The Girl who Survived (Fred Weasley)

CH 94. A Realization

A/N: Hello my Lovely Lovies,

So this chapter was going to go up last night, but during editing, I realized I didn't like it as much as I wanted to, so I changed it, and added to it, and added and added, until I had almost a 10 page word doc. 

I've said it before, and it's a hill that I will live and die on. There will be times we love characters in this story, and there will be times we hate characters in this story. It's a part of life and it's what makes this story more believable to me as far as human behavior and action. 

So, without diving in too deep, I want to say thank you for voting, liking, giving kudos, leaving comments and sharing the story, all in addition to liking it and sticking with it. Grab your snacks (I have mini Peanut butter cups from trader joes) and a drink (I have agave lemonade from Panera bread) and lets dive in.

Love and Weasley's Wizards Wheezes,

Val

Sometimes we need to be told something for it all to make sense. Sometimes, words aren't needed to cause a realization at all. 

~Elodie's POV~

Time seemed to move differently. Though during a period of mourning, such is usually the case. Owls had been sent, arrangements had been made, and plans were set into motion. All done, while time seemed to pass me by. Though, no matter how fast the hours and days ticked by, I never seemed quite able to move fast enough. Not in a way where I could quite catch my breath.

I'd sent an owl to Petunia, needing only a confirmation before I knew what I was planning would even work. I'd spoken with Remus and Mad Eye, confirming that the Dursley's would be out of the house on the eve of Harry's 17th birthday. That was sufficient time for everyone to be packed up and gone.

Though Harry had mentioned wanting to go to Godric's hollow, I couldn't help but get the feeling that what he was looking for there wasn't what he would find. I didn't want to disregard any feelings he may have been experiencing, or any memories he may have felt he had. But it wasn't his home, the way it had been mine.

He'd never sat at their graves after school, trying to make sense of it all.

"Would you like me to put a different record on?" Fleur asked as she entered Bill's old room, where Bill scanned over an issue of the daily prophet as I turned the page on my copy of Odyssey.

The new Radiohead album spun, filling the space with a song that encapsulated the idea that when we go out into the world, we could be killed at any moment. Relevant. And slightly poetic. It wasn't my usual taste, But Bill seemed to like it, and as he was still on the mend, I didn't mind in the slightest.

"You're awfully quiet today," Bill said as he reached for one of the cinnamon scones Fleur had arranged on a platter. He began dipping it into his teacup filled with French Earl Grey. In all the time I'd been spending here, I didn't have the heart to tell Fleur how much I detested it.

"Aren't I always though?" I said, loading an atrocious amount of cream and sugar into my teacup. Hoping that it would make drinking it bearable. Making it enjoyable was far out of reach. Raising the cup to my lips I'd realized how wrong I had been in that rationality.

"Quite the opposite actually," Bill said, sounding rather cheeky as he flashed me a wildly toothy smile. The gashes had been healing rather well, leaving him now with the scarring. He'd been a trooper the entire time. Never showing weakness or pain. I could only hope for such self control.