Title: Won't Go Home Without You

Prompt: Ends

Word Count: 1,636

Rating: K+

Summary: Their story had always been a comedy, but Salamandra never expected it to end as a tragedy.

Chronology: Battle of Hogwarts

Author's Notes: Fk I'm sad now. This was really hard to write, but I knew nothing else would do for the "ends" prompt. But the great thing about fanfiction? This doesn't have to be the end forever!

"Fred!"

The Irish twang of a familiar voice hit his ear and he hoped he was hearing things. Unfortunately, the brunette running into his arms was no hallucination.

"Sally?" Even though Fred had established her authenticity, he still couldn't quite believe it. Guffawing, he grasped her by the shoulders to get a look at her, gaze squinted in a search for answers. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Dublin! Where it's safe! You're in the middle of a battlefield, Sally! You—"

"Oh shut up," Salamandra unceremoniously interrupted him, a hand setting on each side of his neck to pull the boy into a kiss. For a moment she got the impression he wasn't quite happy to see her; that illusion shattered when his hands found their way to her form in return, drawing out the lip-lock for a moment or two further until they broke apart for air.

"…y'know I'd be completely content doing much less talking if you made me shut up like that more often," Fred spoke through a grin, his forehead lingering against hers and drunk off of her kiss enough to forget why he was upset. At least for a moment. "You should be in Dublin."

"Please," Salamandra chuckled. "I ain't some housewife t'be cooped up at home while the man's off at war, Fred." He wanted to protect her; she accepted that, but she wanted to protect him too. "Y'should know better than that. If you're fighting, I'm fighting too."

Since she worked at the joke shop since its opening, Salamandra had allowed Fred to get used to being her boss – when it was convenient enough for her to comply with. The only reason she got away with sometimes turning down his orders (though he preferred calling them "requests" to be kind) was because he was as fond of her as he was – not to mention the snogging on the sidelines. But Salamandra was well known to be as stubborn as a hippogriff with a temper to match. Fred only wanted to keep her safe, and he couldn't argue with the fact that she wanted the same for him.

"Housewife? Does that mean we're getting married?" he jested – if only barely. "Y'hear that, Georgie? I'm getting hitched!"

"Oh—hi, George," Salamandra tore herself away from Fred long enough to give the other brother a sheepish grin, receiving a good-natured wave in return.

"Oh you crazy kids. Wait until our mother hears!" George egged on. "Don't mind me. Just pretend like I'm not even here! Since you didn't have a problem snogging for a minute anyway," he chuckled.

"Don't mind if I do—" Fred wasted no time in drawing the (now slightly flustered) Salamandra back to him, but kept a firm grip on her shoulders. Gathering up just the sight of her, though, he stopped. "—but on second thought, that massive crowd of Death Eaters is kind of a turn-off. Sorry to disappoint, love, but you'll have to shut me up some more later." With that said, he reluctantly let her go, that winning smile still across his face even on the precipice of a battle breaking out.

"Fred…" Sally pursed her lips. The reality of the situation was there may not be a later for them. This was war they were talking about, no matter how much their humor downplayed the seriousness of their current standpoint. Deep brown gaze reflecting his freckled face, thinking how she may never be privileged to kiss those round cheeks of his again after today, she squeezed his sleeve.

And Fred could feel that negativity radiating from her. George, too; the twins had faced this reality before without her. Meeting it again caused both of their calm facades to fade for just a split second, as in sync as ever, which worried Salamandra even more.

"Fred," she repeated, tone lowering.

"Alright, alright!" Fred threw his hands up in defeat of her demanding, and his arms wrapped around her smaller frame as his grin recovered. "One more for good luck."

George was left to roll his eyes and flail his hands, turning away to avoid watching his brother snogging with his girl for a good minute or two. His mind wandered to Angelina Johnson showing up and doting on him the same way. It would certainly ease his mind.

Salamandra was all too hesitant to let go of Fred now, but she knew the importance of doing so. Still, her fingertips drifted along his cheek – and he couldn't quite bear taking his hands off of her, either.

