Hello everyone!

So... here I am again, writing about the Weasley twins. I just can't let go, but how could I, with the first part of the final movie coming out soon? No, I'm far from being over it.

I've written a lot about George Weasley and the aftermath of Fred's death, so I thought it's now time to focus on Fred. This story will (most probably) have three parts, and they will be (sort of) missing scenes from The Deathly Hallows.

It includes, but doesn't focus on, FredxAngelina, so don't like, don't read!

Rated T for language.

I'm not a native speaker so please forgive minor mistakes! (And tell me about the big ones, please, I'm always eager to learn!)

This story is dedicated to my mum - I've lived half my life without you now, but you're always in my heart - and my uncle, her twin brother.

I hope you like it, I appreciate your reviews!


Keep me from falling


1. Swaying

He was freezing. He hadn't really thought of how cold it would be, and he pulled his black robe tighter around his body. His eyes fell upon his hand, and for a moment he didn't recognize it. The he rememered that this was intentional. He sighed.

"Are you alright, Fred?"

"I'm fine, Dad."

The red head in front of him nodded.

Fred Weasley felt the urge to speak, to talk to his father about all those unimportant things you talked about to ease the nervousness, but he knew that he shouldn't do that. His dad needed to concentrate on the task ahead, which was taking both himself and his son to the portkey that would bring them to The Burrow. 20 miles to go. And just when Fred relaxed, all hell broke lose.

Suddenly there were hooded figures everywhere, and Fred knew immediately that something had gone wrong. This wasn't part of the plan. With the left hand he held on tight to his father's waist, while the right searched for the wand hidden in his pocket.

The broomstick swerved to the side, then dropped five feet, and a jet of red light passed Fred's head just by inches.

"Merlin's hairy bu...", but before he could even finish the sentence, the broom spun around again a second before another well-aimed curse could reach the two men.

"Fred, watch out!", Mr Weasley yelled. "I need you!"

Fred took a deep breath. His pulse was far too high, and he needed to calm down. Everything would be okay.

"Oh God!"

Fred followed his dad's gaze, and he could see Harry and Hagrid in the distance who were obviously having trouble with another figure chasing them. He had almost forgotten that he and his father weren't the only ones in danger, and now that he remembered the fear hit him even harder.

"Dad, what about...", but Mr Weasley interrupted him almost harshly.

"They will be alright, Fred. Stay focused."

But despite the confident words, Fred couldn't help but notice the shaking of his dad's voice.


Fred didn't know how much time passed. It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. There were screams everywhere, he could make out curses, commands, and from time to time he heard someone yell out in pain, and he tried to shut out those noises and stay focused.

A hooded figure suddenly appeared on his right side, and Fred reached out his wand, "Confringo!" – the masked man burst into a ball of flames.

"Well done, boy!", Fred heard his father say, "We better get out of here quick..."

The last words were barely audible to Fred as all of a sudden he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The world went black in front of his eyes, and he tried desperately to hold on to his father's waist as he lost balance.

"Fred! Fred, what's wrong?"

"It's George."

Somehow, that was all that Fred could say, and even those words made him choke. And the sound of his own voice was downright scary. It wasn't the fact that it was the voice of Harry Potter, though – it was the unusual tremor that went along with it. Harry never sounded so... so terrified.

"Dad, we've got to turn around! Please, Dad!"

He tugged at his father's robe, although deep down he knew there was no use in trying.

But this was about George.

"Dad, please!"

He hated this voice. And even more he hated that there was absolutely nothing he could do but pray that everything wasn't as horrible as it seemed.


When they finally landed, Fred's legs gave way, and it was only for his father's quick reaction that he didn't fall down. Feeling his dad's tight grip around his arms, Fred looked up at the older one. He couldn't speak as his father let him sink to the ground to sit down on the grass.

Mr Weasley was pale, one of his spectacles was broken, and sweat was running down his forehead. Apart from that he seemed uninjured, though shocked.

"Son, are you alright?"

Fred tried to nod, but somehow his body wouldn't respond to his brain's orders. All he managed was a "'m fine" which wasn't more than a whisper.

His father gave him a scrutinizing look, as if to read what was going on in his son's mind. But even Fred himself didn't really know what had happened.

"You're changing back", Mr Weasley said, hinting at Fred's hands. He was right. His hands were already growing, and the robe tightened around his broadening shoulders. "I go find the portkey, you catch your breath."

Fred nodded, pointing his wand at his clothes. "Engorgio."

But although his neck wasn't strangled by the tight robe anymore, he still could barely breathe.

George.

Something was wrong, he knew it. He hadn't seen or heard anything, it wasn't like he'd had a vision or some other sort of supernatural ability. Still, he was sure that something was horribly wrong.

This wasn't the first time this happened, but never before had that weird feeling been so overwhelming. He remembered how George had broken his ankle during one of their Quidditch practises in the garden, and how he, Fred, had felt a subliminal pain he'd never told anyone about. He hadn't even told George.

And now he was sitting on the ground, shaking slightly, watching his father scan the area for a rustly kettle or felt hat or whatever was supposed to bring them home, and he couldn't shake off the fear.

Then again, wouldn't he know if... But he didn't allow this thought to go further.

"Fred, I've got it!"

Fred could make out his father in the distance, and he got to his feet and somehow managed to find his way to where his father was waiting next to an ancient plimsoll.

Neither of the men spoke as they both gripped it, waiting to get home.


They landed about one hundred yards away from The Burrow. Fred could see the light in the kitchen window, the apple trees, he could even hear the chickens in the shed. He didn't hear a human voice.

"George", he whispered. And he ran.

He reached the door, panting heavily (although he didn't know whether it was because of the physical stress or because of something else), only to find the door blocked by Kingsley Shacklebolt. The dark man pointed his wand not at him, but at his father, who had arrived at the door just a second after his son and who was looking angrier than Fred had ever seen him.

"Stop fooling around, let us in!"

"What was inside the parcel you send..."

"I'll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I've seen my son, now back off if you know what's good for you!"

And before neither Kingsley nor Fred could react, Mr Weasley had pushed the guard aside and stomped through the door. Fred shot the man a half-hearted hateful look before he hurried after his father through the kitchen and into the living room.

"Arthur! Oh thank goodness"

Molly Weasley rushed towards them, tears in her eyes, but immediately let the two men approach the sofa.

The world started spinning before Fred's eyes as he leant over the back of the sofa. There was George, unnaturally pale and still, and there was blood... too much blood. It stained the cushions, the two towels on the floor, and George's clothes.

And worst of all, there was that dark hole where his ear ought to be.

Fred felt sick. This wasn't real. It could not be. It was nothing but some awfully vivid nightmare.

Then George stirred.

"How do you feel, Georgie?", asked his mother. Her voice was still trembling.

All Fred could do was stare at his brother as his hand reached for the clean hole in the side of his head.

"Saint-like."

Saint-like? That didn't make sense. None of this did. Terrified, Fred looked at his father.

"What's wrong with him?", he managed ask. "Is his mind affected?"

The older one looked helpless.

"Saint-like."

Fred's heart skipped a beat as his brother opened his eyes, apparently searching for familiar faces and finding his twin.

"You see... I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"

There was a faint smile on George's face, and it was this that made Fred exhale deeply and close his eyes for a split second.

A joke. This was all just one messy, absolutely not funny joke.

Everything would be okay.