I started writing, and then i couldn't stop writing...
Anyway, thank you for still reading :)
The heels of her shoes scrap against the floor as they struggle beneath him.
The sound of her strangling out a cry.
Her body writhing underneath his as her arms beat at his chest and arms.
But he couldn't stop.
She gasps harder as his fingertips press into her throat.
The crying.
The choking.
When he had brought his shaking hands up to his face they were still covered with his blood.
He had fought against his dad, begging him to help her. Begging them to tell him where she was. Fred hadn't realised that he was laying in the hospital wing, and she was in the bed opposite. They had to force the Sleeping draught down his throat just to get him to stop.
When he does finally open his eyes, it's like his senses had finally re-aligned. He was clean. His arm wrapped up. His dad was immediately telling him that Lilith was safe, just not awake.
It stops the initially panic, but it doesn't make him feel any better.
When they pulled back the curtain, they were all there. His mum, his sister, even Percy had gotten off his high horse to grace them with his presence.
They keep asking him questions about that night he doesn't want to answer.
They knew about Mad-eye who had already been shipped off to St Mungo's.
They knew about Crouch, well, what was left of him.
But they didn't know what had happened in that classroom. And everyone seemed far too nervous to make assumptions about it. Well, except his mother.
Why was she there with you? Did Lilith do this to you? Did she take you there?
In the end he had screamed at her that he couldn't fucking remember because he couldn't take it anymore.
After that they stop asking.
They filter out one by one after that. Until it's just George left. Usually he would have preferred it that way, but right then he wanted nothing more than to be alone. "So – " His twin finally choked out. "How are you feeling?"
Fred wants to scream at him. He never wants to scream at do you think I'm fucking Fred couldn't possibly do that to George.
"Fine." He says with a thin voice as he stares at the bed that she's laying in opposite, still fucking unconscious. Draco and Cordelia are both there too. There's been the occasional furious glance in his direction, but nothing more.
When Madame Pomphrey comes, pulling the curtain around her bed, Fred finally allows his gaze to drop.
"Who won?" He asks. Desperate to talk about anything other than himself.
George goes slightly pale. 'Uh, Harry. He managed to - to pull it off."
Fred forces a half smile. "How about that."
"Do you want something to drink?" George says rather quickly. "Or eat? Chocolate is meant to be good for this sort of thing, isn't it?"
"Chocolate is meant to be good for almost killing your girlfriend?" He responds rather coldly, without thinking.
George stilled. "Do you remember what happened?" He murmurs, restrained — probing.
Fred can't force himself to look at him. His heart is pounding in his chest. Harder with each beat.
"Fred whatever Crouch did, it's not your fault. You know that right?"
Fred looks down at the cut on his arm. Feels the throb in his skull. He looks back up as Madame Pomphrey scurries out from behind the curtain, same worried look on her face.
"Lilith will be ok."
Fred hears the sniffs and finally looks at him. His twins' eyes are puffy and blood shot. He sniffs again, avoiding his gaze.
'What are you not telling me?"
"Nothing." He says a little too quickly.
"George don't fucking lie to me; you're shit at."
He can see George's jaw tighten. He swallows hard. "We were going to wait until you were out of the hospital. When you were feeling better – " He sniffs again. Close to tears. "Cedric – he's – He's dead." He says quietly.
It's like a bludger to the gut.
"They think it had something to do with Crouch. And, um – " He rubs his brows with the palm of his hands. "Harry said you know who was back. That he saw him. He's the one that did it."
The bludger is pounding now. Over and over again. He thinks he going to throw up.
"See why we didn't mention it?" George chokes out.
Madame Pomphrey shoos George out soon afterwards. Applies more dittany to his arm and the cut on his head. When he asks about Lilith in a small voice he receives a small pathetic smile.
'Lilith will wake soon dear." She says, sounding completely unconvincing.
She leaves the bottle of sleeping draught on the bedside table, just in case, but Fred can't stomach it.
He's too scared to fall asleep.
He stares up at the ceiling in the low candlelight, gripping the bed sheets over and over with shaky fingers just to make sure he was in fact the one doing it.
He can't stop picturing the tears streaming down her cheeks. He hears the gaggled chokes coming from her throat. As he clutches the bed sheets, he can feel the fragile skin of her throat under his palms, and he has to stop for a moment, or he'll burst into tears.
