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This chapter contains some scenes of a sexual nature. You have been warned.

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Part 20 - What Fred Saw

Aside from the obvious--that it was very painful and very nearly killed me--cracking my head open turned out to be a bit of a nuisance.

Most of the notes I'd made that night before the accident had been rendered useless after sitting in a pool of my own blood for quite some time. Several of the books I'd libereated (ok, stolen) from the library had also been damaged beyond repair. Not only did I face extra hours of studying for my OWLs to redo the notes, I no longer had ready access to the books with which to do so. And I was going to need to buy replacements if I wanted to safely set foot in the Hogwarts library ever again; Madame Pince was a very scary individual.

I didn't really mind having to purchase new books. I'd just come into a great deal of money, after all, and it seemed silly to be upset about something so trivial after surviving such a horrendous injury (dumb luck being on my side for once). However, Mrs. Weasley kept me mostly confined to bed for almost a week, leaving me with no opportunity to go out and find the books to buy. I had endless free time and nothing constructive with which to fill it. By the end of my bedrest, I was downright eager to go bookshopping.

I was bored. Very, very bored. I tried to sleep, mostly, but could never manage to get more than a few hours at a time, always waking with a trembling gasp and a lingering feeling of all-over achy exhaustion and no idea as to what had disturbed me so.

I spent a lot of time pestering Dad, which he was thrilled with until I started in trying to convince him to tell me where the Black homestead was located and how to gain access. I can be stubborn, but I had nothing on Dad in that department. It was only around the third day that he got entirely fed up with me.

"I said no, and I mean no," he scolded, scowling at me through the two-way mirror, "As far as I'm concerned, that awful house can stay locked up forever. It can burn to a pile of ashes."

"Daddy," I whined, "You're being unreasonable. We need a safe house, and according to my sources, the Black manor is just about the most secure and hardest to find in all of England. Please?"

"Absolutely not," he snapped, clearly frustrated because I was totally not letting the subject drop. Actually, our conversations about the house were just about the maddest he ever got at me. "End of discussion," he declared. A moment later, he took a deep, calming breath and added, "Sweetheart, you just don't understand how awful that place is. I'd show you if I didn't think you'd be irrepably scarred by it."

"You're overreacting," I argued, "It was a horrible place because your mother was horrible. She's dead. It's just a house now. A house that could make things a lot easier for a lot of people, including you and me. Don't you want to be able to see me more often?"

Glaring, Daddy responded, "That's going to work, love. You're not setting foot in the house, and that is final. Now, why don't you just get some rest? I have a few errands to run."

"Fine," I huffed, knowing a brush off when I heard one, "But this isn't over." I hung up, flopping back into Fred's bed with a frustrated sigh.

Not quite ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley came in with a lunch tray. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked brightly, settling the tray in my lap. She felt my forehead, adding, "Have you managed to get anymore sleep? Are you sure you won't take a potion to help?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. W," I told her, as upbeat as I could force myself to be when I was really damn so tired and sore that I could scream, "Really. You don't have to keep fussing."

"Nonsense," she replied, smoothing down my hair, sneakily checking on the healed gash at the crown of my skull. Damn thing itched like crazy, and it was giving me a funny cowlick. "You split your head wide open," she said, "That takes time to recover from. It takes rest and solid sleep. Now, just relax and let me take care of you."

Laughing, unable to be at all upset with the caring older woman, I answered, "Alright. But can I at least go have a walk around the garden today?"

"We'll see," Mrs. W allowed, smiling, sitting on the bed, "I'm sure the fresh air would do you good. Maybe even tire you out a bit. But only if you finish your lunch."

"I think I can handle that," I declared tucking into a nice soup and sandwich.

Mrs. W stayed, still beaming at me. "So," she said, "I hear you and Fred had an eventful Valentine's Day."

Smiling shyly into my sandwich, I answered, "Ya. He set up a nice dinner for us in the compartment where we first met. It was really sweet."

"I'm glad, dear," she gushed, fondly patting my knee, "You two are so good together." Her eyes got kind of glassy and far-off as she stated, "A mother wants for her children to be happy. I know you make Fred very happy."

I felt myself blushing, but how could I hear that kind of thing and not be entirely touched? "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," I replied, softly because I was getting a little choked up, "He makes me very happy, too."

"Of course," she murmured, hand still a warm, solid weight on my knee, "And, dear, I've told you, call me Molly."

I smiled and she smiled and it was a very nice little moment for us.

