Chapter 5

It took a second for Angelina's vision to clear as she stepped out of her tent. It was bright and sunny, and far past the time she usually awoke in the morning. The riot had kept her and Hannah awake. She had wanted to help, oh how, she had wanted to help. But Kevin had told them no, to stay where they were. Most of the male population was drunk and rowdy, and he didn't want to worry about rape on top of the murders.

Angelina understood that. Especially after Kevin returned early in the morning, smelling like smoke and exhaustion. He stumbled unsteadily into the tent, and into Hannah's arms. His right eye was swollen shut and he held out his broken wrist toward Angelina like an offering. By the time the three of them had turned over in their beds and fallen asleep, pink tendrils were curling their way over the horizon.

Now Angelina looked up and down the sloppy rows of scattered tents and saw no one. She blinked, thinking that she was missing something, and looked again. No one. Someone yelled somewhere in the distance. And were there people talking, too? Angelina couldn't tell. She walked a couple of rows toward the center of camp. Yes, there were people talking. It was the low hum of people trying to speak quietly. She followed the noise, stepping lightly on cautious feet.

Curiously, a group of people had gathered in the middle of the camp. Angelina had no idea what had brought them here. Was there more bad news? A riot somewhere else? She tried to eavesdrop as she pushed her way toward the center. She caught the word 'crazy' and the word 'dead'. A panic set in as she was able to make out the distinct tent that the crowd had swallowed. It was Fred's tent.

All of her breath 'whooshed' out of her and, without her consent, her steps became more hurried and unsure. She saw red, she saw black, she saw spots, and her arms reached blindly in front of her—she tripped. Angelina felt herself tumbling forward onto something soft and when the falling motion finally stopped, she looked about her.

She had fallen onto Fred Weasley's…bed? It wasn't as if this hadn't happened so many times before, but this time she was confused. She had taken a tumble onto a cot that had been placed outside? And Fred? Her hands patted the twisted blankets in a panic, becoming more and more forceful every time she made contact. She was vaguely aware of people murmuring around her, but didn't pay them any mind.

Finally, she managed to pull the blankets away to reveal a freckled face. "Fred!" Her voice sounded needy and horrified to her own ears. She touched his cheeks, his shoulders. Ran her hands down his muscled arms. Prayed aloud, made promises in her head. That was when he started to stir.

A beatific smile broke out onto Fred Weasley's face before his eyes even opened. "Angelina?" he murmured, his hand finding her cheek even though he was still in the dark.

Angelina inhaled deeply, stopping the fear from growing inside of her. He was okay. Fred was all right. He was alive and well. She placed her dark hand gently over his and turned her face towards their entwined fingers. "I'm here, Fred." She told him. Her voice broke. They were fine. They were going to be okay—

Then Fred froze upon hearing her. He opened his eyes and blinked once. Twice. Angelina looked down at his blue eyes, frightened and regretful, before taking her hand off of his. He snatched it back so quickly that Angelina recoiled. This could not have been the same Fred of a couple of seconds ago. This could not be the Fred who had just shown her passion and tenderness. And yet, Angelina could see as he gingerly sat up in bed, it was. His eyes were once again steeled and barricaded from the inside. She was refused once again.

Hurting in a way that she couldn't imagine was possible, in a part of her chest that she didn't know existed, Angelina watched as Fred picked up both of his arms and ran his hands through his hair—A gasp ran through the crowd at Angelina's back and she forced her hurt back to where it had come from.

One of the arms of Fred's robe had been torn through. This would not have been so alarming if it weren't from the dark stains that ran from the seams of the tear, and down through the body of the robe. Fred had been grievously injured the night before.

An uproar began. " 'E's hurt, 'e is!" a man shouted. "Fat load of good a dead man will do us!" another roared. "What happens when THIS one dies?" one wanted to know. Furious shouts, frightened whimpers and explosive conversation moved through the crowd and, as one, it began to creep towards Fred, still isolated and unprotected in his bed.

At first Angelina let herself be propelled forward, as there was nowhere else to go. Then a voice from inside the living, breathing mob rose to her ears: "He was hurt and he won't tell us what he was doing! They're going keeping secrets from us again!" Angry yells floated up towards the brightening sky. "If they won't tell us, I say we interrogate them!"

Red sparks flew dangerously from the crowd and illuminated the face of the man who set them off: Seamus. The crowd reacted in a way that would make any rabble-rouser proud and the shouts and yells of the properly inflamed witches and wizards frightened Angelina, for Fred was still sitting, confused and taken aback, upon his cot.

Not knowing exactly what she was doing, but angered by something that she didn't understand, Angelina flung herself forward and spun to face the crowd. Before she knew it, her wand was out and she was waving it back and forth. Sparks flew and her eyes lit with anger and a little bit of fear.

"Oh yes." She snarled in her sudden anger. "Hurt him. Interrogate him. Kill him. You'll help our cause, won't you?" Her wand continued to spark, and the voice coming from her body frightened her. "You'll all be heroes, won't you?"

A large man advanced towards her, his mouth drawn grimly into a line, his wand pointed towards the hard, dark ground. Angelina still did not move, although her hand shook of its own accord. She just angled her body so that she was more in between the man and Fred, who was still sitting up stock straight in bed.

"This man is our lifeline!" Angelina's voice rang out, and the murmurs that had perpetuated in the back corners of the crowd and stopped—silent once more. "He has connections to the Order of the Phoenix that none of us could even dream of. If you kill him, you damn us all!"

