Remember Me [ Fred Weasley ]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 / 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒆

{ Song: What A Time by Julia Michaels and Niall Horan }

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

"She's dying, we have to do something, anything!"

"Give him just a few seconds" Hermione demands, "He loves her too much, he won't do it"

Dying is exhausting. At least almost dying is. I wouldn't know about actual death. Yet.

I won't go into detail about how I have thought that I would die for someone I love or any similar poetic overstatement. Partially because it's never really true anyway, but mostly because there isn't time.

Everything happened so fast, as if the page didn't turn but was ripped in half. When I look into Fred's eyes, a stranger is all that I see. He is more a ghost than he is himself and despite Hermione's insistent hope, I wonder if there is enough left of him to even remember me.

The thing is that if I don't hold onto hope, then I have nothing. I can't look away, only at him. I can't move. I can barely speak. But I have to try.

"It's me" I whisper, forcing the faint words to be spoken, "It's Nova, you– you know me"

His hands don't even flinch. There is no struggle on his end, as if he is entirely determined to see it through until my very last breath. Of course, it isn't his making. It is whoever is controlling him.

The way he is right in front of me yet so distant somehow makes it worse. If this goes badly, his face will be the last thing that I see. Not because he is there to tell me that everything will be okay or to ease my fear. He will be there because he will have been the one to kill me.

At this point, I can't hear the others crying or any other sounds, apart from the ringing in my ears. My hands are still reaching for Fred's, but I'm not trying to force them to let go anymore. I wish that I had more fight left in me. But I don't.

I reach up higher, so that I can at least make myself believe that I am holding his hands by choice. When my fingertips graze over something cool, the ring brings back all the memories once I realise what it is.

The day in the library when the idea of falling for him first crossed my mind. The very first night, and all the little fights about nothing that matters when it is seen in a rearview mirror. The first Christmas that I spent at the burrow, and the day in Diagon Alley when I found the ring.

The day that I first saw the ring. Suddenly, I remember it more vividly than I thought that I could. How I had picked it up even though Mr Wisacre considered it valueless. How it turned out to be perfect because it was everything but ordinary, just like Fred.

If the outer band is turned three times, the engraved words light up on the inside. That's why it isn't ordinary. It never was.

It is beyond a long shot, but I am out of options. With my last, exhausted efforts, I reach just a little higher until I'm touching the metal again. Then I try to turn the band, but it moves a lot slower than usual. Maybe it is because my fingers are too weak, or because it is stuck in his grip just like me.

One.

I can't hear anything anymore. My vision is not only blurred but on the verge of gone. This has been going on for too long. I don't know if it has been minutes or seconds. It doesn't really matter; it feels the same either way.

Two.

I have to try. This is my last chance and his, too. The only way to break the imperius curse is through the victim's willpower – that's what Hermione said. If stopping himself from killing me isn't enough, then I don't know what else could be.