To Bet On Losing Dogs {Fred Weasley, ACT II}

Chapter One

July 23rd, 1996, 10:00 AM 

Every click of Eleanor's heels had her heart pounding. She swallowed as the noise echoed throughout the empty street, the gray stones that lined each town house she passed doing nothing to absorb the noise.

Hiding in plain sight. That had been the plan.

But now, the emptiness that surrounded her was suffocating. A crowd to blend into would have been appreciated. Instead, she walked the cobblestoned street alone, her heels catching as they dipped in between the stones.

She managed to keep her face neutral, impassive, as she walked. Hands in her coat pockets, head held high, she refused to let her eyes dart. If someone did see her here, she needed to look as though she belonged. As though she had nothing to hide.

Thunder grumbled in warning from overhead and Eleanor pulled her coat tighter. It had been an unusually cold summer. Even the muggles had noticed, according to Iris. Their news stations reported on the abnormality, claiming record lows for the month of July. Lows that hadn't been seen since 1981.

Eleanor passed townhouse after townhouse, blinds closed, lights off. No cars lined the street, no movement glimmered in the corner of her eye. It was completely and utterly dead.

She found herself in a quaint muggle village an hour out of London. Or at least that's what she'd been told by Iris when she'd asked. It was why she hadn't simply Apparated to her destination, opting to appear at the edge of town and walk in rather than startle a passing Muggle. It seemed she needn't have to worry.

Ahead, a traffic light flickered aimlessly, directing the nonexistent traffic. The endless line of identical dreary town houses found a break as two streets intersected. And on the corner directly opposing Eleanor, stood an abandoned pub.

Eleanor's legs stopped on their own accord, her hand curling into a fist in her pocket. Once she entered that pub, there was no going back. She could leave now, turn back before she ruined everything.

But if she didn't do this... she thought of Alfie, the choice he was now faced with.

I can do this, he had promised her, hands shaking in protest at his own words, I can be a spy if that's what Dumbledore needs.

No, she wouldn't allow that. Maybe there were more options than this one, but she didn't have time to think of anything better. It had to be now. Now, before Dumbledore handed Voldemort Alfie's forearm to be mutilated.

She pulled her coat even tighter, wisps of strawberry blonde hair cutting across her vision as the wind swept strands that had fallen out of the bun atop her head before her face. Only this morning she'd been safe and warm curled up in the warmth of Fred's arms as she slept.

The memory of his arms wrapping around her waist tugged at her brain, easing some of her anxiety. That one simple memory was a rabbit hole, and she had fallen, her mind clinging to how he had grazed her temple with his lips, whispering a gruff good morning into her ear. How she had turned over to find him smiling, eyes still closed, simply enjoying the feel of her body pressed tightly against his. But mostly how he'd finally opened his eyes, their beautiful hazelnut glow holding her captive as he brushed the hair away from her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek as she felt utterly content.

Eleanor inhaled sharply, letting the memory splinter apart. Selfish, she had been selfish this morning. She shouldn't have allowed it, shouldn't have stayed over at his loft again, but she'd gone crawling to him the minute the darkness became too unbearable.

But if she held the darkness off, she wouldn't be able to put herself to any good use. She needed her sadness, her anger to guide her into battle. And Fred... he deserved better than the broken mess of a person she'd become. She was barely functioning these days, sleep evading her, food unappealing to her, cleanliness the last thing she thought of.