"Well," Mrs. W finally declared, magicking a yarn-filled basket onto the bed between us, "I know you've been terribly bored being cooped up all the time, so I thought you might like to learn to knit to keep yourself busy. I can explain how while you eat, and then you can give it a try after your walk. Sound good?"

Laughing, I agreed, "Sure, I'm always looking for skills to add to my repertoire."

"Wonderful," Mrs. W beamed.

xxXxx

Despite Mrs. Weasley's patient lessons, I was pretty bad at knitting. But it was a great distraction. Making an ugly blue hat got me through the next few days of bedrest and sparse sleep, and, by the time I finished the project, Mrs. Weasley had given me a clean bill of health.

I went to bed early that night (as per the terms of our agreement), but sleep wasn't coming any easier and eluded me well past midnight. Mostly I think was just excited, thinking and planning for the next day. I wanted to go to Diagon Alley and hit the bookstore; I wanted to see Remus and Tonks and maybe Ozzy, too; I wanted to head to Hogwarts and visit with the twins, talk to them about what they wanted to do on our birthday and tell them the big news about me returning to school for the next year. I was even going to give my ugly hat to Fred. (Mrs. W had promised to teach me how to make socks next, which I was sure would be just as hideous and would be going to George; I hoped that he wouldn't get too jealous in the meantime.)

I wasn't asleep, but I wasn't fully awake either, my eyes closed while I drifted with my thoughts.

I heard the bedroom door open and close quietly but figured it was probably just Mrs. W checking up, making sure I was in bed. I didn't bother to move, staying curled on my side, facing the far wall. Maybe if I managed to convince her I'd gotten a full night's rest, she'd stop fussing so much.

But then, a few seconds later, the mattress dipped. I jumped but still wasn't too frightened. My cover was blow, so I rolled over and expected to find Mrs. W trying to feel my forehead or something of the sort.

Except I rolled over just in time to watch Fred sliding under the covers with a big smarmy grin.

"What're you doing here?" I laughed, immediately snuggling into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me.

"Missed you," he murmured, pressing his face into my hair and inhaling deeply. His grip grew tighter, so tight and so safe and so starved.

I don't think I fully appreciated until that moment just how hard it was on Fred not having me around all the time. I knew he missed me; I missed him, too. But Fred's always been... I dunno. Physical. Not in an entirely sexual sense. Just... he likes cuddling, hugging. Waking up next to someone he loves. Seeing his favorite people every day, sitting next to them at breakfast and making them laugh.

Smirking against his lips as we exchanged heated hellos, I decided that I was pretty much the luckiest girl in the world.

"Did I tell you about next year?" I snickered, nipping at his strong, stubbly jaw.

"What about it?" Fred mumbled, practically melting as my fingers played lightly against his strong ribs, as his broad hands inched up the back of my tight t-shirt.

"I'm coming back to Hogwarts," I whispered into his ear, smiling when I felt him smile, "I get to skip a level and be in a class with you and George."

He pulled back to beam at me, blue eyes bright and ecstatic. "Better not be joking," he declared, drawing light, idle circles against my waist until I shivered from the ticklish sensation.

"Nope," I said, sliding one of my legs between his and kissing him soundly. After a few more minutes of soft kisses, we broke apart for air, panting heavily and pressing our foreheads together. "So," I teased, tracing the cuts of muscle across his stomach, "Not going to get sick of me once I'm around all the time, are you?"

Fred snorted, countering, "Absolutely not. You going to get sick of me?"

"How could I?" I asked, letting my fingers swirl delicately down the ridges of his abs, "You're always so surprising. Like now, showing up in my bed in the middle of the night."

"In all fairness," he taunted very smugly, "This is my bed."

I smirked, answering, "True. But I've been keeping it nice and warm for you."

"You certainly have," Fred answered delightedly, "Men go their whole lives without getting half as lucky."

We kissed again, slow and soft but quickly growing more heated. Frenzied. I peeled Fred's shirt over his head, and he hesitantly but reverently returned the favor, easing me down onto my back and hovering over my sprawled form with an absolutely awestruck expression. I couldn't help blushing as he just stared down at my naked chest. Feeling suddenly, intensely shy, I did what I pretty much always do in slightly uncomfortable situations: I made a joke.

"See something you like?" I asked, smirking, fighting down the uge to hide beneath the covers.

Seeming to come out of a trance, Fred shook himself, looked up and into my eyes. "You're just..." he began, stammering as he tenderly traced the curve of my cheekbone and jaw, "You're so beautiful."

I blushed, laughing nervously again and glancing away.

