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fictionalboys-arebetter · 5 years

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Aftermath - Fred Weasley

A/N: Okay, this was my first ever request (yay!). So, @auwherefredisalive, I hope this is something like what you had in mind <3

Warnings: A bit of angst to begin with, but we all get a happy ending

Word count: 2,437. Yes, I got a little carried away. No, I’m not sorry.

It was done. The Dark Lord was defeated. But at what cost?

The rational side of you knew that in war, there is loss, there are people who will not return, whose sacrifices pave the way for the better future they fought for. That side of you was drowning, lost adrift in the crushing black of you despair. What was the cost, they asked?

Fred. Fred Weasley. There were other, of course, that you would mourn. Remus. Tonks. Lavender. Little Colin Creevey. But Fred Weasley was the highest price you paid for victory. The cost you didn’t think you could bear.

When they had gathered the fallen in The Great Hall, you had gone searching for him. You almost wished you hadn’t found him, not there. He’d looked as though he’d jump up at any moment and poke fun at you all for being emotional. And although you’d chastise him for his joke being ill timed and distasteful, you’d take that over the bitter reality you were left with.

Now, Voldemort was dead and everyone was celebrating, congratulating one another on a job well done, but you couldn’t feel anything except the crushing emptiness in your chest and the weight of the ring on your left hand, heavy with promises that would never be unbroken. Except…

The thought crossed your mind like a shadow, unbidden, as you sat blankly next to the shell of the man who was everything. For the first time since you’d seen his body, you looked, really looked, at those who surrounded you. There was relief, yes, but heartbreak too. Across the hall, Ron cast a look across his shoulder as he vanished out of the doors with Harry and Hermione, one last look to convince himself that his older brother wasn’t joking this time.

Charlie stood alongside Bill; Bill who was the oldest, battle hardened and scarred and brave. Bill who didn’t bat an eyelid after his attack by a werewolf, Bill who endured in quiet strength all that life threw at him. Charlie who was broad and strong, in both body and will, who stared down dragons as though it were sport. Bill and Charlie, who both seemed smaller in grief, who wept silently but unashamedly, arms around one another for the younger sibling they couldn’t protect. Because isn’t that your worst fear, that someone or something will come for your little brother and you won’t be able to save him?

Percy hovered, alone. Since his contrite return, things had been tense between him and the rest of the family, but still he remained close at hand. Sombre, ever watching. He had been there, he should have done something, he blamed himself. It was irrational, he knew, but he was finally home. He couldn’t bear to have that ripped away

Molly. It was Molly you could hear beside you, above the din. It was a sound that could only be made by a mother who had lost her child. You hoped that Voldemort would spend his eternity in hell forced to listen to that sound. Parents shouldn’t bury their children. She had been strong during the battle, she had the rest of her children to protect, she would lose no more. Now, she had sunk beneath the weight of her despair. No longer able to hold herself upright, Arthur stood with his hand on her shoulder, his other arm around a blank Ginny. Ginny who had been sure that all her brothers were invincible. His eyes shone with tears he would only shed in private, for his family needed him now, maybe more than they had ever needed him before.

You looked at George last, because you knew that the first glance at him would suck the breath from your lungs and leave you colder than any Dementor could ever hope to. In your years with Fred, you had picked up an almost singular ability to tell them apart at a glance, and yet you knew that you would only see his face, not George’s. He was across from you, holding his brothers hand. You were struck suddenly with the realisation that however painful it was to look down on Fred now, it would be worse for George. As you would see Fred’s face in him, he would see only his face, pallid and lifeless, when he looked at Fred. Except…

The thought scuttled across your mind again, stronger this time, louder. You sat stoic as the thought repeated on a loop, burrowing it’s way into your consciousness and you knew you would not rest again until you had tried.

Seven burning heads turned as you rose from you silent vigil, watching with curiosity as you stalked silently out of the door. No one followed you, no one knew how to help. They were all broken too.

You found Harry, Ron and Hermione just sitting outside on the remains of the staircase. You sat down beside Hermione. Sensing this did not involve them, the boys rose and headed back inside to face the aftermath of the battle.

“Did McGonagall keep that time turner you used in your third year?”

You did not turn, but you felt the rush of air across your face as she whipped round to look at you, incredulous.

“You cannot be serious, Y/N? Time travel is dangerous, not to mention illegal without prior approval. Look, I know it hurts, but there are consequences for this sort of thing, you could to Azkaban, you could-”

“I don’t care, Hermione!” Her jaw snapped shut, you had never raised you voice like that in all the years she’d known you. Being engaged to a prankster required a certain degree of patience, after all. “Do you understand that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain? I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t. Just tell me what I need to know, does she still have it and do you know where it is? I won’t ask you to be any more involved than that.”

Hermione paused, she’d always been known for her love of rules and order, but she hadn’t survived all this time without breaking a few rules (or laws, for that matter) and she recognised desperation when she it, although it was a look she’d never seen on you before.

