Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Captain
Prompt: The Dornishman's Wife
Word count: 1,073
Warnings: Character death
The battle was loud and chaotic. People were running everywhere, casting spells at every shadow in case it was an enemy. Somehow the noise and activity of it all reminded Fred of his and George's shop in Diagon Alley. They hadn't been able to enjoy that place for long—not with Snatchers and Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic hunting them down. Still, as diametrically opposed as the two situations were—a battle full of death and a joke shop full of laughs—the commotion was similar.
People racing to and fro, spells of all colours going off; a dream turned into a nightmare.
As he came across a lull in the battlefield, Fred ducked into a corner to take a breath. He wished this was just one of the many duelling nights the DA used to hold in the Room of Requirement where he could step out of the fray and grab a drink of pumpkin juice. He wished he knew where George had ended up after they'd been separated.
Fred let out a breath and let his head fall back to the wall—mindful that he'd only have a few more seconds of relative safety. His head thunked onto a panel of wood instead of the expected stone, and with a start, Fred realised he'd stumbled into a corner containing the entrance to a secret passage. Taking the chance while he could, he ducked into the corridor and let the door close firmly behind him to conceal the entrance once again.
After a few steps into the corridor, Fred realised it was familiar. The battle outside was so chaotic he hadn't been conscious of his position within the castle of Hogwarts. He was currently on the fifth floor, in a passage linking to the second floor just outside Madame Hooch's office. He remembered sneaking down this passage with George on the way to the kitchens one night and stumbling onto a rather private moment between Madame Hooch and Professor Sprout before they could continue on to their end destination of a midnight snack.
The scene he peeked through to when he reached the end of the passage today was vastly different from that night four years ago. For one, his brother was tucked against a wall looking away while casting spells at intruders and a Death Eater was aiming a wand at his back. Without thought or hesitation, Fred pushed the door open and slammed into George, knocking him out of the way of any spells the Death Eater might throw.
He didn't even notice the flash of green as he moved.
It was quiet now. The battle had finished and the colours were no longer flying. Fred wandered the castle and looked at all the ghosts that haunted the halls. There were a lot of ghosts now and very few were dead. He saw Peggy, the little Hufflepuff kid who was a whizz at hexes; they were sitting on the ground staring at a broken wand with tear tracks down their face. He saw Aman, a Ravenclaw who'd graduated the year before he and George had escaped; he was wandering like Fred was, lost and unmoored.
Fred wasn't lost though. He knew exactly where he was going and he welcomed it—he just wanted to take the scenic route. There was no regret that his path was finished, or at least diverging from George's. The fork in the road came from saving George, from stepping between Death and his twin and how could he ever regret that?
He'd lived his life. He'd laughed and loved and fought. He'd built his dream and even though it had been paused for a war, he knew it would be back—George wouldn't let it end like that. Fred had provided a light to those who needed it and he'd given his brother his life. He'd tasted the sweetness of all that life had to offer and now his life was done. His epilogue was written and his book was closed. His was a duology, though, and his story continued while George lived on.
The Great Hall was not silent. The ghosts wandered the halls outside but the living stayed here, mourning those who hadn't lived to become ghosts and who hadn't returned after leaving. The living were muffled in their grief yet all the same it screamed its presence to all who entered. Each mourner taking on and amplifying the grief of everyone around them.
Death was not neat, but humans liked to tidy. Symmetric rows of dead bodies lay covered in white sheets on the floor of the Great Hall. A place of community still even with the common factor being death instead of life. He remembered the laughs he'd had in this room. He remembered the joy when Gryffindor would win the House Cup. He remembered seeing each of his younger siblings walk up to the podium and be sorted into Gryffindor.
He remembered getting to the table as a first year and waiting while George was getting sorted by the hat. He remembered thinking what if we're separated and the relief when the hat yelled out its choice of House for George—Gryffindor, of course.
George was there now, huddled next to a sheet and surrounded by their family. Fred joined them even though he was already there. He stood next to them as they wept and he was glad it was them who were weeping instead of him. Selfish, likely, but he would much prefer to be the one leaving over the one being left. He perhaps hadn't known the consequences of his actions when he took them, but he wouldn't change a thing.
His brother, his twin, had been in danger and there was only one choice in that situation—take the danger unto himself. Fred knew that George would have acted the same way for they were each the most important person in the world to the other. If Fred was now in George's place, he'd be bargaining with Death. Take me instead, he would say.
Even as he stood next to his dead body hidden under a simple sheet, Fred could hear George whispering.
"Take me instead, take me instead."
Fred placed his translucent hand on his twin's shoulder and shook his head. There was no regret for his actions, for his brother was alive and would be well in time.
"My days here are done, I'll see you on the other side."