I Know The End {Fred Weasley, ACT I}

Chapter 42- A Lost Sensation

Fred was still pacing when she opened the door to the Charms' classroom. He hadn't bothered to light the candles in the empty classroom, instead opting to pace in the moonlight. He stopped walking as she entered, closing the door quietly behind her, and faced her with his hands behind his back. She couldn't make out his expression in the dark.

"It's dark," Eleanor said after a moment, unsure of how else to begin the conversation.

Fred nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is. Incendio." And with the simple incantation, the candles burst to life, illuminating the room and Fred.

He looked the worse for wear. His eyes were alive with the frenzy that often came hand in hand with a lack of sleep, the bags under his eyes having deepened since she'd last laid eyes on him. His robes were wrinkled as though he'd been sleeping in them, and even his hair appeared to have dulled from its usual fiery red. She didn't think she looked much better, but at least she was sleeping.

Because while Fred needed to stay up all night to relive memories that had once resided within him, she could do so in her dreams. It was waking, not sleeping, that had become so difficult for Eleanor Potter.

"It took you a while to get here." The words were not accusatory, nor harsh, but simply that of fact. Selfishly, Eleanor wished there had been more emotion behind the statement, that her delayed arrival had stirred feelings, anxiety even, but there was nothing there to analyze. She shouldn't have been wishing worry upon him in any case. She simply wanted some sign that he cared, and his lifeless tone wasn't helping matters.

"Angelina wanted to talk really quick. We've pushed her to the backburner for so long, I just..." Eleanor trailed off. The old fire that used to burn in anger at Fred's treatment of Angelina was cropping back up and she wanted to quell it before she said something she regretted.

"Oh, good. I'm glad you talked to her. I've been worried about her," Fred said with a sigh of relief. The fire in her heart transformed from red to green as jealousy filled her. Always Angelina. It didn't matter that Eleanor had also been worried about Angelina. It didn't matter that Fred had sworn up and down that his feelings for Angelina had always been platonic. The monster always cropped back up eventually, and it made her sick.

"Yeah, me too. I think we worked it out. Her and I." Not her and you, Fred.

They're good friends, he's allowed to be worried about her, a rational voice made it's case, and Eleanor was thankful for the sanity in the statement.

"I'm sure she'll talk to you when she's ready," Eleanor offered, ignoring her nagging insecurities.

"I'll wait," Fred shrugged, "if that's what she needs."

Just as Eleanor had waited for Fred.

"So..." Eleanor began, seating herself atop the desk closest to her.

"I stole Dumbledore's pensive," Fred interrupted, "that's how I've been able to watch all those memories. There's a lot of them. Some are things from before... things I still remember."

"How'd you manage stealing something like that from the Headmaster's office?"

"That's not the point," Fred dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand, "the point is – I have the memories now, I've seen them, but I still don't remember."

"What do you mean?"

"Memories are more than just broken images playing in your head," he explained. "It's how you felt, the smell of the air, what you were thinking. Memories are a collection of your senses and I only have pieces. I know that these things happened, but I don't necessarily remember how they made me feel. I can make a good guess, but it's not the same as it was in the moment. It's like losing the memory of what your favorite food tasted like. You know you ate it, and often, but the reason why is lost upon you."