When he hears the strangled cries, he's convinced he's still imagining it.
Then he hears the rushed sound of footsteps on the stone floor and sees them fly behind the curtain opposite. Instantly, he sits up.
"You're ok Ms Lestrange – you're ok – please calm down!"
Fred shakily climbs out of bed. The iciness of the floor burns his feet as he staggers over to the curtain. As he grips the fabric in his hand every nerve in his body starts to ache.
As Fred draws back the curtain, he feels his insides wither up.
She's writhing and clawing against Pomphrey and the healers from Mungo's. She's crying but it comes out as staggered gasps, like she can barely breath.
Then she finally looks at him and the colour drains from her face.
Fred sees the bruises on her throat for the first time and his hands immediately drop. The purple long angry welts caused by him are visibly even in the low candlelight, and it makes him feel physically sick.
The second he moves towards her she filches and the bottom of his stomach drops. She's almost scarpering up the bed, trying to fight against the healers.
"Fr – Fr " She can't get the words out. Her voice dark and horse. She grabs her throat as she clenches her eyes shut and the sobs don't stop.
It's then one of the healers finally notice him stood there.
"Mr Weasley, please go back to bed right now! You should be resting."
She draws the curtains closed again.
For a moment he's hesitant to do anything. He can't move, let alone breath.
And then he runs.
The noise of her sobbing and gasping invades his ears until he reaches his side of the hospital wing and snaps shut the curtains around it. He crawls into bed, downs the sleeping draught, and pulls the blanket over his head while he lets out a sob of his own.
When he finally woke up late the next morning her bed was empty. Just tossed sheets and spilt calming draught which makes the room smell sickly sweet.
There's no more double vision or pounding headaches so they finally let him return to his dormitory.
He sits on the edge of the bed watching George as he packs. His twins' eyes are still puffy and blood shot. He sniffs when he places another jumper into his trunk.
"The assembly for Cedric is tomorrow morning before everyone leaves. I told Ginny we'll meet her downstairs before we head down. She doesn't want to go alone." He stops what he's doing for a second but doesn't dare look at him. "I mean, if you feel up to going, that is." It's the first thing he's said since they got back.
They weren't the best of friends with Cedric. But had been close enough. Their quidditch rivalry's more friendly than hostile. And he was always up for a good laugh.
He was their age. And he was dead. That one kept hitting him right in the gut.
"Yeah, I am" Fred says quietly, even though George isn't looking at him. "What excuse did you give for me not being here?"
He sighs. "In all honesty I think with what happened with Cedric and you know who no one really realised you weren't here. Besides, I wasn't really here either."
"Good." Fred mumbles. "Well – I – you know what I mean."
"Yeah I do." George says kindly. "Did you know they took Lilith to Mungo's?" He finally asks.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Moody too. I heard Snape and McGonagall talk about it this morning on my way to see you. I decided to do some snooping. Her aunt insisted on her going. Something about Pomphrey being completely incompetent, and I don't think she'll be back before we leave."
He keeps seeing it. Her terrified face. Her clambering to get away from him. It keeps playing it over and over in his mind and no matter what he does he can't push it out.
George chucks another jumper in the trunk before he picks up a copy of the daily prophet, Barty Crouch face staring back at the both of them.
Fred feels his hands start to tremble.
"They gave him the dementors kiss." George remarks quietly.
Fred looks down at his hands, unable to stop them trembling. He wrings them together to try and calm it. "I overheard mum and dad talking about it." He admits. He starts to feel sick.
"Well with kidnapping, murder, not to mention whatever he did to you and Lilith. It's not like he didn't deserve it."
Even when he clenches his fists, he can still feel the ache in his fingers.
His chest is tightening.
He can't breathe.
"I did it." He says in a quiet voice.
George dumps the newspaper, turns to him. "What?"
"I- did it.' Fred says again, he's shaking, he can't stop. "I'm – I'm the one that hurt her."
The blood seems to drain from George's face. "You? But…you said you didn't remember."
"I Lied!" Fred cries. He stands from the bed. The pressure in his head building. He starts to pace. He doesn't know what to do. George is now off the floor, standing there, terrified.
"Fred – "
"He used the fucking imperious curse on me George –"
His twin looks like he's going to throw up.
