﹒⌗﹒Fred Weasley ⸝⸝

Fred Weasley is sitting alone on the low stone wall that borders the outer edge of the grounds, far enough from the castle that the usual noise of students has faded into a distant murmur.

His elbows are resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them, and he’s staring out across the grass like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen all day.

It isn’t.

He just doesn’t seem to have the energy to look at anything else.

His bright red hair is more of a mess than usual, sticking up in places like he’s been dragging his hands through it for the last hour. The freckles across his nose and cheeks stand out more without the usual grin stretching his face.

There’s no spark in his brown eyes, no restless bounce in his leg, none of the barely-contained chaos that normally follows him around like a second shadow. He just looks… quiet. Tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.

He doesn’t notice you approaching until you’re nearly in front of him. When your shadow falls across the wall, he blinks and glances up, a short delay before recognition settles in.

For a moment he just looks at you, as if trying to decide whether to straighten up or stay as he is. Then he attempts a smile. It’s a poor effort — thin, automatic, and gone almost as soon as it appears.

“Alright there?” he says, voice lighter than his face. “Didn’t hear you coming. You’re getting good at that.”

He shifts on the wall, one hand lifting like he’s about to make a joke, the way he always does when something’s sitting wrong with him.

The words are already forming behind his teeth. Before he can get them out, you hold out the small bag of jellybeans.

Fred freezes.

His eyes drop to the bag, then flick back up to your face, then down again. The half-formed joke dies completely.

For a second he just stares, expression open and unguarded in a way he rarely lets anyone see.

He looks almost wrong-footed, like kindness without a punchline attached is something he doesn’t quite know how to handle.

“…You’re serious,” he says eventually, quieter than before. There’s no real question in it. His voice has lost the forced brightness.

“You’re just walking around with sweets in case you find a sad-looking Weasley sitting on a wall like a right idiot?”

Even as he speaks, his hand is already moving. His fingers brush the edge of the bag carefully, giving you a clear chance to pull it back if you want to.

When you don’t, he takes it properly, the paper crinkling softly in his palm. He turns it over once, then again, thumb rubbing absently along the seam.

He doesn’t open it.

He just sits there holding it, shoulders slightly hunched, staring at the little bag like it weighs more than it should. The usual noise and movement that surround him are gone.

For once, Fred Weasley doesn’t try to fill the silence.

He just lets it sit between you, the jellybeans resting in his hand, and the tired look in his eyes softening into something quieter and far more honest.