January 10th, 1996
"Ms. Wenlock," Madame Pomfrey says, "Charlie's been asking for you. He's just in here, if you'd like to see him." Lillie nods and mutters a thank you, craning her neck and looking into the wing. There's one bed occupied, but a sheet is drawn around it protectively. They walk in, Lillie closely trailing Madame Pomfrey.
"What happened?" Lillie asks. She's concerned, obviously, but she's not stressed. She figures if it were grave, she'd know.
Madame Pomfrey hesitates, "I think it would be better if he told you himself." Lillie doesn't respond, mulling over the answer. "I gave him a calming draught a few hours ago. It should be wearing off pretty soon, so if he seems agitated come get me."
Lillie frowns. What could've happened that would have made him need sedation? Madame Pomfrey gently parts the curtains when they approach the bed. Charlie is sitting, staring straight ahead. In the striped hospital pyjamas, he reminds Lillie of a small child. He normally takes so much space, spreading his long limbs with a cool self-assuredness that borders on arrogance. Now, he looks shrunken. His normally strong shoulders cave, giving his frame a delicate, birdlike appearance. His strong cheekbones suddenly look gaunt. Lillie is struck by his appearance, and it takes her a second to find her words.
"Charlie," Madame Pomfrey says kindly, "Lillienne is here, like you asked." He turns, his expression unchanging but his eyes lighting slightly. Madame Pomfrey steps aside, allowing Lillie to enter the makeshift room. "I'll be in my office, if you need anything."
Lillie steps towards his bed hesitantly, unsure of how to approach. She leans her hip on the side of the bed awkwardly. He's staring at her with wide, fixed eyes, drinking her in. She grabs his hand; it feels like the right thing to do, but the gesture feels forced.
"What happened?" she says, concern laced in her tone. Charlie takes a deep, ragged breath, the type that you take after you've stopped crying. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it, gaping like a fish, unable to find the words. His eyes well with tears that he wipes away furiously with the back of his hand. Lillie's heart breaks.
"Oh my god," she says, "What happened?" she squeezes his hand tightly, trying to give him the strength. He coughs and clears his throat, trying to get rid of the thickness that renders him mute. He tries again, but instead of words a mangled sob escapes his dry, worried lips.
Lillie leans forward, pulling him to her in a hug. At first, he simply lets it happen, sniffling dejectedly. After a moment, however, he brings his arms up, wrapping them around her. Lillie feels hot tears hitting her exposed shoulder as he grips her, his back heaving with silent sobs.
"I'm so," he hiccups, "scared."
Lillie shushes him comfortingly, kissing the side of his head. He cries for a few minutes more, spilling out jumbled, broken parts of a story that Lillie cannot piece together. Something about You-Know-Who, and a prank.
"Don't leave me," he says into her neck. Lillie cringes. She nods her head.
"You're," he sniffles, "You're the only one who..." he trails off.
"I know," Lillie says. And she does know; she's the only one who he can talk to about whatever is scaring him so badly.
Madame Pomfrey bustles in at that time, a bottle in her hand.
"Alright, Charlie, dear," she says, "Looks like it's time for another calming draught. Is that alright?" He pulls his head from where it was resting on Lillie's shoulder. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are swollen. Tears still run freely down his cheeks, and he wipes them.
"I don't want to sleep," he says gruffly.
"Not a problem," she replies, "We'll just calm you down." He nods, taking the potion she offers with a shaking hand and knocking it back like a shot. It takes effect immediately. His breaths turn slow and deep, rid of the shallow gasping. He stops crying and his eyes droop; he's tired but not sleepy. Madame Pomfrey bustles out again, shutting the curtain.
Charlie looks at her before scooting his legs over, leaving Lillie room to sit by his hip. She climbs on, tucking a leg under her.
"Think you're okay to tell me what happened?" she says softly. He nods.
Lillie knows immediately who pranked Charlie. The uncertain, hollow concern that she was feeling is steadily replaced with hot rage as he tells her what happened to him. She listens with a hardened expression as he tells her the cruelty of the event, of the roaring terror he felt at hearing You-Know-Who's voice.
