ᴄᴏʀᴅᴜʀᴏʏ (fred weasley)

ꜱɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☽

Fred didn't take the news well at all. Denial. He didn't believe it from Angelina's mouth, she was a total, (what Lee Jordan would call), gobshite. From Angelina, the accusation of Lyra's death gently floated above the rough ocean, like a feather.

If anyone was to fabricate something so hard hitting, it would be her. She wasn't sure, surely? Lyra would become dispirited if he let Angelina Johnson get inside his head.

"Get out. You don't know what you're talking about." He snapped, after staring blankly at her for a time that seemed perpetual. Angelina's nostrils flared, turning to George with a stone cold expression. "He won't listen to me." She spat through gritted teeth.

"You wonder why?" Fred's leg bounced up and down, manipulating his locks.

She scoffed. "Fuck off, Fred. We're trying to set you free of this insanity."

George's eyelids compressed tightly against his eyes. He didn't stand up to Angelina, even for his own twin. The closest person he had, before Angelina- they'd spent every moment of every passing day within each-others presence. She caused a divide. Fred would never have been with a girl if his twin disapproved, his quick thought lead him on.

If George didn't like Lyra, would he be with her? Fuck, of course he would. But it'd been different, he saw straight through Angelina. He knew her intentions. His brother was too dumbfounded enough to be blindsided.

Hours after Angelina had dragged George out, Fred made his way downstairs. If anyone was to answer him, it'd be Xenophillius. He wouldn't lie about his daughters death, Luna was happily humming away in her bedroom a floor down, his nerves settled a little. Some normality, he thought.

We'll meet again, don't know where...
Don't know when.

The mellow vibrations of the muggle radio struck Fred by surprise. He stopped at the bottom step, running his hand down the birch wood beam. It had been painted with a placement of several white daisies, bumblebee's floating above the pollen.

In acute, swirly writing, the baby blue paint portrayed a neat '𝓁𝓎.𝓁𝓋𝑔𝒹.' He closed his eyes firmly, withdrawing a huge breath out. His feet fell onto the ground floor, the board slightly creaking, alerting Xenophillius of his sudden company. His head snapped around, his white hair taking flight before crashing against his face again.

Fred had never seen Lyra's mother, but he assumed she'd of been a spitting image. Xenophillius was dainty, with ivory silk waves and pale, tissue like skin. He was definitely a 'pretty man', but he lacked Lyra's natural elegance, as he tripped over a chair leg on his way towards Fred. He didn't possess the Lyra smile, full apple lips, angel like appearance. With this, he assumed Lyra inherited that from her mother.

Mr Lovegood fiddled at the pots, gazing outside the cracked window beside Fred. For a moment, he wondered if Xenophillius was to embrace him, perhaps it was a good sign.

But I know we'll meet again,
Some sunny day.
Keep smiling through,
Just like toy always do,
'Til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.

"How are you doing, sir?"

He coughed, clearing his throat.

"Never thought Lyra would be a Gryffindor, you know?" Mr Lovegood mumbled, inhaling deeply although breathing in the fumes of the sweet lyrics from the radio. They must of meant something to him, Fred was sure. Xenophillius was extremely easy to read, in his own opinion. Or perhaps he knew the Lovegood mannerisms all too well?