Fred was left standing in shock. It wasn't as if you had confessed your never-dying love for his sibling, but this was weird, it wasn't anything to anyone else, but to the two of you, it meant something. What that something was, he wasn't sure? You had picked George over him, maybe you had been doing that already and he hadn't noticed. How could he not have noticed? Did you truly prefer George? Did you... want George?
--
When you walked in you dropped George's hand and walked straight up to your room, to change. You trudged up the two flights of stairs that lead to Ginny's room. Flipping through your trunk, finding a strappy red top, and putting it on, you also came across your notebook. It was tattered and the leather was broken, it was also covered in little doodles, ink seeping into the scratches made by nervous fingers.
Inside was your soul. Every little thought that felt unimportant and every tiny feeling that felt minuscule to the world was scrawled inside the frayed pages of this book. Lyrics from songs you hadn't had the courage to share, verses from poems that made your heartbreak and heal altogether. Scribbled letters that criticise yourself, others that commend your ability to spill your sentiments onto the paper.
It was your dream or your hope that in the future maybe you could make it, that your songs could be heard, and they could mean something to strangers who have bled by themselves and held their bodies in the dark. You know what it's like and that's why you wanted, no needed, to stitch these broken flakes of humans with chords and melodies that soothed their crying.
Your hands placed the piece of you back in your trunk, covering it with a hoodie. It was secret and everything within wasn't ready to come out yet. The only people that knew about it were Hermione, Ginny and Fred. Although he probably doesn't remember anything about it. George was aware that sometimes you grabbed it out of your bag to write something in it, at random times in the day, but he doesn't know what it contains. Thinking about it, you weren't sure why you hadn't told him. Maybe sometimes you forget that they had different shades of brown in their eyes, and you were scared they were too similar, keeping him at arms distance sometimes made you feel safer, despite being more alone.
--
Downstairs, The Burrow was busy again. Molly was preparing a feast, she always fed you well. The smell of home-cooked food was still out of the ordinary for you, but you knew that when you went to go back to school it would be normal. It just took you a little while to get accustomed to.
You sit at the table, besides Ron and opposite Harry, Hermione to your left. Fred was sat at the opposite end, staring at the table, fascinating as it may be, you doubted that was what he was thinking about.
He was silent all throughout dinner, everyone noticed. It was hard not to when the rest of the table was more quiet than usual. But only you noticed that his appetite was diminished, it was one of those things that you didn't consciously realise you had kept track of all of these years, but you assumed it was another thing you had no control over. Leftover information about someone that once took up your entire head, now only leaving folders and files of information of them. Little quirks, catchphrases you sometimes catch yourself trying on. Little needly pricks that reminded you, you weren't his and he wasn't yours, he never was.
After dinner, you and Harry helped tidy up for Molly, as a little thank you. It was worth it when she saw and grinned, gratefulness radiating her,
"Thank you, y/n! and Harry darling, you didn't need to." Seeing the effect of such a small act on people made you feel happy, tinged with melancholy. Glad that you could make someone feel happy, but why couldn't that be enough for you? Your bones ached with yearning and yet you couldn't just enjoy the little things despite it all, why couldn't you enjoy something so simple? It made you dislike yourself a little more. As if you were ungrateful for all of the good around you because it was like you couldn't feel it. Seeing it but being numb to its effects.
Harry walked to the sofa and you followed him, sitting beside him on the plush cushions, taking one to wrap your arms around. Everyone was sitting around the muggle tv, Hermione appeared to be putting on a movie.
"What movie you putting on 'mione?" you asked.
"I'm thinking between La La Land or Mamma Mia." She replied. Squealing you jump over to her.
"I love those! But definitely La La Land!" you insisted, you had watched it last summer on the train to The Burrow. Well not to The Burrow, you had to get the train to London and then go to one of the floo fireplaces they had on platform 9 and 3/4s. The movie had quickly taken your interest, and you adored the music. Despite loving every minute, it was terribly sad, the story reflecting a part of your life a little too closely.
It wasn't until after the movie had started, all of the red-haired wizards marveling at the non-magic box projecting the story, that you realised that it was a little awkward. Well, only if Fred came to the same conclusion you did last year.
The last few minutes were coming, you could feel eyes on you. But when you turned to Fred he turned away. Fine then. Be like that. Idiot. Why was he even looking at you anyway? Was it about the movie? Fuck. Not realising that you were still looking at him, a pair of eyes met yours. The darkness of the room concealed everything but you could still see them. Him.
It didn't matter how many times you had looked at each other before, the second your stares catch each other, everything else seems to turn off. Or become white noise, none of that mattered, what mattered was you. He studied your expression, and you his, he seemed... empty? Maybe it was tiredness that had taken over his features, not distress. You were reading into it; it was a habit. The eyes you looked into then changed, swimming with something different; hopefulness? No, no-no. you couldn't do this, it was too soon to talk to him, the anger from earlier was still thrumming in your blood. No, he wasn't going to sweet talk his way out of this.
As soon as the credits rolled you sprung up from your seat. Glancing at the clock, it said it was 11:15, that's late enough to go to sleep. Ignoring the odd gazes that followed your retreating figure, just needing to get out of the suffocating air that Fred seemed to have trapped you in.
By the time Ginny and Hermione joined you, you had already brushed your teeth and washed your face, and tucked yourself in bed. Ginny was mumbling something to Hermione about the movie, and Hermione was rubbing her eyes, visibly exhausted.
"Goodnight guys." Ginny whispers as she stumbled into bed.
"Night." You mutter, wanting this day to be over. Hermione already appeared to have passed out, her curly locks fanning out on her pillow.
This was all perfect, except you weren't tired enough to doze off. Your mind, as was its tradition, was wide awake and buzzing with ideas, thoughts and obsessive voices. Melding themselves to the walls and making as much noise as possible until you got around to delving into each one.
The silence that shrouded the room was uncomfortably vulnerable. Not wanting to be kept inside it anymore, you got up and tiptoed downstairs, the whole house silent. A rare occurrence for the usually bustling atmosphere that deafened your thoughts, not doing so anymore.
When you reached the bottom of the flight of stairs, you heard voices, muffled arguing.
Fred and George.
YOU ARE READING
𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖉𝖞 // ғ.ᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
Romance"you know what the most heartbreaking part of it all is? i had to pick myself up and watch you fall in love with a girl, that i knew could never love you half as much as i wish i didn't." [a y/n x Fred Weasley fic] (is going to be re-edited and up...
