Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Thirty-Eight: Homecoming

They woke late, but it was so dark outside it felt like the middle of the night. Heavy clouds about to bubble over with rain hung low in the sky. Sylvia didn't have many things, a suitcase and Pigeon in his little cage, but she still found herself scrambling around the house looking for a lost sock or a pair of gloves or a missing shoe.

"Don't stress about it, okay?" Fred said, watching her get down on all fours to look under the bed, "We'll be back here soon."

He felt like a hypocrite. An awful nauseating tightness had twisted his stomach since the day before. He wasn't sure when he'd be back at the Burrow, if it would be burned down by Death Eaters again, if he'd have to live with Aunt Muriel for the rest of his life.

They stood in the living room, stepping into the fireplace one after another. Molly was crying silently, holding her floppy suitcase up to her chest with both arms, but she smiled still as she managed to take a handful of floo powder and throw it at her feet. Arthur went next, then George. Sylvia stopped him before he went in, pulling him into a hug. She could tell he was looking at Fred as he let out a small surprised laugh.

"I'll see you on the other side, Sylvie." He rubbed his free hand over her back and smiled down at her, "Aunt Muriel's going to hate you."

Sylvie laughed and let go, touching her hand mindlessly to the side of her neck. It was still sore, but the bruises had begun to fade.

"After you," Fred said once George had gone, nodding towards the fireplace. Sylvia licked her lips and cleared her throat. 

"Fred, I'm... not going." She spat out the last words quickly, almost hoping he wouldn't understand. 

But he did, turning to her with his brows knit and his eyes wide, "What?"

She could feel the jerking sobs that waited in her chest, but she swallowed them away, looking in his eyes for understanding. They flicked between hers, unable to dissect her thoughts. So she took his face in her hands and ran her thumbs over his cheeks.

"You aren't coming?" He said finally, his voice low but quiet.

She closed her mouth tight and shook her head, fighting back the tears that pooled in her waterlines.

"No," she whispered, "I'm going to my mother."

She sniffed and felt her breath catch, threatening to choke out a sob, "I won't be far," she cleared her throat and let her hands pet over his hair and face, "And I'll be there when everything comes together."

He didn't ask her what she meant when she said that, they both felt it was a long time coming, a static electricity in the air like that before a storm. The light that reflected off his pupils quivered as they moved over her face, and she found herself doing the same to him, her eyes soaking in every small detail. Gold streaks in his hair, the freckles in his eyes, the perfect straightness of his nose, she memorized it all.

"I'm not leaving you, okay?" She had no breath and her voice came out nearly silent, "I'm not leaving you."

He nodded, "I know."

"I'm not leaving you." She said again, tears streaming down her cheeks in little rivers, but she refused to let her breath hitch in a sob, "I'm going to see you again. Very soon."

She tried to smile through her last words, but a shaky inhale caused her to bite her lips together and sniff hard. He wasn't touching her and it made her want to just lay down and die. A muscle in his neck jumped and he blinked quickly, clearing his throat as his eyes grew reflective and wet. The scrunch between his eyebrows brought the lump in her throat closer to her mouth, but she forced it down with a swallow and stood on her toes to kiss him. His hands held her face then and she kissed him again, lips salty from her tears.