Love In The Shadows | Fred Weasley x OC

Chapter 92

Chapter 92: A Future That Never Was

Fred Weasley wasn't the type to cry.

Not when he fell off his broom as a kid. Not when he and George got detention for setting off an entire crate of fireworks in their third year.

But when it came to her—when it came to Adhara—Fred Weasley broke.

The world carried on as if nothing had changed. People walked past the shop, chatting about meaningless things, laughing, living their lives without a care. But inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Fred Weasley sat alone in his office, staring at the wall, unable to move. 

It was pathetic, really. He had things to do. Shelves to stock. Orders to prepare. But his hands refused to work, his mind refused to focus. All he could think about was her.

Adhara Malfoy. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't help. Her voice was still in his head. The way she had smiled at him one last time, whispered words that had shattered him in a way nothing else ever could. 

"I hope she'll love you more than I did."

Fred let out a shaky breath and rubbed his face. That statement had ruined him. 

Fred felt something burn behind his eyes, but he forced himself to swallow it down. Crying wouldn't change anything. 

But Merlin, did it hurt.

His fingers curled into fists as he stared at the desk. He had kept himself together, acted indifferent, even forced out a bitter congratulations. But the second she pulled away, when he saw the tears in her eyes—he knew.

She didn't want this marriage. 

She didn't want Max Laurent. 

A hollow chuckle escaped him as he leaned back in his chair. To make matters worse, today would have been their fourth anniversary.

Four years. 

Fred exhaled sharply. 

Four years ago, he had kissed her under the stars, promising a future that would never come. 

Four years ago, he had slipped a ring onto her finger, telling her she was his forever.

Four years ago, he had been happy. 

And now? 

Now she belonged to someone else. 

Fred slammed his fist onto the desk, making the ink bottle rattle. His vision blurred, and this time, he didn't try to stop it. 

Because for the first time in years, he realized the truth. 

She was never coming back. 

And he had to learn how to live without her. 

Hours passed, but Fred didn't move. His office was dark now, save for the dim glow of a lantern flickering in the corner. He hadn't bothered lighting the others. He didn't care. 

The shop was empty—George had closed early, giving Fred space. He hadn't said much, just gave him a look before walking out the door. 

Fred appreciated it. He didn't want to talk. 

Because what was there to say? 

That his heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest? That no matter how much he tried to accept it, he couldn't?

That he wasn't sure how to move forward when every step hurt? 

Fred leaned forward, running his hands through his hair. The memory of their anniversary haunted him. He could still picture it—how he had planned to take her away, just the two of them, away from everything. 

Fred let out a breath that was almost a sob. 

He should've fought harder. 

He should've done something.

But it was too late for that now. 

She was marrying someone else. 

And even though he knew she didn't love Max, even though he knew it was forced—it didn't matter.

Because in the eyes of the world, she had chosen him. 

Fred swallowed the lump in his throat. 

If he let himself think about it too much, he might fall apart completely. 

Boredom crept into Fred as he sat in the dimly lit office of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, his fingers idly drumming against the desk. The shop had already closed for the night, but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. The silence felt heavy, pressing against him, amplifying the thoughts he had spent the entire day trying to drown out. 

His gaze drifted to the book sitting at the edge of his desk—the one a woman had dropped in her rush.

Now, with nothing else to do, he flipped it open at random. 

The pages were worn, creased at the edges from frequent use—except for one. One page, near the end, stood out. It was crisp and unbent, untouched, as if the owner had never even reached it before. The parchment was smooth beneath his fingertips, unmarked by time. 

His eyes landed on the passage in front of him. 

Love does not slip away in a single moment. It fades only when we allow it to, when we stop choosing it. The cruelest mistake is not losing love—it is believing it is too late to fight for it. Because love does not die on its own. It only dies when we surrender.

Fred stared at the words, his grip tightening on the book.

It was as if someone had taken his very thoughts—his regrets, his fears—and carved them into ink.

Had he allowed Adhara to slip away?

Had he convinced himself it was too late when, in truth, he had never truly fought for her?

He had spent years waiting, hoping, hurting. But he had also let her go. He had stood there, silent, as she walked away. He had told himself she had chosen this life, but what if she had simply been waiting for him to stop her.