But Fred just used that as an opportunity to swoop in and begin mouthing kisses all along my throat, ghosting his free hand up my quivering stomach as he murmured, "If I were as gorgeous as you are, I'd spend my whole life naked, twirling about in front of a mirror."

Trust Fred to send me from nervousness to absolute hysterics with just one line. I could barely breathe from laughing so hard, shoving the boy down onto his back and straddling his hips because, as strange as the remark was, it was also quite thrilling, empowering to hear that he thought of me in such a way. And it pretty much eliminated any nagging thoughts of self-consciousness or doubt. Because, no matter what, I was still with Fred: goofy, dorky, idiot best-friend Fred. Who loved me like crazy and thought I was twirl-about gorgeous.

"You, Mr. Weasley, are oddly poetic," I declared pointedly, greatly amused by the way he was utterly hypnotized with my breasts, by the way he couldn't seem to look away from them for more than a few seconds. By the way both his hands hovered in midair like he wanted to touch but wasn't sure if he should.

I leaned in and kissed him, guiding his hands to where he obviously wanted them and moaning deliciously as his thumbs flicked back and forth over the tight buds of my nipples. When I pulled away once more, Fred was impossibly more starry-eyed, grinning dopily inside the intimate curtain of unruly blonde hair spilling around both our faces.

"It's hard not to be poetic with inspiration like you," the redhead babbled quietly, smirking but utterly sincere, one rough palm trailing to my flannel-covered backside, pulling me in closer, "I am forever in awe of your beauty and wit and charm, stunned and infinitely thankful that you choose to grace me with your love."

"That's quite enough now," I replied, torn between laughing and getting all misty eyed, "Sweet and eloquent as you are, I have no intention of allowing you to talk me out of anymore clothing for tonight." I ground my hips into his, making slow, steady circles and smirking as Fred pretty much lost the ability to speak entirely, let alone eloquently.

It didn't really take long until he was gasping into my mouth, bucking off the bed with an unrestrained full-body shudder. Clinging to me and panting damply into my hair and trembling like he'd run a marathon.

I was perfectly content to just lie with him for however long he wanted, but, after only a few minutes, a problem arose concerning the conspicuous wet spot I could feel through the front of his trousers. And I was just a bit squeamish about having to sit in it. Without thinking, I reached for my wand on the bedside table.

Fred's arms wrapped immediately around my waist. "Wait," he panted, grip clumsy but strong, eyes wide and panicked, "Wait. Stay."

Smiling brightly, I brushed a feather-light kiss across his slack lips. "I'm not going anywhere," I reported, finally getting at my wand and waving off a quick cleaning charm.

Fred yelped like I'd burned him, doubling up and spluttering, "Bloody hell! What was that for?"

"Sorry," I responded, trying not to laugh and not particularly succeeding, "I just... didn't think you were so attached to lazing about in soiled trousers... did I hurt you?"

Shaking his head, Fred seemed to come back to himself a bit, pushing me off him and back down into the mattress again, positioning himself between my spread legs as he bitterly chuckled, "Stung a bit. More startling than anything though... For future reference, there are certain areas of the male anatomy upon which cleaning charms and most magic in general should not be performed, at least now without proper warning."

I shot him an apologetic, sympathetic smile, chirping, "Noted."

Fred placed his hand on the inside of my thigh, pretty high up and creeping higher, almost to the hem of my soft flannel shorts. I just... wasn't expecting it, felt instantly flighty and anxious. Without me really willing it to do so, my hand shot out to stop his. It was... just too much. I hadn't even touched myself like that since... Claire... And I guess I wasn't ready yet to have Fred touch me like that either.

Fred frowned down at me worriedly, backing off a bit as he questioned, "Are you alright?"

I nodded jerkily, very aware that I probably didn't look alright at all. "I-" I lied hastily, badly, "I thought I... heard something. Someone coming up the stairs."

Fred removed his hand from my thigh, instead reaching up to thread his fingers through my hair. "Stel," he declared very seriously, "You've got this really, really freaked out look on your face. I didn't... I mean, we don't have to... when- when you want me to stop, just tell me to stop."

"Stop," I immediately replied, feeling foolish and cowardly but relieved nonetheless when Fred rolled off me, hugged me tight against his chest and brought the covers up around us.

We didn't speak for a few long minutes.

"Sorry," I finally murmured.

Fred's arms tightened around me, his broad chest rising and falling in a long sigh. "Don't be," the young man declared, "I'm not looking to force you into anything. But you have to talk to me, you know? I don't read minds."

"Sorry," I repeated, aware of how weak and feeble the answer was.

