For Fred.

I am now holding that same makeshift bouquet in my arms, staring into the corner of my room as I sit cross-legged on the floor. My dad had gotten me to eat, finally, but I still wasn't taking any visitors. The morning sickness wasn't making things much better. Holding the bouquet closer, I looked down at the fading colors of the rags and parchment Fred had dyed all those years ago, and I feel the urge to cry again, but my eyes hurt too much. I looked in the mirror earlier today, and they were bloodshot.

My parents know not to try and come into my room, because I simply won't talk to them. Or anyone. I don't remember the last time I took a shower.

I run a finger over one of the flowers, and it's brittle now- if I pressed on any of them too hard they'd break. The stale air of my bedroom permeates my senses, fills my being, and reminds me of a better past. A past I cannot go back to. But going back to my apartment, where almost all of Fred's things are?

That'd be a painful opening to a future. A future I thought would never be.

A future without Fred.

I take in a shuddering breath, and remember the last time I was sat in a corner like this. It was third year. I'd been crying.

Another painful memory comes to surface.

***

Angelina's Third Year, 1992
Gryffindor Quidditch Locker Room

It had been a terrible game against the Slytherins, my worst yet. We'd never lost this bad before. Oliver hadn't spoken to me much, but I knew he was disappointed. I loved Quidditch, since I was little. Couldn't imagine going on without it, and I was the reason why we lost. It's silly, I know. But I waited till everyone had left the locker room, slid down the wall, and sat on the cold, hard, floor.

Then I started to cry.

It was quiet, sniffling sobs, that softly shook my body. I was being a baby, I knew I was being a baby, but I kept sobbing and sobbing. There was no one else but me, a small figure scrunched up in the corner. The smell of sweaty Quidditch uniforms smothered me, and I truly thought no one would come in. That I was alone.

"Angie?" A soft voice called. Only one person I knew refused to stop calling me that stupid name.

"What is it, Freddie?" I shot back, face still buried in my arms. I hear some slow but steady footsteps approach me, and the sound of someone sitting down next to me.

"Oi. Look at me, crybaby." Fred nudged me gently, but I didn't budge. We'd been friends for years now, ever since that bouquet fiasco. I'd laughed at all the stupid things he and Fred did to teachers, and even helped a bit sometimes. George was great, don't get me wrong, but Fred and I had a slightly deeper friendship.

But things were starting to shift. I felt it slightly, and I know he did, too. How, I don't know. But something was different. Off.

"If you don't look at me, I'm going to tell Professor McGonagall what you got up to last month in the dungeons. Wicked, that was. Never seen Snape so angry, with no one to direct it to-"

"Fred."

"Sorry. Look, are you gonna keep sulking, or are you going to look at me?" Fred said, an unusual hint of concern in his voice.

Sighing, I looked up at Fred. I knew I looked terrible, braids unkempt, snot running down my nose, face reddish. Fred, upon seeing me, tried to keep it together momentarily.

And then he did exactly what I expected him to do.

Laugh.

"Oh Merlin," he said in between giggles, "you look like Ron when I turned his favorite toy into a spider!" He was ecstatic, holding his sides as he guffawed. I punched him in the shoulder, even more embarrassed than before. If that was possible.

"Well, forget you, Fred. I'm leaving." I huffed, wiping my tears with my sleeve, and getting up. Fred caught me by the arm and pulled me back down. Before I could protest, I was pulled into a tight, overbearing hug.

For a moment I was stunned, and I sat there, limp in his arms, as he gently began to stroke my hair.

"No need to get your wand in a twist, Angie." He mumbled softly into my ear. "You're the best Chaser I know. Don't let one stupid game make you believe otherwise, yeah?" He kept stroking my hair, and slowly, but surely, I hugged him back.

I let louder and more violent sobs break through, and I knew I was wetting his robes and I knew he was going to make fun of me for wetting his robes and I also knew he'd always be there for me, Fred Weasley would always be there for me.

Even if it was for something as stupid as crying over a bad match.

After what felt like forever, Fred drew back and looked at me, hands on my shoulders.

"You done crying, you big baby?" He raised his eyebrows jokingly, a smile already creeping up.

"Shut up, Fred." I sniffled, smiling back at him with my watery eyes.

"There's the Angie I know."

"Don't call me that." I replied, giggling.

"Angelina." I stopped laughing, picking up on Fred's tone. He looked like he wanted to say something important. His brows were furrowed and he looked a little nervous.

"Yeah?" I replied slowly. His hands were still on my shoulders. He stared at me for a beat, like he was trying to figure me out.

"I... I hate to see you like this, alright?" Fred admitted. "Sometimes....I think you push yourself too much."

I raised my eyebrows. "Wait, Fred Weasley's getting all mushy on me? Never thought I'd see the day." I giggled again.

"I'm serious, Angelina." I stopped laughing, looking at Fred. He was concerned. "Don't let your happiness depend on a game, okay? I love Quidditch to death, but there's more to life than just that."

Silence stretched out for a few seconds, before Fred silently helped me to stand up, and he walked toward the doorway. His hand was on the knob before he turned back to me to give a crooked smile.

"Later, Angie."

And then he closed the door.

***

"I hate to see you like this, alright?"

These words, even though no one had spoken them to me in the dark of my small room, propelled me to go to the bathroom. I was wearing Fred's sweater now, but I gently pulled it off and folded it onto the top of the toilet seat. I peeled off my underwear, and my bra, and I stepped gingerly into the shower. As I turned on the faucet and let the water run over me gently, I felt the dirt that had building up on my body for the last couple of days come off.

My hand slowly found it's way to my stomach, and I tenderly placed it on top of where my baby was. I closed my eyes and let out more silent tears, until the tears mixed with the shower water and I couldn't tell them apart anymore. And as I reached for the soap and rubbed it on myself, I knew that I would have to tell Molly and Arthur and George and all of the Weasleys that I was having their son's baby, their brother's baby. They deserved to know that.

They deserved to know about the last piece of Fred, the living proof that he was here.

They deserved to know his child.