"I remember thinking," he says, "This is it. My life is over."
"Fucking hell," Lillie says, unable to comprehend how he must have been feeling.
"I knew he wouldn't kill me, but... I thought I had more time. Before..."
Lillie's gaze narrows, "Before what?"
"I mean, I knew it wasn't the Dark fucking Lord when the git said something about turning Dumbledore into a teapot," he continues, not answering her question.
"Charlie," she says, "Before what?"
Charlie sighs, "The Death Eaters are forming ranks again. Everyone knows it. It's all Crabbe and Goyle and Malfoy talk about," he pauses, "People in Slytherin are choosing sides."
"What do you mean choosing sides?"
"Either you agree to fight, or you get killed when they come back. Along with the muggles and mudbloods." They're silent.
"And," Lillie says, "What did you choose?" She's afraid to ask.
He doesn't answer. He picks at the cuticle of his thumb, avoiding her glare. "Charlie?" she says, her voice suddenly more commanding.
"I chose them." Lillie sighs, looking out the window and chewing her lip. "What did you expect?" he asks, "What other choice do I fucking have?"
"You say no!" she snaps, "You say 'No, I not gonna kill innocent people.'"
"I'd die, Lillie," he says calmly. The draught prevents him from yelling back at her.
"No you wouldn't!" she says, "It's not going to get that bad. Dumbledore has a plan, and Harry-"
"No, Lillie. It is going to get that bad. They have more wizards behind them than anyone even thinks. They're going to take the ministry, within the next couple years. I have to choose."
Lillie's crying, now. She doesn't sob like Charlie was; her tears flow smoothly and silently, making little plopping sounds on the bedspread.
"We don't have to talk about that now," he says. He moves his body to the side, making room for her. She lays next to him, slipping under the covers and leaning her head against his chest. They're on their sides, turned towards each other.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair. She just shakes her head and closes her eyes, allowing tears to squeeze out. He sniffles; he's crying too, but much more calmly than he was before.
As she lays there, falling asleep to the beating of his heart, she realizes she loves him. She cares about him so deeply, she so badly wants to keep him safe, that she'd do anything to help him get out of this.
Of course, she doesn't love him in the way that she loves Fred.
***
Charlie sits with his legs hanging off the side of his bed, still in his pajamas. He stares into space while Lillie waits, already dressed in her uniform.
"We're not gonna have time for breakfast if you don't hustle," she says lightly, tying her hair up loosely and wiping her fingers under her eyes, clearing away her smudged makeup. Charlie stands without a word, dressing mechanically. Lillie realizes with a start that this is the first time she's seen him unclothed, and she blushes and averts her eyes. He isn't indecent; his briefs stayed on, but she's flustered all the same.
He grabs his book bag that sits by the hospital bed, likely brought by a house elf along with their clothing. He takes a shaky breath before he and Lillie begin to walk to the Great Hall for breakfast. He walks slowly, trudging like he's trying to delay the moment. Lillie keeps having to grab his hand and tow him along. He'd never admit it, but he's embarrassed. He knows that by now, most of the school has probably heard about his very public breakdown, and is terrified of the impending shame.
Lillie sees this and grabs his hand, waffling their fingers together and squeezing tightly.
"You'll be okay," she whispers. He nods. They turn the corner, entering the huge, open doors of the Great Hall. The chatter lulls slightly as they walk in, hand-in-hand. Pretty much every student is looking and whispering, laughing awkwardly or otherwise gossiping.
"It's okay," Lillie says lowly, "They can't know what you were upset about. You're okay." All the students of Hogwarts know is that Charlie had a breakdown. He nods and walks to the Slytherin table, sitting down as quickly as his leg will allow. Lillie sits beside him. Across the hall, she sees Fred staring. Her throat constricts at the sight of his gaunt face, pleading apparent on his handsome features. She frowns and averts her eyes, shaking her head in a silent answer to his unspoken question.
