sapphire || fred weasley

seventy-four

When Fred walked inside Beatrice's room that particular Thursday morning, he found her curled up on her bed with pillows covering her whole head.

The room was darker than how it usually was and he could instantly sense that something was wrong as he heard Beatrice muttering curse words under her breath without acknowledging his presence.

Neither of them had yet to address the little intimate moment they shared a couple of nights back, and Beatrice internally dreaded the moment he would eventually bring it up.

Because he knew one of them would do so, and there was no way in hell it was going to be her.

There was something she still couldn't place about Fred.

She was certain that she hadn't seen him before, but he was awfully familiar for someone she hadn't met.

The way he touched her and spoke to her.

The way he held her closely in his arms as the aftermath of her first returning memory washed over her with a wave of unexplainable sadness.

There was something comforting about his presence. Almost as if she'd been around him for years.

But she remembered what she used to call him.

Freddie.

She did call him that. The nickname rolled off her tongue like honey. It felt close and familiar.

He felt close and familiar.

But no matter how hard Beatrice tried, she simply couldn't remember.

She couldn't remember how they met. She couldn't remember the level of closeness they may have had in the past for her to call him Freddie.

She just couldn't place him. Anywhere.

There was a timeline she had no memory of. And although she didn't know in which part he fit in, Fred Weasley was a part of that timeline and he was determined to make her remember.

"Morning love," Fred sat on the edge of her bed, carefully taking one of the pillows to see her face which was surprisingly gaunt and sunken.

"Fuck you," Beatrice mumbled and turned her back on him, hiding herself inside the covers.

"Okay," Fred nodded and moved to sit on the other side of the bed, gently placing his hand on the outline of her waist, visible under the covers. "Are you gonna tell what's wrong?"

"Fuck you," Beatrice repeated in a muffled voice.

"You got your period, didn't you?" Fred chuckled after remembering what that tone telling him to fuck himself, actually meant.

"How did you know?" Beatrice poked her eyes out of the covers to glare at him.

"Not important," he shook his head. "I left pads and tampons for you under the sink-"

"I know," Beatrice rolled her eyes and hid again from him under the covers.

"Are you in pain?" Fred said worriedly.

"Yeah," Beatrice said quietly.

"From one to ten?"

"Eight," she whimpered and pressed her knees to her chest.