Sources say Fred Weasley is an absolute ray of sunshine, but also crazy

"Are you like, dunno how to say this properly, furry now? Did you grow chest hair or something? Or a beard? I'd love one, honestly," Fred Weasley (The Second, But Just as Great – He Hopes) says, looking thoughtful while rubbing his face, munching on whatever James was eating.

"I mean, at this point in my life, I feel like I deserve a beard. I'm a man," he says seriously. "I am a man. With muscles and my own personalized tool box."

He grabs James by the shoulders, looking him right in the eye. "Say I'm a man, James Potter. Say it like you mean it,"

"You don't own a tool box. The last time Grandpa Arthur let you use a screwdriver, Hugo had to get stitches. You're an idiot, mostly."

Fred gasps. "Take that back, you twat!"

"Never."

It was six days after The Incident We Do Not Speak of to Anyone Ever #4 (as in, James fainting and waking up with Flirty Nurse— her name is Celestia, he found— holding his legs up and Caroban fanning his face).

He was sitting in bed, as per usual, bored out of his mind; it was nice being secluded like this for a few days, it really was, but he was ready to leave this place. What the Ministry says, goes and just like every other new werewolf in Great Britain, he was on trial until the next full moon. And that meant roughly three more weeks of Caroban.

Lily came with news every once in a while ("Jamie, this is a disaster! He asked her out to go see a muggle movie, even though he promised he'd go with Emily! Men are so... ugh! Also, you know the thing about the minister and the Finnish merman? Well, it's actually the head of the Mysteries Department and no one knows who that is, so now—"), Freddy would sit there and eat his food, Uncle Bill would occasionally drop by, mum would be her usual self and dad would sit there, rather awkwardly, until they had to leave. He'd wait for Phee to reply to his letter and Al would keep him updated on sports.

He and Al had a sort of tricky relationship; Al was his little brother and while he tried to understand him, he couldn't always do it. Al was a Slytherin, which, admittedly, wasn't that big of a deal anymore, but it was still something. It was living in different corners of the castle, sitting at different tables, socializing with completely different people and playing Quidditch for different teams, all while knowing each other's every weakness. It was hard at times but the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed.

He made fun of Al for fearing Slytherin when they were younger, even though one of his good mates was one of them – it was all in good fun, of course. James was fairly certain Phee would've been one.

When Al got to Hogwarts things changed between them. He doesn't know whether it was his fault and maybe it was – he can be a bit reckless and self-absorbed at times. Especially since him, Freddy and Darren discovered the wonders of Firewhisky and partying.

Maybe his little brother never wanted what he wanted or maybe they were just that different. Al was nerdy and shy and quiet, a bit insecure, and James was the exact opposite.

Al was in Malfoy's gang. Although, James supposes, gang is a bit of a strong word; they're basically just a bunch of studious pretty boys with nice cheekbones dressed in green, as Rose once put it.

("Malfoy is such a tosser, I can't believe it; he always has to be better than me! Just because he's pretty and sooo smart and all of his friends –except Al, blergh– are hot and look really good in green, that doesn't mean he has to always try to outdo me! Like, he should get a life or something, you know? He should really g—"

"Did you just say Malfoy is pretty?"

"That is so beside the point and you know it.")

Al sat down by his bed that day after the attack and all he said was: "I'm sorry."

And James was, too. He didn't know if Al was sorry that they hadn't really spoken in a while or if he was sorry that James got attacked, but it was enough. They were brothers and it was time they started acting as such again.

"You should really forgive dad sometime," Al said later that evening, after they ate enough chocolate frogs to last a lifetime.

James' gaze hardens and he exhales through his nose; he can't believe Al was still that far up dad's ass after everything that happened. Al didn't know, he couldn't have known, but James told him enough. Why couldn't Al stick with him once?

"James Sirius Potter," Fred announces in a deep voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. "We are going on an adventure!"

James rubs his face and groans. "Do we have to?"

Fred gapes at him, "Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?"

"Excuse me!" James cries indignantly, "But it's not like you're the one that almost died!"

"Merlin, when are you going to stop milking that?" Fred scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"Fred!"

