Whispers in the Dark-Fred Weasley

I don't make it far.

The second the door closes behind me, the cool night air rushes over my skin, but it does nothing to cool the fire still burning inside me. My chest heaves, my breaths coming fast, uneven, frantic, like I can't quite catch hold of reality again.I feel nauseous, the effects of the Veritaserum waning, but leaving me raw, exposed, hollowed out.

Like a wound that won't close.

I stumble forward, my feet moving of their own accord, barely noticing where I'm going.

Away from Grimmauld Place.
Away from them.
Away from everyone.

The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, the golden glow illuminating the quiet emptiness of London's streets. I don't know where I'm heading.I just know that I can't be there.

More sobs rack my body, shaking me from the inside out. My limbs feel weak, my fingers tingling from the weight of the truth that was just ripped out of me, exposed for all to hear.

For all to judge.

All for what?

For some stupid group.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my palms against them, willing the world to disappear.

But then—footsteps.

Fast. Determined.

Coming toward me.

Running toward me.

"Serena!"

His voice shatters the night.

Fred.

Sweet, stubborn, infuriating Fred.

Fred, who had looked at me like I was breaking and he couldn't stand it.

Fred, who had sat there and watched as I was torn open and didn't know how to put me back together. Fred, who is here now, chasing me down, refusing to let me be alone in this.

But I don't want to face him. Not now. Not after I just shed my soul open for them to pick apart, to dissect, to weigh in their judgmental hands like I was some liability to be considered.

I don't want his pity.

I don't want his concern.

I just want to disappear.

He reaches me quickly, his long strides closing the distance before I can even think about running again. His tall frame blocks the path ahead, and I come to an abrupt stop, my breath ragged, my body trembling with exhaustion.

I don't look at him.

I stare at his sneakers—old, torn at the edges, scuffed from years of wear. I focus on them, on the familiar sight of something so normal, so Fred, because I can't handle looking at his face.

Not while I stand here, crying pathetically in front of him, my body wrecked from everything that's just happened.

"Serena, I'm sorry."

His voice is soft, but there's an edge to it—something heavy, something real. Before I can react, he pulls me to his chest, wrapping me up in his arms like he can shield me from everything.

"I had no clue they would—I didn't know."

The words sting, not because he's lying, but because he's telling the truth.

Fred didn't know. He didn't realize what they were going to do to me, what they were going to force out of me, how they were going to break me apart and leave me there, raw and exposed, for the whole bloody Order to judge.