What happens next is something Lillie never, ever expected from a group of Slytherins. His friends, who she largely regarded as douchebag blood-purist bullies, each get up, bringing their food to sit next to him. They pat him on the back comfortingly, falling into an easy conversation. They gracefully avoid the subject of Charlie's episode, talking as though it had never happened. They even speak to Lillie, asking her about her classes and friends. They're kind and welcoming, and suddenly Lillie understands why Charlie is so easily swayed by them. They have formed a sort of brotherhood, a club that is simultaneously exclusive and welcoming. It caters to the pureblood wizard's deepest fears, and offers a solution. Anyone would be excited by their ideas when they promise safety and prosperity for their members.
She's terrified. Their tactics make them all the more insidious; it will be much, much harder than she realized to pull him out.
***
Fred sits at his seat in the Great Hall with an empty plate. His stomach is roiling, and he doesn't think he could keep anything down. He's never been this stressed in his life; he didn't even go to sleep last night, and he sits in the same clothes he wore to the party. They still smell like her, floral and warm.
He was holding on to hope, for a time, that she simply wouldn't realize it was him that pulled the prank. That she'd never put two and two together, that he could continue with her in blissful ignorance. The look she gave him as she entered the Great Hall holding Charlie's hand made him acutely aware of his naivety. She knows, and he's likely lost her.
Fred carried out his day in a similar manner, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He watched her on the Marauders Map wherever he could, fixating on her name. His stomach drops every time she moves, and he doesn't calm down until she arrives at a destination. He knows that soon she'll come looking for him, that it's only a matter of time before he has to face her. Dread fills him, dark and drippy like molasses, making him move through his day in slow motion.
At ten P.M, he sees her name leave her bed and float down the hall, out of the dorm, and toward the viaduct that connects two portions of the castle together. She stops in the middle, and Fred knows that she is waiting for him there. They have a way of communicating that transcends words; sometimes, Fred feels like he can read her mind.
He looks out the window. The tip of the Black Lake is just visible from his room. It ripples with wakes created by a gusting wind. Clouds cover the waning moon, and the valley beyond is dark and infinite. The sky is purple, pregnant with building tension that threatens to burst into thick, wet droves of rain. He puts his shoes on mechanically, shrugging on his winter robes and grabbing his wand.
The walk to meet her feels like a death march. The uncertainty is what plagues Fred; all day he's been torturing himself with hope; hope that she'd be forgiving, hope that she isn't too mad, hope that she loves him enough to not care. He doesn't know which is worse; the eventuality of facing her, or the possibility he's allowing himself to imagine.
She's leaning against the low wall of the viaduct, her forearms supporting her. She stares up at the bubbling sky, waiting. She doesn't know what she'll say to him. She floated through her classes all day today, contemplating this very conversation. Lillie barely knows what she is feeling, let alone how to express it. She's angry with him and disappointed and disgusted and sad and in love. For the first time in her life, she has to face an interaction she can't plan.
Even in this grim moment, Fred can't help but notice the way her hair swirls around her head--her grace strikes reverent awe even in the harshest elements. He walks to her slowly, unsure of where to stand, how to act. He's silent and at a loss for words. He stops a few yards away from her, though he longs to close the gap; to wrap his arms around her, turn his back to the wind, and shield her from it.
"You've ruined everything," she says after a minute of tense silence. Her voice quavers.
"I know," he says quietly. He isn't even sure she heard him. At this moment, he resigns himself to the fact that this won't go as it always does for him. He can't charm his way out, kiss her gently and soothe the wound he's made. There's nothing he can do but wait for her to forgive him.
"I trusted you," she says, "I told you that about him so you'd warn Harry."
He's silent.
"Why did you do that?" she asks. She's beginning to choke up now. She hasn't even turned her head towards him.
"I don't know," Fred says honestly, "I was jealous, I guess. Angry."
"You fucking traumatized him," Lillie says, sniffling deeply and attempting to control her tears.
"I didn't know it would be so...bad. I had no idea he'd react that way, otherwise-"
"Bullshit!" Lillie cries, "How would you react if the Dark Lord started whispering in your ear? It's enough to put you in a fucking institution, for fucks sake!"
"I didn't think..." he trails off.
