𝖠𝖱𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤𝖣 | 𝖥𝖱𝖤𝖣 𝖶𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖫𝖤𝖸

𝐋𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍

___________

Fred was tired — the hardness of Azkaban seemed to have added ten years to his back and while he wanted to think his mind was keeping strong, he could feel how little by little he was starting to crawl to madness.

It started with all his happy memories being twisted into tragic moments of his life, probably caused by the Dementors around him, and then it continued with a constant sentiment of sorrow and nostalgia whenever he thought about Lilith or his family — where were his parents? Where was George? Was Ginny safe? — and now he was brushing the limit of hallucinations and paranoia.

His mind was tricking him into seeing his loved ones everywhere in that fucking prison. And it was killing him on the inside, to think they were so close, but at the same time, so far.

There was no day in which Fred didn't think about escaping, about freeing his family and getting the fuck out of that hovel never to look back. But he knew better, Fred knew that he was no animagus like Sirius had been when he left this same cell, there were too many guards and dementors for him to handle them by himself and he didn't have many sympathisers in Azkaban that would be up to help him. Besides, the consequences of his break-out could be devastating for the woman he loved the most in the world, and the last thing Fred would do is hurt Lilith again. 

It was hard to keep his natural impulsivity under control, but for her, he would do it. He would sacrifice himself a thousand times more if that meant she was safe.

It wasn't easy, though. He still carried the pain of the Sectumsempra in his bones and, especially, in his skin. The wounds -- now healed but pretty much visible -- were splashed all over his body making him look like a jigsaw of reddish whippings. The Death Eaters had healed them to keep him alive, but they made sure Fred endured the pain of each and every single one of those wounds.

Life in prison was hard, especially those dead hours he spent just looking at the four walls surrounding him, thinking and re-living every mistake he had ever done and every tragedy he had ever lived while covering with his fingertips his own scars over and over again.

However, today was not a normal day in Azkaban for Fred Weasley. He just didn't know it yet.

That cold morning of January 2000, Fred was woken up by the sound of his cell being open — unlike the other prisoners who were considered less dangerous, the Weasleys and other members of the Order rotting in Azkaban had been sent to the few Muggle cells in the prison, just as Sirius Black the second time he was imprisoned.

"Weasley," one of the guards spoke, "You have a visitor."

And before the ginger boy could even wonder who that said visitor was, Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into his cell with that murderous look she loved to carry and brag out.

Fred had not thought about breaking out of Azkaban — he feared his family would pay the consequences — but seeing the Lestrange woman in front of him, the murderer, the deadliest of all Death Eaters, he wanted to look for every single hole in the cell and make himself tiny so he could escape. Nonetheless, he stood still, brave Gryffindor.

"Oh, look! It's Weasley's Freddie boy who we have in here! My, my, dearest blood traitor, have you come to play?" she spoke with that cursed childish tone of her tinted with a threatening hint that didn't escape from Fred's ears.

If Fred thought Circe was scary, then Bellatrix was terrifying. Unlike the Snape woman, Lestrange had nothing nor anyone holding back her madness and after more than twenty years of being Voldemort's right hand, there was no doubt she had dedicated her entire life to him and his bigoted madness.