#man i miss her.... wish i could've spent more time with her... talked about knitting and sewing and cooking

[robinsnest2111]

just saw a recipe video for a cake that looks just like a cake my late grandma used to make and now I got tears streaming down my face oops

[vnderoos]

what could've been ✷ fred weasley

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language word count / 2.1k

masterlist in bio ↴

IT WAS THE FIRST TIME IN months that Y/N had mustered up enough courage to visit Molly and Arthur at the Burrow, after the battle and all. It was the first time she'd even been able to think about stepping foot in the place when everything in it reminded her of the man she'd lost that day. She'd spent the whole day with his parents, after Molly had spent so much time begging for her to visit, but for some reason, Y/N couldn't bring herself to leave when the time came.

Being in the home had placed yet another crushing weight on her chest, but something about it was exactly what she needed, so Molly had offered up one of the children's old rooms, even though they were far from children now, due to age and experience alike. Y/N had thanked her for that, but something about going up the stairs seemed very, very wrong to her, and she decided to take the couch instead. The redheaded woman had made sure she was comfortable, with a nice, fluffy pillow for her head and a thick quilt to keep her warm, and she'd turned in for the night herself.

This had all happened hours ago, before Y/N had fallen asleep and woken up from a bad dream all the same. She couldn't say that she was surprised as she laid in the darkness of the living room, fidgeting with the ring on her left hand, that Fred Weasley still occupied her thoughts—definitely not when she was sitting in his childhood home—but she couldn't deny the way that it made her ache. Sometimes, when she woke up like this, she hoped that everything had all been a dream, but when she reached up to touch her cheek, to touch the scar that had been left as a reminder of a time she wished she could forget, she knew it had been anything but.

This night, though, seemed infinitely more painful without him.

The Burrow used to be a place of comfort, a safe haven of sorts. She had memories of countless summers spent there, playing under the beating sun with the Weasley kids and Harry Potter, and how full it had felt with all of them around, but after Fred's passing, after they'd all moved on with their lives and left the nest, it felt so empty. No longer was it noisy with the laughter that used to filter through them all or bright with shared smiles or zipping with fireworks set off by the twins.

Instead, it was hollow with the shells of their rooms—of his room—and void of belly laughs. It felt as tilted as it looked on the outside, like it was barely holding itself together anymore. It was empty hallways covered in shadows and quiet walls filled with moving pictures that made you want to stare at your feet.

It was less of a shelter now, and more of a memorial.

Y/N stared up at the ceiling, her right hand still on the engagement ring they'd found in his pocket, and she ran her thumb over the diamond. She could feel tears prickling in the spaces behind her eyes when she flipped her hand over and her eyes flickered to her finger, watching the only words he'd left behind for her light up like soft, orange embers. Forever yours — Fred. She watched the letters fade away in a matter of seconds, before she swiped her thumb over the diamond again. She did that a couple more times, before she couldn't bare it anymore, and she swallowed thickly to get rid of that familiar knot in her throat.

She pushed the quilt off of her body, finding it rather suffocating, now, and she sat up on the couch. She brought her knees over the edge and tugged her hands through her hair, and as she felt the cold band of her ring brushing against her forehead, she realized she'd forgotten what he smelled like. "Oh, God," she whispered into her wrists and the tears—fuck, they stung. The whole realization stung, in fact, and it felt like something had sucked the wind out of her lungs, because she couldn't remember.

If six months was all it took for her to forget the smell of maple syrup, fireworks, and a warm, summer evening, then she didn't want to know how long it would take to forget the sound of his laugh, or the shape of his nose, or the way it felt when she tucked herself into his arms after a long day.

She couldn't take it.

She couldn't sit there and let herself forget him when there was half a room dedicated to nobody but him, so she found it in herself to stand up, and make her way to the staircase. It seemed almost haunting, staring back at her as she looked at it, and it took her almost three minutes to take the first step. The railing was cold against the warmth of her palm and it sent a shiver running down her spine, but she shook it away.

Y/N pushed all her doubts to the back of her mind and she walked up the staircase, making her way to the door of the bedroom that he used to share with George. She put her hand on the doorknob and ripped it open like you'd rip off a bandage and she nearly crumbled. The smell of old parchment, broom polish, and stale gunpowder, along with what she'd recalled earlier, hit her like a ton of bricks and her knees buckled.

She took a step into the room and it felt like the walls were closing in on her, like her chest was caving in on her, but she made her way over to one of the two beds, the one that he used to sleep in, and she ran her fingers over the red quilt. It was cold to the touch, after months of sitting dormant, and she clenched her fingers into a fist. She remembered the nights where she'd be wrapped up in that very quilt, with Fred cuddled into her side, after she'd walked in after a nightmare, and he'd told her he'd keep her safe.

