HEY GUYS! Long time no see... I'm sorry I haven't been updating--my life was pretty hectic and I did not have the time nor energy to write. Anyways, now that summer is here, I will be keeping a weekly update schedule (every Monday-ish). I took a lot of time to figure out where the story is going, and I now have a solid (and super cool) plan for the rest of the book.
Without further adieu...
Fred sits on the long, plush couch of the Gryffindor common room. His legs are spread wide and casual in front of him, and he rests with his neck against the top edge of the cushion, bending his long torso against the seat. The Marauders Map sits open on his knee, his large hand gripping it carefully. His eyes droop at the sound and heat emanating from the crackling fire, and George sits awake in another chair, reading a book silently. The turns of George's pages and the breeze that wafts in from the open window is enough to put him nearly to bed, and he hovers in the precipice of sleep, his eyes fluttering calmly.
He occasionally looks down, focusing on Lillie's name floating on the Marauder's Map. It hovers by the black lake, the tips of the illustrated banner bearing her name moving languidly in a false wind, the result of one of Remus's enchantments. His eyes flit from the map to the clock that sits on the mantle of the roaring fireplace. 2:17 AM. He unconsciously allows his eyes to close, submitting to the sleep that washes over him.
He begins dreaming immediately, in sharp and vivid detail. He is walking down the steep, zig-zagging stairs that lead down to the shores of the black lake. He feels a sense of urgency, that he's running out of time. He picks up his pace, taking the stairs two at a time as he races down them. They're short and deep, and his stride feels awkward and clunky. He looks up periodically and sees the giant moon in the sky, lighting the world around him as if it were day out. He's never seen the moon so full, the black lake so reflective. The path seems to go on and on, the turns never ending and his stumbling constant. Finally, he reaches the bottom of the stairs and runs to the right, following the row of lit lamps that go through the patch of woods that border the black lake. Normally, at this hour every lamp in and around the castle would be lit, lighting every walkway and staircase. Tonight, the lamps guiding him are the only in sight, their orange fires contrasting with the blue of the moon.
He's running now, down the wide dirt path that cuts through the cropping of trees. He trips on exposed roots and rocks as he races for the beach. He still doesn't know what he is running toward. Ahead of him, he sees where the trees part for the glittering Black Lake, its surface a mirror against the bright night. He bolts from the forest, the trees clearing ahead of him. His shoes move against the wet rocks of the beach, and each clumsy, rushed step he takes elicits a symphony of scrapes and knocks as the rocks click against each other. He whips his head around, searching desperately for whatever it is he's looking for.
He spots Lillie fifteen yards down the beach, her profile facing him. She doesn't look at him, though; her eyes are trained on another figure, standing far to her right. Charlie's cloak swishes as he blocks oncoming spells from an unknown source. Fred can't make out who is hurling curses at him, only that Charlie is losing the duel. His movements are sloppy and rushed, and he is overwhelmed by his attackers. Lillie stands, stock-still, her eyes wide and frightened.
Suddenly, a flash of green light hits Charlie and he hits the ground, his head knocking against the rocks sickeningly. Lillie's face contorts, shock overtaking her as realization sets in. She inhales, a scream ready to erupt from her heaving chest.
"Lillie!" Fred shouts, not wanting her to run into what looks like a one-sided battle. Her head jerks, startled by his voice. Her eyes, almost tugged toward Fred, snap to his. In that moment, Fred can see every detail of her face: her pinpoint pupils, shrunken by fear; her face, so pale and stark; the sheen of sweat on her quivering upper lip. Fred's stomach lurches, and a wrenching and palpable terror courses through him.
She turns away, focusing again on Charlie's lifeless body, and lets out a scream so freakishly, nightmarishly loud that Fred is jolted awake.
Fred jumps off of the couch to his feet, his head swiveling frantically. He takes in his surroundings and begins to calm down; he sees George, looking up from his book with a startled look on his face.
"You alright, Freddie?" George asks.
"Yeah," he breathes, "Yeah, I'm fine." His eyes find the clock, "What time is it," he mutters.
2:23 AM. He realizes only minutes have passed, and he grabs the map from where it sits, abandoned on the floor. He holds it close to his face, his eyes wheeling to find Lillie's name. It sits exactly where he last saw it, by the Black Lake. He clears his throat decidedly and folds the map, giving it to George quickly. He turns back to the couch where his shoes sit and shoves them on, not bothering to tie the laces.
"You have the shift covered for now, right?" Fred says as he swings his wool cloak over himself, latching the clasp at the neck.
