NOIR - [Fred Weasley]

25. Doctor Frankenstein

✻ When she finds out, he's just as sneaky as she is.

Diagon Alley was only a shadow of its former self.

The eccentric wizarding market, full of colors, laughter and hope, was now but a dusty, dark, dangerous neighbourhood, with but a few residents still living there. The ones that could afford to leave, had done so immediately after the death of Minister Scrimgeour. The former leader's assassination was a clear sign that a new era had dawned in the wizarding world; one that fuelled Lizl with rage more than anything else.

One of the only semi-functioning shops were Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. In an effort to salvage any piece of normalcy that they had left, the twins had decided to keep the store going - sending out orders only by owl. While production was low and tedious, it still gave them something to do to distract themselves from the hopelessness they felt.

They wouldn't be Fred and George Weasley though, without a secret up their sleeves. With the help of the remaining members of the Order, they had aided in setting up various safe-houses around Britain I case things got worse. Granted, they aunt Muriel wasn't entirely happy when her least favorite nephews showed up and asked to turn her house into a bed and breakfast for wanted criminals, but they did manage to persuade her. Taking further advantage of their aunt's gracious hospitality — with the help of Lee Jordan — they had set up their newly finished magical radio, and had even started broadcasting a few minutes every day.

Lizl was proud of them. And a little envious.

While the twins were out there working against Voldemort's forces, all she got, was news of unhappy "Lair" citizens who were itching to get out of the neighbourhood. A few had moved away; some of which had joined Voldemort's forces, while others had disappeared in the middle of the night. If they were dead, their demise was on her. Liz was sure of it. Guilt wrapped around her throat like a vine, closing her airway little by little.

The first time she had a panic attack, it was the middle of the night.

She had awoken in their bed, all alone. Fred was downstairs in the workroom, tinkering on the radio with George.

Her brain had awaken before her body. She willed her eyes to open, but couldn't see a thing. The duvet felt more like a furnace, caging her numb limbs underneath its fiery fist. Blindly, she tried to reach for her wand, but her arm was not responding. Thankfully, her magic did. In the midst of her panic, she had willed a small flower pot by the window to fly across the room, and crash against the wall. The sound of the clay smashing jolted her body just enough to break her from her sleep.

She didn't tell Fred what happened. She made some half arsed excuse, claiming she changed the sheets and her pyjamas in the middle of the night because she got too hot. She claimed the flower pot was just an accident; she had only meant to move it slightly, but her magic malfunctioned.

Fred knew she lied. Lizl never got too hot during the night. In fact, she would get so cold, she'd snuggle next to him like a koala, and insist on grabbing an extra large blanket because the weight felt comforting. That's why he had ended up sleeping without a shirt every night. He also knew that it took Lizl years to move a small object even by a couple of inches. There was no way she could've accidentally thrown the pot across the room like that.

Ever since that first night, wheneve Lizl's throat would get too tight, and her stomach would drop, Fred would hug her tight and talk. Just talk. She couldn't exactly tell what he was saying half the time, but the sound of his voice would slowly ease her worrying mind. She'd hear him talking about the kids that they were going to have, and how he'd have to learn French, because of course they'd be raised bilingual, just like their mother. Other times, he'd talk about their wedding by the beach, and how fun it'd be with Jonathan as the man of honor. Sometimes, he'd just start analysing a new product him and George were thinking of making. It didn't really matter what the words were. In the end, all Lizl cared about was felling the vibrations of his chest against her back, the sound of his voice filling her racing mind. Just being enveloped in his love was all she needed.