Whispers in the Dark-Fred Weasley

The Room of Requirement takes my breath away.

It's warm, golden, and alive—like it's been waiting for us. Cushions line the walls, dueling dummies stand like silent guardians, and a massive bookshelf groans with spellbooks I'd give anything to smuggle back to my dorm. Torches flicker gently, casting dancing shadows over the faces slowly filtering in.

And then there's him.

Fred.

I don't look directly at him, but I can feel him. That impossible, magnetic presence. He's across the room, joking with George and Lee, laughter falling easily from his mouth. It's too easy—how he can look that unbothered, that fine, while I feel like I've been flayed open for days.

I cross my arms, forcing myself to focus on the reason we're all here.

This isn't about him.
It's about all of us.

Hermione calls for everyone's attention, and slowly, the room quiets.

Harry shifts awkwardly beside her, clearly uncomfortable. "Um, thanks for coming, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing. But, uh—we'll start small?"

There's a beat of silence before Fred calls out, "Brilliant start, Potter. Truly inspiring."

A few people laugh. Even I almost smile. Almost.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Alright, alright. We're starting with the Disarming Charm. You all know Expelliarmus, right?"

Students nod, murmuring. Pairs begin to form.

I end up with Neville, who gives me a nervous smile and lifts his wand like it's going to shatter in his hands.

"You've got this," I say quietly. "Don't overthink it. Just feel where the spell wants to go."

We practice. Over and over. Spells misfire, sparks fly. A Ravenclaw girl gets knocked into a pile of cushions. Fred lets out a loud "oof!" as George sends his wand flying and makes a dramatic show of flopping to the ground like a wounded soldier.

I try not to watch him. But I always do.

Fred looks over at me at one point, just briefly, and his smile falters. Just a flicker.
It's the first moment in days where he doesn't look like he has it all under control.

I look away first.

Neville finally disarms me, and his stunned face makes me grin despite myself.

"Told you," I say softly.

Hermione claps her hands to gather attention again, and Harry steps forward, steadier now.

"That was... great, actually," he says. "And it's only the beginning. If we keep at this, we'll be ready for whatever comes. Even her."

Everyone knows who her is.

"We're not going to wait for Umbridge to tell us how magic works," Hermione adds. "We're going to teach each other. And protect each other."

There's a strange, beautiful hush that settles over the group.

And then Hermione pulls out the parchment—the one we all saw at the Shrieking Shack—and lays it on the table. Across the top, in her tidy writing:

DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY

Names begin appearing, one after the other. I sign mine quickly and move aside.

When Fred approaches, I can't help it—my eyes flick up again. Our gazes meet. Just for a second.

He doesn't say anything.