Lemon Grass and Sleep

MANY QUESTIONS WITH NOT SO MANY ANSWERS

I was right, I couldn't sleep a wink. The house was old, that was apparent just by looking at its peeling wallpaper and the antique furniture. But the walls themselves were creaky and groaned with every gust of wind, keeping my ears alert.

Even with Fred's arms wrapped around my waist and his breath fanning against the back of my neck, I couldn't relax enough to fall asleep. Instead, I kept running my eyes over the patterned wallpaper as it shifted and danced in the moonlight.

I shifted a bit, just trying to get comfortable again, maybe find a new position that would work like magic and make me pass out immediately.

"What's wrong?" A groggy response grumbled behind me.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," I whispered, running my fingers soothingly over Fred's knuckles.

"Have you not fallen asleep?" He continued, showing no signs of falling back to sleep like I'd asked him to.

"No," I answered honestly.

"Why?" The question was simple, but I didn't really have an answer that made sense. Sure, the house was creaky, and old, but I lived in a decrepit castle. There was no reason a few mumbles from a house would keep me up.

"I don't know," I murmured, lips barely moving. My words probably weren't even understandable, but it didn't matter. Fred pressed a comforting kiss on the nape of my neck, pulling me closer against his body.

"Well, try to. Sleep is the only thing we have right now."

"I can't stop thinking about-"

"Mm," He hummed, the vibrations from his chest buzzing against my back. "There's no use thinking about it."

"I guess so," I let my eyes slide shut and tried to focus on Fred's breathing and the dips between his knuckles. His hands were so smooth on the backs, compared to his calloused palms.

I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but it wasn't restful. It felt like I only blinked and then morning light was breaking through the curtains and spilling into the room. The house itself was still quiet, but I could hear the adults downstairs arguing about something.

"Thomas," Fred whispered, "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," I responded, wishing I wasn't.

"Did you sleep at all?" He propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over my shoulder to look at my face. He'd cut his hair, how had I not noticed? I rolled over onto my back, looking up at his face, studying it like I had forgotten completely how he looked like.

He'd thinned out a bit, lost some of his baby fat over the few months I hadn't seen him.

"No," I weakly replied, "I don't feel like I did."

"That's alright," he comforted, "You could take a nap later."

For just a moment I felt fine, just looking at Fred like this, laying in bed. I could pretend we were at the Burrow, sharing his bed during Christmas. Soon, George would come bother us about breakfast being ready, and the next few days we'd be all excited about Christmas morning.

But the bleakness of the Black house tinged my vision, and I could only pretend for so long.

"They're talking downstairs about picking up Harry, George listened in," Fred broke my illusion entirely, leaning over and resting his head on my chest. His arms snaked underneath my body and wrapped themselves all the way around me. Absentmindedly, I threaded my fingers through his shortened hair, thinking on what he said.

"Tonight? Like how you all got me?"

"Yeah, except I think almost everyone is going. Only Mum and Dad'll stay, all the others are going to make sure he gets here safe. They're all pretty worried, I think."