for him.
"I know," I whispered. "I know."
"I've tried everything over the last few years," George said, pulling away from me. "I talked to him, listened to him, tried to distract him. I even shared my own feelings about Percy. But I never told him it was okay. I never could relate to him about how guilty he felt. I'd lost a brother, but I didn't feel it was my fault the way Fred did. I wasn't even there at all when it happened. And even though sometimes the thought crossed my mind that if I had been there, maybe I could have done something, I never told Fred that."
"So essentially you're a shit communicator too," I said with a quiet laugh.
George let out a laugh of his own before shaking his head. "When you showed up, I really did think each of you could be exactly what the other needed, even if you didn't want to admit it."
"I think you were right," I told him.
"I just felt helpless, you know?" George asked. "I was desperate. Desperate for someone...anyone...to get through to him."
"I know," I answered. There was a pause. "Where do you think he would've gone?"
George let out a long puff of air as he ran his hand through his hair. "Hogsmeade, maybe? None of the shops are open, but he'd be able to get some air. Or he'd try to get back into Hogwarts. At least onto the grounds. Or..."
"Or...?" I prompted.
"He had mentioned earlier possibly going to the cemetery tomorrow. During the day. He asked me if I wanted to go too. I said I would. Mum had mentioned also wanting to go with the whole family..." he shrugged "Maybe he could've gone there now."
I nodded and took in a deep breath as I thought that over. "You want to check Hogsmeade and Hogwarts and I'll check the cemetery? And regardless of what we find, we can meet back here in thirty minutes? If we don't find him, we'll think of a few more places he could have gone and try again."
George nodded. "Okay," he said quietly.
"We'll find him, George," I assured him. "He'll be okay."
"Fred?" I called. "Fred!"
I had just walked through the cemetery gates and was heading towards where I remembered Percy's grave to be. Everything looked different in the dark, so I hoped I could find it. It was also starting to rain and given that it was the middle of the night, it was also freezing. I'd put on a coat, but all I was wearing underneath were my pajamas which didn't do much to keep me warm or dry in the rain.
I started up a section of the pathway that sloped upwards in a hill and slipped a few times due to the rain.
"Fred!"
I made it to the top of the hill and looked around, holding up my lit wand as I did so. The wind blew around me, blowing the hood of my coat off and whipping my hair around my face as the rain started to come down faster.
I shivered as I continued to look around in almost a panic. How was I going to possibly find Fred if I couldn't even find where Percy was buried?
I decided to keep walking for a little bit more, shielding myself from the rain as I did so. As I made my way back down the hill, I slipped again and actually fell to the ground with a squeak. I sat there on the ground as I caught my breath. I was soaked and freezing at this point and there was no sign of Fred. Until...
I squinted ahead of me a bit and raised my wand higher in the air as I got to my feet. I could see another tiny ball of light-like the lit up end of a wand tip. It was further down the path, not far from the bottom of the hill, and all the way over towards the fence, which is where I remembered Percy's grave being: near the fence.
"Fred!" I yelled, hurrying down the path towards the light. "Fred?"
I turned off the main path and down the row of headstones where I'd seen the light. As I neared the end, I came to a stop. At the end of the row was Fred. He was standing in complete and utter stillness, holding his wand up and shining the light on Percy's grave. He was soaked to the bone, staring at the grave in silence. I noticed his hand was still bloody from breaking his lamp.
"Fred," I breathed.
At the sound of my voice, Fred seemed to partially snap out of his trance. At least, he moved for the first time since I'd gotten here. All he did was collapse to his knees in front of the headstone, a terrible expression of pain and guilt on his face. I felt my heart break at the sight of him.
"It's not fair," Fred whispered. I barely heard him over the sound of the wind and rain. But a moment later, he'd leaned forward and pounded his fists against the stone. "It's not fair!"
I sprang into action and went to his side, dropping down beside him and grabbing his hands, stopping him from hitting the stone and injuring himself further.
"It's not fair!" he said again. "I thought things would get easier! I thought they had gotten easier! Why does it still hurt this much?"
Wordlessly, I sat back and pulled Fred to me. He buried his head in the crook of my neck as I sat there with my arms around him, stroking his hair. Tears streamed down my face, mixing in with the raindrops as Fred's shoulders started to shake.
"You're right," I whispered. "It's not fair. And I wish it didn't hurt. But it's going to sometimes. Maybe not as frequently and maybe not always this much. But sometimes it is going to crash over you just like this. And it's okay if it does."