"Get to the Great Hall," Fred broke the silence. "Our mother's there. Tell her we're doing fine and she doesn't have to send anyone else to check on us." A knowing smirk crossed his mug. She wanted to smack it off of him for a second, but it drew a smile back out of her; he always managed that much, even with the threat of he who shall not be named lurking on the horizon.

"Aye, and then…?" Peering at him meekly, she hoped for the impossible: for Fred to predict the future and reassure her that everything would be fine.

"You're the one who's so good at Divination," he teased. "And you're asking me?"

"Don't know," she admitted, hand dropping to give his a tight but tender clutch. "Here's to hopin' for happily ever after."

"Fingers crossed."

Salamandra inhaled deeply, and then let out the same breath. She finally found the power to step away from him. "Fred…?"

"Sally?"

"…I…be careful." Over two years they'd been together and she still couldn't spit it out when they were in a war. Fred's features lit up briefly all the same, and he winked.

"I know. You too, beautiful."

Fred watched her depart until her silhouette in the dark was barely a blur. A smug look turned to his other half, who only shook his head. They returned to their watch duty.

"You alright, Freddie?" George asked, nudging his double lightly.

"Yeah," he responded, the tension in him causing the single word to come out like it was exhaled rather than spoken.

"Me too."

Everything after that had been hazy. Reality stopped working. She couldn't breathe because he wasn't breathing.

Salamandra hated herself because for a split second, she wanted it to be any head of red hair but his. Not Fred, anyone but her Fred. George was the first one to hear her choking on her own breaths and go over and hug her before his own tears had even stopped. And then hers started and just couldn't stop.

"No!" was her cry as she tore through George and past the other Weasleys and practically threw herself over Fred's unmoving form. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he so cold? His warmth was one of the things she loved most about him and now that was gone. Everything was gone. Why, out of the thousands of wizards and witches battling in this stupid, horrible war, did it have to be Fred?

"Get up! Wake up! You stupid git! You can't be…!" Salamandra spilled out a barrage of frets, gathering up his shirt in her fists and sobbing desperately over him just as the others were. "No! No!"

He was smiling. Even in the face of his own death, Fred Weasley was smiling. He was absolutely beautiful and Salamandra couldn't help but to think this was exactly how he would have wanted to go out: surrounded by friends and family and loved ones of all kind, fighting heroically for a cause he believed in, and smiling. She could still hear him and imagined him wiping the streams of salty tears from her eyes just as he always did, saying "Don't cry over me, beautiful~." Salamandra was shaking.

Why did it have to be him? Her first crush and her last one – Salamandra had been crazy about Fred Weasley for far longer than she would admit. Never to make her snicker discreetly in the middle of a monotonous lecture, never to spill joke after joke until she smiled when her spirits were low, never to lean over and kiss her in the middle of a restaurant no matter who was looking because he just couldn't resist those dimples of hers, never to be everything he was to her again. Fred Weasley had become a memory and Salamandra hadn't been able to recall the last time she felt so hollow.

This had to be a joke, right? This had to be the lowest practical joke he'd ever pulled, and he would wake up and she would slap him and kiss him and slap him again and they would get their happy ending, dammit – why wasn't he waking up and laughing at them all?

Nearly hysterical, her wailing reduced to shaking her head and whimpering "I love you, you beautiful idiot, I love you…" She couldn't protect him in the end. Returning to her blubbering, the frustrated little girl in Salamandra still believed that crying as loud as she could would fix all of life's problems. It was the nurturing arms of Molly Weasley that drew her into a comforting embrace, her own face still wet with despair.

"I know, dear, I know…" Molly murmured, her voice weak but so strong all at once. Ginny was clung to the other side of her mother's hip while the others simply seemed to rotate in their disbelief, crying over the corpse that was their beloved brother and hugging each other and crying some more.

Salamandra cried and cried, Molly patting her gently on the head every few moments until her shoulder was soaked.

Before May 2nd, 1998, Salamandra Brooks' boggart was Dolores Umbridge. On this evening, she faced her worst fear and no silly-sounding spell would spare her of it.