CHAPTER TEN

Fred was seething.

It didn't take him long to piece together what Nimah had been up to. After all, he'd been on the receiving end of her pranks countless times before. He knew the way her mind worked when it came to mischief. It was as though the very essence of a prank carried her signature. Her handiwork was unmistakable.

Still, he found himself unwilling to believe it. It didn't make sense. Nimah wouldn't just go back to her old ways—not after everything that had happened, not after her injury. He had been so sure her pranking days were behind her, more out of necessity than choice. She wouldn't risk putting herself in harm's way again, would she? But despite his own doubts, Fred couldn't shake the nagging certainty. He knew it was her.

And even though he had no authority over her, no claim to control how she lived her life, he still felt a gnawing sense of responsibility. She was his friend. He couldn't just stand by while she buried herself in reckless behaviour, especially when she was clearly still hurting.

Tracking her down was easy—it always was. Nimah wasn't exactly subtle when she was scheming. But confronting her? That was an entirely different challenge.

Fred didn't want to lash out without thinking it through, didn't want to unleash his frustration without first hearing her side. But he was carrying so much—anger, guilt, fear. It all simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

Most people wouldn't understand. They'd see him as overreacting or meddling. After all, he wasn't the one who had been injured. He hadn't lost his chance to pursue his dreams. But what they didn't know—what they could never understand—was that he had lost something, too. His dreams had been shattered just as much as hers, albeit in a different way.

"I thought you were done with this," Fred's voice cut through the quiet, startling Nimah. She was crouched in the corner of a hallway, intently watching her latest prank unfold. James was the unlucky victim this time, a target chosen with meticulous care after his recent stunt involving her and Fred.

Startled, Nimah turned to silence him with a finger pressed to her lips. But before she could refocus on James, Fred stepped forward, gripping her wrist.

"What are—" she began, but the words died in her throat when she caught sight of his face. He wasn't just angry—he was furious.

"I said what I did, Black," Fred hissed, his voice low but charged. "What in Merlin's name are you thinking?"

Her nose scrunched in irritation. "Again, what are you going on about?" she snapped, yanking her wrist free from his grip.

But then something clicked. Her expression darkened, her lips curling into a bitter frown. "I knew it," she muttered, almost to herself, before her voice rose in fury. "I bloody knew it!"

Fred blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in her tone. Nimah took a step forward, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"You think I can't do this because of my injury!" she accused. Her voice trembled with frustration as she ran a hand through her hair, nearly yanking at the strands. "It's not just you—it's everyone! Every bloody person! Just because I got hurt doesn't mean I'm... invalid!"

Fred exhaled slowly, his expression softening. "No one thinks you're invalid," he began carefully.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Nimah interrupted, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. "I see the looks, Fred. I hear the whispers. People speed up to open doors for me, pretending they weren't about to do it. They pity me, Fred. And it's unbearable!"

Her voice had risen to a near shout, and the hallway around them began to fill with curious onlookers. Fred's heart sank. This wasn't what he wanted—this wasn't how he'd planned for this conversation to go.

Before she could spiral any further, Fred stepped forward and, in one swift motion, scooped her into his arms.

"Fred, what the bloody hell are you—" she started, squirming against his hold. But when she looked at his face, the words caught in her throat.

He wasn't angry anymore. His expression was raw, vulnerable. And then she saw it—tears, faint but unmistakable, trailing down his cheeks.

For the first time in a long while, Nimah was at a loss for words.

Nimah found herself drowning in a sea of confusion, her emotions swirling like an unrelenting storm. The events that had transpired earlier left her reeling. She'd come dangerously close to breaking down in front of what felt like half the school, and before she could process the weight of her vulnerability, she found herself being carried away by Fred Weasley.

The gesture itself had felt surreal, almost dreamlike. Fred's arms around her, the world blurring as he moved with purpose, his silence speaking volumes. It wasn't what she had expected. Not from Fred—not after everything. Yet, there she was, caught in the strange limbo of his actions and her own bewilderment.