"What? That was a week ago, that has got to be at least a year and a half in werewolf years. It's time to start living again, man," he nods solemnly, like he knows what he's talking about. "You can't let this define you; it's time to get up and smell the Snarfluffs's!"

James wrinkles his nose. "It's Snargaluff and I'd rather not, thanks."

"Is Snarfluff even a thing?"

"It's Snargaluff and it's a plant, but it's really dangerous and it could kill you, probably, so stay away."

"I keep forgetting you have a flower fetish,"

"Fuck off, it's not like that at all and you kn—"

"James!" Fred flails his arms. "You missed my point. Stop moping and come with me!"

"But I don't want to," James whines, falling back onto the bed. "I really don't,"

Fred sighs. "Okay," he says, kicking his legs up. "Tell me what it is. And none of that 'boo-hoo half of my arm is missing' because that's bullshit and you know it."

James stares at him incredulously. "What? I just don't feel like going, s'all."

Fred shoots him a bored look and says, "We don't have all day, you know. Places to go, people to see, and all that,"

"It's Phee," James says finally. He takes a deep breath.

"I wrote her a letter and it's been like three days and she hasn't replied but I know she got it, because the mail dude said so and I'm kindofsadandIreallymissherandyeah."

Fred is quiet and then he grimaces. "Alright, man, bring it in."

"What?"

"You heard me," Fred says, opening his arms and leaning forward. He motioned for James to come closer, "Give me some sugar."

"Fred, no! Fred!"

But Fred was already tackling James in a tight bear hug, trapping his arms, and saying things like, "Bro's before hoes, man," and "I'd write you a thousand letters back, bro," and "It's Russia, maybe they spilled vodka on the letter and the ink smudged, I mean, it's your fault really, who writes le—you know what, never mind, my brother. I love you."

James laughs a bit and says, "You're crushing my crushed shoulder, Freddy."

Fred snorts, pulls back and pats his head. "I love you, Jim Jam. No homo, though,"

"Fred, we are related."

"Fuck off and help me plan this adventure. You used to be so fun, James, I don't know what happened between now and the time we got you a keg in Prague and you—"

"We don't speak of that anymore, Frederick."

"Like the time you fainted? Oh shit- I'm sorry! Ouch! James! Bloody hell, for someone who apparently can't get out of bed your shoulder seems just fine for punching."

James sheepishly looks down at his lap and Fred looks smug.

"I win," he smiles mischievously. "And I have a plan."

"...Twat."

James has no idea how they ended up on the roof, in fact he didn't even know Mungo's had a roof, but that was where they were.

It all started when Fred stuck his head out of James' room and said, "Eagle Two. The coast is clear."

"How come you always get to be Eagle One?"

"Because I'm older, wiser and sexier," Fred looks at him with the kind of look that says, 'Um. Duh.' and pulls him out of the room.

"I have a beard, I obviously deserve to be Eagle One," James argues in a whisper as they're sneaking down the corridor, Fred in front of him.

A Healer walks past and they both stop dead in their tracks and straighten out against the wall.

"You can't use the beard excuse, mate," he laughs, when she's gone, "Where's the invisibility cloak, though?"

That's actually a good question. James scratches the back of his head and thinks; when was the last time he saw it? Might've been around... Fuck.

"Fuck. Phee has it."

"Fuck. You're an idiot. This is why I'm Eagle One!" Fred cries. "You can't just leave death's fucking invisibility cloak with a girl that's not family! She could be a serial killer for all you know!"

"Come on, she's like five feet tall, she's not a serial killer. She'll mail it back or something. Or father dearest will have to get out of his office and have a little search party. I don't care either way," James replies easily, shrugging.

"How are you so calm about this? It's the original invisibility cloak," Fred makes a left turn and James follows, trying to avoid the enchanted mop cleaning the floor. "You should at least be a little annoyed,"

"Phoenix wouldn't steal from me, Fred."

Fred rolls his eyes, "I know that. I'm more worried about who would steal from her."

"Since when are you so smart, Freddy?" James laughs and ruffles Fred's dark hair. They stop in front of an old wooden door. When Fred opens it, a staircase that resembles those in muggle horror films is revealed; steep, dangerous looking steps that lead into the darkness.