Again, Fred sighed. I could feel him twisting my hair through his fingers.

"Will you stay?" I asked softly, cuddling closer, "Just... for a little while?"

"Of course," Fred answered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to my forehead, "Long as I can."

I laid awake for a long time, staring off into the darkness.

xxXxx

I must've fallen asleep at some point because I woke to Fred shaking me. "Whu?" I grunted, frowning unhappily as I blinked up at his worried eyes.

"You looked like you were having a bad dream," he whispered, stroking a concerned hand down my naked back.

"Hmmph," I responded, still exhausted but entirely awake. And it was morning, anyways, feeble light filtering in through the closed curtains. I stretched a bit, wincing at the persistent ache throughout my whole body. "Time is it?" I slurred tiredly.

"Early," Fred replied, shifting beneath me, "So were you?"

I yawned. "Were I what?"

"Having a bad dream," Fred said, drawing light shapes down the curve of my spine.

Shrugging, I grumbled, "I dunno. Maybe. I think I've been having them for a while, but I can never remember what they were about once I wake up. Kind of makes it hard to sleep, not to mention the run-over-by-a-hippogriff after effects."

"Oh," he answered. After a brief beat of silence, he added, "George and me, a little while ago, we were trying to tweak the sleeping draught formula so that we could control what kinds of dreams people have. It didn't really work out, but we did stumble on a recipe for dream walking."

"That's impossible," I laughed, "Dream walking is a myth. You can't just go into other people's minds while they're asleep and see what they're seeing. Not without using legilimency or dark magic, and even those aren't a sure thing."

I felt Fred shrug, chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. "I just know I kept ending up in Ron's head. All that kid ever dreams about is giant spiders. Made me feel kind of bad about us turning his teddy bear into one when he was a kid, even though he totally did have that coming."

"If you say so," I said, humoring him, connecting freckles on his taut stomach, "But you're not suggesting you use it on me, are you?"

Fred shrugged again, arm tightening around my shoulders. He said, "I wish I had the pleasant dreams potion to offer, but, for the moment, this is the best I can do. You'd be surprised how much dreams reveal and how much better you'll feel once you know exactly what your subconscious is all in a twist about."

Snickering, I replied, "I suppose... let me think about it."

"I'll start the potion once I get back to Hogwarts," he laughed, rolling onto his side in order to wrap both arms around me and press a kiss to my forehead. Waggling his ginger eyebrows and grinning wickedly, he added, "Of course, you'll have to come sleep over. We can camp out somewhere, just us."

"Sneaky," I told him, feeling safe and warm in his grasp. Without really meaning to, I fell back into sleep.

xxXxx

When I woke the second time, Fred was gone. It was late morning, and I'd slept a lot longer than I meant to but this time without whatever had been plaguing my dreams before; I was feeling refreshed and, miracle of miracles, actually rested.

I sat up, in a pretty decent mood and in a rush to get out of bed, and saw that Fred had left a small origami butterly on the pillow beside my head. Laughing, thinking of how utterly sweet my boyfriend was, I tried to pick the little trinket up.

Only Fred had charmed it. The second I touched the thing it came to life, fluttering into the air and around my head, glowing faintly red. I was mesmerized and downright giddy by the time the butterfly finally touched down on my bare right knee.

I transferred the creation to the bedside table and then finally got dressed and ready for the day. I breezed through the kitchen, graciously allowing Mrs. W to fuss over and overfeed me. And then I was off.

I went to the bookstore and found replacement texts for the ones I'd ruined. I got a late lunch with Remus (Tonks was, apparently, off somewhere in Italy on mission). I popped in and said hi to Ozzy, and I even got a quick appointment in with my lawyer, Mr. Besnick. He was happy to report that my grandmother's will had made me even richer than he'd originally estimated; still no news about the hidden Black manor, though, which was just a bit frustrating.

Coming out of Mr. Besnick's office, I already had the twins on my mind; I was already planning on going to see them as my next stop, hoping that I wouldn't find them in yet another unbathed, unrested workaholic frenzy. I was thinking about how hard they had been working lately, how unusually stressed they seemed...

I came out of Mr. Besnick's office and, right there, right across the street, was a billboard advertizing a spa in the countryside.

"Perfect!" I decided.

xxXxx

The twins looked at me like I was nuts.

"You realize that we both possess boy parts," George stated skeptically, "Right? I mean, we're of the male persuasion. You are aware of this, correct?"

Rolling my eyes, I countered, "Men go to spas, too. They're very relaxing. And I've always wanted to try one. We can go the day before our birthday, and then, if you don't like it, we can still do whatever you want on the actual day of. Please? It's my treat!"

