[But isn't that precisely why it's more a dream than anything else? The warmth of her flushed against him, their lips moving together, and somewhere in the back of his head, that feeling of almost being alive again - but he's not. His heart doesn't beat, his breath doesn't catch, and his dreams? His dreams are mostly spent remembering flashes of light, a half-hearted joke and a sudden explosion before he's lying awake in a distantly familiar bed in a distantly familiar cabin next to a brother that's months older than he ought to be. Months older than Fred will ever be.
Because one day, the dream will end and they will all leave this place to grow up and become something Fred is not. Real and whole, but above all else, alive. He sees it every day, hears it in every laugh, feels it in every brush of her skin against his and this is perfect in every meaning of the word, but it's not quite real, not really.
He is Ron's brother, he is dead, and there is no train waiting to bring him back to England. This is wrong, all wrong, and if he hadn't such a penchant for trouble, the smarter bit of him would recognise that much. Instead, he just kisses her, pours his everything into it as though it's the last act of a desperate man - but Fred isn't desperate. Not like he was at the beginning, doing everything to fool himself into believing this isn't The End. He knows it is. Will be, some day.
They all have to grow up some day, but Fred never will. He already has.
He pulls back from her with a harsh exhale (he doesn't need it, why does he keep doing it?) and turns away to run both hands through his hair. He's fairly certain he's just signed his own death, re-death, as it were, since he's bound to fall into some sort of trap near the end of this. It's everything he wants, but everything he's not supposed to have, which means it's only going to break him. More than it already has. So he throws on a sly sort of grin and glances over to her.]
Bloody Hell. Some curse, eh?
[It's just a curse. Nothing more than some fucking magical compulsion, a stupid plant with a stupid tradition, and certainly not his own foolish, hidden desires. The exhilaration caught in his throat, the sense of elation and light-headedness - they're all just after affects of the curse. He can't let it be anything more than that.]
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Because one day, the dream will end and they will all leave this place to grow up and become something Fred is not. Real and whole, but above all else, alive. He sees it every day, hears it in every laugh, feels it in every brush of her skin against his and this is perfect in every meaning of the word, but it's not quite real, not really.
He is Ron's brother, he is dead, and there is no train waiting to bring him back to England. This is wrong, all wrong, and if he hadn't such a penchant for trouble, the smarter bit of him would recognise that much. Instead, he just kisses her, pours his everything into it as though it's the last act of a desperate man - but Fred isn't desperate. Not like he was at the beginning, doing everything to fool himself into believing this isn't The End. He knows it is. Will be, some day.
They all have to grow up some day, but Fred never will. He already has.
He pulls back from her with a harsh exhale (he doesn't need it, why does he keep doing it?) and turns away to run both hands through his hair. He's fairly certain he's just signed his own death, re-death, as it were, since he's bound to fall into some sort of trap near the end of this. It's everything he wants, but everything he's not supposed to have, which means it's only going to break him. More than it already has. So he throws on a sly sort of grin and glances over to her.]
Bloody Hell. Some curse, eh?
[It's just a curse. Nothing more than some fucking magical compulsion, a stupid plant with a stupid tradition, and certainly not his own foolish, hidden desires. The exhilaration caught in his throat, the sense of elation and light-headedness - they're all just after affects of the curse. He can't let it be anything more than that.]