A/N: Been awhile hasn't it? Haha don't worry this story is still going despite the delays. This will be a more serious oneshot with some themes that will reoccur later on in future chapters. This chapter will be MUCH shorter than the ones previously but hopefully you'll still enjoy.

This takes place almost immediately after their return to the Burrow after the World Cup. Now without further ado…

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

…

It was with a drowsy air that the ceiling of Fred Weasley's room came slowly into focus, sleep's warm blanket slipping just beyond the reach of his mind's grasping fingers. His eyes drifted lazily from the scorch marks decorating nearly every inch of he and George's bedroom, to the large pile of failed experiments pushed haphazardly into the back corner and out of the way, filling the room with the unmistakable scent of fresh gunpowder. They'd made a bit of a breakthrough the night before and had been too tired to properly dispose of the aftermath before falling into bed.

It had been a bit of a relief really, to finally slip away from their mother's watchful eye and escape into the relative chaos that was their bedroom. The whole business with the Dark Mark scare had occurred only the night before, yet the resulting strain on Mrs. Weasley had been clearly prevalent throughout the rest of the following day. Apparently it hadn't been enough to almost kill them with the vice-like hug she'd bestowed upon their safe return as afterwards, she'd not let the twins out of her sight for more than five minutes. Yet Fred supposed it was to be expected. Mrs. Weasley was a worrier by nature and their rather nasty argument of the previous day, mixed with the strenuous events of the World Cup, had clearly tipped her over the edge.

Fred sighed and rolled over so he was facing the bed opposite him, the rather large lump in the bed sheets the telltale form of a still sleeping George. The top of his twin's head was just visible poking out from beneath the blankets, a small smudge of soot still clinging stubbornly to his forehead. The two of them had exchanged a few words earlier that evening regarding the rather sinister ending to the World Cup, a conversation in which George had vented his worries and Fred had simply agreed with him. Though both boys weren't nearly on the level their mother was, to say they hadn't been unnerved by Voldemort's sign would be a good stretch of the truth. More than likely the mark had been the work of a few whiskey filled supporters having a good laugh. Yet even though he knew this, even though the alternative was too terrible to perceive, the fear had been real.

Swallowing in a failed attempt to dampen his dry throat Fred sat up, coming to terms with the fact that he'd have to get out of bed in order to manage the thirst that had suddenly gripped him. Shoving the blankets out of the way, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and quietly slipped off the mattress, doing his best to tiptoe across the floor to avoid waking George. Fred slid their door open and stepped out into the hallway, slinking silently from their bedroom and heading towards the stairs leading down to the kitchen. He had nearly reached the bottom when an unexpected clunk suddenly emanated from the dining room, causing him to freeze mid step and glance sharply in the direction of the offending noise.

The sound of liquid pouring into a cup came next followed by the scraping of a chair against the Burrow's aged flooring. Clearly Fred wasn't the only one awake at this odd hour. Curiosity piqued, the boy descended the rest of the steps before walking towards the sliver of light piercing the shadowy halls of the ground floor. Upon peering into the kitchen Fred was surprised to see Molly sitting at the table, a mug of hot tea in one hand, the other supporting her forehead.

"Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley jumped a foot in the air, a startled squeak issuing from her lips while her hand jerked involuntarily, sending hot liquid splashing over the mug's rim and across the table.

"Fred Weasley do not scare me like that!" she exclaimed, her hand pressed firmly to her chest in an attempt to calm her racing heart. The boy grinned at her before heading over to the cupboard and grabbing a glass from within.

"So are midnight tea breaks something you partake in often or is tonight just a special occasion?" Fred asked, taking his newly filled glass over to the table and dropping into the seat across from her. Molly's lips twitched in the hint of a smile but she shook her head, evaporating the spilled tea with a wave of her wand.

"No. I suppose I was just having a hard time sleeping," she responded, returning her forehead to her hand. Fred brought the water glass to his lips but raised an inquiring eyebrow, clearly waiting for her to go on. Catching his look Mrs. Weasley waved her hand dismissively, removing her forehead from her palm and shooting him a very thin smile.

"Really Fred dear, there's nothing for you to wo-"

"Mum."

Molly paused, the words dying on her lips as she took in the expression on her son's face. She gave a soft laugh in defeat.

"I suppose I'm not particularly convincing," she remarked quietly. Fred shrugged, setting his mug down on the tabletop and giving his mother a small grin.

"It's not that. I just happen to have an incredibly accurate ability to sense the ever fluctuating emotions of the female breed," he told her. "Of which you happen to be a member."

