Disclaimer: JKR owns everything except my OC. The passage before the break is an exact quote from HP & The Deathly Hallows.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran forward to help: Jets of light flew in every direction and the man dueling Percy backed off, fast: Then his hood slipped and they saw a high forehead and streaked hair—

"Hello, Minister!" bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"You're joking, Perce!" shouted Fred as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.

"You actually are joking, Perce. . . . I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—"

The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart. Harry felt himself flying through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield his head in his arms: He heard the screams and yells of his companions without a hope of knowing what had happened to them—

And then the world resolved itself into pain and semidarkness: He was half buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Cold air told him that the side of the castle had been blown away, and hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life. . . .

And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and three redheaded men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted apart. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood.

"No—no—no!" someone was shouting.

As the castle erupted in cheers, and the hall filled with food and mourners, Sarah felt neither happy or sad. Only like she was wading through a thick, muddy swamp. Shock, that was probably the best word for it. She held on for as long as she could, but her brain was at the point of bursting. It was still less than twelve hours previously that Alica and Angelina Johnson had shown up at her door, clutching coded galleons, saying that there was going to be a fight, and was she in or out?

Sarah didn't stop and think about it. She'd chucked on her trainers and disapparated to the Hog's Head with them, not even remembering to leave a note for her father. At the time, she hadn't considered that it could be the end. That as morning crested, it could all be over, and Voldemort's body would be lying off in the chambers somewhere. But there it was. Here it was—the end. Around the country Death Eaters were being wrangled, imperious curses were being lifted, Kingsley Shacklebolt was the new Minister of Magic, and the sun had emerged from behind the clouds. Their whole world flooded with light for what felt like the first time in years.

But the cost had been steep. Familiar faces were covered with sheets and moved around the castle. Lifeless. An entire half of Sarah's family tree had been decimated by Voldemort. Even her muggle side hadn't been safe. A few cousins were severely injured in a random Death Eater attack on a music festival. Many friends and mentors had been struck down only hours ago.

When her head began to feel heavy, and the thought of food churned her stomach, Sarah stood up and left. She just needed to be doing something other than sitting on a bench.

Sarah's first stop was down in the kitchens, where the house elves seemed more than happy to oblige her request of 'the largest bottle of firewhiskey known to wizardkind.' It was only just after seven, but the rules of normal behavior didn't seem to govern this new, strange territory she belonged to.

Her body ached as she walked along the crumbling corridors, sipping from her bottle of liquor. It was harsh, and it burned her throat as it went down, but it was a welcome sensation. Sarah knew that she should've stopped to be taken care of by Madam Pomfrey as Flitwick had ordered, but as she wasn't bleeding profusely, she'd figured it could wait. It was mostly bruises and scrapes left anyways. The one big gash on her back had been taken care of during their brief armistice in the night. Everything else was just a mild inconvenience rather than debilitating anyhow. There were others with worse.

The air outside the castle was crisp on her skin, jolting Sarah back to the spring days she'd spent sprawled out on the lawn studying. Or more properly, ignoring her studies and the chastising from her friends for not studying. Choosing to flip through a magazine instead. The battle had been her first return since leaving two years ago. It was amazing how far away her days as schoolgirl felt.

From the outside, Hogwarts Castle looked pretty horrific. Battered and bruised, just like it's protectors. Stones walls were crumbling, cracked, and gaping in places. There was almost nothing left to the front bridge, and the Owlery tower now looked as though its top had been sheared clean off. Off in the distance, the Quidditch Pitch was just a pile of ashes, still sending smoke spirals up into the air.

In the opposite direction, however, the lake beckoned her. Despite war, it was as peaceful as Sarah had ever seen it. The lawn was still lush green, and the water glassy and still. That was where she needed to be, she decided. Down by the Great Lake.

