𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝'𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 ||𝐅.𝐖. 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧||

||Prologue||

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⭐️Prologue⭐️
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"I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Fred observed as his brother, Ron, removed the veil that initially concealed his bride's face, rendering her effulgent features visible to the audience. Harry stood by Ron at the altar, as the famous best man, while Hermione's bridesmaid, Ginny, stationed by her side. Ron leaned in, sealing their marriage with a tender kiss, and a wave of applause spread through the crowd onlooking the newlyweds.

Fred was drenched in vexation on the increasing frequency of weddings recently. Almost every few months, an invitation to a wedding would be owled to the whole wizarding population. Everyone around him either tied the knot or were in discussions of a pending ceremony. He pitied the family owl, Errol, for having to race through frequent deliveries, having lost his youth over the years.

"Oh!" Molly, Fred's mother, embraced her husband Arthur as the crowd was ushered towards the feast in the garden. "That's four of them now!"

"Right, darling," Arthur agreed with a proud beam, "four down, three more to go!"

Fred typically would chime in with some humour. It would've been a golden opportunity that would instigate a chain of laughter. The reticent man, however, remained silent among the cheering crowd.

He knew he ought to celebrate Ron and Hermione's special occasion, but he simply could not feign any jubilance. He observed his remaining siblings, who were accompanied by their partners. George was already married to Angelina, Percy and his wife Aubrey, and Bill and Fleur. Charlie was, well, content without a partner at the moment.

"Dad," Bill nudged Arthur, shaking his head vigorously, sending a side glance in Fred's direction.

Arthur and Molly glanced his way which only prompted Fred to maintain his calm facade.

"I'm fine, you lot," he prevaricated with an indolent wave.

They saw through his transparent barrier of lies. He was anything but fine, grieving and living with regret. While everyone expressed gratitude for his survival, he was trapped with remorse for the death of another, especially one whom he was enamoured with.

Freya Wilson.

Her name was embedded in his mind. She was the most hilarious, sassiest, and fiercest Gryffindor he had known all his life. She ignited a fervent flame in his heart from when she pranked him in the common room in their third year, and he had been pining after her since then. It didn't take long until she showed interest in their fourth year, and they shared their first celebratory kiss after a Quidditch match, practically announcing their relationship to the whole school.

What was etched in his shattered heart was that he was stripped of his privilege of sighting her seraphic smiles, touching her soft skin, hearing her mellifluous laughter, sniffing her saccharine scent of roses and peonies, or tasting her luscious lips. What wounded him further, witnessing Ron and Hermione at the altar, was that he would never experience a joyous occasion like that because he could never replicate a special relationship like that.

Worst of all, he deeply disdained that his life was spared at her expense.

The night of the Wizarding World War.