For Fred.

We were in a baby shop on Diagon Alley, one named Bertha Bajuna's Baby Delights. I thought the name was quite silly, and George had tried to repeat it four times faster before I shushed him. We were looking through the clothing section.

"What about this one?" George held up a baby-blue onesie, one with the words 'Future Beater' embroidered onto it.

I blinked at it, a lump forming in my throat as I imagined a baby—our baby—wearing it. Fred would have loved it, no doubt. He'd have bought it without a second thought, holding it up and saying something cheeky like, "This kid's gotta start early, right?"

"It's adorable. We're buying that." I said softly, running my fingers over the tiny fabric.

George gave me a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but still felt genuine in its own way. "Figured you might like it. It's got Fred written all over it, doesn't it?"

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the tears from spilling. George placed the onesie into the basket we'd been filling, careful not to look at me for too long. We'd fallen into this quiet rhythm of unspoken understanding—a sort of truce against the grief that lingered between us.

As we moved through the shop, George kept picking up little things—tiny socks, a soft blanket, a stuffed dragon—and showing them to me with a quiet enthusiasm that reminded me of Fred in the best and worst ways.

"You're good at this," I said after a while, breaking the silence.

George raised an eyebrow, tossing a pacifier shaped like a Snitch into the basket. "At what? Shopping for babies? Yeah, it's my secret talent. Don't tell anyone—it'd ruin my image." He whispered the last part, looking around.

I laughed despite myself, and for a moment, it felt like old times. Like Fred was still here, cracking jokes and lightening the mood.

"I mean it," I said, my voice softer now. "You're... you're really good at this, George. Better than I thought either of us would be."

He shrugged, his expression growing more serious. "I think it's just... easier to focus on this, y'know? On the baby. Feels like something good is finally coming out of all this..." He trailed off, and I saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard.

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Fred would be proud of you. You know that, right?"

George looked at me, his eyes glassy but steady. "He'd be proud of you, Angie. For keeping it together. For... for being brave enough to do this without him."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded, squeezing his arm.

"Alright," George said after a moment, his tone lighter. "Let's get this stuff paid for and get to St. Mungo's before Mum starts owling us to come home. You know how she gets."

I smiled, grateful for the shift. "Yeah, and she'll want to inspect every last thing we buy, won't she?"

"Absolutely," George said with a grin. "But hey, at least she can't complain about my excellent taste."

As we made our way to the counter, I caught sight of a small display by the register. There was a golden picture frame with a charm that made it shimmer, almost like it was glowing. Something about it caught my eye, and before I could stop myself, I picked it up.

"What's that?" George asked, glancing over.

I turned the frame in my hands, imagining a photo of Fred holding the baby inside it. "Nothing," I murmured, though my heart ached. "Just... something for the nursery."

George didn't press, and I added the frame to the basket.

It wasn't until we left the shop, stepping into the bustle of Diagon Alley, that I realized something had shifted.

For the first time since Fred's death, I felt like I could breathe just a little easier.

***

1995, Fred and Angelina's Sixth Year

"Angelina." Katie hissed. I kept writing, ignoring her.

"Angelina." She repeated, a bit louder this time.

Katie was nothing if not persistent. I kept my head down, my quill scratching against the parchment as I worked on my Transfiguration essay. "What, Katie?" I muttered, not looking up.

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Fred's staring at you again."

I froze, the quill still in my hand, and I slowly glanced up. Sure enough, there he was—Fred Weasley, sitting across the common room with a focused look on his face, clearly not the usual mischievous grin. His twin George was chatting with him, but Fred's attention was solely on me, and that didn't sit right.

I sighed, not wanting to deal with this. "Of course he is. What now?"

Katie smirked. "He looks like he wants to talk to you."

I rolled my eyes. "Probably wants to keep up with the 'annoy Angelina' routine."

Katie just raised an eyebrow. "I don't know... looks a bit different this time."

I didn't have time to argue. Fred was already on his feet, pushing through the crowd in our direction with determination in his stride. The playful banter in his eyes was gone, replaced by something more serious. My stomach churned, a mix of annoyance and something else I wasn't ready to face.