The twins shared one of their Significant Looks that I absolutely hate, prompting me to huff and glare impatiently.

Fred took that as his cue to take a turn trying to talk me out of the idea. "Stel," he said very soothingly, slinging an arm around my shoulders (at the same time keeping one eye on the row of bubbling cauldrons the boys were working on), "I don't know if a spa is really the right place for us. All those quiet rooms and such. We probably wouldn't fit in."

"They have private spa packages," I declared, showing him one of the many pamphlets I'd obtained from a quick recon mission, "We can have rooms to ourselves to be as loud or as quiet as we want in. It'll be great! There's massages, and facials, and body wraps, and mud baths. I mean, mud baths! You guys love mud!"

"We did, when we were five," George scoffed, already back to concentrating on their various creations.

I scowled at him and then turned back to Fred, pouting sweetly.

He sighed but didn't give in. "You don't need us if you want to go," the redhead stated, "There are plenty of girls you could take. I'll bet Mum would love it, or Tonks, or... uh... Ginny..." I think he realized my distinct lack of female company and hastily abandoned the argument.

"You guys are my best friends," I answered, sad and dejected, "It wouldn't be the same. It's not like I'm asking you to put on heels and minis and strut through the Great Hall. Just give it a chance! I'll bet you anything you'll really enjoy yourselves."

"Anything?" Fred asked, clearly losing his resolve, grinning like he couldn't pass up the opportunity to make such a wager.

"Anything," I replied, biting seductively on my bottom lip. Hehe. Works every time.

His expression grew starry and dopily pleased.

I so had him. And once you have one twin, you have both.

George groaned theatrically.

xxXxx

In order to soothe the sting of his having agreed to the spa day, I agreed to stay the night at Hogwarts and try out Fred's little dream walking potion. I mean, I didn't think it could do any harm. I wasn't getting great sleep, but I figured that if I were actually dreaming anything bad, I'd remember it when I woke up. Since I never managed to remember anything, I didn't think it could've been that terrible. I didn't think Fred would be seeing anything that terrible (if the potion even worked at all, and I still wasn't quite convinced it would; I thought it was more likely he'd just come up with a mildly hallucinogenic substance; he had done so on more than one occasion).

"What'd you tell my mum?" Fred questioned, making himself comfortable in a big squashy bed in the Room of Requirement.

"That I'd be studying late and didn't want to end up rushing home and getting hurt again," I replied, brushing my teeth and washing my face and changing behind a nearby screen, "She just said to be careful and to make sure I got to sleep at a decent hour." Chuckling around my toothbrush, I added, "She didn't even ask about where I'd be sleeping."

I heard Fred snort, heard him choking down his dream walking potion as he declared, "The don't-ask-don't-tell? Man, she must really like you. Charlie went on a camping trip once with one of his girlfriends. Mum charmed their clothes to their bodies."

Beaming at my own reflection in the mirror, I answered, "We did have a talk. She was very sweet about us being together."

"Plus teaching yout to knit," Fred laughed fondly, "That's practically your own hand on the family clock. By the way, when can I expect you to graduate to sweaters?"

"When my hats stop looking like lopsided throw pillows," I answered, rinsing my face and letting my hair out of its ponytail, shimmying into a pair of soft pajama shorts and a tight tanktop. I emerged from behind the screen, smiling crookedly as I crossed the room and climbed into the bed. "You don't really have to wear that hat," I told Fred, situating myself beside him, propped up against the headboard, "I know it's not very good."

He grinned at me, bright and genuine. "I like it," the redhead murmured, taking my left hand in his right, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles, "You made it for me. Besides, it's got character."

"Right, character," I snorted, descending into giggles as Fred snaked his arm around my waist and tickled me lightly.

We just sat together for a few moments, close and quiet and content. I connected the freckles on Fred's bare abdomen, finding a fish and a star near his navel. I fluffed the thin trail of dark red hair that disappeared into the waist of his boxers, smiling when he squirmed.

"I'm sorry about last night," I told him, nervously biting my lip as Fred twirled my hair through his broad fingers. "It wasn't anything you did," I added, "I just... psyched myself out, I guess... I should've said something instead of being all weird and awkward and making you feel bad. I'll try not to repeat the behavior."

"I appreciate that, love," Fred laughed, resting his head on top of mine, "Like I said, I don't want you doing anything you're not comfortable with, so you just have to talk to me." I felt him smirk as he added, "It was... really spectacular up until the weird awkwardness. I was only trying to make you feel as amazing."

