For Fred.

"You sure you're ready for this, Angelina? I can come with you if you like."

"No, dad, I'm going on my own." I sighed, rubbing one of my eyes.

I stood in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, Floo powder in hand. I hadn't told Arthur and Molly Weasley I was coming to visit, which is something I should've done, but it's too late. I'm already about to go.

"Alright then. As soon as it gets too overwhelming, you can come straight back, Angelina. Give Arthur and Molly our love." My father strode forward and hugged me, and I hugged him back quickly before turning back to the fireplace.

I closed my eyes and sighed, and I threw the Floo into the fire.

The fire roared green as I stepped through, clutching my arms tightly against my chest. My stomach churned—not from the Floo spinning but from what I was walking into.

I stumbled out into the Weasleys' living room, and the first thing I noticed was the silence. It wasn't total, not exactly—the faint clatter of pots and pans came from the kitchen, but it lacked the usual warmth and chaos I'd come to associate with the Burrow. The house felt heavy, like even the walls were grieving.

I brushed soot from my jumper, my gaze sweeping over the room. The furniture sat just as it always had, the magical clock on the wall ticked away, but it all felt... dimmer. Colder. The absence of him was everywhere, and it wrapped around my chest like a vice.

Molly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, her apron wrinkled, her face pale and drawn. She looked around, like she was lost, until her eyes found me.

"Angelina," she said softly, her voice strained. "Oh, dear, we weren't expecting anyone." Her eyes darted over my face, as though she were bracing herself for something.

"I should've sent an owl," I murmured, guilt twisting in my chest.

"No, no, it's alright," Molly replied, though her hands fidgeted with the edge of her apron. "Come in, come in."

She wrapped me in a hug, tighter than I expected, like she was clinging to something solid. Her embrace smelled of flour and soap, and it made my throat tighten painfully.

When she pulled back, I followed her into the kitchen, where Arthur sat hunched over at the table. He wasn't tinkering with anything today—just staring at the wood grain of the table with a cup of tea cradled in his hands. He glanced up when we entered, and though he offered me a weak smile, the sorrow etched into his face was impossible to miss.

"Angelina," he said, his voice hoarse. "It's good to see you." He stood, moving to shake my hand but then hesitated and settled for a gentle pat on my shoulder.

"Hi, Arthur," I whispered, my gaze flicking toward the table. There were only a few chairs now; some had been pushed back to make space, like no one could bear to sit in the wrong one.

"Sit, dear," Molly urged, though her own hands trembled as she poured me a cup of tea. She placed it in front of me, sitting down across the table. Arthur remained standing, leaning against the counter as if sitting was too much effort.

"I, uh, I didn't mean to intrude," I started, gripping the mug so tightly my knuckles started to hurt. "But I... I needed to tell you something."

Arthur and Molly exchanged a glance, their grief momentarily interrupted by curiosity. Molly reached out, her fingers grazing mine, and that small gesture nearly broke me.

I swallowed hard, the words sticking in my throat like shards of glass. "I'm..." My voice cracked, and I looked down at the tea, willing myself to say it. "I'm pregnant. It's Fred's."

The silence that followed was deafening. Molly's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears, while Arthur's face crumpled, his grief momentarily giving way to a flicker of something else—hope, maybe.

"I found out just before..." My voice broke entirely, and I couldn't finish. I clenched my fists, trying to hold myself together, but the weight of it all crushed me.

Molly's chair scraped against the floor as she rose and came around the table to pull me into her arms. This time, I didn't hold back. I buried my face in her shoulder, sobbing like a child as she rocked me gently, whispering, "Oh, Angelina. Oh, my dear girl."

Arthur's hand rested lightly on my back, his voice low but steady. "You're family, Angelina. You always were. And this baby..." He hesitated, his voice catching. "This baby is, too."

I cried harder at his words, my tears soaking Molly's apron. The warmth of her hug, the steadiness of Arthur's hand—it was almost too much to bear. But it was what I needed.

After a while, Molly drew back, getting a napkin from her apron and wiping my tears.

"Don't fret, Angelina. We'll be here for you. We'll protect you. It's what Fred would've wanted, anyway. He would've done anything for the people he loved."

