A/N: This is for a fan fiction exchange/contest on The Final Prophecy. I was asked to write a St. Patrick's themed story about Fred and Angelina. It had to include a lit fire, a spell gone wrong, and a passionate kiss. It was also requested that it be fluffy, romantic, and tragic at the same time.

A Green Day

Fred Weasley chucked the March 17th edition of the Daily Prophet into the rubbish bin as he tidied up the counter of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The steady chink-chink from the back room indicated that his brother was still busy counting up that day's earnings. With a wave of his wand toward the front door, Fred magically locked it. Next he silenced the huge shamrocks in the windows that had been singing Irish ditties all day. He was trying to hurry up the process of closing up the joke shop; he had a hot date that night. Once George finally finished adding up the day's total, he retuned with a bulging bag full of galleons, sickles, and knuts. Fred impatiently waited for him to magically lock it into a drawer beneath the register, before messily extinguishing the lamps with his wand. In the remaining light that came from the blinking yellow letters of a U-NO-POO sign in the window Fred could see his twin giving him an amused look.

"Anxious for your date." It wasn't a question.

"I've been trying to get Angelina to go out with me since our date to the Yule Ball. I can't help it if I'm impatient."

George grinned at his brother. He loved to heckle him about Angelina. Aside from hiding spiders in Ron's room, it was his favorite hobby.

The brothers climbed the narrow wooden steps that led from the shop's back room to their flat above. George immediately summoned a bottle of butterbeer from the kitchen before kicking off his trainers and sinking into the sofa. He clicked on the wireless and tuned into the Quidditch channel. "I can't believe you are going on a date when Puddlemere's match against the Falcon's is tonight. The winner advances to the playoffs," he yelled to his brother, who had disappeared into the bedroom.

A minute later Fred emerged, now dressed in kakis and a green button down shirt. "Why do you think we are going to the pub," he returned. "They'll have a dozen radios playing the match."

There was a loud knock on the door and Fred hurried to answer it. Angelina was leaning against the door frame, her braided hair hanging freely around her face. Low-waisted jeans and a bright green t-shirt peaked out from under her winter cloak. "Ready to go?" she asked.

Fred nodded and grabbed his cloak from the rack by the door.

"I don't know why you are going out with him," quipped George from the couch as Fred stepped outside. "Everyone knows I'm the better looking one."

Fred snorted and Angelina rolled her eyes. "Good-night, George," she yelled back as the door closed and they made their way down the metal stairs that ran along the outside of the building. At the bottom they wordlessly gave each other a nod and turned on the spot. With two soft pops they disappeared.

The Leaky Cauldron pub was packed. Fred and Angelina snaked their way through the crowd toward the bar. Above the shatter of hundreds of patrons, the magically enhanced wireless could be heard. The announcers were currently ticking off statistics while waiting for the start of the match.

"Did you know the Muggles turn their beer green on St. Patrick's Day?" Angelina yelled over her shoulder to Fred.

Fred's face lit up. "Really? We ought to go get some."

"Do you have any Muggle money?"

Fred's face fell. "Right. Good point."

They finally made it to the bar and Tom asked for their order.

"Two butterbeers, please," said Angelina, "and an order of chips."

"Is the butterbeer green?" Fred asked.

Tom looked at him like he was insane. "No, it's the same color it always is, and that's the way it will stay."

Fred only looked crestfallen for a moment though, before he brightened up. What was that color changing spell he and George had invented a few years back? Abeocolo? That sounded close.

They grabbed their bottles of butterbeer and plate of chips and made their way back through the crowd to an open table near the roaring fireplace. Once they were seated, Fred pulled out his wand with a flourish. "Watch this." Concentrating, he pointed the wand at the bottles and intoned, "abeocolo viridis." Instantly the golden liquid turned bright green.

"Cool," replied Angelina, grabbing a bottle and taking a swig. As Fred did the same he wondered why he and George didn't use that spell more often, it was pretty handy. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he munched on a few chips. Fred raised his butterbeer to his lips again, but nearly choked on it when he looked across at Angelina. He dark skin had turned a very obvious shade of green, and the color was creeping through her braided hair.

"Damn." There had been a reason he and George didn't use that spell more often. They hadn't quite worked out all the kinks yet.

Angelina must have noticed Fred's new skin tone as well. She stared at him for a few moments before looking at her own hands. Finding them a dark green color, she lifted her eyes back up to give Fred a death glare.

Fred raised his own green hands in defense as he backed his chair away from his fuming date. "Now Angelina, it isn't that bad. In this light, you can barely tell. Besides, it should go away in a few hours."

"Should? So help me Fred, if I'm still green tomorrow morning…" Angelina's face contorted in a strange way and Fred assumed she was searching for the precise phrase that would describe the pain she was going to inflict upon him. However, after a few more seconds, Angelina broke down and started laughing so hard she was crying. Slightly shell shocked, Fred just sat there for another moment before doubling over in laughter as well.

"You look ridiculous," Angelina managed to gasp.

"And you don't?" he returned. "At least I'm Irish, I look good in green."

They both broke into raucous laughter once again. The people at the tables around them were slowly moving away, hoping that the strange green disease was not contagious.