"And – I – I was – he made me – " He presses his hands to the side of his head, squeezing hard. He doesn't know how to stop it. "He told me to do what she did – that time – in class. He told me to do it and I just did it!"
"Oh god." Fred barely hears George say it. He takes a step towards him, clasp a hand around his bicep. "Fred – come on now - it's not your fault – "
"IT IS MY FUCKING FAULT." He yells and snatches his arm away. The pressure in his head finally cracks. "I wasn't strong enough George! She stopped herself! And I couldn't!" He can feel the hot tears streaming down his cheeks. "I TRIED. I FUCKING TRIED. I could feel her - fucking dying - and I couldn't stop it because I – WASN'T – STRONG – ENOUGH."
Sobs emerge deep from his throat as he drops down to his knees, his lungs spasm as he struggles for air.
"What do I do?" He croaks as his shoulders start to shake. "Last night – she saw me– and she looked at me like – like I was fucking mo – monster – " He feels George's hands on his arms. Squeezing tightly. "I really hurt her George. I really fucking hurt her." And then he pulls him into a hug and Fred sobs into his shoulder.
The days are easily distracting enough. Wheeze's keeps them busy, testing products, annoying their mother.
Ron gets most of the brunt of it much to his delight, in exchange for quidditch practice.
Fred never understood how getting beat with a bludger was better than testing out their Canary creams, but he didn't mind it, he could get his practice in.
And he kept picturing Crouch's face when he swung at it with ever ouch of strength he had. It was rather therapeutic.
Nights are harder to work through.
He lays in bed listening to George's gentle snores, unable to sleep because he can't switch his brain off.
Fred tries to think of anything else. He pictures them in the cupboards, the darkened hallways. He thinks about her tender lips and the soft moans when his hands skim over her skin.
The soft moans turn to chokes. His hands that skim over her neck squeeze tighter.
When he forces himself up, he feels the cold sweat run down his back. The ache in his hands.
He sits there and forces himself to breath while everything stops spinning.
When it's still again, he grabs the parchment and quill already ready on his bedside table.
Lil –
Number fifteen now. Please just let me know you're ok.
Fred
He folds the letter neatly and places it in the envelope. Usually, he waits for the morning, but he stands from the bed, grabs the nearest cleanish t-shirt and sneaks out of the room, avoiding the squeaky floorboard and even creakier step on his way down to the kitchen.
The sun is peaking over the horizon as he makes his way down to the barn. The air is still warm. Everything has that sunlit dusky glow that he never really saw that much, but now every day it felt like it was taunting him.
He feeds Erol a cracker, passes him the letter, and watches as the owl flies off in the orange haze, wondering if this time he'll bring anything back.
Some of the letters have been longer. Much longer.
The first one he had written on the train back from school, spilling his guts out over three sides of parchment before Lee gave him a look and advised to maybe not to overwhelm her.
But he sent it anyway. No response. And he hated that Lee was probably right about it.
Despite that he still wrote one every day. Some one liners. Others bloody novels.
He may have regretted the slightly risqué one he sent after sharing a bottle of fire whisky with Bill and George, but even that didn't illicit a response.
In the end he just wanted something, even if it said.I'm fine, now piss off.
Over two weeks later and there still was no sign, and he could feel his insides wither away because of it.
"Aren't you up a bit early?
It's his dad that says it as he emerges from the shed, throwing the last remanence of what he assumes to be cold tea from his mug.
"Could say the same to you."
"Don't sleep much now anyways." His dad says. He looks like he's aged ten years in two weeks. "Raids are getting worse. People are getting more paranoid." He looks at the sun shallow in the distance. "No words from your young lady yet?"
Fred half smiles. Whereas his mum hadn't shut up about Death eaters and what an idiot Fred had been, his father had only shown concern.
"No. I can't help but think the worst. Considering."
"I'm sure she's fine. From what I've seen of her, she can handle herself." He smiles. "That's what I liked about your mother truth be told."
Fred nods. Sniffs. "I should have gone to Mungo's to see her."
He feels his dad's hand clasp his shoulder.
"It'll be ok Son. Don't worry."
Fred nods again, wishing he could believe him.
As Fred leans outside the shop he closes his eyes, allowing the sun to warm his face.