"I'm always smart. Now listen, these are stairs I found when you were asleep and everyone was crying and I wanted to get away. You have to be careful, though, because they're old. Like, older than our parents and they're ancient. A bat attacked me the first time I was here."

"Wicked," James breathes, smiling and looks around. They're all alone, no Healers or patients in sight.

"It's third floor," Fred explains. "The old wing. They're renovating it soon, I heard. These stairs are here since the almost beginning of the hospital,"

"You know a lot about this place," James quips and Fred shrugs his shoulders and says, "Yeah,"

(Fred wants to be an architect, James knows.)

They walk up the stairs in moderate silence, Fred's wand the only source of light, looking down at their feet and swatting away spider webs. James saw ivy growing on the walls and mold forming on the wood.

"Here we are," Fred stops suddenly.

"There's nothing here, Fred," James says, confused.

Fred taps his wand against a brick and several of them slide to the side, making a hole big enough to fit a person.

"It's a bit like... an escape route, I think. You could keep walking these stairs forever, actually. They're enchanted; back when the hospital was built they were so afraid of muggles they built escape routes, because cloaking spells weren't fully developed yet. If a muggle got into the hospital and tried to burn this place down, wizards could hide here." Fred explains, climbing through the hole, "Now it's useless, but I guess the original enchantment stuck."

"That's incredible," James says, looking around himself, looking down at London. The sky was a lovely shade of blue this summer day. "Thanks for bringing me here,"

"No problem, lovely," Fred replies, throwing an arm around James' neck. "You needed a bit of fresh air."

"Don't call me that," James huffs, even though he doesn't really mind, and they sit down on the edge of the roof.

"How is life treating you, Jamie?" Fred asks, pulling a cigarette out of his jacket. He motions James to take one, but James shakes his head and leans back, supporting himself with his elbow. "Suit yourself, then,"

"I'm scared," James quips suddenly, looking at Fred, dread he's been pushing back settling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm really scared and I don't know if I want to do this,"

Fred turns to him with sad eyes and says, "You've no other choice, man. I would've taken the bite for you if I could've, you know that, but it's too late now."

He looks tired, older somehow, too wise to be just 16 and James doesn't want it to be that way. Fred says, "You're not on your own, James. We're here for you; we'll help you, all of us. I promise,"

James wants to cry, because God, none of them get it. It's not like he has a broken leg or a twisted ankle. Them being here for him won't make any of this go away, time won't change any of this, a 'Get Better, Buddy x' card won't fix anything – this is it. This is his life now. He's a werewolf.

Werewolf. Werewolf. Werewolfwerewolfwerewolfwerewolfwerewolf.

And it's like the whole world comes crashing down around him when he realizes, when it really sets in. His lungs are too tight to breathe; his skin is scorching hot and ice cold at the same time, his hands shake and he can't do anything else but curl up and wait for this to go away – it won't. For the rest of his life he'll be stuck in a cycle of illness, followed by blood thirst, followed by more illness and it's not fair. It's not fair that he's like this; he's not even 16 yet. He was supposed to be... somebody. Something. He was supposed to matter and live out his life in peace, because that's what people like him did. He thinks about whether he should ask Fred to get him some water and just throw himself off this miserable rooftop, because he'd rather be cold in the ground than be here right now, like this.

Fred holds him, because it's all he can do. Fred holds him, because James is his brother and his best friend and he can't stand to see him like this. They sit there for a while in silence, until James calms down and Fred grabs him by the shoulders again, gently and when James turns his head away, Fred murmurs, "Hey, look at me,"

"You're not alone," Freddy repeats. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

He was always good at convincing people, James thinks. So good, in fact, that James might believe him. Might. And that's enough for Fred right now.

"I'm not saying Krum was the better player, but Krum was the better player," Lily says, flicking a grass flavoured Bean at Al.

"You are out of your mind! How can you say that? He lost that one match in 2002 and then resigned!"

"That defeat would've made anyone resign, Al," Harry says, "It was bad."

"Zaghloul was out of everyone's league, anyway," Ginny says and nods at Harry. "Went undefeated for years,"

"You're all defending him, because he was pretty once upon a time! He was a sore loser and—"

"Boring, annoying and overrated?" Ron adds and everyone laughs.

