Mrs Weasley told my parents, my mum wanted me to come back to live with her. But I still hadn't left the burrow, and the only time I even left Fred's old room was to use the bathroom just across the hall. I hadn't seen Fred either, I refused to see him. I didn't want to look at him and know that I had taken one of the few precious specks of hope he was clinging to, I couldn't bear to see disappointment on his face that used to light up every time he saw me. Every time he saw the bump.
So I stayed locked in the room, Mrs Weasley force feeding me meals and George coming to keep me company, never once mentioning what had happened and making me nearly forget. Nearly.
After over a week it was my sister who came to shake me from my stupor, yelling that I wasn't going to bloody well waste away, that I still had people who cared for me, and that staying in a stuffy room was doing nothing to help; I sat and cried into her for I don't know how long, crying all of the pent up tears that had sat in my chest since I don't even know when. Well before anything had happened. Crying for hours and hours until I fell asleep, clawing at the damp sheets that hung limply around my body.
The following days were no easier, my body didn't feel right and eating felt as though it was pushing on the empty space; after a week of wandering around the room without anyone visiting other than Mrs Weasley, George and my sister, I decided that I should see Fred. He didn't seem to take much convincing and was in the room only twenty minutes after I had told Mrs Weasley that I would be up to seeing him, careful only to say this after I had showered and changed into a clean set of clothing, some that wouldn't hug tight to my body which was still in pain.
He stood three feet away from me, not sure how to react at first. We hadn't seen each other in nearly three weeks and it was a strange sensation, he seemed scared that I would break at his slightest misstep. We stood opposite one another in tense silence before he carefully stepped towards me, stretching his hand up towards my face, as soon as I felt his hand against me I fell towards him, wrapping myself in his tight embrace.
Standing in the embrace as we both wept quiet tears, shaking against him as I soaked through his shirt, his tears falling on top of my head, I felt myself relax completely against him, feeling more at home than I had done alone in his room. Crying for the loss that the outside world would never feel like we did, crying for the person that would never get to be because of the war that loomed above us, and crying because we could never meet the person that they could have become.