It has been a struggle to even get his mother to agree to them leaving the house. All they wanted was for a morning to gather supplies, and a haircut after a rather sticky fiasco while making their fever fudge.
George had yelled.
His mum yelled back.
Fred didn't really have the fight in him anymore. So, he just sat there in silence.
In the end Bill agreed to take them on his way to work, because they needed a fucking babysitter.
It feels less suffocating here. For the past few weeks, the burrow had been covered by a cloud of Death Eaters, conspiracies and mourning. His mother was on edge, constantly looking over her shoulder, terrified that any minute you know who was going to pop up and ask for family lemon muffin recipe.
That and combined with Fred's internal misery, it was all getting a bit too much.
"What do you think?" George says as he appears from the barbers down, running his hand through his short hair.
"I'm sure Angelina will love it."
George blushes slightly. Ignores him. And pulls the list from his pocket.
Fred wasn't going to push him on the secret letters from their new quidditch captain. It's not he had been exactly forthcoming all year.
They decided to divide and conquer. George to the apothecary. Fred was sent to Flourish and Botts to retrieve the transfiguration book to try and crack those damn canary creams.
As he makes his way up the street he walks slowly, taking his time. He runs his hands through the now short hair, it feels unnatural. He stops at the nearest window to look at himself, fluff it up, do something with it.
He freezes as he spots Cordelia through the shop window.
Bad idea. Bad idea.
He feels insane as he walks in, the little bell dings. When she looks over, her eyebrows shoot up under her hairline.
"You've got some fucking nerve."
She's stood on a platform in a new uniform. Shiny new shoes. New tie.
He couldn't remember the last time he had a new tie.
"Nice to see you too."
She rolls her eyes and looks back at her reflection. "She's not here, if that's what you're thinking."
The slight slither of hope withers and dies.
He fiddles with his hands nervously. Shoves them into his pockets because he doesn't know what to do with them. "Is she ok?"
She stares at herself, fixing the cuffs on her shirt. Then she snaps her head towards him. "As if you care."
He can't stop the stunned look bleeding onto his face, yet he doesn't know why he's so fucking surprised.
He rubs his brows as the headache forms.
"I do fucking care."
"Bullshit."
"Why is that bullshit?" He snaps at her.
"Because if you gave such a shit, you would fucking check on her, wouldn't you?"
He stops then. Drops his hands lazily. For the first time he really looks at her. He notices the pain in Cordelia's face. The intense ager aimed towards him.
"Look – I wrote to her – I've written to her every day since we left school, and I haven't received anything back. Not even a – Fuck off Weasley, it was nice knowing you!"
She narrows her eyes at him, as if she's trying to decipher him. "Don't lie to me – it's not cute."
It's so hard to try and remain clam. "I'm not lying!"
"Well I saw her yesterday, and she told me, specifically, that she's not heard a word."
"I wrote to her! Every freaking day I've sent her a letter and – " As it hits him, his blood runs cold. "Does Lucius know?"
Cordelia seems to realise it too, and stares down at her feet. "Draco does, and he wasn't too happy about it from what I heard."
He clenches his fists, wishing he could smash the little blonde prats face in right there and then. "Right. Well, that sorts it then."
"Sorts what? You're not thinking about going there, are you?"
He shrugs.
"God you are stupid, aren't you? Her uncles charmed Malfoy Manor up the rafters. The second anyone apparats within two miles it alerts them. If you showed up there, well that's another funeral in the space of a month."
This whole chest starts to hurt.
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't trying to be." She says rather coldly. "But you know what, I'm still trying to figure out how you made her fall for your bullshit. I mean, you're poor. Ginger, of all things."
"Here we go." He groans as he starts to rub his eyes with the palm of his hands.
"Not to mention you almost got her killed." She says it so bitterly he actually feels it stab him in the gut.
Her eyes darken at him through the reflection in the mirror. She grimaces. "You know Weasley maybe Draco did you a favour. Clean break. Give her some time to work through her temporary blip of insanity and realise what a pathetic loser you actually are."
"God you are such a bitch." He mutters.
"Realistic." She snipes as she turns back to look at her reflection and straightens out the skirt. "It's why I'm keeping the two of you quiet."
The back of his head is starting to throb. "That's surprising, considering you never shut up."