Her hesitation bolstered you, and you continued, “I have to try, ‘Mione. I have to. I’ll go insane if I don’t. I love him. I was supposed to have a life with him, to have a family and grow old and grey with him by my side. I can’t just let that go. Not if there’s a chance, any chance, that I can still have that. If it doesn’t work, there will be nothing left of me for them to break. If it works, I’ll take whatever punishment they need to give me. Hell, I’ll march into Azkaban myself if that’s what you want!”

For the first time that day, the numb feeling inside of you gave way to a sadness you knew had the power to consume you as you saw it in your minds eye, the life you so desperately wanted.

“I think she still keeps it in her office,” Hermione sighed, still not sure if this was the right thing.

You called your thanks over your shoulder as you hurried inside. Years spent running amok through these halls guided you as you let a small shard of hope pierce the black veil in your heart. It had to work. There was no other option. It had to.

Luckily, McGonagall’s office was relatively untouched, until you got there. You scoured the room from top to bottom, turning out draws and emptying cupboards with reckless abandon until you came to a shuddering halt. It almost glowed from within the desk drawer in the fading light of the afternoon, looking every inch as magical as you knew it to be.

You trembled with nerves as you hooked the thin chain around you neck, and you counted internally as you turned the charm over in your fingers.

One.

Two.

Three.

That should be enough, just enough. As time sped back in reverse and then stilled around you, you shot out of the room. Again, into the fray, you thought, mustn't be seen.

The chaos of the battle raging in full swing had you filled with anxiety, but was actually rather helpful in this endeavour. No one would really be paying attention to you, easier to slip through without causing any time-line altering catastrophes. Room of Requirement, that’s where Percy had said they were. Where it happened.

As you sped through the crumbling halls, dodging curses and death eaters alike, it occurred to you that you’d embarked on this impulsive journey without truly planning how you would change things. Damn Fred and his influential spontaneity, you thought without truly meaning it. It was through a surprising source that inspiration struck you. You recalled how all Voldemort had cast an invisible protection spell on that god awful snake of his, how everything that would harm her had bounced off until the charm was lifted when he believed Harry to be dead. That will do.

You skid to a halt, breathless and aching just around the corner. Pressing yourself into the wall, you dared a glance. Even after all this time, the sight of Fred Weasley set you alight, heart racing. He was joking aloud to Percy as he threw curses around effortlessly.

You set to work, muttering protective charms under your breath as you focused on him. This had to work. Once you were done, you cast a final glance at his face, and turned back into the shadows. You couldn’t stay, if this didn’t work, if you had to see the moment he left you, you would never recover. Knowing you couldn’t be seen until after you reached the point in time that you’d used the Time Turner, you picked your way through the madness back to McGonagall’s office. Once again, you found solace in the dark corners cast by the stone walls of the castle, and you waited. Lifetimes seemed to pass before you heard frantic footsteps, and watched yourself barrel into the office.

Moment of truth.

There was an eerie calm about the castle as you headed back to the Great Hall. You were torn between running there and dragging your heels, unsure what to expect. You strained your ears, listening for Molly’s anguished wails. Nothing.

The closer you got, the more that ringing silence seemed to lighten you, and you found yourself flat out, crashing into the doors and counting the flaming heads scattered across the room.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Nine. That was it, the magic number, the full house.

“And where have you been, love? War’s over, or haven’t you heard?”

You could hear the laughter in his voice. The voice that ran through you like hot butterbeer on a December morning, burning through your veins and sending your blood signing like the strongest Firewhiskey.

And then he was right there in front of you, in the sharpest focus and the brightest colours. He tiled backwards as you sailed at him, arms tight around his neck, tears wet against his skin. He shared a puzzled look with George as his arms wound instinctively around your waist, holding you tight to him. He would speak of it to no one, but it soothed him to have you in his arms. Fear had spiked through him when you weren’t with the others, and he’d scoured the faces of the fallen, relieved when he hadn’t found yours.

“Hey now,” he pulled back to look into your eyes, “what’s all this?”

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” your voice barely broke above a whisper, eyes glistening anew as you drank him in. He was battered, bruised and cut, dirty and covered in dust, but you would swear for the rest of your life that this was his most beautiful moment.

Fred wasn’t easily surprised, but he was taken aback by the intensity when you kissed him. Your lips were chapped, but soft against his, yet he felt that you had never kissed him like this before. It set him ablaze, fire rising beneath his skin until he thought it would consume him, but he did not pull away. Not until neither of you could breath, and even when he did, he did not move away from you. He wound his arm tight around your shoulder and anchored you to his side as he turned to his family, pointedly ignoring the raise eyebrow from Charlie and the smirk from George.

They were your family too, you thought, as your eyes scanned over them once more. The scene could not have been any more different from a few hours ago. There were tears, still, but of relief and joy. There were smiles and hugs in place of broken hearts and shattered dreams.

You knew, of course, that no one else would ever know of what you had done. You would never tell them, this was your truth to guard. You would give yourself this day, this day to impart into him how close you came to losing him, to tell him without words that you would not go on without him. And then you would let it go, you would not let what almost was take what would be. Voldemort and his fanatics had taken enough from you all, he would not get to take your wedding, your family, your future. You would not let him ruin you from beyond the grave.

