𝖠𝖱𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤𝖣 | 𝖥𝖱𝖤𝖣 𝖶𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖫𝖤𝖸

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐘'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

❝ 𝑴𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊𝒗𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰'𝒎 𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖.❞  — 𝑻𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒕.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

During the following days, Lilith spent her time after work taking care of an ill Fred. As she had guessed, her mother had poisoned him with a special poison that caused the flu and even if she had assured him a couple of times that he, in fact, wouldn't die, Fred was still a little too dramatic for his own good.

However, both were also putting some distance in between them in order to protect themselves from the obvious flame of attraction that they felt. Fred still hesitated whenever Lilith approached him with that facet of not wanting to harm him because, at the end of the day, in his current state of vulnerability, he was putting his life in the enemy's hands and Lilith was putting her own ego away and taking care of the man that had spent his entire teenage years being incredibly keen on setting them as rivals.

If someone had told any of them Lilith Arambella would be preparing soups and giving medicines to an exhausted Fred Weasley who was barely able to stand up by himself, both would have probably thought that person was bonkers and such a situation could never happen even in their wildest dreams — the truth was that this new world they were living in was pushing facets of themselves not even them knew before.

Fred, for who to be in bed all day had forced him to keep his mind entertained by thinking and thinking all over again, considered this situation somehow even melancholic. He had spent all these years ordering himself to hate Lilith, to put every possible barrier between the two of them — first, because of the profound hate the Prewett family felt for every single Snape, and then, because of her betrayal, forcing himself to go against everything he wished the most in the world. He had never fallen in love, he had always been too much of a free soul to do it, too focused on having fun and enjoying the present day to even think about giving someone else that heart of his that was still learning how to beat, but he had met obsession and passion with Lilith Arambella in the deepest and most feral way someone could ever think of.

There was melancholy drowning his heart whenever he looked into Lilith's eyes and thought about every what if that crossed his mind — what if I had not forced myself to hate you? What if I had opened my arms to you before the war started, would you have still broken me? What if Voldemort hadn't won, would I finally have decided to be free and love you? What if I was someone else and you were someone else, in another world, out of strings, no weight on our backs, no past, just you and me?

Not even ill, his mind gave him a rest.

He was no longer that 15-year-old boy who loved to mess with Lilith just for the sake of seeing her angry and please that voice in his head that told him to hate her, now, he was a 20-year-old man who didn't know what to do with the woman in front of him, with the feelings that she provoked in him, with that consuming and heavy sensation in his heart whenever he was forced to remind himself who she was and who he was.

While he was in his room, looking at the ceiling and scratching his belly while being shirtless because of the bloody warmth in that room. He knew the room wasn't actually warm, it was just a product of the flu, and he also knew Lilith would tell him off if she saw him not under the covers.

As if he had summoned her with his thoughts, the door of his dorm opened and Lilith appeared with a couple of meds, a water bottle and a little bowl with some fresh fruits cut in pieces.