Whispers in the Dark-Fred Weasley

Chapter Twenty-Three

He reaches across the table, his hand brushing against mine. "You're not alone," he says firmly. "No matter what they're telling you, no matter what they're threatening, you have us."

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks me, but I can't let it. I pull my hand back, the loss of contact leaving a hollow ache. "I have to go," I murmur, standing abruptly. My bag hangs heavy on my shoulder, a reminder of the choices I've made and the ones I'll have to make.

"Serena," Harry calls after me, his voice laced with desperation.

I pause, my back to him. For a moment, I consider turning around, consider telling him everything—the fear, the pressure, the unbearable weight of being a Malfoy in a world spiraling toward darkness. But I don't. Instead, I take a shaky breath and walk away, leaving him sitting there in the glow of the library lamp, the silence between us louder than any words could ever be.

...

I walk through the hallways, letting my feet wander aimlessly. Getting lost on purpose feels better than heading to the common room and facing Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Guilt clings to me like a second skin, too heavy to shrug off. The silence of the castle is soothing, my thoughts the only noise.

That is, until I hear a familiar chorus of laughter echoing down the corridor.

I glance up, immediately regretting it. A cluster of Gryffindors is gathered by the staircase, the Weasley twins' towering forms unmistakable. Fred's bright hair catches the light, his head tilted back in a laugh that feels too carefree for the weight sitting on my chest. Angelina stands beside him, her smile dimming when her gaze lands on me. She quickly masks it, her face neutral, but the hidden glare doesn't go unnoticed.

Great. Just what I need.

I pull my gaze away and quicken my pace, turning down another hallway to avoid them. My shoulders hunch instinctively, and I focus on the stone floor beneath my feet, willing myself to disappear.

But, of course, fate has other plans.

"Serena, wait up!" Fred's voice rings out behind me, his footsteps echoing louder with each step.

I don't stop, but my traitorous feet slow just enough to let him catch up. "Great," I mutter under my breath, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just who I wanted to see."

Fred falls into step beside me, his hands shoved into his pockets and that insufferable smirk playing on his lips. "Pleasant as ever, Malfoy," he says lightly, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. "It's honestly impressive how consistent you are."

I roll my eyes, glancing sideways at him. "What do you want, Weasley?"

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Just thought I'd brighten your day a bit. You looked like you were in desperate need of some charm and wit."

I stop abruptly, turning to face him. "If by 'charm and wit' you mean relentless annoyance, then congratulations—you've already succeeded."

His grin widens, and he leans slightly closer, enough that I can catch a faint whiff of cinnamon and something distinctly Fred. "Admit it, Malfoy. You'd miss me if I stopped."

I huff, crossing my arms. "I'd survive."

"Doubtful," he counters easily, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. "Who else would challenge your sparkling personality on a daily basis?"

"Anyone with a pulse?" I shoot back, but my words lack their usual bite. There's something about the way he's looking at me—too amused, too focused—that makes my pulse quicken against my will.

Fred lets out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. "You wound me, Malfoy. Here I am, offering my invaluable company, and you're throwing it back in my face."