Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Twenty-Nine: Dies Irae

"We think they uh ... obliviated you." He swallowed, "Which may have actually been a courtesy, considering the state they left you in."

She could hear him sniff and the softness in his voice, a little bitter breath of a sarcastic laugh when he spoke.

"I don't know why they chose you to put a Cruciatus on but... they did. You know when they left, we found you passed out and nearly choking to death on your own blood."

She wanted to turn around, to look him in the eye when he told her what had happened, but she couldn't move. Her limbs felt stiff and numb at the same time, like if she moved even the tiniest muscle, the pain would be too unbearable.

"Mum fixed your tongue. You'd almost bit it clean off, you know?" He cleared his throat, "We figure the hair and eye are from the stress."

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. Sylvia closed her eyes against the cold air from the window.

"What's the last thing you remember?" He asked.

She swallowed, taking a deep breath, "I remember being taken into the workshed... and the man telling me his name was Iain. That's it, I think."

He cleared his throat and she heard the crinkle of the pillow case as he nodded his head.

"Are you angry with me?" She whispered so quietly, she was surprised he heard it.

Fred sat up, "What? No — Sylvie." He placed his hand on her shoulder, "Why would I be angry with you?"

"You sound angry."

"I'm angry with them. Sylvie," he repeated, "why would I be angry with you?"

She swallowed and felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, "I don't know. Because I came back."

He pulled at her shoulder, urging her to face him, "Look at me."

Reluctantly, she turned onto her back, pressing the heels of her hands into her closed eyes before dropping them by her sides, looking over to Fred.

"I'm not going back to school." She said.

Fred hesitated. His face dropped and he took in a deep breath as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. When he opened them again, he stared into the corner of the room, lips pursed and eyes blank.

A bitter feeling yanked at Sylvia's stomach and she sighed, trying to suppress a groan of annoyance.

"Now I've made you angry." She muttered under her breath, sitting back up and easing her legs over the side of the bed.

"What?" Fred asked, watching her put her glasses back on and rub at her temple.

She sighed, feeling like a creaky old lady as she shuffled over to the wardrobe, "Nothing."

"Sylvie." She could see him there, running a hand over his face out of the corner of her eye, "Why, for the love of god, don't you want to go back to school?"

There weren't any shirts in her drawer, so she turned to dig through the hamper for one that could be worn another day. Buried only under a pair of trousers was Fred's tee shirt, the one she was wearing last night, a heather blue stained with stiff deep purple at the collar. She pretended to ignore it, continuing to sift further into the dirty clothes.

"Because there's a fucking war going on here." She said, yanking out a tank top, effectively spilling out a small explosion of socks onto the floor.

Fred huffed a laugh, "Isn't that exactly why you should go?"