Hermione rolls her eyes and sighs.

"What? It's true, innit? Al, say it's true!" Ron demands, to which Al adds, with a shrug of the shoulders, "His son is a twat, too, so obviously it runs in the family."

"You're just saying that, because Alice Longbottom has the hots for Boris and you're too much of a crybaby to ask her out!" Lily exclaims and Al's ears go red.

"Oh, so you're on first name basis with him, eh? Boris?" Al snarls

"You take that back, you little—"

James laughs when Al starts playfully choking Lily and Lily screams out 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Get your armpit out of my face! Gross!'

Rose and Ron were sitting in the corner of the room trying to beat each other at chess (Rose was winning. Don't tell anyone.), Al and Lily were kicking each other, Ginny and Harry were cuddled up on James' couch and Hermione's been reading up on all things werewolf the entire week. Today she was reading The Cub Theory by Vladimir Tselitel, a Russian wizard that spent 10 years with new werewolves.

"That's how she shows affection," Ron assured him in a shushed voice two days ago, when Hermione interrupted Hr. Caroban's monologue with, "Excuse me, Healer, but Leopold Lukos, author of Werewolves in the 21st century, clearly stated—"

It was evening. Fred left two hours ago ("Penelope Parkinson got really hot over the summer and she's waiting for me in Diagon Alley, you should see her—ow, mum, I'm coming!") and now it was just them and Uncle Ron's lot, save Hugo, who was at a friend's house. It was nice that way, too.

"It's getting late, Jamie," Ginny says, checking her wristwatch. "We should get going,"

Lily hugs him, Al pats his shoulder and smiles, Uncle Ron says: "Don't touch the chess game, I'm winning," and leaves, Rosie moves a piece and grins cheekily at him, waving and Hermione kisses his forehead.

Harry clears his throat, looks around awkwardly and says, "I'll just, er... leave."

So he does.

"What is it with you two?" Ginny groans and sits down on James' bed.

"I'm sorry, mum," James says. "But you probably don't want to know,"

She shakes her head, eyes filling with tears. "I tried so hard, James. I still do. And you two... just, Merlin, James, I don't know what to do anymore,"

"Mum, don't cry," he murmurs and reaches out to hug her. "I'm sorry,"

"I am too, Jamie," she replies, sniffing, "It's not your fault, okay? We just need you to heal and then we'll work on everything else. I love you so much, yeah? I really do. You need rest," she gets up, shaking it off and starts tucking him in and he feels like a kid again, basking in his mother's affection.

"Be good," she smiles, eyes twinkling. "Don't climb on any more roofs."

James' eyes widen, but he's not surprised. It's Ginny, after all. "How'd you know that?"

She grins. "We spent a bit of time here after the war. Of course I know all of the nooks and crannies."

James doesn't say anything, he just laughs. Ginny opens the door and says, "Goodnight, Jamie. Sweet dre—"

"Mrs. Potter!"

Ginny is still for a moment then says, after what seems to James a hundred years, "Phoenix? What are you doing here?"

James' heart skips a beat as he's jumping out of bed past his mum.

There she is, long blonde hair tousled and cheeks flushed, splitting into a lovely grin when she sees him. The Healer that was restricting her steps away when Ginny steps behind him and says, "She's okay, we know her."

God, she's so beautiful, James thinks. Phee is so beautiful and she's here and he hasn't hugged her in a month and she smells so great, which is weird because she's standing at least 20 feet away and he can smell her, but he can't think right now. His head is spinning.

"Jamie," she breathes out, voice full of wonder like she didn't think she'd see him again, "I got you letter."

He laughs a little, joyfully, because he can't believe this and she does too, but he can tell she's nervous; "I know you may not want to like, um, see me or whatever but... I'm here now. I'm here."

She bites her lip and he realizes he's been standing there like an idiot for at least a minute now, so he runs to embrace her. He lifts her up, arms tight around her, so tight he's afraid she might break, but she buries her head in the crook of his neck and sighs.

"I missed you," she says.

"I love you," she says.

"I'm home," she says.

And when she's in his arms, wrapped around his body so perfectly, he forgets, even if just for a moment.