"I know," I said, smiling shyly up at him and offering, "Are you averse to trying again?"

Flashing a dazzling white smile, Fred leaned in and kissed me. Swift and simple. "You read my mind, gorgeous," he said.

I grinned, straddling his lap. Throwing my arms around his neck and laughing into his mouth.

It was a bit of a heated blur after that. Our kisses and touches quickly went from tender and playful to frantic and needy. I don't remember exactly when my shirt disappeared or who was responsible, but suddenly I was arching my back, mindlessly trying to get more of the heart-stopping sensation of Fred's lips dragging all over the soft, sensitive swell of my breasts. His huge hands caressing every inch of bare skin he could find.

"Gods," I gasped, rolling my hips into his, hanging onto his shoulders for dear life. Whimpering when his fingers slid tentatively into my shorts.

"Ok?" Fred murmured, sounding strained and just as blissed out as I was feeling. Just as aroused, his own shorts shouted.

I gave a jerky nod, a slightly embarrassing broken-off whimper. An even more embarrassing growl when Fred's fingers didn't immediately move to satisfy the spiraling need he had been thus far so helpful and enthusiastic in initiating.

I grew almost immediately impatient, placing my hand over his and encouraging it onward, hissing deliciously when his fingertips brushed my slick folds, when I demonstrated the wonder that is the clit and then let Fred take over. Learn by doing and all that. He caught on quickly.

Immensely enjoying the shocky, shivery waves of pleasure cresting and crashing all over my body, I wondered how I had managed to go so long without experiencing the feeling. Lingering betrayal and trauma after my disastrous encounters with Oliver and Claire had made me forget some very important things about myself, namely that orgasms were awesome and that I enjoyed them in all consensual forms.

As I sucked and licked deftly along Fred's neck and collarbones, as I dragged my hand down his rippled chest, stomach, into his shorts and took hold of his thick cock, as I cried out with ecstatic laughter when Fred groaned deeply and nearly bucked me off, I absentmindedly resolved to stop letting wounds and mistakes from my past influence anything about my present. Fred wasn't the one who hurt me. He would never. And I didn't have to be afraid anymore, not when I was with him. Fear would only keep me from pleasure and love.

Besides, as great as I thought orgasms were before, they were nothing compared to having ones with someone you do truly love. You stare into each other's eyes, and it's like your souls are rising out to meet one another. It's hot. Intense. A little frightening but in a good way. And when that moment comes, that soaring upward ride and then that weightless, breathless fall... well, there's something to be said for having someone to fall with.

Afterward, collapsed in a careless heap, limbs tangled, lungs starving, skin sweaty, and muscles trembling with aftershocks, Fred and I clung to each other. Carressed each other softly, clumsy and awed. Whispered, over and over, "I love you... I love you... I love you..."

We fell asleep like that, and I don't remember dreaming.

xxXxx

"Stella! Wake up!"

I ached and absolutely did not want to be conscious.

"Stella! Stella, wake up! Wake up right now! We have to go!"

"Huh?" I grunted, squinting up at Fred, wondering why he was awake, why he looked so utterly freaked, and especially why he felt he had to be shaking me urgently by both shoulders.

"Get up!" he ordered, eyes wide, hair sticking out at adorable angles, "We need to go see Dumbledore! Right now!"

"Five more minutes," I pleaded, closing my eyes. All I could think about was how tired and sore I was, even more than I'd been feeling since my accident. I just wanted to sleep.

"NO!" Fred screamed, startling me vertical, shaking me roughly once more, "DO NOT GO TO SLEEP!"

Shocked and troubled by my boyfriend's behavior, I didn't even have time to inquire what the fuck his problem was before he physically dragged me out of bed and toward the door. "Wait!" I shouted, struggling weakly, grabbing my discarded tanktop off the end of the bed and escaping the hold long enough to put the damn thing on. I'm fairly certain Fred would have dragged me out of there topless otherwise. As it was, he barely allowed me that dignity before he seized my hand once more and pulled me out of the room.

It was very early in the morning, somewhere around two or three. I thanked my lucky stars that the halls seemed entirely deserted.

As soon as I had done so, we rounded a corner and ran into who else but Professor Snape.

Of fucking course.

His expression wavered among the usual smelled-a-fart sneer, the often-seen smug I've-got-you-know-rulebreaker smirk, and an entirely new what-the-holy-fuck-is-this? eyebrow vault. The finished product was entirely unbecoming, even more so than normal.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Black," he drawled, staring down his nose at us (probably through no fault of his own), "I... don't even know where to begin. Would you care to explain yourselves?"

