CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nimah had decided, to sit on her worries, waiting for the next day, but the next day came and went, stretching into weeks of silence.

Fred avoided her, and Nimah couldn't ignore it. He wasn't one to shy away from confrontation, and yet he had gone out of his way to avoid even crossing her path. For Fred, it wasn't a simple matter of avoidance—it was shame.

He was ashamed of how he'd handled their last interaction, unsure of what to say or how to bridge the growing gap between them. Every time he saw her, he felt an overwhelming tide of emotions, emotions he couldn't seem to process or control, emotions that had almost led to her breaking down in front of him.

He was angry—angry at himself for being so blindsided by his own feelings that he had failed to see how fragile she still was. He replayed that moment in his head over and over, berating himself for not being more patient, more understanding. Nimah had always been the strong one, the one who faced challenges with defiance and humor. But now, that strength was wavering, and Fred knew it. He could see it in her forced smiles, in the way she held herself together in front of others, only to retreat into silence when she thought no one was looking.

Fred knew her.

He had known her long enough to recognize when she was pretending. He knew that every laugh, every sarcastic remark, was a shield. He knew that Nimah Black wasn't okay, not really. And if being the bad guy—if pushing her to confront her feelings—was what it took to help her, he was willing to do it. Because Fred cared for her more than he could ever communicate, more than he even allowed himself to admit.

But there was another part of him, a quieter voice, urging him to trust her. To trust that she could find her own way through this, even if it meant stumbling a few times. He was caught between two conflicting instincts: the urge to protect her and the belief that she needed the space to heal in her own time.

The question weighed heavily on him: should he step back and trust, or step in and risk pushing her further away?

"First the Wittle Black, and now the Wittle Weasley?" a familiar, mocking voice cut through his thoughts. Peeves the poltergeist hovered nearby, his high-pitched laughter grating on Fred's already frayed nerves.

Fred didn't even flinch. "Peeves," he said flatly, barely sparing the poltergeist a glance. "What do you want?"

"You can bloody help me by stop being boring!" Peeves jeered, swooping in circles above him. "It was fun when the two of ya' weren't so uptight and edgy. No one does pranks as well as the lot of ya!"

Fred exhaled sharply, his patience running thin. "What are you on about, Peeves? Black too? What did you say to her?"

The poltergeist grinned wickedly but didn't offer a direct answer, only snickering in that infuriating way of his.

Fred sighed, realizing he wouldn't get anything useful out of him. Instead, he played along. "Fine, Peeves. If it'll shut you up, consider it noted. I'm already planning something."

This seemed to satisfy the mischievous ghost, who let out a triumphant cackle before darting away to wreak havoc elsewhere.

Fred stood there for a moment, the encounter with Peeves giving him an odd sense of clarity. He couldn't keep avoiding Nimah, couldn't let the silence stretch any further. Whatever happened, it was better to face it now, before things spiraled into something neither of them could fix.

Taking a deep breath, Fred straightened his posture and began walking. But before he approached Nimah, he hesitated. Rushing into this without a clear head or a proper plan could make things worse. He wanted to think through what he would say, how he would say it, and ensure he didn't let his emotions overwhelm the moment.

Fred knew how delicate the situation was, how fragile Nimah's confidence had become since her injury. He didn't want to come across as patronizing or dismissive. He wanted to find the right balance—firm but kind, honest yet supportive. It wasn't just about fixing things between them; it was about helping her find her footing again, and that required more thought than a spur-of-the-moment confrontation.

So, he resolved to take a step back—not to avoid her, but to prepare. He decided to schedule the next few days to strategize.

The first day, he would observe. Fred wanted to pay attention to how Nimah acted, how she interacted with others, and whether there were moments when she seemed more herself. He figured it would give him a better sense of how to approach her without triggering her defenses.

The second day, he would seek advice—not directly, of course, but subtly. He thought about talking to Louis or maybe even Albus. They knew him well enough to read between the lines of his vague questions and offer insights without prying too much into the details.

The third day, he would rehearse. Fred wasn't one for rehearsed conversations, but this was different. He needed to get it right. He'd go over what he wanted to say, making sure it wasn't just about him but about what Nimah needed to hear.

And finally, on the fourth day, he would approach her. He'd find a moment when she was alone, preferably when she wasn't in the middle of a prank or trying to hide behind her usual sarcasm.

Fred knew his plan wasn't flawless, but it felt better than diving in headfirst and risking an even deeper rift between them. He couldn't afford to let his emotions cloud the moment. As he turned a corner in the dimly lit corridor, the familiar hum of Hogwarts' distant chatter faded into the background. With every step, his resolve solidified.

This wasn't just about smoothing over their awkward, unresolved tension or calming his own guilt—it was about showing Nimah that she wasn't alone. Fred had always prided himself on being the guy who could make people laugh, who could ease a heavy moment with a joke or a clever quip. But this wasn't a time for humor or distractions. Nimah needed something more, and Fred was determined to rise to the occasion.

The realization weighed on him, but it also gave him purpose. He thought about how much she had already endured, how much she continued to shoulder in silence. He thought about the way she carried herself, as if daring the world to pity her, all the while hiding the cracks in her armor. She didn't need him to fix things for her, but she did need him to stand beside her—and he wanted to be that person.

"Take the time, Fred," he muttered under his breath, his voice steady. "Do it right, or don't do it at all."

He paused for a moment by the window, watching as the sun dipped low over the horizon. The orange and pink hues of twilight bathed the castle grounds in a soft glow, and for a fleeting second, he allowed himself to hope. Hope that when the time came, he'd have the right words. Hope that she'd hear him, really hear him. And hope that, somehow, they'd find their way back to the friendship they once had—or maybe even something more.

Fred clenched his fists lightly, not in anger but in determination. Whatever it took, however long it took, he'd be there for Nimah. This wasn't just about resolving a misunderstanding or easing his conscience—it was about being the kind of person she could rely on, the kind of person she deserved. And for that, he would take the time to do it properly.