Fred pulled back until he was sitting upright as he turned to look at me. "I tried to fight it off," he said. "I tried. But I couldn't stop thinking about that night. I couldn't get it out of my head. I didn't touch any firewhiskey, but I still hurt George..." He swallowed as he shook his head. "He's right. This isn't fair to you."
"Why not?" I demanded.
"I've just told you-I wasn't even drinking and I punched my own brother! I'm still a damn mess. You shouldn't have even come after me. I didn't want you to see-"
"You think I'm not a mess?" I asked. "Fred, we've talked about this over and over. We're both messy! Not even two weeks ago, I couldn't get it out of my head that I would've been dead if Martha and Tom hadn't taken me in. You told me to snap out of it and stop thinking about all that what ifs. Have you forgotten all that you've gone through for me? Have you forgotten all the advice you've given me? All that you've done for me? What isn't fair is if you do that for me but don't let me return it! That's not fair to me."
"You don't owe me-"
"I want to, you daft ginger," I cried through a laugh of exasperation. "It has nothing to do with owing you or returning a favor so we can be even. Is that really what you think this is? Is that what you think our relationship is? You told me you loved me."
"I do," Fred whispered.
"If you're feeling upset about Percy, I want you to come to me. George wants you to come to him. Ginny, your parents, your siblings, your friends...we want you to come to us instead of locking yourself in your room and letting the anger boil over until you can't control it! You need to talk to us! Let us be there for you. Relationships aren't one sided, Fred."
"I still can't stand to face everyone and see them all looking at me with pity," he snapped. "Including you! You've been behaving just like them the last few days. It's suffocating!"
I moved back onto my knees and placed my hands on the sides of Fred's face as I looked him in the eyes. "Fred, I love you. I love you. I love you. How many times do I have to say it? We all fear for your safety because we all love you! Don't you remember your mother telling you she was afraid to lose another son? And George just told me himself that he not only had to grieve Percy, but worry that he was going to grieve you next! None of us are blaming you or judging you for being sad. But none of us would be able to stand losing you! That's why we look at you like that. It's not pity, it's worry. Because we're scared you're going to wind up hurting yourself! Weren't you the one who told me that I mattered? Well, now I'm going to tell you, Fred Weasley. You matter. You fucking matter!" My voice got louder as I spoke and when I finally stopped speaking, Fred and I just stared at each other. I was breathing heavily as I tried to keep myself from getting hysterical, and Fred was looking at me with wide eyes. "You matter, and I can't live without you," I whispered.
Almost immediately, Fred swiftly leaned in and kissed me. His lips crashed into mine and he almost knocked me backwards.
"I'm trying," he murmured, pulling away slightly before going in for another quick kiss. "I'm trying, Soph."
"I know you are," I whispered. "George told me he shouldn't have implied that you were going to push everyone away. That's not what he wanted."
"I know what he wanted. He wanted me to think about how my behavior was affecting you. He did want to prevent a repeat of what happened with Angelina. But he wasn't telling me that to make me angry. He was telling me that because he cares about me-and about you. I know that. But in the moment I was so angry and so scared. Scared that he was right. Scared that I'd lose control and then, in turn, lose you."
"You're still doing better, Fred," I told him. "Before, you were getting drunk almost every day. You were having breakdowns so frequently. Now you hardly have them at all and you haven't been using alcohol as a crutch. Even tonight when your mind wouldn't shut up, you tried to work through it on your own. But next time-"
"Open my mouth and speak," Fred said. "To you or to George or to someone."
I nodded. "Exactly. There's no shame in showing people that you're vulnerable. I know it's hard-it wasn't easy for me either. It wasn't easy to let anyone in. It wasn't easy to talk about my past or to show you my scars or even to ask you to do what we did in New York. It wasn't easy to talk to you about my nightmares. But I swear once I did it, I felt so much better. I tried to fight it, too, and it only made things worse. I know how you feel, Fred-I probably know better than most. And we're all human. We've all had experiences with grief and guilt and anger. We can't and won't judge you for feeling those things too."
Fred nodded and leaned over to gently kiss my forehead. "Thanks for coming after me."
"Of course," I whispered. I fought back a shiver as the cold rain continued to fall around us. I pulled back and stood up, holding out a hand to Fred. "Come on, let's get you home."