I nodded, another memory surfacing, but I didn't want to make Molly or Arthur worry. I excused myself politely, taking off my shoes before stepping outside.

The summer breeze kissed my cheeks, but it didn't soothe the ache in my chest. Fred's absence was everywhere—in the quiet of the garden, in the emptiness of the hand where his would've been. Closing my eyes and feeling the grass on my feet, I let myself remember.

***

Angelina's Fourth Year, 1993

"Angelina, you smashed it!" Oliver Wood clapped me on the back, grinning widely. We'd just finished an amazing match, and the Slytherins were glaring at us from afar. The team was ecstatic, cheering with the crowd above and laughing as the Slytherins were made fun of. The Weasley twins came up from behind me and lifted me up as two other teammates lifted Harry Potter, and I laughed.

"Another game won by our glorious Chaser, Angie!" Fred shouted as George grinned widely.

"Don't know what we'd do without you, Johnson!" George added, cheering.

I looked down at Fred, who beamed up at me as sweat glistened on his forehead. His cheeks were still pink from the rough game we'd just had, and his hair was messy. I felt a flutter in my stomach when he winked at me, and quickly looked away.

When they set me down and I rushed over to talk to Alicia.

"Great game, huh?" I said, out of breath. She was about to reply when she furrowed her brow and looked behind me. Cheers had dissolved into shouts of concern, and the unsettling noises of grunts and yells. I turned around and gasped in horror when I saw Fred knelt over the Slytherin's captain, Marcus Flint, punching him. George was being held back by Oliver and Harry, yelling.

"Don't you say that! Don't you ever say that!" Fred was yelling, repeatedly punching Marcus in the face. Blood streamed from his nose.

I ran over, wondering why no one was stopping him. Other teammates stood aside in fear.

"Fred, what the hell are you doing?!" I yelled, trying to pull him off, but it was no use.

Fred barely registered my voice. His eyes burned with anger, his knuckles already bruised. "I won't let him get away with it!" he shouted, his voice cracking with rage.

"Fred, stop it!" I yelled again, trying to pry his fists away from Marcus's already battered face. "He's not worth it!" He wasn't listening, pummeling Marcus endlessly.

Finally, it was Oliver who grabbed Fred by the shoulders and yanked him off. "That's enough, Fred! What's gotten into you?" he snapped.

Fred struggled against Oliver's grip, breathing heavily. "He insulted Angelina," he growled, glaring down at Marcus, who was groaning on the ground.

I froze. "What?"

"He called you—" Fred's voice broke off, his jaw clenching. "I'm not saying it. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction. It was a foul word. A Muggle word."

My heart sank as the realization dawned. I turned to Marcus, who smirked even through his bloodied nose, and I felt a flicker of fury. But it was quickly overshadowed by the shock of Fred's reaction.

"Fred..." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You didn't have to do this for me. He's just a coward trying to get under our skin."

Fred turned to me, his expression softening. "He had no bloody right to talk about you like that. I wasn't just going to stand there and let him."

For a moment, I couldn't find the words. Fred had always been protective of his friends, but this felt.... different.

Madam Hooch's voice cut through the tension as she stormed onto the pitch, her face like thunder. "What's going on here? Flint, Weasley—my office, now!"

Fred didn't take his eyes off me as Oliver dragged him away. "You're okay, right?" he asked, his voice quieter now. He kept eye contact, his eyes searching mine.

I nodded, though my heart was racing for reasons I didn't quite understand. "Yeah. I'm fine. Go before she adds more detentions."

He managed a small, lopsided grin before following Madam Hooch.

As I stood there, the chaos slowly dissolving around me, Alicia came up and nudged my arm. "Well, that was... something."

"Yeah," I muttered, my eyes still lingering on Fred as he disappeared into the distance. That flutter in my stomach returned, stronger this time.

"Something tells me Fred's got a thing for you," Alicia teased, a sly smile creeping onto her face. "I've never seen him that angry. What do you think Marcus said?"

I had a vague idea. And it wasn't pretty.

"Doesn't matter. We should...we should get going." I replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Alright, Mrs Weasley, lead the way." Alicia teased again.

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks burned. "Don't be ridiculous."