Chapter 3

It was very early in the morning before Angelina heard footsteps heading toward her tent. They were cautious and light, and she had heard them many times before. As soon as the flap was pushed aside, Angelina rolled over in bed to face Hannah.

"So…How'd it go?" she asked cautiously, aware that Hannah's eyelids were drooping and that she had very dark circles underneath her eyes. She blinked hard, and brushed past Kevin's cot. Kevin just mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over so that he was face-down in his pillow.

Hannah sat down heavily onto her own bed, and faced Angelina. "It was a long walk." She started in whisper, yawning. "Mandy only portkeyed me halfway in, just to let you know. London is a huge city. The muggle part, that is." She didn't even bother to change into pajamas; she just got beneath the covers and yawned again.

"The man who answered the door looked very familiar," Hannah told her in a voice that suggested that she was fading fast. "I think that I've seen him before…" She trailed off, and Angelina could see that her head was sinking into the pillow.

"Hannah!" Angelina hissed rather loudly, and Hannah jumped.

"I wasn't sleeping. Only resting my eyes while I was talking." Hannah informed her, before finishing what she was saying. "At any rate, he looks almost like…Harry Potter. That's probably why it rung a bell." A note of self-assurance rang in her voice, and Angelina willed her just to keep talking. "Messy hair, glasses, tall. Reminded me exactly of Harry, except that The-Boy-Who-Lived is dead. It would've been impossible…"

This time Angelina knew that Hannah was gone to the world, and would not be returning anytime soon, if her drooping limbs suggested anything. This time, though, Angelina couldn't sleep. It had nothing to do with being in a new camp, or the fact that Fred hadn't honestly looked her in the eye once since she had gotten there. It was primarily what Hannah had said just moments before.

Angelina rolled over in bed so that she was on her back. There was a calming white glow, as well as an alarming green haze that shone through the tent ceiling, however thick. Angelina looked at her hands bathed in this light, and she looked pale. Weak. Sick.

It had to be more than coincidence, or at least Angelina thought, that a man that looked suspiciously like the dead Harry Potter opened the specific door for Hannah in London. It just had to be. Angelina also ruled out fate, because that was never a reason for anything, really. The only real answer to the question was that it had to be Harry. Harry, who had died in the major battle two years ago, along with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. His "death" was the reason that they were now squatting like cowards, separated into their own camps.

Angelina had to know. She had to know if she was right. It didn't matter that she was tired, or what time it was. Angelina pulled back the covers of her bed, and her feet found her shoes. As she headed toward the flap of the tent, she picked up the first robe that she had come to. She pulled it over her shoulders and it easily brushed the ground. So it was Kevin's.

Creeping from the tent, she made her way as quietly as she could towards Fred's tent. As she rounded a corner of the crazily-organized campsite, she froze in fear. There stood a wizard, stock still. He held a lantern in his right hand and, acting as if he did this all the time, he pulled it upward so that he could see her face. So that he could identify her as one of them. With the light shining in her eyes, Angelina could see that it was Kenneth Towler. He didn't let her say anything, he just stood aside, leaving it a straight-shot to Fred's tent.

There was a light shining inside, and it bathed Angelina's face in a healthy glow. It was so unlike her own tent. She heard voices inside, so she waited until they paused for a moment before she walked in.

Fred was the only one that she saw. In his hand was clutched a few pieces of parchment and he was busily pacing across the dirt floor. At first, he didn't even look up at her. He was too busy examining the scrap of parchment that was on top. "Fred?" She said cautiously.

Fred paused, and then turned on his heel. He looked at her oddly for a moment, then looked back down at the parchment, in what she thought was a thrifty excuse not to meet her gaze. "What?" he gruffly asked.

Angelina had so many questions to ask him: Who had he been talking to? What was the real reason that he had sent Hannah instead of herself? How had they lost contact? Why couldn't he say her name like he used to, letting each syllable roll off his tongue in a smooth way that no one else could duplicate.

But instead, she settled for calmly asking, "Is it true, Fred? Is…Harry Potter alive?"

He looked at her in disbelief, didn't answer. Didn't even ask what she was talking about, or how she knew. He didn't need to, because at that moment Ginny Weasley stepped from one of the rooms off of the living room.

Angelina looked at her for a moment in incredulity. Ginny was dead, and yet she was standing right in front of her, plain as could be. But how could she be? She had been hit by an Avada Kedavra spell in the last major battle. Same as Potter…right? It wasfrightening actually seeing it.

