Fred had found a place in an old oak, the leaves partially obscuring his view of the oncoming sunset over the hills. His mind was not at ease, although he had accepted the fate of his twin. Worse thing could happen, right? He was himself a proof of it.
The night had fallen over Ottery St. Catchpole, silent and comforting for the inhabitants of the village. The others had long since turned to their beds after a heavy meal supplied by Molly, but Fred drifted back and forth in the garden behind the Burrow, making futile tries at kicking tufts of grass.
"Yeah, you had to play the bloody hero," he muttered out loud, his mind circling around his twin. "Bloody indeed. Now what do we do? Your hand's the size of Hagrid's and you'll be useless once a month."
He kept pacing, shooting occasional glances up at the almost-full moon peeking through the trees. The first casebook seemed to have gone down the drain, which didn't please Fred over-much. Sure, he didn't have the greatest sympathy for the Beckinsale girl, and even less for Terpwin, but he did have a great deal of both sympathy and concern for himself and his twin.
Seven casebooks, seven sins. That's what they were supposed to complete and have a chance of moving on with their lives. In plural. Now George seemed to be out of the game for a while and the nutty Muggle was about as much help as a sandbag in Sahara.
Fred had seen how Charlie had began playing his colleague, as he had dared himself to refer to her as at the time, the moment he had laid eyes on her; first aggravate her slightly by taking her tea, then offer he a small gift in the form of a cigarette, keep the talk casual before proving he could take care of her and sealing the occasion as a date with the food. Just the thought of having the knobbly, realistic, boring Muggle in the family, by marriage no less, made a shiver run down his ghostly spine. The dolt he had been known to call his brother even had the guts to send him out of the room with a lie about their mother wanting to speak to him just for five more minutes with the nugget!
On the other side, without her, in a completely platonic, work-related alliance, even his present state hung by a thin thread. Still... He could take care of things by himself, at least until George was up for more mysteries.
"Seems like it's up to you, Freddy-boy," he mumbled, chewing his lip and beginning to run the course of events through his mind, starting with the buying of Weasley Manor.
–
This night, however, very little was up to him, except looking out for George so he didn't in fact turn into a raving beast. Beast he would become anyhow, but preferably not a threat to himself and others.