This was written fast and at 3am. dont judge too harshly.

The sickening feeling that stalked Fred's stomach was like being constantly poised at the very top of a was the anxiety every human can relate too. In the immediate future, something was about to go very very badly. He was as sure of it as he was his and George's names. He also knew what was making him like this.

Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.

She had looked so utterly terrified as they hugged goodbye, so unwilling. Yet she smiled, squared her shoulders and walked away. He wanted to run to her, wrap his arms around her, whisper the words he'd always been afraid too.

Stay. I'll keep you safe. No one will ever hurt you again. I love you.

But he couldn't. Could he? Even George didn't support him in this, and that's what unsettled him the most. No matter how stupid, infantile, downright ridiculous something was, a grin and a "god yeah!" from his twin could always be relied upon. Now, he felt alone. Sat in their flat, in the dark, brooding.

He knew, instinctively that something was wrong. He should go, he had to go. Anything could be happening to her….

Slam. Punch. Sob.

The sick feeling deepened and intensified as Fred dashed out of his room, the brain no-one seemed to credit him with racing through a million possibilities.

No matter what he'd envisioned by the time he got through the door, nothing prepared him for the gut wrenching sight of his twin, his other half, slumped down a wall with a bloody hand, crying the tears only a truly broken man could produce.

"Georgey? George, what happened? Tell me please?" He'd hate how weak, how pleading, his voice sounded. Right now he didn't care. His brother was hurt. That was enough. That was everything.

"ol-olli-olliver. He, he doesn't-he doesn't want me anymore, fre-fred" The admission was choked out and it brought with it a fresh wave of tears that racked his entire body.

Fred fought down the rage that was screaming instantly for Wood's head on his wall. Although deceptively easy-going, his temper was like an animal, one snap and the red mist descended. Then, as fast as it came, it withdrew, and the exhausted man was left surrounded by the damage he'd done. The parallel to his younger brother never occurred; he was too fixated on helping George.

He bodily lifted his twin, not failing to notice how much thinner he'd gotten lately. Shame coursed through him: he hadn't been checking if George was eating.

He dragged him over the kitchen area, George so pliant in his arms, so trusting. He wondered, and wasn't alone that night, how life had brought boys so strong-willed and clever and popular, so gifted, down to this.

He propped George in a chair, and set about cleaning his hand. Due to the shop's testing's they were both more than familiar with first aid and healing. George Weasley never even lifted his head, except when a glass full of booze slid his way. Vodka, pure, cheap and tasted horrific.

He was down three shots when Fred was across the table, butterbeer in hand. Fred drank rarely and limited amounts.

George gathered the courage to look up, bracing himself for disgust, for scorn, self-righteousness. Nothing, in his mind, he didn't deserve.

Instead, the compassion, warmth, acceptance, just the sheer love that radiated from Fred's eyes made him want to cry all over again.

"Tell me. Tell me everything, George." His voice was so soft, but it was a command none the less.

Out it came. Hogwarts, the first kisses in the showers after quidditch practice became sex in broom cupboards and the like. Never a relationship, never anything more than Wood using him. George was in love, he convinced himself it would work. One day. Leaving Hogwarts. Wood 'explaining' how 'it' wasn't good for his reputation. Watching him parade some hag around, marrying her. Still coming round to George when he felt the urge. Leaving immediately after. Quick and dirty. Still, George convinced himself, once day.

"Until tonight. What you said, it stuck with me, Fred. You were right-no, don't look like that, you were. So I told him, all or nothing. He-he laughed at me. Said he was surprised this hadn't happened years ago, but then I always was a… a doormat. He said I should go find some other married man that was all I'm good for. A cheap, quick, shag."

It was by sheer focus that Fred hadn't apparated to the posh house wood shared with his wife and beat the man to death. Every synapse in his body was screaming for blood. But that's not what his brother needed now, he needed words, and he better pick the right ones.

"Fuck him, George. He's a prick who doesn't deserve you, who's never, deserved you. You're amazing, funny and loyal and handsome, how could you not be, you're me!" he drew courage from the snort of laughter from George.

"Seriously mate, Wood will never deserve you. You will find someone who would rather move In with auntie Muriel than ever hurt you. Man, woman, what do I give a shit? You're my brother and I love you."

The rest of the speech was drowned out by the arms that engulfed him.

"Thanks Fred, really. I'm going to sleep, alright?"

"Sure… George?"

"yeah?"

"I can't help feeling something's… bad happened. To, to Hermione I mean."

George's eyes narrowed and focused even though the by now six vodka shot he'd drank.

"Seriously, Fred. Don't. Messing with married people only breaks your heart. When it's your brother's wife, even worse. Please, promise me you'll leave this alone?"

"i….. Okay, I promise George. "

He knew that even if he was functioning, George wasn't okay, and wouldn't be for a long time. He didn't want a row.

He waited until he could hear through the walls the distinctive snores of his twin. Then he whispered to the dark.

"I'm sorry George. I know something's wrong."

He apparated directly into the living room of the house his brother and the love of his life shared, and physically tripped over what he thought was a ball of rags on the ground. However, when he straightened to realise the rags had black and blue bruises, and bloodied, bushy hair, his heart stopped.

Hermione.