A/N: I'm finally ending my ridiculously long hiatus.
Fred was glad that it was Christmas.
Of course, who wouldn't be? Christmas was supposed to be the best time of the year. Bright and shiny, frigid outside but warm and cozy indoors. Christmas was supposed to be laughter and family, ham and roasted chestnuts, togetherness.
If only Christmas this year was together.
Fred hadn't seen his mother in months. His parents were somewhere hiding in Essex, keeping out of the way of Death Eaters and living in fear. The Burrow hadn't been occupied since Bill and Fleur's wedding, which was the most horrendous disaster of a wedding Fred could remember. He hoped his own wedding would be better.
Even though he was away from his family on Christmas, he was still thankful for the holiday. He and his twin brother, George, were hiding out in a dingy, cramped hotel room in an inconspicuous building a mile from the wizarding quarter in Birmingham. It was secure enough, although a brutal murder in the wizarding quarter caught attention of the Muggle press: a Muggleborn, the daughter of a Member of Parliament, found after being tortured to death outside of a Muggle pub that bordered the wizard neighborhood. The Birmingham Mail caught wind of the story, thinking it to be a case of political extremism, of corruption and the Mafia and organized crime. Every paper in the country had jumped on it. Fred had flipped through the television channels and found a reporter discussing it on the BBC. They were even babbling about it in America, as if it was a case of corruption, and as if corruption could be contagious.
Fred and George knew that it was not, in fact, a murder orchestrated by mobsters, but a target by the Death Eaters. That much was obvious. But that had been a week ago, and all had gone quiet since then. Still, they didn't risk leaving the room without disguises. The fact that a young woman had been murdered so close to them was frightening. It made Fred worry, not for the first time, about Angie.
Outside in Birmingham snow was clogging the streets. Festive lights twinkled in the windows. Most of the shops were closed, save a few restaurants. Fred watched as a waitress at the lavish place across the street stepped outside for a smoke. She looked exhausted. A cigarette rotated between her fingers, her hair frayed and knotted. She looked like a girl from one of those Muggle films that Hermione was so besotted with, the kind that would fall in love with a tragic antihero whom she thought she knew about but was really in the dark. (Hermione had shown him a Muggle movie of the sorts.)
Not for the first time he wondered where they were. He hadn't heard from Ron in months, and Harry and Hermione had no reason to contact him. Then again, he hadn't heard anything about them through directing Potterwatch. Surely no news was good news.
"You hear from Mum lately?" George asked from the other side of the room, where he was folding his shirts into immaculate piles. He was nervous. Fred could tell. He was on the verge of freaking out. George seldom lost his cool, but Fred could always tell when he was about to. For instance, his brother would go into a cleaning spree, obsessively checking for dust or precisely ironing out every crease in his clothes. George liked to be in control of the situation, but in the one they were in at the moment, he was anything but in control.
Fred shrugged. "No. Have you?"
"No."
"Bill and Fleur?"
"Nothing."
"No news is good news," Fred said aloud, but he was trying to convince himself more than he was reassuring George.
"I suppose so." George had moved from folding his laundry to organizing the contents of the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. "Do you think we would have news if something happened?"
"Of course." That much, Fred was certain of. Death Eater murders always got around, somehow. They were the best tool He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had to induce fear on the general wizarding public. "Besides, Ron is with Harry. They wouldn't keep it quiet if something happened to Harry. Old Vol-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would make sure everyone knew about it."
"That's not very comforting."
"But there's no news, so it's nothing to worry about," Fred answered hastily. He was as internally panicked for the safety of their family as George, but he tried not to show it.
If other people had been with them, they would be cracking jokes. Everyone would know that things would be alright if Fred and George were laughing. But today neither of them were laughing, or even smiling. It was Christmas, and they were utterly alone, and a young woman only a few years older than them had shown up dead in a trash can just down the block a week ago.
"Have you heard from Angelina?" George asked him.
"No."
This time Fred turned his head, because he didn't want to see the pity in George's eyes. It would mean almost certainty that something was very wrong with Angelina, that they had found her, or her mother, or Katie.
"When was the last time?"
"November." Or, to be exact, thirty-seven days, which was almost forty, which was how long it took God to flood the Earth in Genesis and Noah to be the lone caretaker of the planet. Which was exactly how Fred had felt since fleeing the Burrow after Bill and Fleur's wedding: like the loneliest man in the hemisphere. He laid down on one of the beds, his head spinning.
"No news is good news, Fred," George said quietly. It had become their mantra. Potterwatch had gotten him nervous, is all.
Death Eaters spotted in Middlesex. All wizards in the county are advised to be in hiding.
It was probably nothing.
"I wish we could see Mum," George mused. "I miss her."
"Her and dad will be fine."
"I can't wait till all this is over," George said with a sigh. "Get back to our flat, get back to work. I need to get back in the dating pool. I haven't had a date since, God, August?"
"Angie and I are going to get married," Fred said softly. The words were out before he realized what he was saying. There was no taking them back.
"What?" George whipped his head around to stare at his brother.
"I asked her to marry me. Last time I saw her. In October."
"Really?"
"Really."
"You waited two months to tell me?"
"Yeah." Fred scratched his neck, uncomfortable. "I wasn't sure how'd you take it."
"Why?" George sounded hurt.
"Because-because you're my brother. We've done everything together."
"So?"
"It just felt unfair to you."
George bristled. "You should have told me earlier."
"It doesn't matter."
George sighed. "No, you're right. It doesn't."
"She's pregnant."
"Bloody hell, Fred."
"I know." Fred rubbed his eyes.
"Shit, Fred. Shit."
"No news is good news, right?"
"Yeah, I guess, but what the hell were you thinking?" George shook his head.
"I was thinking about getting laid, thanks."
"I'm pretty sure a baby kills the mood, though." George grinned
Fred ignored him. "I'm just worried about her." It was true. Everywhere Fred looked he saw her. He saw her on the BBC coverage of the murdered MP's daughter, he saw her instead of the waitress smoking across the street.
"I can't wait till the war is over," George sighed.
Fred nodded in agreement. When the war was finally over, he was going to marry Angie. They would move to a flat near the shop, and they would reopen Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He would raise his family in Diagon and they would visit the Burrow weekly.
He would get along with his life, finally.
"Has Lee said anything on Potterwatch?" he asked George.
"No," his brother answered. He looked despondent, just as worried as Fred felt. "But no news is good news."