For Fred.

Quidditch Pitch, 1995
Fred and Angelina's Sixth Year

I felt the air whoosh through my braids as I sped away from an oncoming Hufflepuff. We were practicing Quidditch with them, and frankly it hadn't been going well. Not because of my playing, not this time.

Fred was being an arse. He was purposefully not following my instructions, and it was frustrating being Quidditch captain when one of your teammates wouldn't cooperate.

"Fred, stop mooning about and help George!" I yelled back at him, throwing the Quaffle into a hoop. He simply circled in the air lazily with his broom, smirking down at me. George was doing close to all the work, and laughed at every stupid thing Fred was doing. Poor Harry looked terrified each time a Bludger hurtled towards him.

"Oh yeah?!" He yelled back. "Then why don't you stop being a sour sop and talk to me again, Angie?" I rolled my eyes and apologized to the confused looking Hufflepuff captain.

"Look, let's practice another day, alright? Some of my teammates aren't really up for it." I explained hastily. The Captain of the other team nodded in understanding, and flew down with the others. George and the other Gryffindors flew down as well, walking off the pitch.

Fred was still floating on his broom leisurely, humming to himself. I flew up to him angrily.

"You." I hissed.

Fred's smirk widened as he leaned casually on his broomstick, infuriatingly nonchalant. "What's got your broom in a knot, Captain?" he drawled, spinning lazily in the air.

"You know exactly what!" I snapped, gripping my broom so tightly my knuckles started to hurt. "You've been slacking off all practice, Fred! George has been picking up your mess, Harry was one Bludger away from a breakdown, and you're up here acting like you're on holiday!"

Fred raised an eyebrow, his expression cool. "Oh, pardon me, Your Majesty. Didn't realize this was a dictatorship."

I flew even closer, glaring daggers at him. "Don't you dare turn this around on me! You're deliberately ignoring every call I've made. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have the Hufflepuff captain pity me?!"

Fred snorted. "Well, maybe if you weren't barking orders like a banshee—"

"Banshee?!" I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to pierce the air between us. "You're being an immature, stubborn prat! I'm trying to run a proper practice, and you're up here making a fool of yourself—and me!"

His smirk slipped, replaced by a flash of irritation. "Well I'm sorry, Captain Johnson," he said mockingly, leaning forward on his broom. Our faces were almost touching. "Didn't realize Quidditch practice was the time to air out personal grudges. Maybe if you didn't treat me like the enemy off the pitch, I wouldn't act like one on it!"

I froze, my anger boiling over. "You think this is about some personal grudge? You're unbelievable, Fred! You're the one acting like a child just because I called you out last term—"

"Oh, you mean when you decided to humiliate me in front of the whole of the Great Hall?" he shot back, his voice rising. "Yeah, real great leadership there, Angelina."

He had used my full name.

"Maybe if you hadn't been acting like a complete idiot, I wouldn't have had to!" I shouted, my voice echoing across the empty pitch.

Fred's face hardened, and for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes disappeared. "You know what? Maybe you should find yourself another Beater, then. Clearly, I'm not good enough for Captain Perfect."

"That's not the point, Fred!" I yelled, throwing my arms up in frustration, almost falling off of my broom. "You're better than this! You're one of the best players on this bloody team, but you're acting like a spoiled brat because—because why, Fred?! What the hell is your problem?"

He stared at me, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with something I couldn't quite place. "My problem," he said quietly, his voice low and biting, "is that you're impossible to talk to, Angelina. Everything's always about the team, the captaincy, the bloody game. Merlin forbid you actually listen to me for once."

I blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. For a moment, we just hovered there, the tension crackling between us.

"What, now I'm a bad person because I called you out for not defining what we are?" I said lowly.

"That's not what I'm trying to say, Angelina-" Fred started, tone uncertain.

"Then say what you want to say," I shot back, my voice quieter but no less firm.

Fred hesitated, his gaze flickering away from mine. But before he could respond, George's voice called from the edge of the pitch, breaking the moment.

"Oi, lovebirds! You done arguing, or should I bring snacks next time?"

Fred's jaw clenched as he turned his broom sharply, speeding toward the ground without another word. I watched him go, my chest tight and my mind racing.