Mrs. Weasley gave him a rather pointed look before shaking her head, clearly too used to her son's retorts to be exasperated. Fred sighed and tried again.

"But honestly you've put me at a bit of a loss. Its come to my attention that if someone's gone and had a rough day the polite thing to is serve tea. Now you've already gone and done that for yourself which leaves me with naught to offer but a listening ear, if you'll take it."

As Molly stared at him, Fred couldn't help feeling silly and more than a bit out of his element. Hadn't he just been thinking about how refreshing it felt to be away from his mother's emotional tirades? Now here he was, willingly subjecting himself to the potential flood gates that were in danger of being reopened due to his words of blatant chivalry. Yet despite himself, something about seeing his mother looking so tired and, well, old made it worth the risk. There was a moment of silence as Molly seemed to consider him, thoughts unreadable behind her eyes. Finally the woman's lips settled back into a smile and she spoke.

"Oh I suppose I'm just very lucky," she told him, reaching across the table and giving his hand a small squeeze. Fred frowned.

"Why might that be?" he inquired. Mrs. Weasley's eyes flickered briefly to the newspaper clipping still sitting on the counter top where the moving image of the Dark Mark could be seen presiding over the grounds of the World Cup.

"You were so young when You-Know-Who disappeared," the woman told him, staring fixedly into the tea in front of her. "But the times before that, as I know you are aware, were dreadful. I suppose it was just the thought that-" she broke off, her voice wobbling dangerously. Fred said nothing, his water mug sitting forgotten before him. Finally she tried again.

"I'm just very lucky the mark was not signifying the worst and that you all made it back alright," she finished. Yet despite her words and the smile on her face, Fred could tell she was still incredibly shaken. If nothing else the bags under her eyes were evidence to that. Silence stretched between them, Mrs. Weasley taking a sip of her tea and looking everywhere but at the Daily Prophet on the counter. Fred hesitated, not entirely sure what to say. He was again finding himself in a situation much better suited for Mr. Weasley, Ginny, or Bill. Heck even George had more sense than Fred when it came to actions of comfort. Unfortunately he was still snoozing away obliviously upstairs and wasn't bound to be much help any time soon. A moment later Mrs. Weasley had given her head a small nod, her chair creaking audibly as she stood and pushed it away from the table.

"Well, I'm off to bed," she stated, walking over to the sink and setting her mug down. "And you'd best head up soon too. I want that de-gnoming done before lunch." A scrubber immediately leapt up from the countertop and began to furiously wash away any trace of lukewarm tea remaining in the dirty cup. Mrs. Weasley leaned down and planted a swift kiss on the top of her son's head before she straightened up again, turning and heading for the open hallway and the ascending stairs.

"Mum none of us are going anywhere-er-anytime soon that is," Fred suddenly blurted out, standing and hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. Merlin's balls he was bad at this. "So really, you don't have to worry so much." Mrs. Weasley paused, turning to look at him with a slightly startled expression on her face. Clearly she hadn't expected his outburst any more than he had. Unusually tongue tied Fred shrugged his shoulders, hoping he'd gotten his point across because any more cheesy lines like that might just kill him.

He turned to place his mug beside Mrs. Weasley's now sparkling clean one and upon turning back nearly ran his mother over. Without him noticing, the woman had managed to move silently across the floor and was now standing directly in front of him.

"Wha-" but before he'd even finished his sentence Mrs. Weasley had flung her arms around his neck, the fabled water works let loose in all their glory onto Fred's shoulder.

"Mum I can't breathe…" said twin wheezed but his mother ignored him, clearly content to strangle her son as long as it meant keeping her grip on him. Fred hesitated then sighed, defeated, and raised one hand to awkwardly pat the woman's back.

"It's alright mum, I'm right here," he mumbled with what little breath he had left. "I'm not going anywhere." Mrs. Weasley tightened her grip on him and sobbed all the harder.

…

So I realize this chapter was incredibly short however it is sort of important for a chapter that happens near the end of this series. Plus I love Molly's relationship with her children and, though the twins are a definite cause of headaches for the poor woman, she clearly loves them greatly all the same.

Writing Fred in a more comforting environment is, again difficult. This time it was even trickier b/c I didn't have George there for him to work off of. Hopefully it turned out alright however, and he wasn't too terribly out of character. Next chapter is bound to contain more length and much more laughs! Let me know what you think! Thanks a bunch!

~Phoenix