As Lavender Brown's body lay amongst the ruins of what was once her home, she watched a family grieve the loss of one of their own, wondering why fate had so cruelly dealt them such cards. From a young age, all she wanted was to love and be loved in...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
»»» FRED Weasley always had a plan. Each and every detail was always meticulously thought through, whether it involved conjuring up a new prank or brainstorming ideas for a product; all actions were deliberate and thorough. Of course he understood the need to have fun, after all, he was one half of a reputable duo. But it would be incorrect to assume that he walked through life carelessly when in fact the opposite was true. As the elder of the two, Fred quickly assumed responsibility over his brother and all his assorted problems ranging from unrequited love to anxious whispers about their futures.
So it was of great shock, not to mention disturbing paranoia, when he opened his eyes and found himself staring at the darkened sky with no memory of how he got there. Wincing, he blinked a couple of times, his vision slowly becoming clearer. A sharp ringing sound pierced through his ears, stabbing the inside of his mind like small needles.
How did he end up here?
Memories were all mixed together in a confused haze. A glimpse of George, a broken scream, pressure that forced the air out of his lungs causing him to yell out in pain. None of it made any sense. Hands balled tightly, he resisted the urge to scream for fear of drawing more attention to himself.
He had to get out of here.
Fortunately, his memory loss seemed to centre around recent events.
Reaching out, his hand slugged towards his back pocket, echoes of the late Mad Eye Moody warning them all about the dangers of wand negligence haunting his ears. Normally, he would have a quick mental remark that would instantly crop up in response, but the pain of exerting his willpower for a simple, usually subconscious task, demanded his full attention. Fingers grappled at the edges of his jeans, before clasping successfully around the jagged edge.
A low satisfied groan escaped his lips as he pulled the wand out and held it close to his chest, panting as if he had fought a duel. Mind racing, he didn't stop to think about how eerily quiet the surroundings were, nor did he notice the tint of darkness that wormed it's way between the trees and covered the entire clearing. Unlike the evening sky, this seemed to bleed every living being of it's spirit, noticeable only by the hum of fatigue that remained in the air.
Yet this was of no concern to the young man. The only priority he had was getting back to normalcy and out of this nightmare. Eyes screwed tightly, he thanked Merlin, fate, Dumbledore's beard (which both he and George believed contained some magic which kept it looking so healthy and soft) for practicing how to Apparate in various different conditions. With the lives they led, neither Fred nor George wanted to risk splinching as a result of fatigue or injury.
It involved many practice sessions of practice duels or staying awake for nights upon end only to push their bodies to their limits and then attempt Apparation. Inhaling deeply, ignoring the pain in his ribs, Fred clutched his wand tightly and reminded himself of the same tips they came up with to help realign their mind with their bodies.
