Another one-shot. Fred and OC. Slightly fluffy and a little sad.

Diagon Alley was a tip. Smashed glass littered the pavements like diamonds among coal. Doors hung from hinges. Once colourful shop signs were scarred and blackened, the writing below barely visible. Cobbles were brushed to the side of the road, their pockmarks marked by neon paint to be fixed. The marks left behind with traces of dark magic; Knockturn positively crystal like against the ruins.

But light had triumphed over darkness.

Tallulah Baker had returned to the charred remains of what had been her family's tearoom dating back to 1910. Fiorella's had become hers that day she had graduated from Hogwarts nearly two years ago now. The blasted war too much for her already frail parent's minds.

Picking her way between bits of rubble she draws her large coat around herself further. The once bustling street eerily silent. A scattering of store owners stood in front of their properties, concern etched upon faces of people who had suffered and witnessed too much. She had managed to escape just four months before the street had been ransacked. She'd left for Italy via muggle London. The long train ride to her extended family tiresome and dreary. But at least she had been safe, if out the loop.

She finds her small flat above the tearoom intact and exactly just how she had left it months previous. Dust sheets had covered every surface. The family heirlooms shrunk and hidden in various nooks and crannies. With a flick of her wand everything organises itself, the dust vanishing from the sheets before storing themselves into the hallway cupboard. Following the fabric and double checking that they had gone into the right place, she opens a door to the back of the building, unbuttoning her coat. The small snuffling bundle is sleeping tightly against her chest. As she settles her daughter, Erica Molly, into her cot Tallulah takes in her tiny baby. At six weeks old she had her own blue eyes and her fathers shock of red hair and freckles.

She'd met her daughters father when he had moved into the joke shop next door; she worked weekends under her father's instruction in those days. The trickster twins in her year at school though red to her blue. Their reputation well known. They were smart and brilliant if a little irritating. The past year and a bit had gone far too quickly. The twins had become regulars. Their orders the same each day of the week, alternating between ham and pickle, chicken mayo or four cheese sandwiches or soup of the day plus whichever scone or cake was that days special.

The twins, Tallulah had soon learned, were also different. Fred was more outgoing and gung ho. George thought things through. Fred drank coffee; black with two sugars. George drank tea; milk and one sugar. Fred would arrive in the tearoom first thing as soon as Fiorella's opened at ten to check out the special of the day and would owl orders later on. George would arrive at four for their final round of drinks and any leftover sweet treats before both the joke shop and tearoom shut at five.

Together the trio would lock up. Fred would stand guard as the external muggle safety measures and extra wards were put up before accompanying her round the side of the building to make sure that she got to her front door safe. The matter of a few feet. And that was how it had started. After a month she had invited him in for dinner while George left for Angelina's. Her Scottish fold cat Fitz had taken an instant shine, settling in the Weasley males lap. Fred chatted easily with her as she cooked pasta, prompting her about the tearoom.

It became a weekly thing. Then after two months, twice each week. Then eventually every other day; although they definitely were not dating, she didn't fancy being on Molly Weasley's bad side for dating one of her sons and not telling her about it.

The buzzer goes from below, interrupting her thoughts. She gives her visitor a few security questions before letting them in. Footsteps echo before another knock to the internal door. Opening it she finds George, the grey and white streak of Fitz darting through the door. She presumed it was George but he didn't look entirely like himself. His usually jolly face was sullen and grey, dark circles pronounced under his eyes. Those brown eyes which usually danced in mischief were flat, like puddles of mud.

The final battle had clearly taken its toll. The months of being under the radar and fighting side by side with his family and friends. It was strange seeing the twin without an ear on his own, normally Fred would be beside him. She didn't have time to ask where he was when he reaches into his jacket pocket, he hands her a plain envelope. A single word on the front; the only person who shortened her name into a narrow and tall script.

'Lulu'

She'd hurt him. Had left him to fight in a battle that wasn't his own. She couldn't risk standing by his side. She needed to get away before it was too late. The safety of the unborn child, the one that he never knew about; that she never told him about, was on the line.

As if summoned, Erica's crying breaks the silence. Her letter would have to wait. George follows the sharp sound. In the small box room, he picks up his unknown niece absorbing the familiar features. Tears fall down his face as he rocks the baby gently. Tallulah knew then just what had been written in that letter. Half of her world crumbled.

George had been left without a twin.

She was lost without her Fred.

Her daughter would be without her father.

Fred had died in the Battle.

A War Hero.