"We need to see Dumbledore right away!" Fred panted, still just as wild and manic, clad in only baggy boxer shorts. He didn't seem bothered by his state of undress, and, seeing as how I was wearing only skimpy pajama bottoms and a very tight tanktop, sans bra, I couldn't have conjured any sympathy for him anyways. I noticed a hickey on his neck, and my answering blush was possibly an impending attack of spontaneous combustion.

Snape looked both of us up and down, making me feel distinctly cheap and slimy. "Yes," he murmured, "Perhaps the headmaster is better equipped to deal with this situation. I'm sure he can make the arrangements you require. Fifteen is a bit young to start a family, after all."

"I'm not bloody pregnant, you twat!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, utterly, utterly mortified, even more so when the shrieking declaration echoed back.

"Twat... twat... twat..."

I covered my flushed face with my free hand, hoping for the floor to open up and swallow me.

"Of course not!" Fred crowed, outraged, "She's just in danger! Someone's torturing her in her dreams!"

"What?!" I cried, "You can't be serious!"

Fred turned to face me, jaw set stubbornly. "I saw it, Stel!" he insisted.

He looked so... convinced.

"I was there and I saw it," Fred told me, voice cracking slightly with terror and fear, like a little kid who'd just woken from the worst nightmare of his short life, "And you need help, alright?"

Too stunned to do anything else, I just nodded mutely.

xxXxx

Walking through my dream, Fred saw a long dungeon hallway, a locked dungeon door. No matter what he did to the door, it would not open. So he watched through a small barred window.

I was on the ground, my legs tied together and my arms tied behind my back. Rats were crawling all over me, and I was sobbing, screaming for help.

There was a man seated in the shadows in the far side of the room; Fred never saw his face but heard him just fine.

"Tell me where he is," the mystery man demanded, laughing as I cried out for Fred, for my daddy. "Yes, your daddy," the mystery man went on, "Tell me what hole that mutt's crawled into, and I'll make all the icky rats go away."

Even though I was completely hysterical from terror, I still managed to snarl, "Fuck you! Fuck you, I'll never tell!"

"Must we do this dance night after night?" the mystery man sighed, twirling a wand through his skeletally thin fingers, "I'm going to find your daddy eventually. He's just running around out there in the open, after all. If you tell me now, then I can stop paying you these lovely visits. Crucio."

I writhed and wailed, every muscle and tendon pulling taut, stretching. Snapping.

"This is ever so much more fun than real life though," the mystery man snickered when I'd finally stopped screaming, was just a messy, jibbering puddle of what used to be person. "So much more painful," he said, "Without those pesky natural or magical laws to hold us back... and we can play for so much longer before you go mad on me."

"I don't know anything," I whimpered, "I don't know. Please. Please."

"Oh, I think you know exactly where he is," the mystery man cooed, mocking and sickly sweet with just a tinge of frustrated anger, "But it's so dark inside your head, love. That's not my doing. You keep everything about yourself hidden in the dark, and that makes it very difficult for me to find what I'm looking for."

Another disinterested Crucio. Another round of excrutiating shrieks. Fred saw my shoulders separate from their sockets.

The mystery man chuckled, "All I'm finding is nonsense about your silly phobias and your tender lustings for your little boyfriend... Oh. Oh, here's something interesting... who's Claire?"

In another corner, a person took shape, stepped into the dim light. A thin, tall teenage girl with a sleek curtain of unnaturally long, dark hair.

My whimpers grew more hysterical as Claire approached, as she knelt at my side, smiled, petted my hair. "Why, Stella?" she asked quietly, leaning in close until our lips almost touched, "I loved you."

"STOP!!!" I sobbed, trying and failing to crawl away, "STOP, PLEASE!! STOP!!"

"All you have to do is tell me what I want to know," the mystery man sing-songed, tapping his foot in time with some internal beat, "It'll all be over, and I'll leave you to your happy little-girl dreams."

Claire had her hand on my thigh, moving higher. She crooned endearments, declarations of undying devotion, threats and filth.

Fred saw all this and didn't try to stop it. Because he thought it was just a dream, because he couldn't get through the door and save me from my own twisted subconscious. He would've tried, he said, if he could've gotten through the door.

Having been thus far fairly silent in his efforts, Fred decided that he'd seen enough, that my dream indicated that I was anxious about my own safety and my dad's. Fred decided that he could stop the dream, so he tried to get through to me in another way: he shouted my name through the bars.