The man, he had moved so fast that she had barely caught in her peripheral vision. He lunged forward, wand raised towards her. She didn't know what to do; she was trapped between the old tent and the crowd. She flinched in reaction, didn't even have time to raise her wand when a red light flashed past her and the man dropped down flat, stupefied at her feet.

Angelina stood in shock for a moment, and it seemed that the crowd did too, looking down at the man that she should have recognized, could have recognized if his face wasn't having such intimate relations with the dirt. She slowly turned in the direction of the curse.

Fred had risen and was now standing shakily, but with firm resolution, his wand armed raised. "That," he said calmly, something changing in his eyes, "Will be quite enough of that."

The crowd was still for a moment more, before it rose up in anger. The indignant roars and screeches pierced the morning sky, but Angelina only had eyes for Fred, who was now back to looking quite dead and was warily eying the crowd, his wand still raised. For a moment, he had been himself. He had been Fred Weasley before all of this mess. Fred before the responsibility and the age and the deaths. It was the Fred that she danced with at the Yule Ball. The Fred that snuck her into Hogsmeade. It was the Fred that kicked off the floor of the entrance hall, chains dragging and face alive with the prospect of freedom.

It took a close call, a curse that nearly grazed her cheek, to wake her of her nostalgic reverie. She started, and raised her wand once more. This time only to cast a protective charm around herself.

But it was too late. She felt herself being pulled backwards. But instead of a spell, she felt warm fingers about her wrist, and the soft breeze of the tent flap as it fell back into place. Fred let go of her and slowly turned so they were standing eye to eye. Angelina felt her breath catch in her throat; she could feel the strong, unmoving warmth of his body. It overwhelmed her as if she was fourteen again. She was at a loss for words.

Unluckily, he wasn't.

"That was stupid." Fred barked at her, gesturing towards the tent flap, where muffled yells were still managing to make it through the heavy canvas "You've been here how long and you've already managed to enflame a revolt? Unbelievable." Her turned away from her and threw open the doors to his closet. As he rummaged though, Angelina got the distinct impression that Fred was joking around with her. Sarcasm. Like the old days. If it wasn't for his frustrated look and tired eyes, she might have said something back to him.

"Put this on." He ordered, and something black and shapeless was thrown at her from the depths of his wardrobe. She looked at it blankly, and back up at him, fingering the thick material. "Don't argue." This time he snapped. "And let's get something straight, eh? I'm in charge of this camp and these people. Don't you go and try to make any enemies on my behalf. I'm not dragging your ass out of there again. Damn it." He felt the need to grit his teeth for emphasis.

Pulling a garment equally attractive to hers out of the closet for himself, he pulled his ripped and bloody cloak off of his back and threw it unceremoniously to the ground. Angelina opened up her mouth and looked pointedly at the sleeve of the cloak, but Fred's frown grew even more so and he gave her a warning look. "This camp is more dangerous than you realize. I don't want yo—anyone getting hurt if they don't have to."

Angelina felt her face flush as Fred pulled the dark robe over his head and before she knew it, she had stepped closer to him. How dare he condescend her? How dare he treat her as if she didn't understand? As if they weren't in the same boat? Of course none of this came out when she placed both of her hands on his chest and pushed with all of her might.

A stunned look on his face, Fred took a step back, not as a result of the push, but because of the surprise of it all. The brick wall that was Fred Weasley, built up inside and out, barely moved.

Of all the things that she could have said, what came out of her mouth was "What happened to you, Fred?" He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she held up a hand. "And I don't mean your arm! I mean you! You used to adore danger. Love it. You spent your entire life chasing after the unknown and the frightening; it was your livelihood. Fred, it was you."

A strange look had broken out on Fred's face, torn into two. His eyes blinked furiously and his fists clenched. "Angelina." He said quietly. Sternly. A voice that he would never have used on her before. "You don't understand. You can't understand. I can't do that…to you."

Angelina continued if he hadn't have spoken, disdain for his actions filling her features. "You are in charge here, in the midst of danger! These people could use your hope in the face of it! So many of your old qualities could benefit the camp, these people. You wouldn't have to quell a rebellion every night. They would fight for you. Under you."

"Your hope. Your spirit. Your passion. Your lightheartedness. Your unpredictability," Her eyes welled up with tears, mourning all of the characteristics in him long dead. "Fred, you used to be so unpredictable…" A tear fell down her cheek.

"Angelina." She heard him whisper this throatily and step a few paces towards her so that there was barely a breath in between them. His calloused thumb and index finger took her trembling chin between them and he bent so that he could meet her downcast eyes. Angelina couldn't bare to meet him much longer than a few moments because they showed so much more than she'd seen out of him in so long: apology, regret, sadness, concern. All of these things were too much, thus she looked away overwhelmed.

That was when she felt his breath on her cheek and she automatically, a reflex not forgotten with time, turned toward him. Their lips met and Angelina sunk into him, let Fred Weasley put his strong arms around her. The warmth spread from her lips to her toes and she sighed in satisfaction as he pulled gently away.

"How's that for unpredictability?" Fred asked against her lips. She could hear and feel every word, meant only for her. The warmth was back into his speech, returned from some dark place, and his Weasley cockiness was back. The small smile that she had felt grow on his lips was mirrored on hers.

"Now will you put on the robe?"