𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 | f. w

xii. a miserable sod*

chapter twelve
A MISERABLE SOD

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This chapter contains mentions of self harm, blood, and emotional trauma. Please read with caution.

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🥀

Fred's pov

Flashback four years ago

» » IT'S BEEN DAWNING ON ME that she's not coming back. After all, she was the one who decided to leave at a time like this, and despite how much I hope I'm wrong, I don't think she will come back. Not anytime soon, at least. She made that perfectly clear the moment she stepped foot outside the Burrow.

I tried writing to her after she left. Hell, I felt so desperate to get in touch with her that not a single day went by that I didn't write to her. Of course, I never actually sent any of the letters, I guess I was too angry at that point. Angry at her for leaving just like that, and a time like that. Angry at the world for taking the two people I loved the most from me, and angry at my myself for not convincing her to stay.

But most of all, I was angry at the fact that I still loved her.

Despite what she did, how she broke mine and my family's heart, I still loved her. Perhaps a little too much for my own good.

So I tried — for my own sanity — to forget about her. To picture my life without her by my side. Without her vacant stares and snide remarks. Her entrancing eyes and contagious laugh.

Of course, it was to no avail.

No, I could never forget about Edith Gannon.

She was the love of my life, and even though she hurt me something tremendously, I never once thought I'd be able to love someone else the way I loved her.

So I guess I was doomed for misery.

I spent however many months trapped in my own mind. Vigorously looking for something that could take my mind off her, al though nothing ever could.

I tried pretending like I was fine, that I wasn't utterly heartbroken by what had happened with my brother and her. I was pretending as if I hadn't lost my mind, nightmares plaguing me each night.

I know I wasn't doing a very good job at putting up that facade. My parents and siblings were well aware of my nightmares and my broken heart. Hell, they did their very best in trying to mend it somewhat, despite their own lack of sanity.

Yes, they tried reaching out to me. My siblings would come to the flat to make sure I wasn't dead already and both my parents sent me heaps of letters. They did their best, I just wasn't ready yet.

If only they knew what I was doing to myself to try and make the pain go away.

By the end of the year, I was drinking as a form of coping mechanism. I guess I was trying to take my mind off of everything, and the only thing that seemed even remotely close to helping me with that, was the alcohol.

I spent however many hours by the bar in Hog's Head, sulking and chugging down copious amounts of Fire Whiskey, and when I wasn't doing that, well, then I was sat in my flat, drinking Fire Shots and smoking muggle cigars. I guess I was old school like that.

I was miserable to no end, and it was clear to anyone I came across that I was a mess. I could never bother to fix up my appearance and my now pale, almost grey tinted face, was  almost always covered in crystal tears. Based on my overall allure, you would think I was going mad.

Because I practically was.

The nightmares that plagued my mind at night made it impossible to not be tired all the time. Not that I cared, at that point I was too preoccupied with self-pity that I couldn't be bothered. They added to the dark bags under my eyes and the dryness of my lips, and soon I was barely able to take care of myself at all. Both my parents, Ginny and four brothers kept nagging at me to try harder, but I wouldn't budge. Instead, I took to the whiskey and the cigars. Soon enough, however, not even those things would help with the pain.

Each time I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of what I'd lost. The people I loved the most and how they were taken from me. I couldn't look at my own reflection without breaking down into gut wrenching sobs, and wanting to smash the mirror to pieces.

Because it wasn't right.

Why did I get to live and he didn't?

Was I such a nuisance and so impossible to love that she had to leave?

I kept telling myself that that's what they all do.

Eventually, they all leave.

It didn't hurt as much as I wanted it to. The very first time I did it, it stung and the wound became irritated quickly thereafter, but I wanted to feel more. I wanted to feel everything. Soon enough, the pain subsided almost completely and when I'd done it a few times, it started to feel almost unnecessary. The only reason I kept going, was to see if the pain would eventually come back.

Because I deserved it. I deserved the pain, and deserved to be punished.

When the blood stopped seeping out of the wound and it closed up, I'd put on whatever long armed cardigan or jumper I could find, in an attempt at hiding the scars. I didn't want to be more of a burden to my family. Not more than I'd already become, anyway.

Of course, I never doubted that they saw what I'd become, and sometimes the sleeve would retort, showing off a part of whatever wound was left. It didn't take a genius to figure out what I'd been up to.

They all knew.

They all knew what a miserable sod Fred Weasley had become.

• end of flashback •

⬩ word count: 1003