We're in this Together. ✷ Fred Weasley✷

Ch.1 The Beginning

I remember very little of my father. All memories I have come in blurry images and snippets that I see in my dreams, all I know is what people told me about him. He was a "traitor", that is the main word used to describe him when I was young and still in the care of my grandmother, she would show me photographs of him, he was young when I was born, just left Hogwarts, and was about to turn 18, tall, slender, with dark hair and gray eyes. It was apparent to me from a very early age that I received a majority of my physical traits from my mother, whoever she may be, I am rather short, always at least a few inches shorter than a majority of my peers, with blonde hair, and brown eyes. My favorite photos of my father are the ones of us together, as those are often the ones he looks the happiest...

I often imagined what it would have been like growing up under my father's care if I would have been happier, less anxious. I imagine us living in a little house by the sea, with white paint and forest green doors to match the woods behind our home, where the windows would have shutters and flower boxes underneath them, our living room filled with bookshelves and a comfortable sofa and armchairs, wooden floors, covered by a plush area rug, and a cozy fireplace used during the colder months of the year. Our kitchen, open and airy with a window above the sink and a breakfast nook surrounded by windows, with sage green cabinets and light wooden countertops, the pantry always stocked with our favorite snacks and the kettle always whistling, our two mugs set beside it, ready for our afternoon tea. Up the stairs, my bedroom, separated from the rest of the house by a white door with a gold doorknob, inside are walls of pale yellow, and enchanted ivy growing up the walls and connecting on the ceiling, my own personal library along the wall across from my comfortable bed, with white sheets, and an obscene amount of pillows and blankets, a bay window overlooking the sea, with squishy white cushions and an orange tabby cat sleeping in the sunlight, disorganized art supplies and records a strewn about the room, and a vase of white roses on my nightstand that my father bought me at the market as he knows they're my favorite. Down the hall of family photos, of holidays and birthdays, another white door, leading into my father's room, equally as welcoming as the rest of our home, only more organized and slightly more refined, and more sage green, as according to my father "that shade of green suits me better then emerald does, just as yellow suits you better than green my flower." It would be just us two, neither of us would ever need anything more than that.

Instead, I grew up in the dark, in the cold, that was number 12 Grimmauld place, where there was more forbidden rooms I was not allowed in than not, hundreds of dark objects, a strict grandmother, determined to make me "better" then her sons, and a house-elf, who no matter how hard I tried would not be my friend. When my grandmother died, I was handed off to my father's cousin, Narcissa, and her husband Lucius, who would later have a son Draco, better known as the Malfoys. Malfoy Manor, while grander in size was no more welcoming the number 12 Grimmauld place, it was equally as cold, with its marble floors and tall ceilings, with black stained wood, and even more forbidden rooms and cursed objects. My bedroom while larger in size than the one in my fantasy's equally as cold as the rest of the house, with marble floors and white walls, a large emerald green bed, with a black wooden bed frame. Large floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the neatly trimmed hedges, were framed by black velvet curtains. My mirrored closet door led to another small room where all walls were covered in black, silver, and green clothing, shoes, and accessories. The bookshelf in my bedroom pertained to dark arts and the histories of the sacred 28, no stories of great adventures, and absolutely no novels by muggle authors. A large bathroom was attached with a large clawfoot tub and black marble floors. My reality was nothing like the warm fantasy I would daydream about, it was cold, and dark, and privileged.

I spent my days with the Malfoy's in etiquette lessons, and ballet classes, in hopes of making me a more refined young lady, my tutoring lessons learning about basics, and blood purity, and my evenings were spent in my "uncle" Lucius' study discussing the Dark Lord, and how much of a disappointment my father was, I was told of all the things he supposedly did wrong, so I would become nothing like him. Little did they know it would only bring me closer to him, it made me strive not to be cold, and reserved like the rest of my family. I learned very quickly, however, that it was better to act like I was who they wanted me to be, a quiet, refined, well mannered, child who would go on to fulfill what my father couldn't, to serve the Dark Lord, and uphold the pureblood values. I learned very quickly what would happen if I spoke out of turn, or did something my uncle didn't agree with, I know what the consequences of my actions would hold.