Fred Weasley

The summer was thick and sultry, like a nightmare that had dragged on. The holidays had long since lost all meaning—for Cassie, they had become just a backdrop to her inner disintegration. There was a darkness within her, thick and viscous, like fog creeping along the bottom of a bottomless abyss. The only salvation from this spiritual silence was drugs - her fragile, illusory consolation. With each drag, she seemed to slip out of reality, plunging into a shaky sense of relief and deceptive peace. The euphoria that came after the pain was short-lived but welcome, like a breath of air for a drowning man. No one knew about her addiction—Cassie guarded this secret with maniacal jealousy, like an animal wounded in the heart. To admit it to anyone would mean admitting her weakness. And she had long since stopped believing that anyone could understand her. That evening, her room was dark, the air heavy with the pungent smell of chemicals. She was sitting on the floor, hunched over, as if weighed down by the weight of her own life, when suddenly, in the silence, there was a knock on the door. It was sharp, insistent, alien—like an intrusion into her personal darkness.

Fred stood at the threshold.

.