Orange Trees | Fred Weasley

Chapter Sixteen

September 2nd, 1994

As evening covered Hogwarts in her dusky embrace, the Great Hall buzzed with the clamor of dinner, its long tables filled with the day's end feast. Yet, amidst the crowd of students, two usual figures were notably absent. In the remote quiet of their respective dormitories, Jericho and Fred found solitude, each nestled in the private turmoil of their own thoughts. Removed from the cheerful chatter and clinking of cutlery that marked the communal mealtime.

Fred, in particular, was a portrait of a boy in despair, sprawled across his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. The day had slipped past him, a series of sunlit hours ignored and wasted, as he lay motionless, haunted by the ghost of last night's hesitation. Classes had come and gone, his absence marked only by the empty seat beside George, who had grown increasingly perplexed by his twin's uncharacteristic withdrawal.

The previous night had ended with Fred creeping back into the dorm long after midnight, the secret weight of his untold confession to Jericho pressing heavily on his chest. George, stirred from sleep by the late return, had prodded him with sleepy inquiries. "And where the bloody hell were you?" he had asked, his voice thick with sleep and concern. Fred had muttered something vague about a nocturnal visit to the kitchens - a lie that felt clumsy on his tongue. "Why didn't you invite me along?" George had continued, more puzzled than upset. Fred had offered a shrug and a half-formed excuse, evasive and unsatisfying to the both of them.

George's worry had only increased by morning. As the sun signaled the start of classes, he had found Fred still in bed, feigning illness. "Fine, let's at least skip together!" George had suggested, hoping to coax his brother from his gloom with the promise of shared mischief. But Fred had insisted on his fictional sickness, pushing George to leave without him. His heart had twinged with guilt at the lie, worsened further when dinner rolled around and he declined to join the evening meal, claiming his stomach was still unsettled. George's expression had morphed from confusion to concern, a testament to the rarity of Fred missing a meal, especially without his twin by his side.

Fred's uncharacteristic behavior boiled down to a few profound revelations he'd been grappling with, especially prevalent after a summer that had no doubt changed him. One was his bisexuality, a truth about himself he had come to understand over the past few years. It had first dawned on him back in his second year, when he had felt an inexplicable attraction towards both members of an upperclassmen couple. This familiar attraction was later solidified during a family trip to Egypt, where the muscular arms of their male tour guide had caught his eye more than the ancient ruins. Until now, Fred had managed to compartmentalize these attractions as mere physical appreciations, devoid of romantic intent.

However, this past summer with Jericho, had shattered that delicate balance. What had begun as a platonic friendship with a boy he saw almost as a little brother, had deepened into something more profound, something unmistakably romantic. Fred remembered the day everything changed. He remembered it like he remembered his own name. He had gone to see Jericho under the orange tree, having been bored with being at home. As he arrived, he expected the usual friendly banter, but instead, found himself struck by the boy Jericho was becoming - his growth not just in physicality, but noticeable in his demeanor and presence.

As the days of summer stretched on, every moment with Jericho felt increasingly significant. Fred found himself mesmerized by Jericho's laughter, his thoughtful silences, and the way he moved. Each shared moment, each exchange, whether playful or pensive, had slowly etched itself into Fred's heart. And by summer's end, he could no longer avoid the truth: he was undeniably and irrevocably in love with Jericho Diggory.

It was exhilarating, yet terrifying, for as much as he cherished their connection, he feared the fragility of their friendship under the weight of his unspoken desires. He was acutely aware of the potential consequences, the delicate thread on which their relationship balanced.