That was where she landed, in all her disgusting, post-battle glory. Not in the Great Hall tucking in with everyone else, claiming a well-earned shower, or up to her former dormitory for a nap. But down by the lake in a heap on the damp grass. She had a greater need to be where everything was quiet and calm.

For some reason, that was when the gravity of her evening chose to hit her over the head. Sarah was suddenly overcome with emotion. Everything from the last three years, and her entire life really, came rushing out at once. Her silence gave way to weeping, and eventually quiet sobbing.

It'd been so long since the last time she cried. Trying to be strong and keep moving, just like she knew her mum would have. Anything to save her father from worrying more than necessary. Knowing that if he knew, he'd have insisted she go out and get a muggle job. Cut ties with her scary world. That minding her business would have kept her safe. Sarah might not have been a brave Gryffindor like her mother, but she knew that minding her business wasn't the answer during war. Not when people were getting slaughtered. Not when her father didn't even know the actual circumstances of the deaths in their family.

"Oh."

Sarah didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when she heard a soft voice behind her. She turned to see a familiar red-head standing behind her. His red-rimmed eyes told her that he'd come down to the lake to do precisely what she'd done.

"Fred." She sniffled, wiping a dirty sleeve under her eyes.

He looked lost. Like he was second-guessing his decision to come down to the lake. But his feet didn't want to seem to move him in either direction.

"I didn't expect anyone… Everyone's sleeping… and I… What are you doing here?" He finally managed to get out.

Sarah held up her half-drunk bottle of firewhiskey in response. It was the deciding factor, as Fred hung his head and kneeled next to her.

Neither knew what to say or do. So they sat quietly together on the bank, passing the bottle between them. They hadn't been close during school, so the idea of comforting words seemed… inadequate. Words were nothing more than empty gestures at that point—something to say to fill an awkward space rather than meaning it.

In the absence of conversation, Sarah was transported to another moment in the past, back in their sixth year. The scene had looked much the same. She had come down to the lake the day after Cedric's memorial. Dumbledore had given them the news that Voldemort had returned, and that life was going to change. It had been still early out, and the carriages weren't set to leave for a few hours. And she had stumbled on Fred Weasley, sitting and drinking from a small flask of firewhiskey. It'd been the first time she'd ever seen him without his brother.

She had been the one to stop and try to run back up to the castle embarrassed, but Fred had invited her to sit down. He'd passed over his firewhiskey like they were friends, and Sarah, ever the good girl, had taken one long sip, relishing in the way it felt. It'd been her first real drink. And when it'd been time to go, he'd leaned over to give her a chaste peck on the cheek.

That had been it. They hadn't ever spoken about that morning before. And why would they?

She couldn't help it when a watery giggle slipped out of her. It was almost silly how full circle everything had come. Without even planning it, the two of them were in the same place they had been when it all began.

"What?" Fred asked, turning to face her.

Sarah hadn't even noticed he was crying, but his cheeks were wet. There were little pathways, racing down his cheeks where dust and grime had been pushed out of the way. God, did she look that beat up?

"I just…" She cleared her throat. "I can't wrap my brain around it. Any of it. That this terrible something that has shaped our entire lives… Is over."

Fred nodded slowly, looking down at his knees. "Percy's dead."

The words came out of his mouth, heavy like cinder blocks. Sarah reached up to put a hand on his shoulder, wondering if that was the sort of thing that felt soothing or just awkward. She hadn't ever been very good at comforting. Maybe that was why she'd chosen to search out solitude, rather than stay sitting in the Great Hall amongst grieving family and friends.

"I-I thought there would be more time." He continued.

She watched as a few more tears slowly ran their way down Fred's face, falling on to his torn jeans. They left salty little patches where they hit.

"You don't have to explain." She said. "It's not fair. None of it's fair."

"It's not fair." Fred echoed, almost dumbfounded by the phrase.