Fred came to a stop beside me, looking down at the essay I'd been working on. "Transfiguration," he said flatly, though it wasn't the teasing tone I expected. "Hard at work, as usual."

I forced a smile. "Someone has to be."

He gave me a short, clipped nod, and for a second, we just stared at each other, the awkward silence hanging thick between us.

"You busy?" he asked, almost cautiously, as if testing the waters.

I raised an eyebrow. "What, you mean besides writing a 500-word essay about Transfiguration? Yeah, I'm busy. Why?"

Fred shifted on his feet, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Can we talk? Just... you and me, in private."

I felt my stomach drop. After the argument we had last week—the one that still felt raw, the one where I'd told him he needs to know what he wanted—this was the last thing I wanted. "What's there to talk about, Fred?" I snapped, not even trying to hide the irritation in my voice. "I'm not interested."

He winced, but it was barely noticeable. "I'm serious, Angie."

"Yeah, I know you are," I said, leaning back in my chair, avoiding his eyes. "But we don't always see eye to eye, do we? Not since—"

"I know, okay?" Fred interrupted, and for the first time in ages, there was no cocky edge to his voice. "I know we've had our differences, but—"

"I'm not in the mood for this," I cut him off, feeling the familiar heat rising in my chest. "You can go back to whatever you were doing, and I'll finish my essay."

Katie, sitting beside me, wisely kept quiet, but I could feel her eyes flicking between us, waiting for something to happen.

Fred let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not trying to start another row, Angie. I just—"

Before he could finish, I glanced up, locking eyes with him for the first time. "What do you want, Fred? Honestly?"

He hesitated. "I want to fix this. Whatever this is between us. We've been friends for years, and I can't just pretend everything's fine after... well, after last week."

The words hit me harder than I expected, and my heart softened, but my pride wasn't about to let me show it. "You've got a funny way of showing it."

Fred's face fell slightly. "I know. I've been an idiot. But I don't want us to stay like this. Not when we could be—" He stopped himself, clearly struggling with what to say next. "Can we at least talk about it?"

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of his gaze on me. For all the teasing and joking around, Fred wasn't stupid. And he wasn't giving up.

I looked over at Katie, who was watching us with that knowing look in her eyes. Sighing, I pushed my essay aside. "Fine," I muttered. "We'll talk. But if you start making jokes about how you're 'too handsome to argue with,' I'll hex you."

Fred finally cracked a small smile, and it was enough to make me feel like maybe, just maybe, we could be friends again. "I'll try to be serious," he said, the mischievous glint still lurking in his eyes.

"Good," I said, standing up. "Lead the way, then."

He nodded and turned to lead me towards the portrait hole, George's eyes following us from across the room. But for once, Fred wasn't the prankster; he was the friend who actually cared about fixing things.

Once we were outside the common room, Fred continued walking.

"Where are we going?" I asked over the sounds of our echoing footsteps. The moon outside shone through the windows, making the place look eerie.

"Give me a sec, Angie." He said, and we suddenly stopped in front of a door. I hadn't seen it around before.

"What're you-" before I could finish my question, Fred yanked the door open, and pulled me inside, covering my scream as he did so. Once we were in the small, dusty room and he'd closed the door behind us, he uncovered my mouth, I gave him a swift punch on the arm.

"OW!" He yelled.

"What the bloody hell was that for?!" I whisper shouted, glaring at him as he rubbed his arm, a look of mock-hurt on his face. "You didn't have to cover my mouth for that, Fred!"

"It was fun. Plus, you would've asked a hundred questions and then some, and I want to make this quick, Angie." Sighing, I crossed my arms and looked at Fred.

"Out with it, then." I muttered, maintaining eye contact. He sighed, running his hand through his hair like this was hard to say.

"Angelina.... I'm sorry, alright? I've been acting like a git."

"Glad you noticed." I mumbled, rolling my eyes.

"Stop it." He replied tiredly.

"No." I retorted.

