Wonder Wizards (Fred/George Weasley x Reader)

Strangers

Like a number of mornings you'd spent before, you awoke to find yourself tangled in Fred Weasley's bed. Naked bodies pressed together, his shallow breathing gently fanning your face.

As peaceful as the scene was, your heart billowed in your chest as you were still coming round from the nightmare you'd just had. You were almost too scared to look up at your sleeping lover, afraid of the chance that you may see his eyes cold and lifeless. Trembling at the thought of his skin grey, fingertips painted a faint blue hue, cold to the touch.

You had seen that picture the past few nights enough times to leave you dreading to close your eyes. But last night the corpse spoke. Slick tongued and filled with venom, he spoke to you with a spine chilling malice.

It was your fault he was dead. Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Is what he said over and over; through dry lips that had drained of their beautiful rosy pink, through irises that had lost their sparkle, throat hoarse, vocal cords straining. One second you were cradling his head in your hands, then the next once you'd blinked he was sat up staring at you.

And you couldn't escape it, the chanting and torment.

Your fault.

You were trapped there, face to face with one of your biggest fears. A fear you had recently come to know. Every idea you had of the life beyond this one crumbled as you stared into his clouded lenses, where the light no longer reflected back. You mourned for him, and for the afterlife you wished for him to have. It wasn't sunshine and rainbows, pearly gates or soft clouds.

Your heart strangled, trying to convince yourself that it wasn't real. Fred was very much still here. Spreading your palm over his warm chest that still very much rose and fell ever so peacefully. His cheeks were full of colour, nostrils flaring a fraction through the repeated inhale and exhale of breath.

His hair was as messy as always, some small strands sticking to his forehead. His plush lips slightly parted, one arm stretched out across the mattress and the other nestled against your upper back.

You leaned into him, resting an ear to his chest right above his heart. The light tune of his beating heart was serene, tranquil. Your finger traced along his chest, down to his abdomen and back up again, running over every freckle that you could see. They stippled his skin like stars in the sky, you tried to count them but there were far too many.

For a second, you felt guilty. With that guilt, your eyes widened. Then came realisation, the awareness that neither of you returned downstairs last night.

Despite it being fairly common knowledge that you and the twins were 'exclusive'...? No, that's not right. It was exhausting having to constantly remind yourself that you were still only fooling around. And again, you were the reason why you weren't anything more.

If anything, you were leading them on, if you really thought about it.

But the idea of jumping into romance and grand gestures scared you, you saw how that worked out with 'professing your love' for Fred a month ago.

Oh my god why can't you just make up your mind?

You were worried about how the others viewed you, and even though none of them seemed that bothered, the intrusive thoughts snuck their way in. Did they think you were easy? It made you sick dwelling on the thought.

You turned over on your back and rubbed your hands over your face, looping your fingers into the roots at your forehead. Fred's arm that secured against your back now lay outstretched over the edge of the bed, he barely even flinched.