sapphire || fred weasley

sixty-one

Triggering content, viewer discretion advised.

The night was dark and particularly cold to be August.

There wasn't a single soul near the area where the hidden shack was located. Only the tree leaves ruffled by the wind, along with hoots of owls were audible.

The dead yellowish grass crunched with every step Fred took as the shack came into view.

Only a certain few knew where the shack was and the atrocious acts done in it. No one dared speak of it.

It was one of the Order's best kept secrets.

And while Voldemort and his army had the infamous and mysterious Medusa. The one able to obliterate an entire army without blinking twice while still keeping her identity a secret.

The Order had Fred.

Just as deadly as Medusa. Just as merciless and cold hearted as she was.

The only difference between the two, being that Fred had Juliet to keep him grounded.

He knew well that if it wasn't for his daughter, for his little diamond, that no soul would remain standing from the death eaters' side of the field once he was done with them.

Medusa didn't hold back on the field.

And Fred didn't hold back in the shack.

It was the house of terror.

The stench and stain of blood covering every inch of the creaking wooden floor.

The place where the Order's hostages knew hell before being sent down once the last beat of their hearts was extracted in the most gruesome of ways.

And in Fred's eyes, he wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just leveling the odds and numbers.

Giving back the same that the Opposition captive member's received on the other end.

Fred did know however, that he no longer was a good person.

He didn't give two fucks about it either.

His bloodlust was satiated, and his anger was back under control with every beg and scream of pain any death eater let out under his power.

He knew he would meet them in hell again. He knew that he would burn down along with the rest of them.

But then, he thought about Beatrice.

He remembered her blue eyes. Her smile and her laugh. Her voice and her touch.

And he remember why he was doing it for. Why he had so much rage and anger and bloodlust simmering in his veins.

He remembered that he couldn't save her. That she died in agony as her whole body was mangled and ripped apart by Voldemort while the death eaters cheered delightedly.

And he wouldn't let her death be in vain.

He would kill the very last of them if that meant that her sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.

He would burn the skies and disintegrate death eater bodies if that meant that Juliet could live a happy and war less life in the future.

He didn't even have to think about it twice when he stepped into the dark house and closed the door loudly to let the man tied on a chair with his face covered, know that he was the one in charge.

That he was the one with control.

That between the two of them, he was the one playing God and choosing if his victim would live or die.