"Arsehole." She bites back.
His blood is running hot. He wants to scream at her.
But he doesn't.
Instead, his eyes are starting to sting.
He'll beg. He'll get down on his fucking knees and grovel for a morsel of information if that's what she really wants.
"Cordelia –please – could you please tell her – "
"Will you stop!" It actually takes him aback. Cordelia clenches her eyes shut, as if she's trying to force the tears back. When they snap open, he can actually see the rage. "Do you not remember what you did to her? All she did was cry. I've – " She stops yelling, her voice quivers slightly as it quiets and she clenches her fists at her sides, as if she's getting ready to beat him to death with them. "I've never seen her cry. She was always so fucking stoic. Until you that is."
His stomach drops.
He forgot over the years it had always been Cordelia by Lilith's side. Through ever name call and prank and aggressor. She had been the one to stand up to Seamus for her.
Sometimes he forgets that she is in fact Lilith's best friend, and Lilith had been lying to her all year.
"I'm very aware of what I did."
Fred can feel the tears welling.
"Don't you fucking start." She snipes.
"Shut up Cordelia!" His outburst makes her jump. "Do you not think I can't think of a single other thing,otherthan what I did! I would understand if she never spoke to me again, but I just want to know, if she's fucking alright!"
He's never seen her so stunned.
He leaves.
He can't take it.
As soon as he's outside the shop he inhales the warm air, and it burns so badly he wants to throw up. He drops his head to hide his face as he fights the tears back. He sniffs, pulls it together as much as he sees the shiny black shoes come into his peripheral vision. He forces himself to look up.
He rubs his eyes. The urge to throw up fades. "Sorry." He says. Then she rolls her eyes. "She's fine Weasley. Physically."
He suddenly felt drained. "Really?"
"A sight better than you are anyway. You look fucking awful." She eyes him for a moment, gaze stopping on his hair. "Is that why you cut your hair like that? Repentance or something?"
He runs a hand through it. "Well self-flagellation is frowned upon – so."
She sees a crack of a smile. It's not warm or inviting, but there's isn't the usual smugness there either. "She's right, you're kind of funny."
"She told you that?"
"She told me everything." Cordelia eyes him again, grimaces. "Including some stuff I'd rather obliviate."
He feels his ears grow hot. He sighs. "I get why you hate me. I don't think there's been a day since where I haven't woken up hating myself."
The look of sympathy is back, fleetingly. "I don't care about you at all actually." Cordelia snorted as she said it. "But she does. Annoyingly. It's all she talks about."
It makes him feel slightly better. For weeks he had imagined her cursing his name with this undiluted hated that he would perfectly understand, so he was glad to hear that might not be the case.
"Two miles huh?"
She rolls her eyes again. "Well, it might be only one. But if that's what you're planning, it's a really fucking stupid idea."
It's all he talks about on the way back to the burrow.
"It's stupid right?" Fred says as they walk around the edge of the swamp. "I mean, going to Malfoy Manor. It's stupid, right?"
"Yes." George says. "Incredibly stupid."
He looks over to the house, see's Ron circling on his broom overhead.
"I mean I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. But you know, with mum, and everything going on, didn't seem safe enough. Plus, Cordelia told me about the charms, so it probably won't be easy." He stops. Stares at his brother. "Tell me it's a really bad idea."
"It's a really bad idea." George agrees with a nod. He sighs. "You're going to do it aren't you?"
Fred starts walking again. "Maybe. Yes. No? I don't know. I keep picturing turning up there and her throwing stuff at me. Or worse, Lucius throwing stuff at me. I don't even know what I would say to her. In the letters it was easy, but she hasn't seen the letters. So that means I need to explain myself – again – and doing that in person is terrifying."
Their mum is out in the yard with her dad, throwing seed to the chickens while they talk in hushed voices.
"Mum! We're back in one piece!" George cries. She scowls at them, waves them off as they go back to talking in whispered tones. "I wonder what that's about."
"Who knows anymore. It's not like they tell as anyway."
As they reach the back door Fred lets out a deep sigh.
"I'll do it tonight. Once everyone is in bed. I'll be back by morning." He says it like he almost believes it, but truth be told he would go that very second if it meant his mother wouldn't find out.
"And if you're not?"
"I want everyone at my funeral to wear orange."