Fred instinctively focused his gaze down to where you rested your head on his chest as he felt you turn upwards to look at him.

“Let’s not wait, Freddy. Let’s get married now.”

He didn’t need to answer with words, his blinding smile as he leaned down you kiss you again was enough to send Molly off into a fountain of happy tears, thoughts of weddings and grandchildren dancing in her head.

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp #hp imagines

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barpurplewrites · 5 years

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Femur Fuss

There is something wrong with one of St Barts skeletons.

-x-x-x-

Molly didn't often come up to the lecture halls any more. The classes she supervised required were practical and needed either the lab or the morgue. She'd forgotten how different this floor smelt to the morgue. This was the floor of faint chemicals, books and a hint of student panic. The memories of her own studies here had been supplanted by the Day of the Fall. Why did Mike want to meet her up here?

She found Stamford in the main lecture hall. He was staring at the Eddy the Deady. Not that the new crop of students called the skeleton in the corner that; he was back to being Yorick again; they were a serious and sombre bunch this year, and that always worried Molly. The serious and sombre ones tended to burn-out fast.

“What's up Mike?”

He gave her a small smile, but his eyes flicked back to Eddy quickly; “Molly am I going crazy, or does Chris look different?”

“Chris?”

“Yeah, after Christopher Lee, although half my year insisted on calling him Bela. John Watson included, pfft.”

Molly grinned, the Hammer versus Universal debate always split the year group when general consensus named the skeleton for one of the classic horror greats. Personally, she liked both, which put her in a minority that confused people.

“My year called him Eddy the Deady,” - she stepped closer and frowned, something wasn't right here, - “can I?”

Mike shifted out of the way so Molly could get a better look at Eddy's right femur. Ah, so there hadn't been a mix-up putting his thigh bones back last time he'd been taken out for a jolly.

“I don't think you're going crazy, Mike. These are not Eddy's femurs. Erm, can you help me lift him down? We need to check his ID numbers.”

-o0o-

Sherlock strolled into the morgue and tilted his head at the remains laid out on a trolley.

“This is McCoy from the main lecture hall.”

Molly stretched and smothered a yawn with her hand; “It is now. Been on a bit of an adventure. Always knew you were a Star Trek fan.”

The frown on his face wasn't convincing in the slightest, and he clearly knew it because he didn't try to fib about the reason behind the name.

“What adventure did the students take him on this time?”

“Wasn't the students, for a change. Turns out the orthopaedics department has been making a stop-motion film of Eddy and their skeleton Hector. It's pretty good, but they got a few of the bones mixed up after their stars fell apart during a difficult scene.”

“They didn't think to check the serial numbers?” - all display skeletons in St Barts had each bone marked with a four digit number, it saved a lot of time when bits went missing, hard for even the slowest member of the Met not to notice and realise that this wasn't a murder case, All the staff would know about the numbers, so why the error, oh, - “Of course they didn't, because they were more than a little drunk at the time.”

Molly just laughed; “Yep, every good story involving Eddy the Deady has alcohol in there somewhere.”

Sherlock gently tapped his finger against the clean break in the skeleton's left femur. Posthumous, very posthumous; neatly repaired with a metal pin; not by a surgeon, by someone used to handling dead bones; ah...

“How much alcohol had you had when this happened?”

Molly gave the repair a sad smile; “I was stone cold sober when I made the repair, and when I threw the text book that caused the break.”

He waited, he knew that tone, this had something to do with the Fall. He didn't even try to deduce the reason Molly had been angry enough to hurl a textbook, and she must have been very angry to cause this sort of damage. Damn it, stop deducing, get an apology ready. Why? Stupid question, this is about the Fall, therefore you are the cause of whatever caused her upset.

Molly patted his hand; “It was the anniversary. I'd gone upstairs for, well, sentiment, and a Kitty Riley wannabe cornered me, asking all the usual rubbish about you and John, and your cases. I just lost it, started chucking textbooks at them until they made a run for it. The reporter tried to press charges, but Mycroft did his thing.”

“He didn't tell me.”

“Why would he? It wasn't important.”

Sherlock's throat felt thick, he tried to turn his hand under Molly's to hold her and tell her of course she was important, but she'd already moved away.

“Come on help me get Eddy back in place and then I'll show you the interesting intestines of Mr Saunders.”

A delighted smile came quickly to his face, and he moved to the foot of the trolley to kick the wheel locks off; “Is this the sort of interesting that would put your colleagues off red meat for a week?”

“Nope.”

Together they started moping the trolley, Molly pushing and steering, while Sherlock pulled.

“A parasite?”

“Nope.”

“Give me some data about Mr Saunders.”

“Nope.”

“Molly!”

Stamford watched Molly and Sherlock make their way up to the lecture hall, Chris grinned from his trolley between them, as they bickered and bantered. Mr Moholkar, head of orthopaedics, peered over his shoulder and huffed.

“When will those two realise they are married in all but name?”

Mike shook his head; “No idea. So, about this film your lot have been making...”

#sherlolly #Sherlock Holmes #Molly Hooper #fluff

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