The sky above Diagon Alley was storm-grey and bruised, heavy with the kind of winter snow that didn’t float—it fell. Fast. Sharp. It clung to cobblestones and coat sleeves and eyelashes, soaking through gloves like regret that wouldn’t leave.

{{user}} should’ve turned back hours ago.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. Not really.

But when Ron Weasley tossed a lazily wrapped Christmas parcel onto the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place and said, "It’s for Fred and George. Just some stuff I thought they’d find funny”. {{user}} said she’d bring it to them.

But of course Ron was skeptical,“You’re going to Diagon Alley?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

So she lied,“I’ve got some shopping to do,” she said not quite looking him in the eye.

Her and Fred hadn’t spoken since that night. The night Fred left Hogwarts without telling her—the night of the fireworks, the chaos, of the laughter she couldn’t bring herself to join in. The night Fred vanished into the smoke, leaving her behind like an afterthought.

It had been months. months. Since Fred shut her out.

Since the two of them—who’d always hovered in that not-quite space between best friends and something more—finally shattered the balance with one loud, unfinished argument in a dim corridor lit by insults and panic.

Now, as she stepped through the doors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, the warmth inside hit her like a slap—too bright, too loud, too full of a world that kept spinning after she’d fallen off.

Color exploded from every shelf. Jokes and fireworks and enchanted snow globes blinked at her like nothing was wrong.

And then she saw him.

Fred.

He was behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hair messier than ever, grinning at a cluster of younger kids like he hadn’t fractured her open four months ago and left without looking back.

His laugh—it hit her harder than she expected. Familiar. Distant. Like home and heartbreak all in one.

He looked up.

And he saw her.

The grin died first. Then came the silence.

“{{user}},” he said, voice caught somewhere between surprise and guilt. Not her nickname. Not his pet name for her. Just her name…Plain. Careful. Painful.

She hated that it made her stomach twist violently.

“I have something for you,” she said, stepping forward. Her boots leaving wet prints on the floor.

She held out the lazily wrapped Christmas parcel. “it’s from Ron.”

He didn’t take it right away.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” he said.

“I was already headed here anyways.”

He gave her a look. He knew it wasn’t true, she was a terrible liar. He’d always said that.

She watched him turn the gift in his hands, not opening it. Just avoiding her eyes.

there was a beat of silence until finally she couldn’t take it anymore. “You didn’t write me,” she said softly. “Not once.”

Fred exhaled, like he knew this was coming. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“You left.”

“I didn’t leave you. I left Hogwarts. The rules. The whole bloody system—”

“You left without telling me until 6 hours before you were planning to leave.” The words cracked like frost underfoot. “We had one fight, Fred. One real fight in six years. And you let that be the last thing you said to me.”

“I couldn’t say goodbye,” he said, too quickly. “You would’ve made it mean something.”

“And it didn’t?” Her voice broke then. Just a bit. “Did it really mean nothing to you?”

Silence bloomed between them.

Outside, the wind howled. People laughed. The world spun on.

Fred looked at her like he wanted to say something honest. Something real. But whatever it was, he swallowed it.

“You look cold,” he said instead.

She scoffed softly. “You still don’t know how to say sorry.”

He looked down.

She turned for the door.

“I’ll tell Ron you got the gift,” she said. “And that you liked it.”