Golden Girl; 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓦𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓵𝓮𝔂

Summer 1993: Complexities

She was running again, her feet barely touching the earth as the fields stretched endlessly before her, welcoming her like an old friend. The tall stalks of wheatgrass whispered in the breeze, parting as she flew through them, their golden heads shimmering under the night sky. Above, the heavens were a canvas of pale moonlight and silver-edged clouds, the full, round moon sitting like a guardian in the centre of it all, casting its cool glow over the world. Every shard of light seemed to reach out to her, bathing her in its ethereal embrace, making her feel weightless, untethered.

There was something intoxicating about the night, something that pulled at her senses and unraveled her thoughts like threads, until she was no longer sure where she ended and the vastness of the sky began. It made her feel so small and yet infinite all at once, as if she were both a tiny speck within the universe and an inseparable part of its boundless expanse. She slowed, her breath coming in short bursts, exhilaration pulsing through her veins as she sank into the soft, rippling sea of grass. The earth welcomed her, the stalks bending gently beneath her weight, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth, scent, and whispers of something timeless.

The cool blades caressed her skin, their scent rich and earthy, grounding her in a moment that felt like a thousand lifetimes. Her feet ached with a dull, throbbing pain—raw and bruised from the run—but it was distant, almost forgotten beneath the sky's endless embrace. She smiled up at the moon, its light washing over her in silvery waves, touching her face, her hands. She reached her palms out to the sky, playing with the shadows the moon cast down on her face. It was in moments like this that she could feel her heart soaring, untethered, as if every boundary she had known had dissolved, leaving only this strange, untouched world—boundless, infinite, and hers for the taking.

There were things she didn't know, things she couldn't grasp in this strange, half-awake state of mind. Her thoughts drifted like clouds, elusive, slipping away just as she tried to hold onto them. But amidst the haze, she could sense things, the feeling of being watched. The figure who stood in the window sat there almost all night, though his presence wasn't menacing, she could smell the curiosity even from here, a sweetness carried over through the gentle breezes. She watched him back sometimes, before growing bored and continuing her frolicking, leaving trails of tiny flowers in her wake.

***

"Fred, dear, come to bed," Mrs. Weasley called softly, stepping into the room he was sharing with his brothers, her wand glowing faintly in her hand. "You've got a long day ahead tomorrow."

Fred jumped a little, startled, before turning around to face her. He looked a bit sheepish, caught lingering at the window in the middle of the night. "I'm just... watching." he mumbled, his gaze shifting back to the fields beyond as his ears heated up. "Making sure she doesn't get lost," he added quickly.

Mrs. Weasley's stern expression softened as she stepped closer, her own eyes following his line of sight. She could make out the faint silhouette of Bambi in the distance, her hair like fire under the moonlight, red and orange strands moving as she danced in the grass. A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I think she knows what she's doing, dear. If she were here right now, I reckon she'd be telling you off for watching," she said gently, her voice touched with amusement.

Fred let out a breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, probably. She'd give me an earful."

"Come on now, love. You can't keep an eye on her forever," Mrs. Weasley said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "She'll be alright. She's strong, that one. Besides, she needs her freedom just as much as you need your sleep."

Fred hesitated, his eyes lingering on the distant figure, and then nodded slowly. He turned away from the window, giving one last glance at Bambi's small, distant shape moving in the night. "Alright, Mum," he said softly, reluctantly slipping off the stool by the window and slipping into the bed opposite of George's.