"Yeah," George hesitates, "This isn't coming out of my rest time, though. You're up at 3:30."
"Yeah, I know. Tell Kingsley I'm using the loo, if he asks."
"Alright," George says as he refocuses on his book.
With that, Fred darts out the portrait hole, speed walking down the staircases and out to the path to the Black Lake. He again takes the stairs two at a time, no longer hindered by the clumsy, fumbling gait that often curses a panicked dreamer. The moon is as high and bright as it had been in his dream, bouncing off the still lake in a glowing orb. He would be able to see clearly even if the lamps above him weren't emitting a dim light along the path he walks.
He doesn't trip over roots and rocks as he darts through the stretch of forest, and he reaches the shores of the lake in no time. The path is short and finite, as familiar as it always has been. He once again whips his head around, though this time he knows who he is searching for.
He sees Lillie sitting on one of the massive boulders that sits on the beach. Half of the rock touches the water, the small waves lapping at the foot of it. She is perched on top, almost like a bird. Or a butterfly.
He walks to her, and her head jerks toward where she hears his shoes scraping against the rocky beach. She hurriedly wipes her face, clearing the tears that accumulated there.
"How do you always know?" she says in a choked but humorous voice once he draws nearer.
"You're my other half?" he says jokingly, laughing awkwardly at himself. She simply looks back toward the lake.
"Do you mind if I come up?" Fred says.
"No, you can come," she replies. Fred nods and climbs up nimbly, using the adjacent rock for support. He sits next to her, squeezing close as there isn't much room.
"Are you alright?" he asks once he's settled.
"Yes. I mean, no, but yes. I'll be fine," she replies.
"Right," he says, "Well, you can tell me. If you want."
She sighs, and Fred prepares for another closed wall, a nonanswer. That's why his heart skips when she gives a resigned, "Alright."
"God, I feel like I'm always crying these days," she says, wiping her eyes furiously and attempting to gain control of herself. "I'm pretty sad, lately."
"I can tell," Fred says gently, scratching his fingernail against the rough rock under him.
"I guess the main thing I'm feeling is guilt."
"Guilt?" Fred asks.
"Yeah. I mean, I'm feeling all the other stuff too--sadness, grief, denial, anger. But yeah, guilt is the flavor of the week," she chuckles.
"Not about us, right?" he says, "Our friendship, I mean. I really don't think Charlie would be upset--"
"No, not about us. It's making me happy, actually. You make me," she pauses, "Nevermind."
Fred hesitates, "What about, then?" As he sits there, waiting for her to answer, he realizes he was correct about his comparing her to a bird. Not in the way he first thought, though. Rather than weak or delicate, she strikes him as regal and somber. Looking at her stoic profile, he realizes she more closely resembles a falcon than a robin. There's nothing weak or hollow about her; there's something honorable and strong in the way tears drip from her set jaw. He's almost thrilled by her vulnerability.
"I feel guilty for missing Charlie. And still loving him," she says, her head hung.
"What?" Fred asks, incredulous, "Why would you feel guilty for that? He was your boyfriend, of course you can be upset." His heart tugs when he says the word boyfriend, but he pushes the feeling away.
"I know, it's just," she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, "Charlie wasn't always good to me."
"What do you mean?" Fred says.
"He was abusive," she sniffles, tears flowing more readily now.
"What?" Fred says. He's shocked by what she's said, and red seeps into the corners of his vision.
"He was pretty awful to me. I didn't see it, really, until he died and I started healing with my magic teachers. I guess I was in denial. I don't really want to rehash it, but he was manipulative." Her voice is high and tight, strained from resisting the urge to cry.
"What do you mean?" Fred says.
"He was working for the Ministry, did you know that? Passing information about You-Know-Who," she says.
"No," Fred shakes his head, "I didn't." And frankly, he doesn't care; any redeeming quality, any positive characteristic has just gone out the window.
"He was living at Malfoy Manor. It was super protected with warding spells and stuff, but we figured out a loophole. I could apparate in and out without being caught, so I was essentially the messenger. I brought notes from him to the Ministry intelligence offices. But, I was also spending a lot of time there. I spent almost every night with him, and I basically only left to eat and change my clothes."
Fred's jaw grinds as he imagines the scene she paints for him; he sees her naked in bed with him, rolling around in the dark silk sheets. He sees him screaming at her cowering frame. He forces himself to swallow his anger, clearing his brain so that he may more easily listen to what Lillie tells him.
