sapphire || fred weasley

thirty-nine

Ever since finding out that someone had tried getting into her mind and not being able to remember any details regarding it Beatrice was on edge.

She tried her best to remember but she simply couldn't.

She lied awake each night, rummaging through each door on each floor of her fortress and the only thing she was able to discover, was the fact that certain doors were closed an no matter how hard she tried, none of the locked doors would budge.

She didn't feel safe in the slightest.

She could recall that there was some important things that vanished from her mind in thin air.

It was frustrating.

Nearly as frustrating as the way Fred had had been acting since she recovered her consciousness after the alleged fainting and concussion.

The more she thought about it, the less sense it made.

Fred was cold and distant.

He was less talkative and didn't laugh as much, nor smiled. When he did, Beatrice knew that it was fake. Just a facade. A mask for her to see.

When he said he loved her, it sounded as if the words were being forced out of his mouth.

He could barely look at her for a second before shifting his gaze when she returned the action.

The didn't spend time together the way they used to.

After the second week of his change in demeanor, Beatrice returned to her flat and rarely saw him. She missed him.

The real him.

Two or three days a week, he would stop by the wand shop to take her to lunch or dinner.

She accepted because she refused to let him go.

She longed to be in his arms. To be held by him when she slept. She longed for his kisses and his touch.

He didn't touch her anymore.

Fred on the other hand was miserable.

He had never been as depressed as he currently was.

Watching her slowly think that he was falling out of love was eating him from the inside out.

It was excruciating.

He felt as if he was slowly dying.

The way she talked less and less every time they were together was killing him.

She didn't smile. She didn't laugh.

He hated himself knowing it was his fault.

The bed felt cold and empty without her.

Fred rarely ever cried. Ever since he was a toddler he had a hard time crying.

He cried most nights alone in the darkness of his bedroom because Beatrice wasn't with him.

Because despite the fact that they were still together, he knew differently.

Fred didn't have other choice than to accept what he had caused and be eaten by guilt every second of every day. Like a flesh eating parasite taking more and more of him until there would be nothing left.

That's how it felt.

*****

Fred and Beatrice were sitting on his sofa in complete and utter silence as they watched a muggle Christmas movie playing on the telly. They were sitting next to each other, his arm carelessly thrown around her shoulders and her head resting on his chest.