When he finally stopped, they were near the entrance to her common room in the dungeons. Nimah blinked, her mind racing to piece together his intentions. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but before her voice could break through the silence, the moment was interrupted. A group of her former Quidditch teammates emerged, their presence filling the space with awkward tension.

Fred hesitated, his expression flickering between frustration and hesitation. It was as if he wanted to say something—needed to—but the intrusion left him at a loss. His jaw clenched, his eyes briefly meeting hers, and then, just like that, he turned and walked away without a word.

Nimah stood frozen, the echoes of his retreating footsteps pulling at her heart. She wanted to go after him, to demand an explanation, but the weight of her exhaustion and the uncertainty swirling in her mind anchored her in place. What would she even say if she did follow him? She barely understood what had just happened, let alone how she felt about it.

The weight of the moment pressed down on Nimah, the air around her thick with the tension of what could have been said but wasn't. Her mind churned with unanswered questions, each one louder than the last. Why had Fred acted the way he did? Why had he carried her away, only to leave her standing there, abandoned and adrift?

Her former teammates lingered nearby, exchanging uneasy glances as they tried to decipher the scene they'd walked into. Their presence only added to her discomfort, their questions unspoken but palpable. Nimah forced a smile—thin, brittle, and utterly unconvincing—before brushing past them and retreating into the sanctuary of her common room.

Inside, the dim light of the dungeons did little to soothe her racing thoughts. She collapsed into one of the oversized armchairs near the fireplace, her mind replaying the moment over and over again. Fred's face had been a storm of emotions—anger, sadness, something else she couldn't quite name. And then there were his eyes, brimming with a mix of frustration and...was that guilt?

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to make sense of it all. Fred wasn't one to avoid confrontation; he was usually the first to speak his mind, the first to throw himself into the fray. Yet, in that critical moment, he had chosen silence.

Nimah clenched her fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. She didn't like this—didn't like feeling so out of control, so uncertain. It wasn't like her to dwell on what-ifs or to second-guess her own instincts. But something about Fred's behaviour had unsettled her in a way she couldn't ignore.

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she stared into the flickering flames dancing in the hearth. The firelight cast shifting shadows across the room, but it offered no clarity to the turmoil in her mind. The ache in her chest was an unfamiliar, gnawing sensation—something between confusion, frustration, and an emotion she didn't dare name. It was as if her heart and mind were locked in a silent battle, each wrestling with thoughts and feelings she couldn't quite pin down.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Why had Fred done what he did? Why had he carried her away from the crowd, only to leave her without a single word of explanation? It wasn't like him to act so impulsively and then retreat. Fred Weasley, who always had a quip or a plan, had left her stranded in a moment that felt unfinished, unresolved.

The questions swirled in her mind, each one heavier than the last. Was he angry at her? Disappointed? Or was it something deeper, something he couldn't bring himself to articulate? She replayed the fleeting moments before he'd walked away—the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. It wasn't just anger, though that had been there too. No, it was layered, complicated, and utterly baffling.

Nimah sighed, leaning back in the chair as her gaze remained fixed on the fire. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, the small motion grounding her as she tried to make sense of it all. She had always prided herself on her ability to read people, to anticipate their actions and to understand their motivations. But Fred? Fred had left her completely at a loss.

The ache in her chest deepened, and for a moment, she considered the possibility that it wasn't just his actions that bothered her. It was the distance—the growing chasm between them that she hadn't even noticed until now. They had always been close, their camaraderie built on shared laughter and mischief. But now, something had shifted, and she couldn't ignore the hollow space it left behind.

The fire crackled, the sound pulling her back to the present. Nimah took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Whatever this was—this ache, this uncertainty—it was new and unfamiliar, and it scared her more than she cared to admit. But one thing was clear: she couldn't let it linger. Fred had left her with more questions than answers, and the weight of not knowing was more unbearable than any truth he might reveal.