CHAPTER SEVEN

Nimah had spent her summer immersed in rehabilitation. Though the process was gruelling and setbacks inevitable, she persevered. By the end of the season, she was finally given the green light to return home. Relief washed over her as she was greeted not with pity, but with warmth and familiarity. Her family and extended kin welcomed her back with open arms, refusing to treat her as though she were made of glass.

The shift in tone was something Nimah deeply appreciated. Within days, she began cracking jokes about her injury. At first, her family reacted with worry, unsure of how to handle her humour. But as time went on, they realized that laughter was her way of coping, and they embraced it, meeting her jokes with smiles and chuckles instead of hesitation.

One evening, when Nimah and Fred finally managed to find a quiet moment to themselves, the two couldn't avoid addressing the elephant in the room. What began as an awkward exchange of apologies quickly spiralled into a heated argument. Each of them was adamant that the blame for her injury rested solely on their own shoulders. Fred blamed himself for not protecting her better, while Nimah argued that she should have been more vigilant.

Hours passed, and their voices grew hoarse from the back and forth. But by the end of the debate, they reached a tentative agreement: a truce. Both promised to let the issue rest and never bring it up again. For Nimah, it was a step toward moving forward. For Fred, however, it was a harder pill to swallow. Deep down, the guilt still gnawed at him. He wanted her to blame him, to shout at him, to confirm what he already felt in his heart—that it was his fault. But he buried those feelings, knowing that pressing the matter would only hurt her more.

"I swear, when we get back to school, you two better make sure no one treats me like some helpless baby hippogriff," Nimah declared one night while lounging at the Burrow with Fred and James.

It had become a tradition for the trio to spend the night before the they went back to school. It was a chance to unwind and enjoy a bit of chaos before the structured days of school resumed.

"And what, pray tell, shall Milady have us do?" James replied in an exaggerated posh accent, earning himself a well-aimed pillow to the face.

"Shove off, you git," Nimah muttered, her words half-muffled by a cushion as she tried to maintain her dignity.

James, ever the instigator, began mocking her in return, and it wasn't long before the two descended into their usual playful bickering. Insults flew like sparks from a wand, each one more creative than the last.

Fred, meanwhile, sat back and watched the scene unfold with a small smile. On the surface, everything seemed to be returning to normal. Nimah was laughing, sparring verbally with James, and carrying on as if nothing had changed. But Fred couldn't shake the weight pressing on his chest.

Deep down, Fred yearned for a confrontation, for the release of the tension he felt building between them. He convinced himself that Nimah must be holding back her true feelings, burying her anger beneath a facade of resilience and humour. He wanted her to unleash it—to scream at him, accuse him, and place the blame squarely on his shoulders where he believed it belonged. He would have taken it all without hesitation if only to give her the catharsis he thought she needed.

But Nimah refused to play into his unspoken expectations. She carried on, as though their truce had settled everything, leaving the incident in the past where it belonged. Her jokes and stubborn refusal to dwell on the blame were her armour, a way to move forward. Fred knew it wasn't denial; she was simply trying to rebuild her sense of self amidst the wreckage of her dreams. Yet, it left him adrift in his own emotions, unsure of how to support her when he felt like the very reason she needed support in the first place.

While Nimah worked tirelessly to reclaim her independence, Fred found himself battling a silent storm within. Every smile she gave him, every laugh she shared with James, was a bittersweet reminder that he hadn't done enough. It was as though an invisible wall stood between them, built not by her words or actions but by his own lingering guilt.

No matter how much Fred told himself that Nimah was healing, that she was stronger than he gave her credit for, the doubt lingered. He couldn't help but feel like he was still failing her, unable to bridge the gap between what she needed and what he could give. The weight of his guilt pressed heavier with each passing day, but he swallowed it down, determined to let her set the pace.

Because in the end, it wasn't about him—it was about her. It was about Nimah finding her strength, her path, and her way to reclaim what had been stolen from her. If she could push forward without anger or blame weighing her down, then Fred knew he had to do the same. He told himself that she didn't need his guilt, his self-pity, or his constant need to take responsibility for something neither of them could control.

But that resolve came with a cost. Each time she laughed, masking the pain he knew still simmered beneath the surface, it chipped away at his own composure. Every time she brushed off her injury with a joke or a stubborn shrug, it was a reminder of how much she was carrying—and how little he could do to lighten the load. Yet Fred bit his tongue, determined to let her steer this delicate dance of recovery.

If Nimah could rise above the anger, so would he. If she chose resilience over resentment, then he would swallow his guilt and support her in any way she allowed. But it didn't mean it didn't tear him up inside, gnawing at him in quiet moments when the bustling distractions of the Burrow faded into the background.

Still, Fred vowed to keep it to himself. She didn't need him to fix her; she wasn't broken. All she needed was someone who believed in her strength, someone who could help steady her without stealing her agency. And so, he resolved to be that for her—her equal, her friend, her partner in mischief.

Even if it meant burying his guilt so deep it left scars of its own, Fred would follow her lead. Because she mattered more than his need for absolution, more than his own turmoil. It wasn't about him—it was about her. And for Nimah, he would do anything.