She reached over and grabbed his hand, sandwiching it between both of her own. Sarah knew there was nothing to be said that could make it better. Like trying to put a bandage on a broken foot. The only thing that would help was time, and even then, it could never feel like it did before. He squeezed her hand, his fingers threading through hers.

They sunk back into silence as the sun rose higher in the sky. Sarah kept drinking, surprised every sip that the bottle had yet to run out. And that she wasn't yet dancing on tables, or singing show tunes. But eventually, Sarah knew that she needed to get up. To send her father an owl telling him where she was. To find a shower. Or find a sandwich. To see how bad those bruises were. To wash the dried blood out of her hair. There was a whole list of things.

Sarah sighed and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. Just the same as he'd done for her several years ago. But Fred, seeing the movement in his peripherals, turned his head. Her lips landed squarely on his, their noses bumping in an awkward collision.

Sarah pulled back quickly, realizing she'd just kissed Fred Weasley. Full on, on the mouth. Some long-repressed schoolgirl fancy rising to the surface, her cheeks grew hot in embarrassment.

Used to being in control, the kiss obviously flustered her. She didn't go around kissing guys she hardly knew, even after half a bottle of firewhiskey. Still worse, was remembering that her hand remained entangled with his. Something natural and innocent only a few minutes ago now felt clammy and stiff.

"I should go," She said quietly, straightening up.

Fred didn't release her hand but gave it another squeeze.

"Wait." He said. "Do you mind… Can I just… try something? Please?"

There was a note of hesitancy in his voice. Over the years, Sarah had taken it as absolute fact that Fred and George Weasley didn't go anywhere without their ego. The way they used to speak to teachers always dripped with sarcasm and playful charm. It was part of why she steered clear when most of the girls in their year were fawning over the twins. But there was no trace of that cocky, overly-inflated boy in the way he spoke now.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe Sarah was finally going mad, but she heard herself eke out a small "Okay."

Fred reached over and brushed a finger along her jaw, before pulling Sarah in. This time he kissed her, and it was something else entirely. Full of many unnamed emotions, but at the forefront was neediness. She had half a mind to put a stop to it before things got away from them, but she found herself melting completly as his arm snaked around her side.

In hindsight, Sarah would be able to tell that was the moment when everything went off the rails. Had she been in a bar somewhere, or with a stranger, she'd have been in control of her swiftly raging hormones. But there on the lawn, they were alone. She was running on zero sleep, still in the resounding shock of battle, with firewhiskey on her breath and a pair of attractive hands pulling at the hem of her tee-shirt… It was a perfect storm for terrible decision making.

Sarah was ultimately at the mercy of those wandering hands. Or possibly even worse, she wanted it just as much, or maybe more than Fred. He was doing a fantastic job of making her feel wanted. Something she hadn't felt in forever. Which she felt was pretty pathetic, considering she wasn't even twenty yet. That seemed to throw any good reason not to, out the window.

"Do you…?" Fred managed to pause long enough to ask.

His hands had slipped underneath her shirt, but instead of pulling it up and over, they'd stopped short. His thumbs had found a spot on her abdomen, caressing the same light path over and over, ever so distractingly as he spoke.

"Yes," Sarah said. She'd tried her best to answer it confidently, but it came out more like a pained moan than anything else.

She tried to pay him back, going to that spot on his neck she'd been working over earlier.

"Are you—"

Her hand reached over to clap him on the mouth before Fred could get another word out.

"Weasley." She whispered. "Stop. Talking."

A/N: Hello! Hope you all are safe and well. Quarantine has made my brain all crazy, and out hopped this little bunny. Welcome to the beginning of a Fred Lives! story. I didn't want to change cannon too much, so in my head this is what WOULD have/COULD have happened if that exploding wall killed Percy, not Fred. I think it's totally in character that Fred might go off the deep end and screw a rando while in shock. Don't you? Won't be totally angst driven, but c'mon... you gotta have a little. It WAS war, after all! Alright, fave&review my little ducks. Much love, Blitz.