And he always did.

As her fingers brushed over the quilt, they ran over something else, something softer. She picked it up gently and leaned over towards the bedside table. She slipped her free hand under the lampshade and she turned on the light, washing the room in a soft yellow, and when she looked down at her hands, her breath caught in her throat. Christmas was only a month away, but in her fingertips, there was a sweater. It was a deep red and there was a golden 'F' stitched on the chest and she could feel her heart sink in realization.

Molly had still knitted him a sweater this year.

Y/N brought the fabric to her nose and she took a whiff, shutting her eyes tightly when the tears started to well up. She wasn't sure how long it had sat in the room, but it smelled just like him, all the same. She could feel that knot forming in her throat again and she decided to throw the sweater on over her own shirt, pulling the sleeves around her hands and hugging her arms to her body. Maybe, if she closed her eyes tight enough, it would feel like he was the one doing the hugging. She squeezed her eyes so tight, she could see starts, but even then, she couldn't change the fact that he wasn't. He wasn't hugging her and he never would be, not anymore.

Fred would never be there to wrap an arm around her in the mornings and pull her into his side while he held a cup of coffee in his other hand. He would never be there to scoop her up off of the ground after a good day at the shop and tell her how much he loved her. He would never be there to give her a bear hug when she wasn't feeling well. He would never be there at all, and the more she thought about it, the harder the tears started to fall, and she could feel her first vocal sob sputtering from her lips.

She didn't stop it, like she had when she was downstairs, but instead, she laid down on his bed and turned her back against the lamp, curling up into a ball and letting her cries get the best of her. She couldn't help but wonder what he would've done if he'd seen her like that, but she could only imagine. She remembered how after particularly bad nightmares he would hold her so tightly in the darkness, thread his long fingers through her hair, and tell her that everything was going to be just fine. She remembered how he would talk about other things to take her mind off of it and how, when he thought she'd fallen asleep, he'd start to tell her that he was going to marry her one day. He would talk about having a large family together, like his own, except with how well the joke shop was doing, they'd be able to spoil the kids. He would talk about having a nice, cozy home like the Burrow and a big yard where he could teach the kids how to play quidditch, and she couldn't stop sobbing now. She was so overtaken by the fact that she'd never get to have that with him, that she couldn't even breathe.

"Y/N, is that—" she'd barely even heard the door creak open as Molly walked in, and the woman stopped in her tracks when she did. The sight of seeing Y/N, who she'd looked after like her own all these years, in such a weak state was enough to make her own eyes water, and she brought a hand to her chest. "Oh, darling," she whispered, because her voice refused to go any higher, and she made her way over to the bed. She sat down beside the girl, whose body shook with every cry, and Y/N moved to hug her almost immediately. Molly didn't think she'd ever felt the girl hug her as hard as she did now, feeling her bury her face into her chest, and she wrapped her arms around her just as tightly. "I've got you, dear," she muttered sadly, and she laid back against the wall, a tear slipping down her own cheek.

Y/N's fists were balled up around the fabric of Molly's shirt and her eyes were squeezed shut as she sobbed. "I'm sorry," she whispered against the woman's chest. "I'm so, so sorry, Molly," she repeated, and she could feel herself breaking into pieces. Everything she'd tried to be since Fred died just came unraveling.

"No, dear," Molly whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss into it softly, and resting her chin on her head. "Don't be sorry, we all miss him. It's okay," she promised, giving her a good squeeze.

Y/N shook her head against her. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him," she elaborated, the moment flashing through her head like it had happened the day before—the smile that had been on his face, before it wasn't. "I should've stayed with him."

"Don't talk like that, darling." Molly leaned down to grab a fuzzy blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed and she pulled it over herself and Y/N gently. "It wasn't your fault in the slightest," she reassured her and Y/N nodded, another son wracking her body, and Molly's eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"We would've gotten married," she said, acutely aware of the ring on her finger, and it was in that moment that Y/N absolutely shattered. Her hands tightened around Molly's shirt and she let out a strangled scream, feeling the woman tug her impossibly closer. "He was supposed to be the rest of my life, and without him, I'm nothing," she admitted, her lip quivering as she did.

Molly brushed her fingers through Y/N's hair softly, just like Fred used to, and she pressed her forehead against the girl's head. "You are still everything to me. To us," she promised on behalf of the rest of the Weasleys, and she smushed her cheek against her head. "We love you so much, sweet girl."

At that, Y/N just nodded and she continued to cry into Molly until she fell asleep.

In the morning, when the sun filtered through the window of the twins' old room, the woman was gone, and there was a plate of warm biscuits sitting in her place. The fact that Y/N was still in the room was the only indication that the last night had even happened at all.