Fred looked at Ginny at an alarmed way, dropping his arm to his side. "Gin, this is against—"

Ginny waved him off, "Fred, she's not a traitor. She's Angelina, for Heaven's sake." Then she smiled. "Hello." Angelina didn't say anything to either of them for a moment or so, she just looked at Ginny. She looked exactly the same, taller and older, perhaps, but she wasn't any worse for wear. She certainly didn't look as bad as Fred did, particularly now, when he was shaking his head at his sister and muttering things underneath his breath.

At once, it all made sense to Angelina. It was Harry that answered the door to Hannah, just like it was Ginny standing in front of her. They were alive. But why had the Order lied to them? What were they hiding? Was every other "dead" person just in hiding?

There was a moment before she could say anything. Her stomach turned and she felt herself turn green even without the glow of the Death Eaters' Dark Mark. Angelina took a step, so that her back was against the tent pole. With a shaking hand, she grabbed for it and held on for dear life. Fred looked at her like he wanted nothing more than to chuck her from the tent, but that didn't matter. Angelina stilled her hand, and shoved it into the pocket of Kevin's robe.

"You know, there's a whole host of people who think that you're dead." Angelina told Ginny, her face grim. "A whole bunch of people who want nothing more than to just give up, now that Harry is dead. Now that you're dead."

Ginny bit her lip and looked at the ground.

"I don't want to be the person to tell those hopeless people that you're hiding from them, instead of leading them. Playing dead when most of us have really lost people to them. You're asking for mutiny, especially in this camp. Did you tell the core members that?" Angelina shut her eyes hard for a moment, and when she opened them, Ginny was looking straight at her.

Angelina was surprised at how indirect Ginny was when she said "Angelina, you don't understand. There's a plan. It's…There's always been a plan. But they can't know. You can't tell them that we're alive."

Angelina gave a bark of sarcastic laughter. "A plan. That's right. How many people have you been hiding from us? I know about you and Harry.Is thisHermione's plan? How about Ron? When are you going to sic him on us?" A darker tone permeated into her speech. "My mum? My dad? My sister? Is my brother just pretending to be tortured to insanity? Because I would just love it if he would just cut the act and recognize me, already."

She had almost forgotten about Fred. If she expected sympathy, she got none. He answered her in a stone-cold voice. "Ron is dead and six feet under in the backyard of the burrow. Just like Percy, and our dad."

Angelina blinked at him, feeling regret for what she had just said bubble up into her throat. They had been through just as much as she had, and they still had to manage a camp. They were still responsible for thousands of people. Angelina still had to trust them, where else would she go?

Hurt radiated off of Fred's pale and freckled skin. She reached for him, to hold his hand, to brush his shoulder, just like she always did to comfort him. Just like she always did before the war, before the death and the heartbreak.

Before her fingers could meet skin, he pulled away and inspected the parchment. Idly, he turned to Ginny. "You'd better Portkey back to George now. He'll make sure that you get back to London safely. I have to keep the riots under control. They should be starting anytime now, if that idiot Seamus is doing what he always manages to do."

Ginny nodded curtly and wrapped her brother in a one-armed hug. Angelina noticed that he kept his spine ramrod straight and just nodded at his sister as she brushed the flap of the tent aside. Ginny gave a wry smile to Angelina before melting into the night.

This left Fred and Angelina alone. Fred, flipping through the parchment, and Angelina, leaning against the tent pole.

Angelina spoke up, as was befitting to her nature. "I won't tell anyone, you know. If you need to keep a secret. If it's necessary for everyone. You can trust me. I'm right around the corner if you need help."

Fred wasn't quick enough, and Angelina watched as a palpable look of pain bloomed on his face. He abruptly turned away, his papers dropped to his side and his shoulders slumped in a defeated way. He spoke to the wall of the tent in a flat voice that, like his face, still didn't hide the ache. "Thank you. If we need anything, I'll let you know. But right now, I don't need to know if you trust me. I need to know that you'll follow me."

Angelina watched the back of his head until it was evident that he would not turn around. She was astounded at her inability to read Fred, this person that she had no problem communicating with a couple of years ago. She moved toward the exit to the tent and pulled open a flap. Turning her head back, the few beads on the ends of her braids clacked together in a comforting sound, she said in a quiet voice:

"I do trust you. And I will always follow you, Fred Weasley."

At that she padded out of the tent, letting the canvas fall back into place behind her. However, even the muffled swish of the fabric couldn't mask the sharp choke for breath inside. Angelina knew. She felt the same way.