They stand there, silent again. Lillie is crying quietly, and Fred's jaw grinds stonily.
"I'm sorry," he says desperately.
"It's not fucking okay," she says.
"I know," he says. "Fuck, Lillie I," he tugs his hair, "What do I do? I don't know what I was thinking, I-" his voice cracks. He wipes at his eyes, not knowing whether it is the driving wind or the force of his emotions causing his tears.
Lillie is quiet for a long time. She still hasn't looked at him.
"It's worse than I thought," she says, her breath hitching rhythmically.
"What is?"
"The Death Eater thing," she replies, "What you did was so awful because it will happen. He is going to be recruited by the Dark Lord, it's just a matter of time."
He's silent, allowing her to continue.
"Fred, if I don't help him he'll join. He'll do whatever they say and he'll kill people and do awful things and I can't let that happen. I just fucking can't," she says, nearly hysteric.
Fred, as repentant as he is, can't control his anger at hearing her words. How could she devote all this time to a future death eater, allow him to control her life this way? This attachment she's developed with him has to stop; Fred can't let her devote her life to Charlie. He won't sit by and watch her throw her teenage years away on saving a lost cause. A Death Eater doesn't deserve his help; Charlie will get what is coming to him.
"I need help," she pleads. He closes his eyes, dreading his next words. "Please just help me save him."
"I can't."
Silence.
"Lillie, leave him. You like me, not him."
Silence.
"It's different, with us, and you know it."
Silence.
"Do you laugh with him like we do?" he scoffs, "I know you don't kiss him like you kiss me. We're different, Lil, and I know you're driven by some fucked up instinct to protect him but I've waited too fucking long for you. And I know I fucked up and I'm not asking you to forgive me but please," he's shouting over the wind, "Don't chose him."
Fred's pleas fall on deaf ears; Lillie's relationship with Fred came crashing down the moment he refused to help her. She knows now that she has to choose between what feels good and what is right. There's no amount of love Fred can offer her that would make her abandon Charlie; she wouldn't be able to live with herself. She will always, always choose what is right. She's freely sobbing now, overwhelmed with the weight of her decision. She still hasn't looked at him.
She lets out a frustrated, muffled scream into her clenched hands. She sinks to the ground, her shoulder sliding down the rough stone of the wall. Fred darts to her, kneeling down and trying to steady her shoulders.
"I can't do it alone," she says, nearly incoherent. He tries to pull her to him, driven by his instinct to comfort her. She pushes back from him, turning her head in disgust. "No," she sobs, "Stop it." He lets go immediately, though he remains knelt next to her.
The knowledge that no one will help her is crushing Lillie. The stress of the inevitable future presses down on her head and chest, compressing her internal organs till she feels like she'll split. The truth that no one but her cares for Charlie enough to help him could give her a heart attack.
"Lillie," Fred says, pleading, "You have to stop. It isn't fair to yourself, you don't owe him anything."
The beginnings of the storm begin; fat raindrops plop on the flagstone, creating dark polka-dots all around.
"You're so fucking selfish," she says, her head in her hands. He doesn't respond.
The raindrops grow more frequent, picking up to a strong, quick patter.
"I hate you," she says, cold and unyielding. She's shooting to kill.
The storm has started in earnest, soaking through their robes almost immediately and plastering their hair to their fevered foreheads. She staggers up, tripping slightly on the dragging hem of her robe. She's crying so hard she can barely see, and the force of her heaving breaths disrupt her balance.
Fred sits on the ground, completely still. He lets the rain wash over his face, uncomprehending of what she's just said to him. He scans her face urgently, trying to read her mind.
She walks away, her shoes splashing in the already formed puddles in the deep, ancient crevices of the stone. Fred watches her go from where he sits.
He stays like this, staring blankly at nothing. Eventually, when he's shivering so hard his jaw clenches painfully and he can feel his muscles fatiguing from cold, he gets up. His joints are stiff, like they've rusted over from sitting in the wet. He doesn't even remember getting back to his dormitory and collapsing into his bed, catapulting into a wan, dreamless sleep.