Confident | Fred Weasley

Chapter 111 | Hours, Days, Weeks

Days dragged on excruciatingly slow, and the pain in Fred's chest hadn't eased. Waking up in an empty bed made it throb, and going to sleep was similarly bad.

The visions of Sarah–Fred still wasn't keen on using the term 'hallucinations'—still came to him when he was on his own. The small comfort that the visions provided him with was dominated by longing for the real thing. The touches, kisses, and words were all in his head, but he wanted her more than anything.

Still, Moody had been right. Having his family near was the best possible thing for him. The visions didn't come when he was with them, although the ache in his chest was always particularly strong.

It had been a week since he last saw Sarah, and Fred wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He woke up, not recalling when he had managed to fall asleep, and stared longingly at the empty side of the bed. Sarah had been with him last night, as she was every night, talking. She spoke of plans for their wedding, and Fred hung onto every word.

But that hadn't been real. She didn't really want blue and gold as their wedding colours, as far as Fred was aware anyway.

With those dreary thoughts, Fred clambered out of bed. After getting ready for the day, he headed downstairs on light feet. It was early morning, the sun only just rising. Fred didn't sleep for long these days.

Fred headed into the kitchen, and was confronted by the other early risers of the house: Moody, Remus and Kingsley. They were stood around the counter island sipping from mugs of tea.

"Morning, Fred," Remus greeted, leaning against the counter, "Sleep well?"
Fred might have rolled his eyes at that stupid question, but he had promised himself not to be so snappy. It wasn't Remus' fault that Sarah was gone.

"Fine," Fred lied seamlessly, rounding the island and reaching around Kingsley for the bread bin, "Toast?"

"Forget the toast," Kingsley said, gesturing to a newspaper on the counter, "Evening Prophet came very late last night. Have a look."

Fred dropped the slice of bread and darted towards the newspaper. He flinched at the sight of his own face. The title, all capitals, read, 'Fred Weasley: Wanted for Interrogation.'

He clutched the newspaper so hard that his knuckles turned white. He scanned the article rapidly, the words becoming a blur. Something about how he was connected to his wife's crimes, that he had significant skills in spell enhancement, that it only made sense he was part of it because how could ditsy Sarah Copper have done it on her own?

The Death Eaters must have figured out the Fidelius-equivalent he had put on Sarah. They knew he was the key, and now they wanted him. The only way they could have discovered this was by looking through her head—torturing her.

Fred dropped the newspaper as if it had burned him. White faced, he planted his hands on tbe countertop.

"Fred, you're safe," Remus reminded him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Fred supposed Remus meant it as a comforting gesture, but it did little to help. Still, it shook him out his panic.

"It's not me I'm worried about," Fred snapped slightly, but not with much bite. He was too breathless. "The charm—there's only one way..."

He trailed off, realising they probably wouldn't understood the specifics. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his racing heart, and went on,

"They've done legilimency on her. That's the only way they could know I'm the Secret Keeper."

Looking grave, Kingsley said, "It's good we left Headquarters when we did."

Fred didn't care about Headquarters, not one bit. Legilimency was one thing, and done by the right person, it was far from pleasant. He felt like his throat was closing up.