Twin Flame // Fred Weasley

49

TW: blood, alcohol, all round sensitive content, as always, reader discretion is advised. 

AN: all I can say is, buckle up kids, we have a new POV and a big ol' cliffhanger ;) 

Iris' POV

Little progress was made. I continued to see less of Fred as my father's state deteriorated, when I did see him the scent of alcohol lingered between us like a barrier, not visible to the naked eye but so unavoidably present it was unpalatable. I didn't know how to help him. It had gotten to the point where we would merely look at each other, ensuring we were both still alive, before we departed again. Before our every meeting my heart soared with hope that this time it would be different, that this time I'd get through to him, that I'd see my Fred; I was wrong every time.

Oftentimes I'd arrive at their flat and he wouldn't be there. Sometimes I'd sit with George if the shop was closed, other times I'd run my fingers through Hector's feathers until he slept and there was nothing else to do, sometimes I'd read, sometimes I'd cry, just trying to fill the time as I waited, knowing when he did reappear I wouldn't stay for long, he didn't want me to; I just needed the reassurance he was physically okay.

Today was the same as always. Elaine arrived to take over the care of my father and I hurried to the flat. When I arrived, I wasn't surprised to find only George sprawled out on the sofa, book in hand.

"Hey," he greeted softly, closing his book and discarding it on the coffee table, patting the empty space on the sofa next to him. Sighing, I sat beside him, welcoming his comforting embrace as he slung his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his side.

"Do you know where he is?" I tried to keep my voice hopeful; I failed. George nudged me, and I turned my body to face him, offering me a sad smile as he shook his head.

"Sorry, little one," I merely shrugged in response, "he tends to just take off and reappear, he'll be back soon," picking up on my dejection, he gave my hand a slight squeeze, "at least you have wonderful company to help you pass the time,"

"I don't see Hector round here," I teased.

"I'm the good company, dickhead," he pouted, I couldn't help but giggle and roll my eyes.

"No way," I feigned shock, and his pout deepened.

As we laughed together, the familiar sound of apparation indicated to us that Fred was home. My eyes met his and my stomach lurched. Red. Red trickled from his nose to his lips, getting stuck in his teeth, dripping from his chin. His bottom lip was swollen, the socket around his eye purpling.

"Fuck," I breathed, hurrying to my feet. He briefly looked between George and I, before scowling and storming to his room, the slam of the door echoing round the flat. I looked to George, his face undoubtedly reflected the shocked expression I wore. A silent understanding passed between us, he nodded, rubbing his hands over his face before exiting to his own room.

Hesitantly, I approached Fred's door, hearing the sound of smashing glass and falling furniture. Knocking was futile, he wouldn't be able to hear anyway, so I opened the door, creeping in slowly, ensuring not to startle him. His room was in ruins. The glass of his mirror scattered along the floor, his dressing table overturned. I walked in on his fist colliding with the wall;

"Fuck," he yelled, collapsing onto his bed, burying his face in his hands, tugging at the roots of his hair.

"Freddie," I breathed, edging towards him. He flinched as I sat beside him, refusing to look my way. I took his hand, the smell of alcohol making my eyes burn, inspecting his knuckles, before pressing them to my lips. "Come on," I ushered, pulling him to stand, leading him to the bathroom, motioning for him to sit on the toilet seat. He complied, silently, still refusing to look at me. I cleaned his face, delicately wiping the blood from under his nose as he scowled towards the far corner of the bathroom, as though I wasn't there. Taking his hand, I started pulling put the shards of glass that lodged in his fingertips and knuckles.