A/N: The credit of the Harry Potter plot and characters belongs solely to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing of it but my own words.

I figured, one half of a whole is what got us into this mess. Enjoy.

Deserter: In Defense of Fred Weasley

When Fred sets his mind to something, that something happens. He is a lesson in contrasts, all extremes and nothing else. 'Between' and 'Middle' are not words in his dictionary.

So when evil baby Ron breaks his toy broom, well, he's got to teach that tosser a lesson, hasn't he? And Fred can tell you, seeing Ron's chubby legs fleeing from his once-beloved teddy was satisfying as hell.

And when Harry-bloody-Potter needed their help, you can bet money Fred and George went big. The Ford Anglia debacle caused quite a bit of commotion with Mum. (But it was so worth it.)

And speaking of bets, when Ludo Bagman proposed a wager, the twins put everything they had into his hand on a crazy theory, and they won. (Of course they did.) They never did get their money back, but karma's a fickle thing, isn't it, Ludo?

And when perfectly pretentious Percy decided he was too good for their family, Fred turned his back just as hard as Percy did, and he meant it with every iota of his being. (Later, he throws food at him with every iota of his being. Take that, Weatherby.)

And when Dolores Umbridge tried to inflict her reign of terror on the school, it was only inevitable that Fred and George would instigate a war of chaos in the midst of their triumphant departure. (And who needs to graduate, anyway?)

And when he saw people living in fear, Fred took up a microphone and headed straight for Lee Jordan, no matter the risk, no matter the cost. (That's always been Fred's motto, hasn't it?) Potterwatch in 5, 4, 3, 2 . . . (It's Rapier, not Rodent.)

And when Percy came back at the last moment with his tail between his legs, Fred was the first to forgive him because really, what's family for if not taking you back after your major screw-ups?

Fred lived a goofy, passionate, extreme life. No regrets, no in-betweens. He loved his friends and he loved his family, even ickle Ronniekins and perfect Percy. He laughed and he cried, but he laughed a hell of a lot more.

So it's only fitting that that's how he died.

People say he died with the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face. They say his brother George was inconsolable and his other brother Percy wouldn't leave his side for a long, long time. They say he was a loving brother who died too young. They say he'll always be remembered.

But no one ever talks about how he felt. Then again, you don't normally get to hear the opinions of the dead.

Let's do, shall we?

When Fred dies, he thinks that he always imagined there'd be more flowers. More fanfare. A band, maybe. He thought there'd be a crowd of adoring fans or whatnot (not that he hoped his fans would die before him or anything.)

He definitely didn't think he'd be in his childhood house. He didn't think the Burrow could ever be this clean. And he didn't think he'd be naked. Clothes appear. Odd, but convenient.

He didn't think it'd be empty. Well, empty save for one person. And it's not the person he was hoping to see.

"How you doin', Fred?" asks a tall, black-haired guy with glasses.

"Harry! How're you dead? You can't be dead! I'll — I'll kill you!" threatens Fred.

Harry chuckles. "You can't kill the dead. But as far as I know, the jury's still out on whether or not Harry's actually dead. Personally, I'm leaning towards 'not.' I'm James, but you can call me Prongs."

"You're Prongs?" asks Fred in utter disbelief. "And you're Harry's dad? Oh, just wait till George hears thi— oh."

James nods sadly. "So you've realized. It took me about as long too."

Suddenly, Fred doesn't care in the slightest who this prat is. All that matters is he's standing in between Fred and his twin.

"Take. Me. Back," he demands.

James shakes his head. "It doesn't work that way. I wish it did."

"I don't care! Take me back!" Fred repeats furiously. "I can't leave him! I can't! I can't! You don't understand! He's my twin! I can't leave!" He lunges at James.

"And I left my brothers," retorts James, holding him steady, though Fred resists. "I left Sirius and Remus, and I left my son!" He takes a deep breath. "Trust me, I understand."

Fred shakes his head. "There has got to be a way. I can't leave him!" He pauses a moment, thoughts racing through his brain. "What about Nearly Headless Nick? He went back."

"And he lives without living," finishes James. "He watches without doing. He's alone from his time. Everyone he ever knew and loved has gone on. And he can never, never change his mind."

"It doesn't matter," insists Fred. "I can be there for him. That's all I care about."

"He'll be here soon enough," soothes James. "And if you really care about him, hope you don't see him anytime soon."

"How did you do it?" asks Fred. "Just leave everyone. Leave your son."

James laughs bitterly. "I did exactly the same thing you did. But I decided I'd rather be fully here than half there. To do any differently is not the kind of lesson I wanted to teach my son, and it's not the kind of father I wanted to be."

Fred gulped. "I'll see him again?"

James grimaced. "For both our sakes, I bloody hope so."

Fred takes a step back. For the first time since dying, he feels . . . small. "Where now?"

James holds out a hand. "On," he says simply, and somehow Fred understands.

He takes his hand.

(Many years later, he's standing in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, waiting to greet his brother.

"Hey, Georgie," he says, and he smiles and means it. "How you feelin'?"

George grins. "Holy," he replies.

Fred laughs, just as contagious and uncontrollable as ever. "Merlin, I haven't heard that one in ages. Great company up here, but the humor's subpar. You ready to go?"

"Go where?"

Fred winks. "On.")