You could say I was pissed. Pissed at Deanne for writing to Fred about me instead of just asking me how I was. Pissed at Fred for writing back without telling me. Pissed at George for knowing about it and not telling me. I was mostly just pissed at Fred and Deanne.
I sent Deanne a letter that I wouldn't be showing up like we agreed on because I "forgot" I had something else to do.
I was sitting in the window sill in the kitchen, watching people walking past in diagon alley. I was bored but my mind kept me occupied I guess.
When the workday was over at five and the boys closed the shop, they went up here. George patted his brother on the shoulder and then hurried into our bedroom to leave Fred and I alone in the kitchen, but I didn't speak.
"George said you were angry. Pissed. Mad. I don't know." He said. "But you're upset with me? Because I wrote with Deanne about you?"
"I'm upset because you didn't tell me you were writing about my nightmares." I said. "I'm also upset with Deanne because she could've bloody asked me about them if she wanted to know."
"She was scared you'd cry. She hates seeing you cry." Fred said and approached me. "But she's angry. Angry at your father. Says she's going to kill him. I believe her. Her uncle—"
"Her uncle." I scoffed, interrupting him. "He's my father."
Then my eyes started to tear up and I sighed, trying to rub my eyes to make it stop. "Why am I crying? I am always fucking crying."
"Maybe you're pregnant." Fred joked, causing me to glare at him.
"Yeah, well that joke wasn't funny when it was about Kathleen and it isn't funny now either." I said, pulling my legs down from the sill so I could look at him better. "Yes, I have nightmares and it happens almost every night but can you blame me? I dream about getting beat by the Carrows, getting beat by my own father. I dream about being sexually assaulted by Amycus. I dream about watching my own brother getting beat by our father and when I try to scream for him to stop, he punches me. I was forced to watch. Our father thought it he tormented us long enough, we would surrender and join the death eaters."
Fred watched me carefully. He probably didn't know what to say but I didn't blame him and I didn't care.
"You know—" I breathed. "I'm angry. I am so fucking angry. Not at you. Not at George and not at Deanne. I'm angry with myself because in one way I believe if I had surrendered, he wouldn't have beat Sebastian that badly. If I had agreed to getting the dark mark, maybe he wouldn't have almost killed my brother. Maybe Amycus wouldn't have touched me. Maybe I wouldn't have been beat myself."
"Don't do that." Fred frowned. "Blame yourself for what happened? None of that was your fault. You couldn't have done anything about it."
"Aren't you listening? If I—"
"No. Are you listening?!" He yelled. "Becoming a death eater? If you became one of them, things would only get worse, not better. You did the right thing when you refused and look around, you are safe. You're not in that cellar anymore. You're not held hostage by your father and the Carrows. You're safe so quit putting the blame on yourself. Quit talking like that. I am fucking thrilled that you're alive without being a bloody death eater."
The door to the bedroom and George stepped out as he had obviously heard us. He took his time to approach us, using slow and small steps.
"I'm going." Fred said. "I'm gonna go and see Deanne since you cancelled."
He glanced at his brother before he hurried to get a coat and his boots on, the door slamming behind him on his way out. I scoffed, shaking my head while I looked out of the window again.
"What was that all about?" George asked. "You considered it? Becoming a death eater?"
"I just wanted it to stop." I told him. "I wanted it all to stop. You don't know what it was like."
The next thing I knew, he had wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck and I led my arms around his shoulders.
"Just like now." I whispered. "I want the memories to stop and I want the nightmares to stop."
"Maybe you should see a therapist." He suggested. "Not one of those muggle ones because how would you explain it to them that you were beat for not wanting to be a death eater?"
I let out a small chuckle against his shoulder and made space for him so he could join me on the sill, a leg ended behind me and his other leg tangling with mine.
"I know a therapist here in diagon alley." He told me. "She helped Ron when he was younger and had night terrors. If you want, we could pay her a visit on Saturday."
"Yeah." I nodded. "That might be a good idea."