***

Present Day

In the early morning, the Burrow felt quiet.

I sat in the corner of the sitting room, letting my fingers trace the rim of a chipped teacup.
I've lost track of how many times I've been here since the day I chose to reach out, how many times Molly had pulled me into a hug so tight it felt like she was trying to stitch me back together.

Fred's absence was a hole I could feel in every room of this house. Every chair, every laugh, every sudden silence. The Weasleys had welcomed me like family, and I was eternally grateful. Another month had flown by, the baby bump had grown, and I was starting to see a slight liveliness in the house, though it wasn't the same as before. It could never be the same as before.

My hand drifted to my slightly protruding stomach again, as it always did when the silence pressed too heavily around me.

Three months along now.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the sofa. "It's just us now, kid," I whispered, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. Fred's voice entered my head.

"What's got your broom in a knot, Captain?"

The weight of it all suddenly felt too much to hold in. I felt like I needed to keep moving, to do something, anything.

I stood abruptly, spilling the tea slightly onto the saucer as I set it down on the coffee table. The clock on the wall ticked softly, each second stretching longer than the last.

"Angelina?"

I turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?" Her soft voice asked me.

I forced a smile, but I knew Ginny wasn't buying it.

"I'm fine. Just—needed some air."

Ginny crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You've been saying that a lot lately."

I opened her mouth to respond but stopped. I could feel the weight of Ginny's gaze—steady, patient. It was the same look Fred had given me after that argument on the pitch, daring me to speak her truth, daring me to talk to him again.

"I have, haven't I?" I said, giving a weak, mirthless laugh. Ginny only passed the room silently and hugged me, the overwhelming scent of grass and flowers filling my nose. I hugged her back, before she drew away from me.

"You've spoken to Harry yet?" I asked her. She nodded, her cheeks a bit pink. "He said to tell you congratulations on the baby." I smiled back at her. The Weasley family had asked early on if I wanted to keep it private. I'd said no, they were free to tell who they pleased.

"Well, tell him I said thank you." I replied. "He was always a good Seeker, though Merlin knows he got himself into trouble so many times. I'd be so angry with him, but I'd apologize after." I reminisced. Ginny nodded, looking a bit lost in thought.

"Have you visited St. Mungo's lately?" She asked suddenly. "Or gotten baby clothes? I blinked, realizing how unprepared I was for this child. The last time I'd visited the hospital was before Fred had died, and that visit was to check if I was even pregnant in the first place.

Molly was helpful with lots of pregnancy-concerned things (she'd had seven children, after all) but I didn't want to concern her too much. She looked more and more tired everyday, what with losing her son and helping his pregnant fiancée. She'd rather pull out her own teeth than admit it, though.

"I know Mum can knit baby clothes, but she looks exhausted." Ginny said, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "And I'm still an amateur with it." She admitted shyly.

"Ginny, don't worry. I don't expect you or your mum to do all of this for me. I'll just buy some from Diagon Alley. Your brother left a lot of money behind." I assured Ginny, rubbing her shoulder. "I'll go there today. Would you like to come?" Ginny looked excited, but then her face fell.

"Oh, Angelina, I'd love to, but I promised Harry that I'd meet up with him today. And I’ve kept cancelling too, I just..I needed time. I don't want to let him down again-"

"Ginny, it's alright. I'll just go with George."

Ginny's face softened with relief, though there was still a flicker of guilt in her eyes. "Are you sure? I mean, George... he's been..."

"He's been struggling. I know," I cut in gently, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "But maybe this will be good for him, too. Besides, it's been a while since we've done anything together. Just the two of us."

Ginny nodded slowly. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll tell Mum, though. She'll probably want to make you one of her lists before you go."

I laughed softly, the sound feeling foreign but welcome. "Of course she will."

Ginny returned the smile, and after a moment, she stepped back. "If you need anything—anything at all—just let me know, okay?"

"I will," I promised.

As Ginny left the room, I sank back into the sofa for a moment, letting out a long breath. The idea of shopping for baby clothes without Fred was daunting, but she was right—it was time to start preparing, no matter how hard it felt.