Fred was still laughing when Percy heard the crack, Percy had cracked a small smile in response, hope that maybe after the war, maybe, just maybe he could make up for all the awful things he had done. But that crack changed everything, he saw the wall start to shake, could see where this was going, but he couldn't let it.
Freddie, despite all his teasing, was too good to die in this God forsaken battle. Percy wasn't even sure if there was time to act, it was all going so fast despite the slow motion that fogged his mind. At best Fred would live, at worst, he wouldn't die alone. Percy couldn't imagine he'd be much comfort to Fred in death.
When he finally blacked out, the memory of Fred still laughing was behind his eyes. He had done what he could.
There hadn't been time at first, the battle still raged, but slowly but surely it petered out, much like rain it did not stop all at once, it slowed one moment still dripping and before you were truly realising it the sun was out again.
Fred wanted to make sure his family was over, wanted to take refuge in them, and while he had seen cuts and damage on them, he had seen them all standing, if not exhausted. He hadn't seen Percy again though, not since he'd pushed him away from a wall, a wall that had crumbled over his big brother's head.
Fred was sure he looked like a maniac, but he didn't quite mind, everyone was half mad looking for relatives. He threw block after block after block away, the stone cutting into his palms, too frantic to remember he had magic, could levitate the stones away.
"Fred, it's done. What are you looking for?" Bill's voice was calm, steady if not imbued with tiredness.
"Percy was hurt, Billy. He pushed me out of the way before the wall crumbled." Guilt led to a catch in his voice. It should be him in Percy's place. He heard the stutter in Bill's breathing at the news, the curse-breaker pulling his wand out with a shaky hand.
His other siblings had slowly made their way over as well, his hand immediately finding George's, a selfish desperate thought believing that everything would be okay as long as there was still Gred and Forge to fall back on.
It wasn't a comfort for long though, because as stone's lifted Percy was revealed, that small smile he had shown still on his face, blood streaking from his head, and eyes empty. Bill stepped back as if slapped, juxtaposed to their mother who swarmed forwards. She hadn't even reached the body, Percy's body, before she had started sobbing. And Fred felt like he was going to be sick from the guilt that coiled in his stomach, because that should have been him.
Every dumb thing, even cruel sometimes, he'd ever said to his big brother raced through his head. The war should have changed things, he knew his mum was just waiting for it all to be over so she could have all her son's back, she had kept the jumper he had returned only a few scant years ago, ready to foist it back into his arms and tell him he was foolish but he was family.
But she couldn't now. Because Percy was dead. And it hurt, because this was his little brother that taught him how to read and write and snorted disdainfully every time he and George got into dumb trouble. His big brother, who despite their differences, he loved.
I had a rant to my friend earlier about how I thought Percy should have died instead of Fred, not because I hate him but because it would have been bittersweet rather than just the pure heartbreak caused by killing Fred, and so this drabble was born.