𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | f. w

2

Erin pulled back, her heart racing, confusion written all over her face. She glanced around, almost as if looking for some hidden camera or a sign that this was all part of some strange joke.

"Wh...what's going on?" she stammered, searching his face for any hint of explanation. "Why did you say... that?" Her voice shook as she struggled to understand the familiarity she felt, even though it made no sense.

James—no, Fred, he'd said—held her gaze, his expression gentle but serious. "I know this is a lot to take in," he said quietly, hands half-raised as though ready to steady her if she bolted. "But I need you to listen, Erin. It's me—Fred."

She shook her head, a nervous laugh escaping her. "This isn't funny. Fred Weasley isn't... he isn't real." Her voice was louder now, bordering on panic. "I don't understand—why would you say that?"

He hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully. "It's hard to explain," he said. "But I'm here, Erin. I never left. It just... took me a while to get back to you."

She stared at him, struggling to process it all, part of her wanting to turn and run. And yet, another part of her—a deeper, quieter part—felt a strange pull, as though something inside her was beginning to wake up, whispering that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't impossible at all.

Erin's pulse thundered in her ears as she took another small step back, almost tripping over her own feet. Her thoughts raced, darting between logic and something inexplicable—a feeling that defied reason but tugged insistently at the edges of her mind. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing, her mouth dry.

"You're telling me... you're saying you're Fred Weasley?" Her voice sounded thin, almost foreign to her own ears. "That somehow, you're... him?" She let out a breathless laugh, tinged with disbelief, as she tried to grasp onto any shred of normalcy.

"Yes," he said, the word carrying an almost painful honesty, as if he knew how absurd it sounded and yet couldn't deny it. "I know how impossible it seems, but it's me, Erin. I'm Fred. And I'm here, in this... Muggle form, I guess you could say."

He ran a hand through his hair, an action so familiar and natural that it made her stomach twist. She blinked, her hands clenching at her sides as she tried to ground herself in reality. She looked him up and down, taking in every detail—his slightly disheveled hair, the way his eyes glimmered with something unspoken, and that slight smirk, the one she somehow felt she knew without knowing why.

"How... how could this even be possible?" she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady, though it wavered just slightly. "Fred Weasley is a character in a book. I mean, I... I know you played him, I know you're James, but..." She trailed off, as if hoping that simply saying his real name would bring her back to something rational.

He nodded slowly, as if expecting her reaction. "I know it's hard to believe," he said softly. "It doesn't make sense, even to me. All I know is that I'm here now, in this form, with you. I can't explain the magic behind it, Erin—I just know that it brought me back."

"Magic?" she echoed, her voice faint, the word tasting surreal on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if she could block out the strange reality in front of her. When she opened them, he was still there, watching her with an intensity that both frightened and captivated her.

"Think back," he said gently, his voice coaxing her, as if he were trying to guide her toward something hidden. "There must be something—anything—that feels familiar. Something you can't quite explain."

Erin swallowed hard, her eyes narrowing as she searched her memory. She wanted to laugh it off, to dismiss it as a bizarre prank or a coincidence. But as she looked into his eyes, something flickered in the depths of her mind—a series of flashes, barely there, like the remnants of a dream. Laughter echoing through a hallway, a mischievous grin, the faint scent of something sweet and smoky, and the feeling of warmth, safety, a kind of happiness she'd almost forgotten.