Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Thirty-Nine: Benediction

She saw him when she got to the castle, the whole Weasley family huddled together, even Ron and Bill and Fleur, Molly leaving rough kisses on each of their cheeks. He was just going in to hug Ginny as George was stepping back. Not wanting to interrupt, Sylvia stood in the entrance of the great hall, twisting her wand between her hands like a useless twig. She felt incredibly strange, with no one around to greet and hug and worry with. So she let her eyes wander around, trying not to stare as a girl no older than thirteen, with a head of curly pitch black hair cried uncontrollably into another girl's arms. From the back, Sylvia thought she looked just like her.

George saw her first, and he moved past his siblings to run up to her, throwing his arms around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. Sylvia laughed a little, but could hear her voice trembling.

"Hi," she smiled into his shoulder.

"Have you been alright?" He asked, his voice was so quiet.

She nodded and sniffed, "You?"

"Besides living with Aunt Muriel, yeah, we've been alright."

She laughed then and sniffed again. Her nose was running and her voice wouldn't level out, but she felt as though she couldn't cry even if she wanted to. Even if some poor little animal was killed right in front of her, not a single tear would fall from her eyes.

George let go and looked down at her with his brows drawn together, "He's been really on edge, lately. So just," he hesitated for only a split second, "know it's not you."

"What?"

He stepped around George, and stood there for a moment. He looked older, his hair hadn't been cut since the winter and he had lines under his eyes. She almost asked what had happened, if they'd been visited by Death Eaters at their aunt's house and received the same treatment Iain had given her last summer. His eyes were moving all over her face, like he had forgotten what she looked like. There was only a second's pause as he looked at her, but it was enough to make her be the first to move, wrapping her arms around his torso and pressing her cheek to his shoulder. He hesitated again, an entire aching second before he held her back, his hand on the back of her head. She felt him let out a breath and the muscles in his chest and back relax as his arms tightened around her.

She smelled the same. Some indescribable smell, the combination of her shampoo and her laundry detergent and her skin. And her hair was the same, not much longer, but enough to curl up in little piles on her shoulders when she raised them up to hug him tighter. He felt too weak, like he wasn't holding her close enough. It felt like he was in a dream or trying to run through water, something making his bones feel like they were made of paper.

She said something into his shoulder, he couldn't hear it, but felt her mouth move.

"What?" He said into her hair.

She shook her head and pulled back, holding his face in her hands and looking into his eyes. He felt like he was being held in front of a light, translucent and obvious. She was trying to find something there, and he tried to give her something, anything. To reassure her maybe, or just to let her have something physical to hold onto. He'd forgotten how big her eyes were. And how they were so dark they were almost black, like stones found in river beds, the kind that explode under heat. They might've been blue, he thought, or grey, but they were more than that. Black holes, more like, something that could suck you up and eat you whole.

She kissed him then, pressing her lips into his like it was just what they were meant to do. And they stayed like that for a moment before she pulled away again, her fingers pushing back the hair from his forehead and tracing over his brow and cheek bones and jaw. For the first time, her hands were warm.

He wished he had just let himself fall to his knees. That's what he felt like doing, going limp and letting her hold his head to her stomach like a helpless child. But George was putting his hand on her shoulder, gently, as if not to startle her, and he pursed his lips, "It's nearly dark," he said quietly, looking between her and Fred, "we should go."

He hadn't realized that people were pushing past them, filtering out into the rest of the castle in a swarm. He finally spoke, words coming up his throat and out his mouth easier than he thought it would be.

"Go with Angelina, in the dungeons. Kingsley will tell you—" he looked to George, "where's Kingsley?"

George shook his head and shrugged helplessly.

"Just go find her, alright?"

Sylvia's brows drew together and he felt her hand bunching up into his shirt around his arm, "Where will you be?"

He swallowed, suddenly feeling the concoction of anticipation and dread boil in his stomach and chest, "Secret passageways, seventh floor."

"I'm not going to the bloody basement," she said without any anger, but failed to control the tremble in her voice.

He held her by her shoulders and forced his eyes to find some focus between hers, "Please," he said, "you'll be okay down there."

"I don't care about that, what about you?"

"We need to go." George said, with an unusual strength in his tone, catching their father's eye as they followed the crowd.

Fred took Sylvie by the hand and pulled her behind him as he followed his family out. She was gripping his hand so tightly, she began to feel like an extension of him. They came to the stairs, and George stopped to squeeze her other hand in his.

"We'll see you soon, okay? Stay sharp down there. Don't let Peeves fuck with you."

He flashed a smile at her, but they all knew she could see straight through it. She gripped his hand hard and said through a tight jaw, "Don't you dare get hurt."

Fred had never seen his brother look so sober. His eyes went clear and his pupils were sharp pinpricks as he nodded, letting go of her hand and rushing up the stairs. Fred gave her hand a quick pulse, "Find Angelina, okay?"

Sylvia nodded and he turned to follow his brother, but was nearly yanked back down the steps. Her grip was like iron around his hand.

"Hey," she said sharply, and he turned back to look down at her. She blinked and breathed in like she was going to say something, but just swallowed.

Fred felt some invisible force wrap around his body and pull him towards her, down until his face was almost touching hers, their eyes shifting back and forth between one another's. She didn't have to say anything. So he kissed her. Long and sweet and true this time, so her arms scrambled up to wrap around his neck. And he held her as tight as he could, so much so he wondered if they'd ever be able to come apart. Everything seemed to blur around them, noises becoming muffled and fuzzy like distant radio static, and all he could hear was her breath in his ear when their kiss broke and they just held each other. He tried to remember the first time he'd ever touched her, or kissed her, or held her, but couldn't think about anything else than they way her body felt against his in that moment.

He said something, whispered it into her ear, just loud enough for only her to hear. And she nodded, sniffling before kissing him again.

"I love you, Fred." She said.

"I love you, Sylvie." He said back.