Wicked Love | Fred Weasley

Chapter 23

Year 5
(From book 3-Prisoner of Azkaban)

⚠️Um definitely curse warning, death?, mentions suicide-ish, and abuse warning as well⚠️

There’s some backstory as well. 

Why the fuck is this nasty ass rat out here, I thought he fucking died.

No he did die, Hermione and Ron weren’t talking for weeks. I looked at the fully stunned and body-binded Scabbers I was holding up by the tail, he looked absolutely terrified. I didn’t blame him, the forest he probably just came out of was a terrifying place- but that didn’t mean it didn’t hold beauty as well. I always had a strong dislike for Scabbers and I didn’t know why, maybe it was because Percy was his previous owner.

I started walking back around the lake, towards the castle. The moons placement had risen by quite a bit since the last time I checked, signaling it was around midnight. Damnit, I wanted to be back at the castle by eleven so I could merge with the people who finished the Astrology exam.

I was barely a third of the way there before I felt the odd tingling sensation that someone- or something- was close to me. I turned around slowly, being as quiet as possible and saw a large almost hairless creature sniffing around back where I had been ten minutes earlier. It took all my self control not to cry out- it was a werewolf. I was not unfamiliar with them, but I did have a terrible history with them.

I was actually surprised when my boggart didn’t turn into one.
Right on my tenth birthday my Grandmother had been killed by a rouge werewolf- right in front of me. I was traumatized. My parents said I could pick anywhere I wanted to go for my double digits; and I chose a muggle park. Nothing magical and I even pleaded they didn’t bring wands, so I could see what it would be like for one day. I regret everything about that day.

I started to hate myself. And the trend just kept happening. Every year something bad would happen right on my birthday- or around it. My dad became abusive when I turned eleven and my grandfather had died from grief. I started to believe it was all my fault and fell into depression, well at least I was diagnosed with it.

It wasn’t like it was all that bad, in fact it never overwhelmed me often. Sometimes it hurt to breath, but still. The only time it hurt too much to handle was when I tried to use an Unforgivable Curse on myself- the death curse. It didn’t work obviously, you can’t use Unforgivable Curses on yourself, but at the time I didn’t know that.

My one constant was George, Lee, and Fred. And now Padfoot was becoming part of that family. They made everything bearable with their shit humor and loving personalities. They knew mostly everything about me, the only thing I kept a secret was my father. I knew my father wasn’t really like that, he was just… well he was in grief. Ironic. 

“I’m not saying his actions were justified, but he wanted someone to blame that would retaliate back- I’m sorry that it just happened to be you.”

Those weren’t just my words- they were my mother’s words as well. I can’t even begin to recall the amount of times hearing those words spill out of my mothers mouth in a desperate attempt to make it apparent it wasn’t my fault- and I had passed the same advice to Hermione just a month earlier.

In all honesty I had become stronger because of what I went through and it would take a miracle to drag me back down to the dark place I had desperately clawed myself out of.

But right now, I couldn’t fucking move. A million thoughts pierced in my mind as I could barely breathe and looked at the werewolf. It’s nails digging into the girth of the earth and its dark eyes were glinting in the moonlight, seemingly harmless right now. My heart softened, whoever they were; they were just another victim in the cruelness of the world.