I didn't seem to hear him but the mystery man did, suddenly vanishing and reappearing in the hallway. He wore a Death Eater mask and robe and seized Fred by the throat, hoisting him effortlessly off his feet.

Fred said that in all the testing he and George did of the potion, neither of them had ever felt any real pain or danger while inside other people's heads. They'd fallen through windows and off brooms, been shot with arrows, hexed, cursed, jinxed, punched in the face. But it had felt like... experiencing a mere phantom of the sensation. It had never felt like it was real, like the dream walker was in actual mortal danger.

But the mystery Death Eater grabbed Fred around the throat, stuck a wand into his ribcage, and Fred couldn't breathe and thought that he was really going to die.

"How the fuck did you get in here?" the Death Eater snarled, cold fury replacing disinterested frustration.

Fred gasped and kicked futilely, confused and scared and very freaked out. Slowly blacking out to the sound of further demands for answers, further echoes of my helpless, horrified screams.

"And that's when I woke up," Fred explained, still shaking as he recountered the story in Dumbledore's office, refusing to let go of my hand, "And I knew it wasn't a real dream. Someone's been torturing Stella for information about her father. That's why she hasn't been able to sleep well, why she's been sore and tired, and why she can't remember her dreams anymore. She's been cursed or something. You have to fix it."

Dumbledore stared at us from across his desk, across his thoughtfully tented fingers. "This is a very serious matter," he stated quietly, "Are you-"

"I'm sure," Fred impatiently insisted, "You can take the memory and see for yourself, if you want, but just do it quick and then help Stella!"

"Very well," Dumbledore replied. He sighed heavily before declaring, "I'm going to need to confiscate all your notes on this potion, Mr. Weasley. Professor Snape will escort you to your workspace, and you will turn over all relevant data."

"What?" Fred and Snape both gaped. "Sir," Fred complained, "Aren't you going to-"

Cutting him off, Dumbledore sternly declared, "If what you say is true, then this potion is essentially an open doorway into the minds of others. It would be not only unethical, but also irresponsible for me to allow you to remain in possession of such a formula. Did you think, at all, about what would happen if the potion fell into the wrong hands? What might've been done to Stella is extremely dark magic, but it is also very complex, difficult magic that could not have been carried out by most wizards and is seldom used for that very reason. A potion, however, has the potential for mass production and distribution. Anyone could use it, and no one would be safe."

Obviously contrite, Fred hung his head, muttered, "Sorry, sir."

"Severus," Dumbledore stated in reply, "Please see that Mr. Weasley gathers all notes and all samples pertaining to the potion. And then confine him to his dormitory until I can think of a suitable response to his actions."

Grumbling and reluctant, Fred followed Snape when the greasy potionmaster swept out of the room. But not before the redhead gave me a quick kiss, whispering, "Don't go anywhere, alright? I want to see you later."

"Ok," I agreed, still kind of in shock, still kind of numb.

Once they were gone, Dumbledore offered me a seat, a cup of tea, and a blanket. Probably because I was still half-dressed and shivering. The old man regarded me carefully, peering over the top of his spectacles.

I squirmed a bit under the scrutiny, knowing that I was in trouble and wondering just how much.

"I think it goes without saying," he began, "That I'm disappointed in your behavior this evening. You are afforded a great deal of trust, and I would hope that, in the future, you would think twice before violating it in such a flagrant and frivolous manner."

"Whatever you think we were doing," I defended, "You're wrong. I mean... I didn't think Fred's potion would really work. And we weren't... It was harmless. It's not like we were actually having sex or anything."

The tiniest bit uncomfortable himself, Dumbledore coughed, "Since you are not currently a student at my school, I believe I will leave it up to Mr. Lupin to decide what you were or were not doing alone in a bed with your boyfriend in the middle of the night, and to discipline you accordingly."

I sounded so much more screwed when he put it like that...

"As for what Mr. Weasley witnessed in your dream," the old man went on, "It does sound very much like you have been the victim of a curse. I would like to consult a specialist before I say anymore on the subject, but keep your schedule clear. You will most likely be traveling to meet him as soon as I can make the arrangements."

"Sure," I agreed, eager to have the curse lifted.

Nobody said anything for a few minutes.

Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat and offered, "May I accio your clothing?"

"I would really appreciate that," I replied.

xxxxxxxxxx

I really enjoyed writing this one, haha. Hope it shows and is appreciated accordingly :)

(PS, do I really have to keep putting sexual content warnings on the chapters? I kind of feel like it should be understood by now that my dirty mind nor my dirty language will be censored...)