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Inscriptions uponwands are, at the very least, unorthodox. They are rarely seen, and those who have them, never speak of their meanings. Only those who have gone through something terrible engrave anything upon their wands.
And, unfortunately, you're one of them.
Unlike most, you engraved your own. You had no one else do it for you, because it felt wrong to have someone else engrave the words that meant so much to you on the only thing that is truly yours: your wand.
Many have asked its meaning, but none have gotten an answer.
Your husband, Fred Weasley, is one of them.
"When will you tell me," he whines one evening, scowling when you ignore him. "My dearest."
"Never," you deadpan.
"I don't understand why you won't tell me."
"Because it's none of your business. Some things I need to keep for myself." Fred sighs, and stands.
"You can't keep it a secret from me," he mumbles mischievously. You ignore him again, even as he kisses your forehead and holds out his hand. You stare into the fire a moment longer before finally taking his hand. He hoists you up and into his arms, kissing you softly. Once upstairs, he sets you into your shared bed and turns off the lights. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. "Goodnight, my love."
"Goodnight," you whisper, closing your eyes.
❀•°❀°•❀
"Please, let him go!" you cry, watching as Voldemort points his wand at Cedric. "Take me!"
Voldemort laughs, keeping his wand pointed directly at Cedric.
"Stay, (Y/N)," Cedric says, risking a side glance at me.
"Cedric, no," you plead. "Fight!"
"It's okay, darling. I love you, mo shíorgrhrá."
"I love you. I love you so much," you cry. You watch in agony as Voldemort shouts the killing curse, and his body drops to the ground, yours and Harry's screams mingling in the air. You rush over to his body, holding his head on your lap, pleading with him. You kiss his forehead, and pull away, your cries multiplying at the sigh of his red hair falling messily over his unseeing eyes.
Red hair.
❀•°❀°•❀
You sit up in bed, your shoulders shaking with sobs. Arms wrap around you, holding you tight as you fall apart, shaking at the very real memory of loss.
"(Y/N), my love, it's okay. It was a nightmare," he promises. You shake your head vehemently.
"It was a memory," you whisper.
"What?"
You turn around in his arms, your heart aching. His eyes are so concerned and, to your comfort, alive. You close your eyes as he smudges his thumb over your cheekbone in the way you love.
"Talk to me." You take in a deep breath, and nod.
"Okay." I lean into his arms, accepting his warm embrace, before pulling away so you can talk to him. "Do you remember the last task of the Triwizard Tournament? The one that changed everything?" you ask.
"Of course. I don't think anyone will forget it. It's the night He... Voldemort returned."
"And the night Cedric was killed," you add quietly. Fred nods.
"Yeah. I'll never forget Amos' cries." You shudder, and Fred grips your hand.
"Amos wasn't the only one who lost someone that night." Fred's face turns from pained to confused.
"What do you mean?" You bite your lip.
"No one knew because he took Cho to the Yule Ball. We weren't ashamed, it was... my parents, you know, they frown upon anything that goes against their beliefs. Remember the fit they threw once they found out we were getting married?" Fred chuckles.
"Of course I do. They didn't come to the wedding."
"And thank Salazar for that," you mumble. "Cedric and I kept it secret for five years." Fred's eyes widen.
"How did no one know?" You smile bitterly.
"We were very private. Not even my parents knew. We planned to get married as soon as we graduated, but clearly, it didn't work out that way."
"Oh, (Y/N)," he whispers. You clear your throat, preparing to continue.
"Mo shíorgrhrá."
"What?"
"Mo shíorgrhrá. It's what's engraved on my wand. Cedric called me that. It means 'my eternal love' in Irish. He wanted to learn it after we visited Ireland for a week. It was endearing, even though he sucked. Though, terms of endearment was something he learned quickly. That's the type of man he was. Always the romantic. Much like you," you smile.
"You have a type," he observes. You snort.
"Sure, you could say that. Tall, lanky, kind, romantic. You have a larger mischievous streak than he did." Fred chuckles.
"Yes, he never did like joining in on our pranks," Fred mumbles. You grin.
"That's how we met, you and I. Do you remember?"
"Fourth year, Cedric had finally had enough and locked George and I in the girls' bathrooms. You happened to be in there, and you helped us get out by calling for Cedric. I should have known then that you two were an item, with how quickly he let us out after he heard your voice." You giggle, before sobering.
"Eight years since Cedric died," you sigh. "That's why I've been touchy recently." Fred pulls you into his arms as you cry, letting the anniversary of your first loves' death hit you. He holds you tight, whispering sweet nothings.
You cling to him, your cries finally subsiding. Still, Fred's hold never eased, even as your breathing evened out.
"I hope you know I don't love you any less. I- I know after my breakdown and confession, it may seem like I don't love you as much as Cedric, but—" Fred presses a chaste kiss to my lips, silencing you.
"I know. You love us both in different ways. He was your first love. I can't erase that." You return the kiss, deeper this time.
"But you're my last," you whisper. Fred grins boyishly.