Once Fred and Angelina had calmed down enough to breathe, Fred went back to the bar to get them fresh, non-green drinks. He returned with two glasses of fire whisky. "If we have to go through the night bright green, I figured we might need something stronger than butterbeer."

Angelina seemed to second the idea, as she immediately downed the glass in two quick swallows. Not to be outdone, Fred did the same. The Quidditch announcer on the wireless was introducing the members of both teams.

Both Angelina and Fred cheered loudly as the name of their ex-Quidditch captain from Hogwarts, Oliver Wood, was announced.

"The Falcon's don't stand a chance if Oliver is playing Keeper tonight," remarked Fred.

Angelina made a doubtful face.
"Don't tell me you have lost faith in our dear old captain?"

"Oliver is a great Keeper," defended Angelina. "The game will definitely be low scoring on both sides. But the Falcon's have one hell of a Seeker, and Puddlemere just had to bring up a Chaser from the reserve team because of injury. It doesn't matter how many goals Oliver blocks if his team can't score or catch the Snitch."

"You think so? Care to make a little wager on the match?" Fred asked with a roguish grin.

Angelina smiled back. "What are the terms?"

"If I am right, and Puddlemere wins, you have to give me a little kiss."

"And if I win, and the Falcon's take the match, I get a whole box of free stuff from your shop," Angelina countered.

"Deal," replied Fred, thrusting a hand forward.

Angelina gladly shook it. "Deal."

Three hours and several more shots of firewhisky later, the entire bar was absorbed in the last seconds of the Quidditch match. Patrons screamed for their favorite team. Barely audible above the noise was the wireless announcer, who was giving a play by play account of what was happening. "And the Falcon's Seeker, Goads, falls into a sharp dive. It looks like he may have spotted the Snitch near the base of Puddlemere's goal posts. Higgins dodges a bludger and pulls even with Goads. It's too close to call; I can't tell whose arm is whose. And Higgins pulls up, with the Snitch in his hand! Puddlemere Wins, 170 to 40!"

Puddlemere fans erupted in an enormous roar of celebration, while Falcon fans booed. Angelina didn't look too disappointed as Fred puckered his lips in anticipation of collecting on the bet. Laughing, she grabbed him around the waist, and then much to his surprise, dipped him as she gave him a rather passionate kiss. When she finally released him his face showed tinges of red underneath the still lingering green.

"Bloody hell."

Angelina gave him a self-satisfied look.

"Two can play at that game." He pounced at her, and she found herself suddenly bent backwards over his arm while he kissed her. There was a moment where she was too shocked to do anything, but then she closed her arms around him, pulled him closer, and kissed him back. It was only the cat calls from the neighboring tables that brought them both back to reality.

The Leaky Cauldron began to quiet down as the customers stumbled outside in search of their own cozy beds. Fred and Angelina, fearing splinching if they tried to Apparate in their present condition, made their way into the back alley behind the bar. It took them three tries to get the right combination of bricks to open the entrance to Diagon Alley, but once they did it was not a quiet, street-lamp-lit street that met them. The sounds of people screaming drifted on the cold night air, audible even over the bar patrons who were still celebrating. Fred immediately sobered up and ran forward. Shop owners and those who lived in Diagon Alley flats were standing outside, transfixed by the sky. The Dark Mark hung menacingly above an area of the street Fred knew very well. Fighting back the urge to retch, he ran forward through the growing crowd, with Angelina in tow.

The whole time he ran, Fred kept hoping that the Mark was hanging over someone else's shop. He prayed it was someone else's life that had been destroyed, someone else's family that would be torn apart. But when he skidded to a halt in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes he knew his worst fears had been realized. The shop was barely recognizable. The windows had been smashed in, all the shelves overturned, and the counter was split down the middle. Scorch marks showed where small fires had started and been extinguished by the Aurors who were already on the scene. The worst, however, was the bright green skull that hung above the flat.

George couldn't be dead, Fred thought desperately. He would have felt it, the way he had felt it when George had fallen out of the oak tree behind the Burrow and broken his left arm when they were seven. Unconsciously, he ran trembling fingers down his left arm. He would have felt it.

"Sir, you need to step back from the building," ordered an Auror Fred didn't know. Arms with bulging muscles herded him back to where the rest of the crowd was standing. How ridiculous he must look, colored completely green and smelling strongly of liquor and smoke. Angelina was by his side, her eyes locked on the shimmering skull and snake. She looked as if she was trying very hard not to be sick while she gripped Fred's arm.

"Wait!" yelled a strong voice that Fred recognized. Looking up, he saw Kingsley Shacklebolt coming down the outside steps from the flat. Pushing the other Auror out of the way, Fred stumbled toward Kingsely, trying desperately to read the man's expressionless face. Kingsley only shook his head and placed a strong hand on Fred's shoulder. His eyes told the whole story.

"George…" was all Fred was able to say before his voice cut out. Expecting hot tears to suddenly spring to his eyes, it was only then that he realized he had been crying since he first saw the Dark Mark.

A/N: This was my first Fred/Angelina fic, and to be honest, I don't really like it. However, because I had a time limit, I had to make due. Feel free to leave me a review if you feel like it.