"He would withhold information, until I did what he told me. He had all these strange, controlling rules that he would enforce. They were unspoken, but we both knew. Like, he wanted me to come and go at his command, or he didn't want me to spend time with my family or my friends. Whenever I broke one of his rules, he refused to give me that week's message for the Ministry. He held it over my head, until I apologized or whatever."
"Did he ever hurt you?" Fred says, "I'm sorry, I feel like I have to ask."
"No," she says, "He never hit me, or anything. He was rough in bed, most of the time, but I always consented to that."
Fred feels bile rise in his throat at the mention of Charlie's bedroom habits. It isn't jealousy that makes him angry at the thought; he just knows that Charlie was taking advantage of Lillie's kindness. Charlie knew she was a people pleaser, that she basically gave up her life to help him and the Ministry.
"But," Lillie continues, "When it was good with him, it was good. He was incredibly smart, and I could talk to him about nearly any subject and he'd have something to say about it. He was a good listener, when he wasn't talking about himself. He'd let me ramble for hours about something I'd watched or read. He really, really loved me, and it showed." She pauses, "It makes it hard to see those months clearly. What muggles say about rose-tinted glasses is true; I know logically that he was torturing me. God, he stressed me out so much. I started to lose hair, dropped ten pounds. I know in my mind it was awful, but I can't help but romanticize it. I know I was totally Stockholmed, but that doesn't really change how I feel."
Fred doesn't know what 'Stockholmed' means, but he doesn't ask, giving her the space to speak.
"So that's why I'm feeling guilty," she says. "I feel guilty because I know it's wrong for me to still miss him, to want to sit with him in the Slytherin common room and fight about petty things. I really thought I worked through all this, that I was past the point of loving him. But being back here is bringing stuff up, I guess."
Fred is at a loss for words. He feels like he wants to get up and throw something, or hug her, or kill someone.
"It's okay," she says, noticing his silence, "You don't have to say anything. I know it's fucked up."
"No, I'm sorry I-" he stammers, "I'm just trying to think of what to say."
They're silent for a few more moments while Lillie wipes the falling tears from her cheeks with her palm, frustrated that they won't stop coming.
Fred takes a deep breath, "I think what you're feeling is, erm, normal. Well, I don't mean everyone has experienced it, I certainly haven't, but it doesn't sound, like, unfitting to the situation."
"You don't think it's, like, so messed up?"
"Well, maybe a little," he concedes, "But the whole situation is messed up. I would be concerned if you weren't still pretty upset."
"Right. Thanks," she says.
"Godric, Lillie I'm so fucking sorry. I'm sorry this happened to you, I'm sorry for my role in it, I'm just sorry."
Lillie sniffles, "You don't have to apologize for that anymore, Fred."
"Yes I do--" he stops in his tracks, "What?"
"I forgive you," she says softly.
"What?" he says, shocked.
"I've done a lot of thinking since the last time we talked. I thought I was so angry at you, at what you did, but I think I am more angry at the situation."
"I- okay," he says.
"It's affecting my magic, holding all this anger inside me. I have all these conflicting emotions about you, and it's really confusing, and I just figure that letting some of that go is going to make things a lot easier. And I know you're sorry, and I don't want to keep... torturing you with this."
Tears sting Freds eyes, welling slightly but not spilling over. He rubs them with the heels of his hands roughly, willing them away. He is in awe of her; her kindness washes over him, buoying the weight that has been sitting in his chest for eight months. He can't help but feel unworthy of her forgiveness, but relieved and grateful all the same. He's never met a better person.
"Um," he says, his voice cracking with emotion, "Thank you, Lillie." That's all he says--he doesn't trust his emotions not to spill over if he mutters anything else. He's sure Lillie understands his gratitude. She nods, turning to look at him.
He pulls her into a hug--not the cautious, polite hug in the divination classroom weeks before, but a crushing one. His hand cradles the back of her head, his other arm pressing her shoulders to him. His head rests on top of hers, his lips pressing small kisses to her hair. His eyes are squeezed closed, and he is trying to save this feeling, remembering it so that he can re-experience it in the weeks to come. He knows he's likely ruined any chance of them being together romantically; this is as good as it's going to get. Lillie's head rests against his chest, and she can hear his heart pounding. She wraps her arms around his waist, sinking infinitely deeper into his embrace. Her shoulders still shake slightly with the force of her sadness, but Fred's arms steady her. For the first time in a very long time, both Lillie and Fred feel at peace, with themselves, the world, and each other, no matter how fleeting that peace may be.