"Fine. I guess I just...I just couldn't handle seeing you with that Malcolm bloke. Not an excuse, though." He muttered, not keeping eye contact. And choosing to look outside a dusty window instead. He looked genuinely remorseful, and I felt a pang in my chest.

"I'm sorry too, Fred. You were a bit right, I've been mooning over Quidditch a bit too much recently. I don't know how Oliver did it, being Captain." I sighed, rubbing one of my eyes.

"Well, stressed or not, you're doing a bloody good job at it, aren't you?" He looked back to me, grinning, his reddish hair shimmering in the moonlight, and I remember trying to subconsciously count all his freckles. Odd habit I had.

"Thank you, Fred." I smiled back up at him, but then I actually took a moment to look at the room we were in. It looked like an abandoned supply closet, and we were very close to one another.

"Uh, Fred?"

"Hm?" His eyes were still locked onto me.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"Oh, old supply place Filch forgot about. George and I found it a few weeks ago. Perfect for hiding from teachers when you're skipping. Among other things." He smirked, looking at me fidget.

"And what are those other things, Weasley?" I replied, feeling my stomach do backflips.

"Dangerous game you're playing, Johnson," he replied, leaning down a bit. My face grew warm, but I stood my ground.

"Angie?" He whispered into my ear.

"Don't call me that." I said shakily, having a feeling I knew what was about to happen. And I wasn't against it.

"You know I didn't intend to take you to the ball just as friends, right?" My heart was pounding now, and I was sure Fred could hear it. "I'm very intentional."

"Didn't show that intent very clearly, did you?" I said teasingly.

"I will now." He whispered, before drawing back from my ear, cupping my cheeks and kissing me.

The kiss was immediate, hungry, urgent. I kissed him back without hesitation, my hands sliding onto his shoulders, pulling him closer. His hands found their way to my waist, pressing me firmly against the cold wall. Each kiss was deeper, more desperate than the last, and I couldn't help but respond, my breath coming in uneven gasps.

Fred groaned, his grip tightening, and he hoisted me up, his body pressing into mine as I let out a soft whimper. The space between us had evaporated entirely, leaving nothing but the heat of his lips and the beating of my heart. I never knew how much I'd wanted this, needed this.

Finally, Fred pulled away, his breathing shallow as he took a moment to study my face. His thumb gently traced my cheek, his voice low and filled with awe. "Fuck, Angelina, you're beautiful." he whispered, his brown eyes looking into mine, yearning.

Before I could even respond, his lips found my neck, and I had to bite back a laugh. "Don't even think about it," I said, though I couldn't help the playful edge in my tone.

Fred chuckled softly, pulling back slightly but keeping his hands on my waist. "I know, I know. Just testing my luck," he said with a sheepish grin. But then his expression shifted, becoming more serious as he looked me in the eye. "Look, Angie," he started, his voice quieter, the teasing gone. "I know I've been an idiot. I should've made things clear earlier. I've been messing around, not giving you the answers you deserved. And I'm sorry for that."

His words caught me off guard. I wasn't used to Fred being so open, so serious, and it made me feel a little vulnerable, too. I could tell he meant it.

"I didn't want to make things complicated," he continued, his eyes softening as he gazed at me. "But I can't just keep pretending I don't want you. You're all I think about, Angie." He let out a shaky breath, like he was struggling to say what he needed to. "I should've asked you sooner, but... I guess I was scared."

I frowned slightly, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. He looked genuinely conflicted, not the usual confident Fred, but someone who was trying to make things right.

"Fred," I whispered, my voice softening.

"Angie," he said quietly, as if it was a plea, his hands taking each of mine. "I don't want to mess this up again. So... will you be my girlfriend?"

It was the way he said it—so earnest, so vulnerable—that made my heart soften. This wasn't the cocky Fred Weasley I was used to. This was Fred, completely exposed and staring into my eyes and hoping I'd say yes, say yes to being his girlfriend.

I smiled softly, my heart racing. "Yeah, Fred. I will."

His face lit up, a relieved grin spreading across his features. "Really?" he asked, his voice filled with hope.

I nodded, pulling him in by the collar for another kiss. "Really."